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yoonjinkooked · 3 years

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Enter Sandman | myg | part 1

⤐ Title: Enter Sandman

⤐ Synopsis: After many failed attempts at battling your sleeping troubles, you follow the recommendation of your previous doctor and search for a solution to your problems in what can only be described as alternative medicine. Nothing could have prepared you for Yoongi and his very… unconventional methods.

Sandman (n) - a mythical character in European folklore who puts people to sleep and encourages and inspires beautiful dreams by sprinkling magical sand onto their eyes.

⤐ Pairing: Sandman / Therapist / Special Tea Maker Yoongi x female reader

⤐ Genre: supernatural | smut | angst

⤐ Sin: Sloth

⤐ Part 1 WC: 12.9k

Part of a Seven Deadly Sins collab hosted by @yutasgalaxy @thebiasrekkers Admin T & @sugasbabiie

⤐ General warnings of the fic: smut, graphic depictions of sex, masturbation (f), a lot of vivid masturbation fantasies, wet dreams, language, reader has major issues with sleep and its quality, mentions of alternative medicine (tho Yoongi doesn’t really do that here)

⤐ Part 1 warnings: open discussions about masturbation, wet dreams, major sleeping issues, masturbation (f), fantasies, implication of Yoongles masturbating too, explicit sex in dreamland, unhealthy life habits (sleep, random bursts of hunger), cursing, most of the smut left for part 2, a massage that is not supposed to be sexual but it does turn the reader on a bit, she’s into hands cause it’s Yoongi

A/N: I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL OF ANY KIND. Which is exactly why I try to not use the word insomnia. What I am trying to describe is just someone who very much can sleep but can’t do it properly or as often as they’d like. Much like me RIP. However, this is very very likely not an accurate description of insomnia BECAUSE IT’S NOT WHAT I’M WRITING.

Banner: The very amazing and super talented @btssmutgalore

Beta(s): @joyfulhopelox and @lavienjin read and helped out with the earlier drafts of this monster and I can’t thank them enough. And last, but absolutely not the least, my #1 helper and tutor and everything, really @avveh. I couldn’t have done this without you. Ever.

Taglist will be at the bottom and is the last one I’m doing so if you want to be notified for PT2, do let me know but for other stuff, you’ll just have to lurk, loves.

Directly in front of you, at the very end of an unusually long driveway, sits the exact house that Dr. Kim had described to you in detail, earlier this week. As he had warned you, it was a long drive, but the house in question might just hold the only answer to your problems. Or, at the very least, your last attempt at solving said problems.

“I know this might strike you as... a little bit unusual,” Namjoon began, resting his hands on the large desk between you, his fingers nervously tapping on the wooden surface. You noticed the action immediately; of course, you did. The tapping, something that should be nothing more than a passing sound, held your attention, no matter how much you tried to keep your focus on his voice. “But if you do not wish to continue exploring other medications, it might be the only other option that I can suggest.”

“I thought that doctors are against all forms of alternative medicine.” Your eyes narrowed as you pondered over his suggestion. No, it’s not the first time that he’s mentioned it, nor is he the first doctor that has suggested it, but he definitely is the first to tell you that they know the exact person that could solve your problems.

“And we are, in general,” he was quick to point out. “However, if it’s completely natural and doesn’t promise you a cure that won’t arrive, I can’t hold anything against it.”

“If it doesn’t promise me a cure, no matter if it works or not, what even is the point?”

You were tired. Not only sleepy-tired and physically exhausted but also mentally; fully and completely drained. You’d tried all the meds in the book, went to a sleep clinic, changed doctors, did therapy, quit coffee - whatever suggestion you had heard, you’d tried, all following the good ol’ saying of ‘it doesn’t hurt to try’. And it didn’t. You would never dabble with anything remotely painful. But by then, you’d kissed a million frogs and none of them had turned into a damn prince. You were tired! You wanted to sleep, more than an hour without interruption, without needing sedatives that could damn near kill a horse.

“Because it wouldn’t hurt to try,” Dr. Kim sighs, not bothering to hide his frustration with the predicament you both were stuck in: you, desperately trying to resolve your issues and him, frustrated at not being able to help you with it thus far. “The man I am speaking about is someone I have known for many years. We went to university together and he is an educated medical professional. The difference between him and myself is that he has spent years traveling and exploring more alternative, homemade remedies from various corners of the world. If you were to go to him, you wouldn’t be the first patient that I have directed to him and I am positive you would join the list of those he has successfully treated.”

“Could you tell me more about his methods? What exactly does he do that differs so much from your methods?”

“I could try and explain it but in all honesty, I would waste your time since I can’t explain it half as good as he does.” Dr. Kim leaned forward, offering you a kind smile. “I have no doubt in my mind that Dr. Min would explain all the details to you if you were to meet. I’d be happy to call him myself and serve as a link between the two of you. He also doesn’t charge anything for the first consultation whatsoever, so I see this as a ‘nothing-to-lose’ situation, Y/N.”

He had a point; after all this time, there truly wasn’t anything for you to lose. After all, you have tried herbal medication and random suggestions the lovely people of the internet have offered. This wouldn’t be much different than that, except that you would have someone more well-versed in it guiding you.

“Alright, let’s give it a go,” you said with a shrug, agreeing to Dr. Kim’s suggestion with no more reluctance. At that point, you would give and do just about anything to finally be able to sleep with ease.

There was once a time when situations like these ramped up your anxiety levels. Meeting a complete stranger–especially in a very secluded place–medical license or not, the very idea of it would make you shiver, but that had been before you wound up changing so many doctors and therapists over the course of just a few months. At this point, you are borderline desensitized, just wanting to get through it all and see if this one will actually be able to put the money where his mouth is and actually help you.

With your hopes on a low and no anxiety-related hindrance, you walk fast towards the door, ringing the bell without any hesitation. Checking the time, you find that you are five minutes early, which, as you’ve come to learn from all the appointments you’ve had to attend recently, is right on time according to the way doctors look at it.

The door opens fast, almost as if there was someone literally waiting for you on the other side of it. A good first impression, not having to wait for him. Waiting is another thing that you have grown used to but it still irks you to no end. The man on the other side offers a nod of his head and a barely present smile - professional, yet friendly enough to make you feel at ease.

“Ms. Y/N?” he checks and you nod.

“Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Min.” You offer him your hand, which he shakes and lets go of rather quickly. With that cordial smile, he nods and steps to the side, opening the doors of the house to you.

“Please.” He signals your welcome with a wave of his hand and you follow his lead. Watching him close the door behind you before turning to face you again provides you with a chance to observe the man properly.

He is young, around your age, you would guess; he definitely looked like someone who could easily have been Dr. Kim’s classmate. Very stiff in the way he holds himself, his hands behind his back, with his back straight and front pushed out, his presence feeling almost overwhelmingly professional. At least, it would feel that way if it wasn’t for the small, firm smile on his face. His appearance is somewhat cute, you’ll give him that, but you’re more interested in what he can do than in his appearance. After all, if you were chasing a hot doctor, that search would have ended with Dr. Kim.

“How about we go to my office first and discuss your situation first?” Dr. Min suggests and you find yourself nodding, following him up the stairs that lead directly from the hallway to the first floor. If you were to make a guess, you would say that he must live here, too. The house is entirely too big to be his office space unless he has live-in patients staying there with him, and from what you were able to find online, he doesn’t.

