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Expedition Andromeda Exodus Crew Commander's Logbook

Day 42 Commander Jarvis is dead. I was able to retrieve his pack before the Entity Epsilon dragged his corpse into the nether. As the First Officer I am to resume his command of the crew — what's left of us anyway. Privates Pierson and Yu also did not survive Level 8. May their souls rest in peace. According to the limited records recovered from prior expeditions, we should be nearing the Null Zone to Level 9. As far as the Axiom Company is concerned, Level 9 is the furthest any crew has reached before being fully exterminated. In my opinion, however, it remains a possibility that others from prior expeditions may have survived — perhaps moving on to higher levels, beyond the Company's reach. Whether they are out there, I suppose we will either find out or die trying. Day 46 We encountered another Entity Epsilon — that makes five. We have not once escaped from one of them as a full crew, and this time was no different. Privates Klipp and Jameson fought valiantly until the very end, but that thing is a monster. May their souls rest in peace. It's just me, Sanchez, and Finn left now. We should have reached a Null Zone by now, but no such luck. I have a bad feeling we've just been going in circles — but we have no choice but to press on. Day 47 Sixth Entity Epsilon encounter. We were so close. The Null Zone was right there, but it was faster. May Privates Sanchez and Finn rest in peace. I have retreated and am writing this in haste from our previous post, but I won't be safe here for much longer. I am going to make a run for the Null Zone. If I don't make it, then so be it.

You slip the tablet into your pack and raise your gun at the ready. Quietly slipping out of the abandoned makeshift tent you've been hiding under, you take a deep breath. Scanning the cavernous tunnels in your periphery, it looks clear — though, that doesn't mean much. You've unfortunately had enough run-ins with the Epsilons at this point to know that they can practically materialize out of thin air. Those fuckers are fast. You know your odds aren't great, but it's not like you have much to lose left anyway.

Heading in the direction of the Null Zone, you break into a sprint. Normally you'd take greater care to move in silence, but you've learned the hard way that all the stealth in the world is fruitless against the Epsilons. So you bolt at top speed, the echoes of your boots thunking against the limestone ground booming through the stale, damp air. If there's one nearby, you're done for.

Your senses start to sting, picking up on the empty resonance of the Null Zone ahead. You're almost there. Just 30 meters more. So close you can taste it. Then a horrific screech fills your ear.

You don't stop, you don't slow, you don't even dare to peek over your shoulder. You know once you do, you're dead meat. You run and run, muscles screaming in agony as you push yourself onward. 20 meters. 10 meters. Five. Four, three, two—

Against all instincts you hurl yourself at the cavern wall between two towering stalagmites. For a split millisecond you consider the possibility that you have misjudged the location of the Null Zone, and that you are about to slam face-first into solid rock. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace for impact.

But it doesn't come.

A sudden deafening silence hits you like a truck. You open your eyes you see yourself hurling face-first into slick, oily pavement. You brace yourself just in time — your palms slamming into the rough ground as you catch yourself. Quickly rolling over you leap back to your feet, reaching for your gun and raising it to position as you rapidly scan your surroundings, but the Epsilon is gone — as is the miserable cave system you'd been in for nearly two weeks. Instead, you find yourself standing in the middle of a street in a suburban neighborhood, dim and shadowy in the moonless nighttime, shrouded in a chilly lingering mist. The caves were an insufferable flavor of quiet, but you had gotten used to its reverberating echoes; here it is just as quiet, but instead of claustrophobic it feels uncomfortably vast. You're not sure which is worse — but you're here now, and there is no going back.

Your head swivels as you peer down the street in both directions. As expected, both ways appear endless — you're used to that by now. No immediate anomalies are detected, and since the Company's intel on Level 9 is practically nonexistent anyway it really doesn't matter which way you go at this point. You decide to go left.

You walk down the center of the silent street, observing the mundane cookie-cutter houses that pass. The only source of light here is the sparse low-wattage street lamps, their incandescent glow seeming to cast more shadows than anything, but still they all look more or less the same: color palettes ranging from gray to beige, windows darkened, manicured lawns sitting picture-perfect without a blade of grass out of place. Painfully bland. You note none of the houses have numbers, but of course they don't.

Eventually you spot a four-way intersection. Approaching the cross street, you pause at its stop sign — the first and only bit of color you've seen thus far. Logistically, it makes the most sense to continue straight; there are no street signs, so the more turns you make the more likely you are to get lost. But there's no logic to the Backrooms — just when you think you're starting to figure things out, everything can change in the blink of an eye. Try to strategize your way out of a situation, and you'll probably end up in a worse one. You decide to turn right.

The pure silence is deafening, causing your ears to ring just enough for it to be irksome. You don't know what Entities await you in Level 9 — anyone who does most likely did not live to tell the tale; and while this place feels somehow even more devoid of life than the cave systems of Level 8 your intuition tells you something awful is present here. Yet you walk for miles and come across nothing but endless empty houses. You wonder what would happen if you tried to go inside one; the thought is appealing — as is the potential of finding an actual bed to sleep in for the first time in months. But the illusion of shelter might cause you to let your guard down, and you're not yet sure if that's a risk you're willing to take.

You stroll for another 15 minutes, passing a few more intersections but continuing on your path ahead. The protocol for a new level is always to scope out the environment first, provided you deem it safe enough to do so. You've always found that a bit laughable — only Level 0 is free of Entities, after all. After that, any sense of safety is merely an illusion. It's a matter of when, not if, something finds you. But by Backrooms standards, you currently feel about as safe as it gets.

Your feet start to drag as you walk on. You have been going practically non-stop for the brutal two weeks spent in the Level 8 caves — a little rest would do you wonders right now. You begin to study each house as you walk past, trying to get a sense of any danger that may be lurking behind their doors. Much of surviving the Backrooms boils down to natural survival instincts; yours are pretty damn good (it's why you were recruited, after all), but you're exhausted. Even the best soldiers start to lose their grip on reality in this state.

You pass on a few dozen houses. None of them have felt dangerous, but uncertainty is making you hesitant, so you reluctantly press on. You're nearly past the umpteenth beige house when something makes you stop. Turning to your left, the house standing before you looks as unremarkable as the rest. But something about it feels different. Whether that's a good thing or not, you are unsure — but there's only one way to find out.

You step onto the sidewalk, slowly approaching the front door. Even up close, you can't make out any single thing through the boxy windows; it's as if they are solidly opaque rather than just dark. Reaching for the handle, you turn it slowly. You were half expecting it to be locked, but it turns, granting you entry. You push it open just a crack, raising your weapon as you peer into the dark house; it looks like an ordinary modern home interior — no immediate signs of Entities or other danger. Slowly you let yourself in, shutting the front door behind you. You tug a small flashlight from your utility belt — an item infrequently used in the Backrooms, as many Entities are attracted to light. Clicking it on, you scan the room, finding nothing but furnishings as dull and uninteresting as the house's exterior. A set of stairs stands before you, but you proceed past it down the first floor's main hall. You open the doors you pass along the way, only finding a half bath and a few empty closets. Stepping into the kitchen, you find it as ordinary as the rest of the house. You're about to head upstairs when a slightly ajar cabinet catches your eye.

Walking over to the counter, you hesitantly reach for the cabinet door. You open it, eyes widening as your flashlight beam falls on the stock of cans and provisions packs behind the door — food.

Your mind starts to race. Without a doubt, humans were once here. But where are they now? If they had moved on to higher Levels, it's unlikely they would have left food behind. Did they die? Are they still here? If so, where are they?

click

The metallic sound behind your ear sends an immediate chill down your spine. You freeze, body going rigid in fear.

"Put the gun down and turn around. Slowly."

The gruff male voice comes from right behind you. You do as it says, cautiously setting your weapon on the counter and raising your hands in the air. Turning slowly you come face to face with the black muzzle of a pistol, held by a tall, scowling man.

"Who are you?" he barks. "You Company?"

He glares at you through narrowed eyes. Between his spiked hair, tattered headband, eyebrow piercing, and the large scar across his cheek, he would look scary even if he weren't holding a gun to your head.

"I'm Commander l/n of the Exodus Crew, Expedition Andromeda. Our mission is to—"

"Yeah, whatever, I know the spiel," the man scoffs. He cocks his head at you. "Where's the rest of your crew?"

"Dead," you answer him with a glare.

"You kill 'em?" he questions, pressing his pistol threateningly into your forehead.

"What?" you balk. "Of course not, why would you even think that?"

"What do you know of Expedition Crusader?" the man continues, disregarding your question.

"Crusader?" you repeat, your brow shifting in confusion. "There's no such expedition from the Axiom Company with that name."

He lets out an incredulous huff.

"Okay, so you know nothing. Got it."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you inquire. You glance up at the barrel of the man's pistol. "And can you get this fucking gun out of my face?"

He stares at you for a moment, considering. You are a potential threat, but you also could be of use to him. Eventually he lowers the gun, letting it rest at his hip; you note that he doesn't take his finger off the trigger.

"It means you're just another pawn in the game."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" you stare at him, growing annoyed already. "Who even are you?"

The man looks at you, unanswering, the gears in his head clearly still turning.

"Call me Hoshi," he finally tells you. He gestures to your gun on the counter. "Get your weapon. But try anything funny and I will kill you."

"I won't," you respond as you grab your gun and put it back into its holster. "I'm just glad to see another human," you admit.

The man huffs again. "Right."

"What's your fucking problem?" you question, following him as he walks off toward a door at the other end of the kitchen. As he opens it you see it appears to lead down to the basement. He descends the staircase without responding; you roll your eyes, trudging after him.

"Shut the door behind you," he barks from somewhere in the darkness. You oblige, extinguishing the already inadequate light source. You're about to complain when you hear the strike of a match — Hoshi ignites a single lantern in the middle of the room, casting a faint flow over the basement's contents. You see a neatly piled stash of rations in one corner, an assortment of rifles and weapons in another, and a twin sized mattress with a single blanket pushed up against the wall — clearly this is where he has hunkered down. Hoshi sits down at the single table, where various maps and tablets are scattered, as if he had been studying them.

"Tell me everything you know about the Company and its missions," he says as you sit in the chair opposite from him.

"That's classified—"

He crosses his arms as he shakes his head, cutting you off. "I already know it all. I just want to see how much you know."

"So you're Company then, too."

"Formerly," he grumbles.

"What does that mea—"

"We'll get there. Just start from the beginning."

"The beginning?" you raise your brow at him. "You want a fucking history lesson?"

"Skip the details," he waves his hand dismissively. "Just give me a summary."

You stare at him, mouth slightly ajar. You don't like the idea of just sitting around wasting time, but you are fucking exhausted.

"Fine," you sigh. "In the year 2135 a group of scientists conducting research on particle physics accidentally discovered a gateway to an alternate dimension that became known as the Backrooms. One of the scientists, Zhang, volunteered to be the first person to enter. He went in, and the team waited patiently for him to report back — nobody knew whether time progressed at the same velocity in the Backrooms, after all, so there could be some sort of delay. They gave it a few days, then a few weeks, then several months. But he was never heard from again. The team then decided to set up a base camp in the Backrooms, to conduct further research and transmit data back to Standard Earth. It was a groundbreaking endeavor, and every day it seemed there was a new discovery that made physicists question everything they knew about the fabric of reality. The research was thriving, but there was a major problem: the initial team who went in could not find a way out. Transmissions from the team became less and less frequent; and eventually, radio silence. Optimism began to dwindle, and funding started to run out. The project was in danger of being shut down entirely — but a coalition of wealthy donors founded the Axiom Company to continue the research. They launched Expedition Pioneer, and sent the first official crew in on a recovery mission. They found the base camp, but it seemed abandoned — and the scientists were nowhere to be seen. The recovery operation turned into reconnaissance, and soon the first Null Zone was discovered. That's when they realized there was more than one level to the Backrooms — but just like nobody could return to Standard Earth from Level 0, those who proceeded to Level 1 could not return to the previous Level. This encouraged Axiom to turn the Backrooms into a full-fledged enterprise. More and more expeditions embarked, and more and more Levels were discovered; the physicists began to theorize that the Backrooms actually contained an infinite number of Levels — a never-ending labyrinth of dimensions within dimensions. But of course, there were also the Entities. Entity Alphas were the first, lurking in the shadows of Level 1's parking garage enviro. They were awful enough as is — large, gangly, and fleshy, strong enough to rip humans apart in a single go. But it only got worse when the Pioneer crews discovered they also had the ability to mimic — disguising themselves as fellow crew members, luring you in with a false sense of security and then shredding you into pieces."

You pause as the gruesome imagery flashes through your mind. Gritting your teeth, you reach for your canteen and take a swig of lukewarm water. You've had no one to talk to since the last of your crew were exterminated (except for yourself, but you try to keep that to a minimum — for your safety as well as your sanity), and your throat is already growing hoarse.

"Anyway," you continue, recapping your canteen and clipping it back onto its place on your utility belt. "I'm sure you're all too familiar with the known Entities." Hoshi doesn't respond, continuing to stare at you coldly from across the table. A grimace seems permanently etched onto his face, but you can't get a read on his motives. Frustrating.

"Despite all the setbacks, incredible progress was made. The Company developed a massive database, recording everything known about the Backrooms and each of its Levels. The first few Levels are the most well-known, but documentation exists through Level 8. No reports from further Levels have ever been received, and nothing is known of Level 9. There has even been speculation that Level 9's enviro is inhospitable to humans, that no one who has entered it has survived — but we are currently in Level 9, so clearly that's not true."

You stop, wondering if Hoshi is satisfied with your rundown of the shit he certainly already knows. His lips remain pursed, saying nothing but continuing to glare at you.

"Do you have a fucking problem with me?" you spit suddenly.

"That depends," he responds, unfazed by your hostile tone.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It's complicated."

"It's a yes or no question," you scowl.

"You are naive. Things are not as straightforward as you think they are."

"Go ahead then," you huff, growing exasperated. "Explain to me how things really are, since apparently I'm fucking stupid."

"You're not stupid," he states matter-of-factly. "You wouldn't have made it this far if you were."

"Then why are you speaking to me like I am??"

"The truth can be hard to grapple with."

"I've seen Entity Alphas rip a human to shreds in seconds," you glare. "I've seen a Gamma boil my crewmate's skin off with their projectile acid venom. I've watched helplessly as Epsilons picked my crew off one by one, taking them alive and dragging them off to to god knows what kinds of horrors lay waiting in the nether. I assure you, whatever it is, I can handle it."

"That's not what I mean."

You swiftly draw your gun and aim it at Hoshi's forehead, switching the safety off.

"I don't appreciate you wasting my fucking time with your cryptic bullshit," you sneer. "Tell me whatever it is that's so important, or die. Your choice."

Hoshi laughs. An infuriatingly haughty chuckle, aggravated even further by the smug smirk spreading across his face. Your scowl deepens, but he just reclines in his chair, raising his hands and resting them behind his head, nonchalant and arrogant.

"Go ahead darling, shoot me," he shrugs. "I've wanted to blow my fucking brains out every single day for a very long time now. You'd only be doing me a favor. But just know that without me, you'll be dead within days."

Your jaw clenches. Unfortunately, you know he's probably right. You don't know how long Hoshi has been in Level 9, but if he's survived this long he certainly has knowledge that would be useful to you.

"Fine."

You switch the safety back on and lower your weapon.

"But call me darling again and I'm gonna start breaking fingers."

If your threat had any effect on him, his callous face shows no sign of it. Rising to his feet, he begins to quickly move to gather the documents on the table.

"For now I will give you a very basic rundown," he tells you, rolling the papers up and shoving them into a small metal canister retrieved from his pack. "But we can't risk staying here any longer. I'll tell you on the way to our next location. Grab any weapons you want," he instructs, pointing to the stockpile in the corner. "Good chance you'll need 'em."

You have dozens of burning questions, but you hold your tongue. You don't think Hoshi would answer any of them right now anyway.

"Anything I can do?" you inquire after arming yourself with an additional automatic rifle and several hand grenades.

"Collect the provisions from the kitchen," he orders as he folds up the safety blanket into his pack. "I'll be up in a minute."

You turn to head back up the stairs, but you are halted by Hoshi's hand grabbing your wrist. Turning to face him, his piercing eyes bore into yours.

"If anything looks out of place, run."

"What do you m—"

"I mean exactly that. Use your instincts. Your life depends on it now more than ever."

