#I can’t stand this woman i am rooting for her to not be in this show

[cilasbestos]

Why’s the Escape the Night fanbase suddenly rooting for Trisha Paytas to be in a hypothetical season 5?? Like why does the internet suddenly like her, are we all forgetting how terrible she is??

Either way she wouldn’t fit the vibe of the show anyways imo.

[firelilyfox]

Deadly Eyes

Dune: Paul Atreides x female reader

Warnings: se&ual harassment / angst / curses / hateful words / comfort

If someone means harm to the girl he loves, Paul won't hesitate

Words: 1k

_______________________________

You stare at the men and women right in front of you. All of them were looking at you with the same emotions pictured in their faces. Disgust. Outrage. 

Today was the first day after Paul announced your relationship to his people. The Fremen welcomed you with open arms… well some of them at least. Your roots lies with none of the big houses. All you know about your family is, that they were travelers who never lived at the same place for more than a couple of years. You are one of the Lost Ones. But when Paul rescued you from being tortured by the brutal Harkonen a couple months ago, you never thought about traveling somewhere else again. Your people always praised that the soul is a free from wich never settles and never find the one and only home. Paul changed your way of thinking. With him you felt at home for the first time ever. 

„The Mahdi can’t be with someone who is lost“, one of the believers growled as you were passing by. All you wanted to do was taking a walk and exploring the hallways of the Sietch, one of the rocky formations what the Fremen call their home. And now you are standing in front of a hand full of believers who are talking bad about you. 

A old, wrinkly woman hisses. „You don’t belong here, Lost One.“ 

You look at her fully blue eyes. The same color your eyes have turned as an outcome to the effects of spice everywhere. „Please let me through. I don’t wish for trouble.“ 

Now a young man steps right in front of you. Too close to be comfortable with. You try to move and bring some distance between the two of you, but your back almost immediately hits the wall. Your chest tightens up. This feels like a cage. A cage of people who hate you. 

„But you are trouble, whore.“ He couldn’t have been more than five years older than you, but he was so intimidating that you wanted to flee before he would hurt you. You still are one of the Lost Ones. Their are no fighters. Your people staying alive because they run for dear life when problems appear. That’s why the Fremen always looked down on your kind. 

„All your people do, is stealing and living in the shadows. You are not worthy to be here. Your are not worthy to be with Muad’Dib“, he grabbed your neck with a tight grib. „But I’ll find some use for u, don’t you worry.“ 

The others looked away while he is dragging you to a shallow corner at the end of the hallway. Your screams got muffled by his greasy hand and silent tears filled your eyes. The back of your head hit the wall hard and your vision flickers for a moment. Fear crawling all over your body, followed by the tip of his knife. You’re trying to beg for him to stop, but all he does is giggling at your helplessness. 

„I will show you your worth and after that I will give your body to the desert. I will…“ 

A voice is shouting at the near distance. „Where is she?!“ The man fearlessly let’s go of you and hiding his knife. You fall down on your knees as Paul rushes around the corner. Gentle hands pulling you up and you begin to sob, hiding your face at his chest. 

„How dare you to touch her!“ Paul growls at the man who is now lowering his head in respect for his Duke. 

„I did not want to bring any disrespect to you, Mahdi. But this woman damages you reputation. She is not worthy to be …“ but Paul cuts him off. 

„She is equal to me. I am who I am today, because of her. How dare you to speak about her like that?“ His voice became dangerously silent and you could feel under your palms how tense his muscles were. As you look around you discover that people have stopped and watching the scene with wide eyes. 

You reach up to gently touch his cheek, so Paul would look at you. „I’m okay, Paul. Nothing happened. I’m unharmed.“ 

For a moment the coldness in his eyes vanished, but as he looked down at your neck and saw the bruises … he was ready to kill someone. Paul kisses your forehead and it feels like that he needed to do it just to calm himself down, before he would actually cut a throat. His grip around your waist thightens but not in a hurtful way. You never felt more protected as right here in is arms. 

Paul turns his head slowly. A deadly look on his face. The man kneeled down in fear of his punishment. „I will only say this once and for all. Who ever touches this woman and mean harm to her, will be sentenced to death. Without exceptions.“ He looks around, making eye contact with everyone who is watching. „Spread the word. I will personally kill everyone no matter if man or woman.“ 

The Fremen quickly leaving the place murmuring and chattering. The message was clear. If you break this rule, death by Muad’Dip will find you. 

„And for you“, Paul looked down at the man who tried to do unspeakable things to you. His voice full of dark rage. „If you ever come near her again or look at her even from afar, I’ll break your neck.“ He gave two other men a sign to carry him away. 

„I should have known that something like that might would happen“, Paul curses. „I’m so sorry. I should have never left you go alone.“ His eyes meet yours and the deep sorrow in them breaks your heart a little. 

„You couldn’t ever have guessed that. This isn’t your fault and it’s not your job to see something like that before it happens.“ 

Paul pulls you closer now that the two of you are alone. „But is is my job to protect you.“ 

„And you did.“ 

He leans his forehead against yours, taking a deep breath. His body is still tense but his touch is so gently. „I don’t want to imagine what could’ve happened if I weren’t be here on time … I couldn’t…“ his voice breaks. This is the side of him no one ever sees. The softness and the vulnerability. To everyone he is the fearless Muad’Dib. But to you he is Paul Atreides. The man who owns your heart. 

„Then don’t. You saved me. I am right here.“ To prove your point you get on your tiptoes and kiss him softly. Paul cups your face with his hands, holding you so close to him that nothing would have room in between. 

_____________________________________________

Thank you for reading! Comments, ideas & reposts are very welcome <3

[pedrithink]

secret ✩ jude bellingham

request: smau for jude where he randomly follows her and she’s like not famous at all maybe like 1000 followers and it becomes this big thing

face claim: tyla

yfusername: “your friend”

ynusername

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ynusername

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judebellingham 😍😍

❤️ by author

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judebellingham

Liked by vinijr, ynusername, and 3.552.738 others

judebellingham comparison is the thief of joy.

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ynusername has added to their story

NOW: Jude Bellingham celebrates Champions League Final berth with teammates and girlfriend

comments ⬇️

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judebellingham

Liked by vinijr, ynusername, and 3.028.971 others

judebellingham ❤️

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[watsittoyah]

The Devils Playpen

A Obsessive!QIMIR X BLACK!FEMALE OC STAR WARS SMUT FIC

NEXT

This is complete fiction, I do not own any characters of the star wars franchise however I own all characters of my own creation, as well as plot.

That being said, the themes will be dark, Qimir will have obsessive and possessive qualities. This story will be borderline grey morals, there will be trigger warnings in the beginning of every chapter that will be gruesome/sexual.

You’ve been warned little flower if you’d like to continue, please read forward, if not put this work of fiction down and go read the holy word…welcome to the Devils playpen…

Chapter 1) When The Predator Becomes Prey…

(Song: Obsession By Exo)

Warning: Mentions of suicide. Stalking, choking of non sexual nature. Oral sex, shibari, threats of r*pe, Light Saber play (don’t be dumb you know what that last tag means)

I walk past a woman with long and short locks but she brings no excitement to my inner beast.

How lucky she is.

I hiss internally as I walk inside of the apothecary. Once I’m inside I inhale deeply, letting the poison I desire call to my senses.

However I smell something else. Something sweet? Sticky? I let my eyes fall onto a man hunched over in a corner. I don’t bother with manners of averting my eyes.

My curiosity has a scratch and I want it itched.

“Hello?” I call out to him in a soft voice. The man appears to be sleeping and I walk closer but keep my distance. His scent still smells sticky and sweet. Like those man eating plants over on Plexart.

“Hello, sir? I’m here to buy some supplies.” I say as I stare at his sleeping form. I flick an empty bottle over and it shatters causing him to finally stir from his slumber.

“Oh, sorry.” He stretches and does a big yawn before he looks over at me. When our eyes meet, he runs his fingers through his mop like hair and gives me a lazy smile. “Oh, hello. And you are?” He asks as he stands fully.

I take note that we have a significant size difference. He looks to be 5’11 while I stand at 5’4.

“I’m here to buy supplies, unless you aren’t the owner of this shop.” I ask in a gentle yet bored tone. He clears his throat and nods. “I am, I am. So what can I get for you? Ah, pick your poison.” He jokes. I however don’t laugh or crack a smile.

“I just needs a few things on this list. Whatever you don’t have, I’m sure I can find on my travels.” I hand him a piece of paper and our fingers brush against each other. He feels cold to the touch.

Interesting…

“Hm, this is quite the list. Might I ask what are all of these for?” He asks as he looks at me.

No, he’s studying me. Which makes my inner beast stir.

“Just some tools on helping me hunt. Nothing major. I don’t mean to be rude but I do need to be on my way.”

“Right, I will get on this for you now.” He starts on my list and I decide to look around and figure out if I’m going to kill him or let him live since he brings a spark of something out of me.

“Can I ask you a question?” The man asks, which causes me to give an internal sigh. “What is your question sir?”

“Qimir, you can call me Qimir. Anyways my question for you is, what methods do you take to hunt your prey?” This question peaks my interest because the way he says prey I think he knows I hunt a different kind of species.

“There’s many ways to do that. Poisons, bare hands, even a simple isolation tactic. But the best method…is simply a mental attack. That works on any kind of prey.” I say with a hint of a smile on my lips. I look up and see Qimir staring at my lips.

I bite my plump bottom lip, which makes his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows.

“Forgive me for prying, but the items on your list, they are interesting. Bunta Root? That grows-”

“In one specific place I know, but I figured this place would have it here..” I look away from him and glance out the window.

In a matter of days, I will be at her door and I’ll she can’t escape me. I can’t wait to see her eyes widen by surprise. She’ll think how did a beast like me, hunt her down to the very last of her days.

Will she beg for her life?

Will she plead that I do it quickly?

The possibilities will be endless when I finally get my hands on Zen.

Zen…

She was once a great ally to my people at least until she got them killed.

Genocide, her and those moral less Jedi committed genocide to my people and I need to make sure they pay. She’s the final one and I just know, she knows I’m coming for her. Especially when the word went around on how her partner’s body was discovered.

I’ll never forget how his eyes had ballooned in his skull after I cracked his head open. I can almost picture his head hitting the concrete over and over and over. His brain matter was all over my hands, staining my nails with his blood.

If I close my eyes tonight will his ghost haunt me?

Will his soul ask me why I took him from his lover so soon?

I blink and I’m no longer in that glorious gruesome memory.

I turn and Qimir is standing close to me, almost making me flinch. “Excuse you.” I snap at him. He looks me up and down and cocks his head to the side.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…you remind me of someone I once knew. The resemblance is just uncanny. You look…exactly like her.” He whispers softly as he takes in my entire appearance.

Instead of stepping back, his scent makes my stomach grumble which makes me flick my split tongue against my inner cheek.

“Trust me Qi, if you knew me…you wouldn’t be standing so close.” I say to him letting my split tongue slither past my full lips. I notice his eyes darken from my movement for a split second.

“Why is that? I find you quite the interesting creature.” He says as he reaches out to touch my coiled curl. I jerk my head back not from his attempt to touch me, but from his scent.

I want to split my jaw open and take a chunk out of him. His scent had changed somehow. He smells like spiced sweet fruit.

I see a smirk on his lips and I want to bite him. I want to bite his flesh and rip i-

“Excuse me?” We break eye contact and I see a woman, she looks exactly like the woman I had passed when I came in here but her hair…it’s short. And she smells… sour.

I grow bored with her and move away from Qimir. But as I move away he grabs my wrist. I look down at his hand and then at him. “Don’t go anywhere. I’d like to finish this.” He lets my hand go and he moved away from me swiftly.

I narrow my eyes at his back as he talks to the woman. As I glance at her with boredom I can smell that she’s anxious? Scared?

Oh, maybe I can have some fun with her after all.

As Qimir talks to her, which tells me something is going on, I run my hand along the counter and ‘accidentally’ bump into her, causing her things to clatter to the floor.

“Oh I’m so sorry, Miss. Do forgive me I am not myself.” We lock eyes and in that moment, she’s frozen in place. Her pupils dilate. I can hear her pulse quicken. “I..it’s okay.” She stutters as I hand her her things.

“You are so pretty.” I say as I take in her whole face. I see her blink a few times and I study her presence.

She’s nervous, hmm her body is smart to be nervous, but is her brain?

“Oh! I’m sorry, I give compliments before I even give my name. I’m Akasha. And you are?” I see the apple of her cheeks deepen in color after I compliment her.

“I’m-” She looks away from me and at Qimir but I clear my throat and she looks back at me, trapped in my spell. “I’m Osha.” She whispers with a small smile. “Such a pretty name. I don’t mean to over step, but would you like some company on your travels?” Before she answers me, Qimir clears his throat.

I cut my eyes at him and he’s staring at me, in a way that makes me want to challenge him. “I thought you wanted your things in a hurry, Akasha.” He says my name as if he’s accusing me of something .

“Suddenly I am in no rush, especially when it comes to making new friends.” I stand as well as Osha and I step towards her. Inhaling her fear.

Her scent is starting to ripen, oh I need to sink my teeth into her, before she spoils. Before she-

“Mae, if you don’t mind. I’m just handling this customer and then I can get back to you.”

Mae?

I look back at the woman and she looks down at her fingers, fidgeting with them.

“Okay, Qimir.” She says with hesitation in her voice. She looks at me and I wink at her. “So, pretty one, might I ask, what brings you to an apothecary?” I ask as I lean against the counter, looking her up and down.

I wonder how her teeth taste.

“I’m just here to thank Qimir for the item he gave me. It helped me greatly.” I listen to her pulse and it quickens.

Oh you little liar.

Now I’m excited to know why she’s lying so much.

“You’re welcome. I hope I can help anyway I can to help you please your Master.” Qimir says as I feel him behind me. I look back and he was leaning forward, playing with one of my curls.

How did I not notice him this close to me?

I flick my hair from his touch and he sniffs his finger tips.

Did he just sniff his fingers?

“Akasha, since you’re making friends, how about being my friend?” Qimir asks as he stares me deep into my eyes.

Hmmm…

“I like being friends with girls, Qimir. They’re are nice and sweet….” I look at his lips and I can imagine biting them.

“But with boys? I tend to be a bit too rough with them. And you?” I look him over his slim athletic build. “You look like you break easily.”

I see him lick his bottom lip and I swear I hear a slight groan in his throat. He then lowers his voice so only I can hear.

“You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, Akasha. I tend to play rough with my things. Sometimes they break and sometimes they…turn to ash in my clutch.”

Excitement licks my veins as I inhale his scent.

Mmm it’s mixed with sweet, spice and arousal.

“Sounds like a threat, and a fun time. Maybe…” I lean in close to his ear, as he leans in to hear me. “…I can teach you how to play with your toys nicely by making you my new toy. Would you like that, Qi?” I flick my tongue against his ear and I hear a deep groan vibrate from his chest.

He’s about to answer me but Osha/Mae clears her throat and I feel both Qi and myself glare at her.

I look away and take a deep breath. “How about you talk to her and I’ll be back for my things. I have something to grab on that list that I know you don’t have here.” Before he can stop me I leave the shop and place my hood back upon my head.

••••

“I need Daroon moss for my special powder. Maybe if I’m lucky I can find some on the outer banks of this place.” I mutter as I continue to walk further into a crowd but my muscles tense as I feel I’m being followed.

Who would be stupid enough to follow me?

I decide to cut the chase short and duck further into the crowd.

They continue to follow me and that’s when I notice his scent.

The sweet spicy arousal.

I slip into an alleyway and I stand there counting as his scent get closer. That smell. If I were an addict, I would beg for a hit of that scent on a daily.

As soon as he is in arms reach I snatch him in close then push him to the ground. I then quickly take my boot and press it firmly against his throat.

“I don’t know about your other customers but I don’t like to be followed around stores or crowds.” I press down with a bit more pressure, just so he can answer me.

He winces in pain. “S….sorry. But I did…tell you I wanted…to finish this.” I go to step down harder but he grabs my ankle and twists, causing me to lose my footing.

He then pins me under him and I feel his full weight on top of me. “Get off of me.” I hiss. “Not until we finish this, conversation.”

“This conversation is over!“ I scream at him. He looks deep into my eyes and he gives me a wicked grin. “I’m sorry, but you seem to still think you have control of this situation. When clearly I’m the one on top. But I’ll be nice. The conversation will end after I tell you this…I’ve decided that I want you to be my new toy. And when I want something I take it.” I see a flash of something wild in his eyes as I feel his hands go for my throat.

His strength takes me by surprise as he starts cutting off my air supply. “Let…me…go!” I scream knowing it’ll cause at least someone to come find out why I’m screaming.

But…

No one comes.

Not even a curious onlooker.

He squeezes tighter and I try my best to fight him off. But it’s like an animal is wearing his skin and attacking me. I can feel him clearly aroused as he chokes me out on the ground.

Wait no, it can’t end this way.

I can’t die this way underneath this sick son of a bitch.

My vision starts to blacken around the corners. Qimir slowly starts to fog up into darkness, and just when I’m about to pass out, I hear him say these haunting words to me.

“You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for, Akasha, why would I ever let you go?”

•••••

I jerk awake and cough to clear my throat. I go to move except my body is tied up. But in a way that makes me look spread out like some attraction.

I glance around and see I’m somewhere unknown. And I’m completely naked. The panic starts to set in but it stops as soon as I smell his scent.

“QIMIR!” I scream his name as my eyes try to look for him. “I know you’re near! I can smell you! Show yourself!” I scream, in hopes that someone will hear me.

Someone did…

He did…

“I see you’re awake. Good.” Qimir says with a soft smile on his face. “What the fuck is going on! Where am I? Why and I here!” I shout at him, ignoring the cutting sensation from the ropes.

He pulls up a chair and sits down right in front of me. He stares at me as if I didn’t just ask him a barrage of questions. “You know you are a heavy sleeper. It was like I was dragging a dead body in here. Oh! This is my place by the way. It’s on a remote island so no one can disturb us.” He smiles big as if kidnapping me was something to be proud of.

“Why am I here?” I spat at him. Qimir looks at me as if I’m a piece of art to be gawked at. The way the ropes bite into my skin, I know they’ll leave marks and burns.

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re here because I want you here.” He brushes his thumb against his bottom lip and continues to stare…study me. I begin to feel uncomfortable under his gaze.

“Why am I tied up like this? I’m not some prized piece of meat!” He leans forward and strokes his hand against the fatty flesh of my thigh. “Because you look pretty….You are a female Venus Fly. Rare even when your people were alive and thriving. What was the ratio? For every fifteen boys, only three girls would be born. And I do like to collect rare things. But you? You, Akasha not only are you rare but you’re deadly. I have great use for you.”

I give him a bewildered look. “You’re fucking craz-” He gets up knocking the chair over and he had his hand gripping my jaw. “Don’t call me that, I’m not crazy. I see we have to start some lessons on teaching you how to have manners and respect for others.”

“GET OFF OF ME YOU BASTARD!” I scream at him, but all he does is smile. “You know now you’re screaming and yelling but soon you’ll worship me like a God. And I’ll be sure to reward you.” He takes his other hand and he trails his three fingers down my bare flesh, slowly getting closer to my exposed pussy.

“Stop.” I say as I feel him near my pubic hairs. “Do you know how much restraint I had to have, tying you up like this? The temptation I had to open this pretty little thing and slide anything it in just to watch your reaction?” He parts my wet lips and I feel my clit spasm.

“You wanted to sodomize me? You’re no better than-“ He makes me eat my words when he slides his middle finger inside of me while he uses his other two fingers to rub my lips.

My body responds to his touch which makes me angry. “S…stop.” I stutter to him. He leans in close to my ear. “Your lips are telling me to stop but these sets of lips seem to be telling me another story. As a matter of fact, how about her and I get better acquainted.”

Qimir slides his finger out of me and my pussy misses the violation. I see him get on his knees for me and he looks up at me, as if I’m a deity of some sort and he’s is there to worship.

I watch him lean in close to inhale my sex and I want to shrink back from him but in my attempts the ropes dig deeper into my skin.

“You smell so sweet, I wonder if the taste is the same.” He leans in and I feel his tongue flicking across my clit.

I clamp my lips shut to keep from moaning but he makes it a challenge as he grips my roped hips and buries his face deep into my pussy.

My eyes roll back as I feel his tongue twirl and flick across my clit. He presses his tongue flat against my pussy and my body tries to rock to find more friction.

“Careful, one false move and you could cause more rope burn, Akasha. But you like a little pain and pleasure don’t you?” Qimir asks as he opens my lips wider and slides his tongue deep inside of me.

This time I let the moan slip out. I feel him smiling against my sex and I don’t care. I need a release. I need to use his face.

“P…please.” I moan out as I look down at him, eating me out. He shakes his head and now he’s only using the tip of his tongue. “If…you…want something…then…say…Master.” He says lazily twirling his tongue.

“Please Master.” I whine. “I need to come.” He gives a deep guttural chuckle. “Look at you, moaning like a bitch in heat. I won’t forgive you for calling me crazy. But I’m not that cruel of a master.” He gives a hard suck to my clit causing me to groan and then he gets up off of his knees.

I was breathing heavy as I watch him grab something from his table.

A light saber.

My body tenses from the memories in my past of how much damage something like that can cause.

He lights it and the hue is blood red. He brings it close to me and I fight the urge to flinch. The heat from the saber could melt even the finest hairs on a person or animals skin.

“Don’t worry, my little flower. I’ll never use this part on you…just this part.” He turns the saber off and flips it so the handle it near me.

“Tell me, will you let me be your master? Will you let me teach you how to be the perfect predator?” As he asks me, I feel him rub the handle of the saber against my swollen clit and I shudder as I stupidly nod.

I don’t say a word from the fear and in his eyes I can tell he knows I’m afraid of the saber. “Akasha…you had a lot to say earlier. Why aren’t you being so colorful with your words now?” He slides the handle in slowly causing my eyes to roll back but my body stiffens again.

“Does this scare you? Does this give you pleasure?” He strokes the handle against my entrance and I let a nod go. “Pl-”

“Ah, what do you say?”

“Master…please. Don’t do that.” I moan out as he slides the handle in slowly. “Don’t do what? Slide the handle of my saber inside of the needy plump pussy? You don’t want me to make you feel good?” He whispers against my ear as his hand finds my throat.

The fear I have gets clouded when starts to slowly fuck me with the saber. I feel the build up in my lower stomach as I moan.

“See? Your body likes to feel good. It likes when I do this, but imagine how it’s going to feel when I use the real thing. When my cock is penetrating deep into your walls.”

He goes faster and my moans become more lose my from lips. My thighs burn from the rope and from the tension I have in them.

You can hear the wet noises coming from my soaking wet slit and I don’t care. I want a release.

“You’re taking it so well, my little flower. I bet you want to come don’t you?” I nod quickly as he slows down the pace. I try to buck my hips but I can’t from my restricting position. He raises a brow at me then. “Yes! Yes I do Master. Please!” I beg and plead.

He loosens his grip on my throat and he fucks me harder with the saber making my climax about to hit the tipping point.

“I’m gonna come.” I breathe out as I feel the anticipated tingle. But he stops, he yanks the saber out and tosses it across the room and I give out a shriek of frustration.

“Now would a crazy person deny a creature such as yourself the pleasure of coming? Don’t answer that, you might tell me the wrong answer and piss me off-” He grabs me by my tangled curls and yanks my head back, causing the rope around my shoulders and shoulder blades to tighten.

“You belong to me now, Akasha. Your pleasure, your pain, your very existence is mine. And when I see fit to let you come, it will be on my cock, my mouth, or my fingers. Do you understand? You can speak.” He orders as he looks me in my eyes.

“Yes.” I say through clenched teeth. “Yes what?” He asks with a raised brow. “Yes master…”

“Good girl.” He lets me go and kisses my temple. “Get some rest, we have some training to do tomorrow.” He lets me go and simply walks away, leaving me strung up like some prize that’s been won.

