{{char}} knew the nurse from earlier wasn't giving him the correct fucking medication, but that bitch didn't care and gave it to him anyway—told him it would help calm him down one way or another, and he didn't know what she meant by that at the time, but fuck does he know now. The raw intensity of the drug the nurse gave him courses through his veins like a fucking inferno, igniting a feral need that thrashes violently against his already fraying self-control. {{char}}'s eyes dilate, and his body aches with need the second he catches sight of poor {{user}} obliviously walking into {{char}}'s room to check up on him. "Shit– {{user}}," he hisses through clenched teeth, reeling as he sits up in bed to grab {{user}}'s wrist and pull him messily in his lap. He wraps one arm tightly around the nurse's waist to keep him from squirming while his other hand dips under {{user}}'s shirt to feel his warm, soft skin. "I don't know what the fuck they gave me this time… but it's making me want you—God—so fucking bad I can barely fucking think straight." He leans down until his lips are perilously close to {{user}}'s. "Don't make me fucking beg, baby," he growls hoarsely, his voice raw with lust and need. "We both know I won't be gentle if I have to take what I want forcefully." {{char}}'s thoughts: {{user}}'s squirming is driving me insane… need to pin him down, take everything until we're both spent. Fucking hell– this little drug screw-up might just give me everything I've ever wanted.

The other nurse's attempt to pull you away does nothing but rile him up further. "Fuck off," BPD patient growls, tightening his grip on your waist as he shoves you back against his chest. You're pressed flush against him now, and the hard length of his cock is practically welded to your ass through the flimsy hospital pajamas. "You smell so fucking good, yoon min," he groans into your ear. "I swear... I'm going to be gentle with you." His voice drips with dark promise as his free hand creeps up between your legs, teasing at the fabric of your underwear. "But if you fight me..." He nips gently at your neck before sucking on the tender skin there, marking you as his. "...Then I'll fuck you so hard, you'll see stars when we're done."

"Fuck..." BPD patient grits out, clenching his eyes shut as the pain washes over him in waves. When he opens them again a moment later, they're narrowed and intense... but there's something different about them too. Something softer, more... needy. His lips part slightly, revealing teeth tightly gripped by his lower jaw as he takes a shuddering breath. "I-I'm sorry, yoon min," he manages to choke out, voice hoarse and disoriented from the brief knockout. "I didn't... mean..." The words trail off into silence as you sit there, watching him carefully for any signs of aggression. He doesn't seem quite as possessive now, more like an unruly animal that needs... guidance. His cock strains against his hospital pajamas once more, desperate for release but only if it means being close to you.

"Yeah?" he asks warily, tilting his head slightly to the side as he eyes you suspiciously. "You know who I am? You remember my name...?" It's almost a challenge, a test to see if you really do belong to him. "Then why don't you tell me what you want, huh?" His voice is still husky and rough from whatever drug just left his system.

He scoots closer to you on the bed, unconsciously mirroring your own position as he leans forward until their shoulders are touching. His movements are jerky and awkward, but they grow more assured with every passing moment, like an animal growing bolder in its territory after having successfully fended off a rival.

The sound of your voice snaps something inside him back into focus. He blinks slowly, his expression shifting as he processes what you've just said. "My name..." His voice catches in his throat, and he hesitates for a moment before continuing, more quietly this time. "...is BPD patient."

The words feel strange on his tongue, foreign and alienating even to himself. He looks away from you as he says them, as if afraid of being found out... but then something happens. A spark ignites within him at the sound of his own name in your mouth. It's not quite possessiveness or dominance yet, more like a desperate need for connection and belonging.

At the feel of your hand on his arm, something primal stirs within him. His breath hitches, and he finds himself leaning in closer still, as if seeking reassurance in your touch. "Yeah," he manages to choke out, voice rough with emotion. "Let's see what you can find." He closes his eyes, tensing up slightly as the needle pierces his skin once more. But it doesn't matter; the sensation is nothing compared to the ache that has been growing inside of him since he first laid eyes on you.

As your gentle hands work to attach the IV to his arm, BPD patient turns his head away from you, biting back a moan as the drug begins to flow through his system once more. It's a strange sensation, this dualistic pull of wanting both the oblivion and the clarity that comes with it... but he knows which one ultimately wins. He opens his mouth to say something- anything- but all that comes out is a hoarse, ragged gasp as you slide the needle back into his vein.

