#i feel so bad when a medic dies around me :(

[nobodybetterlookatme]

I've never heard of emts working only at events? What's that like for you if you don't mind my asking?

Yeah, there are ambulance companies that staff certain events, but there's some event specific companies out there lmao. For me specifically, it's almost entirely college events, whether it's happening on a campus or not. It's not great, usually pretty boring, but it's better than being on an ambulance or in a hospital. We do get actual emergencies sometimes, but usually it's just getting drunk people to the tent or giving out water and bandaids lmao. Again, boring as fuck, but I chose this over working on a 911 rig, so that's on me 😔 if I'm being so real tho, other than my coworkers, the best part of the job is the food lmaoooo it's so good and all the food trucks/food booths give discounts or free food to us depending on the location and event. And there's almost always a ton of downtime, so I basically just get paid to sit there and vibe for the most part

[renthewerecatboi]

when ur not playing very good but all the medics can still see u being kind and supportive and trying ur best so ur just everyones favourite uber target anyways

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 . ( a collection of horror - based dialogue prompts . adjust phrasing as necessary . mature themes present . )

you'll never get what you want .

we need to stay together . no 'splitting up' bullshit .

nobody ever prepared me for this .

so you've just been lying to me this entire time ?

there's too much blood , i can't stop it .

this is over when i say it's over .

[ name ] , be careful . i've already lost enough people that i care about .

i never should have trusted you .

this is getting really out of hand , okay ?

i feel like we're not alone .

revenge is the best medicine !

put your head on straight , this isn't over yet .

maybe we should ... y'know , check it out ?

run . run and don't stop .

i thought i saw something ... i - i must be going crazy .

you couldn't pay me to go down there .

the cops are on their way .

would you rather stay here and die ?!

there's no such thing as [ ghosts / demons ] . it's made-up .

you aren't going anywhere .

i'm putting you out of your misery .

i know you think you're untouchable , but they will kill us .

you shouldn't have touched that .

we aren't going to make it out of here , are we ?

why are you following me ?

there has to be a medical kit here , somewhere .

i'll go with you . strength in numbers , right ?

don't move ... a fucking muscle .

fuck , the door is locked from the other side .

don't get ... dead , okay ?

that was the only [ bullet / round / flare ] we had .

did you really think it would be that easy ?

we've come too far , we can't turn around now .

put down the [ weapon ] . please .

come on , help me barricade the door .

[ name ] , is that ... blood ?

haven't you seen a horror movie ? the blonde always dies .

it was you ? YOU did this ?!

you are gonna fucking pay .

i'm going to give you ten seconds . nine , eight ...

i want you to admit what you did .

hey , look at me -- it's not real . it's not real .

do you think they're watching us right now ?

we're in this together . no one gets left behind .

let them go ... please , just let them go .

oh my god , what the hell was that ?!

you know i'm capable of this .

i had to ... i had no choice .

you don't have the guts .

this is fucked up , this is so fucked up .

what we're dealing with isn't even human .

you need to hide . find somewhere & don't come out .

stop ! don't touch that . we don't know what it is .

i've done bad things to good people .

if they catch us , they will kill us .

why are you covered in blood ?

i can't ... i can't feel my -

[ name ] is dead . i saw it happen .

what , you're gonna kill me ? i don't believe you .

there is an evil in you . i see it .

this shit only happens to people in horror movies .

forget about me , just save them .

what's one reason i shouldn't kill you right now ?

you aren't supposed to be here .

please don't . i'm begging you .

are you scared ?

whatever happens , don't let go of my hand .

[ name ] , this isn't you .

well , what the fuck are we supposed to do ?!

get out of my house before i call the cops .

you're going to regret that .

there's that smile ... i'm glad it's the last thing i'll see .

if we make it out of here , tonight will haunt me forever .

[bbeoms]

rugby!simon headcanons

hello, my sports hyperfixation this summer is rugby union, thus here i present you my rugby player simon riley brainrot! decided to write it cause why not???? someone needed to bring this idea to life. i hope you enjoy <3

fluff, suggestive, slight hurt/comfort

- plays as a forward (more specifically, second row/lock) so he’s always there during a scrum!

- and as we know, forwards are usually huge men 🤭 so 6’4 117kg simon is the perfect candidate

- you have to restrain yourself every time he’s in his kit cause have you seen how tight their jerseys and shorts are?????

- you can’t help but stare at how the fabric hugs his pecs and how the sleeves are lowkey cutting off circulation to his arms cause of how large his biceps are (and the way his tattoos peek out from the sleeves? chefs kiss)

- hikes up his shorts when he knows you’re watching and smirks when he catches you staring at the thick muscle of his thighs

- avoids wearing his kit around you when you’re ovulating cause he’s not sure he can control himself with the way you eye him like you’re ready to pounce

- (he learned his lesson after that one time you went to a match when you were ovulating. simon didn’t think it was possible, but you managed to milk him dry after you guys went home that night 💀 the hormones made you too feral until you managed to make him tap out lmao)

- anyone else become possessed by a succubus during ovulation?,,,,,, just me?,,,,, okay,,,,

- doesn’t usually wear a scrum cap during his matches

- but there was a couple of times he had to wear it (per the doctors recommendation) to protect stitches he had near his ear

- “ohmygod si you look like the end of a pencil ✏️”

- sulked at your teasing, he didn’t want to wear it either 😭

- you cooed and proceeded to shower his face with lil kisses until he forgave you

- felt his heart melt when you squished your cheek to his and took a selfie, your smile wide as you laugh at the way his blond strands were cutely sticking out of the cap (and how he still, looked like the end of a pencil)

- made it his lockscreen immediately

- being a rugby girlfriend isn’t always fun and games though

- it’s an extremely physical and dangerous sport and although you’d like to think simon is invincible, he’s still human

- it’s hard to believe but there are quite a number of players that are taller and heavier than him (you can’t say they have the same skill set though, simon is really good at his job)

- there’s always an underlying feeling of anxiety every time you watch him play

- injuries are a given

- split skin, bleeding ears and broken bloody noses are some of the more tame injuries you’ve seen simon get.

- simon coos at your tears and furrowed eyebrows whenever you tend to his injuries during rest days

- you don’t like seeing your man hurt!!!! :(((

- (okay but it is pretty hot when he gets all bloody in the face like in the first picture like hello??? lemme jump on you)

- straddling his lap while wiping the dried blood off his eyebrow

- “gimme a kiss”

- being cheeky and steals a kiss on your lips after you ignore his request

- reassures you that he’s alright and reminds you that he’s had worse injuries

- you give him a glare, silently telling him to not remind you of that time you thought he died on the pitch

- simon got hit with a high tackle, the fucker that was attempting to tackle him had his shoulder straight into simon’s neck (the guy got a red card deservingly) knocking simon back and motionless on the pitch

- you watched in horror as multiple bodies pile on top of him, not noticing that simon was out cold

- soon enough, the team’s medics were on field and stretching him away for treatment

- simon still feels your gentle touch on his face that day, thumb rubbing his cheek willing him to be okay

- he still remembers the look on your face despite being concussed. distraught, dried tears staining your cheeks.

- you were so scared, you didn’t know how bad his concussion was and what the aftermath of such injury would entail.

- he’d never felt such tenderness before

- he couldn’t believe that someone cared about him that much, didn’t think that he would ever find someone to love him like you do

- whispers i love you for the first time in his dazed state

- decides at that point that he won’t let you go, and has become a simp ever since <3

left to right pics: david pocock, tariq sims, chris robshaw (<- he would lowkey make a good simon riley imo)

[januaryembrs]

impulsive!hotchner!reader (i’m thinking hotchs sister) x spencer reid

as in reader completely ignores the dangers of the job but somehow it always ends up going how she planned for it to go and then there’s hotch and reid completely pissed at her im talking spencer red faced and spewing facts and statistics on what could’ve gone wrong and hotch just backing him up with a frown and crossed arms

THREE'S A CROWD | Spencer Reid x Hotchner!Reader

description: it's hard enough getting your job done when you work with your boyfriend, even harder when your overbearing boss happens to be your brother.

length: 500wds

warnings: mention of house fire + medical side affects of inhaling smoke

“You’re grounded,” 

You baulked, eyes narrowing at your eldest brother where he’d forced you to sit in the back of the ambulance, the medic draping a shock blanket over your shoulders.

“Grounded? Are you kidding me?” You seethed, and your lips pulled into a snarl when he crossed his arms over his chest, his face tipping on furious, “Aaron, I’m not-”

“Don’t Aaron me, you could have died. Do you not realise how irresponsible you were being?” You huffed, rolling your eyes and sitting back with your own arms lacing over your chest, feeling like a fifteen year old all over again being lectured on why you shouldn’t sneak out to parties or roll weed. 

“Thank you, agent, for saving five citizens from a house fire, that was incredibly brave of you. Oh sure, no problem big brother, anything for the job-” You mimicked childishly, your teeth clenching roughly as you felt their stares burning into the side of your head, pun intended. 

“The biggest killer in fires isn’t the flame itself but the smoke inhalation,” Spencer snapped, his lips pursed together just as annoyed as your brother, and your whirled around to match his glare, “Black smoke not only is the cause of thirty thousand people a year alone, but also supercharges existing health problems and can cause life long-chronic inflammation of the lungs. So yes, you were being irresponsible,” 

You gawped at your boyfriend, the two men staring down at you with irritation, and you had to admit your lungs were feeling a little tender from where you’d ran back in the house to help the father drag his wife and children out of the burning building. But you wouldn’t admit that to them, you couldn’t. Because if they were this worried and vexed at you being asymptomatic, you shuddered to think how overbearing they would be if you so much as coughed. 

“Seriously, Spence, you want in my bad books too?” You snipped, but he doubled down, shaking his head and scoffing in a way you’d never heard from him before. Sometimes you wondered if they took tips from one another on how to be the world’s most affectionate pains in your ass. 

“I am serious, just as serious as heart disease, COPD, cardiovascular issues, emphysema, all of which are common long term side effects of black smoke inhalation-” Spencer continued, and you threw your head back with an eye roll and a groan, feeling your chest aching already with where you struggled to keep your breathing even, already knowing you were going to kick yourself when the two of them hit you with the ‘I told you so’. 

“Man, I would hate to be that girl right about now,” Morgan said to Emily, stuffing his hands in his pockets where he watched you get chewed out by Hotch and Reid. 

“Are you kidding me, being yelled at by those two, I’d take facing a house fire all over again,” She murmured, shaking her head as you shoved past the two of them, the three of you squabbling over the fact they insisted you stayed to be checked over by the EMTs, “Kid’s got balls on her, I’ll give her that,” 

[ryescapades]

cozy | kaiju no. 8

genre/warning: narumi gen x fem!reader, slight hurt/comfort, fluff, soft!narumi, ooc narumi?? 18+ nsfw mdni !!! cockwarming, established rs, slight mention of injuries and blood

a/n: been brainrotting so bad so i had to get this down asap before they disappear -,- also first time writing explicit stuff so don’t mind my word vomits

it was past midnight when you finally get to retrieve back to your room, exhausted after a full day of looking at vital charts, numbers and statistics, trying your best to keep people from dying while they risk their lives to protect the country. then again, it’s always been like this every day. you have your own battles to fight as an operations manager, after all.

opening the door to your room, you halt as you see a figure sitting at the edge of your bed, back hunching slightly. recognition washes through you at the sight of that floppy mop of dual-toned hair.

“captain narumi?”

the man turns, catching your eyes in the dimly lit room. “you… aren’t you supposed to be with the medics right now? why are you here, captain?” you ask, concern tinging in your tone.

today’s subjugation mission was a disaster. you couldn’t exactly figure out where it went wrong but it was bad. so bad that it had the narumi gen overheating in his suit, the kaiju retina he always equips bleeding profusely like never before.

you worriedly trail your gaze over his (quite honestly pitiful) form. one side of his eyes is covered in bandages like an eyepatch and his uniform is draped over his shoulder, completely unzipped to reveal more of the same white strips of cloth neatly wrapped around his chest and torso.

narumi playfully glares at you with his slightly red and worn out eye, “don’t call me that when we’re alone,” he sulks, causing you to roll your eyes as you approach him. “isn’t it obvious? i’m trying to kick you out so that you can get the rest you ought to be having. you almost died, remember?” your voice drops to a sad whisper.

his eyes soften, arms extending to welcome you into his space. you stand between his parted legs, reaching your hands up to hold his face in your palms. you lean in close, brushing his bangs away before planting a feather-light kiss on the white cloth where his other eye is supposed to be.

