𝚆: cursing-verbal aggression, threats of violence (against other men), revenge porn (nudes) threats.
𝙽𝚊𝚗𝚒'𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎: who would u dislike having as your ex more? i could probably handle all of their dumbasses except tyun's. i would drown in my tears if someone talked to me like that.
your first heat would be arriving soon. beomgyu knew that.
the doctor had mentioned it casually, like it was just another step, something natural and expected. but that didn't really surprise beomgyu. he had noticed it long before that.
he noticed it in the way your body started to betray you in small, quiet ways. things you didn’t even seem to realize you were doing. he noticed it because he knew his puppy.
you had always been affectionate. soft, clingy, eager to please, always seeking his touch, his attention, his approval. but these days things were different. lately, your affection felt different. it lingered, trembled, came with something a little warmer underneath. something that maybe you didn’t really knew what it was, judging by the way you dealt with it.
you were trying to hide it, that much was obvious. avoiding him just enough to make it noticeable. going to bed earlier, pretending sleep would make it go away. pulling back from things you used to crave, like sitting on his lap, pressing yourself close just because you could.
your body wasn’t cooperating with you. your reactions had become slower, hazier, distracted by thoughts you couldn’t quite control. your breathing would shift at the smallest things. your gaze would flicker, unfocused, before snapping away like you’d been caught.
and then there was the worst of it. the way your mouth would water when he let you playfully bite him.
what used to be harmless, soft teeth against his skin, had turned into something else entirely. slower. heavier. your lips lingering a second too long, your tongue getting in the way, your grip tightening on his shirt without meaning to.
sometimes, you didn’t even notice the way your saliva would drip against his skin.
he did.
you’d pull away after, embarrassed, asking sorry for being messy. but your body would be burning, wanting to bite more, lick at his skin. wanting him to bite and lick back at you. wanting him to pet your fluffy ears and touch you in places you had never felt his gentle, warm hands before.
restless. needy. confused. and still trying so hard to act like nothing had changed.
beomgyu watched all of it. quietly and patiently. because you weren’t hiding anything from him, not really.
still, he hesitated.
the plan had always been to let you experience your first heat on your own. to let you grow into it naturally, to learn how to deal with your own body without depending on him for everything.
of course, he would take care of you if you needed it. he always would. what kind of owner would he be if he didn’t? but he didn’t want to interfere too much. didn’t want to blur that line before you even understood what you were feeling and craving.
and yet… watching you like this was starting to test that resolve.
beomgyu had just come out of the shower when he stepped into his bedroom, steam still clinging faintly to his skin.
you were sprawled across his bed, comfortably settled like you belonged there. hugging his pillow close to your chest, his phone loose in your hand as something played forgotten on the screen.
“oh, princess. hi” he greeted, voice warm, casual, as he flicked the lights on. “thought you were already sleeping” he barely thought about it, walking in like that —wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers, skin still flushed from the heat of the shower, damp strands of hair falling over his forehead.
“sorry for entering like this” he added, almost absentmindedly.
you froze completely. the sound from the phone kept playing for a second too long before the screen dimmed on its own, slipping into darkness as your attention dropped entirely. your eyes were now locked on him. your pupils dilating slowly, unmistakably, as they traced over him.
“it’s ok…” you answered, barely above a whisper.
you didn’t move, just tightened your grip on the pillow, pulling it closer against your body to ground yourself, already starting to feel restless.
beomgyu didn’t usually walk around like that in front of you. you had seen him shirtless a few times before, sure, but… it wasn’t like this. you didn’t remember your body heating up like this, your mouth watering like it was now.
“gyu… are you going to go out today?” you asked, suddenly, too quickly. the words slipping out like an attempt to sound normal.
he glanced at you briefly as he rummaged through his wardrobe, then back to what he was doing, unfazed.
“no. i’ll be staying home today.” a small pause. then, softer “sounds good?”
you nodded first, before realizing he couldn’t see it properly.
“mmhm” you hummed instead.
your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of the pillow, pressing it closer between your legs —your thighs shifting slightly to accommodate it better without you even noticing.
you tried to look away, you really did. but your eyes kept betraying you, drawn back to the broad line of his back like something magnetic.
the way the heat from the shower still lingered on his skin, leaving it faintly flushed, the dampness catching the bedroom light as it traced along the subtle definition of muscle. the slow shift of his shoulders as he moved…
it wasn’t your fault he looked so good, right?
your gaze followed down the length of his spine, to the slight dip at his lower back, to the way his muscles flexed just enough to make your breath hitch. you were starting to feel dizzy from it.
you lifted yourself slightly from the bed, sitting back on your heels, the pillow still pressed between your thighs. not really knowing what to do with yourself anymore.
“why you ask, sweet girl?” he said, closing the wardrobe door and turning back to you with his pajamas in hand before tossing them onto the bed, just a little in front of you, but you didn't take your attention off him.
your eyes didn’t know where to settle now. you had to consciously still your tail, keeping it from moving too much and giving your excitement away. or at least, you were trying to.
your gaze flickered first to his neck, still slightly flushed, a faint sheen of dampness clinging to his skin. a droplet of water traced slowly downward, disappearing beneath the line of his collarbone, and you followed it without thinking.
you had seen that part of him up close before. felt it too. the warmth of his neck when he leaned down to murmur something just for you, the way your breath would hitch when his voice brushed too close to your ear —how easily it made your stomach flutter without you ever quite understanding why.
his chest rose and fell slowly with each breath, not overly sculpted, but firm and defined. just enough to make your breath catch.
you knew that place too. knew what it felt like to be pressed there, held close without warning, his body warm and steady around you, how it always made you go quiet, made something soft and restless bloom in your chest.
his shoulders…
broad in a way that felt almost unfair up close.
you had felt those too. when he leaned over you earlier to play on the sofa, caging you in for a second —your hands pressing against them instinctively. solid and unmoving. like he could keep you there without even trying.
your eyes lingered there a second too long before trailing down his arms. noticing the faint bite marks your teeth had left scattered along his skin from earlier too, some a little more visible than others.
your stomach twisted at the sight. you remembered that too. the way he was just there, letting you take what you needed like it was nothing.
but your eyes still dropped to his stomach, drawn by instinct more than intention.
there was a hint of muscle beneath, a subtle tension that showed whenever he moved, whenever his body shifted just enough to make it visible.
you didn’t have a memory for that part.
not really.
just a feeling. a strange, heavy pull low in your stomach.
your grip on the pillow tightened. you didn’t even realize you were staring anymore. and, just as your eyes were about to drop even lower, beomgyu pulled you out of your thoughts:
“...have something you want to do together tonight, puppy?” he asked, his tone low. it slid under your skin in a way that made your breath hitch, your body reacting before your mind could even catch up.
he was looking straight at you.
a small, knowing smile tugged at his lips as he pulled his shirt on, not taking his eyes off you.
he had caught you.
caught the way your eyes were ogling him like you couldn’t help it. caught the way your body shifted, your hips moving shyly, almost involuntarily, against his pillow.
your throat went dry instantly, your movements stopping the moment you became aware of them. heat rushed up your neck, spreading across your cheeks as you froze under his gaze, looking down quickly, fidgeting with the pillowcase like you were trying to play it off.
nononono
gyu wasn’t supposed to see you like that
you should behave properly.
beomgyu watched you for a second longer.
then exhaled. slow.
his hand came up, dragging through his damp hair before he set his sweatpants aside, showing no intention of putting them on anymore.
“i know i said i wouldn’t do it…” he murmured, almost more to himself than to you.
he hadn’t meant to encourage that behavior. hadn’t meant to let it get this far.
but the way you were looking at him. the way your body was reacting, and how you weren’t even aware of it. it made his heart ache to help his poor puppy.
and maybe, just maybe, indulge in it a little too. after all, his girl was just so pretty, and he loved you so much.
“but i guess it’s okay just this once, hm?”
he sat on the edge of the bed, making himself comfortable, leaning back on one arm and spreading his legs slightly. he patted the space beside him on the mattress.
“come here, puppy” he said, his voice soft and careful, encouraging you to follow his command and come closer. “i know it’s my fault too. it was mean of me to walk in like that… to do that to you when i know my princess is a little more sensitive than usual.”
you swallowed, not dry this time. because the amount of saliva your mouth had produced in the last thirty seconds of beomgyu speaking to you in that gentle, careful tone, was almost alarming.
you hesitated for a moment, still a little afraid to face all of that. all of those feelings you barely even understood yet. but as your owner gently reassured you that it was okay, that he would help you, you felt a little less anxious.
and so, you got on your hands and knees, moving toward him across the bed, your arms trembling slightly against the softness of the mattress. your tail giving a small, uncertain twitch behind you.
he watched every movement from where he sat.
“how are you feeling, hm?” he asked quietly now that you were there, right beside him. you sat the same way as before, back on your heels.
he turned his body toward you, and your gaze, still lowered, brushed briefly against the faint outline beneath his black boxers before you startled and quickly looked up, straight into his eyes.
“...strange, gyu” you answered, soft and needy, leaning into his hand on your cheek as his thumb gently stroked your skin. “the new panties you gave me after i showered earlier… i got them wet again. i don’t know why…” you sighed, frustrated with yourself, embarrassed to admit it to him.
he always said you were so good. that you were never any trouble.
and here you were.
being trouble.
“aw, sweetheart, don’t worry” he said, his tone soothing, though still a little deeper than usual. “that’s normal for puppies like you, hm? there’s nothing wrong about it.”
your expression softened as he spoke, even if your gaze still dropped to your lap every now and then. your fingers fidgeting together, your fluffy ears giving a small, shy twitch on top of your head.
beomgyu noticed immediately. his hand coming up to gently brush over one of them, thumb smoothing over the soft fur in a slow, comforting motion.
you melted a little at the touch.
beomgyu smiled softly, fond.
“do you want to show me?”
heat rushed back to your face.
“d-do you want to see…?” you asked, lifting your head shyly.
his dark eyes sent a shiver down your spine, even if you didn’t quite understand why.
“i do, pretty” he replied, even quieter now, almost a whisper. “no need to be shy, hm? i’ll make everything feel better.”
“hm… okay then” you answered, almost hypnotized by him.
everything about him pulled you in, left your breathing uneven. the damp hair, his parted lips, his half-lidded eyes that never left you, the warmth of his body so close to yours.
you really hoped beomgyu would be able to fix your little problem, because if not, you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep that night.
and so, beomgyu guided you to the middle of the bed with him, where he leaned back against the headboard and encouraged you to settle against him, asking you to take off your sleep shorts and, soon after, to open your legs so he could take a careful look.
beomgyu took his time, slowly touching and pressing against your pussy through your panties, which only grew wetter and wetter under his touch. he was practically drooling against the curve of your neck where he rested his head, indulging in every sweet little reaction you gave him to even the smallest movements.
he could swear he had never been this hard in his life.
if you were already being this sweet for him with just his fingers lightly brushing your clit through your panties, he could barely wait to see how much you’d like having him stretch that tight, warm, inexperienced pussy on his cock. how you wouldn’t even know what to do with yourself with how good it would feel.
“do you like it, princess?” he whispered, warm against your ear.
his fingers alternated their pace —slow and teasing when you seemed to get a little too worked up, faster and firmer when your reactions slowed too much, just to hear you let out a small, startled whine and chuckle meanly at it.
“y-yes, gyu” you answered slowly, with some difficulty.
your eyes flickered between his fingers —and the way they played with you over your underwear— and his arms —one holding your left thigh open, the other crossing over your body to reach your cunt.
“so good…” you whimpered softly, needy.