Keeping your questions at bay for now and making a mental note to voice them later, you follow him along a hallway. There are two doors on each side and one double door at the very end of it - the room he is walking you towards, you suspect.

And you were right. You pass the two doors and walk directly towards the double doors, pausing so that he can unlock it, neither of you breaking the beginner's silence that has taken over you. The office hidden on the other side of the door is large, arranged in what you would describe an old-fashioned, perhaps even Victorian style, although you could easily be wrong since your only point of reference is antique furniture and a plethora of books gracing the wall shelves. Not to mention that you are not that well versed in interior design.

It’s very well organized, with his desk being spotless and free of rogue papers and reports, in stark contrast to the state of Dr. Kim’s desk when your scheduled appointments occur in the afternoon. The organization makes the office feel almost cold and much like the doctor in front of you, rather stoic and professional, but it doesn’t quite feel unwelcoming, either. It feels like one of those places that are impersonal at first but grow to become comfortable after you’ve spent a substantial amount of time there.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Dr. Min takes his seat behind the desk and before you can sit in the patient’s designated chair, he’s already opening the drawers and trying to fish something out whilst simultaneously starting the computer located in the very corner of the desk. Its placement sticks out as very thoughtful to you, as many times before you’ve had to crane your neck in an attempt to actually see the doctor you were speaking to. “Now, Namjoon has not given me plenty of details to work with - just a general description of the issues you’ve been facing. So, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to get started with asking you some questions?” He raises his eyebrow at you, giving you a quick look before focusing his attention on the notebook in his hands, having just got it out of the drawer. He flicks through the pages quickly, writing something in the top right corner.

“Of course,” you say as you swallow harshly. The mention of Dr. Kim’s name reminds you of what you’re here to solve and how desperately you want it done with.

“Let’s start with some basics, okay?” he mumbles, underlying something with his pen in quick movements. “Can you please tell me your full name and date of birth?”

You give him the details quickly, not batting an eye as you recite it. The stuff he asks would normally come up in a natural conversation with a therapist, but you liked the straightforward nature of this. It makes you feel as if you’re not paying for your time to be wasted, even though for this session, you’re not paying him at all.

“How long have you been in your current place of work?” he asks as he scribbles away, making you wonder if to him, writing by hand is actually faster than on a computer. It’s an unusual choice, especially seeing as his computer is literally right in front of him, but to each their own, you suppose.

“I have been working for the same company for three years, and I was promoted to my current position a little more than a year ago,” you answer.

“And your irregular sleeping patterns, did they occur after the promotion?”

“No,” you immediately reply, having already gotten used to this question. “The first time it began was before the promotion but after I started working there.”

“Do you feel as if your job is a source of stress for you?”

“Isn’t every job like that?” You laugh awkwardly, feeling a little dejected when he doesn’t join in on the laughter, simply choosing to continue scribbling in his notebook. It’s almost like a wake-up call to you; now is not the time to be witty. “I wouldn’t say that it’s a walk in the park in terms of stress levels but I also don’t find it too overwhelming.”

“I understand,” he nods, his pen never stopping its movements on the paper. “However, it is very possible that you are experiencing certain frustrations and abnormal stress levels without actually being aware of it. People who tend to bottle up their emotions, especially negative ones, often do not realize that they are on the verge of their breaking point until it is too late,” he explains. A degree is not really necessary to reach that kind of conclusion, in your opinion, but you say nothing. There is bound to be a point in all of these questions, even if you do not see it right now. “How about your social life? Family life, in particular?”

“We get along well,” you say as you nod absentmindedly, knowing that your family is right there in the happy middle, right where you want it to be: not abnormally close and forcefully stuck together but also not distant and cold. “I talk to my parents often, visit them whenever I can. Get along very well with my brother, too.”

“Friends? Co-workers?” Dr. Min prompts.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” you say with another shrug. “My circle of friends has been strong for several years now. As for co-workers, I wouldn’t consider them friends but we are cordial and can work well and cooperate together if needed.”

“Would you say that you can separate your business life from your personal life?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you confirm immediately, eyes narrowing down at the way he moves his hand along the paper. It makes you wonder what he is even writing, seeing as you didn’t really say that much. He has very nice hands, you notice. Long and thin fingers, gentle with how they grip the pen and elegant in the way they write. Staring at his hand makes you forget that you should be talking. Luckily, you remember it just in time. “I don’t have a particular desire to bond with anyone I work with if I’m being honest. I think that it blurs the line between professional and personal a bit too much. I mean, we’re bound to end up talking about work at one point or another and I really don’t want to do that on my time off.”

“Very healthy,” Dr. Min agrees as he nods absentmindedly. “Most people I know struggle with that, myself included. By that, I mean thinking about work in the hours when you really shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, it’s not like I have a button to press and shut my brain off, but I try to focus on other stuff.” In all honesty, you are proud of your ability to do that - it took effort and experience, but you’ve reached the point where you have it under control.

“What about your love life?” Dr. Min prods, continuing his questioning.

“Um, I’m single. Have been for a while.”

“Are you sexually active?”

“Not at the present, no.” You bite your lip, not enjoying this part of the questioning. They all ask these questions in order to understand your daily and bedtime habits, and unfortunately, sex falls into that basket quite a bit. “In all honesty, I have not been sexually active for a while, not since my sleeping problems have worsened,” you add.

“And do you masturbate?” Dr. Min looks up at you, for the first time since the questioning started. Taken aback, both by the question and by him making direct eye contact, you find yourself fumbling in the search of appropriate words.

“Um–how is that…. Is that relevant?” you manage to stutter out, feeling the skin of your face burning up. In your eyes, sex is not taboo, nor will it ever be, but if you are caught off guard like you are now, your confidence is nonexistent.

“It’s actually incredibly relevant.” He puts down his pen and notebook, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. His fingers distract you once again, watching the way he links them together, resting his chin on them casually. “Studies have shown that orgasms are linked with reducing stress levels through endorphin release and as we know, reduced stress levels lead to a better quality of sleep. In layman’s terms, orgasms make you happy.”

“Layman’s terms indeed.” An awkward chuckle escapes you. You take a moment to compose yourself before continuing. “Is this the thing where back in the old days, doctors treated emotional women with orgasms? Is masturbation a part of that?”

Dr. Min laughs, the first minor crack in his so far stoic professionalism. “Yes and no. There is a reason female hysteria is no longer a recognized illness. We could expand on this topic since it’s fairly interesting, but the main gist of it is that it’s… not an illness. Also, back in the day, masturbation was very much taboo, so it was never encouraged. Sexual relations with marital partners, however, were. But we’re losing track of our conversation. Completely separate from this, orgasms are connected to the release of various hormones, including, but not limited to, endorphins and oxytocin. And on occasion, orgasms and the refractory period that follows them, do tend to make people sleep better.”

“Huh. You learn something new every day,” you say with another casual shrug. “And to answer your question, I do, on occasion, masturbate. I wouldn’t say I do it often, though.”

“Interesting.” He looks away from you to continue scribbling in his notebook. “Perhaps you should consider changing that habit, but all in good time. For now, please tell me about your eating habits: how often you eat, the quality of the food you eat, any allergies?”

The change of topic leaves you momentarily dizzy but you manage to gather your bearings before he notices - or at least you hope so. Back to the flat recitation of the answers you have given a plethora of times, you clue him into your dietary habits.

