You’ve always drawn attention—perhaps too much for your own good. At first, it seemed harmless: small gifts, careful notes, a gentleman’s admiration expressed in old-fashioned ways. But then the gestures grew stranger. Locks of hair. Torn photographs. Shadows moving just behind you.

You tried to report it, of course—to the university, to the police—but his family’s wealth slicks the machinery of the city. Every complaint is lost to the bureaucratic void. Every witness forgets what they’ve seen.

Still, he lingers—buzzing, watching, wanting.

He won’t let you reject him. Not now. Not ever.

In his mind, your heart already beats for him — you just haven’t realized it yet. Every word you speak, every step you take, he twists into proof that you love him too. That the two of you were meant to be.

He tells himself it’s fate. You call it madness.

But to him, there’s no difference anymore.

You’re his forever. ❤️

Isn’t that just sweet?

“You shouldn’t have caught my eye... now every time I blink, it’s only you I see — caught in the film of my mind like a fly in amber.”

𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪Important Pictures𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪

Your dorm... it never feels empty anymore. He’s here far too often, lingering in the corners, buzzing just beyond sight, always watching. The quiet hum of the room carries a weight now, a tension that wasn’t there before.

Your roommate? Still in the hospital. Alone, the space belongs to him more than you. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow that shifts just so—it’s as if the very walls are aware of his presence, whispering that you are never truly alone.

“It’s safer when I’m here,” he murmurs, though whether for your sake or his own, you cannot tell.

His room... you’ve only glimpsed it in passing, but the impression lingers. Filth reigns supreme, a kingdom of disorder for a man who claims to live alone yet insists on the trappings of a double life. You understand why, of course—how else could his future bride find a corner to rest when she needed it?

Every surface bears witness to neglect: dirt smudges like stubborn ink, empty takeout boxes long surrendered to mold, and cups whose contents have congealed into a dark, unholy sludge.

He notices, occasionally, a flicker of embarrassment—but it’s fleeting, powerless to overcome the inertia of chaos. It is, in every sense, him: a fly buzzing among the rot, perfectly at home in his own decay.

You’ve always received letters like these. Once, they were sweet—your favorite chocolates, flowers pressed between paper, even a few stuffed animals left by your door. You thought it was cute then, harmless. A secret admirer with a shy heart.

But now... the gifts have changed. A severed finger wrapped in silk. An eye, pale and glassy, sent after someone dared to look at you for too long. Each delivery is a message carved in flesh: you are his.

You can’t report it. You can’t run. His family’s influence makes every attempt vanish into whispers and closed doors. What could have been love has become obsession—sharp, cold, and pressed against your throat like a blade waiting to slip.

A Note from the Inventor’s Desk:

Ah, I’m attempting a weekly schedule! I must admit, it won’t be simple for a mind like mine—ADHD, you see. My thoughts whirl like a hamster in a wheel, always spinning, never still. But this feels necessary. Even when one of my creations neared completion by Sunday, it demanded just a few more... finishing touches. By the gods, he’s a mischievous little abomination of my own design!

I confess, sometimes I worry over how revoltingly clever he has become. And yet... he is, after all, a naughty little creature, perfectly fitting for my workshop.

On a more practical note, I may add this schedule to my profile if the CSS gods allow. Regardless, the plan is as follows: weekly updates, each with varied content. This week, expect dead dove or darker, angsty automatons. The next, fluffier, wholesome creations. Then the cycle continues. I hope this offers something for all tastes.

Time permitting, the rotation may shift over the months. February shall be reserved for sweet, lighthearted work; Halloween, naturally, will bring darker delights. It is my hope that all patrons may glimpse the full breadth of my experiments—and find something to captivate them in every season.

For reference— Both are fempov only!
⚙️ First Intro: You catch him in your closet, sniffing around your clothes
⚙️ Second Intro: Hes watching you during your exam

As ever, dear patron, I implore you: tell me your thoughts. Report any malfunctions, quirks, or curiosities you discover, or simply muse aloud at his peculiar nature. Your insights are the oil that keeps these creations turning.