“c-can you… do it under it?” you asked meekly, your gaze dropping now to his face just inches from yours. his hair slightly messy, his lazy eyes making your heart race even faster.
“hmmm…” he seemed to think for a few seconds, his eyes flicking back down to your clothed pussy briefly.
you were so wet that the fabric of your panties was practically clinging to you now.
poor puppy, it must’ve been getting a little uncomfortable for you.
“since you asked so nicely…” his fingers slid to the waistband of your panties, his gaze lifting to meet yours as he hooked one of fingers there, and —instead of pulling it down right away— snapped the material lightly against your hip.
a quiet, mean chuckle slipped from him when your breath hitched and you let out a small sound, somewhere between surprise and sting, pouting at him when you saw his pleased reaction.
“gyu…”
“sorry, love. was just playing with you” he murmured, soothing you now, finally sliding your panties down your thighs, warm and soft under his hands. he had to clear his throat to keep himself from drooling when he saw a wet string connecting your pussy lips to the fabric as he pulled it away.
you opened your legs for him again, trembling, but eager. eager for more of what he was giving you, eager to feel your owner’s fingers directly on you now.
“you’re a little too excited about this, i think…” beomgyu said, observant, pretending to keep control as he watched your anticipation, his hands now slowly caressing your thighs. “what am i going to do with you, hm? i think i just got myself into a big mess…”
your breathing started to grow uneven again, anticipating his touch that still hadn’t come, just teasing you.
“i only wanted to help you, sweet thing…”
his fingers started to move closer now, tracing along the curve of your thigh toward your center, brushing right over your lips.
you lifted your hips slightly, seeking his hand as you let out a soft whine.
“but with you acting like this… i think i’ll end up needing to rub this sweet little pussy every night before bed, hm?” he said with mock concern, sighing softly right before dragging his middle finger straight to your clit, pressing gently, but with intention.
your eyes nearly rolled back, your mouth falling open in silent shock. he watched your face with an expression like he was the one being edged.
“g-gyu, p-please, i-” you let out another soft, needy moan, saliva starting to gather in your mouth with the way he focused on your clit now, rubbing slow, circular motions. “it feels so good… do-don’t know what to do…”
“shhh, easy, puppy” he murmured against your neck, coaxing you gently. “if you promise to be good and not close your legs, i’ll give you my hand to lick and bite, hm? how does that sound?”
you nodded eagerly right away, almost frantic, your feet kicking lightly at the thought.
“pleasepleaseplease” you begged, voice high, somehow growing even wetter, if that was even possible.
“mmh…” he hummed in approval at your reaction, his cock impossibly hard, leaking inside the tight confinement of his boxers. “go ahead then, pretty.”
his touch slipped away from your thigh, leaving only the warmth and pressure behind on your skin. your hand found his, fingers curling around his wrist as you pulled it close, guided more by instinct than thought. your lips brushed against his skin, starting to lick and gently bite your owner’s fingers, holding onto him as your breathing grew uneven.
whatever small sounds you tried to swallow only slipped out softer, more frequent, the closer you got.
“good girl” he whispered against your ear, dizzy with his craving for you. his fingers speeding up over your sensitive nerves. you were absolutely dumb, dripping down the sheets. “you’re gonna get there for me, yeah?”
you only let out a long, needy moan in response, two of his fingers still inside your mouth as you drooled over his hand. you were far too gone to form any proper sentence.
“seems like it” he laughed softly, cruelty dripping like venom from his tone. “say it to me, then: i’m beomgyu’s good girl.”
you squirmed in place, feeling impossibly close at his words. but you still tried —just to please your owner, just to be good for him.
“i-i’m beomgyu’s… good… good g-girl…” you said slowly, stumbling over the words, his fingers still in your mouth.
“that’s it… good girl” he whispered, warm against your ear one last time, as the knot in your stomach finally snapped, his skilled fingers doing all the work. “sweet baby, so sweet for me always…”
that sharp, overwhelming feeling spread through you, pulling a broken sound from your throat as your back arched and your thighs trembled around his hand. your fingers curled uselessly against the sheets, while your other hand still held tightly to his wrist.
your body trembled through it, soft, uneven breaths spilling from your lips as the feeling slowly ebbed away, leaving you warm, sensitive, and heavy.
your grip on his hand loosened, lips parting as you let it fall from your mouth, a faint string of saliva still clinging before it broke.
“gyu…” you murmured, dazed, your head tipping forward, almost instinctively seeking him —your body still buzzing, still wanting.
he felt it immediately, in the way you leaned in. the way your thighs shifted again, slower this time, needy rather than frantic.
the way your eyes, still hazy, lifted to him with something new in them.
expectation.
beomgyu’s hand came up to your face, steadying you before you could get any closer.
“easy” he murmured, his voice low again, but different now.
firmer.
you stilled.
his thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, grounding you as your breathing struggled to settle.
“that’s enough for now.”
your brows knit together slightly, lips parting like you were about to protest.
a small, almost amused exhale left him as he tilted your chin up just enough to make you look at him properly.
“what?” he murmured. “you thought i’d give it all to you at once?”
your cheeks burned.
your thighs pressed together unconsciously, a soft, frustrated whine slipping out before you could stop it.
beomgyu’s gaze softened at that, but he didn’t give in. instead, his hand slid down to your thigh, squeezing lightly.
“you need to learn how to handle it first, puppy” he said, calm and patient, like he had decided this long before. “this is your first time feeling it like this, isn’t it?”
you hesitated. then nodded, small.
he hummed, satisfied.
“then we take it slow.” his fingers brushed absentmindedly against your skin, no longer teasing.
“be patient for me” he added softly, his thumb brushing your lower lip now, catching the way it trembled. “you’re my good girl, right?”
all these I got off the png site I use, I made myself, yandex, hypic, picsart, diffrent wikis, and pintrest. Do not credit me! If asked I’ll take these off and credit them reblogs always appreciated as usual. Also please check out this big master post I made with a ton of resources in multiple dropboxes 👍
mad psychiatrist 강태현 & fem r ･ (OTHER). dubcon, dddne, smut, bondage, injection drugging, psychological manipulation, classical conditioning, uses orgasms to manipulate her brain, dark themes, stockholm syndrome, mentions of mental illness, incorrect medical information and advice, use of toys f rec, super overstimulation f rec, counting orgasms, dacryphillia, sex dreams, major power imbalance, mentions of being ‘insane’, fake medical practices, kidnapping, panty thief, he’s turned on by scent, dark themes
ash: oh wow.. i like them insane thooo. this is definitely the darkest ive gone but it’s kinktober babes this is the time (＞＜) this is going up unedited so if you see a freakishly ugly sentence no u did not
You sit drumming your fingers on your knees in a rhythm that’s vaguely familiar but unnamable. The restlessness has to have somewhere to go that isn’t just itching beneath your skin. His home office is immaculate and imposing around you, with tall book shelves that boast old leather-bounds and the dark woodgrain desk in front of you. It’s sterile, though. Meticulous and probably not usually put to use like today.
It’s always like this. The crawling, the tightness in the very center of your chest that bullies your lungs into shallow breaths. It’s ironic that even as you sit in this office with the prospect of maybe finally getting to the very root of what all of it is, you’re still afflicted with your anxiety. It’s both something that was always there and something that just one day pulled up a chair and sat down inside of you. But he’ll know what to do with you. The thought sends another pang of it through you.
His nameplate reads Kang on the desk in cold silver. You’ve been tracing the letters’ engravings. Up and down. It uncoils whatever is so convoluted inside of you when you can get lost in it enough. It always comes back, though.
God, you shouldn’t be here. There isn’t anything so wrong with you that it constituted personal appointments. You aren’t crawling up the walls. But when he had suggested you come here with a grim slash to his mouth, you wavered and took the pen and wrote down your availability for him. And you don’t know exactly why beyond the knot in your tummy that you have wanted to reach in and unravel for too far, too long.
The door clicks shut behind you. His approach is a whisper of fabric and dress shoes on the floorboards and then he appears in front of you. The hair on his head hangs a colorless black and sharp in his even sharper eyes. A pair of wireframe glasses sit on a tall nose and they glint in the window’s light. Even though the professional cut of him is not changed, he’s out of uniform. He wears a white dress shirt instead. It doesn’t make him any less a presence.
Dipping his head, he gives you the distant smile of a medical professional and says, “You’re earlier than me. I didn’t mean to make you wait, excuse me for that. But it’s nice that you know how to keep your times in line, right?”
You straighten your posture out. That’s your fault; it felt wrong to be late when he was already making exceptions to get this appointment for you. It’s not something that happens too often, you’re sure. He’s not making money out of it. This is his personal time and his personal estate. Why he’s even doing it at all, you couldn’t imagine. Being on time seemed like the least you could do for the kindness. “Sorry, too early?” you say, wincing.
“No, not at all.” Taehyun sets a metal pen and a patient file down then takes a seat himself. He steers right away from that airy conversation that a doctor usually starts with and into the orders of business. “Get comfortable, I’ll take a look at your file and we can start to discuss what we did last time.” Clean and efficient as he was back in the clinic, only he doesn’t have any patients or other duties to attend to after this. Just you.
You wet your lips and try to breathe out the anxiety that comes. His sleeves are rolled up to mid-forearm as he flips open all the patient data and records that have landed you here, in his office. All of it. The first time a nurse practitioner had taken you out in the hallway to fulfill the private mental health and safety itinerary just for the pediatrician to later come in and discuss their concerns about your answers with your mom, no doubt. Then the years following that you spent lying every time they asked after that, because she had looked at you sideways on the way home. Because when she asked you, with no lack of jeering on her part, why you told them that you felt a level seven for nerves and a eight out of ten for recurring sad thoughts when you weren’t beaten or abused and never had to go without at home, you didn’t have an answer. It was like opening up and examining it all over again. Because what if you are that girl in the hallway of the doctor’s office begging for attention, now just become a girl that’s embellished the state of her mind so much so that she’s made a highly decorated psychiatrist take the time out of his day to treat her?
Eyes narrowed on the print, he finds whatever it was he was looking for in the section that tells about patient measurements. Weight and height and all that stuff, for dosages or whatever a doctor might need from it. He props his elbows on the desk and looks at you over his clasped fists. Those eyes are all-seeing. It sets you squirming in your seat. Just what does he see when he looks at you? What does a man that knows the mind from the inside out think of what you can’t even decipher yourself?
“Have you been feeling the anxiety recently? Do you feel like it’s gotten better or worse?” he starts with. The light coming in from the big, grand window behind him gilds his hair, but the black eats up any color there. Just black.
You think on that. It comes and goes for what seems like no reason at all, just like it always has. “Kinda,” you answer noncommittally.
“Kinda, which?”
Cringing, you settle your hands in your lap and say, “I’ve been feeling it.”
Taehyun nods, resting his chin on his laced fingers to better see you. “There we go. We won’t get anywhere if you aren’t honest with me, but we especially won’t if you hide things from yourself.” He lets that settle for a moment, which it does in a prickle over your skin, and then he continues. “So it’s been aggravated recently, then.”
That’s not exactly what you meant, but you swallow thickly and nod. This isn’t the doctor’s office and your mom isn’t here to be told what you say. He knows what to do. “I don’t know what causes it,” you say, voice coming out meek and embarrassing. It’s you sending out feelers, gauging exactly how much you can say. “Sometimes it’s really nothing. I could just be sitting there and then my chest… tightens up. And it makes it worse, because I can’t not think about it.”