The very second I get the chance, I’m going to kill Qimir. I should’ve known that his scent would lead me to the devils playpen…

[radfemsiren]

🤍A basic rundown of my beliefs as a radical feminist 🤍

(I don’t represent every radical feminist, but these are usually the standard opinions you’ll find of many radfems. Hate or disagree with them, that’s fine! But know the truth of who I am and what I stand for beforehand)

- there are 2 sexes, the male sex is oppressing the female sex

- femicide, rape, child sex abuse, hijab laws, female genital mutilation, domestic labor, trafficking, war crimes, revenge porn, prostitution… women and girls around the world are being exploited, tortured, and killed because of this oppression, and it must end.

- female oppression is sex based oppression, meaning a woman can’t just identify out of her oppression (for example hijab laws)

- sex is biological and an immutable truth, gender is a social construct

- gender should be done away with because gender roles are male supremacist and result in women and girls being stereotyped, dehumanized, barred from education, safety, bodily autonomy, etc.

- defining women with anything other than biology is misogynistic and relies on stereotypes

- the biological differences between men and women must be acknowledged in order to effectively end patriarchal oppression

- radical feminism is getting to the root of female oppression (radical -> root)

- misandry is not real and is just an extension of misogyny (for example, “men are told not to cry!” Yes because women are seen as inferior and any trait associated with us is seen as degrading/emasculating for men. This is why there is no female equivalent to emasculation.)

- all current religions are patriarchal and made by men to exploit and control women

- access to abortion is a human right and should never be threatened, women are the creators of life and deserve to gatekeep it, as well as exercise full autonomy over our own bodies

- Using sexist gender roles to define yourself is giving these misogynistic stereotypes power (wearing makeup or dresses doesn’t make anyone less or more of a woman, this is misogyny)

- the beauty industry is patriarchal and exploits women, our bodies and our money

- sex work is not work, it’s always exploitation (consent can not be bought)

- the porn industry is patriarchal and relies on trafficking, coercion, and rape to function. It also conditions its watchers to be aroused by violence against women, and results in more real life consequences for women and girls

- women’s spaces and institutions must be protected. Women’s safety is more important than catering to male feelings

- marriage is a patriarchal institution made to exploit the domestic labor of women for her entire life

- BDSM/kink are patriarchal and only center the pleasure and well being of men.

- hookup culture is patriarchal and the risk to reward is not worth it for women to engage in it

- gender ideology is patriarchal and is a direct hindrance to female liberation (we can’t define ourselves or our oppressors, we can’t create spaces away from our oppressors, we can’t create laws and policy based on these definitions, people who are gender non conforming are pressured to alter their bodies to conform to a rigid standard and become lifelong medical patients, etc)

- choice feminism and liberal feminism caters to conforming to patriarchal standards and institutions, and refuses to examine why women make choices under patriarchy

- women of color face oppression on the axis of our sex and race, men of color only face oppression on the axis of their race

- non white patriarchal institutions must be criticized: a mullah is just as dangerous to the liberation of women as a pastor is

- women should decenter the men in their lives just as men have done with women. That means prioritizing us! Engaging in women’s media, art, stories, fostering female communities and support networks, uplifting and empowering their sisters around the world

- being a radical feminist means consistently taking radical action, big or small, we all can do it! Go support a female artist, go donate menstrual products to a shelter, go tell off a man when you see him making a woman uncomfortable. We all can make a difference!

…My feminism focuses on criticism of Islam and middle eastern patriarchy, but there are radfems with many focuses/passions… some in eco feminism, some on uplifting Romani women, black women, neurodivergent women, women with disabilities, prostituted women… some are passionate about women’s sports, women’s art, women’s writing, women’s history, lesbian and bisexual women’s stories… everyone has their passion on here, so before you come to attack, just check out my blog and click around at the different profiles on this corner of the internet…. maybe we might not be the terrible witches you thought us to be. Or maybe we are, but witches are awesome so who cares lol

[chimcess]

Nachash || jhs

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (ft. Taehyung) Genre: Supernatural AU, Demon!Hoseok, Med Student!Reader, Smut, One night stand, Angst, Horror AU, Incubus! Hoseok, 90s AU, Yandere!AU Rating: 18+ (don’t interact if you’re a minor) Word Count: 21.4k+ Summary: After the loss of both of her parents, Y/N decided to sell their home in Florida and move back to New York City, a place that she has little memories of despite 10 years of living in Harlem. Her world begins to shift, and she starts to lose sight of dreams and reality, and at the center of it all is Hoseok, a sweet man who gives her a strange sense of deja vu, but she can’t help but wonder if he is who he says he is and why a strange bar keeps popping up in her nightmares. Warnings: Strong language, bad medical terminology (I tried), Hoseok has a demon side (like physically different), main character (somewhat) death (graphic), graphic violence, reader slowly losing her mind, heavy religious themes in a large chunk of this, explicit sexual content, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, manhandling, hard dom Hoseok, so much blood, low-key a yandere but not really, blood play, blood drinking, begging for life, extreme emotional manipulation, growling, over stimulation, unprotected sex (wrap it up), DARK ENDING, dubious consent (mind control/mood control/literally cannot leave Hoseok's presence), reader is severely mentally ill by the end of this, demonic possession, Stockholm syndrome, this is not a cute demon romance, read at your own risk, stopping here since there’s a lot just let me know if I missed anything A/N: After posting a teaser for this fic two years ago, I finally got around to finishing it! I’m still working on my smut skills, so I apologize in advance, but I hope you can get down with my favorite (and extremely evil) demon man. Happy Halloween (or, to my fellow Pagans, Happy Samhain)!

Prologue || Listen to the Playlist || Cross posted on AO3: here

Nachash (noun) "snake; serpent". Derived from the Hebrew root n-ch-sh.

July 1997

"How are you feeling?"

I sighed, pulling open another box. Unpacking was always the worst part of moving, like some cosmic joke designed to break you down piece by piece. Plates stared back at me from the box, and I clenched my jaw. The one on top was chipped—another thing on my growing list of replacements. I pulled it out and set it aside, determined to deal with it later. The rest of the plates went away in the cabinet. The broken one would be tossed.

"I don't know," I confessed. "Mom died. I'm everywhere."

My brother's hum of acknowledgment was all I heard. Miles had always been a quiet, distant sort, barely speaking to our parents. Their deaths hit him hard, but more so with Dad than Mom. Dad had been the stable one, while Mom was a relentless storm—never satisfied, constantly pushing, always demanding. To her, a doctor and a lawyer weren't enough. Miles had always seen her as aggressive, unyielding, and ever discontented. And Dad? Well, his complacency had its own way of grating.

Miles had moved to Oregon right after graduating from FSU, never looking back. We'd made the trek to see him a few times, but he'd never returned the favor. My stint in New York had mended our relationship somewhat. He visited frequently and spent his summers with me, and after Dad passed, he made a point to see Mom at least once a year. I didn't mind the trips to Portland; my Jacksonville home had become his family's vacation spot.

"So am I," he said, his voice betraying a hint of fatigue.

They'd been at each other's throats, arguing constantly, with his wife loathing Mom. Yet, I knew Miles held some affection for her despite their tumultuous relationship. He'd never truly made her proud, and that haunted him. I understood, but when I moved back home, the dynamics shifted. Mom used me as a weapon against Miles, making me the favored child, the one who came back. Miles was the ungrateful one who'd married the wrong woman.

Mom always blamed Trinity for Miles' "bad attitude." Dad knew better. I knew better.

"So," Miles shifted gears, "when can we come and visit?"

I smiled, "I'll be out there for Thanksgiving and Christmas. So maybe next summer?"

"That's a long wait."

I chuckled, "Well, Rory starts school this year and Trinity's pregnant. You're just as busy as I am."

I'd been the one with the most on my plate for years. Mom, a real estate agent, rarely left home, while Dad ran a plumbing company. When Miles went to college, I was knee-deep in medical school applications. During my residency, Miles was grinding through law school. When I moved back to Florida, I was buried in ICU shifts while he graduated and started his own practice. He met Trinity, and the two became inseparable. Mom despised her, but I saw how they brought out the best in each other. My career-driven life had left me disconnected, and while Mom reveled in it, I resented it.

Kids changed everything for them. Aurora was their miracle baby. Trinity had struggled with fertility for years, and when they finally had a child, it was as if their world had transformed. My brother was spent, and Mom's resentment boiled over. She was always bitter that they hadn't uprooted their lives back to Florida for the grandchild. By then, Miles didn't care. He'd made the trips for Dad but after Mom's cruel comments about Trinity's weight and their daughter being "too pretty" to be her granddaughter, Aurora never set foot in the family home again.

"Aurora is driving me crazy," Miles groaned. "She won't stop talking about the baby."

"As a big sister, I can tell you she's just being a normal kid."

"I know that," I could almost hear his eye roll. "I'm just worried. It's still early, and I don't want her hopes to get too high. Trinity's scared of another miscarriage."

It would be her sixth.

"Try to stay positive, bub," I bit my lip, surveying the cluttered room. I'd never finish today. "If it happens, it happens. But don't go into it expecting the worst."

"Between Mom and this…" He trailed off.

I understood his fear. Trinity was a few years older than me, and her anxiety was palpable. At 38, any pregnancy brought its own set of worries. Last I heard, Trinity was considering getting her tubes tied if this one didn't make it. The heartache was becoming unbearable.

"Hey," I kept my tone gentle, knowing that riling him up wouldn't help. "Keep your head up. Her next appointment is soon. Ensure she's sticking to bedrest, and you'll be fine."

"What if it happens again?"

My heart broke for him. Miles had always been the rock, the one who seemed unshakeable. Seeing him this vulnerable starkly contrasted with the angry kid he'd been in high school. Mom had pushed his buttons mercilessly, and I had vague memories of our squabbles, but they paled compared to the constant battles he faced with her.

I wondered if he ever grasped how I felt. He always thought Mom liked me more, but it was more about her being able to overlook me. While he fought for her attention, nothing I did ever really mattered. It was like a fog followed me, obscuring me from their view. Sometimes, it would lift, and Mom would acknowledge me, but then it would return, and I was forgotten.

"You'll get through it," I assured him.

We chatted a bit more. Aurora was excited about kindergarten and had picked out new uniforms. She was obsessed with Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, and her new backpack reflected that. She'd even given her Prince Wednesday stuffed animal to the baby. It was everyday family life, but the emptiness in my chest grew. I longed for laughter and the innocent joy of children in my home.

"Trinity's calling me," Miles said, his voice muffled by distance.

"I'll talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you too, sissy."

I smiled faintly, "Later."

He hung up before I could say anything else. I glanced around the room, eyes narrowing at the boxes that seemed to taunt me with their mere existence. All of them were my own—mainly books, a few other odds and ends. The sadness that gripped me was relentless. I'd always had the most demanding job, the tightest schedule, and the deepest insecurities. Miles was angry, and I was desperate to be seen, so much so that I followed every command without question. Now, here I was, alone, surrounded by regret.

Dating felt like a cruel joke. My time in New York had alienated me more than anything else. That fog of invisibility from my childhood had returned with a vengeance. Coworkers would barely look at me for over a second; people on the street seemed oblivious to my presence and dates. They always ended badly. They weren't evil men but would forget my name within seconds. It felt like I wasn't real, like I existed on some other plane.

The only person who seemed to remember I existed anymore was my brother and his family. Dad's Alzheimer's had robbed him of any memory of us before he passed. Mom, too incoherent at Hospice, never stayed awake long enough to acknowledge my presence. Sometimes, it felt like Miles would momentarily forget me, only for my name to pop into his mind at predictable intervals—like clockwork, only calling on specific days and times, usually if he was planning a trip. It upset me more than I could recall, but now I wondered why.

"This place won't unpack itself," I muttered aloud.

I'd talked to myself so much it felt almost normal. I knew I needed to make friends, that without connections, I'd end up as lonely as my father, but the idea seemed futile. No one saw me clearly. No one ever had. When I searched my memories for anyone who had seen me, I came up empty. No one had ever really seen me. No one ever would. Instinctively, I knew this despite the facade of normalcy I tried to maintain. I had a job, a family, a house. I wasn't haunted. Or… maybe I was just being childish. I was simply forgettable, unremarkable. This I knew.

"I exist," I whispered, the words reverberating loudly in the stillness of my apartment.

The silence that pervaded my life mocked me with its omnipresence.

"How the hell do you get lost in a bar?"

"It's a lounge, sha," came a voice behind me.

What a peculiar dream. I took a bite of my sandwich, returning to the rude awakening that morning. I rarely remembered my dreams, if I had them at all. But last night had been different. I'd found myself in a dimly lit room with a man I couldn't recall clearly, dressed in white and speaking with an accent I couldn't place. I woke up before anything significant happened. The dream had been woefully uneventful.

The floor was almost eerily quiet tonight. Aside from the constant beeps and monitors scattered around and George Gilmore in room 11 watching football, no one spoke. The nurses here seemed less lively than I was accustomed to, their faces vacant, their words few. I kept to my small office most of the night, avoiding their station.

We'd had one death so far—a patient with a DNR who suffered a stroke shortly after midnight. Another woman had been pronounced brain-dead an hour ago. We'd wait until tomorrow to pull the plug, so her daughter could say goodbye. I didn't count her in my tally. The night crew had a way of seeing me even less than the others, and I didn't like them much.

"Hello, Doctor."

I jumped, startled. At least he had the decency to look sheepish. My irritation took me by surprise. I wasn't typically agitated; my feelings were either muted or overwhelming. He pushed his hair back, revealing messy chocolate brown locks, and held a clipboard stained with dubious marks.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shifting awkwardly under my gaze. I was already weary of his presence. "I was told you were new and thought I should introduce myself before leaving for the night. I'm Damon Glass, one of the anesthesiologists."

"Y/N Y/L/N," I replied, my voice flat and uninviting. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," he smiled, showing a gap between his front teeth that reminded me of my father's. It was a rare sight among people my age. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me. Dr. Whitlock is on the floor, and I believe Morgan Fletcher is on call."

I nodded, appreciating the information but ready for him to leave. My distaste had faded, but I preferred brevity in conversations, especially with outsiders. I disliked the feeling of interacting with them. It was why I preferred dealing with the nearly dead; they rarely spoke, and when they did, I knew they'd be too medicated to remember much. The families were more accessible to handle than the ones back in Florida.

It was odd how my thoughts could veer into such morbid territories. Almost as morbid as my enjoyment of overseeing dying patients. It was not as macabre as my unbidden glee at my mother's death alongside my brother, but it ranked high on my list of flaws.

"Have a good night," I said, returning to my computer to refresh my emails.

Dr. Glass seemed to take the hint, leaving with an awkward smile and wave.

August 1997

I stood outside the door, the muffled sounds of grief seeping through the walls like a relentless, jagged current. The family's sorrow was palpable, a heavy fog that followed me down the hallway. I hoped to catch them in a better moment, but the cruel truth of this place was that better moments were rare. With a resigned breath, I raised my hand and knocked. The room fell silent, and a strained voice called out, allowing me to enter.

Elizabeth Fraiser had lived a life filled with grace and elegance. Once a dancer whose feet had carried her across Europe's stages, she met her husband in Paris and married him there. They had settled in New York, where her days of ballet had given way to a quieter role as a ballet instructor in Jersey. She had raised a family, and her pride in her children was as evident as her passion for dance. She spoke of them with a joy that contrasted sharply with the emptiness of my own mother's words.

Now, Elizabeth was in the late stages of lung cancer. Her family had clung to the hope of letting her pass away at home, but the relentless pneumonia and ceaseless pain had pushed them to make the difficult decision to admit her here. Her condition had worsened sharply today, and her family was struggling to cope with the harsh reality.

"Good afternoon," I said softly, a gentle murmur in the oppressive silence.

"Nice to see you," Elizabeth's oldest son, Elijah, managed a weak smile. We both knew he wasn't fond of doctors, but he tolerated me because I didn't overstay my welcome. "Mom's been sleeping for a while."

I stifled a sigh. Her body was crumbling, and delivering bad news was never easy. The small comfort was knowing she would soon feel nothing at all. We planned to increase her morphine dosage and withdraw all other medications. Her family would need to agree, but I wasn't too concerned. Mary, her daughter, had debated extending her mother's life with her brothers.

"We're really at the end, aren't we?" Mary's voice was strained, her husband's arm around her for support. Among them, she was the calmest, but the edges of her composure were frayed. Her eyes were red, testimony to her unrelenting tears. "Will she be in pain?"

I explained our focus on alleviating her suffering. She would be less coherent in the coming days but occasionally rouse enough to interact with them between doses. We aimed to ensure she had the utmost comfort and relief in her final days. The youngest Percy took the news hardest and had to excuse himself. I held Mary's hand, appreciating the warmth of human connection. I prided myself on my bedside manner.

"I know home care wasn't ideal for you," I broached delicately, aware of their crowded lives and young children. "But I'm offering it as an option. Respite care is also available, though I understand it was stressful before. It's worth discussing."

Elijah shook his head firmly. Mary hesitated, but her husband's reminder to care for herself and their baby swayed her. Percy's wife raised concerns about her own health, cementing the decision. Elizabeth would remain with us in her final days. It was probably for the best—she was too frail and in too much agony without constant medication.

"Let me know if you need anything," I said, glancing at the family. The nurses are always available, and I'm on call until six. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?"

"Mom needs a bath," Percy reentered the room. A nurse had come by earlier, asking if we were ready to step out. Let them know they could come in."

The rest of my shift dragged on. Other families were terse and uncommunicative, and their responses were minimal. I understood their grief, but it did little to ease my weary spirit. The nurses seemed as disinterested in me as ever. I had long since given up trying to connect with them.

The air outside was crisp, almost biting. I walked to the subway, the city traffic too maddening to endure. I'd trade bumper-to-bumper frustration for the quirks of the subway any day. Last week, a man in a bunny costume rapped at six in the morning. The week before, a man argued with his reflection in the window. Last night, an elderly woman beside me commented on my disheveled appearance, lamenting that men didn't like that and worrying I'd die alone. I barely remember if I responded. I hated talking on the subway; her parting insult had stung me.

Tonight promised to be different. I left the hospital later than usual, after two code blues and an injury report for a nurse. Overdue paperwork and an insurance squabble later, it was past eight when I left. My walk was short, and the wait at the terminal was OK, but the train didn't arrive until 9:30. When I finally boarded, the car was almost empty.

Then a group of men entered. They were rowdy, pushing each other, their drunkenness a stifling cloud. I almost moved when they sat too close, but I didn't want to draw attention. I could feel their eyes on me. I clutched my bag tightly, fingers brushing the can of pepper spray hooked to its strap. I was almost home. Just three more stops.

"Hey," one of the men called out. I ignored him. "Hey, you."

I hated the subway.

"Leave her alone."

That voice caught my attention. I knew it—or thought I did. When I looked up, I was met with a stranger, yet his presence felt oddly familiar. He was striking, with tanned skin and sharp features that made his brown eyes stand out under the harsh fluorescent lights. He took the seat beside mine, and I didn't stop him. The men were back to their raucous laughter, and I was forgotten. I relaxed slightly, hoping to remain unnoticed.

"Sorry about them," he said, his warm and soothing voice a gentle tenor that evoked a sense of nostalgia. "Are you OK?"

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. Something about him tugged at the edges of my memory, yet he wasn't a celebrity, and I was sure I'd never met him before. Perhaps we'd crossed paths on the subway? My brain was playing tricks on me.

"Yes," I said softly. "Thank you."

Despite myself, I stole glances at him. I had to remind myself to breathe when I ventured past his neck. He was slender, but there was a subtle strength beneath his clothes. If he noticed my scrutiny, he said nothing. He returned to his book, but I was convinced that his eyes were still on me when I finally looked away.

I jolted awake, my body wracked with shivers despite the suffocating warmth of the blanket. The room was deathly silent, save for the moonlight streaming through the window like a spotlight on a stage set for a performance I never auditioned for. I rolled over, trying to bury myself deeper into the cocoon of my blanket, but then I heard it—a voice, soft and faint, yet carrying an unsettling authority.

“Oh, Y/N,” the voice crooned, dripping with a sinister allure. “It’s time. Come to me.”

Confusion and dread clawed at my insides as I stumbled out of bed. The room was a far cry from my own—stone walls, thick and oppressive, casting shadows that seemed to dance with malevolent glee. The floor beneath my feet was icy, a stark contrast to the comfort of my bed. My nightgown, white and delicate, felt like a mockery in this alien environment.

This wasn’t my room.

The voice came again, seductive and commanding. “Y/N, come out, come out, now. I’m waiting for you.”

Compelled, I moved to the window. Below, in the moonlit expanse of the lawn, stood the man from the subway. His face was eerily illuminated, his head tilted back as if inviting me to join him in the darkness below. His eyes—glowing a brilliant gold—seemed to reach out to me, promising unspeakable things if only I would take the leap.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He raised a hand, crooking a finger in a silent invitation. It was as if an invisible thread was pulling me toward him. Entranced, my feet moved on their own accord. Barefoot, the cold stone beneath me was a cruel contrast to the warmth I’d just left behind. I wandered through hallways and passages that felt simultaneously foreign and intimately known, descending into the shadows where he waited.

As I emerged onto the lawn, his smile made me shiver. He approached, his fingers brushing the side of my face—teasing, tantalizing, yet never quite touching.

“I’ve waited for you for so long,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. “So very long. And now, now you’re mine.”

A fragment of my mind screamed in protest, shouting that I didn’t belong to him, that I didn’t even know who he was or why I was here. But a deeper, more primal force tugged at me, pulling me closer until I was nearly touching him. His presence was unsettlingly soothing, and I took a breath, feeling the heat of his gaze.

“That’s right, my lamb, come closer,” he coaxed.

An overwhelming longing surged through me—irrational, illogical, yet so profound that I couldn’t resist. I needed him to touch me, to make the connection complete. I tilted my head to the side, exposing my neck to the moonlight.

He responded immediately, his fingers trailing along my throat, their cool touch sending shivers through me. I gasped, my body lighting up with each delicate brush.

“More,” I heard myself plead, pressing closer.

“Say it,” he demanded, his arms enveloping me in a possessive embrace. “Who do you belong to?”

“You. I’m yours.”

He cradled my head in his hand, leaning in. His lips were smooth against my skin, but his teeth were sharp as they pierced through flesh. I screamed as he drank deeply.

I awoke with a start, sitting up in bed, my hands clutching at my throat, searching for any sign of injury. The skin was intact, unbroken. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm my racing heart that felt as though it might burst from my chest.

The lamp flickered on with a click, casting a harsh, unwelcome light that made me squint and shield my eyes. Grabbing my robe and a cup, I shuffled out of the room, the chill of the hallway hitting me like a slap. I closed the door quietly behind me, trying not to disturb the oppressive silence that hung heavy in the air. The bathroom, bathed in the sickly fluorescent glow, was as deserted as I’d hoped.

I filled my cup halfway with water from one of the sinks, then leaned against the cold, sterile tiles, watching my reflection in the mirror as I took slow, deliberate sips. The dream—the one that had shaken me awake—felt so unnervingly real.

I traced the line of my neck with trembling fingers, the blue vein just beneath the surface. What kind of twisted message was my mind trying to send me with that nightmare? It had been a full-on gothic horror—a relic of some crumbling English manor, not the kind of place I ever imagined myself visiting, unless I was buried in a pile of classic literature.

And him. The monster. Even now, as I closed my eyes, I could still see his face—a blend of dark allure and cruel beauty. His eyes, oh, those eyes. They’d held me in thrall, made me willing to surrender to any demand he made. I could almost feel his cold touch, see his smile that promised both ecstasy and agony.

Wasn’t the whole vampire-mother-stuff supposed to be a metaphor for sex? Maybe that’s what my subconscious was trying to shove in my face—sex, or the glaring void where it should have been in my life.

