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bvidzsoo · 3 months ago

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The trace of you

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: psychiatrist!Jeong Yunho x patient!female reader

ꕤ Warning: bullying, mistreatment, ptsd, mentions of insanity & abuse, mental health talks, psychiatric diagnose, unethical thoughts and actions ꕤ Word count: 25.1k ꕤ Rating: mature ꕤ Genre: dated around the late 1800's, psychiatrist x patient, lots of yearning, mutual pinning, forbidden love, inspired by Alias Grace, angst ꕤ Summary: Being caged inside your home for a wrongdoing you can't even remember seems to not have the effect people have been expecting. With the arrival of a foreign doctor with studies unheard of before, your life takes a new turn. Will Doctor Jeong prove your innocence, or will he fall into your web like everyone else? Are you sane, or is he just as insane as his patients?

A/N: Helloo, my lovelies! ^^ Wrapping up this story took way too long due to me having some unplanned health issues that are still (?) kicking my ass...anyways, keep in mind while you're reading this that there are probably historical inaccuracies to this story, especially to South Korean history that I briefly read through when constructing Yunho character's background. The dresses MC wears also aren't the most accurate, but I hope you can look past that and imagine instead whatever you'd like. I watched the mini-series Alias Grace and was rather inspired by it, so you will find similarities to it within this story. I am no medical professional, so the diagnosis MC is given might be inaccurate even though I have taken my time to research these things. Let me know if I should tag anything else as a warning, and I really hope you enjoy this story as I have tried making it a bit different. Let me know your thoughts about it, I am always excited to read your feedback! <3 Oh, and, I hope Santa brings you something sweet tonight, this is my not so small present for you all! ^^ divider

The old clock’s ticking seemed to only get louder by the second. The sheer curtains were pulled to the side to allow more sunlight inside the tea room, the grand doors opened to let in the late fresh summer breeze. The white hydrangeas lining the paths leading towards the back garden were gorgeous and carried a strong scent with them, I could smell it from my spot on the soft faded pink cushion of the sofa brought all the way from France. The tea room had been remodelled not long ago. There was something about it that gave old cottage vibes, but it has now been upgraded to a more fashionable Parisian feel. It was pretty, with hues of light peach and a darker coral, however, I used to like more the cosy feeling of the sage green and baby blue colours that had decorated the room once. Karina liked it more this way, she had said something about the lighter colours giving the impression of a bigger room. I did not understand why the tea room was required to look grander than it already was, but I didn’t question her judgment. It was best if I didn’t, not out loud, at least.

The servants were quietly waiting outside the room as my mother paced in front of us, Karina perched on a fancy chair with an abandoned book in her hands. I knew the ticking of the old clock and the silence was driving her mad, but I remained silent as I gazed forward, eyes on the gravel path. I longed to walk in the meadow close to our house, but I wasn’t allowed to roam around on my own. Even inside my own home, I was under constant surveillance. The doctors have said it was for my own sake, but it felt like I was in a continuous cage. It was suffocative, I couldn’t sleep some nights due to it, not even after drinking Mrs. Humphrey’s delicious camomile tea. My last hope resided in summer, in the warm breeze that kissed my cold skin, everything a lush green where I looked, to keep me sane. As sane as it could, since I was deemed a madwoman long ago.

Unlike the others who hired chauffeurs and dated carriages with old horses, this doctor arrived by a fancy patent motorcar. It wasn’t him driving it, at least the servants had whispered that to each other, but his long wool coat looked expensive too. My mother finally stopped pacing and Karina sighed in irritation when there was a knock at the front door. One maid stepped forward and opened the door for the doctor, gently greeting him. I couldn’t hear his voice, I was trying to catch the song of the birds outside, but I could feel the shift in the air. It was warmer inside as if the sun had stepped through our threshold. It warmed my skin like none other. Finally, the doctor was led towards the tea room, my back to him as my lips moved in a whispered song that comforted me. If I ignored the coil of my stomach and the sheen layer of sweat over my brows, I could convince myself that I was fine. That whoever came to check on me wasn’t another vicious man eager to torture a damned soul like mine.

“My apologies, ma’am, I am unfamiliar with these roads.” The man’s voice was deep yet soft, like honey, thick but inoffensive. At least if I told myself that, it calmed my rapid heartbeat. As I continued sitting rigidly, my fingers wrung together, the tremors never disappeared. It was something natural, the other doctors have concluded, something they couldn’t fix about me. Another thing they couldn’t fix about me. It was fine, I knew I had been damned a long time ago.

“Oh, it is no issue, we are glad you made it, Doctor.” My mother’s voice was filled with deep relief as the crease between her brows finally disappeared, hands locked behind her back as she rushed towards the entrance. Karina was surprisingly silent, but her expression spoke volumes. Her eyes had widened and her mouth had parted, fingers barely clutching the book in her hands anymore. I gulped, trying to steady my irregular breathing. I knew what was coming, the same questions and objects this doctor, too, would use to check my stability. I dreaded it all, I wanted to scream and throw a vase and make it shatter against the ground, but I would only be deemed even crazier. My eyes shook when I heard footsteps approach, heavier than those of my mother or Karina, it was the man. The Doctor. He was coming further inside, I could feel his eyes trained on my nape, no doubt curious and with a glint madder in his eyes than in mine, here to dissect me, pick me apart just to never fix me. I saw polished black shoes stop before me, and the lump in my throat almost made it impossible to speak up.

“Miss Harold, my name is Doctor Jeong Yunho.” Then, unlike any other doctor had done, this one’s knees bent until he was crouching in front of me, looking at me. His eyes were round and kind, a dark brown unlike my icy ones, and they were filled with warmth and softness I hadn’t seen in any other man. His nose had a perfect slope and his fair skin was sun-kissed, the apple of his cheeks a rosy red. His lips weren’t too big but pouty and full, asking to be traced gently by soft fingertips. I shuddered, completely taken aback by his youth and beauty. The man was from faraway lands, yet judging by his speech, you couldn’t tell until you saw him. He was gorgeous, he was breathtaking, “Would you feel safe if it was just the two of us in this room?”

No, I wanted to scream. My fingers tightened against each other, I gulped and hesitantly nodded, our eyes spilling into each other’s as if a spell had them locked together. His features were serene and sincere, not a frown on his beautiful face to create creases, just a soft smile pulling at his lips. It was disarming and frightening at the same time. Then, the doctor smiled even wider as he stood back up, his height intimidating. My heart raced as I watched him, unable to take my eyes off him. And he was still looking at me as he spoke up, “If you could excuse us, I’d like to speak to Miss Harold in privacy. It won’t take long, I promise. I’m only here today to familiarise myself with her.”

“Good, yes, Doctor, whatever you need.” My mother sounded reassured as she gripped Karina’s arm, yanking her out of the tea room as she seemingly didn’t want to go. Her eyes were fixed on Doctor Jeong, and her cheeks were blushed, “Would you like a cup of tea before we leave?”

“No, but thank you, Mrs. Harold.” The doctor hummed, his voice warm, as he sat across from me. He had no leather tool bag, nothing. He only carried a ragged satchel bag, a dark green with patches made to it, and it seemed mostly empty. My heart couldn’t settle down, not yet. Maybe his tools were hidden in the pockets of his long black coat. He hadn’t taken it off, and he looked like he wasn’t planning on staying for long. I couldn’t decide whether that thought reassured or unsettled me even more. Silence stretched on as we stared at each other, my throat dry, but I made no moves to drink from my fine China cup. I gulped when the doctor finally moved, reaching inside his bag. Here it came, the torture for the next hours, he was just like all those other doctors. I could feel tears prick at my eyes and my chest felt on fire, my lungs constricting, but the world seemed to stop moving when the man finally retracted his hand from inside his ragged bag. He held no tool to harm me, instead, a slightly withering daisy was gripped daintily between his long fingers.

“I plucked this for you on my way here, Miss Harold.” The doctor spoke, leaning forward to extend his hand towards me. A daisy, from a man like him. A man who felt like the sun itself, warming my cold particles, how unusual. When I did not move to take it from him, his happy expression seemed to fall slightly. Before he could feel more disappointment, I quickly leaned forward and grabbed it from his hand. Our fingertips brushed for a second and the doctor gulped, loudly. I loved wearing my copper hair in a simple bun, lined with fresh daisies. How coincidental that I had made myself a daisy crown just this morning, and now, the doctor had brought one for me. It would’ve been endearing if it was from a suitor, but I haven’t had one since I was sent to the asylum.

“Everything has a price, Doctor, what must I offer in exchange for this?” I found my voice, less shaky than I had expected. My insides were twisting in every possible direction, my heart hammering so fast it made me feel lightheaded. I wondered whether I’d remember the doctor tomorrow morning still. It wouldn’t be the first time I experienced sudden memory loss.

The doctor frowned, sitting back on the couch stiffly, “Perhaps, your honesty? Will you answer my questions?”

“Will you measure my head and poke at my skin like all those other doctors?”

“No, I’m not here to physically evaluate you. I’m here to glance inside your mind.”

“That unsettles me more than getting cut open to determine whether my blood is still red or not.”

“Had they done that to you?”

“Yes, you should rather ask what had they not done to me, Doctor Jeong.”

The doctor gulped, his dark eyebrows pulled together now and his lips downturned. He fished for something in his pocket, and a small pair of spectacles were placed low on his nose. It made him look more mature, more serious. I wondered if he wore it so that the other doctors would take him seriously, or whether because his eyesight wasn’t the best.

“I won’t cut you open, Miss Harold, I won’t even touch you during my examinations.” My heart skipped a beat despite hammering uncomfortably against my chest, and I wondered why. His words, however, did bring a little comfort.

“How will you determine what is wrong with me, then?” I raised my eyebrows, my fingers popping when I released the tension from them. I laid my palms flatly against my sage green dress, and the doctor’s eyes fleetingly glanced at them.

“By talking, by listening to your stories and thoughts.” The doctor spoke of a practice I hadn’t heard of before, “If you trust me, that is, your secrets will be safe with me.”

“Will they be?” I smiled, a little ashen, “The committee will want to hear what I said, there are no secrets we can keep with each other, Doctor Jeong.”

The doctor hummed, an almost amused smile pulling at his lips, “My profession requires me not to disclose anything personal, so, even if the committee wants to hear it, I won’t relay our conversations word for word, Miss Harold.”

I gulped, analysing the man’s face. He looked sincere, his eyebrows didn’t twitch and he wasn’t sweating despite the coat still around him. It was summer, and it was warm outside, albeit not inside the tea room, that is why the grand doors were opened to let the warmth in. This room reflected a lot about how I felt on the inside, always cold and hollow, waiting desperate for the warm sun to fill me up with its hotness until it burned me away. I wanted to burn, I wanted to be freed of all I had to endure until now.

“You need my honesty, but are you willing to be transparent with me?” My question seemed to take the doctor off guard as his eyes momentarily widened. Then, he clasped his long fingers together and placed his arms on his thighs, leaning forward in his seat.

“As long as it helps us move forward and remains professional, I can be transparent with you, Miss Harold.”

“You must’ve read the reports about me, do you think I’m mad, Doctor Jeong?”

“Isn’t everyone a little mad, Miss Harold?”

“I don’t know, you are the doctor between the two of us, Doctor Jeong.”

“Indeed, and I claim that nobody is without faults or sins.”

“Then you must be a religious person, no?”

“My profession contradicts my beliefs, yes, but I do believe there is something stronger and greater than us, Miss Harold. If we ask for forgiveness, we shall be pardoned.”

“Father Leon would love to have you at his service, Doctor Jeong.”

The doctor chuckled, a small smile settling over his lips as I realised I hadn’t looked away from the man since he had sat down on the couch. That was news. I never looked anyone in the eyes, as I didn’t feel comfortable. I had been told by previous doctors that they could see straight to my soul, my wicked mind and rottenness in the blueness of my irises. Now I never looked long enough to let them see what was inside my eyes, but this doctor didn’t seem to be afraid of me, of what he might find inside my eyes. Could he not see the darkness of my soul? Or was his faith so strong he preferred to spot the brightness before he was proven wrong by the wicked that permeated those like myself?

“Do you believe in God?” Doctor Jeong’s voice was louder than before, more filled with emotion as if my answer was crucial to him.

“I suppose I must. Everyone says the devil was the one to make me act like this, and I wonder where had God gone to let the devil do this to me.” Doctor Jeong’s cheeks became a darker colour as he licked his lips, mouth parting, but no words left it. I hummed, placing my right hand over my left one. Doctor Jeong wore one single band of silver ring on his middle finger on his right hand. He couldn’t have been married, then, I concluded.

“Perhaps you’ll find an answer to your question once I have done my job here.” Doctor Jeong’s tone caught a solemn note, but I said nothing as he grabbed his satchel bag and adjusted the collar of his white shirt. I watched the motion, eyes glued to the fair skin of his neck even as the man stood. His ears were flushing red too, I wondered why. I suppose the summer warmth had gotten to him at last.

“You are leaving already, doctor?” I asked as I looked up, standing when I realised he was about to depart. My mother had raised me with good manners, I would have even walked him to the front door if it weren’t for Karina suddenly barging inside, her jawline set tight as she sent me a fierce look of displeasure.

“Eager to have him all to yourself, sister?” Karina’s voice dripped with venom as she rushed further inside, rudely grabbing the doctor’s arm. What if he didn’t want to be touched? Karina lacked the awareness to consider that for a second. The doctor remained silent as he looked between me and Karina, and I just chuckled, looking down to the floor.

“I already have him all to myself, no need to be eager about it too.” The forced smile on Karina’s face would’ve satisfied me, but now I wanted both her and the doctor gone from my sight. My heart was racing again and I couldn’t breathe well, the tremors of my hands would’ve made me spill my tea if I were to drink from it. Perhaps Matilda could accompany me around the gardens, I wished to become one with nature for the remainder of the day.

“I shall see you tomorrow, Miss Harold.” Doctor Jeong bowed his head slightly before he let himself be dragged away by Karina, who sent me a glare that would’ve scared anyone else but me. I let them leave as I crumbled back onto the sofa, suddenly feeling faint. I couldn’t decide whether the doctor would pick my mind apart or not, and it was scarier that I had no idea how he’d do it.

The air felt oppressive and thick, yet I could see the doctor’s motorcar approaching in the distance. Matilda had been kind enough to accompany me on my walk around the gardens, but she had rushed me back inside the tea room when my mother sent a butler to alert us that the doctor was fast approaching. Now, sitting on a chair by the open grand doors, I could see the dark clouds gathering around in the distance. It was as if they were trying to chase the doctor away, but he kept approaching until the motorcar's engine died down and his heavy footsteps echoed around the house. There was a knock at the door as my eyes watched a small white bird on a branch of a tree, my mind absent. The heavy footsteps approached further inside, and I turned my head to look up at the doctor.

“Hello, Miss Harold.” He said with an easy smile on his lips, holding his satchel bag in both hands. He didn’t wear a coat today, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up. His nape was sweaty as the top buttons were unbuttoned. The heat had finally gotten to him, it could get rather cruel in this part of the county.

“Hello, Doctor Jeong.” The smile came easily to my face. Despite only meeting him yesterday, my heart wasn’t racing like before. Perhaps it was the absence of his leather tool bag and the fact that the man was so young and innocent-looking. Before we could proceed, however, there was a knock at the door.

“Doctor Jeong,” Karina’s unmistakable voice called out with a shake to it, “Would you like some tea before you start your…examination?”

“The heat is already killing me, but thank you.” He declined with a gentle flick of his wrist, yet Karina lingered in the doorway. She was only looking at the doctor, her favourite dress ironed out and tightly cinched at the waist. I turned in my seat and watched her with amusement. She wasn’t subtle at all.

“May I help you?” The doctor asked, sounding confused as Karina stood still and slightly jumped, looking down abashed.

“No, I’m sorry.” Then she finally departed, closing the door behind her as Doctor Jeong had asked. I slowly looked up at the handsome doctor, finding his eyes with ease as his spectacles were close to slipping off his nose again.

“Won’t you sit, Doctor?” I pointed towards the chair, which was placed a decent distance away from mine, just by the other door. The breeze had picked up into a strong wind now, it blew inside and rattled the sheer curtains. I welcomed it with closed eyes while the doctor settled in, the rustling of paper caught my attention as I slowly fluttered my eyes open once again. It was silent for a second as I looked at the doctor, who was already watching me. His pouty lips were parted and his ears seemed to be red. As my eyes travelled all over his fair skin, I noticed the glint of something silver underneath his white shirt. It appeared to be a necklace, and once he leaned forward to retrieve a pencil from his satchel bag, I spotted a silver cross hanging off it. He really was a believer, then.

“Did you want to sit here?” The doctor asked as he leaned back in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other. I hummed, clasping my hands together in my lap as the tremors slightly subsided. My heart was at ease, it finally wasn’t frantic like during breakfast and my walk in the gardens.

“Yes, I find nature most beautiful during this time,” I answered the doctor, turning my head to gaze at the white hydrangeas. Their scent was so strong I could almost taste it in my mouth.

“So, you like storms, Miss Harold?” The doctor asked and I chuckled, turning my head away when there was lightning in the distance.

“No, doctor, I’m terrified of storms.” I smiled as the doctor paused, he was jotting down my words in his notebook, I came to realise. He quirked an eyebrow, so I continued, “My father died saving me after I had fallen off the ship, the storm was terrible.”

The doctor hummed, his eyebrows slightly furrowing as he quickly noted what I had just said, “Are you afraid of water, then?”

“No,” I shook my head, our eyes meeting and staying locked as if we had been hypnotised by each other, “I’m only afraid of the destruction a storm can cause, even on land.”

“Have you seen many of those?”

“Yes, our neighbours’ barn was destroyed just last month, it was terrible.”

“Have you helped him?”

“As much as a woman can help, yes, I offered them my servants to help rebuild the barn.”

“Then you’re caring.”

“I suppose, if you say so, Doctor.”

“Do you not consider yourself a caring person, Miss Harold?” I smiled, watching the doctor’s expression even out as his pencil pressed a hole into the thin paper of his notebook.

“As a doctor, do you care for your patients?” I raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious since I hadn’t met anyone like him. If he dissected the mind, he must care for his patients, no?

“Within the limitations of my oath and law, yes, I do care for them.” Then the doctor seemed to consider his next words, licking his lips as his eyes bore into mine. They were wide and dark, and it was easy to get lost in them, “All I wish is to do is find a cure for them, to see them walk free of their shackles.”