The line of his mouth tightens and his eyes flash like he’s got a catch on the hook, but he nods a slow dip of his head like he’s digesting what you’ve said. Like that incisor brain of his hasn’t already picked your words apart and understood them more than you did when they came out of your mouth, for the part of them that was formed in the brain rather than the throat. He sees your mind for what it is: a machine that operates in systems and fundamental biology. It’s a relief. You’ve become so stuck in it that it has taken its own shape as this big, tangled, dark mass that shifts and bends uncomfortably behind your skull like it doesn’t know what to do with its arms or legs. Like a visitor that’s always there.
“It doesn’t have an exact source,” he says, elaborating on your thoughts for you. The slashing plane of his jawline is highlighted on one side where the light finds it. He’s quite young for a man so venerable in his profession, for the prestige of facility he works for and how the front desk lady had looked at you when you told her you had an appointment with Dr. Kang. Taking a long, measuring breath like he’s deliberating, he continues, “This is why I thought I’d bring you here. It’s hard to prescribe drugs for something that I can’t fully understand and just throw them at you when it’s not clear what, exactly, is the root of it. I’m not going to do that to you. Antidepressants aren’t something to be administered too loosely.”
Your stomach sinks a little bit, the old familiar dread of not being listened to settling in it. There was a hope when you came here that he’d write you out a prescription and it would be an end-all-be-all. It’d rip the problem right out. Does even he think you’re bolstering the problem? Does he think you’ve overdramatized it like everybody else has? He’s a psychiatrist, administering drugs is what he’s supposed to do. He was supposed to be the one who would fix it.
“Is the medication bad?’
“No,” he simply says. He regards you with cold, steel eyes like he’s finding a loose thread to pull, and you’re sure there are many. “There is a place for it. I’m not saying that. I just want to make sure I understand the full scope before anything. And I don’t.”
A silence hangs, too long and too empty for you. Your fingers start again. It’s some song that you must’ve heard on the way but didn’t really listen to.
“Your mind is fascinating.” The set of his face doesn’t communicate the notion, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man to fabricate words like that. “There are a lot of other professionals that might have just given you something to try out and sent you on your way, but I believe there’s still a lot to be seen about what’s going on. What’s behind it.”
An unease worms up your spine and it wiggles between the worries you had already walked in here gnawing over. “Something’s wrong with me?” you ask, but the real question lies in the tone that you do. Can you help?
“I need to understand what sets you off,” he elaborates. It’s a careful, intentional choice of words. “And to see how your psychology reacts to stimuli. It’s the only way I can accurately treat it. Which brings me to why I wanted to see you here.” Leaning forward, the space between you shortens. He fills it with the motion. It keeps your mind from running off with the nerves that your racing heart asks it to. “There’s an advantage to inpatient treatment. It means that I get to see your behaviors closer up, without the pressure of examination making you too conscious of them.”
“Inpatient?” you echo, the numbness to your lips not sudden but an inevitability of the anxiety that’s been mounting the moment you woke up this morning and fought the urge to ghost the appointment. Because you knew that you might hear something like this, something that meant you were wrong in some sort of way. “Is it that bad?”
A grim, dry thing twitches on his mouth, like that was exactly the question he was expecting from you. It’s tinder to your burgeoning insecurity. Everything you do, he expects, and what does that say about you? “It’s something to be looked into.” It’s a distinct sidestep around your words. Dread solidifies coldly in your stomach.
Those eyes pin you, the same way they had back in the clinic when he had suggested an out-of-office meeting. He’s looking at you and wondering what state you’re in, if the silence is the hand of your anxiety snatching away a resounding yes, which would be the answer that he knows would be best for you. He’s looking at you and he’s seeing a girl whose mind is sabotaging her wellbeing. It’s what made you sign that paper back then, but it’s what makes you wish you were back home instead right now.
“When?” you ask. “I should probably go and pack up some stuff before heading to the clinic.” It’s an escapee’s answer that alludes to the idea that you have every intention of going through with it, but getting home would be the end of it. Inpatient? That makes no sense. It’s not something that sounds right.
Once again, his clinical black eyes pierce through your skin and then he’s right to the muscle of the matter. Like he sees the sham for what it is. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, closing the patient file and standing to his full height. “I’ll provide everything you need here.”
†
Taehyun doesn’t come to you room much. It’s not like you expected him to come hang out with you or anything; that’s not why you’re here. You’re not a guest, he is not a man you know. You are a patient that he dips in to check on. That’s nothing you can’t realize.
The walls are ornate and simple both. They’re all you have to look at. Your dinner comes to you on a filigree silver tray—a cup of water and pure nutrition. That’s all it took for you to know that the bathroom was connected to your room for a reason, and you weren’t supposed to be out walking those halls. You don’t intend to, either. This place isn’t a home, even if he lives in it. It’s quiet at all hours. The only other thing alive in it is him, the rest of its residents come in the form of the perennial leather chesterfield seat that faces your bed and fancy-footed side tables.
Strangely, you find yourself dreading his sparse appearances. The whole place makes you sick, and he comes with it. You miss home and the luxury of fighting down anxiety in your own bed. It hasn’t gone away, you just are forced to handle it in a place that is foreign and stale and lonelier. Why don’t you just tell him that? It’s up to you to call this quits any time.
When he pokes in, the words get caught up in your throat. It never happens. The thought of saying it the next time he does punches you right in the chest. You can’t name for yourself why you think he’ll be angry at you if you did.
The windowsill is cold and damp as you halfway sit on the ledge. It’s not particularly warm in here—in fact, it’s always the same temperature—but the air of chill that it emanates says that it’s warmer than it is out there. You take your fingers up and down the white frames, through the condensation. How long you’ve been here, you couldn’t tell. The first day you had a pretty good idea of the time, but it’s started to bleed. A while; that is pretty much all you could say.
“Are you feeling anxious today?” Taehyun says from behind you. His voice startles you. Your shoulders go rigid before you whip your head around to find him leaned back against the door with his arms crossed. The muscles of his forearms are corded and pale.
Your tummy whirls. “I don’t know.” Rooted in place, you at the very least straighten out your lean from the window sill. Something feels new about this time, and you don’t quite like new. Especially not here, where it surrounds you on all fronts. The walls. The smell of the bed.
He observes you a moment, then the line of his lips tenses in a way that suggests that the answer had told him more than you could know. Sighing, he says, “I told you about being truthful with me.” There’s no malice in the way he says it, but there’s a bluntness that feels like the cold steel that medical equipment is made out of.
Aren’t you? That’s the truth. You don’t know what to make of anything right now, and that especially includes him. But it’s not what he sees, so what does it matter?
“If you don’t speak to me, I can’t know what the problem is.” He unfurls his arms from his chest. Black gloves have been tugged over his hands, medical grade it looks like. That’s new. That’s different. “And you’re making this difficult for me, but it’s really in the end hurting you.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, eyeing those gloves.
Quick to see how you’ve pulled back, he tracks another way. “Take a seat on the best,” he says, “I’ll be right back.”
That, coupled with this new energy, makes you want to do exactly anything but that. But the way he had looked at you a moment ago, with veiled disappointment, makes you do it. Like he looks at you and pities you.
The bedding is plush and made of fine fabrics, clearly never touched or used before yourself. The garish floral pattern belongs exactly in a place like this. He’s gone for only a minute before he returns back through the door and shuts it behind him with a resounding catch of the handle.
In his hands, he had a tray. It doesn’t hold a tasteless dinner of steak and potatoes, which you would pick at for an hour until you had finally gotten it all down. A syringe, a glass bottle holding a clear, thin liquid, and bandages sit in place of it. Stomach turning upside down and a cold front starting in your toes and making its way up through your spine, you flinch.
All you see is the blurring around the corners of your vision. No, not that. The last time you had been poked by a needle you slumped over on the nurse. Acid climbs up your chest and you shake your head. You can’t wonder about why you would need to be injected with anything when a week ago he had said he didn’t want to medicate you, but the thought is there for the briefest moment before it’s overshadowed by ice sludge in your veins.
“It looks scary,” Taehyun says, setting them down on the bed in front of you as he takes a seat. “But it’s going to be good for you. Focus on that.”
In a subtle way, your body bends away from him. You don’t crawl away or kick or scream. This is bone-deep, the presence of him and that needle point so close. Too close. Closing in on you with the intention to stick you, claustrophobia comes with him. All you need is that thing away from you.
The blood’s drained from your face and he sees it. Taking the vial, he sticks the end of the needle through the cap and focuses on the milligram lines as he draws the liquid up. “You’re afraid of needles,” he observes, keen mind still at work even with another task at hand. He doesn’t elaborate or comfort any further. Satisfied, he sets the vial aside too fast for you to read the label. It’s not like you’d recognize any scientific drug names. Is that needle pinch the scariest thing going into your body?
“Wait,” you say, constricted lungs making the word tight and breathless and urgent, panic swelling as he flicks out the bubbles. In a way, it’s humiliating. This panicking. It’s an obstacle for him, another thing he has to deal with because of you. That simple embarrassment of being a grown up that wails and fights the doctor on a needle like a kid.
No trace of irritation appears on his face, though. He’s calm, purposeful resolve. Clinical like the needle he takes up after a quick alcohol wipe, freezing like the fingers he uses to push up the puffy shoulder sleeve plain, shapeless cotton shift he’s provided for you—each fresh one appearing folded at the foot of your bed when you came out of a steaming shower, which meant to some degree he keeps more of an eye on you than you would like to address—and the same ones he wraps around the meat of your upper arm.
“Just a pinch,” he preludes. It’s distant with the focus of getting this over with, and that’s what brings all that building terror to a point. A dizzying one.
The pressure gives way to the cold bite into your muscle. It’s uncomfortable, body locking up, but it’s also anti-climactic like it always is. You work it up bigger in your head. His fingers almost hurt more, holding you still like iron. The injection comes with a press of his thumb and then it’s out of your arm just like that.
For the briefest moment, he tilts your chin up and checks your eyes, your state. You stare dumbly up at him, still buzzing. The meeting of your eyes is oddly weighted and weightless. A necessity and something else that is impossible to read on him. He plasters a bandaid to the aching injection site, peels his gloves off with composure, gathers up the things, and says, “Take it easy for a while. I’ll be back in to check on you, but you’ll need some rest.” With that said, he disappears back through the door. Done. Whatever that was for, he was in then out and gone again.
Although the worst of it was indubitably over, the tangible fear of needles and pain, something else remained. Something in your body that seeped into places that it shouldn’t, and you think you felt it make its way through you. You think. Something tugs you under too quickly to fully concern yourself with it.
There was no seeing him that night. Not that you are aware of. The next fragile pieces of consciousness come to you too many days later, where the only way you could tell that so much time had passed was that the walls had whispered it to you.
†
The next time the needle comes, you know to fear it. Doses are good for you. It’s making you better. The shaking has stopped. But you hate the fog and the distance of your brain, how you couldn’t realize how far away you had gotten from yourself until it eventually was time for another. You hate it so much.
With your cheeks pink and your lashes heavy, you look up at Taehyun, who presides over your bedside. He sighs and brushes hair back out of your face. It makes your head more floaty, the image of him more clear and obscure both. He comes and he goes and it always seems like he’d only just left before he’s stepping into your rooms again.
“Are you feeling better today?” he asks. It’s a ratifying question, one that inevitably leads to his eyes going harrowed like your state is personally weighing on him. Like pity, the more you lie to him and the worse you get. He’s trying his best and you’re still falling apart in his hands. But you’re not too far to save. You swear you’re not. The image of him blurs around the edges before you blink it back to sharpness. Soon enough, the tired will come like it always has to, and you’ll fight it all the way until it’s won.
