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nateezfics · 6 months ago

Note

hi love! may i request how ot8 would react to your skirt being a little cheeky at the amusement park?

love your work and hope you're doing well 🩷🩷

❝ wearing a short skirt on your amusement park date ❞

: ̗̀➛ ateez’s reaction to you wearing a short skirt on your amusement park date. 2.3k words.

: ̗̀➛ ateez; boyfriend!ateez. established relationship. fluff. smut (suggestive).

: ̗̀➛ warnings: minors do not interact! suggestive sexual content. mentions of sexual themes. possessiveness. public displays of affection/arousal. tbh there’s nothing explicit so there’s really nothing to warn about lol. strong language. fem bodied!reader. intentional lower case and small font.

hongjoong

god, you tested his patience. you really knew how to flirt your pretty little fingers around all his buttons, never fully pressing them but being so dangerously close to doing so. always just enough to make him tense and the prominent vein on his neck to pop a little.

hongjoong was in the queue right behind you as you stepped onto the ride. your absurdly short skirt fluttered as you did so, and from his position he was able to see the little pink panties you wore underneath...and so was everyone else, including the ride attendant who gawked at you like a deer in headlights. you plopped down into the cramped seat, blissfully unaware — or you just didn’t seem to care — while hongjoong had to mentally count to ten to keep himself from turning on that guy for even daring to look at you. though, he supposed it wasn’t all his fault; you were the one who decided to wear a fucking mini skirt to an amusement park.

“you know,” hongjoong began, settling himself next to you on the ride. “i really question your reasoning for wearing that.” He tugged at your skirt just as you both brought the bar over your laps. your thighs looked so pretty all exposed, mental images of your panty clad ass flashing in his mind, and hongjoong really wished that dumb ride attendant would stop throwing glances your way.

you smiled which only served to aggravate him more. “it’s such a cute skirt and i haven’t worn it yet! plus, it’s so hot outside today,” you reasoned with him while you watched others pile onto the ride. hongjoong scoffed.

“you sure you didn’t just wear it to drive me crazy?” he gripped your thigh tight, his fingers just under the hem of your skirt. “you think you’re so cute, huh? but let’s see how cute you are once i get you home.”

the ride jerked to life and began to move, his grip remaining firm. you smiled internally. your little plan worked, just like you knew it would.

seonghwa

seonghwa loved being close to you. he did, really. but it was so hot out today, and within the concretes and metals and crowds of the amusement park, it was scorching. your body was sweaty against his own. as much as he loved being near you, it was too hot for it. but you decided to wear one of the shortest skirts you owned today of all days, and he stuck close behind you to keep you from flashing anyone.

“hwa,” you whined as you both waited in line for the next ride. the sun was beaming down on you. you shuffled in place uncomfortably. “can you like, give me some space here? it’s hot as balls out here.”

seonghwa didn’t move an inch. he stayed in place, his taller form close behind you. you both probably looked ridiculous to everyone around you; they were all probably thinking you were that kind of couple. “sorry, can’t do that. not when you’re on the verge of flashing everyone in this damn park. what made you think wearing a mini skirt to an amusement park was a good idea?”

you huffed. “i don’t know. i just wanted to!” you tried to step forward, but two hands kept you firmly in place. “hwa, it’s really not that bad.”

“baby, one gust of wind and everyone can see your ass. and personally, i’m not too keen on everyone getting a view of you like that.” the queue moved, and you both shuffled a few steps forward.

“i’m wearing underwear —”

“god,” seonghwa groaned, his hands tightening on your hips. he was even closer now than before, his front pressed flat against your back. he dipped his head to whisper in your ear. “either you deal with me like this, or i’m taking you home and ripping this skirt off you. understand?”

you nodded slowly, a little taken aback by his words. that second option didn’t seem like that bad of a choice….

yunho

yunho wasn’t keen of your skirt at the beginning of your date, and he certainly wasn’t fond of it now as he watched you throw your leg over the carousel horse. your skirt was so short, and as you straddled the horse it did little to cover your ass. he took a second to appreciate the sight of your panties peeking under what your skirt couldn’t quite cover, but then he noticed the people behind you were also appreciating the view.

“you’re going to be the death of me,” yunho whispered to himself as he got on the horse behind you, much to your confusion.

“there’s a free horse right here,” you said, pointing to the horse next to you where he should have been. you looked at him over your shoulder, and you caught the dip of his gaze.

“i’ll sit here. this spot’s got a…good view.” his gaze lingered on your ass for a moment as he hoped his larger frame could block you from the sight of those behind him. he groaned inwardly when you wiggled your ass; his dick twitched and fuck it this was not the time or place for this.

you giggled when you realized, unbothered that you’d flashed more than just your boyfriend. you noticed the bob of his adam’s apple before you turned to the front again. even as the carousel began to spin, you felt his eyes remain on your backside.

yunho was thankful when the carousel stopped and the two of you were off, but his pants felt a little more snug than they had before the ride. he grabbed your smaller hand and lead you towards the park exit, not giving you any other choice but to follow him.

“yunho, where are we going?”

he didn’t even look back. “home so i can get you out of that fucking skirt.”

yeosang

yeosang was not one to say much about your outfit choices, even during times like this when you were skipping around the amusement park in what appeared to be the shortest skirt he’d ever seen you wear. he was walking behind you, struggling in silence, eyes glued to your backside even though he tried so hard not to stare.

you whirled around with a beaming smile. “yeosang, let’s go ride the ferris wheel!” your skirt twirled when you turned to face him; you undoubtedly just flashed everyone around you. yeosang was really going through it.

“uh, okay, baby. let’s go ride it.” yeosang was thankful the ferris wheel carts were enclosed. the last thing he wanted was you hoisted in the air for the whole park to see under your skirt. but inside the cart, you really must have wanted him to suffer when you plopped yourself right on his lap.

“fuck, baby, what are you trying to do to me?” his low voice was raspy, a groan slipping out when you shifted in his lap to make yourself more comfy. he felt himself starting to get stiff, and getting a hard on on a ferris wheel was not ideal.

you faced him and smiled; you looked so innocent, but there was a mischievous gleam in your eyes that he couldn’t miss. “i’m not doing anything, yeo.”

yeosang let out a sound that was a combination of a scoff, groan, and laugh. “bull shit.” his palms were grazing your thighs and traveling upwards, fingers dipping under your skirt. he swallowed hard when you gasped, the sound going straight to his dick. “god, i can’t believe you. i hope you’re planning on helping me out here, right?”

san

“and we have a winner!” the amusement park employee handed san the prize he’d won, a large plushie just about the size of his whole upper body. san was quick to hand it to you, laughing at the way you struggled to hold it.

in your excitement, you twirled around, your newly won plushie squished in your arms. but your skirt, a bit too short, flew up and gave a quick flash of the pink panties that lied underneath. “san, i love it! what should i name it?”

san laughed nervously, quickly drawing to your side and smoothing his hands over your hips to keep your skirt down. “i’m glad you love it, but baby,” he practically whined at you. “you can’t be out here twirling like that. you wanna flash the whole park?”

you giggled, snuggling your plushie tighter. “sorry, sannie.”

san smiled and kissed the top of your head. “silly little baby in your tiny skirts. i think you’re trying to mess with me.” his hands stayed on your hips while he fought the temptation to reach down and grope your ass.

“maybe a little,” you admitted with another giggle. “but i knew you’d like it, so that’s why i wore it.” you felt excitement bubble in your belly when you saw the way his gaze darkened a little.

“oh, i do like it,” san agreed. “but i think everyone else here does, too. and i can’t have others looking at you like this. so, how about i get you home, yeah?”

mingi

mingi had lost count of how many times he’d seen your ass so far today. not that he could complain about that, but he was certainly confused as to why you decided to wear a mini skirt to an amusement park. “baby, you keep messing with your skirt, but it’s not gonna get any longer.”

you huffed at him while you pulled at your skirt. you were regretting your decision making skills currently. was the outfit cute? yes. was it practical for the occasion? no. but you didn’t want to admit defeat; your boyfriend would be way too smug. “it’s fine, just needed a little fixing.”

he watched you very obviously grow frustrated with your short skirt, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “oh yeah? I bet you won’t last much longer until you’re begging me to give you my jacket to cover up.”

you put your hands on your hips. “i bet i’ll be just fine.”

mingi chuckled as he closed in on you. “fine. but if i win, that skirt’s coming off as soon as we get in the car.”

your heart leaped in your chest at the meaning of his words. even though it was enticing, you still didn’t want to admit that you were dumb for wearing this skirt. so you tried not to fiddle with it for the rest of the day, tried to act unbothered that you were giving everyone in the park a free view of your undies. but you eventually had enough, and soon you had your boyfriend’s denim jacket wrapped around your hips, a signal of your defeat.

mingi brought his lips to your ear when you both got in the car later, his hand traveling up your thigh. “skirt off, baby.”

wooyoung

“woo, get some pictures of me in front of the ferris wheel!” you handed your phone to your boyfriend and ran to get in front of the ferris wheel.

wooyoung knelt down to get the best angles, but as he snapped photo after photo, all he could focus on was how short your skirt was. and every time you changed to a different pose your panties flashed as your skirt moved. “well, if you’re goal is to show off your panties in every single picture, i’d say you succeeded.”

you frowned and rushed to take your phone from him. you swiped through the pics and he was right, your panties could be seen in every shot. you sighed. “well, it’s because of the angle. you were crouched down the whole time. it’s like you wanted to get shots up my skirt, you perv!”

wooyoung laughed. “it’s not me! it’s that little mini skirt of yours. maybe you should have worn something a little more appropriate for the occasion.” he laughed some more when you playfully swatted at his arm.

you couldn’t help the way your cheeks grew warm. you gave him your phone again and walked back towards the ferris wheel. “okay, get some more pics. but this time, no pervy up the skirt shots, alright?”

“you look too fucking good in that skirt. can’t make any promises, baby.” wooyoung gave you a wink before snapping some more photos.

jongho

jongho was judging you. hard. and not because you were in a short skirt, but rather because you looked way too damn good in it. and you were in an amusement park, one of the last places to be wearing something so short. other men were staring, thinking they were being sneaky with their glances, but he caught them. it was making him feel a little aggravated; not with you, but with the way he needed to have you but couldn’t because you weren’t at home.

you walked hand in hand with your boyfriend as you searched for the next thing to ride. “we haven’t done the carousel yet. wanna go ride that?”

there was a mental image of you straddling one of the carousel horses and jongho tensed. “you sure that’s such a good idea?”

you looked at him in confusion. “why wouldn’t it be?”

“well…” jongho peered down at your skirt, and you got the hint.

you smirked. “oh. does it bother you?”

he cleared his throat. “it does,” he admitted. “but in a ��you’re driving me insane and i have the sudden urge to take you home’ kind of way.” his grip on your hand tightened.

you giggled as you looked at him. he looked tense, and it was so obvious how affected he was. all because of your skirt. “we ride this ferris wheel then go home. deal?”

jongho groaned. “deal.”

notes from nat: this request is so perfect for the summer time. thanks for sending it in, anon! hope you enjoyed!!

taglist: @abiaswreck @charreddonuts @hongthoven @httpseungmxn @itza-meee @jungkookieprincess @jaerisdiction @lilie-dctl @mjyungi @marievllr-abg @maltesejjong @mylovelymito @nebulousbookshelf @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @staytinyinmybpack @svintsandghosts @thesafecafe @wolfgurl2600-blog @5starduca @yyaurii

networks: @kflixnet @wonderlandnet

#wonderlandnet #ateez smut #ateez smut drabbles #ateez x reader #ateez reactions #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader

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grassbreads · 2 years ago

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I can't decide whether this is a good development or a bad one, but GOD if I'm not excited

#the themes in this book and how they're executed make me feel so crazy #like yes tear down their arbitrary construction of justice!!#I'm w you all the way #but I'm also so scared of what will come after and what the consequences of this might be #xi ping I love you make good choices please for me #anyway this line gave me actual chills #andie reads tai sui #tai sui spoilers

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killerelysia · 2 months ago

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Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur!- Solivan brugmansia x Yan!G.N Reader!

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don't interact!

Words:10004

Genre: Yandere-(Self aware yandere won the poll)

Summary: You’ve become consumed by your obsession with Solivan Brugmansia. What started as innocent curiosity quickly spiraled into a fixation. He started it and you began to stalk him, learning every detail about his life. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction in making Sol’s world safer while growing increasingly delusional about your connection with him. Your love for him deepens as you fantasize about the future, convinced that you are the one who truly understands him—better than anyone else. Despite the line between reality and obsession blurring, you remain certain: Sol is yours, even if he doesn’t know it yet.. You're his and he's yours...

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, mental instability, and delusional thinking, Drugging, Yandere?, Hopeless in love for attention Please read with caution.

Obsessive behavior: The reader becomes dangerously fixated on someone, bordering on stalking and delusion.

Manipulation: The reader engages in schemes to control or harm others, often through deception.

Mental illness: Delusional thinking, possible dissociation from reality, and unhealthy fixation on someone.

Violence: There are references to bullying, physical harm, and emotional manipulation.

Emotional abuse: Both in terms of how the protagonist manipulates others and how they might internalize toxic behaviors.

Stalking: The reader watches and follows the person they are obsessed with.

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, The relationship presented here between sol and reader is extremely toxic!! In no way, Just because I'm writing doesn't mean I support this kind of toxicity. Note, It's okay to like sol if you know the flaws and don't be a blind eye on them! Again, I don't support his actions etc! If you hate sol ignore this.

You always knew something was off within the labyrinth of your mind, an ache that whispered solitude in every corner. Perhaps it was loneliness, so profound that you yearned for someone to notice you—anything to shift the weight of your gaze from them to you. Some flicker of curiosity, a moment that lingered in the eyes of another.

Love? No, it wasn't something you believed you deserved. That thought had long been etched into your consciousness like a brand. But if, by some twist of fate, someone were to fall for you, you’d ensnare them with relentless support until they admitted it, an inexplicable, almost desperate logic born from the shadowed corners of your heart.