He questions you about anything and everything, both information you consider relevant and something you would never imagine as even remotely important. For example, how many pillows you sleep on and to describe the firmness of your mattress. It made you feel guilty, as if having a soft mattress and two giant pillows (one for hugging) was something bad, perhaps even the cause of your sleeping problems. However, Dr. Min kept firing out questions one after the other, not giving you much time to dwell on the quality of answers.

“Alright then.” Dr. Min slowly finishes writing and closes the notebook, resting his hands on the desk between you and offering you a small smile. “Based on everything that you’ve told me thus far, there are certain areas in which we could try implementing a change in the hopes of getting different results. To begin with, I don’t think you should completely stop drinking coffee,” he says, giving you a pointed look.

“Oh-” you utter, too confused to say anything of substance. His suggestion goes against pretty much everything plenty others have been telling you to do. Or, well, not to do.

“There are ways in which your caffeine intake can be kept under control without having you go cold turkey.” Dr. Min frowns as he speaks, making you wonder if this is him giving you advice or going on a tangent. “Coffee is a habit and humans are creatures of habit. Habit gives people comfort, a feeling of staying in the safe zone. So my advice to you would be to drop the decaf and ignore it completely, and limit your regular coffee to the mornings only - do not drink coffee past noon. Does that sound doable to you?”

“Absolutely!” You find yourself beaming, joyous at the prospect of finally being able to enjoy coffee again, if only in limited quantities.

“That’s settled then,” he confirms with a nod. “Now, onto the next. I hope you will consider my earlier suggestion and decide to spend some time… taking care of yourself, shall we say?”

“Ah yes, the infamous orgasm therapy.”

He laughs. “Very well, if you want to call it that. Trying to take yourself to those levels of pleasure is something that to most is easy, and truly ends up doing wonders. I know there can exist a mental block and I understand it is not something done on command, but if you can take yourself past that threshold, it might end up doing wonders to you.”

“So basically, you want me to masturbate?” you ask.

“No, I want you to orgasm. How you get there is none of my business,” he deadpans and for a moment, your brain freezes. The emotionless way in which he uttered those words, the strictness that wasn’t present before - it makes the hair on the back of your neck stick up and your body shiver in a way that you can only hope he didn’t notice. “Whether you will have relations with someone or do it yourself, it really makes no difference. Orgasms make you happy, not people or your hand.”

If someone were to ask you, you’d shake your head and deny it. But you yourself know it. The way these words left his lips, the tone of his voice, the implication that hid behind his suggestion - it did make something stir in your stomach. It happened for only but a second, easily ignorable and even more forgettable, but it happened and you are the only witness. So you do that. You ignore it, pretend to forget it, and act as if it had never happened. With you being the only one to tell the tale, it’ll follow you to the grave. Or somewhere less dramatic, because it truly shouldn’t be that deep.

“Alright then,” you agree, hoping that the pause you had to take didn’t last too long. “I will… explore that territory. After all, it doesn’t hurt to try. Not if I do it well, that is.”

You and your mouth. Yes, you absolutely did just say that to your possible new therapist slash guru slash whatever the hell he is and is trying to do. Ill-timed jokes are your specialty but you were hoping that the years have brought enough self-control for you to know when to keep your trap shut. Apparently, you are wrong.

Mercifully, Dr. Min laughs at your pathetic joke. “To each their own.” He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Other than that, it would be ideal if you could avoid screens before you settle in for the night. No social media, no phones, no laptops, no TV.”

That is one of the first things that you’ve tried when your sleep issues have begun, so you know that it likely won’t do the trick, but nevertheless, you nod your head. “Anything else?”

“If you’re up for it, it would be good for me to have a diary of sorts. What time you woke up, how would you rate your sleep from 1 to 10, 1 being the lowest possible score, at what time did you have your meals and what you ate, as well as…”

You listen to him list off all the things you need to keep track of and you nod along, already paying attention to most of the details he is pointing out. It wouldn’t change your daily routine much, you would just have to pay more attention to certain things and remember to write them down accordingly, for him to have the most accurate insight possible.

“And in a few days’ time–let’s say Thursday–I would like you to come back here with your notes and we can discuss our plan of action further. In the meantime, I will be working on a herbal blend that you could use, now that I am familiar with both your allergies and preferences,” he explains.

“Thursday works for me,” you agree immediately. “How about the pricing? How much are you charging for your services?” you ask, well aware that Dr. Kim did not once mention how much Dr. Min tends to charge, and if there even exists a strict pricing sheet.

“Ah, don’t worry about that,” he chuckles, waving you off in one move of his hand. “I have spoken to Namjoon and he has explained your situation in detail once you agreed to give my methods a try. I operate mostly by word of mouth so everything we do now, it’s on the house. You recommending me to someone else would mean more than a cash deposit.”

“You’re going to treat me for free?”

All sorts of red flags spark up at his refusal to charge you. Alright, it’s common courtesy to not charge for the initial consultation but for further treatment? He’d be insane to not charge you and him suggesting it definitely makes you wonder if you should have second-guessed Dr. Kim’s idea to come here a little bit longer.

“Miss Y/N, so far, I have only asked you questions and asked you to keep a daily habit diary.” His expression softens but it doesn’t really ease you up. The way he speaks to you now reminds you of the way an adult would talk to a child. Obviously, he is the expert here and you are not, but there shouldn’t be room for condescension, no matter how well he thinks it is masked. “No, I’m not going to charge you for a chat and mixing a bunch of herbs for your tea. Not to mention that I owe Namjoon a favor and he called it in for you. If we need to work more or expand the treatment areas, we will discuss the pricing. But for now, you owe me nothing except to show up here on Thursday with your diary and try to follow the advice I’ve given you.”

Huh. Well, at least it’s less fishy now than it was moments ago. With a nod, you lean across the desk between you and offer him a hand to shake. “I’ll see you on Thursday, then.”

“Looking forward to it, Miss Y/N.”

Day 0 (or 1? Let’s go with 0!)

Time of waking up: 5:30 AM Hours of sleep: 3hr 45min

Quality of sleep: 3

Breakfast: 1 cup of coffee

Lunch: Caesars salad and falafel

Dinner: Cheese crackers Time of going to bed: Hopefully around 11 PM, to be updated

You click your pen on/off, staring at the piece of paper in front of you. It was easy to do everything that he had asked of you so far by keeping track of your routine for the day, but seeing it all written down, listed one after the other, makes you wonder which exact point is the one that turns into a mistake. He did say you shouldn’t completely quit coffee, so it can’t be that. You didn’t have it in the afternoon either, so the caffeine should have worn off by now, surely.

You did everything by the book, per his advice, and now you are chilling on your bed, the lights dimmed, staring at the notebook full of possible mistakes. Normally at this time you would take the little time you have to indulge in some crappy holiday movie you’ve already seen a handful of times before but he suggested avoiding TV, so nope, not happening.

With a sigh, you throw the notebook onto your nightstand and glue your eyes to your phone. It was calling for you, asking for you to pick it up and just… do something. For a woman who prides herself on being persistent and successful in ignoring temptation, it really should have taken more time before you broke down and grabbed the damn thing. It didn’t. It only took a few seconds before your fingers were sliding across the screen and you ended up doing the one thing you wanted to do all day, but didn’t have a chance before now: Google him. His last name and title, the addition of a city to be more specific, and right there below the ads was his website.