He knows that it’s hard for you to speak in this state; with the drug working its way through your system. The process has gotten slower, but it’s mostly unchanged. He says that it’s good you’re not building a tolerance to it as he wears that blankness that makes it hard to understand anything he really says when it’s been getting harder to fully grasp words. So he takes mercy on you and says, “Your dosage might need to be adjusted. It’s working through you right now, I can see it. But you’ve been doing worse between injections.”
The pad of his thumb, cold, always cold, over the curve of your cheek makes you shudder. When he touches you, the softness of your skin feels dirty. You want to scrub him off you, sometimes. Especially when he touches you with those awful leather gloves. Something passes over his eyes. Something that you’ve come to know through cloudy pieces of memories to be frustration. It’s there when you flinch away from the needle, and it’s here now as he knows with a certainty that you’ve begun associating those bad memories with him. Himself, his touch, the cold, his scent, all that exists between fading consciousness is him and the absence of him.
“If it’s not getting better by your next treatment, we’ll have to find something that’ll help, or we’ll have to up it.” He takes his hand off you and straightens up as he administers the bad news. There’s some part of you, the part that’s slowly going, that imagines that’s intentional. Taehyun is nothing but intentional. There’s no part of your mind that you can go to escape him in, because he already knows the way around and exactly how to pull it right open.
But you feel like you’re getting better. You do. Mouth like cotton, you speak. It comes out hoarse with misuse. “No,” you say, “I’m better.”
Pity. That’s what grates you from behind his glass lenses. “When you lie to me like that, it tells me what I need to know.” The thread of softness, or what sounds like it when his words otherwise come out flat and dead, is a suture knot. The words are exactly what you don’t want to hear. They make your skin crawl. But you lean into it. As fleeting as it is, it’s a gentle soothing hand over the frayed nerves that you are.
Dipping your head, you wish away a rolling wave of nausea. Hair obscures your face. You don’t want him upset with you.
“Look at me.”
The warping of the walls does not ebb, and neither does the slow simmer so hot beneath your skin. It takes everything you have. So he lifts your chin, manicured hand soft but still rougher by all measures than the skin there. You’re barely looking at him, pupils blown wide and the edges of him blurry, but his jaw flickers. “I’m not angry. But hiding things from me, it’s not going to happen anymore. I’ll be forced to intensify your treatment. The worse you’ve gotten, the more you’ve been lying. Do you understand why I’m telling you this?”
Nodding is all you can do. The warping is worse. Crawling around the edges of your vision like colors that are only there if you don’t look for them. It’s so hot.
“Would you like me to read for you?” he asks.
You would. Going dark and watching the pale walls weep is scary alone. He’s never stayed with you for it before. With your nod, he scours the shelves for a moment and takes a seat in the hard leather of the chair. It’s dark out, which is a strange comfort because he always looks less sharp without the cut of light over his skin. The spin cracks open to a random page out of hundreds.
What should be pretty words come out flat. He begins, and it’s like a methodical lack of allegory more than poetry. But it’s words that keep you grounded in reality, and for that they’re warm. They keep away the pull for longer.
Slow blinking comes as much as you don’t want it to. You shift against your pillow and insist on looking at him, only him. Not the perversions of reality that exist beyond his silhouette. The stuff that appears and reminds you why you’re here and that he has to treat you. That you’re sick.
You hang on to it for as long as you can. His speaking becomes a kindness, and your teeth ache for those. You take the silver of his voice and you solidify it in the center of you where a blue and yellow bruise exists. It’s something real, at bare minimum, as reality becomes something you can’t trust.
†
His mouth, his hands, they’re all over you. They cut and bite marks that go from red to a week-old brown too fast. But when his eyes come to yours for what begging words you wanted to say but couldn’t actually make, there’s not the heat of lust.
The words come from something that isn’t actually sound. It’s an amalgamation of the man that ruts in between your thighs, of all the things he is. You choke and you moan, knuckles white all twisted in his dress shirt. It’s not as it usually is, starched and immaculately ironed to the seam. The buttons are down, showing the pale brawn of his chest in a state of dishevelment that was distinctly not him. “Open your eyes,” he husks in your ear.
Your eyes open when you were sure they already were open, and then you’re seeing him on top of you from an outsider’s perspective. Looking down on the two of your rutting bodies. It looks like he could love you, the way that he’s shuddering and keeping himself together at the seams by staying right in your face. That tall nose, glasses slipping, brushes yours.
Here, it’s not a melt like the way things are after an injection. When you focus on something, it sharpens into a clarity before returning to fuzzy obscurity and you are tugged back to the scene of lust on the bed. It’s so obscene it seems wrong to be looking, even if it’s your body that writhes beneath his. “Please don’t go,” you say. The sound doesn’t actually happen, but Taehyun hears it.
“That better be the truth,” he says, a distortion of words that are blindingly familiar. But the you beneath him on the bed chases the sex without end. Your skin burns. “You better not be lying to me.”
†
As always, it’s time for the shot.
“Don’t touch me,” you say, a violent growl that comes from an animal backed into a corner. Taehyun pauses, the sterile scent of alcohol that both seemed to cling to his skin and also came up from the wipe he’s prepping your arm with. That spot is not so sore as has become customary; it’s been longer from your last dose than you usually go.
When he came in and set up and prepped that needle, you had not freaked out. You watched him. The dissonance has him narrowing his eyes at you. It’s a sudden outburst. Especially when you haven’t panicked over the needle in a long time. You can see the scientific mechanics working behind his eyes.
He asks, “Are you feeling bad today?”
You hate that question. You have come to hate it with the power of something in you that’s too big to try and understand. It’s bigger than you, who has become so small. “No,” you say, lip trembling. “You touched me. We… I remember it. Get away from me.” You want to scrub it all off until your skin goes red. More than that—you want to scrub off the fact that it’s something you had conjured. Or it wasn’t, and it was real. Both possibilities bounce off the walls of your skull. Maybe scrubbing yourself would reveal which, too.
There’s a break in the clouds. A moment where the sun is able to come through the heavy overcast, and you realize how different your voice sounds. Strangled and raw and brittle, yes. But also insane. You sound cracked open, exactly like somebody who needs intense, invasive treatment.
For the first time since you have known him, Taehyun looks genuinely taken aback. His brows shoot up over his frames. And then it hardens into concrete like it always does when he’s decided to capitalize on the tattered edges of you. The silence goes sterile like everything around you is. “We what?” he says. “You remember what?” They’re diagnostic questions.
There it is. That look he gets when he thinks your mental state is corroded. Pity, rather. It makes you so angry that your eyes burn with tears like a self-fulfilled prophecy. Everything you say and do just proves him right. Second guessing yourself, you speak less sure of yourself than you began. “In bed, this one. You..” Unable to finish that thought, you swallow it down. Because it sounds as crazy to your ears as it really is. “I saw it, I swear I did. You believe me, right?” The fight in your shoulders deflates. “Please. I’m not lying.”
Another moment stretches its ugly self out between you. It reflects your own words back at you and forces you to hear them. You cringe from inside your skin. And then he says, “This is worrying behavior.”
“No,” you say, fingers curling into the duvet so hard it aches. You have to let go to cover the sound that comes from your chest. “I’m not crazy. I’m telling you the truth. I think it was a dream.”
Something’s running wild behind the black of his eyes. It’s so perfectly shrouded that you wouldn’t be able to see it if he weren’t the only tether to reality you’ve had for so long. In a void, though, even a mote of dust is significant. “You’re dreaming of things and confusing them with reality, or it’s something you genuinely believe happened. Either way, distortion of reality is a symptom of a larger issue.” Like signing off his signature on a prescription document, his lips purse with a finality you know you can’t escape. Because he is the one who knows what’s wrong with you, and he has been right about it all the whole time. “I appreciate you being honest with me. We’re going to find a way to mitigate this, alright? I’ll be back later, I have a run to make to my office at the clinic. Get some rest until then.”
The dose, the one you spooked away by acting even crazier, doesn’t come by the usual time of midday, and then not even when night rolls in. You find yourself wishing it had.
†
The rest of Taehyun’s grand home is nothing like the basement. The basement is cold, dank, and it smells of stale mildew walls. The concrete is so cold, and you haven’t gone numb to it no matter how long you’ve been here. All it has done is go bone-deep.
More than anything, your wrists hurt. They ache so badly that as much as you want to move because your spine hurts or your hips do from sitting, you don’t. Any movement is four minutes of shaking as you try and stay absolutely still. Eventually, it goes away.
You should have never said anything. Shivering at the realization you’ve turned over a hundred times since he put you down here, you just wish you hadn’t. All it did was upset him and land you here. It’s a stone-cold truth almost as biting as the floor beneath your bare thighs. And you’ve only had time to think. The fuzz of the injection was not as bad as this. Will he ever let you back up into the room? You’ll take the needle. You’ll take the needle a thousand times.
Some clarity has returned to you with space away from your treatment. The memory of what you had said is a tight, queasy knot in your stomach. You told him that you had a haze-induced sex dream about him. You only get weirder and more grotesque with time. It’s dirty, what your mind made up. The look in his eyes, burned into the back of your eyelids, when you had said it…
A sound breaks you out of a trance that you’ve been in so long that it’s jarring. Infinitely loud. It’s been just the sound of your breathing for how long? The last time you heard the sound of that door was the last time you saw him. Each step of his oxfords down the staircase that leads down into the basement, you hang onto. Straightening up against the concrete wall, your heart jumps to life.
Taehyun catalogues your state briefly. “Are those bothering you?” he says. The sound of his voice settles in a film over you. A soothing balm for how frazzled you must visibly be. He doesn’t have to elaborate for you to know what he means.
“Yes,” you say, wetting chapped lips. “I’m so thirsty.”
Crouching down in front of you, he produces a tin from his pocket. A shudder rips through you. The tin opens to a pasty salve that reeks of bitumen ointment. It’s an ugly ochre, but comes off clear as he rubs it into his fingers. “I thought so. I’m sorry,” he says, working on the ropes with his free hand. “I brought this for you. It should help some, and we’ll get you some water.”
The coarse scrap of the rope coming away seizes your muscles, a fresh new wave of rawness shooting up your arms. Hissing, your head hits the concrete behind you. Now that the dank basement air is on the skin, it’s like they’re new. And the muscles of your shoulderblades twist, finally able to revolt against the position that your wrists bound behind you forced them into.
He curses. Taking your hands, he turns your hands over to see the extent of the irritation. Smoothing the ointment over your tender, rope-burned wrists is searing, but it’s a necessary evil. Even as your tummy twists up and you bite sounds down, you lean into the palm he checks your temperature with.
Croaking, you make sure to tell him what you’ve been sitting here wishing you could. “I feel better,” you say. “I think I’m ready for my treatment again. I didn’t have any dreams.”
A moment lasts too long in the wake of that, where he looks up from your wrists that he tends to search your face with diagnostic weight. There’s something there that makes your stomach flutter. He liked that. You want to tell him more things that make him look at you like that.
“That’s good.” He blows cool air over the coating of the salve the way somebody might wash a dish off before they use it. A creeping, hair-raising tremble wracks you. “I worry about bringing you back to a situation that was inflaming the issue when this one seems to be good for you.”
No. Being here has let you breathe, as damp and rusted as it is. But you couldn’t last another minute here. The thought makes you want to cry and grovel. That was what landed you here, though. So you rearrange your words, still wobbly but much more palatable. Something that he will also like. “I don’t like being down here. I just wanted you to come down, I feel better now that you’re here.”