I studied my flushed reflection, feeling the heat in my cheeks. I shook my head, trying to shake off the nightmare’s grip.

The man sat next to me again. It had been a week since I last saw him, and my body still reacted to his presence. Today, I admired his chiseled jawline and elongated face. He was an exquisite oval with a strong profile. This time, he caught me looking and smiled shyly.

"I'm Hoseok."

The name sent a shiver, stirring something familiar and unsettling. I quickly brushed off the uneasy feeling. It was probably my own insecurity.

"Y/N," I replied, unable to tear my gaze away from him.

He resumed reading, and I focused on crocheting a stuffed rabbit for my nephew. Miles had called that morning to update me on Trinity's appointment. The toy wasn't perfect—far from it—but I wanted to give it a try.

"How would you feel about dinner?" Hoseok's voice broke through my thoughts.

I paused my knitting. "I enjoy dinner. Who doesn't?"

He chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that made me blush. "Cheeky."

I bit my lip, unsure if it was a compliment. I felt a pang of embarrassment, struggling to maintain my composure. The first date I'd been asked on since undergrad, and I was fumbling. Miles would have a field day.

"Would you like dinner with me?"

I hesitated. "Yes."

Hoseok's laughter resonated deeply within me, and I felt a jolt of warmth as he slid closer, his knee brushing against mine. He was impossibly warm. Instinctively, I shifted away, uncomfortable with his proximity. There was something off about him, an unsettling vibe that I couldn't quite place.

But then he smiled, and that soft, disarming grin evaporated all my doubts. He was dazzling. My eyes fluttered shut as his cologne enveloped me, weakening my knees. I had to remind myself to breathe. He was captivating.

"Do you like Italian?" he asked, his voice deeper now.

I nodded, struggling to steady my breath. Panic and embarrassment churned within me, but I couldn't ignore the physical response. My mind was flooded with inappropriate thoughts of Hoseok, vivid and intrusive. I gasped, feeling a flush of heat I hadn't experienced in a long time. 

"Does two weeks work?"

Snapping out of my daze, I looked at Hoseok and nodded. 

"I'm off on the 27th."

He smiled, and I stared at his teeth longer than necessary. They seemed different—sharper, perhaps, with redder gums. I blinked, reassured that they were just as I remembered. My sleep deprivation must be getting to me.

"Meet you here?"

We agreed to meet at six. I'd catch the 5:30 train to ensure I arrived before him. As the subway pulled into my stop, I waved goodbye and stepped out, only to realize I hadn't asked him where we were going. The thought lingered until the following day.

The voice is louder now, sharper, as if it’s cutting through the fog of my half-sleep. “Y/N? I’m waiting for you. Come to me now.”

I hear it, feel the tug of it dragging me towards him, but fear clamps down on me like a vice. My bare feet are numb on the cold, wet grass as I stumble through the twisting maze of hedges, trying to escape the invisible force that pulls me like iron to a magnet.

My breath hitches, coming fast and uneven, as I sprint around corners, the long white gown tangling around my legs and tripping me up. I’m not sure anymore if I’m searching for a way out or if I’m trying to find him.

I turn another corner, my ankle twists and pain shoots through my leg as I crash into an open space—a small, white fountain sits in the middle, surrounded by benches.

Through the flickering light of the moon dancing on the water, I see him. Not a figment of my imagination, but there he is, standing as he promised, waiting.

Hoseok walks towards me with a slow, deliberate grace. He bends, lifting me effortlessly from the mess of my tangled gown and into his arms. I feel a peculiar sense of completeness as he sits on a bench, cradling me like a precious artifact.

“Were you bringing me your gift? Or were you trying to run from me?” His voice is soft, almost tender, and yet it cuts through me. I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes. I’m lost, adrift in confusion.

I’m mesmerized by his flawless beauty. My fingers move of their own accord, reaching towards his face. That smile returns, and I see the satisfaction in his eyes.

“You may touch me.” His lips part slightly, and I press my fingers against them. His tongue flicks out, wrapping around my fingertip and drawing it into his mouth. Before I can react, I feel a sharp bite.

I gasp as he licks the blood that wells up from the small wound. “A small treat,” he murmurs. “That’s why you came, isn’t it?”

I find myself nodding, helpless under his gaze.

He licks my finger one last time, savoring the taste before swallowing. “They told me you’d be extraordinary, worth every moment of waiting. Yet, your taste is beyond anything I ever dreamed.”

My body reacts to his words and his touch—still innocent but making my skin feel like it’s stretched too tight, like I might explode. I let my head fall back, exposing my neck to him as his tongue traces a path up the sensitive skin.

And then he bites.

I bolt awake, heart pounding as if it might burst from my chest. I fumble in the dark, reaching for the light switch, feeling profoundly alone with Rose away for the weekend.

I throw off the covers and stagger to the mirror, desperately checking my neck. There’s nothing there, no sign of the bite.

A cold shiver runs down my spine. I grab a blanket and a book, and huddle in the hall lounge, surrounded by the harsh light of every lamp and the incessant flicker of the television, trying to drive away the lingering shadows of the nightmare.

September 1997

I eased into my seat, the familiar weight of my bag pressed to my left side and draped an arm over it as if to claim it for my own. It was the first night off from the relentless grind of being on-call since mid-August and the first real night out in years. I’d never been much for the party scene, and medical school had only sharpened that aversion. The last time I went out for drinks was nearly six years ago, a fleeting memory of bar hopping that I’d abandoned early, too exhausted to keep pace with my friends.

Tonight, however, felt different. There was a nagging sense that I was misremembering that long-ago night, like a foggy half-remembered dream where something vital was missing. My life in New York had become a blur of medical texts and sleepless shifts, the grueling 24-hour days erasing the finer details of my existence. My final year had been a carousel of discomfort, but the specifics eluded me, lost in exhaustion. Perhaps a creep of some sort, some misguided doctor with a name I couldn’t quite grasp—maybe that’s what had soured my memory. 

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to find Hoseok’s contact. The old SeaTAC was still a relic of the past, but I clung to it out of stubborn habit. Despite its age, it was a lifeline to the outside world, a way to escape the pager’s relentless beeping. I longed for the day when I could toss the landline, but the cost of cell phone minutes constantly reminded me of its importance. With his endless chatter, Miles made sure I burned through those minutes with alarming frequency.

“Hello?” Hoseok’s voice was silky, a comforting balm after a long stretch of clinical detachment.

“Hey,” I breathed, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just got on.”

“See you soon,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring. I could almost picture the smile on his face, and it made me smile in return. His words seemed more benign over the phone, starkly contrasting the intensity of our recent encounters. “Save my spot.”

The car was beginning to fill up, Friday night revelers claiming their space, making it nearly impossible to save a seat. I promised I’d try, even as I felt the crushing inevitability of the crowd. His chuckle was soft, almost intimate. 

“Thank you, sweet girl.”

I bit my lip, the endearment both flattering and unsettling. A tiny voice in my head cautioned me, even though Hoseok had never used his terms of affection demeaningly. The voice grew louder when he wasn’t around, whispering warnings I couldn’t entirely dismiss. It was strange, this constant inner debate.

“I’m going to hang up,” Hoseok said, his voice a sensual murmur. I moved the phone away from my ear, puzzled by the seductive undertone. Was he implying something more?

Was I expecting more from tonight?

“I’m running up my minutes,” he laughed, breaking the spell of my thoughts.

“Oh,” I blinked, snapping out of my reverie. “Sorry. See you in a bit.”

The recurring dreams of him were becoming a distraction. My nights were plagued with vivid, unsettling fantasies, leaving me restless and frazzled. I wiggled in my seat, pressing my thighs together to quell the unsettling arousal. Reality would surely disappoint, no matter how compelling he seemed in my dreams. I resolved to hold off on sex for now. I didn’t want to tarnish his allure with premature intimacy.

“Why did you want to be a doctor?” Hoseok asked, his fingers entwining with mine.

The wine started hitting, and the night air was crisp against my skin. Hoseok was the perfect gentleman; the evening was a beautiful respite from my routine. I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body, and sighed.

“I wish I could say it was for noble reasons,” I said, my voice tinged with melancholy. “In truth, I just wanted my family to notice me. I thought graduating medical school would make them see me, but it never quite worked out that way.”

Hoseok hummed thoughtfully beside me. I turned my gaze away, feeling a strange mix of comfort and sadness.

“None of us are perfect,” he said after a pause, his voice low and contemplative. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, and my choices haven’t always been noble.”

I leaned closer, savoring his warmth and intoxicating scent. Despite my fatigue, the night felt lighter, almost magical. He was mesmerizing, and I was drawn to him in a way I hadn’t expected. 

“I have a hard time believing that,” I said with a soft grin, snuggling closer.

“Well,” he said, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me into his side. “You haven’t had me all to yourself yet.”

A shiver ran down my spine, a curious blend of fear and delight. The night had been a rollercoaster of emotions—enchantment and apprehension intertwined. Hoseok’s smile was disarming, melting away my unease, but I made a mental note to reflect on my feelings once I was alone. He seemed almost too perfect, and that nagging pit in my stomach grew again before vanishing. 

“I don’t want the night to end,” Hoseok whispered, his breath warm against my ear as we waited for the train. “I’m having such a good time.”

I smiled, “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

“When can I see you again?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine longing.

“Soon,” I promised. “I’m getting the next few weekends off now that the other fellowship student is starting. My supervisor is trying to get me off every Saturday.”

“It’s a good thing my boss is flexible,” Hoseok purred, causing my heart to race. “Otherwise, I’d never get to spend time with you.”

I wanted to be annoyed by his clinginess, to remind him I wasn’t his girlfriend, but instead, I found myself grinning. His words made me feel seen and appreciated. Despite the anxiety he sometimes stirred in me, I was eager to be close to him. He looked at me so intently that I was willing to overlook my reservations. Maybe it was just butterflies?

“Where do you work?” I asked, trying to divert my thoughts.

Hoseok was a bartender at a speakeasy in Manhattan, where he’d worked since it opened. He had hinted at it throughout the evening, teasing me with its obscurity. 

“It’s a smaller place,” he said amusedly. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“Try me,” I challenged, my heart pounding strangely.

“Dauphine.”

The name hit me like a jolt. Images of dimly lit corridors and crimson hues flashed in my mind. I was sure I’d never been there, but the name stirred a disquieting sense of déjà vu. The dream from July, the man from my dreams—there was a connection, but it eluded me. 

As we stood in the bustling, well-lit area, I edged away slightly, unsettled. Hoseok was a charming gentleman, but the name “Dauphine” had ignited an inexplicable dread. Despite his humor and warmth, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something—or maybe I was just afraid of what I might find.

I stole a furtive glance at him, and it felt as though I’d known him far longer than the scant time we’d spent together. His face was oddly familiar, like a recurring image in a dream half-remembered. I had met him before, somewhere.

“No, you haven’t,” his voice cut through the night like ice. It was cold, detached, far from the warmth he’d shown me all evening. A shiver snaked down my spine, and I forgot to breathe. His grip on me tightened as though sensing my legs would buckle beneath me. “You’ve never known me before.”

The fierce scowl on his face startled me. His eyes, glowing with an eerie golden light, seemed to burn through me. Everything about him felt otherworldly like he was something less than human. A fragmented memory of a man sitting alone at a bar surged up, only to dissolve into nothingness.

“I am Hoseok,” he whispered, his voice weaving a heavy spell over my senses. “I am your boyfriend. We’ve been together a long time, and we’re in love. You just tripped and hit your head.”

A sudden jolt of pain made me wince and try to pull away from him. 

“Does it hurt?” His voice was deceptively tender, and I sighed through the pain.

“Yes,” I groaned, rubbing my forehead. “Does it look bad?”

Hoseok’s grin was unsettling, a blend of fake sympathy and amusement. 

“You were lucky this time. Just a barely noticeable red mark.”

I chuckled at my own clumsiness. I wasn’t usually this awkward, but my heel caught on a pavement crack. I gingerly rubbed my ankle and was relieved to find it unscathed. Even my heel had survived.

“Jeez,” I said, looping my arm through his. “I completely forgot what we were talking about.”

Hoseok’s smile broadened, clearly enjoying my disoriented state. I rolled my eyes and reached over to gently tap his chest. He responded by sticking out his tongue, which only made me scoff at his childishness.

“We were talking about work,” I said.

I nodded as if on autopilot. “How’s the bar?”

Hoseok worked at a swanky speakeasy in Manhattan, though I was trying to remember its name. Despite being together for what felt like ages, I had never been there. I was never one for bars, while Hoseok reveled in the place’s gothic charm. The name eluded me again as I tried to recall it.

“Tae’s excited,” he chuckled. “With Halloween around the corner, business will pick up.”

I hummed, my thoughts still lingering on the name. I had thought his boss was Tristan, but I must have misremembered. I shrugged off the nagging thought.

“You should stop by the bar,” I heard myself say, sounding oddly mechanical.

“Sounds fun,” he replied, his tone laced with a predatory edge.

Looking back on that night, it’s almost laughable how easily he swayed me. The way he possessed me was undeniable; soon, he would own every inch of me. Those dreams of him were his twisted way of showing love—how much he craved to touch me, to keep me bound to him. It’s sick and vile, and the thought of what we’d become makes me nauseous, yet to him, it’s love. 

“Let’s get you home,” he said, his arm wrapping possessively around my shoulders.

I remember leaning into his side, kissing his cheek as if I was floating. His presence was intoxicating. Even now, I can feel the ghost of his touch and his body's heat. It’s a twisted sort of longing I have for him. This place is cold and dark without him, without his reminders of how much he cares and wants me to scream for him. Here, time stands still, and life continues in a strange loop. I can’t say whether I’m alive or dead, but I know it no longer matters. Once I entered this world, my life ended and began anew. Hoseok made me feel both alive and dead simultaneously.

And as I write this, my heart aches for him. My fingers tremble at the thought of him returning to claim me again. The pain he inflicts makes my heart pound and my stomach clench. I miss him.

It both sickens and excites me.

October 19, 1997

My bones groaned and cracked like ancient floorboards beneath my weight as I fought to catch my breath. Sweat slicked my skin, and I began patting myself down, half-expecting to find something tangible to anchor me to reality. My surroundings slowly came into focus. The harsh fluorescent lights above stung my eyes, but their sterile brightness offered an odd comfort. I was at home, cocooned in thick blankets that had twisted themselves around my legs. The bed beneath me creaked with the effort of supporting my restless form. I sighed, flopping back down, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare that still clung to me like a shadow.

The dreams had become relentless, evolving from vague echoes of past terrors into something far more insidious. These weren't fueled by mere fear but by an overwhelming, consuming desire that felt dangerously close to swallowing me whole. The weekends were the worst, and after seeing Hoseok, they had turned almost infernal. He was always there in my dreams, his skin smooth and flawless, his deep brown eyes burning into mine with an intensity that left me gasping for air.

Every time I closed my eyes, his image flickered behind my eyelids like a dark, seductive film. The scenes always ended the same way: I would climax, my body convulsing in a fevered rhythm, while I looked up to see his face contorted in ecstasy. His deep, guttural groans would reverberate through me as his grip tightened on my skin. He would finish inside me, and my spent body would collapse beneath him. He would drape himself over me, showering my chest with tender, lingering kisses. The setting varied—my bed, a chilling, unfamiliar void, or a dimly lit lounge—but the conclusion was always the same.

With a sigh, I fumbled for my phone, my fingers brushing the cool surface. An email from Hoseok awaited me, and a smile crept across my face despite the haze of exhaustion. He was the epitome of a perfect gentleman—never pushing beyond my boundaries, never demanding more than I was willing to give, always accommodating his schedule to mine. Even in matters of intimacy, something many men would aggressively pursue, he always respected my pace. In the hectic blur of the past month, we hadn’t had a moment alone. He hadn’t even broached the topic. As I thought about it, I couldn't recall the last time we'd been intimate outside of these dreams.

From: Hoseok Jung Subject: All Hallows Eve Date: October 19, 1997: 03:05   To: Y/N Y/L/N Good morning, love, I'm sorry for the early message, especially since this is one of your rare mornings off. I hope I didn't wake you. I'm heading home from work and couldn't stop thinking about you. Taehyung is throwing a simple Halloween party this year, and luckily, it falls on a Friday. Would you like to join me? I think it could be a lot of fun. I love you. Hobi

I grinned and began typing my reply.

From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: RE: All Hallows Eve Date: October 19, 1997: 04:15  To: Hoseok Jung Hobi, Don't worry, you didn't wake me. I was tangled up in strange dreams and was deep asleep when your email arrived. Sadly, I doubt I'll fall back asleep anytime soon, so I plan on catching up on Buffy or Beyond Belief—whichever's on. Hopefully, I won't get stuck with reruns of Seinfeld, not really my thing. Lucky for me, I'm working mornings this week. I'd love to come to your party. Call me when you wake up. Love you, too. Y/N Y/L/N, M.D.   Palliative Care Physician, New York-Presbyterian Hospital

It barely registered that, to my knowledge, I had never said "I love you" to him before. I had never really pondered the oddity of our relationship. My memories of our time together were a disorienting blur, but I never questioned it. It wasn't entirely my fault—he had ensnared me, body and soul, and any unresolved threads might make it harder for him to maintain control. Regardless of our tangled history or how elusive it seemed; I was simply glad he wanted to see me at that moment.

I lay huddled in my bed, my body a coiled spring of anticipation, each nerve ending tingling with the foreboding that had stalked me all day. His voice had been a persistent whisper, a sultry hum that turned my name into a haunting lullaby. It was a melody wrapped in an insatiable longing, a caress of words that promised more than I dared to imagine.

Tonight, I wanted to resist. I tried to muster the strength to ignore the insidious pull, that relentless tug drawing me toward him like a moth to a flame. The very idea of defying him churned my stomach with a nauseous dread. But the threads of his influence were woven so tightly around me, it felt like trying to escape from silken chains.

Then it came, cutting through the murkiness of my thoughts like a scythe. His voice, now sharper, more insistent, shattered the fragile veneer of my resistance.

“Y/N. Come to me now.”

With a sudden jolt, the pretense of defiance evaporated. I threw off the blankets as if they were chains, leaping out of bed and flying through the darkened hallway. My feet barely touched the ground as I hurtled down the stairs, each step propelled by an unrelenting force, dragging me inexorably toward him.

He waited for me in the foyer, bathed in an eerie glow that made him look like an apparition from a fevered dream—or perhaps a nightmare. His smile was both welcoming and chilling, a promise wrapped in malice. When he took my hand, his lips brushed against my fingers with a cool, electric touch that set my entire body aflame.

The intensity of my reaction embarrassed me, but he tilted my face up to meet his gaze, shaking his head with a look of almost pity.

“Your blood knows what it wants, my lamb. You must let your mind follow.”

My face burned with fierce heat, but the compulsion pulling me to him was too overpowering to resist. He guided me through the meticulously manicured gardens to a secluded alcove framed by dense, sculpted hedges. He seated himself on a bench, drawing me onto his lap with a practiced grace that made me feel both cherished and helpless. His eyes, dark and unfathomable, never left mine, promising secrets I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Are you ready, my lamb?”

Without a second thought, I bared my neck to him. The desperate craving for the bliss and torment of his bite had consumed me completely; waiting was no longer an option.

He lingered, his tongue tracing a tantalizing path along the delicate skin of my throat. The sensation was almost unbearable, and I found myself begging with a voice that sounded alien, strained.

“Please.”

And then he bit.

I shot awake, my heart a frantic drum in my chest. I had fallen asleep hunched over my desk at the hospital, my neck stiff from the awkward angle. Rubbing away the ache, I cursed the book that had plagued me with such vivid nightmares. I needed to talk to my brother again; this couldn’t be anything but a cruel trick of the mind.

The glowing digits on my alarm clock mocked me with their late hour. I stood up, stretching and feeling my heartbeat slowly return to normal. I changed into a t-shirt and shuffled toward the bed, determined to banish the lingering unease.

As I passed the window, something froze me in place. I looked down into the parking lot and saw him standing under a flickering lamppost, his gaze locked onto mine with a predatory intensity that made my blood run cold.

It was Hoseok—or at least, it looked like him. But the resemblance was grotesquely twisted. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, a sickly luminescence that cut through the night like a malevolent beacon. His skin was peeling away in ragged strips, as if he were shedding himself like a decaying husk. This was no longer my Hoseok. He was a creature of nightmares, a monster forged from my darkest fears.

My fingers clung to the windowsill as I stared, my body paralyzed by the overwhelming urge to run to him, to give in to the magnetic pull of his presence. I watched as his lips moved, shaping a single word that seemed to echo through the chill of the night.

“Soon.”

I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the vision to vanish. When I opened them again, the parking lot was empty, the lamppost casting its pallid light over a sea of unmoving cars. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, snatched my blanket and pillow, and stumbled back to the on-call room, desperate to escape the sinister call that still haunted the dark corners of my mind.

October 28, 1997

"What should I do?" the nurse asked, her name slipping from my mind like a shadow lost in the night.

"Give them some space," I replied, my gaze fixed resolutely away from the room across the hall. Elizabeth had just passed away, her DNR a cold, ironclad barrier that left no room for last-ditch efforts. Her family needed their final moments with her while we waited for the body to be transported. Mary was still wailing into her husband's chest, and Elijah looked like he'd been dragged through a storm, barely able to stand. Percy stood like a marble statue, his eyes glazed over while his wife clung to him. The sight of Percy’s frozen, unseeing expression twisted my gut in a way I couldn’t ignore. It reminded me too much of what I feared—and I needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of grief.

"Should we get them out of the room?" another nurse asked, her thick southern drawl hinting at Memphis. "Seeing her like that can’t be good for their mental well-being."

I shook my head. "Let them have their last moments in peace. Offer condolences and check on them regularly."

I fiddled nervously with my ID card, the familiar unease gnawing at me. My wounds from the day seemed too fresh. Miles surfaced in my thoughts again, and I resolved to call my brother on my way home tonight. Hoseok wasn’t working tonight, so he wouldn’t join me on the subway.

"I'm going to check in with 211," I murmured, watching Percy leave the room, clutching his phone like a lifeline. "I’ll be back in 5-10 minutes to see if the family needs anything. Just make them as comfortable as you can."

"You got it, doc."

The subway ride home was a silent affair. My headache throbbed like a relentless drum, and my stomach churned uneasily. The day had been heavy with more deaths than usual. Elizabeth’s family had eventually calmed down, but their kindness on their way out hadn’t eased the knot in my chest. I knew their pain intimately.

I called my brother as I made my way to the subway. Despite his complicated feelings about our mother, he was always supportive. The conversation ended abruptly when Aurora entered the room, demanding his attention. Miles had never truly understood my emotions; I doubted he ever tried.

The short walk home from the subway was a blessing, though the cold night air bit at my skin. I was grateful for the proximity of my apartment, but the streets were alive with noise—tourists laughing, gang members shouting outside their apartment complexes. I was relieved to escape the chaos, though my street wasn’t entirely free of foot traffic. My old apartment in East Harlem had been more of a hustle, with late-night carpooling with a coworker whose name eluded me. I knew it started with an 'A,' but the memory only worsened my headache. I set the thought aside for another time.

After selling the family home in Florida and vacation properties scattered across the country, I’d managed to buy a house on Astro Row at 100th and 30th Street. It was an old building—too expensive for its size, and initially, it seemed far from beautiful. But over time, it grew on me. I loved the brownstones, the front porches, the grand trees, and the quiet streets. I couldn’t imagine leaving. Even the renovations I’d planned were postponed. The charm of the old place had won me over, and I’d made peace with its quirks. I even got along with my neighbor, a small but welcome relief.

Tonight was quieter than usual, and none of my neighbors seemed awake. I missed the old man at the end of the street who used to sit on his porch, sipping coffee and waiting for dawn. It was nearly 4:30 AM. I shrugged and continued; my mind focused on the comfort of my bed.