The end of the first semester brought the storm. It wasn’t just another rough day; it was the day you became a target for the school’s cruelest crew. Fists flew, words cut, and everything seemed to blend into one terrifying blur until Crowe stepped in, his eyes dark with determination.

"Thank goodness you're unharmed," he gasped, breathing heavily, each word a raw mix of relief and pain.

"You’re worried about me? Look at you, you're the one who’s hurt!" Your voice quivered, the disbelief clashing with gratitude.

He stood there, battle-worn and steady, blood trickling from a split lip, the bruises stark against his pale skin. Those who had cornered you were finally satisfied, leaving with the empty laughter of the bored and cruel. Crowe looked at you and shrugged, the glint in his eyes softening.

"As long as you’re safe, this doesn’t matter."

A warmth spread through your chest, alien and consuming. Someone cared. Someone defended you, unyielding in their resolve.

"What's your name, crazy prince?"

He managed a tired, almost mischievous smile. "Jericho. Jericho Ichabod. But just call me Crowe."

You exhaled a shaky breath. "Nice to meet you, Crowe. Call me Y/N."

That moment in the clinic, under the unforgiving fluorescent lights and the sterile scent of antiseptic, became the silent contract that bonded you two. You shared conversations, silent glances, and a strange understanding that made the world seem a little less harsh. For a while, you even harbored a crush, tender and tentative.

But then it hit you, as sudden as that fateful day. Crowe would have done the same for anyone—he was simply good. He was kind. The realization struck with an ache so deep it nearly broke you. Love, you learned, was an unrequited script in your story. But you respected him too much to let it taint what was there.

You laughed at the absurdity of your own heart, wondering how it had come to this: delusional, hopeful, but still grateful for the fleeting feeling of being someone’s concern.

There was always that gnawing thought, like a shadow, lurking at the back of your mind. You tried to shake it off, but it whispered relentlessly: There’s something wrong with the way you love. Maybe it was the way you sought attention, not in small doses but in that raw, hungry kind of way. The way you craved someone’s gaze not as a fleeting glance but as an unwavering fixation.

Too much, you thought, turning the phrase over and over like a bitter pill on your tongue. You wanted to be loved so desperately that it bordered on obsession, a gnawing, insatiable need. It wasn’t the soft, gentle kind of love you read about or saw in movies—it was something darker, almost suffocating. It made your chest tighten with both longing and dread.

You swallowed hard, a dry laugh slipping past your lips as the thought settled in: That’s just you, isn’t it? Creepy Y/N, always wanting more, always needing to be consumed by the flame of someone’s attention. A shiver traced down your spine, and you hugged your arms close, seeking comfort in the cold truth.

Now, you’ve perfected the act. You've slipped so far into delusion that reality feels like it’s cracking at the edges, and your mind might not make it back intact. But you only have one task: work relentlessly and pay off the debt, save the farm that’s been the lifeblood of your family.

Your obsession with love, you remind yourself, is nothing but a sickness—a distraction, unhealthy and unneeded. Focus, you think. Study. Keep your head down. Your father believes in you, doesn’t he? He trusts you with this responsibility. But would anyone love a mess like you anyway? The question loops bitterly in your mind, self-loathing taking hold before you even have the chance.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?” You tell yourself.

Something felt off for a few weeks now, like an odd tension building in the corners of your life. It was... something. It wasn’t anything you could pinpoint, but you couldn’t shake the feeling.

A pair of eyes, always there, always watching. At first, it was subtle—just a flicker of awareness when you turned a corner or sat down. But it was more than that. It was almost a presence, an invisible force that seemed to follow your every move. It wasn’t a simple glance. No, it was far more intense, almost stalking.

And yet, a strange part of you... liked it. It sent a thrill through you, a kind of adrenaline rush you couldn’t explain. You’d find yourself sitting in class, pretending to study, but the sensation of being watched made your heart race. It wasn’t discomfort—it was excitement, a twisted thrill, something you couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t just at University. No, it followed you home too. As you entered your room, you couldn’t help but feel the familiar weight of someone’s gaze on you, lingering in the dark corners, watching through the crack in your door. Your mind spun with a chaotic mix of fear and anticipation. Who was it? Why were they watching you?

There was no reason for it—at least, none you could rationalize. And yet, you found yourself... hoping to meet them. Wanting to meet them. A part of you longed to finally see the one who’d been following you in the shadows. Because somehow, you knew they were close. You knew they were waiting for the right moment to step out from the

The next morning, something was off. The usual routine of brushing off your paranoia seemed heavier, more tangible. Your bedroom window, which you always locked at night, was ajar. Not just unlocked—it had slid open slightly, exposing a crack wide enough to send shivers down your spine. You tried to push it closed, but the latch was broken, the mechanism jammed beyond repair. Had it always been like this?

You stared at it for a moment, the realization sinking in: someone could have come in. Someone might have been inside.

You tried to shake it off, but as the day went on, more pieces fell into place. A gnawing sense of violation crept up your spine when you went to grab your laundry and noticed... something was missing. Not just something—specific clothes. Shirts you’d worn recently, soft hoodies you curled up in, a pair of socks that didn’t match but had sentimental value. Gone.

Your chest tightened, panic flooding your veins, but it wasn’t just fear. A part of you—some sick, pathetic part—felt thrilled. Someone is watching me.

The thought settled in, heavy and dark, but the sharp edges of logic began to dull. Who would stalk you? You’re not even pretty. You weren’t special. Not worth the effort. And yet, here you were, clothes missing, your window breached, the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze following you through every step of your day.

“Normal people would think this isn’t fine,” you muttered aloud to yourself, trying to anchor yourself in rationality. This isn’t fine. This isn’t okay.

But the words fell flat. Somewhere in your mind, reality started to bend. Yes, it was wrong—stalking was wrong. It was invasive, dangerous, terrifying. And yet, the pounding in your chest wasn’t just fear. It was curiosity. It was longing.

The thought twisted in your mind, dark and intrusive: What kind of person would go this far just for me? They must care. They must want to know you in a way no one else ever had. What do they see when they watch? What do they think about?

You couldn’t help yourself. The idea of being desired so intensely that someone would break into your life, leave pieces of themselves hidden in the cracks of your existence—it sent a thrill through you. Wrong. So wrong. But intoxicating.

You paced your room that evening, staring at the broken latch on the window. The moonlight spilled across the floor in sharp lines, almost like it was pointing at the scene of the crime. A part of you wondered if they were watching now. Standing somewhere in the dark, just out of reach, their breath fogging up the glass.

Who even are you? Why me?

The questions spun in your mind, each one pulling you deeper into a strange obsession of your own. You should be scared. You should be scared. But instead, you were intrigued. Drawn in. You wanted to know this person, to see the face that lingered in the shadows.

You sat down at your desk, your reflection catching in the window’s glass. “This isn’t normal,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly. “I shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t want this.”

But you did. You couldn’t deny it any longer. The thought of someone dedicating their time, their energy, their every waking moment to you—it filled a hole you didn’t know existed. You craved that kind of devotion, twisted as it was.

You caught yourself smiling, a wry, self-deprecating grin. “God, I’m a mess,” you whispered. You leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. Why do I feel this way?

The truth settled in, stark and undeniable: you’d never felt wanted before. Not like this. And now, even if it was wrong, even if it was dangerous, you couldn’t help but feel... excited. Like something in your life was finally happening, shaking you out of the monotony of existence.

You wanted to meet them. To see them. To understand the face behind the gaze that followed you everywhere you went. You told yourself it wasn’t love—not yet. But it was something. Something raw and electric, and you weren’t sure you could resist it.

Your fixation deepened, evolving from a vague thrill to deliberate action. The missing items didn’t alarm you anymore—they exhilarated you. At first, it was small things: a pen left behind on a desk or the bench outside class. Accidental, you told yourself. But you knew better. You weren’t careless. You’d started leaving things on purpose, wondering, hoping, knowing they would take them.

And they did.

The pen was gone when you returned, replaced by nothing but the faintest hint of satisfaction in your chest. You tested it again, leaving behind a notebook with a stray doodle inside—gone by the next day. It became a game. A secret dance between you and this unknown figure lurking in your shadow.

The knowledge that someone wanted these pieces of you made your heart race. Pathetic, you thought, but the warmth in your chest told a different story. You were addicted to the idea, to them. And soon, you weren’t just leaving things behind. You were creating a world where they could exist freely.

You didn’t fix the window. Why would you? You liked to imagine them climbing through it, their hands brushing against the sill, their breath in your room. Fixing it would shut them out, make their life harder. You couldn’t do that—not to them. You told yourself it wasn’t because you wanted them inside, because you were inviting them in. No, it was just… considerate. Thoughtful.

The laugh that bubbled up from your throat at the thought startled you. Soft, at first, then louder. “I’m losing it,” you murmured, but the giggles didn’t stop. They spilled out of you, an almost giddy sound as you turned the idea over and over in your head.

If they were coming in, why not make it easier for both of you? Why not see them, finally see them?

That night, you slipped a tiny camera into the corner of your room, hidden carefully in the folds of an old, dusty bookend. It was subtle, unassuming—nothing that would stand out to anyone who didn’t know it was there.

The thrill of it sent a shiver down your spine. Soon, you’d have answers. Soon, you’d see their face, their expressions, their intent. Ah, what would they look like? You’d imagined it before, of course—soft features, a piercing gaze, maybe even a shy smile. Someone who would look at you with the intensity that had kept you up at night, that had followed you for weeks.

You sat in the middle of your room that night, staring at the blinking light on the camera, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “You’ll come, won’t you?” you whispered to no one. The silence answered back, but you weren’t disheartened. You knew they’d come.

You could feel the laughter building up in your chest again, giddy and uncontrollable. The corners of your lips curled upward as you muttered, “I’m going to see you. Heheh… Soon.” The giggle turned into full-blown laughter, sharp and manic as it filled the room.

This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t healthy. But God, it was intoxicating.

The thought of finally meeting them, of knowing them, sent your thoughts spiraling. Your hands trembled as you checked the camera one last time before heading to bed. It was all set. Everything was perfect. All that was left was to wait.

As you lay in bed, staring at the broken window, your mind swirled with fantasies of what was to come. Maybe they’d speak to you, confess their reasons for watching, for taking your things. Maybe they’d admit their feelings—feelings you were sure existed, even if you couldn’t yet see them.

And if they didn’t? Well, you’d find out soon enough.

“Come on,” you whispered to the empty room, your voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and desperation. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

And with that, you closed your eyes, letting the thrill of anticipation lull you into restless sleep.

You wake up, drowsy and groggy, blinking as you register the faint glow of your camera's recording light. Your heart skips—not from fear but from a jittery excitement. Did it catch something? Your hands move faster than your thoughts, fumbling to pull up the footage.

Last night had been a blur. You’d tried so hard to stay awake, but the meal you’d eaten earlier had lulled you into a deep, undisturbed sleep. As you scroll through the recording, skipping the mundane moments of you tossing and turning, the feed jumps to him.

The man.

His hair, black with vivid green streaks, is loose, falling in soft waves around his face. The mask he wears obscures most of his features, but his eyes—crimson red on the outer ring with fiery orange at their centers—gleam, focused solely on you. His attire is dark and layered: a black t-shirt over a green-striped long-sleeve, necklaces clinking softly with each of his movements. You even catch a glint of the metallic piercings decorating his ears, the upside-down cross swaying slightly as he leans closer.

And then, he speaks.

“Finally found you, pumpkin,” his voice is soft, smooth, almost reverent. You freeze, your pulse hammering against your ribs. Pumpkin?

“I’m sorry about the window,” he continues, running gloved fingers along the edge of your desk. “But it’s a good thing you didn’t fix it, still.” His tone is teasing, like he’s scolding and praising you all at once.

Your hands hover over the keyboard as he approaches your sleeping form on the screen. He kneels beside you, brushing back a strand of hair from your face with deliberate care. “Hyugo’s pills do work,” he murmurs to himself, chuckling faintly. “They make you sleep so peacefully. I can finally see you at night…”

Then, he leans down. His masked face inches closer to your cheek. You watch, your breath caught, as he plants the softest kiss on your skin.

That explains it. The faint pressure you’d felt in your sleep—the fleeting warmth. Your hand instinctively touches the spot on your cheek, even now, feeling its ghost.

Yet instead of terror, instead of the dread that should’ve consumed you, your heart flutters. A warmth blooms in your chest, spreading, suffocating. You press your clasped hands to your lips, trembling not in fear, but in something else entirely.

The stalker. The man. He…he likes you? Watches you every night, praises you even in your most unguarded moments? It’s wrong. It’s so obviously wrong. The rational part of your mind screams at you to call for help, to fix the window, to run far away.

But instead, you giggle.

The sound bubbles out of you uncontrollably, and you quickly clamp a hand over your mouth. You know this isn’t normal. You know something is terribly broken inside of you. But that knowledge doesn’t stop the twisted elation coursing through your veins.

He’s here. He sees you. He wants you.

You rewind the footage, watching it again. This time, you focus on his words, on the reverent way he speaks to your unconscious self. You note the details: the shine of his hair, the small buckle on his collar-like choker, the way his spider-bite piercings catch the moonlight when he tilts his head. He’s beautiful, like something plucked out of your dreams—or maybe your nightmares.

And now, he’s real.

Your hands shake as you stop the playback, staring blankly at the paused image of him by your bedside. The mask hides so much, but his eyes—they burn into you, even through the screen. You imagine what it would be like to see him without it, to hear his voice unfiltered, to—

You slap your cheeks, shaking your head. Focus, Y/N.

But the truth clings to you, suffocating and intoxicating all at once. You know he’s a stalker. You know this situation is dangerous. Yet the thought of fixing the window, of locking him out for good, feels unbearable. The idea of never seeing him again—of never hearing his voice, his praises—sends a pang of despair through you.

“Delusional,” you whisper to yourself, laughing softly. You curl into yourself, gripping the camera tightly. “I’m so delusional.”

But even as you say it, even as you acknowledge the depths of your spiraling thoughts, you can’t stop the lovesick smile creeping across your face.

You couldn’t shake the image of him—the stalker who had taken such a twisted interest in you. His voice, his praise, the way he watched you with that obsessive focus—it haunted your waking thoughts and danced through your dreams.