“Can you cure madness, Doctor Jeong?” My voice sounded small, almost afraid. The doctor’s eyebrows furrowed as he averted his eyes, messily scribbling something down in his notebook. As I peeked at it, I realised the alphabet I was familiar with blended with one I did not know. Perhaps it was his mother tongue, then.

“Every person has a trigger, Miss Harold, if I find yours, I can cure it.” Then, he bit his bottom lip, and the added words were silent, “If you’ll let me.”

Silence stretched on, and I felt my heart race for the first time since I had seen the doctor today. It was unsettling, I felt my cheeks warm up. The redness from the doctor’s ears seemed to spread down towards his neck and chest, I wondered if his skin was as smooth as it looked at first glance. Then, without considering my next words, I let the truth slip past my chapped lips.

“I want to be free, sir, I don’t want to live like this for the rest of my life.” I had been young when I was convicted. My fate could have been much worse, but the men my father had been once acquittanced with owed him one, so they came to my aid. My sentence was very generous, the judge deemed me mad and unfit to be locked up in a women’s penitentiary, and instead, I was bound to constant surveillance for the rest of my life. Even when I slept, Matilda was there with me. Or my mother when the maid was too tired to continue keeping watch.

The doctor wetted his lips again, leaning slightly forward in his seat. The pencil was clutched tightly between his long fingers, and his tone had dropped lower too, “I can rid you of your burden if you’re honest with me, Miss Harold, I can set you free. But for that, you have to tell me everything that happened and made you do what you did.”

“Why won’t you say it, Doctor? Have you not read the reports? I was the talk of the whole town, still am, actually.”

“Something isn’t right about the reports, have you been truthful in your testimony?”

“Wouldn’t I be breaching the law if I wasn’t?”

“People lie all the time, Miss Harold.”

“May God forgive me for my sins, then, Doctor Jeong.”

A vein in the doctor’s forehead bulged as his jawline strained, mouth open but no words leaving his pretty lips. He huffed, then leaned back in the chair, eyebrows furrowing deeply as he wrote messily in the notebook once again. I smiled as I watched him, his black hair fell into his eyes as he looked down. His spectacles threatened to slide down his nose altogether, and I itched to fix it for him.

“Let’s start at the beginning, then, shall we?” The doctor’s tone had turned uncharacteristically soft as if he was talking to a frightened child. There was a fire in his eyes as he looked up once again and I gulped, feeling unsettled under his sudden undivided attention. His left palm pressed into the side of his thigh, his fingers tapping his black slacks rhythmically. I gulped, then nodded.

“What would you like to know about me, Doctor Jeong?”

“Tell me about your childhood. Your likes and dislikes, who is most dear to you and why. Have you loved before? Do you feel lonely now? Just tell me everything that crosses your mind.”

He wanted to know everything about me. It felt unravelling, dangerous. He had said my secrets would remain with him, would he note them down in the language only he spoke? Or would he tell the committee right after he was finished with his examination? Taking a deep breath, I turned my head to gaze outside once again, my lungs deflating as I exhaled long and loud. The lightning was closer now, the little birds were nowhere to be seen. Something coiled in my guts as my father’s face flashed behind my eyes, his warm smile and his kind tone still so present in my mind. If he were still here, perhaps nothing would’ve happened. There would be no Karina and Mr. Brooks, I wouldn’t be condemned for life.

“Much like I am afraid of storms, Doctor Jeong, I’m afraid of solace. It hadn’t always been like this, while my father was alive, I had never felt alone for even a second. He’d take me to the woods on horseback, we’d pluck flowers for my mother and he’d teach me everything he knew about the fauna and the poisonous mushrooms. He’d read stories for me before bedtime, and he had even taught me how to read. He was my favourite person, now it’s my mother and Matilda. She’s a young maid, we had found her hiding in the stable last winter. She was almost frozen to death, I thought I might be giving her a second chance at life if I took her in as my personal maid. She doesn’t speak much and I can’t tell whether she hates me or not, but I know she loves it when I take her on walks in the garden. I think she’s a little bit like me. Out there, in nature, we can both pretend to be free, just two girls roaming between flowers and giggling about the future.” The doctor’s hand seemed to be moving with my words, it was as if he tried to capture and note down everything I said. For that sole reason, I didn’t speak quickly, I let the words settle both in his mind and on his paper.

“I suppose my childhood isn’t anything special, I come from an aristocratic family, you must imagine what it was like. I was raised to have good manners and bow in front of men, but not without having an opinion and a mouth to voice them with. My father had been a fair man, he and my mother had always made every decision together, so he raised me to find a man who sees me as his equal and his other half. There had been moments when I had rebelled, I think that is only normal, but I was never a moody or explosive child. You can ask my mother about that, she’ll tell you so too.” I said as the doctor nodded along to my words, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. I took a deep breath and watched his face as I continued talking, “There was only one thing I loved as much as I loved my father, and it was ballet. But that, too, was taken away after I was admitted to the asylum. Ever since then, I haven’t touched my pointe shoes. I had even asked Matilda to hide them deep inside my closet, my heart breaks anytime I catch a glimpse of them.”

A lump formed in my throat just from speaking about it, I could feel tears in my eyes as I watched the tree branches move violently with the strong wind. The willow tree looked gorgeous in the wake of the storm, and I wished nothing but to step under it and close my eyes, let the wind destroy my bun and rip the fresh daisies out of my hair. I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the dark flashes of memories I had tried to forget so badly. The asylum was a cursed place, filled with evil people who only caused more harm. I hated it and everyone that was associated with it. I could feel the doctor’s eyes on me, and he gulped, inhaling sharply. I glanced at him, and he looked amazed for some reason.

“Can you tell me about the asylum, Miss Harold?” My muscles tensed despite the doctor’s soft tone, and my heart started racing painfully in my chest. I thought wringing my fingers tighter together would stop the tremors from worsening, but it didn’t. I felt lightheaded as my own shrill screams echoed in my ears, but I couldn’t speak. My bottom lip shook as I took a breath through my mouth, and shook my head frantically, “Alright, it’s alright, Miss Harold. We won’t speak of it, take deep breaths.”

The doctor leaned forward in his seat and I rigidly turned to face him, my eyes wide in fear as I waited for him to strike. Maybe his mask would finally slip, maybe the tools were hidden inside his satchel bag. The notebook, his scribbling, my stories…maybe they were all just distractions. And yet, the doctor’s eyes remained kind and ridden with worry as he seemed to breathe through his mouth as well, as if he was mirroring my actions. I closed my eyes as the first thunder shook the ground, and inhaled deeply, keeping the air in my lungs until I couldn’t no more. I released the shuddered breath and opened my eyes again, only to see the doctor gulp, loudly. His pupils were dilated and made his eyes seem completely black, his fair cheeks flushed deeply as his long fingers tightened around his pencil once again.

“Perhaps we should end the examination here, Doctor Jeong.” My voice was strained as I gulped around nothing, “The storm is here. You should head home before it worsens.”

As if nature had agreed with me, the air filled with electricity as lightning struck not far away, the thunder loud and following shortly after. Doctor Jeong’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, humming approvingly. He swiped his bottom lip with his thumb before he grabbed his satchel bag, adjusting his spectacles as they did slip off the slope of his nose. Thunder wracked the earth again as a colder breeze billowed past us, ruffling my dress and the hair that had fallen out of my bun. It also moved Doctor Jeong’s messy hair, jelled back and out of his eyes in an attempt to make him look classy. As the doctor stood, slipping the notebook inside his satchel bag too, I mirrored him, smoothing down my dress.

“I call what we do here sessions, Miss Harold, and not examination.” The smile was easy on his lips and I hummed, flinching when the wind slammed the grand door of the tea room against the wall. Perhaps it was time to close them, “I shall see you tomorrow?”

“Of course, Doctor Jeong, please take care on your way home.” My eyebrows furrowed in worry as Doctor Jeong nodded, opening his mouth to say something just as the door to the tea room was yanked open. The man in the doorway was unfamiliar, but he looked worried.

“Mr Jeong, we should go now if we don’t want to be stranded somewhere on the road during the storm.” He must be the doctor’s driver, then. My mother appeared behind the driver, looking as worried as if the doctor was her own child.

“We have guest rooms, Doctor, you could always stay.” My mother was a kind and loving woman, her intentions hardly questionable, “I would hate it if something were to happen to you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harold, but I shall be on my way.” Doctor Jeong smiled widely, then faced me once again, and bowed his head much like yesterday. Perhaps it was their custom to take farewell like that, so, I bowed back to him. The doctor’s eyes widened for a second before his smile widened just slightly, and then he and his diver were gone, my mother’s expression was worried as she watched them leave from the front porch. Big droplets of water started falling from the dark clouds, and I quickly closed the grand doors as Matilda rushed inside to assist me. The rhythmic fall of the rain was a glaring reminder of my irregularly fast heartbeat.

The eyes were windows to one’s soul, or so Yunho had been taught. He had dealt with many cases during his practice period, and now as a certified psychiatrist, he had gained even more popularity in the West. He had no choice but to move at a young age, the world was an ever-changing place. He was young and curious, he wished to explore and find people that needed his expertise. But there was something so mesmerising about her eyes which left him unravelled and flustered like nothing else. Her words dripped with honey, and Yunho could swear he heard angels singing, accompanying her soft tone whenever she told stories. He was captivated. He ached to write down every single word she uttered, he felt desperate to pick apart her brain, to look inside it, to fix her. He was desperate to understand what had triggered her manic episode, he was desperate to tell the committee that she was innocent. But he was a doctor first and foremost, and his job forbade him from any personal attachment towards his patients. But whenever he looked into her icy blue eyes, the breeze brushing the fallen copper strands of her hair against her sun-kissed cheeks, he felt his very own soul stir and reach out in desperation to connect with hers, to possess it. She was a madwoman, and he was a man desperate to stay sane in her company.

Another thing I completely wished to be free of was dinners, where I was forced to sit with my so-called happy family. The bags under Mr Brooks's eyes had been getting darker and darker lately, and the creases in his forehead were an obvious sign that something was worrying him. But it wasn’t my place to ask questions, so I continued to silently notice the small changes in his mood and behaviour. He had stopped pampering Karina, which was completely unheard of, and she was loud and clear with her complaints. She had wanted a silk nightgown just last week, but her father had denied her of it. He didn’t mention the cause, he only said she already has more than enough nightgowns. The clinking of silverware gave me something to focus on as my eyes were cast on the brussels sprouts on my plate, pushing around it as I didn’t enjoy their bitter taste. But Mrs Humphrey had cooked dinner with love, so I didn’t want to leave anything on my plate tonight. The silence around the table was broken as my mother grabbed her glass of wine, her kind eyes settling on me.

“Y/N, my dear, how are your examinations going?” I paused, feeling everyone’s eyes in the dining room on me. I gulped down the food I had in my mouth and tapped with a napkin at my lips, letting my hands fall in my lap as I hummed. Doctor Jeong’s words rang clearly in my mind, what we were doing was called sessions.

“They are called sessions, ‘ma, and they are going well,” I spoke gently, hoping she’d find my words reassuring. I knew she was constantly worrying about me, always fussing and around thinking I wouldn’t notice. I might be absent-minded a lot these days, but I’m mostly aware of my surroundings still. Mr Brooks nodded once, looking pleased as he wolfed down the steak Mrs Humphrey had made to be spicey, just like Mr Brooks liked it.

“That is lovely to hear,” My mother beamed at me, meanwhile Karina scoffed under her breath, “Do you find communication with the doctor difficult, perhaps? Or is everything clear between you two?”

Mr. Brooks nodded along, one eyebrow raised as he watched me curiously. I adjusted myself in my chair and plastered on a little smile, “Doctor Jeong is well-versed and rather attentive. He notes down everything I say in his notebook, and meanwhile, I have noticed he scribbles along in his mother tongue as well, I find no difficulties understanding him. He’s coherent and speaks English as if he was born around here.”

“That’s a very reassuring thing to hear, my dear.” Mr Brooks spoke up with a smile, the corners of his lips tugging up. Karina’s jawline was set tight as she let her fork clamper down loudly against her plate, her eyebrows raised mockingly.

“Why are we letting her spend time alone with that doctor, again? How is that helping her?” Her tone was high-pitched, filled with blatant jealousy that Mr Brooks and my mother remained oblivious to.

“Sweetheart, we’ve discussed this already,” Mr Brooks said with a tired sigh, giving his daughter a disapproving look, “Y/N needs a new medical approach, and Doctor Jeong is the best in this field. He came all the way here from South Korea when he was still just an apprentice. I’ve read up on him, he’s solved cases of mass hysteria and other mental issues no doctor could even come close to. Let’s not have this conversation again, Karina.”

Mr Brooks was mostly calling me insane to my face, but his words held no malice and I knew his intentions were pure. I couldn’t resent him for wanting to find a cure for me, something that could finally fix me. He had no obligation to look out for me like this, I wasn’t his daughter by blood, yet he had only treated me with kindness and understanding my whole life. He was a good man, perhaps a bit too absent from the household, but I could see in his eyes that he loved my mother dearly, and that was more than enough for me to accept him into our home. He couldn’t replace my father, but he filled the void that sometimes got too much.

“I think she just needs attention,” Karina hissed under her breath as she slammed her fist on the table, making the maids behind her jump, “What are you waiting for, stupid cunts?! My glass is empty!”

“Karina,” My mother muttered, her eyebrows pulled together as she gave her a displeased look while the poor maid scurried to fill Karina’s glass with wine, “A lady shouldn’t use such vulgar language, nonetheless in front of her elders.”

“Yeah, whatever Mrs Harold.” She scoffed as she glared at the maid, taking big gulps of her wine. I watched with distaste, catching Leia’s gaze for a split second. Her eyes were tear-filled and I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from speaking up, it would only start an argument I didn’t have the mental capacity for right now. But Karina wasn’t done as her sharp gaze fell on me, her tone harsh when she spoke again, “I know you enjoy spending time with the doctor alone, it makes you fantasize, doesn’t it? You’re just playing with him like with everyone else around you, sister, aren’t you? How long do you reckon until you get him riled up enough to get underneath your skirts—”

“Karina!” Mr Brooks's voice was loud and stern, his eyes set on his daughter with disgust in them, “How dare you say such things to your sister? In front of me and her mother, nonetheless! You should be ashamed, is this who I raised you to be?!”

Karina chuckled, humourless, “Right, father, you didn’t raise me at all, perhaps that is why I am like this. Maybe you shouldn’t have admitted mother into an asylum because she didn’t know how to silence a crying baby, hm?”

The silence that settled over the table made my skin crawl. If anyone would’ve dropped a pin, everyone could’ve heard it in the dining room. I released a shaky breath, the tremors worsening as Mr Brooks seemed to be struggling with containing his rage in front of my mother. Her mouth was open and a hand pressed against it, eyes shaking with pain and incredulity as she looked between Karina and her second husband. I took a deep breath and pushed my chair back, grabbing my plate to try and stabilise myself, to stay in the present. Eyes fell on me, and before Leia could come to approach me, I shook my head with a small smile, “I’ll let Mrs Humphrey know she outdid herself once again, then I will be retreating for bed. Matilda will accompany me, sleep well tonight, mother.”

As I left the dining room, I heard Mr Brooks weakly whisper a good night, then Karina’s sobs as she raced up the stairs, slamming the door to her room loudly. The chatter and good mood died down the second the kitchen door swung open, Leia following inside after me. Mrs Humphrey looked concerned when she noticed me holding my plate and went to stand up and take it from me, but I quickly shook my head.

“No, stay seated, Mrs Humphrey, dinner is absolutely delicious.” I said with a smile, and the other servants and maids seemed to relax as well, “Would you mind…if I finished my dinner here, with you?”

“Oh, come here, my dear.” Mrs Humphrey’s frown was deep as she beckoned me over, making space for me between herself and our butler, Jesper. He was still a young boy, his eyes filled with a youthful spark, full of life and happiness. He offered me a small smile and placed mushrooms filled with cheese on my plate, knowing I loved them. I chuckled and thanked him, then looked over the table and realised I felt most comfortable when around these people. They were simple, they were happy, and they made the most of their days. They were free, away from society’s judgemental eyes, and they lacked the prejudice the other aristocrats hadn’t even tried to hide around me. I felt like I belonged at this table, and as the happy chatter picked up again and Jesper made small talk with me, with Carla eagerly interjecting sometimes, I could feel my tense muscles relax and the void in my chest disappear. For a little while only, while I was still at this table, enjoying my dinner with the people who looked at me as if I was just a human too.

The doctor was quickly growing on me. I couldn’t trust him, not yet, it would be too soon. It’s been only a week since he started visiting me for our sessions, but I started believing that he wasn’t playing a character when around me. He was genuine, his eyes sparkled curiously with each question he asked, his frown was always worried and it downturned his pretty pouty lips, and when he smiled, something warm seemed to flood my chest. I could only compare it to the sun, for I have never felt such warmth when gazing upon a man before. Not even when suitors were lining up in front of our house, asking for a chance at marrying me. The doctor was considerate and kind, he hung on to my every word. It was his profession, I knew he was only doing his job, but I couldn’t help but imagine he was a man interested in me, his notebooks filled with poems and sketches of me. It was a far-fetched fantasy, but it managed to warm my cheeks anytime I dwelled on it.

I was out in the back garden as I found myself thinking about the doctor again, excited to see him today as well. We had left off at a rather culminating point of my story yesterday, I wondered if he was as eager as I was to hear the rest of it. Matilda wasn’t feeling well today, and as my mother was in town, Carla was the one supervising me. I didn’t mind the change, she was a chatty girl and easily kept me from detaching from reality. Here, in the garden, as I thumbed at the leaves of the flowers, Carla was still speaking about an encounter with a fairy. A supposed fairy as she believed in God and deemed the little creatures spawns of evil.

“Tell me, young miss, do you believe it was Satan sending those fairies my way?” Carla’s voice was full of wonder, “Have I done something bad to attract his attention to me?”

“I don’t believe so, Carla.” I answered her quietly, my eyes following a bee as it flew from flower to flower, “You go to church every Sunday.”

“Perhaps I should go from now on every Wednesday and Sunday, too.” Carla huffed, hands on her hips as she tried avoiding the bee that was flying towards her. I chuckled, straightening up. The scent of the hydrangeas was familiar as I closed my eyes, inhaling it deeply into my lungs so that they would stay there for a long time.