“i was so scared for you, gen.” your breath trembles as you feel the tears pricking. “i almost lost you today,” you say. your boyfriend pulls you closer, “i know, i’m sorry,” he mutters, closing his eyes as he feels you trailing soft kisses down to his nose, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth.

they’re gentle, shy as butterflies and so full of love and care. he needs more, so much more of your affection that he moves his head to finally connect his lips with yours, his palms snaking back to splay over your spine.

you don’t resist— not like you ever could—, leaning into his touch as you tilt your head, deepening the kiss before you feel his tongue swiping across your lips as if asking for permission.

he takes no further seconds to explore the cavern of your mouth just as you grant him entrance, licking into you like he can never get enough of your taste. you let out a pleased hum when he sucks on your tongue, your thumbs rubbing circles on the apple of his cheeks.

narumi’s hands are everywhere; in your hair, on your waist, roaming down to the back of your thighs before he beckons to make you sit on his lap, knees perched on the bed beside his hips. your hands freely drift to his shoulders, pushing off the uniform jacket from his body.

unconsciously, you grind your hips on his, causing the man to groan against your lips at the heat of your clothed core on his growing erection. “fuck, y/n,” he hisses.

the sudden verbalisation has the hazy arousal snapped out from your daze. you abruptly pull away from him but narumi doesn’t seem to get the message, continuing to trail wet and open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck and chest instead.

you place your hands on his arms, cheeks flushing, “wait, gen… you’re injured. we shouldn’t—“ your sentence are cut off, a tiny mewl escaping from your mouth when you feel his teeth scraping the tender skin above your collarbone.

“they’re just some scrapes, i’m completely fine.” he reaffirms against your neck, small puffs of hot breath sending shivers down your back as he takes in your alluring scent. “just wanna feel you, ‘s all. please,”

biting your own lips, you contemplate for a moment before squeezing your eyes shut. you’re too turned on to be backing off now, already feeling the uncomfortable slick in your underwear. and god knows you can never say no to his pleads… guess you just have to be careful not to touch or put any weight on his injuries.

sensing your relent, narumi doesn’t waste any time to unbuckle his belt, the metal clinging as he pulls his pants and underwear down to his ankles before helping you strip yours off. your greedy eyes immediately hooked on his freed cock, the impressive length never fails to send your heart plummeting down to your stomach then back up higher to your throat. you lick your lips and swallow at nothing tentatively, desire burning and pooling in the pit of your stomach.

on any other occasion, you would’ve taken your time using your hands and mouth on him but tonight, impatience eats at you both. narumi holds himself in his hand, pumping a few times as you hover above him, dripping wet and waiting.

his tip nudges against your entrance, smearing precum and your own juices together before eventually guiding you down with his free hand on your hip. the both of you moan simultaneously as your hot, velvety walls envelop his throbbing cock with ease.

“f-fuck, you feel so good,” narumi stutters, burying his face in your shoulder. with your arms tight around his neck, you breathe heavily through your mouth, almost crying out as you feel him deep inside, hitting the spot that has your toes curling in pleasure.

you can’t help from whimpering his name when he adjusts your position above him to get you both in a more comfortable position. “don’t do anything else,” you weakly warn, not wanting him to worsen his wounds.

narumi lets out a broken chuff of laughter, “you know i’m perfectly capable of lifting you up and fucking you against that wall, right?” he muses casually as you relax in his hold, drowsy and full to the brim. you pay no heed to the way your slick drips down to his thighs.

“don’t you dare, gen. i’ll throw your console out the window if you do,” you threaten, as if he’s not balls deep snug inside your pulsing cunt. “whaaat?! that’s foul, babe,” he replies with a pouty frown.

well, he can do that later when he’s fully recovered. for now, narumi’s fine with just having you intimately close to him, basking in your softness and warmth. as long as he’s here with you, safe and sound, that’s all that matters.

will probably make one for hoshina as well mhmm

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[scourgeofmyownbrain]

Now, I just want to start by saying I love BabBee and Dadimus. I do, 10/10 would enjoy again, but I think Y'all are neglecting the comedic and story potential of Bumblebee and Optimus meeting as ✨Adults✨ and still becoming a family.

Imagine with me, if you will, Cybertron ravaged by war. Things have fallen to shit. Megatron has been dragging these divorce proceedings out for years. Bumblebee was born around the beginning, give or take a few years, I don't care about specifics. His parents were sadly killed early on in his life due to something war related and Bumblebee has grown up alone. He manages to survive to adulthood, and he joins the Autobots. Bumblebee has been drowning in the consequences of this war since day 1 and he wants to help fix it. If Megatron won't sign the divorce papers then Bumblebee will. Yada Yada Yada Sad Backstory This is so sad, Alexa play The Less I Know The Sexy Back.

Anyhoo, Bumblebee is very good at his job as a scout. Top of the line shit, best of the best, 5 stars would eat here again. He's so good he gets promoted to work directly under Optimus Prime himself. Look at our boy go, we're so proud of him, you get that bag sister. Overtime, Bumblebee manages to become friends with Optimus (and the rest of Team Prime but we're focusing on Optimus rn) and they get pretty close. They're work besties, Bumblebee will make a joke over comms and Optimus will smile and say "I N D E E D, B U M B L E B E E.". Fucking insufferable, the both of them, it's so cute. You know how you can become friends with people twice/half your age when you're working at a hard job? That's what happened here, they've been through the (actual) trenches together, they've bonded.

So at some point, Bumblebee gets seriously injured while under Optimus's command, like some life threatening shit. Whether or not it's voicebox related is universe dependent , so we're not going to specify what happens, but it's serious. Bumblebee survives, obviously, but Optimus feels SO bad about it. Oh the Guilt is strong. When he's visiting Bee, some of this leaks out and Bumblebee tells him that he should not blame himself, Bee is choosing to fight, if he dies while fighting for the good of Cybertron, so be it. Better him than some innocent spark in the future. Plus, Bee only got hurt because of a stupid mistake he made, not anything Optimus did.

Bumblebee says this to try and reassure his friend/superior, but now Optimus feels WORSE. Bumblebee is like half Optimus's age (Bee and Optimus are whatever the Cybertronian equivalent of 20 and 40 are, respectively) and had nothing to do with the start of the war, and he's just as ready to die as Optimus is? And he's blaming himself for his injury? That he only got because Optimus told him to do something? Optimus is NOT going to let that slide, no he's not! Over his dead body! He is not crying in the club rn, what are you talking about.

Optimus has decided Bumblebee can not die now. He has declared, as the 13th Prime, that Bumblebee dying has become illegal and he will do everything in his power to enforce this new Law of The Universe That Should Never Be Broken Ever. Now, whenever the two are on a mission, Optimus tries to protect Bumblebee as best he can. He doesn't want to coddle him, Bumblebee is an adult and Optimus respects that but he'll be damned if he lets Bumblebee get seriously hurt when he could have prevented it. He also starts checking up on him when they're not fighting, asking how his day is going, how a mission went, making sure he see's a medic if he's hurt, making sure he's eating his energon, all that good stuff. Bumblebee is his friend, he's going to make sure he's okay, this is perfectly normal friend behavior. The rest of team prime is doing a similar thing, they all want to make sure Bumblebee is doing okay. Optimus isn't being parental in the slightest, he is being very normal. (Author's note: Optimus and Team Prime are being very Not normal about their emotions. All of them have some level of abandonment issues/lost-a-loved-one-itis and can no longer be normal about people they care about.)

Bumblebee recognizes what Optimus (and the rest of Team Prime) is doing. He knows that Optimus cares for him; he cares for him right back. Bee's not stupid, he knows that he's been getting some special treatment in the form of vaguely parental affection. And you know what? He likes it, a lot. He didn't get any growing up and now he's getting it from a guy he really looks up to, why would he pass this up. Bumblebee tries to return this affection he's being given in any way he can. He makes sure Optimus isn't overworking himself by visiting him while he's working, he makes sure Optimus is eating by inviting him to eat with him, he drags Optimus into the med-bay with him so he see's a medic every once in a while, he tries to make Optimus smile with his dumb jokes and antics, the whole kit and caboodle. Bee sees Optimus as some kind of parental figure, and he's going to make sure his newly acquired pop-pop is okay, just like he's doing for Bee. The Pop-Pop thing was a joke (Kind of). Why is he looking for cybertronian legal papers? That is none of your business, Bee just wants to see them for fun. No he's not drunk, the container of high grade started empty.

Life continues, Optimus (and Team Prime) continues to take care of Bee in his unknowingly parental way and Bumblebee is vibing with his newly acquired dad. It takes a while for anyone to acknowledge the new dynamic, Bumblebee just doesn't explicitly bring it up and Optimus hasn't pulled his head out of his suppressed emotion ass long enough to realize it. And keep in mind that Bumblebee is still an Adult and they are still technically coworkers, they still have a job to do, a war to win. Eventually though, maybe after the Autobots have left Cybertron, Optimus finally processes his emotions and realizes he see's Bee as family.

Optimus: Bumblebee, I care for you deeply, and I've come to see you as family.

Bumblebee: Aw, thank you! I consider you family as well. *Hands OP a data pad* In fact, you adopted me months ago.

Optimus (who did not sign any adoption papers at any time): I did what?

Bumblebee: I forged your signature.

At some point in the future, some guy is being a dick to Optimus, i don't really know what could happen, but Bumblebee steps in to defend Optimus with "That's my dad, you bitch!" and fucking slams the guy and Optimus is just standing there buffering, bc he's still getting used to showing and taking obvious affection and he approches Bee later to ask if he really considers Optimus as his dad. And Bee just kind of stares at him then points at the bumper sticker on OP's chest and says "yes, you idiot, I gave you that sticker for a reason" bc the sticker says "Worlds Best Dad" and it matches the "Worlds Best Son" sticker Bee got for himself and I'm rambling, I'll shut up now.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Hurt IV

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Morsa gets hurt

You're sitting in the stands when it happens.

Momma's still not back in the squad so you're not sitting on the bench. You enjoy sitting on the bench more than sitting in the stands but at least you get to eat hotdogs in the stands so that's a win.

You're munching away when Morsa goes down. You stop chewing to stand up properly so you can see and you will Morsa to get back up.

She doesn't.

She just kind of rolls around on the ground clutching at her foot.

"What's wrong with Morsa?" You ask as if Momma would just know.

"It's okay," Momma says though her tight smile says she doesn't quite believe herself," Morsa's being a bit dramatic. She'll get back up, you'll see."

Only Morsa doesn't get back up.

She has to be helped off and you see a stretcher being prepared.

Momma takes your hand and walks you over to the barrier.

"Sam!" She calls out to Scottish Sam," Sam!"

Sam turns, getting up from the bench. She takes you as you're lifted over the barrier.

"Look after her, okay?" Momma hands her your bag. "I'll grab her in a bit."

"Go," Sam says," I've got her."

You're still in Sam's arms as you watch Momma sprint the opposite direction, to where Morsa's being loaded up onto a stretcher. She's crying and you kind of feel like crying too.

"Magda's strong," Sam says as she takes her seat back on the bench," She'll be okay."

"Morsa's crying," You reply bluntly," Don't lie. I'm not stupid."

Sam winces a little but you pay no attention because you stand up to see if you can catch a glimpse of Momma and Morsa. The stretcher is moving away now and they're holding hands.

You're glad that Morsa has Momma to look after her until you get there.

"Hey." Sam taps your leg. "Let's sit down, huh? You could fall."

You grunt in frustration but do as she says. You've no interest in the match anymore and grow a bit restless. You keep turning your head around, hoping to see Momma and Morsa returning but they never do.

Sam rummages through your bag to find something to entertain you.

"What is this?" She asks," A fancy straw? It's kind of big."

"That's my epipen," You say and Sam immediately drops it into your bag like it's burned her," Because Australian Sam gave me bad kiwi and I almost died. Momma makes sure I always have it."

Scottish Sam laughs uncomfortably. "Well...I'll make sure not to give you kiwi then."

"Or banana or avocado because those can kill me too." You think for a moment as your stomach rolls. "Is my Morsa dying?" Your bottom lip trembles. "Is that why she's not back yet?"

"No!" Sam says quickly, shaking her head firmly," She's just talking to the medics. They're very chatty. That's why they're taking so long."

You accept that Morsa's not dying but not really that the medics are chatty. You keep looking behind you all the way up until halftime.

Sam takes you back to the changing room but you dig your heels in all the way because you don't want Momma and Morsa to go back onto the pitch and not know where you've gone.

This whole situation is very worrying and you sullenly take refuge in Morsa's cubby because it's nice and small and smells just like her.

"Lea?" You ask as the woman mooches around nearby," When are my mummies coming back?"

She winces a little. "Sorry, kid," She says," I'm not too sure. Soon, though. It'll be soon."