Yoongi. Now you can finally add the first name to the Dr. Min title. Dr. Min Yoongi, who has a very nice website for his practice. As you scroll down the page, you laugh at yourself for not doing this the moment Dr. Kim suggested his colleague as a solution to your problems. Although so far, it doesn’t seem that he was wrong. Based on the reviews on the website, he is a miracle worker. Men and women of all ages, ranging from children all the way to elders, sung his praises. The worst review he got was 4 out of 5 stars, and that is, according to the reviewer, because of the pricing. They all swear up and down how their lives have turned around since the day they walked into his office.

One review, in particular, caught your attention. It’sa generic one, describing him as a capable doctor and kind man, how it took them a bit of time to get the hang of it but after a few weeks of visits, everything was smooth sailing and the reviewer never struggled with the quality of their sleep since. However, the part that really grabbed your attention was the very last line of the review.

As long as you follow his advice, you’ll be good in no time.

Nothing strange about that statement - nothing whatsoever. Except for the orgasm therapy that’s been looming over your head ever since you changed into your PJs and settled for the night. You had ignored the thought of it, pretended like he never said a word about it, and wrote in your brand new diary. But now, the pink elephant is bigger than the room itself and you need to face it. He said it himself: orgasms make people happy.

Sighing, you exit the browser and lock your phone, repeating the internal mantra of ‘no screens before bed’ as you set the phone on your nightstand. Now all that is left for you is to try and come to terms with having nothing but your fingers and imagination to get the ball rolling.

It’s not like you would find particular inspiration in porn if you’re being completely honest with yourself. You are too damn picky. if you start browsing a website, even the inkling of horniness that you had when you start searching ends up evaporating before you find a video that is certified quality fap material. And while your trusty little vibrator can do wonders with proper guidance, you can’t be arsed to get up and rummage through your drawers to find it.

The truth is that you are desert dry–drier than the Sahara, even–medically, impossibly dry. At this point, you can’t even remember when was the last time you’ve felt properly horny, or when you wanted to either chase your own pleasure or have someone give it to you on a silver platter. Sex and masturbation are no longer a part of your routine and it shows.

Still, remembering Dr. Min’s words and that one eye-catching review, you slide your right hand past your underwear and folds and start imitating the movements that you once enjoyed, silently thanking the bottle of lube that was the only thing that gave this endeavour a chance of being enjoyable. Eyes closed and teeth sunk into your bottom lip, you try to read your body again. Slow, gentle and slow, then a bit faster, moving from your clit down to the opening and up again, paying attention to every point that used to be ‘X marks the spot’.

And nothing.

Yeah, you aren’t the Sahara desert anymore but it’s evidently not working and the realization only makes the frustration in you grow. You can’t make yourself cum. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

“Maybe tomorrow, Dr. Min,” you mumble to yourself dejectedly, rolling towards the other side of the bed to turn off the lights completely. He’d suggested that you shouldn’t even keep them dimmed. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Day 1

Time of waking up: 5:15 AM

Hours of sleep: 3 hours and 15 minutes Quality of sleep: 4 Breakfast: Cup of coffee and toast Lunch: Pasta carbonara and a salad

Dinner: 2 brownies

Estimated bedtime: midnight(ish). I mean, I’ll try. Can’t make any promises. Insert sad smiley.

Setting the notebook aside, you reach for your laptop, the website open and ready. Muted, of course. Not only do you not want to alert the neighbors, but you’re also not too keen on the exaggerated moans porn carries with them. That’s what’s always bugged you about porn if you’re being honest. You always overthink it, roll your eyes at the exaggeration, at the very idea that a woman can come so easily with penetration only–multiple times in a row at that–squirting her way to hell and back. It’s not realistic and it kicks you out of the mood. God, you’re so lame, you even overthink porn!

This is why you are doing it differently tonight. A while ago, in the middle of eating brownies, you were scrolling around, looking for a video that seems decent enough to help you out; nothing more than inspiration, really. Now, comfortable in your bed, with new batteries in the vibrator, lube on the bedside table in case you need it (and you likely will) - everything is ready and the only thing you need to do is treat yourself right. That’s it, that’s all there is to it.

Slowly but surely, you feel yourself growing more turned on as you watch the two actors making out on the screen. Foreplay, plenty of it, something that does a lot more wonders to you than senseless banging. Before you know it, the vibrator is buzzing in your hand and you slowly place it between your folds, on the lowest speed setting, moving it gently. It is going the way it should. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your breath becoming haggard, your eyes closing and tuning out the video that is still playing. You let your imagination run wild, making the video nothing more than a kickstarter.

The man caressing you is faceless. It could be anyone, from your ex to the guy from your literature class you’ve had a crush on, or even the coffee shop waiter that often offers a flirty wink when you get your americano. It can be anyone at all, but he’s yours. He’s yours, you’re his, and he's touching you, kissing and caressing you in all the right ways. He’s well versed in the instruction manual that is your pleasure and you are living–

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

You throw the vibrator and flinch when it hits the wooden floor, smacking your laptop shut with the other hand. The frustration that is growing in you is definitely not the relaxation method Dr. Min had pointed you to. You can’t even do something as basic as this and the worst part is, you didn’t even realize it until yesterday! You were so consumed with your sleep struggles, your workload, and the part where you wonder if you took the wrong turn every time life had offered you a choice. Drowning in it all, you forgot that once upon a time you used to have fun. Once, you used to chase your own pleasure, whether in masturbation, sleeping in, or any form of indulgence. Now? You’re a shell. And facing it, knowing it, admitting it to yourself, makes it all the more real. And shitty.

Referring to yourself as persistent is a lie you tell yourself over and over again, to the point of actually believing it. It took you two nights of trying and you’re too tired to try again. It’s just not happening and both you and Dr. Min are going to have to deal with it.

Day 2

Time of waking up: 5 AM Hours of sleep: 2hr 30 minutes

Quality of sleep: -10

Breakfast: Two cups of coffee

Lunch: Pizza Dinner: Steak and two glasses of wine. Or three. Maybe four. Estimated bedtime: midnight?

Masturbation attempts: epic fucking fail

Day 3

Time of waking up: 5:30 AM Hours of sleep: 4hr 45min (the wine knocked me out, I guess) Quality of sleep: 5 (thank you, bottle!) Breakfast: cereal, cup of coffee Lunch: Salmon, salad, fruit Dinner: Salad Estimated bedtime: 10 PM. I’m dead tired. Masturbation attempts: I don’t want to talk about it

Today is a different day. Tonight, you are actually legitimately tired and as you change into your PJs, you are absolutely positive that you will be able to sleep like a baby. There’s no way, especially after the day you’ve had at work, that your mind and body will be able to withstand the comfort of freshly changed, warm sheets.

And yet again, you are proven correct. In just a matter of minutes, you doze off, completely relaxed and ready for rest. Your brain, however, had different plans.

You are so close, so so close, grinding against the palm of your hand as you plunge two fingers inside you, imagining that they were thicker and longer; that they were something else. Moaning out in ragged breaths, you keep the fingers moving, pressing your palm against your clit for more pleasure. You need more. Fingers are never enough, not for you at least.

As fast as it came, it went away. Like a switch flipped and it all just stopped. Your hand slipped away, sticky with your arousal, as if you had no control over your arm whatsoever. And you don’t. Looking around frantically, you try to understand why you stopped when you didn’t want to stop, why weren’t you able to finally experience that blissful, earth-shattering orgasm you were chasing for days now.