“I don’t believe fairies are inherently evil, Carla.” I mused as the breeze brushed upon my cheeks, already flushed from the great heat. My dress was thin and simple, I couldn’t wear pompous dresses during summertime, they were too hot. I would often feel lightheaded from the strong sun, the thick dresses would only make me faint. The white fabric was soft against my skin, and the white ribbons brushed against my nape as my hair was pulled into two small buns at the base of my neck. I could’ve performed on stage looking like this, but even so much as looking at my pointe shoes would’ve hurt my soul. I didn’t let the memories resurface despite the sudden melancholia that wished to break through my emotions, “Fairies are small creatures that protect nature, maybe you had done something they didn’t approve of. Did you disrespect their land, perhaps? Or did you step on a flower they had blessed before? Fairies are territorial beings, and they are also quite vengeful. But if you ask Father Leon to bless you after service, I’m sure you’ll be just fine, Carla.”

The scoff that followed my words wasn’t coming from Carla. I didn’t open my eyes as I became aware of heavier footsteps approaching, I had completely missed the engine of his motorcar. I felt Karina stop behind me, but I turned my head towards the sun, basking in it. I couldn’t touch the celestial without burning to a crisp, but perhaps the one it had sent to me in human form was really here to save me. A clear of throat made me blink my eyes open, and I turned to look over my shoulder.

“If you have nothing else but fairies to talk about, then I don’t see why Doctor Jeong should entertain your madness any longer.” Karina’s eyes narrowed at me, “You belong in an asylum, sister.”

I smiled, a little amused, as an ugly grimace appeared on Carla’s face upon Karina’s comment. The maid made to open her mouth, which would’ve landed her in trouble, but the doctor beat her to it, “Thank you for walking me here, Miss Brooks. But I’d like to be left alone with Miss Harold, now.”

“Right,” Karina muttered, shooting me a jealous stare, “She gets to have you all to herself, as always.”

Then, she turned around and raised her skirt above her ankles to storm off. Carla nodded her head and followed after Karina, not in a hurry so that the woman wouldn’t pick a fight with Carla as well. The doctor sighed, pushing his small glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking a little bit bewildered. Then, he looked at me and the crease from his forehead disappeared. I was already smiling at him, my hands behind my back to hide the bad tremors. I had felt faint all day, but the doctor was here finally and I could finally take my first breath of fresh air of the day. I couldn’t help but smile widely at him, and watch as the flush from his ears quickly travelled down to his chest. Even more buttons of his loose white shirt were undone, the silver cross sitting against his chest now glinting under the sunlight. His trousers were high-waisted and the shirt was tucked neatly into it, a leather belt pulled around his waist. And there, in his right hand, was something white. I tilted my head in wonder as I looked at it, curious about what it was. The doctor liked bringing small gifts, mostly silly, but memorable.

“Hello, Doctor Jeong,” I spoke up, and the doctor released a loud breath.

“Hello, Miss Harold.” His voice shook slightly, then his fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel bag, “Here, I have something for you.”

Then he extended his right hand out towards me, and my eyes widened in surprise. I could tell the ballerina was made out of a napkin, I hadn’t seen anything like it before. My hands shook despite trying to ease the tremors, and my fingers hesitantly curled around the present as our skin brushed together. The doctor’s cheeks flushed rapidly, and I found myself unable to look into his warm eyes. I wondered if it was the heat that made our hands so clammy. I looked at the ballerina in my hands, melancholy overtaking me once again. I longed to dance around in the garden, Mrs Humphrey and my mother as my audience now that my father was gone, but it only brought back bad memories. I was too faint to twirl around now, my legs weren’t as strong as they once used to be. I would fall even before doing my first pirouette, it was depressing.

“How are you feeling today, Miss Harold?”

“Faint, but it’s from the heat, Doctor Jeong.”

We stood unmoving, our eyes boring into each other’s. I didn’t want to move to the tea room just yet, perhaps I longed to sit under the willow tree. The doctor made no moves, and so I said nothing about heading for the house. We were in eyesight if anyone were to look through the kitchen window, and we weren’t doing anything wrong.

“Thank you for the gift, Doctor Jeong, did you make it yourself?” I asked with round eyes, unable to keep the smile off my lips. The doctor flushed darker and averted his eyes, thumbing at his wet bottom lip.

“Yes, I thought it would cheer you up. I hope I wasn’t wrong.” His tone was tender and just a little hesitant, the doctor was almost cute like this.

“It did cheer me up, sir, I was thinking about ballet just now.” I paused, and waited for the doctor to look up into my eyes, “It seems you can already read my mind, I wonder how you do that.”

The doctor smiled, his forehead exposed as his dark strands were brushed away from his eyes, “We are making progress, then, reading your mind isn’t as easy as one might think.”

“And why is that?” I asked curiously, fiddling with the napkin in my hands.

“Because it’s very complex, you like to speak in riddles, and you evade most of my questions.” Then the doctor chuckled and I bit my bottom lip, averting my eyes in embarrassment, “You’re cunning, but I’m good at catching all the little hidden messages.”

I grinned at the doctor’s words, my suspicions confirmed. I knew I could play around with him, he seemed like a very smart man. Hearing he could read between the lines was more than satisfying. My heart skipped a beat, but it didn’t start racing like before.

“Do you like hydrangeas, Doctor?”

“Their scent is too intense for my liking, but they are pretty flowers, Miss Harold.”

“They symbolise purity and gratitude, even vanity in some cases.”

“What do they mean in your case, then?”

“Gratitude, Doctor Jeong, towards you.” Our eyes met again as I looked away from the white flowers, a sudden calmness settling upon my racing thoughts, “I hope the end of my story will be satisfying to you.”

The doctor gulped, loudly, then motioned towards the house, “Would you like to continue inside? Did you remember something of importance, perhaps?”

“Can we sit under the willow tree?” I raised an eyebrow, “Mrs Humphrey can see us from the kitchen if that’s of worry to you.”

“Sure, if you’ll feel comfortable.” The doctor nodded, fishing for his notebook and pencil as I hummed, leading us down the pebbled path, the willow tree was just by the end of it. The territory the house resided on came with a small pond, I liked watching the still water while sitting by the trunk of the willow tree. The doctor followed after me quietly, and he watched me settle down into the green grass, dress splaying out around me. It had ridden slightly up, exposing my shins as I pulled them underneath myself. The doctor seemed to be frozen, eyes glued to where my legs had been just seconds ago. Then, he gulped loudly and settled down next to me. He sat a little closer compared to the usual distance between our chairs, but his presence was soothing. I smiled as I faced him, eyes falling on his long fingers as he got comfortable, opening his notebook to where we had left off yesterday.

“I don’t remember anything new, doctor, but we haven’t reached that part of the story yet.” I smiled, then turned my head to gaze out at the pond, “Would you like to hear what happens next?”

The doctor exhaled, “You told me this noble boy barged inside your house in the middle of the night? He must’ve been madly in love with you to do such a thing.”

I chuckled, eyes focusing on the dragonflies above the pond, “I suppose he was at one point, yes. But men are easily converted, I find love like my mother and father had once shared hard to find, doctor. Our love didn’t last long, but I’m getting ahead of myself. It was a cold spring evening and he had been visiting, drinking with Mr Brooks to ask for permission to marry me. My mother was present too, of course, but she couldn’t say much against Mr Brook’s words. In the end, the proposal was accepted and the man left, only to come barging inside hours later.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Because he was drunk, and because he had something to say.”

“Did you hear him out?”

I chuckled, facing the doctor. His eyes were wide as he was watching me, pencil pressing against the white paper, “Yes, I did hear him out, but his words made no sense. He said something about a lavished lifestyle and a farmhouse, and something about being happy together even in a later age, it was endearing but very inadequate.”

“So, what did you do, then?” The doctor wasn’t even writing down what I was saying, it made me chuckle. The corner of his lips lifted subconsciously, he looked amused too.

“Nothing, I just kicked him out and told him to come back when he’s sober. His drunken words meant nothing to me. I did not want to marry a man who made foolish confessions in an inebriated state of mind, besides, he was a gentleman. He should have known better than to barge inside a lady’s home well past midnight, no, Doctor Jeong?” I quirked an eyebrow, my question seemed to snap the doctor out of his staring. He cleared his throat and looked down at his notebook, pausing for a few seconds before he jotted something down. I couldn’t read it, it was in a foreign language.

“N-no—I mean, yes, Miss Harold. That was rather inappropriate of him, I must imagine the discomfort he had created for you.” He had barely finished his sentence when a giggle bubbled past my lips.

“On the contrary, Doctor Jeong.” I grinned, ducking my head down to hide my amusement as confusion crossed the doctor’s features, “It was the most fun I’ve had in a while. Mrs Humphrey, my mother, and I had stayed up for hours giggling about it afterwards. We even made jokes about it and Mrs Humphrey let us drink her very secret brew that tastes like flowers but could knock out even a sailor with just two jugs. I have no idea what it is, but it’s very strong.”

The doctor’s eyes were filled with awe as I laughed, memories of easier times never failing to bring me in a good mood. It would’ve been easier like this, if things stayed put and if Karina wouldn’t have meddled with everything. I have faced hardships before, but having the person I considered my sister to betray me had stung like none other. In the end, neither one of us got what we wanted, just a lot of animosity and a tension-filled relationship. Sometimes I wanted to ask Karina if all of it was worth it, but I knew not to entertain an already greedy person.

“And how does this memory make you feel now?” Doctor Jeong’s tone was airy, and he wasn’t looking at me as he was scribbling in his notebook. I pondered for a second before I placed my hands on the grass, gripping it tightly between my fingers. Sometimes the tremors stopped when I grabbed something too hard.

“Bittersweet, but mostly happy. I’m grateful I was able to experience all of that at least once in my lifetime, others aren’t as lucky as I am. I am well aware of that.” The doctor nodded along as I spoke, but then he paused writing and looked at me with a frown.

“And when you think of that man? How does he make you feel, Miss Harold?” I gulped, not having expected that question. But it was easy to answer, I’ve pondered many times over this specific question, there wasn’t anything the doctor could surprise me with anymore. I smiled softly but knew the doctor could feel the shift in my mood.

“Mostly angry that I wasted years on that man when I could’ve found someone more decent, more loving.” Then I shrugged and watched as the doctor licked his lips, adjusting his spectacles on his nose, “Do you believe that God has everything planned for us, Doctor?”

“Mostly, yes, but we have enough free will to change the direction of our lives.” The doctor answered, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. I hummed, plucking the grass from the ground forcefully. My knuckles ached from how hard I had gripped onto it.

“You can’t run from what is meant for you, Doctor Jeong, we would’ve never met if I wouldn’t have gone mad.” But Doctor Jeong didn’t seem to be too convinced by my words. He chewed on his bottom lip, sweat rolling down between his pecks. I gulped, then averted my eyes from his exposed fair skin, and instead focused on his beautiful round brown eyes, “Are you glad we got to meet?”

The man’s eyes widened at my forward question, but I meant no harm nor did I have questionable reasons to ask such a thing. The doctor cleared his throat, playing with the pencil in his hands as he thought his answer over, “I’ll be glad once you are back to being yourself, until then, I cannot allow myself to feel any sort of satisfaction.”

“Don’t you think my madness is part of me, now?” I muttered, gazing off towards the house. The curtain in the kitchen moved, but I knew it wasn’t Mrs Humphrey. She was out in town with my mother at this hour. Doctor Jeong inhaled sharply, then closed his notebook loudly. The paper made a noisy sound, making me look over to him. The man looked aggravated as if my question had bothered him immensely, but I was merely curious about how he viewed me.

“Perhaps we should continue tomorrow, Miss Harold, and we must proceed with the story. The committee is pressing me with questions, they are very curious to hear the full story.” The doctor was avoiding my question, that was unusual. He stood, brushed the dirt off his trousers, then hastily grabbed his satchel bag and clumsily placed the notebook and his pencil inside.

“Thank you for indulging with me, Doctor Jeong.” I looked up at him, and had to shield my eyes from the sun, “I love sitting under the willow tree.”

“I will keep that in mind, Miss Harold, have a nice afternoon.” The doctor then bowed his head and I mirrored his actions, then he was rushing back towards the house, looking a little rigid. Karina stood in the doorway to the tea room, a tray filled with cookies and lemonade in her hands, but Doctor Jeong merely nodded at her and left the house in haste. Karina’s glare could be felt even from the distance, and I gently stood to head back inside, keeping the arrangement in mind. I wasn’t supposed to be unsupervised, I knew Carla would be in the laundry room if she had nothing else to do.

Yunho couldn’t sleep. He kept reading over and over his notes, all the small hidden messages making his head ache. His stomach growled in hunger, but he was physically unable to stand from his study and ask the housekeeper to prepare dinner for him. The girl was frail, she was soft-spoken but witty. She liked to keep him on his toes, and she was great at making him lose track of what was most important. He felt like he was making no progress, yet the committee kept pressing him for an answer. Father Louis was understanding enough not to ambush him with questions daily, but the rest of the officials weren’t. They wanted a diagnosis of Miss Harold already, they didn’t want to understand that Yunho couldn’t give his verdict in anything but a week. Building trust took time, getting to hear the unfiltered truth from someone who loved to play with her words took patience. Yunho was a patient person, but he wondered how long he had until he’d break. Whenever he closed his eyes, he felt as if she was watching him, standing over him, smiling at him. Her skin was sun-kissed and sometimes her cheeks were burnt from staying out in the sun for too long, but Yunho knew her skin would be soft. When he had twisted and turned his napkin into shapes, absentmindedly, he realised he had made a ballerina out of it. Thus, he had made his first mistake as a professional. He had allowed himself to sympathise with Miss Harold. He had allowed himself to notice her smile was brighter than the sun itself, and that she smelled an awful lot like those hydrangeas that Yunho was allergic to. And he had allowed himself to notice the tremors of her hands, making him yearn to hold her frail hands between his with the hopes of soothing her nerves. Yunho wondered if she yearned for him like she had yearned for her once lover.

The clouds were almost black as they expanded over the horizon. The wind was too cold for us to keep the grand doors of the tea room open, so they remained closed as I sat on the soft sofa, gazing out through the glass. Matilda had left the curtains undrawn for me, and a few scented candles were lit to ease my muscles' tension. I couldn’t focus lately, these past three days my mood had quickly reclined. I know the doctor had noticed it too, but he didn’t prod more than it would be considered rude. I was reluctant to tell him the cause of my moroseness, he wasn’t here to listen to me weep about how unfairly Karina treated me. She had been ruthless these past three days. I knew she had a vendetta against me, but ever since the doctor started coming here, she had been progressively getting worse and worse. I could handle it until I couldn’t. If I ignored her and got lost in a deep spot in the back of my mind filled with happy memories, I would end up with a backhanded slap to my face. If I talked back and stood my ground, I would only fuel her fire, giving her power over me. Karina was clever, she knew when to strike. If my mother was around us, she was an angel. If the servants were watching, she’d be sharp and arrogant towards me. If Mr. Brooks was present, she didn’t bother hiding her disdain, but she wasn’t as straightforward as around the servants.

She didn’t hold back one bit if it was just the two of us. My eyes were lost on the gloomy visage, eyes tracking the swaying vines of the willow tree. It was even more beautiful in the eyes of the storm, I could’ve stared at it for hours on end. My mind was silent like this, absent of all the turbulent thoughts that shook me to my core and kept me up at night, when Matilda, poor girl, struggled to stay up and look over me. Just last night, she had fallen asleep, and I was grateful because I had a moment to myself where I could secretly slip away and walk through the gardens in hopes of clearing my mind. It wasn’t a smart decision, however, because I couldn’t remember anything after I stepped through the threshold of the house. I just know sometime later I was gasping for air as my arms were restricted and my throat was scratchy, Mr Brooks desperately trying to hold down my trashing body. My white nightgown was dirty with mud and the ends of it were dripping wet with pond water. It wasn’t foreign that I would lose consciousness if something lay heavily on my chest and gnawed at my thoughts, but it had been long since I had lost track of myself so deeply. Not since the incident, at least.

And Karina was enjoying it, her lips pulled into a nasty smirk as my mother cried by my side, asking Matilda and Leia to bring cold towels and help me clean up. Mr Brooks had looked tired as he gently helped me back to my room and tucked me into bed, his eyes pained and suffering as if I was blood-related to him. His expression made me feel guilty for worrying not just my mother, but also him. I felt terrible, yet I couldn’t control my mind or my body when these episodes happened. Even now, as I sat on the sofa waiting for the doctor to arrive, I felt lightheaded and on the brink of losing consciousness. My body felt light and heavy simultaneously, and I could feel my pulse in my neck. My lips felt chapped no matter how much tea I drank, and my throat was tight. I wanted to see the doctor, I needed to tell him why I had done what I had done. I had always been too afraid to confess the truth, not wanting to hurt my mother and break up the second family she cherished. But I also couldn’t continue living like this, not when Karina prayed for my downfall. Her harsh words from yesterday were still fresh in my mind, and I had to blink the tears away for a second.

“I know you’re just a whore, desperate to find another man to toy with.” She had spat with flushed cheeks, a cup filled halfway with wine in her hand, “Do you seriously think that doctor wants to touch you? You’re a deranged woman now, Y/N, nobody will want you. Not even Doctor Jeong Yunho, you whore. I won’t let you have him too, you always get what you want—but not this time, Y/N, mark my words.”

And just when I had thought she was done, she had marched up to me and grabbed me by the throat harshly, making me gasp, “If he doesn’t send you to an asylum, I will kill you myself, Y/N. You’re an abomination and a disgrace, even your own mother hates you, whore.”

The knock at the door startled me, I had been lost deep in thought. I turned my head and noticed Matilda giving me a small smile, “Young miss, the doctor is here to see you. Would you like me to prepare anything for you two?”

My heart skipped a beat, but I couldn’t tell why. Perhaps because I knew he’d take my mind off things, even if I was forced to relive the past I tried to bury deep down, sequences I couldn’t even remember anymore. Or, maybe, it was because I desperately wished to gaze upon his soft face, lose myself in his warm and round eyes peeking at me over his small spectacles. I couldn’t decide which was the reason, but I needed his presence to calm my turbulent mind and body finally.

“Thank you. I will welcome him inside, and you can take a break.” I stood up, hands balling into fists as nausea washed over me, “We won’t need anything, but I hope you get some sleep, Matilda. You’ve been watching over me for three days.”

