#despite me feeling a little betrayed and tossed aside

[minnaci]

i need to fuck that twink so bad

[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.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Crash Course

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Word count: 708

Pairing: Lando Norris x diver!reader

Summary: Two fierce rival drivers, Y/n and Lando Norris, find their intense competition on the track evolving into something deeper.

______________________________________________________________

The roar of the Singapore crowd still echoed in Y/n’s ears as she clambered out of her wrecked car. She felt a surge of anger and frustration, her pulse racing with adrenaline as she tore off her helmet, tossing it aside with little care. The final lap had been hers—until that moment when she miscalculated, clipping Lando's car. Now they were both out of the race, and her championship hopes lay in shambles.

She didn’t care about the bruises or the pain in her side; her mind was laser-focused on one thing—Lando. He had every right to be angry, but so was she. She could already see him stalking toward her, his expression thunderous.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Lando’s voice was low, laced with fury. “You could’ve—”

But before he could finish, Y/n staggered, the world around her spinning. She blinked, trying to steady herself. The heat and exhaustion of the race clung to her, but something else was wrong. Her side ached more than it should have. The adrenaline that had been keeping her going was ebbing away, and her vision blurred. She stumbled again, reaching out blindly.

Lando’s hand shot out, catching her just before she collapsed completely.

“Hey—Y/n?” His anger vanished instantly, replaced with concern as he held her steady. She clung to him, trying to focus, but her body wasn’t cooperating. Pain flared up her side, and she gasped, finally realizing how badly she was hurt.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice weak, though even she didn’t believe it.

“No, you’re not,” Lando said, his voice tense as he looked down at her. “You’re bleeding.” His eyes flicked to her side, where blood soaked through her race suit, the fabric darkening beneath his hand.

The pit lane had descended into chaos around them, but Lando didn’t seem to care about anything else. His grip on her tightened, worry etched into his features as he guided her gently to the ground. He kept her propped up against him, his arm supporting her shoulders.

“You need help,” he said urgently, shouting over his shoulder for the medical team.

Y/n winced, finally feeling the sharp, throbbing pain in her ribs. Her breaths came shallow, and she felt herself leaning more heavily into Lando’s chest. “It’s not… that bad,” she protested weakly, though her body betrayed her, trembling as the pain surged.

“You nearly fainted, Y/n,” Lando replied, his voice softer now, yet filled with intensity. “Stop pretending you’re fine.”

Despite everything, she wanted to argue, to push him away and insist she didn’t need his help. But there was a softness in his tone she hadn’t heard before, and the warmth of his arms was oddly comforting.

The medical team finally arrived, and Y/n felt Lando gently hand her over to them, though his hand lingered on her shoulder a moment longer than necessary. As they assessed her injuries, he knelt beside her, watching closely, his anger now a distant memory.

“You scared me,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible over the commotion.

Y/n blinked up at him, confused. “Why do you even care? I thought you hated me.”

Lando’s gaze softened, his jaw clenched as if struggling with what to say. “I don’t hate you, Y/n. I never have.” He hesitated, his expression vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen before. “You push me. You make me want to be better. And yeah, sometimes you drive me crazy, but… I care.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. Before she could respond, the medics lifted her onto a stretcher, cutting the moment short. Lando stood up, walking alongside as they moved her toward the medical center, his eyes never leaving her.

As they reached the entrance, Y/n grabbed his hand, stopping him. “I didn’t mean to take us both out,” she whispered, guilt and exhaustion weighing heavily on her.

“I know,” Lando replied, his thumb gently brushing against her knuckles. “Just focus on getting better. The championship can wait.”

She gave him a weak smile, her mind spinning—not just from the injury, but from everything he had just said. As she was taken inside, Lando’s words echoed in her mind, shifting everything she thought she knew about their rivalry.

[mintmatcha]

-ownership

cw: cisfem reader. it's smut, but a little sad if you squint, but still smut. piv sex, biting, bruising. Just a lil drabble i reworked lol.

He smells like someone else's soap, a bleak reminder that, even when he's under you, Togame Jo is never truly yours.

His glasses are tossed aside on to the floor, open and face down, so there is nothing to obstruct his heavy lidded gaze and it's deep, green grasp. His sweatshirt is pushed up just enough for you to get a glimpse of where his happy trail ends and his pants are still around one leg, planted on the floor. The other leg is tucked up on the couch behind you, pressed against your ass to keep you in place. You're just far enough above him that he can't quite sink his cock in, instead just clumsily fisting it through your petals, through the mixture of your wetness and his precum.

"Come on now," he says. "Don't make me beg."

But he is begging. His body betrays his nonchalant attitude. His free hand digs into the flesh of your thigh, his downward turned lips part with a want laden breath. You swear there's even the hint of a wrinkle between his brows, the ghost of agony-

"Come on-" Togame's hands both travel up, tracing over your lower back is short, desperate movements. They settle on the small of your waist, squeezing in tiny, rough bursts. "Babe."

You shake your head and he groans, slamming his head back into the arm of the couch. The still wet tendrils of his hair are starting to curl around the base of his neck. His desperation fuels you. You curve your spin and cup your tits, putting on as pretty a show as you can muster, just for him.

"Maybe I want you to beg for it."

"Fuckin', god, come'ere."

You expect him to pull you down, to force you to sit on to his cock, but instead, he jerks you forward. The surprise knocks you on to your hands, and he scoops forward, catching your lips against his. The kiss is deep, breathless, and feral, teeth bumping against your bottom lip as he dips in for more. The hot press of tongue against yours steals your resistance; you fumble below you, fingers closing around his cock as you guide it inside you.

He open-mouth moans into the kiss when the resistance gives and he sinks inside. Togame reflexively bucks up into you, deep enough that you squeal from the sensation.

"That's it." He falls back, still gripping your waist. He uses the connection to guide how you move; he likes a little bounce, just enough that your tits jiggle, not enough that his cock falls out. His eyes flicker between your chest and face, always looking down his hooked nose with a soft, smarmy satisfaction. "That's my fuckin' girl."

The strain on 'my' makes your chest ache-- and your pussy clench around him.

"Yeah, you like being my girl." Togame says, relaxed despite how his cock twitches. "My girl, my pretty fuckin' thing, dripping down my balls, take what you need-"

The grey of his sweatshirt is damped with sweat: yours and his. You ride until your thighs quiver from the effort, until your core is molten and tight with want and the squeeze of his palms somehow burns hotter-

"Slow down, lemme enjoy this." Jo grits out, even though he's the one who's been urging you faster and faster. "Wanna enjoy my baby all night."

You lean back against his thigh again and catch your breath. "Do you say sweet things to all of your girls?"

The humor drains from Jo's face.

"Oi." He sits up too, pressing on to his elbows. He's quick to snatch your chin in his grasp. "The fuck does that mean?"

Those green, green eyes find yours.

"Hurts my feelings, yeah?" He tilts his head to the side when you look away. "When I say my baby, I mean it. My baby. Just one."

His voice is soft enough that you believe him.

But when he dips in to kiss you again, he still smells like someone else's shampoo. You try to focus on anything else: how he ruts up into you lazily, how his breath still tastes of oranges from earlier, how he hums a happy little note when you kiss back.

You want him. Sexually. Obsessively. Solely. You pull away from him and drag your lips down to his neck. His adam's apple bobs against your cheek as you suck a hickey into the side of his neck.

"Aw, shit." Jo's back arches up at the pain and you only suck harder, adding the hint of teeth along with it. "Haaa, okaaay-"

When you inspect your work, the skin is mottled and red, broken capillaries are blossoming: proof that you're been there. The muscles below are tensed as he sucks in jagged breath after jagged breath. Your teeth ache to sink in again, so you do, leaning into the other side of his neck greedily.

"Yeah, do it again. Make it fuckin' trashy." His voice is is low and airy. "Mark me up good, own me."

When you hollow your cheeks, he whines high, arms crossing around your back to hold you tight.

"Yeah, that's my fuckin' girl."

[cruel-seduction]

hiiiii omg i love ur workkkk smmm!!! dk if u do request but can u do ethan x fem reader where he eats her out till she squirted??? make it freaky as possible x3!!!

Heyyyy!!!!! Thank you sooo muchhh bbg. Well first of all I am so happy that I got a request, I am literally giggling and kicking my feet in air and second of all I wrote two Ethan so I hope the Ethan you are talking about is from "His Plaything" Cause this is based from that one. Anyway I think I've talked enough. So I hope you enjoy it. Love you—

Content Warning: This fic contains explicit sexual content, including oral sex, degradation, dominance, and themes of submission. Reader discretion is advised. Please note that this content may not be suitable for all audiences.

Devour Me

You were already lying there, legs spread, the air thick with anticipation. Ethan towered over you, that familiar, wicked glint in his eyes. You didn’t miss the way he was eyeing you—like you were nothing more than a meal spread out before him, ready to be devoured. It made your heart race, but the knot in your stomach was from something darker than excitement. His gaze felt like it could strip you bare, though your clothes had already done most of the job.

Your panties were soaked, clinging to your skin embarrassingly, the slickness already betraying how much you wanted him. The thin fabric of your shirt barely covered your breasts, nipples hardened against the soft material, peeking through like a taunt to him. You hadn’t even worn a bra—whether it was intentional or not, you couldn’t remember anymore. His smirk widened at the sight of your body, as though he knew you were trying to hide how much you ached for him.

He crouched at the foot of the bed, hands gripping your knees before sliding them apart further, spreading you open for his gaze. “Pathetic,” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with amusement. “You’re soaked already. Did you really get this desperate for me?”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the way he held you there, forcing you to display yourself so openly for him, had a different kind of heat pooling between your legs. His thumb traced the edge of your panties, right over your slick folds, barely applying any pressure. You bit your lip to keep from moaning, but you could feel how damp the fabric had become, and you knew he could, too.

Ethan tilted his head, his fingers barely brushing the soaked material. “Such a slut,” he muttered, his eyes locking with yours, amusement flickering in them. “Look at you, dripping for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your breath hitched, the degradation hitting you harder than expected. It was filthy, the way his words made your body respond. You hated how much you craved it, how your hips involuntarily tilted up, begging for more, despite his cruel words. His smirk deepened at your body’s betrayal.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” he chuckled, pressing his thumb harder against the damp spot of your panties. The pressure had you gasping softly, but he pulled away just as quickly, denying you the friction you so desperately wanted. “Oh no, you don’t get it that easily.”

His hands gripped the waistband of your panties, tugging them down agonisingly slowly, making sure to drag the fabric along your thighs, taking his time. Every second felt like torture as the cool air hit your soaked core, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze. He let out a low whistle as he tossed your panties aside, his eyes locked on the wetness pooling between your thighs. “You’re a fucking mess already.”

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips as he spread you even further apart, fingers brushing against your slick folds, teasing you. He hadn’t even really touched you, yet you felt like you were coming undone from his words alone.

“Pathetic,” he muttered again, shaking his head as his fingers dipped between your folds, gathering the slickness there. He held his fingers up, the wetness glistening in the dim light, before bringing them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan. “Tastes like you were waiting for this all day.”

Your body tensed as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from your core, breath hot against your sensitive skin. You could feel the heat radiating off him, but he was still teasing, still making you wait. “Tell me how much you want it,” he demanded, his voice gruff, eyes dark and commanding.

You bit your lip, barely able to form words under the intensity of his stare. But he wasn’t about to let you off easy. His hands gripped your thighs, nails digging in slightly, just enough to remind you who was in control. “I said, tell me,” he growled, his breath tickling your clit, making your body twitch.

“I-I want it,” you stammered, breathless and humiliated, but he just raised an eyebrow, clearly unsatisfied.

“Not good enough.” His hand slapped lightly against your thigh, a warning. “Beg for it. Let me hear how desperate you are, or you’re not getting shit.”

Your cheeks flushed deeper, but the throbbing between your legs was too much to ignore. “Please, Ethan… I need it. Please,” you whimpered, barely able to hold his gaze, but that didn’t matter to him. He thrived off your embarrassment.

A satisfied hum escaped his throat as he finally lowered his mouth to you, but he didn’t start off soft. No, Ethan wasn’t the type for mercy. His tongue pressed flat against your folds, dragging up in one slow, torturous lick. The sensation was overwhelming, your body jerking from the sudden pleasure, but his grip on your thighs kept you pinned in place.

He licked again, this time circling his tongue around your clit before sucking it into his mouth. The pressure had you crying out, hips bucking instinctively toward him, but he was relentless. Every stroke of his tongue, every time he sucked just a little harder, felt like it was designed to break you apart piece by piece.

The sounds were obscene—the wetness of his tongue against your slickness, the soft gasps and moans that escaped your lips, and the low growls of satisfaction from him as he devoured you. His hands gripped your hips now, holding you in place as he worked you over with his mouth, making sure you couldn’t escape the onslaught of pleasure.

“You’re going to make a mess, aren’t you?” he muttered against your skin between licks, his voice dark and full of amusement. “Go ahead. I want to see you fall apart.”

His tongue was relentless now, flicking and sucking at your clit with a punishing rhythm, and you couldn’t hold back the moans that spilled from your lips. Every nerve in your body was on fire, the coil of tension in your stomach tightening with each stroke of his tongue. You could feel the wetness pooling beneath you, soaking the sheets, but you were too far gone to care.

And Ethan loved every second of it.

Your thighs trembled, every nerve alight as Ethan's tongue worked expertly over your clit, flicking with the right amount of pressure, dragging you closer to that high he knew you craved. But he didn’t let you get too far ahead; just as your breath hitched and your hips bucked toward his mouth, he pulled back. His lips hovered dangerously close, brushing your slick skin with the faintest of touches, not enough to satisfy.

"Look at you, squirming like a needy little slut." His voice was thick with amusement, and you couldn't help the whimper that escaped your lips. His grip tightened on your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he forced you to stay still, preventing you from seeking the friction you so desperately needed. "You think I'm going to let you finish that easily?"

Your frustration rose, mingling with the growing heat between your legs. You tried to move again, arching your hips toward him, but his grip was unrelenting. He wasn't going to let you take control. He was going to make you beg for it. Again.

"Ethan, please," you whined, barely able to form coherent words under the haze of pleasure and frustration. Your voice was soft, trembling with need, but he only laughed in response. "Please, I need—"

"What you need," he cut you off, his tone sharp and mocking, "is to learn some fucking patience." His fingers trailed down your inner thighs, brushing over the slickness there, making you shiver under his touch. "You’re such a mess, you know that? Dripping all over yourself,"

You could feel your face heat up at his words, the humiliation and the intense need mixing into a heady cocktail of emotions. His fingers brushed over your soaked folds again, lightly teasing your entrance, but he didn’t push inside. Instead, he dragged his fingers up, collecting your wetness, smirking as he spread it across your already throbbing clit. You jerked at the contact, a whimper escaping your throat, but he still refused to give you what you wanted.

"Ethan…" Your voice was shaky, filled with desperation, but he loved every second of it. His smirk widened, and he leaned in again, his breath hot against your swollen clit as he spoke.

"Beg me." It wasn’t a suggestion—it was a command. "Tell me how fucking desperate you are."

Your heart pounded in your chest, every fiber of your being wanting to give in, to beg him for what you wanted so badly. But the humiliation of it burned through you. His eyes darkened as he waited, clearly enjoying the internal struggle playing out on your face.

"I… I need it," you whimpered, voice barely above a whisper, but Ethan wasn’t satisfied.

"Louder," he demanded, his voice a low growl. His fingers dipped between your folds again, teasing the entrance before pulling away, leaving you aching for more. "I want to hear it. Make me believe you need this."

"Please, Ethan," you gasped, hips lifting involuntarily toward his touch. "I need it… please, just, I will do anything. I swear—"

Before you could finish, his mouth was on you again, but this time, he wasn’t playing games. His tongue flicked over your clit in quick, harsh strokes, sending a bolt of pleasure through you. You moaned loudly, your body arching off the bed, but his hands gripped your thighs, holding you down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, the wet sound of it obscene in the quiet room, and you could feel yourself unravelling, each stroke of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge. His fingers were back at your entrance now, teasing but not giving you the satisfaction of being filled. It was too much and not enough all at once.

"That’s it," Ethan growled against your skin, his voice muffled by the relentless movements of his tongue. "Let me hear you fall apart for me."

You couldn’t hold back the sounds anymore. Your moans filled the room, your body writhing beneath him as he worked you over with his mouth. Each flick of his tongue against your clit sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, your thighs shaking uncontrollably under his grip.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get more intense, he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them just right, hitting that spot that made you cry out. His mouth stayed locked on your clit, sucking harder now, his pace brutal and unrelenting. The wet, filthy sounds of his fingers pumping into you echoed in the room, mixing with the obscene slickness of your arousal.

“Look at you, fucking falling apart for me.” His voice was rough, almost lost in the mess of sounds between your thighs. “I barely have to try, and you’re already dripping all over my fucking hand.”

You were trembling now, your body on the brink of collapse as his tongue and fingers worked in tandem, pushing you higher and higher. Your moans turned into desperate, breathless gasps, and you could feel that tight coil in your stomach pulling tighter, ready to snap.

And then, just as you were about to go over the edge, he stopped. His mouth pulled away, fingers stilling inside you, leaving you dangling on the precipice of release. You whined in frustration, hips bucking against him, desperate for the finish, but he wasn’t having it.

“Not yet.” His voice was laced with sadistic amusement as he pulled his fingers out, wiping the slickness off on your inner thigh. “You don’t get to cum that easily. You’ve got to earn it.”

Your body throbbed with the need for release, every nerve on fire, but Ethan seemed to take pleasure in drawing it out, keeping you right at the edge without letting you tip over. His fingers trailed back up to your clit, barely brushing it, teasing you with the faintest touch as you whimpered and squirmed beneath him.

"You think I’m just going to let you finish like some good little girl?" he asked, his voice low and taunting as his fingers continued their torturous, feather-light touches. "No. You’re going to fucking break for me first."

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, his mouth was on you again, but this time, his fingers slid back inside, thrusting deep and fast. His tongue flicked over your clit with precision, the wet sounds of him devouring you growing louder and more obscene.

The tension in your stomach built faster now, your body shaking with the intensity of it all. Your mind was a blur of need and desire, every stroke of his fingers, every flick of his tongue sending you spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

And then, without warning, the coil snapped.

Your vision blurred as pleasure exploded through your body, and you screamed his name, your thighs clamping around his head as your release hit you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body convulsed, your slickness soaking the sheets, and you could feel the wetness flooding out of you, covering his face, but he didn’t stop. He kept going, sucking and licking, prolonging your orgasm until you were a trembling, gasping mess beneath him.

"That’s it," Ethan growled, his voice muffled against your skin. "Squirt for me. Let me fucking taste it."

[phoenixkaptain]

Thinkin about Su Xiyan, Tianlang-jun, and Luo Binghe again…

Su Xiyan who was forced into doing things and who desperately didn’t want to betray Tianlang-jun and who drank poison so she could see him again and warn him only to find out that she was far too late. And she gave birth to a little baby boy and instead of tossing him overboard into the water or letting him freeze, she wrapped him in her own robes to send him down the river. She must’ve been hoping he’d live, right? She must’ve been desperately longing for her child to live. She must’ve been so tired. She looked back on those times when she and Tianlang-jun would tease and flirt with each other and despite everything, she must’ve felt so terribly, terribly alone.

Tianlang-jun, who begins as a legitimately almost pure-hearted maiden. He likes to bounce around the human realm and play their songs and read their stories and spend way too much money until he’s broke. And he falls so hard for Su Xiyan. He falls so hard for her, to the point that he brings her up constantly and he asks Zhuzhi-Lang whether or not he’s handsome and he trusts her and trusts her and trusts her… only for everything to be torn apart. Only to be buried under a mountain and stuck thinking that Su Xiyan is the one who caused all of it. Barely even able to mourn for everything he’s lost.

