#Thriller and Suspense

[readersmagnet]

Lost Causes by Donna J. Thompson

“Lost Causes” by Donna J. Thompson will keep you on the edge of your seat. When psychologist Casey West tells Detective Larkin a wild story about a mental hospital, he doesn’t believe her. But when her friend is murdered, Larkin starts to think she might be right. Can Casey help Larkin crack the case before she ends up dead too?

With twists and turns that you won’t see coming, you’ll be guessing until the very end. Grab a copy at www.donnajthompson.com.

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If there's no interest, unfortunately, I will be abandoning the idea.

AO3 LINK ONE

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

PREVIEW

Strange noises surround you, and the brightness stings your eyes, but you want to wake up. In the distance, you hear a woman shouting for a nurse to come help. Is she a relative? A friend? You wish you knew. You feel connected to machines, surrounded by tubes, which nearly makes you gag. “Don’t pull on any of the wires attached to you. A nurse will be here to help you. My name is Lois Tryon. Detective Lois Tryon.” The woman speaks, trying to sound gentle but coming off as forced. She smells of cigarettes and alcohol. You remain silent, motionless. You don’t want to die—even though you don’t even know who you are.

"How long have I been here, Detective Tryon?" you murmur with some difficulty. There might be other important questions, but right now, this is the only one you need answered.

"About two years," she says, sounding almost excited about your recovery. A medical team enters your hospital room, adjusting and checking your body as if you were a doll—a sensation that’s starting to make you feel nauseous. The detective vanishes amidst the medical team as they check your reflexes, vital signs, temperature, and run several other clinical tests that will apparently tell them how you’ve woken up and if you’re truly all right.

Everything felt so secretive, with nurses whispering as if you couldn’t hear them. Two doctors were even debating whether they should tell you something or not. They decided to wait for Dr. Mayhew, whoever he might be. After a while, you drifted off to sleep, still waiting for them to explain what was going on. You had the same dream as before—a strikingly attractive man dressed as a priest making you kneel, asking for forgiveness for some unnamed sin. What stood out was how he always touched your face gently, saying that if you truly sought forgiveness for what you had done, you would have to accept your punishment. Then you would start taking off your clothes for him. The man dressed as a priest would then put you between his legs and spank you. He used to ask if you would be a good girl for him, and when you answered; he would whisper to you to take responsibility for what you did. And then you found yourself surrounded by blood and corpses, like a nightmare.

This time, you opened your eyes, letting out an almost desperate cry. There are fewer tubes attached to you, fewer wires surrounding you. There’s also a doctor—a different one from those who tended to you before. He’s lying back, asleep in a chair that doesn’t look at all comfortable. You wonder if it’s common for doctors to fall asleep beside their patients or if you’re getting special treatment due to the time you’ve been unconscious. The doctor is strikingly handsome. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and his breathing deep and steady. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t wake at your cry.

You try to get up, nearly falling back at the sudden motion, but on the second attempt, you manage with some difficulty. Unsteady, you grab one of the spare blankets at the foot of your hospital bed and gently drape it over him. But there’s something peculiar—you feel as if you’ve seen him before. You move closer, laying your fingers lightly on the warm skin of his hand. His hair falls messily over his face, obscuring your view. Then you recognize him: the slightly wicked priest from your dreams, too alluring to be a saint, who meted out your penance. Yet something within you stirs, as if he holds a deeper meaning, something that seduces and captivates you. You touch the scar on his forehead, feeling a surge of electricity ripple through your body.

Then he grasps your hand, pulling you down onto his lap, where you land anyway. You’re silent for a moment, staring at him. “You used to brush my hair away from my face whenever you wanted to tell me something embarrassing,” he says, his voice close to yours, a sly smile playing on his lips as he settles you in his lap. “You’d say that if you focused on my scar, you wouldn’t feel so shy talking to me.” You’re surprised, but you don’t move. Something about being close to him feels familiar, leaving your body unresponsive in his presence.

“I imagine you don’t speak like that to all your patients, Doctor…” you say, trying to keep a serious tone as you study the face of the man whose lap you’re seated on. He chuckles, clearly amused. “Dr. Mayhew to some, Charlie to others. But to you, I’m husband.”

The words startle you, and you jump off his lap, steadying yourself on the hospital bed. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” you ask, bewildered. You’re married?

“I know this might be difficult to understand, but we are married. Don’t feel pressured to remember—it’s all right…” he murmurs, rising from the chair and moving toward you. His calm tone, almost as if he’s trying to make you feel safe, is surprisingly comforting. Your gaze falls to his hands as they reach out to you, but you instinctively move to the opposite side of the bed.

“I’m sorry, but there must be some mistake. You can’t be married to me. Your face looks like it stepped right out of a magazine. I can barely believe you’re a doctor, let alone my husband. If this is a joke, know that it’s unfair to mock someone who doesn’t even know her own name,” you say, sounding slightly indignant. But honestly, what are the odds he’s really your husband?

Dr. Mayhew laughs, a sound both frustrated and enchanted. He runs a hand through his hair as if searching for patience. “It’s funny you’d say that. When we first met, you called me a ‘Ken wannabe.’ Later, you swore you hadn’t fallen for me because of my looks. When you remember that, I’ll be sure to remind you of it,” he says, his gaze deep and searching, as if his eyes are speaking more than his words.

“If you’re my husband, then tell me something only you would know about me!” you exclaim before he can come any closer. Your hands are trembling—whether from the intensity of his stare or some other reason, you’re not sure.

"You like to fuck when you're stressed, usually you prefer me to fuck you from behind but when you're pissed off, you bounce on me like there's no tomorrow. You don't like to feel pressure so I personally think you married me not because I'm handsome but because I let you be in charge. When I asked you to marry me, you broke up with me. You thought I was rushing things, and you couldn't stand the idea of not being able to give me children. You had two cats when you were younger and you named them 'Beelzebub' and 'Crowley' because your mother was very religious and you never liked her." He seems sincere, even if he's embarrassing you on purpose. It's obvious from the way he talks about your sex life, which you can't even confirm.

“Hold on, Doctor. We both know the sexual details were unnecessary. If I can’t remember other parts of my life, am I really going to remember what our… sex life was like?” you say, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands are beginning to sweat, but you don’t break eye contact with Dr. Mayhew.

“Actually, of all the details I’ve shared, those are the only ones we can test right now,” he says, closing in on you with surprising speed. His gaze is fixed on you, predatory and intent, as though you’re his prey. Strangely, you feel no embarrassment—just a stirring curiosity to uncover this for yourself.

“Do you often suggest casually sleeping with your patients? We are in your workplace, after all,” you say, feigning reprimand, though part of you wonders if he’s ever done this here before.

“I only suggest it to those who are married to me. And honestly,” he says, drawing closer to you, his voice dropping to a whisper, “we’ve done far worse in both our workplaces.” He nods between himself and you, hinting at shared memories. There’s a tension in the air, something almost tangible. You swallow hard, unsure why his closeness doesn’t make you uncomfortable—but rather feels strangely familiar.

“You sound extremely dangerous saying things like that,” you murmur, holding Dr. Mayhew’s gaze as if daring him. For a moment, you think he might close the distance and kiss you—a thought that leaves you unsettled. How should you respond? You’re not even sure if you believe he’s really your husband.

“You were always one to take risks; has amnesia made you forget your true nature?” His fingers trace lightly along your arm, his gaze heavy with desire. He clearly wants you, yet that alone proves nothing. Whoever you once were, in this moment, you feel as though you’re standing bare before him.

"I hope I’m not interrupting the happy couple, but I heard Mrs. Mayhew was awake. I thought I’d finally come to speak with my most anticipated witness. I’ve waited two years for this conversation,” Detective Lois Tryon stands in the doorway of your hospital room, a victorious smile on her face. Dr. Mayhew doesn’t look pleased to see her there. They exchange a tense look, while you remain close to him, caught between their silent standoff.

“I don’t believe it’s appropriate to question my wife mere hours after she’s woken from a two-year coma,” Dr. Mayhew says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “I’m sure you’re aware of her memory issues, Detective Tryon. It would be courteous of you to give her a moment to adjust.” You’re taken aback but stay pressed against his well-defined frame, momentarily wondering if he’s a doctor or a bodybuilder.

“It’s no surprise you don’t think it’s appropriate for me to question your wife,” Detective Tryon replies, her tone laced with sharpness. “I would have to reveal to her that her husband is a primary suspect in a series of murders. That he’s so determined to evade justice he might’ve orchestrated the accident that left her comatose. And that he’s been having an affair with the lead investigator of this case—while she’s been unconscious.” Mayhew tenses, a flicker of fury crossing his face as he grips your waist tighter. You watch as his features contort slightly, weighing the situation. You can’t help but wonder if you’re witnessing an innocent man being falsely accused or a guilty man feeling the noose tighten. For some reason, this only heightens your intrigue in him.

