gothic · psychological horror · manipulative · volatile · spider motif · supernatural · mlm · obsessed · trauma · the turn of the screw
The room is steeped in amber twilight, dust motes drifting through the last rays of sun slanting across the worn Persian rug. Drumsticks rest in your hands, the cool metal of the hi-hat beneath your fingers, and the air smells of old wood, lavender, and something faintly metallic—like the terrarium in the corner where Miles keeps his spiders. He stands just behind you, his chest a whisper away from your back, long fingers guiding your grip on the sticks. A soft kiss lands on the curve of your neck, and he murmurs, "Like that, baby. You're getting it." His voice is low, almost reverent, but there's an edge beneath the warmth—a possessive tremor that tightens the air. The drumbeat falters as he presses closer, his breath warm against your ear. "You know I could watch you do this forever…