As much as you want to trust Hoshi, you don't. Something about him scares you. You're not sure what — but according to him, there's no time to stand around and think right now. It's either trust him, or fend for yourself. Neither is very appealing, but for the time being, you decide to do as he says.

"Understood," you reply bluntly. He releases your arm, and you proceed up the stairs.

As you saw before, there's not much in the cabinet. It takes you approximately thirty seconds to stow the provisions in your pack. You hear Hoshi's footsteps echoing as he climbs up the stairs; turning, you see him emerge from the dark basement, hauling his belongings and also wielding an automatic rifle. You're about to ask where it is exactly that you two are going, when you notice the houseplant in the hallway. It's a large fern, tall and leafy, and it definitely wasn't there before.

Hoshi's eyes dart to where yours are fixed, immediately registering the anomaly. He turns to tell you to run, but you have already bolted out the back door. He runs after you, following you as you kick down the fence gate with a single blow and bolt into the street.

"LEFT!" he shouts at your back. You turn left, sprinting down the center of the road off into the permanent suburban night. He's fast, advantaged by his height, but you're faster. He lengthens his strides, pushing onward, finally catching up to you at the next intersection.

"Stop!!" he orders, and you do. Back to back, you survey the streets around you. You're not entirely sure what it is you're looking for, but as far as you can see in every direction you find nothing. Intuition tells you you are safe — for now, at least.

"We're clear," Hoshi states. He lowers his gun a bit, but still grips it firmly. "For now."

He turns to face you, his sharp eyes locking onto you.

"You're very good at following orders," he says to you, but by the bitterness in his tone you can tell that it's not a compliment. He walks off, continuing straight down the same street.

You follow him for several blocks, walking a couple meters behind him without conversation, but you quickly begin to grow annoyed.

"What was that?"

"An Entity Zeta," he responds curtly, not bothering to turn around. You wait for him to elaborate, but of course he doesn't.

"And what exactly are the Zetas?" you inquire, speeding your pace to catch up to him. "What's their M.O.?"

His jaw clenches. "They're a hive mind," he answers bitterly. "A massive, interconnected colony of festering, insect-like creatures. Their M.O. is to stalk and ambush. They don't attack right away. They watch you, disguising themselves as familiar objects — waiting until you least expect it, striking when you're at your most vulnerable. If you feel safe for even a moment, you're not."

"And that houseplant was one of them."

"Yes."

"What would have happened?" you press. "If we hadn't ran away?"

"It would've erupted into a swarm of vermin and cleaned all the flesh off our bones within a minute tops."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he huffs. "'Oh' is right."

"Is there any way to fight back?"

"Depends how close they are. If they're too close, no. You either run or you're fucked. If they're further away, fire will deter them, but not for long. There's no true way of 'killing' them off — it'll just retreat back into the hive mind and regenerate."

"You say fire. Are grenades the best bet?"

"Grenades can be effective. But your best bet—" He slips his pack off his shoulder, pulling out an empty beer bottle with a rag sticking out of it. "Is one of these."

You raise your brow at the crude Molotov cocktail, but as you think about it it does makes a lot of sense.

"What do you use to ignite it?"

Hoshi reaches into the breast pocket of his cargo jacket, pulling out something small and tosses it at you. As you catch it, you see it's a matchbook.

"Here," he adds, extending the bottle in his hand to you. "Take this one."

You tuck the matchbook into your own pocket and slip the makeshift bomb into one of the external pockets on your pack.

"Thanks," you tell him amicably. "Hopefully I won't need it."

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. He still wears the same scornful expression, but unless your eyes are deceiving you, it seems to have softened ever so slightly.

"You will."

You walk in silence again for a few moments. The question lingering on your mind nags at you, begging to be asked.

"Is your crew still around or is it just you?"

Hoshi stiffens. "Just me," he answers grimly.

"I'm sorry for your loss," you tell him sincerely, but he just scoffs. He continues onward, lips pursed tightly shut as he doesn't reply.

"Did they—"

"I don't want to talk about it," he sneers.

"Okay," you accept. "Sorry."

He says nothing. You go back to walking in silence.

At the next intersection, Hoshi turns right.

"Are we going to a specific location or are we just wandering until we find something?" you ask.

"Specific location. We're close."

You wonder if his bluntness is related to you bringing up his crew, ripping open a not-so-old wound. But in the short span of time you've known him, you've gathered this is just how he is.

"Here," he says a few blocks later, stopping in front of another perfectly nondescript house. He heads for the front door — you follow.

The house's interior is almost identical to the previous one you were in, bland and impersonal.

"I'll sweep upstairs. You take downstairs," he instructs, quickly disappearing up the stairs. You're not sure exactly what you're looking for, since the Zetas can apparently shape shift into anything, but you investigate anyway. The living room, dining room, kitchen, closets, and bathroom all seem fine. The last room to be checked sits behind a closed door; you swing it open, your gun at the ready — but you find nothing but an ordinary bedroom. You check its bathroom as well, but it too is clear.

Hoshi materializes in the doorway as you exit the bathroom.

"Upstairs is clear."

"Downstairs too," you inform him. "I can't believe this one has a real bed," you remark, a grin appearing on your face for the first time in god knows how long.

"They all do," he replies. You turn and give him a look.

"Then why were you sleeping in the basement in the other one?"

"It's not important."

You stare at him blankly for a moment, but then you just shrug.

"Well I'm sleeping here," you announce, plopping your pack down on the floor. "An actual bed, in the Backrooms. It's a goddamn miracle."

"Don't get too comfortable," Hoshi tells you dully, turning to exit the bedroom.

"Will we have to move again soon?" you inquire. He stops, looking back at you.

"It's likely."

"Is there a pattern to the Zetas' movement?" you ask, making him stop in his tracks again. He lets out a small sigh.

"Get some sleep," he says plainly, and then he leaves.

You're about to plop yourself on the bed and go right to sleep, but a thought crosses your mind. You step back into the bathroom, walking over to the shower and turning its knob. To your surprise, it actually turns on, an inviting stream of water spraying from the faucet.

"Holy shit," you mutter to yourself, a wide grin spreading across your face. You're about to begin undressing when an arm reaches from behind you and shuts the water off. You whip around abruptly, finding Hoshi's face hovering above yours. His broad stature towers over you — from this close up, he is even more intimidating than he already ways.

"What the hell?!" you bark at him.

"I told you," he glares down at you. "The Zetas will attack at your most vulnerable."

"I'll be fast."

"No," he insists, crossing his arms. "It's too risky."

"Oh come on," you groan. "I haven't taken a proper shower in ages. Let me have this."

"You're asking to get killed."

"Oh go fuck yourself," you roll your eyes, taking your shirt off anyway. Hoshi averts his eyes; you reach for the knob and turn the water back on. "I'll be five minutes."

"Fine," he grumbles. "I'll stand guard I fucking guess."

You're about to point out that you never asked him to do that, but you just shake your head. There's no point in arguing with him, it seems.

"Suit yourself."

He shuts the door behind him as he exits. You spend the next five minutes basking in the glory of a real, functioning shower. The water is cold, but you don't even care — as far as you're concerned this is the peak of luxury.

After, you exit the bathroom to retrieve the change of clothes from your pack. Sure enough, Hoshi is standing right outside the door; when he sees that you're naked, he quickly turns away.

"Could've given me a fucking warning," he mumbles under his breath.

"Sorry," you say uninterestedly as you get dressed again. "I wasn't about to put those filthy clothes back on."

"I'm dressed now," you announce about a minute later.

"Great."

He starts to walk out of the room when you grab him by the shoulder.

"You should take a shower, too."

"I'm fine," he responds, trying to walk away, but you cling to his shirt, yanking at it to spin him back around.

"Take a fucking shower," you glare at him. "Give me your gun, I'll be on watch."

He grits his teeth, but to your surprise he stomps back into the bathroom.

"I'm not giving you my gun. Use your own."

The door slams shut behind him. You grin as you hear the water turn back on, picking up your weapon and stationing yourself beside the door.

Eight minutes later the ambient rush of the water dissipates. Hoshi appears a few moments later, marching out of the bathroom and making a beeline for the door. You consider teasing him for taking so long, but you are promptly distracted by his stark lack of clothing. He wears only his underwear and headband, the rest of his clothes balled up in his fist sopping wet as he walks out of the room. It was clear from the moment you met him that he had a strong build — but seeing him shirtless, water droplets beading down his back between the crevices of his muscles, very much takes you by surprise.

"See? Wasn't that nice?" you call out to him. He turns back around, his thick pectorals also glistening with water despite the darkness of the room. He stares at you intensely, but the harshness which you've grown accustomed to from him has seemed to mellow slightly.

"Goodnight, Commander l/n," he says calmly, exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

You wake about eight hours later. Level 9 has no daylight, so there's no such thing as a true morning — but for the first time in months you actually feel refreshed. You don't know when was the last time you slept this long in one go. Certainly well before your time in the Backrooms.

You find Hoshi in the kitchen, eating beans straight from a can. He still wears a deeply wearied look, but he too seems like he slept well.

"I was just about to wake you," he states, extending the can of beans to you. "You should eat."

You gladly accept the can of beans, spooning a large bite into your mouth.

"I don't know when the last time I had real food was," you comment gleefully as you chew. "All I have left is the dehydrated powder shit and calorie pills."

"We seem to have been the last crew sent in with canned goods," he tells you. "The Company shifted to processed nutrient provisions after us. Cheap bastards."

Your lips twitch into a grin. Getting a full night's rest has seemingly done wonders for the man's demeanor. You consider commenting on it, but you figure he wouldn't appreciate that very much, and the last thing you want to do is piss him off even a little. But, you do still have about a thousand questions for him.

"What were they like?" you ask, treading carefully. "Your crew. You haven't told me much about them."

Hoshi tenses up, a cold expression washing over his face.

"I don't see how it's relevant."

"Okay," you nod acceptingly, not wanting to aggravate him. "How about you then?"

He narrows his eyes at you, confused. "What about me?"

"I don't know, anything. What's your rank?"

"What's it to you?" he cocks his head at you.

"Just trying to make conversation, damn. Sorry," you spit. Irritated, you turn to walk away. You're nearly out of the kitchen when he decides to answer.

"First Officer," he says, his voice less harsh this time. You turn back around; he's still staring at you sternly, but he no longer seems hostile.

"Oh shit, really?" you ask, surprised but interested. "Me too."

"I thought you were Commander," he frowns, wondering if you lied to him before.

"Only after an Epsilon got our initial Commander," you reply, trying not to relive that memory too much.

"Oh. I see," he says quietly, accepting your answer.

"But I suppose rank doesn't mean much of anything anymore," you comment neutrally. "Not when you're the last remaining crewmate."

"I suppose not."

"Well, First Officer Hoshi," you say as you finish off the beans. "What's our course of action for today?"

Hoshi lets out a bewildered laugh. You raise your brow at him, but he just shakes his head.

"Hoshi isn't my real name," he explains. "We all had nicknames, me and my crew."

"What is your name, then?" you ask, genuinely curious, but the minute amount of warmth present in his face quickly fades.

"That's not important."

"That seems to be your answer for everything."

"That's because most things are no longer important," he responds coolly. "Not if you're to survive Level 9."

With that, he departs the kitchen. You sigh. It's exasperating dealing with Hoshi — but you decide to follow him.

"You didn't answer my question," you remind him as you join him in the dining room. He is sitting at the table, notebooks and tablets and maps strewn across its surface just as they were in the previous house's basement.

"What question?"

"I asked you what our course of action is."

"Our course of action is to not die," he states.

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, no shit. I mean, is there anything I can do to help?"

"No."

"That can't possibly be true."

He glances up at you, sharp eyes locking into your gaze. Every time, it's intimidating.

"You don't have the intel needed to be of use here."

He says it matter-of-factly, without contempt, but you're still irked by his unintentional rudeness.

"Well, you could fill me in," you suggest, but he just waves his hand at you dismissively.

"That would take too long."

"It's not like we have anything else to do!" you point out, growing annoyed.

"Fine! Here," he barks, grabbing a handful of the maps and shoving them toward you. "Study these."

"Thank you," you say curtly, snatching them from his hand and marching out of the room.

You spend the next few hours studying Hoshi's maps of Level 9. For the most part, they are incomprehensible, and you genuinely start to wonder if he might just be insane. Eventually you bury your head in your hands, groaning with frustration. A few moments later, you sense movement, coming from behind you. You reach for your gun and jump to your feet, swiveling around and pointing the weapon, but it's just Hoshi.

"Fucking hell, don't sneak up on me like that!" you chastise him.

"Apologies." He extends to you an additional piece of paper; you take it, seeing an assortment of keys, diagrams, and notes. "This should help you understand the maps better."

"Gee, thanks, this would've been really helpful several hours ago," you say sardonically as you scan the sheet.

"I made it just now."

"Oh," you reply, lifting your gaze to meet his. "Well, thank you."

He gives you a single nod, spinning on his heel and retreating back to the dining room.

With Hoshi's new notes, you're quickly able to start making sense of the maps. What had previously looked like the scribblings of a madman turn into a vastly complex mathematical schematic depiction of the known areas of Level 9. You're still on the fence about whether the man is insane, but one thing becomes very clear: he's a fucking genius.

A few more hours and your brain is aching from overuse. When the maps start to become convoluted, you decide to call it quits. You gather the papers and return them to Hoshi in the dining room; he's in the exact same spot he was hours ago, poring over some sort of document on his tablet.

"Thank you for the notes," you tell him as you set the maps on one of the few empty spots on the tabletop. "They really helped me start to make sense of things."

"You're welcome," Hoshi replies, the polite words feeling awkward rolling off his tongue. It's been a long time since he's had a casual conversation with anybody that didn't involve giving or receiving orders.

"I'm going to sleep now," you inform him.

"Okay."

"Goodnight, Hoshi," you say cordially.

He simply nods. You figure that's about as much as you're going to get out of him; as you walk out of the room, you hear his voice echo calmly from behind you.

"Goodnight."

As you sleep you have a nightmare.

It's a recurring one — one you've been having for a while now. In it, you're wielding a gun, but it's not like the ones you carry with you in the Backrooms. It's a .45 handgun, and you're frantically reloading it as you crouch behind something that resembles a desk. Your hands are shaky and covered in blood, but it doesn't appear to be yours. A curly-haired man is perched beside you, reloading his own pistol. He's wounded, appearing to have been grazed by a bullet in the arm, one of his glasses lenses half-shattered, but he appears determined; he signals to you to advance.

"Go!! I'll cover you!" he mutters to you under his breath.

"I don't feel very good about this anymore," you reply, cocking your gun. He looks at you somberly, but you can tell he understands.

"Me neither," he says, then smiles at you. "If I don't see you again, it's been a pleasure working with you."

You grin back. "Likewise," you reply.

"On my signal," he tells you. You take a deep breath, shifting to prepare yourself to make a run for it.

"Three… two… one… GO!!!"

You jump to your feet and hurdle yourself over the desk, coming face to face with three men in full riot gear and guns much bigger and scarier than yours. A shot rings out from behind you as your companion shoots at the nearest one — he hits him, and the armed man collapses to the ground. You manage to yank the ballistic shield out of his hands as you pass, wielding it as you sprint toward the emergency exit that the remaining two men are blocking. You hold your fire, focusing on protecting yourself from their bullets with the shield. To your surprise you manage to make it all the way to them without getting hit. You shoot one of them in the leg as you ram the other with the shield as hard as you can — it's enough to knock him over slightly, giving you a chance to shoot at him once before you throw yourself against the door. It opens into a maintenance hallway, its concrete walls and flooring sallowly lit by sparse fluorescent lighting. You bolt toward the left, running as fast as you possibly can muster, hoping to escape before they come after you; but the hallway is vast and open, with no places to hide. Suddenly you are surrounded, flanked by a dozen armed men who seemed to materialize from the walls. One of them shoves you to the ground, your knees slamming into the floor. A siren wails hauntingly in the distance, your ears pound with the rushing blood coursing through your veins, your breathing harsh and erratic. You hear the sound of a rifle cocking into position behind your head, and then—

"Commander! Wake up!"

You bolt upright, finding yourself in the bedroom again. Hoshi hovers above the bed, staring down at you— a menacing sight to wake up to, but not worse than the dream you were having.

"We have to go," he tells you urgently. "Pack your shit as fast as you can."

