Dylan Garcia

I hadn’t slept. Not a second. My body was wrecked from how many times I jerked off, but my head spun with only one thought, Charles was Midnight Daddy. It wasn’t a guess anymore. It wasn’t a fantasy. It was a fact.

Around 5:30 am, when I heard his door open that morning, the soft scrape of shoes, the jingle of keys, it was like fate handing me my chance. My chest was tight, my palms damp, but I stepped out anyway. And there he was. Casual. Gorgeous. A simple T-shirt and jeans, hair a little messy, green eyes glinting under the hall light. He looked at me and smiled, easy, unaware of the storm twisting inside me.

“Morning, Dylan,” he said warmly. 

“M-morning Charles”

“You’re up early. I was just about to have a morning jog. Everything alright?”

I almost lost my nerve. Almost. But the words pushed their way out. “Charles… Can I ask you something?”

His smile faltered, brows furrowing slightly. “Sure. What is it?”

I swallowed hard. “I know this is crazy, but are you… Are you Midnight Daddy?”

Silence.

The shift in his expression was instant, shock first, then something darker, sharper. His lips parted, but no words came out. His shoulders stiffened, muscles tight beneath his shirt.

“What?” His voice cracked higher than usual, strained. “Midnight Daddy? I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

I shook my head quickly, pulse hammering in my throat. “Don’t lie to me. I heard you last night. Your voice, the sounds through the wall—it was you.”

That was when everything changed.

His jaw locked. His gaze hardened, the warmth I had glimpsed before stripped away in an instant. The man who had smiled at me seconds ago was gone, replaced with something cold, dangerous. He stepped closer, invading my space, and I suddenly felt small despite being eye level with him. His shadow swallowed mine.

“Listen here, you bitch,” he said quietly, each word like a razor dragging against my skin. “That’s a serious accusation.”

“I-I’m not accusing you of anything,” I rushed out, panic clawing up my throat. “I just—”

“Just what?” His tone sharpened, cutting me open. “Planning to tell the building? Your friends? Maybe leak it online? You think you can use this to ruin me?”

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. My knees wobbled. “No! That’s not—I’d never—”

His eyes narrowed into slits, studying me like I was prey that had stumbled too close to a predator’s den. “You don’t get it, Dylan. If people found out—” He cut himself off abruptly, his jaw tightening, teeth grinding together. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.”

“I swear,” I stammered, shaking my head violently, words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m not here to expose you. I don’t want to ruin anything. I just… please, I swear.”

But his body language didn’t soften. If anything, it coiled tighter, like he was debating whether to lash out or walk away. His grip on the keys in his fist whitened his knuckles.

“You shouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered, voice low with threat. In one swift motion, he turned, shoving his key into the lock.

The sharp click of the tumblers made me panic. He was going to shut me out, and if he did, I’d never get another chance. My throat burned as desperation clawed free.

“Then let me prove it!” I blurted, the words exploding out before reason could stop me.

That made him pause. Slowly, he turned his head. His green eyes sliced into me, suspicious, untrusting, but… curious. “Prove what?”

“That I’m not here to blackmail you,” I said, my voice trembling, my chest tight. “I don’t want money. I don’t want to expose you. I just…” My throat closed around the admission, but the truth forced itself out. “I want you.”

His brows lifted slightly, disbelief flashing across his face. “You what?”

I fumbled for my phone with shaking fingers, unlocking it and thrusting the screen toward him. “Look. It’s me.” My voice cracked. “I’m MidnightMoonlight107. I’m the one who’s been sending you gifts every night. One thousand coins, sometimes more. I… I watch your videos all the time. I can’t stop. And I just—”

I sucked in a shuddering breath. “I wanted to meet you. I needed to.”

For a heartbeat, something flickered in his gaze. Heat. Disbelief. Anger. Desire. They tangled together in a storm I couldn’t read.

The hallway was silent except for the pounding of my heart. He stared at me like he was dissecting my soul, trying to decide whether to crush me or claim me.

Then, without warning, he pulled his key free, opened the door wider, and the dim light of his apartment spilled into the corridor like a trap opening. His voice was rough, husky, filled with a dangerous promise.

“Inside. Now.”

I froze. My pulse thundered. Then, with my breath caught in my throat, I stepped past him into the dim, unfamiliar space. The door shut behind me with a decisive click, and the silence between us was heavier than chains.