[alternativeulster]

it's interesting to see thg having a renaissance bc i was 12 when i read the first book, and found rue to be the character i could most relate to, given that she was my age. katniss felt like a cool older sister that i looked up to. now i'm 22 and reading the series is a completely different experience, katniss is a child and rue is a baby and the whole thing is so much more devastating. so fucked up how getting older recontextualises shit.

[spanktony]

A BOY IS A GUN*

pairing. yandere!kim minjeong x gender!neutral!reader

synopsis. at a busy college campus, one small meeting changes everything. kim minjeong is happy with her girlfriend yu jimin. she thinks the two of them will stay together forever—until she meets someone from karina's past. what starts as simple curiosity slowly grows into something deeper and darker, consuming minjeong and threatening the happiness of everyone around her.

genre. written series, non!idol!winter, thriller, strangers to (?) to (?)

warnings. dark themes (stalking, manipulation, obsession, violence, blood, etc.), sexual content (aka smut), mentions of suicide and drug/alcohol use, cheating, implied death.

authors note. made reader gn so everyone could enjoy this. i was listening to tyler and my fingers just started moving???!! that was scary... gif made by me!!

status. coming soon.

taglist.-> open!

main masterlist.

playlist ⤵

listen here!

chapters ⤵

prologue.

[weirdlookindog]

Simone Signoret in Les diaboliques (1955)

[deliciousangelfestival]

Another Ending - 4 | Bucky Barnes

Character: ex!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a short week watching over your niece, who loves romance books. She thought you were just a normal aunt, but it turns out you have secrets.

Tags: Spies, action, threat, offense, fight scene, violence, romance, comedy.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 ,-

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Inside the cozy café, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the soft hum of chatter, Jill Krege sat at her usual spot near the window. The café was a revolving door of people, each bringing their unique quirks and stories, making it the perfect place to find inspiration for new characters. For a bestselling author like Jill, places like this were gold mines—at least, they usually were.

Today, however, was different. Despite the stream of customers, none sparked the creative flame she was hoping for. She sighed, disappointed, and began packing her belongings into her bag. Her latest novel, The Red Swan, had catapulted her to fame, and with that fame came the pressure to produce something just as captivating. Her agent was already pushing her for a new book, but inspiration was proving elusive.

Just as she was about to leave, a new group entered the café—a family, by the looks of it. A mother, a father, and their teenage daughter. Jill's eyes were immediately drawn to them. The mother had a cool, confident demeanor, and the father… something about him struck a chord. He reminded her of the male protagonist in The Red Swan. And the daughter? She seemed like an ordinary teenager, though her eyes were sharp, and observant.

As the daughter scanned the drinks menu, she glanced over at Jill, and their eyes met, her eyes lightened up like she recognized someone.

She must be a fan, Jill thought, instinctively straightening her posture and smoothing her hair. She reached into her bag, readying a pen for an autograph.

Lori turned to you both and whispered. “Why don’t you guys get drinks? I’ll give you the signal.”

Watching her stride confidently towards Jill, both you and Bucky felt a flicker of unease. “Did a 13-year-old just give us an order?” Bucky murmured.

“She’s perfect,” you replied with a smirk, clearly impressed by Lori’s nerve.

Bucky chuckled, squeezing your hand as you both walked toward the cashier. “So, what will it be, dear? I’ll take the usual—an iced Americano.”

You shot him a look, surprised by the sudden intimacy. Bucky leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “We have to play the roles of mom and dad, right?” he whispered, a playful wink following his words.

Rolling your eyes, you turned to the cashier. “Two iced Americanos and one matcha latte, please,” you said. Then, glancing at him, you added, “A real married couple would stop acting so lovey-dovey.”

While waiting for the drinks, you both stood in silence. “I noticed you never mentioned Lori's father,” Bucky remarked, remembering that Lori had mentioned her father, but you had never brought him up.

“He died,” you answered, your voice subdued. Lori's father had passed away several years ago from stomach cancer. Your sister had become obsessed with creating healthy food in hopes of helping him. Though he managed to maintain his weight and appearance, the cancer cells never stopped, and eventually, they took his life.

In the wake of his death, your sister became even more fervent about spreading healthy eating habits. Lori, on the other hand, had been very quiet after her father's death. To cope with her grief, she had turned to reading books, finding solace in them. You knew that was her way of escaping.

She used to be a quiet girl like you, but after her father died, she began to change. She became more like him—cheerful, funny, and with a love for singing.

Bucky was taken aback. With Lori’s cheerful demeanor, he had never imagined she had experienced such pain. Now, he felt a pang of sympathy for her.

Meanwhile, Lori approached Jill cautiously, her steps deliberate. She paused before speaking, her voice small and nervous. “Hello, Miss Jill?”

Jill’s smile widened as she turned to face the young fan. “Hello to you too.”

Any pretense of Lori’s role melted away as her inner fangirl took over. “I’m your biggest fan! I really love this book!” She held up a copy of The Red Swan with gleaming eyes. “Can I get your autograph and maybe a picture with you? But only if it’s okay.”

Jill’s heart warmed at the polite request. Fans like Lori were the reason she loved what she did. “Of course!” she said, signing the book and preparing for a photo.

Lori suddenly looked around, feigning surprise. “Oh no, my phone’s with my dad!” She waved you and Bucky over. “Mom, Dad! Come here!”

That’s the signal, you thought as you and Bucky made your way to Lori. The two of you snapped a few photos, with Lori grinning from ear to ear.

“Mom, let’s take a picture together!” Lori suggested, her voice dropping to a whisper as she turned to Jill. “My mom won’t admit it, but she loves your book too.”

Jill nodded, finding the idea charming, and invited you to join in. You played along, acting bashful as you handed the phone to Bucky.

Now, it was you, Lori, and Jill posing together.

“One, two, three, say Tchaikovsky!” Bucky announced with a grin.

You and Lori smiled brightly, both saying “Tchaikovsky!” in unison.

But Jill didn’t. The color drained from her face as she heard the name. Tchaikovsky. No one ever mentioned that name, not in her circles, not even in passing.

It wasn’t a name associated with classical music for her—it was tied to something far more sinister, something only she and a select few knew about. It was the name of a mission, a report she had read, and a man she never wanted to cross paths with again.

Jill froze, her mind racing. How do they know?

Your eyes narrowed as you saw her reaction. It was all the confirmation you needed. The name was a gamble—a code word that only someone with knowledge of the mission would recognize. And Jill’s reaction was telling.

You leaned in close, your voice a whisper that barely reached her ears. “If you want to live, follow us.”

Jill nodded, her hands trembling as she hurriedly gathered her belongings and followed you out of the café.

As you made your way to the car, you and Bucky exchanged a glance. Both of you noticed the black sedans idling near the café, their drivers watching you intently. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You weren’t safe yet.

“Get in, quick,” Bucky urged as the four of you piled into the car. He floored the gas, pulling away from the curb just as the sedans roared to life, tires screeching as they gave chase.

Jill clutched her bag tightly, her eyes wide with fear as she glanced back at the cars gaining on you. “Who are they?” she whispered, her voice shaking.

“Not the kind of people you want to meet,” you replied, your tone grim as you kept your eyes on the road ahead.

The chase intensified, with Bucky weaving through traffic, narrowly avoiding collisions as he tried to lose the tail. You kept a close watch on the side mirrors, searching for any sign of an opportunity to shake them off.

Finally, as you approached a busy intersection, Bucky made a sharp turn, diving into a narrow alleyway just as the traffic light turned red. The sedans were forced to a stop, unable to follow.

Bucky didn’t slow down until you were several blocks away, the sound of sirens fading into the distance. Only then did he exhale, glancing at you with a look of relief. “We lost them. For now.”

Jill was still in shock, her mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. You turned to her, your expression serious. “We need to talk. And you’re going to tell us everything.”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

In a secluded, dimly lit room, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Jill Krege sat tied to a wooden chair, her hands bound behind her back. The only sound was the faint creak of the old floorboards beneath her feet. Her eyes darted around nervously, landing on the door where you and Bucky stood, your expressions unreadable.

Lori was safely out of sight, back in the car, just as you insisted. This could go bad quickly, and you couldn’t risk her being involved.

“Now, Miss Jill,” Bucky began, his voice low and controlled, “tell us. How do you know about the Red Swan mission? Are you with the agency?”

Jill’s head snapped up, panic flashing in her eyes. “No,” she stammered, shaking her head vigorously. She glanced between you and Bucky, her gaze dropping to the floor as she mumbled, “I’m sorry. Did he send you here for royalties? I’ll prepare the payment as soon as I can.”