You needed to know more about him.

At first, you tried to find clues, anything that could lead you to his identity. You scoured your campus, paying close attention to anyone with black and green-streaked hair, those fiery orange-crimson eyes, or piercings that matched the ones you’d seen on the footage. But nothing. He was a ghost, blending seamlessly into the crowd or watching from somewhere beyond your grasp.

Still, you didn’t give up. Each day, you upped your game. You adjusted your routine to appear natural, but always left subtle traces behind—a scarf forgotten on a bench, a pen dropped intentionally in class. When you circled back, the items were always gone, confirming he was following you even during the day. Good, you thought with a lovesick smile.

Then there was the matter of the food.

You began preparing two batches of every meal—one real and one fake. The fake was the key to your plan. You seasoned it as usual but spiked it with just enough sleeping pills to incapacitate. You made sure to label it with your name, store it visibly in your fridge, and place a half-finished glass of juice beside it. You wanted it to look lived-in, convincing, a perfect trap should he decide to raid your kitchen while you left so he can do be fooled with the fake, food.

Your window remained unfixed, and you started leaving the back door slightly unlocked, just in case. You didn’t want to inconvenience him. He might notice and think you were trying to keep him out, and you couldn’t have that.

Meanwhile, your eyes darted constantly across the campus, scanning crowds for any hint of him. You noted everyone’s schedules, mapped out their movements, even engaged in small talk to see if anyone slipped or seemed overly interested in you. But you were careful, never letting on that you were actively looking for someone.

The high alert you maintained made your classmates think you were just unusually focused. Nobody questioned you, and you made sure to keep up appearances: smiling, laughing when appropriate, pretending you didn’t feel eyes on you during every step you took.

Your awareness sharpened to the point where you could feel even the subtlest shifts in your environment. A shadow lingering a little too long, footsteps trailing you just far enough to seem coincidental, and the faint brush of something in your periphery. It thrilled you.

That night, everything was in place. You prepared your fake dinner, complete with a side of drugged juice, and left it in the kitchen. The back door was left unlocked, the window slightly ajar. You dimmed the lights in your room, slipped into bed, and forced yourself to feign sleep.

Your heart raced as you waited. Will he come tonight?

Time passed, but you stayed still, fighting the urge to peek at the camera feed. If this worked, you would finally get what you wanted—a glimpse of him unguarded, vulnerable.

The plan worked almost too perfectly. The camera, discreetly tucked in a shadowy corner, confirmed what you already suspected—he was breaking in nightly. Sol fell for the fake food every time, drugging it to keep you in a deeper sleep. You couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride. He's trying so hard for me.

That night, you left everything in place as usual. The drugged fake food was strategically left out, the door slightly ajar, and your performance as a deep sleeper rehearsed to perfection. You even regulated your breathing to mimic the rise and fall of slumber, fully aware he was watching. The excitement bubbled under your skin, but you held it in check. Be still. He can’t suspect.

You felt him enter, the faintest whisper of air as the door creaked open. He moved quietly, though not silently. Every step he took was deliberate, careful not to wake you. You heard the faint sound of him checking the food, his soft hum of satisfaction as he saw it gone!. Good. He thinks I ate it.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat down beside you. Your pulse quickened, but you kept your breathing steady, your body relaxed. He leaned close, his breath warm against your neck.

“Pumpkin...” he whispered, the word barely audible, yet it sent a shiver down your spine. His voice was soft, tender, laced with a devotion that felt almost holy in its intensity. “You’re so perfect, you know that? Even when you sleep, you’re beautiful.”

You felt his hand brush against your hair, a soft caress like you were something precious, fragile. He moved closer, the faint scent of his cologne enveloping you. Then, he did something you didn’t expect—he lay down beside you. His arm draped over your waist, pulling you close as though you belonged there, as though this was his right.

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell like heaven,” he murmured, his voice barely above a breath. “I’ve waited so long for this. To hold you. To be close to you.”

Your heart clenched. Not in fear or disgust—no, it was something else entirely. He’s... cute? The thought struck you like a lightning bolt, absurd and yet undeniable. There was something endearing about the way he clung to you, his touches reverent, his voice filled with genuine emotion. This is wrong. He’s a stalker. He drugs my food. He breaks into my house... but... You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile.

He continued to whisper sweet nothings, his words blurring into a hazy mix of praise and adoration. “You’re everything to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His hand slid up to brush your hair back, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “You’re mine, pumpkin. You’ll always be mine.”

A part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Mine? You were the one trapping him, leading him into this elaborate game of cat and mouse. And yet, his words made your heart flutter. What is wrong with me? you thought, though the answer was glaringly obvious. You were broken, disturbed, a sick and twisted mirror of his obsession.

But you were self-aware, at least. That counted for something, didn’t it? No. No, it doesn’t, you admitted silently, feeling a pang of guilt.

Still, you played your part perfectly. You didn’t stir as he shifted, wrapping his arms around you more tightly. You felt the weight of his head resting against yours, his breath warm and steady.

“You make me feel alive,” he whispered. “Even if you don’t know it, even if you’d hate me if you did... I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. But instead of fear, you felt a sick sense of satisfaction. He needs me.

You clasped your hands together under the blanket, holding them to your mouth as though in prayer. Your lips curved into a soft smile, hidden from his view. This was real. Someone wanted you, needed you, loved you so obsessively it consumed them.

It didn’t matter that it was wrong, that it was dangerous. You weren’t afraid. If anything, you felt secure, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. How ironic, you thought, giggling softly in your mind. The stalker makes me feel safe.

The hours dragged on, but he didn’t move. He stayed there, holding you as though he was afraid you’d vanish. When his breathing finally evened out, signaling he’d fallen asleep, you dared to open your eyes just a sliver.

You caught a glimpse of his face, partially obscured by the strands of his black-and-green hair. Even in sleep, there was a softness to his features, a vulnerability that made your chest ache.

He’s beautiful.

You closed your eyes again, biting your lip to stifle another giggle. You were a good actor, yes, but deep down, you knew the truth. You weren’t pretending for his sake. You were pretending for yours, to keep up the illusion that you still had control.

Because the reality was, you didn’t.

He had you just as much as you had him.

Each night, you lay in bed, pretending to be under the spell of the fake food laced with sleeping pills. Each night, he came to you, a shadow in the moonlight, and you reveled in his presence.

Your adoration for him grew like an uncontrollable fire, consuming every rational thought. The notebook you'd started was your secret shrine to him. Sketches filled the pages—his face, his hair cascading like a dark waterfall, his intense eyes, the way his lips curled into the faintest smile when he whispered sweet things to your sleeping form. You had to capture it all. Your pencil scratched furiously, your mind replaying his words, his touch, the way he’d caress your face and murmur promises as if you were his most precious treasure.

That night, you prepared everything as usual. The fake food sat on the counter, the door left just barely ajar, your blankets pulled up to mimic serene sleep. You curled into the mattress, feigning slumber, though your heart raced with anticipation.

The familiar sound of the door creaking open sent a thrill down your spine. His footsteps were soft but unmistakable, and you felt the mattress shift as he sat down beside you. Here we go.

“Pumpkin,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His hand brushed your hair back from your face, and you fought the urge to smile. “Why don’t you ever turn back to look at me? I saw you at class today...”

Your breath hitched ever so slightly. What?! Your mind raced, but you maintained your facade. His voice was soft, almost pleading, and it tugged at something deep inside you.

He sighed, lying down beside you and draping an arm over your waist. His grip was possessive, but his touch was gentle, warm. “I wish you would,” he whispered. “I wish you’d look at me, smile at me, talk to me… God, I’d do anything to make you happy.”

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest. Is this real? His words, his touch, the way he held you—it all felt surreal, like a dream you didn’t want to wake from.

“If anyone bullies you…” he began, his voice low and serious. “They’re done for. I’ll make sure of it.”

Bullies? Your mind latched onto the word. Did he know about the snide remarks, the subtle glances from classmates? Wait… Your heart skipped a beat as realization dawned. Same school?!

You wanted to scream, laugh, cry—every emotion hit you at once. He was there, so close, within reach even during the day. The idea sent a jolt of giddy energy through you. He's been watching me even then.

He shifted, his lips brushing dangerously close to yours. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you fully, and your heart practically stopped. Instead, he kissed the corner of your lips, lingering just enough to make your stomach churn with a dizzying mix of emotions.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered. “Good night, pumpkin.”

You waited, your body tense, until you heard the faint click of the door closing behind him. Only then did you sit up, your breaths coming fast and shallow. Same school, your mind repeated, looping the thought like a mantra.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, your fingers trembling as you opened your notebook. The sketch of him was already half-finished, but now you added the details you hadn’t dared before—the soft smile he wore when he looked at you, the way his hair framed his face like ink spilled on paper. You scribbled furiously, giggling to yourself as your mind replayed his words.

“He’s mine,” you whispered, clutching the notebook to your chest. The idea felt like a delicious secret, one only the two of you shared.

You fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, your laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. It was manic, unhinged, and you couldn’t stop. You covered your mouth with your hands, trying to stifle the sound, but it burst out anyway.

He’s at my school. He’s watching me. He wants me.

The thought spiraled in your mind, sending shivers of excitement down your spine. You hugged yourself, the ghost of his embrace still lingering on your skin.

“Ahahaha…” Your laughter echoed in the room, a twisted symphony of delight and madness. This is love, you thought, your smile widening. “He loves me. He loves me so much.”

Dark circles framed your eyes, your energy depleted from balancing your nightly "acting" with day-to-day university life. Every night, after he left, your mind raced with fantasies of him, spinning scenarios that left you restless, yet alive.

Crowe noticed, of course. He always did. His concern showed in the way he glanced at you during lectures, and eventually, he leaned over, whispering, “You look like death. Go to sleep in the next class. I’ll get the notes for you.”

You flashed him a polite smile, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine, really. I was going to head to the library anyway.”

Crowe’s friend Brittney was hard to miss. Tall, striking, and effortlessly commanding, she was the kind of person who drew attention whether she wanted to or not. Her gyaru style made her stand out even more: bold streaks of color in her hair, immaculate nails, and an outfit that balanced daring and chic. Crowe had asked you to at least try to get along with her, but the truth was, you didn’t see yourself fitting into their world. Too weird, too… you.

Still, you played your part well, smiling sweetly when Brittney asked for help organizing papers. “Of course! Thank you for asking,” you replied, your voice the picture of politeness.

As she walked away, Crowe chuckled. “She’s like that. Rough edges, but she means well.”

You tilted your head, smiling faintly. “Everyone hides something under their skin, Crowe.”

The library was a quieter battlefield until one of the bullies decided to play a cruel joke. A mean girl "accidentally" knocked over a shelf Brittney had been working on. Papers and books scattered everywhere, and you could see Brittney’s jaw tighten, her polished exterior cracking.

“F***ing bitch!” Brittney snarled, tackling the girl with surprising ferocity.

It escalated quickly. Books flew, chairs screeched, and the air buzzed with tension. You tried to step in, hands raised in a gesture of peace, but chaos had already broken loose. When one of the girls attempted to strike Brittney from behind, you didn’t hesitate—you shoved her hard, pushing her back into a table.

Pain shot through your wrist as you deflected her, and you realized she’d managed to scratch you with something sharp. Blood welled up, staining your sleeve, but adrenaline drowned out the pain. Brittney’s punches found their target while you held the attacker off.

The fight fizzled when a few bystanders yelled for order, and the bullies slinked away under the librarian’s furious glare. Brittney brushed herself off, her hair askew but her fiery defiance intact. Jess, another of Brittney’s friends, rushed to her side, fretting quietly as she checked her for injuries.

You stood off to the side, cradling your wrist. Jess glanced at you briefly, hesitant, before returning her focus to Brittney. You caught the faintest flicker of concern in her expression. She does care, you thought, but you let it go.

Crowe appeared moments later, taking in the scene with wide eyes. “What the hell happened? You’re hurt—let me take you to the nurse.”

You shook your head, offering him a tired smile. “I’m fine. I can go on my own.”

Crowe didn’t look convinced, but you turned away before he could argue, clutching your injured wrist as you made your way out. It’s nothing, you told yourself. Just another day in your fractured reality, another crack in the mask you wore so well.

The nurse’s office was a quiet reprieve from the chaos of the library. You slipped into the restroom nearby first, taking a moment to breathe and inspect your injured wrist under the fluorescent lights. The skin was raw and red, the gash deeper than you initially thought, but the pain was dulled by the adrenaline still coursing through you. You splashed water on your face, smoothing your features back into a neutral mask before heading into the nurse's domain.

The hallway seemed endless as you walked, with lingering eyes on you from passing students. Whispers buzzed faintly, but no one dared approach. Good, you thought. You preferred it that way. Once inside, the nurse noticed your bruised state immediately.

“Another bully victim?” she sighed, her tone exasperated but kind. “This school, honestly... I need to file a formal complaint with the principal.” She gestured for you to sit, but you stayed standing, pretending to be fascinated by the various medical supplies lined up on the counter. You didn’t want to stay still. It made you too vulnerable.

As you idly picked at a box of bandages, a voice sliced through the quiet atmosphere.

“Did you have to punch that girl’s boyfriend that hard, Sunny?”

“Yes,” came a familiar, firm reply. “They hurt them. So I did.”

Your heart stopped. That voice—it was him. The one who watched, who whispered. The voice that curled around your mind every night like smoke.

Without thinking, you stumbled backward, finding a corner to hide behind as your gaze sought him out. And there he was.

There was something almost surreal about seeing him in the light of day, his presence no longer confined to the shadowy cocoon of your nights. "Sunny," as his companion called him—was perched on the nurse’s bed, his plum hair catching the light in a way that made it seem alive, streaked with vibrant green like ivy climbing through ruins. His heterochromatic eyes burned like embers: orange at their core, ringed with a deep crimson that seemed to pulse with restrained intensity. They were a contradiction, much like him—fiery yet haunting, sharp yet soft.

