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

She wasn't gonna miss a single chance to torture him as much as possible.

She didn't actually wanted him to come to her or anything, but she wanted to see him suffer knowing that he can't. Rose also wanted to see him try, try and fail or perhaps ger severely hurt by her protective ward.

But the situation took a turn, a very drastic and undesirable turn when he took the challenge a little too seriously and began ascending the steps to the patio at a glacial pace.

A slow, deliberate shift. The faintest movement at first. And then—

Rose's breath stilled in her throat.

He wasn't supposed to take her seriously. He wasn't supposed to move.

She felt her stomach drop as he ascended the steps to the patio, each step calculated, controlled, unhurried.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't actually going to try and come in, was he?

The protective ward should stop him.

But she wasn't about to test that theory.

Panic surged through her, drowning out the artificial haze of confidence the drugs had given her. Her entire body went rigid, and before she could think, she bolted upright in the chair.

The cross—previously hanging idly in her grip—was now firmly planted against the glass door.

She sucked in a breath and forced her voice to steady, though it still wavered slightly, betraying her.

"Stay back." Her grip on the cross tightened. "I command you to stay back, or I swear I'll burn your stalking ass right where you stand!"

The moment the words left her lips, she regretted how breathless she sounded.

Now, she was just Rose. Wide-eyed. Bare-skinned. Chest rising and falling too quickly as she watched him with growing unease.

Then, he did something that sent ice threading down her spine.

His head tilted slightly, as though assessing her. Amused.

A deep, low sound rumbled through the air, slipping past the glass, curling around her ears like a phantom's touch.

That sound. It was so foreign, yet somehow so eerily familiar.

Like she had always known this was how he would sound.

Abysmal deep and just as dark. A voice made of shadows.

It sent something cold slithering through her veins.

She watched him raised his hands next, in a show of mock surrender and then, just as effortlessly as he had closed the distance—he took a step back.

Until he was exactly where he had been before at the base of the patio, as if he had never moved at all.

Rose's breath came in short, sharp bursts, that was a close call. her body caught between the thrill of power and the sting of vulnerability.

He was watching her like she was an offering laid out before him. And the worst part? He knew she had done this willingly.

The game had changed. And she wasn't sure anymore if she was the one truly in control.

For the first time, she truly understood the balance of this game they played.

She had stepped onto a wire stretched over an abyss, teasing the beast lurking below, believing herself untouchable.

Now, she realized something terrifying.

127. He was Enjoying It