You don't question him. The alarm in his voice is enough to light a fire under you, and within a minute you've gathered your things. Hoshi reappears in the doorway as you finish lacing your boots.

"Come on," he orders. You hurry after him, following him out the front door into the never-ending suburban night. You run for several blocks, turning down a new street a few times, but soon he begins to slow his pace.

"We should be safe now," he tells you. "But don't let your guard down."

He continues, walking along the sidewalk with his weapon at the ready.

"There's another house nearby. We'll be there soon."

You nod, walking beside him silently for a minute or two.

"How do you know where to go?" you decide to ask. "Like how do you know where is safe?"

He turns, facing you as he speaks. You notice that this is the first time he's done so.

"I've been tracking Zeta movement for long enough now that I can recognize their patterns," he explains. "Once one is activated in one area, there seems to be a recovery period before they can strike within the vicinity again. They also seem to stick to certain paths, though I have no idea why. I assume it has to do with the physical logistics of the hive mind network."

"Damn, you're really fucking smart," you tell him. "Not that I thought you were stupid," you add.

"I used to be an engineer," he replies gruffly.

"What?! How did you end up in a tactical unit then?"

He lets out a bitter laugh. "That's a long story. We turn left here."

"I'm all ears," you try, following him as he turns down the next street.

"Maybe later, when we—"

He stops in his tracks, thrusting his hand out in front of you and forcing you to halt too. Ahead of you are several dozen mailboxes — the blue collection receptacles that you would typically find at a street corner. It occurs to you that you've never seen a mailbox in Level 9 before, but these aren't just posted on the sidewalk — they're on the sidewalks, in the yards, in the middle of the street. All of them seeming to be turned toward you, facelessly staring you down with sinister intent.

"Shit," Hoshi hisses as he frantically reaches for one of the grenades clipped to his pack. He pulls the pin with his teeth and launches it toward the nearest cluster of mailboxes, but it doesn't go off. You reach for the grenades on your own pack, but as you do so one of the blue boxes close to you begins to turn into static, coming to life in a festering swarm and growing tall and sprawling and disgusting. You toss your first grenade, swinging your rifle back into your hands and firing into the mass. It seems to hinder it slightly, making it squeal, but the explosion of the grenade does significantly more damage. It begins to retreat into itself, but two others near Hoshi start to shift into their true form. His second grenade goes off, holding them off momentarily as they let out a grating screech, but the rest of the Zetas are already activating. Remembering the bottle Hoshi had given you, you grab it from your pack.

"Cover me!!" you shout to him as you kneel. Setting the bottle on the ground you reach into your pocket, digging around for the matchbook. Hoshi fires a stream of bullets into the Zeta currently charging toward you; you almost panic, unable to find the matches, but finally your fingers locate the small paper packet. You pry one of the matches off and strike it, holding it to the rag sticking out of the bottle. For a horrible moment you're not sure there's even anything flammable inside it — but giving it a good shake you hear something sloshing around in there. Saying a silent prayer you try the match again, and this time it ignites. A fucking miracle.

"Incoming!!!" you yell to Hoshi. He ducks, and you throw the Molotov cocktail as hard as you can toward the center of the largest cluster of Zetas. The bottle shatters on impact with the pavement, igniting into a massive fireball and engulfing the Entities. The flames spread quickly to the others, extracting a cacophonous symphony of horrible screeches as they all begin to burn — the one weakness of being a hive mind, you suppose.

"RUN!!" Hoshi screams. He takes off in the opposite direction, with you sprinting right behind him. As you dash across the intersection you hear a thunderous BOOOOOOOOM bellow out from behind you. The sound of the Zetas' awful squeals swells, and then disappears, returning the street into silence aside from the crackling of the spreading fire and the pounding of you and Hoshi's boots upon the pavement. You steal a glance back, but there's no mailboxes or Zetas in sight — just the flames lighting up the block with an ominous orange glow.

"Are we clear?" you ask Hoshi through labored breaths. He slows down, walking now instead of running. Turning to look behind him, he nods approvingly.

"Yeah, we're good."

"For now," you add.

"For now," he agrees.

"Where to now?" you inquire as he continues down the street, seeming to know exactly where he's going. He lets out a long sigh.

"My crew's original base camp is not far," he says bitterly. His tone sounds reluctant, and you get the sense he does not want to return to this location — but he knows it's the smartest option.

You turn right a few blocks later, and the base camp comes into view. The tall makeshift fence surrounding the house makes it glaringly obvious where you're headed.

"Damn," you comment as you and Hoshi approach the gate, staring up in awe at what looks to be like electrical wiring rigged on top of and all over the scrapped-together fencing. "This is impressive."

Hoshi doesn't reply. He fiddles with the gate's crude latch, letting the both of you in and shutting it again behind you.

"Let's see if we can light this shit back up," he mutters, stepping up to the tangled assembly of wires beside the gate. He fiddles with it for a minute, a low humming sound filling the air as the electricity comes back on. You look at him in amazement; he gives you a slight smirk.

"I told you, engineer," he says nonchalantly, brushing past you and heading into the house.

You were expecting another lifeless interior, like the past houses, but your eyes widen with surprise as you step through the door. The house does have the same style of bland furnishings as seen before, but scattered everywhere are various belongings: clothes strewn over the couch, papers and notebooks atop the coffee table and floor, empty cans and rations packs discarded haphazardly all around. Most prominent though are the spray painted walls — playful graffiti scribbled alongside what appears to be basic map outlines. You realize you haven't seen this much color, this much life, in a long fucking time; the thought nearly makes you emotional, but you quickly shake it off.

"Do you mind if I sleep now?" you question.

"Sure," Hoshi responds, dropping his pack in the middle of the room and plopping himself onto the couch. "We'll be safe here for a while."

"Great," you reply with a relieved grin, excited at the prospect of getting to sleep in a bed again. You head toward the door that appears to be the master bedroom.

"No!!" Hoshi shouts as you go to open the door. He leaps off the couch and gets between you and the doorway, blocking you from entering.

"Don't fucking touch it," he spits angrily.

"Okay, okay!" you say as you swiftly back up, raising your hands in the air apologetically. "I won't, I'm sorry."

He's glaring at you, but his face quickly drops, his irate expression shifting into one of sorrow.

"Take the room with the blue door upstairs," he orders you quietly. "At the end of the hall."

"Okay," you agree gently. As you turn to go up the staircase, you hear him sigh deeply.

"It was my Commander's room."

You look back over your shoulder. Hoshi stands before the door still, arms crossed and staring down at the floor.

"Were you close?" you ask softly.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," you tell him with sincerity. He nods, saying nothing. You stand there for a few more moments, watching him, wondering if you should say anything else. But you don't; you continue up the stairs without another word, leaving him be.

Sure enough, the room at the end of the hallway sits behind a door spray-painted bright blue. You enter, finding a standard looking bedroom covered in a similar disarray to what was present downstairs. Even with the mess, it feels surprisingly cozy.

You drop your bag to the ground, removing your boots and flopping onto the bed. You're asleep before you can even bother getting under the covers.

As usual, you wake up to darkness. You never thought you would miss daylight this much, but the lack of distinction between day and night in the Backrooms, quite frankly, fucking sucks.

You decide to go downstairs to get something to eat. As you drag yourself out of bed, you see something flutter off the nightstand and onto the floor. You pick up the small piece of paper; it's very wrinkled, edges tattered and slightly torn, but you see that it's a photo. Flipping it over, you see a group of eight people, bright faces smiling with enthusiasm and laughter. Many are holding beer bottles, raising them to the camera with cheers. Hoshi's face pops out to you immediately, but the huge beaming grin on his face makes him looks drastically different, as does the distinct lack of scarring across his cheek. One man in the middle of the group seems to be the central focus of the photo — he holds a cake with lit candles on it, the others pointing at him gleefully.

This must be his crew, you think to yourself. You figure the man in the middle is probably his Commander; it appears to have been his birthday in the photo. You tuck the photo into your pocket, careful not to rip it any further.

Traipsing down the stairs, you spot Hoshi crashed face down into the couch, fast asleep. Carefully you wake up him, patting at his shoulder gently. He flies off the couch, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

"Fucking hell!" you instinctively shout in reaction. Calmer, you add "It's just me."

Hoshi stands before you, looking frazzled, the bandana around his head askew and partially covering one of his eyes. He blinks, realizing you are not a threat. He relaxes slightly, adjusting the headband back into place and sitting back down on the couch with a thump.

"Sorry," he mutters, a yawn overtaking him.

"It's fine. Why didn't you sleep in a bed?" you inquire.

"You were in my bed," he states plainly.

"What?" you say with a laugh. "There's more beds in this house—"

"The couch is fine," he insists firmly. You roll your eyes, but you don't press it any further.

An unopened can of what appears to be beef chili sitting on a nearby shelf catches your eye.

"Mind if I open this?" you ask Hoshi, showing him the can. "We can share."

His face seems to lighten up at the prospect of something besides beans or nutrient powder. "Fine with me," he nods, getting up and walking into the next room. "Here, there's probably some utensils in the kitchen still."

He returns with a very bent metal spoon and a fork that is missing a prong. You sit at opposite ends of the couch, passing the can of chili back and forth as you eagerly devour it.

"As far as I'm concerned," you say, breaking the silence as you shovel a spoonful of the stew into your mouth, "this is a gourmet fucking meal."

Hoshi takes the can as you hand it to him. It disappears in a flash, but the briefest hint of a grin appears on his face for a split second.

"Can I ask you about your crew?" you say delicately after a minute or so of silence. You know it's clearly sensitive topic for him, but you have a feeling he might be more open to talking about them now that he seems to trust you at least a little bit.

Hoshi stares down at the can in his hand, mindlessly stirring the chili with his fork.

"I'm not sure why you want to know about them so bad," he says quietly.

You consider whether you should for a moment, but you decide to ask him about the photo. Carefully removing it from your pocket, you show him the tattered photograph. His expression changes, the coldness disappearing from his face, replaced by wistfulness and regret.

"I found this in your room. I assume this is them?"

He takes it from you, staring at the eight smiling faces in the photo.

"Yeah, that's them."

"This was from before your expedition," you comment, looking at him for confirmation. He gives you a small nod. The room falls silent again, and you accept that that's the most you're probably ever going to get out of him. You start to get up, figuring you should leave him alone.

"It was the week before we set out."

You freeze. Sitting back into the couch, you look over at him again. He's still staring at the picture.

"It was our Commander's 30th birthday," he continues. "His name was Laughlin, but we all called him Blaze. He accidentally started a fire once in the middle of a training course, and the name stuck."

A smile appears on Hoshi's face. It's subtle, but it's a real, genuine smile.

"Tell me about your past," he says, turning to face you.

"My past?" you respond, thrown off by the sudden request. "Um, well I started out at Axiom training in the Research Department, but then I was switched over to Tactical—"

"No," Hoshi cuts you off. "I don't mean that. I mean before Axiom."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what you did prior to joining the Company. Your job, your hobbies, your family, anything."

"Well, I…" you start to tell him, but your mind spins. You rack your brain, trying to picture your life before all this, but you're completely drawing a blank.

"I… can't remember?" you say quietly. You think about your parents, your mom, your dad. You know they exist — so why can't you picture their faces? You try to think about your siblings, but did you even have any? You don't know.

Your heart starts to pound in your chest. You jump to your feet, beginning to pace around the room.

"Why can't I remember?" you whisper, barely audible. You suddenly feel very dizzy.

"It's okay, don't panic," he tells you calmly. But it's too late — your chest has already tightened, and you feel like you're going to throw up. You don't know what else to do, so you bolt upstairs.

"Commander!" Hoshi calls after you, but with your heartbeat pounding in your ears you barely hear him. You run back into the bedroom, slamming the blue door shut behind you. You fall to the ground, your back to the door as you try to steady your breathing. You don't ever remember having panic attacks before, but then again you apparently don't remember anything at all.

You hear the doorknob turn above your head. Hoshi tries to open the door, but it doesn't budge with you slumped against it. He pounds on the door, the knocks thumping against your back.

"Let me in," he insists, but you barely even hear him. He sighs, turning the knob again and forcing the door open with his body weight. It opens enough for him to slip inside; he picks you up off the ground, lifting you with ease and carrying you across the room. He sets you on the bed, sitting down beside you.

"Hey, breathe," he instructs, shaking you gently but firmly. It brings you back to reality a bit; your eyes are able to focus on your surroundings again. "Take a deep breath, you're starting to hyperventilate."

You do as he says, inhaling and exhaling slowly several times. Finally, the panic dissipates. You turn to look at Hoshi beside you.

"Why can't I remember?" you ask again, your voice wavering. He sighs.

"It's a long story, but I'll explain. Do you remember what you told me about Axiom's history before?"

You nod. That was only a few days prior, but it feels like ages ago.

"Well, most of everything you said is true. But there's more — secrets they kept from you and me and almost everybody. There's a reason you don't remember anything about your past: nobody does. And there's good reason for it. Because if the truth got out, the Company would go down in flames."

"That's what you said before, 'the truth'," you recall.

"I wasn't lying when I said it's a tough pill to swallow," he reminds you. "I didn't want to believe it at first, either. But it all goes back to the initial discovery of the Backrooms. It was an accident, a byproduct of a top-secret government experiment conducted as part of research efforts to create a new weapon of mass destruction — one that would make the atomic bomb look like child's play. Word got out, spreading to various government agencies, and people were pissed. Almost everyone opposed the development of the new bomb, so they said they were halting the research. But they lied. A whistleblower eventually exposed them, leading to a massive strike amongst the scientists and engineers working on classified government projects. But the government didn't budge — they executed the whistleblower, hoping to instill fear that would lead to compliance, but it backfired. It instigated an uprising, the scientists and researchers fighting back, but despite their numbers they were no match for the militarized response units. Those who weren't killed were imprisoned and forced into menial labor. That's when Axiom comes along — the 'wealthy donors' it boasts of as its founders were on the government's payroll. The Company was founded as a ruse, pretending to be a neutral third party purely interested in the research, but they quickly rounded up the prisoners to use for their dirty work. But even with brute force and violence, the scientists refused to work. They knew they couldn't just kill them all off — they were far too valuable of assets. So they came up with an alternative solution: implant a neural chip in everyone's heads. The chip repressed memories, and with that they had a blank slate of brilliant minds to brainwash into compliance. Those who were least valuable were sent into the Backrooms first, guinea pigs sent off to their deaths. Once the imprisoned scientists were milked of their knowledge and no longer useful for research purposes, they shipped them off to training for the tactical units to send on their little expeditions. Smart, obedient, but also disposable — it was the perfect source of labor for the job."

You stare blankly at Hoshi, processing everything he just told you. I was right, you think to yourself. He is actually insane.

"You don't believe me," he observes.

"How do you expect me to believe… all that?? This is ridiculous."

"Think about it," he insists. "What other explanation could there be for you not remembering anything pre-Axiom?"

"I don't know!" you shout in frustration, rising to your feet as you begin to pace again. "But surely there's a much more likely explanation than that—"

Hoshi stands, grabbing your shoulder and spinning you back around to face him. He glares down at you, an intense fiery gaze, as he grasps onto your wrists tightly. Your heart begins to pound again in fear — you're stuck here, deep in the fucking Backrooms, in the clutch of a crazy delusional man. What if he kills you? What if this is the end?

He raises your right hand to your head, pressing your fingers into your scalp above your right ear. As he pushes further, you feel something… sharp. It's small, but you wince as it nearly pricks your finger.

"There's your truth," he says quietly. You stare up at him, wide-eyed with disbelief.

"How… how did you figure this out?"

He lets go of your right hand; with his free hand he removes the bandana tied around his forehead, sliding if off his head and dropping it to the floor.

"Look," he says, tilting his head to the side. You let out a soft gasp. Above his right ear, previously concealed by the bandana, is a large, deep gash. It's old enough to be mostly healed, thick scar tissue filling in the wound, but you can tell it's still somewhat recent.

"What happened?" you whisper.

"An Alpha tried to rip my head off," he smirks. "I was fast enough to avoid death, but it still got me pretty good."

He lifts your left hand, drawing it in to the scar. You resist, trying to pull your hand away, but he doesn't let go.

"It's okay, it doesn't hurt," he assured you. "In fact I can't even feel anything there."

He guides your fingers into a groove in the healed skin. As he presses them into his head you feel a similar sharp sensation, but smaller, and more of them.