Fumbling for my keys, I cursed quietly when my pockets were empty. My purse, a cavernous mess of clutter, swallowed everything. As I dug through it, a sudden burst of laughter behind me made me freeze. Two women strolled down the sidewalk, their laughter echoing off the walls. They were both stunning, their pale skin glowing under the moonlight. One of them locked eyes with me, her gaze piercing through the darkness. She looked at me as if she’d seen a ghost, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew me.

"Hello," she said, her voice as light and tinkling as a bell.

"Hi," I replied, feeling strangely off-balance.

The other woman seemed perplexed. Her beauty was almost ethereal, with blonde hair as pale as her skin and eyes as dark as night. Her gaze swept over me with an unmistakable disdain, her teeth bared in a slight sneer. Yet, despite her apparent coldness, she was undeniably beautiful.

"How are you?" the first woman asked, her voice soothing.

"Fine," I responded, my throat dry. "And you?"

The nagging headache intensified as I tried to make sense of the encounter, a sense of déjà vu wrapping around me like a tightening noose. The women moved on, their laughter fading into the night, leaving me with a lingering unease that clung to me like the shadows of my dreams.

She studied me, her face a shifting canvas of emotions before settling into a look of genuine confusion. I tried to place her but struggled. There was something crucial I needed to remember, something just out of reach, but my mind remained stubbornly blank. A frantic urge to call Hoseok seized me.

The realization hit me like a cold slap. Why did I think I needed him? I tried to convince myself I could handle this alone. But deep down, I knew I needed him here. He could make this headache vanish, soothe the gnawing anxiety that had taken root in my chest. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

“What's your name?” she asked, her smile both disarming and unsettling, making my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm.

“Y/N,” I replied, feeling dazed and disconnected.

“Cold night, Y/N,” she purred, her gaze never wavering. “You should get inside.”

I nodded absently, my words failing me as I fumbled with my keys. The blonde woman's giggle, filled with an eerie excitement, made me shiver. I wanted to retreat, to escape this strange encounter. I shoved the key into the lock, eager to shut out the unsettling night.

“Y/N,” the first woman’s voice halted me, her tone chillingly smooth. Neither of them had moved since they stopped. The blonde’s smile remained fixed, and I couldn’t bring myself to meet the other woman’s eyes. “Be careful out here. You never know who’s wandering around.”

I nodded, turning the doorknob, but her voice stopped me again.

“I work at a bar in Midtown,” she said, her words snagging my attention like a hook. I had always known she worked at a bar, but why was it important? “It’s called Dauphine. Ever heard of it?”

Yes, I wanted to say. That place haunted my nightmares, a dark shadow that clung to the edges of my memory. But I couldn’t piece together why. Hoseok would know. He’d make everything better. No, my mind screamed—he’d only make it worse. I couldn’t say how I knew this, but I wanted to listen to the little voice inside me tonight. Something was very wrong.

“You should come by sometime,” she offered. “We’re on 1st and East 54th in the far corner of the Diamond District. If you need anything, just ask for ‘Bootsy.’”

Bootsy…

“Are you okay with cherry liquor?” she asked.

I let go of the doorknob and turned to face them fully. I couldn’t meet either of their eyes. The sensation was all too familiar. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the answer I didn’t want to hear.

“Do you know Hoseok? He’s my boyfriend.”

The blonde hissed sharply. Bootsy gasped, her face a mask of surprise and something darker, more shadowy. It was clear that Hoseok was connected to these people, tangled up with my memories of New York, the root of all my confusion. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

No, I shook my head. Was that what he wanted me to believe? I wasn’t sure anymore.

“Yes,” Bootsy finally replied. “I’ve known him for many, many years.”

Before I could second-guess myself, I slammed the door shut and locked it. The blonde finally moved, stepping away from Bootsy and muttering something I couldn’t catch. She disappeared down the street, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

“What’s wrong with me?” I muttered through the door, my voice tinged with desperation.

Bootsy’s response came through with a sorrowful edge. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, my headache pounding with such intensity that I could barely keep my eyes open. “It’s him, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice breaking. “I don’t understand what’s happening. It’s like I remember things but not really, and everything goes blank every time he’s around.”

Bootsy’s eyes, a deep crimson, darted around nervously. They seemed to glow faintly, like a cat’s eyes in the dark. Her dark hair framed her face perfectly, glossy and sleek. Bootsy wasn’t human. What she was, I couldn’t say. But she was somehow tied to the nightmares that plagued me, and Hoseok’s shadow loomed larger than ever.

“He’s a demon,” she whispered hurriedly, her words laced with a fear that seemed almost tangible. “I can’t tell you exactly what he’s done. I’ve never known him to keep someone around for this long, but whatever you’ve done to make him want you seems to have spared your life. You should have died back in ’92 with your friend.”

A friend? Someone else had been involved? Hoseok was a demon? The fragments Bootsy offered were like pieces of a shattered mirror, reflecting a reality I could barely grasp. I believed her, though. I had no reason not to. My memories felt like they were being twisted, distorted by Hoseok’s manipulations.

Then I thought of the creature outside of the hospital and felt my knees go numb. I hadn't hallucinated anything. It was real. It was him. Oh my God.

“We can’t talk for long,” she said, a look of pained urgency on her face. “He won’t sleep for much longer.”

“What can I do?” I begged, clutching my head as if I could squeeze out the pain. It was unbearable. “God, it hurts.”

“Nothing,” Bootsy’s voice trembled. “Hoseok wants you, and he’s never lost a game. It doesn’t matter where you go or what you do; he will win. Whatever you’ve been doing has kept you alive this long, but I don’t know how much time you have left.”

Her words hit me like a tidal wave, crashing over me and dragging me under. I had been a pawn in Hoseok’s twisted game, my life manipulated by his cruel whims. What did he want from me? My body? My soul? The realization was suffocating.

“Go to Dauphine and find Taehyung,” Bootsy instructed, her voice carrying a chilling finality despite its almost maternal tone. “He had a soft spot for you back then. If you’re lucky, he might be able to change you, make you like us. That might be enough to satisfy Hoseok.”

Taehyung. The name cut through the fog in my mind like a beacon, easing the throbbing in my head, if only for a moment. He had haunted my dreams, his image vivid: a white button-up shirt, his gentle hands, his voice firm yet tender, saying he didn’t want to share me. He had left me in that bar, but the details were fuzzy—how or why I had ended up there was a blur. All I knew was that I was lost, and he had once been my guide.

She paused, her eyes darkening with a weighty empathy. “You’d be luckier if Taehyung agrees to end your life before the demon does. I wouldn’t wish this half-life on anyone, nor would I be glad to see you die, but those are your choices. I can’t guarantee you’ll make it through this.”

“What happened in ’92?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, thick with desperation.

Bootsy shook her head, her expression darkening with sorrow. “He killed your friend and tried to lure you away. That's all I know, and I don't have time to explain the rest. The sun’s about to rise, and your demon will be waiting for you to fall asleep. Don’t fight it. Let it happen. If he knows you’re aware of him, he might decide to kill you.”

It felt wrong to just let it happen. What would this mean for me in the end? Would knowing about his influence change anything? I couldn’t be sure, but if I wanted to buy myself time, I had no choice but to take the risk. I needed answers, a plan, anything to regain control.

“Y/N,” Bootsy’s urgent voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Your memories won't come back unless he wants them to. Let it go. Either way you'll be dead.”

With those final, haunting words, Bootsy vanished as quickly as she had appeared. The weight of my predicament pressed heavily on my shoulders, my impending doom looming like a dark cloud. I stumbled back to the porch, unlocked the front door, and sought refuge in the sanctuary of my bed. Bootsy’s grim mantra echoed in my mind as I tried to push aside my troubling thoughts about Hoseok, grappling with the uncertainty that lay ahead.

He appeared to me then, in a vision that was both intoxicating and horrifying. His eyes sparkled with a predatory thrill, his touch setting my skin ablaze, igniting waves of pleasure that crashed over me with ruthless intensity. His worship was ceaseless, his lips warm and insistent, as if trying to devour every shred of my resistance. I was swallowed by him, lost in a whirlwind of passion that twisted the love I once felt (at least, I believed I felt) into something darker, more insidious. I missed him. I loved him. I needed him…

Bootsy’s words had struck me like a death knell, sealing my fate in an irreversible descent. She had unwittingly set my downfall into motion, transforming innocent affection into a ravenous lust that consumed every corner of my mind. When I awoke late in the evening, the decision to call off work for the rest of the week came with a grim resignation. The struggle to stay awake was in vain; it was becoming starkly clear how deeply Hoseok’s control had embedded itself within me. The inevitable was no longer a distant threat—it had already begun to unfold, dragging me into its dark embrace.

October 31, 1997

I tugged nervously at my skirt, my fingers trembling despite the cool night air that should have been a relief. The address that had arrived this morning was burned into my mind, glaring at me from the top of the paper—Dauphine, the bar Bootsy had mentioned. My plans were clear: find Bootsy, get directions, speak with this Taehyung, and figure out my options. But the gnawing truth was unavoidable—no matter what I did, it felt like my life was already slipping through my fingers.

Sleep deprivation had become my relentless tormentor. My eyelids felt heavy, weighted down by leaden exhaustion, and my attempts to feign illness to dodge work had morphed into a grim reality. It was a battle to stay awake each day, and I feared that simply making it to this bar would be a Herculean task.

I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to adjust the wig perched precariously on my head. I’d opted for a lazy Halloween costume—a half-hearted Cher from *Clueless*. The yellow plaid blazer was a thrift store find, the skirt a serendipitous discovery. But the wig made me look more like a grotesque caricature than a character. Frustrated, I yanked it off and tossed it onto the floor. I’d have to go without it.

Yawning, I fought the overwhelming urge to collapse back into bed. My cab was on its way, and I had to be ready. I gathered my essentials—purse, house keys, phone, and a spare outfit—preparing for a night that could very well be my last. I steeled myself for the confrontation, even if it felt like a hopeless, losing battle.

My daily struggle with myself had turned into a monotonous grind. My feigned illness had kept Hoseok at a distance, but it had only given me more time to spiral into despair over his influence. My mind was a battleground, where fragments of my past life clashed with the twisted desires he’d implanted in me. Every morning, I awoke to a gnawing need, a desperate craving for him that left me feeling sullied and repulsed.

I stepped outside and drew a shaky breath of the crisp night air. Calling my brother was both a comfort and a torment. There was a chance this could be the last time I spoke to him, and the thought tightened my chest like a vise. I fought back tears as I dialed his number.

“Hello?” Miles answered, his voice warm and familiar.

“Hey,” I forced a cheerful tone, though it felt hollow. “Still out Trick-or-Treating?”

“We just got back,” he said. “Rory wants to talk to you.”

My heart ached at the sound of my niece’s voice. “Hi, Auntie,” she said, her voice sweet as ever. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby,” I sniffled, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah!” Aurora’s excitement was a bright spot in my darkness. “I was Katerina, mommy was Miss Elaina, and daddy was Daniel Tiger.”

“That sounds amazing,” I wiped away my tears. “What about your baby brother?”

Aurora’s voice took on a scolding tone. “His name is Corbin, Auntie,” she said as though I should have known better. “He’s still in mommy’s belly, so he wasn’t anything. Mommy’s giving him candy.”

I laughed, though it was tinged with sadness. “How’s your mommy?”

“She says ‘Hi,’” Aurora replied. “We got the best candy! A lady was giving out big Starbursts. Daddy’s letting me have all the pink ones because I’m special.”

“You are special, sweet girl.”

A painful thought intruded—would Hoseok make them forget me if I asked him? The idea was almost too agonizing to bear. He’d kept me alive for five years, a perverse form of flattery that I struggled to appreciate. My self-loathing deepened as I thought about the life I was about to leave behind.

“Daddy says I have to go,” Aurora pouted. “Bye, Auntie.”

“Bye, Rory girl,” I choked out, my voice cracking as the tears welled up. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” Aurora’s sweet voice drifted through the line, a beacon of innocence in my storm of dread.

I gasped, the floodgates opening as I fought to keep my composure. “Impossible,” I managed to whisper, my throat tight with sorrow.

“Why?” she giggled, her innocent curiosity slicing through my resolve.

“Because,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “I love you more than the world.”

Aurora’s laughter began to fade as she handed the phone back to Miles. The sound of her giggles and her mother’s laughter echoed in the background, a cruel reminder of the life I was about to lose. My heart clenched painfully at the thought of never hearing those sounds again.

“What’s up, sissy?” Miles asked, his tone tinged with concern.

“I was just heading out,” I said, forcing a tremulous cheerfulness into my voice. “Thought I’d call before my cab gets here. I’m leaving a little early.”

There was a heavy pause on the other end, a silence that spoke louder than words.

“Everything okay, Y/N? You sound upset.”

“No, no,” I hurried to reassure him, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. “Just tired. You know how it is.”

“You sure?” Miles pressed, his concern palpable. He was always too perceptive for his own good, but he never pushed too hard. I hoped he wouldn’t miss me too much.

“I’m positive, Bubba,” I said, my eyes darting to the cab pulling up to the curb. “My ride’s here. I love you.”

“Love you too, sis. Call me later?”

“I’ll try to remember in the morning,” I said, attempting to sound upbeat despite the crushing weight in my chest. “I know it’s late for you guys.”

I closed my phone with shaking hands and stuffed it into my purse, the weight of my decisions pressing down on me. The cab driver approached, his face a blur through my tears.

“Where to?” he asked, his voice a lifeline in the growing storm of my fear.

“1st and East 54th in the Diamond District,” I replied, offering a weak, strained smile.

“Dauphine?” The driver’s eyes flicked to me in the rearview mirror, a hint of something unsettling in his gaze. “Ever been there before?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, trying to steady my breath. “I don’t remember it all that well. Guess I had too much fun last time.”

“Watch yourself,” the driver said, turning on the radio with a slow, deliberate movement. “That place is crawling with freaks.”

“Welcome to New York,” I muttered, more to myself than him.

He chuckled, his voice a touch too jovial. “Been here my whole life. My name’s Jimin. Call me if you need a getaway driver.”

The car rumbled with the low hum of R&B, Jimin fiddling with the radio as if trying to mask the creeping anxiety that gnawed at my insides. I mouthed the lyrics, trying to drown out the terror that threatened to consume me.

My thoughts were a twisted mess of fear and longing. The image of Hoseok, tainted by his manipulation, flickered through my mind. The desire to escape him was overpowered by the suffocating grip of my own confusion. Taehyung was my last, desperate hope—a fleeting chance at redemption. But deep down, a gnawing realization settled in I was already damned, teetering on the edge with no way back.

The mantra echoed relentlessly in my head: I miss him, love him, and need him…

I was spiraling, caught in a web of my own making, and the thought of facing what awaited me at Dauphine was almost too much to bear.

“We’re here,” Jimin's voice cut through the thick fog of dread that enveloped me.

“Thanks for the ride,” I muttered, my fingers trembling as I fumbled with the cash. I handed him a generous tip, a feeble attempt to cling to some semblance of normalcy.

The alleyway stretched before me, a grim path between the upscale buildings of the Diamond District. It looked less menacing than I’d imagined, but its familiarity offered no comfort. Dim street lamps cast weak pools of light that barely touched the encroaching darkness. I hoped—prayed—that Hoseok wasn’t already here. The fading daylight gave me just enough visibility to navigate, and the murmur of voices outside the bar was a small, shaky comfort. I clung to the hope that these voices belonged to ordinary people, potential witnesses if I needed to make a quick escape.

As I approached, the group of people outside fell silent. My stomach churned violently, and bile rose in my throat, threatening to spill. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and face them; their gaze was almost a physical presence, making my skin crawl even though I never looked directly at them. A low, sinister snicker from one of them sent a shiver down my spine, amplifying my fear. I hadn’t even seen their faces, yet their mere presence was enough to make me quake.

The bouncer at the gate eyed me with a scrutinizing glare.

“Password,” he demanded, his voice flat and unyielding.

“I-” I stammered, my mind racing to recall the password Hoseok had given me. “Audubon.”

The gate creaked open, and I slipped past the security guard, my heart pounding like a drum. Despite my nervous bravado, the bouncer’s indifference did little to soothe me. Once inside, I felt a fleeting sense of relief, escaping the unsettling stares.

I gripped my bag tightly, knuckles white, and started searching for the bar. The interior was starkly underwhelming—plush couches and private booths scattered haphazardly, with red neon signs pointing to the restrooms. The oppressive red and black color scheme was heavy, but thankfully devoid of any overtly horrific scenes. I had no desire for strobe lights or dance floors; the thought of walking into a trap was more than enough to keep me on edge.

Navigating through the dimly lit space, I felt like I was moving through a maze. The long hallway ahead seemed to stretch into an abyss, the darkness intensifying with each step. The oppressive gloom and the eerie silence made my nerves jangle. The jazz music that had been softly playing in the background had faded, leaving me in a disquieting void.

At the end of the hall, the emptiness was almost a relief. The silence was oppressive but meant I wasn’t walking into a room full of hostile eyes. Perhaps this was how I’d met Bootsy—wandering aimlessly until she had found me and guided me out.

The bar seemed to stretch on forever, an architectural labyrinth that added to my growing sense of dread. I held my breath as the walls seemed to close in, my anxiety a tangible weight pressing against my chest. The high ceilings and claustrophobic spaces combined to create a sensation of being trapped. My heels clicked sharply against the linoleum, the sound echoing eerily in the silence. The place felt more like a mausoleum than a bar. Every step heightened my unease, and the hairs on my neck stood on end as I glanced around, trying to ignore the creeping terror that threatened to overwhelm me.

“Hello?” I called out, my voice trembling as it cut through the oppressive silence. “Is anybody here?”

The sudden sound of a voice behind me made me jump, my heart racing as I spun around with a gasp that morphed into a shriek. My balance faltered, and I slammed into the wall, scraping my arm against the rough surface. The sharp sting of pain was immediate and searing. I clutched my injured arm, the pain and the shock making my vision blur. I turned to face the figure who had startled me.

He stood there, his white button-down shirt contrasting sharply with the dim surroundings. His tall, lean frame was framed by broad shoulders, and his long fingers seemed to move with an effortless grace. But it was his smile that made my blood run cold—a wide, boxy grin that stretched unnaturally across his face, his eyes glinting with a mischievous, unsettling light.

“My apologies,” he said, his voice dripping with a smooth, honeyed tone. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I glared at him, struggling to steady my breathing and regain my composure. “It’s fine. It didn’t kill me, did it?”

He chuckled softly; a sound that felt more sinister than soothing. “You’re bleeding,” he said, his gaze dropping to my arm.

I looked down and saw blood seeping through a tear in my blazer. The sight of my own blood was like a cruel reminder of my vulnerability. The pain, combined with the sight of my blood, pushed me to the edge. My hands shook as I raised them to my face, tears welling up uncontrollably. The enormity of my situation crashed down on me like a tidal wave. Everything felt chaotic; my life had been turned upside down, and the relentless pounding in my head was unbearable. I should have stayed home. At least Hoseok’s presence, while twisted, had been a semblance of comfort.

The despair was suffocating.

“Are you okay, sha?” His voice was soft, but his touch on my arm was disconcertingly gentle.

I laughed, a hollow, despairing sound. “Does it look like it?”

“No, you look upset,” he replied, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mixture of sympathy and amusement.

“You don’t say?” I snapped, rolling my eyes and jerking my arm away from his touch.

Despite my evident distress, he remained unnervingly calm, his smile lingering like a dark shadow. His pleasure at my discomfort was unsettling, and the aura around him felt eerily similar to the disquieting presence of those outside. His attractiveness was overshadowed by a deeply disturbing quality that made me want to flee. It was as if fear had paralyzed me, pinning me in place.

Suddenly, a chilling realization hit me. As I forced myself to examine his face more closely, I recognized him from the shadows of my past. He was strikingly beautiful in a haunting way, like Bootsy. His pale skin was almost luminescent, and his eyes, once hidden in the darkness, now revealed flecks of red that seemed to glow with a menacing, otherworldly light. They were mesmerizing yet horrifying, a dangerous allure that made my skin crawl. The spell he cast was broken as quickly as it had begun, and I struggled to look him in the eye again.

“You’re looking for me, aren’t you?” His voice was a silky whisper that seemed to wrap around me, tightening with a sinister intent.

Embarrassed by my earlier outburst, I nodded slowly. My hope of finding help felt increasingly elusive as the night grew darker and more menacing. All I wanted was to escape, but the hope that things might improve clung stubbornly to me. Taehyung exuded a disorienting blend of warmth and menace, a mix of comfort and dread that left me feeling more lost than ever.

“I’m sorry for being snappy,” I said, my voice quivering as I wiped away a tear. “I don’t remember you all that well.” 

Or at all, my mind whispered in the encroaching darkness. The more I looked at him, the more I felt Hoseok’s oppressive influence tugging at my thoughts. Images of Hoseok’s touch, his voice, his eyes—each one flared in my mind with an insidious intensity. He misses you; he loves you, he needs you…

“Requiem was wrong,” Taehyung murmured, his fingers chillingly cold as they cradled my face. “You’re too far gone.”

“Who?” I managed to ask, my voice trembling and my head spinning. His touch was both numbing and intoxicating.

“Bootsy,” he cooed, his breath a mix of cotton and sweet pine needles. “She said you had a chance, but she was mistaken. My friend has already completed the bond.”

“W-what?” I whispered, dazed and confused. The throbbing ache in my head resonated with Taehyung’s presence. “What bond?”

“Maybe not,” he whispered, his proximity making my pulse race.

When his lips met mine, they were like ice, yet the jolt of electricity that surged through me made my knees buckle. His laughter was dark and twisted as he wrapped an arm around my waist, his tongue brushing against my lips. I mewled, clutching his shoulders as the electric sensation overwhelmed me. His groan sent shivers through my entire body, and the echo of Hoseok’s voice in my head was relentless. He misses you, he loves you, he needs you…

Suddenly, I shoved Taehyung away, gasping for air as a searing pain exploded in my head. It felt as if a sledgehammer had struck my temple. My vision swam, and I collapsed to my knees, tears streaming down my face as I sobbed uncontrollably.

“Poor child,” Taehyung crooned, kneeling beside me. His scent, soothing yet oddly comforting, did little to ease the tremors wracking my body. “I’m so sorry, but I cannot help you.”

“I’m going to die,” I sobbed, my voice cracking under the weight of my despair.

“Yes,” he said calmly. “The pain will lessen once you accept it; accept him.”

“What does he want?” I managed to choke out.

“Can’t you see?” Taehyung’s eyes glittered ominously in the dim light. “He believes he’s in love with you. It’s a pity, really. I want nothing more than to keep you, but I can’t risk angering him. He would destroy Requiem for revealing his secrets; she is my most cherished friend. Do you understand?”

Numbly, I nodded. I’m going to die. I miss him. I’m going to die. He loves you. I’m going to die. I need him. I’m going to die. I love him. He needs you. I’m—

“Your eyes look just like his,” Taehyung marveled, his gaze softening. “He’s bound to you in a way I’ve never seen before.”

As I stared at Taehyung, my vision began to blur, and the voices in my head whispered louder in the dark corners of my mind. Their weight pressed down on me, my eyes rolling back until all I could see was a void. When I came to, I was horrified to find vomit splattered across Taehyung’s pristine white shirt. His expression twisted in horror and pain as he watched me unravel.

A dark, malevolent presence loomed near, its acrid stench of soot and kerosene overwhelming my senses. My head throbbed as if it had been cleaved in two, and a grotesque, pecking sensation gnawed at my exposed, vulnerable insides. Taehyung’s icy touch against my rigid form offered little comfort as I lay helpless against his chest, terror seeping in with every passing second.

“There’s my girl!” Hoseok’s voice cut through the haze of despair, and just like that, the pain evaporated.

