18+ | digital artist & amateur translator, writer
🇷🇺(native)/🇺🇸/🇻🇳/🇮🇩/🇯🇵
DNI: minors, proshippers
please credit me when using my art!
https://hipolink.me/regisvinex
my second blog about my sona/oc Regina: @syrinx-regina-winnex
hello! I'm regisvinex, you can call me Regi (any pronouns). I'm demirose (demiromantic + demisexual) and a LaVeyan (atheistic) satanist („ᵕᴗᵕ„)
I'm a digital artist, an amateur writer and translator (currently focusing on VNs). I love linguistics and I'm a polyglot—Russian is my native language, but I'm also fluent in English (around C1, I believe), plus learning Vietnamese, Indonesian, and Japanese.
I'm REALLY heavily multifandom; currently my main fandom is Creepypasta, but I can also write something else occasionally.
because of my studies I barely have time to draw, so for now I'm only writing.
moots are appreciated ^_^
I often tend to get freaky around people I adore, so just tell me if I crossed the line and I'll stop :D
requests are open! will do them when I have time to (currently on hiatus, but you can still send them)
What I Write For
current requests: 9
going from oldest to newest
♡ my sweet anons: 🪷🗡️, 🐈🫧, 🔪💌,
sorry, but I won't write anything related to non/dub-con, underage/p3do, z0o, n3cro and other immoral philias, drugs, alcohol (heavy/addiction), prostitution, or "friends with benefits". (I mean purposefully—I really dislike these themes, and I'm not comfortable writing them 🥹)
additionally, I won't write smut for canonically asexual characters (e.g., Jason) :) gotta respect my ace fellas, sorry!
‼️from now on, I strictly separate canon MH from the fanon (crp) version in my writings. if the names Masky and Hoodie aren't stated, then it's the canon interpretation
Oneshots
Calling Dr. Love [Doctor x fem!reader] (TFC)
Shelter from the Storm [Ben Drowned x fem!reader]
A Little Less Conversation [sub!Jeff the Killer x afab!reader]
sorry everyone, but I have to take an indefinite hiatus :(
prepping for exams is nearly killing me—it's affecting both my physical and mental health greatly. and on top of that, I suddenly had an idea for a visual novel (lol), so I’m slowly working on it too (I’ve already drawn 1 concept art, I’ll show it later when I have at least 5 of them)
I’ll keep writing for creepypasta in the meantime, just not as often! I hope you understand (◞‸◟ㆀ) this isn’t the easiest time for me rn
Pretty pretty please reader suckin BEN while he plays 😋
Get Down, Make Love
AO3 link [NSFW]
summary: While Ben grinds through a tough boss fight, you kneel under his desk and suck him off, pushing him to the edge until he glitches and crashes. Twice.
cw: Ben/gn!reader, pwp, nsfw, messy oral sex (reader giving), kinda rough oral sex and deepthroating (?), sexual overstimulation, very very light dom/sub, come swallowing
note: I'm alive!!
You kneel between Ben's legs, the glow of his monitor casting flickering hues across his pale skin and the sharp angles of his face. The room is dim, just the hum of his PC fans and the frantic click-clack of his mouse filling the air. He's deep into another grueling session of that old game he's obsessed with—something about it keeps him glued to the screen for hours.
"Ben," you murmur, your voice low and teasing, fingers tracing the hem of his pants where they strain against his thighs. He's been at it for two hours straight, trash-talking some online rival in that voice of his—half-smooth, half-static crackle. You love watching him like this, focused, intense, his eyes narrowed at the screen.
He doesn't look down at first as he switches inputs. "Not now, Y/N. This fucker's about to wipe- shit!" A string of pixelated blood sprays across the screen, and he leans forward.
Your hands move before he can protest, popping the button on his pants with a soft snick. He twitches but doesn't stop you, breath hitching as you tug the zipper down slow, deliberate. The outline of him is already there, thick and hard against the black fabric of his boxers, tenting from the adrenaline. You can smell him, and it makes your mouth water.
"Y/N..." His voice glitches, a brief stutter like a skipping CD, but he shifts his hips up just enough for you to yank his pants and boxers down to his mid-thighs. His cock springs free, heavy and flushed, the tip already beading with precum. It's veined and curved just right, flushed pink against the pale of his skin, twitching under your gaze, pulsing with need.