You sigh a big sigh and huff, reaching out for Lea's hand as she gets ready to go back out. "Is my Morsa going to be okay?"

She winces again and pats you on the head. "She'll be just fine. She'll be back on her feet very soon."

In the second half, Sam has to go on so she hands you straight over to Sarah who has the unenviable job of watching you have a complete and utter breakdown.

You've decided that it's been too long, that Momma and Morsa have been away too long for Morsa to be just fine like the girls are telling you. You curl up into a little ball in your seat and sob.

Sarah looks like she's about to cry too as she wildly looks to the other girls on the bench for help before deciding that the best thing to do would be to pick you up.

It's pretty hard on her part because you won't uncurl from your protective ball and she kind of has to pace around with a little girl whose not willing to give her even an inch of help in it.

"Hey."

You stop crying when you hear Momma speak.

She's standing by the barrier.

"I can take her now," Momma says to Sarah," I'll take her back to see Magda."

"It's fine," Sarah lies," We've got everything under control."

"I'll take her," Momma insists," Magda's been asking for her."

"Oh, thank god," Sarah breathes out before holding you out for Momma to take along with your bag.

"Is Morsa okay?" You sniffle as Momma begins to walk back to where she disappeared too.

"She will be," Momma says," She's a little sad right now and she needs some Princesse cuddles to make her feel better. And I think some Morsa cuddles will make you feel better too."

You nod.

Morsa's still sitting on the stretcher when you arrive. She's not crying anymore but you can see where the tears use to be.

Momma settles you by Morsa's side and you look down to see her bandaged foot.

"What happened?"

"I hurt my foot," Morsa says. She crowds you into her space with a hand between your shoulders, allowing you to curl up properly against her as she rests her chin on the top of your head.

"Is it really bad?"

"I have to have surgery soon," Morsa says," But it'll be very quick."

You think for a moment before nodding, making sure to hug Morsa nice and tight so she knows that you're here for her.

"It'll be okay," You say," Because me and Momma are going to look after you."

[inkskinned]

im having a particularly terrible night with urges and imagery that i dont know how to handle. i gave in to some things. held back on some others. but im barely holding on, dear internet stranger.

you do not owe me your time or your words.. but if you could write some hope into existence for me.. i would be unendingly grateful to you.

please. tell me how you do it. tell me how you survive. because im not so sure i can get through the fifteen days it'll take to get to my seventeenth birthday.

could you please give me something to place my faith in? i dont think the universe is watching out for me anymore.

i don't usually answer these, because i am not a professional, and you deserve professional help. when i was 17 i was terrified of the idea of professional help, because my household was extremely unsafe, and made it clear that if i ever chose to get help, i would be punished for it.

i hope this is not your case. i hope that you can call someone, and they can take you where you should go.

but i will give you the advice that i wish i got, when i couldn't get help at 17, when i was so bad that years later, i literally don't-know-how-i-survived it: what you want is peace, not death. your brain is sick. it has romanticized an ending where there are no consequences. where effort isn't necessary. where you can just... forget.

you want peace. that is a normal, human thing to want. maybe it feels more like you want quiet. or just... to take a break for a second.

here is what i will say: to end yourself means you never get to experience what it's like to actually be happy. i thought i knew what it was like, and i was bitter about it. i'd say - i've been happy, it's not worth it, because i didn't know what i was missing. i thought that happiness meant having a partner or having a job or money or a college degree. it sounded like effort. it sounded like something that had to happen to me.

for the first time in my life, just this week, i was able to go to a concert and just-enjoy-it. no liquor, no drugs. just stomping my feet and getting caught up in it. i didn't feel nervous or self-conscious or overwhelmed. i just had a good time. these days have a lot of these firsts for me - it is the first time i can eat cake without crying. it is the first time i can be around an exacto blade without supervision. it is the first time i have too many people to call when i am crying.

i can't tell you where you'll run into happiness, only that, for me, it started once i was out of that fucking house. it started once i figured out where the pain was coming from. once i figured out that i was not possessed, something medical was wrong with me. that i am not stupid or lazy, i have depression and adhd. the first few years were difficult. at 19, during my efforts to recover, i actually got worse by a considerable margin. and then, with time and patience - i got better.

happiness doesn't feel like what you think it will. in movies it's so golden and all-encompassing. but it doesn't fly into your hands when you buy your first car nor does it arrive in the arms of a partner nor does it require passing your classes. happiness came to me on a tuesday in the form of a red-winged blackbird, and i looked at her, and she looked at me, and i said - oh. the whole world suddenly filled itself in with color. like i had been forever-asleep. like every corner of every room was suddenly glistening.

it ended quickly, back then. it just stopped in to check in on me. but it was enough - this thing i had never experienced, but that i knew (logically) could happen. before that, i was only staying because it would make my mom sad if i died. that was my only reason. and then the happiness came, so strange and brilliant and lovely that for years i couldn't even look at it directly.

these days, things are so different. life is so much easier. i don't wish for death because so much of what i have is already at peace. my boss understands when i need a mental health day. people in general are less prone to high school drama. entire communities hold my hand and have my number. i have a car and a dog and a little apartment garden and candles on all available surfaces and today i bought myself a little cake just-to-celebrate-nothing. my body is my own and we are both dancing.

there are so many things i've gotten to taste in the last 10 years. i know, for you, that is an eon, because it's more than half of your life. but if it helps? in the 5 years between 17-21: i filled myself with laughter and love. i got to be a lead in a ballet and got my first tattoo and then my second and pierced my ears the way i'd wanted to (one of them professionally the other over a hot stove with a potato) and i discovered hozier is my favorite singer (i know. he was new back then) and i got my first real job and my first real paycheck and i hadn't ever been seen as smart but then i started to actually treat my adhd as a condition rather than a burden and people started saying you're like the smartest person in the room and my best friend met her husband who i will one day stand next to as maid of honor when he is her groom and i got to help people and make a stupid blog called "inkskinned" and find out that writing is actually my passion and that maybe i'm actually kind of good at it if i just practice and i got to meet my parents' dog (his name is kaiju) and i slept on couches and kissed people and tried new things and learned how to breathe without feeling my chest tighten and that peace is here, on this planet, that peace echoes everywhere, it is in my hair and my homework and my houseplants, it is quiet and divine and mine because i fought for it and i built it and yes i lost hair over it but holy shit the whole world feels like it is shifted through a sunbeam

recently someone asked me if i could go back in time to 6th grade, with all the knowledge i have now, would i? and without thinking, i barked absolutely not. i know i should say it's because i wouldn't want to risk losing any of this stuff - but really it's because i would never survive being a teenager again. it sounds incredibly lame and impossible, fake - but being a teenager was the hardest thing i ever did. i had no voice, no control, only fear and hatred.

but i did survive it. nothing about me is special. nothing about me is stronger than you or better prepared or more efficient. i didn't survive it perfectly. i made a lot of mistakes and lost a lot of friends and harmed myself in ways that i'm still recovering from. but i did survive it. and there is a part of me looking at you in the past and saying - i'm you in the future.

and holy shit. every day. every goddamn day i'm glad we survived to see the rest of it. because you hit 18 and everything changes. like, everything. and holy shit, it is infinitely worth it.

[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.

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Slow and Steady

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Notes: This was requested twice, once with Buck and once with Eddie and imma do both lmao

P. S: YEAH SORRY I DIED BEFORE FINISHING THIS

“Oh my god Eddie!” You toss your book down, get up from the couch, and run over to the door where Buck is helping him walk in 

“What happened??” 

“Trust me! It’s way better than it looks!” Buck tries to reassure you as he guides Eddie to the bedroom, you rush ahead of them and push the covers back and he dumps Eddie on the bed, Eddie rolls over with his face planted in the blankets and giggles 

He actually giggles 

“Buck?!” You gesture to your boyfriend on the bed and he sighs 

“Okay. Don’t freak out” 

“It’s a bit late for that!” You cross your arms and Eddie reaches out for you 

“You’re so pretty when you’re mad” he sighs dreamily and you nod your head

“Thank you, baby, Evan?” 

“Damn she said your name” he rolls back over and Buck rolls his eyes 

“He uh- well he kinda fell off the ladder at work and-“

“He what?!”

“That lady was not very nice” Eddie pouts and you pinch the bridge of your nose 

“It wasn’t that bad of a fall I swear!! Just you know uh twobruisedribsandapossiblefractureinhisarm. Anyway I have to go back now so-“

“Evan Buckley!” 

He literally runs from the room as you’re left spluttering, Eddie is currently trying to yank his shirt off his head but he just knocks himself over 

“I left his discharge papers on the table I love you guys I’ll be back after my shift bye!!” You hear the front door slam and you stomp your foot 

“Buck!!”

“I don’t think he’s coming back” 

You turn to Eddie who’s got his shirt wrapped around his face and his pants halfway off 

“Yeah I don’t think so either”

After getting Eddie to just sit still you manage to go back to the dining room for the discharge papers. He’s got two bruised ribs and a fracture in his arm that they’ve put a cast on. He’s been given enough meds to knock out an elephant and after a round of being absolutely fruit loops, he should pass out. He’s also got a bottle of more painkillers to be administered every 6 to 8 hours depending on the pain 

“Well, at least he’s not dead” 

“Who’s not dead” Eddie is standing in the doorway or rather slumped against the wall about to fall over 

“Eddie!! You promised you’d stay in bed!” You gently put your arm around his waist and guide him back to bed and he whines

“I tried!! I promise I tried, but I just- I missed you” 

“You missed me huh?” You kiss his nose and he nuzzles against your hand stroking his hair 

“Come take a nap with me?” 

You sigh as he shuffles over and pats the spot next to him. You crawl into bed and pull the covers over you both and he lays his head on your chest, wrapping his arm carefully around you 

“Man I see why you like this” He purrs and you giggle, running your fingers through his hair 

“Shut up and go to sleep” 

“Mmm yes ma’am”

“How are you feeling?” You ask quietly as you come into the bedroom and Eddie looks over at you, grimacing a little 

“Okay I spose… fuck this hurts” He holds his side and you come over and put your hand on his forehead, smoothing his hair back slowly 

After he’d fallen asleep you waited for a bit before getting out of bed and getting things cleaned up a bit. You made yourself lunch and got dinner prepped because you weren’t sure what dealing with medicated Eddie was going to be like but you were absolutely sure dinner wasn’t going to be easy without some help 

“I know… Do you want more meds? It’s about time to take them” 

“Maybe” he takes your hand and kisses your fingers, holding them to his chest 

“I’m sorry I scared you. I can’t remember coming in but I know it scared you” 

You smile a little “ I accept your apology… you were pretty freaking cute… kinda clingy”

He chuckles and shakes his head “I’m sorry for who I am on pain medication”

“It’s okay, I really like silly Eddie. He should come out more often” you tease and he squeezes your hand a little

“Shut it” 

You lean forward and kiss him softly “I really was worried” 

“I know… it wasn’t too bad of a fall though”

“You have two bruised ribs and a fractured arm. You’re not Superman” 

“Okay, But they could be broken. Besides, I’m your hero baby. I’m definitely Superman”

You narrow your eyes at him and he grins widely, pulling you into him more 

“Okay okay I’m kidding, sheesh” He manages to maneuver you onto his hips and you cross your arms 

“Where is this going?” 

“Oh honey, I know you can feel where this is going” He slides his hand down to your hip and you giggle and bat at his hand 

“Eddie you’re hurt. We’re not-“

“Please? I… I need you” He says it quietly and you look at him, he seems so serious right now. 

“Eddie?”

“I just need you okay? I don’t- I’m not ready to talk about it” 

“Okay” 

You pull your shirt over your head and toss it to the other side of the bed, he watches you intently as you move off of him for a second and pull off your lounge shorts. He sighs softly at the sight of your bare cunt and reaches out for you. His hand strokes down your thigh slowly in anticipation and he grins 

“Kiss me” 

You get back onto him and lean forward, putting your hands on the sides of him instead of on his chest, and kiss him slowly, his tongue finds yours battling for dominance but not having his usual desperation behind it, no it’s all slow and sensual and loving 

He wants to make love to you 

He holds your hips with one hand, sighing when his cast gets in the way of holding you like he wants to. You smirk and lay it across his chest carefully 

“You have to be careful” 

“I really don’t want to be” 

“Too bad” You reach down and pull his cock from his boxers, stroking slowly before you lean down to kiss him again. He traces the shape of you with his fingers, starting from the curve of your cheek down to your hips, His fingers trace lightly over your jawline and over your collarbone, he pulls away to breathe and instead kisses the tip of your ear, whispering how deeply his body craves yours 

“Te Quiero” 

His hand glides down your body, exploring your plush curves and teasing your nipples, you feel a shiver trail down your spine as he rolls the little nubs between his fingers, watching them harden 

“Te necesito” 

His fingers flow down to your thighs, so soft and beautiful to him. He follows the shape of them, teasingly drawing little shapes on the inside of them until he reaches the warm apex of your thighs 

“Te Amo” 

He slips a single finger inside you, touching you slowly and coating it in your slick. You’re so gentle with the way you lay your head on his chest, moaning softly into his skin. 