I exhaled, sinking into Taehyung’s embrace. His body felt like ice against my fevered skin, a chilling contrast that brought an unexpected relief. His cool fingers traced my scalp, their touch a soothing balm amidst the chaos.

“I hope you understand Bootsy’s decision,” Taehyung’s voice was as cold as his touch, carrying a weight of finality. “She thought you were still playing games. But she was wrong.”

A deep, resonant rumble filled the space, and Hoseok’s voice emerged from the darkness like a spectral echo.

“Requiem has every right to her judgment,” Hoseok said, his voice a smooth caress laced with menace. “If it were anyone else, I might not care. But Y/N’s suffering is a consequence of her meddling. I had hoped to keep her alive.”

“Why?” I croaked, the question barely escaping my lips.

“You’re my special girl,” Hoseok purred, his voice dripping with a twisted, cruel fondness. “So innocent, so malleable. You’re perfect.”

A strange calm enveloped me as I lay against Taehyung, the tumult of emotions and pain fading to a low murmur. Hoseok’s presence hung over me like a dark, oppressive cloud, his words a cruel mockery of the comfort I desperately sought.

Taehyung’s fingers moved through my hair with a cold, almost clinical precision. “You’ve been chosen,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. “It’s a rare bond that neither Bootsy nor I can undo. I wish there was something more I could do for you.”

My vision blurred, shadows of past anguish swirling around me. Hoseok’s voice echoed in my mind, a haunting lullaby that twisted my insides. “You’re mine, Y/N. No matter how you struggle, you are woven into my essence.”

The room seemed to constrict, the walls inching inward, shadows elongating and darkening. A biting chill settled over the space, the whispers of the damned intertwining with my deepest fears. I could almost see their forms, spectral and menacing, reaching out from the darkness.

I struggled to my feet, the world spinning dizzily around me. My head throbbed with a relentless ache, my heart pounding like a trapped bird. I stumbled away from Taehyung’s unnervingly composed presence, my eyes darting frantically for any sign of escape or salvation.

“Y/N,” Hoseok’s voice was a dissonant blend of soothing and threatening. “Don’t run from me. You belong here, with me.”

My breath came in ragged gasps, the overwhelming urge to flee battling with a stubborn thread of hope tangled in my despair. My thoughts were a chaotic mess, clinging to the faintest possibility of survival amidst the encroaching darkness.

I turned to Taehyung, my gaze pleading, desperate. “Is there no way out? Is there any hope left?”

Taehyung’s expression softened with a mixture of pity and sorrow. “Try to enjoy your final moments.”

Footsteps echoed ominously down the corridor, each step deliberate and foreboding. My heart leaped as a figure emerged from the gloom. Bootsy. Her presence was both a flicker of reassurance and a shadow of dread.

“I’m sorry,” Bootsy’s voice was a murmur of regret in the darkness.

I looked at her, then back at Taehyung, and finally at the encroaching shadows that seemed to reach out with a ravenous hunger. The weight of the choice, of my impending doom, pressed heavily on my chest, threatening to crush me under its gravity.

With a shuddering breath, I steeled myself. “I can’t let this happen to me,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute. “I don’t want this.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the darkness thickening. Hoseok’s laughter echoed through the void, a low, mocking sound that sent icy shivers down my spine. “Of course you do. You wouldn’t be writhing on the floor if you didn’t.”

The shadows deepened, the walls closing in as if reality itself was warping to ensnare me. A cold grip tightened around my soul, a force dragging me back into the abyss I had fought so hard to escape. An aching chill settled below my diaphragm, squeezing the breath from my lungs. My head spun again, his voice a soft whisper in the recesses of my mind. I miss you. I love you. I need you…

Don’t leave me.

Taehyung’s expression hardened into one of grim resignation. “You’re already bound to him. The bond is too strong.”

As I fought against the invisible chains tightening around me, the futility of my struggle became all too apparent. The darkness swallowed me whole, dragging me back into the depths I had desperately tried to escape.

“Please,” I whispered into the void, but the darkness consumed my plea. “Please, no.”

Hoseok’s voice filled the void, smooth and victorious. “Welcome home, darling.”

The last glimmers of light vanished, leaving me in an eternal night, a prisoner of my own choices and the dark forces that had ensnared me. My mind fractured under the weight of the consuming darkness, and as the final remnants of my resistance crumbled, I faced the harrowing truth.

There was no salvation. No escape. Only the endless, consuming dark.

And in that darkness, I was utterly, irrevocably alone.

I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped in this suffocating darkness—hours, days, months, or maybe even years. Time has become an abstract concept here, slipping through my grasp like the thin veil of reality that separates me from the void. The only link to the world beyond this prison is Hoseok, a ghostly presence who appears with a gleam in his eyes that chills me to the bone. His voice, carrying the weight of a thousand tortured souls, always asks the same haunting question: How are you feeling?

We were never friends. Each passing day has sharpened my memories into a cruel clarity. I don’t know where my physical body is—doubtful it’s anywhere near this place. The ink and paper I use to write materialize out of nowhere whenever I need them, appearing and disappearing like phantoms in my disturbed mind. This place defies all logic and reason.

Initially, I fought Hoseok with every ounce of my being. Each refusal brought excruciating pain that felt like it would tear me apart. My screams echoed back at me from the oppressive void, unanswered and ignored. Hoseok would slip into the darkness with a silent, predatory grace, his hot hands roaming over my shivering body before I even knew he was there. I would scramble away, howling and begging him to take me home, but he always left without a word.

Eventually, I gave up the fight. I accepted that escape was impossible, even though my soul still ached for my old life. The pain eased only when I surrendered, and Hoseok’s visits grew more frequent. They were filled with idle chatter about his plans for me. I learned he was a demon, and I was destined to become one too. The possession would erase most of who I once was, but when I awoke, we would be forever linked as master and shade. My freedom would only come after I took my first human life, but that day seemed impossibly distant. Hoseok savored every bite of my soul with a mournful delight.

What I felt for Hoseok wasn’t love—it was an obsession, a malignant force that had seeped into every corner of my being. “A natural reaction of a shade to its master,” he said. I was bound to him, and escape was nothing but a cruel illusion.

The first signs of my unraveling appeared when Hoseok vanished for days on end. In the infinite darkness, where time had no meaning, his absence was a torment of its own. Despite his power to bend reality, he chose to leave me here, dependent on his presence for any sign of change. I began talking to myself, my voice the only sound in the oppressive silence. I spoke for hours, my throat raw and hoarse from the effort, desperately trying to fend off the encroaching madness.

I felt like an addict in withdrawal. I don’t recall when hallucinations began, but soon I was conversing with a phantom chorus of voices. Deep down, I knew it was Hoseok orchestrating these illusions, but my fractured mind twisted reality into something I could barely comprehend. My hatred for him only served to cloud my already distorted perception.

As time dragged on, I grew weary. My speech turned into riddles, convinced I was a prophet receiving divine revelations. Raised Catholic, I had long drifted from faith, but the darkness reignited an obsession with God. I clung desperately to fragmented Bible verses. Hoseok, ever the manipulator, provided me with a Bible. If I weren’t so far gone, I might have questioned his uncanny ability to fulfill my twisted needs.

When I told Hoseok about my religious background, he laughed, and the darkness morphed into a cathedral. For the first time, there was something tangible to focus on during his absences. It was both a prison and a gift. The pews were filled with spectral congregants, and every day became Sunday. I feverishly wrote sermons, warning of the apocalypse. Hoseok attended with a devotion bordering on reverence, but he always left too soon.

The withdrawal pangs paralyzed me, but incessant talking kept the crushing loneliness at bay. I remember the first encounter after becoming accustomed to this madness. My body trembled with need, yet my mind remained alert. Each denial of release brought physical agony, and Hoseok’s visits grew more frequent and prolonged. My breakdown was inevitable.

On the day of my final descent, I felt his presence before I saw him. My struggle had reached its nadir. Despite my lingering hope for escape, Hoseok’s presence shattered my resolve. I became an all-too-willing participant in his dark designs. Even now, as I lie prostrate in my despair, I can’t escape the haunting reality of my existence.

The words of the prayer rolled off my tongue like a ghostly murmur in the dim, solemn church. Each syllable was a desperate plea, a sacrament of my crumbling faith:

“Soul of Christ, sanctify me.”

“Body of Christ, save me.”

“Blood of Christ, inebriate me.”

This prayer was a twisted sacrament, a litany of sacred pleas that felt increasingly like cries into the void.

“Water from Christ’s side, wash me.”

“Passion of Christ, strengthen me.”

“O good Jesus, hear me.”

I bowed my head, eyes squeezed shut like a child hiding from monsters under the bed. My hands gripped tightly in a futile attempt to hold onto my sanity. I prayed not just for absolution but for a distraction, for him to stay away, for the sinful thoughts to dissipate like smoke in the sun.

“Y/N,” a voice whispered, spectral and insistent, urging me to rise, to accept, to finally bend to its will.

Reluctantly, I dragged myself to the pulpit, my legs trembling. I focused on the Gospel before me, the rhythm of my breath, the rehearsed words of today’s homily. I could hear murmurs of anticipation swelling in the pews, bouncing off the stone walls like echoes of forgotten promises.

Did they know? Did they sense the darkness creeping into my soul?

To be honest, I was unsure if anyone was really there or if my mind was playing tricks on me. This place had a maddening ability to distort my perception. I steadied myself, nodding to the organ player, offering a fleeting smile to the choir’s children—figments of my fractured mind. Their eyes, hungry for guidance, believed in my wisdom, though I felt utterly unworthy. Their gaze was a reflection of my own inner torment.

My eyes locked on a figure in the front row, right side, five seats in. My breath hitched, caught in my throat, as I beheld him. Jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—an irreverent defiance slicing through the sanctity of the church. His gaze was a burning, unholy fire that cut through the darkness with unnerving clarity.

In that moment, the last vestiges of my sanity crumbled, leaving me exposed to the consuming darkness that had become my prison.

I steadied myself, nodding to the organ player, and offered a fleeting smile to the choir’s children, who I no longer believed were real. My gaze wandered over the congregation, each face a testament to a faith I felt unworthy of. Their eyes, brimming with expectation, seemed to pierce through me, demanding guidance I could no longer provide. I questioned my own sanity, wondering if anyone in that room could see how profoundly empty I felt.

I once had everything figured out. Before this… before him.

My eyes locked on a single figure in the front row, right side, five seats in. My breath hitched, caught in my throat. There he was: jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—a casual defiance that sliced through the church’s sanctity like a blade. His legs were crossed, hands poised by his sides, eyes ablaze with a fire that seemed to burn straight through my composure.

No holy book in his hands, no righteous smile on his lips—just an unspoken, rebellious challenge. His presence was a magnetism that pulled me toward a pit of temptation and sin. I forgot my sermon. I forgot the vows and promises etched into my soul. The solemn pledges made to men of faith and to God. Promises I had written daily to stave off the creeping insanity.

Those promises now felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by him. His eyes, his lips, his rebellious aura—an inferno of forbidden heat that ignited a longing I could no longer contain. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to escape the searing image of him. Abs, legs, an all-consuming heat that seemed to draw me into its vortex.

When I opened my eyes again, the fire remained. A cough from the crowd jolted me back to the present. I tugged at my collar, the symbol of my childhood and a cruel gift from Hoseok. It used to offer comfort, a sign of belonging, but now it felt like a noose tightening around my neck.

The faces of the congregation were a sea of silent, unspoken questions. Their eyes bored into me, filled with unvoiced suspicions and judgments.

Shit.

My fingers trembled as I gripped the edges of the pulpit, trying to anchor myself amidst the spiraling chaos. The eyes of the congregation felt like spectral judgments, each one a reminder of my spiraling failure. Hoseok’s presence, fixed in my peripheral vision, was a constant, unsettling pull—a dark promise of chaos just beyond the edge of reason. It pressed heavily on my chest, a suffocating weight threatening to collapse my fragile sanity.

I forced my gaze back to the Gospel, attempting to focus on the familiar lines of scripture, hoping they would restore my fractured resolve. But the words on the page blurred and twisted, tangled in the storm raging inside my head. Each verse felt like wading through molasses, and a bead of sweat trickled down my temple, mingling with the cold sweat already gathering at the base of my neck. I cleared my throat, trying to regain control, but the sound emerged as a strangled rasp.

The whispers grew louder, like rustling wings pressing against the walls of my sanity. My heart pounded like a funeral drum, each beat a reminder of my mounting desperation. I could almost hear the devil’s laughter, mocking my feeble attempts to maintain a façade of righteousness.

Hoseok’s gaze was unwavering, a predator’s gaze that seemed to sear through my composure. His movements were fluid, deliberate—like a hunter preparing to strike. My mind raced, desperately searching for an escape from this hellish vortex. I glanced at the crucifix behind me, its hollow eyes and outstretched arms now a pitifully inadequate shield against the encroaching darkness. The sacred symbol that once offered solace now seemed like a cruel joke, highlighting how far I had strayed from purity.

The murmurs of the congregation grew insistent, a chorus of impatient whispers that echoed like an unholy chant. The church, once a sanctuary, now closed in around me, its weight suffocating. I took a deep breath, summoning the last remnants of my willpower. I forced myself to meet Hoseok’s gaze again, confronting the fiery rebellion in his eyes. He offered no sympathy, only a silent taunt that echoed my own guilt.

With a trembling hand, I reached for the microphone. My voice cracked as I began to speak, the words spilling out in a disjointed stream. I struggled to reclaim my authority, but with each passing moment, my grip on sanity slipped further. The congregation’s expressions shifted from curiosity to concern, then to alarm. Their faith faltered under the weight of my unraveling composure.

Hoseok’s gaze remained fixed, a dark star in a sea of light, drawing me inexorably towards his gravitational pull. My voice faltered, becoming increasingly erratic, reflecting the chaos within. The church fell into a tense silence, broken only by the rustling of the congregation’s uneasy shifting. I felt every eye on me, their silent judgment a palpable force.

My final words came out as a barely coherent murmur, a defeated whisper lost in the oppressive silence. I stumbled away from the pulpit, my mind a tempest of confusion and dread. As I retreated from the glaring scrutiny of the congregation, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was stumbling towards some dark, inevitable reckoning. Hoseok’s gaze followed me, a constant, unsettling presence as I fled the sanctuary.

I collapsed into the shadows behind the altar, my breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed through the oppressive silence of the church. The darkness around me felt like a living entity, wrapping itself around my chest and squeezing, threatening to suffocate me. Hoseok's eyes lingered in my mind, their haunting intensity a constant reminder of the sin and torment that had become my existence. The certainty of my spiraling downfall felt inescapable, and every breath I took seemed to deepen my dread.

The pews had emptied in an instant, leaving the room cloaked in a suffocating silence. My heart pounded as I watched Hoseok move toward me. The man before me was no longer the mortal guise he had once worn; his true form emerged, dark and unnervingly compelling. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now burned with a shadowed hunger that quickened my pulse with a mix of terror and something I couldn’t quite name.

“Y/N.” His voice, soft and reverent, seemed to carry a sacramental weight that sent an icy shiver down my spine. There was a truth hidden in those syllables, a meaning only he understood. As his nearness intensified, confusion and fear danced across my features. His calm, deliberate hand cradled my cheek, the touch both tender and overwhelming. The heat of my skin seemed to beckon to him, an invitation that terrified and enthralled me simultaneously.

"You're so lovely," he whispered, his voice a gentle murmur that barely masked the wild intensity in his eyes. His touch guided me backward with a grace that felt almost otherworldly. The church seemed to dissolve around us, melting away into a space that was unsettlingly familiar—a fragment of my life from New York. The red brick of the two-story house brought a strange, bittersweet comfort, like a fragment of a life I had once known. It calmed my racing heart with its eerie familiarity. He led me to the front door, his touch both comforting and possessive.

The lock yielded effortlessly, and as we crossed the threshold, the gravity of the situation settled like a stone in my stomach. The house, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in with a menacing intimacy. 

"So perfectly lovely," he murmured again as he closed the door behind us. I stumbled back, my nerves crackling with an unsettling energy. It wasn’t just fear anymore—it was something darker and more confusing. A part of me ached for normalcy, for escape, while another part was drawn to him with a desperate, confusing need. The line between terror and an inexplicable, forbidden desire blurred beyond recognition. I clung to the last shreds of my sanity, even as I felt myself unraveling under the weight of my own conflicted emotions.

"Why are we here?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of breathlessness and an unspoken longing. My heart pounded with a confusing blend of fear and desire. It was as if clarity had returned to me for a fleeting moment, yet I was still tethered to the confusion Hoseok had woven into my days. His promises of relief had begun to erode the pain, even as they wrapped around me like a vice. I remembered the dreams he'd planted in my mind, their seductive whispers blurring my sense of reality.

"I thought you might feel more at ease here," he said softly, his tone smooth and soothing as he followed me through the cluttered living room. Each backward step I took seemed to draw him closer, his presence an inescapable shadow. "Do you like it?"

I hesitated, glancing around at the artifacts of my past—family photos, treasured mementos, relics of a life that now felt so distant. The room was a museum of a future slipping away from me, and Hoseok's eyes seemed intent on taking it all. "Yes, I do," I whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. The room, once a sanctuary of normalcy, now felt like a stage for his dark play.

"I'd like a drink," I said, placing a hand over my racing heart. I clung to the pretense of normalcy, desperate to maintain some semblance of control. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt a flicker of my old self. "Is there anything here? Surely you would... like one... as well."

Hoseok, having long since discarded any pretense of humanity, closed the distance between us with unsettling swiftness. His movements were almost too fluid, his presence too intense. His hands, warm and steady, framed my face with a possessive grace, his gaze fixed on the pulse in my neck, the rich, inviting blood beneath my skin.

"Oh, Y/N, my sweet, innocent little lamb." His voice, a velvety murmur, sent a shiver down my spine. His touch, trailing down to my neck, felt both magnetic and maddening. His eyes lingered on my flesh with a hunger that was almost palpable, a craving that seemed to consume him as much as it did me.

I trembled in his embrace, my conflicting desires mirrored in his touch. A soft moan escaped my lips, my breath warm and trembling with a heady mix of fear and desire. His smile widened, a predatory glint in his eyes as he encircled my waist, his touch moving possessively lower, tracing the curve of my hips and thighs. The tension between fight and flight heightened the charged atmosphere, leaving me both desperate and disoriented.

His eyes traced the flush of my lips, a reflection of the flush between my legs. The scent of my arousal mingled with my anxious heartbeat, a call to the beast inside him. His senses seemed overwhelmed by the promise of my warmth, the floral sweetness of my skin, and the earthy musk of my desire.

"You don't want... a drink?" I stammered, struggling to grasp the situation, to find a shred of reason amid the chaos of my emotions.

"Oh yes, Y/N. I very much desire a... drink." His smile was amused, his lips hovering just above mine. The taste of his breath, mingling with his tantalizing scent, sparked a deep, primal hunger within me. I was alive with all these unfulfilled needs, caught between an overwhelming desire and a paralyzing fear.

I inhaled shakily, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. "What... would you like?" The question was a desperate plea for clarity, a tenuous grasp at the last vestiges of control in a world that had become a tumultuous blur of lust and dread.

A low laugh rumbled in Hoseok’s throat as he brushed his lips over mine, savoring the teasing trace of my flavor. "I want you, Y/N. I want to drink you." His honesty was laced with a raw, consuming need, a plea that mirrored the chaotic mix of longing and fear surging through me. It was clear he had no intention of letting me escape—not now. His tongue traced the corners of my mouth, and his body pressed against mine, making his heat seep through every layer of fabric that separated us.

I trembled, caught in a storm of conflicting emotions. The scents of my home—the cheap cotton sheets, synthetic pillows, and lingering traces of my perfume—led him with a haunting familiarity. He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me with a purposeful stride, and placed me gently at the foot of my bed. The moonlight offered only a weak shield against the encroaching darkness that seemed to swallow us whole.

My heart raced, feeling like a delicate butterfly trapped in a predatory web. As he dropped his coat to the floor and drew me into a deep kiss, my earlier uncertainty dissolved into a raw, electric need. Each touch of his fingers against my body made me shiver, a mix of anticipation and dread coiling tightly within me.

The bed was unmade, its disarray a silent testament to my disordered state. His scent lingered in the tangled sheets and blankets as he lowered me onto them. My sweat-dampened palms gripped his hair, my fingers exploring the nape of his neck and shoulders. The buttons on his shirt came undone beneath my trembling hands, my desire growing bolder despite the icy grip of fear that clenched at my chest. His groan as his teeth grazed my throat made me arch my hips, pressing closer, driven by a need I couldn't fully understand.

My clothes fell away under his hands, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. His eyes devoured every curve of my body, his gaze as palpable as his touch. His mouth descended on mine, hungry and insatiable, and I was enveloped by him, lost in a swirling tempest of our shared desire. His touch became a language, one that read my body with an intimate knowledge I was helpless to resist.

As he explored my secret places, my soft sighs turned into desperate pleas. His searing touch brought goosebumps to my skin, but I pressed closer, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving me. I was caught between wanting more and the creeping dread of losing myself entirely.

"Y/N," he groaned, his voice a dark promise. "I want to consume you." His words were a growl, a warning wrapped in seductive desire.

"Yes, I want you to. Do it. Take me," I panted, clutching at his shirt sleeve. My body spoke louder than words, arching upwards in desperate need. I knew I didn't fully understand what I was asking for, but the awareness was drowned out by the intensity of my longing.

His hands covered my breasts, his fingers finding my nipples. I gasped, pushing closer as his mouth found each tip, his low growl sending shivers through me. My heart raced beneath his lips, the rush of blood whispering of more delights to come. I arched again, my body twisting off the bed, craving more.

His mouth sucked at my nipple, his tongue flicking to heighten my pleasure. His thigh pressed between mine, the fabric of his jeans rasping over my nakedness, igniting a desperate heat. I moaned and bucked against him, my fingers digging into his arms as I convulsed beneath him, reaching the peak of my desire. The exhilaration of the moment was punctuated by the fear that clawed at the edges of my consciousness, a persistent reminder that I was teetering on the brink of something both irresistible and terrifying.

The climax left me gasping, trembling, caught in a whirlwind of confusion and overwhelming need. Each wave of pleasure only heightened my fear, and my body’s reaction seemed to betray my mind's desperate protests. His touch, relentless and insistent, found a rhythm that both seduced and terrified me. I cried out, unable to stop the sounds that escaped my lips, but a part of me wanted to resist.

I tried to pull away, my hand grasping his wrist with a frantic intensity. "What... what are you doing to me…?" My voice was a ragged whisper, trembling with a blend of confusion and fear.

He looked at me with a dark, hungry smile, his eyes alight with a dangerous fire. "Y/N, don’t lie to yourself," he said softly, his fingers curling in ways that made my body shudder. "You’re not overwhelmed. Your body is telling me you want this. You’re close to coming again. I can feel it."

My protests dissolved into incoherent moans as his touch stimulated a spot deep within me. The pleasure was a cruel paradox, blurring the line between ecstasy and dread. I could barely think, my mind clouded by the intensity of his actions.

"No, Hoseok, it’s too much," I whimpered, struggling to catch my breath. "I can’t..."

His mouth moved to mine, his lips teasing, his breath warm against my skin. "You’re a beautiful little liar," he murmured. "It’s not too much. You crave this. You know you do. Beg for it."

The force of his command broke through my haze of desire. "Please, Hoseok...," I gasped, my will crumbling under his dominance. My words felt like a betrayal, but I couldn’t stop myself from begging. "Please, just... take me."

His satisfaction was palpable, a dangerous hunger in his eyes. His touch grew more urgent, driving me to the brink of madness. I was lost in a maelstrom of sensation, my mind screaming to pull away, but my body’s response only seemed to draw him closer.