It isn’t like the world is kind to them after everything. Tianlang-jun is painted as a monster who was on the verge of storming the human realm. Su Xiyan is badmouthed the moment people find out that she was pregnant with Tianlang-jun’s child. No matter what she does, she can’t win. If she betrayed her sect for Tianlang-jun, then she was a traitor who was seduced by a demon. If she betrayed Tianlang-jun for her sect, then she was a horrible mother and terrible woman. If she tried to kill her unborn child, she’s unfit to be called a woman. If she tried to save him, she brought an unholy abomination into the world. She just can’t win.

And of course Luo Binghe’s supposed to be tragic. Of course his story is supposed to be sad. But he’s so desperate for any hint of affection and he’s told to his face that he’s an unholy abomination and his father doesn’t seem to care about him and his mother tried to abort him and it’s so easy to feel all alone. It’s so easy for him to feel like he doesn’t fit anywhere, because he’s both human and demon, which means he’s neither human nor demon.

The part that always makes me tear up is when Luo Binghe tries to merge the two realms together. He’s so desperate. He’s so broken. He doesn’t know what to do and he only knows that he doesn’t want to be left behind. He says that nobody has ever chosen him. He says that it would be fine even if Shen Qingqiu hated him, as long as he didn’t toss him aside.

And it’s awful! This family is awful! It’s so sad! It’s too sad! Su Xiyan chose Luo Binghe before anyone else did. Su Xiyan chose to save him, chose to try and keep him warm and dry. Even at the cost of her own life, she chose him! And she chose him because she loved Tianlang-jun! She basically poisoned herself trying to keep the only thing she had left of Tianlang-jun alive! Tianlang-jun says that Luo Binghe looks like her. Tianlang-jun can’t even be angry or sad when he mentions her, he just goes blank, until he finds out that she really wanted to save him and he can’t help but love her all over again! Tianlang-jun looks at Luo Binghe and Luo Binghe is proof that Su Xiyan loved him!

Luo Binghe realizes that he hurt Shen Qingqiu and he’s more than horrified. All he’s ever wanted to do is be strong enough that Shen Qingqiu doesn’t have to get hurt saving him anymore, but all he ever seem to accomplishe is hurting Shen Qingqiu himself. He tries to learn demonic cultivation to get stronger and he gets pushed into the Endless Abyss. He tries to learn spiritual cultivation and Shen Qingqiu dies in his arms. He tries to keep Shen Qingqiu’s body in perfect condition so that he can bring hin back to life, only for the body to be stolen out from under him twice. He asks, again and again, for Shen Qingqiu to choose him, and he never gets chosen.

But, you can’t actually blame Shen Qingqiu. Because all of those scenes of him not choosing Luo Binghe ARE him choosing Luo Binghe! He chooses Binghe and Binghe’s safety everytime, he just never realizes that he himself is necessary for Binghe to be safe. And why would he assume that? He hurt Binghe and he feels like he can’t be forgiven for it, to the point that all of his suffering is him punishing himself.

Luo Binghe in the wedding extra asks Shen Qingqiu to marry him and he’s so nervous beforehand that he literally trips. He stutters. And even after he asks, he tells Shen Qingqiu not to answer, because he can’t listen to the answer, he can’t listen to Shen Qingqiu turn him aside again and he contents himself with thinking that even if they aren’t married, Shen Qingqiu has indulgently allowed him to follow wherever he goes, and that’s enough.

So when Shen Qingqiu does say yes, it’s emotional. He’s shocked. And even as he pulls out all the stops for the “wedding,” I don’t think Luo Binghe is actually convinced that Shen Qingqiu meant it until the next day, when Shen Qingqiu calls him “Husband” without even being asked. I think that’s the moment it hit him. Shen Qingqiu chose him.

We start the novels by hearing a basic outline of PIDW, which starts with Su Xiyan choosing Luo Binghe. We end the novels with Shen Qingqiu choosing Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe finally, finally understands what it feels like to be loved.

Meng Mo and the Huan Hua Palace Master want Luo Binghe as their student because he’s powerful and capable and, in the Palace Master’s case, he reminds him of Su Xiyan. His wives, it’s somewhat strongly implied, mostly wanted him for sex and what he could do for them. Nobody ever really befriends Luo Binghe at any point. He’s always standing apart from others. He’s never part of the Huan Hua disciples and he stands out amongst the Cang Qiong sect disciples and he stands out among demons and he stands out among humans and

And he finally stands with Shen Qingqiu. He’s finally not alone. He’s finally someone’s first choice. He finally feels like someone’s first choice.

[lindsey-laufeyson]

Distractions- Chapter 5

Distractions Masterlist

Pairing: Reader x FWB!Tom Hiddleston

Series Warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, friends with benefits

You woke to your phone ringing.

“Who the hell is calling you this early?” Tom grumbled sleepily. 

You sat up and grabbed your phone. “Sorry,” you quickly apologized before answering the call. It was the assistant to the director with whom you were supposed to meet the night before for a consultation. They had hired someone else. “I completely understand. Thank you for the opportunity,” you said before hanging up.

Tom rolled over towards you and opened his eyes. “Everything alright?”

You cleared your throat, trying your best to hide your disappointment. “Yeah! No worries.” 

“You sure?” he asked, concerned. “You sounded a lot like I do when a casting director tells me they’re ‘going in a different direction.’”  

“That’s essentially what it was,” you told him, laying back down on your side to face him and propping yourself up on your elbow. “But it’s kind of to be expected when you skip out on the audition.” You chuckled, but Tom just frowned.

“Shit,” he said in realization. “Was that the meeting you were supposed to go to yesterday? I thought you said you rescheduled.”

You shrugged. “I guess they met with someone else who was available to fill the last minute opening and they decided to go with them for the film.” 

“Who’s the director?” he asked. “Depending on who it is, I might be able to pull a few strings…”

You smiled and shook your head. “That’s sweet of you, but I’m sure whoever they hired deserved it. Besides, I want my success in my career to be because of what I do, not who I know, especially if I’ve slept with them.” 

He nodded in agreement, but the concern didn’t leave his face. “I still feel bad that you missed it because of my moping,” he said, absentmindedly running the back of his index finger up and down the forearm you were using to prop your head up.

“Nonsense,” you insisted. “You’re my friend and you were feeling down. I wanted to be here for you. Plus, I got quite a few orgasms out of it, so don’t feel too sorry for me.” You smiled and winked at him.

“Well then,” he began, inching his face closer to yours as he slipped his hand between your thighs. “Perhaps you ought to have one or two more this morning, just to show my appreciation.” 

“I mean, if you insist,” you replied playfully, spreading your legs for him as his lips met yours in a sensual kiss. You sighed into his mouth as you felt his fingers glide through your folds. As the kiss intensified, you crept your hand down his abs until your touch was met with his hot, hard length. You stroked your fingertips lightly along the shaft, but just when you were about to wrap your hand around it, your alarm went off on your phone.

“No,” he quickly protested against your lips. You took your hand away from his expectant hard-on to reach for your phone. “No, no, no,” he continued to protest, still refusing to release your lips from his own. Despite this, you hesitantly pulled your lips away in order to silence the alarm, but Tom simply moved his kisses to your neck, and began lightly drawing circles on your clit. 

“Fuck,” you huffed, trying your best to keep a clear head. “I have to go.” He responded by sucking at the spot under your ear and adding more pressure to your clit, causing you to gasp and let out an involuntary moan. Your body was betraying you. “I’m–mmmm– I’m s-serious, Tom.” 

“Then tell me to stop,” he whispered in your ear. He had you there. You weren’t going to tell him to stop. You couldn’t, and he knew it. 

“Bastard,” you breathed out. He snickered into the crook of your neck, before giving it a little nip and licking over the teeth marks. He quickened his pace on your clit and you tossed your phone aside and found his cock again. You wasted no time as you grabbed it firmly and began pumping it with long, deliberate strokes. The faster he rubbed your clit, the faster you stroked his cock, as if it was some sort of competition. You began to lose your rhythm, however, as you came closer and closer to your peak. Your moans became louder and more high pitched until you finally fell over the edge, squeezing his throbbing length as you came. He lifted his head to watch you come undone while he bucked his hips, thrusting into your hand in order to chase his own release. Soon enough, just as you were coming down from your high, he buried his face in your neck once again and groaned as you felt his dick pulse in your hand, cum spurting onto your belly, your arm, and the bed sheets. 

You both laid there for a moment, breathing heavily in one another’s ears. Then he looked down between your bodies. “Sorry for the mess, love,” he chuckled as he got up to get a wet washcloth from the bathroom. He came back to the bed to find you licking the cum off of your forearm. You giggled when you caught him staring, clearly enjoying the sight. 

“Unfortunately, I’m not flexible enough to reach my stomach,” you teased him, reaching out for the washcloth. He ignored your outstretched hand and climbed back into bed and began cleaning you up himself. While he did so, you looked over at the clock on his bedside table. “Shit! I’m gonna be late!” You frantically searched for your phone, and when you found it, you called Kaitlyn immediately. 

“What’s up, boss?” she answered, cheerfully as always.

“Hey! I’m running a bit late,” you told her.

“Are you actually running? You sound a bit winded,”  she asked, a bit concerned. It was then that you realized you were still breathing kind of heavily. Tom, who was being overly thorough, and annoyingly sensual with the washcloth, must have been able to hear her because he unsuccessfully bit back a chortle. You shoved his shoulder and put your finger to your lips to tell him to be quiet. 

“Are you able to set up on your own?” you asked. “I promise I’ll get there before Mr. Hiddleston arrives!” You saw a smirk creep across Tom’s face when you said this.

“Absolutely!” she replied enthusiastically, undoubtedly excited for the chance to show you she could handle more responsibility. “Not a problem at all!”

“Thank you so much. I’ll see you–” You were cut off momentarily by the sensation of Tom rubbing the cold, damp cloth over your overstimulated pussy. “--shortly,” you finished in a slightly higher pitch than intended. After you hung up the phone, you shot him a disapproving look. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“I saw an opportunity and I took it,” he quipped, twirling the cloth around on his finger and then slinging it over his shoulder, a smug smile playing on his lips. 

“Careful, Tommy boy,” you warned, getting out of bed and walking toward the bathroom. “You might find that retribution tends to hit harder than the original transgression.” You shot him a playfully sinister look over your shoulder before closing the door behind you.

Once in the bathroom, you spotted yourself in the mirror and noticed the bite mark Tom had left on your neck. “Shit!” 

“What’s wrong?” you heard him ask from the other side of the door. 

You flung the door open and pointed at the bruise. “I don’t have time to cover this up!” He pressed his lips together, clearly attempting to fight a smile. “It’s not funny,” you told him, despite the slight giggle in your voice. “Will you please just go get my bag?”

“Of course,” he replied, smiling to himself. He quickly pulled on a pair of boxers and went to go get your bag, which you had dropped as soon as he had hastily pulled you in the door the night before. That morning you were especially grateful to yourself for making a habit of keeping a toothbrush, some extra clothes, and some basic makeup supplies in your work bag, not long after that first night you spent at Tom’s place.

As soon as he handed you your bag, you began getting ready as quickly as you could. You were in the middle of applying your makeup when Tom appeared in the doorway, fully dressed and ready. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but I’m supposed to be at the studio in 20 minutes, so I really need to go.” he told you apologetically.

“Oh no you don’t, Hiddleston,” you scolded him, briefly pausing your mascara to shoot him a stern look. “I promised Kaitlyn I would get there before you, so if I’m late, you’re late.”

“I can’t be late, darling. I’m never late.”

“You’re the one who made me late!” you argued.

“But won’t it look a bit odd if the first time I’m ever late just happens to be on a day when you also happen to be late?” he countered. You thought about this for a second, and realizing he was right, you rolled your eyes and let out a conceding huff as you quickly packed up your bag. “If it’s any consolation,” he added as you stomped past him and he followed you out of the bedroom. “You look amazing as always.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered while you gathered your various clothing items from last night, precariously strewn about the foyer and lounge. “Where the fuck are my panties!”

Tom cleared his throat loudly, and you looked up to see him leaning casually against the wall by the front door with a smirk on his face, your black lace thong dangling from the tip of his index finger.

“Thanks,” you said bluntly as you grabbed them and shoved them in your bag and stalked out the door.

…

As soon as you parked, you ran to your trailer. “I’m so sorry, Kaitlyn,” you managed to get out between panting breaths as you walked through the door.

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved you off. “Are you okay?”

You nodded your head. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just a crazy morning.” 

“Good morning, ladies,” Tom’s voice came from behind you.

“Morning,” you and Kaitlyn responded in unison, though Kaitlyn’s tone was much cheerier than your own. 

Tom sat down in the chair and you and Kaitlyn went straight to work.

Looking around, you were impressed with how well everything was prepped, just the way you liked it. “Nice job setting up, Kait!”

“Not bad for my first solo prep, huh?” she boasted.

Tom raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Solo?”

“Yep,” you played along. “I was running late this morning and she stepped up and covered for me.”

“Really?” he replied. “Well done, Kaitlyn!”

“Thank you,” she beamed at him. Then she turned to you with a knowing look on her face. “By the way, does that hickey on your neck have anything to do with why you were late?”

You kept your focus on what you were doing, but out of the corner of your eye you could see Tom in the mirror, bringing his hand to his mouth and casually running his fingers over his lips. You knew it was to hide his expression. “I’d rather not say…”

Kaitlyn’s face lit up. “It is, isn’t it! You got some! Who’s the lucky guy or gal?”

You shook your head and chuckled awkwardly. “I don’t think Tom wants to hear us talk about my sex life right now.”

“Oh I don’t mind,” he interjected. “I’m a little curious myself, actually.” 

So he wants to play? you thought. Then let’s play.

“You two are so nosy,” you scolded them. “Anyway, you wouldn’t know him, and I don’t know if I’d sleep with him again.” You glanced briefly at Tom through the mirror. He shifted slightly in his seat but he had a calculated expression of only mild interest. 

“Was he that bad?” Kaitlyn asked with a slight cringe. 

“Oh no, he’s quite good,” you clarified, noticing the corner of Tom’s mouth twitch slightly. “But I don't know if I should continue sleeping with someone who is going to distract me and make me late for work.”

Kaitlyn shrugged. “I mean, if he’s that good though…”

“Forgive me,” Tom interjected yet again. “But is it possible this guy finds you so physically irresistible that he had to have you the moment he woke up? In which case, you might want to keep someone like that around.” You and Kaitlyn both looked at him and he threw his hands up defensively. “I’m only playing devil’s advocate.”

Kaitlyn nodded her head in agreement. “He has a point.”

“It’s possible,” you answered thoughtfully. “But I think it’s more likely that he let his morning wood get the better of him and I mistakenly let him. And I don’t have time for that.”

“So you’d give up mind-blowing sex just because you were late to work?” Kaitlyn asked skeptically. Tom looked at you expectantly, unable to hide his smug smile.

“I never said it was ‘mind-blowing,’” you asserted. Tom’s smile faded. “And I’m a workaholic! It just doesn’t seem worth it.”

“Alright, alright,” Kaitlyn conceded. “If you say so.” She didn’t look convinced. Meanwhile, Tom got suspiciously quiet, and remained so until you finished with his hair and makeup. That is until he texted you later during a break in shooting.

That night after work, you went home and immediately got in the shower, with the intention of then drying your hair, putting on some mascara, and slipping on some sexy lingerie before Tom arrived. However, you were only halfway through your shower when you heard his voice and it made you jump.

“Why hello, gorgeous,” he said from the doorway of your bathroom, eyeing your naked figure through the steamy shower door. 

“Fuck, Tom!” you exclaimed, peaking your head out from behind the foggy glass. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry, darling,” he began to apologize as he started to unbutton his shirt. “Actually, I’m not sorry at all, given the view I walked in on.” He walked toward you. “You did say to come over whenever.”

“I also said I needed time to freshen up, and I assumed you’d give me more than 10 minutes,” you responded as you went back to lathering yourself up with your loofah. 

“Then I guess you’ll just have to be more specific next time,” he said above the sound of his belt buckle hitting the tile floor. “Or perhaps you were secretly hoping I would walk in on you in the shower.” His voice was in your ear at that point and you felt his arms snake around your waist from behind. 

You leaned your head back against his shoulder. “I wasn’t, truthfully, but now that you’re here, would you be a dear and get my back?” You handed him the loofah and he obliged with a small chuckle. He softly scrubbed your back, then replaced the loofah with his hands, running them over your back, then down your sides, following the curves of your waist and hips where he stopped. He pressed his fingertips firmly into your hips and pulled you back into him. He began kissing your neck and you felt his erection twitch against your ass, so you rolled your hips, grinding against him and ushering a soft moan from his lips. One of his hands slid down to the apex of your thighs and began slowly and gently stroking your pussy, while his other hand came up to massage your tit. You sighed as you reached back and softly stroked your fingers over the back of his neck, silently telling him to keep going. He did just that. He ran his middle finger along your slit, never actually entering you, then spread your arousal to your clit and rubbed circles into it, harder and harder until he could tell you were close, and then he went back to your slit and lazily traced it up and down. You whined as your climax evaded you, but he just snickered in your ear and repeated his actions, building you up to your peak and then stopping just before you reached it. Another whimper escaped your throat. You were getting frustrated, but you thought perhaps he would follow the rule of three, so you let him do it again. This time he brought you so close, you almost started to cum, but then he took his hand away completely.

“Ugh! You bloody tosser!” you growled, whipping around to face him. Before you could tell him off however, he captured your lips with his and pinned you against the shower wall with such a force that it briefly knocked the wind out of you. Then he grabbed your thighs, hoisted your legs up and over his hips, and quickly lined his cock up with your entrance before slamming into you. “Jesus FUCK,” you cried out. He immediately began pounding into you, grunting and panting heavily in your ear. Your loud, high pitched moans echoed off the tiled walls as his pubic bone rubbed against your throbbing clit, and his cock, like a hot steel rod, hit you over and over in just the right spot. You were rapidly approaching the climax you’d been denied thrice prior, and when you finally reached it, your vision became blurry and you were seeing stars. You screamed as Tom fucked you through it, never letting up on his pace, even as you started to come down from your high. Tears formed in your eyes from overstimulation, but then, without warning, you were hit with another earth-shattering orgasm. You squeezed your legs around him and raked your nails across his back, causing him to hiss and groan, while his name erupted from your lungs. 

Once you felt your body begin to relax again, you let your head fall forward onto Tom’s shoulder, whimpering slightly from once again feeling over stimulated. That’s when he finally let up, pulling his still rock-hard length out of you and putting your legs back down for you to stand. Much to your surprise, however, he swiftly turned you around to face the wall and pulled your hips back, entering you from behind. You gasped and leaned forward to brace yourself against the wall, spreading your legs as wide as you could. He started thrusting into you once again, just as fast and hard as he did before, as if there had been no interruption. This new position gave your raw, swollen clit a much needed break, while also creating a delicious new angle for his dick to reach your A-spot. 

Despite your better judgement, you begged him to fuck you harder, and somehow he did. The bathroom was filled with both of your moans, as well as the sounds of wet skin slapping skin as his pelvis smacked against your ass over and over under the running water. Soon your legs began to shake violently as you edged closer to another orgasm. 

“Oooooohh my GOD!” you cried, your back arching and your cunt spasming around his girth. You were sure your legs would have given out from under you had Tom not been holding your hips so tightly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!!” He gave a hard thrust with each word before finally stilling his hips, cumming hard along with you.