His features were angular, carved with precision, yet softened by the slight pout of his lips and the faint curve of his nose. He radiated a raw, magnetic energy that felt both predatory and tender, like the kind of beauty that ruins you, and yet you crave it. The piercings that adorned his ears gleamed faintly, tiny markers of rebellion etched into his skin. The hoops on his lower lip caught the light every time he spoke, adding a glint of silver to the vibrant palette of his face.

His striped shirt clung to him, black and green lines stretching across his lean frame. The black t-shirt layered beneath was slightly oversized, softening the edge of his appearance, while his necklace dangled lightly with each of his movements—a two-pronged key, dangling with an air of mystery. His jewelry matched his aesthetic perfectly: the buckled choker hugging his throat, the key necklace swaying with each breath, the metal glinting like secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Even seated, he had a presence that demanded attention, though he seemed to wield it effortlessly, unaware of the effect he had on the room.

The blue-haired boy standing next to him was smaller in stature, and despite his exasperated expression, there was a gentle authority in the way he interacted with Sol.

“Isn’t it time to go, Sunny?” he asked, clearly used to Sunny's antics.

“Nope,” Sunny replied lazily, crossing his arms. “Not until Y/N gets bandaged.”

Your breath hitched. Your name falling from his lips sent a jolt through your chest, like an electric wire connecting directly to your heartbeat. You pressed further into the corner, praying they wouldn’t notice you, but you couldn’t stop watching.

The blue-haired boy—Hyugo, as Sol addressed him—sighed, dragging Sunny off the bed with surprising strength despite their size difference. “Sunny,” he chided, like a parent scolding their child. Sol resisted briefly, pouting, before reluctantly letting himself be led away. His footsteps echoed faintly as they left, and you waited until you were sure the coast was clear before emerging from your hiding spot.

You managed to snap a few discreet photos of Sol. You told yourself it was just for memory’s sake, but when you looked at them again, your stomach fluttered.

Sol, with his chaos and beauty, was so striking, so utterly unique. And he was yours to admire, even if only from a distance.

The nurse’s hurried return interrupted your spiraling thoughts. Her voice pulled you back to reality as she gestured for you to sit on the bed she had prepared. "And what about the other two students?" she asked, glancing toward the hallway.

“They left,” you muttered, your voice neutral as you fought to keep your heart rate under control. The nurse bustled around, grabbing supplies while she filled the silence with small talk.

“They’re such interesting boys,” she said, her voice warm with familiarity. “Hyugo is such a helpful young man. Always looking out for that friend of his. You know, despite his height, Sol is surprisingly sweet—like a friendly giant."

Your hands tightened around the edge of the bed, nails pressing into the vinyl. Hyugo. That was the blue-haired boy’s name. The nurse’s description of him as Sol’s protector matched perfectly with what you had seen. You forced out a soft giggle, though it escaped as a hiccup, drawing the nurse’s attention. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied quickly, masking your excitement. “It’s just… they seem close. It’s kind of nice.”

“Oh, they are,” she continued, dabbing antiseptic on your wound. “Hyugo’s always been like that. And Solivan…” She paused, as though thinking of the right words. “He’s a bit of a sad case, really. He’s been through a lot, poor thing. But he’s strong—so much stronger than he realizes.”

Your breath hitched. Solivan. Your world tilted as the name settled in your chest like a brand. Solivan Brugmansia. It echoed in your head, sweet and perfect, like a melody only you were meant to hear.

The nurse’s voice faded into a murmur as she continued her work, oblivious to the storm brewing within you. Your heart raced, your mind spinning as you turned the name over and over in your head. When she finished bandaging your hand, you thanked her in a daze and stumbled out of the office.

The hallway was empty, but you didn’t care. You ducked into the restroom, slamming the door shut behind you. The sterile walls seemed to close in as your emotions surged. A giggle bubbled up, spilling out in shaky bursts before escalating into full-blown laughter.

“Solivan Brugmansia,” you whispered, your voice reverent, almost trembling. You repeated it, louder this time, your reflection in the mirror smiling back at you. “Solivan Brugmansia. Solivan. Brugmansia. Sol. Solivan.”

The name felt like magic, a key unlocking something wild and unhinged within you. You chanted it like a prayer, each repetition filling you with a twisted joy. “Solivan Brugmansia, Solivan Brugmansia, Solivan Brugmansia—”

Your giggles turned to shrill laughter, a sound that echoed eerily in the small restroom. You clutched the sink for support, your bandaged hand trembling as your thoughts spiraled further. I know his name. I know his name! The realization was intoxicating, overwhelming, consuming every rational thought you had left.

“He’s perfect,” you whispered to yourself, tears of manic delight prickling at your eyes. “I’ll meet him. I’ll be normal. I’ll be normal. I’ll—”

A sudden knock on the door shattered your reverie, the sound loud and jarring against your fragile composure.

“Could you keep it down in there?” a muffled voice called, annoyance dripping from the tone.

Your laughter cut off abruptly, replaced by a cold, seething anger. Slowly, you turned toward the door, your reflection in the mirror now a twisted, distorted version of yourself.

They dared to interrupt.

You opened the door slowly, your movements deliberate, controlled. The person on the other side—a student, their face vaguely familiar—took a step back, their irritation fading into nervousness as they met your gaze.

“Is there a problem?” you asked, your voice low and dangerous. The edges of your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, and your tilted head made you look like a predator sizing up its prey.

“N-No, just…” they stammered, their confidence crumbling under your cold stare. “You were, um, being kind of loud—”

Before they could finish, you took a single step forward, and they flinched. The hallway seemed darker now, your presence casting a shadow that felt far too large for one person.

“I’ll keep it down,” you said softly, the sweetness in your tone laced with venom. Then, leaning in just enough for them to catch the glint of something unhinged in your eyes, you whispered, “But you should watch where you stick your nose next time.”

They stumbled back, their mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before muttering a hurried apology and retreating down the hall.

The sound of their footsteps faded, you turned back into the restroom, closing the door with a quiet click. Your reflection in the mirror greeted you, your smile widening as you touched your lips, imagining them shaping his name again.

“Solivan Brugmansia,” you whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

The encounter had done nothing to dim your obsession. If anything, it only fed it. Soon, you thought, your heart pounding with anticipation.

You started stalking Sol and Hyugo like clockwork. Every day on campus, you trailed after them, your movements as careful as a predator circling its prey. They were always together—Hyugo acting like a makeshift guardian while Sol seemed lost in his own world. Their favorite spot quickly became apparent: the rooftop. It wasn’t technically allowed for students to hang out there, but that didn’t stop them. Sol seemed to loathe the cafeteria, his disdain for its noise and chaos written all over his face whenever someone suggested it.

You made it a habit to reach the rooftop before them, ensuring you’d have the perfect vantage point to watch them. Not creepy at all, you thought with a twisted grin. There was something ethereal about Solivan under the open sky, the sunlight catching on the green streaks in his hair and making his mismatched eyes gleam like fire and blood. He’s so pretty, you sighed internally. Every movement, every glance felt deliberate and perfect, like he was crafted by your own imagination.

Hyugo, the blue-haired “parent” of the duo, was Sol’s grounding force. You watched as he subtly steered Sol’s chaotic thoughts back to reality, his calm voice carrying through the breeze. Sometimes, their conversations drifted your way. One particular exchange made your heart race.

“Have you been taking your sleeping pills, Sol?” Hyugo asked, his tone laced with concern.

Sol nodded, but you knew better. Oh, sweetheart, you’re feeding them to me instead, you thought, biting back a giggle. The very idea thrilled you. He’s lying to his best friend for me—just like I’d lie for him. We’re so alike, Sol. Matchy-matchy. You giggled softly to yourself, clutching your bag as though it held every secret you’d gathered about him.

The rooftop had become your sacred ground. Each day, you made sure to get there first, blending into the background as best you could while Sol and Hyugo came to unwind. It was their haven, where Sol could escape the cafeteria—his disdain for the crowded, noisy space evident in every eye roll and sharp comment he made about it.

You hid yourself carefully, peering around corners or crouching behind vents as the duo talked. It wasn’t hard to piece together their dynamic: Hyugo, the loud and teasing one, always nudging Sol toward some semblance of normalcy, and Sol, the quiet, brooding artist, who seemed eternally annoyed yet tethered to his friend’s chaotic energy.

“Sunny boy, I swear, one day you’re going to crack from all this stalking,” Hyugo teased, leaning against the edge of the rooftop railing. His blue hair caught the sunlight, but your eyes were locked on Sol.

“I’m not stalking anyone,” Sol muttered, his voice as flat and disinterested as ever. He didn’t look up from his sketchbook, where his pencil moved in quick, fluid strokes.

“Uh-huh. And I’m the Pope. Come on, Sunny, you’re practically vibrating whenever Y/N’s around. It’s cute, actually.”

Sol shot him a glare so sharp it could cut glass. “I don’t vibrate.”

“Sure, sure,” Hyugo said with a grin, leaning closer to peek at the sketchbook. “Hey, is that—oh my God, are you drawing them again? Sunny, you’re obsessed!”

“Shut up, Hyugo,” Sol snapped, snapping the book shut with a satisfying thud. A faint flush dusted his cheeks, and you almost swooned at the sight.

Through your relentless watching, you pieced together more and more about Sol’s world. He liked plushies—tiny glimpses of them in his bag or on his desk betrayed a softness he tried to hide. Horses fascinated him, though you’d never seen him near one. The ocean, however, was an object of pure hatred. Even the thought of it seemed to unsettle him. And his neck—oh, how he hated when people noticed it. You didn’t know why, but the way he’d pull his collar up or hide behind his scarf whenever someone’s gaze lingered too long sent shivers of fascination down your spine.

Crowe, though? Sol hated Crowe. Why? You weren’t sure. Did Sol think you liked Crowe? That thought made you laugh—a loud, manic sound that echoed in your mind. No, silly Sol. Crowe’s just a friend. You’re the only one who matters. You giggled to yourself, making a mental note to friendzone Crowe at the next opportunity. No one has to die, right?

Your stalking wasn’t all selfish indulgence, though. You made it your mission to protect Sol from his bullies in secret. Every time someone dared to mess with him, you found ways to make their lives miserable. Pranks, carefully crafted rumors, even well-placed traps—it was your way of showing love, even if he’d never know it was you.

You couldn't stop yourself, could you? Each time your mind drifted back to Sol, it felt like you were drowning in an ocean of thoughts you couldn’t escape. There was no rational explanation for it, just a need, a yearning to see him, to be close to him. You didn’t know why you liked Sol, and the more you thought about it, the more you felt like something inside you was broken. Messy. Rotten. Ugly. Stupid. The words echoed in your mind like a relentless drumbeat, each one sinking deeper into your consciousness.

But you couldn’t stop. Why couldn’t you stop?

Maybe you were just messed up—maybe this was just who you were now. The idea of obsession wasn’t new to you, but this? This feeling for Sol was different. You were feeding into his own obsession, subtly manipulating his thoughts and actions, just as he unknowingly tugged on your every string. I’m a fucking mess, you thought, crumpling the pages of your journal before tossing it aside. I’m messed up for liking him. I shouldn’t be doing this. Why do I care so much?

Yet, as you thought about it, a darker voice inside your head whispered: But you don’t care. You just want him. You want to keep him. Don’t you?

You looked at your reflection in the glass, disgust rising up in your throat. The self-loathing was overwhelming. You wanted to leave. Run away. Escape from this sick obsession gnawing at you, but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. What would I even do without him? you thought, the sick realization that he was the only thing that made sense in your otherwise chaotic world.

And then your gaze shifted. Your scrapbook—your treasure trove of Sol. You’d been filling it for weeks, months, maybe. Pictures of him, scribbled notes, little drawings of his face, and the countless things you learned about him. Things you knew he would never notice, things that were yours and yours alone. You smiled, a dark, twisted grin spreading across your face as you flipped through the pages, relishing in the thought that no one else had this.

You reached for your favorite pen, the one that always felt so good in your hand, and began writing. The words flowed out like a twisted confession, something that felt raw and vulnerable, but at the same time, empowering. You wrote:

O, thou shadowed soul whose crimson eyes do stare, Through twilight’s veil, seeking me with ceaseless care. How I know thy step, thy breath, thy tender scheme, The hunter’s heart, woven deep within this dream.

I, Annabel, with whispers darkly sweet, Stand here entranced, ready for the cruel heat, Of trial and gaze, a feverish, whispered jest, To test thy fervor, O stalker, my unrest.

Art thou true, or doth the mask crack wide, When confronted with love that seeks to chide? O Sol, thou art regal, a lost marquis, A figure grander than court's rich pleas.

Why dost thou flinch at this jeweled yoke, Collared like Marie Antoinette, when spoke Of necks adorned in fate’s decree, Tell me, pretty man, dost thou flee or plea?

Yet, I love thee, this strange, begotten chase, A danse macabre within thy haunted embrace. O, prove thyself, meet the midnight’s dare, For ‘tis love I hold, should thy soul lay bare.

His Annabel...

You laughed quietly to yourself, the sound almost hollow. Oh god, this is so cringy, you thought. The poetry, the confession—it was ridiculous. But it’s what I feel, isn't it?

You paused, looking at the mess of words you had written, and smiled. It’s okay. I don’t care. You couldn’t help but smile. I’m not normal. I’m not like everyone else. But Sol... Sol gets it, doesn’t he?

The laugh bubbled up again, darker this time, a little more manic. You hugged the scrapbook to your chest, clutching it tightly as though it were a lifeline. The obsession that had once felt foreign was now becoming a part of you, weaving itself into your identity like the very air you breathed.

You were hopeless. But, in a twisted way, you were happy. Because in this world of chaos, Sol was your constant. The only one who could save you.

And so you wrote more. “Fix me, Sol. Fix me, and I’ll love you forever.”

You looked at the words..

Everything was perfect until!

THUD!

Geo had always been a bit of a mystery to everyone, even to those who were close to Crowe. His tall, imposing presence, the sharp eyes that seemed to look straight through you, and his effortless grace with a weapon made him someone no one dared cross. He wasn't known for being sociable or for revealing much about himself, and despite his wealth, people respected his silence more than they feared his power.

But now, you had been caught.