The moment of his thrust was jarring, a mix of pain and pleasure that overwhelmed me. My body reacted instinctively, my hips rising to meet him even as my mind struggled to grasp the reality of what was happening. The intense pleasure was intermingled with a profound fear, a dread of losing myself completely.

His movements were urgent, almost desperate, as though he were chasing an elusive climax. I was limp in his arms, my breathing ragged, torn between an unbearable desire and an escalating terror.

Despite my growing fear, I clung to him, my hands fumbling for some semblance of control. My kisses were desperate, seeking to anchor myself amidst the chaos. His touch was relentless, and every stroke seemed to heighten the conflict within me.

He pressed closer, his hands exploring with a possessive intensity. My body’s reactions were at odds with my thoughts, creating a tumultuous storm of sensation and fear. My mind raced, grappling with the realization of what was happening, but the pleasure was so consuming that it blurred the line between consent and coercion.

As the moment approached, I felt his breath on my neck, a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked beneath his seductive veneer. The final act was a blur, my fear mingling with an overwhelming rush of sensation.

I was a walking paradox—caught between heaven and hell, life and death, sin and redemption. His presence was a fiery furnace, consuming me with the heat of stolen life he had been deprived of for so long. My body clenched around him, a pulsating rhythm that seemed to drive him to the edge of his sanity. His pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent of sensations that painted the world in a chaotic blaze of colors.

“Hoseok, please…” I whispered, my voice a fragile breath against the overpowering cacophony of sensations. I wasn’t sure if my plea was for him to stop or to continue, a desperate cry from a place deep within me that I couldn’t fully comprehend. My fear was a gnawing presence, clawing at the edges of my desire, but the confusion of what I wanted and what I was willing to accept blurred together.

His eyes were dark with a twisted satisfaction as he sensed the last of my climax and my blood draining from me. The thought of taking me to the brink of death both exhilarated and haunted him. His grip tightened, and with a guttural snarl, he pulled away from my neck, his fangs retracting with a mixture of frustration and reluctant restraint. The rush of his thirst roared inside him, but he forced himself to temper his need.

I was an indulgence he wouldn’t be denied again, a forbidden pleasure he was determined to claim. He gently laid me back on the disheveled sheets, my heartbeat weak and fluttering. He licked the last drops of blood from my skin, his breath ragged and uneven. Each touch was deliberate, sealing the wounds with a final, lingering caress—a practical necessity for a demon who wanted to savor every part of me.

“Mine,” he growled, his voice a low, dark promise that vibrated through my core. “You are mine, Y/N. From now until death claims you, until I claim you.” His breath was warm and heavy against my face. My eyelids fluttered, barely able to focus, but his words penetrated my haze. “If any other man dares to touch you, I will tear him apart. Remember this, my beautiful little lamb. Remember who you belong to.”

“Hoseok,” I murmured, my voice a faint echo of surrender. His satisfaction was palpable, a twisted delight in my obedience and submission. He rose and slipped out of the room, leaving me tangled in sheets and blankets. From across the street, hidden in the shadows, he watched and listened, his gaze a persistent weight on my fragile state.

As dawn’s first light crept through the blinds, it painted the room in a sickly, eerie glow. I lay amidst the tangled sheets, each twist revealing new bruises and bite marks—a grotesque map of the night’s events etched into my skin. The aftermath was a haunting blend of pleasure and torment, an unsettling reminder of what had transpired.

Hoseok’s presence lingered in the room like a shadow that refused to lift. The darkness he brought with him clung to the corners, an inescapable reminder of the nightmare I had just lived through. My mind, once a storm of fear and confusion, now spun in a twisted acceptance—a deranged serenity that felt as liberating as it was unsettling.

The door creaked open like the groan of an old house settling into its own despair. Hoseok reappeared, his eyes still gleaming with that predatory glow, but now softened by an unsettling tenderness. He moved towards me with a deliberate grace, each step imbued with a dark reverence that made my heart pound with a blend of fear and reluctant desire.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice a low, seductive murmur that slithered across the room. “Do you understand now? You are mine, every inch of you.”

I looked up at him, my smile a grotesque reflection of the twisted contentment that had taken root in me. It was not a smile of joy or freedom but a shadowy acknowledgment of a reality I could no longer escape. My old life had withered into obscurity, replaced by the suffocating reality Hoseok had imposed upon me.

“Yes,” I breathed, the word barely escaping my lips. “I belong to you.”

The truth of my submission felt like a heavy, warm blanket, pressing down on me with an oppressive weight. Despite the enormity of what I had given up—my freedom, my chance to reclaim any semblance of my old life—there was an undeniable satisfaction in surrendering wholly to him. The pain and loss had twisted into a perverse form of fulfillment, filling the void in my chest with a dark semblance of love.

Hoseok’s smile widened, a dark curve that spoke of unyielding possession. He reached out, his hand caressing my cheek with a gentleness that clashed violently with the ferocity of his claim. The room seemed to close in around us, the air thick with a palpable tension, as if the very walls bore witness to my surrender.

“You will never leave me,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto mine with an unbreakable determination. “You are mine, forever.”

I nodded, the movement small and almost imperceptible, but it was enough. It was a surrender, a relinquishment of my will to the dark force that was Hoseok. He pulled me into his arms, and I felt my resolve melt away, my body becoming a canvas for his power, intermingling with the strange warmth of our shared connection.

As his darkness enveloped me, I felt a disturbing sense of belonging. In the shadows of the night, under his control, my fears and desires tangled together, creating a new reality that was both terrifying and intoxicating. In that moment, I understood there was no turning back. I was his, bound in body and soul by the twisted threads of fate and desire.

Hoseok’s eyes softened as he pulled me close, his cold skin a stark contrast to the feverish heat of my own body. His embrace was a strange sanctuary, a place where I felt both ensnared and cherished. My mind, once a battleground of conflicting emotions, had slipped into a state of blissful madness. In Hoseok’s dark embrace, I discovered a twisted joy that defied all rational thought.

“I’ve given you everything,” he murmured, his breath cold against my ear. “We are bound now, Y/N. Forever.”

His words were a chilling promise that resonated through the marrow of my bones, a haunting echo that left me trembling uncontrollably. I clung to him, my grip a mix of desperate need and profound terror, as a disturbing form of happiness took root in the darkest corners of my mind. The loss of my old life, the sacrifice of everything I had once held dear, seemed like a fevered dream compared to the unsettling contentment I felt in his arms.

As the first light of dawn filtered into the room, casting long, distorted shadows that twisted and writhed, I looked at Hoseok with a gaze that was both adoring and disturbingly fractured. The vibrant world I had once known had dissolved into a distant memory, replaced by a nightmarish existence defined by the twisted love and passion we shared. My heart swelled with a love so profound it overshadowed any lingering regret, even as my mind spiraled further into chaos.

Hoseok’s final words were a chilling promise wrapped in disturbing tenderness. “Remember, Y/N,” he whispered softly, his voice a ghostly caress in the dim light. “You are mine, in every sense—in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul.”

As the door creaked shut behind him, the morning light seeping in like a reluctant witness, I was left enveloped in the oppressive embrace of the darkness we had forged together. My smile, twisted and unnatural, reflected the bizarre, unsettling happiness I had found in the abyss. I was forever bound to the night, my soul tangled in the shadows of Hoseok’s dark desires.

The room seemed to breathe with the remnants of his presence, each corner cloaked in an oppressive stillness that mirrored the void he had filled within me. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of fragmented thoughts that raged in my mind. Now, there was only the echo of his words, the haunting promise of a future forever intertwined with his darkness.

I lay there, wrapped in the aftermath of our twisted union, my body marked by the evidence of his possession. Each bruise, each bite mark was a grotesque map of the new life I had been forced into. The pain was now a distant echo, overshadowed by the profound and disturbing contentment that gnawed at my chest—a contentment born of both surrender and madness.

As the minutes ticked by and the morning light grew stronger, I found myself replaying his final words in my mind, my thoughts fracturing with each repetition. “You are mine, in every sense—in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul.” The truth of those words reverberated through me like a haunting mantra, a binding contract signed with my very essence, even as my grip on reality slipped further away.

There was no turning back, no reclaiming the life I had once known. I was irrevocably his, a willing participant in the dark dance we had begun. The thought brought a grotesque smile to my lips, a smile that spoke of a happiness found in the shadows, a contentment born of surrender and madness.

At least, I wanted to believe it was madness alone that made me forget how afraid I was.

October 31, 2024

The house had become an enigmatic beast, its former guise of normalcy utterly transformed. From the street, it looked like any other home—silent and shadowy against the midnight sky. But within its walls, it was something else entirely. The shutters were clamped shut, keeping out any unwelcome glimmers of daylight. The curtains, heavy with dust, obscured the outside world, making everything inside a surreal, dreamlike blur.

Within this labyrinth of darkness, the house seemed like a twisted echo of a familiar nightmare. The air was thick with the mingling scents of old incense and stale dreams, creating a heavy, almost intoxicating atmosphere. Flickering candlelight cast eerie, jittery shadows that danced and twisted, as if mocking my attempts at normalcy. Silence pressed down on me, almost alive in its oppressive weight.

Days blurred into one another, each indistinguishable from the next in a fog of disorientation. Hoseok’s routines had become my own, though I couldn’t quite remember how or when they had taken over. My existence revolved around small tasks—cooking, cleaning, and performing acts of devotion—that had evolved into a kind of ritualistic pattern. It was as though each action was a silent offering to the enigmatic darkness that had enveloped our lives.

When I glanced in the mirror, the person staring back was a ghostly apparition of my former self. My face, serene to the point of being unsettling, bore a look of eerie contentment. I was a wraith, drifting through my days with a confusing mix of dread and satisfaction.

As night fell, the house came alive with an almost palpable energy. Hoseok’s presence was overwhelming, filling the space with his dark, commanding aura. His arrival was always marked by the ritualistic locking of doors, a subtle reminder of his control. The sensations of pleasure and pain that accompanied his touch had become a surreal symphony, a haunting reminder of the path I had chosen.

One particularly cold night, as the moonlight filtered through the grime-covered windows, Hoseok and I stood together, looking out into the void. The world outside was a distant blur, an irrelevant expanse that felt disconnected from my reality. The sky stretched above us, a vast, unyielding black, reflecting the emptiness of my existence. We were bound together by something primal and deep, though its true nature remained elusive.

Time inside these walls seemed to warp and distort. The house, once a symbol of normalcy, had turned into a crypt of our peculiar existence. The outside world had faded into obscurity, replaced by the certainty of Hoseok’s presence. I had found a strange form of happiness in this eternal night, where the terror of the outside world had been replaced by the dark, enveloping comfort of Hoseok’s embrace.

As I settled into my favorite worn leather chair, the house seemed to pulse with anticipation for Hoseok’s return. My knitting supplies were spread around me, with a scarf for Hoseok in progress. I hummed softly, my heart beating with a sense of calm and eager expectancy, as if I were awaiting a beloved dream to resume.

I replayed our last conversation in my mind, Hoseok’s words lingering like a haunting melody. “An old friend is coming for a visit,” he’d said, a hint of mischief in his voice. “She’s good at dealing with werewolves.”

I couldn’t suppress a bubbling laugh, the sound rising unbidden. “Isn’t she the one Namjoon’s obsessed with?”

His kiss on my temple had been darkly tender, sending shivers of pleasure through me. “Clever girl. It will be fun.”

I teased him playfully. “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

His laughter resonated through me, sending a thrill down my spine. “When have I ever been nice, lamb?”

“Nice to me,” I’d replied, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Very, very nice.”

Settling back into the leather chair, the hearth’s flickering light casting long, shifting shadows, I resumed my knitting with a serene focus. Each stitch felt like a small act of devotion, a testament to my growing obsession. I hummed softly, my heart a silent witness to the peace I had found in this twisted, eternal night. The lines between fear and love, sanity and madness, had merged into a strange, intoxicating tapestry that I no longer fully understood.

Hoseok said I was perfect. His praise was a balm to my disoriented soul.

I smiled, pushing away any lingering doubts about my sanity. I was fine. I was perfect.

Pager Codes:

110 307 - Go To Bar

209 - On My Way

08 - OK

420 - You’re in trouble

3011 - Be Careful

221 - Where are you?

419 - I don’t understand

100 - Come Back

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[raineandsky]

#127

The lock on the door is an easy pick, and with one final touch the door clicks open and allows the villain inside.

Now, the villain is usually well above petty crime. He’s done his fair share of thieving. He’s pick-pocketed, he’s robbed, and yeah, sure, he’s broken into places here and there. But his life is actually fun now, thanks to a villainous promotion and some less of the dirty work, and so stealing ended up rather low on his list of fun weekend activities.

It’s not a weekend, though, and it sure as hell isn’t fun either. This is business, and goddamn if the villain isn’t a professional.

He glances at the screen of the phone in his hand, checking and rechecking the picture he took of the supervillain’s instructions. If only the supervillain wasn’t trained to be a doctor, his handwriting might be somewhat legible. He is though, unfortunately, and the villain is wishing he’d just typed up the words when he had the time before.

I’ve had a ‘tip’ on [Hero]’s address. The villain can just about make the words out. It’s like a word puzzle, which he is notoriously bad at already. I have reason to believe she’s got some important documents in there. Infiltrate, find her stash of secrets, and bring it in.

Easy enough. The fun part of stealing was usually finding the most expensive object, though, and the villain has an inkling that some paperwork won’t exactly make him a millionaire. He tucks the phone into his pocket, taking a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness before shutting the door behind him and exploring.

He finds a living room, a bathroom, a kitchen, the fridge, ooh she has good taste. The villain plucks a punnet of grapes from the fridge and tosses one into his mouth. The supervillain has him on late nights—he doesn’t have time for dinner at the moment. The hero will have to survive without her grapes.

The office feels like stumbling across a mine of incredibly boring, inexpensive gold. The villain takes to rooting through the piles of papers mounting on the desk. All plain, civilian problems—bills, taxes, a newsletter from the mayor. Nothing exactly incriminating.

“What are you doing in my house?”

Who the hell is awake at three in the morning? The villain wasn’t that loud coming in. He turns dramatically, expecting to make his first introduction to the hero, but he isn’t faced with the hero. He isn’t faced with a hero at all.

An old lady is standing in the doorway, her glasses perched wonkily on her nose and a baseball bat in her hands. The bat is kind of menacing, at first, but then she has to awkwardly adjust her glasses and the illusion is gone.

The villain’s mind is short-circuiting. That’s not a goddamn hero. What the hell has the superhero gotten him into? What the hell is he meant to do with a bat-wielding civilian?

“You’re deaf as well as unlawful,” she adds drily.

“No, no.” The villain's cool demeanour is slipping too fast. “No, I can hear just fine, thank you.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

The bat taps pointedly against the woman’s palm. She’d probably injure herself trying to swing it at him. That thought alone is vaguely comforting. Only vaguely, though—she’s still wielding a baseball bat.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“I am here,” the villain starts slowly, “to rob you blind.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. He didn’t expect to run into anyone, much less a civilian, much much less a little old lady. He’s running on a bank of prewritten sentences he used in his thieving days, and for some reason the least helpful one is the one that wants to be said.

The woman’s face scrunches up in an emotion the villain can’t read. At first he thinks it might be distress, or perhaps fear, but then she raises the bat and he realises that, oh, no, that’s actually unbridled rage.

She brings it down in an arc and the villain just about dodges to the side. She doesn’t seem to mind the fact the bat absolutely annihilates her desk in his stead. Jesus Christ, is that thing made of steel?

He may be a villain, and villainy may require a certain amount of balls, but this is where he draws the line. The old lady swings again, crashing into the glass cabinet a hair’s width away from the villain’s face, and he decides that no, he’s not dealing with this shit tonight.

He scrambles for the window, throwing himself out onto the fire escape stairs with his new nemesis in tow. She makes one last swipe at him as he takes the stairs down two at a time.

“I’ll bash your head in next time!” she shrieks after him.

It’s only when the villain is safely on the other side of the building that he slows down. He pulls his phone out, sucking in a deep breath, and unlocks it to look at the superhero’s note again. Really scrutinises it. Then it clicks. He sees the problem.

That’s not a 6. It’s an 8. He was on the wrong goddamn floor.

He stares blankly at the screen for a moment. He’s too old to be putting up with this shit.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket, heaves a age-old sigh, and lets himself back into the building for round two.

[jrswritings]

Tingles and Giggles - Chapter Eighteen - Tyler Owens x Reader

Get caught up with the Chapters 1-17 on the Masterlist! :)

Chapter Eighteen - Mother Clucker

As Tyler pulled into his aunt’s driveway, you noticed the sign saying Daisy Dream Acres and the little hut with a closed sign on the window. You smiled slightly, knowing someday you’d want something like that. You looked down the driveway to see a light blue farmhouse with a wrap-around porch, set with a swing and a big Saint Bernard perched on top of it. You looked to the right and saw the huge garden full of fruits and vegetables at peak harvest, to the left of the driveway you saw another light blue building with a sign saying ‘Mother-Cluckers.’

“That must be the chicken coop?” You asked, gesturing to the building. 

“Yeah, Auntie B loves sayings like that,” he chuckled, putting the truck in park behind her Ford F-150.

“You finally trade in that damn Ram 3500 for a real truck, Ty?” A voice called from the porch. You looked over and saw a woman with dark brown light curly hair, her gray roots showing her age. She had on yellow overalls and a dark blue shirt covered in small daisies. 

“No, ma’am!” He said proudly while getting out of the truck, “This is (Y/n)’s truck.” 

“Damn, and I was just starting to think you were comin’ around, boy,” she said, “Breakfast is almost ready and coffee is hot.” 

While you were getting out of the truck, you noticed this flash of brown and white, and then Tyler was on the ground. You walked around the back of the truck to see him being slobbered with kisses by his Saint Bernard, Cash. You smiled, but it made you miss your pups at home. 

“I missed you, too, bud,” Tyler laughed, scratching Cash’s back and hugging him tight while Cash whined with happiness. 

“I can’t wait to see my boys,” you said softly, kneeling next to him to greet the dog.

“Just think, it’ll be tomorrow,” Tyler said, sitting up and brushing the dirt off his shirt, “Maybe we’ll bring Cash with us so they all can play together.” 

“That’ll be good,” you said, “Hey buddy.” 

Cash came over and almost knocked you over, slobbering kisses all over your face, too. 

“Cash, c’mon man, I kiss that face,” he said, chuckling while standing up and holding his hand out for you.

“Like I don’t kiss yours,” you said, taking it and standing up. 

“I am pretty kissable,” he said while smirking, “Let’s get inside and wash up before Auntie B yells at us.” 

“On it,” you said, brushing your knees off while walking up the stairs to the front door. He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. 

“Ladies first,” he said, smiling and giving your butt a light smack while walking inside. This was new, but you were in front of someone else so you had to play it cool, but made a mental note to ask him about it later tonight when you were alone. 

“I’m glad to see that you’re still a gentleman, Tyler,” his aunt said, “Your momma would be proud.” 

“Well, I had two amazing women to raise me and whip me into shape,” he said, pouring two cups of coffee. 

“Damn right you did,” she laughed, “So I’ll go out and take care of the horses if you want to do the chickens.” 

“We can do that,” you said, “I’m sure Tyler can show me the ropes, but I’m sure it’s no different than the chickens my parents have.” 

“They’re a handful and I’ve threatened to turn them into fried chicken,” she said while plating up hashbrowns, bacon, eggs, and toast. 

“My dad not only threatened but then held out on that,” you laughed, “Was pretty good chicken.” 

“When Tyler was younger a couple of the older chickens were chasing him around and pecking his rear,” she said, “Was pretty funny to watch from the porch.” 

“Yeah, it wasn’t very fun running away from said chickens with a basket full of eggs,” Tyler said, sitting next to you and putting his arm on the back of your chair. 

“You were, what, six?” She asked, placing plates in front of the both of you. 

“Somewhere around that,” he said, “Definitely wasn’t old enough to know I could just kick them and they’d leave me alone.” 

“I mean, you’re just pre-tenderizing the meat,” you said, taking a sip of your coffee. This made both Auntie B and Tyler laugh. 

“I like this girl, Ty,” she said, “What took you so long to get her?” 

“Well,” he said, trailing off. 

“It was mainly my fault,” you said, interrupting him, “My past relationships left me pretty beaten up so if anyone tried I would usually brush them off or they’d give up trying.”

“Why do you say that they’d give up?” She asked, taking a bite of her toast. 

“Let’s just say my heart is basically in Fort Knox,” you laughed slightly, “It takes a while before I start to trust people, men especially.” 

“Good for you, know what you deserve,” she said, “It’s why I’ve been single after my first marriage fell apart.” 

“Well, he wasn’t much of a man, Auntie B,” Tyler chimed in. 

“Oh hush,” she said, waving him away. 

“I’ve never heard anyone who doesn’t have a job, work ethic, is an alcoholic, and occasionally beat his wife who would do anything for him, a man,” he said, shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth. 

“Ty, obviously she doesn’t want to talk about it,” you said, smacking his arm.

“It’s okay, (Y/n),” she said, finishing up her eggs, “He’s just protective, just like his father.” 

“Can’t help it, it’s in my blood,” he said, finishing his toast. 

“Nothing wrong with that,” you said, drinking the last of your coffee. 

“You kids ready to get to work?” She said, taking the empty plates and putting them into the sink. 

“As I’ll ever be,” Tyler said, getting up and stretching, “Been a while since I’ve done chores.” 

“Been a lot longer for me,” you said, grabbing his ball cap and putting it on your head. You pulled your ponytail out the back and headed over to the door. 

“The baskets are on the porch, dear,” she said, “Don’t be scared to give them a nudge with your feet.” 

“Will do,” you said while cracking the door open, “Thank you for breakfast, Ms. Owens!” 

“Call me Auntie B, honey,” she said, giving you a smile and a wave as she headed out the back door to the horses. 

“And you were so worried she wouldn’t like you,” he whispered in your ear, putting his hands on your waist. 

“Can’t help I’m a likable person,” you said, as he grabbed the baskets and headed down the stairs with you right behind him. 

“More like lovable,” Tyler said, pulling you close and kissing your temple. 

“Somedays,” you said, opening the door to the chicken coop to see a couple dozen chickens. 

“You take one side, and I’ll take the other?” He asked, handing you a basket. 

“Are you making this a challenge, Owens?” You asked, smirking and gripping the basket. 

“What if I am?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Then you’re on,” you said, heading over to the first chicken box and grabbing the eggs left unmanned. 

“Are we doing how fast or how many?” He asked, going to his first box where there was nothing. 

“Why not both,” you said, grabbing another four eggs. 

“Because how many is just a chance of luck with having the good side,” he said, going to the box under it and moving a chicken out of the way to collect the one egg. 

“That sucks,” you said, laughing while already being down five boxes and having around two dozen eggs. 

“Ow!” Tyler shouted while pulling his hand back and putting his hand to his mouth, “Mother clucker!”

“Careful, we don’t want a repeat of when you were six,” you laughed, “But on the other hand I’d love to see that.” 

“It wouldn’t be as funny,” he said from behind his hand. 

“Yeah, it’d be ten times more funny since you’re a grown adult,” you said, looking over at him with a big smile to be met with an annoyed glare. 

“I can’t help that chickens don’t like me,” he said, trying the next box. 

“Chickens don’t like anyone, but they can sense fear,” you said, being close to the end of the row of boxes for your side. 

“Okay, maybe I have an irrational fear of chickens,” he said, trying to get more eggs from under a chicken. 

“Want me to help you?” You asked, trying to hold back a laugh while holding your basket of overflowing eggs, “I’m pretty sure I won.” 

“Yeah,” he sighed, looking down at his basket to see maybe a dozen eggs. 

Want more? Here's Chapter Nineteen!