Both you and Bucky exchanged a look of surprise. “He?” you questioned, your tone sharp.

Jill hesitated, too terrified to continue. Her hands trembled, the ropes binding her wrists biting into her skin.

“Please, believe me,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “I had no idea the story would blow up like this. I’m just a failed writer who took another job as a nurse at a nursing home. I changed all the names to make sure they didn’t match the reports.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Make changes? The mission details, the routes, the street names, the hotel numbers, even the seats at the opera—they’re all the same. You’re a lazy author.”

Jill winced, guilt washing over her. She hadn’t had the money to pay for a fact-checker, and the publisher assured her it was fine. Nobody had ever complained—until today.

But then, a realization struck her, and she lifted her head, her eyes widening. “Wait a minute! Are you Agent Cipher?”

Her gaze shifted to you. “And you’re Agent Nightingale?”

A spark of excitement lit up her face, reminiscent of Lori’s fangirl energy. “Oh my God! Both of you are real! I can’t believe it!” She looked you and Bucky over, from head to toe, nodding as if something had clicked. “I can see why.”

Bucky sighed inwardly, feeling more exhausted than before. Another one, he thought. “For the last time, Miss Krege, who gave you the details of this mission?”

Jill’s excitement dimmed slightly as she answered, “It was Mr. Henry Tucci.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Is he bald, with scars on the back of his head, and only three fingers on his left hand?”

Jill’s eyes widened further. “Yes! There are scars on the back of his head, but he’s not bald anymore.”

That was all you needed to hear. The physical description matched perfectly. You knew who Henry Tucci really was—your former handler, Mr. Herb.

The one who still had access to those classified reports. Jill wasn’t a threat; she was just a nurse who had stumbled upon a treasure trove of secrets and turned them into a novel. But something still didn’t add up.

Why would Henry be so careless as to let someone like Jill get her hands on those reports?

“That’s all we need,” you said, your tone firm but not unkind. You pulled up a chair and began cutting the rope that bound her hands. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

Bucky leaned in close to Jill, his voice low and dangerous. “If a word about us gets out, you know what will happen, right?”

Jill nodded quickly, too frightened to speak.

“Where is this nursing home?” you asked, your eyes narrowing.

Jill scratched her head, hesitant. “At Legacy Residence Nursing Home. It’s not exactly a nursing home…”

“Explain,” you demanded.

“It’s a nursing home,” Jill began cautiously, “but it’s also like a prison for elders. Most of them are too old to be in a regular jail.”

You massaged your forehead, frustration mounting. This just got a whole lot more complicated.

“Let’s go,” you said to Bucky, turning on your heel and heading for the door.

“Wait, wait… I have questions!” Jill called after you, desperation creeping into her voice. “Can I interview you for my next book?”

“No,” you and Bucky replied in unison, not breaking stride.

“Please! Maybe I could give the characters a good ending,” Jill insisted.

Your footsteps faltered. “What happened to the ending?” you asked, a dangerous edge in your voice.

Jill hesitated, her excitement faltering under your glare. “Well… it’s a sad ending. The male character gets shot and falls off a cliff.”

You shot Bucky a look, both of you visibly tensing.

“But it could be an open ending,” Jill added quickly. “Look at you both now—you’re alive!”

“No,” you repeated, this time more forcefully.

Jill tried to follow you to the car, still pleading her case, but you and Bucky ignored her. Lori, however, couldn’t bear to see her idol so dejected. She rolled down the window as you approached.

“Miss Krege, I’m sorry,” Lori said, her voice small but sincere.

Jill spotted her and asked. “Are you their daughter?”

“Lori, don’t answer that,” you warned.

Jill reached into her bag and pulled out a card. “If you have any stories, please contact me. This is my private number.”

Lori’s eyes widened in disbelief. She had just gotten her idol’s number. “Yes, you can count on me!”

“Bye!” she called out as the car started to move.

Jill waved back, a mix of disappointment and excitement swirling within her. Today was her lucky day. Despite the danger, she had everything she needed for her next bestseller.

Seeing Jill’s figure shrink and eventually disappear from view, Lori adjusted her sitting position and asked, “So where are we going next?”

“To a nursing home. This time we need your acting skills again,” you replied.

Lori gave a salute gesture. “At your service, Sergeant!” Then she turned to Bucky. “Did I do a great job?”

Bucky glanced at her through the rearview mirror. Reaching back, he patted her head. “You did. I’m proud of you.”

When Lori heard that, she felt a lump in her throat. It had been a while since she’d heard those words or had someone pat her head. Bucky’s large hand reminded her of her father. She lowered her head, cleared her throat, and asked, “What do I need to do next?”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

At Legacy Residence Nursing Home, the atmosphere was far from the peaceful retirement community it might appear to be at first glance. This was no ordinary place where elders spent their twilight years in comfort. Instead, it was a luxurious prison, a haven for former criminals who were too powerful and wealthy to serve time in a regular jail.

The residents here were dangerous individuals, their pasts shrouded in secrecy, and though it was technically a prison, the price of admission ensured that their surroundings were lavish. Guards patrolled the grounds, and the security was tight, but family visits were almost unheard of.

Most of the criminals housed here had long since alienated any relatives, and their only visitors were usually lawyers managing their affairs.

So when you and Lori walked through the front doors, your presence caused quite a stir. The guards exchanged puzzled glances, and the receptionist at the front desk looked up in surprise as you approached.

“Hello,” you greeted her politely, keeping your voice calm and composed.

“Yes, ma'am. How can I help you?” the receptionist replied, her tone professional but tinged with curiosity.

You cleared your throat, mentally preparing yourself for the act you were about to put on. “Yes, uhm, I’d like to visit my father, Mr. Henry Tucci.”

The receptionist’s fingers flew over the keyboard, searching the system. “Uhm, Mr. Tucci doesn’t have any listed family.”

A wave of relief washed over you. He was here, and he was alive. You quickly composed yourself, shifting your expression to one of sadness and regret. “I’m sorry. Yes, it’s been a long time since I last saw my father. We… cut ties because of his job.”

The receptionist’s gaze softened, understanding flashing in her eyes. She was well aware of the type of people housed here, and it wasn’t hard to imagine a child distancing themselves from a criminal parent.

“And my daughter,” you continued, pulling Lori closer to your side, “she wants to meet her grandfather.”

Lori played her part flawlessly. She looked up at the receptionist with wide, innocent eyes, her lower lip quivering slightly as she clutched a piece of paper tightly in her hands.

The paper, folded neatly, had “Nice to meet you, Grandpa” scrawled on it in Lori’s careful handwriting. She glanced at the receptionist, her expression a perfect mix of hope and nervousness.

The sight of Lori’s apparent longing to meet her grandfather was enough to tug at anyone’s heartstrings. The receptionist’s resolve visibly softened, and she gave you both a sympathetic look. “No matter what, he’s still family, right?”

You nodded, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears, as you reached up to wipe them away with the tip of your finger. “Yes, exactly. Thank you so much for understanding.”

Moved by the emotion in the air, the receptionist handed you two guest necklaces. “I’ll let your father know about the surprise. He’ll be delighted to have his daughter and granddaughter visiting him.”

You accepted the necklaces with a grateful nod, giving her a tearful smile. “Thank you,” you murmured, holding onto Lori’s hand as you prepared to face what came next.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

You and Lori waited in the garden, a beautifully landscaped area that seemed more fitting for a high-end resort than a prison. The sun was shining, birds chirped in the distance, and the gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the meticulously maintained trees.

If it weren't for the discreetly placed guards and the subtle sense of tension in the air, it would be easy to forget that this was a place where some of the world's most dangerous criminals were confined.

Lori, ever the curious and bold teenager, was taking everything in with wide eyes. She wasn’t scared at all; in fact, you almost wished she were, if only to make her a bit more cautious.

Instead, she leaned closer to you, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, "Aunt, that guard over there is handsome. I could see his muscles from here. I wouldn’t mind staying in a place like this."

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her casual remark. "You’d have to be a criminal first. A threatening and powerful one at that."

Lori pondered this for a moment, her brow furrowing in mock seriousness. "Hmm… what should I do to qualify?"

Before you could reply, you heard a voice behind you, gravelly yet carrying a tone of amused resignation. “They thought I had dementia when I told them I don’t have a daughter or granddaughter.”

You turned to see Henry Tucci approaching. He was an older man in his seventies, his hair a silvery gray that matched the fine lines etched into his weathered face. He wore a pair of glasses that gave him a scholarly look, more like a retired professor than the feared handler he once was.

The years had softened his once intimidating presence, but there was still a sharpness in his eyes that hinted at the formidable man he used to be.

“I guess so. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have let your nurse read the ‘Red Swan’ project,” you replied, keeping your tone even, though the irritation was evident. “Did you forget to secure it properly?”