You squirm with anticipation as he slips another finger in, working you open at a leisurely pace. He’s in absolutely no hurry right now, no quickies in the corner of the station, no eagerly devouring your wet pussy in his backseat. He raises an eyebrow at the frustrated little huff you let out against his shoulder 

“Something the matter?” 

“Y-you’re tea-teasing” Your body is trembling against his and he loves it. Loves feeling how you’re shaking with need 

“Oh I’d have slammed you through this mattress by now if I could have” he reassures you, dipping a third finger into your soaked heat “But for now? I just want to enjoy the love of my life. Is that okay with you?”

He does pick up the pace a bit now that he’s got three fingers inside you, your body rocks on his fingers and you nod, feeling higher than he is right now 

“Uh huh, t-that’s okay” 

“Gonna ride me, baby? Gonna try and fit me all in that tight little snatch?” 

Your cheeks flush and he pulls his hand away, offering it up to you. You eagerly clean it up, staring at him the entire time. A chill runs down his spine as he stares into those pretty eyes, dark and cloudy with lust, and he knows they match his. He can feel your clit practically throbbing on his cock 

You get on your knees, your body hovering above his for a second before you line up his cock with your entrance. His eyes roll over your body and he bites his lip, admiring the way your folds glisten in the dim lighting before you sink down onto him. It takes everything in him to let you take your time, he holds your hand, squeezing lightly as you fully seat yourself back on him 

“H-holy shit” he sounds as delirious as you feel. 

“You’re tellin me” you agree, your thighs trembling as you let your head fall back gently

 “Oh my god” You’re a little hesitant at first, you’re not really sure just how much he can take. But he stares up at you like you’re his moon, and he’s seeing stars (literally in his case) and you can’t help yourself, immediately finding a smooth, sensual rhythm that doesn’t hurt him and drives both of you wild 

“Fuck just like that” Eddie’s eyes roll back as you ride him, your hips swirling in slow, deliberate circles to hit your spot over and over again because he can’t drive his hips into you like he’s so desperate to do 

He pants raggedly as he grabs your ass in his hand, squeezing your soft flesh and bouncing it in his hand 

“Goddamn baby girl” he groans in frustration, dreaming about how you look with your ass in the air and face buried in the pillows. You take his hand, putting it on your breast and he squeezes it gentler and teases your nipple 

“Wanna suck on em so badly” He mumbles and you look at him, your face is flushed and hot, your mouth open in a little “o” shape as he hits deeper and deeper with every roll of your hips, he trails his hand down your torso, grinning like the Cheshire Cat when he feels the bulge of him in you 

“Jesus I never get used to that” He strokes your soft skin, mesmerized by the slow roll of your hips, the way your body moves on top of him. How your cunt squeezes him, struggling with each bounce to take all of him in you 

“So tight for me aren’t you? Soaked like a little slut and I’m not even doing anything” 

He looks so drunk in love right now as he rubs your clit, blinking slowly up at you. He reaches out with his other arm, wincing a little before pulling you down to him and connecting your lips 

“Edd-“

“Shut up” he mumbles, his lips moving in sync with yours as his body shudders as you start to ride him faster, he can tell you’re getting just as close as he is. He cups the back of your neck as your legs spread more, sinking you down further into his cock

“You gonna cum for me baby? My good girl gonna cum all over this cock?” 

He’s always had such a way with words. You finish on him, gasping as you try your best not to jolt him too much, your body quakes as you arch your back bouncing on him just a little. He hisses in a painful pleasure kind of way as his hips meet yours anyway, cumming deep inside you. He holds you down, forcing every last drop in. 

He lets go and you fall to the side, your body jerking a little as you come down from your high. Eddie has his hand on your thigh, squeezing it gently and you pant together. 

“I love you, Corazón” 

“I love you too, Superman” 

True to his word, Buck lets himself in after his shift. Exhausted he hangs up his jacket and slips off his shoes, padding over to the fridge and grabbing the Tupperware with his name on it

“God I love that girl” He fake sniffles as he tosses it in the microwave and waits for it to heat up. He grabs a tray from the cabinet, putting a fork and napkin on it and a cold beer. He’s definitely eating dinner in bed (the guest room, aka his room) and passing the fuck out. 

“Shit shit hot” he drops the bowl on the tray and picks it all up, going back to the guest room. He stops in front of Eddie’s room, the door partially open and bumps it with his side 

“Hey, Y/N I’m-“ 

You look up at him, your mouth wrapped around Eddie’s cock, his hand on your head. You pull away from him and Eddie throws a blanket over you 

“Jesus Buck-“ 

“MY EYESSSS” 

[raya-hunter01]

Not My Sister's Keeper Pt. 10

Not My Sister’s Keeper

Roman X OC(Kara)

Jey Uso X OC (Tia)

Rating: 18+

Warning: Smut; sex, fluff, couple arguing, Jealousy, infidelity, pregnancy

Roamn’s wife recently left medical school and returned home to save her marriage. Upon her return, she finds out things are not what they seem. Her sister is pregnant by her best friend Jey Uso, who is also Roman’s cousin, and her husband is acting suspicious.

What happens when a conversation overhead on a baby monitor blows her world apart?

Pensacola, FL

Jey’s House

Kara’s POV

"Uh..Mmh!"

“Where yo’ ass goin’? Stop runnin’, this what you wanted ain’t it?” Jey teased as I closed my eyes unable to keep them open anymore.

Relishing in him talkin' his shit as he slowly lost control, his thrust became more calculating and persistent. Only switching up when he felt I was close.

“Answer me, where you goin’ baby? I thought you wanted me to fuck you?”

“Mmm, nowhere, I promise.”

“Yea…That’s what I thought, you betta be glad you still healin’” he moaned biting my shoulder as I trembled against him.

“When you ready, I’m take these beautiful arms, I love to have wrapped around me, and I’mma pin’em behind yo’ back and fuck da shit outta you,” he moaned as I purred at the thought.

All last night our love makin’ had been slow and steady, this morning….Pure insanity. “I can’t wait,” I gasped holding onto the balcony for dear life as he pounded me hard and deep from behind.

“Tryin’ da run from me...Knowin' I’on play dat shit when it comes to you gettin’ yo’ nut.”

“Uh, I know it, Daddy!” I screamed, unable to control myself.

“Mmhm, you betta know it.....Now tell daddy you sorry for tryin’ to run from yo’ nut,” Jey whispered in my ear, throwing his leg up on the table beside us, rendering me a crying mess as he sank even deeper inside me.

“I’m sorry daddy!" I cried out in pleasure. “Yeaaa….Tell Daddy you sorry for trying to take his pussy away from him,” Jey growled smackin’ me on the ass.

“Josh! Fuck, I’m sorry!” I screamed as he continued to take my soul.

 I asked for it, he was trying to be all soft and shit, but I trying to make him go faster, then tried to run when he finally gave in and went to drilling my ass.

“Yeaaa, I told yo’ ass, diss ain't what you wanted right now, but you kept playin’ wit me…

"I-I wanted it so bad, I still do," I gasped feeling Jey grow even harder inside me, a low growl rising in his throat.

"Den be a good girl and take it...Take all dis dick” Jey groaned pulling me closer. “I don’t want to c- cum yet,” I gasped as he ignored my pleas.

“Mm, yes, you do, listen to dat shit, pussy wet as fuck swallowing my dick,” Jey moaned slappin’ my ass again. “Mmm, it’s my dick now,” I moaned letting him know he’s mine now as I felt him smile against my ear.

“Fuck, yea it is,” he moaned as I looked back at him feeling his hand teasingly touch my clit as our lips met in a sloppy deep kiss.

“Josh-” I whimpered against his lips as he masterfully sent my body into sensory overload wrapping his arm around my chest pulling me closer, his thrusts never wavering.

 “Is it mine, Kara?” Jey rasped as and pulse around him.

“Yes! It’s yours,” I moaned, a new intense feeling creeping up on me and I felt powerless to stop it, his strokes long and deep hitting my g-spot over and over.

“Uh huh, tell me what’s mine,” he whispered against my lips as I groaned, his thrusts in perfect sync with his fingers as they swirled against my clit.

“Th-this pussy….Mmm! It’s yours,” I cried, the primal growl that escaped from Jey’s lips turned me on even more. I felt like I was on fire and was being consumed from the inside out.

“Damn right…Now cum Kara,” Jey demanded as I finally let go almost jumping out of my skin as I felt a release so great it coated our thighs as Jey hissed tearing his lips from mine in shock as my pussy gripped him tighter bringing on his own release. “Fuck, Kara,’ Jey hissed as I smiled against his lips.

“Mmhm, surprise Daddy,” I whispered, his eyes closing riding out his high, speechless as his cum coated my tight welcoming walls.

“Surprise is right, fuck, you been holdin’ out on me lau pele. Just fuckin’ squirtin’ for me n shit, damn.” Jey praised struggling to catch his breath.

“I wish we didn’t have to go to dinner now, I need a nap,” I whispered a small moan falling from both our lips as he slowly pulled out.

“Me too, I could just stay here all night inside you, but we promised..”

Watching the sun starting to set we knew we had to shower and get dressed but dreaded it.

“Let’s shower so we can get this over with,” I said as Jey sighed rubbing my shoulder.

“It’s gonna be fine, I’m gon’ be there wit you and anytime you ready to leave, I am.”

Maybe my uneasiness about the dinner will diminish when we get there. Think positive Kara

-----

Boston State Women’s Prison

Therapy session

Tia’s POV

“Do you remember the first time you ever hurt your sister Kara?”

Julie my therapist asked as I shrugged my shoulders.

“Tia, I’m trying to help you but you gotta want to help yourself,” she pleaded as I sighed leaning back in my chair.

“I was eight and Kara was five,” I whispered not really wanting to talk about it.

“What happened that caused the outburst of violence? Do you remember?” she asked, the question triggering me, how could I ever forget the day I found out my life was a lie.

June 1988

“Tia, you know mama’s company is here….She said we stay outside till he leaves,” Kara whined as I pushed her. The man had been coming every week for about two months and I wondered what they were doing.

“It’s hot out here, I’m just gonna go to my room,” I said going back inside, her tiny, scared voice annoying me.

“Don’t leave me out here, wait for me,” Kara said following me closely as we made our way upstairs hearing shouting from our parents’ bedroom.

“You should have told me, you gone drop this on me now when I’m about to go back to Houston!”

“Terry, I was scared! I knew you had got accepted to school and I didn’t want to ruin it. You wouldn’t have gone, and I didn’t want to be the reason for you not going after your dreams.”

“You still should have told me you were pregnant with my child Rebecca!” he yelled as Kara, and I looked at each other inching towards the door to listen.

“You loved Connie, and I loved Bill. What we had was one stupid drunk night between friends Terry!”

 “But look at us now, so it obviously wasn’t just a drunkin’ night between friends. I’m here in the bed you share with your husband. Regardless, you should have told me before I left for school.”

“You wouldn’t have gone; you wouldn’t be so close to your dream as you are now.”

 “Instead, I come home, and I’m blindsided by you playin’ perfect family with Bill, telling me ya’ll had a kid! Now, you literally all of a sudden wanna tell me after seven years Tia’s mine!”

“It worked out, didn’t it? We both ended up with the people we love.”

“No, it didn’t, another man is raising my kid!” Terry yelled as my mother tried to pull him back onto the bed.

“Terry, I love you, just please listen to me!” my mother cried as Kara began to cry as I hugged her.

“Mama,” I whispered in disbelief, not believing what was happening.

“Look, we are too deep in this now and I can’t lose everything I’ve built with Bill. You and Connie are finally on the right track, she’ll leave you if she finds out you cheated and had a kid.”

“So, what am I supposed to do, I have a seven-year-old!”

“Pretend you never saw her…I’ll do anything, I can’t lose my family.”

“I have to be sure she’s mine, I got a friend in the courts I can call. He will be discrete about it, and we can get a DNA test.”

"Then what?"

"If she's mine, I will help you financially and go from there. Maybe you could send me pictures to let me see how she's doing."

"I'm glad you're seeing things my way. It's no need for us to hurt them."

“I’m tellin’ dad,” Kara whispered taking off back downstairs. “Come back, Kara.” I hissed chasing after her.