“That is my duty, young miss.” Then she bowed her head before I could tell her she needed to take care of herself, and she took her leave. I smoothed down my long-sleeved dark blue dress now that the weather wasn’t as warm as days ago. I hadn’t pulled my hair into a bun today, even if it was not ladylike, I wished to feel my copper strands brushing against my cheeks when I moved my head. It shielded my face like a curtain if I didn’t want to be seen, I hoped Doctor Jeong wouldn’t mind.

Sucking in a deep breath and bracing myself, I left the tea room in search of the doctor, who should have been in the foyer, getting rid of his coat and dress shoes, but instead, he wasn’t there. I paused for a second to listen for his voice, and a smile pulled at my lips when I realised he was in the living room. Perhaps we could hold our session inside there today, I could play the piano and show him my favourite piece, if that, of course, was deemed fine by the doctor. As my fingers brushed against the wooden door, about to push it further open, I realised the doctor wasn’t alone. Karina’s sweet giggles flooded the room before she continued speaking.

“Surely, Doctor. I am pleased to hear you do not burn yourself out by coming here daily. I can only imagine how tiring it must be to listen to my sister, she’s rarely coherent. You must have noticed, given that you are a doctor, that she often has no idea where she is or who she is talking to. She tends to get lost in her own mind and blabber on about nonsense.” Karina then paused as my heart raced, my eyebrows furrowed in distaste, “She looks completely normal upon first glance, but it quickly becomes obvious she’s—well, she’s insane, you know?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Brooks, I cannot be discussing this with you.” Doctor Jeong’s voice was neutral, and cold, unlike the tone he used with me, “But as a licensed doctor, given that I am one, I can tell when her surroundings influence her mood, or why she is in a bad headspace.”

Karina scoffed, sounding a little offended, “Are you insinuating anything right now, Doctor Jeong? I don’t need a license to be able to tell that my sister is insane. How long until you realise she’s just trying to trap you here, twirl you up into her web of lies and fantasies? If you think you can help a mad person, Doctor, I fear you should seek help too. She’s beyond help, she’s desperate and pathetic, and as I have stated, she’s mad—”

“I am not mad!” Before I could stop myself, I let my anger take over me as I barged through the ajar room, “I am not insane, Karina, you’re always putting words in my mouth! Who has ruined everything I have ever had, huh?! You, you did, so don’t call me your sister. I am not your sister, and I will never be, you filthy skank!”

Karina gasped loudly, her hand flying up to her mouth. The doctor’s eyes had widened too, clearly taken aback by my outburst. I had been soft-spoken and kind in front of him, careful to not show anything he could incriminate me with in front of the committee. Karina had gotten what she wanted all this time, I suppose. Now, the doctor would make an early report that wasn’t favourable for me without even hearing the truth, or as much as I could remember of it. I gulped, feeling ashamed as tears filled my eyes, but I tried to keep myself from crying. Karina wailing like a banshee next to Doctor Jeong was more than humiliating enough to force me to keep myself in place.

“Enough,” The doctor snapped, his friendly and soft features morphing into something of anger and vexation. For a second, I thought it was directed towards me, but then he turned his head and his warm chocolate brown eyes fell on Karina, now sharp, “This is the last time I let you off the hook, Miss Brooks. If you don’t stop treating your sister so poorly, I will have to write you up on the board as the main suspect that causes Miss Harold’s turbulent manic episodes to occur, is that what you want? Do you wish to also be psychologically evaluated? I can do that, I can get one of my colleagues to come out here and question you, but you might be surprised to find yourself deemed insane too.”

Doctor Jeong’s words visibly shook Karina as she crumbled into an armchair, fingers sinking into her hair as she shook her head at the doctor, crocodile tears streaming down her cheeks pathetically. My heart was racing in my chest, the doctor was all I could see. His flushed cheeks from anger, his whitening knuckles around the strap of his satchel bag, his rapidly rising and falling chest—Jeong Yunho had stood up for me, taken my side. He was my doctor, he was supposed to look out for me, but he wasn’t obligated to protect me from claims that might be true. I didn’t feel insane, I never had, but Karina might still be right. Maybe I was a danger to society and Doctor Jeong hadn’t discovered why yet. It was only a matter of time until I exploded in his face, showing him my true colours. I had no idea what I was fully capable of, that part of my memory was still absent, but I could never forget the feeling of pure satisfaction and elation as I watched Karina lay on her back, gasping for air as blood trailed from her nose down to her mouth, chin, and then neck.

Doctor Jeong sighed loudly, his eyebrows furrowed as he licked his lips, shaking his head in almost disappointment at Karina. Then, he faced me and his features instantly softened. My heart raced again, and I hid my hands behind my back. Then, without many words, he came closer to me and nodded with his chin towards the stairs, “Would you mind if we skipped the tea room today, I’d like a more private setting.”

I gulped, feeling lightheaded once again, “No, the storm ruins the pretty visage either way.”

The doctor hummed as I turned around and took off towards the stairs, his strong footsteps loud behind me. My hands trembled as we ascended the creaky old stairs, my fingertips tracing the old railing. Doctor Jeong’s fingers were close to mine, tracing the same pattern as mine, so close yet so far away at the same time. I exhaled softly and tried to keep a clear head, but my nausea was getting worse as I led the way to my bedroom. My mother would’ve been outraged by the idea of leading a man inside my room, but this was the doctor, he was here to help. I couldn’t think of a more private room than my own bedroom, the heavy door closed and locked once we were inside. The doctor seemed to tense when he heard the lock, his back to me. I felt exposed, a little naked, now that the man was in my intimate space. There wasn’t much to my room except for a desk filled with books and poorly done sketches, and a vase filled with daisies and tulips. The doctor headed for my desk, meanwhile, I headed for my bed. The sheets were satin and silky as I lowered myself onto the edge of my bed, letting my hands sink into the fabric. With a questioning glance, the doctor turned my chair around to face me and sunk into it with a heavy sigh.

“I apologise.” My eyebrows rose in surprise as I tilted my head in question, “For letting your sister speak like that of you, I should have never let her go that far. I shouldn’t have even let her corner me like that and-and—it doesn’t matter. I understand if you need space after this, I might be able to convince the committee to give me a few more weeks.”

“She’s not my sister.” I whispered as I wrung my trembling fingers together, looking down in my lap, “Karina is not my blood sister, Doctor Jeong. I might have viewed her once as a sister, but not anymore.”

The doctor fumbled around for his notebook and pencil, which had gotten smaller from having sharpened it so often. The doctor’s eyebrows were furrowed as he pushed the spectacles up on the bridge of his perfect nose.

“Does this have to do anything with what happened on that day?” The doctor’s voice was gentle, understanding even. I bit my lower lip and nodded slowly, feeling my head swarm around uncontrollably. Would he know what to do with me if I were to pass out? He is a doctor, after all, but Matilda is the one who knows me best, perhaps I shouldn’t have locked the door.

“She-she really—hurt me that day, and I—” My throat felt dry as my lungs started heaving for air, “I don’t know—maybe I did want her to di-die—I can’t do this right now, Doctor Jeong, I’m sorry.”

Doctor Jeong’s bottom lip was between his teeth as he suddenly let his notebook rest on the desk behind him. He leaned forward, lowering his head as he tried to make eye contact with me. I gulped and kept my gaze focused on my tremor-ridden hands, “Listen to me, Miss Harold, we don’t have to talk about it today. I’m just here to chat, I can tell you are not feeling well. Your mother informed me through a letter that you had hurt yourself last night, may I know what happened? Can you tell me? I won’t even take notes, just this one time.”

I gulped, slowly raising my eyes to look up at the doctor. He wore a tight beige shirt today with a dark blue vest over it, his pants snugly fitting his long legs. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his fair and smooth skin, veins bulging through. The wristwatch on his left hand looked fancy, the leather a very dark blue to match his vest. Doctor Jeong’s dark hair was swept back once again, but it looked fluffier today. I itched to reach out and run my fingers through his hair, wanting to feel its softness for myself. I tensed my muscles before I could do anything stupid like that. The doctor’s cheeks were slightly flushed, and his tooth was leaving a small white dent in his bottom lip. Because he was leaning forward, there was less distance between us, but still respectable. Like between doctor and patient.

“I—” I chewed on my bottom lip before taking a deep breath, “I haven’t been feeling well lately, Doctor, so I couldn’t sleep last night. I went for a walk and…I don’t remember what I did or what happened. Sometimes I lose consciousness while I’m awake, it’s frightening. I woke up with a muddied nightgown and a cut on my arm, Matilda had patched me up though.”

“How often does this happen?”

“Not that often.”

“Do you have an idea what may cause it?

“Well, yes. I think it’s Karina, she’s been antagonising me for the past three days and I’m so tired of it all. I just disassociate when I see her approaching me now, I’m sorry.”

The doctor sighed, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. His spectacles had slipped lower once again, “Do not apologise, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just glad you’re alright, Miss Harold.”

“The thought of you visiting daily keeps me afloat, Doctor Jeong, I have something to look forward to now.” I smiled, widely, and the doctor’s eyes widened before he blinked rapidly, looking stunned. Afraid the moment of lightness would pass by before I could grasp it, I continued, “Would you mind telling me your story today? What it’s like where you are from? How you were as a child? Is that…is that unprofessional? Are we not allowed to speak about you, Doctor?”

Doctor Jeong’s gulp was loud, then he took a deep breath and slowly leaned back in his chair, his legs spreading wide. He looked conflicted for just one second, but upon a glance at my face, he gave in. I couldn’t help but beam at the doctor as he chuckled, taking his spectacles off to place them on the desk behind himself.

“Where should I even start?” He hummed, looking towards the window, lost in thought. He was gorgeous, and he was kind. I hadn’t met a man like him before, I wished to trace my fingers along his jawline, but Karina was right. I couldn’t be a whore, not with this man, “As a child I was energetic and always blabbering on about whatever was inside my mind. I liked to ask a lot of questions, but I was reprimanded often for being too curious. Life is…different in South Korea at this time, very much different compared to how things run here. I am lucky I managed to sail so far away, my family has made great sacrifices for me to end up here. I’m not even able to send them often letters, it’s too risky.”

“Why?”

“Because they are in hiding, our belief in God is frowned upon, Catholics aren’t safe there now.” To prove a point, Doctor Jeong grabbed the silver cross underneath his shirt and brought it forward, clutching it tightly in his hands, “I can bravely say it here despite the other religions that exist, nobody has tried to murder me for it, so far. Besides, I cannot tell whether they still live where we did before I managed to sneak onto a French ship and escape. The elite class isn’t like the one here, it’s falling apart and I cannot be sure that my family are still part of it today.”

My eyebrows furrowed as an ashen look crossed the doctor’s face, “Do you miss your home?”

“Yes and no,” The doctor answered truthfully, “I was young when I sailed here, I had nothing and no one until my foster father found me. He was a Dutchman, very kind but unforgiving. I got lucky because he was a doctor and I came here to study advanced medicine with the hopes of once returning home and spreading the word, but I cannot go back, not yet. They’d shun me away, shame me and possibly kill me. South Korea isn’t welcoming of strangers yet, and in their eyes, I’d be one too for leaving our homeland only to return with new doctrines. Even if it means saving hundreds of lives. Not that I work with the physical body, but everyone needs someone who can soothe their soul once in a while.”

“You’re beyond courageous, Doctor Jeong, I admire you.” I sounded breathless as I closely listened to the doctor, making sure no word he uttered slipped by my ears. I wanted to know more about him, who he was and why he chose to be here. I couldn’t imagine being on my own, out on the streets, away from my mother, “I promise not to waste your time here, I’m almost at the end of my story.”

“I know, Miss Harold,” Doctor Jeong smiled softly, “Rather an acquittance than your doctor, I’d like to tell you that I look forward to our sessions. You are easy to connect with, and you don’t make it hard for me to glimpse inside your mind. I cannot say I understand each choice you’ve made, but that’s the beauty of having free will and individual thoughts, it sets us apart and makes us unique.”

I couldn’t help but blush as I averted my gaze from his intense one, feeling shy all of a sudden. The doctor wasn’t calling me specifically unique, but the implication was there, and I couldn’t help myself but imagine, “What about your home? What was that like, Doctor Jeong? And your family?”

For a second, he was silent. It made me think I had offended him in some way, but then his eyebrows slightly furrowed and he looked serious, “Since I am not talking to you as your doctor, you should just call me Yunho, if I may…Y/N?”

Hearing my name fall from his lips had my heart racing and my breath shuddering. I gulped, feeling speechless for a second as my eyes bore into Doctor Jeong’s, wondering if the man knew what it meant to drop such drastic formalities. But I obliged because I wanted his name to roll off my own lips like mine had done on his, desperate to fortify this frail bond between the two of us, doctor and patient, “Right, of course…Yunho.”

Doctor Jeong’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, his gulp was loud. I watched redness coat his ears down to his neck, his fingers digging into the wooden armrests. He was still wearing the silver band around his middle finger, I wondered whose it was. Was it from someone back home? Or was it from his foster father?

“Right, Y/N, well my home certainly was smaller than your house, and also built with different architecture in mind. And people don’t wear these fancy suits at home, we have our own traditional clothes that we proudly wear. I still have the one I arrived in tucked away as a means to never forget where I come from.” Doctor Jeong—Yunho—smiled softly, eyes glazed over with memories as he spoke quietly, almost as if to himself, “I have a younger brother, he’s the loveliest. I didn’t want to leave him home, not even my father and mother, but we would’ve been discovered if we were to run away together. My mother sent me off sobbing, clutching me to her chest and wondering if we’d see each other ever again. My father was a stoic man, but he had cried too. He had enough faith in me and God to know I’d make it out alive and become what they sent me away for. I left a dear friend behind too, but he promised to follow me one day. I do not know if we’ll see each other, perhaps he’s wandering around on a completely different continent, but at least I have something of his with me.”

My eyes flickered towards the silver band Yunho was absentmindedly playing with, his lips set in a tight line. So, the ring was from someone he dearly loved and cherished, I wished I could reach out and pat his hand to offer him comfort. But Yunho’s solemn look switched into one of contentment as he looked at me again, “Our house was in a lovely neighbourhood, filled with silence and the chirping of birds each early morning. Our servants were few, so they lived with us, and they had quickly become part of the family too. I would play in the dirt with my brother when our mother was busy in the kitchen, overlooking the cooks while also helping out. Our father worked long hours but he always returned with fresh flowers for my mother and some sort of western delicacy nobody was allowed to know about. I would often take walks on the beach, if there’s anything I miss terribly, it’s the wide sea and the calmness it brought with itself.”

“I love sailing,” I muttered, tucking my hands underneath my thighs as I hummed, “Despite what’s happened to my father, I find solace in the sea. It silences my fears, much like taking walks in the garden does. I feel like I belong to nature, that I can easily become one with it.”

“Nature is a beautiful place,” Yunho hummed, swiping his thumb against his bottom lip, watching me closely, “You’d love exploring the world.”

I chuckled sadly, “I would, Yunho, but I’m forced to rot away in this house under the very eyes of my servants and family. I can’t even be left alone here, sometimes I want it all to stop. Tell me, have you travelled a lot?”

Yunho looked abashed as he shrugged one shoulder, “Enough to see all sorts of places, people, and cases. Not each one had a happy ending, but I had learned something from each of them, so it was worth it in the end.”

“I wish to see the world, Yunho. I don’t want to be caged in here anymore. Could you set me free—no, will you set me free, Yunho?”

“I—I’ll try, I really will, Y/N. If you tell me the truth, I can help you and write a promising report on your case. But you have to be transparent with me for that to happen.”

“What if they don’t agree with you? See me as unstable and a danger to society, what then? Will I require a caretaker still?”

“I’m afraid, yes. Perhaps you’ll have even more severe surveillance, I’m sorry. I truly promise to do my best, but you have to trust me.”

“And what if…what if you became my caretaker?”

The silence that followed my question felt heavy, it felt wrong. I shouldn’t have asked that, but I was desperate to know how far Doctor Jeong would go to prove I wasn’t insane. And perhaps, a hidden sadistic part of me wanted to know just what exactly the doctor would do for me, to me.

“That would imply you are very unstable, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a thing.” Doctor Jeong breathed out, reaching for his spectacles.

“But would you become my caretaker?” I whispered, gazing up into his eyes with yearning as the doctor abruptly stood, “I wish to see the world, the places you go to. I wish to see South Korea once you’re allowed to go back, Yunho. Would you take me with you?”

He was packing his things frantically, breathing through his mouth loudly, “I cannot tell, Miss Harold, it implies great responsibility to look over someone unstable. Given if you were the object of my desires, I wouldn’t even consider becoming your caretaker, but I’m your doctor and it’s inappropriate.”

“Isn’t it only inappropriate if you make it that?” I stood, facing the doctor before he could run off. He looked conflicted and angry, so I backed off, “My apologies, I have taken you for granted and stepped over our boundaries as doctor and patient. I hope I haven’t made you too uncomfortable, Doctor Jeong, that’s not what I wished to do. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I will be back tomorrow, and you must tell me what happened, Miss Harold.” With a nod of his head, the doctor was at my door, quickly unlocking it, but he didn’t twist the knob right away. He took a deep breath and released it with a whisper, “And I would become your caretaker, if I could.”

His footsteps echoed through the house just as lightning struck in the distance. I walked to the window and watched the doctor get onto the motorcar as his butler drove away, trying to avoid the storm. And then, just like that, the world started spinning as blackness threatened to coat my vision.

�� My knuckles were bloody from having picked at the skin consistently since I was awake. The tremors from my hand have extended to my whole body, my head felt underwater. I couldn’t understand what was happening around me, but I jumped each time thunder rumbled the earth. I know I had been placed on a chair in front of the window in my bedroom, Matilda sitting in the corner with my mother regularly checking on me, but I couldn’t tell what was being said to me or done around me. I didn’t have an appetite this morning, and getting out of bed was harder than ever before. I knew something was wrong, that something had disturbed my peace of mind, but I had no idea what this sudden change in my mood meant. I tried to break through the veil of haziness and speak to Matilda, tell her that my head was throbbing and my joints ached from how wrung up my body was, but my lips formed no words. I tried using the breathing technique Mrs Humphrey had once taught me, but nothing was working. I wasn’t able to control my body, and it was only making me more anxious.