You don't waste time. Leaning in, you drag your tongue flat along the underside from base to tip, tasting salt and that faint electric tang unique to him. He groans, low and ragged, but his eyes stay locked on the screen—fingers flying across the keys as some boss enemy glitches into existence.
"Fuck- keep going," he mutters, one hand dropping to your hair, fingers threading through it possessively. Not pushing, just holding, like he's anchoring himself.
You wrap your lips around the head, sucking gently at first, swirling your tongue over the slit to lap up that slick bead. He bucks once, involuntary, cock nudging deeper into your mouth. The weight of him fills you, hot and velvet-smooth over steel-hard muscle. You hum around him, the vibration pulling another glitchy curse from his lips—"Sh-shit, Y/N, you're killing me here..."
But he doesn't stop playing. The chair creaks as he spreads his legs wider, giving you better access, thighs flexing under your palms. You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, bobbing slow and steady. Your hands grip his base, stroking what your mouth can't reach yet, twisting lightly on the upstroke. Saliva slicks him up, dripping down to your fingers, making everything messy and wet.
On screen, his character dodges a flurry of attacks. Ben's breathing quickens, matching the pace, chest rising and falling under that tunic. You match it too, sucking harder, letting your teeth graze just enough to make him hiss. His grip tightens in your hair, a warning, but you push it, taking him to the back of your throat with a practiced swallow.
"Fuck yes- like that." His voice cracks, pixels flickering briefly on the monitor like it's echoing his strain. You feel it in him too—a subtle tremor in his thighs, like his body's fighting the urge to stop playing. You love that edge, the way you can unravel him bit by bit.
You pull off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your lips to his throbbing cock, and pump him firmly with your hand. "You gonna lose if I keep this up?" you tease, voice husky, looking up at him through your lashes.
His eyes flick down for a split second—red irises flashing with static—before snapping back. "Try me." Challenge accepted.
Diving back in, you set a rhythm: deep throating him on every other bob, then teasing the head with flicks of your tongue, sucking like you're trying to draw his soul out through his dick. Your free hand cups his balls, rolling them gently, feeling them draw up tight. He's leaking steadily now, salty bursts coating your tongue, and you moan around him, letting the sound buzz straight through.
Ben's gameplay gets sloppier—missed dodges, frantic button mashes. "Come on, you bitch," he growls at the screen, hips jerking up to fuck shallowly into your mouth. You let him, relaxing your jaw, nose brushing his trimmed patch of pale pubic hair. He smells musky here, intoxicating, and you breathe him in deep.
Sweat beads on his forehead, tunic sticking to his abs as they clench. You speed up, slurping obscenely, hand twisting in sync with your mouth. His cock pulses warningly—close, so close—but he grits his teeth, forcing focus.
You double down, one finger pressing behind his balls, rubbing that spot that makes his whole body jolt. "Y/N- fuck- gonna-" His voice distorts, a burst of static that makes the room lights flicker once. His thighs quake under you, cock swelling thicker on your tongue.
But he holds on, barely, smashing the keyboard as his character lands a critical hit. Victory fanfare blares, and only then does he shatter.
His hips snap up hard, burying himself deep as he comes with a strangled, glitchy cry—"Y/N!" Thick ropes of cum flood your mouth, hot and bitter-salt, pulsing against your throat. You swallow greedily around him, milking every drop, tongue working the underside to drag it out. He shudders violently, free hand clawing the desk edge, monitor sparking with wild static like it's short-circuiting from his overload.
You don't pull off until he's spent, softening just a touch in your mouth, oversensitive twitches making him hiss. Popping free, you lick your lips clean, smirking up at him. Cum glistens on your chin, and you swipe it with a finger, sucking it off deliberately. "Beat the boss?"
Ben slumps back, chest heaving, red eyes half-lidded. "Barely. You... evil." His voice is rough, affectionate, cock still twitching half-hard against his thigh. But there's no quit in him—after a beat, he straightens, mouse clicking again. "Next level. Don't stop."
Bossy. You love it. Crawling up a bit, you nuzzle his cock, kissing the softening length as it stirs back to life. He's insatiable like this, especially mid-game. Your knees ache on the floor, but the burn just heightens everything—the slick mess between your own thighs, soaked through your underwear from sucking him off.