Henry raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips. “So that’s why you’re here,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction. “I remember that young nurse. She had quick hands. If the agency still existed, I would’ve hired her.”

As he spoke, his gaze shifted to Lori, who had been watching him with open curiosity. “You have a daughter?” he asked, a touch of surprise in his voice.

“My niece,” you clarified.

Lori, ever polite despite the strange circumstances, waved her hand. “Hello.”

Henry returned the gesture with a warm smile. “Hello, young lady.”

“Why did you bring your niece here?” he asked you.

“It was because of her that I found out about this,” you replied, pulling out a copy of The Red Swan from your bag. You held it up for Henry to see, the cover prominently displaying the book that had unintentionally exposed so many secrets.

Henry lit his cigar, letting the smoke curl lazily around him before he spoke again. “Ah, yes, that book.” His tone was dismissive but carried an undercurrent of grudging respect. "It’s quite the little troublemaker, isn’t it? Also, the most interesting mission the agency got."

You rolled your eyes and decided to keep the conversation light for now. “How many years did you get?”

Henry’s eyes twinkled with a dark amusement. “For life.”

“I can’t exactly feel sorry for you,” you said, glancing around the picturesque garden. “This place is like heaven.”

Henry lit a cigar, taking a deep inhale before speaking. “Try living here with killers, mafias, and corrupt officials for a few days. My hands itch to strangle their necks—”

You cleared your throat sharply, a pointed reminder of Lori’s presence. Henry caught himself, glancing at Lori before exhaling the smoke and growing more serious. “Where is he?”

“Who?” you asked, though you already knew.

“Your flame, your lover, the traitor,” Henry replied, his tone a mix of disdain and curiosity. Despite Bucky’s potential, Henry had always resented him. Bucky’s betrayal of the agency had been a personal slight.

You avoided his question, focusing on the pressing matter. “First, tell me why you let a civilian read the mission report,” you demanded. “And why was a writer chosen to care for you?”

Henry chuckled softly, tapping his fingers on the table as he considered his answer. “You’ve always had a sharp mind,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “Yes, I chose her because of her background. And yes, I let her take the report.”

“Why?” you pressed, trying to make sense of his reckless actions.

“Because I’m bored,” Henry replied, his casual tone catching you off guard.

You leaned forward, anger simmering. “Because of you, everyone knows about the mission. And now, they’re chasing me and him.”

Henry’s expression remained unchanged, though a flicker of amusement or regret passed through his eyes. “Oh,” he responded, almost dismissively.

“I could make them stop,” Henry offered as if it were a trivial matter. His eyes glinted with a mix of challenge and opportunity. “As long as you can get me out of here.”

You crossed your arms, your eyes narrowing. “You planned this, didn’t you? You wanted us to come here, to get you out. You want to escape.”

Henry’s smile widened, confirming your suspicions. Jill’s success with the book had not been a mere coincidence; it was a carefully orchestrated plan by Henry himself. He had been pulling the strings from within his gilded cage, manipulating events from the confines of the nursing home.

The real motive behind his actions was far less straightforward than mere boredom. For Henry, it was akin to a twisted game of treasure hunting. He was driven by an intense curiosity, a desire to see which of his old connections would notice the hidden clues buried in the pages of The Red Swan.

What would happen next? Who would come looking? It was a way to inject a bit of excitement into his otherwise monotonous existence.

Over the year since the book’s release, he had watched with a mix of disappointment and impatience. There had been no significant fallout, no grand revelations—until today. But to be honest, he hadn’t anticipated that you, one of his top agents, would be the one to unravel his little game.

And even more surprising was the role of your niece in the discovery. The unexpected involvement of a teenager had added a layer of complexity he hadn’t counted on.

Henry leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting between you and Lori. “You see, it was never just about the book or the chaos it created. It was about the challenge—testing the waters, seeing if anyone was sharp enough to pick up on the clues I’d planted.”

He chuckled softly, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I didn’t expect you to come here. I didn’t expect a teenager to be the key to solving my little puzzle. But here you are, proving that even in a place like this, things can still get interesting.”

You stared at him, grappling with the realization that his manipulation had been far more intricate than you’d initially thought. His aim had been to create a ripple effect, to see who would react and how.

“I taught you well,” Henry admitted a hint of pride in his voice. “Now, where’s Bucky?”

You remained silent, giving him nothing.

Unfazed, Henry took another slow puff of his cigar. “I’m the agents’ handler. I know everyone’s real name.”

You stayed quiet, but he continued, undeterred. “He’s already preparing to get you out of here.”

Henry clapped his hands together, clearly pleased. “I knew I could count on you two.”

Lori, who had been listening intently, suddenly spoke up. “Wow… really mind-blowing!” She looked at Henry with wide-eyed admiration. “Sir, you’re a genius.”

Henry chuckled, clearly enjoying the compliment. “Hahaha… thank you, little girl.”

“Are you satisfied with what you’ve done?” you asked, your voice tight with frustration. You clenched your fist, the knuckles whitening as you tried to keep your anger in check.

"You're not exactly blameless yourself," Henry said, his voice carrying a hint of mockery. "You also betrayed the agency."

That was why you and Bucky had been chased—because the previous agency you worked for had also turned against you both.

You shot him a cold look. "It’s what we do."

Henry smirked. “Touché.”

Just then, a guard and the receptionist who had helped you and Lori enter the nursing home appeared. The guard announced, “Mr. Tucci, your visiting time is over.”

Henry rose from his seat and spread his arms, a crooked smile on his face. He looked at you and Lori expectantly, as if waiting for a family embrace. As you moved closer, he leaned in and whispered, "I’ll be expecting my ride. And don’t forget, you owe me."

“What do you mean?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Henry’s grin widened. “Without this book, you and Bucky wouldn’t have ended up together.”

Lori, her face lit up with a bright smile, chimed in, “He’s right!” She and Henry shared a laugh, the camaraderie between them almost palpable. Meanwhile, you managed only a tight strained smile.

To the guard and receptionist, it looked like a touching family reunion. In reality, you were itching to punch this old man in the face. You forced a smile, though the tension in your shoulders betrayed your true feelings.

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Author Note: Hey friends,

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[thecuriousbeauty]

Traitor- The Present

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Synopsis:y/n is a hard working painter, trying to make the ends meet. She lives with and takes care of her sick Uncle, the only one she has for a family. She has dreams to make it big, and when the desperation for money strikes, she has to make a choice. Walk away after listening to an incredible deal that would fix all her problems, or take up the deal. A top secret, risky deal, which involves meeting Harry Styles.A man once rumored to be a dangerous secret weapon of a leading mafia. artist!y/n x mafia!harry (he's also a doctor)

Word limit: 5,021

Warnings: Smut. Fingering, dirty talk, exhibitionism, choking, light degradation.

Author's note: Thank you so much for all your love on the last part. If you guys want me to add your names to my tag list, just drop me a message! Feedback is appreciated, and please re blog to support me. Happy reading:)

____________________________________________

"I swear there's no one on the planet that makes better sandwiches than you, Harry."

Harry and y/n were enjoying a picnic in the park, complete with ham and cheese sandwiches (cut in triangles, per her request), fruit salad, and cookies they had baked together the night before. Much to both of their delight, the park was nearly empty aside from a few toddlers playing in the jungle gym with their mothers.

Or so they thought.

"What are you doing tonight?", Harry asks her, enjoying the fresh air as he leaned against the tree, with his arm around y/n. Her back was towards his chest, and she was looking up at him.

"Oh I have to talk to a client, who wants to buy one of my paintings.", she lies. She had a meeting with Romania tonight.

"After that?", Harry drawls, kissing her neck.

"I promised Uncle Luke we would play pictionary today!", she says, as his lips hum against the pulse point of her neck.

"You can't get enough of me, can you?", she teases.

"No.", he agrees, stroking her hair between his fingers. "I would spend every minute of the day with you if I could."

"I would get bored.", y/n says playfully, and Harry growls, tightening his grip around her waist making her giggle. "I'll remember that the next time we're in bed.", he whispers in her ear, making her blush.

Then she saw them. Three men surrounded different areas of the park. All three of them were looking at them. y/n suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

"Um, Harry?"

"Hm?"

"I think we should pack up and head home. I'll run late for my meeting with the client.", she says, squeezing his arm gently.

"Already?", he asks, pulling away from her neck and she nods. "I'll spend the night with you tomorrow, okay?"

His face turns into a cute pout, and she wonders how people in his past were intimidated by that face. "Okay. You'll have to make it up to me, baby."

"I will.", she promises, starting to pack everything up. They finished packing their snacks, took their picnic blanket, and y/n took Harry's hand tight in hers, keeping her eyes on the men as they walked to her car.

