AkumaQuil

Rose stood defiantly, eyes locked onto his golden ones as she lifted the hem of her small top, exposing the smooth expanse of her stomach before peeling the fabric over her head.

The red glittering bra shimmering under moonlight as if made for this very moment.

She ignored the tremor of anticipation curling in her gut. None of that mattered. Not even the reckless haze of drugs clouding her thoughts. Tonight, she was in control.

This was a mission. A mission to keep his attention solely on her so could save her friend from his curse.

Her fingers hooked into the waistband of her shorts, her breath steadying when she saw him go rigid. Shoulders squared. Posture tensed. Not in fear. Not in disgust. But in something far sinister.

His Interest.

“Yes… feast your depraved little eyes and filthy mind on this,” she whispered, smirking as the shorts fell away, pooling at her ankles. The silky red thong clung to her hips, the moonlight accentuating every curve of her body.

She flicked the discarded clothing aside, shifting her weight slightly as she let her nightly visitor drink in the sight of her naked glory.

His posture no longer that of boredom. Good. That was exactly what she wanted. More like, what intoxicated, irrational Rose wanted.

She twirled, giving him a deliberate view, rolling her hips just enough to torment. “Since you’ve made my life a living hell, I might as well return the favor.” She cast a wicked smile over her shoulder. “Consider this my gift to you—one you’ll never get to touch.”

By the time she turned back, her stomach plummeted.

He had moved.

No longer a distant silhouette in the meadow—he now stood at the edge of her patio. Much closer and so much real.

The thrill that had fueled her was fading slowly. Had she just made a mistake playing this game with her stalker?

Swallowing hard, she lowered herself onto the chair, parting her bare legs wide and letting the wooden cross dangle before her barely covered cherry, in a taunt.

A silent challenge.

His fingers curled around the wooden rail, veins standing taut against the black ink of his tattoos. His chest rose and fell, controlled but heavier, as though restraining something barely contained beneath his skin.

"Want a taste, my dear stalker?" Rose whispers

She had him pinned.

Or so she thought.

Her shadowy visitor moves. Slow, deliberate steps leading closer.

Panic slammed into her. No.

Rose bolted upright, pressing the cross against the glass door separating them. “Stay back!” Her voice wavered a bit. “I swear, I’ll burn your stalking ass right where you stand!”

He stilled.

A beat of silence.

Then—

A low, quiet chuckle rumbled through the night air, reaching her ears like smoke. Deep and Dark.

Her stomach twisted. The sound was foreign, yet eerily familiar. As if she had always known this was how he would sound.

His hands rose in mock surrender, his hooded head tilting slightly, as if entertained by her little performance. Then, as effortlessly as he had closed the distance, he stepped back.

Rose’s breath fastened.

She was playing with fire, willingly, by provoking the one who comes out at night and remain in shadows.

And he was enjoying it.  



==

In the embrace of her ancestral town, Rose seeks refuge from the echoes of her past. 

Little does she know, her return to her roots will awaken dormant shadows, shattering ordinary her existence. 

For when the darkness falls over the town, from the pitch black rises a shadowy figure that haunt her nights. 

In the darkness he sweeps her off the ground in terrible fear and the allure of sinister intrigue.

And once the sun comes, a man with a god awful attitude, haunts her in the broad day light. Causing her to swell with pure disdain. 

With each passing night, it draws closer to Rose, casting a chilling spell that both terrifies and exhilarates her.

Thrust into a labyrinth of mysteries can she navigate the treacherous path laid before her, or will her nightly visitor consume her whole?

He Comes At Night

The idea alone made her face burn. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head violently, as if she could physically rattle the thought loose.

There has to be another way. There has to be something else I can do.

She reopened her eyes and immediately cursed herself when her brain refused to provide an alternative.

Maybe it was the drugs messing with her head, or maybe she was just that desperate to keep him fixated on her and no one else, but the more she tried to resist, the more the idea took root.

I could just… drop the blanket.

A flicker of movement outside made her snap back to reality. His head had tilted slightly, as if he knew she was contemplating something—something dangerous.

Her breath hitched, her fingers twitching over the fabric, her heart a drumbeat of indecision.

And was he really looking like he was standing there waiting for her to do it, silently daring her or was it just the cruel playing of chemicals in control of her senses making her see things?

Either way, she needs to prioritize.

It is a bad idea. Fuck it.

In the end, she decided to save her friend before her virtue.

The fingers became loose around the blanket and soon the traitorous came tumbling down to pool around her ankles, leaving her feeling bare under his scrutiny.

What was Rose imagining would happen as she opened her scrunched up eyes?

Did she think he would dance watching her bare legs with excitement like it was the 1800s where woman's ankles held more command over a man than a bomb?

Or did she think it would be more climactic like he would fall faint?

Because either way, it was absolute anti climactic to see that nothing really changed. No dancing and certainly no fainting on his part .

He just stood there watching her like before as if nothing happened, as if she didn't just showed him a part of her skin.

In fact she saw his previous rigid, attentive posture go slack again as he shoved his hands back in his jeans pockets, portraying a perfect picture of... boredom.

What the hell? Who does he think he is, huh?

He come here peeping at me like a pervert every night and now he's acting like I owe him a good show!

"I owe you nothing, you little shit!" Rose yelled out through the glass pointing a finger at him in utter disdain.

And when she saw his shoulders softly rise and fall in a clear show of amusement at her anger and shaking his hooded head at her, she lost it.

"Oh you think this is funny, huh? Fine, let's see who's laughing at whom in a second."

It was definitely her drugged brain that was in control right now, because what Rose did next was something she would never do in her sane mind.

She first hung the cross on the inside of the glass doors and then grabbed a chair from the kitchen island and walked back to the doors.

She dragged the chair forward with slow, deliberate movements, positioning it directly in front of the glass doors without breaking eye contact with him.

Her grip on the fabric around her shoulders tightened briefly before she let out a slow, steady breath.

"Alright, big boy, two can play this game."

The words dripped with defiance, though beneath the bravado, her pulse thrummed with something dangerously close to exhilaration.

Rose lifted her hands to the hem of her small top, fingers grazing the bare skin of her stomach before gripping the fabric and pulling it up in one fluid motion.

The cool air kissed her exposed flesh, pebbled her skin, and yet, she didn't hesitate.

124. A Bad Idea