The way he stood in front of you, arms crossed with that knowing, intimidating gaze locked on you—shit. You hadn't expected anyone to figure it out. You thought you'd covered your tracks well enough, staying in the shadows, sneaking around just before the rooftop sessions, watching Sol and Hyugo like an obsessive, lovesick ghost. But now, Geo—Geo—was standing in front of you, calling you out.

You forced a smile, a casual, almost innocent grin. "Why do you care?" You giggled, trying to make light of the situation, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. The amusement didn't reach your eyes. He knows, doesn't he?

Geo raised an eyebrow, his aquamarine eyes never leaving yours, sharp and assessing. His posture was relaxed, but the air around him crackled with the intensity of someone who didn’t need to do much to make people feel uncomfortable. "Stalking people isn't exactly a good look," he said, his voice low and steady. "Especially not those close to Crowe." His eyes flickered briefly to your hands, as if he knew you were clutching something—your scrapbook, maybe, the evidence of your obsession. Shit.

You scoffed, trying to push down the anxiety creeping up your spine. "Oh, come on. I’m just… observing." You laughed, as though it were a joke, hoping that Geo would take it lightly. But you knew he wouldn’t. Geo wasn’t someone who took anything lightly.

"You think I'm stupid?" Geo's tone hardened, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He stepped forward, the movement smooth and deliberate, closing the distance between you. "I know you’re not just observing. You’re obsessing, and you’re messing with them. Do you think I don't notice? Do you think you’re the only one who sees things?" His words were like daggers, each one hitting harder than the last.

The room felt smaller now, as if the walls were closing in on you. Your heart raced, a mix of fear and excitement. He was onto you. But did he know the extent of it? Did he know you weren’t just watching from afar? Did he understand how deep this fixation went?

Geo's expression shifted, growing more serious. "You’re playing a dangerous game, you know." He stepped even closer, his face inches from yours. "And I don’t like people who play games with people I care about. So, if you have something on them… or if you think you can manipulate them into something they don't want… I’d suggest you think twice."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. The image of Sol, of Hyugo, both so wrapped up in their own worlds, their quiet, innocent lives. You didn't want to hurt them, not really. But the obsession—the way Sol's face haunted your thoughts, how he was everything you wanted and more—it made your decisions blur. It made you do things you didn’t even fully understand.

Geo seemed to sense the shift in your demeanor. "Look," he said, a trace of pity in his voice now, "I don’t want to make things difficult. I just want to make sure you understand the consequences of your actions." His eyes bored into yours, almost reading your thoughts. "Whatever it is you think you're doing with them… just stop. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt."

The way he looked at you now, with a strange mix of concern and cold detachment, made you feel small, exposed. You weren’t used to this. You weren’t used to being vulnerable. He knows. He knows everything.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you whispered, but it was clear Geo didn’t believe you.

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing a little. "You’re lucky I don’t want to make this worse. Just… stay away from them, okay?" His voice softened just a fraction. "You don’t want to mess with someone like Sol. And you definitely don’t want to get on Hyugo’s bad side. Trust me and mess with him, you will see me."

Geo took a step back, eyes still on you, as if waiting for your response. You didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything you could say. He’s right, isn’t he?

Geo turned and walked away, you felt your chest tighten.

You watch Geo from a distance, your heart pounding with excitement and a dash of madness. It wasn’t enough to just observe them anymore. No, you needed more.

With a quick step, you approach Geo, your grin growing wider. His dark eyes flicker with annoyance, and he halts, looking over at you as if you're a pest he wishes would just disappear. The tension is thick, and you're only getting more thrilled by it. You call out his full name, “Subaru Oogami,” knowing the effect it would have.

He stops. His expression hardens, and you can almost feel the wave of annoyance radiating off him. “What do you want?” he spits, his voice low, almost like a growl. It’s a response you expected. A warning, a challenge. You savor it.

“Isn’t Hyugo Sugimoto your older brother?” you ask, a playful note lacing your voice. The words are casual, but your eyes glint with mischief. His gaze sharpens even more. You can see the tension rising in his posture.

You giggle, unable to hide the amusement. "Such a bad boy, Subaru, ignoring your own brother like that. It’s so embarrassing, though... all that emo energy for what?" The words spill out of you in a rush, the laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. You know it’s getting under his skin. You can tell by the tightening of his jaw, the slight twitch of his hands.

You step closer, your eyes glinting with something dangerous, something predatory. “You know, I’ve gotten a lot of info from watching you and your brother... but don’t worry. I’m not interested in Hyugo,” you say, voice low and smooth, almost a whisper. You lean in just a bit, the space between you two narrowing. “But... I am interested in Sol.”

His glare feels like it could slice through steel, but you hold his stare, smiling evilly. His eyes narrow into daggers, but you don't flinch. No one gets in your way. Not anymore.

“Don’t disturb me, and I won’t be after your ass, Subaru,” you say, your voice sweet but laced with the cold bite of a threat.

He looks at you, eyes flashing with fury. There’s a moment of silence where he contemplates your words, the weight of your threat hanging between you two. He looks ready to strike, to put you in your place, but he simply lets out a harsh “tch” and shakes his head.

“You keep quiet, stay out of trouble with me or Hyugo, and we won’t have a problem,” he says, his voice sharp, his glare never leaving you.

You tilt your head, a sly smile still tugging at the corner of your lips.

"Promises,” you murmur, watching as he turns, clearly done with the conversation. You let out a quiet laugh as you watch him walk away, knowing that you’ve made your point.

Geo, Subaru Oogami—whatever you call him—wouldn’t be such a threat anymore.

He left, looking that same death glare at you smiled like a angel who did nothing wrong!

Part 1 over! Pls tell me if I should make part 2...

#the kid at the back vn #tkatb #tkatb sol #visual novel #The kid at the back x reader #solivan brugmansia #solivan x reader #the kid at the back sol #tkatb x reader #tkatb crowe #tkatb vn #solvian x reader #sol x reader #Solivan Brugmansia x reader #Tkatb x reader #tkatb brittney

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kianamaiart · 1 month ago

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I just wanted to tell you that I love idwtbamg and am especially blown away by the character designs for aika and zira!!!!!! their colour palettes compliment each other really well and are soft while still having some contrast and I would love to know how you came up with the designs or if you don't feel like sharing that, your favourite parts of their designs and what you're most proud of? Good luck with the pilot, by the way!!! ^^

Aw thank you so much! Character design was initially what I wanted to do when entering the industry so I love whenever I'm able to do it~

I talk about my process for picking colors here a bit!

Design process under the cut (loooong post ahead)

Whenever I'm designing a cast of characters I always start with the main character and build off of them. I started specifically with Aika's normal girl design. I wanted a star theme, and the star hair was the first thing I knew I needed. With her hair being the most eye catching and important part of her design, I wanted to make sure whatever else she had going on wasn't gonna distract from it too much. So I went for a more top heavy, but simple look with a big tshirt, small black pants. Aika was initially fully blonde but the stark black pants was starting to pull the eye. That gave me the idea to use the stark black in her hair (for the bottom half)! Made her hair even more eye catching and highlighted the star pigtails in a nice way.

For her magical girl design, I wanted to make it feel over the top and overwhelming to contribute visually why Aika wouldn't want to be a magical girl. Big poofy dress, ribbons poking out every where for a crazy silhouette and tall, tall platforms. I also wanted to give her longer hair in this form so I went with goddess locs! I was able to do an easy shorthand with it (long thick strands with lil curls at the end) I like the kinda biblically accurate angel look she has. My favorite part of this design was the ribbons in her hair that make the star pigtails look like shooting stars heehee

With Zira I knew I wanted her to be opposite to Aika. So sticking with the space thing, I gave her a moon motif and that was my jumping off point. With Aika having high pigtails, I decided to give Zira low pigtails and give them a vaguely crescent shape (like crescent moons get it?). Continuing with the opposites thing, I wanted to make Zira's design bottom heavy as opposed to Aika's top heavy one, and also color-wise, go on the opposite side of the color wheel from yellow for its complimentary color, purple! I didn't want Zira to feel too stylish (she's a loser after all) but also didn't wanna make her design ugly. I tried toeing the line of out of style but lowkey trendy with the grungy skirt, jeans combo. Also went with the stark black shirt under the tshirt to lean harder into the 2000s look. On top of that it helped tie her design to Aika's more (this is where I decided the stark black was gonna be an essential part of the design language of this show). My favorite part of her design for me is the mangled ends of her pants. It's a small detail but I think it says a lot about her as a character (she drags her feet, she's a little careless, kinda messy, etc.)

Hoshi is star. There's not much more to their design haha. I did give them wings to mirror Aika's dress ribbons. With their human design though, I just knew I wanted to make sure that they'd be able to make a star shape with their silhouette. Thus the hoodie and stubby limbs. Gave them the stark black pants (again at this point, it's part of the design language of this show). I tossed around the idea of giving them eyes that matched more with Aika and Zira, but it just didn't look like Hoshi so I stuck with the same face in their star design and I just thought that was funny hehe. My favorite part of Hoshi's design is just the overall fact that I managed to make them look like a star in their human form still haha

Eclipse was the hardest design for me. You would not believe how long it took me to decide whether I wanted to make him a boy or a girl. Eclipse was always gonna be named Void (and DeVoid was gonna be Eclipse) but it didn't feel quite right. I knew I wanted him to ALSO be opposite from Aika, but in a different way that Zira is. Looking at it that way helped me land on the name Eclipse because I thought it'd be fun to give both Zira and him moon motifs (as Aika's love interest and alleged love interest respectively). Similar to Zira I wanted to have purple be in his design to contrast the yellow in Aika's design. Due to his name now being Eclipse, I figured going dark with his design would make the most sense but my friend/roommie Bri @/ghostbri (who is a professional painter/color designer) suggested going pastel instead and it worked perfectly. It matched his personality and also plays on the fact that he cares more about theatrics and aesthetics than actual villainy. He completely misses the point of being the servant of darkness. He's heavily inspired by Tuxedo Mask. I wanted to make it feel like he saw a cool character once in a tv show and he decided to make it his whole persona. So he's got the suit, he's got the cape and he's got the mask. My favorite part of his design is his cape, intended to also have a crescent moon shape but then also have that stark black on the inside so his silhouette really pops against it. It's funny bc it ended up being like a reverse eclipse where the light is blocking out the dark.

DeVoid was the easiest for me to come up with the design for LMAO. Like obviously. I wanted to make her feel slick but prickly but also slightly over the top like a lot of old school magical girl villains. I thought it'd be a difficult balance to strike but it actually wasn't too bad! I gave her a sort of form fitting cocktail dress and at this point the stark black was a must so it worked out that the "void" character would just be in that all black look. It really helped her feel slick like I wanted (also gave her the slicked back hair for this reason). To give her some edge, I gave her the giant pointy shoulder pads, giant pointy horns, pointy ears, sharp nails and bat wings! Oh also worth mentioning she's the one main cast character I didn't use Aika as a jumping off point for. I designed her to look good next to Eclipse since they'd be the ones interacting the most. I made her wings white to contrast with her black dress (opposite to how Eclipse has a black cape but then mostly white outfit). To ensure that her design wasn't too dark and that her arms would read against her body, I gave her those bright silver bracelets~ While her design was easy for me to come up with, my god figuring out what color to make her hair was killing me. Tbh I was avoiding pink/red like the plague. I didn't want her to look toooo much like Jessie Team Rocket LOL. I tried white, I tried purple, I tried a more pastel pink but none of them worked well in a lineup with the rest of the characters. Bri helped talked me through all this haha. Pink/red worked the best especially there was no pink/red in the entire lineup. The Jessie influence is still there but I feel like she looks different enough! Favorite part of her design is her big ass horns)

Finally Miss! Miss was an interesting case because I designed her as I was storyboarding the pilot. She was intended to be an incidental character that we'd only randomly see once in a while. She had a veeery generic teacher design in my first pass but then as I was hiring VAs I got the idea to cast Michele Knotz to play her and that was enough for my brain to start going and come up with a backstory for her and a role that could tie in with the rest of the cast in a more meaningful way. Because of this, I designed Miss to the voice I imagined Michele would use for her. She does a great groggy and tired voice so I gave her those tired eyes, she has a darker color palette, her posture's a little more sluggish, etc. Her design still felt bland in the board so I gave her a couple piercings which helped. But then! The stark black! I gave her the half dyed hair which worked phenomenally and is probably my favorite part of her design. It leans into the tired feel (too tired to dye her roots) and also was a nice way to get the black in her design without just having to give her black pants or a black shirt or something. I'd only figured out her color palette way later and after recording Michele. The VA announcement image was the first time I'd fully drawn and colored Miss. I went with green since there was no green in the lineup! Also green's my favorite color so I had to.

PHEW that's it! Hope it was an interesting read and look into my brain.