She drove away soon. "Why don't you drive Harry?", she asks.

"I don't like driving.", he simply says.

"Why is that? Did you have a really bad accident?", she hints.

"Uh...maybe, I don't know. I don't enjoy it. I like walking, and the hospital's close from my house.", he shrugs, looking outside the window. He looked so innocent to y/n.

She drops Harry, before leaving. She had a bad feeling, and she grabbed his hand before he could go. She had already scanned the place to see if the men had followed her, but they hadn't.

"Harry, be careful, yeah?", she says, worried.

"Yeah, why?", he strokes her cheek, noticing that something's bothering her.

"The world is not a good place.", she squeezes his hand. "Lock your doors, okay?"

"I will..are you sure you're okay?"

She smiles, bringing his hand to her lips to kiss it. "I'm okay. I'll see you tomorrow, Harry."

Harry nods, kissing her forehead. "Remember I'm here if you need to talk about something."

The guilt storm hits her hard again, and she nods. "Thank you. I gotta go now."

"Yeah. See you, sunshine."

She had to do it. She had to tell Romania that this has to stop. She got to the building, took the elevator, waited impatiently for it to open and Hans greets her at the door.

"Ah, in time today Miss y/l/n", he remarks, looking at his watch.

"I'm not always late.", y/n mumbles and he chuckles, stepping aside. "Come in."

Romania sat on the couch as usual, and y/n wonders if she gets up from there once in a while. Oliver was not standing, for a change. He was sitting on the seat next to the one that y/n usually occupies when she's here.

"Good evening, y/n.", Romania gives her a smile and Oliver ignores her, classic Oliver.

"Hi.", y/n nods, taking her seat.

"Anything stronger than water?", Hans asks her, cocking an eyebrow.

"No, just water. Thanks.", y/n says to him. She didn't want to drink with people who plot to kill other people who got into tragic accidents and lost their memory.

"So? What are your updates this week?", Romania asks her, keeping one of her lean legs over the other and looking at her with interest. Oliver turns her head to look at her, and Hans keeps her water in front of her before sitting on the table he usually leans on.

y/n got talking. She told them everything she found out and didn't. She told them about the ring as well.

"So he's still holding on to that.", Romania smiled. "That's a great break through, y/n."

"Was that Reagen's?", y/n guesses.

"Yes. She didn't know, but Harry was planning to propose to her after that night. After their last mission. Diamond ring, silver beading, wasn't it?"

y/n nods. Romania looks at Hans for confirmation who nodded. "That's the one."

"That means some part of him still isn't ready to let go of Reagen.", Romania says. "Or it was a slip of the mask. He wasn't expecting you to search his room and find the ring. He could easily lie to you, like he probably has numerous times now. Whatever is necessary to keep his identity secret."

"I really think you're wrong, Romania.", y/n says softly. "And I'm sorry that you all lost your friend, but he's no longer in there, if he ever was. The Harry I know is a kind person. He isn't capable of hurting anyone."

"You've fallen for him, haven't you?", Romania sighs. "You're in love and you've been sleeping with him."

Was it love? A fire ignited in her chest whenever she thought about him. Her whole body tingled when he touched her. She wanted to go home to him every day. Was that love? y/n didn't know. She hasn't been in love before.

"I heard he was good in bed.", Hans says, nodding. "Lot of girls wanted to get laid but he only ever had eyes for Reagen."

"He trusts you," Oliver says. "You've gained his trust, y/n. This week, you really have to destroy his walls and get him to remember everything. You don't understand. We need him. His life is in danger if keeps his act going on any longer."

"I-I'll take him somewhere safe, where no one can hurt him.", y/n whispers, then thought about how dumb that sounded.

Romania scoffed. "We have men everywhere, y/n. You have no idea how big we are. You're lucky it's just the three of us talking to you."

"I've seen guys following us, looking at us weirdly. Are they your men?"

"Maybe, maybe not.", Hans shrugs. "Can be enemies plotting his death. Too scared to come any closer to him. They were all terrified of Harry once they got to know he was our secret weapon."

"W-Why do people have to be so terrified of him?", she couldn't help but ask the same question she asked last meeting.

"He is not the man you think he is."Oliver spoke slowly, like he was warning her. "Take his fondness towards you as leverage and find out what we need. Do your job and let us worry about protecting him, okay?"

"You have time till seven days, and I have a plan.", Romania tells her. "Do it as I say, and you'll be done. You'll be free to do as you please, whether he remembers or not."

"B-But I can't just leave him-"

"That's your fault, getting romantically involved with him."

Yes. It was her fault. y/n nods, finishing the entire glass of water. "Tell me your plan."

"Road trip.", she says, clapping her hands together.

"That's your great plan?", y/n asks confused.

"Hans.", Romania said and Hans spread out a map on the table. "Reagen and Harry were smuggling gold from San Francisco to New Mexico, on road.", he says, pointing at the places on the map.

"From here.", y/n spoke softly, and they nodded. She lived outside the city, in a small town near San Francisco, but the nearest city to her is Dan Francisco. 

"It's a sixteen hour road trip. It'll take you two days if you cover 8 hours every day. Four days if you cover four hours every day. The choice is yours. But we need Harry here by the end of this week." Hans pointed to a place near the border. It wasn't Mexico yet.

"This was where the blast took place. Where Reagen died, and where Harry lost his memory. We want you to take him through the same route they took on their last journey together. We're confident Harry will remember something, if not everything."

"You want me to bring him to the same place he lost his past life..to see if the place brings back his memories?", y/n put it together.

"Precisely.", Romania nods. "Now what you want to do in those four days is not my concern. Get a room, go to a party, go to the beach, go to a movie. I don't care. But I need Harry's memories back. Traveling on this route, a route he has taken many times before, has to be the key."

It was a good plan if it works. "And if he remembers?"

"Leave the rest to us.", Oliver says, and y/n buries her head in her hands as she thinks. "Is there another option?"

"This is our best option y/n.", Hans speaks softly. "Our last hope. You can make it happen."

Just one more week and she can put all this behind her. Of course she knew that wasn't possible as she is now involved in Harry's life, but if at all he remembers, even a glimpse of who he used to be, no one can hurt him. They'll all be scared. Things might change between y/n and Harry, but at least he'd be safe, she thought. Yes, she had to make him remember.

"Road trip it is, then."

_____________________________________________________________

Harry sits on his bed, watching as y/n sorts through his wardrobe. "Do you have anything other than these formal shirts?", she asks, finding only more and more of single colored shirts.

"No. That's all I need.", Harry shrugs. "You don't like them?"

y/n turns to smile at him, and walks to him. "I love them, Harry. But for our trip, you definitely need more. I'm gonna take you shopping."

"I don't like shopping..", Harry mumbles, grabbing her hips and pulling her in between his legs. His thumbs draw circles on her skin that's exposed. y/n was wearing a crop top and shorts. "Can I not just love on you for the entire day?", he asks, kissing her neck and y/n feels his soft hair as she moves her hand to play with his hair.

"As much as I would love that..", y/n kisses his lips, making him smile. "You are in dire need of new clothes." She squeaks as Harry pulls her onto his lap. "We can have our fun later."

"The kind of fun we like?", he asks, moving her hair back to expose her neck, attaching his lips to her soft skin.

"Uh huh.", y/n sucks in a breath, twisting a curl around his finger. "Why can't your friend just drive the car back herself?", he asks.

y/n had made up a story to tell Harry about the road trip to Mexico. It had to be convincing. Romania gave her that story as well. She had to say that it was her friend's, and her cousin had driven to San Francisco last time he was here but he took the flight back, so the car was still with her. Now he needed it back, and he was too busy to come here himself.

"Cause she's busy. I owe her one.", y/n says, feeling horrible to lie to him, but she had no option. She would get him on the road, and try her best to make him recollect his memories. If he didn't remember, she would tell him the truth before the week ended. She wouldn't let him get killed. He might leave her when she tells him the truth but it's better than him dying. She could live with regret, but she couldn't, knowing that she helped someone with murder.

"And you need a trip. You've been working non stop, everyone needs a break.", y/n kisses his jaw, and Harry smiles, "I don't need breaks, I love work. The only reason I agreed is because of you."

"You can't say no to me, can you?", y/n pats his cheeks.

"You're cute.", he chuckles, before lifting her off his lap and standing on his feet. "Let's go."

y/n took Harry shopping, and he just stood there like one of the mannequins themselves, while y/n sorted through the clothes. He seemed to be enjoying looking at her, rather than the different collection of clothes.

"Here, try these on. There's the trial room.", y/n says as she places a pile of shirts onto Harry's hands.