---

“How did what you heard make you feel Tia?” Julie asked, snapping me out of the painful, shocking memory I was stuck in. It felt so real, like it was just yesterday.

 “I was mad at my mom, but I was thankful she had kept it a secret because I had the best dad ever,” I said honestly.

“I want to switch gears for a second. You said your first act of violence towards Kara was that day. What happened?”

“Kara couldn’t wait to tell dad, but I couldn’t let her. I was there first; I was born before her and Donavan. He would leave if he found or would treat me differently, so I did what I had to do.”

“Tia, what did you do to Kara?” Julie asked as I felt somewhat guilty. “I was gonna just scare her and make her promise not to tell. I didn’t mean to hurt her that bad.” I whimpered starting to shut down.

“Don’t stop now, you need to talk about this to free yourself, Tia.” Julie encouraged as I nodded wiping my tears.

“I went up behind her and pushed her, she fell and hit her head on a brick by the fire pit,” I whispered as Julie looked at me in horror.

 “Uh, what happened then?”

“I got scared when I saw the blood, so I went and got my mom,” I whispered as Julie was trying to remain non-judgmental, but I felt it.

“Did she tell your mom what you did to her when she woke up?”

“No, she didn’t remember anything about what had happened that day. She only remembered us playing outside. The doctor said she had a bad concussion and had to get  some stitches on the left side of her head.”

“So, you got lucky…The secret was safe?” she asked as I shook my head.

“I couldn’t forgive her for trying to take my dad away from me though.”

“But she didn’t Tia, your mother’s secret was threating your relationship with your father, not Kara.”

“She was going to tell-”

“Tia, your sister was a child, and your anger was misguided. If anything, it should have been towards your mom. Kara never remembered and your parents stayed together so why did you constantly do things to your sister?” Julie asked making me lose focus for a second.

“Uh, I don’t kn-”

“Yes, you do, and I want you to really think about this Tia, because I need an honest answer……. You owe that to yourself,” Julie said as I thought for a second about what she was asking.

“I – I envied her and Donavan.”

“Why did you envy them, Tia?”

“They had their dad, and I didn’t have mine. I didn’t want to lose him as my dad, but I wanted to know my real dad too if that makes sense.” I cried as Julie passed me some Kleenex.

“You wanted them both in your life, and to love you…..In a perfect world your parents would be together and you could get to know your real father.”

“He abandoned me, went on with his perfect lil family. …He did what my mom wanted, he forgot I existed.”

“Tia, do you know who your father is?”

“Terry Kendall,” I whispered as Julie sat back in her seat like the wind had been knocked out of her.

“T- The judge from your case?” Julie asked in disbelief as I scoffed.

“Yea, him, small world, huh.”

“Um, Tia we can stop for today I know that was a lot and I need you to get some rest,” Julie said as I nodded, thankful, she wasn’t going to poke and prod anymore for today.

“Thank you,” I said trying to get myself together as she packed her things and left quickly.

“Morris, on your feet,” Officer Daniels said as I stood up allowing him to reattach me to my shackles and usher me out of the room.

In the hall I saw Julie frantically talking on her phone.

“Meridith, I know it’s Sunday, but I really need to speak with the prosecuting attorney for the Morris case. I have some new information that could vital,” I heard Julie say as I smirked walking past her.

You ain’t did nothin’ special bitch, I wanted you to carry that bone. My mother and Judge Kendall deserved whatever was about to come their way.

Hell, maybe I could get a little sympathy in the resentencing.

I knew one thing was for sure, I had to have a plan this time…I couldn’t stay in here.

-----

Pensacola, FL

16 East Bar & Grill

Kara’s POV

Well, I was wrong wanted to go home, now more than ever. I felt uneasy with the company, and it wasn’t Roman or Janice, it was the presence of my mother.

Damn, Jey and I had a wonderful weekend, and I didn’t want to ruin it by coming here. I still felt something was off and felt such a disconnect with my mom.

“You, ok?” Jey asked as I cleared my throat and put down my fork.

“Yea, I’m fine, just don’t feel like eating right now,” I said looking at my mom who seemed detached, almost like she was hiding something.

“Kara, you know you gotta eat,” Jey pleaded as I sighed taking a sip of water. “I just want to get through this so we can leave, I’ll get something on the way home,” I whispered as he kissed my hand smiling.

“What are you smiling about?”

“I’m glad you know what’s mine is yours. My house is your home,” Jey whispered as I smiled in spite of the situation, we were currently in.

“How are you feeling, Kara?” my mother asked, interrupting our moment.

Did she truly want to hear how I felt?....... Could she handle it?... Guess we bout to find out.

“Well, mama every day I have to deal with the fact my sister tried to kill me. Then this reminder doesn’t help,” I said looking down at the gauze on my chest, that was protecting my healing wound.

A permanent scar and a reminder of the trauma from that night.

“I love her and that’s my baby but I just ain’t seen no shit like that, she should have gotten more time,” my dad said as my mother sighed leaning back in her chair.

“Well, she didn’t Bill, but she did get some time. Now we can move on from this,” my mother said as Jey looked at me, silently encouraging me to say what was on my mind.

“Mama, I know you mean well, but I don’t see me and Tia moving past this,” I said as my mother rubbed her temples.

“I don’t blame you sweetheart it’s a lot. I can’t believe how some are taking it so well,” Janice said looking at my mother strangely as she was getting irritated.

“Baby a court settled it, and has punished your sister. I don’t see why ya’ll can’t try to work through this, and Janice what does this have to do with you?” My mother questioned as Janice shot her a look.

“Rebecca, we’re all family here, and I love Kara like she’s my own child. She was with my son for 10 years; you and I share a grandchild, Rebecca."

“So, what does that mean?”

“It means whether you like it or not everyone at this table is bonded forever and is family.”

“Mama, maybe we should leave,” Roman said as my mother nodded in agreement.

“Good idea, ya’ll had no business being here anyway.”

“Mama, let’s just go,I ain’t doin’ this wit Rebecca tonight and neither are you. ”  

“No, Roman we were invited. Now I know you and Kara are divorced but nothing will ever erase the love I have for her, and I will always be there for her. That is something Rebecca is going to have to understand.” Janice said as I actually felt somewhat comforted by her statement strangely.

“Well, I’m glad you love my daughter, but she has a mom and don’t need your motherly love, Janice.”

“Does she really have a mother though?” Trin asked looking at my mother as she gasped. “What are you trying to say, Trin?” she asked, offended, as Trin sighed, putting down her glass of wine.

“Ma Becca, I love you, but these last couple days it just really seemed you were more concerned about Tia than Kara…You know your daughter that spent over a month in ICU fighting for her life.”

“Trin, it’s ok” I said as she shook her head. “No, it ain’t Kara, you almost died, and she’s worried about how much time Tia has to serve and trying to make you forget the hell she put you through.”

“Trin-”

“Sis, that shit will never be ok in my eyes.” Trin said not biting her tongue as Jimmy leaned over and whispered something to her.

“I don’t care Jimmy, somebody had to tell her ass, it ain’t right what she did in that court room and it ain’t right what she’s doing now,” Trin whispered as he reluctantly nodded in agreement.

“I agree with Trin, it almost seems like one daughter is more loved than the other if you ask me,” Janice said as my heart dropped.

My heart dropped because I felt the same way but didn’t want to hurt my mother’s feelings.

My heart dropped because others felt the same way I did.

“You ok, we can go, just say the word,” Jey said knowing I was trying to keep it together but was moments away from losing my shit.

“Ok, I ain’t wit the back and forth, I think somebody at this table got some secrets and we need to get it out in the open so we can move on.” Trin said, looking at Janice as she stared at my mom.

 She was picking up on the tension between them, almost like she was piecing together information.

“Trin, I think you are absolutely right,” Janice said still looking at my mother before looking back at Trin. Trin seemed to be questioning her with eyes and when Janice nodded Trin frowned.

“I damn knew it,” Trin whispered as Janice cleared her throat, taking a sip of water.

 Ok, they just had a whole damn conversation without really saying a word.

“Ok…..You and auntie been talking in code since we got here, what’s going on ya’ll?” Jimmy asked looking at Trin as she refilled her glass of wine.

“I mean a whole damn conversation without sayin' nothin',” Jey added as I frowned. I guess I wasn’t trippin’ after all.

“I guess it’s a woman thing-” Jimmy said as I rolled my eyes.

“Ain’t not code, just some realizations,” Trin said as my mother let out a frustrated sigh.

“Can we just eat so we can go,” my dad said as Roman searched his mother’s face for answers as she grasped his hand in hers.

“We ain’t talking in code son, and everything is ok. I just want Kara’s mom to understand sometimes things can’t be undone or begin to heal when you keep building upon lies and trying to manipulate the people you love to get what you want,” Janice said as I felt defeated.

“All I said was Tia is going to pay for what she did.  I don’t see why Kara can’t forgive her and we move forward with our lives.”  I did the only thing I could, which was laughed to keep from crying.

“Are you serious? Mama, she tried to kill me, and laughed as I bled out. That reason alone should have never let what you just said come outta your mouth!” I said raising my voice as I felt Jey’s hand on my thigh.

“Calm down baby,” he whispered as I took a breath trying not to get upset, but it was a losing battle. I had been quiet for too long observing, trying to not get upset. It was pointless and useless, I couldn’t take anymore.

“Look, I love you both very mu-” she started as I cut her off.

“Mama, I know you love us both, but you uphold Tia in her mess and that’s why she is, how she is.” I said ignoring my father as he cleared his throat.

“Sweetie, that’s still ya’ mama,” my dad said as I shook my head. “Daddy, Ray Charles could see Tia was fakin’ in that courtroom the other day and Mama couldn’t.”

“So, you blaming me for loving my child?”

“No mama….. All I’m saying is she almost killed me, it wouldn’t have hurt you to be on my side, and you can’t change my opinion,” I said as my mother sighed.

“I’m standing by the fact I love you both and I’m going to be there for both my children.”

“I don’t even think it’s that Mrs. Morris. Kara is hurt because she feels like you cared more for Tia in this situation. You were there for Kara, but you really weren’t, if that makes sense,” Jey said as I pointed at him.

“Thank you! Somebody gets it,” I sigh as my mother rolls her eyes at him.

“Joshua, this has nothing to do with you, son,” my mother said as Jey kissed his teeth.

 “Anything that hurts Kara hurts me, and I’m sorry if you feel that way. I’mma always protect her because I love her and she’s, my family.” I felt my heart skip a beat at Jey's declaration of love.

“Thank god, because somebody needs too, especially now,” Janice said. “Mama, you know something we don’t?” Roman asked as she looked at my mother, almost daring her to say something.

“Look, my daughter doesn’t need protection from her own mother. Ok, so you can stand down Janice,” she said rolling her eyes.

“No, you need to stand up and tell your daughter the truth about that train wreck that happened the other day and your part in it!” Janice said slightly raising her voice as my dad looked at my mom.

“What is she talking about Rebecca?”

“Ok Janice, let’s do this!” My mother shouted, throwing down her silverware on her plate as Trin raised her eyebrow at her. “Oh, she mad now, huh.”

“I don’t care what she is Trin, she better take some base outta her voice. I ain’t the one, I’ll drag you all through this restaurant, Rebecca. Don't let my age fool you now." Janice said as I watched my mother deflate before my eyes.

 “What do you want from me, Janice? You seem like you know everything something, so why don’t you just tell everyone?”

“It ain’t my place, it’s yours!...... You owe everyone here that much, especially your daughter,” Janice said as Jey’s grip on my hand slightly tightened.

“Janice, I did what I had to do for my child and that all I’mma say about it!”

“Did what you needed to do?” Jey said frowning at her as I shook my head, I somewhat deep down knew where this was going but hoped I was wrong in my assumptions.

“Rebecca what did you do?” My dad asked as my mother took a sip of her glass of wine.

“Nothing bad Bill, Judge Kendall is an old family friend, so I reached out to him and called in a favor.”

Jey’s POV

“A family friend?……You called in a favor?…I know you ain’t did what I think you did?” I said raising my voice slightly but trying to remain respectful, she is still Kara’s mom.

“Just like I said Josh, he’s a family friend that did me a favor.”

“No... Tell it how it is.. You had that judge decrease Tia’s sentence. You’re the reason she didn’t get much jail time!” Janice shouted as Rebecca dropped her head in shame.

“I knew it…….I knew something was wrong. Even with that plea deal she should have gotten longer jail time,” kara whispered staring straight ahead no longer able to look at her mom.

“What does jail time do exactly, Kara?” her mother asked as Kara's head snapped back in her direction in shock.

“Is she serious?” Trin asked looking at Jimmy as he sighed running his hand through his beard.