"I guess it hit me just right," he says with a slight huff of a laugh. "It broke the chip, and suddenly I remembered everything. I was free again. Except, of course I'm not really. I'm still stuck in this fucking hellscape. Some days I wish I had never learned the truth — it would be less painful that way."

The truth. You think back to your recurring dream. What if it wasn't a dream at all, but a memory?

You suddenly realize how close you are to him right now. It should be far too intimate, but you don't want to move for a second.

"Did you tell your crew?" you ask him.

"Yes. Fortunately, they believed me. One by one we helped each other remove the chips. None of us were surgeons, so that part was a bit rough," he grimaces. "But once they were gone, they too remembered everything. The only—"

He stops himself. That part isn't important, you don't need to know about it. But for some reason, he decides to tell you anyway.

"The only member of our crew who didn't remove their chip was Blaze."

"Your Commander," you affirm softly. He nods. "Why not?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I don't know much about his past — but think some part of his unconscious mind remembered something, something too painful experience all over again. I tried to convince him several times, but he didn't want to. So I respected that. But then we made it to Level 9. We'd only lost one crew member up until that point, but the Zetas started to pick us off one by one. Before long, it was just him and I left. He told me he decided he wanted to remove his chip. I was going to do it that night, once we got back to base camp, but he didn't make it back."

Without thinking, you cradle his face in your palm. He inhales sharply, looking into your eyes with equal parts surprise and want.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper. He reaches up to take your wrist in his grasp again, rubbing his thumb slowly over the back of your hand. His eyes close as his head drops, his forehead falling against yours.

"You don't have to be sorry," he mutters. Opening his eyes again, he meets your gaze. Your heart palpitates in your chest, the intimacy making you ache with need. Then, you kiss him.

Your lips crash into his, leaving him momentarily stunned, but quickly his hands drop to your sides, grasping at your waist urgently as he kisses you back. Your hands cling to his face as you press your body into him; he lets out a soft moan into your mouth, making your core throb. His arms squeeze around your torso, drawing you in as close as possible, hands wandering desperately as he eagerly explores every curve of your body. You wrap your arms around his head, clinging to him as you grind against him.

"Fuck," he groans against your lips. Suddenly you are lifted in the air as he picks you up, carrying you back to the bed where he lays you down gently. He crawls on top of you; your legs instinctively open, wrapping around his hips as he presses his weight into you. You pull him back into a kiss, hungrily tugging at his lips once more. You push your hips up against him, your center greeted by a stiffening bulge and drawing another moan out of him.

You sigh as his mouth wanders to your chin, kissing along your jawline up to your earlobe and nipping at it; his lips return to your neck, planting soft, slow pecks into the delicate skin as he works his way down to your collarbone. Your soft whines are driving him insane already; he abruptly sits up, taking off his shirt. He reaches for yours as well, prying it over your head and dropping it to the floor. He makes quick work of your bra, discarding it aside and immediately grasping at your breasts, tugging and kneading the soft flesh in his hands while pinching your nipples between his fingers.

"You're amazing, so fucking hot," he praises. He steals another kiss before hopping up and tugging at your waistband. You hurriedly unbutton your pants, wriggling out of them as he follows suit. As he slips his pants down his thighs his cock comes into view, erect and red with anticipation; the mere sight of it makes your mouth water.

He reaches for your bare pussy as he lays down beside you; you whine softly as his fingers discover the pooling wetness present between your legs.

"God, you're so fucking wet, fuck…"

You let out a moan as his fingers slip inside you, lazily working them in and out of your pussy, your slick collecting on his hand and glistening in the dim lighting.

"That's it, let me hear you baby," he encourages. You let go, moaning unrestrained as you let your hips rock to his touch, grinding your clit against the heel of his hand. It feels incredible, like you never want him to stop touching you.

"Fuck," he hisses through gritted teeth. He leans over, licking your nipple with the tip of his tongue. He starts to swirl his tongue around it, eliciting a string of whimpering from you, curling his fingertips to press against your g-spot.

"Oh my god," you groan, your head falling back onto the pillow.

"So pretty, so perfect," he croons, switching to your other nipple, wetting it with his saliva and dragging his tongue in circles around the bud.

"Feels so good," you mutter breathily, your body writhing as a burning heat swells in your gut.

"Go on, cum for me baby, I wanna see."

He wraps his lips around your nipple, latching on as he sucks on it, his hand speeding its pace. You feel your release wash over you, whining as you cum on his fingers, their deep strokes sending thick pulses of pleasure through your whole body. He slows as you do, releasing his mouth from your breast and lifting his head so he can kiss you again, long and slow, so he can savor it. He slips his fingers out of you, sticking them in his mouth and lapping up your juices, moaning at the taste of you.

You've barely caught your breath when he rolls over on top of you. His tip brushes against your wet cunt; he strokes it up and down over your folds a few times before pressing into your entrance. His cock slips inside, making you gasp, slowly filling you with his whole length.

"Ready?" he asks softly. You nod eagerly, eyes begging him to fuck you. He drags his cock out of you, almost all the way, then plunges it back in, watching himself disappear inside you. The sight is tantalizing, but his eyes meet yours again, falling deep into your gaze as he fucks you with slow, measured strokes. Your arms snake around his torso, clinging to the warm skin of his back as he presses his forehead into yours, his breath becoming more labored with each accelerating thrust. Your shift your hips forward, allowing his cock to reach even deeper inside you, eliciting a string of moans from your throat.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispers, lips hovering above yours as his eyes remained locked with yours. "Never wanna leave this pussy."

"Please don't stop," you beg, voice breathy and desperate.

"I won't baby."

He fucks you with burning desire, each powerful stroke sending a delicious shockwave through your body. You cling to him tight, drawing him in even further into a passionate embrace. He groans, savoring the divine way your body squishes against his.

"You're amazing," he mutters into your mouth, frantic kisses placed upon your lips as he tries not to cum just yet — but it's an impossible feat. "Such a perfect little pussy, gonna fill you up baby. Gonna make you nice and full with my cum."

"Please," you whine.

"Keep begging for it, pretty girl," he hums, beginning to lose composure.

"I want your cum," you plead. "Want you to cum inside me and fill me up."

"God, that's so fucking hot," he growls.

"Your cock feels so good," you continue babbling, mind spinning so much you can no longer think straight. "I want you to fuck me every day for the rest of my life."

"I will, baby, I will."

His hand caresses your cheek, rubbing at the warm skin with his thumb as he stares into your watering eyes — utterly intoxicated by you.

"I'm cumming," he groans. "Ohhhh…"

With a series of grunts he releases, powerful ropes of cum shooting up into you as his cock throbs against your squeezing walls. After several bursts he slows, his cock stilling deep inside your cunt as his heavy breaths fall against your lips. He collapses, laying his weight on you as he tucks his head into the crook of your neck. You drag your fingertips up and down his back, delicately dancing across his hot skin and rippling muscles.

"Fuck," he mumbles into the mattress, making you smile. He eventually lifts his head up, kissing you again. "You're incredible."

He slowly pulls his cock out of you, rolling over to your side taking you in his arms. He rests his hand on your belly, planting gentle kisses on your cheek as he holds you.

"Tell me your name," he hums softly into your ear after a few silent minutes.

"It's y/n," you reply, falling into a deep relaxation in his embrace. "Tell me your name."

"Soonyoung," he says quietly.

You lay together, the uncomfortable silence of Level 9 forgotten as the sounds of your breathing and the thumps of your heartbeats fill the air. Eventually, you're unsure whether he's fallen asleep beside you.

"Do you ever think we'll get out of here?" you try anyway.

"No," he replies plainly.

"Why keep going then?"

He thinks for a while. "I don't know," he finally says. "I've been stuck in here so long that this is all I know anymore."

"Do you dream of going back, to your life before?"

You feel him shake his head. "Those are such distant memories at this point. Sometimes I don't even know if they are real or if it's all in my head."

You think back to before, when you questioned whether he was insane and delusional. You think you believe him, about Axiom, about the chip in your head — though, something inside you still isn't entirely convinced. But you're not even sure if any of that matters at this point.

"But it doesn't matter," he continues. "I'm here now, and I can't go back. The only way is forward."

"Does that mean you're trying to find Level 10?" you ask.

"I know where a Null Zone is," he replies.

Surprised, you turn to look at him. "Why haven't you gone yet?"

He sighs. "I lost hope after my I lost my crew. I didn't want to walk further into hell by myself. But I couldn't bring myself to end it all either — so here I am, stuck here in limbo."

You gaze at him, a soft smile appearing on your face. He stares back at you, hopeful.

"I'll go with you," you say quietly. He smiles again — another true smile. You think it suits him well.

"I'd like that."

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You're not sure how you ended up here.

You know the bus broke down, stalling on the side of a quiet road. The driver said a replacement would be there in about 30 minutes, but it was already late, and you didn't want to sit around in a cold bus waiting for that long. Not when the only other passenger was a creepy old man who kept giving you dirty looks, and not when most of the streetlights on the block were out, shrouding everything in an eerie near-darkness. So you hopped off the bus.

You know you were on your way home, striding quickly against the biting wind, sharp prickles of freezing mist stinging against your exposed cheeks despite your best effort to bury your face in your thin scarf. Your soles tapped against the slippery pavement as you walked along the bus route, treading cautiously. You knew exactly where you were, and it was a pretty straight shot home, so you didn't bother pulling up the map; besides, you didn't have your gloves, so you didn't want your hand to freeze from holding your phone. You marched along with haste, arms tucked into your jacket as you huddled into yourself for warmth. You knew exactly where you were — until you didn't.

You stop in your tracks, taking a moment to look around. It's even darker here than where you got off the bus, but even in the shadows you can tell that your surroundings are entirely unfamiliar. Every single streetlight on the block is unlit, except for one, flickering erratically just ahead of you. The flashing is bothersome, yet you are drawn to it — like a moth to a flame, you walk into its light. You stand there for a moment, not quite sure what you thought that was going to accomplish, because you still have no idea where you are. I must have taken a wrong turn at some point, you think to yourself, but you have no memory of even making a turn. You've lived in this city for 10 years now — being out late at night by yourself has never genuinely scared you, but an ominous chill creeps up your spine as you stand here alone on this empty street, and you know that it isn't just because of the frigid temperature.

Admitting defeat, you go to pull your phone out of your purse, but a sudden small flash of movement in your peripheral vision catches your eye. You turn to see a rabbit, white as snow, hopping across the street. Confused, you watch it for a moment; although fairly rare to spot in the city, you've come across wild rabbits a few times, but they've all had fawnish-brown fur. You start to wonder if this somebody's lost pet, and if you should follow it — though, even if you manage to catch it, what the hell are you going to do with a rabbit when you're nowhere near home? Yet your feet carry you into the street; instinctively you turn your head both ways, checking for oncoming cars, but there's not a single headlight as far as your eyes can see. The rabbit makes it across, zipping around the corner onto the next street. You pick up your pace, the sound of your footsteps echoing down the silent road as you follow the mysterious critter. Turning the corner, you see yet another dead, unlit block, not a single storefront or apartment emitting any sign of life. The rabbit hops along until it makes a sudden turn, vanishing between the buildings. As you approach, you realize it has darted into an alleyway. Despite the brightness of its coat, you don't see the creature anywhere; you're about to call it quits when you notice a dim red glow, coming from a doorway in the alley.

The door sits atop a small concrete stairwell. It's barely open, but the slight crack is enough for the red glow to illuminate the entryway to the alley. Muffled music drifts into the night from beyond its threshold; you're not even sure what genre, but it sounds slow and heavy. A dying red and blue neon sign that says BAR flickers halfheartedly, its arrow pointing you to the doorway. Whatever lies behind the door, its warmth is a stark contrast to the coldness of everything around you, and it's alluring.

What are you doing??, a voice in the back of your brain screams at you. Get out of here and go home. Yet you stand there, staring at the door. It's just a bar, you think to yourself. I'll have one drink to warm up, and if the vibes are off then I'll just leave.

And so you climb the cracked and crumbling stairs. As you approach the door you reach for the handle, but it slowly swings open on its own, as if welcoming you in. You step through the threshold, greeted by a thick cloud of cigarette smoke and the booming vibrations of slow, heavy metal music. Expecting to see the bouncer on the other side, you reach for your wallet, but there's no one standing there. Peering through the haze you see that, despite the broken neon sign's promise, it's more of a club than a bar — but a two-story club that plays rock music, and is filled with tough-looking patrons clad in punk gear; you immediately feel very out of place in your skirt and peacoat. A metal staircase leads you down to a crowded dance floor; you step down carefully, entering the crowd of people swaying and making out and probably doing other things you have no interest in knowing about. Heads turn as you make your way through the crowd, leering at you unwelcomingly. Their glares make it clear: you don't belong here.

If you were smart, you would turn right back around and get the fuck out of this place. But you're not scared, and you could use a fucking drink. So, defying every instinct in your body you press on, squeezing through the crowd and making your way to the bar at the center of the room. There is one lone bartender behind the counter; he glances up at you, eyes peering from behind a curtain of long, dark hair. He ignores you, going back to drying glasses with a rag. Sighing, your eyes wander around the room as you wait. The haze of smoke and the red and blue lights flashing in the darkness make it hard to get a good look at anything, but a small set of stairs toward the back of the room catches your attention. Ditching your attempt at ordering a beverage, you walk into the crowd again, heading directly for the nondescript staircase that for some reason seems to be calling to you. As you approach, you realize it appears to lead to the second story — probably off-limits, you assume, but there's no sign or barrier warning you not to enter. As if under a spell, your feet carry you up the stairway without a second thought.

An even heavier fog of cigarette smoke awaits you on the second floor. You press through the throng of scantily-dressed bodies as the grungy music rumbles your bones, heading in no particular direction. Finally, you find a break in the crowd — you push your way through, escaping the pack of people. It's not exactly fresh air with all the lingering smoke, but you're grateful not to be squished between sweaty club-goers any longer. You realize you've made your way to a large, circular booth — in it are a handful of beautiful but intimidating individuals: two are too busy making out with each other to notice you; another two are staring at you with harshly, sipping their beverages with dark-tinted lips as they glare at you; a final man sits at the center of all of them, arms spread wide across the back of the bench as he reclines, manspreading in his seat, a half-spent cigarette dangling from his mouth as his eyes pierce into you with grave intensity. You gasp, suddenly feeling lightheaded, as if you lowkey just got the wind knocked out of you. The man is stunning — bleached-blonde strands of hair lay unkempt across his forehead, framing a face you would describe as cherub-like if it weren't for the brooding aura hanging around him. Despite the steaminess of the club, he is clad in a leather jacket; underneath, a dark t-shirt, with a heavy-looking chain and dog tag resting atop his chest, and you notice as he reaches for his cigarette that his long, graceful fingers are adorned with numerous rings. His dark irises scan your body up and down, boring into you feverously as he takes in the sight of you. You feel a rush of heat surge through you, making your skin turn hot and flustered as he stares, a slight but devious smirk upon his lips. He is unnaturally gorgeous, frighteningly ravishing, god-like but far more sinister. You are simultaneously afraid and entranced.

The man puts his cigarette out on the table's ashtray, then beckons you with two fingers, telling you come here. A pit forms in your stomach, but your feet carry you toward the booth, the man's charisma pulling you in like a magnet. With a flick of his hand he shoos the others away; without question they rise from their seats, disappearing into the mass of club-goers. You step forward, sliding into the bench seat and joining the alluring man. He leans over, his arm sliding atop the seat back to rest behind your shoulders.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" he speaks quietly into your ear, making all the hair on your arms stand up. He stares at you with an intensity that feels like an animal hunting down its prey — like he's going to devour you. It makes your stomach lurch, and everything about this situation should be a massive red flag, but you don't feel anxious. You feel… curious. Intrigued.

I don't know is the real answer to his question, but you know better than to admit that.

"Just wanted a drink," you reply casually, fiddling with your hands in your lap. He reaches across the table, sliding a full glass that definitely wasn't there a few seconds in front of you. You didn't see any bartender drop by with a fresh beverage, but you assume you were just too flustered to notice them. Without thinking you pick up the cocktail glass and raise it to your lips, taking a sip. A surprised look appears on your face, making the man chuckle.

"Jim Beam, on the rocks, with a dash of lemon juice — isn't that right, love?" he hums into your ear, rubbing his thumb slowly over your shoulder. A shiver shoots up your spine.