When he was finished, he loosened his grip on your hips, but as soon as he did so, your legs wobbled so he quickly grasped you firmly again, gently pulled his spent cock out of you, and carefully lowered you to your knees so you could then move to sit on the shower floor, resting your back and head against the wall. Then he turned off the now cold water, threw away the condom he must have slipped on before he got in the shower with you, and then sat next to you on the floor, both of you out of breath. 

Still using the wall to support your head, you turned it slightly to look at him. “What the actual fuck was that?” you breathed out.

“You liked it?” he asked with a drunken looking smile. 

You let out a breathy chuckle. “What gave that away?”

He laughed. “Mind-blowing?” he asked, recalling Kaitlyn’s words from that morning. 

“You could say that, I suppose,” you teased, nodding your head. 

A wide grin spread across his face as he looked up at the ceiling, still panting. “I’ll take it!”

You leaned your head on his shoulder while the two of you caught your breaths. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you realized something. “One problem though.”

“What’s that?” he replied.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to get up off of this floor anytime soon,” you told him. You both burst into a laughing fit, leaning against one another for support. 

When the two of you were finally able to gather some composure, Tom scooped you up and carried you to your bed. He gently laid you down, then flopped down next to you, propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at you, clearly trying and failing to hide a proud smirk. 

“What’s that look for?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. “I just don’t think I’ve ever actually fucked anyone to the point where they literally couldn’t walk!”

You chuckled and shook your head, and then you looked down and noticed that his cock was hard. “How the hell are you hard again already after all that?”

“You just look so sexy laying there like that, looking all flustered and fucked out,” he said, leaning down and bringing his face close to yours with a blushing smile.

“Really? Because I could have sworn it was just your own ego, knowing you fucked me so well,” you teased, before your lips met in a slow and sensual kiss. At a natural breaking point you pulled away to look at him. “So, I don’t think my pussy can take any more tonight, but I’d still be happy to help you get off in other ways.” You lifted your eyebrows at him in exaggerated insinuation. “I mean, I got three incredible orgasms; you could at least get two…”

Tom’s face lit up like a child on Christmas.

[classicanalyzer]

Rings of Power Season 2 - The Siege of Eregion Thoughts

"What... The mithril. What... What is... What is this?" Celebrimbor

"I have learned so much from you, since I came to Eregion. But no lesson more lasting than this. True creation...requires sacrifice." Annatar

"You are He. Are you not? You are--" Celebrimbor

"I have many names." Sauron

I'll be honest. I wasn't interested in writing about Rings of Power over time. It's why it took a long time to get this out. I just learned there was little substance and not much interesting to write about, so I just stopped writing about it. I would've deleted this, but I worked too much on the structure to simply delete it. But here are my thoughts regardless, I added a retrospective (the recent addition other than minor edits to this), to sum up any thoughts that I had but I can't write out my thoughts (tho not all because as I said, I got tired of writing for this show). This is the last Rings of Power post I'll ever do unless they do something interesting like Celebrimbor's death scene and I'll write a small post about it, but nothing as big as this.

Where Is He?

"You know nothing of my mind. You yielded to him. I resisted." Galadriel

"For a while, perhaps. But sooner or later, he sees you. Not just who you are, but who you wish to be. His eye bores a hole and the rest of him slithers in. For a while, he even makes you believe that his power has become yours. Irresistible power... that makes every desire's fulfillment seem inevitable. An ocean of color against which everything else feels forever thereafter --" Adar

"A dull grey." Galadriel

We continue to see how Annatar is continuing to gaslight Celebrimbor and the rest of Eregion. It's heartbreaking to see Celebrimbor not fully understanding why he's acting this way.

It's great to see Celebrimbor getting really sick of Annatar telling him what to do. Unfortunately, Annatar is the master of gaslighting and depiction. That look on Annatar after getting pushed is so priceless.

Morgoth's Crown's special properties explain how the Orcs were able "to kill" Sauron despite him being a God.

Retrospective - Overall, I found this episode to be a decent set-up to the Siege. The stand out part of this was Celebrimbor and Annatar scenes of course.

Doomed To Die

"Neither of us was strong together. There might not be anyone in Middle-earth who is. But perhaps, the Elves need only remember that it is not strength that overcomes darkness, but light. Armies may rise, hearts may fail, yet still, light endures, and is mightier than strength. For in its presence, all darkness must flee. Namaríë." Celebrimbor

This is definitely one of the big-budget battles I've seen on streaming TV. Although while I will praise the Orc army, I wished there were more Elves at Eregion's walls to establish a sense of scale.

Celebrimbor's breakdown at his city's destruction and realization of who this "Annatar" fellow is is both heartbreaking for the former and chilling for the latter.

What happened to Mirdania is what would've happened to Galadriel if she chose to join his side. Sauron never loves anyone other than himself and he is willing to easily toss someone aside to serve his agenda.

The battle at night really looked great.

That Damrod theme in Black Speech really showcases how powerful and uncaring he is towards both Elves and Orcs.

Retrospective - Other than a certain scene, the episode does deliver on the action. I love seeing Elrond and Durin's bond and the heartbreaking moment at the end does sell the hopelessness of the situation.

Shadow and Flame

"Craft. Your only craft is treachery. So pure, it shall betray the very hand that forges it." Celebrimbor

"Your words are empty." Sauron

"No. No, hear me. Hear me! Shadow of Morgoth. Hear the dying words of Celebrimbor. The Rings of Power shall destroy you. And in the end, I foresee, one alone shall prove your utter ruin!" Celebrimbor

"You're wrong. I am their creator. I am their master." Sauron

"No. You are their...prisoner. Sauron, Lord...of the Rings." Celebrimbor

King Durin III may have lived as a crazy, greedy king for most of this season but he died a hero. And damn that was certainly an amazing way to go out.

God two seasons of mystery box to figure out that the Gandalf-coded character is Gandalf...what a surprise lmao!

I think the Dark Wizard genuinely believes that the title is beneath him, but as Poppy and Gandalf point out, actions speak louder than one's self-perception of themselves.

I absolutely love how Celebrimbor went from a "helpless" but willful victim to a defiant smith who regained their agency. Charles Edwards deserves all the awards, along with Charles Vickers. And I love how Sauron loses his cool and goes against his plan to keep Celebrimbor alive and kills him which was what Celebrimbor wanted.

The Dwarves theme playing as they bailed the Elves was so hype.

The fact that Sauron might use the Hammer of Fëanor continues the theme of how evil cannot create but corrupt.

Retrospective - The Dwarves plotline continues to be the best in this show. Celebrimbor's death is one of the best scenes in the show. Otherwise, I feel like the season had a lot going on but little substance than surface level.

"Many of Eregion's bravest fell. The few who survived are all but broken. In body or spirit. They have little strength left with which to fight. They barely had strength to flee." Elrond

"What course would you advise, Commander Galadriel?" Arondir

"I would remember the counsel of our dear friend, Celebrimbor, Greatest of Elven-smiths. And remind our people...that it is not strength that overcomes darkness, but light. And the sun yet shines." Galadriel

[essentiamortis]

"oral memory is important, but father, i am no longer a child." elizabeth had grown up - she's far from the meek child she'd been upon her arrival in the underworld. the little girl who's giggles once used to cut through the misery of the unfortunate souls in the asphodel meadows is gone. dead and buried six feet deep inside the mind of a jaded death wish. once ambitions of becoming a hero held firm in her mind, always solidified by hades' words. those are no longer. they've gone into the flames of hestia's hearth. she cares nothing for what the gods upon olympus think of her. the respect she once held for them is replaced by an indifferent anger.

luke's words continue to echo in the back of her mind. the many faces of the demigods lost during the second titanomachy haunt her, remind her that she failed them, she betrayed them. it must be the guilt and self-hatred that causes her to see their souls. she sees them regardless of if she's sleeping or awake, their voices will call out to her. elizabeth knows that she must find a way to ground her own soul, allow herself to move on. she has the resources and the knowledge, yet she keeps pushing it off with the belief that she deserves this suffering, this overwhelming grief. as if her knowing their deaths were near, her soul feeling the moment theirs left their mortal forms, tending to the bodies of those she could find to ensure they received their proper funeral rites. a drachma placed underneath their tongues, her blessing and a prayer to her sister - makaria, the goddess of blessed death - that she'd allow those with her blessing into the elysian fields.

the trials and tribulations her half-brother, nico, faced are but a footnote to her grief. he still held the friendship that he'd built with percy jackson and the rest of camp half-blood. the children of hades were finally allowed to be welcomed - not shunned by others. no longer will they be forced into the cramped corners of cabin eleven while the children of zeus and poseidon are able to rest upon mattresses in their respective cabins. they'd have plenty of space while the children of hades were tossed aside despite their father being one of the eldest gods, a son of rhea. nico would experience a better future at camp half-blood, the ability to make friends with other demigods. something she, herself, never experienced until her time on the princess andromeda. not until luke's search party found her, not until the first time she's spoke with him. the cruel reality for her is never being able to make amends, never to explain her reasonings. he is the one soul that evades her attempts to communicate, his soul never apart of the hauntings.

"i'm certain that coat and mother's sunshine is the only thing keeping me going." she remarks, wrapping the old cloak tighter around her body. despite the cloak being in her possession since she was fourteen years old - it still held the familiar scent of her father from when it used to be his. the comforting scent of cypress trees, the ghostly pale flowers of asphodel and warm pomegranate forever lingering behind. it has brought her great comfort during her time away from the underworld. even when it's disguised as her leather jacket - the scent of home lingers.

despite the love she feels from hades and persephone aren't enough to keep her from feeling dead inside. it's not enough to keep the cold from cutting apart her soul. she is mentally well enough to speak with nico, herself, or she'd snap at the first negative comment, the first remark of how she experienced a life that he'd never have when she hadn't asked for this life either. elizabeth has been nothing but grateful for the life she's lived, the training she's received, the safety of being within hades' domain. she doesn't ask for material possessions, only to expand her knowledge and their council. others might poke fun at her by calling her a 'princess' or attempting to say that she's been spoiled upon other insane claims but the ones that mattered most knew the truth. elizabeth simply took a page from her father's playbook - reputations don't matter. she will be as notorious as the king and queen of the dead that raised her.

"personally, i'm okay with locking him in his room until he sees reason, but he is hopelessly stubborn. he's in a downward spiral that he'll be unable to escape from. he self-isolates from us. i've been unable to even reach him during his dreams. i mean, this all started when bianca died. maybe beforehand as well since bianca was the only constant in his life." she doesn't mean the words to be harsh but it is the harsh reality that's come to pass since the prophecy had been spoken over fifty years ago.

Affection which was immediately returned. Verbally  and  explicitly  expressed  reminder  always  seemed  excruciatingly  necessary.  Hopefully,  if  the  winds  of  the  Underworld  were  favorable,  the  intention  of  this  sentence  would  reach  his  son,  before  another  official  appearance  outside  the  framework  of  his  throne,  otherwise  he  was  aware  attempt  would  be  vain.  As  much  peaceful  voice  commented  an  sentence  that  following  down  for  three  hundreds  of  years  approximately,  a  familiar  exasperation  had  come  out  of  his  mouth  like  a  distant  bitterness  that  had  never  left.  He  could  be  exasperated  by  something  he  had  already  seen  three  hundred  years  ago,  having  a  limited  approach  in  order  to  reassure  the  event  in  question,  leaving  him  enough  time  to  think  in  advance  for  the  paradoxical  approach  to  follow.  He  now  avoided  leaving  things  to  chance,  and  as  disturbing  as  his  actions  could  be  at  times,  he  observed  them  as  a  multi-dimensional  fragment.  The  Fates  had  been  bothering  him  enough  all  this  time  that  he  could  now  exist.  The  Fates  had  been  capricious  enough  to  force  him  to  wait  three  hundred  years  before  receiving  a  new  official  acknowledgment  within  Camp  Half-Blood,  which  was  final,  which  finally  capped  long  journey  of  a  recognition  that  was  belated.  Nevertheless,  manner  of  her  daughter  to  embracing  the  remembrance  generated  slight  playfulness.  ❝  My  child,  oral  memory,  sometimes  is  necessary  to  be  recalled,  like  words  of  essential  love  that  children  must  hear.  ❞ 

He  could  confess  several  things  about  his  son  and  that  of  sometimes  being  more  complicated  to  reassure  that  Deimos  was  one  of  them,  among  others.  However,  with  the  kid,  he  had  seen  it  all,  he  had  had  to  force  a  few  arrangements  here  and  there,  had  to  give  him  another  guardian  who  would  make  him  think  of  him  and  allow  him  to  have  what  he  was  looking  for,  he  had  once  known  the  paternal  emotional  fatigue  that  he  had  never  known  with  his  own  children.  He  was  from  Ares,  he  suspected  from  the  start  that  they  were  insolent  and  uncontrollable  cases,  but  he  had  been  very  well  offended  by  the  insidious  and  joyful  way  he  took  to  play  with  his  nerves  ---  he  was  currently  lucky  that  his  presence  was  beneficial  for  his  son,  to  systematically  flee  from  him  in  Nico's  aura  when  he  was  physically  present,  but  he  had  seen  him,  he  had  seen  what  he  was  doing  for  three  hundred  years.  Recollecting  to  his  son  something  he  already  knew  about,  remembering  to  his  son  something  he  had  full  awareness,  will  not  change  how  emotionally  his  state  will  remain.  Even  today  he  could  make  a  presentation  about  his  continuous  presence  with  his  supposedly  invisible  protector  ( because  he  saw  the  kid  taken  with  affection  for  his  son,  judging  from  afar  without  trust  because  this  kid  couldn't  be  trusted )  and  he  would  receive  an  insolence  in  return,  although  taking  into  consideration  his  efforts,  but  still  finding  his  presentation  fragile.  Nico  wouldn't  believe  a  word  of  the  presentation  he  would  try  to  make,  wouldn't  react  compared  to  his  protector,  and  would  still  be  as  doubtful  as  the  first  second.  Convincing  the  Emperor  of  Britannia  with  an  mocking  act  had  created  more  results  by  losing  himself  in  mockery,  than  the  result  he  could  manage  to  achieve  with  his  son.  It  hurt  him.  He  had  been  thinking  about  how  he  was  going  to  do  this,  since  he  was  lucky  enough  to  have  foreknowledge  because  the  kid  was  incapable  of  sitting  still  and  taking  no  for  an  answer.  Elizabeth's  heart  had  always  been  wide  open  to  this  invisible  presence  that  he  was,  this  comfort  that  radiated  and  made  the  darkness  gentle.  Oh,  he  had  children  less  receptive  though.  Phobos  had  always  struggled  to  feel  it  while  his  presence  had  remained  behind  him  at  all  times,  in  the  paradoxical  echoes  of  his  need  for  attention  never  leaving  him  alone,  despite  all  the  power  to  prove  that  he  was  there.  Deimos,  depending  on  his  mood,  would  either  thank  him  or  be  ungrateful,  taking  advantage  of  the  gray  areas  to  nibble  on  his  power,  which  tended  to  make  him  very  moody  in  return.  Nico  for  his  part  had  visibly  locked  his  heart  so  deeply  that  mental  awareness  wasn't  sufficient  for  him  to  emotionally  feel  what  was  there in all times  …  for  lack  of  faith.

Not  concerning  him  though,  as  his  father,  but  upon  himself.  If  circumstances  were  different,  if  he  could  remembering  precious  time  together  without  being  emotionally  shattered  by  an  guilt  in  which  he  wasn't  responsible  of,  he  would  have  matter  to  be  certain  he  always  has  been  here.  If  circumstances  were  different,  and  if  he  hadn't  taken  the  somber  side  of  the  Underworld,  he  would  have  managed  to  enjoying  of  the  same  lightness  he  was  extending  to  other.  Considering  Deimos  really  wanted  the  best  of  his  son,  and  searched  to  influence  the  Fates  otherwise  ---  when  there  was  contentement  that  arrogant  brat  for  once  was  struggling  upon  another  goal  of  his,  in  which  even  using  Paradoxes  wouldn't  bring  what  he  desired  in  the  second  ---  he  wished  Illusions  themselves  showing   his  own  blindness.  However,  Nico's  protective  shell  was  something  hard  to  break.  Compared  to  his  other  children,  he  was  the  silent  one.  His  exemplary  ability  to  never  express  anything  in  his  suffering,  admirable  as  it  was,  made  help  almost  impossible.  He  would  have  preferred  him  to  throw  all  the  blame  at  him  like  Deimos  did  so  well,  to  whom  he  could  engage  in  conversation,  and  even  if  he  was  offended  afterwards,  the  kid  could  have  vented  all  his  negativity  to  a  listening  ear.  He  would  have  preferred  him  to  scream  in  agony  like  Phobos  did,  to  whom  his  noise  was  impossible  to  ignore,  and  that  he  would  end  up  annoyed  at  having  his  eardrums  destroyed  by  the  person  concerned  who  felt  like  he  never  had  enough  attention.  He  would  have  preferred  him  to  be  clear  like  Elizabeth  was.  For  something  to  be  done,  for  a  reaction  to  be  made  ---  for  him  to  have  something  to  start  a  conversation  with,  for  him  to  have  a  delicate  way  of  destroy  all  mental  argument  he  had  created  for  himself.  He  couldn't  afford  to  act  annoyed  in  front  of  him ---  immediately  he  took  it  personally  and  felt  responsible,  and  he  could  be  sure  that  he  wasn't  going  to  'disturb'  him  instead of  disappearing  !

❝  It's  an  emotion  that  will  never  change.  An  eternal  cozy  fire  that  will  always  remain  like  a  coat.  ❞  There  was  playfulness  inside  that  sentence,  as  he  was  pondering  once  more  how  to  take  actions  without  risking  to  have  more  work .  Careful  planning  of  three  hundreds  ago  was  needed,  in  which,  he  would  find  elegant  manner  of  his  son  not  escaping  him  another  time.  He  wasn't  going  to  get  upset  over  such  a  small  thing  if  he  was  angry  with  him.  He  wasn't  going  to  hold  it  against  him  if  he  expressed  that  he  had  been hurt.  He  could  still  go  on  talking  to  him  endlessly  about  Jackson  or  even  about  another  blond  head  who  had  been  there  at  the  right  time  in  the  right  place  to  set  his  mind  straight  before  he  does  something  stupid.  He  was  used  to  some  of  his  children  being  something,  to  have  an  Ares  phenomenon  that  would  bring  out  the  worst  in  them,  and  whose  father  must  have  felt  wonderful  in  his  ego  for  generating  such  chaos  in  Olympus,  because  parenting  this  kid  was  complicated.  ❝  A  loyalty  and  love  that  will  be  answered  with  the  same  devotion  in  return.  ❞  He  was  happy  of  course  to  be  offered  offerings,  but  knowing  that  things  were  going  well  for  the  children,  making  him  affectionate  in  return,  was  the  greatest  offering  of  all.  His  divine  children  were  blossoming  flowers  that  walked  confidently  into  the  world,  and  no  matter  where  his  children  came  from,  he  desired  the  same  thing  ---  to  see  children  blossoming  from  having  been  nourished  in  a  water  of  love  where  the  brilliance  of  their  soul  surprised  anyone,  to  whom  such  purity  would  be  inaccessible  to  fully  touch  in  front  of  this  bottomless  well  of  love,  which  would  create  a  paradox  between  vision  of  the  Underworld  and  what  emerged  from  it.  He  was  tired  of  seeing  the  opposite,  of  perceiving  more  tragedy  when  it  concerned  him,  of  suffering  at  the  thought  that  something  could  happen  to  his  children.  ❝  You  are  the  most  precious  jewels  in  the  Underworld,  and  that  is  priceless.  Something  I  mustn't  say  often,  and  something  your  stepbrother  needs  to  hear.  ❞  A  temporary  sadness  passed  though  his  expression.  ❝  I  intend  to  talk  to  him,  but  the  reminder  will  not  reach  his  ears.  He  is  aware  of  it,  he  knows  exactly  that  I'm  here,  and  yet  he  shields  himself  in  disbelief.  Words  aren't  enough  to  break  blind  lock  he  has  created.  If  words  remain  dry,  physical  demonstration  could  make  him  change  his  mind,  by  giving  him  responsibilities,  by  showing  him  the  importance  he  thinks  he  doesn't  have,  and  eventually,  he  will  be  confident  enough  to  open  his  heart  in  return.  Without  this,  despite  all  my  attempts,  communication  will  remain  mute,  and  he  will  continue  to  get  lost  in  a  labyrinth  of  self-destruction  based  on  fears  coming  from  an  distorted  reality.  ❞  If  he  had  lived  three  hundred  years  with  foreknowledge,  and  had  paradoxically  tried  everything  to  express  he  mattered,  he  wasn't  likely  to  change  his  mind.  He  had  never  bothered  him.  He  had  never  ceased  to  love  him.