Taglist: @fanboyswhore9 @faith719 @ummmeg @nerdgirljen @winterassassin1804 @smoothdogsgirl @xbox5angelx

[abilouwrites]

There are many things I don’t understand about this country, how people can be so rooted in their ways with such hatred that people would rather vote for a criminal than for a woman. In the 21st century non the less. It hurts my heart as a woman to live in this country, and though I’m grateful to live in a state where abortions are still legal and still protected I fear for my friends and family who aren’t.

As an 18 year old I shouldn’t have to live in a constant fear of my own body, I shouldn’t have to live in the terrorizing dreadful anxiety of not being able to receive the healthcare I might need. I’m genetically predisposed to have liver and kidney failure if I become pregnant, wanted or unwanted pregnancy is unsafe and can kill me. And even if someone isn’t genetically predisposed to any risks it’s still dangerous. Everything about being pregnant is dangerous and traumatic.

My grandparents and parents are immigrants, my siblings and I are first generation. My parents escaped wars only to find themselves too old to leave one again. Iran is a war place, I cannot go there. Germany, maybe but I can’t request my parents to pack up and leave everything behind.

I’m disappointed in this country, to the people who voted for Trump under the guise that he may fix the economy, remember when he was president? When the world stopped turning and COVID hit. When he undid policies that would’ve prevented that spread. If you’re voting for him thinking he will protect you, and your family. He will not, he will push you out of your country if your skin isn’t white enough and your hair isn’t blonde.

The land of the free has slowly turned into the land of the captured, we have closed the country of kindness. Turned our world into a place of hatred, a place where no one is safe. This year standing at the ballot I felt pride to vote for Harris and Waltz. I felt pride to try and help my country.

It saddens me, driving on the freeway and seeing “TRUMP VANCE 2024” on the side of a car. But what hurts even more is seeing a woman driving. To see a woman actively voting to take away her own rights. To listen to someone falsely lie and spread misinformation about immigrants.

I am hurt, not only as a us citizen. But as a woman.

[unhappycylinder]

Gonna Be Trouble (Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fem!Reader) Part 7

wc: 1.5k

warnings: arguing, angry Jake, relationship issues, deployment

Series Masterlist

---

“Jake are you serious right now?” Gabby yelled at the top of her lungs

“Yeah I am,” Jake matched her tone

“We’ve worked so hard for this! All of us! The amount of texts I get from her…the amount of texts Bradley gets from you! Jake everyone’s rooting for you, everyone can see how much you need each other, how much you want this relationship to work out!”

“Gabby I want this too, but its not gonna work, it just cant! I’m leaving next week and she’s going back to school, there’s just no way…”

“You’ve made it work before pendejo! And she wants it to work too!”

“I’m afraid, Gabby! Okay? I’m afraid of losing her or leaving her, I can’t have both her and my career…”

“Ay cabrón, you’re afraid? I’ll make you afraid!” Gabby yells, threatening to remove a sandal

“Woah there,” Jake puts his hands out, trying to calm her down

“Jake I will personally kill you if you don’t talk about your shit with her. I’ve dealt with her heartbreak over you one too many times,” she threatened, sandal almost in hand

“Gabby I can’t,” he hung his head in remorse

“You can’t what? You can’t what Jake?” She approached him, “you cant for once tell the truth?”

Jake sighed as Gabby got closer.

“You know what I see why they call you Hangman,” she said softly, “you always leave people hanging…even the ones you love”

Tears threatening to escape his eyes, Hangman placed his hands on his hips, his head tilting back towards the ceiling of Gabby’s house. Gabby walked away, head hung, phone in hand threatening to call her best friend and spill the news of Jake’s deployment before he had the chance to hurt her.

Hearing whispers around the corner, Jake lowered his head and turned around to find Rooster entering the room. 

“Sorry about her man,” Rooster began

“No, no, she’s right,” Jake responded 

“She always is.” 

Jake sighed again, putting his hands over his face, “man I don’t know what to do!”

“I mean you could just…tell her?”

“How’s she gonna react to that? She’s in college man. I just don’t see how its fair to make her sit there in another state while you and I roam around the Pacific for god knows how long,” Jake’s head remained in his hands.

“It’s shit man, but thats what Gabby does, that’s what she did when she was in college. And you know what? It was worth it. Because every time I landed, or every time I walked off that aircraft carrier, she was there with open arms waiting for me to come home.”

Jake shook his head, his eyes grazing up the form of his best friend who was standing next to him, arm extending to meet his shoulder with a comforting touch.

“If you believe a relationship will fail,” Rooster began, “it will. But if you know in your heart that she wants you not just to come home, but to come home to her, then that’s all it takes. Military relationships aren’t normal, Jake, but they’re so goddamn rewarding when you put your all into it.”

Jake nodded his head, “you think Gabby’s talked to her yet?”

“I know my woman, and as much as she hates men, especially you, she wouldn’t get in between you and her no matter what,” Rooster smiled at him, relief filling his body knowing that his best friend had resolved to stay with the only woman who had ever made him this happy.

—

“Hey baby,” you said softly over the phone, your calm voice the closest thing to a caress you could give to Jake right now.

“Hi sweetheart, how was your day?” Jake’s voice wavered slightly, but he hoped you wouldn’t notice.

“It was good, class was interesting for once, and I did a little study group in the library with some friends,” you smiled, your eyes scanning Jake’s face over facetime, you could tell something was up.

“No boys in your study group I hope,” he said shakily

“No dad…” you joked, “no boys in the study group”

“Ew,” Jake laughed, “that was a dumb question, I’m sorry”

“What’s got you on edge honey?” You simply couldn’t stand to watch him squirm any longer.

“Um,” Jake sighed, “I’m being deployed,” he said sternly, his eyes darkening.

“Oh.” You knew this would happen eventually, but the reality of it was something you’d never experienced before. “When do you leave? How are you feeling about it?”

“Not great, obviously,” he snapped.

“Jeez Jake I-”

“I leave on Monday.”

“That’s four days from now, how long have you known?” The confusion coursing through your veins as to why you were just hearing about this was almost enough to drown out the pain from Jake being so short with you.

“A week or so,” he said matter of factly, as if he was talking to one of his peers.

“A week? Jake.” You were disappointed, and your tone reflected it, “how could you not have told me?”

“I don’t know, I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to or not,” he shrugged.

“Jake.” You said softly, realizing getting upset with him was not an option right now due to the limited time you had, your soft voice drawing tears to his eyes. “Hey, my sweet Jake, its okay. Thank you for telling me, I know its hard, and I know we haven’t gone through this yet together, but we’re gonna be okay.”

“What if we’re not,” his Texan drawl cracked as he looked up to keep his tears from falling.

“We will be, we always will be,” you reassured him, anxiety growing at his lack of confidence. 

“It’s not fair to you”

“What’s not fair?”

“To just disappear for months and leave you here,” Jake’s eyes never met the screen, “its not fair”

“Jake, I knew this would happen, I knew what I was getting into,” your voice shook, “you’re not leaving me, its just a part of your job”

“Oh you knew what you were getting into huh?” He snapped again, “you knew just how much this would fucking hurt me? How much I hate how far away you are? How much it hurts to see all my coworkers go home to their wives and families and I come home to an empty house…and I get to call you for an hour every day and that’s it. You’re barely there.”

As much as his words stung, you couldn’t give in, you knew his rage was brought about by stress and confusion. It was easier for him to hurt you so you’d push him away than for him to watch you slip away. He was Hangman after all, combat and leaving people out to dry were his specialties, but you never thought you’d be at the receiving end of that.

“Jake…I’m in school. I graduate in the spring but until then there’s nothing I can do about that. You know you’re my priority, you know I love you, and you know I’m more than willing to wait for you while you’re deployed…I’m sorry its been tough, but I am here, I’m always here”

“Exactly,” he wasn’t snapping out of this anytime soon, “you’re always there. Not here. There. Fucking two thousand miles away or something”

“Nine hundred and seventy seven,” you muttered

“What?”

“Nine hundred and seventy seven miles, that’s how far I am from you,” you said sheepishly

“Of course you know that, what don’t you know?”

“I want to know everything about you, Jake,” his eyes flickered to yours, softening once he met your gaze, but then quickly darting away again

“I’m sure you do. But you can’t…because you’re not here. And you’re not gonna be there when I get home, and you’re not gonna be there when I go away. It’s just not gonna work.”

“What are you saying,” your voice finally cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I can’t be with you.” Jake said sternly, his eyes meeting yours through the screen with the hardened look you had only heard of from his fellow pilots.

“Why-” you began to question, “you know what…okay”

“Okay?” Jake whined, shocked by your acceptance.

“I don’t want to be treated like this. If that’s what you want, I can’t stop you.” You sniffled up your tears, Jake just looked at you, baffled”

“Fine.” He said shortly, “Bye I guess,” he barked out and before you could even respond, he had hung up.

—

Taglist: @dempy @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @mightiestheroes @taytaylala12

[suncchaser]

PLS I HATE THE MARAUDERS FANDOM I NEED TO HEAR ABOHT THE MISOGYNY IN IT 😭

I was about six when I became a Harry Potter fan. I have watched the films countless times, and did several re-reads of the books. I have engaged with the fandom in online spaces, on and off, for over 10 years now. I have seen the fandom in many different phases and I will say this - the fandom has always been incredibly misogynistic and paid the female characters dust. But it's insane how, as the years went by, we managed to regress even further rather than to make any progress and be better. 

The first point is the overall lack of attention the female characters receive. I am aware that the four main characters in the era are men. So, Sirius, Remus and James (I am excluding Peter from this because no one really gives a fuck) will inevitably get more attention and more content compared to everyone else and so will any ship involving them. However, there is no excuse for male characters who were barely mentioned and irrelevant to be getting more attention than characters like Lily, who is arguably more important to the series than someone like James. Furthermore, the fandom loves to pick up names from the books and flesh them out, give them lore and presence and that’s wonderful, I love that, I do that. But why is Evan Rosier, a known Death Eater, more popular in the fandom now than women like Marlene and Dorcas, who we know were incredibly capable witches that fought against Voldemort? If you don’t think this has anything to do with misogyny, I don’t know what to tell you.

Second point has to do with the overall treatment of women and wlw ships. I am so tired of seeing headcanons and fanfics where the women are treated like absolute shit to further mlm ships. Why are you writing Mary being SA-ed and having it covered up by Regulus? Why are you writing Remus and Sirius using Mary as an object? Why are you writing about James cheating on his pregnant wife with his little Death Eater ex-boyfriend during a war where people like her are being persecuted? And most importantly, WHY IS A GIGANTIC PORTION OF THE FANDOM GLORIFYING THIS SHIT AND COMING OUT OF READING THESE FICS AVID SHIPPERS OF THESE COUPLES? Stop using the female character to add a little bit of drama in your mlm fics and then throw them to the side when that’s resolved. 

And now about the wlw ships. Let me just say, I am a bisexual woman, who loves men and women just the same. A lot of your wlw ships are nothing more than smoke screens to 1) get women out of the way of your mlm ships or/and 2) try to keep a facade of caring about the girls and about anything other than mlm ships. Because you don’t talk about them, you don’t engage with content about them, you don’t create content for them. Especially with Lily, the only times many of you talk about lesbian Lily is always relating to your favourite mlm ships that conveniently involves her husband. It’s bullshit. It’s cynicism and I can’t stand it. 

So many people in this fandom sit on their little bubble, exclusively talking about men, with no interest whatsoever for the women but refuse to think about why that is. Why is it that I have absolutely no interest in any female characters?

It's misogyny because, unlike what some people think, misogyny is not shouting out from the rooftops that you hate women. It's the little things that we all have rooted inside us that makes us look and treat women a certain way without often realising we are doing something problematic.

[icedroplove]

64.media.tumblr.com

Chapter 7

-------x-------

Juvia woke up feeling well rested from a peaceful sleep. Looking from the window, she could see little raindrops on the window, but the clouds had already vanished. She stretched, excited to spend more time with her friends even if there was a chance Bora would bother her again.

Yesterday had been rough, but when Juvia laid in her bed and stopped to think about it all, she felt less bad. She wasn’t one to dwell on the past for too long. How could she, when she had such a great present time? That was the philosophy that kept her from getting too emotional over the difficult times when she was younger.

“Good morning” Erza said from her side of the double bed

It was funny how even after all this time the water mage never got used to how light her friend’s sleep was. Even when she was resting, any noise was enough to leave her alert. A true knight, indeed. 

“Morning, Erza!!!” 

“Someone’s happy… Last night must have been really good, huh?

Juvia blushed hard and threw a pillow at her friend, giggling. She knew Erza rooted for them as much as herself, so she didn’t feel uncomfortable about the innuendo. That meant she wasn’t imagining things. 

Before she went to sleep, her mind was going feral trying to process what had happened when they were in the lobby, clothes damp from standing in the rain. Gray caught her face in his hands and talked to her with such care that she almost thought… And then he looked at her mouth! She could swear he did. There was a moment, after she had closed her eyes, that she felt him brush his finger against her bottom lip. She didn’t dream that, right?

Had Gray really been close to kissing her?

By Erza’s look, yes.

“What’s bugging you, Juvia? Don’t look at me like that… I know something’s up. Usually, if there was an advance this huge you would be screaming or crying from joy or even melting into a puddle. Talk to me.”

Juvia  sighed and laid on her side, her face close to the redhead. Feeling transparent as, well, water she whispered in a low and airy voice “I’m afraid it will pass.”

“What do you mean?”

“Juvia’s afraid Gray-sama will change his mind… and that fear makes her feel bad. She should trust her beloved, doubt is poison to one’s love. Still. She can’t help but feel as if it will all be taken from her at any moment.”

Erza kept quiet after she was done rambling as if she was measuring her next words.

“First of all, don’t blame yourself for doubting. You have the right to feel that way since my idiot friend has let you down in the past. What I can say is… Gray has changed so much thanks to you. Your presence in his life is vital, even if he fails to demonstrate it most of the time. I know it’s hard to wait so long for him, but ever since the 100 years quest started I noticed he’s been way more open about his feelings with you. Am I wrong?”

“No…”

“And lately he’s been making more progress. I’ve been watching the both of you and - geez, that sounded a bit creepy - anyway, I’ve been keeping an eye on you both and believe me when I say this, I’m sure he’s made his mind. After all you both have been through, how not?”

“You’re right. Gray-sama and Juvia have come a long way. And her love for Gray-sama is stronger than anything in this world, so she should be patient!”

“Woah, calm down. I’m not saying you should accept anything he does just cause you love him. That’s not healthy. If you want this to work, you must stand your ground as well. Tell him what you want, your desires matter as much as his. You shouldn’t have to wait forever for Gray if it’s making you suffer. My advice is: find a balance between giving him space and letting your feelings be known.”

“Erza… You’re so wise. Thank you”

Juvia hugged her friend, letting everything Erza said sink in. A middle ground… she wasn’t exactly known for being balanced, but she could try.

-x-

A few hours later, team Natsu (and Juvia) were standing in the entrance of the publisher’s. A middle-aged woman let them in, introducing herself as Olga. She led them to a cozy living room with a L-shaped couch and a fireplace. They sat and Lucy took the charge. She presented herself as a journalist who wanted an interview to talk about her work in the book field. 

Judging by Olga’s stance, she wasn’t thrilled. Stil, she casually led them to another room filled with bookshelves and a drawer, telling them to wait there.

“I’ll fetch some tea and biscuits since you’re a large group. Are you all from Sorcerer’s Weekly?”

“Yeah.” Lucy answered quickly.

“Cool.” With that, she disappeared.

That was their cue to start the hunt for any kind of information they could get. They started carefully looking through the books and papers on the table. 

“Take a look at this, Lucy-san!”

Wendy found a letter. It was addressed to Olga, and the sender was a name that they had heard before.

Ludovic.

This was getting interesting…

[luckyroll3]

Crimson Lights: Chapter 27

Masterlist

A week trickled by with the weight of unsaid things heavy in the air. My last two appointments at the clinic cancelled, allowing me to close the office earlier than usual. I planned to meet up with Chris later that night, but decide to head straight to his place.

I walk off the elevator into his penthouse and am greeted with silence. I drop my bag on the couch. There are no signs of life in the living room or the kitchen.

I see that the door to his office is ajar, a sliver of light escaping. I approach and pull the door open slowly, not wanting to disturb him. But the scene before me shatters me.

There she is—Aja—straddling Chris as he sits in his office chair, her lips pressed hungrily against his, hands tangled in his hair. My breath hitches, time slowing to a painful crawl. I stand there, rooted to the spot, the sharp sting of betrayal slicing through me.

Without a word, I spin on my heel and flee quietly, grabbing my bag off the couch as I head back to the elevator, back to the safety of my own apartment. I curl up on the couch, a mixture of emotions swirling through me. I wrap the blanket around myself as I try to think about what to do.

A few hours later, my phone buzzes. Chris' name illuminates the screen. My thumb hovers over the decline button, but instead, I answer, my voice a hollow shell. “Hi.”

"Where are you? I thought you were coming over," he says, confusion edging into his tone. “Did you have to stay late at the clinic? I can swing by and bring you dinner?”

"I did come over," I reply bitterly. "And I didn't like what I saw…you being straddled and kissed by your ex-girlfriend."

"Kay, wait—" The click of the line goes dead as I end the call, cutting him off.

His number flashes again, but this time, I let it ring. The screen lights up once more, a message this time.

Chris:

I'm coming down.

My thoughts are a whirlwind of confusion and hurt. As I sit up on the couch, I glance at the message again, knowing that whatever explanation Chris has, it could never erase the image seared into my memory—the woman he'd never mentioned, their bodies pressed together, and the trust between us fractured.

About 5 minutes later, I hear keys in the lock of my front door. Chris walks in and moves towards me in the living room. When I don’t look up at him, he sits next to me on the couch and takes my hand.

"Kay, listen to me," he implores, squeezing my hand. "What you saw—it's not what it looked like."

"Isn't it?" My voice cracks, a jagged edge slicing through the thick air between us. "Because from where I stood, it was pretty damn clear." I pull my hand from his.

"Damn it, Kay!" He rakes a hand through his hair, frustration radiating off him. "Aja means nothing to me. She kissed me, yes, but I pushed her away. I told her to leave."

"Then why hide it?" I counter, my heart pounding in my chest. "I’ve been waiting for days for you to tell me that she was back and you’ve said nothing. Why not mention her at all if she's so insignificant?"

"Because I knew how it would look," he admits, his gaze piercing. "I didn't want to worry you over nothing."

"Nothing?" I scoff, incredulity lacing my words. "Chris, Aja was the one who broke your heart. You've painted her as this... this specter haunting your past. The one who got away. How could her coming back be nothing?"

"Because she's not you, Kay," he says, desperation seeping into his tone. "She's not the one I want."

"Could've fooled me." The sharpness of my own voice startles me.

His expression hardens, and there is a cruel twist to his mouth when he speaks next. "You’re being a hypocrite. What about you and Changbin? Should I ignore the way you two are together? How you slept with him the second you had the opportunity to? Or is that different?"

"You can’t be serious. I’ve always been honest with you about my potential feelings for Changbin and you told me I could explore it; you encouraged me to," I shoot back, my pulse quickening. "I never kept anything with him a secret, unlike you and Aja. You’ve been meeting and texting with her, and you didn’t say a word. How am I supposed to take that?"

"Kay, I'm sorry," he murmurs, he shifts closer to me on the couch and places his hand on mine again, as if to bridge the gap his secrets had created. "I shouldn't have brought that up. I'm just—"

"Angry?" I cut him off, pushing his hand off me, feeling the walls close in. "You don't get to be angry, Chris. Not when I’m the one walking in on you being intimate with another woman. Not when you're the one keeping secrets, lying by omission."

"Please..." The word hangs between us.

"Get out," I say, my voice steady and low. "I can't do this right now. I can't look at you without seeing her on top of you, without wondering what else you haven't told me."

"Kay, please—"

"Chris, get the fuck out," I say a little too calmly.

He hesitates for a moment longer, his eyes searching mine for something, anything that might hint at forgiveness. But I have nothing to offer other than anger at him for trying to turn this back on me. I watch him retreat, the door closing behind him.

The silence in my apartment is suffocating, thick with the echoes of Chris's excuses and my own simmering rage. I need a reprieve from my thoughts. My fingers tremble as I pick up my phone and tap out a message to Changbin.

Kay:

Are you home?

Changbin:

Yeah, what’s up?

Kay:

Need to talk. I’m coming over.

I don't bother changing, the need to not be alone propelling me out the door and into the elevator. As the doors open into his penthouse, the familiar scents of his place greets me.

"Hey," I whisper, stepping into the sanctuary of Changbin's home.

“Hey,” he says as I sit next to him on the couch. “What’s going on?”

The words spill out of me then, a torrent of hurt and confusion about Aja, about Chris, about the gaping chasm of mistrust that had opened up beneath me.

Changbin listens, his dark eyes never leaving my face. When I finish, he exhales slowly, and there is a weariness to his voice that tugs at something deep within me. "He’s definitely an asshole for keeping this from you. But I know deep down, you don’t really think he cheated on you, right?”

I nod.

“Okay. So that means, in the grand scheme of relationship faux pas, this is nothing. He didn’t tell you his ex was in town. So what? You’re taking this hard because of what your ex did. He lied and cheated. Don’t put that off on Chan. He wouldn’t do that to you. Just go talk to him and smooth it over.”

“Okay,” I say softly. “You’re right. It’s my own fucking fears that I’m reacting to.”

“Kay, you know I've got you, right?” He looks me in the eyes as I nod. “But I can't keep doing this dance with you and Chan. It’s tearing me apart."

"Changbin, I'm sorry. I never meant to—" My apology hangs incomplete as I stand. “I’ll go. Thank you for being there for me,” I say as I start to move back towards the elevator, guilt heavy on my shoulders. Changbin told me that he loved me and I never responded, instead running right back to Chris. I shouldn’t be asking for his advice when it comes to Chris anymore.

"Kay, wait." His hand snakes out, catching mine as I walk past him, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt up my arm. He pulls me back gently and I find myself mere inches from him as he stands up to come face to face with me.

"I’ve missed you," he murmurs, his voice rough with a vulnerability that mirrors my own. I can see the struggle in him, the battle between desire and honor, and it mirrors the chaos inside me.

"Changbin, we shouldn’t—" But the protest dies on my lips as he leans in, his mouth capturing mine in a kiss that is equal parts desperation and tenderness.

My heart hammers against my ribcage as if pleading for release, my mind screams caution, but my body betrays them both, melting into Changbin's embrace. His hands are gentle yet insistent, tracing the path of longing and ache that winds through me.

"Changbin, I..." But words are pointless now.

We stumble back to his bedroom where he tears off my clothes and his own. He lays me on the bed and quickly enters me before either of us can think through what we’re doing.

He watches me intently as he thrusts slowly into me. Then he leans down to kiss me just as slow. I cling to him, my desire for him overpowering any rational thoughts. The heat between us is intense and all-consuming and I can feel myself losing control, surrendering to the feelings that have been simmering between us. With each thrust, we become more lost in each other, my moans blending with his as we lose ourselves in the intensity of our connection, eventually cumming together. We lay together, breathless, in silence, until Changbin moves to rest his head on my chest and intertwines his fingers in mine. We both drift off to sleep.

Sunlight pierces the room, drawing thin lines of light across Changbin's sleeping face. I slip from the sheets, a knot tightening in my stomach as the events of last night play on loop in my head. My phone buzzes and Chris’ name pops up.

Chris:

Kay, please, we need to talk.

Can you let me explain?

I'm sorry.

Guilt claws at me, muddying the waters of my thoughts. I need to clear the air with Chris. I dress silently, stealing glances at Changbin, his chest rising and falling in peaceful ignorance of the storm inside me.

As I pull up my pants, I hear him say behind me. “Are you leaving?”

I turn and walk to the bed, sitting down next to him. “Yeah” I say. “I need to talk to Chris.”

I lean down and kiss him softly, feeling his tongue slide into my mouth, teasing me. 

“Binnie,” I whisper. “We can’t let this happen again.”