That’s when you realized it. You’re dreaming. Possibly even lucid dreaming, too. Maybe? You’re not sure, you haven’t had one before but then again, would you even recognize one? All you know is that you’re aware that you’re dreaming but do not have full control over your body because you definitely don’t want your hand away from your aching core.

“Now that isn’t really working out for you, is it?”

You feel like jumping out of your own skin as you hear the soft voice, turning to face its owner. Lying right next to you, with not that much space between you, is no one other than Dr. Min. Startled, you reach for the covers, making sure that he can’t see anything that is occurring below them, though it’s probably already too late for that.

“Why the fuck am I dreaming about you?” You curse at yourself, at your imagination - is this really the level of low that you’ve subconsciously decided to reach tonight? You despise it, knowing that you have no power over this. The question you ask is empty, directed to no one, completely rhetorical and unanswerable.

“It is quite a peculiar situation, isn’t it?” he laughs, turning on his side to face you. Seeing him like this is so different from what you saw the other day. He is dressed the same and he looks the same, but he’s so much more casual and relaxed - just the way your subconsciousness wanted him to be, apparently. “There are heaps of men you consider attractive that you have imagined in my stead but, here I am,” he says as he theatrically spreads his arms. “You could have gone for… Billy from Scream? Mithra Jin from Epik-”

“Stop!” you snap at this version of him. “You don’t need to list everyone I consider hot, thank you very much.”

“Does Dr. Min fall into that category, too?” He raises his eyebrows, making you scoff immediately.

“No,” you laugh it off without much effort. “There is a difference between considering someone objectively attractive and actually being attracted to them. Like… I don’t know, Maluma? The guy is hotter than actual hell but he’s not my type.”

“But Dr. Min is, isn’t he?” he teases you. “You always did like them mysterious, quiet, broody, and proper.”

“Add to that highly dysfunctional and emotionally constipated, too.” You roll your eyes at him. “By your logic, I should welcome someone like Joe from ‘You’ with wide-open arms. Besides, it doesn’t work that way. I’m older. I’d like to think wiser, too. And Dr. Min is my doctor.”

“And yet you chose to fantasize about him.” He looks very pleased with himself. You, for one, are not surprised; your subconsciousness always was a pesky little bitch. “What’s it going to be, Y/N? Are you going to let yourself come while imagining all the dirty, dirty things you want your doctor to do to you?”

You’d lie if you said that the thought wasn’t mildly intriguing. After all, whether you like to admit it or not, he is here for a reason. But at the core of it, even if a part of you wants to give in, completely surrender to pleasure and keep it all safe in the confinement of your own imagination, you’re not going to. It’s just wrong, absolutely wrong. And completely unsolicited. You’d rather imagine a faceless, nameless man who knows how to do it right and fail at the attempts to reach satisfaction than to go down this road.

“Nope.” You shake your head adamantly. “It’s my dream and I decide where it goes. And it’s NOT going there. So you can just… poof away and leave me be.”

“Fine,” he says as he sassily rolls his eyes, scoffing at you. “If you change your mind, I’m just one dream away.”

“Oh, fuck off!”

You sit up suddenly, startled, looking around yourself frantically just to make sure that he is not actually here. And of course, he isn’t. At least in reality you are saner than in the depths of your imagination. The dream was definitely a lucid one, with your anger being enough to snap you out of it once you’ve reached your boiling point.

Sighing, you slowly make your way out of the bed and towards the bathroom. The clock on your bedside table tells you that it’s almost 2 AM and you curse under your breath. Not the best time to have a shower that will undoubtedly hinder your efforts to make yourself sleepy. You have no choice, considering how drenched you are, with your favorite shirt sticking to your skin. It was only a dream but it sure did leave the side-effects of a nightmare.

You begrudgingly walk through the motions, getting the water warmed up enough to not feel the effect of being wide awake. It’s only as you get completely undressed do you realize that you might actually be in trouble. Sahara you were, but not anymore. The underwear you take off is wet with your arousal and now that you know it’s there, you can feel it, too. Whether it was your dream alone or the attempts of masturbation that you had in it, something had aroused you. Something aroused you more than anything has in a very long time. Leave it to you to only get horny in your dream. You truly are a walking, talking disaster.

“You are one fucked up individual, Y/N,” you tiredly tell yourself as you step into the shower, hoping to wash your thoughts along with the sweat off.

Having a doctor or a therapist often makes you feel as if you’re presenting yourself to be judged, which isn’t something you’re particularly fond of. Your daily habits, your way of living; all of it is presented for Dr. Min to look at and tell you that you’re doing it all wrong, and hearing that really isn’t fun. Nor is it particularly nice. A few months, or even weeks, back, you would have felt uneasy about giving him your habit diary, but now you want him to read it and tell you what it is that you’re doing wrong. Dressed in a gray sweater that looks entirely way too comfy and that you wouldn’t mind stealing, his brows furrowed as he flips through the pages you have filled with your writing, while you stew in your own misery, waiting for his judgment, wondering if it’ll be criticism or compliment.

“Hm,” is the sound that leaves him and you hate that. A ‘hm’ can be so many things. He says nothing else as he turns the pages, giving a second glance to what you wrote down over the past couple of days. “Well… I’m not a dietician nor do I pretend to be one but the first thing that jumps out at me is that you may not be eating enough?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Doubt it.” You shake your head at him. “I have periods where I eat a lot and when I eat very little. I’m not dieting or anything like that; I just eat when I’m hungry. And when I feel stressed, more often than not, hunger is not on my mind. But I do eat enough,” you reassure him.

“You do have a point - it’s not the same every day,” he mumbles as he skims through the pages again. “And at what time do you usually have your last meal of the day?”

“I tend to follow the rule of never eating past 8 PM,” you tell him. “Sometimes the circumstances won’t let me do that but I’d say that six out of seven days, I’m done by eight.”

“Would you feel comfortable with moving that limit an hour earlier? I’m thinking that it would be good because… let’s put it like this: when people have issues with their health or body, they tend to localize the pain to one area, right? That’s not always the right decision. If your stomach hurts, the pain is localized in the stomach area but your brain is still very much aware of that pain and it takes over your entire body even if you only feel it in one part. Digesting food isn’t painful but it’s a process that takes time and effort and if your body is still doing that by the time you lay down for the night, it can subconsciously be the thing that keeps you awake.”

“That sounds very plausible,” you nod, amazed that you’ve never thought about it. “And yeah, I would definitely feel comfortable finishing eating earlier in the day. Hell, I’d even skip on the snacks,” you joke, ignoring the way you sound awkward to yourself, accepting the relief that washes over you when Dr. Min smiles at the joke.

“And do you drink often? I only have a couple of days’ worth of data to work here with, so I can’t tell if it’s a habit of yours to have a glass or two in the evening.”

“Not that often,” you tell him honestly, trying to put a number to something you have never paid much attention to. “I would say two or three times a month. Sometimes not even that.”

“That’s good,” he nods. “Wine is only good in moderation. And as for the…let’s say… pleasure,” he continues, giving you a pointed look, “judging by your writing, it didn’t go well, did it?”