[songmingisthighs]

Algedonic

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

<< previous | masterlist | next >>

ch. xxix - pet-sitting your brother's chicken

soulmate!yunho × reader

fated and marked, soulmates are supposed to be your destiny. you are connected to him by his heart and him to yours. but despite the cosmic or even divine intervention, you felt that he is not wholly yours. why is destiny so cruel to you?

Around 6.45, you entered the boys' apartment with Beomgyu holding onto your hand. He said that he had to make sure you wouldn't bail or flake. To add to his seriousness, he even stayed with you as you work. You tried covincing him several times that he CAN leave you alone and that you'd be at their apartment later that night. But of course Beomgyu refused and even used his VERY adorable sad puppy face against you.

Looking back to earlier in the day, you realized how pet-like Beomgyu is. In the best way. As you focused yourself on work, he had no problem entertaining himself. From organizing your fridge, to mix and matching your clothes and setting it aside for you to wear whenever you want, to taking a nap on your bed, to making you snack, and of course, clinging onto your legs silently as you work.

Literally, the man hugged your legs wordlessly for a couple of hours. Sometimes you have the strong urge to scratch his chin just to see how he'd react.

Immediately, San took your overnight bag and tossed it to its usual place next to the couch before hugging you tightly.

"It feels like it's been three decades since I last saw you!" he cried out. You could only laugh and hugged him back, "What are you talking about, San? We saw each other last week!" you said. As if on cue, Byeol emerged from San's room and immediately, she rubbed her whole body on your leg. You crouched down to pet the cat as she began to purr at your touch, "I see the little miss is visiting his brother, huh?" you said to her like as if you were talking to a baby.

Yeosang emerged and trodded to you with a charming smile on his face, "Did Beomgyu held you hostage?" He chuckled. You rolled your eyes as you move to side hug him, "You know he did," you confirmed. Yeosang laughed at the way you answered and the way Beomgyu was glaring at you accusingly, "Well thank god he did because we really do need to hang out together," he said.

As you settled in the boys' apartment, and by settling, it simply meant that you changed into Yeosang's sweatpants and Beomgyu's big ass hoodie and stole San's blanket from his bed, Liz arrived already clad in comfy sleeping pants and her comfiest white hoodie.

So now, you found yourself and Liz huddled on the couch under San's blanket as the boys went about their stream. They had pulled their gaming laptops instead of using their PC for the night's stream because they wanted to do the stream together in the living room. As usual, Beomgyu was screaming, San was laughing, and Yeosang simply looked done at the both of them. During the whole time, you and Liz kept giggling at their interactions.

"San," you called out as he slumped in his seat, having just been killed in the game. With sad eyes and pouty lips, San turned around to listen to what you had to say, "Beomgyu betrayed you," you revealed, smirking at a horrified looking Beomgyu. "(Y/N) !!! WHY !?!?!?!?" he screeched when San jumped on him and beat him up with a cushion.

Everyone laughed at that, but of course, Yeosang was still paying close attention to the stream. "Oh yeah, our friends, (y/n) and Liz are here!" he said to the audience, "Girls, come say hi!" he said, leaning to the side slightly to show you and Liz to the audience. You shrieked and threw a cushion at his head, "Yeosang! You fucking tricked me into being part of the stream!" you yelled at him.

Yeosang rubbed his head in the spot where the cushion hit him and pouted at you, "No I didn't! I was just showing that you and Liz are here!" he whined, defending himself. Beomgyu leaned to the screen and grinned widely, "Wooyoung hyung, you ass!" he laughed.

Hearing the familiar name, you perked up slightly which made Liz raise an eyebrow in acknowledgement. "Wooyoung?" you asked, repeating the name that Beomgyu had just said. "Yeah!" Beomgyu grinned at you, pointing at the screen, "He said that we should clear out and let you on the camera instead, it'll get us more views!"

You couldn't help but giggle and blush slightly at that, "Wooyoung, stop watching! Don't you have comatose people to take care of?" you spoke out loud so that the mic can catch your voice.

This time, San peeked on the screen and his eyes widened, "I'm not reading that, you can fucking text her yourself," he scoffed. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from grinning even wider, thinking about what Wooyoung might have said in public to you through the boys.

The stream ended after two hours. You all have now sat around the small coffee table in the living room, each person has their own bowl of noodles and everyone's just enjoying the presence of each other.

"You know," San started after he finished his bowl of noodles, "I see that you've been talking to Wooyoung a lot recently," he said, peering at you curiously. At his words, you choked on your noodles and began coughing. It wasn't what he asked, but it was his tone that threw you off. "Seems like you hit the jackpot with the topic," Yeosang smirked as he watched Beomgyu and Liz patting your back, trying to help you calm down.

After calming down, you glared at San who was looking at you smugly, "Yeah, so what?" you asked him. Shrugging, San tilted his head slightly, "It's just interesting, you know? I never thought that you both could be close, but you both have been sending food and texting each other every day, kinda romantic, isn't it?"

Beomgyu's eyes widened and he grabbed your shoulders tightly, "Is it romantic between you two? Does that mean you're leaving Yunho!?" he asked with much excitement in his voice. This time, your eyes widened and you immediately shook your head, "What!? No! Of course not!" you denied. Your response caused them all to boo at you.

"Seriously, (y/n), it seems like you have a better option now, why not just leave Yunho?" Liz asked, genuinely curious. You pursed your lips and shrugged, "Because it's fate, you know?" you said simply. San was about to say something but you raised a hand, stopping him from saying anything, "I know it sounds stupid, but I do believe that soulmates really do mean something. People do have the option to remove their mark and be with whoever they want, but I sincerely believe that fate must have planned something for me and Yunho, or at least they want something from us, you know?" your eyes then shifted to Yeosan as you threw him a sad smile, "No disrespect to you though, Sangie."

"But what about Wooyoung hyung?" Beomgyu asked, "You must've realized that he's developing romantic feelings for you."

In all honesty, you dreaded this question. You knew that the point of the sleepover was just simply so Beomgyu could ask you that.

So you smiled at him sadly, "Who said I'm not too?" Your answer shocked them, it was evident in their expression. "It's... very complicated because on one side, I wanna believe that Yunho and I have like this big blueprint, you know? But Wooyoung... He's been showing me how I should be treated and I like it a lot," you sighed, feeling bad about how you feel for the boys' friend.

Liz wrapped her arms around one of yours and pursed her lips, "Well... what are you gonna do about your feelings? What about Wooyoung?" she asked. You could sense from her tone that she was just trying to make sure that you would be fine since both of your relationships are involving a lot of people.

Giving her a small chuckle, you nodded slowly, thinking about how ridiculous the situation is, "Well, I will obviously keep having my feelings for him but I don't know if it's gonna develop or dissipate. Wooyoung... I told him during our first call when he said he wanted to court me that I'm in a very frustrating and very confusing soulmate situation. He understood and he said that despite his feelings, he wants to be friends with me," you explained.

"And you let him?" San asked, frowning as he found the idea rather confusing and unrealistic. Maybe even slightly unfair to only one party.

Thankfully, Yeosang interjected, pushing San so he toppled backwards. "We've known Wooyoung long enough to know that he does whatever he wants anyway," he said, rolling his eyes in faux annoyance. "What's important is that you have to know what you want, (y/n). We're not rooting for Wooyoung here, we're rooting for you to get what you deserve," he told you.

Hearing such words from your friend brought tears to your eyes and within seconds, Liz was all over you, trying to dry your tears as Beomgyu attacked Yeosang, kicking him for "making our dearest (y/n) cry unprompted", while San tried making your tears stop by getting Byeol who hissed at him.

In a romantic aspect, your track record isn't the best. Heck, you finally admitted out loud that you're slowly developing feelings for a guy who's not your soulmate.

You kind of resent yourself for believing in soulmates so much, it was one of the reasons why you had a falling out with your parents who both removed their soulmate marks to be with each other. You've always thought that they were brave, but apparently, they thought you were gutless for going with "what's intended" instead of being adventurous, going out to make your own story. You've always felt alone because it seemed like no one gets your decision. No one gets that despite going with fate's plan, you're still scared. There were times, even before meeting Wooyoung, you questioned fate for giving you a soulmate such as Yunho. But despite his shortcomings, there are qualities that he has that make you love him even through everything. But still, there was this voice at the back of your head that kept convincing you that he's staying with you not because it's what he wants, but it was because it's just what he was "told" to do.

It was stressful bearing the mental burden alone.

But as you sat there, watching Liz taking care of you, San trying to cheer you up, Beomgyu defending you, and Yeosang who never fail to ground you to reality, you realized that you were never alone. These people are your family. Through thick and thin, seemingly odd decisions, and stressful events, they are the ones who decided that they wanna be there for you. For the first time in a while, your heart felt lighter.

And it was all thanks to the people whom you love beyond anything in the world.

taglist :

@paralumanniluna @ikonic-loser @joonsthethicc @kodzukein @mirror-juliet @linhyyboo12 @theaufanartist @petitchou-t @bbymatz @rabbitlashpink @meowmeowminnie @eternalssanshine @hakuna-matata-ya @peachy-maia @pretty-pop-princess-hs @maddiebabyxoxo @hyvn-jaeee @shyfear @dreamlesswonder86 @honeyhotteoks @kpopnightingale @shaininguu @swaneffects @starlixs @iknowyouknowlino @captainjoongiekissme @marsophilia @rubberduckieyourtheone @noonaishere @baguette-atiny @rdiamond2727 @diestheticu @atinct @hibuki-chan @ateezourstars @shinotani @blaaiissee @hwanchaesong @multihoe-net @seoulscenarios @potaeto-writes-on-wp @bluepoison1975 @kirooz @dear-dreamie @hxneyboy @treasure-1117 @john-joong @heyimkay @starlight-channie

[femmefeedist]

That Gretel and the witch ask gave me an idea:

What if you take that RP scenario, but your gf gets to stuff you first. I mean, she was just captured by a scary (but strangely cute) little witch after all, so it stands to reason she'd try to plot a clever escape, right?

So, she plays into your seductive sweetness, something about staying in your care, getting delightfully plump on delicious treats till she's too heavy to leave, "delicious enough to eat". All too eager to agree just for the hopes of catching you off-guard, but a deal nonetheless. You grin with satisfaction and just as you turn your back to start piling home-baked pastries onto a plate, she makes her move, pushing you onto the nearby chair, planting herself on your lap, and shoving a pastry into your surprised mouth before you can even utter a grievance

You try to push her off you, but between the weight of her pleasantly chubby figure pressing down on you and the constant flow of delicious treats passing through your lips and dancing on your taste buds, you find it more than a little difficult to resist. The curse of being a good cook, right? It's not long before you resign yourself to the situation, getting lost in a haze of chewing, swallowing, and groaning as you feel your own pudgy potbelly begin to bloat outwards against the snug confines of your dress

By the time she finally stops cramming sweets down your throat, you feel like you're ready to pop, you look like it too. Your belly having ballooned into what can only be described as an overstuffed gut, so distended and swollen that it's completely filled the distance between your two midsections. It may have only been a few inches, but it might as well be a few feet with how unbelievably full she's stuffed you. You realize your belly has grown so large that you can actually feel it brushing against hers as she begins to shift on top of you. If you weren't so deliriously full, you might've remembered to blush, but the thought is quickly tossed aside as she rises to her feet and turns towards the door

With what little sense you still have, you grab her wrist, her hastiness surprisingly being enough to drag you off the chair and send you both tumbling to the floor. You conveniently land right on top of her, groaning heavily from the impact's effect on your poor, bloated gut, but quickly realizing your turn of luck after taking a moment to regain your bearings. She's beneath you now, trapped firmly under your newfound girth, a prison of her own making. Even her arms wound up perfectly wedged between the softness of her sides and your thighs, you can't help but smirk and laugh to yourself as she cutely squirms and wiggles in a vain attempt to free herself. You probably weight just as much as she does now...don't you?

You reach up towards the table and snag another plate, shoving an particularly large pastry right between her lips, eliciting a small whimper as she meets your eyes. You lean in closer, not even trying to hide your sultry smugness, "you know, I was going to play nice, but...since you decided to do this..." you give your gut a small smack, pausing slightly to stifle a groan, "I think it's only fair that I feed you twice as much as I just ate. I mean, you wouldn't go back on our little deal now, would you?" Despite the uncertainty in her eyes, you can't help but notice a small blush betraying them and spreading across her puffed-up, treat-filled cheeks

You lean in closer still, enough that you can feel the resistance of your taut gut compressing against her plump mound of dough. You grab another pastry, press it gently against her lips and stop, her eyes rapidly shifting between your hungry gaze and the inevitability of her next bite. You can only imagine the flurry of thoughts racing through her pretty little head before she locks eyes again. Her head bobs slightly as you hear an audible 'gulp', followed immediately by a hungry gasp that allows you to press the pending pastry firmly between her open lips, her rosy cheeks deepening a few shades at your next words...

"Good girl~"

---

Not sure what your budget is for in-home feeding sessions, but uh, shouldn't be more than a few bucks for all the necessary set dressing, right? If you don't end up making it a reality, hopefully you both at least enjoyed the read and end up a little fatter from it in some way, lmao

The entire time I read this all I wanted to do was go fuck my girlfriend so I may or may not have even finished reading this before I got incredibly horny for her 🥵 Even if I'm not personally into this specific type of roleplay I WILL dress up all witchy and feed her - we've already decided 🔥

[thesolferino]

Touchdown

⤷ dream x f!reader.

⤷ genre: smut, minors please keep scrolling!

⤷ word count: 3.2k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon

— summary: clay loses a football game, and while he’s already mad, you decide to rile him up even more.

“God fucking damnit.”

Clay muttered, pulling his helmet off and slamming it against one of the benches as he said the last word, making you almost jump as you quietly trailed along behind him, feet following in his footsteps. He ran a sweaty hand through his hair, wiping beads of sweat off the sides of his face as he moved towards his locker, carelessly hanging the helmet in its place as he huffed a frustrated sigh.

The locker room was empty, no traces of anyone’s belongings left, as Clay took his sweet time yelling and arguing with the coach after he instructed the rest of the team to change and get out of his sight; everyone had left before he even reached the lockers. The game hadn’t ended well for his team - the game tied, and he was feeling confident, patting their center, Nick, on the back in encouragement, shooting a pearly smile to those who cheered them on and filled the bleachers. They played overtime, and a coin was tossed, during which his team ultimately lost. Looking back on it in the pessimistic state that he was in now, throwing the towel he used to wipe his face at the wall, that should’ve been the first sign it wouldn’t end well. 

The other team scored one final touchdown in the last three minutes of the game, the crowd’s cheers and protests mixing as the opposing team’s points shot up by six, leaving them victorious by one single point and Clay upset, pent up rage and bitterness stuck inside his body with nowhere to go now that the game was over and balls couldn’t be thrown. He stayed arguing with the coach for longer than he should have, even though he simply refused to budge. You’d managed to come down from the bleachers just in time to see him hold back a curse and speedwalk towards the lockers, following close behind, not even daring to call out his name.

“Damnit!” he shouted again, sitting down on the bench, running both of his hands through his hair fervently, huffing out large exhales every time they moved back and forth. The rest of his gear was still on despite coming here specifically to change - his jersey was still draped over his large shoulder pads and chest, one glove on and the other chucked at the wall as well as the towel, shorts and knee pads in place, too. You carefully reached out to place a warm hand on his shoulder, at least giving him some type of assurance, hoping it would calm the fire that burnt in him, mighty and frantic, at least a little. 

It seems to do nothing, though, and the fire in him just keeps growing taller and stronger, flames licking farther up his throat, seconds away from escaping, burning him to ashes.

They do exactly that - they engulf his entire body, and for the split second that his gaze catches yours, you can see his eyes glint with flames, before he stands up so quickly it makes you dizzy, and presses his lips to yours hungrily. His fire engulfed you, spreading through you like an infectious disease, warmness swarming you from head to toe as he pulled you closer to him by the waist, leaving fiery fingerprints everywhere his hands touched you like hot coal.

He grunted into your kiss as he walked forward, backing you into the wall. The kiss was so unruly, so much more dizzying than any of the delicate ones you’d share in your bedroom - it was forceful, daring, scratchy, and when both of his rough arms wrapped themselves around your waist and he murmured: “Jump.” into your mouth, you knew you weren’t leaving that room without bruises. 

Despite being aware of that, though, you couldn’t help but test his dominance, at least a little bit. Being bratty was second nature; after all, you were the air to his fire. When you blew strong enough, you could calm it down, but when you blew however you pleased, you’d ignite it more intensely than any gasoline ever could. And you couldn’t take the fire out this time, so you might as well fuel it to the best of your abilities. 

“I don’t want to. And take off the uniform, you’re not gonna fuck me with those shoulder pads on.” 

He pulled away, staying close enough to your face so you could feel every riled exhale, enough so you could see his jaw clench and green eyes boring into yours so madly that you almost cowered under his gaze - however, you persisted. There was really no reason to answer like that, and both of you knew it, but you wanted to toy with him, have him earn your submission, no matter if he’s pissed out of his mind or not. In hindsight, that may have not been a good idea, and you realised that the longer he said nothing and stared at you in pure anger, but there’s no going back now, is there?

“I’ll fuck you however I want.” Clay muttered through gritted teeth. “And you’ll like it no matter what.”

With that, his arms were back around your hips, lifting you off the ground as if you weighed nothing, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist when he pushed you to lean against the wall. His lips were glued back onto yours in no time, your hand automatically darting to bury itself in his hair and pull, his fingers on your hips so tight they’d surely leave red marks. His lips left yours and you almost whined but held back when they moved to your neck, barely wasting any time before biting down on it, earning a gasp from you that you foolishly hoped he didn’t hear despite knowing there’s no way he missed it. He sucked on it, hard, to the point that you knew there’s no way it could be any shade other than dark, dark purple in a couple days’ time. 

He set you down briefly, and you did your best to try and hide how impatient and upset you were getting, but he grabbed the hem of his jersey and pulled it up, tossing it to the side before getting rid of the shoulder pads as well, your eyes swerving over his sweaty, naked chest as he silently raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to do the same. You did nothing except lift your gaze back to Clay’s and stare at him with no emotion whatsoever.

“Take it off.” He commanded, gaze switching between your chest and eyes, waiting for you impatiently. You exhaled through your nose, just short of a chuckle.

“Do it yourself.” You shot back, seeing him cock his head to the side in an attempt to compose himself and flush down the anger, despite knowing it won’t work. 

“You’re so fucking annoying.” He scowled, hands immediately grabbing at your shirt and pulling it off, fingers quick on your back, fiddling with the clasp of your bra. 

“And yet you still wanna fuck me like a dog in heat.” You retorted when the clasp loosened and he pulled the fabric down your arms, pressing another hungry kiss to your lips while he rolled one of your nipples through his fingers.