You lap at him lazily while he reloads, tongue tracing veins, teasing the slit until he's groaning and thickening again. Faster this time, eager. "Good thing," he mutters, hand petting your hair like you're his lucky charm.
The new level loads, Ben's fully hard now, curving up insistent, and you take him back in—deeper this time, no warm-up. Your head bobs steadily, throat opening for him, gagging just enough to make your eyes water. Tears streak your cheeks, but you don't care; the rawness fuels you.
He fucks your mouth in earnest now, hips rolling up to meet you. "Deeper- fuck, yeah." You hum encouragement, vibrations pulling a whine from him.
Your hands roam: one stroking his base in tight twists, the other slipping under his tunic to caress his abdomen. He arches, nearly moaning "Y/N- shit, too good-"
You pull off gasping and blow cool air over his slick cockhead. It jumps, angry-red and desperate. "Focus," you purr, then engulf him balls-deep in one go, nose to pubes. Your throat convulses around him, and he glitches harder—voice fracturing into digital echo, thighs going rigid.
Ben slams keys, cursing—"No, no- hold it together!"—but his control's slipping, body trembling under you. You push him further, sucking voraciously.
He comes undone spectacularly this round—orgasm ripping through him like a system crash. Cum erupts, overflowing your mouth despite your swallows, dribbling down your chin onto his sack. He bucks wildly, a low electronic-like whine escaping his lips.
"Fuck- fuck- Y/N!" The chair rocks, desk rattling, and the game crashes.
Panting, you release him with a final lick, his cock spent and glossy, twitching in aftershocks. Ben's slumped, glitches fading, he's almost wrecked—hair disheveled, tunic askew, a dazed grin cracking his face. "Oh god. You win."
You rise on shaky legs, wiping your mouth, your sex throbbing neglected. "Told you I'd make it hard."
He yanks you onto his lap, hands greedy under your shirt, mouth crashing to yours—tasting himself with a growl. "My turn."
she developed C-PTSD from years of experiments, isolation, and repeated violations in the lab, which left her with deep‑rooted beliefs like "I'm a mistake" and "I'm only useful as a tool"
she appears calm on the surface because that was the safest way to survive: staying quiet, unreadable, and emotionally controlled
she often mocks or teases people, especially those she cares about, because sarcasm lets her keep emotional distance and stay in control of how close they can get
under stress, she doesn't melt down; instead she shuts down, becomes distant, or snaps with cold humor, as a way to avoid showing fear, sadness, or dependency
RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder)
she grew up without real parental warmth or consistent care, so she never learned that closeness automatically means safety; instead, she associates closeness with being used, tested, or abandoned
because of this, she struggles to trust that someone could love her for who she is, not for what she can do or endure
she shows love by alternately doing small, helpful things for others and pushing them away with teasing, almost as if she is testing whether they will stay anyway
she is very sensitive to any sign of irritation or rejection, and she often interprets it as proof that she is "too much" or "not wanted," even if it's minor.
she avoids saying "I need you" or "I love you" directly; instead she hides those feelings in sarcasm, jokes, or quietly making sure the other person is safe and taken care of
Identity disturbance
her sense of self is deeply fractured: she carries labels like "person," "hybrid," "experiment," and now "undead thing," and does not feel like she clearly fits any of them
because of this, she often feels like an object that simply persisted, not a person with a coherent past or future
Dissociative/Derealization tendencies (part of C‑PTSD)
she sometimes feels like the world is unreal or like she is watching her life from outside, which is a common dissociative response to prolonged trauma
during these moments, her own body or emotions can feel distant, as if they belong to someoneelse
this shows in her behavior when she remains unnaturally calm in dangerous or grotesque situations, especially those involving her own body
her flippant remarks about her own pain or undead state often mask the fact that she feels emotionally disconnected from herself
Paranoid tendencies
she grew up believing that people, especially those in power, will use or betray her, so she expects offers of help or affection to have hidden motives
she often assumes that kindness, especially from parental-sounding figures, is a front for control, experimentation, or manipulation
if someone persists past her teasing and still shows care, she slowly learns to trust them, but tends to do so quietly, without openly admitting she relies on them