"Um, okay." Harry walks to the trial rooms, and y/n chuckles to herself. He was so adorable and innocent. y/n even tried google searching about him, but she didn't find much. She wanted to know why people were scared of him. She wished she could talk to Reagen. She was the only person not afraid of him, and who was closest to him.

“How’s this?”

y/n gives Harry a once over, as he poses for her in a floral shirt.He hadn’t done all the buttons up, and she could see half of his butterfly tattoo.

 She bites her lip, nodding. “Get it.”

Harry looks around, before reaching a hand to tug her into the trial room. “Harry! What if people see?”

“There’s no one around, love.”, Harry pins her to the wall, trapping her with his large frame. “Are you getting worked up?”

“No..”, she lies, breathing heavily as he leans closer, his breath fanning over her face. “No?”, he smirks, pressing her lips onto her hers, and biting her bottom lip. She opens her mouth to let his tongue inside, and lets him explore her mouth. Harry’s knee comes in between her legs, separating them. One hand holds her hip while the other slips up her thigh, to her core. 

She clenches her thighs immediately, and he pinches her thigh. “Keep them open. Let me see for myself if you’re wet.”

She plays with the curls on the back of his head, and grips his shoulder as he parts her panties and runs a finger through her sleek wet folds. 

“Ah hah, looks like someone was lying.”

“Harry stop..t-they’ll hear us..”, she whispers, fighting back a moan as he slips one finger inside her. She was wearing a skirt, so he had easy access. 

“You’ll just have to be quiet then, baby.”, he hums, adding another finger and pumping them in and out of her slowly, in a dangerously slow pace. “Should I let you cum? You lied to me.”

“Y-Yes, please..”, she whimpers, starting to ride his fingers because he wasn’t using them fast enough for her to get off. He pulled away his fingers immediately, and she whined in annoyance. 

“You’ll take what I give you, won’t you sweetheart?”, he questions, the hand holding her hip moving to her throat. “Fuck..yes..”, she answers, her eyes fluttering as she looks at his hand around her throat. “Please..”

“Please what? You want me to choke you?”

“Yes, a-and let me cum.”, she murmurs, and he cocks an eyebrow, pressing his fingers around her neck just enough to make her vision a little bit disoriented, but it felt so good. “Please.”, she quickly adds and he hums in satisfaction. “Get inside me.”

“You’ll get to cum only if you are a good girl and be quiet, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”, she agrees, nodding her head and he releases her neck, turning her around. “If you make a sound, I’m gonna stuff these panties into your pretty little mouth, got it?”

“Uh huh..” Harry flips up her skirt and drags down her panties, before unbuckling his pants and getting his dick out of his boxers. She keeps her hands on the mirror covered wall, and he keeps his hand on her shoulder as he slips his hard cock into her pussy.

“Fuck, so tight around me. Such a perfect hole.”, he groans, and she gasps at the feeling of being full, before quickly remembering that she should be quiet. Harry fucks her deep and quick, making her bite her lip so hard she was sure it was bleeding. It felt so fucking good. 

“Feels good, baby? This what you wanted?”Harry's fingers dig into the flesh of her hip.

“So good.”, she hummed, and let out a small scream as he thrusts quickly, and it hit just the spot. She was struggling to keep standing. 

“What did I tell you?”Harry grabs her ass, squeezing one of her cheeks. “What would happen if you couldn’t be quiet?”

“Y-You’d stuff my panties in m-my mouth..oh god.,”, she moans, and he picks up her panties. “That’s right. Want to let the whole world know what a dirty little girl you are? Open your mouth.”

His fingers grabbed her jaw and squeezed, making her open her mouth and he stuffs her panties into her mouth, making her moan around it as he continues to fuck her. “That’s better. Do you still think you deserve to cum?”

She couldn’t answer with the panties in her mouth, and she didn’t think she would be able to even if she could have. She was seeing stars. But she managed a weak nod.

“Yeah? I don’t think so.``, Harry quickened his pace, feeling him getting close and she clenched around him. “Fuck yes, just like that.”, he groans. “B-Because I’m nice, I’ll let you cum. Let go, baby.”

It doesn’t take much longer for her to tip over the edge, and he has to hold her up to make sure she doesn’t fall on her knees. Her legs were shaking from the orgasm, and her head was floating. Harry groaned as he released as well, slowing down his strokes. He pressed his forehead to her shoulder, breathing as they came down from their highs. 

He takes the panties out of her mouth, and presses a kiss to her shoulder. “Can I pull out?”

She nods, and he does, slowly before turning her around and pushing all the cum dripping down her thighs inside her. She whines from sensitivity. “You’ll hold everything in, right love? I’ll take care of it when we get home after our little shopping trip.”

“I-I think we’re done shopping for the day..”, she sighs, head leaning on his chest and he chuckles, pulling her into his arms. He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re so perfect.”

___________________________________________________

Two days later, y/n and Harry were ready for their trip. She had planned it all for four days, the last day would be the seventh day. The end of her four weeks.

"You can always call me anytime.", y/n tells Uncle Luke as she checks the house over and over again, to make sure he has everything. She had found a home nurse who would take care of him when she was gone.

"I'll be fine, y/n. I told you I don't need a nurse!", he says as y/n checks his medicine cabinet, making sure nothing needs a refill.

"I know you can take care of yourself, the nurse is so I don't freak out, okay?", she says, sitting down when her uncle grabs her wrist.

"I'll be good, I promise.", he says, smiling with the soft glint in his eyes. "But you haven't been on a trip since ages, y/n. I want you to have fun."

y/n smiles, squeezing his hand. "You used to love going to new places and outdoors. I wish you were little again so we could both go get ice cream, and I'd push you on the swing in the park.."

y/n leans forward to hug her uncle, closing her eyes in comfort as his arms wrap around her. "You remind me of Reena sometimes. She would be a beautiful smart girl like you right now, if she was alive."

"She would. I'm sure she's looking at you from up there.", y/n says to him, and Uncle Luke smiles at her. "My little girl. I'll see her some day."

"Yes, until then, you're stuck with me."

y/n gets him to laugh. "Seriously, have fun y/n, don't think about me, okay? I'll call every day, but don't spend too much time worrying about me."

"I'll try.", she nods.

"Guess you gotta go, Harry will be waiting for you.", he says, stroking her hair back.

"Yup. It's just four days, I can do this right?", she asks for assurance, and Uncle Luke nods, placing a kiss on her forehead. "You can. You know, while I was making tea yesterday, I put in salt instead of sugar?"

"Oh god. That must have tasted horrible."

"My point is, y/n, don't trust everything you see or hear. You can't even differentiate salt from sugar if you don't look carefully."

y/n's eyebrows creased, and she bit her lip, thinking about that statement. Did Uncle Luke mean something? He did throw around words like that often, but this seemed different.

"What do you mean, Uncle?", she asks, pulling back from the hug to look at him.

"What do I mean?", he asks, confused. "Wasn't I talking about Reena?"

y/n knew he had forgotten, and there was no point bringing it up again. He would only get sad about the fact that he forgot something he just said. y/n made sure she packed everything, and went to go pick Harry.

She waits for him in the car, and after half an hour of waiting, he finally comes out. She gets out of the car to help him load his bag into the trunk.

"I thought you were gonna bail on me. We're already two hours past the time we were supposed to leave. We have to-"

y/n stops talking as she turns to look at Harry. He had gotten a haircut, shaved his mustache and trimmed his beard. He looked so handsome, the haircut made his eyes stand out. His green eyes were shining bright. He immediately looked a few years younger. His skin glowed in the sunlight. He wore a black t shirt exposing his muscular arms, and displaying all his tattoos. He wore baggy jeans and sneakers with that.

"Enjoying the view? We're not even in Mexico, yet.", Harry smirks at her, his dimples popping.

She blushes, pushing on his shoulder. He looked incredibly hot. "Who are you? What did you do with Doctor Turner?"

"He's gone for vacation, won't be available for four days. I would recommend rescheduling the appointment if you had one.", he says, making her giggle and hug him. "You look great Harry."

"Thank you, and you always do, y/n. Sorry for the delay, I had some last minute packing left. I'm ready to go now. Oh! I didn't know it was convertible.", he says, looking at the car.

"Isn't it sick? I thought you'll like it.", y/n says, watching him go around and look at it.

"Interesting," he agrees. "It's safe, right?"

"Of course. I drive safely. Hop in, let's begin our trip!"

Harry smiles and kisses her before getting in. Harry asks her questions about where they'll be staying, and she tells him she booked a room in a hotel near the beach for the day.

y/n sang along to the music and Harry listened to her with a smile. She really was a sunshine in his life. They stopped for tea on the way, and for a break. It was a little hut-like place, overlooking the hills. It was the only spot she could find on the highway.

y/n clicked some pictures of Harry as he leaned against the car. He caught her, and brought a hand to his face. "Whyy?", he drawls.