The door to my room opened, but I continued to look out the window absentmindedly, bracing myself for the loud rumble when lightning struck again. After the doctor left yesterday, it hadn’t stopped raining ever since. I knew he couldn’t make it today, but he was determined enough to push through the storm and visit me. Unless it was a serious issue that needed to be urgently taken care of, the doctor never cancelled our session. The thought of seeing him when I felt so unwell managed to calm my racing heart, but until he was actually standing in front of me and I could gaze into his deep eyes, I couldn’t help but take shallow breaths as my muscles tensed up even more.

“Look at you,” It was Karina’s voice unmistakably, “trembling and sweating like a dying child, aren’t you? Who are you acting for, hm? The doctor isn’t here, Y/N, no need to act all pitiful like this, nobody in this house cares about you.”

Her voice was crystal clear for some reason, it made my ears ring as I released a shuddering breath. My mind was so askew that I couldn’t even answer her, I just needed a warm embrace and a deep voice to whisper that everything was fine. Did nobody care about me? That was so depressing, it brought tears to my eyes.

“Besides, he’s not coming today.” I failed to inhale as Karina continued to speak, “He sent a letter to your mother that he couldn’t find a carriage in time, so he isn’t coming. How tragic, all this acting only for him to not witness it…”

The sound that left my mouth was quiet, but unmistakably a whimper. Matilda shifted in her armchair and cleared her throat. I could see Karina through the reflection of the window, she was smirking maliciously as she stared at the back of my head. She looked so pleased with herself, that it made tears stream down my cheeks. I wanted to say something, but the lump in my throat was getting tighter and tighter, I realised I had stopped breathing. Why wouldn’t Yunho come? Was he like Karina too, did he not care about me? Did he lie to me yesterday? Was I worth so little that he couldn’t take on being my caretaker? Why must this be my fate? Why must I be forced never to leave this estate, this house, trapped under the eyes of people who either hate me or pity me? I wanted to sob, but the more I tried to breathe, the quicker I realised dark spots had started appearing in my vision.

“I don’t know what you two do during your little sessions, but the committee has given him one more week before he has to make his final report,” Karina chuckled, I heard her coming closer, fingers gripping the back of my chair, “And then, he’ll be all mine. I already talked to my father and he considers Doctor Jeong a nice suitor, how exciting. You can’t have him, Y/N, and he won’t have you either. I see the way you look at him, you are pathetic.”

Karina’s warm breath fanned my ear and cheek as she whispered her last words, cackling like an evil witch in all those fairytales my mother had told me about. My mouth parted to inhale deeply, but the spots grew darker, becoming more.

“Miss Brooks, please,” I heard Matilda plead as she sprung up from her seat, “Leave young miss alone, she isn’t feeling well.”

“Oh, shut up, you silly goose!” Karina snapped at Matilda, throwing her a disgusted look, “You and everyone else who feeds into her delusions should be admitted to an asylum, get a grip! She’s fine, she just needs her daily dose of attention, stupid girl.”

Hearing the word asylum cracked something further inside me as I sprung up from my seat, eyes wide and body cold. I looked at where Matilda was standing, but all I could see was the face of the man who found great pleasure in cutting me open just to leave me bleeding and helpless. A scream tried to tear through my throat, but I lost my balance as I tumbled to the floor, fingers digging into the floorboards painfully. Someone shrieked as my stomach heaved, but there was nothing to empty. I could hear the man’s words, his tone unbearable and scratchy as he told me I was worthless and a whore, hungry for male attention ever since my father had died. It made my skin crawl, it made me feel dirty and disgusting as I tried to scrape at my arms.

“Mrs Harold!” I could hear the panicked screams, but I couldn’t tell where I was anymore. I felt caged and in danger, like someone was leering over my shoulder, waiting for me to pass out so I could be targeted. I whimpered when I felt hands on my back and tried to slap them away, but I was forcefully hauled up to my feet. A wail finally tore through my lips, and I started trashing around when I felt myself being lifted off the floor and carried somewhere.

“No! No, stop!” I screamed, my voice nothing but a screech as my nails sunk into whoever was carrying me, “Don’t take me back there! I haven’t done anything, please! No—no! I didn’t mean to—I don’t know—wait, no, please, I’m sorry, stop!”

My body sunk into something very soft and warm as fingertips pressed into my skin, forcefully prying my eyes wide open. My lungs heaved for air as I tried to get away from whoever was touching me, but I couldn’t, they were stronger. They were always stronger, I could never get away. They would never leave me alone, I was always their little experiment. They would cut me open as if I was a rat, they would ask me questions and whip me even if I told the truth, they liked to touch me and make me beg for them to stop…I wanted to die. I couldn’t do this anymore. Why would they torture me like this? Did my mother not love me? Had my father’s ghost abandoned me?

“Please.” I managed to whisper when my body finally froze up, all fight leaving it. My muscles and joints ached, my heart thumped wildly, and I couldn’t hear my thoughts anymore.

“My baby, please, stop.” A female voice pleaded above me, “Nobody is hurting you, tell me what’s wrong, baby. I’m here, your mother is here, please.”

How could my mother be here? The asylum didn’t let anyone visit us. My eyes burned when I opened them, but I couldn’t see well, they were filled with tears. There, looming above me stood the one man I yearned for. His eyes were kind and brown like the most expensive Swiss chocolate, his skin fair with a rosy flush to his cheeks that made him endearing, small spectacles slipping down the perfect slope of his petite nose. The doctor was here.

“Yunho, save me.” My voice was barely audible as I croaked out my words, but I noticed my mother’s eyes widening before I drifted off to the darkness that had come to claim my body. Here, nobody could hurt me.

But even in my dreams, the miscreants wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t tell where I was due to the darkness that enveloped me, but I felt frozen down to the bone. My summer dress did nothing to keep me warm, and the little friction to my arms only caused me to shiver more. I tried to call out to see if anyone was there with me, but my vocal cords wouldn’t even croak. My heart was racing and my eyes burned, I could tell I was in danger but I couldn’t see because of what. The impending doom I felt, however, said to me that I needed to run and that I needed to run now. So, I didn’t wait around as I grabbed the skirt of my dress and aimlessly took off, unable to see anything due to the permeating darkness. My feet hurt from all the little rocks that cut into it, and then something touched my cheek that made me cry out. It was warm, almost scorching hot against my frozen skin. There were whispers around me that I couldn’t make out, or understand even if I concentrated on them, but then one of them started making sense. It made more sense than the others, its timber familiar and warm, kind. Then, I could feel fingers tracing my left cheek, a calming hum easing my tense muscles until I could finally take a deep breath. It burned my lungs, it felt as if I was inhaling for the first time.

“Open your eyes, Miss Harold.” Then, just so that I only could hear it, the familiar voice whispered, “I’m here.”

A gasp tore through my lips as my eyes flew open, jolting me awake as I sat, frantically looking around. It was a lot darker in the room than the last time I was conscious, and the rain was hitting the roof of the house harder than before. Matilda, my mother, Mr Brooks, and Mrs Humphrey all stood at the foot of my bed, different emotions reigning on their faces. As I made eye contact with my mother, she let out a loud sob as she fell into Mr Brooks’ arms, and I felt my lower lip trembling. I hated seeing her in a state like that, worrying over me. Before I could cry too, my head was gently turned to the side until all I could see was the doctor. My mouth opened in shock as the doctor looked at me with sad, but worried, eyes, a wet rag clutched tightly in his other hand.

“Yunho.” My throat felt scratchy as I reached out incredulously, wondering whether I was just hallucinating. I noticed my bloody knuckles were bandaged now, ointment placed on the nightstand table next to my bed, “You are here? Really here?”

“Yes, Miss Harold.” He smiled gently, hesitantly letting me touch his jaw, “How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” I said before I could mule over my answer. My stomach was aching and my head was thumping, “I don’t know what happened to me, Doctor, I cannot remember.”

“Don’t try to remember now, your body and mind are overwhelmed,” Doctor Jeong then gently guided me to lay down in my bed once again, “You need to relax, Miss Harold. You fainted, and Miss Matilda has told me you haven’t eaten all day long, that’s unhealthy.”

“I’m sorry.” I felt like a child being chastised by their parent for the first time, except that Doctor Jeong’s face didn’t look even a little bit angry like my mother’s had back then, “I thought I would throw up if I ate anything, still do.”

The doctor hummed, then slightly turned to look back at the others in the room, “Mrs Humphrey, can you bring me that tea I asked you to brew? It will greatly help Miss Harold right now.”

“It’s storming outside, why did you come?” My eyebrows furrowed as I watched the doctor’s serene face, his spectacles were missing and his hair was a wavy mess on top of his head. Looking further down, I realised he wasn’t wearing his fancy suit. Instead, the doctor wore a beige tunic with the strings undone, showing a silver of his collarbones and chest. His silver cross dangled between his pecks whenever he moved forward to check for my temperature, letting the cold rag ease the thumping of my head. The doctor’s boots were still on his feet and looked muddy, but nobody was paying attention to that as he sat on the edge of my bed, taking care of me.

“I’m a doctor, my duty is to ensure my patients are healthy and safe.” Then he glanced back at my mother and Mr Brooks, Matilda had left the room with Mrs Humphrey, “You scared everyone, you scared me, Miss Harold.”

“Thank you for coming, but what you did was unsafe, Doctor Jeong.” I gulped, eyebrows furrowing in worry, “How will you get back home?”

“He will sleep here tonight, sweetheart.” Mr Brooks answered for the doctor, looking just as worried as I felt, “Can’t let him go out in this bad weather, it’s risky. I will ask the maids to make dinner for you, Doctor Jeong. The guestroom is already being prepared, your butler can sleep with the rest of the servants, if that is alright.”

“Yes, thank you for your hospitality.” Doctor Jeong bowed his head, smiling at Mr Brooks, “I’m sorry to say this, but Miss Harold should rest now and the more of us are in the room, the bigger the risk of overwhelming her is.”

“Oh, of course.” My mother whispered, her eyes glossy again, “Rest, my dear.”

I hummed as I watched her and Mr Brooks leave, leaving me alone with Doctor Jeong as the door closed after the two exited the room. I sighed long, looking at the doctor as he removed the rag from my forehead to wring it in more cold water. We said nothing as he placed the rag back onto my forehead, gently removing wet hair strands from my cheeks. He sat close to my body, but his eyes avoided looking into mine. I gulped, trying to find the right words to say just as there was a knock at the door. Doctor Jeong told them to come in and Matilda came inside with a tray and a cup of tea. She offered me a sad smile as she placed the cup of tea on the nightstand.

“Get some rest tonight, Matilda.”

“But you are not feeling well, young miss.”

“This is an order, how long until you faint from exhaustion? Please, I won’t leave my bed tonight, you shouldn’t either.” The maid looked hesitant, but didn’t say anything other than a quiet ‘thank you’, and then she was out of my room, closing the door after herself.

“Someone should check on you tonight, though.” Doctor Jeong said quietly as he helped me sit up, puffing up the pillows behind my back. He grabbed the cup of tea and handed it to me. It was still hot, its scent herbal. My nose twitched as I took a whiff of it before tasting it, cringing away from it, “It tastes horrible, I know, but it’s very good for your health. Drink it.”

It tasted so bitter I thought I would throw up on the spot, but it was supposed to make me feel better, so I toughened up and drank it as quickly as possible. The doctor watched me as I placed the cup on the nightstand, looking a little amused. I wrung my fingers together and placed them in my lap, looking down at my hands. I felt guilty for having forced the doctor to come all this way in such bad weather, yet he was looking at me with kind eyes and a soft smile.

“How do you feel now?” He asked, turning his body more to face me.

“Slightly better, my head isn’t thumping as violently as before, thank you.” I answered, sinking back into the pillows and cushions, “I think—this could be a grave accusation, but what if Karina is the reason I am like this?”

I couldn’t meet the doctor’s eyes as I chewed on my bottom lip, my thoughts whirling around too quickly for me to comprehend them. The doctor froze for a second, then I saw a hand reach out, only to settle on the blanket next to my thigh. I could feel Doctor Jeong’s body heat through the blanket, I wished he had placed his hand over my thigh instead.

“Why do you think that, Miss Harold?”

“May I call you Yunho?”

“Of course, Y/N.”

For a second, I paused and looked up with a smile. Yunho was already looking at me with a small smile on his lips, and I huffed a little embarrassed. Seeing him dressed so casually was doing something weird to me, my heart raced from excitement as I felt shy all of a sudden.

“Just like on that day, she was saying bad things to me again, antagonising me. I know she hates me, but I get so angry around her that sometimes I can’t even form words.” I gulped, eyebrows slightly furrowing as Yunho’s fingers twitched next to my thigh, “I wasn’t feeling well all day, but then she started speaking and I just—she brought the asylum up and I was back there again, being terrorised and touched—I can’t talk about it, I’m sorry, Yunho.”

“Let’s not talk about it, then.” Yunho’s jaw was clenched as he licked his lips, his forehead creasing as he leaned slightly forward.

“I don’t remember anything after that, even her words are muddy.” I felt helpless as my eyes bore into Yunho’s understanding ones, “Matilda was there the whole time, you can ask her what happened, I’m sure she’ll tell you everything. She hates Karina as much as I do, she wouldn’t lie for her.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Y/N.” Yunho nodded once, then tilted his head to the side. I gulped, feeling nervous for no reason, “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight? Are you feeling tired?”

I hummed, playing around with my fingers as I looked down at my lap again. Yunho’s fingers were tapping the blanket, his breaths audible but even, “I feel spent, and I know I will be able to sleep, but I’m…scared to fall asleep alone.”

“I understand, I’ll let Mrs Harold know. Perhaps she could keep you company.”

“Yunho?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Can you stay until I fall asleep?”

My voice was quiet as I glanced up at Yunho through my eyelashes, feeling my cheeks heat up. He looked taken aback, then something I couldn’t recognise crossed his features for a split second. He exhaled through his mouth and gulped, loudly. He hummed, deep in his chest, and flattened his palm against the blanket as he shuffled his feet around until his muddy boots hit the ground. I realigned my pillows and crawled a little further away on my bed, to make more space for Yunho as he made himself comfortable, still on the edge of it.

“But I cannot stay once you are sleeping, I’m sorry.”

“I know, it’s alright, Yunho.”

Our smiles were small but appreciative. Yunho nodded and chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes raking over my face as I watched his cheeks flush a deep shade of red. It wasn’t warm in my room, but I suppose the sheets could make him feel warm too. His hand balled into a fist, grabbing a tight hold of the blanket as I glanced down at it.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

“You too, Yunho.”

Every waking moment he spent thinking of her. Even in his dreams, she appears as a vixen, tempting Yunho to do unforgivable things. He knows he cannot, he’s her doctor and she’s a patient in desperate need of treatment. Yunho knows this, she isn’t his first case. He’s met people with manic episodes before, potential dissociative amnesia too, but something sets her apart from the rest. Yunho has never once in his life wanted to reach out and cradle one of his patients to his chest and tell them everything would be alright now that he was there. But when he saw her, so frail and generous, soft-spoken and kind, he couldn’t help but feel anger whenever she told him of Karina. Yunho had a feeling she wasn’t like that unprovoked, and the more he heard of Karina and her schemes against his patient, the more convinced he was that Karina had lied in the first place to get her into that asylum, far away from the safety of her home. Yunho knew what went down inside an asylum, he’s treated many mentally unstable patients before, straight inside those horror houses, and his blood boiled anytime he saw pain and terror strike upon her face whenever the asylum was mentioned. Yunho didn’t want to know, truth be told, what had happened to her there because he was sure he’d march up to that asylum and strangle every man who had hurt her. He was a doctor, his ego and fame protected him from making a mistake, but when she had led him inside her bedroom, Yunho was close to throwing it all out the window, quite literally. Her unique scent of hydrangeas had been so potent inside her bedroom, and her sitting daintily on the cushions of her queen-sized bed had his thoughts going haywire. Yunho wanted to touch her, not just tell her that she was safe and sound with him, but show her too. He was wanting and wanting, and he wondered if her story would have a happy ending. Could he save her from the madness they plastered over her head? Or would he dig her a bigger hole once the committee hears his verdict of her mental state? But what Yunho most importantly needed to sort out with himself, was the question that’s been mulling over in his head ever since she had uttered it. Would he be willing to become her caretaker? Just to keep her safe and away from Karina, of course, Yunho was a professional, above all. He told himself he didn’t have second intentions with her, but the more days passed by spent in her company, he couldn’t tell for sure anymore.

Karina was right about one thing, the committee had given Doctor Jeong one more week to sort out everything. He was right, I couldn’t beat around the bush anymore, besides, we had gotten close in my story to that faithful day. Doctor Jeong knew this, I knew it too. Because he was afraid of overwhelming me again too soon, he had given me two days of bed rest before he’d return to resume our sessions. The two days had gone by and I was nervously waiting for him in the foyer. After the storm passed, the heat returned even stronger. I didn’t wish to stay in the house, it aggravated me anytime I glanced towards the stairs, Karina’s injured body lying by the foot of it too clear in my mind. The doctor’s patent motorcar was louder today than other days as it rolled to the front of the house, where he was welcomed by Mr Allen, the gardener. He was an elderly man who had grown fond of Doctor Jeong like many others in the household. Myself included, which would explain why my heart was beating uncontrollably once again, sweat brimming my eyebrows.

“Will you be alright?” Leia asked as she shuffled past behind me, fresh bedsheets in her arms, “I don’t think Matilda will survive one of your episodes.”

Leia had no mal-intentions, she was just honest down to a pulp. I chuckled, glancing at her as she had stopped in the doorway to the laundry room.

“I might not survive another episode, too.” Leia’s eyes widened guiltily, but I continued to smile, “If the doctor writes a good report about me, I’ll finally be out of your hair, Leia. Pray for it.”

“I don’t believe in God, young miss.”

“Don’t let Doctor Jeong know that.”

Speaking of the devil, his knuckles rasped against the sturdy front door as Leia grinned, disappearing inside the laundry room. I opened the door before the doctor could knock again, welcoming him with a bright smile on my face. He paused, looking taken aback.

“Good morning, Doctor Jeong.” I greeted him, stepping aside to let him walk inside.

“Good morning, Miss Harold, you seem to be doing fine.” He returned a small smile as he shrugged his blazer off, wearing another tunic but fancier this time. It was a deep green, paired with his brown trousers which made him look like he was a huntsman returning from a long hunt to his wife, jittery to have her in his arms. I gulped, feeling embarrassed by my thoughts when I realised, I had imagined myself as the wife Doctor Jeong would return home to. It was inappropriate, but the thought was intrusive and fast before I could stop it.