“You think you’ll still be talking to me like this when you’re begging me to cum and I say no?” Clay whispers in your ear right before his mouth moves down to circle his tongue around your other nipple, and neither of you fail to notice the goosebumps that cover your whole body. You don’t even get to manage a word out, syllables falling back into your throat when you swallow upon feeling his hands sneak themselves under your skirt, gripping your thighs. 

“With how she’s talking, I’m sure my little brat isn’t wet right now. Right?” you feel your heart speed up when his hand moves a little further to the right and runs his fingers over your damp panties, brushing over your opening, fingers barely ghosting your clit. His pointer finger catches onto the fabric and pushes the underwear aside, leaving space for his middle finger to feel the juices that pour out of you, his touch feeling incredibly cold against your heat, feeling the tips of his fingers coat themselves in you before pulling away. His eyes meet yours paired with a smug smirk that you’ll never get to erase out of your memory.

“Oops.” he grins. “Seems like I was wrong.”

And then, when you least expect it, his fingers shove themselves in you, eliciting a muffled whimper, legs stumbling backwards to lean on the wall again when they start pumping in and out, lewd noises deafening you as you feel drops of wetness slipping down your thighs. He still persistently works his fingers inside your underwear, thumb sneaking inside too to rub at your clit, and that’s when he pushes a moan out of you, a sign of defeat - music to his ears. You can’t help it, can’t help any of it when it feels so good, when every time his wet finger brushes against your clit it sends a jolt through your whole body, your own hands twitching at the movement. 

Your whole body sets aflame, head blazing, sweat escaping through strands of your hair the longer he keeps going, fingers stuffed in you, thrusting in and out like it’s his last, pushing you towards your orgasm more and more. Sure enough, your stomach starts twisting and your abdomen coils, something inside you pushing you off the walls as you arch more and more and grind into his unrelenting fingers. 

“Cl-Clay… fuck, I’m-!” just as the words pass your lips, his fingers pull out, and the pleasure is entirely gone, ripped away from your hands as you stare up at him, feeling betrayed. Your hands instinctively move to your heat, as if of their own free will, but he grabs at your wrist before they make it to their destination.

“Don’t you dare. You come when I say so. I think I’ve made that very fucking clear, haven’t I?” Both of you know he’s stripped you of your brattiness when you say nothing, just swallow to mend your dry throat and quietly nod - you hate it, he loves it.

Clay pulls his shorts and underwear down his legs, and that’s when you realise you’re finally getting what you’ve been waiting for, so you hook your fingers around the waistband and pull your panties down, stepping out of them when you notice his cock, finally free and painfully throbbing as he strokes himself a few times. His eyes catch sight of the way you practically drool watching him, and he does nothing but scoff before your eyes meet.

“Get on the bench. All fours.” He commands and you comply, climbing onto one of them, arms and legs trembling where you place them.

“Watch your balance. I won’t be slow.” Clay says, guiding his cock into you, slowly pushing the tip inside as you hold your breath, waiting for him to just get on with it, already plenty stretched from the way his fingers fucked you open just seconds before.

“Won’t you now?” You murmur in irritation, words escaping you before you can even rationalise the fact that they won’t do you any good right now. “If you can’t play good, at least try to fuck me good.” 

He stopped in his tracks and you froze, only realising that you may have crossed the line after the words were already long out of your mouth, and you opened it to apologise, but didn’t even get to inhale properly when he suddenly buried himself in you to the hilt, almost tearing you apart when his hips collide with yours and you let out a pained yelp, his cock stretching you out ten times more than his fingers had.

You felt his whole hand wrap itself around your throat before he pulled you up by it, pressing his lips close to your ear so you could hear every last breath of his.

“You know I play as good as I fuck - and best believe, I’ll fuck that brat out of you.” Clay growled into your ear before pushing you back down, not even giving you time to grip the bench before pulling out and thrusting back in with a low groan, setting a fast pace from the start.

You bit down on your lip with more and more force with every thrust - he filled you to the hilt every time, and you were sure you were drawing blood by now, a slight metallic taste coating your tongue from how hard you were holding back your moans. You were absolutely not gonna let him fuck the brat out of you.

He kept pumping into you wildly, pace brutal and unforgiving, and it took everything in you to be as quiet as possible, but then you felt a cold finger carefully rub at your sensitive clit, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore, a loud moan getting pushed out of your throat.

“Fuck! Clay…” you whimpered, trying to stabilise yourself on your shaky arms but barely succeeding because the more he pumped inside of you, the more it felt like he was forcing every thought in your brain out, replacing it with only him and his name. The hand gripping your hips left them, grabbing your hair into a makeshift ponytail and pulling it whenever he thrusted back in, making you hiss out in a sick mix of pleasure and pain.

“F-Fuck, I…” your throat ran dry from how fast and ragged your breathing stayed - it felt like he was going faster and faster every second.

“This good enough for you, princess?” he exaggerated, mocking you, a little out of breath himself as he pushed farther and farther, thumb never leaving your clit. You swallowed, not able to give him a proper response besides dumbed down words and broken syllables. He angled himself a little different with the next thrust, which made him dive into a spot he hadn’t touched before, making you see stars as you let out a huge gasp, grabbing at his arm that pulled on your hair in a blind attempt to ground yourself.

“R-Right there… fuck, please don’t-don’t stop!” you cried out, a new wave of heat flooding your entire body as he kept hitting the same spot over and over again, making you blind, white imprinted behind your eyelids. Your brain, along with any rational thoughts turned off completely, leaving you with nothing but moans and gasps of his name and how scarily good his cock felt in you.

You felt your climax creeping up on you, slowly but surely, the heat from every part of your body accumulating in the pit of your stomach, feeling the knot ready to come undone any second now. You clenched around him painfully, unable to help the spasms, seconds away from orgasm to the point you could practically taste it. It seemed like Clay could taste it, too, because he slowed down, thrusting into you lazily, like he hadn’t fucked your brains out a moment ago.

“Say sorry.” he said, voice as stable and confident as ever, unwavering compared to your shaky, barely still there one. 

“Wh-what?” It took the words a second to make their way from your ears to your brain, hazy mind clouded with nothing but him, unable to process what he’s even saying when he’s buried so deep in you.

“I said, say sorry.” he bumped into your sweet spot once again, leaving you mewling and your eyes closing on their own.

“I’m sorry. So sorry.” you stuttered, trying to piece your thoughts together while you could.

“Sorry for what?” he asked. “Sorry for the things you said, or sorry because you know I won’t let you come?” 

“I’m-I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t-… I promise I didn’t mean it… Please, let me come, baby…” you whimpered out, grabbing at his arm again, trying to gain the little bit of sympathy you hoped he still had left.

“You’ll have to beg a little harder for me to even think about it, princess.” he chuckled, like the whole thing was damn hilarious, working his fingers on your clit again as your breathing stammered and you fought your best to get some words out.

“God, baby, please, you-you know I didn’t mean it… I’m sorry, so sorry…” you breathed out with another tired gulp. “You-...I-... please, baby, you can’t do this, I’m sorry, okay?”

“I can do whatever I fucking want to and I have some reason for it. What’s stopping me from using you like my own little fuckdoll right now and leaving you here with nothing except my own cum dripping out of you? What’s stopping me?” Clay snapped, pulling you by the hair again. You gulped again, feeling actually nervous this time.

“I… Please, baby, I won’t do it again, I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean any of the stuff I said, please, can you just-” 

He interrupted you mid sentence with such a rough thrust that you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, his fingers back on your clit, feeling like you’re getting lifted up to the skies themselves once again. He managed to find the same angle, hitting the spot that made you feel hell and heaven all at once, pleasure prickling at every part of your body as you loudly moaned, putting no effort into concealing it or keeping silent anymore.

You felt the knot in your stomach once again, quicker than ever, slowly unraveling itself and your cries turned into ramblings, begging him to let you come.

“Pl-please, can I please… Fuck! Please, can I- I’m so close, shit, baby, can I please-” you stuttered, tears starting to pool in the corners of your eyes as you could almost touch your climax.

“Fuck, baby. Come for me.” 

As soon as the words escaped his lips, you felt the knot finally untie itself and you let out a guttural moan, not caring who would hear or not - the pleasure was sickeningly sweet, almost making you ill, knocking you to your elbows as you couldn’t see, hear, feel nothing except the wave of pleasure washing over you repeatedly, beads of sweat running down your body.

The clenching of your heat against him while you climaxed drove Clay to the brink of insanity, coming himself before he could even realise it, filling you up to the brim with a few final thrusts. He stayed inside you for a few seconds while you were catching your breath, watching you uncontrollably spasm around him as you came down from the high, clenching around him every so often, all your senses overstimulated.

When your breathing evened out, he finally pulled out, grabbing the box of tissues from his locker as he slowly started to clean you up, wiping over your sensitive parts, holding you up lightly by the stomach so you wouldn’t fall whenever he touched one of the tender parts. You huffed out a large exhale.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Clay. Remind me to never provoke you after a game again, what the fuck.” you said, voice still shaky, and you heard him cackle behind you.

“I’ll probably be mad for the rest of the day anyways, but whatever.”

“You played good, by the way. Really good. I just wanted to piss you off.” You admitted, watching him stand up and look at you with a knowing smile, before pressing a light peck against your lips. 

“Yeah, I figured.”

[elysiadjarin]

Day 1: Somnophilia

Day 1 of Kinktober! The first prompt is of course, somnophilia. Here’s my masterlist for my Kinktober challenge.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ only content. Consensual somnophilia, cumplay, unprotected sex, nonhuman character, exophilia

Tags: Hat Man x reader, exophilia, kinktober

He Comes at Night

At first, you hadn’t been sure whether it was just another case of sleep paralysis, or actually something… else.

He always came at night, standing in your doorway as you lay on your back, unable to move. Though you were used to sleep paralysis and the oftentimes terrifying figures that came along with it, this one had been different every time it showed up. It just stood in your doorway, never really moving, just watching. You never felt the usual fear that came along with most sleep paralysis demons, just a sense of… calm.

It had gotten to the point where you’d simply learned to ride it out, accepting the calm of its presence until you fell back asleep. If anything, you’d started feeling a sense of comfort from its presence. Even living alone, you felt as though it were there as another presence, just to keep you some company. You’d even thought with a flash of amusement that maybe it was there to protect you.

But that was until a few nights ago. You’d found yourself abruptly awake again, immobile in bed. But it had been different. Your eyes wouldn’t open, and you distinctly felt something heavy on your blankets, pinning you to the bed. It felt far more tangible than anything else you’d ever experienced in a moment of sleep paralysis, and it unnerved you.

Of course, that’s when you heard… that. A whisper, slithering around you, crawling against your sheets as tangibly as the weights.

Sssso delicioussss. A poke at you. He’ssss finally not here. Hey, are you… awake?

Despite the situation, it wasn’t so much fear as annoyance that gripped you in the moment. If this sleep paralysis demon was enacting paralysis on you, why would you be able to respond?

A low cackle raked down your spine. That’sssss right, you can’t move, can you. Well, you won’t need to, sssssoon. Don’t worry, the chilling voice sneered, I’ll make ssssure you can feel it.

You’d just started to feel the panic set in when the weight was ripped off of you. A loud, fearful shriek pierced through the room, followed by a distinct crunching and gurgling.

I didn’t mean to, Hat Man, have merccccccy— The voice choked off in the thick air, just as your eyes snapped open.

Thick, black slime dripped from the mangled, gangly body that hung limply in the air. The figure that had been standing in your doorway every night now stood by your beside, a giant arm outstretched as dark talons clenched around the smaller creature. The black ichor dripped from its claws, and it threw the broken body down on the floor like a rag doll. It turned its head toward you again, but relief had crashed through you at its appearance.

The tall figure, now that it had appeared so close to your bedside, clearly towered at least seven feet tall. But even when it bent its whole body over, face nearing yours, you still didn’t fear it. It had leaned over, close enough that you could imagine that you felt its nonexistent breath on your face. Then it brushed against your forehead, as though it had kissed you gently back to sleep. You’d fallen back asleep as though knocked out.

And now, as you stood at your kitchen counter, holding a mug of tea, your mind had started to wander. Specifically, you’d started to wonder about your mysterious guardian. What had started out as a private sort of joke had turned into a reality, and you weren’t entirely sure what to make of it. The sensations and feelings had been far too concrete to be just a hallucination or just part of another sleep paralysis experience. Even now, you could still feel the sensation of the soft, gentle wisp of shadow brushing across your forehead.

Sighing, you dumped the mug into the sink and headed for bed, pulling at the hem of your large T-shirt. In the room, you slid off your shorts and put them on a chair, only in your underwear and shirt to sleep. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you took a moment to glance around the room. Your mind wandered to the weird, creepy spirit from the night before.

Tentatively, you decided to speak into the darkness. “Hey… I don’t know if you’re here right now, or—or listening, but… Hat Man. If you’re there, thank you. For saving me,” you said, tugging at your shirt. “I know I usually can’t move or talk, but… if you want company, you can come sit or lay down.” A little embarrassed at your own offer, you flopped back on the bed and rolled under the covers, burying your face in your pillow.

Even if it — he? — were there listening and you weren’t just talking to thin air, what would he think of your invitation? Was that too forward? Or weird?

You weren’t sure when exactly you fell asleep, but you certainly jerked awake sometime later when the bed next to you dipped. Your eyes opened, this time, and you saw the hulking figure almost meekly slide into bed beside you. His weight made your body slightly tip towards him, and he shifted to face you just in time to catch you against his chest. You noticed, now fully pressed against him, that he did have a slight, dusky sort of warmth, like the faint touch of a sunbeam filtering though curtains.

His giant talon paused, and he seemed to vacillate, as though unsure what to do with himself now that he was there. Tentatively, his fingers brushed against your arm. Your body seemed to gain a little bit more movement, just enough for you to sigh and lean further into his chest. He made you feel safe, and his presence was comforting. He didn’t seem to mind your advances, so you decided not to feel guilty as his giant arm wrapped around your back.

A soft, wispy hum escaped you, and you let yourself relax with the minimal movements the paralysis seemed to be allowing. You half-wished you could talk, just to speak with him. But at the same time, you could feel the drowsiness descend again. He felt too comfortable, and the solid weight of his body against yours made you melt like putty into the bed.

As you fell asleep, you swore you could feel the Hat Man brush another soft kiss to your forehead.

~

“Whoa, wait, you got yourself a Hat Man?” Your Tiefling coworker gave you a surprised look. “They usually only come into your life because they’re drawn in some way to protect you. Have you been doing okay? Staying safe?”

You nodded. “Well, I mean, now I am thanks to him,” you clarified, eyebrows furrowing. “What with my sleep paralysis and that weird… other thing.” You shuddered a little in disgust at the memory. “He’s been protecting me from whatever that thing was, I’m assuming.”

Harlow gave you a long look. “I didn’t want to really bring this up before, but do you know of anything in your heritage that might be… well, attractive to spirits? I’ve noticed before that you seem to draw the attention of non humans.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “Well, you’re not wrong,” you admitted, rubbing your arm. “When I was born, my grandmother told my parents that I had ‘the blood of a beacon,’” you said. “I had a talisman she gave me, but… it’s been years, so maybe the potency has worn off.”

He nodded. “Probably. Especially if you have beacon blood; I’m not surprised you drew a Hat Man to protect you. You might as well be the Ultimate Desire for them,” he remarked.

Your eyes widened at his comment. “Ultimate Desire?” you asked, startled. “I mean, I know that my blood is attractive to spirits for its potency in spirit energy. But what does Ultimate Desire mean? And why would Hat Man want that?” You noted that he called it a Hat Man. So it apparently was a type of spirit or entity.

“Hmm.” Harlow pursed his lips. “Well, an easy way to put it would be… the Hat Men are guardians of sources of energy like you. They’re fueled by the energy you have, so… it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that he’s a personal bodyguard manifested by your beacon blood. The more your proximity or attention ‘fuels’ him and the more energy you give him, the stronger he’ll be and the better defense.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “Huh. So I’m basically… the ultimate source, I guess. I mean, for Hat Man.”

“Yep!” Then he gave you a sly grin. “So, you gonna get up close and personal with him?” His eyebrows wriggled at you teasingly.

Flushing, you reached over and shoved his shoulder. “Harlow, seriously!” you groaned.

He laughed, rubbing his arm exaggeratedly. “Aww c’mon, I’m just saying. He’s basically the one least likely to betray you. In other words, the safest way to get laid—“

You flounced off, leaving him to laugh and try to wheedle his way back into your good graces. Still, your mind wouldn’t stop wandering to the Hat Man. Wondered how much safer you’d feel if he decided to be just a little more handsy…

Whacking your face with your binder, you shook your head and scolded yourself. Really, Harlow must be influencing you more than you expected.

~

You slumped against the counter, groaning.

Maybe Harlow really had gotten to you, more than you’d really anticipated at first. His words kept ringing through your mind, leading to thought trains that you hadn’t really anticipated.

He’s a personal bodyguard… The more your proximity or attention ‘fuels him’ and the more energy you give him… He’s basically the one least likely to betray you.

With a defeated sigh, you picked yourself up and dragged yourself to your room. You’d wanted to go to bed early, for more reasons than you’d care to admit to yourself. Still, even as you turned the lights off and went to go change, you wondered if he would return tonight. If he’d still join you. If he’d stay.

Tugging at the T-shirt you’d slid on, you hesitated for only a moment before sliding your underwear off. Tossing it aside, you slid into bed, rolling onto your side and staring at the empty space across from you. Reaching out, you smoothed your hand against the sheets.

“I wish you were here, Hat Man,” you whispered into the quiet darkness.

To your surprise, your body almost instantly froze. A dark shape walked into view by the side of the bed, and the now-familiar talons lifted the sheets to slide into bed beside you. You vaguely wondered if the sleep paralysis the whole time had just been the spirits and now your Hat Man having an effect on you thanks to the lure of your blood.

Before you could think too much about it, though, the burly figure slid closer. Still, he didn’t hold you like he had before, and a pang of disappointment rushed through you. His arm lifted, then he seemed to hesitate.

Your body loosened a little, giving you that smidgen of movement you’d been granted last time. Without even a moment of thought, you rolled forward and snuggled into his chest again, the dusky warmth of his body soaking into you again. You sighed, gazing at the lines of his chest and the slashed scars that crossed the dark planes. Almost thoughtlessly, you traced your fingers against the edges of the scars.

You wondered how he’d gotten them. Were you the reason? Because he protected you? A pang of guilt ran through you for a moment.

He shifted, finally putting his arm around you again, as though he’d been waiting for the permission. His head bent a little, and he carefully seemed to nuzzle your hair, as though checking on you.

A little sleepy, you glanced up at him, noting the curve of his jaw. “Hi,” you breathed, your murmur quiet and wispy. Still, he pulled back and seemed to observe you curiously. His eyes, you finally noticed, had a faint sort of pale blue glow, dim in the darkness and only obvious from how close you were.

“Thank you,” you whispered, every word an effort. “For— this—“ Your fingers slipped across the lurid scars on his chest, your eyes starting to slide closed. But you fought it for a moment, determined to just… thank him. Properly. Mustering as much energy as you could, you sluggishly forced yourself up a little, just enough to brush your lips against his chin, the closest part of his face you could reach.

The talons tightened briefly against your waist, as though they’d convulsed in surprise. He seemed to freeze in front of you, processing what you’d just done.

You let out a sleepy hum, the drowsiness descending on you far faster than you would have liked. You wanted to talk with him. You wondered if he had a voice.

~

Harlow took one look at you. “Ohhh, someone’s sexually frustrated.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I can’t— Harlow,” you whined, feeling your entire face heat up.