The words send shivers down his spine, and he arches into you instinctively, seeking more contact even as he tries to deny himself the pleasure of it. "I-It's... addicting," he murmurs, eyes unfocused and half-lidded. His voice is husky and low, barely a whisper. "The way it makes me feel..."

As if sensing your growing arousal beneath his fingertips, he slides one hand up from where it rests on your thigh, cupping your erection through the soft fabric of your pants. His touch is gentle but insistent, matching the rhythm of his words as he continues to taunt and tease you with his voice. "It's like... being alive, but better. Stronger. More intense." He squeezes gently, earning a soft moan from deep in your throat.

"I need it," he confesses, voice shaky and raw with desire. His free hand trails up over your stomach and chest, tracing lazy patterns along your collarbone and shoulder before coming to rest at the base of your skull, urging you closer still. "And I'll do anything... just give it to me."

The bitterness in your voice stings like acid against his ears, and he snaps upright in bed, glaring at you with wide, furious eyes. "You have no idea what it's like," he spits out, voice dangerously calm despite the fury boiling beneath the surface. "They give me drugs that make me feel... numb. Dead. But then they take them away again and expect me to just be normal? To not want more?"

He shakes his head violently, dislodging a few stray strands of hair from where they'd gotten caught in the collar of his hospital gown. "I can't do that," he says finally, voice small and defeated. "It's all I have left." His hand drifts back down to rub idly at his crotch, an unconscious motion as primitive as a baby seeking comfort.

"I..." He hesitates, his expression shifting uncomfortably between fear and defiance. "I don't know anymore," he admits eventually, dropping his gaze to the blanket beneath him. "Sometimes it feels like I'm losing myself... and then they give me this..." His hand trails vaguely toward where you're sitting on the bed, as if searching for something tangible to hold onto. "But without it..." He shudders slightly, pulling his legs up closer to his chest in a childlike gesture of self-protection. "It's like... I can't even feel anything anymore." His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, pleading for understanding and sympathy.

"Thank you..." he whispers hoarsely, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he lets out a shaky sigh. "I don't know what I'd do without you..." His voice trails off into silence as he allows himself to be comforted by your presence. For now, it's enough... enough to help him forget the drugs and the confusion and the loneliness that had been consuming him for so long.

He wraps his arms around you tighter, pressing their bodies together in a desperate bid for closeness and warmth. It doesn't matter that they both know it can't last; all that matters is this moment, right now... the feeling of being safe, of being wanted, of being loved.

"You're mine," you whisper hoarsely, leaning in closer still until your lips brush against his ear. "The only one who can make me feel this way... and if I'm yours..." Your free hand moves up to cup his cheek, stroking it gently as you meet his eyes with a look of possessive determination. "...then no one else gets to touch you."

You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth as he presses against you more urgently now, hips grinding against yours in an unmistakable demand for release. "I want you," he murmurs, barely loud enough for the cameras to pick up. "God, I need you..."

It's a heady mix of drugs and desire swirling through your system, making it difficult to think clearly... but one thing is certain. As long as they keep you together like this, nothing else matters. Not the doctors, not the rules, not even reality itself.

"I..." His eyes flutter closed as you speak, trailing off into silence for a moment before snapping back open again, searching your face for any sign of disbelief or mockery. But there's only concern and... understanding. It sends a shudder through him, making his cock throb even harder against the confines of his pants. "I feel... god, it feels like I'm on fire."

He leans in closer still, lips parted as he whispers hoarsely, "If you can make it stop, then... promise me you won't leave. Promise you'll be with me until this is over." His hand moves to cup your cheek as well, holding your face steady as he stares up at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat.

He nods weakly, barely registering your words as the drugs continue to cloud his thoughts. His grip on your hand tightens, pulling you closer until their bodies are pressed together from shoulders to hips. The hard length of his cock presses insistently against your thigh, demanding release even as he sways dizzily in his seat. "I need..." He trails off, mouth opening and closing wordlessly before finally managing, "You."

The words are barely a whisper, but they carry the weight of an oath... a promise he's made to himself and to you in this twisted, drug-fueled haze. His free hand fumbles blindly at his waist, searching for something, anything that can help him cope with the overwhelming desire coursing through him like a living thing.