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falseficus · 1 year ago

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I read a physical copy of monstrous regiment soon after listening to the audiobook, and I noticed two tiny discrepancies between the two editions that make an absolute world of difference. when I found out that these discrepancies existed (you’ll find reddit posts backing me up about them), I felt cheated that my first experience of the book had portrayed a less cohesive arc than pratchett intended

if you’re looking to buy or read monstrous regiment, I strongly recommend the doubleday 2003 version or the corgi 2004 version, which iirc contain the original text. The harper collins publications and audiobook both contain these changes, which imo are confusing and severely undercut the themes the book is trying to get across. if anyone knows the status of other editions of the book pls feel free to add on

obviously the audiobooks and ebooks are more accessible than physical books to some people, so if you read one of those just know that the original text is different in some key ways. I still recommend you read the book because it’s crazy good :)

the changes I noticed, beneath the cut to avoid some serious spoilers:

firstly, the last line of Jackrum’s last scene. in the Doubleday version, this line reads:

“Jackrum had turned her chair to the fire, and had settled back. Around him, the kitchen worked.”

in the harpercollins version, the line reads:

“Jackrum had turned her chair the the fire, and had settled back. Around her, the kitchen worked.”

this pronoun change is actually has huge implications. in the scene in question, jackrum, a transgender man, reveals that he joined the army in disguise. he is referred to as “she” throughout his background reveal. however, he then considers where his future will take him, and in the final line of the scene his pronoun reverts back to “he.” jackrum’s pronoun goes from he->she->he, encapsulating the gendery arc of the scene. however, in the altered he->she->she version of the scene, half of that circle is erased. the neat tie-up of jackrum’s journey is left confusingly unresolved, and the importance of his gender to the book’s overarching themes goes underemphasized

the second change I noticed is how maladict appears in the book’s ending:

in the Doubleday version, maladict appears “in full uniform.”

in the harpercollins version, maladict appears “in full female uniform.”

maladict is the last soldier to reveal [their] true gender, keeping up a masc/ambiguous presentation far after all the rest of the squad has come forward as women. “in full uniform” maintains this ambiguity, allowing the reader to decide for themself whether maladict comes forward and presents as fully female or continues to dress masculinely despite the fact that circumstances no longer require it (in fact I believe that the latter is more likely, as maladict says “thought I’d try again,” which could mean dressing in male uniform again). “in full female uniform” removes that ambiguity, and brings maladict’s arc to a somewhat unsatisfying conclusion. it eliminates the possibility of maladict as transgender or gender-non-conforming, and I’m left wondering, “if maladict presents as female so readily, why make such a fuss of it before now?”

both changes undermine the book’s message by eliminating its space for non-cisnormative identity… which is kinda crucial to the whole idea. im honestly really disappointed that these changes were made in any version of the book, because whoever made them clearly didn’t get the point

#monstrous regiment #discworld #terry pratchett #the frog speaks

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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 3 months ago

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𝑺𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑴? 𝑶𝒓 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎? (Kinktober special) (J.M)

⤷Credits: Pinterest

Summary: He hunts you through the shadows, every sick, voyeuristic moment immortalized on camera. But it's not just fear coursing through you—your most depraved desires awaken when he finally closes in and takes what he's been watching from afar.

Warnings : dub-con themes, making of porn, voyeurism (making porn and having sex for an audience), toys, role-playing, stalking, power dynamics, cat and chase, spanking choking, knife play, manhandling, praise, dirty talk, degrading, oral M!, breeding kink, fear, mask kink, VERY ROUGH, KINKY AND DARK

A/N: When I say this has been sitting in my drafts for a LONGGG TIME, I'm not lying. I loved this idea, and I hope you guys love it just as much. Thank you so much to my lovely mutuals who listened to me yap and yap about this for almost two months. I'm so sorry I haven't been active. I'm a teaching assistant, and life is wild.

You stood in the kitchen, trying hard not to glance at the camera perched atop the microwave. Its red recording light blinked steadily, reminding you that every move, every breath, was being captured. The sound of popcorn popping on the stove filled the silence of the house, a comforting rhythm in the eerie stillness. The blue tint of the night, barely enough to see by, blended with the dim candlelight scattered around the room, creating a shadowy, unsettling atmosphere. It was the perfect setting for what was about to go down, and you had to keep your composure, fighting back the grin that threatened to spread across your lips.

This wasn’t just any night. This was the fall special for Sinning Sinners, the site that you and Joel had built from the ground up. It wasn’t your usual shoot where you’d just pull out a camera, fuck each other’s brains out, and call it a day. No, this was something more—something you both lived for, something that had become a tradition, an annual ritual that made your fans lose their fucking minds. Every fall, you and Joel took things up a notch, diving headfirst into the darker, kinkier side of your fantasies. It wasn’t just about sex; it was about pushing boundaries, about blending fear and desire until the line between them blurred into something that made your audience addicted.

Last year, you’d done a haunted corn maze, where Joel had fucked you right in the middle of it, surrounded by the rustling stalks and the cool night air. You could still feel the roughness of the corn beneath your hands, still hear the way you’d moaned like a slut as Joel took you in that eerie, isolated field. The memory alone made heat pool between your legs, a filthy reminder of how wild it had been, how much your fans had eaten it up. They’d gone crazy for it, the combination of fear and lust driving them to hit replay again and again. That’s what Sinning Sinners was all about—giving them something they couldn’t get anywhere else, something that made them come back for more, desperate for whatever twisted shit you and Joel would come up with next.

It had started with a late-night viewing of Scream. The room was dark except for the flickering light of the TV, casting eerie shadows across Joel’s face as you watched the familiar scenes unfold. You’d both seen it countless times, but something about that night felt different—charged. Joel’s hand rested on your thigh, his grip tightening with every kill, every chase, his eyes never leaving the screen.

When the credits rolled, he turned to you, his expression unreadable for a moment before that spark of twisted inspiration flickered in his eyes. “You know,” he started, his voice low and deliberate, “we’ve never done anything with Ghostface before.” There was a pause, the air between you thick with the weight of his words. “What if…this year, we take it further? Darker, dirtier. You could be the clueless victim, and I could be him. Stalking you, making you wait until I’m ready to strike.”

The second he mentioned it, your heart skipped a beat, excitement rushing through your veins. You could picture it already—Joel in the mask, his voice taunting you through the fabric, the thrill of being hunted, knowing what was coming but not when. It was perfect. The embodiment of fear and lust, wrapped in a twisted, beautiful package

The house was quiet, save for the rhythmic popping of kernels on the stove. You focused on the mundane task, pouring the popcorn into a bowl as the salty scent filled the air, trying to keep your cool. But it wasn’t easy. The night was thick with tension, the kind you could almost taste, like the first touch of a lover’s hand. You knew Joel was out there, somewhere in the darkness, watching you with those predatory eyes, waiting for his cue. It was all part of the game—the unspoken thrill of knowing you were being hunted, of playing dumb when you were anything but.

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to glance out the window. You’d agreed not to look, not to break character, even though every instinct screamed at you to check, to catch a glimpse of him lurking in the shadows. Instead, you turned your attention to the DVD shelf, your fingers brushing over the spines of the old horror movies. The camera, placed discreetly beside it, was rolling, capturing the subtle tremor in your hands, the way your breath hitched when you thought about what was coming. You grabbed a classic—something with blood, screams, and just the right amount of tension—and turned your back to the camera, giving the viewers a perfect shot of the darkened window behind you. They’d be watching, waiting, knowing exactly what was coming even if you were supposed to be oblivious.

You carried the bowl and the DVD down the hallway, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet adding to the tension. The house felt alive, every shadow shifting as you passed as if it were in on the game. Your thoughts wandered to what was waiting in the bedroom, not just the TV and blankets, but also the props and toys you’d stashed away earlier. A black silk blindfold, a sleek vibrator, a collection of menacingly gleaming, faux weapons—everything was set, just in case things took a darker turn. The details mattered, after all.They were what made Sinning Sinners so addictive. The unpredictability, the raw, unfiltered lust that seeped into every frame, every shot. You never planned the sex, only the build-up—the suspense, the tension that made it all so fucking good.

You reached your bedroom, setting the DVD case on the dresser before catching sight of yourself in the mirror. You paused, taking in the reflection—a girl who looked sweet and innocent, but whose eyes held darker secrets. The oversized Scream shirt you wore hung just low enough to brush the tops of your thighs, barely covering the black lace panties beneath. It was the perfect look for what was coming next, just enough innocence to make the chase all the more thrilling.

You grabbed the old-school camera from the nightstand, the one you loved for its Y2K aesthetic, and snapped a quick photo. The flash momentarily blinded you, and you knew this shot would have to be carefully edited out of the final cut, but when your vision cleared, the result was exactly what you wanted. A keepsake, a little reminder of the night and the game you were about to play.

Finally, you settled into bed, propping yourself up against the pillows as the movie started to play. The flickering light from the TV cast eerie shadows across the room, heightening the tension. You let yourself get lost in it for a moment, the familiar scenes of blood and screams playing out on the screen, a reflection of the chaos that would soon unfold in your own home. But your mind wasn’t on the movie. It was on Joel, on the darkness creeping closer, on the game you’d both set in motion.

And then, you heard it—a faint creak, barely audible over the sound of the movie. But it was enough. Your breath hitched, your heart skipping a beat as you strained to listen. Another sound followed, this one more distinct, coming from the living room. The cue. It was time.

You slid out of bed, the cool air kissing your bare legs as you padded toward the door. Every step was deliberate, every movement calculated to match the growing tension. You were supposed to be scared, after all. You were supposed to be the clueless girl in the horror movie, the one who heard a noise and just had to investigate. It was cliché, but that was the point. The audience would be yelling at their screens, telling you to stay put, but you knew better. You knew exactly what was coming.

The living room was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the floor as you slowly entered. The popcorn bowl from earlier sat untouched on your dresser, a silent reminder of the night’s buildup. Your eyes drifted to the window, where the curtains fluttered ever so slightly, caught by a breeze you hadn’t noticed before. You tried to ignore the unsettling chill that crept up your spine, but you couldn’t help but notice the faint movement just outside—a hint of something, or someone, lurking in the darkness.

But you felt it. You felt him.

You took a hesitant step forward, your eyes scanning the room as if you were searching for the source of the sound. The anticipation was electric, sending shivers down your spine. Then, from the corner of your eye, you saw it—the flicker of movement, the unmistakable shape of a figure slipping into the room. You turned, just in time to see him, clad in black, the Ghostface mask gleaming in the dim light.

Your heart leaped into your throat as he lunged at you. You yelped, more out of excitement than fear, and bolted toward the kitchen. Your bare feet slapped against the hardwood as you ran, the thrill of the chase making your pulse race. You knew he was right behind you, could feel his presence like a shadow closing in.

The kitchen was dark, lit only by the faint glow of candles. You skidded to a stop, chest heaving as you spun around to face him. There he was, just a few feet away, the knife in his hand catching the light as he approached. The sight of him, the menace in his slow, deliberate steps, sent a delicious thrill through you.

You backed up against the counter, feeling the cool edge press into your lower back as Joel closed in on you. The Ghostface mask obscured his face, but you knew his eyes were locked on you, hungry, predatory. The thrill of the chase had your heart racing, adrenaline and desire blending into a heady mix that made your skin tingle. You watched as he glanced around the kitchen, his gaze settling on the knife block just within arm’s reach. He didn’t have a weapon with him—of course, he didn’t—but now, as his gloved hand wrapped around the handle of a large kitchen knife, the game took on a sharper, more dangerous edge.

Your breath hitched as he raised the knife, its gleaming blade catching the candlelight. For a split second, you were frozen, caught between the rush of fear and the wave of arousal that flooded your senses. This was what you craved—the danger, the tension, the feeling of being completely at someone else’s mercy. But you weren’t ready to give in just yet.

In a sudden burst of movement, you lifted your foot and stomped down hard on his, the force of it catching him by surprise. Joel grunted, the sound muffled by the mask, and his grip on the knife faltered just enough for you to slip past him. You bolted for the hallway, your heart pounding in your chest as you sprinted toward the bedroom, the thrill of the escape making you lightheaded. You could hear him behind you, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet house, getting closer with every second.

You burst into the bedroom and slammed the door behind you, but it barely slowed him down. You knew he was right there, just a heartbeat away. You stumbled back, your legs shaky from the rush, and tripped over the edge of the rug. You went down hard, knees hitting the floor with a jolt of pain that only added to the intensity of the moment. The door crashed open, and there he was, looming in the doorway, the knife still clutched in his hand.

“Please, mister Ghostface,” you whimpered, crawling backward as he advanced on you. “Don’t kill me. I’ll do anything.”

The words tumbled out of your mouth, breathless, desperate, exactly what he wanted to hear. You were playing your role to perfection, the terrified victim begging for her life, but beneath the surface, you were buzzing with anticipation. You knew the script—you knew he wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t break character. The silence was part of the game, part of what made it so thrilling. It kept you on edge, never knowing what he’d do next, never knowing when he’d strike.

You tried to crawl away, but you were trembling too much, your movements slow, uncoordinated. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, the pulse of arousal matching the rhythm of your pounding heart. You knew you should be scared, terrified even, but all you could think about was how fucking turned on you were. Every time you glanced up at that mask, and saw the cold, expressionless eyes staring down at you, it sent another wave of desire crashing through you.

Your hands slipped on the floor as you tried to scramble to your feet, but before you could get far, he was on you. Joel’s hand shot out, grabbing your ankle and dragging you back toward him. You yelped, twisting in his grip, but it was useless. You were caught, and you both knew it. You fell back onto your knees, breath coming in ragged gasps as you looked up at him, eyes wide, pleading.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. The air between you was thick with tension, every nerve in your body screaming with anticipation. You knew what was coming, and yet the thrill of it sent shivers down your spine. The Ghostface mask stared back at you, cold and unfeeling, but you knew Joel was beneath it, knew he was savoring this moment as much as you were. The thought made your pulse quicken, the heat between your legs growing more intense with every passing second.

Joel’s grip on your ankle was firm and possessive, and you could feel the strength in his hand as he slowly, deliberately pulled you closer. You tried to resist, to put up a token fight, but it was half-hearted at best. Deep down, you wanted this—wanted him to overpower you, to take control. The struggle only heightened your desire, making your skin tingle with excitement as you were dragged back across the floor.

His gloved hand trailed up your leg, rough leather brushing against your sensitive skin, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. You bit your lip, stifling a moan as his touch grew more suggestive, his fingers grazing the hem of your panties. The sensation was maddening, a teasing reminder of what you craved, what you’d been waiting for all night. You arched your back slightly, pushing into his touch, silently begging for more, but he didn’t give in—not yet.

Instead, he took his time, savoring your helplessness, the way you trembled beneath him. His other hand found its way to your waist, fingers digging into your flesh just enough to make you squirm. He held you there, pinned in place, and the dominance in his grip made your breath hitch, a sharp intake of air that only made you feel more vulnerable, more at his mercy. The knife, still clutched in his other hand, gleamed ominously in the dim light, a silent reminder of the power he held over you.

With a sudden, forceful motion, Joel lifted you by your hips, his strength taking you by surprise as he hoisted you onto the bed. You let out a gasp as your body was flipped, your stomach pressed against the mattress, your ass in the air. The position left you exposed, and vulnerable, and the cool air on your bare skin only heightened the sensation. Your panties clung to you, soaked through with arousal, and the thought of him seeing you like this—desperate, needy—sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

You turned your head to look back at him, the mask still hiding his face, but you knew what was behind it. You knew the look in his eyes, the hunger, the need. It made your heart race, made you want to push him further, to see just how far he’d take it. A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips, a hint of defiance in your gaze as you wiggled your hips slightly, teasing him, challenging him.