He leaned against your desk with a sympathetic grin. “Look, if I call you out it’s only because I’m in the same boat or I’m about to help you. In this case both applies. Anyway, so, spill the tea.” He tilted his head, his polished horns gleaming under the office lights.

You sighed, then confessed everything to him. From the way you’d started feeling about your Hat Man to the way you’d started to… fantasize. Frustrated, you ran your fingers through your hair.

“I just… I don’t know if it’s because I’m lonely and he’s there, or if I— I don’t even know,” you sighed, closing your eyes in defeat. “I just don’t know.”

He chuckled, reaching over to pat your arm. “Look, like I said, Hat Men are there for protection. And by the sounds of it, yours is actually attracted to you. Spirits and entities like him don’t actively search for contact like that if they’re not interested in it.” He pursed his lips. “Not to mention, if you do actually get some— how big is he?”

You gave him a half-hearted glare. “Harlow—“

He snickered. “How tall is he. Seriously, you’re the one with the dirty mind here.” He flashed you that infuriating smirk as he teased you.

You rolled your eyes, giving up. “I don’t know, probably around seven feet? It felt like it, anyway, when he was standing beside the bed.”

“Oh so he’s stacked.” Harlow cackled. “But really, as I was saying, if you do bag that one, it’s quite the mutual benefit. It’ll be a direct method of energy transfer, not to mention that he’s absolutely probably going to be loyal to you if he gets those kinds of privileges.” He shrugged flippantly. “But that’s besides the point. Here’s what I’m going to suggest, so take this as you will.”

You left work that evening with your face burning but a solid plan from Harlow. You’d figure out later if you wanted to smack him or thank him.

~

That night, as you crawled into bed, you let out a breath and sat there, clutching the blankets. Biting your lip, you glanced toward the door.

“I hope you’ll join me again, tonight,” you ventured, calling out into the darkness of your room. Swallowing, you twisted the sheets in your fingers. “And… of course, you don’t have to, but… I’d love to be able to… to talk to you. Or— or hear more about you. If you can or want to communicate. I just…” You sighed.

“I don’t know if I have to not move when you’re around. I’m not sure how that works, but either way, I— I like having you around,” you admitted. “So… thank you. For protecting me. I hope you stay. You’re welcome to make yourself at home, here.” Taking one last glance at the door, you turned over and lay down. You self-consciously rubbed your legs together, almost embarrassed by your lack of clothing besides the T-shirt.

Would it be too obvious? Was it too much? Or maybe would that be enough-?

The bed behind you dipped just as you felt yourself seized by the paralysis again. But this time, it already felt minimal, as though the tight hold had been laxed even more than before. You rolled back, feeling your back hit the warmth of his chest. Every night, it seemed that he gained a little more solidity and form, and even more of a distinct body heat. The large arm wrapped around you again, sliding across your side and down your belly, talons slipping under your waist.

You hummed, the calm and contentment washing over you again with his presence. “Hi,” you murmured, your fingers managing to curl around one of his talons.

This time, to your mingled surprise and delight, you felt the soft huff of air against your neck like breath. It wasn’t really a sound, but it was something a little more. His face nudged against your neck and shoulder, while his lower body curled up as though to surround you as much as possible. Your heart pounded, almost giddy with the happiness that rushed through you.

“Missed you,” you breathed, your words less slurred than before. You weren’t fighting the sleepiness as hard tonight, and you wondered if it really was an effect that your Hat Man had on you or if it was something else. Still, you relished it.

His movements behind you paused, and you panicked for a split second, wondering if you’d scared him away. But then he nuzzled against you again, another huff washing over your neck. In the next moment, you heard a soft, rumbling growl, so deep that you almost wondered if you’d imagined it. The moment you heard it, your breath hitched. Your stomach clenched at the sound, heat pooling between your legs.

Your teeth sank into your lower lip helplessly, your entire body both aching and on fire where he touched you, held you. Chest heaving with a burning breath, you tried to control your reaction, suppressing your shiver. You didn’t want him to leave. Wanted him to stay.

Like a whisper, words bloomed in your mind, so softly that it took you a moment to realize you didn’t hear them aloud. So pretty. So soft, so kind. The deep voice, laced with a soft Brooklyn accent, took you off guard as it slithered through your mind.

Your back arched slightly, heat splashing across your cheeks. Before you could quite stop yourself, the way you arched made your ass press back against him. A soft gasp wrenched from your lips as you felt something distinctly hard and thick press back against you. It twitched slightly, and you could feel something damp soak into your T-shirt, smearing against your skin.

A low grunt sounded behind you, just as his hips jerked away. Abruptly, his body started to slide away from you, as though he were going to leave.

The desperation flashed through you, and you found yourself suddenly free to move. You rolled over, hand reaching out.

The both of you completely froze. Your eyes, wide open, riveted on his, your fingers splayed across the scars on his chest. His blue eyes, dim but clearly focused on your face as his chest heaved under your hand.

“Please,” it spilled from your lips, quiet and desperate in the silence. “Don’t leave.”

After a moment, he gingerly lifted his hand and reached for your face, talons barely brushing across your cheek. The whisper floated through your mind again. Sorry… The embarrassment was clear in his voice, and a pale blue flush spread over the area of his cheeks. For some reason, it made him even more endearing.

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered back, sure that your own cheeks were flushed with arousal and embarrassment.

He drew closer again, as though he couldn’t help himself. His face neared yours. So pretty. So warm. Sweet. The murmur was followed by the revealing of his mouth. A maw that split open the dark silhouette, black tongue sliding over sharp fangs. Wouldn’t want ta take advantage, sweetheart. Your acceptance of his advances seemed to embolden him. Don’t wanna be too greedy.

You swallowed. “I… I want you to.” Your breath quickened a little, glancing down at his maw. “You can… I— I want you to have my energy,” you offered shyly.

The eyes flared, trailing down your body. Want you. Soft. Sweet. Pretty. He seemed fixated on the description, repeating them again. Still, you couldn’t help but find yourself liking his attention.

“You can have me. Whenever.” You bit your lip briefly. “Even if I’m asleep, if you need energy… if you— if you want.”

His breath washed over your cheek as he bent closer than ever before. Kind. His telepathic voice washed over you, saturated with adoration. Kind to Varen. His tongue gently swiped over your cheek.

You half-whimpered. “Kiss?” you pleaded, desperate for more contact.

His mouth slid across yours, gentle and without a hint of teeth. His tongue flickered over your lips, and you welcomed it. His tongue slid across yours, lithe and gentle. His talons wrapped around your waist again, pulling you into his chest. His name slipped from your lips, soft and needy, and he responded instantly in the way his body shifted closer, half-pinning you under him. His lips slid across yours, trailing down your cheek, your jaw, your throat.

To your frustration, you could feel yourself getting almost unbearably sleepy, the drowsiness tugging at you again. You suddenly wondered if it had to do with him drawing on your energy, feeding off of it, but in the next moment you were completely distracted by the way he gently rutted against your thigh.

Despite your best efforts, you fell asleep.

You dreamed.

Dreamed of Varen, mostly, your mind fantasizing about his claws wrapping around you, pushing you further into the bed, hands wandering further. Of him sliding your T-shirt up, tangling his talons around it, using it as leverage to keep your body still as he slid his cock between your thighs. You swore you could feel it, could feel his talons pricking faintly against your skin as he rutted between your thighs, his tongue dragging over your shoulder and up the arch of your neck.

You could even feel the way his precum started dribbling down your skin, smearing across your thighs, mingling with your own wetness, coating his cock as he slid it against you. And then his cock angling up, just as his talons tightened around your hips and pulled you down against him. His tip slid into you, just as his breath washed over your shoulder.

You woke up as Varen’s maw closed over your shoulder and he pulled you all the way down onto him. Still groggy and half-disoriented from waking up, you could only let out a strangled whine and arch your back, unwittingly pressing yourself further against him. The insistent throb of him inside you and the way your body clenchedaround him was proof that it wasn’t just a dream.

You were still groggy, whimpers spilling from your lips as you lay there pliantly, not resisting anything he was doing. You stayed half-asleep, already blissed out just by the sensation of him filling you.

So good. His soft accent curled through your frazzled mind, satisfied and soothing. So pretty. Doing so good, sweetheart. It’s okay, you don’t have to do anything. Gonna take care of you, pretty.

The knot in your core kept tightening, coiling with every gentle thrust he made, his hips fairly rolling against you. He shifted behind you, his claws gentle but decisive as he rolled you onto your stomach. His body followed, pinning you under him as his legs tangled with yours and his talons around your hips held you in place. He mouthed your shoulder, just barely pricking you with his fangs as his tongue soothed over the soft bites.

Your eyelashes barely fluttered, your body bathed in the dusky heat of pleasure. Despite being half-asleep, the way he steadily pumped in and out of you was so careful, so gentle. You already felt entirely wrecked, tears slipping down your cheeks as you whined. The angle and the way he curled up inside you kept hitting that one spot that sent stars flashing behind your eyelids every time he thrust. Your fingers clenched in the pillow, body trembling. You were so close.

Pretty little thing. Varen cooed, infatuation saturating every word, every thrust into you. Being so good. So… close… The soft, deep growl rumbled through his chest and down into you as well.

The tight coil inside you burst, like a coiled spring. The dusky heat washed through your body in a wave of pleasure, your orgasm roiling through you with a steady but undeniable strength. Varen fucked you through it, extending your orgasm as you trembled and sobbed out his name. He never let go of you, whispering your name as he kissed your throat and praised you softly.

It wasn’t until you’d come down that he came, jerking against you and letting out a low moan. His hips pressed flush against yours, his seed spilling into you with a rush of warmth that settled in you, soaking into the rest of your body. You basked in it, utterly spent and satisfied in a way you couldn’t remember ever being before.

Vaguely, you felt Varen roll back onto his side, pulling you along with him. Though he didn’t pull out of you, he still nuzzled against your neck and curled around you, pulling you flush against him.

You fell back asleep to the sensation of warmth and comfort.

When you woke up the next morning, Varen was gone. The only proof you had of last night was a small smear of faint blue on your inner thigh and the feeling of warmth still pooling in your belly, like a kernel of heat. With a smile, you looked up at the doorway again.

“Thank you, Varen,” you said softly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

The only answer you received was a small flash of blue that flickered in the doorway.

~ Bonus! ~

Harlow took one look at you as you walked into work before letting out a whoop. “Heck yeah, bestie got laid!” He laughed, hugging you.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to be annoyed at him, though you shook your head with a sigh. “Thanks for your advice, Harl,” you said, smiling.

He grinned, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Course, what are best friends for? Best wingman award who?” he cackled. “Anyway, tell me the dirty details. Oh, should we go celebrate?”

You shook your head. “Never change, Harl. Never change.”

[sinner-as-saint]

Can’t Stay Away From Me.

Cherry!Seb (mob!seb) x Stripper!reader. 

What is ‘cherry!seb’? Basically just mob!seb but like, daddy-er. (click on the tag for more)

Run-through: You've known the mob boss for a while now. He’s a regular at your club, and you are his personal favorite, everybody knew that you were his girl. You two have definitely broken the ‘no sex on premises’ rule many, many times. And although he called you his, you two were never officially a thing. So when he mysteriously doesn’t show up at the club for weeks, you decide to just put the hurt aside and move on. But the mob boss comes back from the dead just in time. And he doesn’t like what he sees. So he reminds you that you belong to him. Just him. 

Themes: smut, stripper!reader, angst, dirty talk, slight daddy kink, swear words, fluff

a/n: I wrote a hc quite similar to this last year or something, I read it recently and thought why not turn it into a fic since many of you have been missing Cherry!Seb lately. Enjoy!

You stared at yourself in the mirror of the dimly lit locker room. You were alone in there, all the girls had stepped out already. You gently touched the diamond choker you always wore and adored, your fingertips grazing his name upon it. 

His name. His choker. His girl. Everybody knew that. You were his girl so you had certain privileges that the other girls didn’t have. But you never took advantage of the power you had, mainly because you had fun with your job, but also because most nights over the past many months, you spent with him. And you loved every single moment. 

You sighed for the fifth time as you stared into the mirror. Tonight marked a little over three weeks since Seb last showed up at the club. You had no idea where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. And it hurt, bad. 

At first you were worried about his whereabouts, then by the second week you were annoyed and now all you had energy for was anger. Clearly he didn’t care, perhaps he was out there having the time of his life with other women and here you were sulking over his mysterious departure. 

Over the past weeks, you gained quite some new clients. Some new regulars as well. You did some champagne rooms, and earned decently well. But you didn’t make as much money as you made with Seb. 

You decided to stop acting like an overly obedient pet waiting for its master. You had to work and earn, like you did before him. 

You took one last look at yourself in the mirror and then went on to take the choker off. It would be humiliating to be proud of being his girl and wear his name on your neck while he was out doing God knows what. 

You tossed the choker onto the dresser with a heavy heart and walked out of the locker room, deciding to just be yourself tonight; the same beautiful, confident woman you were before meeting him all those months ago. He hadn’t been back in weeks, who knows perhaps he might never come back here. 

When you walked out, you noticed all the eyes on you. You looked good and you knew it. You sent some smiles around, some winks, a couple of flirty lines and by the time you made it to one of your regular clients, you had already earned some money bills. 

Your client tonight was an older gentleman. He was not like the typical, lousy businessmen who came by your club often. But he was very giving. The moment you settled on his lap he tucked a bundle of cash into the waistband of your thong, that alone earned him a lap dance to a sensual song. Besides, you were feeling yourself tonight so you were extra good today. 

You were carefree. You felt confident, and beautiful and sexy and you could feel all the eyes on you tonight. You danced like there’s no tomorrow. Your client was so satisfied he even put his golden chain on you at some point. You felt spoilt, so you gave him your best obviously. 

Amongst all those stares you got, one of them burned the most. You could feel the vibe around you change. You discreetly scanned the room and met with a pair of eyes you least expected. Stormy, ocean blue ones which made you tremble in both fear and hunger. 

Surrounded by his loyal guards, he stood there looking like a god; expensive, dark suit, the button of his shirt carelessly undone - he looked delectable - gawking, unable to believe that his precious babygirl dared to sit on another man’s lap. He was furious, and you could tell by the way he was shooting glares at you. 

Guess you didn’t expect him to just pop out of nowhere. But you didn’t let his presence ruin your mood right away. You maintained eye contact with him as you moved salaciously across the man’s lap. Biting your lip and being as inappropriate as you could; breaking all of Seb’s rules. 

He noticed it all. How you weren’t wearing his collar, how your dark red outfit was ridiculously revealing, how your body moved just to torment him, how you captured everyone’s attention. The more he looked at you, the angrier he got. 

You held his stare, daring and confidently. He decided not to cause a scene at your workplace so he simply pointed towards the corridor which led to the champagne rooms and walked off in that direction, expecting you to follow immediately. 

You could do so. You could drop everything and run to him because you missed him so much. But you purposely didn’t. He had made you wait over three weeks, he could wait some more minutes you thought. 

Meanwhile Seb was fuming inside the room. How dare you? Most of all, how dare that guy touch you like that? He couldn’t wait to have that talk with you and remind you that you belong to him and only him, because it seemed that you had forgotten. 

After finishing up your dance, you took your time and gracefully moved away from the man. You didn’t take off the golden chain, you didn’t take out the bundle of cash tucked into your thong either; you walked into the champagne room just like you left the man earlier - a little flushed. 

You knew which room he was in since his guards stood outside the door. They let you in and judging by their faces you could tell that their boss was in a bad mood. And you intended on making it worse. 

“Have you lost your way? Are you sure you’re in the right place?” You sassed, upon walking in. You took in his appearance for a moment or two and realized just how much you had missed him.  

Seb sat on the dark red couch, manspreading like it was his throne; quietly sipping on his liquor while his piercing eyes shamelessly roamed your body. The ridiculously bright neon signs behind him were the only things illuminating the room, buzzing slightly. Seb took his time and studied you; torn between loving and hating what he was seeing. 

Your lingerie drove him insane. Your excuse of a see-through cover up did too. Your slightly smudged dark lipstick made him want to ruin it even more, but the thought of where your lips had been were making him even angrier. 

He hated the sight of the golden chain around your neck, replacing the very expensive diamond collar he had given you a while ago; with his last name on it. That was a gift you were meant to wear all the time; to remind you and everyone else that you belonged to him. The mob boss was very possessive when it came to you, and now here you were, disrespecting him. 

But the thing he hated the most, was the bundle of cash tucked into the waistband of your underwear. And he knew that you were purposely showing it off. 

You caught the way his jaw clenched as his eyes roamed your body. He was thinking, plotting. You felt hot under his gaze. You had always loved the way he looked at you, like he owned you. He looked at you the same way, but right now he was pissed off as well.  

Seb had missed you. He even hurried his way back, eager to find you and have you on his lap while he finally touched you and told you all about the time he’d been gone. But instead, he returned to find that his girl had defied him. He felt betrayed. 

“Come here.” He simply said, authority dripping from his words. You could tell he was annoyed and troubled by what he saw out there but he had brought this upon himself. You stayed put despite his very clear order. You didn’t move a muscle. He sighed and rolled his eyes before staring deep into your soul again. “Babygirl,” he sounded threatening, “I said, come here.” He pointed to his lap. 

You approached him, knowing he would be a pain in the ass after all that he saw. But you knew he’d eventually give in because he had said it himself, he can’t stay away from you for too long. Neither could you honestly, and that was why him being gone for so long hurt so bad. 

Seb watched you as you slowly walked over to him, and before you even came to a full stop in front of him, he reached out and pulled you into his lap; gripping your jaw to make sure he had your full attention. 

“Get your fucking hands off me!” you slapped his hand away, surprising both you and him. You had never acted this way before. Usually you craved his touch. You did even now, but right now you were angry at him too. 

Seb growled as he pulled you closer and placed his hand back to your face, gripping your jaw harder this time and it hurt just a little but nothing compared to how you had felt this whole time he’s been gone. 

“Why are you being such a brat, huh? And what the fuck do you think you were doing just now, outside?” He asked, using the same tone he used when dealing with his rivals. Just a tone of pure anger and annoyance. 

Normally he was sweet and gentle with you, so this was new for you. But you wouldn’t give in so easily. You scoffed. “My fucking job is what I was doing! Now go get fucked somewhere else! I’m not your little toy!” You were mad too, and your anger camouflaged the hurt. 

You tried to get off his lap but he wouldn’t let you move. His grip on you was firm and strong. 

“Watch that tone with me, babygirl.” He threatened. This was the second time you had been entirely disrespectful while talking to him tonight. Seb was so close to losing his cool. 

“Or what?” Just two very bratty words from you was enough to make him lose his mind, and his calm and composure. 

Within a second he flipped the two of you and he had you pinned down on the couch beneath him. He held you by the neck gently, wrapping his long finger around your throat and applying the slightest bit of pressure which made you gasp softly. 

“You will not disrespect me like that. You know I don’t tolerate it.” He reminded you of his inability to put up with disobedience. 

You chuckled, mocking him. “And what are you gonna do about it? I have nothing to lose, Seb. I’m just a toy for you to play with, just a whore, or just an easy fuck on most days, aren’t I?” You sounded as though you were questioning his power, insulting him and hurting him at the same time. 

How dare you say that? How dare you assume that you were nothing but those things to him? You meant so much more to him, and you had no idea. Of all the people in his life, you were the only one who didn’t spend time with him out of fear. You were the only thing which he looked forward to almost each day. 

The mob boss was not good at being affectionate, so he thought that perhaps showering you with gifts and money would convey how much you meant to him. But apparently not, because you still dared to say such things right to his face. And upon hearing those things, something in him flipped like a switch. 

You saw it in his eyes; wild, and determined. 