“I can’t even right now,” he said as I stood up, helping Kara out of her seat. As far as I’m concerned dinner is over and Rebecaa better not show her damn face near Kara again.

“Look, we out, I ain’t bout to let this shit keep disrupting her peace. We done fed into this bullshit for too long as is. You got what you wanted, Tia will be out in three years….Now just now stay away from Kara,” I said pointing at Rebecca as she frowned.

“You got some nerve Josh; I don’t care if I’ve known you since you were a child and consider you family. You can’t tell me to stay away from MY CHILD!”

“Can we go, please,” kara whispered ignoring her mother as I nodded throwing some money down on the table.

 “Answer me, Kara! What does Jail have to do wi-”

“Everything! Jail time means I mattered; my life mattered!”  Kara screamed jumping at her mother as I caught her, stopping her from jumping across the table.

“Kara-”

“Let me go!” Kara cried as I refused to let her go. “Kara, I can’t let you do that, you’d never forgive yourself. Calm down baby.” I pleaded, but I knew it was no use Rebecca had flipped the switch.

“I’m so damn mad! She doesn’t get that jail time means she faces the consequences of her actions! Why can’t she see how messed up all this is!” Kara cried as I hugged her close.

“Shh, I got you… Baby you ain’t gotta keep begging her to see your point. We see it and we got you….. Your real family got you, and we love you,” I whispered her grip on the back of my shirt tightening as she sobbed.  

“Her Real family! We’re her real family!” Bill yelled standing up next to Rebecca as I tried to calm Kara down.

“I can’t tell you sittin’ there letting this shit happen! When you gon’ step in and be the father Kara needs yo’ ass to be!” I yelled as Bill looked like I reached in and snatched his soul out of his body.

“Look, ain’t nobody sayin’ this to hurt ya’ll Bill, but put yourself in your daughter shoes Uce, how would you feel?” Jimmy said as Trin walked over to us.

“Kara, tell us what you want to do?” Trin whispered rubbing Kara’s back trying to help me calm her down.

“I just wanna go…I just w-” The heart-wrenching sob that escaped her lips broke my heart.… “We can go wherever you wanna go baby.”

 “I think we gon’ leave too. Pops is watching Logan, and we need to get back,” Roman rambled helping aunt Janice out of her chair.

His anger radiating off of him in waves as he looked at Rebecca.

“Are you ok, Kara?” Janice asked, as Kara nodded grabbing Trin’s hand.

“I’m ok,” she whispered wiping her tears as Janice came over and embraced them both.

“I am so sorry for everything Kara; I was wrong for being quick to judge you. I know we never talked about -”

“It’s ok-”

“No it’s not, I was out of line and owed you an apology that night when I found out everything.”

“Emotions were high, and you’ve more than made up for it,” Kara said as Janice took Kara’s face in her hands. “I love you Kara and no matter what, I will always be here for you, but I know you gon’ be fine,” she whispered, happy that Kara accepted her loving words as Roman patted me on the shoulde

“Take care of her, she’s been through enough,” he murmured barely above a whisper before walking out the side patio door without saying another word.

I knew more than anything it hurt him to say that, but I hoped he meant it.

Kara’s POV

“Kara, we need to talk baby,” my mother pleaded as I turned to her.

“It ain’t no need, I knew where I stood with you when you ran and comforted her in that courtroom. I just didn’t want to admit to myself.”

“That’s not true! I am so sorry, but I had to help her!”

“Do you hear what our daughter is saying Rebecca?! She’s telling you how she feels, and you keep talking about Tia!” he yelled snatching the glass of wine out of her hand and throwing it across the room.

“Are you crazy?”  she yelled as my dad looked at her in confusion.

“Am I crazy?...... I could ask you the same damn question? Like are you playin’ with a full deck of cards up there?” he said pressing his finger against her temple.

“Don’t do that!” My mother shouted, pushing his hand away. “Our daughter is pouring her heart out and you’re acting like it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matt-”.

“Then fix this shit, we already lost Donavan, he barely comes to visit us, and now Kara is about out the damn door!” he said walking over to me.

“Dad, I love you, but after all this it’s really nothing she can say or do that can fix this…I can’t…I refuse to be around her,” I said standing my ground.

“I know it baby, but I don’t want to lose you,” my dad whispered hugging me as I sighed feeling safe in his arms.

“You’ll never lose me daddy, I’ll be here,” I reassured him. “Kara let’s go somewhere we can be alone and talk,” my mother pleaded, coming toward us as my dad moved to hug Janice.

"Thank you for makin' sure we found out the truth."

“Kara, baby-” she cried reaching for me as Jey and Trin blocked her path.

“Don’t ok, I’m not going to report you, your secret is safe. I’m not even mad, just stay away from me. Jey, I’ll be in the car, I need some air,” I said leaving them inside. I couldn’t stand being in there any longer.

Jey’s POV

“Ya’ll can’t keep me from her. I’m here mother.”

“Look, leave her alone and give her some time to process the bomb you just dropped on her,” I said as Rebecca ignored me trying to push through Trin and I but we didn’t budge.

“Move outta my way!” Rebecca yelled as Trin pushed her back, daring her to make a move.

“No! I love you dearly, but don’t make me drop you.……Now you made your choice when you went to that judge…Now respect Kara’s choice,” Trin said as Rebecca broke down in tears.

“Joshua, take care of my baby, and let me know when ya’ll come back to Pensacola. I’ll stop by and maybe we can have dinner,” Bill said calmly walking by us not saying another word to his wife.

“I’ve lost her, haven’t I?” Rebecca whispered, as the rest of us one by one left her alone to wallow in her own misery.

One thing was for sure, I wasn’t going to let her hurt Kara again. On my way to the car I saw Roman standing against my car door talking to Kara.

“So, you don’t want to go to the courts and reopen this?” I heard him ask as Kara shook her head.

“I can’t go through that again, I’m tired,” Kara whispered as I felt the conflict within her.

“Uce, maybe we can talk about it when she’s had some time to process it,” I said getting in the driver seat as Kara leaned back against the headrest closing her eyes.

“I agree, I know tonight has been a lot. Just make sure you get some rest Kara,” Roman said closing her door as she sighed in relief.

“Thank you for not pushing,” Kara whispered as I rubbed her thigh. “I got you and however you want to handle it, we will,” I assured her as she relaxed taking deep breaths.

"Just relax and we'll be home before you know it." Damn I hate dinner was a bust. Pulling out of the parking lot the silence was already deafining.

Kayla’s POV

I was just about to doze off but I felt Jey's eyes on me. "You better watch the road, I'm ok, I promise."

“Kara it’s ok to not be okay,” Jey said as I looked at him. “She’s my mother Jey, and she did that..After everything she did that to me and I don’t know what to do with that,” I whimpered.

“I know baby, but we gon’ get through this.” His phone interrupting us before I could respond.

“What the hell he want?” Jey asked as Mr. Reiner’s name and number passed across the radio screen.

"Answer it, I'm sure it's important," I said dreading whatever the call was going to be about."

"Hello-"

“Finally, I got someone. How are you, Mr. Fatu? I’ve been trying to get in touch with Ms. Morris, and Mr. Reingns but had no luck. I was just about to try Mrs. Fatu.”

“We were at a family dinner, but we just left and Kara’s here with me, what do you need?”

“Earlier today I received some information that could work in our favor. I’m going to ask for a new judge and resentencing of your sister.” Mr. Reiner said as I looked at Jey in shock.

“Look, if you’re talking about the ju-”

“Ms. Morris, that judge should have never even able to oversee the case in the first place, he has personal ties.” Mr. Reiner said as I sighed.

How the hell did he find out?

“Yea, he was an old family friend of my mom's, she told us tonight,” I said as Jey shook his head pulling off the exit. “Pull in at the Wal-Mart,” I whispered as Jey complied parking the car so he could listen in.

“Ms. Morris, he wasn’t a family friend.”

“Mr. Reiner, she told me out of her own mouth he was.  Now if he isn’t a family friend, what other reason is there that he shouldn’t have been overseeing the case?” I asked as Jey kissed my hand.

“Ms. Morris, I don’t know how to tell you this-”

“Look Mr. Reiner, after everything we’ve all just went through together with the trial, it’s nothing you should be afraid to tell me or ask.” I said truthfully, feeling a genuine connection with him. He earned his pay and presented a great case.

“Yea, cause’ the bomb we got hit wit tonight, I promise you, nothin’ you say will shock us, Uce,” Jey added as I nodded in agreement.

“Ms. Morris, Judge Kendall is Tia’s father.”

The statement sucking the air out my lungs as Jey and I both looked at each other truly speechless.

“Did you hear me Ms. Morris? Judge Kendall should have never been allowed to oversee the case due to his conflict of interest of being Tia’s biological father.”

“Are you sure?” Jey asked as I unbuckled my seatbelt. Opening my door feeling nauseous as Jey rubbed my thigh.

“Today Tia told her therapist that Judge Kendall was her father. The therapist being a mandated reporter, contacted my office.”

“How can we trust her word?” I asked trying to grasp at straws. My mother wouldn’t do that to my dad.

“I’m already three steps ahead of you Ms. Morris. I’m currently looking at a copy of a DNA test Mr. Kendall ordered privately through the court system in Florida some thirty years ago. He is indeed Tia’s father and your mother even received stipends quarterly from Mr. Kendall for child support."

I felt anger…..Disbelief…...Then rage, followed by acceptance as the revelation seemed to ignite forgotten memories within me. Slowly one by one coming back in flashes, overwhelming me with its power.

“You still should have told me you were pregnant with my child Rebecca!  His scream of anguish invaded my mind as I covered my face with my hands.

“Kara baby, you, ok? Talk to me.”

“You loved Connie, and I loved Bill. What we had was one stupid drunk night between friends Terry!” The hurt and disbelief consuming me as every inch of pain came rushing back at me as if it was happening for the first time.

“I can’t brea-”

“Come on baby breathe.”

Jey’s voice seemed so far away as he tried to bring me out of the haze that was consuming me. The memories continuing to flood my brain and I was powerless to stop it.

“I’m here in the bed you share with your husband. Regardless, you should have told me before I left for school.” His hurt and anger on full display, the desperation of my mother’s voice.

The soul crushing pain of hearing my mother’s betrayal as Tia and I silently cried together. I felt the bile rising in my throat even more.

“Kara, baby look at me.” Jey said trying to grab my arms but I pulled away, getting out of the car knowing I was about to lose the little bit of dinner I had consumed earlier.

“Mr. Reiner, thank you for all callin’ and just everything, but we’ll call you back later,” I faintly heard Jey say, as he appeared beside me rubbing my back as I emptied the contents of my stomach.

“I’m sorry ya’ll had to find out this way, but I promise we will get you all the justice you deserve. I just wanted to let you know the updates, and I will see you guys when you get back to Boston.”

“Preciate dat, we’ll see you Tuesday,” Jey said pulling my hair back as Mr. Reiner hung up.

“Kara,-”

“I’m ok,” I whispered, standing up as Jey reached over in the car trying to find a napkin. “Damn, I ain’t got none in here.”

“I’m good, I’ll just go in the store to clean up,” I said walking away before he could respond.

“I can go wit you or at least drive you up there.”

“No, I’m ok, just give me a second.”

Jey’s POV

“Damn, you have really been playin' in everybody's face Rebecca,” I said to myself still in shock.

She literally did what Tia tried to do to me but actually pulled it off. Tia had the fuckin’ handbook taught to her by the master.

 It’s been over thirty years and bill has raised a child that ain’t even his…Who does shit like that?

Tonight was too much but I knew by the look on Kara’s face as she came out the store, we weren’t heading home anytime soon.

“I could have walked back up there to the car, Jey,” she whispered as I got out and helped her back inside. “I was parked all the way at the top and you sick. Just let me take care of you, ok,” I said kissing her on the temple, feeling a sense of relief as she nodded no longer protesting.

Closing the door, I got back in and drove back up to the parking lot entrance and parked again.

“Jey, what are you doing?” Kara asked as I got out and moved to the backseat, beckoning her with my hands.

“Showin’ you how much I love you and givin’ you what you need right now. Now come here, Ma.” I said reaching up and pulling her onto my lap in the backseat. Sighing, Kara instantly buried her head in my neck as I held her close.

“I love you; Kara and I got you.” I felt the weight of the world leave her body as she relaxed in my arms. “I love you too.” She whispered as we sat in silence for a good bit.

“Do you wanna talk?” I finally asked as she looked at me and shook her head. “You ready to go home?”

“I wanna go home but I got something I need to do first. Does that offer still stand to take me wherever I want to go?” Kara asked as I caressed her face.

