professional booseoksoon enthusiast

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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