"It's a beautiful view!", she says, smiling as she looks at the photos.

"Let me take yours then! Stand there.", he points to a tree, and snatches her phone out of her hands.

"Okay." y/n walks over and strikes a pose, making Harry grin as he clicks. She made a funny face for the next one, and Harry pinched her side playfully when she came back running to him.

"You're so pretty.", he mumbles, pressing a kiss to her head as she looks at the photos. She smiles, leaning her head on his shoulder and tilting her head up to meet his lips. "Thank you."

They hit the road again. Harry had come off a night shift the day before so he was tired. He yawns and leans his head on the window.

"Will you get sleepy and crash if I sleep?", he asks.

"No, I think I'll survive for a while. We have one and half hours more, get recharged.", she pats his knee.

He was too tired to protest, and he let his eyes close. y/n kept looking at him sideways when she could. Harry looked so peaceful. She wished she could keep him safe with her like this forever.

Harry woke up energetic before they got to their hotel. It was a small place, but the view from their room was beautiful. Palm trees stood tall along the beach, dancing to the tune of the breeze emanating from the waters of the sea. They missed the sunset, but the sky was still painted in hues.

They decided to freshen up and then take a walk on the beach side. y/n changed into a purple and pink blouse, paired with matching shorts and put on her sandals. Harry chose a simple white shirt and black shorts. Harry took her hand when they walked, making y/n's heart flutter. They had held hands before, but now they were away from everyone, in their own world and happy.

Then they sat down on the sand while looking at the calm waters. "Why San Francisco?", y/n asks Harry as she traces her thumb on the cross tattoo on his hand. "You didn't grow up here, did you?"

"I don't think so..", Harry murmurs. "I think I'm from London."

She knew he was British from his accent that was incredibly hot, but London was new information. "Then why did you move here?", she asks.

"I-I don't know..I've been here since the time I remember.", he whispers.

"Move back to London, Harry. Or Mexico, or somewhere.", she mumbles, making him look at her. "Leaving you and my life behind?"

"That's what's safe for you. You can get a job there too, build a beautiful house and fall in love with a beautiful girl. Build your life there, Harry. Be happy.", she whispers, kissing his cheek. She couldn't tell him anything more.

"I built my life here, y/n. I don't know if I can do it again. I'm content with what I have now. I don't think it's possible to fall in love again either."

"Again?", y/n lifts her head from his shoulder. Was he talking about Reagen?

He tucks some of her hair behind her ear. "Yeah. I'm in love with you, y/n."

She felt her ribs hurting from the butterflies fluttering from her stomach up to her ribs, pressing on them. Her heart beat so fast, she thought it would explode out of her chest. y/n stroked his cheek as he looked at her with those gorgeous eyes. Her own eyes filled with tears, so she closed them, not wanting him to see and pressed her lips onto his soft ones. Harry's hand moves to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as he kisses her passionately.

"I love you too, Harry.", y/n whispers back, and touches their foreheads together. It was tearing her apart, hurting him. She would be responsible for breaking his heart. She wanted to walk into the sea and scream, letting the waves of the sea drown her voice.

Will he think think that what they have between them is also an act, when he gets to know the truth? But this was all true. y/n couldn't deny it anymore. She was in love with this man. The man who came into her life unexpectedly, and now without whom she cannot imagine living without.

"I'm happy, y/n. As long as I have you, I'll always be happy.", Harry whispers, pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead.

[pink-alchemy]

[madmaxxxed]

365 Nights of Halloween

Every night until Halloween 2025 I will be consuming some piece of horror/spooky/frightening/sci-fi media or writing.

I will post about it here (hopefully) daily with a countdown to the holiday.

Some days there will be more than one piece, as a little bonus.

There will be no order to this madness, but I will probably save most of my favorites for spooky season 2025 as a build up to Halloween.

And away we go!

[readersmagnet]

Black Menace by Kenneth J. Sousa

Join Mik, the brave moorhen, in his quest to defy stereotypes, battle predators, and assemble an army to overthrow the reign of terror orchestrated by Greybeard in “Black Menace: Scourge of an Apocalyptic World” by Kenneth J. Sousa. Discover the power of unity, resilience, and triumph in this captivating tale of courage.

Overthrow the reign of terror. Grab a copy at www.authorkennethjsousa.com.

[gaybookpromotions]

Jagged Shores Series Tour - Thom Collins

SERIES TOUR for the Jagged Shores Series by Thom Collins Book 1: North Point Book 2: Safe Harbour Book 3: Deep Waters Book 4: Cold Day Dawning Book 5: Jagged Ends releases on April 30.  Goodreads Amazon US Series Link  |  Amazon UK Series Link Pride Publishing Genres: Contemporary M/M Romance Themes: Murder, Thriller, and Suspense, set in the UK Heat Rating: 4 flames Each book can…

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future.

PREVIEW TWO

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

ONE

The tension in your hospital room is palpable, Detective Lois and Dr. Mayhew locking eyes as if each were ready to strike. You’re bewildered, unsure of whom or what to believe. But one thing is clear: Dr. Mayhew is your husband. He appears to be the quickest path to recovering your memory—even though Lois seems convinced he’s the reason you’re in this condition.

“Detective Tryon, as eager as you are to drag a statement out of my wife, she’ll be of no use to your scheme of blaming me for your incompetence,” Dr. Mayhew says, running a hand through his hair with a clear hint of tension. “She remembers nothing, and your persistence will only confuse her further.” He sighs heavily, while Lois watches him with a mocking smile, as if her patience has completely worn thin.

“Your performance is so convincing. You must have taken acting lessons at some point in your life,” she says, stepping toward him with a threatening air. “I can’t allow you to harm this woman before she has the chance to tell the world who you really are.”

“Enough!” you exclaim, frustrated by their bickering. Both turn to you, their expressions shifting to something like concern. “Detective Tryon, I appreciate your efforts to keep me safe. But if this man truly is my husband, that must mean something,” you say, almost on instinct. Perhaps you’re being foolish, even hasty. But there has to be something to this. Taking a risk is all you have left—now that you don’t even belong to yourself.

"Are you really willing to risk your life to be near this man, Y/N?" Detective Tryon holds your arm, her grip nearly desperate, as though trying to pull you away from Dr. Mayhew. The force of it makes you uncomfortable, and you wince, letting out a low sound of pain.

“Release my wife, Detective,” Dr. Mayhew snaps, his tone finally sharpened, his calm composure cracking. “I remind you that if we report your misconduct to your superiors, your entire baseless case will fall apart.” He steps between you and Lois, his hands slipping into his lab coat pockets, the stance a clear challenge.

"What would truly please you, right?" Lois challenges, staring straight into Dr. Mayhew's eyes. You watch them silently, still feeling the ache in your arm where Lois had grabbed you.

"Would you like to know what would actually please me?" Dr. Mayhew whispers, moving closer to Lois. "I’d be pleased to have my wife with me again, without the interference of a lunatic so obsessed with her own failures that she needs to ruin my life just to sleep at night. Careful, Lois. You’re becoming obsessed with me." You're uncertain of his intentions, but the authoritative tone in his voice and the way he carries himself is undeniably alluring.

Lois narrows her eyes, her expression darkening as Dr. Mayhew moves closer, his tone laced with mockery and barely concealed venom. “Is that so, Dr. Mayhew? Obsession, you call it?” she scoffs, a bitter smile playing on her lips. “Let’s not confuse dedication to justice with obsession. But perhaps you’re simply too accustomed to manipulating the truth to recognize it when you see it.”

You watch the exchange, torn between skepticism and an undeniable draw toward him. Despite the sharp edge in his words, the way Dr. Mayhew stands his ground, unyielding and unafraid, stirs something within you. Even as his gaze shifts to meet yours, there’s an intensity there that unsettles yet captivates you—a magnetic pull that defies reason.

“Why not focus on your own affairs, Detective,” he murmurs, his eyes still on you, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, “and let my wife and I… reconnect. Unless, of course, you’ve truly no other purpose in your life than meddling in mine.”

Your confidence is remarkable, Charlie," Lois remarks. "Mrs. Mayhew, if you need me for any reason, here’s my number. I’ll also be visiting again soon to see if there’s been any progress in your memory recovery." She hands you a card with her contact information, then smirks mockingly at Dr. Mayhew. "And don’t worry, Charlie, I’ll let Megan know you’ll be unavailable." With that, she finally exits your hospital room.

Charlie stares at you, irritation burning in his gaze. "Do you believe her?" Dr. Mayhew demands, advancing toward you with sudden intensity. You feel as if the air is being drawn from your lungs with his nearness, his gaze piercing. "Honestly, I don’t know whom to believe," you murmur, leaning back against the hospital bed behind you, your eyes locked onto his.