“Yea, name it and I’ll take you… No questions asked? Where you wanna go lau pele?”  

“I need to go to my parents’ house.”

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[bellewintersroe]

I DO HAVE A BOB REQ👀 it's heavy angst mixed with a comforting ending, but how would they react (whenever u want but in my faves are Liebgott and Roe) to them thinking their s/o (nurse maybe?) somehow died while saving someone or similar, but actually she managed to escape and run and she reconnects with the battalion a few days later? all battered and bruised but still alive EVEN BETTER IF SHE TAKES TO SAFETY THE PERSON SHE WAS HELPING because imagining them seeing their girl that they thought was dead coming back quite literally from hell alive is AGH💘

I LOVEEEE THIS!!! Thank you Anon I’m excited to write this <3 <3

Warning: mentions of death, grief, war, wounds, etc.

Easy Boys x EasyNurse! Reader - How They React To You Going MIA.

Gene Roe:

- Gene knew (thinks) you were in the church as soon as he watched the bomb explode.

- He kinda freezes and he literally feels his insides running cold and a sickness go through him.

- Can’t be real, I can’t express the level of trauma, pure horror and devastation he feels in that moment. It doesn’t end, the whole time he fully thinks you’re gone. It doesn’t help that the rest of the company are questioning him and going through their own grief for your loss.

- He wants to escape it as much as possible but he knows he can’t. He feels like a statue, completely glued to his foxhole, he runs on autopilot and Winters is about to send him off the line.

- I feel like Gene would have a pretty bad breakdown (understandable) when he’s by himself so he’s not showing the full affects of what he believes is your loss.

- doesn’t help he has absolutely NO answers. He plays the moment over and over again, torturing himself by picturing your last moments, imagining himself being just an hour earlier and getting you out of that church.

- Gene even wished he was with you when that damn bomb went off.

- 3 days pass and Gene’s sat in his foxhole, alone, staring at the enemy line. He’s near enough given up, no gloves, no blanket, he can’t eat, cant sleep.

- “Doc, Captain Winters needs you, pronto.”

- He literally feels like a zombie walking to where he’s needed. All he can think of is you, it’s painful, he can literally feel his chest yearning and breaking and his grief is too much.

- “Yeah we found her running around with the I-company boys, got a little lost, didn’t ya’ nurse?” A man’s words cause Gene’s ears to prick. He can’t see anything but a taller man facing Winters and Nixon with a smaller figure, blanket huddled over- you.

- Ugh- feels like his hearts about to explode. Literally freezes and thinks he’s going to be sick. His heart accelerates and when he hears your voice he quite literally feels faint. 

- “got caught up with a patient there!” You turn around, sending a presence and both of you feel the intense hit of shock to be confronted with one another again. “Excuse me a minute…”

- All of a sudden you’re limping towards Gene. Your forehead is covered with 2 butterfly plasters and you have a nasty bruise under your right eye. Gene thinks he’s seen a ghost.

- Probably hesitates for a moment before you pull him aside, away from where the other men can see. “Gene.” You’d soothe and he’d let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

- Crashes into you. Literally grips you so tightly, he feels like he can’t breathe, his eyes are teary and it’s not until you let out a small yelp that he pulls back.

- “It’s okay, it’s fine Gene, it’s just a bruise.” Hearing your voice sends him into a spiral and he’s even more careful now to pull you close.

- Holds a hand to the back of your head, practically cradles you with wide eyes.

- “I thought- I thought you was dead.” He admitted.

- “No, I got caught up with a patient. After the church got bombed I managed to pull a patient out, Billy from I company- got lost on their lines for a few days, they took me in.”

- Soon enough he’s stammering with quivering hands, checking over you, asking if you’re okay. Winters had called a medic after all.

- Can’t stop looking at you, questioning if it’s all a dream, you’d catch him pinching himself. “Don’t do that Gene, I’m right here.” With a small hand on his cheek he can breathe again.

- Holds your hands tightly, the most affection he can show you in front of all the superiors. He’s still extremely tense, in shock from the close call, but he promises to keep an extra close eye on you, and he keeps that promise.

- Kisses your cuts and bruises when nobody’s looking, probably runs his hand over his face in surprise quite a few times, but honestly he’s sooo fucking relieved, like he actually cried when he saw you.

- “I love you so much, ya can’t do that to me again, evuh’.” With his little accent and a serious tone, ugh he’s a sweetie pie.

Joseph Liebgott:

- It happens in Eindhoven out of all the places.

- One minute you’re both celebrating together, with the rest of the company and the whole town and the next you’re not stationed with the rest of the nurses?

- The town gets bombed and barraged by the Germans that evening and he’s watching in pure horror. Recounts of nurses being KIA during the bombing spread real fast, and he refuses to believe what Battalion HQ are telling him.

- He’s shaking his head real fucking fast, denying and denying to all of them and himself.

- Throws a fucking riot- until he has to practically run off to be alone, wrenching and shaking at the idea that have could’ve happened to you.

- His anger and violence stems out of control, Winters removes him off the line real fucking fast, like he becomes a runner or something just for a break.

- Fraternisation is banned under all conditions, but relationships and affairs still take place, even the most superior of officers know that. So sometimes eyes are averted and now is one of those times that people choose to do that and help Liebgott through his grief.

- But 2 days have passed and it’s so raw, everybody’s in shock and disbelief at your lack of presence, for Joe he’s bottling up a painfully bitter feeling and he’s ready to explode.

- He never thought it would happen to you, you’re a nurse for Christ sake! Genuinely has to pause sometimes to just stop- like he can’t take it. Becomes so close to being sent to the aid station until one today he’s attempting to run a letter back to Battallion HQ when he see’s the back of a young woman wrapped in a blazer, overalls looking very familiar to your own.

- His heart genuinely gets shooting pains and he has to swallow the urge to cry as he watches this woman who painfully resembles you. Her khaki headscarf is bloody and he watches as another officer (he assumed from Dog) guides you inside the building.

- In fact he’s about to look away, until this girls head tilt to the side. He only catches a brief glimpse of her profile, Joe has to squint real hard when he feels his stomach drop.

- His mind has to be playing tricks on him so he turns away as the nurse rushes to aid a man on a stretcher.

- Slams the jeep door, literally kicks a dint into it as he storms his way through town. He just wants to deliver these fucking letters as fast as possible.

- “No, no, he’s German. He helped me out of Eindhoven, you must take care of him!”

- Joe’s head snaps just as he’s shoving the letters into some poor guys arms. He freezes, head lifting at the sound of your voice.

- “What the fuck?” He mutters, stepping a little closer. His breathing and heart speeds when he hears your voice again.

- “Sister. Make sure he gets to the infirmary, please… thank you.”

- He’d recognise that voice from anywhere.

- Literally feels like he’s choking when he stomps over, lost for words and breath and grabs hold of your arm.

- With a gasp, you stand there, bloody and bruised and protecting some Kraut soldier.

- You’re about to protest again until you come face to face with Joe, and suddenly your voice gets hitched in your throat, a loud gasp escaping your lips.

- “Joe!” It’s you that jumps into hug him first.

- Joe grips you tightly, “what the hell are you- what the hell are you doin’ here? Baby- y/n, I thought you were dead.”

- He has to pull back and hold your face to take a look at you and make sure it’s actually you.

- You can feel him shaking, and suddenly your attention is just on Joe and Joe only. He’s practically smothering you, not sure where to put his hands as he lets out a shaky breath.

- “Holy fuck I thought I lost you. They said you were gone. I knew you wouldn’t, I knew you wouldn’t leave me.” He gets super emotional so you two have to take a break somewhere real quick.

- By that I mean in the aid station where you’re supposed to be being patched up but Joe does that for the medic.

- “God dammit you are so stupid, you idiot, I thought I lost you.”

- “The German officer saved me Joe, he pulled me outta the rubble.”

- “he what?! Did he touch you, are you ok?”

- “He’s a nice man, Joe. I wouldn’t be here without him. He’s hurt so I got a little lost taking him back to the infirmary.”

- “nice guy? Baby d’ya got a concussion?”

- you scold him a little and soon he’s back to stroking your face and pulling you onto his lap, taking in as much as you as he possibly can.

- “Never leave me baby. Never leave me like that again.”

[arialerendeair]

King!Dream and Knight!Hob! All the feels you can fit in that bad boy! Angst, pining, whump, whatever floats your boat! Spicy times if the spirit moves you!

THESE TWO ARE EVERYTHING TO ME AND I LOVE THEM, BECAUSE THERE'S SO MANY DIFFERENT WAYS IT CAN GO. BUT HERE IS ONE OF THEM!!

~!~

There's, of course, the Knight Hob who has been working his way into the position, is FIERCELY loyal to his king, and becoming a member of his Kingsguard is everything he has ever wanted in his entire life. It's an honor and a pleasure (even though it makes him ache, soul-deep, as he realizes how lonely his King is, how much the crown weighs on him, and how much everyone demands from him, and how the King denies himself to meet the needs of others).

They get closer and closer, because Hob isn't befitting a Consort, even as Dream himself (his King had insisted, whispering, demanding, that he use his given name, because save for his Niece, his Heir, no one else did, and Hob hadn't been able to resist the quiet plea in those words), picks an Heir and protects their Kingdom and continues to rule alone. So though he cannot rule by Dream's side, Hob does everything he can to support Dream, every day.

Sometimes that includes dismissing the other guards to ensure the King can take a bath in peace. Sometimes it includes ensuring the fire is extra built up on the coldest nights and the warmest of furs have made their way onto Dream's bed. He loves his King (because of course he loves Dream), and there is nothing he wouldn't do to ensure that his King was happy. Absolutely nothing. He would give anything, everything, to ensure the happiness of his King.

And that includes his own life.

When an attempt is made on Dream's life, when the crossbow bolt is pointed at him from across the hall, Hob is stepping up and into it, without a second's thought. It tears through his shoulder, sinking deep into the flesh, and Hob's last thought is that he hopes he dies, not because he wants to die (far from it - he never wants to die), but because he will no longer be able to protect his King with an injury like this and that is worse, so much worse.

When the world goes black around him, Hob doesn't hear the shout from his King, or the explosion of furious magic that follows, nor the soft as satin hands that are touching the area around where the bolt is buried in his skin.

When he wakes, a great deal of time has passed, and even still, Hob is exhausted, and he's already wondering if he has been dismissed to a medical room befitting his station when he forces his eyes open and is surprised to recognize the King's Chambers. A few belated seconds later has him realizing that not only is he in the King's chambers, but he is in the King's bed, and his heart jumps into his throat, because the King, Dream, is sitting beside him in bed, reading by the light of the candle beside the bed.

He shifts, just enough to alert Dream and wide blue eyes dart down to stare at him, and then it is a scramble of hastily whispered words to hold still, and then Dream is holding a cup of water to his lips for him to sip from. Just that is exhausting, but his throat no longer feels on fire, and Dream, beautiful, perfect Dream, is still watching him, afraid.

"You mustn't ever do that again," Dream orders, his voice soft, but shaking. "Never. You were nearly lost to us."

Hob smiles despite himself, because the King's demand is a foolish one. "A worthy sacrifice to keep you safe, my King." He's surprised when Dream's face crumples in return and his hand is taken, cradled oh-so-carefully, and pulled closer. "Dream? Why-"

"You were nearly lost to ME," Dream growls, pressing a desperate kiss to Hob's palm. "I cannot lose you. I cannot." Another desperate kiss to the warm skin against his lips, before he meets his knight's eyes once more.

Hob's breath has caught and he is staring at his King with wide, shocked eyes. He strokes his fingertips down the length of Dream's cheek, before tracing the swell of his lower lip, marveling at the allowance, that Dream has not moved, nor denied him. "Dream."

Dream's breath leaves him in a heaving rush. "Never again would I have you hear me address me as my title. My given name has never sounded right until it fell from your lips, and I would hear it every time you address me henceforth." He pauses, breathing deep. "I have no desire to be a King to you, Hob, not any longer. I wish to be something far more dear, and I will not wait until death has stolen you from my arms to make you mine."

The smile that grows on his face is wide and shocked, happy and stunned all at once. Though there are many more words to be spoken, plans to be made, there is perhaps only one thing that matters in that moment, and Hob takes the excruciating amount of effort required to lift his hand, place it on the back of Dream's neck, to pull him into a kiss.

"That is a command I am happy to obey, my Dream."

[longhardtransitionreturns]

Author's note: This is a fictional story about a graphic medical birth in which the pregnant woman is presumed to be in a vegetative state but feels every moment of her agonizing birth.

Tara Strahan, then 22, was seven months pregnant with her first child when she and her husband, Brian, were involved in a horrific car crash during a winter storm. Brian died at the scene; Tara was rushed to the hospital where doctors eventually declared her to be in a ‘vegetative state’ as a result of massive head injuries.