“Thank you for letting me rest, it has helped.” I hummed, raising a hand when the doctor went to step out of his polished shoes, “Do you mind if we sit underneath the willow tree today?”

“Not at all,” The doctor beamed, taking me off guard, “I was just about to suggest it, you know we cannot postpone today’s topic. Being in a place you love might bring comfort, I hope, at least.”

“You are thoughtful,” I smiled, then led the way towards the tea room, the grand doors were pulled open, letting inside the fresh warm breeze. Mr Allen was in the doorway, trimming the bushes, but he made way for us when he spotted us. I offered him an appreciative smile as he raised his hand in a silent greeting, a straw of wheat between his teeth as he tipped his hat towards Doctor Jeong. The doctor bowed back to him politely before we made our way down the gravel path, headed towards the willow tree. The warmth today made me feel hot despite the thin summer dress I wore, its sleeves short with a sweetheart neckline. It was a sage green, a pretty contrast against my copper curls. Without needing to ask, Matilda has made a daisy crown to wrap around my bun. I felt pretty and safe covered in my favourite things, sitting underneath the willow tree as frogs ribbited down by the pond, bees buzzing by. The doctor got ready as he opened his satchel bag, taking his notebook and new pencil out. As we sat, I noticed our thighs brushing together, the doctor’s now musky cologne invading my senses. When he placed his notebook on his left thigh, twisting his upper body to face mine, the pages of it brushed against my own thigh too.

“In our last session, you spoke about visiting your father’s grave with your mother. You made him a daisy crown since he loved the flowers just as much as you do, and then, when you returned home, your once lover was waiting for you in the foyer.” Doctor Jeong’s tone was gentle but impersonal, he was a professional after all, “You stopped after you said you were fighting and it got…violent? You must elaborate on that, did nobody hear it? Did nobody help?”

I sighed, picking at the grass, “It didn’t get violent in the sense of a physical altercation, but our words were harsh and unforgiving. He called me many names that day, he broke my heart, Doctor Jeong. I know you are curious about what was said, and because it leads up to what happened between Karina and me, I shall tell you.”

The doctor was jotting down my words in his notebook, his hand flying over the page. His bottom lip was between his teeth as he pushed at his spectacles with his other hand. He hummed and briefly glanced at me when I remained quiet for too long. I had to brace myself, so, I took a deep breath and gazed at the doctor instead of at the house, finding my nerves calmer if I gazed at his beautiful face, and his chocolate brown eyes whenever he held eye contact.

“Matthew, the man I had once loved, was my fiancé. He had asked for my hand while my father was still alive, our love story goes way back. We’ve grown up together due to our father’s being friends, and chancefully had fallen in love too. He was always sweet and loving, he respected me, and always heard me out. I suppose that is what attracted me to him most, I could see a glimpse of how my father treated my mother in him. But we had our ups and downs too, he was way too jealous and hated it when I spoke to other men, meanwhile, I had no problem if he had female friends. After my father died…it was hard for me to come to terms with it, I was sad every day for a very long time. I didn’t want to see anyone but my mother, not even Matthew. He knew I needed time, but he was getting impatient, he was bringing up marriage more often than not, but I wasn’t ready yet. I had just lost my father and the thought of not walking down the aisle with him by my side just hurt too much.” I paused and licked my lips, pulling my knees up to my chest as I felt the doctor shift and lean even closer, “And then as my mother and I healed together, she found Mr Brooks. It took them a while to settle down, paperwork and whatnot got in the way as well as people talking nasty behind their backs, but when I found out Mr Brooks had a daughter too, I felt hopeful. I thought I would finally find a true friend, someone to share everything with. Karina was lovely at first, very kind and funny, I could easily consider her my sister even if we weren’t related by blood. But then, one evening we went out to a pub where she finally met Matthew, and things just…changed.”

Doctor Jeong hummed, still writing as I let my eyes take in his focused expression. His forehead was creased slightly as he chewed on his bottom lip, his neck flushed from the heat. I had also shifted more into his space subconsciously, and I had to refrain from tracing his brows before sinking my fingers into his smooth-looking hair, “You see, it wasn’t Matthew who had changed, but Karina’s attitude towards me. She became snappy and rude, she didn’t make it obvious, but I knew she was looking down on me. She barely talked to me now when my mother and her father weren’t around, but she somehow always found time to ask about Matthew. At first, I thought nothing much of it, I figured she might’ve not liked him too much and was looking out for me in an obscure way, but then I found their letters. Mr Allen was bringing in the post and I told him I would sort them out, so when I saw Matthew’s letter, of course I had assumed it was for me…except, it hadn’t been. It was addressed to Karina, and there were all sort of weird questions about me as if whatever Karina had said before had upset him.”

“Has Karina been sending him letters behind your back?” Doctor Jeong looked confused as he looked up at me, his round eyes narrowed and void of kindness. When the doctor was this serious, he looked almost frightening. But I knew he was kind and caring underneath that mask, so I didn’t care. I hummed and nodded, absentmindedly picking at the scabs that had formed over my bruised knuckles.

“Yes, and she was lying to him, saying very ugly things about me. Still to this day, I don’t understand why she did all of that. Leia says she’s blinded by jealousy and wants to be better than me, but unless Karina says it, I don’t want to believe it. Anyways, I didn’t confront Karina right away, I hurried over to Matthew’s house to talk to him.” I huffed sadly, looking at the doctor again, “He was just about to mount his horse and leave for the city, but when he saw me, he knew we had to talk. It turns out, Karina has been lying about me for months now, saying I was seeing other men behind his back and somehow even made up some evidence of it. She had sent him handkerchiefs that had been my father’s, claiming they were of those I was—sleeping with. She even told him I was badmouthing him and that I was only marrying him out of pity, and because my father had made me promise I would marry someone richer than my family. But—it was all lies! I loved Matthew, I always have! I wanted to marry him and have a nice household, but Karina took it all away from me. What he said to me…it had hurt a lot, and it still does, so I won’t repeat his words, but he broke off our engagement and told me to never appear in front of his eyes. I had loved him, Yunho…”

My throat clenched as I took a shuddering breath, eyes filled with tears. Yunho had stopped writing and looked at me with pain in his eyes, bottom lip between his teeth, “I’m sorry, you deserved better.”

I hummed with a sad chuckle and quickly wiped my eyes before the tears could fall. This was it, this is what Yunho had been desperately wanting to hear for a month now. I lowered my legs and looked at Yunho with a neutral expression, making his eyes widen minutely, “I know, but it’s okay. If God is watching like everyone claims him to be, Karina will be punished, and so will Matthew. I was a mess after that conversation with Matthew, and I cried all the way back home. My chest was clenching and my heart was thumping wildly, I thought that was what heartbreak felt like, and I still believe so. When I stumbled through our front door, Karina was just…there. Waiting for me in the foyer with an amused smirk. She didn’t even feign innocence as she asked what happened, she could clearly see Matthew’s crumbled letter in my hand. I won’t deny it, I said some very ugly things to her. I didn’t even let her speak as I exploded on her, I’m still surprised the house staff didn’t try to stop me. I have said this in my report too, but I struck first, I slapped her and pushed her back when she started laughing. She was only doing it to make me even angrier, and it was working.”

My muscles tensed as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, keeping it in my lungs as Yunho’s jaw was clenched, his eyes focused on my face as I continued talking, “I needed space, so I backed away before I could do anything really hurtful. My head was thumping and my body was shaking, I felt like I was suffocating. Karina just continued laughing as I hurried to the stairs, wanting to lock myself in my room and cry myself to sleep. She was following after me, now cackling instead of laughing, and then she said something—something that I’ll never forget, ‘All that courting and playing around each other just to never even fuck him? Don’t worry, you’re not missing out on anything, sister, he’s not even good in bed.’ I saw red when I heard her say that, my thoughts were a mess and I didn’t even doubt the accuracy of her words. I just reacted, I know I slapped her again as I stopped on the stairs, but I couldn’t say anything as I was close to sobbing, so I just ran up the rest of the stairs, but she was still following after me. She was saying something, and I was screaming at her to shut up, but she wouldn’t. And I—I just really wanted her to shut up, to not look at me with those eyes and I just—I don’t know, Doctor, I don’t know. My whole body was shaking and I couldn’t see clearly, my head was aching and I couldn’t even hear anymore, I just—I just remember suddenly coming to myself again when there was a shrill screech. And then I remember Matilda looking at me with terror in her eyes as she called for Jesper and Mr Allen to come help, to call for a doctor.”

“In your report, you said—”

“I know what I said, Yunho, I said I turned around and gave her a backhanded slap, yanked on her hair and bashed her head against the wall before pushing her down the stairs.” Yunho’s eyes were shaking as our faces were close, “But I don’t remember doing any of those, the lawyer told me to say that to protect myself from a serious accusation. Matilda lied for me, and so did Mr Allen. In the end, Mr Brooks paid the judge and I was simply classified as insane, the case was swept under the rug and I’ve been forced to live like this ever since.”

“I knew there was something wrong with that report,” Yunho muttered under his breath, “But why did you lie?”

“I was young and scared,” I sighed, my eyes searching Yunho’s face for any judgment, but it wasn’t there, “I thought they would lock me up if I didn’t make up a story. But in the end, I was locked up in my own house for six years, a prison still, just different. I fainted in the court too, I don’t remember much from there either.”

Yunho looked troubled as his eyebrows were deeply furrowed, his bottom lip thoroughly chewed on, and his spectacles pushed up on his nose. With his free hand, he reached forward, but stopped just before his fingertips could touch my hand and instead balled it up into a fist and lowered it back into his lap. His jaw clenched as he gulped, shaking his head as he looked down at his notebook.

“I have a scar on my abdomen,” I whispered, hand pressing against my covered stomach, “from having fallen over and cutting myself, do you believe me, Doctor?”

When Yunho’s jaw just clenched and he didn’t look at me, I gulped nervously and reached towards my sleeves to pull them off, to let the dress pool at my waist, but one fleeting glance at me had Yunho reaching forward with a panic-ridden face, his eyes widening, “Stop, what are you doing? I believe you, Y/N, I do.”

His hands were big and warm, wrapped completely around mine as the sleeve of my dress swiftly slipped off my left shoulder. His thumb rubbed my bruised knuckles, and despite the sting, I welcomed the affectionate gesture as it covered my arms in goosebumps. I released a long breath, my eyes boring into Yunho’s. His eyes were easy to read, he looked conflicted and confused. I had no idea if he believed me, but I wanted him to. Hurting Karina was wrong, but she deserved it, and I was glad I managed to make her hurt at least once compared to how many times she had hurt me. But I remained silent as Yunho leaned even closer, our faces a breath away from each other. He gulped, loudly, then frowned. As I opened my mouth, he looked alarmed and scrambled backwards, letting my hands drop into my lap as he gasped, grabbing for his things frantically. I didn’t understand what was happening, but when I tried to help, he just pushed my hand away. My heart hammered in my chest nervously as sweat rolled down my temples, and I stood so quickly I got whiplash. Doctor Jeong was just about to take off towards the house when a desperate question left my lips.

“Will you save me, Doctor Jeong?” My voice was trembling just as much as Yunho’s hands, “Will you become my caretaker and take me away with you, will you?”

My questions went unanswered as Yunho ran off, not even bothering to go inside the house as he followed the cobbled path to the front of the house. The engine of his motorcar was loud as I slumped back against the tree with a dizzy head.

The committee was more eager than I had thought at first to wrap this whole thing up. Just two days after my last encounter with the doctor, a letter came at an early morning hour that the verdict would be given today. I was nervous, but I braced myself for the worst possible ending, which would be me being sent back to the asylum. I doubted I would survive that once again, so I could only hope the doctor had taken pity on me and would be generous in his report. My mother had been buzzing around the house all morning, making sure everything was perfect for the arrival of the committee. Cookies had been baked, fresh tea was brewed, the ground floor aired out with every corner dusted off, and the tea room was decorated with vases of freshly picked flowers. The grand doors were opened, creating a serene surrounding as I sat on the sofa by myself. Nobody was inside the room except for me, something which was rare. I gaze forward, at the visage, trying to commit it to memory. I wondered if I would get to see it tomorrow too.

Matilda had dressed me in a dainty white dress to feign innocence, with my hair pulled in a low bun, and daisies hanging out of it. It felt as if the ghost of my father was here to cheer me on, to offer me some braveness before everything would unfold. And it would, way too soon. There were loud knocks against the front door before it was opened, and six people piled inside our foyer. My mother and Karina quickly walked inside the room with my mother sitting next to me, meanwhile, Karina took her spot in her favourite armchair. The image was eerily similar to the first day the doctor had arrived, it made my heart race. The rest of my future was in the hands of another man, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I knew what I had done to Karina was wrong, but a small part of me knew that she had deserved it. My muscles tensed when Mr Brooks’ voice carried inside the tea room as he led the committee and Doctor Jeong inside. My jaw clenched and my hands balled into fists as they each walked in, eyes on me as I remained unmoving.

The committee consisted of the town mayor, the judge who had handled my case, the town’s richest married couple, and Father Louis, the head of our church. My stomach churned as the familiar faces sat down surrounding me, leaving space for Doctor Jeong at the front. Mr Brook sat next to my mother and held her hand, making my mother sigh loudly. I didn’t want to look at anyone, I was afraid to see what they hid in their eyes. The doctor seemed tense as he rolled his shoulders a few times, then cleared his throat and accepted the tea from Mrs Humphrey, who had insisted on staying in the room, in the back where she didn’t bother anyone. I couldn’t focus on anyone else but the doctor as he finally seemed like he was ready to speak up. He faced the room and his eyes took in everyone, staying on me for a second too long. I could see Karina sneer from my peripheral vision, but I didn’t care. I was just as curious to hear what Doctor Jeong had to say as the committee.

“Dear committee, Mr and Miss Brooks, Mrs and Miss Harold, and of course, Mrs Humphrey,” Doctor Jeong bowed his head lightly, “Thank you for coming, and I’d like to thank the committee for entrusting me with this intricate and peculiar case. I must say before I begin, that I have encountered cases like Miss Harold’s before, but neither one has been as complex as hers. I trust my personal judgement and everything I have learned up until this point, that my verdict is the right choice, and that if the committee sees it fit as well, it shall proceed with Miss Harold’s sentence accordingly.”

Doctor Jeong’s fingers were wrung together in front of him, his dark blue suit was perfect. He looked dashingly handsome with his wavy hair falling all over his forehead and into his eyes, his spectacles perched into the pocket of his vest. His warm eyes found mine for a second before he looked around the room again, nodding to himself. He took a deep breath and continued his speech, starting to pace around the front of the room. Him standing in front of the garden and the path that led to the willow tree was dreamy, “We all know that Miss Harold had lost her father when she was young, which would be hard news to swallow for a person at any age. I assume that his early death left Miss Harold traumatised in a way that could go unnoticed unless looked upon by a professional, which didn’t happen. Her stress and repressed pain had accumulated, waiting for a small spark to ignite the explosion, which did happen as we all know it. I spent a month daily by Miss Harold’s side, listening to stories of her childhood, and her adulthood, all leading up to the moment we’ve all been curious about. During my time studying her, I’ve come to observe that she is a very kind soul, attentive, and a generous person. She is soft-spoken and very sensitive to everything that happens around her, it is rather hard for me to imagine she could even as much as hurt a fly.”

I gulped, feeling my heart hammer in my chest as Yunho spoke with much conviction, his eyebrows furrowed as he stopped moving around, his eyes settling on Father Louis, “Her mental state, however, fluctuates a lot based on her surroundings, she easily reacts to the change of weather and the change of mood of a person. People like Miss Harold aren’t only in touch with their peers, but with nature as well, as insane as that might sound, it’s a rather special attribute to have. She’s had bad days during our sessions, and I had the chance to further observe the cause of this. As a psychiatrist, I do not enjoy lightly throwing out diagnoses, but I have to ensure the health of my patients. Miss Harold suffers from manic episodes that get triggered by certain words, environmental changes, and people. In Miss Harold’s stories, I have found one person who seemed to be always around her when these episodes happened, making me confident in my theory that she is Miss Harold’s trigger.”

The people in the room gasped as they looked around. My heart was hammering, I could feel my pulse in my throat, but I couldn’t help but let out an amused huff. Karina’s eyes were wide and her knuckles white as she gripped the armrest of the armchair, fear painting her face. It felt satisfying looking at her, and if I hadn’t known the doctor better, I would’ve missed the satisfied smirk on his lips there for a millisecond, “If this wasn’t about the health of Miss Harold, I wouldn’t be throwing out names so unabashedly, but this is to ensure her safety and health. Miss Brooks seems to like to pick on Miss Harold whenever she gets the chance, and she likes provoking her sister. Before anyone could deny my claim, I was witness to such a thing happening, Miss Brooks herself has said some very rude things about Miss Harold that no lady should utter, less about their sister, even if not related by blood. That being said, I cannot throw all the blame on Miss Brooks since Miss Harold is traumatised and doesn’t know how to handle it, or how to control her outbursts.”

Then, as if there was nobody else in the room with us, Doctor Jeong’s eyes found mine, his expression softening. Karina had started crying next to me, but I couldn’t care less as my mother was glaring at her, the committee didn’t look very pleased either.

“What she said in her report…” Doctor Jeong loosened his necktie a little, licking his lips, “Turns out to be true. In a fit of rage, she disassociated and acted upon instinct. I do not know if she had told anyone, but Miss Brooks had come between Miss Harold and her fiancé, breaking off their marriage. As someone who had been in love once, much like all of you in this room, I’d like to assume, we all know what it means to experience our first heartbreak. For someone who had grown up with this boy, loved him with their whole heart, and was supposed to grow old with them, to hear their engagement was broken off based on some lies made up by Miss Brooks not too soon after Miss Harold’s has lost her father must’ve been devastating. Thus, the trauma she had experienced before due to her father’s untimely death combined with another tragedy has made Miss Harold’s mind break, lose its bearings, making her unable to tell right from wrong.”

I couldn’t breathe as my eyes bore into Yunho’s, filling with tears. I had expected him to go against me for having lied in my report, or to try and go around the topic without bringing it up much, but no, he was actively lying for me and keeping up the image that I had a lapse of judgement all this time. My mother’s hand found mine as she squeezed it reassuringly, tears streaming down her cheeks. I glanced at her fleetingly, my body buzzing with life as my hands trembled. I wanted to see the faces of the committee members, but Yunho was all I could look at. There was a heavy sigh in the room, it could’ve come from Mr Brooks or someone else, I couldn’t tell.