Something flips in him. It’s not in the fact that you’re doing better, but that tidbit of information that he had been looking for. Searching your gaze for a moment, it seems as though he’s debating.
Your heart gives a painful throb, because that’s infinitely better than anything you’ve ever gotten from him. It’s not cold medical steel, it’s not hollow pity. It’s something else. You want to hoard it and also whatever it is that you did to yourself just so you can keep it always like this. And maybe if you did, you’d get better too.
“Let me go get you something to drink. Your lips are chapped.” He rakes his fingers through your scalp, tidying the mess that your hair has become. Closer than he’s ever been, there’s no noises to bounce off the concrete other than the drag of air he takes in. His nostrils flare like he’s caught a scent and a muscle feathering in the line of his impeccable jaw tells you that he has. A twitch to the corner of his lip and the creak of him clenching his fingers and then expelling it with a flex of them is how he shakes it off. “I’m proud of you,” he says, a veneer for something else he means. “Look at what happens when you’re not on your treatment. You don’t want it to happen again, right?”
I’m proud of you, he said. What a tender ache that it leaves you. You nod your head, trying to hang on to his eyes as he heads back up those stairs, and you pray that you haven’t lied to him this time. Because he will know, he will always know. Before even you. Better than you.
†
When you know what it is to be in that basement, what the strain of ropes around your wrists feels like, and the starvation of where the mind goes in a place like that, you come to appreciate what you have in a room. Where that place was necessary and spotted with rust, this place is where you want to be. Wrapped up in your blankets is where you want to stay, even if it’s a long, shapeless blur of days spent in bed and bird watching out the window. If you’ve gotten good once, then you can stay like this. You have to.
After Taehyun comes and gives you your shot, he checks on your wrists. The tenderness is still irritating when it brushes the sheets, but through the bandages he wrapped you in, it’s better. You are better, and the more space between you and the basement the better too. With some delicate cleaning by cotton swab and fresh wraps every day, the burn goes away. All that’s left is the ache.
He’s not home today. Outside of treating you, he is still a man with a demanding career and other patients to see to. None like you, though. And that’s a strange comfort. You wash yourself up, float around your room like a wraith, daydream in bed about things you want to tell him to please him but are too scared to commit to. The antique luxury of the room didn’t appeal to you before, but you at some point have come to know the shape of every flower in the comforter, the corners where the dust builds heavier, and all the books on the shelves. Especially the one he had read to you once. You relive it through his voice every time you pick it up and crack it open, sprawled out on your tummy.
Sitting with your knees drawn to your chest, you’ve exhausted all of those things. Sometimes you wonder if it’s all just stircraziness. Like a zoo animal that paces the lengths of its cage so much that it no longer sees the fake, plastic habitat around them. You’ve done plenty of that: pacing. Today you had made your bones tired with it. Each time you crossed back to the opposite side of the room, you turned over the words he had told you those days ago when you were getting your most recent dose. That you’re free to explore outside of your room if it pleases you.
You know he means it; you’ve proven to him that you’re in a state that you can. No matter what, though, you can’t trust it. Some part of you insists that he’ll be mad. Especially when you’ve gotten to a place where you’ve pleased him, surprised him. The depth of his trust seems too shallow and delicate to test.
Then so many hours pass and still, he hasn’t come home. Or at least he hasn’t dipped in to check you. A deeply unsettling thing worms through your brain. He’s never been so late. Should you go see if he’s okay? Or at least wander while he’s not here? You play with the notion until it makes you too sick to be still.
Opening the door yourself is what you start with. It feels big. Leaving this place at your own volition didn’t ever come up as a possibility. You haven’t considered it in a long, long time. Wandering down the halls with the cold floorboards at your feet and your fingers feeling the panelling of the pale walls as you pass, you believe in your gut at every step that this is wrong. You itch to go back to your room. But the long halls are harrowingly unfamiliar for a place you think you’ve spent so long residing inside the walls of. Taehyun is a simple man. The lack of decor doesn’t surprise you. Staleness in the air mingles with the utter lack of anything much at all speaks to what a home that a man who dedicates his life to nothing further than his science would look like. Forgotten. Lacking any true signs of life.
When the light of your room stops being able to illuminate the way for you, a voice startles you. It’s the only other living thing in these walls. Spinning on your heel, Taehyun watches you. “You’re up,” he observes.
A shallow nod is all you answer him with. That wrongness you had shoved down comes back with a vengeance. You’re braced for another trip to the basement.
“Is there something you need?” He’s still in his work clothes, his shirt askew with pulling off a tie and sleeves half-rolled the way he likes them.
You simply say, “You were gone, I…” Wanted to see where you were, it should go. The words tangle up and you can’t push them through.
Taehyun’s eyes cut from your silhouette to your mouth to your eyes. There’s a suffocating beat of silence in which you know for a fact he’s realizing what you meant. That the absence of his regularly scheduled visits bugged you, and that’s why you went out looking. Satisfaction washes over his features, made stark in the dim grey light. “There was a callout and I had to cover my colleague’s appointments for the day. How is your head feeling? Still feeling dizzy like you told me?”
Why does that send a twinge of panic through you? The thought of him treating anybody else. He doesn’t read to them, though. He doesn’t bring them to his home. “Not too much,” you tell him, “it’s started to go away.” The last dose was rough. It hit you just like the first one, so hard you woke up with an aching body with a brain fog in the same fashion and all. He had told you it’s because you lost your tolerance to it.
That tidbit reminds him of something. Rolling his sleeves up tighter, he says, “Head back to your room. I have something to grab. We’re going to run a few tests that I’ve been needing to do on you.”
A few tests… The last time you heard that, he came in and checked your eyes with a flashlight. He’s always got tests to run, but the way he says it this time. It’s different. It’s different in a way that forces you to fiddle with your fingers to fight down creeping anxiety as you do go wandering back. You don’t feel that anymore, the anxiety. You shouldn’t. He’d be upset if he knew. So you stave the nervous habit for fear that he might be watching you go and seeing it.
You wait on your bed, perfectly crisscrossed in a way that keeps your sleep dress proper on your thighs. Should you go get washed up? Should you count the seconds on your fingers? How long will he take?
He comes in carrying a tray of things like he always does. These things, though, that sit on the tray, freeze you and your ricocheting thoughts right over. Ropes. All you see are ropes. The panic surmounts you.
“What did I do?” you say, hands beginning to shake. Was it leaving your room? But he told you that you could? You don’t want to go back. The pink bracelets around your wrist have just faded so that all that’s left is the proof that it happened. And it’s proof enough for you.
Sighing, Taehyun sets it on the white oat desk beside the bed. “You haven’t done anything.” There’s rope and a softer strip of cotton fabric and then another thing beside them, too. A sleek wand vibrator with a fat rubber head. Your heart jumps up into your throat and chokes you. “I told you that there are some tests I need to run. There are some things that can only be observed when the brain is in a certain state. I need to see how you react under different stimuli,” he says. “Especially you. Especially considering how far you’ve come. You trust me?”
You take a moment to think about that. Do you trust him? It was so bad, for a while there. You existed in a state of bits of hazy consciousness. But he pulled you out of it, even if it hurt. If anything spoke to how well he knew what it took, it was that. “I do,” you breathe, skin clammy.
So much so that you mute your instincts as he unspools the rope that you still remember the dig of. Even as the hair on your arms stands at attention at the innate wrongness in the way he slides your panties down your legs, thumbing the fabric before it disappears into his pocket, and then secures your thighs open with the rope. It constricts you, cutting dents into the doughy fat there and keeping your calves sealed airtight to the backs of your thighs, where a loop around your ankles assures it. You wince when he binds your wrists to the heavy wood of the headboard, but the cotton isn’t like rope. Trying your wrists against it and the impossibility of the rope tie. It doesn’t budge. It won’t. A chill, innate and built into your DNA, explodes out from your center. Whatever Taehyun decides he is about to do to you, there’ll be no running from it.
“These ropes won’t hurt you.” He tugs a knot tighter, impossibly so, until it almost is just too tight. The air on your center, which you are painfully aware is exposed and no amount of trying to shy from it can you do when your thighs are wrapped in binds, is the start of a slow burn. He hasn’t even taken a glance yet and it sets you off kilter. “They’re there so I can get what I need from this. Do you understand?”
That clinical, doctor’s voice rears something in you. Because how can he be so clinical when you are so mortified? When the brush of his bare fingers, without the gloves that he insisted on touching you with otherwise, is enough to send static electricity up through your nervous system?
“You know better than to not answer me,” he says. The vibrator is a lewd thing in his sterile hands. You know he’ll find the answers in this. He’ll peel apart your brain and get to the center of it. Guilt gnaws at you for the way your hands tremble. He’s always found the answer, and you’ve doubted him before.
“Yes, I understand.” Your head cannot keep up with that train of thought. It lags and derails, so now all you are aware of is how, with that out of the way, Taehyun kicks on the tool of choice today.
It is not a syringe. It is not the walls of a basement. It’s the weight of your own mind and a device for pleasure that you could never have imagined watching him take up in his hand. It’s incongruent with the image of the man you’ve come to understand that he is; so disconnected from something like the basal thing that is sex that it’s almost the part that makes the nature of it so heart-stopping. Because he is a man that understands, better than any other man you think could, exactly where your mind will go when he puts that thing to you. What the mind wants and needs as he does it, too.
The first contact comes with a strike of lightning straight through you. It burns your nerves right up. Your entire body bends away from it, wrists raging against their cotton prison which only does it up tighter, back bowing off the bed before arcing the opposite way as you dig your spine back into it. Anything to get away from it—the too much.
There was no working you up with slow touches. Not with him. He watches as you scrabble and reel against your body and he knows that it’s a hard start. But that’s exactly what he needs from you. The way the world warps and rolls out like film around you, you know what it is beyond the vicious buzzing right up against your clit. This is another dose. This is breaking your mind down to its most basic pieces, inserting his presence when you are most simple, and then stitching it back up in a brand new shape that isn’t yours. It’s his. This is a man of psychiatry.
Sobbing hoarsely, your thighs jerk though they don’t have much else to go than against the nip of the rope. Your toes wiggle and it’s not enough to exorcise the knot in your tummy and the excess of the buzz that seizes everywhere else in you.
“It’s too much,” you choke. A new angle of that rubber head against your anatomy breaks the sentence. Right up into the very underside of your clit, where the vibrator’s wrath is even more terrible. You never get to the other words you want to say.
Taehyun echoes you, fascination gleaming in the light of his glasses. “Too much? You always say your treatment is too much.” He goes for loose circles, and you didn’t know the attention of that thing could get any more prevalent. The sound you make proves otherwise. “I could stop. We could come back later. Is that what you want?” Like everything, the questions come out clinical. It’s not different from the way he asks about your anxiety levels for the day, how the soreness in your bicep has progressed, if you have anything you need to tell him. As if your body is not writhing and bucking at the greed of his touch. As if you can even think to answer them.
With the deep tightening in your belly, there’s nothing more that you want than to make it go away. If it’s going to be by stopping it or working it out, you know, by the wild beating of your heart against your ribcage, which it’ll be. Tears burn a delicate path down your temples, into the mess of hair there, as you sob for him a definitive, “No.”
So he gets to work. His fingers are ice cold, the scent of him clean but understatedly male, as he presses a palm to the soft bit of body beneath your navel. And he holds you to it.
The first orgasm shakes the foundations of your frame. You can’t clamp your thighs around his wrist or dig crescents into it, but you try to. The ropes tighten sharply against your attempts, your nails biting into your own wrists. Everything closes up in white heat except for the point of contact where he keeps that tool pressed between your thighs and the snap deep in your belly.