"Lucky guess," you chuckle nervously.

"Sure," he smirks at you. His other hand drifts to your thigh, resting atop your bare leg.

"W-what's this place even called?" you try to ask nonchalantly, but the light friction between his fingers and your skin is starting to make you dizzy. "I didn't see a sign…"

"So you didn't come here on purpose, then," he croons, gently squeezing your thigh in his large hand.

"Never said I did." You go to take another sip, but melting ice cubes greet your lips. Looking down, you see you've apparently finished your drink already — but another one has, once again, materialized before you. You don't need to be drinking this fast, so you politely decline with a wave, but the man slides it over to you regardless.

"It's on the house, darling," he tells you, tracing circles on your thigh with his fingertips.

"Are you the owner?" you ask, bringing the amber liquid to your lips against your better judgment. You stare off into the crowd, avoiding eye contact, but his gaze burns into you still.

"Not exactly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's just say ownership of The White Rabbit is currently, ah… in a bit of limbo."

"Oh." Whatever that's supposed to mean. It takes you a moment to recollect the literal wild rabbit chase that led you here in the first place. Your stomach drops at the realization, head spinning as you try to make sense of any of this, but before you can think straight the man leans in, lips hovering mere inches from your ear.

"Come with me love, let me show you," he whispers, the hair on the back of your neck tingling with a sense of danger — but also excitement. Your face turns slightly, your eyes drawn instantly to the man's soft, round lips. He smirks, the corners of his mouth twisting into a devious grin. You then make the terrible mistake of meeting his gaze.

Looking into the man's eyes was like staring into the sun; like staring into a pitch-black void; like seeing the ethereal beauty of the world and its abject horrors all at once. You felt free, you felt caged; you felt terror and delight; the moment was eternal, ephemeral, finite and never-ending — and that's when you knew you were fucked.

You're then stumbling into a dingy hallway, the man's hand resting on the small of your back as he guides you through the darkness. You have no memory of getting up from the booth and walking this way, but here you are.

"What's your name?" you ask him feebly, as if you've just awakened from a trance. "You never told me."

"You never asked," he mutters in your ear. Suddenly his hands grasp at your waist, abruptly turning you around and pushing you into the wall. His left hand snaps up, slamming his palm against the wall beside your head as he towers above you,

"But you can call me Seungkwan."

He stares down at you menacingly. You should be afraid, you know you should be afraid, and if it were anyone else you would scream and hit and kick him in the nuts and run away — but god he is so fucking hot. He licks his lips, grinning a terrible beautiful grin, then leans his face into the crook of your neck. His tongue dances lightly across the delicate skin, making you groan involuntarily. You hear him chuckle underneath your ear.

"You like that, don't you love?" he asks cockily, but before you can answer he begins to kiss you, lips dragging across your skin and making you melt into the wall. His free hand grips your hip, his large fingers splayed over your skirt. You realize your jacket is gone — you don't remember taking it off, but that thought is lost as soon as his teeth start nipping at the tender flesh of your neck, biting and sucking in a manner you know is going to leave a mark — but you don't care. The hand on your hip slides down to your outer thigh, flirting with the hemline of your skirt before reaching between your thighs. Without a thought your legs spread, allowing his wandering fingers to reach your core. He drags his fingertips over your underwear, lips grinning against your neck as he finds them damp to the touch.

"Oh," you sigh as he brushes against your clit. You didn't realize how badly your cunt was aching, but the bud is incredibly aroused and sensitive. Your hips mindlessly begin to grind against his fingertips, yearning for relief.

"Tell me how bad you want it," he mutters into your ear.

"I want it," your voice quivers. "So bad. Please."

"Your wish is my command, darling."

You gasp as he shoves his hand up further into your skirt, grabbing your panties in his fist and yanking them down to your knees. He reaches for your cunt, two of his fingers immediately slipping inside you as they reach your hole. You whine as he shoves them deep into your pussy, the cold metal of his rings stinging sharply against your hot skin.

"Oh you're soaked," he growls, pleased with how easily you succumbed to his touch. Your head spins as he begins to work his fingers in and out of you, rough strokes with curled fingers, easily reaching your g-spot — making you moan loudly and uninhibitedly.

"Shhh," he hisses, taking his other hand and clasping it roughly over your mouth. "You're acting like you want to get caught. But you don't even care, do you?" he asks smugly. You feel drunk, far drunker than you should be from two drinks, but whatever spell Seungkwan has you under has you deeply intoxicated. You feel yourself shaking your head, struggling to move it underneath this strong grasp on your face.

"Ha," he huffs, smirking at you. "You know what that makes you? That makes you a fucking slut." He spits on your face, the saliva hitting your cheek and dripping down over the back of his hand. "A little slut who lets a complete stranger fuck her wet little pussy in public, isn't that right?" His words barely register as he fingers you relentlessly, pumping in and out of your drenched hole, but you find yourself nodding in agreement.

"You know what else that makes you?" he asks as he presses his thumb into your throbbing clit. You shriek, but the sound is stifled into his palm.

"That makes you mine."

Tears stream down your face as he rubs the pad of his thumb over your clit while still fucking you, the fire in your gut rising angrily in search of release. You writhe against the wall, barely able to move under his hold, your fists clutching desperately to his leather jacket as the zippered seam digs into your hand. Your eyes roll back into your head, chest heaving as you try to control your breaths — but you are deliciously overstimulated, enough to send you hurtling over the edge as your orgasm overtakes you. Your cries are muffled, but your ecstatic moaning is loud enough to be audible even over the blaring rock music. You cum all over his fingers, juices splashing down your leg as you release, riding out your climax for what feels like an endless passage of time.

As your writhing body slows, you start to come down from your daze, sinking into the wall behind you as you unclench your grasp on his jacket, hands falling to your sides in blissful defeat. He pulls his fingers out of your soaked pussy, your walls fluttering as it throbs with powerful post-orgasm pulses. He releases his hold on your face, only to shove his other hand into your mouth, making you gag as you taste yourself on his fingers. Your eyelids suddenly feel very heavy. Seungkwan tugs his hand out of your mouth and replaces it with his tongue, giving you a sloppy kiss. Your eyes slowly drift closed; the last thing you see is a glowing pair of eyes, locked onto you in a piercing, devilish stare.

You wake up slowly the next morning. Tired, groggy, you lay there with your eyes closed, listening to the sound of chirping sparrows outside your window as you try to force yourself back into consciousness — but the soft warmth of your blankets holds you hostage. You roll over, hugging your pillow as your mind wanders, trying to recall the dream you had last night. It had been weird, surreal, too real, almost as if-

You jolt up in bed as it hits you like a train: that wasn't a dream.

No way, you argue with yourself. There's no way that actually happened…

You throw the covers aside as you swing your feet to the floor. As the cold hardwood hits your bare soles, you notice you're fully dressed — in the exact same clothes you were wearing last night. Your peacoat is gone, and looking across the room you spot it neatly folded over the back of the chair, but you are still wearing yesterday's skirt and blouse. Your nose wrinkles as you register the lingering, stale scent of cigarette smoke reeking from your garments, nearly giving you whiplash as you are mentally transported back to the events nightclub: the hazy air, the slow and banging heavy metal music, the sweaty heat steaming around you as you swam through the sea of bodies, and the frighteningly beautiful man who rocked your fucking shit.

Seungkwan, you vaguely remember him telling you. But though he had whispered it sultrily into your ear, the echoes of his voice ring distant in your memory. You can somewhat string together the events of last night, but they all blur together, a jumbled concoction of whiskey and cigarettes and scandalous touches.

The memory of his tongue dragging across your neck suddenly hits you, the tender spot stinging as if his saliva had seared into your skin. Your core throbs in a spent heat, sensitive as if you'd had a powerful orgasm mere minutes ago versus last night. You remember the way his fingers slipped inside you, filled you and fucked you like they were always meant to be there. Like your pussy belonged to him.

"That makes you mine," the words he spat ricochet through your skull. Just the thought of the way he had growled them in your face as he fucked you into oblivion gives you full-body chills.

You sit perched on the edge of your mattress in disbelief. This is all wildly out of character for you — did you really let this man, this complete stranger, finger you in a public place?? You rise from the bed and enter the bathroom, pulling back the collar of your top as you stand before the mirror. Sure enough — several freshly bruised patches trail down your neck to your collarbone, accompanied by small bite marks where his teeth had nipped at you.

Had he drugged you? Did he slip something into your drink? And how the hell did you even get home? You have no memory of anything post-orgasm. All you can recall is sinking into the wall, panties at your knees still as wetness trickled down your inner thighs, watching a pair of glowing, furious eyes retreat into the darkness.

You strip your smoke-riddled clothes off and throw them on the floor as you turn on the shower as hot as it will go. You want answers, but the only way to do that would be to find that wretched nightclub again and confront the man, and you know that would be incredibly foolish if not downright dangerous. You step into the steaming shower, letting the painfully hot water wash over you as you consider your options. Even if you found the club again, and even if you found the man, the same thing could just happen all over again.

But why does that thought almost… excite you?

The rest of your day passes uneventfully. You're off today, so you spend it running errands and then catching up on your shows — good distractions, but not enough to get your mind off of Seungkwan. You can't help but wonder who the fuck he actually is, if he actually is the owner of the club or if he was lying to you. It doesn't matter, you keep trying to tell yourself. You hooked up with a stranger and you're never going to see him again, and that's that. But a strange gut feeling hinders you from fully believing it.

As the sun sets and night falls, you throw some random nature documentary on in hopes of easing your mind with something dull. It works a little too well, though, and before you know it you've dozed off on the couch.

Your head snaps up about 40 minutes later, waking you from your unintentional nap. Yawning, you rub your eyes, opening them to see the documentary still playing on the tv. You're still a bit zoned out until you register what's on the screen: a white rabbit, munching on flowers in the middle of a field.

You let out a huff of air. Dumb coincidence, you think you yourself. The rabbit is calm, hopping along innocently, but you care to see it no longer. As your hand fumbles around the couch for the remote the music shifts, turning ominous and dramatic. The camera zooms into a patch of tall grass, revealing a pair of dark eyes staring through the brush. The eyes watch the rabbit with grave intensity, following its path as it hops through the field. As soon as the rabbit stops, a fox darts into the clearing — pouncing on its prey before the poor creature could even attempt to escape. Grimacing, you locate the remote and shut the tv off before you see anything gruesome. So much for something dull.

Checking the time, it's later than you expected, so you decide to call it a night. By the time you crawl into bed you're yawning again, eyelids heavy as you struggle to keep them open, so you shut the lamp off right away. No use in staying up and letting your thoughts take over.

Your mind is mostly clear as you drift away into unconsciousness; the only imagery in your head is that of an alluring pair of eyes, their dark irises watching you intently as you fall asleep.

You wake in the middle of the night, freezing cold.

Realizing you must have kicked the blanket off, you reach for it, but it's not there. You blindly feel around the bed, patting your hand atop the mattress, until it hits something solid and warm. Your eyes pop open to see a figure laying in the bed beside you, staring at you with luminous fiery eyes.

Before you can scream, a large, familiar hand clasps over your mouth. You reach for the lamp, yanking the chain and casting its warm yellow glow onto the figure: Seungkwan.

"Oh, we won't be needing that," he waves his free hand lazily at the lamp. The light extinguishes, forcing you to blink a few times before your eyes readjust to the darkness. Seungkwan is laying on his side, propped up on one elbow, giving you a smug grin. You try to pry his hand off your face, but his grasp on you is firm. No longer in the leather jacket getup, you wrap your hands around his brawny exposed arm, digging your fingernails into his flesh as hard as you can. He doesn't even flinch, simply laughing at you instead.

"That's cute," he tuts at you condescendingly. "Now if I let go you aren't going to scream, isn't that right?"

You glare at him, but he just smiles.

"Answer me, love. Yes or no."

Sighing, you shake your head, but not without rolling your eyes at him.

"Good girl."

"Why the fuck are you in my house?!" you bellow at him as he releases his hand from your mouth. "How do you even know where I live?? Who even ARE you???"

"I'm Seungkwan," he replies, giving you a cheeky look that says obviously. Scowling, you smack him in the face as hard as you can muster while laying down. He smirks at you as a flush pink spot develops on his cheek.

"Do that again, it makes my dick hard."

"Go to hell."

"Hell is boring."

You flinch as he suddenly rolls himself on top of you, leaning his face in so close to yours that you feel his hot breath on your lips. His scent is that of spicy cinnamon mints and cigarettes.

"I'd much rather be here, playing with you."

"What are you, some kind of fucking freak?" you shriek at him.

"Aww, that's not very nice darling."

You start to snap back at him but your body tenses as he slowly drags his tongue across your lower lip, cutting you off.

"If you don't like it I can leave," he mutters, leaning his head into the crook of your neck, puckering his lips lightly on the already-bruised spots. "But I seem to recall you very much enjoying me last night."

"Fuck you," you seethe. He sucks at the tender bruise, causing you to let out an soft, involuntary moan.

"Such mixed messages, love," he mumbles as he kisses his way back up to your jawline. "I'll go then."

He rises to get off the bed, but your hands snap to his forearms, holding him back.

"Wait," you tell him urgently. The smirk painted on his face grows even wider. The rage on your face seeps with desperation; you look pathetic — just how he likes it.

You're furious at him — you know you should find him despicable, but you're also furious with yourself, because you don't. Because you've gotten a taste of the devil, and now you want more. Because, above all else, you are ragingly horny right now, and you want him.

"Did you drug me last night?" you ask sternly. "And don't fucking lie to me."

"Of course not," he answers sincerely as he leans back into you, and even though you don't want to, you believe him. "I may be a demon but I'm not a monster."

"Is that what 'alpha males' are calling themselves these days? Demons?" you inquire, raising your brow.

"You think I'm an alpha male," he points out smugly.

"Not my fucking point."

"Then what is the point, sweetheart?"

"The point is that you're a fucking stranger who broke into my house in the middle of the night and is laying in my fucking bed right now!" you shout at him.

"No, I'm a demon who conjured myself into your bedroom. Watch, I'll do it again."

In the blink of an eye, he vanishes. Your heart thumps in your chest as you lay there in silence, frozen in fear. Are you having a really fucking weird dream right now? That slap felt awfully real though-

Before you can think any further Seungkwan rematerializes at the foot of your bed. You jump, nearly kicking him in the head — but he swiftly grabs hold of your ankles and hoists them up, nearly folding you in half.

"See? Demon," he tells you bluntly as he lays down, positioning his head between your legs.

"I don't know how you're doing that but I'd appreciate if you'd stop with the stupid fucking tricks," you spit at him anxiously.

"Well now that's just rude. You think my tricks are stupid?"

An invisible force suddenly yanks your arms upward, pinning them above your head and tying them to the bed frame with some kind of phantom strap. Your heartbeat pulses in fear — but your pussy pulses harder.

"What about now?" he questions, dragging his fingernails up your thigh. A sharp tingling sensation shoots through you. "Still stupid?"

You don't respond, choosing instead to glare at him, but the invisible restraints around your wrist snap even tighter.

"Answer me."

"No, not stupid," you grumble reluctantly.

"Now do you believe me?" he inquires, biting your inner thigh. You squirm, but he holds your legs tight.

"This is just some kind of fucked-up dream," you insist. "There's no such thing as demons."

"Have your dreams ever done this?"

He slips one finger under the edge of your underwear, moving the fabric aside to expose your shamefully wet cunt. He leans in, dragging his tongue slowly over your slit. You let out a pitiful whimper as its warmth traverses your folds, the lightest of pressure setting your insides on fire.

"I'll take that as a no," he says arrogantly. He drags the tip of his tongue around your clit, circling the aching bud, sending a voltage of electricity through your body. A soft ahhh escapes you as you buck your hips into his face, straining to keep his mouth on your cunt, but he notices. He lifts his head just out of reach, chuckling as he watches you struggle before him.

"So desperate, aren't we?" He blows softly on your clit, making it twitch.

"Stop torturing me," you attempt to sneer at him, but you can't mask the whine in your voice. He spits onto your clit, taking two fingers and unhurriedly spreading it around your already-slick folds.

"Oh my god that's worse," you groan.

"Too bad," he retorts as he continues, running his fingertips back and forth over the bundle of nerves. "You're too pretty when you cum, I wanna see it again."

He grabs onto your underwear with both hands, ripping them clean off your body in one stroke.