“I’m very close to giving my verdict, so allow me to say this before that,” Yunho smiled softly, looking towards the committee with a gentle look on his face, but with a steely look in his eyes, “Miss Harold’s is a human like all of us in this room, and she is allowed to make mistakes. She’s been punished for her mistakes, probably unfairly, and we mustn’t make the same mistake again. I have concluded, that Miss Harold needs an environmental change for her to fully heal. This house no longer feels homey to her, she feels caged in and watched all the time, plus now you all know that Miss Brooks won’t leave her alone either. As a verdict, I have concluded that if the committee and her mother agree, Miss Harold could be assigned a new caretaker. And…before you make suggestions as to who could fit this role best, I would like you all to consider me as her new caretaker for the next year. I am a doctor, I know what to do and how to act in case she is having another episode. I will be leaving the country in a month to return to France, where my foster father has requested my presence. The environmental change would benefit Miss Harold greatly, that is, if you trust me, of course.”

I felt close to fainting by the time Yunho had stopped talking. Him, Doctor Jeong Yunho, my new caretaker? Could that be possible? Would the committee even let it happen? I had no idea, but I wanted to fall in his arms and sob as I thanked him for his effort, for listening to me, for trying to save me from this place. The committee erupted in whispered mutters amongst themselves, but Father Louis seemed more than pleased with Yunho. His brows were sweaty as he dabbed at them with the back of his wrist, his arms covered with the sleeves despite the heat. My mother wasn’t moving next to me, and Mr Brooks had turned his body away from Karina, who was trying to catch her father’s gaze insistently. Then, there was a tsk as the judge rose to his feet, all eyes falling on him.

“Thank you. Doctor Jeong, for your in-depth analysis and for the tabs and reports you’ve been keeping on Miss Harold this month, we appreciate it.” He rubbed at his chin, his hair already silver from age, “We have selected you, Doctor, to treat this delicate case because we have heard of your expertise. You have never once failed to treat your patients accordingly, and I find no reason to doubt your verdict, however, wouldn’t it be risky to take Miss Harold away from here? Couldn’t that trigger her madness even more? And if Mrs Harold won’t agree, she cannot go. Either way, we cannot let her go unless you promise to report back to us monthly, Doctor Jeong, and once the one year is up, you must return her home. She shall be reevaluated, then her fate will be decided for the future.”

When Yunho and my eyes met again, I knew my fate had been sealed. France, a new beginning by his side, sounded like a far-fetched dream that was now within my reach.

Yunho was a professional, except when it came to her. The lines had blurred long ago, he couldn’t tell who was the doctor and who was the patient when it came to her. All Yunho knew was that he could never let her go, not when she clung to him as if her life depended on him. Her lips tasted like honey and her moans were the prettiest music he had ever had the chance to hear, her skin soft and warm and her body so pliant underneath his. All it took was one touch from her for his whole being to crumble, he felt drunk on her, insatiable. Yunho knew he couldn’t let her return home, not now that he’d found Mingi too, not when the three of them were living in a tucked away village in a homey cottage, away from prying eyes. Yunho finally had what he’d been yearning for his whole life. His family was back, right within his reach, and even when he missed his home, he’d gaze upon Mingi and her, and realise that his home was here with them. And she was sweet like nectar, Yunho’s guilty pleasure that he just couldn’t get rid of—didn’t want to get rid of. He was a bad man for preying upon the innocent and unassuming ones, but may God forgive him for his sins, he was just a man after all. He knew he was bound to become insane like his patients one day, but Yunho was already a madman for her, and he didn’t care. Profession be damned, only the four walls of their cottage would truly know the truth, much like her amnesiac brain that had no desire to return to a land and home that’s treated her so horribly once. Here, Yunho was a complete man and he had wowed to protect what was his…no matter what it took. Mingi and her were staying there with him, forever.

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delulustateofmind · 29 days ago

Text

Hysteria

Sum: Divorced, betrayed, and end up in a mental hospital? Definitely not on your 2025 bingo card.

Haze the epilogue

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

WC: 9.7k (I sincerely apologize)

TW: Yandere Behaviors, SatoSugu smoochies, Medical AU, Masturbation, Noncon touching, Piss (nonsexual), Infantalization, Mental Hospital, False Medical Accusation, Medical malpractice, Electroshock therapy, Humilation, Reader is...really going through it. MDNI. ANGST. Dead dove do not eat

A/n: 💖 anon, thank you for giving the yummy idea. Dw there will be another medical au with the fears, but somehow satosugu and psych wards just...fueled me....

Grippy socks and a whole lot of rage.

You thundered through the cold hallways, those stupid grips on the bottom of your pale pink socks slapping against the soulless tile as you stormed toward the front desk—navigating the corridors with ease, with practice.

"Missus Geto!"

The nurse’s voice cut through the air, concern etched into every syllable. You barely heard her over the pounding in your ears, over the sound of your ragged breath. The two nurses in sterile white uniforms flanking you moved in closer.

"What the hell is the meaning of this?"

You tried to sound calm. Like you weren’t unhinged. Because you aren’t.

So why the hell are they treating you like you are?

Your fingers dug into the white desk, nails pressing so hard against the surface that it felt like your nails might leave a mark.

Your gaze flickered to the back wall, where pristine frames displayed crisp, professional lettering.

Geto Suguru.

Gojo Satoru.

The two main doctors.

One of them your ex-husband.

The other, someone you once considered a friend.

Let’s backtrack, shall we?

Suguru had always been gentle. Not in the way that people could be when they tried to be, not in the way that was practiced. No, he was gentle in the way that flowers turned toward the sun, effortlessly, instinctively.

His hands always ran warm, fingertips tracing absentminded circles against your skin whenever he held you. He kissed you like it was second nature like the act itself was woven into his being. Slow, lingering, like he had all the time in the world to savor you.

"You always rush," he would murmur against your lips, hands cupping your face, thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks. "Take a breath, angel."

And you would.

Because in his arms, the world didn’t just slow—it stilled. It curled around the two of you, safe, untouched, like a sanctuary built for no one else. He memorized you with the precision of a surgeon and the devotion of a poet, every habit, every breath, every fleeting hesitation. Your friends envied it. Your parents bragged about it.

"A doctor in the family!" they’d say, pride swelling in their voices.

Suguru would only chuckle, his arm draped securely around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you. Then, in the quiet of an evening, when the world faded away, he’d murmur little truths about you, the ones only he had noticed.

"She chews her lip when she’s thinking too hard," he’d tease, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "She likes her tea sweet, but not too sweet. And she counts her steps when she’s anxious—"

"Suguru!" you’d huff, pushing at his chest, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you.

And he’d only smile, soft and knowing, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "What? I like knowing you."

He was perfect. Too perfect.

Every fight ended the same way—him, impossibly composed, those stormy violet eyes locked onto you with patience that never cracked.

"Angel, sit with me."

"Suguru, I don’t—"

"Please."

And you would.

Because he had a way of making the world go silent, of smothering your fire with the weight of his gentleness. He never yelled, never lashed out, never met your frustration with his own. Instead, he’d gather you in his arms, press his lips to your temple, and whisper—

"Tell me what’s wrong."

You hated that. Hated the way he never let the fight breathe, never let it burn. Hated that he never raised his voice, never let you see the cracks, never showed you anything but unwavering, unshakable devotion.

You wanted him to break. Just once.

Instead, he ran his fingers through your hair, pressed featherlight kisses against your hairline, held you until your breathing slowed, until your words lost their edges and softened into something he could soothe, something he could fix.

"See?" he’d murmur. "We can figure this out. Together."

And maybe that was love.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

Maybe it was why, one morning before your shift at the ER, you left the divorce papers on his desk, your hands trembling as you placed the pen beside them.

Maybe it was why, as you stepped over the threshold of the home you built together, your heart felt like it was tearing itself apart.

Because love shouldn’t feel like suffocation.

Even if the arms around you were warm. Even if the kisses were soft.

Even if walking away made you wonder if, maybe—just maybe—you had just made the biggest mistake of your life.

“You don’t find a man like that in every lifetime, Y/N.”

Your mother’s voice crackled through the phone, sharp and impatient, as you yanked your scrubs over your head, the fabric stiff from too many late-night washes.

“Seriously, how many overnight shifts have you been working? You married a doctor! You should settle down, have some babies—not stay up all night playing nurse.”

You clenched your jaw.

Yes. You - a nurse married a doctor.

And somehow, everyone always forgot that nurses saved lives, too.

You huffed, shoving your hands into your pockets, double-checking for the essentials, pen light, trauma shears, and your stash of caffeine for the night.

"I’m not playing nurse, Mother," you muttered, stuffing your phone between your shoulder and ear.

"Then what is it, sweetheart?" she pried, and you could already hear the sigh she was holding back.

Something just feels… wrong.

But you didn’t say that.

Because it didn’t matter.

And just like you expected, she brushed your worries aside, swept them under the rug the way mothers always did. A moment later, your phone pinged, and there it was—her latest unsolicited solution, wrapped in a clickbait headline.

"How to Save Your Marriage!" straight from some old Cosmopolitan article.

You rolled your eyes.

At least it wasn’t like the one she sent last week.

"How to Spice Up the Bedroom."

Where she—repeatedly—asked if your sex life was still healthy.

You stopped replying after that.

Not because your sex life was bad.

It wasn’t.

Suguru was… well.

He was a man built for worship—his, yours, it didn’t matter.

Everything about him had been crafted to please, down to the way he touched you—deliberate, devout, like it was a privilege, like he had all the time in the world to learn what made you tremble, what made you fall apart beneath him.

He made you feel cherished.

Until you started pulling away.

At first, it was small. His arms encircled your waist as you washed dishes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, the warm inhale before his teeth grazed your skin-

And then the series of kisses, slow and soft, trailing down the column of your neck, down, down, down—

Until you were stepping away.

Another meek smile.

Another I’m just tired.

Because you were.

Three back-to-back night shifts in the ER, too many patients flatlining on the table, your body running on caffeine fumes and pure adrenaline.

And Suguru?

He never got angry. Never snapped, never accused, never let frustration seep into his voice.

"Don’t worry, angel," he’d murmur instead, pressing a final kiss to your temple. "That’s okay."

So patient. So perfectly understanding.

And yet, it wasn’t like you stopped thinking about him.

You didn’t need porn, never did. Not when you had him burned into your mind.

Those pretty violet eyes, the way they darkened when he was between your thighs. The slow, reverent way he kissed up your inner thighs before spreading you open with those thick fingers, working you apart with precise precision.

Every orgasm coaxed from your body with intent, with devotion—like he had some kind of personal investment in unraveling you.

And now, alone in bed, aching, needing, your fingers weren’t enough.

They weren’t his.

They weren’t thick enough, long enough, couldn’t reach that soft, plushy spot deep inside, couldn’t curl just right.

And yet, even back then, you never went to him for it.

Never let yourself ask for what you needed.

And maybe that was the problem.

Maybe it wasn’t about sex at all.

But still—

You refused to tell your mother about the lack of intimacy.

That night, you ended up at Satoru’s place.

Because of course you did.

Satoru had always been a close friend—yours and Suguru’s. And it had never been weird.

Not really.

With Satoru, it was always the little things. The things that didn’t carry weight. The casual venting about insufferable patients, the late-night hospital gossip, the stolen moments of laughter between shifts when you needed them most. He was the kind of person who could pull you out of your own head without even trying, the kind who would let you curl up on his couch without asking questions, shove a glass of expensive sake into your hands when your fingers wouldn’t stop shaking.

He always listened.

He always let you in.

Always took care of you in that easy way only he could.

And it was never weird.

Well—

Except for that one time.

Too many margaritas.

Too much sun.

The three of you sprawled across warm sand in Mexico, waves licking the shore, salt clinging to your skin. Satoru, grinning around the rim of his cocktail, his cheeks tinged pink from the alcohol. "Dare you to kiss me," he’d said, nudging Suguru’s knee with his own, teasing.

And, to your utter shock.

Suguru did.

And not just a peck. It was firm. Rough.

Suguru’s fingers twisted into Satoru’s shirt, yanking him closer. Satoru melted into it, like he had been waiting. Like they had done this before.

Your stomach flipped.

Suguru had never kissed you like that.

Never held you like that.

And maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the way Satoru’s smug little smirk lingered a little too long after they finally pulled away, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Couldn’t stop wanting it.

Later that night, back in your hotel room, the thoughts had gnawed at you, restless, relentless. You had stepped into the shower beside Suguru, letting the warm water cascade over both of you, watching the way his hands moved over your skin, slow, methodical, worshipful.

"Why don’t you ever kiss me like that?"

Suguru had blinked, his fingers pausing against your ribs. "Like what?"

"Rough." You had half-teased, half-tested.

Suguru’s hands resumed their path, gliding over your hips with the same gentle touch he always had.

"I can’t be like that with you," he murmured, pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheek, then another, then another. "I can’t hurt the love of my life."

Your cheeks burned under the steam, but still -

"What if I want you to?"

A slow inhale, his lips barely grazing your jawline.

"I have patients who need that," he whispered, that same soft patience laced into his voice. His fingertips traced slow, intricate designs into your skin, like he was carving the words into you.

"Those needs are built by people who haven’t been loved properly like you have," he continued, his lips barely touching your temple. "I would rather you remain pure and loved."

Pure.

Loved.

And that was the end of it.

Suguru never brought it up again.

And if you did, he would smooth it over, remind you of his devotion. That he loved you. That he was afraid of going too far. That he couldn’t be rough with you, not in the way he had been with Satoru, not in the way that made your breath hitch and your stomach twist with something you couldn’t name.

Because you were his angel.

His soft thing.

His exception.

And so, when Satoru had opened the door for you, when he pulled you inside with that easy grin, when he draped a blanket over your lap and shoved takeout into your hands.

It was almost enough to forget.

"It’s what Suguru would want," he had said with a wink.

No questions. No judgment.

The couch—his couch, the one he never actually used—was yours for the night.

The hospital had a reputation for running its doctors into the ground anyway. Neither of you were strangers to sleepless nights.

"Stay as long as you’d like," Satoru hummed as he unwrapped his container, the scent of soy sauce and fried rice filling the space.

"But—"

He dragged the word out, his smirk sharpening. "I am gonna have to tell Suguru you’re here. You do know that, right?"

Your shoulders tensed, but you only sighed, sinking deeper into the chair.

"I figured."

Satoru grinned. "We could invite -"

"Nope."

You cut him off before he could even finish, shoving a spoonful of rice into your mouth, eyes locked pointedly on the little red takeout box in your hands, letting the oil seep into the edges of the conversation.

Satoru pouted dramatically, flopping into the chair across from you.

And this—this was what you liked about him.

The moment you told him no, he backed off.

Maybe it was because he was terrible with emotions. Maybe it was because he turned everything into a joke.

But he never pushed.

Satoru was a good friend. Someone who always had your back.

Until he didn’t.

It happened later that night.

The bathroom was dim, the overhead light buzzing softly, casting a sterile glow over the sink. The quiet felt too heavy, pressing in around you, making your own breath sound too loud. Your fingers fumbled with the cap of a prescription bottle, muscles sluggish, exhaustion weighing on you like a physical thing. Just Tylenol. Nothing dangerous. Just something to dull the relentless pounding behind your eyes, to take the edge off, to help you sleep - not forever, just enough.

"Stupid child-proof caps," you muttered, twisting, shaking, trying to pry it open. Your grip slipped, frustration bubbling up as you tried again, more forceful this time.

Then the door swung open.

At the worst possible moment.

The cap finally popped free, and before you could stop it, small, white pills spilled into your palm just as Satoru stepped inside.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air in the room shifted, thickening with suffocatuon. His usual lazy smirk was nowhere to be seen, replaced by something eerily still. His gaze dropped - to the bottle in your grip, to the pills in your hand, to the exhaustion carved into the planes of your face. You watched the realization flicker across his features, slow, deliberate, something you couldn’t quite place.

Then, before you could react, before you could explain, his hand was already in his pocket.

Your stomach dropped.

"Satoru - " Your voice cracked, uneven, clawing its way out of your throat. "No. No, this isn’t - this isn’t what it looks like."

You stepped forward, reaching for his wrist, but he stepped back. Just out of reach. Watching. Assessing. Already deciding.

"Yeah, it’s Gojo Satoru," he said smoothly, effortlessly - like he was ordering fucking takeout. "I need an emergency psych evaluation."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Your fingers trembled, cold washing over you as you took another step toward him. "Satoru - stop! Listen to me!"

But that was the problem.

He was listening. Too closely. Watching the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands curled into fists like you were trying to hold yourself together. You had seen that look before, in the ER, when he assessed patients when he made decisions for them. Decisions they never got to take back.

"I didn’t realize it was this bad," he sighed, almost soft, his lips curling into a pitying smile.

The walls felt like they were closing in. The room tilted.

Then came the hands on your arms—firm, practiced, final. Voices murmuring in the background. You tried to fight, but the moment was already slipping away.

You were escorted out of his apartment.

Stuffed into the back of a black-tinted vehicle. Flagged by two men in sterile white coats.

Driven past empty streets and dimly lit signs, past any chance of turning back.

Led through cold, sterile hallways, past locked doors and hushed voices.

Which led you here.

Standing at the front desk of a place you didn’t belong.

Wearing stupid pink grippy socks.

Surrounded by people who didn’t believe you.

Your hands shook at your sides, your pulse hammering in your ears, a deep, aching numbness settling into your bones. You hadn’t expected Satoru to betray you. Hadn’t expected him to smile so softly as he handed you over, hadn’t expected the way his hand lingered on your back, firm, reassuring, as if he thought he was helping.

And you sure as hell hadn’t expected to be locked away in the so-called presidential suite of the mental hospital - reserved for the rich and famous.

Or, in your case, the pitifully well-connected.

The walls were a soft pastel pink, littered with bunny and flower decals, the kind that practically screamed, "Everything is sunshine and rainbows!"

Except it wasn’t.

It didn’t help that fresh flowers sat on your nightstand, always roses. Suguru’s favorite gesture. Romantic, thoughtful. Except he’d gone the extra step—meticulously removing every thorn. So you couldn’t even shove them down Satoru’s throat if you wanted to for dragging you to this place.

Instead, you were stuck with a locked door. No bathroom. A sad excuse for a sippy cup of water. And a plush, inviting bed you were now restrained to after your roster status conveniently changed from stable to unstable.