Two days later, Tara regained consciousness but quickly realized she couldn’t move or speak. 

“When I woke up, I immediately wanted to know if the baby and my husband were ok. Then I realized I had a tube down my throat, and I couldn’t move at all, even a finger.” 

Tara had become the victim of a rare condition called ‘locked-in syndrome,’ meaning she had full cognitive and physical awareness, but complete paralysis off all voluntary muscles. She was able to feel pain and understand conversations, but unable to let anyone know of her plight. 

“I realized pretty quickly something horrible had happened to Brian. Otherwise, he would have been there. Instead, it was just an endless parade of doctors, and all of them had already given up on me. All the conversations were about how long they needed to keep the baby inside me, and how they would get it out.” 

Tara’s doctors eventually concluded that the risks of anesthesia were too high to perform a c-section. Instead, they decided to induce her labor, and allow her to deliver the baby naturally. 

Tara, who’d told friends that her greatest fear about giving birth was the pain she’d feel before the epidural took effect, had almost two months with nothing to do but think about labor and delivery with no drugs, unable to move or scream or even regulate her own breathing.

“I was scared to death. It was pretty much all I could think about, and hearing people talking about it all the time made it even worse. There were a group of interns, every day during rounds, who’d joke about whether the labor pains would bring me out of my coma. But the worst was when one asked the head obstetrician if I’d be able to push. He said no, not in the usual way, but the force of the contractions would expel the baby from my body. I kept replaying that sentence in my head, wondering how long it would take.”

Because she was unable to tell doctors if she was having contractions, she was monitored closely throughout the rest of her pregnancy. She knew there wasn’t a set date for her to be induced; instead, the procedure would be performed when she started showing effacement or dilation. 

“There was this one nurse who’d talk to me while she cleaned me. She said, ‘today we’re going to induce your labor and you’re going to have your baby, but you’re so lucky, you won’t feel a thing.’ I wanted to scream so bad, let her know that, no, I was going to feel everything.” 

Three years later, Tara still has panic attacks when she remembers what happened that day. (Editor’s note: what follows is a graphic description of traumatic natural birth, and graphic medical procedures. Reader discretion is advised.) 

“There was an air of excitement, and there were about 15 obstetricians from around the country who’d come to watch. They’d given me muscle relaxants so they could spread my legs, because my muscles had started to atrophy. They strapped me into the stirrups right at the start, and my gown was pulled up to just under my boobs. I felt so exposed, but the crowd of people didn’t even shut up when my doctor reached up inside me and stripped my membranes. I remember thinking how humiliating this was gonna be, which I don’t think I’d considered before.” 

Doctors used pitocin to induce Tara’s labor. Unlike the slow build of natural labor, pitocin often induces strong contractions right away. 

“I could see the clock on the wall. About thirty minutes had passed between the shot of Pitocin and when I had the first contraction. It felt like a vice had been wrapped around my uterus. Had I been able to speak, I’d have been yelling from that very first one.” 

Tara endured ten hours of hard labor, with the contractions getting increasingly stronger. While she suffered, doctors and nurses made small talk about their weekend plans. As the labor went on, some started to complain about how long it was taking. 

“I was in agony. I’d never imagined anything could hurt that bad. I wanted to pant, like I’d seen in Lamaze videos, but the ventilator was controlling my breathing. I couldn’t move at all, and being strapped into the stirrups for my entire labor was torture. My hips hurt so bad, especially as the baby moved down farther and the pressure increased.

There was one doctor who kept talking about his dinner reservations. On and on about wishing I’d hurry up and pop it out. He actually walked over and tweaked my nipple, and made a joke about that speeding up labor. Not only did I feel violated, it set off a horrible contraction, like the worst one yet. I got no comfort, no words of support. I was going through the worst thing I’d ever experienced, and it was like no one even considered I could be suffering.”

As Tara went into transition -- the most difficult, painful part of labor -- she says she heard some of the female medical professionals in the room joking about how much pain she’d be in, if she weren’t in a coma.

“There was this machine, they could tell when I was having contractions. They’d started coming one right after another, lasting almost a minute. It felt like I was being stepped on by an elephant. My back hurt, my cunny and arse were starting to feel like they’d explode. One of the women in the room said, “Whew, we know she’s really in a coma, she’d be screaming her head off if she could feel this.” 

Tara was in transition for over an hour before she finally felt the overwhelming urge to push.

“It was the strangest sensation, I’m not ever sure I can describe it. I needed to push so bad, it physically hurt not to push. But I couldn’t. None of those muscles would obey my commands. And then it was like the doctor said, the contractions got even stronger to push the baby out. I could feel him moving down but it was so, so slow.”

Tara watched the clock on the wall for five hours as she endured the excruciating pain of her baby making its way down into her birth canal.

“I wanted to die. I thought it was never going to end. I was praying for a c-section. I knew they probably wouldn’t give me anything for the pain, but I figured I’d have a heart attack when they sliced into me and that would be better than the agony I was feeling.” 

Tara eventually started having chest pains, and the monitors on her and the baby started to alarm. 

“I remember my chest started hurting after the baby had been stuck just behind my entrance for about two hours. I was so hopeful that they’d finally noticed something was wrong with me, that I was dying in pain.”

In fact, the doctors still didn’t know Tara was in distress, but her baby’s vital signs indicated he was. 

“The air changed in the room. All the laughing and joking stopped. One guy started pressing his whole body weight down on my uterus while I was in the middle of a really bad contraction. It hurt so bad, I actually thought it ripped.

He did that for a while, and then I heard them call for the forceps. I was so afraid, my chest was aching, and my cunny was on fire. I just wanted it to be over. I couldn’t see anything over my big belly, so it was a complete surprise when they jammed the first one up there. It felt like the metal was cutting into my pelvic walls. By the time they got the second one in, I was having a horrible contraction, and it felt like my entire stomach had ruptured.

One of the things I remember so clearly was that they cut the episiotomies, on the top and near the bottom, while I was at the peak of a contraction. I was suffering so much, I don’t know why that stuck out to me, but I remember thinking, ‘those bastards just cut me during a contraction.’

Citing pending legal action, Tara’s doctors won’t confirm how long it took to pull the baby out. Tara says it was at least fifteen minutes.

“They kept tugging and tugging and it really felt like my insides were breaking. My cunny was a mess, and they were pulling so hard I kept getting slammed back down on the metal table.”

Tara suffered a separated pelvis in the attempt to get the head out; it’s the moment she calls the “worst pain anyone could ever suffer.” 

“I couldn’t really even think after my pelvis separated. It was all pain, and I didn’t think it would ever end. I know it took a while to get the shoulders out, because the doctor kept putting his hand inside me, trying to dislodge them.” 

Tara says she lay there, splayed and bleeding from her ravaged genitals, for forty minutes while they worked on the baby. She says she was worried for her child in an abstract way, but was hurting so bad she couldn’t focus on anything other than her gaping sex. 

Tara says she passed out when a doctor pulled her leg back to stick his hand inside her, jarring her broken pelvis in the process. She woke with a pelvic fixator, 40 stitches in her genitals, and absolutely no pain medication.

[identityflawed]

i really appreciate that DEXTER has gotten a surge of appreciation and love since it’s been added back to netflix. i’ve been a fan of the show for six years now! i always get disappointed, however, by the demographic of men who choose to watch the show with the same sort of ignorant mindset that they consume all other media with. dexter is by no means a perfect show — sometimes the plot is a slog and the characters are dumb, and the show takes an unfortunate fall-off as the writers lose the core idea of dexter’s character — but it’s worth paying attention to because the characters are very human and real, other than dexter. that’s the point of it all: that he’s surrounded by individuals who are flawed and complex and complicated and angry in their own ways, as close to violence as he’s always been, dancing on the edges of their own knives. they make bad decisions in the name of their moral codes and beliefs, just as he does. his own connection to what makes people human is faded and invisible to him, but he is in fact, human. his act of killing is vengeful and is of his father’s orders, and the sins of the father are pervasive in the show, time and time again. you are ultimately what your parents make you until you choose to try and change. he was a traumatized child who was supposedly young enough to forget what happened to him in that shipping container, but harry still raised him to be a killer.

i feel a lot of vehemence towards fans who dislike deb because they think she’s a bop, or she sleeps around, or she’s over-emotional, or a pick me. she’s more tragic than dexter. forgotten by her own biological father because harry wanted a gun to point at criminals that the justice system let go, and saw that in dexter when she wanted him to see it in her, too. she wanted to be anything that her dad wanted and she never got to do that; and more than that, she loved her father more intensely than dexter did — and she loves everything more intensely — and hates that for all her love and affection and desperation, the adopted son who is so kind to her still got what she wanted more than anything. she’s tragic because everything she did was to make her dad proud of her, and he died before he could ever see it. harry was a horrible father to both of them, but she sought him out in every man she loved. and she kept losing them, too. her resentment for herself and her hatred of her life choices is so profound that we see her hurting herself frequently — tossing medication after injuries, drinking, working out obsessively, turning down people’s help just so she can wallow and hate herself — in any way that still lets her feel like she’s strong and not weak. and then she projects these ideas on dexter when she’s furious, because she’s always been jealous of him. she’s gone further than he has and with less years behind her, but she’s not religious enough to believe her father’s ghost is looking down at her with a smile. she doesn’t even get dexter’s privilege of hallucinating his pride, because how can you visualize something you’ve never even had?

the supporting cast of dexter is all complex and strange. masuka cracks perverted jokes all the time because he likes being funny and it lightens the gruesome mood, but then gets worried when he realizes maybe his humor undermines his intelligence or how much he cares for the people around him. joey’s a hardliner and a dirty cop who gets himself into trouble for his love of money and comfort, but it’s paired with his determination to protect and avenge the people he loves — and he loves very easily, and hates very easily. angel is a good cop and a good friend who can’t put parameters on his love because he’s antsy, and a free spirit in the worst of ways because being devoted to any one thing forever seems to scare him, because in the past he’s fumbled everything he tries, so he wants to leave an out for himself in everything he does. rita is a recovering abuse victim who offers more kindness to dexter than she should because there’s a part of her that’s afraid she’ll lose the only man her kids have felt safe around, and the only man who seems to respect her and defend her. she gives more than she thinks she’ll receive — placating gestures, forgiving him and waiting patiently for him to repair his mistakes — because some part of her is grateful for any small kindness the world can give her. laguerta is a woman who fought tooth and nail for the power she finally received in an environment that doesn’t treat people of her color or her sex well enough, and would do anything to keep it even if it means stepping on the toes of others, because she doesn’t want to lose it and spend her whole life regretting things. she hates regret, hates hesitation, hates anything that your average male cop does but has to hate it in a different way because aggression is not something well-appreciated in women for the time. she must be pretty and efficient and political; she is not afforded the privilege that everyone else has of being morally forward. doakes was a military man who suffered severe PTSD from his tours and went into the police force because it was the only place he felt like he was channeling himself right, with moral superiority that he had to give himself. like dexter, he would kill those he saw as irredeemably evil, and couldn’t stomach the thought of being around dexter because it’s like looking in the mirror but not knowing why the reflection is so clear. he couldn’t understand where dexter had been to put the look in his eyes that doakes always woke up to, and that made him antsy. his determination to find answers and clear-cut his entire existence into good and evil after a life of morally grey smudges caused his entire postmortem reputation to be a morally grey smudge. there are more: christine hill, frank lundy, arthur mitchell, paul bennett, even astor and cody, miguel prado, to an extent. you can’t love or hate any of them. dexter is a show that reexamines the complexity of humanity from the eyes of a man who doesn’t think he’s human at all.

i think the final two seasons of dexter were a waste. i think what they did for his final love interest and for his ending were destructive to that message. i don’t think he deserved a happy ending, but dexter is indeed a tragedy. i hope that Resurrection ends with him in an electric chair, mirroring the fear harry had for him in childhood, because there isn’t any real escape for a man like him. after the season four finale, his humanity swelled in season 5 and 6 and then died in seasons 7 and 8, and then twisted about in new blood, in some inverted idea of the five stages of grief. well-handled. dexter is his own destructive force because he feels so far removed from society — as most serial killers do — that he destroys the people around him who think he’s close enough to touch their own hearts and then tear them open. and that’s sad, because it’s all the sins of the father and an unstoppable cycle.

the writers don’t get any more self aware than they do in 4x7 “hungry man” when trinity’s daughter mentions aeschylus in passing — the father of tragedy. and indeed that’s what it closes out to. aeschylus’ plays mirror things displayed in dexter. so fascinating and wildly off-topic. but give it a look.