“What’s the matter, Ghostface?” you taunted, your voice dripping with mock innocence. “You gonna make me beg for it?”

The tension in the room crackled like electricity, your words hanging in the air, daring him to react. You could feel the heat of his stare through the mask, the way his breathing had grown heavier, more deliberate. You were pushing your luck, and you knew it, but that was half the fun. You wanted to see just how far you could go, how much you could provoke him before he snapped.

Joel’s hand tightened on your waist, fingers digging in harder, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that slipped from your lips. The sting of it, the roughness, only added to the ache between your legs, made you grind against the bed in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure building inside you. You wanted him—wanted him to take you, to claim you, to make you his. But he didn’t move, didn’t give you what you were silently pleading for.

Instead, he leaned in close, the knife gliding along the curve of your ass, cold metal sending chills down your spine. You shivered, the sensation both terrifying and thrilling, the line between fear and desire blurring even further. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you—knew this was all part of the game—but that didn’t stop your heart from racing, didn’t stop the pulse of arousal that throbbed between your thighs.

But when he finally spoke, it wasn’t with words. It was with action. His hand left your waist and came down hard on your ass, the sharp smack of it echoing through the room. You gasped, the sudden pain mingling with pleasure, leaving you breathless. It was exactly what you’d been waiting for, that rough, unyielding touch that reminded you who was in control. Your bratty defiance melted away, replaced by a desperate need to please him, to be good for him.

The weight of the bed shifted beneath you, the mattress dipping slightly as Joel moved. You could feel his presence hovering behind you, the tension crackling in the air like a live wire. The anticipation was unbearable, your body thrumming with a desperate need for him. You knew what was coming, could sense the change in the atmosphere, the way the game was evolving into something even more intense.

You closed your eyes, biting your lip as you tried to focus on the sensations coursing through you. The sound of fabric rustling behind you sent a shiver down your spine, the unmistakable sign that Joel was shedding his clothes, leaving only the mask to maintain the illusion. Your heart raced at the thought, your imagination running wild with what he’d do next, how he’d use that control to push you to your limits.

The bed shifted again, and you felt his hands on your hips, rough and demanding as he flipped you over onto your back. Your eyes fluttered open, immediately locking onto the masked face hovering above you. The sight was both terrifying and exhilarating, that blank, soulless expression sending a rush of adrenaline through your veins. The contrast between the mask and the naked body beneath it was a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play, the thrill of surrendering to something dark and unknown.

Before you could react, his hand was on your throat, fingers wrapping around your neck with a possessive grip that made your breath catch. The pressure wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was enough to send a clear message—one of dominance, of control. Your pulse quickened, the thrum of it vibrating against his palm as he leaned in closer, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress.

His other hand moved to your mouth, a single finger pressing against your lips in a silent command to stay quiet. The shh motion was simple, but the intensity behind it made your stomach twist with excitement. He didn’t need to speak; his actions said everything, and you were more than willing to follow his lead. You were completely at his mercy, and the thought of what he might do next made your body hum with anticipation.

Your thoughts spiraled in a chaotic mix of desire and anticipation, each passing second tightening the knot of tension inside you. Pinned beneath Joel’s weight, you could feel every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest as he loomed over you, the room closing in, suffocating you in the intensity of the moment. Each breath felt heavier, every second stretching out, the silence amplifying the raw need that pulsed between you like a live wire. Your mind raced, imagining all the ways he might break you—would he drag it out, tease you until you were trembling and desperate, or would he take what he wanted in that dark, primal way that left you aching for more? The uncertainty was maddening, fueling the fire that burned hotter with every second, leaving you trembling beneath him, craving whatever came next.

His hand lingered on your throat, the pressure a warning, a promise of what was to come. But then it shifted, slipping away only to tangle roughly in your hair, yanking your head back with a sharp tug that sent a jolt of electricity down your spine. You gasped, the sting of it igniting something deep inside you, a spark that fanned into a wildfire. His grip tightened, possessive, commanding, and it made your blood hum with anticipation. But before you could even think to protest, to utter a single word, his other hand cracked across your cheek with a sharp, stinging slap. The sound echoed through the room, mingling with your ragged breath, the pain mingling with the heat pooling low in your belly, your body instinctively arching toward him, craving more.

You whimpered, the sound breaking free before you could stop it, a desperate little plea that hung in the air between you. But before you could say more, Joel brought a finger to his lips, signaling you to stay silent. The power in that small gesture sent a shiver down your spine, making you bite down on your lower lip to keep from crying out again. Your mind scrambled, caught between the urge to obey and the desire to push him, to see just how far he’d go to enforce that command.

“Please…,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath, the word laced with the need clawing at you from the inside. “Please, I need—”

His hand snapped out, pressing against your mouth in a firm, silencing grip. The warning was clear: no more words. The message sent a rush of heat straight to your core, leaving you trembling beneath him, your breath hitching as the tension wound tighter. The edge of danger, the unknown, had you teetering on the brink, each second a delicious torture.

His grip on your hair tightened, forcing your head back further, exposing your neck as his hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around your throat again, squeezing just enough to keep you on edge, to remind you who was in control. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the hardness pressing against your thigh, a silent promise of what was to come. When he finally released you, your lips parted on their own, eager and ready, a silent invitation, your body screaming for him, for the release only he could give.

Joel didn’t waste a second. The urgency in his movements was palpable as he shoved his pants down just enough to free himself. Your eyes widened at the sight of him—thick, veined, and already slick with precum. It stood proud and heavy, the tip flushed a deep, angry red, a testament to how badly he needed this, how badly he needed you. The sight of it made your mouth water, every nerve in your body singing with the anticipation of what was coming next. He didn’t bother with teasing, didn’t ease you into it. No, he was done with patience.

With a rough tug on your hair, he pulled your head down, forcing your mouth open as he guided the head of his cock to your lips. The taste of salt hit your tongue, heady and intoxicating, and you opened wider, welcoming him in. He pushed forward, the thick head sliding past your lips, inch by inch, stretching your mouth in the most delicious way. There was no gentleness, no care in his movements—he took what he wanted, and you let him, relishing the way he filled you, the way his cock slid deeper, hitting the back of your throat with a force that made you gag, your eyes watering.

But you didn’t pull back. You leaned into it, taking him as far as you could, the taste of him filling your senses. His hips rocked forward with a steady rhythm, his grip in your hair unyielding as he held you in place, his breathing ragged, chest heaving. Every thrust sent a jolt through you, the sound of your gagging, the wet, vulgar noises your mouth made as it worked around him echoing in the small room. Your hands found his thighs, nails digging in, desperate for something to hold onto as you tried to keep up with the pace he set. You could feel him trembling, his breath hitching as he fucked your mouth, each thrust harder than the last, pushing you to your limits.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, when the burn in your throat became too much, he pulled out abruptly, leaving you gasping for air, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. But there was no reprieve. Joel spun you around, flipping you onto your back with a force that left you breathless, your head spinning. The bed creaked beneath you as he grabbed your hips, lifting you up and positioning you exactly how he wanted—bent over the edge of the bed, your ass in the air, your face pressed into the cool sheets. The position was humiliating and degrading, and it only made you want him more. You could feel the bruises forming where his fingers dug into your skin, the pain a sharp contrast to the pleasure that thrummed through you, making your body tremble with need.

He wasted no time, no gentle caress—just pure, unfiltered need. His cock nudged against your entrance, the wetness there making it easy for him to slide in. The stretch was exquisite, each inch of him filling you in a way that made your toes curl, your back arching as you tried to take more, to feel more. He went slow at first, almost teasing, just enough to drive you crazy, to make you desperate. But the patience didn’t last. Joel wasn’t in the mood for slow.

With a growl, he grabbed your legs, yanking them together at the knees, binding them tightly with the rope he had stashed nearby. The sensation of being bound, completely at his mercy, made your head spin, your thoughts blurring with the intensity of it. You whimpered into the pillow, your voice muffled, but he didn’t care. His hands slid up your sides, his touch firm, and possessive, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You could barely breathe, the weight of him pressing down on you, the way he filled you so completely making it hard to think, hard to focus on anything but the overwhelming need to be fucked, to be owned.

“Please…” The word slipped out, barely a whisper, but he heard it. He heard the desperation, the plea, and it only made him smirk. His fingers found your lips, pressing against them in a silent command for silence, a reminder that you were his to control, to take.

And take he did.

He thrust into you hard, his hips snapping forward with a force that made the bed creak beneath you. The angle was different now, deeper, more intense, each thrust hitting a spot inside you that had you seeing stars. You could feel every inch of him, the way he pulsed inside you, the way his cock twitched with every movement. He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, the heat of his body wrapping around you, suffocating in the most delicious way. The weight of him, the sheer power behind each thrust, made it hard to breathe, hard to think. But you didn’t care. You didn’t need to think. All you needed was him, and he gave it to you—hard and unrelenting.

His grip on your arms tightened, holding you in place as he started to pound into you, each thrust harder than the last, driving you into the mattress with a force that left you breathless. The bed shook with the intensity of it, your body jerking with each movement, your mind going blank as you surrendered to the rhythm he set, the brutal, unforgiving pace that had you on the edge of oblivion. The mix of pain and pleasure was overwhelming, your senses overloaded, your thoughts reduced to a single, all-consuming need. More. You needed more.

At some point, he reached up, and grabbed your hair again, yanking your head back so he could take a picture with the camera perched nearby. The flash went off, a quick burst of light that left you momentarily blinded, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was the way his cock felt inside you, the way his movements became more erratic, more desperate as he neared his release. The tension in the air was thick, suffocating, each thrust sending you closer to the edge, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly, ready to snap.

And then it did.

With one final, brutal thrust, Joel slammed into you, burying himself deep as he came, the hot rush of his seed flooding you, marking you as his. Your body responded instinctively, clenching around him, milking every last drop as a moan tore from your lips, muffled against the mattress. The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you trembling and breathless, your mind wiped clean by the sheer intensity of it.

He stayed there for a moment, his breath heavy and labored, his body pressed firmly against yours, the heat of him enveloping you like a suffocating blanket. The world felt distant, the only reality was the sensation of him inside you, the raw, primal connection that had just played out between you. And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Joel pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you shudder, your body still quivering from the aftershocks, your mind struggling to piece together what had just transpired.

The weight of Joel’s body finally lifted as he pushed himself up, his chest rising and falling with ragged, labored breaths. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the heavy panting, the bed creaking softly beneath you both as the raw intensity of what had just happened lingered in the air like a living thing. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the slick sheen of sweat clinging to him, his hands still trembling slightly as he reached up to remove the mask.

Slowly, Joel peeled off the Ghostface mask, revealing his flushed, sweat-slicked face beneath. His hair was damp, clinging to his forehead in dark, messy strands, and his eyes—those dark, intense eyes—were still clouded with the remnants of desire. The sight of him, so raw and exposed, sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, your body instinctively responding to the primal energy he exuded. Even after everything, he still looked insatiable—like he could take more, give more, his hunger a tangible force that hung in the air between you, making you ache all over again.

Joel let out a long, satisfied breath, his half-smirk teasing as he shook his head. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and deep, the rasp of it crawling down your spine. “We’re done, sweetheart. Scene’s over.”

You laughed, soft and breathless, your body still humming from the intensity of what had just happened. “That was fucking intense,” you managed to say, your voice thick with exhaustion and satisfaction, your muscles still quivering in the aftermath.

Joel chuckled, the sound deep and rich, as he ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He leaned against the headboard, a low groan escaping him as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m telling you, baby,” he said with a smirk, his voice still ragged from exertion. “I’m fifty-six fuckin’ years old. Keep this up, and I might need a vasectomy just to survive.”

You snorted, the sound muffled by the pillow as you turned your head, grinning at him. “Maybe you should consider it,” you teased, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “But then again, where’s the fun in that? I’d miss all that old man cum you’re so damn good at shooting.”

Joel rolled his eyes, his breath still uneven, but his lips quirked up in amusement. “Right,” he drawled, his voice dry as ever. “That’s definitely what you’d miss most.”

You shrugged, the banter lightening the air between you. But even as the playful words filled the space, your gaze was drawn back to him—the way sweat still glistened on his skin, the flush across his cheeks, the steady rise and fall of his chest. His body was like a furnace, radiating heat that pulled you in, and despite the teasing, you could feel the tension building again, that familiar hunger stirring deep within you.

God, his age did something to you. There was something undeniably sexy about the way he carried himself, the way experience was etched into every line on his rugged face, in every confident movement. Joel knew exactly how to touch you, how to push you past your limits and pull you back just before you fell over the edge. The years had only made him more magnetic, the broad expanse of his chest, the strength in his arms, the silver at his temples—every mark of time made him even more devastatingly irresistible. He wasn’t some boy fumbling his way through; he was all man, and that raw masculinity turned you on in ways you couldn’t even fully explain.

Your teeth sank into your lower lip as you took him in, your eyes tracing the rough stubble along his jaw, the beads of sweat clinging to his skin, the slow rhythm of his breathing as he began to recover. The thought of what he was capable of, what he had already done to you, sent a fresh surge of heat flooding your core. Your body was already aching for more, the desire rekindled like an unquenchable fire, burning hotter with every glance.

Without thinking, you shifted closer, your hand trailing down his chest, the hard muscle flexing beneath your fingertips. His breath hitched at the contact, his body tensing beneath your touch. You leaned in, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper as your lips hovered near his ear. “You know, Joel,” you purred, your tone dripping with want, “it’s fucking hot that you can still fuck me like this. Fifty-six and still going strong? That’s a serious turn-on.”

His eyes darkened instantly, the playful amusement giving way to something more dangerous, more primal. “You think so?” he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “You like fucking an old man, huh?”

“Love it,” you whispered, your hand sliding lower, teasing the waistband of his pants. “You’ve got experience, you know exactly what you’re doing, and it’s sexy as hell.”