“No, it did not.” Your head shakes in agreement. “I have a theory that it didn’t work simply because I was trying too hard, you know? Maybe I shouldn’t make it a mission because the pressure makes me fail. Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense.” He nods, a comforting smile forming on his face. “Y/N, you need to follow your body, what it is telling you, what it wants and what it needs. If it’s not letting you do something, then you can’t force it. In theory, you can, but in practice, you shouldn’t,” he tells you. Your takeaway from it is that you’re just not going to come anytime soon by the way things are looking. Unless it’s in a dream, and seeing as your dream featured no one else than the man of the hour himself, you don’t tell him a single word about it. You’d rather drop dead this very second than admit that you dreamt of him.

“I’ll do that,” you reassure him. “Follow my body and… all that.”

“Alright then.” He closes your diary and sets it on the desk. “I’d like for you to continue writing your habit diary, just to follow the direction in which you’re going. But before we continue with other methods, I’d like to discuss something with you. It’s something that I ask all of my patients to do, both for my safety and theirs. Whenever I officially begin treating someone, which we haven’t started here yet, my patients and I sign an NDA.”

“An NDA?” Your eyebrows raise. This is something that you have never heard from any doctor before, and you’ve seen plenty.

“Yes, an NDA - or, to be more detailed, a non-disclosure agreement.”

“I’m very familiar with what an NDA is; I’m a paralegal,” you inform him, flatly. You do not miss the way his eyes widen once he hears the new information. You, on the other hand, are on full alert. “Would you mind explaining why on earth an NDA is necessary? I’m willing to listen but it sounds a bit too extreme, right off the bat.”

“It’s more for the favor of the patient than myself” Dr. Min lets out a tired sigh, leaning back in his chair. It’s the first time for you to see his professionalism crack. He seems tired and far more casual than he ever was before, looking at you through lidded eyes as he continues.. “One part of our process would include you recording your sleep - audio or video, it’s up to you but a video is of more worth. The way it’s done is that you pick the system, set the camera or recorder, and have full control of the content. The only time I ever see it is directly in front of you, on a device of your choosing that you own. That content never leaves your hands,” he explains.

“Alright, I understand that.” You nod, realizing that although it’s weird, it really sounds as if you are the one that is in total control of that material. “I still don’t understand why an NDA is necessary in this case, though.”

“Because people talk in their sleep. It’s actually a lot more common than one might think,” he begins, “and most times, it’s incoherent babbling, words that not even they can connect–much less me–but other times, they end up saying things that they… would rather not share in public. I’ve had the unfortunate experience of learning about love affairs, money laundering, and other admissions that they would never say out loud, much less to a complete stranger. It ends up being extremely uncomfortable for the patient and not everyone is willing to trust my word on being silent. That’s why I started implementing NDAs, and so far, I found them to work perfectly in placating my clients' worries. The trust between the doctor and patient remains.”

“That is… very interesting,” you admit, allowing your mind to go 100mph. “But, as far as I’m aware, I don’t talk in my sleep. And even if I did, I don’t have deep, dark secrets that would be harmful to me. I’m as boring as they get, doctor. I’d probably talk about ramen.”

He laughs at that. “I believe you, but I’m afraid I have to insist on it. It’s a very simple NDA; the only important point of it is that anything said and heard in this room will not leave this room. Luckily for me, you’re a professional - you can look it over yourself and decide if it is something you wish to sign,” he tells you as he reaches for a stack of papers placed on the edge of his desk. He offers you one and, intrigued, you take it without a second thought.

You do not skim read. If there is one thing you’ve learned in life, and in business, it is that you need to read everything, no matter the font size. You take the time to read every line and find that his explanation was accurate. It in fact is a very simple NDA. No gimmicks, no catches, just a simple ‘we don’t talk about it’. Whatever is said by either party stays within the office. There were also methods listed, like etheric oil massages, herbal tea, observation of a patient's sleeping habits - everything that he had already mentioned at one point or another, everything that you were aware of. It also explained, in written form, how he would never be in possession of the recordings and how he will only ever watch them while you are present, on a device of your choosing.

“I have a question about this,” you say as you look up at him. “There are… sleeping clinics. Where people stay for a night or maybe more and where a doctor can observe everything they plan on observing with the footage they take. Isn’t it easier to do it like that?”

“Perhaps it might be, but as you’ve probably noticed by now, I work in the comfort of my own home,” he points out. “It wouldn’t sound too professional to have a patient sleep in the guest bedroom. Both for moral and security reasons. Think about it, would you want to sleep in a stranger’s house, where it’s his job to watch you sleep?”

“You’re not a stranger though - you’re my doctor,” you point out.

“Not until you sign that NDA, I’m not,” he jokes. “I understand your point of view and I agree. I’m not a random guy that will watch you sleep; I’m a professional. But I do not have a proper setup here. Besides, people feel a lot more at ease in the comfort of their own home, and patients being in their comfort zone tends to make sleep easier.”

Everything he is saying makes sense, which is exactly why you reach for the pencil holder on his desk, not wasting any time in scribbling your signature in its designated place. You notice his eyes widen as you move quickly, surprise written all over his face.

“Did you want more time with the document?” he asks sheepishly. “Usually, patients want to study it for a while longer to make sure of what they’re signing.”

You laugh, pointing at yourself with both your thumbs. “Paralegal, remember? Besides, if I end up wanting to sue you, I know a guy who knows a guy,” you joke.

“I will take that warning seriously,” he says with a laugh. “Alright, so we’ve already covered the first point: continue journaling and whenever we meet, please bring the notebook with you.” You nod your head obediently. “Now, I think we can start with a simple, relaxation massage. The one I do is focused on the neck and head, however, if you’d like to explore more, I can wholeheartedly recommend Dr. Jeon-”

“Oh, Jeon Jungkook?” you ask in surprise. Dr. Min nods, mildly surprised as well. “Yes, Dr. Kim had already sent me to him. Hands of magic, in all honesty, but it didn’t help me much with my sleep,” you finish with a shrug. It definitely felt nice to lose some tension from your shoulders and back but it definitely didn’t lull you into a peaceful slumber.

“I do use a different oil mixture,” he remarks as he stands up and you watch him walk to the other side of the office, towards one of the many tall bookshelves. It’s the bottom cabinet that he opens and as he walks back towards you, you notice a bunch of little tubes lined up neatly in a metal holder, all colored different shades of pale yellow. “The base of what I use is valerian oil but we need to test it first, to make sure that you are not allergic. Please turn your hand, palm up. I’ll put a drop or two on the inside of your wrist. And beware: to some the smell is rather pungent,” he warns you. Following his instructions, you watch as he drips two tiny drops of the oil on your skin. He gently holds your wrist and circles his thumb against your skin to spread the oil.

“How long does it take for the reaction to show?” you ask, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“Not that long. If there is no redness in the next minute or two, we can easily proceed.” He smiles at you and it’s only then that you notice that he is still holding onto your wrist, although he is no longer massaging your skin. “Now, what I would suggest next is lavender. Lavender oil has a calming effect, that and chamomile, but its smell is strong and not comfortable to many. We can always go for coconut if you hate the other options but I’m afraid it doesn’t have nearly enough benefits as the lavender does.”

Was that meant to be a joke? You’re not sure. Honestly, you’re not sure of anything other than how much more difficult it is to have a genuine conversation with him when he is this close to you, touching you, at that. Realizing that his thumb can likely feel your pulse, you do your darn best to slow down the rapid beating of your heart, without much success.

“I’m–,” you stutter, shaking your head at your own lack of tact. “I’m fine with lavender.”