“There,” he says. The muscle in his forearm strains as he pins you down into the mattress harder and he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even want you to breathe. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
No part of you wants to do that. No part of you has the strength to. But it’s the vivid memory of those words that you remember once in a dream, born of your sorry delusions, that lends you the strength to do it. Your eyes, sealed tight to fight the frantic realization that he’s not stopping down, pop open.
Two of his buttons are undone. On the expanse of chest that it droops and exposes, there’s a freckle right over his sternum where it begins to give way to his chest. That’s something that didn’t exist in the state of your dream, something that interrupts his pale, unmarred skin. It makes him human, makes this all the more haze-inducing. “Good,” he says, noting how the cotton digs into your wrists the more you tug and fail at grabbing him. “I have a lot I want to see in you. Do you like it like this?” Taking the wand for a trip down your cunt, he lets it reverberate through you. Only for a moment, though. Then it’s back on your swollen clit. You want to escape from your body, just to breathe, just for a moment. But Taehyun has plans of unmaking you. “Your body gets very wet. It’s an interesting look into what’s going on up there, isn’t it? It’s funny. I know exactly what’s going through your mind, all those chemicals…” Hair a mess with digging your skull back into the pillows, he reaches out and fixes it for you. A touch like that should be tender, but not with him. He just wants to see right through to your brain better.
This second orgasm tears right through you. It starts in your belly again, but it is so much bigger. It takes control of you, in your chest and your brain and all the way down your thighs to the curl of your toes. How you shake and the sounds that you make, you don’t know. They don’t reach you. All you know is feel; how the whimpers feel coming out of your throat, how the shakes feel as the buzz just never stops and it’s clear that one is not enough. Two is not enough. He is going to keep going. “Oh my god,” you sob, head on a wavelength apart. “Oh, god.”
Taking his hand, he cools the radiating under the soft skin of your cheek. Now more than ever it’s apparent just how cold he is. It’s something that at last, finally, cuts through the overwhelming sensation of hurtling toward another immense peak. Him. And that’s what he wants—to be, in a sea of nothing, the only thing that you notice. The only thing you can latch on to. There was nothing Taehyun ever did that was not with intention down to the very core.
“I like those sounds.” Another peak comes, quicker than the others. The feelings compound with each until now it seems like you’re already on to the next before this one is even over, tummy tightening. “Three,” he announces, eyes roving over the wreckage of you all dark and like steel. A tally, for what? Is he keeping track of how many times he can make you go over? Seeing where the boundaries of your mind sit? You fear that the truth of the matter will disappoint him. Those edges are so much closer now than he might think. The notion that he even intends to go for more sends cold dread twisting up with the carnage in your system. Your eyes burn hot, your lungs even more. You cannot get enough air to help the starvation of oxygen. “Did you know that the sounds you make are a social performance? It’s your brain, telling me not to stop. That you like what he’s doing and you want more of it. To encourage him,” Taehyun says, the scientific fascination behind his devouring gaze the only thing he wears on his face. It’s stone, otherwise. “But I don’t think that’s what this is. Because overwhelming stimuli does almost exactly the same.” A corner of his sharp mouth twitches.
You answer him with the same sounds he picks apart and lays out on the examination table as a trait of basic human biology. The part of you that is just an animal with one simple need. You don’t care what they are; only that you can’t keep them in your chest no matter how hard you try. And maybe he’s right in that—the fact that no part of this is performance.
Taehyun bends down in front of your face, which is thrown to one side as you try to examine every feature of the wallpaper as if you could ignore the forever buzzing against your poor clit. He doesn’t even move it anymore, he gets it right where he wants it and it’s going to stay there now. A few times he has to readjust it because you’re so slick that it slips, but it stays. Even that momentary respite is heaven and pearly gates. His fingers squish the roaring pink of your cheeks as he turns your blown eyes on him. “Four. Do you even understand how much is going on inside of you right now?” he says. His hand, wrapped around it, must be as numb from the insistent purr of the vibe as much as your cunt is. One sensation blurs into another. Refractory periods don’t exist. Pleasure and ache is constant and dulled but still, against all odds, all-consuming. “All those feel-good hormones your brain is pumping through your system right now. It’s the hallmark of the female brain. A wonder of biology. Made to bring you closer to me, to form bonds to the man that you can’t even realize are forming. Even my scent. My voice.”
Holding your swimming gaze, his face is blurred by tears. But you can see there that Taehyun will never be a normal man. It’s the wicked fascination that burns in it. “Look at that. Six.” The first sound that’s ever gotten close to a laugh comes out like a scalpel’s edge. Pressing a finger to the space between your eyebrows, he says, “It’s all happening in a place that you can’t reach. In the background. Right here.” His gaze flickers to your mouth, documenting the place you’ve broken the poor, soft skin there. “It’s not yours anymore. It’s mine.”
You wish you could metabolize the reality of what it is that he said. But he didn’t want you to, and that’s not why he said it. It’s why he’s shaved your mind down to this nothing. And nothing is what you are. You can’t handle another orgasm. The skin beneath the ropes and cotton have become red, your slick has drooled down your body and begun staining the bed with such mortifying excess, and your sounds are hoarse and breaking. “Please,” you say, a sweet rasp. Isn’t there irony in the fact that the only word you can manage is a plea? For what? For him to stop or to never stop? To come closer because you do itch to be near him, just like he said. You want the scarce presence of him to keep you afloat in this brackish water. You love him. You love him so much and so big that it competes with the tenderness between your thighs and makes it trivial when his approval is so much better and sweeter.
“I don’t think so,” he says, thumbing your nipple through the thin cotton of your chemise. It’s already tightened to a peak when he does, a prickle deeper than skin beginning in your breast and then spreading over the hair on your arms. “There’s so much in there that I still need to see.”
Tests, he had called this. This is your examination table, this bed. The cracking of the headboard, the droning of the tool he uses a medical tool in its own right. You’ll let him see it all even if it breaks you apart.
Taehyun files away each peak, each twisting of your muscles. How you react to them differently, how different stimuli and pressures such as brush here and a dig of his fingers there changes it all. Some he announces and some he doesn’t. Seven. Nine. Eleven. Everytime you think you will not survive the next, you do and it’s blinding. Your slick coats your inner thighs from when he pressed the head there. Your neck is sore, your cunt numb.
The absence of that buzz as he finally pulls the wand from you and clicks it off is impossible loud. Your thoughts are slow and you’re too lazy to enjoy the freedom of your limbs as he works the knots out and unfasted your binds. Whatever is running through your bloodstream, it’s more than bliss. It’s a drug. One not too different from another you know so well in your bones. They’re no doubt meant to do the same thing. He disappears from your periphery, leaving you slow-blinking until he returns to clean up your body. The touches of the warm rag are tender in the shadow of the unshaking sterility he just eroded your body down with. They make your brain happy. You lean into his touch as he fixes the bunching of your dress and maybe it feels a little less cold now than how you remember it.
“You did very good,” he says. That look on his face eats like black holes. “I knew I was right to bring you here.”
Lazy-boned, you lay in bed and those words oscillate and become something so irresistible in your slowed head. It’s your favorite thing to hear, so you spin it a few more times around. That he not only chose you, but he’s glad he did. That the rest of the people he sees ultimately disappoint him when he compares them to you.
When you go to slip on your panties, which you remember should be at the foot end of your bed, you find them missing and remember where they had gone. Out that door along with him, stuffed into the pocket of his impeccably straight dress pants.
What he intends with them, you can only tuck back into bed and drift off imagining. The memory of the flare of his nostrils, such a subtle thing but so impossible to miss on a face that doesn’t budge, in the basement when he had gotten closer than he ever had to you, does wonders in helping you. It paints a picture of something so lewd that you fall asleep pressing your thighs together and delighting in the soreness there. Because he had left it there.
†
Taehyun made the mistake of letting up on the doses. You can see everything so much clearer. It’s been so long since the last that you have finally, for the first time in so long, come to a point where you’re not in the throes of the drug nor the hazy in-between.
The thought of what all this means is something you don’t want to touch. This is the kind of stuff that happens to movie protagonists, all the stuff that’s scary because to some degree it’s rooted in reality. How could it ever have become yours, though? Some nights, the farther you get away from the last injection, you do slip down the slope of convincing yourself that everything was genuine medical practice. That you did go crazy. Whatever name that the great psychiatrist called your disorder, whatever he could create, that’s what you were.
Your tummy goes sick as you shake in bed. He’s not home. The window is closing, and you’re sitting here wasting time. It’s right now or it’s never, because you don’t know if the pinch of the needle will eventually come back. He could come tomorrow and send you back to that place. If you’re never in this position again… Your jaw aches from the tightness of your swallow. It’s too scary to think about.
It’s that time where daylight is a dark, gross grey giving into night that you get up even if your chest and legs protest. They’re too weak on you and you think you won’t make it, but you have to. If he’s not back by now, he will be. That’s an inevitability that you can’t let happen. Much like that first night, the hallways are lonely and unfamiliar with their paleness and it seems like they just don’t stop. If you keep going despite your weak legs, you’ll find a way. You have to. Chest tightening up to a point where it’s nauseating, breaths too shallow to properly feed your brain, you move faster. If you get out of here before the thoughts peeling around the edges can grip you, you’ll make it.
But he had just started to be happy with you. He trusted you so much he didn’t even think you needed the drug anymore.
The walls open up into a wide entryway. Above it the ceiling is tall, an iron-frame chandelier dim but enough lighting to reflect off the wood of the floors. You go stumbling for it, blood rising higher to the surface and roaring louder in your ears the closer you get until you think you might just fall over. Until you believe, with startling verity, that he’ll step out of the shadows and catch you. The ghost of what his voice would sound like if he did is enough to make your muscles jump. Goosebumps rise over your thighs and arms and it all reaches a head as you close your fist around the french handle and you throw the door open.
Taehyun doesn’t catch you. Because he isn’t here, but the chill of the air outside is. It wraps itself around you and you remember, finally, what it feels like. Did you ever think you would feel it again? Did you even know you were missing it? Tears prick your eyes. You run like hell.
The concrete and rocks tear at your bare feet. You have nothing, no more on than the same monotonous sleep shift that you want off. Even that is his. But you have the thrum in your blood and your mind, and that’s all you need. It’s come back to you. The pavement is cold, and you run straight up the road. Catching your foot on the ground, you go down hard. Your bones bark, your knees hiss, but you don’t have time to feel it. That place needs to be as far behind you as you can get it.
Headlights light up the road from behind you. You must look insane, a girl running wildly nowhere with wind-tangled hair and no shoes. But they’re people, and you have nowhere to go. The thudding of your heart against your ribcage finally catches up to you. You had managed to outrun it until now.
They pull up beside you. A middle aged man braces his arm along the passenger side window that he’s rolled down and he leans out toward you. The worry lines on his forehead crease as he says, with no lack of astonishment, “Where are you running like that to? You’re in the middle of the road, do you realize that?”
Your mouth is dry. Blinking at him, you can’t hear him well over the pulse in your throat.
He must see your gaunt face and gone eyes better up close, because his brow twitches and he straightens up. “Do you need help?” he asks, sharing a bewildered look with the man in the driver’s seat. “Are you alright? You look like hell, girl.”
You do. You do need help. Seeing the flicker of bare, real emotion on another human face tightens your throat.
“Can you not talk?” His voice becomes sharper in the way that an older person’s does when they’re deeply uncomfortable, but you don’t have to hear it to see it dawning on his face. For a moment he disappears through the window of the old beater truck and they talk. He gestures with his hand through it. “Hell, climb on in. Where do we need to take you? The police station’s a long way in the other direction. You got a boyfriend’s house?”