"Hey! That wasn't necessa-ohhh fuck…"

You are cut off by him diving into your cunt, burying his face in your heat as his tongue snakes into your hole. As he flicks it back and forth his nose presses into your clit; your eyes flutter closed as they roll back into your head, so you don't see the way he looks up at you — but his piercing gaze locks onto you, savoring the sight of you getting off to his touch. He keeps at it, face shoved into your pussy, lapping up your juices without bothering to come up for air. The moans coming out of you are utterly pathetic, but you have lost all control at this point. You are now entirely at his mercy.

Your orgasm overtakes you without warning. Blazing heat explodes in your gut as your body shakes, squirming but unable to move with him pinning you down. His head nods up and down as tongue works into your cunt, making his nose rub into your clit, only heightening your pleasure. You cry out, tears streaming down your cheeks as you feel bursts of your juices splashing all over his face, cumming so hard you see flashes of light in your eyelids.

"Fuck, ohmygod," you moan as you start to come down, still seeing stars as your body slows and sinks into the mattress. Seungkwan is still at it, dragging his tongue all over your pussy.

"'s too much," you whine, trying to pull yourself away from him, but that only prompts him to latch onto your clit. You shriek as he sucks on it relentlessly, the overstimulation driving you straight into another orgasm. It's even more powerful than the first, and though you're too gone to notice yourself screaming his name he certainly notices, lips twisting into a grin against your cunt.

By the time you're done cumming, you're so incoherent and spent that your eyelids refuse to open. Unmoving, breathing heavily, and perhaps under another demonic spell, you are lulled right back to sleep.

You wake up fucking exhausted.

Your hands are no longer bound and your underwear are back on your body, unripped, but you know none of that was a dream. Maybe a nightmare, but without a doubt a waking one.

Sipping on your mug of hot coffee at the kitchen table, you open your laptop and pull up Google.

are demons real

you type into the search, but it's too vague, and you get everything from the Catholic Church's take on demons, to blogs dedicated to the show Supernatural, to very obviously fake TikToks of people allegedly being possessed by the devil.

can demons have sex with you

But that just gives you some questionable Wattpad and DeviantArt links that you have no interest in clicking on.

types of demons demons in my room at night can demons look like people why do i have a demon stalking me

You search around aimlessly for about 20 minutes, but you only end up with more questions than you started with. You sigh, shutting your laptop in frustration. As you finish your coffee, another idea pops into your mind. You reach for your phone, starting a new text thread.

You: Hey Dahyun! Hope you're doing well, it's been a minute. Random question, but are you still by chance working at the University Library?

Your phone dings as your old friend responds right away.

Dahyun Kim: Hey y/n! I'm doing good, and yep still working at the library. On my way there now actually. Why do you ask?

You suddenly feel very embarrassed about what you're about to ask, but you're pretty sure you can keep it vague. Dahyun was never one to pry anyway.

You: It's a long story, but I was wondering if you could get me in so I could do a little research. Just want to look at some of the books I know wouldn't be at the public library. Nothing crazy I promise haha.

As soon as you send the text, you feel like this was a dumb idea, but she starts typing right away. You nervously watch the bubble, wondering how you could possibly explain yourself if she asks questions. Your phone soon dings with her reply.

Dahyun Kim: Yeah, sure! Though, probably best to come after hours. Less people around then anyway. We close at 8pm, can you get here a little before that?

Grateful she didn't ask you to explain yourself, you type a quick reply telling her you'll be there. You're not sure exactly what you're hoping to find, but you know the University has a lot of older texts in the special stacks that are normally off-limits. Surely you can find something useful in one of them.

It's another cold and misty evening as you take the bus downtown, making you grateful you thought to put tights on under your skirt today. You get off at the stop by the University, walking along the warmly-lit sidewalk onto the familiar campus. It's been a while since you've been here, but you know the way to the Library well. You arrive at the looming Gothic-style building, heading up the stone steps to its grand entrance. You give the large wooden door a heaving pull — it opens slowly, the toasty air provided by the building's old radiator system hitting you as you step inside. You make your way up the double staircase, heading to the third floor in search of your friend. After wandering around for a bit, you finally locate her behind a desk in the furthest corner of the library. She looks up from her computer as you approach, giving you a friendly wave.

"Hey y/n! So good to see you!"

"You too!" you reply cheerfully. "Thanks for helping me out here."

"Of course! What topic of books are you looking for? So I can guide you to the right section."

"So, it's kind of vague," you start casually. "But I want to learn about demons — but not necessarily from a religious perspective."

She nods understandingly. "Sounds like you'll want to look in Philosophy. Section 130 is Parapsychology and Occultism, I'd start there." She points down the hallway behind her. "You'll find that in the last room on the left."

"Awesome, thanks so much!"

"Anytime!" she replies with a smile. "Hope you find what you're looking for."

You head further down the dim hallway, lit only by sparsely-placed old kerosene lamps that have been refitted to hold low-wattage light bulbs. One of them flickers as you walk past it, making the shadows around you dance. You locate the room Dahyun was speaking of — indeed all the way in the back of the library. You give the large iron handle of the wooden door a tug, but it's locked. You're about to turn around and go ask your friend for a key, but you hear a soft click. Trying the door again, this time it opens; you let yourself inside.

The room, if you can call it that, is even darker than the hallway — filled with antique bookcases that go nearly to the ceiling, arranged into a maze of corridors. You follow the section numbers, hoping you don't get lost, but after a few minutes of meandering you arrive at section 133.4: Demonology and Witchcraft.

Scanning the shelves, you locate a few titles that seem somewhat relevant. Dust tickles your nose as you pull the old, leather-bound books off the shelf — clearly this is not a highly utilized section of the library. A large mahogany desk, also antique-looking, sits in a narrow clearing between the bookcases. You set your books atop it, tugging at the chain of the desk's singular lamp, but it doesn't turn on. Frowning, you try it a few more times.

"It's broken, sweetheart."

You whip your head around, startled by the sudden voice right behind you. You are greeted by who else but Seungkwan, towering over you mere inches away.

"AGAIN???" you groan. "Why the fuck are you stalking me?!"

He takes your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up dangerously close to his.

"Don't act like you aren't happy to see me, darling."

"I'm not."

"That's a lie and we both know it." He gestures with his head to your books on the desk. "This is adorable, by the way. If you have demon questions you can just ask me, you know."

"I wasn't planning to see you again, frankly."

"Oh but it seems like you were," he smirks. "Besides, you're not in control here. I am. And I'll visit you when I please."

"Well I wish you wouldn't!" you scowl as you try to walk away, but he slams his palms onto the desk behind you, pinning you between it and him.

"You have got to stop lying to me, love," he tells you, his face looming right above yours. "I can see right through you."

"Oh so now you're in my head," you glare at him.

"Baby, I've been in your head," he mutters, drawing his lips in so they ever-so-slightly brush against yours, sending a tingle down your spine. "How do you think I know your every desire?"

"You know nothing about me."

"I know you're wondering what my cock looks like right now."

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, your face turning hot with embarrassment. You want to tell him off, you want to slap his stupid face again — but there's no use in denying it, since he can apparently read your fucking mind. So instead you purse your lips, refusing to reply.

"Here, I'll show you."

He puts his hand on top of your head, pushing you to the ground in one fell swoop. You land on your knees, face directly before the massive bulge straining in his jeans. He unbuckles his belt, pulling his pants and underwear down, and nothing could have prepared you for the sheer size of his cock.

You stare up in amazement at its length, eyes widening as you take in just how long it is, but its girth is perhaps even more imposing — impossibly thick and adorned with bulging veins, your mouth begins to water.

Seungkwan grabs you by your hair, pulling your head back and forcing you to look up at him. He takes his cock in his other hand, running his tip across your lips, coating them with his leaking precum.

"So?" he asks smugly. "What do you think?"

"I thought you could read my mind," you shoot back.

"More or less," he shrugs. He yanks your hair again, tightening his grip on your head. "But I wanna hear you say it."

"You're fucking huge," you say quietly, voice faltering as you stare up at him, submitting to him.

"Speak up," he orders, dragging his cock across your face. "Can't hear you."

"I said you're fucking huge," you repeat, louder, irritated. An arrogant grin spreads across his face.

"Good girl. Now open."

You obey, dropping your jaw and sticking your tongue out. He immediately shoves his cock in your mouth, its width straining against your lips as he pushes it in. His length isn't even halfway in when his tip pokes the back of your throat, making your eyes water as you gag on him.

"Yeah, that's it baby," he growls. "Let's see how much you can take."

He holds your head in place as he pushes his cock in further, your throat opening to accept its huge size. Grotesque sounds emanate from your stuffed mouth, only egging him on further. He begins to fuck your throat, thrusting in and out — slow at first, but as he watches tears stream down your cheeks he starts to come undone, and his strokes turn rough. Soon he is fully fucking your face, the air filled with his melodic moaning and groaning as he pleasures himself with your mouth.

"My good little slut." He pulls his dick out, leaving you gasping for air. He gives you about two seconds to recover before he is pulling you back up to your feet, spinning you around and folding you over onto the desk. He lifts your skirt up, tearing a hole in your tights at your core.

"Stop ripping my clothes," you complain, throat hoarse from being fucked. "I need those."

"Eh, you look better without them."

He pulls your panties aside, chuckling at the delicate lace.

"You wear these for me?" he grins.

"Not everything is about you," you spit back. He responds by dragging his angered red tip over your soaked slit, making you groan.

"Oh but it is now, darling."

You cry out as he slips his cock inside, pressing it slowly through your walls, stretching you out like nothing before — but it feels divine.

"Hush," he commands as he claps a large hand over your mouth yet again. "You're in a library."

Your shrieks are stifled as he starts fucking your pussy, going in so deep you swear you feel it in your stomach. You grasp at the edge of the desk as he pounds into you, rough and relentless. It's not long before you're cumming on his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing his shaft as every nerve in your body lights on fire.

"Fuck, that's good," he grumbles. He releases his grasp on your face, gripping your ass with both hands as his cock plunges deeper still inside you.

"Cum in me," you beg, your words barely comprehensible through your incessant whimpering. A few more thrusts and you feel his release painting your inner walls, filling you up with his hot, thick cum. He groans, cock pulsating in your pussy as he gives you every last drop. Your head spins, soft moans escaping you with each heaving breath as you try and recover.

Seungkwan slowly pulls his cock out, careful not to spill any cum on your tights. He tugs your underwear back into place, giving your spent cunt a couple light smacks over the fabric. You whine, so overtaken by pleasure that you can't even move. He pulls your skirt back down, sliding his hands under your torso and lifting your limp body off the table and into his arms. He kisses you slowly, tongue slipping between your teeth, and you kiss him back, savoring the taste of cinnamon mints on his lips. Eventually he pulls his head back, resting his forehead on yours as he stares into your eyes with those fiery dark irises that you can't escape.

"Have fun studying, love," he tells you with a shifty smirk. Then, he vanishes.

The bus ride home tonight seems exceptionally long. You stare out the window as the dark nighttime city flashes by you, trying to process everything that's happened to you over the past few days with regards to your own personal demon from hell, but you still have more questions than answers. The bus approaches a dim intersection — you recognize it as the one where it broke down last time, where the streetlights were out. Quickly and without thinking you reach up and pull the cord, requesting the stop.

You watch the bus drive away as you walk down the slick sidewalk, retracing your steps that led you to the nightclub that fateful night. You walk and walk, fairly certain that you're walking the right way, but nothing looks as it did before. You don't recognize any of the buildings, and you don't come across a single sketchy alleyway with a red glow or booming heavy metal.

Eventually, you tire of wandering around aimlessly. You pull your phone out, opening Google.

the white rabbit

you search, but everything that comes up is about Alice in Wonderland or the Jefferson Airplane song.

the white rabbit club the white rabbit bar the white rabbit venue the white rabbit seungkwan

You try everything you can think of, but you find nothing of relevance. The White Rabbit does not appear to exist, and neither does anyone by the name Seungkwan.

You should be upset right now, but you're too cold and confused, and you just want to go home. You turn around to head back to the bus stop, but a speck of white down the block catches your attention — it's the same rabbit you saw the other night, unmoving beside a flowerbed, staring at you. You stand there, staring back at it, wondering what the hell any of this means. A waft of cigarette stench and cinnamon mints suddenly washes over you. You turn, looking around, but there's nobody in sight. You look back to the rabbit; it's still standing there, eyes now glowing — and you swear you see it wink at you. It starts hopping off down the sidewalk, then in the blink of an eye, it disappears.

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You're not sure how you ended up here.

You know the bus broke down, stalling on the side of a quiet road. The driver said a replacement would be there in about 30 minutes, but it was already late, and you didn't want to sit around in a cold bus waiting for that long. Not when the only other passenger was a creepy old man who kept giving you dirty looks, and not when most of the streetlights on the block were out, shrouding everything in an eerie near-darkness. So you hopped off the bus.

You know you were on your way home, striding quickly against the biting wind, sharp prickles of freezing mist stinging against your exposed cheeks despite your best effort to bury your face in your thin scarf. Your soles tapped against the slippery pavement as you walked along the bus route, treading cautiously. You knew exactly where you were, and it was a pretty straight shot home, so you didn't bother pulling up the map; besides, you didn't have your gloves, so you didn't want your hand to freeze from holding your phone. You marched along with haste, arms tucked into your jacket as you huddled into yourself for warmth. You knew exactly where you were — until you didn't.

You stop in your tracks, taking a moment to look around. It's even darker here than where you got off the bus, but even in the shadows you can tell that your surroundings are entirely unfamiliar. Every single streetlight on the block is unlit, except for one, flickering erratically just ahead of you. The flashing is bothersome, yet you are drawn to it — like a moth to a flame, you walk into its light. You stand there for a moment, not quite sure what you thought that was going to accomplish, because you still have no idea where you are. I must have taken a wrong turn at some point, you think to yourself, but you have no memory of even making a turn. You've lived in this city for 10 years now — being out late at night by yourself has never genuinely scared you, but an ominous chill creeps up your spine as you stand here alone on this empty street, and you know that it isn't just because of the frigid temperature.

Admitting defeat, you go to pull your phone out of your purse, but a sudden small flash of movement in your peripheral vision catches your eye. You turn to see a rabbit, white as snow, hopping across the street. Confused, you watch it for a moment; although fairly rare to spot in the city, you've come across wild rabbits a few times, but they've all had fawnish-brown fur. You start to wonder if this somebody's lost pet, and if you should follow it — though, even if you manage to catch it, what the hell are you going to do with a rabbit when you're nowhere near home? Yet your feet carry you into the street; instinctively you turn your head both ways, checking for oncoming cars, but there's not a single headlight as far as your eyes can see. The rabbit makes it across, zipping around the corner onto the next street. You pick up your pace, the sound of your footsteps echoing down the silent road as you follow the mysterious critter. Turning the corner, you see yet another dead, unlit block, not a single storefront or apartment emitting any sign of life. The rabbit hops along until it makes a sudden turn, vanishing between the buildings. As you approach, you realize it has darted into an alleyway. Despite the brightness of its coat, you don't see the creature anywhere; you're about to call it quits when you notice a dim red glow, coming from a doorway in the alley.

The door sits atop a small concrete stairwell. It's barely open, but the slight crack is enough for the red glow to illuminate the entryway to the alley. Muffled music drifts into the night from beyond its threshold; you're not even sure what genre, but it sounds slow and heavy. A dying red and blue neon sign that says BAR flickers halfheartedly, its arrow pointing you to the doorway. Whatever lies behind the door, its warmth is a stark contrast to the coldness of everything around you, and it's alluring.

What are you doing??, a voice in the back of your brain screams at you. Get out of here and go home. Yet you stand there, staring at the door. It's just a bar, you think to yourself. I'll have one drink to warm up, and if the vibes are off then I'll just leave.

And so you climb the cracked and crumbling stairs. As you approach the door you reach for the handle, but it slowly swings open on its own, as if welcoming you in. You step through the threshold, greeted by a thick cloud of cigarette smoke and the booming vibrations of slow, heavy metal music. Expecting to see the bouncer on the other side, you reach for your wallet, but there's no one standing there. Peering through the haze you see that, despite the broken neon sign's promise, it's more of a club than a bar — but a two-story club that plays rock music, and is filled with tough-looking patrons clad in punk gear; you immediately feel very out of place in your skirt and peacoat. A metal staircase leads you down to a crowded dance floor; you step down carefully, entering the crowd of people swaying and making out and probably doing other things you have no interest in knowing about. Heads turn as you make your way through the crowd, leering at you unwelcomingly. Their glares make it clear: you don't belong here.