The tension between you thickened, the air charged with electricity. The teasing words from earlier faded into the background as that insatiable hunger flared up again, demanding attention. Without another word, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a rough, heated kiss. The taste of his sweat lingered on your tongue, mingling with the musk of sex still clinging to his skin. The kiss was intense, a clash of teeth and tongues, the kind that left bruises and made you ache for more.

Joel responded instantly, his mouth claiming yours with a raw hunger that left you breathless. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin in a way that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The heat of him pressed against you, reigniting that fire burning in your belly, a fire that demanded to be fed.

You pulled back just enough to grab the Ghostface mask, your fingers brushing against the cool plastic as you lifted it from his lap. You held it up, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you looked at him, your lips curving into a playful smirk. “My turn?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, a slow, crooked grin spreading across his face as he leaned back against the bed, clearly amused. “You sure you can handle it, Ghostface?” His voice was thick with anticipation, but there was a challenge there too, something dark and thrilling.

You slipped the mask over your head, adjusting it until it fit snugly, the darkness of it shrouding your vision, heightening every sensation. The thrill of the role reversal sent a shiver down your spine, your heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and excitement. Through the narrow eyeholes, you could see Joel watching you, his grin widening as he leaned back on the bed, his hands resting behind his head, his gaze trailing over your body.

“Oh, I can handle it,” you purred, your voice muffled and distorted by the mask, but the confidence in your tone was unmistakable. “Question is… can you?”

Joel’s laughter filled the room, a deep, rich sound that made your pulse quicken. “Bring it on, baby,” he challenged, his voice thick with anticipation. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

You didn’t need any more encouragement. With a swift, determined movement, you straddled his hips, the feel of his hard length pressing against your core sending a jolt of desire straight through you. The mask heightened everything—the darkness, the mystery, the anonymity—and it made you feel powerful, dangerous, like you could do anything, take anything.

You ground down against him, teasingly slow, the friction making both of you groan in raw pleasure. “You like this, old man?” you taunted, your voice a low, sultry growl that cut through the room like a blade. “You like it when I’m on top, calling the shots?”

Joel’s fingers dug into your hips, his grip bruising as he tried to take back control, to guide the rhythm, but you weren’t about to let that happen. With a swift motion, you shoved his hands away, reclaiming your dominance with a fierce determination. The heat between your thighs was unbearable, the throbbing of his cock against you making it almost impossible to resist the urge to give in. But you were far from finished.

Straddling him, you felt a surge of power course through you, the mask hiding the wicked smile that curled your lips. “You think just because you’ve got a few years on me, you can control me?” you challenged, your voice muffled by the mask, but the taunting edge in your tone was unmistakable, dripping with dark satisfaction.

Joel's eyes narrowed, the playful gleam in them giving way to something far darker, more intense. His pupils dilated, his gaze locking onto yours with a challenge that made your pulse quicken. “I know I can,” he growled, his voice thick with conviction. In one swift motion, he bucked his hips upward, and the sudden pressure of him—thick and unforgiving—against your core forced a stifled moan from your lips, the sound muffled by the mask. The sensation was electric, the jolt of it spreading through your body, but you were determined not to let him win this round.

The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, your arousal slick and ready, but you held back, savoring the power you had over him in this moment. You leaned forward, your masked face just inches from his, the darkness of the Ghostface mask amplifying the wicked grin spreading across your lips. “You love it when I take charge, don’t you?” you whispered, your voice low and dripping with seductive malice. Your fingers wrapped around his length, feeling the way his cock twitched in your grip, hard and pulsing with need.

He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps as you rubbed the tip of him against your slick folds. The tease was torturous—for both of you—but it only fueled the fire burning in your belly. The friction was delicious, sending sparks of pleasure through you, but you held him just at the edge, denying him the satisfaction of slipping inside.

Joel’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck straining as he glared up at you, his chest heaving with barely controlled desire. “You think you’re tough shit, don’t you?” he spat, the challenge in his voice unmistakable. “Playing games with me? You know damn well who’s really in control here.”

Your heart raced, the thrill of his words sending a shiver down your spine. But you weren’t about to back down. The power you felt in this moment was intoxicating, and you reveled in it, letting it wash over you like a drug. You leaned in even closer, the mask brushing against his face, your breath hot and heavy as you whispered, “I’m the one calling the shots tonight, old man. And you’re going to beg for it.”

His breath hitched, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he stared up at you, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. It was a dangerous game you were playing, one that could flip on a dime, but that only made it more exhilarating. Without warning, you sank down on him, taking him in inch by agonizing inch, the stretch of him filling you completely. The sensation was almost too much—your body trembling as you tried to accommodate his size—but you reveled in the delicious torment of it, in the way his eyes widened, his lips parting in a silent groan as he felt you envelope him.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat sending a fresh wave of heat through you as you adjusted to the feel of him inside you. The fullness was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that left you breathless. You could feel every inch of him, thick and pulsing, stretching you to your limits, but instead of relenting, you pushed back against the sensation, embracing it, letting it consume you.

Joel’s hands shot to your thighs, his grip bruising as he tried to regain some semblance of control. But you weren’t about to let him. You started to move, your pace slow and torturous at first, dragging out every inch of him until he was panting beneath you, his body straining with the effort to hold back. The power you felt in that moment was intoxicating, a heady mix of control and desire that made your whole body hum with pleasure.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel groaned, his voice strained, his control slipping as you rode him harder, faster. His head fell back against the pillows, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought to keep up with you, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. “You’re going to kill me.”

A wicked grin spread across your lips beneath the mask, your own breath coming faster as you leaned in close, your voice dripping with mockery. “Good,” you hissed, your breath hot against his skin, your words cutting like a knife. “I want you to feel every fucking second of this.”

Your pace quickened, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure crashing through you. You could feel him throbbing inside you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, but you were relentless, driving him to the edge, pushing him to the brink until he was gasping for breath, his control hanging by a thread.

But Joel wasn’t one to be outdone. His hands tightened on your hips, his grip ironclad as he suddenly flipped you over, pinning you beneath him with a swift, powerful motion. The loss of control sent a thrill through you, a mix of fear and excitement that made your heart race. The mask slipped slightly, but you didn’t care—you were too far gone, too caught up in the intensity of it all.

“Can’t hear you too well through that mask, baby,” he taunted, his voice low and rough, dripping with a primal need that smoldered between you. It was that shift—how effortlessly he went from serious to sexy, from calm to commanding—that made your heart race. You loved how he could flip the switch so quickly, one moment a stern, unyielding force, the next a devilish tease who knew exactly how to push your buttons. He flashed the safe signal, his eyes locking onto yours, daring you to stop him, but you didn’t even consider it. You nodded, giving him the go-ahead, and in that instant, he seized control completely.

Joel didn’t hold back. His thrusts were relentless, each one harder and deeper than the last, pushing you to the brink of madness with every stroke. Your breath came in ragged gasps, the pleasure so intense it danced on the edge of pain, each powerful movement driving you closer to the precipice of ecstasy. The mask you wore muffled your moans, but Joel didn’t need to hear them to know how much you were enjoying this—he could feel it in the way your body clung to his, in the way you tightened around him with every thrust, your nails digging into his back as if trying to anchor yourself amidst the storm of sensation.

“You forget who you’re fucking with,” Joel snarled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very bones. His words were rough, filled with a dark, commanding energy that sent a thrill straight to your core. “I’m not some green kid you can boss around, baby. I’m a grown-ass man, and I know exactly how to make you fucking scream.” The raw authority in his tone was intoxicating, feeding into your desire as he took you to a place where you craved nothing more than to lose control under his relentless dominance.

His words ignited something primal within you, a heady mix of fear and desire that had your heart racing. Before you could respond, he punctuated his declaration with a hard, brutal thrust that tore a cry from your throat, your back arching off the bed as pleasure detonated inside you, leaving you trembling. The power he wielded over you in that moment was absolute, and though part of you wanted to fight back, to reassert your dominance, the larger part of you was helpless under the force of his will.

Joel’s hands were like iron bands around your wrists, pinning them above your head as he took full control, his body a solid, unyielding presence pressing against yours. The heat of his skin, the relentless pace he set—it was all-consuming, overwhelming, leaving you breathless and on the edge of losing yourself completely in the moment. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh just enough to remind you who was in charge, who had the power, and the weight of that realization sent a shiver down your spine.

Without missing a beat, Joel lifted the mask just enough to expose your mouth, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. He needed to hear you, to know that every word, every moan, was uninhibited, unfiltered, and raw. His breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in, his voice a dark, velvety whisper that held a dangerous edge.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear in a way that made your entire body tremble. The command in his voice was undeniable, a rough, primal demand that left no room for hesitation. “Say it, baby. Say my fucking name.”

The sound of his voice, so close, so dominant, sent a surge of desire through you, making it impossible to resist. You could feel the tension building, the pressure of his control wrapping around you like a vice, squeezing out every last ounce of resistance. You knew what he wanted to hear, and as the words formed on your lips, the last remnants of your willpower crumbled.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the flood of words he demanded, but the relentless pressure of his cock, the way he filled you so completely, left you with no choice. The words were ripped from your throat, a desperate, breathless moan. “You,” you gasped, your voice breaking under the strain of it all. “Fuck, Joel, it’s you. All fucking yours.”

The admission seemed to unlock something primal in Joel, an almost feral grin spreading across his face as he looked down at you, eyes dark with possessive intensity. “Damn right,” he growled, the words thick with dominance and a promise that sent a shiver straight through you. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your flesh with bruising force as he pulled you closer, driving himself deeper inside you. Each thrust became more erratic, more brutal, as he pushed you both to the brink, his body moving with a relentless, desperate rhythm that left you breathless.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby,” he rasped, his voice a low, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire body. “Mark you as mine, so you never forget it. So none of them ever forget it.”

It wasn’t just the physical act—Joel loved reminding your viewers and, more importantly, you, exactly who you belonged to, both on and off the camera. His possessiveness was more than just a game; it was a declaration, a brand that he was intent on leaving imprinted on every inch of you. He reveled in the power, in the knowledge that no matter what you showed the world, in the end, you were his. And he wanted everyone to know it—especially you.

His words were the final push you needed, the tipping point that sent you careening over the edge. The coil of tension in your belly tightened impossibly before snapping, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that ripped through your entire being. Your body trembled violently, every muscle tensing as you cried out his name, the sound raw and desperate, echoing in the small space between you.

You felt your walls clench around him, milking him as the pleasure tore through you in relentless waves, each one more powerful than the last. It was overwhelming, an onslaught of sensation so intense it bordered on painful as if every nerve ending had caught fire. Your mind went blank, lost in the haze of ecstasy that consumed you, your vision blurring as your senses overloaded.

But Joel wasn’t done with you. Even as you came, he kept moving, his thrusts relentless, determined to draw every last ounce of pleasure from your body. You were oversensitive, every touch, every movement sending shocks of sensation through you, but there was nothing you could do to stop him, no way to slow the onslaught of pleasure-pain that had you teetering on the edge of sanity.

“Look at you,” Joel taunted, his voice a rough whisper as he watched you come undone beneath him. “Thought you were in control, huh? Thought you could make me beg? Well, baby, it’s you who’s begging now.”

He lifted the mask slightly, just enough to hear you more clearly, to see the desperation in your eyes as he continued to drive into you. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “Tell me what you want,” he commanded, his voice dark and demanding. “Beg for it, baby. Beg for me to cum inside you.”

You could barely form words, your brain fogged by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. But you managed to choke out a reply, your voice shaking with need. “Please, Joel,” you whispered, the desperation in your voice clear. “Fuck, I need you. Please, just… just cum inside me. Fill me up. Please.”

The sound of your pleading pushed Joel over the edge, and with a deep, animalistic growl, he slammed into you one final time. His release was fierce, filling you to the brim, hot and thick, exactly as he promised. It sent you spiraling into another

mind-blowing orgasm, your body locking around him, milking him dry as your walls clenched, squeezing every last drop out of him.

The sound of your pleading seemed to push Joel over the edge. With a low, guttural growl, he thrust into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you as his own orgasm hit, his release hot and overwhelming, filling you up just as he promised. The sensation sent you spiraling into another wave of pleasure, your body tightening around him, milking him for every last drop as you both rode out the aftershocks together.

It was damn near unbelievable how many times he'd come-his stamina, his relentless drive. Joel was fifty-fucking-six, and still, he had you unraveling over and over, your own body shaking with pleasure more times than you could count. The heat between you was addictive, his age only adding to the intensity of it. Most men his age couldn't keep up after one round, but Joel? He fucked like a man half his age, like he had something to prove. And every time he buried himself deep inside you, filling you up again and again, it reminded you exactly who the fuck you belonged to.

The world around you ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was the primal connection between you, the harsh panting of your breath, the erratic pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. Your bodies were trembling, utterly spent and satisfied beyond words. Joel's weight on top of you was grounding his presence a reminder that this- he-was yours

Finally, he rolled off you, collapsing beside you on the bed, both of you struggling to catch your breath. The mask lay discarded somewhere between you, forgotten in the haze of exhaustion and satisfaction. Joel reached out, pulling you into his arms as you trembled with the aftershocks that still rippled through your body, your muscles twitching with the remnants of pleasure

"Still think you're in charge?" Joel's voice was low, teasing, though his eyes were soft, filled with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

You didn't have the energy to argue, not after the way he'd fucked you senseless, so you just smiled, curling into his side. Your fingers lazily traced circles on his chest, his skin still warm and slick with sweat. "Maybe we both are," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss against his chest, savoring the salty taste of his skin, the feeling of him still lingering deep inside you.

Joel chuckled, a deep, satisfied rumble that reverberated through his chest. His arms tightened around you, his lips brushing over the top of your head. "Yeah, maybe," he murmured softly. "But don't you forget, baby-you're mine. Always.”

You sighed, your heart swelling with a mix of satisfaction and love, a contentment that only he could bring you. The thrill of what you'd just shared lingered, the intensity of it making your body hum as you drifted off in his arms. No matter how many games you played, how much you teased each other, you knew you'd always come back to this-back to him

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