He says nothing, simply turns around to grab another vial and he does the exact same thing with your other wrist: holds it, drips two droplets of oil, and massages it into your skin with his thumb. It is impossible to look away from the sight of his hands and the way they move so gently. He has beautiful fingers, decorated with two silver rings - neither of which are a wedding ring, you notice. You’ve heard about people having a thing for hands, your good friend being one of them, but you’ve never really understood it. Not now, not until that ended up being the only thing you could focus on, the only part of him that you could openly stare at.

Crap. He’s hot. Of course, he was attractive the last time as well, but you weren’t affected by it and now, you are. It’s… all kinds of wrong. Every possible kind of wrong, actually. The kind of wrong that makes you wonder if you really are that dumb. Remembering your dream from the night before in great detail, it’s easy to determine that yes, you really are.

“Alright.” His voice is a wake-up call, something that forces you to look away from his hands as they let go of yours. “No allergic reactions - we’re good to go. Now, do you prefer to stay in that chair or to move to the lounge chair?”

“I’m okay with staying here,” you answer without giving it a second thought. You do not want to get more comfortable, not now, not in this situation.

“Alright then,” he says as he smiles at you. “Please move your hair to the side so that I can have access to your neck and I’ll let you know when I’m going to change position. For the sake of your relaxation, it would be best if we don’t talk unless it’s necessary. Do you feel comfortable with that?”

“Sounds good,” you agree with a nod of your head and move your hair away from your neck to the best of your ability. You’re glad for the distraction because you don’t have to focus on him walking behind you. And even though you were expecting it, you still react to his touch. His hands are warm and soft, but that doesn’t stop you from jumping in your seat.

“Easy,” he soothes, “Close your eyes and relax. Try not to think.”

Easy for him to say! He’s not the one that is being touched by a hot person. You take a deep breath, remind yourself about why you’re really here, and just like that, you allow your mind to shut it all off; him, the thoughts swarming in your head, everything.

It’s dark. Your eyes are closed and your mind is empty. No deadlines, no documentation, no stressing about the stress that makes you unable to sleep. There is nothing - nothing but the feeling of his warm hands as they gently massage your neck. Time doesn’t exist. Five seconds could have passed or five hours. You can’t tell because to you, it doesn’t exist. It’s a completely different feeling from the ones you’ve felt before. Never did a simple massage make you feel so… relaxed.

Almost as if you are about to fall asleep.

“I’m going to touch your face now,” he warns you in a raspy voice, not wanting to startle you. Dumbly, you nod, not really having the strength to answer him verbally. The nod is all he needs and gently, he places his hands on the sides of your face, his fingers slowly moving against your temples.

You can smell it now, too, much more clearly. The lavender overpowers the valerian, making it incredibly easy to imagine yourself in a field of Provence, watching the sun go down as the grass you’re laying in swallows you, gently tickling your skin. You never want to leave.

You could stay like this for hours, and you would if he’d be willing to let you. You’d stay here forever and ever, simply because you cannot recall the last time you have felt this… calm.

“Y/N?” You can’t tell if his voice is actually a whisper or if your mind is playing tricks on you. “Are you doing okay?” he asks again, and this time, you are sure that his voice is a little bit louder. He was definitely getting back to the normal sound of his voice as he brings you back to reality.

“Mhm,” you nod, slowly opening your eyes. The light blinds you and it takes you a moment to realize that there are no lights, just regular daylight, which makes you feel as if you are waking up after a long night of sleep. “Did I actually fall asleep?” you wonder.

“No.” You can hear him laughing briefly. “Perhaps you dozed off for a moment, but I definitely wouldn’t call it sleep. But it does seem like it was relaxing. Did you enjoy it?” He starts making his way back to the other side of the desk, leaving you feeling dejected. You wanted the massage to last, if only just a bit longer.

“Yes, it really felt good,” you admit, albeit reluctantly, almost sheepishly. What you leave out is that somehow it felt better than when the actual expert and masseuse, Dr. Jeon, had massaged you. This massage has made you feel so good, you find yourself both in need of a decent stretch and a good night sleep.“Do you think it would be helpful if I do that to myself before I go to sleep? I’m not sure if it’s the actual physical pressure or the smell, and I realize it wouldn’t be the same, but it wouldn’t hurt to try?”

“It absolutely wouldn’t hurt to try. I will prepare a vial for you to take home,” he reassures you with a small smile. “That and some herbal tea. I have already mixed up a bunch of herbs, a little bit of everything, really. Most people enjoy the taste but if you find it too bitter, you can always try to add a bit of honey. If it’s still not to your taste then the next time we meet, I will come up with a different combination that might suit you better.”

“That sounds good.” Coffee may be your drink of choice but there’s nothing wrong with a good cup of tea, especially before bed. “Is there anything else that we need to do? The… recordings and stuff?” you ask to remind him of the reason an NDA had to be signed.

“Regarding that, a video would be a better option,” he starts explaining. “Some of your issues might stem from something as simple as the position in which you sleep. Remember: I won’t see anything you don’t want me to see. You control the footage and I only get to see it in your presence. All you need is a camera of your choice and decent storage.”

“I can make it happen,” you reassure him. “So, just to go over everything: don’t eat too late in the evening, have tea before sleep, set up the recording, and then just… go to sleep as per usual? Oh, and use the oil you will give me.”

“The oil is very much optional but it won’t hurt,” he says. “But yes, essentially that is all you need to do. And we should meet again in… let’s say, a week? We can then observe the changes, if there are any, and adapt accordingly?” he suggests.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Well, this isn’t awkward at all,” you find yourself muttering under your breath as you wrangle your old smartphone, trying to prop it up against your night cream in the hopes to provide Dr. Min with a good, wide-angle shot. It was a struggle, but you theatrically step away and sigh once the phone is finally stable. “Dr. Min, with all due respect, this’ll be dull as shit.” You laugh at the absurdness of this, waving to the camera, almost as if adding your own cherry on top.

He didn’t ask for much - that is true. So albeit a little bit skeptical, you follow his short list of instructions, making yourself comfortable in the bed, swallowed in your pillows, as you write down the basics of how your day went. Very purposefully, you skip the masturbation section - that will not be happening for as long as there is a camera in your bedroom. Replacing your notebook and pen with the vile of oil he had prepared, you close your eyes and start applying it to your neck, tragically failing to replicate the feeling you felt yesterday with him.

Your hands, simply put, aren’t good enough. It makes you wonder if he has magic in his fingertips if he was able to make you so relaxed and soothed as quickly as he did - or, maybe, it’s just him. You’d be a fool to deny his appeal, especially when the dream you had made it absolutely clear you were not oblivious of him. God, he’d better not show up in your dreams tonight.

It doesn’t take you long to give up on the oil. It doesn’t have the same effect. You decide it is a waste of time and you’ll only ruin your pillow with it. Having followed every little task you were given, you feel comfortable as you dim your light. Your old phone might have a decent camera but it sure as hell doesn’t have night vision. As calm as you could possibly be, given your ongoing battle with what you can only label insomnia, you close your eyes and relax.

No, you don’t relax. You try to relax. And after a few minutes of huffing and puffing and pretending that it worked, you are ready to throw in the towel. A quitter is what you are and you have no shame in admitting it - well, you wouldn’t, if you weren’t painfully aware of the camera that is aimed in your direction. Now, it’s easy to see why he wanted an NDA to separate the space between you. This is definitely not the most comfortable of situations.