If you were smart, you would turn right back around and get the fuck out of this place. But you're not scared, and you could use a fucking drink. So, defying every instinct in your body you press on, squeezing through the crowd and making your way to the bar at the center of the room. There is one lone bartender behind the counter; he glances up at you, eyes peering from behind a curtain of long, dark hair. He ignores you, going back to drying glasses with a rag. Sighing, your eyes wander around the room as you wait. The haze of smoke and the red and blue lights flashing in the darkness make it hard to get a good look at anything, but a small set of stairs toward the back of the room catches your attention. Ditching your attempt at ordering a beverage, you walk into the crowd again, heading directly for the nondescript staircase that for some reason seems to be calling to you. As you approach, you realize it appears to lead to the second story — probably off-limits, you assume, but there's no sign or barrier warning you not to enter. As if under a spell, your feet carry you up the stairway without a second thought.

An even heavier fog of cigarette smoke awaits you on the second floor. You press through the throng of scantily-dressed bodies as the grungy music rumbles your bones, heading in no particular direction. Finally, you find a break in the crowd — you push your way through, escaping the pack of people. It's not exactly fresh air with all the lingering smoke, but you're grateful not to be squished between sweaty club-goers any longer. You realize you've made your way to a large, circular booth — in it are a handful of beautiful but intimidating individuals: two are too busy making out with each other to notice you; another two are staring at you with harshly, sipping their beverages with dark-tinted lips as they glare at you; a final man sits at the center of all of them, arms spread wide across the back of the bench as he reclines, manspreading in his seat, a half-spent cigarette dangling from his mouth as his eyes pierce into you with grave intensity. You gasp, suddenly feeling lightheaded, as if you lowkey just got the wind knocked out of you. The man is stunning — bleached-blonde strands of hair lay unkempt across his forehead, framing a face you would describe as cherub-like if it weren't for the brooding aura hanging around him. Despite the steaminess of the club, he is clad in a leather jacket; underneath, a dark t-shirt, with a heavy-looking chain and dog tag resting atop his chest, and you notice as he reaches for his cigarette that his long, graceful fingers are adorned with numerous rings. His dark irises scan your body up and down, boring into you feverously as he takes in the sight of you. You feel a rush of heat surge through you, making your skin turn hot and flustered as he stares, a slight but devious smirk upon his lips. He is unnaturally gorgeous, frighteningly ravishing, god-like but far more sinister. You are simultaneously afraid and entranced.

The man puts his cigarette out on the table's ashtray, then beckons you with two fingers, telling you come here. A pit forms in your stomach, but your feet carry you toward the booth, the man's charisma pulling you in like a magnet. With a flick of his hand he shoos the others away; without question they rise from their seats, disappearing into the mass of club-goers. You step forward, sliding into the bench seat and joining the alluring man. He leans over, his arm sliding atop the seat back to rest behind your shoulders.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" he speaks quietly into your ear, making all the hair on your arms stand up. He stares at you with an intensity that feels like an animal hunting down its prey — like he's going to devour you. It makes your stomach lurch, and everything about this situation should be a massive red flag, but you don't feel anxious. You feel… curious. Intrigued.

I don't know is the real answer to his question, but you know better than to admit that.

"Just wanted a drink," you reply casually, fiddling with your hands in your lap. He reaches across the table, sliding a full glass that definitely wasn't there a few seconds in front of you. You didn't see any bartender drop by with a fresh beverage, but you assume you were just too flustered to notice them. Without thinking you pick up the cocktail glass and raise it to your lips, taking a sip. A surprised look appears on your face, making the man chuckle.

"Jim Beam, on the rocks, with a dash of lemon juice — isn't that right, love?" he hums into your ear, rubbing his thumb slowly over your shoulder. A shiver shoots up your spine.

"Lucky guess," you chuckle nervously.

"Sure," he smirks at you. His other hand drifts to your thigh, resting atop your bare leg.

"W-what's this place even called?" you try to ask nonchalantly, but the light friction between his fingers and your skin is starting to make you dizzy. "I didn't see a sign…"

"So you didn't come here on purpose, then," he croons, gently squeezing your thigh in his large hand.

"Never said I did." You go to take another sip, but melting ice cubes greet your lips. Looking down, you see you've apparently finished your drink already — but another one has, once again, materialized before you. You don't need to be drinking this fast, so you politely decline with a wave, but the man slides it over to you regardless.

"It's on the house, darling," he tells you, tracing circles on your thigh with his fingertips.

"Are you the owner?" you ask, bringing the amber liquid to your lips against your better judgment. You stare off into the crowd, avoiding eye contact, but his gaze burns into you still.

"Not exactly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's just say ownership of The White Rabbit is currently, ah… in a bit of limbo."

"Oh." Whatever that's supposed to mean. It takes you a moment to recollect the literal wild rabbit chase that led you here in the first place. Your stomach drops at the realization, head spinning as you try to make sense of any of this, but before you can think straight the man leans in, lips hovering mere inches from your ear.

"Come with me love, let me show you," he whispers, the hair on the back of your neck tingling with a sense of danger — but also excitement. Your face turns slightly, your eyes drawn instantly to the man's soft, round lips. He smirks, the corners of his mouth twisting into a devious grin. You then make the terrible mistake of meeting his gaze.

Looking into the man's eyes was like staring into the sun; like staring into a pitch-black void; like seeing the ethereal beauty of the world and its abject horrors all at once. You felt free, you felt caged; you felt terror and delight; the moment was eternal, ephemeral, finite and never-ending — and that's when you knew you were fucked.

You're then stumbling into a dingy hallway, the man's hand resting on the small of your back as he guides you through the darkness. You have no memory of getting up from the booth and walking this way, but here you are.

"What's your name?" you ask him feebly, as if you've just awakened from a trance. "You never told me."

"You never asked," he mutters in your ear. Suddenly his hands grasp at your waist, abruptly turning you around and pushing you into the wall. His left hand snaps up, slamming his palm against the wall beside your head as he towers above you,

"But you can call me Seungkwan."

He stares down at you menacingly. You should be afraid, you know you should be afraid, and if it were anyone else you would scream and hit and kick him in the nuts and run away — but god he is so fucking hot. He licks his lips, grinning a terrible beautiful grin, then leans his face into the crook of your neck. His tongue dances lightly across the delicate skin, making you groan involuntarily. You hear him chuckle underneath your ear.

"You like that, don't you love?" he asks cockily, but before you can answer he begins to kiss you, lips dragging across your skin and making you melt into the wall. His free hand grips your hip, his large fingers splayed over your skirt. You realize your jacket is gone — you don't remember taking it off, but that thought is lost as soon as his teeth start nipping at the tender flesh of your neck, biting and sucking in a manner you know is going to leave a mark — but you don't care. The hand on your hip slides down to your outer thigh, flirting with the hemline of your skirt before reaching between your thighs. Without a thought your legs spread, allowing his wandering fingers to reach your core. He drags his fingertips over your underwear, lips grinning against your neck as he finds them damp to the touch.

"Oh," you sigh as he brushes against your clit. You didn't realize how badly your cunt was aching, but the bud is incredibly aroused and sensitive. Your hips mindlessly begin to grind against his fingertips, yearning for relief.

"Tell me how bad you want it," he mutters into your ear.

"I want it," your voice quivers. "So bad. Please."

"Your wish is my command, darling."

You gasp as he shoves his hand up further into your skirt, grabbing your panties in his fist and yanking them down to your knees. He reaches for your cunt, two of his fingers immediately slipping inside you as they reach your hole. You whine as he shoves them deep into your pussy, the cold metal of his rings stinging sharply against your hot skin.

"Oh you're soaked," he growls, pleased with how easily you succumbed to his touch. Your head spins as he begins to work his fingers in and out of you, rough strokes with curled fingers, easily reaching your g-spot — making you moan loudly and uninhibitedly.

"Shhh," he hisses, taking his other hand and clasping it roughly over your mouth. "You're acting like you want to get caught. But you don't even care, do you?" he asks smugly. You feel drunk, far drunker than you should be from two drinks, but whatever spell Seungkwan has you under has you deeply intoxicated. You feel yourself shaking your head, struggling to move it underneath this strong grasp on your face.

"Ha," he huffs, smirking at you. "You know what that makes you? That makes you a fucking slut." He spits on your face, the saliva hitting your cheek and dripping down over the back of his hand. "A little slut who lets a complete stranger fuck her wet little pussy in public, isn't that right?" His words barely register as he fingers you relentlessly, pumping in and out of your drenched hole, but you find yourself nodding in agreement.

"You know what else that makes you?" he asks as he presses his thumb into your throbbing clit. You shriek, but the sound is stifled into his palm.

"That makes you mine."

Tears stream down your face as he rubs the pad of his thumb over your clit while still fucking you, the fire in your gut rising angrily in search of release. You writhe against the wall, barely able to move under his hold, your fists clutching desperately to his leather jacket as the zippered seam digs into your hand. Your eyes roll back into your head, chest heaving as you try to control your breaths — but you are deliciously overstimulated, enough to send you hurtling over the edge as your orgasm overtakes you. Your cries are muffled, but your ecstatic moaning is loud enough to be audible even over the blaring rock music. You cum all over his fingers, juices splashing down your leg as you release, riding out your climax for what feels like an endless passage of time.

As your writhing body slows, you start to come down from your daze, sinking into the wall behind you as you unclench your grasp on his jacket, hands falling to your sides in blissful defeat. He pulls his fingers out of your soaked pussy, your walls fluttering as it throbs with powerful post-orgasm pulses. He releases his hold on your face, only to shove his other hand into your mouth, making you gag as you taste yourself on his fingers. Your eyelids suddenly feel very heavy. Seungkwan tugs his hand out of your mouth and replaces it with his tongue, giving you a sloppy kiss. Your eyes slowly drift closed; the last thing you see is a glowing pair of eyes, locked onto you in a piercing, devilish stare.

You wake up slowly the next morning. Tired, groggy, you lay there with your eyes closed, listening to the sound of chirping sparrows outside your window as you try to force yourself back into consciousness — but the soft warmth of your blankets holds you hostage. You roll over, hugging your pillow as your mind wanders, trying to recall the dream you had last night. It had been weird, surreal, too real, almost as if-

You jolt up in bed as it hits you like a train: that wasn't a dream.

No way, you argue with yourself. There's no way that actually happened…

You throw the covers aside as you swing your feet to the floor. As the cold hardwood hits your bare soles, you notice you're fully dressed — in the exact same clothes you were wearing last night. Your peacoat is gone, and looking across the room you spot it neatly folded over the back of the chair, but you are still wearing yesterday's skirt and blouse. Your nose wrinkles as you register the lingering, stale scent of cigarette smoke reeking from your garments, nearly giving you whiplash as you are mentally transported back to the events nightclub: the hazy air, the slow and banging heavy metal music, the sweaty heat steaming around you as you swam through the sea of bodies, and the frighteningly beautiful man who rocked your fucking shit.

Seungkwan, you vaguely remember him telling you. But though he had whispered it sultrily into your ear, the echoes of his voice ring distant in your memory. You can somewhat string together the events of last night, but they all blur together, a jumbled concoction of whiskey and cigarettes and scandalous touches.

The memory of his tongue dragging across your neck suddenly hits you, the tender spot stinging as if his saliva had seared into your skin. Your core throbs in a spent heat, sensitive as if you'd had a powerful orgasm mere minutes ago versus last night. You remember the way his fingers slipped inside you, filled you and fucked you like they were always meant to be there. Like your pussy belonged to him.

"That makes you mine," the words he spat ricochet through your skull. Just the thought of the way he had growled them in your face as he fucked you into oblivion gives you full-body chills.

You sit perched on the edge of your mattress in disbelief. This is all wildly out of character for you — did you really let this man, this complete stranger, finger you in a public place?? You rise from the bed and enter the bathroom, pulling back the collar of your top as you stand before the mirror. Sure enough — several freshly bruised patches trail down your neck to your collarbone, accompanied by small bite marks where his teeth had nipped at you.

Had he drugged you? Did he slip something into your drink? And how the hell did you even get home? You have no memory of anything post-orgasm. All you can recall is sinking into the wall, panties at your knees still as wetness trickled down your inner thighs, watching a pair of glowing, furious eyes retreat into the darkness.

You strip your smoke-riddled clothes off and throw them on the floor as you turn on the shower as hot as it will go. You want answers, but the only way to do that would be to find that wretched nightclub again and confront the man, and you know that would be incredibly foolish if not downright dangerous. You step into the steaming shower, letting the painfully hot water wash over you as you consider your options. Even if you found the club again, and even if you found the man, the same thing could just happen all over again.

But why does that thought almost… excite you?

The rest of your day passes uneventfully. You're off today, so you spend it running errands and then catching up on your shows — good distractions, but not enough to get your mind off of Seungkwan. You can't help but wonder who the fuck he actually is, if he actually is the owner of the club or if he was lying to you. It doesn't matter, you keep trying to tell yourself. You hooked up with a stranger and you're never going to see him again, and that's that. But a strange gut feeling hinders you from fully believing it.

As the sun sets and night falls, you throw some random nature documentary on in hopes of easing your mind with something dull. It works a little too well, though, and before you know it you've dozed off on the couch.

Your head snaps up about 40 minutes later, waking you from your unintentional nap. Yawning, you rub your eyes, opening them to see the documentary still playing on the tv. You're still a bit zoned out until you register what's on the screen: a white rabbit, munching on flowers in the middle of a field.

You let out a huff of air. Dumb coincidence, you think you yourself. The rabbit is calm, hopping along innocently, but you care to see it no longer. As your hand fumbles around the couch for the remote the music shifts, turning ominous and dramatic. The camera zooms into a patch of tall grass, revealing a pair of dark eyes staring through the brush. The eyes watch the rabbit with grave intensity, following its path as it hops through the field. As soon as the rabbit stops, a fox darts into the clearing — pouncing on its prey before the poor creature could even attempt to escape. Grimacing, you locate the remote and shut the tv off before you see anything gruesome. So much for something dull.

Checking the time, it's later than you expected, so you decide to call it a night. By the time you crawl into bed you're yawning again, eyelids heavy as you struggle to keep them open, so you shut the lamp off right away. No use in staying up and letting your thoughts take over.

Your mind is mostly clear as you drift away into unconsciousness; the only imagery in your head is that of an alluring pair of eyes, their dark irises watching you intently as you fall asleep.

You wake in the middle of the night, freezing cold.

Realizing you must have kicked the blanket off, you reach for it, but it's not there. You blindly feel around the bed, patting your hand atop the mattress, until it hits something solid and warm. Your eyes pop open to see a figure laying in the bed beside you, staring at you with luminous fiery eyes.

Before you can scream, a large, familiar hand clasps over your mouth. You reach for the lamp, yanking the chain and casting its warm yellow glow onto the figure: Seungkwan.

"Oh, we won't be needing that," he waves his free hand lazily at the lamp. The light extinguishes, forcing you to blink a few times before your eyes readjust to the darkness. Seungkwan is laying on his side, propped up on one elbow, giving you a smug grin. You try to pry his hand off your face, but his grasp on you is firm. No longer in the leather jacket getup, you wrap your hands around his brawny exposed arm, digging your fingernails into his flesh as hard as you can. He doesn't even flinch, simply laughing at you instead.

"That's cute," he tuts at you condescendingly. "Now if I let go you aren't going to scream, isn't that right?"

You glare at him, but he just smiles.

"Answer me, love. Yes or no."

Sighing, you shake your head, but not without rolling your eyes at him.

"Good girl."

"Why the fuck are you in my house?!" you bellow at him as he releases his hand from your mouth. "How do you even know where I live?? Who even ARE you???"

"I'm Seungkwan," he replies, giving you a cheeky look that says obviously. Scowling, you smack him in the face as hard as you can muster while laying down. He smirks at you as a flush pink spot develops on his cheek.

"Do that again, it makes my dick hard."

"Go to hell."

"Hell is boring."

You flinch as he suddenly rolls himself on top of you, leaning his face in so close to yours that you feel his hot breath on your lips. His scent is that of spicy cinnamon mints and cigarettes.

"I'd much rather be here, playing with you."