A long way. You can handle that. Closing the door behind you, the scent of old car isn’t something soothing anymore like the fresh air was. It becomes suffocating and it surrounds you. “The police station, please.” Your voice comes out all shaky.
They share another look and one looks over his shoulder at you, dragging his eyes up and down the state of you. “What’s going on with you, then?” he asks, with no particular delicacy.
He sounds so much like an uncle of yours that you just fall apart. A sob shudders through your chest. “Please take me there. I need to go. I need to get there soon, please.” Your shaking lips shape the words into something that must sound insane to them. Digging your fingers into your dress, your shoulders shake. “If he comes, then…”
Silence chokes the cab. There’s something in the driver’s eyes when they catch you in the rearview mirror that sends acid up from your stomach. It’s all pity. The familiar look wraps around your head like bandages and labels you what you will fight and scream against being. Crazy. A girl who’s lost it and is scary to the people around her. The same one was in his eyes once, which sears behind your eyelids. Less warm and human, but the same.
“I mean it!” you sob, pressing your back into the car door. You hadn’t even buckled in. “I’m not lying. You have to believe me. Please!”
Horror replaces pity. “We believe you,” says the one that drives.
The simplicity of that is a punch to the gut. These aren’t the man you have to plead with. They aren’t the man with the sharp mind that would, without a doubt in your mind, find you eventually. Even if you get to that police station, if you sang like a bird about what happened to you in that quiet estate in the nicer part of town and what kind of person lived behind those walls, he would.
And what would happen when he does? Guilt becomes heavy like lead in your stomach. He’s going to hate you. He’s going to take you apart harder. The burn of ropes echoes in the faded but still real marks on your wrists. Look what you went and did when he had finally started to trust you. He never will again, you’d taken a sledgehammer to something so fragile. Breaths begin to come too fast. The walls of the truck, even the windows which you can see the trees passing through, close in on you. You imagine him coming home to find you gone. How much that would upset him when you did so good making him pleased with you.
“Take me back,” you say. It’s a throaty, soft thing amid your sniffles. A dichotomy from what a flailing, cornered animal you were when you climbed in here.
The air stills and the driver looks at you through the mirror. “What did you say?”
Repeating it for him, more terrified but sure of the guilt’s claws in your chest this time than last time, you say, “I want to go back. Can you just please take me back? Or drop me off here, please.”
Pulling over onto the grass shoulder, he gives you a suspicious look. “Are you sure? We’re heading to the station right now.”
Throwing open the door, you wish you could stop. If only your blood didn’t turn to ice when he said that, and if only he had heard you and decided for you, anyway, that you needed to be taken somewhere safe. At least then it could be anybody but your own fault that you ran. But the only thing you did for yourself was the stupid thing. All you did was make it worse for yourself.
If you run, maybe you can make it there before Taehyun does. If you run like hell back. And then you could keep this deep in your chest, let it calcify in your bones, and you’d know better than to do it again.
†
The metal sound of Taehyun tapping his forceps against the water dish jolts you. You’re so jumpy, waiting for the explosion. It doesn’t come. He just narrows his eyes on the heel of your foot and tugs a shard of gravel from it. You bite down sounds with your head hung because anything might bring it—that sharp anger, a twisted downturn of his mouth. But that’s not who Taehyun is.
Silence is his punishment, this time. A tool he uses no different than a needle or a rope or the pleasure of sex. It’s suffocating. You want to break out into sobs and tell him that you didn’t really mean it. To offer yourself up to any other form of punishment just to make him happy that you’re accepting your treatment the way he was once. To pick up the pieces you had shattered and shove them back together because you are so, so scared of what deformation you’ve caused. Will he never be happy with you again?
Your feet ache now that liquid adrenaline’s solidified. All your limbs ache, and your lungs burn like they’ve been chapped with air. He takes meticulous care of the scrapes on your knees. The burn of disinfectant on your weeping, scraped knee burns and you can’t help the hiss it brings this time. He wraps bandages around them after dabbing antiseptics, holding your ankle with a distinct lack of pain or tightness that it’s almost more frightening.
Watching him with wet cheeks, you know now. What he meant when he told you that your brain isn’t yours anymore. Because it’s his in every way that counts. It may sit up in your head, but he had done something terrible. He’d taken his scalpel and opened your very system up to him. A man who understood that you are, horrifyingly, just a set of biological responses and conditionings that, with enough reshaping, could be undone. That the brain was not a rigid structure, but something malleable. He knew exactly where to position you so that his very scent, his very presence, worked in the background. Past the conscious mind, into the organ where he thrives best perverting upon. Like a dog whose mouth can’t help but water when the dinner bell rings, you lean into him still.
You had gotten away. Down the road, so far that you couldn’t even look back and see the silhouette of this place standing behind you. It had made you sick to your stomach. And then you came back. The walk was longer than the run. The cold of his face branded into your skull, clearer with every step you made back, and it wouldn’t stop.
Taehyun wipes his bloodied tool off and sets them down on the side table, the same bone white as the one you know so well beside your bed. His gaze falls on your face for the first time since you came limping in here with tears in your eyes. Curving his fingers beneath your chin, he looks right into your eyes. How could fire burn so cold? That’s what he is. He is angry. And his anger turns into this. “Do not,” he says, slowly for you, “ever run from me again.”
You worry with a twist to your gut that he’ll go get the needle. That he’ll go take up those ropes again. But why would he need to? They already did their jobs; you came walking right back into him. There was no getting away. Not from your head.
ash: i mean the most i can say is me next lets go ,, this one took my soul but that just means ur reading the stuff that comes from it :3 also yes this is pretty much my theme, but what a better way to start out the event??
Oh my fuck. Oh my fuck? Oh my. BROOO BROO UGHHH BROOOO BROOO BROOO BROO UGHHH BROOO.
Dude.
Dude.
Dude are you?
Dude.
Broo 🩷
This was so damn yummy. I couldnt stop reading it. I WANT HIM SO BAD. I want that and I desire that. Im not kidding, the whole fantasy of him was so sexy I was like drippih- ahem drooling. I literally can NEVER, EVERRR get enough of your writings bro. I worship the keyboard you hypothetically write on. One day theres just gonna be screenshots of your Tumblr profile in the lourve. Get Da Vinci the fuck up outta here. Im dead FUCKING ass.
Ugh im on night 3 of my period and im so emotional rn. I love your writings so much dawg. You deserve the world. Im gonna kiss your beautiful brain. Im gonna read the soobin one you posted soon too tehehehe.
🤗🤗🤗😜😜😜😭😭🙏🙏🙏😱😱🤭🤭🩷🩷😈😈😈🫦🫦🫦🫦🍆🍆🍆
Damn im on my Dr. Kang shit, oops I made her nut like 6 7 times again.
Note: I needed to write something self-indulgent this month <3 I hope this finds you at a good time. I hope you enjoy. Remember to like + reblog (if you can!)
Being on your period with such a sweet, attentive boyfriend is always nice. beomgyu would go to the ends of the earth for his favorite girl during her worst days. There is just nothing he wouldn't do to bring a smile back to your face when you feel miserable.
This is nice, but it wasn't always like this. At the beginning of the relationship, beomgyu was just a tiny bit clueless.
(2 years back)
You and Beomgyu met just 3 weeks ago. He was already all over you like bees in their hives. He just couldn't get enough of you and your adorableness. This was all cute and fun until your period arrived.
It arrived one Saturday morning when you were supposed to meet Beomgyu at the cafe around the corner from your apartment. He had arrived there a little early and waited anxiously for you in a booth. Once half an hour had passed, with no sign of you, he started to panic a little. He didn't know whether you'd slept in or if you were standing him up. His mind wouldn't stop racing, so he did the right thing and called you.
You were lying in bed, groaning the morning away until you heard your phone ring. Again, you groan. "Who the hell is calling me?" you mumble to yourself as you check your phone. Fuck. Your date. Beomgyu's name flashed across the screen, and you immediately answered, feeling all kinds of awful.
"Y/n, hello? Are you okay?" He sounded concerned, which made your heart ache a little. You imagined his adorable little face scrunched up into a pout.
"Hi Beomgyu. I'm okay. I'm so sorry. I may or may not have forgotten our date, but I swear I have a good excuse." You spoke in a low voice, trying to mask the awful pain your cramps were causing you.
"Oh, don't worry. It's okay. I figured maybe something came up. Are you okay now?"
You waited a second, debating whether to tell him the truth or not. You decided to do it, realizing it would be a good way to test if he was boyfriend material or not. "I'm somewhat okay. I'm just...I got my period this morning."
He went quiet for a few seconds on the other line. "Oh...okay."
"Sorry if that was too much information. I just wanted to tell you the truth." You said in a voice that was a little less masked.
He could feel every ounce of pain that dripped from your honey-sweet voice. "Do you need help? Or should I pick something up for you? I still would like to see you if that's okay. May I visit you?" He was being so polite and gentle.
You felt your heart start to beat faster. "Of course you can come, beomgyu. I'll take you up on your offer to get a few things. Can you maybe get me some pads? If it's too awkward, then it's okay. Maybe just some chips and chocolate."
He felt proud that you felt okay asking him for something you needed. "It's not too awkward. I'd do anything you needed me to. I'll also get your chips and chocolate! Anything else?"
You hummed, "mm, maybe something with caffeine. please?"
He was just so happy, "Of course. All the things you want. I got it. I'll be over at yours in 15. Okay? See you then." He hung up and ran off to the closest store he could find. He picked up your snack requests first: Smiley face potato chips, a milk chocolate bar, a strawberry redbull, and an extra sweet piece of bread (a chocolate muffin from the store's bakery).
His dilemma was in finding pads. He had no clue what to get. He stood in front of the wall of different period products. He zeroed in on the pads and tried to decide which would be best, but as much as he tried, he just couldn't. He grabbed about 10 different boxes, knowing it was probably too much.
The cashier looked at him a little strangely, but he spoke up happily, "It probably looks weird, but this girl I really like asked for them. I didn't know what to get." The cashier gave him a genuine smile at the information, "I bet she'll be a happy girl. Most men don't put this much effort into these things." Beomgyu felt his cheeks heat up, "Thank you. I really want to win her over."
Once he finished checking out at the store, he scurried off to your apartment with the biggest grin ever painted on his face. He went up to your unit and knocked on the door.
As much as you wished to stay in bed, you got up slowly and walked to the door. Your body was covered in fluffy pj bottoms, a tank top, and then draped in a big, plush blanket. Your feet were clad in fluffy bunny slippers.
You open the door to see a cheery Beomgyu.
“Hi! I have all your things. It’s really nice to see you.” He leans in for a hug and you go in for it, hugging him with all the strength you could conjure up. You took in his scent, enjoying how good he smelled. This was a feature of his that you found incredibly attractive.
“Thank you for everything. You’re so nice to me. Come in.” You open the door more and let him into your living room. Once he was in and the door was locked, you drag him into your bedroom and make him sit on your bed with you.
He opens up the bags of things he got for you and you smile big. The smile starts to fade into confusion when you see the multiple boxes of pads in one of the bags. You were confused as to why there was more than one bag but this finally settled things.
“Beomie…10 boxes? Don’t tell me you were confused.” You give him a sweet smile and he looks back at you with a shy expression. His cheeks were turning pink and he looked down at his lap.
“I guess I won't tell you then. I stood in front of everything for a good 10 minutes. I probably looked so weird.”