“Just a whore, huh? Well, let me show you how I treat one,” he whispered before going absolutely feral. 

He tore off your lingerie in less than a few seconds. And you let him. You were mad, but you had missed him too and the truth is you’d take whatever he’d give you. He was mean, and dangerous and unpredictable but you loved him. Oh you loved him, and his cold heart and his dark soul. 

While he tore your clothes off your body, your shaky hands tugged at his suit and his shirt too. You could feel his hunger, and him yours. He wanted nothing more than to just be slow, and loving and love you and tell you just how much he missed you. But before all that, he needed to teach you a lesson. 

“I was stupid to even give you any attention.” He kissed his way down your naked body, kissing and nibbling on your skin as he went. “Should’ve left you out there, to be used like a little whore.” He mumbled, growling under his breath through clenched teeth while he parted your legs and settled in between them. 

Your breaths were short and fast as you looked up at him towering you. You had missed the sight of him above you, all big and strong. In less than a minute, he had his erected cock out in his hand. And the sight of him stroking it ever so gently made you whimper in need. 

“I was stupid to even put you on a fucking pedestal, and call you mine. I leave for some time and you get back down to where you truly belong. Guess whores never learn, huh?” He was quick to push himself in you, not even bothering about your whimpers and moans. 

You dripping wet core gripped around him immediately. Your body arched off the surface of the couch as you gasped and moaned. He supported himself above you and smirked as he saw your face morph into a frown. 

“Nothing...” he pulled out and pushed back into you again, “...but a fucking toy for me.” He repeated your words back at you as he sped up and pounded into you, making you moan wantonly in pleasure. He knew his words were a little harsh, but he wanted you to feel how he felt when he walked in to find you on someone else’s lap. 

You whimpered at how good he felt. He quickened his pace. He was relentless. 

“Guess you’ll do anything for money, huh?” His hand came down to grab you by the jaw again, forcing you to open your eyes and look into his deep, blue ones. “Tell me, did he fuck you like this as well? Did he touch you like daddy does? Did you let him?” He asked as he merciless pounded into you. 

You could only moan in response, and he got the answer he needed. He knew your body, and judging by the way you moved and squirmed under him and the sounds you made, he could tell no one had touched you since he’s been gone.  

“All fucking mine,” he growled as he let go of your face, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. He grabbed the golden you wore and yanked it off you, throwing it somewhere on the ground behind him. 

You moaned out loud, struggling to keep your eyes open as it started to water. But the moment your eyes started to close, you felt a gentle smack on your cheek. 

“Look at me,” he leaned down to bite your mouth, “What is it? You can’t take daddy’s cock?” He taunted. “But isn’t that what whores do? Hmm?” he growled, “Shut up and take it then, take all of me. What else is a whore good for, huh?” He moaned and growled right against your mouth, clenching his teeth or occasionally biting down on your lip as he pounded into you relentlessly.

You moaned as he fucked deeper into you. You whimpered at the intensity of his thrust, and he kept going. You cried out as the pressure built up nicely in between your legs. Seb moaned at how your walls gripped his cock and milked it. 

You felt him too; deep inside you, touching you everywhere you wanted him too. You felt your tears fall down your cheeks. You were close...so close…

“Please… please daddy...” you whined, begging pathetically and unable to arrange your words or your thoughts any better. “Please…”

Finally, your body betrayed you and you came all over his cock without any warning. You squirmed and moaned incessantly as the pleasure washed over you. Seb didn’t slow down, he kept pounding into you as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came. 

You whimpered at how he kept slamming into you even after you came, and your face burned as you felt the knot forming again right at your core. He fucked you relentlessly; not even stopping for a second. He panted and groaned at how good you felt around him; wet and warm all for him. Your walls clenched around him violently and your body arched off the couch. You felt your second release approaching while you recovered from the first one. 

“Look at me,” he mumbled as he noticed your eyes were closing. You fought the need to shut your eyes and stared into his blue ones. “You’re mine. My little whore,” he growled as he sped up, “My girl,” he let out a grunt, “Mine. You hear me?” 

You nodded. Your body trembled as you came again; gushing out around his cock while he still pounded relentlessly into you as he felt your walls clench around him, milking him perfectly and triggering his orgasm. 

Seb came right after you did; groaning and swearing under his breath. He pulled his cock out of you and looked down at the lovely mess you were; his cum dripping out of you. He gently reached down to touch your sensitive and throbbing core, it was wet everywhere. 

He didn’t hesitate before shoving two fingers inside you again. “Just gonna finger my cum back into your greedy cunt. And you’re gonna let me, won't you? You little slut…” he whispered. You moaned at how sensitive you were; you’re body shuddering under him. “You’ll take whatever I give you, huh?” he whispered before he leaned down to kiss your open mouth again. His tongue invaded your mouth like he owned it while he fingered you. 

You were a mess as he fingered you faster, and faster until you came all over his fingers again. You could barely keep your eyes open as Seb pulled your naked body onto his lap. You had missed his warmth so you instinctively clinged to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pushing your face into his neck.

You didn’t mean to cry, but you couldn’t help it. Everything was too much, you felt overwhelmed. Seb’s heart broke at the sound of your quiet sobs. He had been rough, more  than usual, and quite mean too… He was aware of that. 

He stroked your bare back gently, tightening his arms around you. “Are you okay, babygirl?” He asked. You didn’t answer. “Baby?” he whispered again, softly. You didn’t respond, instead you sniffled again as you tried your hardest to fight back your tears but they fell anyways. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” He spoke again, his voice a stark contrast to what it was just a minute ago. He was gentle now, soft. He was apologizing for everything. 

“You left me.” You finally spoke, voice strained and tired. You sobbed softly, still holding him tightly, “You’re so mean.” 

His heart broke a little more. Once he was done with you, you could’ve easily left and asked him to never show his face around here again, but you didn’t. You needed him as much as he needed you. You stayed because you had no one else, and you needed to be held and taken care of.

“I’m sorry baby. I’ve been away for a long time. I know.” He apologized.

You sniffled again. “Still. You were so mean.” You spoke, pulling away to look at him with tears in your eyes.

He wiped your tears away and pulled you into him. “I lost my mind when I saw you with that guy. You’re mine and you know that. But you still let someone else put their dirty hands on you. How could you, baby?” He was calmer now. 

“I didn’t wanna do it.” you said, pulling away from him to look into his eyes. His eyes were soft and deep; it only reminded you of how much you loved him. 

He was confused by your words. “Do what?” he asked, gently running his hands up and down your sides lovingly. 

You wiped some more tears away and took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to perform for anyone else. But I was running out of money, and the rent was due.” You finally confessed. 

“You could’ve just told me that, baby.” he said, sounding more caring than you wanted him to.

You almost chuckled. “You weren’t here. You were gone for weeks, Seb. Besides, that’s my problem, not yours.” You made it clear. But he didn’t like that.

He reached out to grab your face, making sure he has your undivided attention. “You are mine. All your troubles are mine, okay? You don’t have to worry about a thing from now on. I’ll take care of you, and everything else. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. But please forgive me. I never wanted to hurt you.” 

Of course you’d forgive him. But just for the hell of it, you said, “No.” and avoided his eyes. Seb sighed, knowing you’d come around eventually. He had you back now and that was all that mattered. 

He took his suit jacket and put it around you to shelter you from the cold air. “You don’t have to worry, you’re never gonna work in this club again.”

You knew that possessive, slightly arrogant tone of his, and it only entailed surprises. “What do you mean?” You questioned further

“I’m buying it. You can run it.” He spoke as if it were nothing at all. He had been thinking about this for a while now. 

You were shocked. “Seb, what-”

He cut you off, pulling you closer to kiss your forehead. “You heard what I said, baby.” He mumbled against your skin. 

“Why?” You questioned, looking down at how you straddled his lap. 

“Because I want you all to myself. I want you to be with me.”

You scoffed. “This is how you ask girls out?”

He looked at you and smiled. “Not girls, just you.” He caressed your tear stained cheek lazily. His heart fluttered as he looked at you, he loved you so much. He could find better ways to show it though. 

After talking about it, after he constantly apologized for his previous behavior and a few playful banters later, he got up and offered you his hand to take. 

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“Home.” he replied.

“Your home?”

“Our home.” he corrected you. “You’re coming to live with me. I’ve been far from you for too long and I’m done hiding what I feel for you.” You began to say something but he spoke up again before you could say a word. “And I won’t take no for an answer.” 

You smirked. “Why? Haven’t you had your fill just now?” you teased. 

“I have.” He answered as you took his hand and stood up. “But every king needs his queen by his side. And I need you. I’ll keep you safe and happy, and I’ll love you. Forever.”

You gave him a teary smile. “You never told me what suddenly brought you back after three weeks.”

He smiled and pressed his lips against yours, whispering, “You know I can’t stay away from you, babygirl.” 

[writethelifeyouwant]

Aversion Therapy

Summary: Y/N has been institutionalised for sex addiction at an experimental facility, run by Dr. Sam Winchester.

Pairing: Doctor!Sam x Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: Sex addiction, addiction therapies, abuse of therapist/patient relationship, noncon roleplay Tags: hair pulling, crotchless panties, degradation (like, a lot), blow job, spitting, pussy spanking, sex on a desk, body writing, p in v, pulling out Word Count: 4.5 k Created for: @samwinchesterbingo - Doctor!Sam | @spnkinkbingo - Crotchless Panties | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Hair Pulling | @j3bingo - Diary

A/N: So I this may or may not be one of the dirtiest things I've ever written. It's definitely up there in the list 😅I hope you enjoy, fellow sinners!

October 24th

Last night was awesome. He took me out to dinner and everything, real gentleman, even though we both knew that’s not what the night was about. It was sunset when we got up to the lookout, all romantic. I felt silly that he was making such a big deal about it. Losing your virginity shouldn’t be so much pressure. Now it’s over I don’t feel any different except that I want more. We went twice last night but that still wasn’t enough. I touched myself this morning and it was almost like I could still feel him inside of me. I think tonight I’m gonna let him do it without the condom, so he will still be inside me tomorrow morning.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shout, outraged. It wasn’t enough that your parents had locked you in this place, humiliating you, betraying you, handing you over to Doctor Judgy, but they’d handed over your diaries too. Fucking great. Dr. Winchester ignores you and keeps reading, skipping ahead a few weeks.

November 15th

Fuck I love sex. Even with guys that aren’t great at it it’s still worth it just to have a cock inside me. I wish I could stay the night somewhere without my parents freaking out. I want to fall asleep with a cock inside me the whole time, wake up to it fucking me, keeping me open. College is gonna be the best. Then I can finally do what I want, fuck who I want. Can finally order a freaking vibrator without mom asking what’s in the package. Ugh, I can’t wait.

Sam’s voice sounds unnatural reading out your words. He’s not putting the right emotion or inflection in them. It’s like he’s taunting you with them. There’s a trace of humour underlying everything he says.

“Why are you doing this?” you shout again, and Sam looks up at you from your diary, a smug smile on his lips.

“Because you’re sick, Y/N,” he states it like an obvious fact, shutting the diary with a loud clunk and waving it back and forth. “These are the words of an addict.”

“I’m not an addict,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. Sam raises his eyebrows at you and flicks open your diary again, thumbing through to a page he has marked with a turned down corner.

February 3rd

That’s it, I’m addicted to cock. I need it more than coffee or air or food. I just want to be on my knees all day and let men use me. I want them in my mouth, in my pussy, even in my ass, I don’t care. I just want them. One day I’ll figure out how to make that happen.

Sam gives you an accusatory look as he closes the diary again, and you do have the good sense to look a little sheepish. Having your thirsty words read back to you is embarrassing. Especially considering the man reading them out is extremely attractive. If you’d met him when you were out you would have been on him in a heartbeat.

You can’t help it, your eyes drop to his crotch, which is just below your eye level where he’s leaning against the front edge of his desk. Dr. Winchester notices your gaze and smirks down at you knowingly. The expression makes him even hotter – domineering and sexy.

“You really are a little slut. Get carted off to rehab and the first thing you do is eye up your therapist,” he clicks his tongue disappointedly, and you blush for a moment before you decide that you don’t want to take this shit from him.

“So what,” you shrug, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. Dr. Winchester raises a brow again, surprised by your boldness.

“You don’t think it’s inappropriate to think about your therapist in a sexual manner?” He pushes himself off his desk and settles his hands in his pockets, considering you carefully.

“I like cock, so what?” you say again defiantly. The doctor keeps his expression neutral, walking around his desk and sitting down, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down a few things. You watch him suspiciously, wanting to know what he was writing down. “I’m not crazy, I just really like sex.” Dr. Winchester nods and keeps writing, not looking up at you.

“Come on, are you saying you don’t like sex?” you try to rile him up, and you see a small laugh bleed through his careful exterior, but not the kind of reaction you were hoping for. “What, your manhood not measure up or something?” That gets the doctor’s attention. He shoots you a glare over his desk and puts aside his pen, folding his hands in front of him and staring you down. His eyes drag across you from top to bottom, lingering on your lips, your neck, your cleavage, your legs. You like him looking at you like this, it sends a thrill through your chest, settling in the pit of your stomach.

“I can see that your attitude is going to make traditional therapies somewhat difficult.” You roll your eyes, but let him keep talking. “Have you heard of aversion therapy?” You shake your head shortly. “Aversion therapy is a psychological treatment in which the patient,” Dr. Winchester gestures to you, “is exposed to a stimulus while simultaneously being subjected to some form of discomfort, in an attempt to discourage said behaviour.”

“Um, English, please?” you stare at the doctor blankly, not putting together how this is going to apply to you.

“Well,” Dr. Winchester leans back in his chair, and swings his legs up onto his desk and brings his hands to fold in his lap. It makes him look surprisingly casual - not at all the image you had of doctors and therapists in your mind. “In this case, the stimulus is an unwanted behaviour, your over zealous sexual cravings and actions. We need to introduce an element of discomfort or unpleasantness into your experience of that behaviour, to discourage future indulgences,” he explains.

“What are you gonna do, Doctor?” you sneer at his title. “Put me in an electroshock chair and make me watch porn? Newsflash - that sounds amazing,” you scoff. Honestly, if that’s going to be your therapy, you’ll drop the attitude and sign the fuck up right now.

Dr. Winchester shakes his head, a small smirk on his lips. He stands, removing his jacket and tossing it on the back of the chair, then proceeds to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves and roll them back, one at a time. You watch him suspiciously. The moment his jacket came off your head went straight to one conclusion, but that couldn’t be right. You find your eyes lingering on his forearms, the veins in them pulsing visibly just below the surface of his skin. You want to lick them.

“No you’re right, you’d enjoy that far too much.” The doctor’s voice brings you back to yourself and you look up, watching him slowly approaching your chair. “We won’t be associating a physical discomfort with the addiction, what we want is to alter your mental associations towards the behaviour. We’ll use a series of mantras, and repetition and after a period of good, focused work, we can start to transition you back to a home environment.” His hand comes up to grip the back of your wooden chair, right beside your ear, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body against your skin despite the several inches still separating you.

Between your legs, you can feel how much Dr. Winchester’s proximity is beginning to affect you. For some reason the way he’s speaking to you, so formal and condescending, is really turning you on. You bet if he knew, he’d just say it was another sign of your “addiction”. You can feel your panties starting to get a little slippery when you shift in your seat to look up at him, and you don’t manage to stifle your small intake of breath when the open crotch of the underwear accidentally catches on one of your pussy lips, sending a delicious tug of pain into your core.

Dr. Winchester smirks down at you, entirely unsubtle, probably assuming that gasp was your reaction to him being so near.

Finally, after far too long staring at him, you manage to take a breath and ask- “what exactly is my therapy going to be, then?” Your voice comes out much higher than you’d anticipated, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

Dr. Winchester’s hand drags along the top of the chair and lands on the back of your neck. You shiver when his skin touches yours, despite its warmth. His fingers wind themselves into your hair a second later and yank hard, pulling your head over the back of the chair so you’re forced to look straight up at him.

“Ow! What the hell?!” You reach behind you to try to break his grip but he just pulls again. The pain sends a new tendril of desire twisting down your spine to between your legs, and you feel your panties getting even wetter. You whimper, your arousal clearly evident to the doctor, who laughs.

“Yeah, I knew you’d be too into pain for that kind of thing to work,” he chuckles darkly. He bends down, face so close to yours you can feel his breath ghost against your cheek. “So here’s what we’re going to do instead. I’m gonna fuck you, but you’re going to make sure you don’t enjoy it. You’re going to cry and yell and beg me to stop.” He practically growls, nose brushing against yours, lips hovering just out of reach.

Your pussy clenches at his words, aroused beyond belief at the disdain he’s treating you with. You struggle against his grip deliberately, relishing in the renewed sting as his hand pulls your hair even tighter to keep you still.

“You really don’t get it, do you Dr. Winchester,” you try to laugh but your throat is taut and your air isn’t quite flowing easily enough to let you. “I like cock. I wanted you to fuck me the second I saw you. There’s nothing you could say or do that would make me want you to stop.”

“I think we can drop the formalities now,” he releases you, standing up and reaching for his belt. “It’s Sam, not ‘Doctor Winchester’.”

Your eyes drop to his hands immediately, watching his fingers deftly push his button through its hole and pull down his zip. He’s already hard, you can tell by the tent in his boxers, but you’re astonished to see when he pulls himself out that he’s actually only semi hard – his cock is just huge. You feel your mouth and your pussy water in equal measure.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he starts to stroke himself, eyes tracing up and down your body hungrily as he does so.

“You want this cock, Y/N?” he asks pointedly, and you nod mutely. “Use your words then.”

“Yes,” you breathe instantly, dropping to your knees on the hard, grey carpet in front of him.

“Then you don’t get it,” Sam smirked, contradictorily walking himself closer to you as he speaks, hand still pumping his cock.

“Please?” you beg, hoping that’s the game he’s trying to play. Maybe he thinks he can humiliate you enough that you won’t want to repeat the experience – he’s going to be wrong.

“Nope.” Sam pops the ‘p’ on the word teasingly. “Your mantra for today is ‘no’.”

“What?” you look up to him, confused.

“Anytime I ask you if this is what you want – if you want my cock in your mouth, in your pussy, anywhere I want to put it – anytime I ask you if you want it, you have to say ‘no’,” he smiles down at you like some kind of evil genius, and you’re getting annoyed now that you find this so fucking hot.

“You want me to pretend you’re raping me? Sounds like you need therapy.” Sam laughs, not at all offended by your jab.

“We’re trying to condition a new response, Y/N,” he explains lightly, still jacking himself off maddeningly close to your lips. It takes every ounce of self control you have not to lean forward and suck him down on the spot. “If you want my cock inside you, then you have to tell me you don’t. And hopefully, with time, you’ll start to believe what you’re saying out loud. You’ll believe that you don’t need this, don’t want this.” He taps his cock against your lips and your tongue chases him immediately, reaching for a taste of the liquid you felt pooling on his tip.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he pulls himself away, tutting. “What do you say, Y/N?”

You swallow your pride and give him what he’s asking, though begrudgingly.

“No, please, don’t.” Your voice is monotone, lifeless – like how you used to read out loud in English class when the teacher called on you.

“C’mon, you know that’s not good enough. How are you going to believe yourself if I don’t believe you?” Sam walks closer again and sets his cock against your mouth lightly. “You wanna suck my cock, baby?”

“No,” you manage to choke out, and your hesitance to say the word must sound like hesitance to give him a blow job because Sam buys it, and the next moment he’s pushing the shiny, pink head past your lips, against your tongue; not stopping until he hits the top of your throat. He pulls back again, taking himself completely out of your mouth.

“You want it?” he asks again, grinning down at you.

“No,” you whimper, while inside every fibre of your body is screaming – yes!