"What are you, some kind of fucking freak?" you shriek at him.

"Aww, that's not very nice darling."

You start to snap back at him but your body tenses as he slowly drags his tongue across your lower lip, cutting you off.

"If you don't like it I can leave," he mutters, leaning his head into the crook of your neck, puckering his lips lightly on the already-bruised spots. "But I seem to recall you very much enjoying me last night."

"Fuck you," you seethe. He sucks at the tender bruise, causing you to let out an soft, involuntary moan.

"Such mixed messages, love," he mumbles as he kisses his way back up to your jawline. "I'll go then."

He rises to get off the bed, but your hands snap to his forearms, holding him back.

"Wait," you tell him urgently. The smirk painted on his face grows even wider. The rage on your face seeps with desperation; you look pathetic — just how he likes it.

You're furious at him — you know you should find him despicable, but you're also furious with yourself, because you don't. Because you've gotten a taste of the devil, and now you want more. Because, above all else, you are ragingly horny right now, and you want him.

"Did you drug me last night?" you ask sternly. "And don't fucking lie to me."

"Of course not," he answers sincerely as he leans back into you, and even though you don't want to, you believe him. "I may be a demon but I'm not a monster."

"Is that what 'alpha males' are calling themselves these days? Demons?" you inquire, raising your brow.

"You think I'm an alpha male," he points out smugly.

"Not my fucking point."

"Then what is the point, sweetheart?"

"The point is that you're a fucking stranger who broke into my house in the middle of the night and is laying in my fucking bed right now!" you shout at him.

"No, I'm a demon who conjured myself into your bedroom. Watch, I'll do it again."

In the blink of an eye, he vanishes. Your heart thumps in your chest as you lay there in silence, frozen in fear. Are you having a really fucking weird dream right now? That slap felt awfully real though-

Before you can think any further Seungkwan rematerializes at the foot of your bed. You jump, nearly kicking him in the head — but he swiftly grabs hold of your ankles and hoists them up, nearly folding you in half.

"See? Demon," he tells you bluntly as he lays down, positioning his head between your legs.

"I don't know how you're doing that but I'd appreciate if you'd stop with the stupid fucking tricks," you spit at him anxiously.

"Well now that's just rude. You think my tricks are stupid?"

An invisible force suddenly yanks your arms upward, pinning them above your head and tying them to the bed frame with some kind of phantom strap. Your heartbeat pulses in fear — but your pussy pulses harder.

"What about now?" he questions, dragging his fingernails up your thigh. A sharp tingling sensation shoots through you. "Still stupid?"

You don't respond, choosing instead to glare at him, but the invisible restraints around your wrist snap even tighter.

"Answer me."

"No, not stupid," you grumble reluctantly.

"Now do you believe me?" he inquires, biting your inner thigh. You squirm, but he holds your legs tight.

"This is just some kind of fucked-up dream," you insist. "There's no such thing as demons."

"Have your dreams ever done this?"

He slips one finger under the edge of your underwear, moving the fabric aside to expose your shamefully wet cunt. He leans in, dragging his tongue slowly over your slit. You let out a pitiful whimper as its warmth traverses your folds, the lightest of pressure setting your insides on fire.

"I'll take that as a no," he says arrogantly. He drags the tip of his tongue around your clit, circling the aching bud, sending a voltage of electricity through your body. A soft ahhh escapes you as you buck your hips into his face, straining to keep his mouth on your cunt, but he notices. He lifts his head just out of reach, chuckling as he watches you struggle before him.

"So desperate, aren't we?" He blows softly on your clit, making it twitch.

"Stop torturing me," you attempt to sneer at him, but you can't mask the whine in your voice. He spits onto your clit, taking two fingers and unhurriedly spreading it around your already-slick folds.

"Oh my god that's worse," you groan.

"Too bad," he retorts as he continues, running his fingertips back and forth over the bundle of nerves. "You're too pretty when you cum, I wanna see it again."

He grabs onto your underwear with both hands, ripping them clean off your body in one stroke.

"Hey! That wasn't necessa-ohhh fuck…"

You are cut off by him diving into your cunt, burying his face in your heat as his tongue snakes into your hole. As he flicks it back and forth his nose presses into your clit; your eyes flutter closed as they roll back into your head, so you don't see the way he looks up at you — but his piercing gaze locks onto you, savoring the sight of you getting off to his touch. He keeps at it, face shoved into your pussy, lapping up your juices without bothering to come up for air. The moans coming out of you are utterly pathetic, but you have lost all control at this point. You are now entirely at his mercy.

Your orgasm overtakes you without warning. Blazing heat explodes in your gut as your body shakes, squirming but unable to move with him pinning you down. His head nods up and down as tongue works into your cunt, making his nose rub into your clit, only heightening your pleasure. You cry out, tears streaming down your cheeks as you feel bursts of your juices splashing all over his face, cumming so hard you see flashes of light in your eyelids.

"Fuck, ohmygod," you moan as you start to come down, still seeing stars as your body slows and sinks into the mattress. Seungkwan is still at it, dragging his tongue all over your pussy.

"'s too much," you whine, trying to pull yourself away from him, but that only prompts him to latch onto your clit. You shriek as he sucks on it relentlessly, the overstimulation driving you straight into another orgasm. It's even more powerful than the first, and though you're too gone to notice yourself screaming his name he certainly notices, lips twisting into a grin against your cunt.

By the time you're done cumming, you're so incoherent and spent that your eyelids refuse to open. Unmoving, breathing heavily, and perhaps under another demonic spell, you are lulled right back to sleep.

You wake up fucking exhausted.

Your hands are no longer bound and your underwear are back on your body, unripped, but you know none of that was a dream. Maybe a nightmare, but without a doubt a waking one.

Sipping on your mug of hot coffee at the kitchen table, you open your laptop and pull up Google.

are demons real

you type into the search, but it's too vague, and you get everything from the Catholic Church's take on demons, to blogs dedicated to the show Supernatural, to very obviously fake TikToks of people allegedly being possessed by the devil.

can demons have sex with you

But that just gives you some questionable Wattpad and DeviantArt links that you have no interest in clicking on.

types of demons demons in my room at night can demons look like people why do i have a demon stalking me

You search around aimlessly for about 20 minutes, but you only end up with more questions than you started with. You sigh, shutting your laptop in frustration. As you finish your coffee, another idea pops into your mind. You reach for your phone, starting a new text thread.

You: Hey Dahyun! Hope you're doing well, it's been a minute. Random question, but are you still by chance working at the University Library?

Your phone dings as your old friend responds right away.

Dahyun Kim: Hey y/n! I'm doing good, and yep still working at the library. On my way there now actually. Why do you ask?

You suddenly feel very embarrassed about what you're about to ask, but you're pretty sure you can keep it vague. Dahyun was never one to pry anyway.

You: It's a long story, but I was wondering if you could get me in so I could do a little research. Just want to look at some of the books I know wouldn't be at the public library. Nothing crazy I promise haha.

As soon as you send the text, you feel like this was a dumb idea, but she starts typing right away. You nervously watch the bubble, wondering how you could possibly explain yourself if she asks questions. Your phone soon dings with her reply.

Dahyun Kim: Yeah, sure! Though, probably best to come after hours. Less people around then anyway. We close at 8pm, can you get here a little before that?

Grateful she didn't ask you to explain yourself, you type a quick reply telling her you'll be there. You're not sure exactly what you're hoping to find, but you know the University has a lot of older texts in the special stacks that are normally off-limits. Surely you can find something useful in one of them.

It's another cold and misty evening as you take the bus downtown, making you grateful you thought to put tights on under your skirt today. You get off at the stop by the University, walking along the warmly-lit sidewalk onto the familiar campus. It's been a while since you've been here, but you know the way to the Library well. You arrive at the looming Gothic-style building, heading up the stone steps to its grand entrance. You give the large wooden door a heaving pull — it opens slowly, the toasty air provided by the building's old radiator system hitting you as you step inside. You make your way up the double staircase, heading to the third floor in search of your friend. After wandering around for a bit, you finally locate her behind a desk in the furthest corner of the library. She looks up from her computer as you approach, giving you a friendly wave.

"Hey y/n! So good to see you!"

"You too!" you reply cheerfully. "Thanks for helping me out here."

"Of course! What topic of books are you looking for? So I can guide you to the right section."

"So, it's kind of vague," you start casually. "But I want to learn about demons — but not necessarily from a religious perspective."

She nods understandingly. "Sounds like you'll want to look in Philosophy. Section 130 is Parapsychology and Occultism, I'd start there." She points down the hallway behind her. "You'll find that in the last room on the left."

"Awesome, thanks so much!"

"Anytime!" she replies with a smile. "Hope you find what you're looking for."

You head further down the dim hallway, lit only by sparsely-placed old kerosene lamps that have been refitted to hold low-wattage light bulbs. One of them flickers as you walk past it, making the shadows around you dance. You locate the room Dahyun was speaking of — indeed all the way in the back of the library. You give the large iron handle of the wooden door a tug, but it's locked. You're about to turn around and go ask your friend for a key, but you hear a soft click. Trying the door again, this time it opens; you let yourself inside.

The room, if you can call it that, is even darker than the hallway — filled with antique bookcases that go nearly to the ceiling, arranged into a maze of corridors. You follow the section numbers, hoping you don't get lost, but after a few minutes of meandering you arrive at section 133.4: Demonology and Witchcraft.

Scanning the shelves, you locate a few titles that seem somewhat relevant. Dust tickles your nose as you pull the old, leather-bound books off the shelf — clearly this is not a highly utilized section of the library. A large mahogany desk, also antique-looking, sits in a narrow clearing between the bookcases. You set your books atop it, tugging at the chain of the desk's singular lamp, but it doesn't turn on. Frowning, you try it a few more times.

"It's broken, sweetheart."

You whip your head around, startled by the sudden voice right behind you. You are greeted by who else but Seungkwan, towering over you mere inches away.

"AGAIN???" you groan. "Why the fuck are you stalking me?!"

He takes your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up dangerously close to his.

"Don't act like you aren't happy to see me, darling."

"I'm not."

"That's a lie and we both know it." He gestures with his head to your books on the desk. "This is adorable, by the way. If you have demon questions you can just ask me, you know."

"I wasn't planning to see you again, frankly."

"Oh but it seems like you were," he smirks. "Besides, you're not in control here. I am. And I'll visit you when I please."

"Well I wish you wouldn't!" you scowl as you try to walk away, but he slams his palms onto the desk behind you, pinning you between it and him.

"You have got to stop lying to me, love," he tells you, his face looming right above yours. "I can see right through you."

"Oh so now you're in my head," you glare at him.

"Baby, I've been in your head," he mutters, drawing his lips in so they ever-so-slightly brush against yours, sending a tingle down your spine. "How do you think I know your every desire?"

"You know nothing about me."

"I know you're wondering what my cock looks like right now."

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, your face turning hot with embarrassment. You want to tell him off, you want to slap his stupid face again — but there's no use in denying it, since he can apparently read your fucking mind. So instead you purse your lips, refusing to reply.

"Here, I'll show you."

He puts his hand on top of your head, pushing you to the ground in one fell swoop. You land on your knees, face directly before the massive bulge straining in his jeans. He unbuckles his belt, pulling his pants and underwear down, and nothing could have prepared you for the sheer size of his cock.

You stare up in amazement at its length, eyes widening as you take in just how long it is, but its girth is perhaps even more imposing — impossibly thick and adorned with bulging veins, your mouth begins to water.

Seungkwan grabs you by your hair, pulling your head back and forcing you to look up at him. He takes his cock in his other hand, running his tip across your lips, coating them with his leaking precum.

"So?" he asks smugly. "What do you think?"

"I thought you could read my mind," you shoot back.

"More or less," he shrugs. He yanks your hair again, tightening his grip on your head. "But I wanna hear you say it."

"You're fucking huge," you say quietly, voice faltering as you stare up at him, submitting to him.

"Speak up," he orders, dragging his cock across your face. "Can't hear you."

"I said you're fucking huge," you repeat, louder, irritated. An arrogant grin spreads across his face.

"Good girl. Now open."

You obey, dropping your jaw and sticking your tongue out. He immediately shoves his cock in your mouth, its width straining against your lips as he pushes it in. His length isn't even halfway in when his tip pokes the back of your throat, making your eyes water as you gag on him.

"Yeah, that's it baby," he growls. "Let's see how much you can take."

He holds your head in place as he pushes his cock in further, your throat opening to accept its huge size. Grotesque sounds emanate from your stuffed mouth, only egging him on further. He begins to fuck your throat, thrusting in and out — slow at first, but as he watches tears stream down your cheeks he starts to come undone, and his strokes turn rough. Soon he is fully fucking your face, the air filled with his melodic moaning and groaning as he pleasures himself with your mouth.

"My good little slut." He pulls his dick out, leaving you gasping for air. He gives you about two seconds to recover before he is pulling you back up to your feet, spinning you around and folding you over onto the desk. He lifts your skirt up, tearing a hole in your tights at your core.

"Stop ripping my clothes," you complain, throat hoarse from being fucked. "I need those."

"Eh, you look better without them."

He pulls your panties aside, chuckling at the delicate lace.

"You wear these for me?" he grins.

"Not everything is about you," you spit back. He responds by dragging his angered red tip over your soaked slit, making you groan.

"Oh but it is now, darling."

You cry out as he slips his cock inside, pressing it slowly through your walls, stretching you out like nothing before — but it feels divine.

"Hush," he commands as he claps a large hand over your mouth yet again. "You're in a library."

Your shrieks are stifled as he starts fucking your pussy, going in so deep you swear you feel it in your stomach. You grasp at the edge of the desk as he pounds into you, rough and relentless. It's not long before you're cumming on his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing his shaft as every nerve in your body lights on fire.

"Fuck, that's good," he grumbles. He releases his grasp on your face, gripping your ass with both hands as his cock plunges deeper still inside you.

"Cum in me," you beg, your words barely comprehensible through your incessant whimpering. A few more thrusts and you feel his release painting your inner walls, filling you up with his hot, thick cum. He groans, cock pulsating in your pussy as he gives you every last drop. Your head spins, soft moans escaping you with each heaving breath as you try and recover.

Seungkwan slowly pulls his cock out, careful not to spill any cum on your tights. He tugs your underwear back into place, giving your spent cunt a couple light smacks over the fabric. You whine, so overtaken by pleasure that you can't even move. He pulls your skirt back down, sliding his hands under your torso and lifting your limp body off the table and into his arms. He kisses you slowly, tongue slipping between your teeth, and you kiss him back, savoring the taste of cinnamon mints on his lips. Eventually he pulls his head back, resting his forehead on yours as he stares into your eyes with those fiery dark irises that you can't escape.

"Have fun studying, love," he tells you with a shifty smirk. Then, he vanishes.

The bus ride home tonight seems exceptionally long. You stare out the window as the dark nighttime city flashes by you, trying to process everything that's happened to you over the past few days with regards to your own personal demon from hell, but you still have more questions than answers. The bus approaches a dim intersection — you recognize it as the one where it broke down last time, where the streetlights were out. Quickly and without thinking you reach up and pull the cord, requesting the stop.

You watch the bus drive away as you walk down the slick sidewalk, retracing your steps that led you to the nightclub that fateful night. You walk and walk, fairly certain that you're walking the right way, but nothing looks as it did before. You don't recognize any of the buildings, and you don't come across a single sketchy alleyway with a red glow or booming heavy metal.

Eventually, you tire of wandering around aimlessly. You pull your phone out, opening Google.

the white rabbit

you search, but everything that comes up is about Alice in Wonderland or the Jefferson Airplane song.

the white rabbit club the white rabbit bar the white rabbit venue the white rabbit seungkwan

You try everything you can think of, but you find nothing of relevance. The White Rabbit does not appear to exist, and neither does anyone by the name Seungkwan.

You should be upset right now, but you're too cold and confused, and you just want to go home. You turn around to head back to the bus stop, but a speck of white down the block catches your attention — it's the same rabbit you saw the other night, unmoving beside a flowerbed, staring at you. You stand there, staring back at it, wondering what the hell any of this means. A waft of cigarette stench and cinnamon mints suddenly washes over you. You turn, looking around, but there's nobody in sight. You look back to the rabbit; it's still standing there, eyes now glowing — and you swear you see it wink at you. It starts hopping off down the sidewalk, then in the blink of an eye, it disappears.

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