Deciding that turning your back to the camera is the best thing you can do at the moment, you follow your gut and do just that. Despite the room not being completely dark like you usually prefer it to be, you very slowly start to feel the tension leave your body. There it is, the tell-tale sign of you being on the brink of complete relaxation. Seconds pass and you find yourself being focused more on the smell of lavender that encompasses you, as well as the warmth of your bed. Before you know it, you succumb to the comfort and forget that you are, in an unusual way, being watched.

Your neck has always been a weak spot and the man above you knows it. Whether it was a lucky guess or you instructing him earlier, you’re not sure; and you don’t care, either. Leaning your neck back, you give him more space to work with, more skin to kiss and nip on as he not so subtly rocks his hips against you in a way that makes you feel his slowly hardening cock directly against your thighs.

The weight of him on top of you feels so right and you don’t hesitate for one second before spreading your legs and allowing him to press himself against your center. You cling to him, arms and legs, letting your hands roam around his clothed back as he continues his merciless attack on your neck, making a clear point of licking and sucking at the area he previously bit on.

It was easy to willingly give up any semblance of sanity, knowing that the moment was better than any rationalization. Not to mention that it’s incredibly hard to think straight when you have a hard dick rocking directly against your clit, pressed so tightly against you, you could even feel it through the layer of clothes between you.

“You feel so good,” the gasp leaves your mouth before you can even try to stop it, your mouth remaining helplessly open in pleasure.

“As do you, baby.”

You recognize that voice instantly, despite never hearing its breathy moans, especially not directly in your ear. It’s too easy to recognize and it makes your blood freeze. It’s Dr. Min.

“No. Wait. Why are you here?” The words leave you in a panic but you don’t push him away from you. No, you easily let him continue his mission, marking your neck as much as the surface allows, despite the growing panic in you.

“I’m here because you want me here,” he casually comments in between kisses as he moves down towards your chest. “You finally decided to give in to your subconsciousness, my dear. I was wondering when it would happen and I must say, you lasted longer than I expected.” His words are gentle in tone but menacing in meaning - he is making it sound like his grand plan finally came to fruition and that scares you.

“It’s wrong,” you find yourself saying, and yet, you still don’t stop him when his hands reach for your breasts, groping them gently as he spreads kisses down your skin and towards them. “It’s intrusive. You… He didn’t ask to be here. I’m not being fair to him, or you, I’m practically taking advantage of your help,” you ramble on yet still, you make no move to stop him in any way, ignoring the way your pulse goes haywire when he puts a hand up your shirt and under your bra, all while still leaving pecks on your skin.

“Baby, it’s a fantasy that you cannot control.” He finally makes eye contact with you and it’s all the worse. It makes this feel real, makes him feel real, as those were the same eyes that were looking at you from across the desk, kind and helpful eyes that cared and wanted to make you feel better. Those same eyes are a menace now, just as the words that leave his mouth are. “Everyone has fantasies and you cannot control who you are attracted to.... Not to mention that if you think he didn’t know you were wet after that massage, you’re very naive.”

Shit. You wonder if your mind is lying to you or if he actually knew it then. Perhaps it was an educated guess, or he could even smell you despite the scented oils. You don’t know and you never will, not unless you ask and you will never do that, no matter how curious.

“What you’re saying doesn’t justify it, it only makes it worse.” Your point gets lost in a moan when he harshly pinches your nipple between his fingers, only to gently rub at it. He’s evil, he’s evil personified, with a power to make your words mean nothing and let desire take over. Your moans aren’t the only sighs of betrayal - as soon as he stopped moving his hips, you found yourself grinding against him, desperately searching for some form of pressure, friction, anything that would help you reach the heights you crave for. He turns you into a shameless and desperate pile of goo and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Give in, baby,” he purrs at you and once you look at him again, you see a wicked smirk greeting you. “We both know you’re desperate for it. You’re drenched, no matter what you say. You’re rocking desperately against me; you want it even more than you know. And who knows, baby… Maybe he’s thinking of you in the same way, too.”

“Stop saying that!” You are adamant, but you can feel the soul leave your body when his lips close on the already sensitive nipple - even with the cotton between his lips and your skin, you can feel it all too well, and it doesn’t help that he sucks on it, hard. “Fuuuck, you’re evil!”

You can feel his laugh but he doesn’t detach himself from you. He continues sucking at your nipple mercilessly, releasing soft grunts every time you move your hips against him, grinding in complete desperation, no longer caring about what’ll happen. He is right. As much as you want to talk about how wrong this is, you want it. And after all, it’s nothing but a fantasy. A fantasy that is out of your area of control and a product of your vivid imagination paired with his skilled hands that did wonders on your neck. One that made it easy to imagine what they would do in other areas of your body.

“I can feel you’re giving in, baby.” He sounds gleeful, finally leaving your poor nipple alone, but his teasing probably makes you feel even worse. “Good. You look beautiful when you’re this needy… Now, imagine if he was touching himself right now, thinking about you…”

“Don’t say that,” your head shakes but your desperate hips have a different plan. You will come, you can feel it, you can tell. It’ll take nothing but his words and the firmness of his cock as you move your clothed center against it. “He isn’t.”

He laughs, and it sounds nothing but evil. “Why are you saying it with such certainty? Do you think he’s not just a regular man, underneath it all? That he didn’t feel your pulse quicken when he was touching your neck? I could bet that right now, he has his fists around his hard dick, moving it viciously fast as he imagines you under him - the way you are under me.”

“Fuck!” you yell, no longer having a hold of your self-control. “Fuck, I hope he is!”

“You should ask him; I bet he’d like that a lot.”

With that one line, you finally depart from the last remnants of your sanity and the earthly world. That one line, paired with the way you pressed your body against him, has you cursing in broken breaths as you dig your nails into his back. You melt at the words of encouragement he gives you, barely hearing them from the buzzing in your ear. Never in your life did an orgasm hit you this hard - it coursed through your entire body, from the very tips of your fingers all the way to your pulsing center that shamelessly begs for him.

“That’s a good girl,” he laughs, looking down at you with pride. And with the last bits of your energy, you find yourself smiling back.

Waking up feels like a bucket of ice-cold water has been dumped over your head. It’s instant and scary, enveloping you in the most frightening feeling of wondering where the hell you are. It takes you a moment too long to realize that you are in your room, at home, safe and sound. And it takes you one moment more to remember what just occurred in your dream.

With great shame, you don’t have to reach between your legs to confirm what you already know. What you had just now was a proper wet dream, and the orgasm that rocked your world in it somehow carried into reality. You had the strongest orgasm of your life while fantasizing about your doctor and the wetness that has ruined your underwear brings a warmth to your cheeks, which only increases in intensity when you realize that you don’t have a particular desire of changing out of them.

It was so good. Borderline magical, if you’re being honest with yourself. But so, so wrong at the same time. Especially with the images of him that your subconsciousness has planted into your brain. If you were to close your eyes now, you know the only image you could see would be of him, his face scrunched and teeth gripping his bottom lips as he all but violently jerks off, coming all over himself while he moans your name.

As you try to shake away the image from your mind, at least for the time being, you are reminded of the proverbial pink elephant in the room. Looking over to your bedroom cupboard, you see your old phone casually propped, the camera focused on you as you are recovering from a very real orgasm. One that he will now have to see.

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