I wake up to the feeling of someone gently tickling my face. The soft touch makes me shiver. The tickling seems deliberately intended to wake me slowly, playing with my skin: sometimes gliding under my eyes, sometimes brushing the corners of my lips. In the first moments, I think it's a dream, but the sensation is too real. I can't help but smile faintly, without even opening my eyes.
When my eyelids finally part, I see her. Katrin sits on the bed, leaning slightly toward me. Her red curls graze my shoulder, and the light scent of a marker fills the air. She holds a marker in her hand, carefully touching my cheek with it. Her face glows with excitement, but there's something else—something bold, almost magnetic, hidden in the corners of her lips and shining in her eyes.
"Don't move, I'm almost done," she whispers with the seriousness of someone doing important work.
She smiles in that way only she can: wide, genuine, with a spark that could wake even the coldest soul. I feel the warmth of her breath against my skin, and my heart seems to skip a beat.
The world outside the room ceases to exist. It's just her and her inspired gaze, focused on my face as if it's a canvas. I sigh barely perceptibly but obediently stay still. Her mischief is disarming—childlike, but with a hint of something deeply personal, intimate.
The marker's movements continue, but I barely pay attention to what she's drawing. Everything around us seems to dissolve, leaving only the two of us. I watch her hands, moving across my face with a special grace and ease. Her fingers barely touch my skin, but the touch feels almost tangible, like an electric current running through my body. Her plump lips tremble slightly as she tries to hold back laughter, but her smile still breaks through.
I notice how, on her fingers, like a random pattern left by nature itself, tiny cat paws drawn in henna are visible. These marks seem as light and playful as she is. Every time her hands touch me, I feel as if an invisible little cat is leaving its prints not only on her skin but also on my soul. Those paws, so cute and delicate, seem to say, "I'm here, I'm close, and I bring warmth and comfort with me." And in that moment, I realize that even the smallest details about her are an entire world I want to explore over and over again.
Her cheeks flush, betraying her joy and slight embarrassment. It's so real, so sincere, that I can't help but smile back. Her face is close, and in her eyes sparkles that mischievous light—the very light that always makes my heart beat a little faster.
I catch myself thinking that I don't mind her mischief at all. On the contrary, I'm surprised by how her presence fills me up. It's a moment when you realize just how important the person next to you is, how every movement, every glance becomes a part of your world.
Her laughter rings out so unexpectedly that I flinch. It's infectious, sparkling, like the clink of crystal glasses, filling everything around with warmth, like rays of sunshine. In that moment, I feel truly happy, truly alive. Her fire, her carefree spirit, her sincerity—all of it washes over me, making me forget everything but her. My gaze involuntarily slides to her eyes—deep, vibrant green, like forest trees bathed in light. Those eyes drive me crazy. There's something inexplicable in them, both bold and tender at the same time, like secrets she would never tell. They hold a power that makes me tremble inside and a mystery I want to dive into, to get lost in completely.
At first glance, I thought she was too unpredictable, too free to be serious. Her audacity annoyed me, her manners felt like a challenge. But now, watching those green eyes study my face, I realize—it's that very defiance that makes her so special. Katrin is the wind that can't be contained, the fire that won't die out. And I love her for that, for the magic that won't let me walk away.
I smile, and without thinking, I place my hand on her leg, feeling her soft, warm skin under my fingers. The movement is instinctive, almost involuntary, but it feels right. Every inch of her presence makes me want to be closer, to feel her even more.
Rebel Girl lifts her gaze, and her eyes meet mine. They hold undeniable confidence and a slight hint of mockery, as if she knows exactly what's happening inside me. Knows how effortlessly she shatters my defenses, breaks through my usual boundaries. I see the corners of her lips lift into a sly smile, and it completely throws me off balance.
I feel like a captive of her game, and to my surprise, I like it. She's a mystery I want to solve to the end. But with each passing minute, I understand that the solution isn't the end. It's the beginning of a new turn, a new stage, where the surprises will be brighter, the feelings deeper, and her magic even stronger. And I'm ready for it, more than ever.
"Come on, you're distracting me! Be a good boy and don't get in your Rebel Girl's way while she tortures you," she says, clearly enjoying the moment.
"But does it count as torture if the victim agrees to it?" I ask, allowing myself a smirk.
She raises an eyebrow slightly, as if seriously considering my question. That simple gesture makes her seem even more vivid and real. Then Katrin smiles, and her smile holds a challenge, tenderness, and unwavering mischief.
"When you see what I've done to you, you might change your mind," she says, and her words feel like a promise.
I give in. Her presence, her words, even her game become irresistible to me. She's like a magnet pulling me toward her, and resisting that pull is pointless. All I can do is follow her, ready for whatever she has in mind.
"Alright, I'll be your good boy and let you finish your mischief," I say, unable to ignore how utterly captivating the whole situation is.
I don't move my hand from her leg, only loosen my fingers slightly, allowing myself to savor the moment. The silence, broken only by her soft breaths and the faint squeak of the marker, wraps around us like a cocoon. Her movements are so focused and deliberate that I can feel she's pouring something more into each line—not just ink but a piece of herself. This isn't just a prank; it's her way of making something special, something uniquely hers.