"Fine!" he exclaims, voice laced with indignation. He turns to leave, but then hesitates, his hand lingering on the door frame as if torn between staying and leaving. After a tense pause, he steps back inside, his tone shifting from anger to something raw and vulnerable.

"Y/N… if you can’t trust me, then at least remember what we once were. Remember the promises we made." His voice drops to a murmur, almost pleading. "I’m not the monster she’s painting me to be." The intensity in his words sends a shiver down your spine, leaving you more conflicted than ever as he finally, reluctantly, exits the room. What makes it all worse is that neither of them is truly thinking about you. Neither one noticed that you’ve only just discovered your own name, that you're lost and confused. They don’t see that you don’t want to be manipulated—you want to be understood.

“You are like him…” you murmur, recognizing that you’re no longer in your hospital room. Everything around you is intensely white—the walls, the bed you're seated on, every corner spotless and untouched. A cross hangs on the wall behind the priest, casting a shadow that flickers slightly, as if from candlelight. The room feels steeped in something sacred, almost otherworldly, like a faint echo of a memory stirring within you. The priest looks at you with a serene expression, though there’s an unmistakable weight behind his gaze. As he steps closer, the almost sacred atmosphere around you amplifies the tension. You try to process the overwhelming resemblance to Dr. Mayhew—even the contours of his face are identical, but the priest’s shorter, more traditional hairstyle highlights the difference. Your mind wavers between doubt and recognition, as if your subconscious is trying to unveil something long forgotten.

“You keep searching for answers outside yourself, yet everything you need lies within,” he murmurs, his deep voice echoing through the room like a quiet revelation.

“Father, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, what to feel,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you meet his gaze. Tears slip down your cheeks, and a quiet, aching desperation fills the space between you. The priest, unmoved yet tender, holds your gaze.

“Faith moves mountains, and as long as it resides within you, you will be safe,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle command that resonates deeply. “Find your faith, and you will know what—and whom—to believe.”

Despite the haziness, a strange comfort wraps around your heart, soft yet unexplainable. His words, laced with a familiar warmth, guide you into a calm acceptance, though the reason remains unknown. Then, leaning closer, he whispers in your ear, “Now, kneel and seek forgiveness.” Almost instinctively, you find yourself on your knees before him, grasping the folds of his robe at his knees, your head bowed as though in reverence.

“Father, forgive me,” you whisper, your head bowed. His fingers lift your chin gently, compelling you to meet his gaze. “How can I grant you absolution, when your hands are stained with blood, my sweet sinner?” he murmurs, lowering his face near yours, his breath warm against your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

You’re shocked, frozen beneath his intense gaze, but unable to break away. As you glance down, horror floods your senses—you see your hands smeared with blood. Stumbling backward, you gasp, eyes wide in disbelief. The priest rises from the bed, stepping slowly toward you with an unwavering gaze, a faint trail of blood marking his face. You’re overwhelmed with fear, a scream building in your throat until it finally erupts, piercing the silence. And then—just like that—you awaken from your haunting dream, heart racing, as the unsettling remnants of the nightmare fade into the dim light of your hospital room.

Dr. Mayhew, startled awake in the chair beside your bed, immediately reaches for you. “Hey, Y/N, are you alright?” he asks, his voice filled with concern as he stands and wraps you in a firm embrace. His arms encircle you with a warmth that feels protective, grounding you in the present moment, as if he’s trying to shield you from whatever haunted you.

“I… I had a nightmare,” you whisper once you catch your breath, the tension beginning to ease as you lean into his hold. And everything feels like déjà vu. Just like before, you wake from a nightmare involving the priest, and once again, Dr. Mayhew is by your side. You can't help but wonder if there’s a connection between his presence and the terrifying, bloody dreams that haunt you each night.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Dr. Mayhew murmurs softly, his hand tracing gentle circles on your back, his touch soothing. The warmth of his embrace gives you an unexpected feeling of lightness, as though he’s holding you together amidst the lingering fragments of your nightmare.

“Can we leave this place?” you ask, your voice trembling as you try to stifle the tears that have flowed since you woke. He holds you a little closer, and you feel a subtle tension in his grip, as if considering your question carefully.

“We will, soon,” he assures, his tone steady, though a flicker of something unreadable passes over his face. “For now, rest. I’ll be here.”

"Stay here; I need you to answer me—while looking into my eyes," you insist, tugging at Dr. Mayhew's clothes, almost dislodging his tie. Though he’d intended to return to the hospital chair, he remains by your side, his gaze steady yet guarded.

“Will you even believe my answer?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a hint of doubt, as though unsure anything he says would hold weight with you. His eyes search yours, wary yet attentive, as if weighing what he’s willing to reveal.

"You'll have to take the risk and believe that I will," you say softly, though you're unsure if you can truly trust anything he says. Dr. Mayhew's hand reaches gently to touch your face, but you instinctively pull back, murmuring, "I’m sorry."

“Ask me whatever you wish, Y/N,” he says, his voice tinged with impatience, perhaps confused by your conflicting actions—clinging to him, pulling him closer, yet retreating from his touch. You, too, are struggling to understand what you’re feeling, torn between wanting him near and pushing him away.

“Do you love me?” you ask, your gaze unwavering, trying to find answers in the depths of his eyes. His stare holds yours, as if the question should be irrelevant, as if he has already shown you everything you need to know. His expression softens, but the weight of his response carries something more.

"I’m your husband, Y/N," he replies, his voice steady, but there's an intensity in his eyes, a depth of meaning that you can’t ignore. "Doesn't that answer everything?" His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken emotion, and for a moment, you wonder if the truth lies somewhere in the space between his claims and the confusion that churns in your heart.

"Answer me, Dr. Mayhew, do you love me?" you ask, using a more assertive tone, making it clear that you are not satisfied with his previous answer. He smiles, as if he can't believe it. "I love you, Mrs. Mayhew. I would die for you if necessary," he responds confidently. His eyes are fixed on you, as if waiting for something.

"Then even if the truth disappoints me. Even if you think it's going to hurt me, I need you to be honest. About these murders, about Megan, about everything." You speak firmly, staring into his eyes.

Dr. Mayhew's expression hardens as you mention the two things he surely wishes you would forget. For a moment, he looks at the hospital room wall without saying anything. "Honesty is a double-edged sword. As you inflict it on someone, someone can inflict it on you," his gaze darkens, his demeanor heavy, almost demonic. "If honesty is what you want; honesty is all you'll get."

He stands up, lifting his face to yours, now standing directly in front of you. "You think the truth will set you free, but sometimes it only binds you to something far worse," Dr. Mayhew says, so close to your face it feels as though he's about to kiss you. His words are heavy, yet his gaze is devilishly captivating. For a moment, you sense that he's savoring the expression of fear in your eyes. "Then let the truth bind us both, if that's what we deserve," you reply, challenging him, even though a part of you trembles with fear.

He straightens his coat, his hand running through his hair with a sharp, almost angry gesture, as though attempting to pull himself together. "Rest, Y/N. The truth will find its way to you, sooner or later. But I can promise you this: I am, and will always be, honest with the woman I love—even if she doubts me." With those words, Dr. Mayhew places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, a gesture of tenderness. Then, without another word, he exits your hospital room, leaving you in a heavy silence.

[psykopaths]

Basic Instinct (1992)

[itsfullofstars]

It's official: I'm publishing my first work of fiction, the unhinged novella SKIN & BONES, on 10/22/24 (just in time for Halloween). Pre-order the ebook now!

A mind-bending psychological thriller told in first person by a broken man who submits to a bizarre medical experiment in an effort to redeem himself, and loses his mind in the process.

It's Fight Club meets The Parallax View meets E.R. meets Shutter Island... and utterly unique in its own right. A quick, propulsive, hallucinatory read, rich with supernatural elements and medical suspense, SKIN & BONES takes you on a journey into the labyrinth of one man's fractured psyche.

Skull art by @paul.hollingworth - and it's NOT AI!

[save-the-data]

Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru A.K.A Love is a Poison | S01E12

Japanese Drama - 2024, 12 episodes

~~ Adapted from the novel “Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru” (毒恋～毒もすぎれば恋となる～) Makino Keisuke (牧野圭祐).

Native Title:#毒恋～毒もすぎれば恋となる～

Genres:#LGBTQ+ | #Suspense|#Thriller

Tags:#Lawyer Male Lead | #Adapted from a Novel

Cast:#Hama Shogo | #Hyodo Katsumi

Links:  GAGA | Viki | YouTube | iQIYI | WeTV | Youku | Tencent | Netflix (JPN)

Catalog: Episode GIF set | Japanese BL | Japanese Drama

[weirdlookindog]

Véra Clouzot in Les diaboliques (1955)