“Good girl,” he groans as he pushes himself back inside, and you moan along with him. This time he doesn’t stop himself, fucking all the way into your throat until your nose is pressed against the skin of his stomach. “Fuck, you really are a cockslut,” Sam grunts above you, pulling back a little and starting to fuck your mouth in earnest. “You haven’t gagged once. Not many girls manage that with me.”

You believe him. Your jaw is already aching from the stretch of your lips around his girth but you savour the hurt. You love this; being on your knees for some guy you barely know with his cock shoved as far in as he can fit it. This is what you were made for, you know it, no matter how hard Sam’s going to try to talk you out of it.

He fucks your throat for a few more minutes, lulling you into a false sense of security. You’ve relaxed into it now, and you aren’t thinking about the therapy or the role play or any of it, you’re only thinking about his cock against your tongue, heavy and velvety and perfect. You cry out when he pulls away, taking in a shocked breath at the sudden emptiness.

“You want it back baby girl?” Sam asks breathlessly, and you allow yourself a moment to feel smug at how clearly affected he is by your ministrations.

“Please,” you beg, crawling towards him, forgetting your lines. Sam pulls away, disappointment evident on his face.

“Wrong answer, Y/N.”

“No!” you shout hoarsely, trying to correct yourself. “I mean no, please, no.”

“No,” Sam sucks in a breath, reaching to pull up his trousers like he’s going to put himself away. “No, I don’t think I believe you.”

“No, Sam, please!” you beg, reaching out for him. “I can do this,” you whisper, and Sam lets you take his cock in your hand, wrapping his fingers over yours and guiding your strokes. “Ask me again?”

“Do you want my cock, Y/N?” Sam raises an eyebrow.

“No,” you say firmly. “No, don’t make me do this.”

“Good girl,” he says again, his hand tightening over yours and using you to jerk himself off. “Do you want my cock, Y/N?”

“No,” you whine, trying to play into it even though your fingers start trying to jack him off faster of their own accord, your hands slipping together over the saliva you’d left behind.

“Do you want my cock in your pussy?” Sam growls, reaching his free hand out to snag your hair and pulling hard, causing you to shout out in delicious pain.

“No!” you squeal, trying to pull out of his hold, hoping you can act your way through this convincingly enough to get what you really want.

“No, whore?” Sam spits on you harshly, the wet striking you on the cheek and dripping down your chin.

“No,” you scream again as he pulls you off of the ground by your hair, throwing you forwards over his desk. Books and pads of paper go crashing to the ground. Pens scatter around you when your elbow hits the mug that was holding dozens of them.

“No?” you hear Sam scoff as he flips up the hem of your patient-issued uniform skirt, spotting the pair of crotchless panties you’re wearing beneath. “You’re telling me a slut like you, who gets put in an insititution for sex addiction, and decides to pack crotchless fucking panties, doesn’t want my cock stuffing her cunt full?”

“No, I don’t want it,” you moan, his words positively setting you on fire. Fuck, you want everything he’s saying and more.

“I don’t fucking believe you,” Sam spits between your legs, adding to the slick that must be visibly gathered there by now.

“No!” you cry out when he delivers a stinging blow to your pussy, palm landing right over the open slit of your panties. “No,” you sob out again as he continues to spank you, each hit making a sickly wet echo and sending a jolt of heat through your clit every time his fingers happen to catch it. “No, no, no,” you’re begging, even as you spread your legs wider and push your hips back into his hand, trying to angle yourself so he hits your small bundle of nerves more frequently.

“You’re fucking loving this aren’t you,” Sam is seething behind you. “I can feel how wet you are, you fucking whore. You want my cock now, huh? Want me to put all this slick to good use?” He dips his fingers into the crotch of your panties and comes away with his fingers drenched in your juices, which you see a moment later when he shoves them in your face, yanking you back by your hair again.

“See this slut? See how I can tell you’re lying to me? What’s all this for if it’s not to get you ready for my cock?”

“N–” you try to protest, needing him to believe you if you want to actually feel his cock inside you, but your words are cut off as he shoves his fingers into your mouth, making you lick yourself off his hand.

“That’s right, taste what a fucking embarrassment you are.” Sam lets go of your hair and from the corner of your eye you see his fingers reaching for one of the pens that you knocked onto the desk earlier. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth, he uncaps the pen and crouches down behind you, putting your pussy at eye level for him.

“I think we should let the world know just how much of a slut you really are.” You wonder what he means, feeling him draw a single line down your right buttock, then switching to your left and writing some words. “Now anyone who fucks you is gonna see my instructions, and know they have to leave a tally mark right here.” He slaps your ass hard where he had just drawn his own. “And every time you come back to me for a session with more tallies than you left with the last time I saw you, that’s just one more time you’re gonna have to go through this with me. To make sure we really break you out of this habit.”

You silently wonder how many guys there are in this hospital that you might want to fuck. He spanks you again and you clench, pussy convulsing at the threat and the thought of men keeping count of the cocks you’ve taken by literally writing it on your body. You feel a trickle of slick start to make its way down your thigh, and you know Sam must have noticed because he laughs darkly.

“You like the sound of that, don’t you? Are you already planning how to rack up your score as soon as I let you out of this office?” he sneers vehemently.

“No,” you shake your head, even though it’s entirely true. “No, I don’t want that, I promise, I don’t.”

“But you still want my cock?” Sam questions, and you feel the tip of his dick start to drag against you, up and down the slit of your panties.

“No, I don’t want it,” you insist, trying to keep yourself from pushing back onto him.

“Good girl, Y/N,” Sam pets at your lower back and braces himself as he starts to sink in. You both moan when he enters you, but to your chagrin he stops when he only has an inch or so inside. “You want me to keep going?” he pants, and you’re pleased to hear that he’s not as composed now that he’s got the head of his cock wedged between your legs.

“No,” you shake your head quickly, silently praying for him to continue.

“Very good,” he groans, and begins to thrust into you again; tiny, sharp motions to ease himself into you bit by bit.

“No, stop,” you whine without prompting, hoping to encourage him to go faster. He does. “No, no, no,” you chant until he’s sheathed himself completely inside you, his hips pressed firmly into yours, his hands squeezing around your waist possessively.

“No?” Sam asks teasingly, pulling out a little.

“No!” you cry again, and this time you do mean ‘no’ – you don’t want him to leave you. At your cry Sam pushes back in harshly, snapping his hips back against yours and moaning, the sound bubbling up deep from his chest. “No,” you try repeating the phrase, testing your theory, and you’re rewarded by Sam withdrawing and fucking back into you piercingly.

“Please stop, please,” you whimper, not able to stop yourself from rocking back into his thrusts as Sam starts a punishing pace.

“You fucking liar, you love this you little cockslut,” Sam grunts pointedly, taunting you.

“No,” you insist, still meeting him thrust for thrust. “No I don’t want this, I don’t want you!”

“You’re always going to want cock, always gonna beg for it.”

“No!”

“You want me to stuff you full everyday don’t you? Maybe more than that. I bet you’d sit under my desk all day with my cock in your mouth if I told you to,” he laughs, his harsh pace becoming even quicker. He’s not fucking you deeply now but that means that every time he pushes in the head of his cock punches hard against the sweet spot on the front of your pussy, making you clench around him.

“No,” you shudder, feeling yourself close to the brink of your release, and you wonder what he’ll do when you cum – a clear demonstration that you’re fucking loving this, despite what you’re saying out loud.

“Say it louder, bitch,” he grunts, reaching down and spanking hard against your clit.

“No, no, stop!” you shout, desperately trying to fuck yourself on his cock, your orgasm just out of reach.

“You want to cum on my cock?” Sam slaps you again but then starts to rub tiny circles just where you need them.

“N–no,” you stutter, unable to hold back your moan.

“You don’t want to cum baby, you sure?” he teases, angling his hips so he’s fucking your sweet spot with each drive into you.

“No,” you whine, voice pitching higher as you feel yourself right there.

“No?” You can hear from Sam’s voice that he’s pouting at you, mocking you. “You don’t want to cum baby? Not gonna cum on my big, fat cock fucking you so good?” You clench around him, your toes curling, straining… “Come on you little slut, fucking cum already. Thought whores like you were supposed to be easy? Huh? Want you to cum for me, Y/N.”

“No, no, no, no, no–” you lose track of what you’re saying as you cum, screaming into your arm so you don’t accidentally say something to make Sam stop fucking you. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your orgasm and your come down, hips snapping more and more erratically as you bury your face in his desk and try to catch your breath.

Suddenly, the weight of his body is gone, and then there’s a warm jolt between your legs, and you know he’s cumming – aiming his load at the top of your panties and letting it drip down through the open crotch. You moan high in your throat at the feeling of his release soaking into your underwear, mixing with your own juices, which are already leaking out of you and dripping onto his desk.

“That was a really good session, Y/N,” Sam says, and you’re surprised to hear how composed he sounds, though a little breathless. “I think this is going to be a good strategy for you.” He walks around to the other side of his desk and starts to pick up the books and papers you’d knocked down earlier.

Slowly, you peel yourself up off his desktop, your skin sticking to the surface with sweat that’s already started to dry.

“Go clean yourself up, Y/N,” Sam instructs, not looking at you as he continues to tidy his desk. You turn to go, still in your post-orgasmic daze, but you spin back around when Sam calls your name again. “Oh, and Y/N?” you look at him curiously, and a smirk curls slowly across his lips as you watch. “You better keep the tally marks, or there’ll be consequences next session.”

“Yes, Dr. Winchester,” you agree quietly and slip out of his office into the hallway, walking back to your room behind an orderly, with Sam’s cum still dripping down your thighs. You think about the tally he’d left on your body, and you look up at the orderly, who’s now stopped at the door to your room and holding it open for you.

As you pass him, you keep your eyes trained at the ground, and glance sideways to surreptitiously inspect the man next to you. The hospital scrubs do nothing to hide his endowment. You smile brightly, bringing your eyes up the rest of his body, taking in the muscles in his arms and the name tag on his chest, before landing on his face.

“Thanks, Dean.” You walk into your room, eyes flicking back to see Dean still standing there, watching you walk towards your bed. You bend over to grab something off the bottom shelf of your nightstand, not caring what you grab, just knowing that you’re now giving Dean a full display of your ass – Sam’s writing and Sam’s cum decorating your skin.

The door behind you shuts quietly.

Enjoy my work? Consider supporting me by subscribing to my WordPress Blog!

We’re All Mads Here: @vulgar-library @tintentrinkerin @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @austin-winchester67 @flamencodiva @katbratsupernaturalwhore

All SPN: @cemini-winchester @akshi8278 @stoneyggirl @deandreamernp @lyarr24 @lovealways-j @slamminmine @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @eddiesgirl @raidens-realm @tatted-trina6 @defenderrosetyler @delightfullykrispypeach @05supernatural20

[phoenixfeathersinfall]

I don’t mean to be overly negative, and I certainly don’t want to ruin anyone’s enjoyment of the new Trek trailers/future content. But, I’m having some complicated feelings about Picard’s last season and I kind of need to get them out. (I hope I’m not the only one with apprehension?) To be clear, I will be engaging with Season 3 in some capacity, and there are several things about the show I’ve very much enjoyed. But, I really don’t see how they can stick this landing given the situation they’ve gotten themselves into.

Most of my concerns revolve around the Great Cast Reshuffle. The rest stem from the tone/themes of the trailer itself. (Analysis under a read more because this got way longer than I planned.)

The Great Cast Reshuffle

Soji, Elnor, Rios, and Agnes are gone, leaving behind only Picard, Seven, and Raffi. Raffi is the only new character introduced specifically for this series/not a “legacy character.” I’m all for seeing old favorites (God knows I primarily started following the series for Seven) but not at the cost of new characters and stories. I think, despite its tonal and plot issues, Picard had a very strong cast of characters who many people connected with/related to and wanted to see them carry this show through to the end, becoming part of a rising generation of Trek (the Trek renaissance if you will?) One of the most compelling aspects for me personally was that all of these characters were a little broken/had endured a lot of trauma, but they were all dealing with it in different ways and learning to find solace in each other. They weren’t the conventional Starfleet crew, but that something which made them interesting! And to toss out over half of them going into the last season? We’re at the finish line! Absolutely terrible timing. These characters and the actors which dedicated so much time and effort to bringing them to life for us deserved better than that.

Everyone was replaced with the old crew from The Next Generation. Again, it’s always nice to see old friends, but they need to be balanced with the new characters and shouldn’t completely take over the story. TNG has never been my favorite series (full disclosure: I prefer Deep Space Nine and Voyager,) so I don’t quite share the excitement of the avid fans at this development. Even laying that aside, this is not the cast that was promoted and promised for the series. We know Patrick Stewart was clear coming into the role that he didn’t want to re-hash or expand upon anything from TNG era because he felt those stories had already been told and concluded. (They have!) But now he’s helming what many have called “TNG 2.0.”

But! Legacy characters aren’t safe! This might be more important to me than it is to other people, but it strikes me as weird that all of the XBs aside from Seven (Hugh and Icheb) were killed off for shock value, both in especially brutal ways. These were the only people in the galaxy that were like Seven and could understand her. Hugh was trying to change all that, but the writing said “no.” Color me upset.

If we’re doing legacy characters, where is Seven’s family? Why has every single reference to them been colored by trauma or pain? Why has Seven been abandoned again? Rangers are secretive as part of the job, sure, but you can’t tell me she didn’t need support after she came back to a planet she’d never really known as a visibly “enemy other,” Starfleet rejected her, Bjayzl betrayed her, and Icheb died in her arms. You can’t tell me the crew just..doesn’t care how Seven is doing.

A lot of the TNG crew have already had their turns to play a part in the story. To date, with what’s aired so far, we’ve had appearances from Data, Will Riker, Deanna Troi, Hugh, Guinan, Q, and Wesley Crusher. Jean-Luc Picard is, of course, heading the whole thing, it’s his show. Heck, that means the only characters we haven’t seen are Beverly Crusher, Geordi Laforge, and Worf.

As many people smarter than me have pointed out, the new situation means that the optics of the third season in terms of diversity are…less than stellar. If we consider the group we saw at the conclusion of the first season to be the “main crew” (Jean-Luc Picard, Cristobal Rios, Agnes Jurati, Raffi Musiker, Soji Asha, Seven of Nine, and Elnor) Picard began the year with a cast of three white actors and four actors of color. Michelle Hurd (Raffi) is Black, Isa Briones (Soji) is mixed-race Filipina, Evan Evagora (Elnor) is Māori, and Santiago Cabrera (Rios) is Hispanic (Chilean.) Three of those actors have departed, leaving only Hurd. This was presumably to make room for six of the TNG cast, four of whom are white actors and two of whom are actors of color. Lavar Burton (Geordi Laforge) and Michael Dorn (Worf) are both Black. Voyager, which began airing over twenty-five years ago performs better here, with four characters of color, each of a different background. This is particularly troublesome given the Trek renaissance eagerness to reflect greater diversity (and market itself as such.)

This is again a matter of personal taste, and something the show has had a problem with from the beginning, but of a cast of eight characters, only two are non-human*, and one of them is hybrid who looks completely human. It’s….just not Star Trek if it’s all humans, folks. Where’s the cross-cultural explorations? Where’s the commentary? Where’s the reminder that this is a sci-fi in outer space in a very big, very diverse galaxy?

Tones and Themes

Another problem since the beginning, Picard has problems figuring out what its tone wants to be, and to some extent what its themes are/if they’re congruent with the history of the franchise. Historically, Star Trek is often whacky to the point of silliness, philosophical to the point of over-dramatic, and optimistic to the point of being campy/cheesy. And that’s good! Bad things happen, but we have fun along the way, and we trust that things will turn out well in the end. Picard falls into the “good show= quote on quote realistic show=gritty grimdark high stakes show” trend when it isn’t careful. Newer Treks on the whole seem to have this habit, from elements of the reboot films to the plots in Discovery to the “Section 31 show” in pre-production right now. It’s not isolated to Trek either; it’s spread like a virus across so many forms or media over the past several years. Even so, it feels particularly odd in Trek, given the general trends in the franchise, and harsher critics say it “doesn’t feel like Star Trek.” I think what they mean is that Picard (and its brethren) seems to take itself too seriously: we’re lacking the whimsy we’ve come to expect, so little time is afforded from the overarching plot that we don’t see as much on-screen relationship development as before, and almost nothing funny happens aside from the occasional sarcastic quip. There’s no release of tension between major plot beats, leaving viewers stressed and drained by a constant push forward to the high-stakes climax with ever-more hardship poured onto the pile. There’s no room to breathe. Where’s the fun, where’s the wonder, where’s the hope? For God’s sake the event that kicks everything off is the destruction of a planet and the deaths of millions of people while the Federation stood by and let it happen.

The tone shifts —sometimes dramatically—between seasons, between episodes, and even within episodes. The plots and subplots also don’t gel together well (maybe it’s all those cutaways? It’s rare that we can finish one segment of a given plot before we cut away to three more.) Irs emotional whiplash, and I’m dizzy just on a visual level.

This may be a case of just playing up the intrigue to pull people in, but the trailer itself doesn’t give a lot of reasons to hope things might lighten up? Everyone looks sad or grim. People are talking about sacrifice, hardship, and injustice. Picard says we’re never without hope but uh…he sure doesn’t look it.

Even more people smarter than me have pointed out that Raffi’s “You have no idea how hard it is to be in this world” is particularly gut-wrenching, and she’s been through quite enough already between the loss of her career, her falling out with Picard, her addiction, her estrangement from her family and subsequent fears of being abandoned/alone and unloved. Then she spent almost the entirety of season 2 mourning the death of Elnor, a surrogate son by all appearances, and believing it was her fault because she convinced him not to go back to Romulus when he was having doubts about the future. There was also quite a bit of discord between her and Seven in the middle, which resolved happily in the end, but still. Seven got re-assimilated and almost died first. Given Trek’s track record of giving the harshest stories to minority characters, especially POC (and how wider media in general shows the same problem,) it’s no wonder there’s speculation about “trauma porn.” Its not like we got enough of that in season 2. Yes we did, writers please stop this ride .

I must return to my dear Seven. So season 2 showed Seven was rejected by Starfleet for her Borgness and subsequently fell out with Janeway. It brought her to a timeline where she was the leader of a totalitarian regime, brought her face to face with a Borg Queen who remembered her, took away her Borg physiology and by extension some of her sense of self (she seemed happy but I was not), murdered one of the first people to show her kindness in years, put her at odds with her partner, gave her flashbacks to her lifelong trauma, cost her a crewmate/friend to the Borg, and put her in a showdown that she didn’t think she’d survive. And it ends with her almost bleeding to death, being reassimilated, and what sure looks like the destruction of her family for a third time given the casting changes. Thank goodness she got a girlfriend, a kiss, and a field promotion out of it. In addition to sporting a Starfleet uniform in the trailer AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, she speaks with a quivering, almost broken voice about how she “thought she could inspire people and bring justice to an unjust world.” Trek again has a problematic history of putting marginalized characters (women with ambition, aloof demeanors, nuanced relationships with femininity/its expectations, and oft-traumatic pasts) into devastating circumstances/suffering huge loss to remind us they can be “properly emotional women.” (See: Tasha Yar, Kira Nerys, B’elanna Torres, and T’pol.) In-universe and among audiences, Seven fulfills those hopes many times over (there’s a reason so many queer, neurodivergent/disabled, and otherwise-“othered” people love her.) Seven can be an inspiration and a fighter for justice. She has. I know because she’s done it for me.

To make an extremely long story short: I want MY cast back and I want them to be HAPPY!

*Whether or not Seven is human, alien, or something in between is a matter of interpretation. My preferred reading is “hybrid,” but I counted her as human for the purposes of this post.