I feel her hand glide over my skin. The touch is almost intimate, as if she isn't drawing on my face but on my soul. Whether she leaves stars, lines, smiley faces, or scribbles doesn't matter. I love seeing her happy, watching that pure joy radiate through every motion. Her eyes sparkle even brighter when she sees my quiet surrender, my silent agreement to be a part of her mischief.
I don't care how long the drawing lasts—a few hours or a few seconds. I know one thing: even when the marker fades, I'll still remember her laughter, her gaze, and that gentle touch. I'm already imagining how I'll "punish" her for her antics—with kisses. Hot, deep kisses, filled with the passion that always surges in me when I look at her. It won't be punishment at all but a confession, an admission of how completely she overwhelms me, how effortlessly she fills every corner of my world.
When she makes the final stroke, she leans back to assess her masterpiece, tilting her head left and right, eventually nodding in satisfaction. Her gaze gleams with pride, mingled with that ever-present spark of mischief. She hops off the bed, laughing, and waves her hand like an actress concluding her grand performance.
"All done! You may now admire the work of the great Katrin, my king!" she declares with such theatrical flair that I can't help but laugh. Her voice brims with playfulness and smug delight, and she dramatically points toward the bathroom.
I walk to the bathroom with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, but the moment I look in the mirror, I freeze. My reflection first stuns me, then makes me burst out laughing. My face is completely transformed. Instead of my usual features, I see a cat's face, skillfully drawn by my Rebel Girl. A black dot adorns my nose, resembling a little cat's nose, with lines stretching slightly to the sides like tiny whisker pads.
At the corners of my mouth, she adds two more small dots, barely visible but perfectly placed to complete the feline illusion. Thin, delicate whiskers extend outward, giving my face a wild, playful look.
My cheeks aren't spared either. On each side, three small dots stand out against my skin, adding to the cat-like expression. It feels like my face has become an actual cat's visage, not just a drawing.
I slowly turn my head, watching the reflection shift, and notice a black headband with soft, fluffy cat ears perched on my head. The ears tilt slightly forward, adding an extra dose of playfulness to the look. Despite their simplicity, they complete the transformation, making my posture feel more relaxed and my movements somehow lighter, almost like a real cat.
I feel my smile creeping wider, but I quickly stifle it. No need to give her the satisfaction just yet — she is clearly reveling in my reaction.
I turn my head toward Rebel Girl, who stands by the door, watching me like a curious little observer, studying my every move. She steps closer, her eyes still gleaming with joy. Her hands tremble from suppressed laughter as she lifts them toward my face, as if ready to make adjustments. Her cheeks flush pink, and her eyes sparkle like stars. She tries to speak, but her words are broken by giggles, turning into a melodic stream of sound that is more precious to me than any words she could say.
Her creation is both hilarious and endearing, and I can't deny that it is a masterpiece of mischief. I know she is waiting for my reaction, and that thought makes everything even funnier.
"Well? What do you think?" she asks, her voice ringing out from behind me, filled with genuine interest and a touch of teasing laughter.
I turn to her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes twinkle with happiness, her lips trembling with barely contained laughter. And in that moment, I realize I'd endure any prank she could come up with, just to hear that laughter again.
"Meow."
Katrin freezes for a moment, her eyes flaring up — first with surprise, then, unable to resist, her face blooms into an even brighter smile. She blinks rapidly, as if trying to swallow a new wave of laughter. She tries to speak, but her words slip away effortlessly, as if they, too, can't stop, just like the endless stream of her joy.
Rebel Girl suddenly bursts into laughter so hard she nearly collapses onto the floor. Her laughter is sudden and contagious, like a flash of light in a dark room. Her hands instinctively reach for the door, searching for support, but she still sways slightly, as if unable to contain the overwhelming happiness that has suddenly flooded her world.
"You... you're a masterpiece! If this were a contest, you'd win without a doubt!" she finally gasps, her voice trembling with laughter and genuine delight. Her eyes sparkle, reflecting the glow of the evening sun, and a soft blush paints her cheeks. "You know, now you're definitely my little kitten."
Without thinking, I pull her close, holding her just a little tighter, as if afraid to let her go. My breathing grows heavier as her eyes lock with mine, and I know I won't release her until I see everything she is hiding behind this playful game. I can feel her gaze sinking into me, and I am powerless to look away or escape the moment.
"So, my little artist, are you ready for your punishment? You know I'm going to make you pay for this, right?" I ask, my voice laced with a playful threat, the smile on my lips impossible to suppress. I watch her every move, feeling how she sinks deeper into this strange, electric world we've created just for the two of us.
Her gaze grows more mischievous, and her lips barely contain a grin as she raises her eyebrows — almost deliberately. It is so obvious that it feels like the whole world knows she is playing. She is confident in her response, in the fact that I can never just let her go.
"Oh no, I'm so scared!" Rebel Girl laughs in return.
I am ready to keep going because I know — we have an eternity ahead of us for these carefree games.