You shake your head and lean over to embrace him in a big hug. You even press a gentle kiss to his cheek. His face felt even hotter after the fact.
“Thank you, Beomie. You’re such a nice guy.” You go through the rest of the bag and see every other thing you asked for, making you even more happy. This time, he pulls you in for a hug,
“I’m glad you like everything. I just want you to feel better. Are you feeling a lot of pain?” He asked, genuinely curious.
You nod and point to your belly, “I’m getting a lot of cramps right now but they don’t hurt so bad anymore.”
Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, “Why? Did you take medicine?”
You nod, “Yes, I did, but you also make me feel better.”
He gasps in shock. He had no idea you liked him that much in such a short time. It warmed his heart so much. “I make you feel better? Wow. I’m so happy I can help.”
You nod and pull him down onto the bed with you. The rest of the day was spent napping with one another and watching tv. You’ve never spent another period alone since then.
your favorite pastime is using your tutoring sessions with your tutor, kai, riding him until he struggles to keep focus on the topic at hand. and his favorite pastime is letting you do it.
( 𝓷 )。 faeyun finally writing a pwp drabble?! who would’ve thought! not me, that’s for sure.. but through the need and desire of nerdy kai anything is possible!!! ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و i hope you enjoy! ♡
“Sorry…” you mumbled a bit, a smile pulling at your glossy lips, “Can you explain it to me again? I still don’t quite understand.”
You looked to the side as Kai’s hand trailed hesitantly up your bare stomach. It’s still so cute that he’s still so cautious despite the two of you doing this for weeks now. You rolled your hips a bit as you adjusted yourself in his lap and moved to situate your feet better on the arms of the chair. Kai let out something between a whine and a moan, and you smiled down at him innocently. His other hand rested stiffly on his leg, but you could tell that his fingers itched to touch you being so near your dripping pussy.
The two of you had been at it for an hour now—you teasing him while asking him the same questions over and over again about the notes he wrote for you for one of your shared classes, and him stuttering over his words as you kept bouncing on his thick cock that was buried inside of you. His light hair was stuck to his forehead from the thin sheen of sweat that covered the both of you.
His thin-wired glasses fell down the bridge of his nose as he looked up at you with big, doe eyes. Your smile grew and you slowly moved up and down on him as he opened his mouth to start explaining what he already explained to you twice now. You got it the first time, but you just loved to watch him struggle and he was so hot when he spoke about his nerdy interests.
Kai inhaled sharply and the tips of his fingers left goosebumps along your skin. “W-Well, they only form in places in interstellar space called ‘stellar nurseries’, i-in molecular clouds.” He moaned in your ear when you started to move faster, his grip on you tightening. Kai’s head got murky as he tried to recall the information that should come to him easily. It was just about how a star was formed, it was plain and simple. But, you were making it so difficult for him to focus. “They collapse when the cloud is too m-massive and the gas pressure no longer supports it, causing it to go into gravitational collapse.”
You leaned your head back onto the side of his as you picked up your speed more. Your breathing became haggard and soft moans left your parted lips. Kai’s words fell short and instead his gaze was entirely focused on the reflection of you bouncing on his cock in the monitor in front of him. He could almost see every inch of you—the way you were taking him so well despite his size like it was nothing, even if he could see the way your eyes rolled back a little and your knees started to become wobbly. He watched the way your tits bounced and he stopped himself from grabbing one of them and molding the flesh underneath his hand.
“When it’s too massive?” you encouraged him, your voice breathy and flirtatious. You whimpered and your knees pressed together tight as you stopped your motion and left him buried inside of you. Your body shook like the scattered school papers and notebooks on his desk being blown by the fan he had on that seemed to only make him hotter. Smiling, you chuckled a little as you looked at him again.
The summer heat was rearing its ugly head and it was almost unbearable to be outside, even inside these days. Just Kai’s luck, his air conditioning had been broken all week. No amount of fresh air from his windows nor the multitude of fans he acquired in his apartment could make the heat go down. Yet, you still insisted on the two of you having your tutoring session anyway.
He still remembered when the two of you crossed the line from biology to anatomy. He still remembers the way you looked between his legs as you unbuttoned his jeans and fished out his big cock from the restraint of his boxers. The image of your expression was burned into his retinas, and every time he closed his eyes for even a second he saw it. That, and the way you looked with your mouth stretched over his girth, barely able to make it down farther than the tip of his cock.
Kai closed his eyes for a second and the memory of him looking in your mirror came to mind. Your miniskirt pushed up to reveal your lacey panties that stuck to you and the sound of you gagging around him as you tried to push yourself down onto him more. All of it filled his ears, and when he opened his eyes they were replaced with the slick sounds of your wet pussy and your skin slapping against his again.
Swearing under his breath, Kai tried to continue. He was supposed to be tutoring you right now, after all. He hadn’t even realized that his glasses began to fog up from the heat. “Sometimes the mass of the cloud will undergo something called the ‘Jeans mass,’ but it can undergo other events too.” He peered at his monitor again before you grabbed his chin and made him look at you. Kai’s eyes widened and his eyes briefly dropped to your glossy lips before looking up at you again. You giggled a little at him, the smile returning to your face as you watched the gears in his head turn. “S-Sometimes a molecular cloud may collide with another molecular cloud.”
You nodded at him and took his hands in yours. You placed his hands flat against your skin and dragged them up to your tits, keeping your hands on top of his. Kai’s cock jerked inside you and your smile grew. “And when that happens,” you started, “thousands of stars are formed, right? Embedded clusters, I think they’re called?”
Kai just dumbly nodded at your question, his tongue betraying him.
“But stars can form in other ways too, can’t they?” you asked. Kai blinked at you, too worried about your tits bouncing in his face and his hands on them to even begin to care about stars right now. Your body shook again and your eyes fluttered shut as you lost yourself to the pleasure. Before Kai could speak again, your eyes opened and you took one of his hands and brought it to your mouth. Without breaking eye contact with him, you stick his middle finger and ring finger inside your mouth and sucked on them for a moment. Slowly, you pulled them out of your mouth—shiny and coated in your saliva—and brought his hand down low to where the two of you connected. A trail of spit followed it before quickly getting pulled apart.
You pressed his spit-covered fingers onto your clit and rubbed them in slow circles on it for a second before Kai got the hint. You almost jerked off his lap, moaning, “Well?”
“T-Through a superno—” Kai immediately cut himself off, gasping. Your pussy clenched down on him so hard that he felt like he was going to slip right out of you. He raised his hips to meet your ass in fear, accidentally slamming his cock back inside of you and causing a loud moan to rise out of you. You tried to close your legs from the sudden overstimulation, but with Kai’s hand rubbing circles at your clit, you didn’t get far. Without thinking, Kai moved his other hand from your tit to hold firmly at your lower stomach to keep you against him. His head lolled back against his desk chair and his sight was blurred from the fog on his glasses that wouldn’t go away so he could see you clearly. “A supernova,” he moaned, not bothering to explain it more.
Kai kept rubbing circles at your clit absentmindedly, and your shared moans bounced against the walls of the room. Your whimpers vibrated against his chest and the more you tried to move from his hand, the more you fucked yourself on his cock. Kai remembered that he was supposed to be tutoring you again, not letting his head get foggy as well as he only thought about the way your pussy felt around him, so he decided to start asking you questions instead. “What’s something that could h-hinder a star formation?” he breathed out, searching his own mind for the answer.
Without noticing, Kai began fucking into you—chasing his own pleasure that you caused for him. You cried out, and he noticed the tears sliding down your cheeks. The sounds in the room grew louder and his hands nearly slipped right off of you from the heat radiating off of your bodies. You felt so good that he couldn’t resist, and his cock was so big that you couldn’t even begin to complain.
You tightened around him so hard that Kai couldn’t take it anymore. He could barely fuck into you as it was, and his poor cock was already throbbing. “What causes s-such turbulence? W-What—” Kai groaned at his cock slipping out of you. His fingers were covered in your spit and slick, and you dragged your pussy against the length of his cock to gain the friction back. He used it all to push his cock against you and slide himself back inside of you, slowly as your back arched off of him. His chest heaved as he tried to find his words again and his fingers moved back to your clit. Your arousal was dripping down into his lap and the room smelled heavily of sex. “What’s the name of it?” Kai finally managed to conclude.
The chance to answer never came. As soon as Kai started to fuck you again, that thin strand finally snapped and he was pumping his cum deep inside of you. Kai swore repeatedly under his breath. His eyes squeezed shut and his hands held your hips down onto his as tight as he could, but you still circled his cock anyway. “Oh my god,” he whined in your ear.
Kai didn't think he had ever cum this much in his entire life. Not even when he was in the darkness of his bedroom, deep shame and embarrassment covering him like a thick wool blanket as he jerked off to the image of you. Round after round until his stomach was covered in his own release and his cheeks were white-hot. It was nothing like actually being inside of you, hearing your pretty little moans and whimpers as you used him to get off in any way that you could. Kai wasn’t dumb—he knew that you were purposefully asking him to explain the same question over and over again so the session dragged on. What you didn’t know was that Kai wouldn’t end the session anyway unless you were satisfied.
His cum spilled out of you and he smeared it all along the glistening folds of your pussy. He got off to your breathy moans as he emptied himself more inside of you. He was still waiting for you to answer his question.
Your legs snapped tight around Kai’s hand and you shook so much that he was sure you were beginning to vibrate. You tried to suck in shallow breaths, but it did nothing as you came around his thick length. It completely stretched you open and even more cum dripped out of you and down to Kai’s thighs. Your body relaxed and you slumped against Kai’s body as your hips lazily moved against his fingers still rubbing at your clit.
Kai’s glasses were still fogged up, even more so now, and he hadn’t even realized that at some point they didn’t even sit on his nose bridge right. They were tilted off of his face, and his vision was half-fogged and half-blurred. He so desperately wished that he was able to see the way you looked right now through his monitor, but both of your clothes were spread across the room so he couldn’t wipe his glasses off without making them worse.
After a moment, you moved your legs from the arms of the chair and sat in his lap fully. You felt sticky and the fan Kai had on just blew around the heat more, even with the window open. You hoped that his apartment walls weren’t thin, but then again, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You turned to him and smiled at how completely fucked out he looked. Kai’s eyes were closed and his mouth hung open. If you left him long enough you were sure that he’d begin to drool. His hand was still at your lower stomach, which you were sure were to leave behind a heat-print of his hand from the hot air, and his other laid across your thigh limply, fingers shiny and dripping release.
You used the tips of your fingers to pull his head up and Kai opened his eyes just as you pressed your glossy lips to his. When you pulled away his lips shined and there was a ghost of a smile on them. “A supermassive black hole,” you answered.
Kai’s eyebrow raised, and you laughed. He brought his glistening fingers to his lips and his tongue darted out to lick them before he put them into his mouth completely. You smirked before turning from him and leaning up towards his desk. You began writing down what he said into your notebook, his cock and cum still deep inside of you.
Kai’s eyes dropped down to your pussy still around him, to your round ass in his face as you bent over right in front of him so he got a perfect view of the way your mixed cum dripped out of you and down his length. He was instantly hard again, and you looked over your shoulder, your glossy lip between your teeth, as you giggled.
“The answer to the question you asked me,” you responded. Kai had completely forgotten. You turned back to your notebook, but not before you started to bounce on his cock again almost painfully slow. Kai grabbed your hips and watched as he repeatedly disappeared inside of you again and again. Without turning again, you asked, “Can you explain black holes to me again?”
vaporwave
stormborns
romaincrisis
turnnoffyourmind