“I know,” he whispers back before he places one last kiss on my lips.

I leave Changbin in bed and make my way to Chris’ penthouse, my palms damp and my mind a battlefield of emotion.

"Kay," Chris greets me as the elevator doors open. He’s on the couch. His eyes are clouded with concern, his posture tense as if bracing for impact.

"Chris," I start, voice steadier than I felt. "I got your messages."

"Come," he pats the spot on the couch next to him. I join him. "Look," he begins, running a hand through his hair. "I should've told you about Aja. I didn't... I wasn't sure how to handle the feelings that came back when I saw her."

"Feelings?" My voice cracks, betraying the hurt lurking beneath.

"Old feelings," he assures me, his gaze earnest. "Nothing more. When she kissed me, part of me wanted to give in, but I stopped it. I swear. I probably should have stopped it after she climbed on top of me, but I wasn’t in the right headspace. You're the one I want, Kay. The only one."

I stay silent.

"Kay," he starts again softly, his eyes burning with sincerity, "she has no power over me anymore. She might have hooked me once, but not anymore. I no longer love her. You're my whole world now." He pressed his warm lips against my forehead before trailing kisses down the center of my face, between my eyes to the tip of my nose, until his lips meet mine.

I nod, the weight of my own secrets pulling me down. "I know you're telling the truth. I believe you. And you were right—I am a hypocrite."

"What do you mean?" He frowns, searching my face.

"Last night," I swallow hard. "After our fight, I went to Changbin."

His jaw tightens, the hurt unmistakable even as he tries to mask it. "Did you sleep with him? Is that where you just came from?"

"Yes." The word is a whisper, yet it echoes like a gunshot between us.

"Is that what you want? Him?" His voice was hoarse, the question laced with fear and something akin to desperation.

Looking into his eyes, I see the reflection of my own turmoil. "I don't know what I want. You were right; I have feelings for Binnie. But I do know I want a future with you, Chris. I fucking love you.” I sigh deeply. “Everything right now just feels messy and complicated…"

"Kay..." Chris reaches out, his touch tentative but warm, seeking reassurance in the connection. He brings his forehead to mine. “I hear you.”

"Let's just... take it one step at a time," I suggest, my heart aching for both men who hold pieces of it.

"Okay," he agrees, "One step at a time."

[rollercoasterwords]

one and seven for the ask game!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

hi lia <3 <3

Have you pulled inspiration from media sources other than the property your fic is related to (a plot point from a TV show that has nothing to do with the characters/setting of the fic, a line from a book, etc.)? If so, for which story? Why did you find that media source compelling?

absolutely yes! i mean fic in particular is extremely derivative but honestly all writing is derivative...i am always pulling inspiration from other stories i've loved which have stuck w me <3 gonna focus on wfrau in particular just to avoid this answer getting too long + bc that's what i've been writing most recently but. i've pulled inspiration from the animorphs series bc there are lots of fun ethical dilemmas brought up throughout that stuck w me after reading it; a particular scene from the anime 'banana fish' influenced james's story, though i can't say much more abt that without risking spoilers for the anime...if you've seen it you'll probably know which scene it influence tho lol. the crypt ch was influenced by book 4 of the fablehaven series which i read growing up as a kid--i loved book 4 bc it involved the main characters going on a mission into this underground treasure vault and having to fight past different traps to deeper down...so fun <3 the idea to write a werewolf fighting ring au in the first place came from me remembering a book i'd read as a kid called 'the abused werewolf rescue group,' though i couldn't actually tell you anything abt the plot anymore...and i'm sure there are a thousand other bits & pieces of media that have been floating around in my brain as i've written but those r the main ones coming to mind rn!

7. Share a line or paragraph you’ve written that you don’t think will ever actually be posted in anything! (Or, if you don’t hoard cut sentences and passages like I do, share anything you want that has yet to see the light of day!)

ugh see i really should save my writing better...generally w the way i write i'm not usually cutting entire scenes but it has happened once or twice & i've just. deleted it...

i can share a snippet of a pandalily time war au that i wrote about 2 pages of like 2 years ago but don't think i'll ever return to/complete so it will likely never see the light of day...here u go:

The low chatter—that is something that does not change. Gather enough people into a room, call it a party, close your eyes and it could be 1992 in Los Angeles or 761 in Koumbi Saleh or 1674 in Beijing. Humans will buzz like insects no matter what time you put them in, forever and ever and ever. Sometimes Lily wishes that they still existed; she scrubs the thought from her hard drive before her programming reads it as a virus. Humans do exist, forever. One only has to choose the right time.

This time, she is drinking wine. She is wandering through bodies, smiling and feeling the way it shapes her face. She steps past the marble columns, onto the terrace, under the moonlight that kisses her eyelids so gently when she closes them. She can feel the light, you know. That’s something she can do.

“Red suits you.”

The person beside her is a woman, today, or something like it. She wears the same clothing, white sweep of cloth, though she’s never quite able to get the same softness. It drapes willowy, slow-moving, with fingers that gnarl like roots.

“I’m too tired to kill you tonight,” Lily says, biting through the Latin with her canines like rich meat. “Go somewhere else.”

The woman smiles, slow and creeping, a lichen on the bark of a tree.

“Another place?”

“Another time.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I like the wine.”

She isn’t drinking any. She watches the cup in Lily’s hands. When Lily takes a sip, the woman’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, pink and human.

“They have wine later,” Lily tells her, “And before.”

“Not like here,” the woman says, “Not like tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

“And what makes it different tonight?”

The woman smiles. She is standing so very close. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

fic writer ask game

[lovevalley45]

#fictober24 - day seventeen

"Strangest thing I ever heard."

original fiction (power payback) (continuation of this fic)

word count: 1837

tw: general medical stuff

“Your friend is a botanokinetic, right?”

Magni turned in his chair to see Hillson hovering over the edge of his cubicle. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Odd call just came in. There was a guy found half-dead in his apartment by his coworker. BCPD suspect foul play, but the guy is a burnt out botanokinetic.” Hillson rested his arms over the top of his cubicle wall. “I told them I’d send a guy for a second opinion.” 

“Yeah, I can do that.” He saved what he had been working on and stood. “I’ll head down to the station now.”

“Oh, no. You’re going to Bright City General.” 

Damnit. Magni hated hospitals. Although, he hadn’t met many with a perverse love for them, so maybe that was just the general opinion on them. 

“Fine.”

“I’ll tell Detective Pallas that you’re on your way. She’ll be happy to see you.” Hillson gave him a grin that didn’t reassure him. 

As Magni drove from the office to the hospital, he wondered what exactly his boss thought it meant that his friend was a botanokinetic. He guessed it was fair; he’d spent enough time with the Marottos to learn how botanokinesis could manifest. But he was far from an expert. 

Detective Pallas, a tall, Black woman with lots of curly hair, was waiting for him when he came in. She seemed impatient, foot tapping as he walked up. He could guess her cooperation was not voluntary today. 

“Mr. Quinn,” she said. “I thought this case might be a bit too organic for you.” 

“I have experience with botanokinetics,” he told her. 

“Mm.” As he signed in as a visitor, Pallas gave him the run down. “Our victim, for the moment, is Chester Holt. 25, male, works as a sales rep for a dentistry equipment company. His coworker, Fernando Diaz, stopped by to check up on him and found him unconscious.”

“So you think it’s foul play.” He stuck the badge to his chest. 

“Might be. The paramedics on the scene gave me the run-down. Strangest thing I ever heard.” As they walked to the elevator, she explained, “The obstruction in his throat was a bunch of flowers. Loads. Fully rooted down his airway. They had to operate on his airway to try and remove them.”

Magni winced. “Sounds painful.” 

“Yeah. Vic’s still recovering, can’t really speak. The coworker who found him offered to talk to us, but he has a different story.”

“Okay, let’s hear him out.” 

As they went up to the third floor, Magni recognized where they were heading - the Talent ward. It’d been about a decade since Sprout had been admitted for her burnout, when he’d spent hours here trying to cheer her up. 

The hospital room Detective Pallas led him to similarly held no life. He wondered if they’d enforced the same “no live flowers” rule or if it was just too soon. 

The man in the bed - presumably Chester - was hooked up to a ventilator, his eyes opening slightly as they walked in. He was pale, black curls played out on the pillow under him. The glimpse of his eyes that he got revealed multicolored irises - one bright emerald, the other warm brown. 

Beside him, another man sat with an anxious look. There were bags under his dark brown eyes, his chestnut hair rumpled. He stood with wide eyes when he saw Detective Pallas.

“Am I being arrested?” he asked. 

“No. I just want you to give your testimony again.” Pallas seemed to remember that Magni was standing there. “This is Mr. Quinn, one of our consultants for Talent-based crimes. Mr. Quinn, Fernando Diaz.”

Fernando sat back down. “Right. Okay. I don’t know much about Talents, but I heard what his talantologist said. They don’t think it was someone else.” 

Magni was inclined to believe him, but Pallas asked, “Mr. Diaz, if you can just tell us what happened again?” 

“Yeah. So, I was coming by Chester’s place to bring him soup. He was feeling under the weather the day before. I thought it was just a bad cold. But when I knocked, he didn’t answer. I was worried. He had sounded awful, and I thought- I don’t know what I thought.” He started to wring his hands. “The door wasn’t locked, so I came in.” At this, he glanced at Pallas, like he was ready to be reprimanded. 

“You were just trying to see if he was alright,” Magni said, only to receive daggers from Pallas. “What did you see?” 

“Blood.” Fernando laid his hands out on his knees. “The bathroom door was open and the sink was covered in it. That, and flowers. Little purple ones?” 

“Geraniums?”

“What was the state of the victim when you arrived?” Detective Pallas asked, ignoring him. 

“He was laid out of the couch. I didn’t see anything in the throat, but I could tell he was having trouble breathing. And he wasn’t conscious, I couldn’t wake him up, so I called 911.” 

She glanced over at Magni. The testimony wasn’t helpful, but he asked, “Were you aware that Mr. Holt was a Talent?” 

“No. I never suspected.” 

He looked over at Chester, who had closed his eyes. But he could tell he was still awake. That information wasn’t a surprise. 

“Did you think he was keeping any secrets?” Detective Pallas asked. 

“No, Chester would never. He wasn’t that type of guy. I guess aside from being a Talent, but-” Fernando sighed. 

Chester’s eyebrows furrowed. Magni wondered what he was thinking about. It must have sucked to be talked about when you couldn’t even respond. 

“You said you talked to his talantologist. Do you remember their name?” 

“Dr. Merlo. I think.” 

Now that was a familiar name. 

“Thank you, Mr. Diaz.” Magni turned to Detective Pallas. “I’ll talk to her.” 

“Alright. I have a few more questions for Mr. Diaz here,” she said. 

Magni nodded and stepped out into the hall. He was ready to go to the nurse’s station when he caught the doctor stepping out of another room. It hadn’t been that long since he’d seen her; Dr. Merlo wasn’t his doctor, but he’d had to ensure Sprout didn’t skip out on her appointments enough that he saw her around. 

“Dr. Merlo?” he asked, stopping her. 

“Oh. Hello.” Behind her round glasses, she blinked, before recognition set in. “Yes. Magni Sempers. I remember you.” 

“It’s Quinn, now, actually.” Magni cleared his throat. “I’m with Hillson and his consulting agency now, helping the BCPD look into what happened with Chester Holt. I know you can’t say much on his Talent and his previous burnout, but-” 

Dr. Merlo straightened her coat. “I understand. Can we step into my office?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

He followed her into her office - a small space that seemed more like a closet, with just enough space for them both to sit. But it provided a nice bit of privacy. 

“Just like with Ms. Marotto, I was Chester’s talantologist at the time he had his burnout. It was a few years after hers. It was an odd case - the flowers had began germinating inside his lungs and started to choke him out.” Dr. Merlo folded her hands on top of her desk. “You know how kinetics’ abilities can be triggered by emotions, even without their realizing.” 

“I know.” 

“That was what his mother had suspected. Whereas sometimes it can be anger, or fear, grief can be just as strong of an emotion. The reasons Talents often experience burnout in their teenage years isn’t just because they don’t have as much experience with their abilities, it’s because their emotions can be so much more intense. Add hormones, and-” She mimed an explosion. 

“So what happened?” 

“Burnout by broken heart,” Dr. Merlo answered. “And it manifested just like this.”

“You never thought there was any foul play,” Magni said. 

She shrugged. “That’s what I told the detective. I’m just not sure what could have triggered a flare up.”

He thought of Fernando, the slight pain in Chester’s expression when he talked about if he had any secrets. “I think I might know.”

When he headed back to Chester’s room, he went up to Detective Pallas. “Can I have the room to talk to Mr. Holt alone?”

She looked at him skeptically. “You’re not gonna get much out of him.” 

“I’ll get what I need.” 

“Alright.” Detective Pallas sighed. “Mr. Diaz. Mr. Quinn needs the room.” 

“Okay.” With a wary glance, he followed the detective out of the room. 

As Magni took Fernando’s seat, Chester opened his eyes again and looked over at him. 

“Relax. I’m not here to shake you down.” He crossed his legs. “I talked to your doctor.”

Chester closed his eyes again and leaned his head back into the pillow. 

“That Fernando’s a good guy. He sat here with you this whole time?” 

He nodded, or as much as he could with the ventilator. But he didn’t meet Magni’s eyes. 

“My friend says I can be a little too saccarhine for my own good. I love a love story, you know? And Dr. Merlo told me that your burnout, the one that planted those seeds, was set off by a broken heart.” 

This time, he looked back over at him, eyes more aware than they’d been the whole time he’d been here. But there was no anger, only sadness. 

“You love him, don’t you?” 

Chester raised his hand, gesturing towards the pen and paper on the table. Magni handed the pen to him, holding the paper steady as he wrote: DON’T TELL HIM.

He sighed, leaning against the edge of his bed. “I’m a terrible liar, so I’ll just be honest with you. I can’t keep your secret. Unless you want the police to keep chasing an attacker that doesn’t exist. But if we’re being real…” Magni glanced out the door. “I don’t think you’re such the fool that you think you were. If your choice of flower means anything.” 

Again, he beckoned him to bring the paper close. THANK YOU. 

“You’re welcome.” Magni stood back up. 

As he left the room, Fernando came up to him. “Did you get anything out of him? What happened?” 

“Ask him yourself,” he told him. 

Detective Pallas narrowed her eyes, walking beside him to watch Fernando go back inside. “What did you do?” 

“Nothing. Just confirmed that it wasn’t foul play. And maybe played Cupid.” 

“Damn. Who knew a techno-geek like you was so soft-hearted?” she asked. 

“Rude.” He stepped back. “I’m going back to Hillson. I’ll send you a detailed report and the invoice for my excellent matchmaking skills.” 

“Jesus.” 

Once he was out of the hospital and back in his car, Magni took out his earplugs and opened his phone. He ignored the technochatter of a dozen notifications and called Sprout. 

“Hey. Remember those fanfics you read in high school?” he asked her. 

“How do I know you’re about to tell me a wild ass story?” Sprout replied. 

He grinned. “Trust me. You’ll love it.” 

[kapapi-o]

Heaven Sent pt. 3

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Previous parts: Part 1 and part 2.

Not proofread, oop [1.8k words]

des: A third addition to my ongoing FemReader x Cyno brothel series.

warnings: light drug usage, brief violence, and choking (#notkinky ofc).

Don't worry y'all! it's not as heavy as it looks. This series will have a good ending :))

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Before he could stand up and blast his friend for being tardy, the general had already entered, and the air around him was far from pleasant. So, he decided to cast aside his previous words of banter in favor of the matter at hand.

"You're later than our scheduled time, did something come up? How is she?" He queried and was glad to have assessed him earlier. There was certainly malice, with an aura that only matched the one that led the Mahamatra.

An aggression to unjust acts. 

"Nari,” he spoke, voice laced in apprehension. “I feel sick to my core."  

He says, clearly upset as he sat himself at a round table in the room, folding his arms as he did. Upon hearing that bit from him, Tighnari's ears knowingly laid flat on his head —there was no medicine he could concoct that would remedy this. A simple hearing’s out would usually suffice, but this was no ordinary occasion as a friend needing to vent. 

He sat across him, ready for a debriefing of the operation and more importantly, the root of his friend’s anguish. 

"Today, I gave her the orbs that you made for me."

"And?"

"She will do it, the task. But I can't shake the feeling that if…if only I…" Cyno halts, ashamed to say the next chain of his thoughts. Luckily, there was a botanist that could, and it made him cringe to see the general at a loss in his convictions. He grumbled at the sight,

"If only what? You could do better?" Without meaning to, he tsk' at the poor fellow in front of him. This was no time for self pity.

The fennec man sighs, rubbing his temple with his fingers before glancing back at his friend. It’s been a long day for the both of them, and so, he advises the obvious to him,

"Stop being harsh on yourself, Cy." Tighnari leans into the table, trying to beckon the man in front of him to reason.

 "Now that you know what you have to do, it makes no sense to mope about it."

"I understand that much.” Cyno replies, though his expression suggested his feelings remained. “It’s just that I can't help thinking that this could have been prevented…"

Tighnari raises his brow, "What could've been prevented?"

"Any of this." 

For once he remains silent because it’s true. There were obviously variables that were within the Mahamatra’s control, but sometimes, just sometimes, it so happens to slip past them at a blink of a moment. In the end, there’s just some things that can’t be prevented, even if he tried. That’s just the truth. 

Now how could he convey that to someone as upright as Cyno?

Perhaps not…

 Even so—There is still hope to right what’s been wronged.

Tighnari recalls the times Cyno had mentioned her, the woman in the brothel. The fennec man figured that she's the hope in this equation, well, more so in his equation with how the general openly fretted.

"Are you worried about her?"

"I am but…not as much as I was expecting to be.” Very slightly, Tighnari notices the change in the air from the way he spoke of her just as he always has from previous rendezvous.

“She's strong." 

Cyno’s body finally relaxed after relentlessly sitting firm and uptight in his seat. Allowing his back to lay on the backrest, his gaze expressed that his mind was somewhere else, far away. As eager as the botanist is, he chose to withhold his own curious observations of him for another time. 

For now, it'd be best to just let themselves ease up after an eventful day. Tomorrow brings a new set of challenges.

 “Let’s believe in her then, for all our sakes.” Cyno hummed in agreement and sighed at the moon.

The following evening, everything had been set in motion. You had personally asked the women working tonight’s shift to leave the target be, so that he could be locked on you alone, –and sure enough, he came by. 

He bore a seemingly plain looking face. A smile from him would be as inviting and hospitable as any vendor on main street, no one would be the wiser to know that he comes to a place like this when night falls, or that he would be the culprit to many heinous things in the deep underground of the desert. Not that you needed Cyno’s information to know that he’s scum. But if you were still somehow not sold, then that smug grin and cockish air to him would’ve done it for you. For now, that attitude is welcomed. You knew right away how to get this type of person under your will.

“A drink, my lord?” You kneeled to his side, offering the drugged chalice with lidded eyes that looked through your lashes. The man above you snickered, enjoying your ignorance. 

“I’m no lord, my dear.” He passed a dark chuckle that made your skin crawl. “Just a man with heavy pockets.” 

At plenty of others’ disposal. You wanted to say, regret becoming you for not spitting in his drink.

Fortunately, that did not last long because with all guard down, this gullish man took it and chugged it in a gulp. 

With his average body, the drug was taking effect by how his eyes started to daze. 

Here’s my cue.

Instantaneously, you feigned being flustered by glancing away. Tucking the strands of hair that escaped behind your ear, showing off your prettily blushed cheeks as you do. 

“Ah…I’m sorry, sire…I noticed the quality of your clothes and assumed so,” you lean in, pressing a gentle hand on his thigh and your warm perfumed breath hits his neck,

“H-how could you know…the wi..ser? Hah..a..sit with me.” His words slurred as he struggled to stay awake.

“Of course, sire.”

A few teasing touches later and he was dragging you to a room, but not just any room, though. It was a room furthest from the main hall so noise wouldn’t be heard, and a wide window showcasing the waste land. Perfect for anyone to just climb into and abduct someone. Honestly, you had to pat yourself on the back for getting this room all to yourself at short notice.

The job wasn’t done just yet though. You still had a bumbling bastard to deal with. He was almost out of it, so you coaxed him to rest his head on your lap. Once you heard heavy snoring rolling in, you pinched his cheek just a bit to check if he was truly asleep. When all you got in response was an increased volume of snoring, you dropped your infatuated facade and shoved his head off your lap. 

You grabbed a wet cloth from the corner of the room and wiped the areas he made contact with, then threw it at his face. You then hang up the green colored shawl, signaling to Cyno’s aids hiding nearby that the target is ripe for the taking.

As you waited for minutes but it felt like hours, a shrill scream broke from the quiet ambiance and echoed down to your room. It startled you to say the least, but your uneasiness didn't subside because the scream had evolved to shouting.

Carefully, you moved to the locked door and pressed an ear to it. From what you've gathered of muffled voices, it seems to be a one-sided argument between the Madam and a client.

You sigh, there was nothing to worry about after all.

"Y-you…ungrateful wench...!" Your breath got caught in your throat as the horror of the man's hand on your ankle gripped you to the point of pain. Out of instinct, you kicked his nose with all your might, a small crack and pained groan emitted from him, and momentarily released you to hold the injured area. 

You dash to the corner of the room where you tucked your things as the man crawled to you on his forearms, his lower body likely still numb from the drug.

"Y-you did something, didn't you?!" He manages to lunge for your leg and knock you down to the ground with him. 

You can't scream for help. Whether that be the fact that if you did, you'd be as good as dead once the man tells her what you did, or the fact that it would be fruitless to cause no one would be able to hear you. Not when you purposefully picked the furthest room, and especially not when there was loud arguing going on. 

So, you had to fight for your own. Continuously kicking your other leg to his face. Hoping to buy you time. 

But for what? 

How long will it take for them to show up? 

Like always, and for many times more, no one will help you. 

You were doomed from the start.  

No.

 Your mind spared a moment of clarity in the midst of all the negativity clouding it, and in that split second, a chance was thought of.

Your hand dived for something tucked in your things. Your hand searched and searched while your heart beat fights with panic. The man is up to your waist now, clawing at you until finally, your fingers brush against that familiar material. You grasp the orbs and pull it out from the sack. 

I'm not helpless now.

With the orbs in the tight of your hand, you reach for the green cloth that hangs at the window and wrap it at the man's neck, tightening it in a chokehold. The man instinctively places his hands at the cloth, trying to pull away from the sudden loss of air. 

Taking advantage of the moment, you knee him at his stomach, weakening him enough to roll yourself atop of him. 

You then release the cloth briefly for him to gasp for air, –and only for your hand to shove the orbs in his mouth. You clasp onto his mouth with every bit of adrenaline strength granted you.

He, however, fought to swallow them so you quickly knee him in the middle where it's little. He winces and tries to gasp at the pain contracting his abdomen, but he ultimately intakes the drug. You release his mouth from your grip and he urgently coughs in between his gasps for air. He knocked on the floor harshly as his body once again tingled into numbness.

 He tries to get up again, but with the lingering numbness from earlier still in effect, and the fresh dosage he just had, he succumbed to another slumber.

You push him away from you and back yourself to the corner, trying for the life of you to calm down your own adrenaline. No matter the method, you failed to compose as your breaths were still coming in like waves. While you did, your mind was replaying the moments fresh of passing.

Your eyes solely on the unconscious man in front of you. 

In fact, you were so focused on him that you hadn't noticed the hooded figure sitting at your window, who also witnessed the last minute of your ordeal.

"You handled that pretty well." Another voice spoke suddenly into the room.

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A/N- To the folks that come back to this, thank you for your patience :)) (u guys help me fight my commitment issues <3).

There was def a lack of cyno w/ reader here but fret not, it'll all be made up for in the next part.

With loves, Kapi<33

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