You nearly jumped at the sound of the door unlocking.

In walked him.

Suguru. Your beloved ex-husband.

He stepped inside with that same effortless grace, his lab coat crisp, sleeves pushed just slightly to his elbows, revealing the same steady hands that once traced every inch of your skin. The scent of clean linen and something faintly musky—his scent—lingered as he moved. His dark hair was neatly tied back, a few stray strands framing his face in a way that made your stomach lurch.

"Miss Geto," he greeted, voice smooth—velvety, like he was speaking to a lover rather than a patient.

Something inside you cracked.

"Don't," you snapped, harsher than intended like the word had torn its way through your throat baring your teeth. "Let me go."

Then, without hesitation, he pulled up a chair and settled across from you, as if this was just another late-night conversation over tea at the kitchen table. The same easy grace, the same quiet patience. Clipboard in hand, pen scratching against the paper in slow, measured strokes, like he was making note of the way your chest rose and fell just a little too fast, the way your fingers twitched against the thin hospital blanket.

Like he still knew you better than anyone.

"You’re my patient," he mused, his voice dangerously calm. "Who attempted suicide."

"I did nothing of the sort," you spat, the words flowing out too fast, too sharp.

Suguru barely lifted his gaze, still focused on his notes. Reading out loud what you had told the nursing staff when you were admitted.

"The bottle spilled. An innocent mistake anyone can make. Even a professional like yourself."

That finally got him to look up. He smiled.

Suguru’s smile was infuriatingly soft like he was humoring a particularly stubborn child. He set the clipboard down, fingers interlacing as he leaned forward slightly, as if trying to make you feel heard, as if he actually believed this was some kind of productive conversation.

"An innocent mistake," he repeated, tilting his head. "Is that what you’d like to call it?"

You clenched your jaw. "It’s the truth."

Suguru exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, a slow, measured disappointment. "Y/N, you know I can’t just take your word for it."

"Why not?" you snapped, your voice sharp, desperate, cracking at the edges despite your best efforts. "I am telling you what happened."

His gaze softened - not in pity, not in understanding, but in something far worse.

"Because I know you," he said simply, like that was supposed to mean something, like that was supposed to be enough. "I know how you get when something is wrong. And I know you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t something wrong."

Your nails dug into the soft fabric of the restraints wrapped around your wrists.

"Something is wrong," you hissed, venom laced in every syllable. "My so-called best friend had me committed based on a bullshit assumption, and my ex-husband—who should be the last person with a say in my well-being—is now sitting here acting like he gets to play God with my life."

Suguru didn’t flinch.

Didn’t waver.

If anything, his patience deepened.

"Satoru was worried about you," he murmured, his voice smooth, steady, controlled. "We both are. How do you think I felt hearing that my wife attempted suicide?"

You barked out a laugh - sharp, bitter, ugly.

"Worried?" The word burned as it left your throat. "No. Satoru was being his usual overdramatic self, and you -"

Your breath hitched. The words sat on your tongue, heavy, rancid, tasting worse than bile.

"You’re just enjoying this, aren’t you?"

Suguru blinked. His expression didn’t shift, didn’t flicker.

Unreadable.

Untouchable.

"You get to keep me here." The rage trembled beneath your skin, a wildfire barely contained. "Control me. Make me talk to you. Because you hated that I left."

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out the sterile hum of the hospital.

"Hated that I didn’t need you."

And then, you gestured - jerked against the restraints just enough for them to bite into your skin, to make a point, creating angry markings against your skin.

"And now, look! Here I am. All wrapped up and delivered straight to you."

A long silence stretched between you.

The weight of his gaze settled over you, suffocating, crushing.

Then—

Suguru reached for his clipboard, flipping through a few pages, slow, cautious.

"You think I want to control you?" he mused, barely glancing up, attempting to avoid your gaze. "Think I wasn’t worried when I got the call?"

There was something almost amused in the way he said it.

You bared your teeth, chest rising and falling too fast, anger crackling under your skin like a live fire.

"Don’t you?"

Suguru sighed, rubbing at his temple, slow and methodical, before finally looking at you.

You stared at him, waiting.

Waiting for the punchline.

Waiting for him to drop the act—for his mask of careful patience to crack and show something real, something human.

You inhaled sharply, exhaled in small, uneven breaths, the air in the room too thick, too sterile.

Suguru just watched you.

He let a few beats pass, like he was waiting for you to finish, like he was giving you time—as if this was just another tantrum that needed to run its course.

And then—

He smiled.

"I need a urine sample," he murmured, voice smooth, as if the past few minutes hadn’t happened, as if your rage, your desperation, was nothing more than an inconvenience.

You scoffed, shifting against the restraints. "Fine. Take me to the bathroom." You turned your head away, expecting the click of the buckles being undone any second now.

It never came.

"That’s not how things work here, angel," Suguru mused, his voice a slow, deliberate test—poking, prodding, waiting for your reaction.

Your hands curled into fists. "Angel." That pet name he used to say with love. That pet name that now sounded like a leash tightening around your throat.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay calm. "Suguru," you started, voice level, "hospital protocol states that urine samples are to be taken in the restroom. In private. At most, a guard may be present. You know this."

Suguru simply shook his head, looking almost gladden at your attempt to argue. "This isn’t your ER," he reminded you smoothly, tilting his head. "This is my hospital. And here, we take precautions. We have to ensure you don’t harm yourself… or tamper with the sample."

Your breath hitched, another furrow of the brows. "Tamper -"

"Don’t worry," Suguru cut you off, still unbearably calm, like this was just another mundane part of his day. "I’ll be completely professional."

You stared at him, anger burning so hot in your chest it felt suffocating.

Dick.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" you hissed.

Suguru didn’t react. Just leaned back in his chair, the cup still held between his fingers, watching you with that same unreadable patience.

"Come on, angel," he murmured, almost teasing now. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

You hated him.

Not in the way you hated Satoru for his dramatics, or your mother for her unsolicited marriage advice.

No.

You hated Suguru in the kind of way that made your skin itch, that made your blood run cold with fury. The kind of hatred reserved for someone who knew you inside and out—who knew exactly what would break you, and took his sweet time doing it.

“I want Shoko present then,” you huffed, chin tilted up, clinging onto whatever scraps of control you had left. “A different doctor.”

Suguru barely reacted. Just tilted his head, twirling the specimen container lazily between his fingers. "She just finished her shift. She cannot legally return for 72 hours."

Bullshit.

"Mei Mei," you shot back immediately.

"Busy handling more special cases," Suguru countered smoothly, not missing a beat. "More aggressive ones."

Of course. Of course.

You knew exactly what he was doing. Boxing you in, narrowing your choices, giving you just enough illusion of control to make you feel like you weren’t completely powerless.

And then, he dropped the final option. The only option.

"If you want a different doctor," he sighed, so patronizing, so patient, "then you may request Satoru."

Your lips parted, rage curling on your tongue, ready to tell him exactly where to shove that offer—

But then something cold and spiteful took over.

"Fine," you bit out, keeping your glare locked onto his. "Call him."

You weren’t expecting much - maybe a slight twitch of his jaw, a roll of his eyes, anything that would prove you’d gotten to him, even just a little.

But no.

Suguru only smiled. Soft. Unbothered. Always one step ahead.

"Alright, angel," he murmured, standing with a slow, practiced ease. "I’ll go grab him. Whatever makes you feel more comfortable."

Like he was indulging you.

Like he was being the bigger person.

Like he was waiting for you to realize how ridiculous you were being and apologize.

You squeezed the specimen cup so tightly in your hands you thought it might crack. Your nails dug into the plastic, jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached. Satoru just stood there, completely at ease, watching you like he had all the time in the world.

His grin was unbearable. The casual way he leaned against the door, arms crossed, like this was fun for him. Like he wasn’t standing in front of someone who was actively fighting off the urge to snap.

"Need me to hold the cup?" he teased, tilting his head, voice all sugar and mockery.

You blinked at him, your mind blank for a moment—so full of rage that it looped back into emptiness. A white-hot static filled your ears. Your hands itched, ached to throw the cup at his face, to shatter the glass of the observation mirror behind him, to break something—anything—

But you just swallowed, holding your ground.

"You’re not going to turn around?" you asked, voice deceptively calm, but you could hear the crack in it.

Satoru shook his head, all easy amusement, that soft white hair swaying with the motion. "What if you’re using someone else’s—"

The pressure in your chest reached a peak, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped.

"How the hell would I get someone else’s urine, Satoru?"

It came out sharper than you intended, more raw, more exhausted. You saw the moment he caught onto it - saw the way his smirk deepened, how his fingers twitched at the thrill of getting under your skin.

You hated that.

You hated him.

"So snappy," he murmured, like he was pleased. Like this was all some game or prank that you were just waiting for the camera crew to come in and tell you "get pranked!"

Except it wasn't. You were still hovering over a drain embedded in the pale blue floor trying to pee.

You gripped the cup harder. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, arms shook with the effort of keeping yourself together. The room was too small. The air was too thick. Everything felt wrong.

Throw it at him. The thought came unbidden, cold and quiet. Just throw it. Wipe that smirk off his face. Give him something real to laugh about.

Your fingers twitched.

No.

No, because that’s exactly what he wanted. That’s exactly what Suguru wanted. To watch you spiral. To document it. To mark it down in that damn file.

Satoru pushed off the wall, stretching, rolling his neck. "Relax, princess," he said, ever the smug bastard. "Just following protocol. Who knows? Maybe you planned this."

Your vision blurred at the edges.

You wanted to scream.

Maybe you planned this. Slow and mocking rang through your ears.

You wanted to hit him.

You wanted to rip your way out of this room, out of this fucking hospital, out of your own skin -

But you didn’t.

You stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, your hands gripping the specimen cup like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to yourself. To your sanity.

Because if you gave in—if you screamed, if you threw something, if you lost control—

Then they’d win.

So instead, you swallowed the fire in your throat, stuffed the rage down where it burned deep in your gut, and forced your lips into a sickly sweet smile.

"Then I guess you’ll just have to watch me pee," you whispered, voice deceptively soft.

You wanted to see his smirk falter, just for a second.

It didn’t.

Satoru crouched down to your level, resting his chin on his hand like this was the most interesting thing in the world. His bright blue eyes shimmered with amusement, waiting, watching.

"You know…" he started, tone light, teasing as if he weren’t watching you at your most humiliated. "I was really worried about you."

You refused to look at him, your grip on the cup tightening, your focus locked on the pristine blue of his scrubs.

"Yeah?" you muttered, voice flat.

"Mhmm." His hum vibrated with something smug. "The nurses - " he dragged the word out playfully like he was gossiping at brunch, " - think you planned this. That you missed Suguru so much, you just had to get yourself locked up in his hospital…"

Your hands trembled slightly, the sheer rage threatening to make the cup slip.

Satoru noticed. Of course he did.

Then you noticed it.

The tent in his pants.

Your stomach twisted, nausea curling in your throat, but before you could process it, his gloved fingers brushed your cheek, guiding your face toward him. His blue eyes dazzled- a trap disguised as something beautiful.

"But I know better," he murmured, his breath tickling your skin. "You’re a good girl, aren’t you?"

"Don’t worry," he went on, casual, sweet, like you were just two friends catching up over coffee. "It’ll only be a couple more days until you get to leave. Maybe…" he trailed off for dramatic effect, grinning as if he was pitching you something fun, "we can go home all together."

What the hell was he playing at? And before you could stop him, before your brain could even process it—

His lips pressed against your forehead. Soft. Chaste.

Mocking.

The cup slipped from your hands.

It hit the tile with a sharp clatter, the urine spilling onto the floor, and swirling down the small drain.

Satoru stayed close, close enough to feel his smile against your skin.

Then he pulled back, taking in the mess with a soft whistle.

"Oops," he cooed, lips twitching in amusement. "Butterfingers."

You stared at him, nails digging into your palm, pressing hard enough that you should have drawn blood—would have, if Suguru hadn’t meticulously trimmed and filed them down.

To the point where they couldn’t even leave a mark. Couldn’t harm anyone. Something about it being protocol.

Satoru’s grin widened, his teeth practically sparkling. Bright blue eyes brightening. "Guess we’ll have to try again! The second time’s the charm, right?"

The sound of the slap cracked through the sterile air like a gunshot.

Your palm stung, the heat of the impact lingering on your skin, but it was nothing compared to the way Satoru’s head had barely turned with the force of it.

That grin.

It didn’t falter.

Didn’t waver.

His face remained tilted to the side for just a second, the red mark of your palm blooming on his cheek. But when he slowly turned back to you - his lips stretched into something wicked.

You could’ve sworn the red on his face wasn’t just from your slap.

But a blush.

"Ohhh," Satoru exhaled, his grin widening. His tongue swiped over the inside of his cheek like he was tasting the sting. "Now that’s the fire I missed. Though you didn’t wash your hands, princess."

Your stomach dropped.

The heat in his eyes wasn’t just amusement.

He liked that.

"That felt good, didn’t it?" he mused, tilting his head, gaze never leaving yours. "You wanna do it again?"

Your whole body locked up, muscles coiled so tightly they ached. The rational part of you screamed don’t react—don’t give him what he wants. But the rest of you—the part that was sick with rage, humiliation, helplessness—wanted to slap him again. Wanted to make him hurt.

Satoru saw it. Felt it.

And he loved it.

He leaned in ever so slightly, voice dropping lower, playful yet taunting. "Come on, sugar. Let it out."

You curled your fingers into fists, so close to giving in—

And then the door clicked open.

Suguru stepped in, clipboard in hand, dark eyes flicking between the two of you, taking in the charged atmosphere with a knowing hum.

Satoru, still grinning, straightened up, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Well," he drawled, stretching lazily, "unfortunately, we still need that sample."

Suguru raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"

"Nah." Satoru waved a hand dismissively, glancing down at you once more, his smirk never once faltering. "We were just bonding."

"I see," Suguru murmured, not even looking at you as he jotted something down on the clipboard. His eyes flicked to the urine spill on the floor, and then back to Satoru, as if this was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. "I’ll call someone to clean up your mess, angel. We can just wait until you have to go again, won’t we? Need you hydrated for your blood test anyway."

You weren’t sure what you were feeling.

Fury?

Dread?

Humiliation?

Some horrible concoction of all three, swirling in your chest, making it impossible to breathe.

Satoru let out a soft, amused hum beside you, still rubbing at his cheek as if savoring the sting.

Suguru’s pen paused. "Did she slap you, Satoru?"

The words were deceptively gentle. His gaze drifted to his best friend’s pale skin, now tinged pink, his expression unreadable.

Satoru, ever the little shit, grinned. "She sure did!" He shot you a wink. "She’s still got that fight in her, huh?"

Suguru exhaled slowly, tapping the clipboard with the end of his pen before leveling you with the most patronizing look you had ever seen. There was no cruelty in his expression, no outright malice. As if he had already decided what you were before, you even opened your mouth.

"Suppose we have to add aggression to your chart, then…"

Your stomach twisted again, you were about to speak out, defend yourself -

"Have to keep you away from the other patients and nurses," he continued, his voice calm, like he was making a note about the weather instead of your freedom. His pen moved smoothly over the page, unbothered, effortless. "Don’t want any more staff getting hurt."

Your pulse pounded against your ribs, the sharp pressure of your heartbeat making your vision blur for a moment. "I am not aggressive." The words came out too fast, too desperate, as if sheer force could make them true in his mind.

Suguru didn’t even glance up from his notes. "Of course not, angel." His voice carried the same devoted softness it always had, the same infuriating patience.

The sound of his pen moving against the clipboard might as well have been the click of a lock.

They were rewriting you right in front of your eyes, shaping you into something else—someone else. Piece by piece, erasing what didn’t fit, twisting reality into something they could control.

A violent patient.

An unstable patient.

A liability.

Your hands trembled against your lap, fingers curling into fists so tightly that your nails pressed into your skin. You could feel the warmth of Suguru’s gaze on you, watching, waiting. You wanted to fight back, to rip the clipboard from his hands, to make him listen. But you already knew how that would end. Another note in the file. Another checkmark on their list. Another reason for them to keep you here.

Days passed, though they bled together, time warping under the weight of routine. You spent most of it trapped in the common room, though there was nothing common about it. There were no other patients. No quiet conversations or hushed laughter in the corners. No sounds of therapy sessions or shuffling feet down the halls. Just you. Just him.

Satoru sat across from you, long legs stretched out beneath the too-small plastic table, posture relaxed as if this was just another lazy afternoon. His hand moved methodically over a coloring page, crayons scattered across the table in a mess of childish hues.

"Don’t you have other patients?" you asked, your voice tight, the question slipping out before you could stop it. Your fingers curled around a yellow crayon, grip stiff, too firm.

Satoru didn’t look up. Instead, he kept humming to himself, dragging slow strokes of purple wax over the page, his movements too steady, too deliberate. "I'm going to color my flowers purple." He flipped the page toward you with a smug little grin. "What color are you going to do yours?"

Your paper sat untouched. Blank. Couldn’t bring yourself to play along.

Satoru noticed. His grin grew, slow and satisfied, as if your irritation was more entertaining than the coloring itself. "Need me to help you out there, princess?" he teased, leaning forward slightly. "See, you have to—"

"Satoru."

The crayon in your hand snapped before you even realized you were gripping it too hard. A jagged, broken edge crumbled onto the table, wax flecks scattering across the surface.

The hum of casual amusement in the room vanished.

Satoru stilled. His lips parted slightly, and for the first time, his sharp, blue eyes locked onto you with something heavier than teasing amusement.

"I asked you a question," you said, your voice shaking - not from fear, but from the sheer, unbearable restraint it took not to hurl the broken crayon at his smug, unbothered face.

Satoru chuckled. It was quiet at first, low, controlled, but then it spilled out in full, bright and infuriating, his lips stretching into something too wide, too pleased.

"You really don’t like playing house with me, huh?" he mused, tapping the broken crayon piece with his finger as if it fascinated him. "Come on, princess, lighten up. You’re making it seem like you don’t enjoy my company. We used to be so close before all of this."

Your jaw tightened, frustration grinding in your chest. This was a game to him. A performance. You were the only one who hadn’t seen the script.

"Answer the damn question."

Satoru tilted his head as if weighing his answer, as if he was letting you believe you had any say in how this conversation would go. Then, with a lazy stretch, he sighed, tone dramatically put-upon, like he was humoring you.

"Not really," he admitted. "No one else here really needs me the way you do."

The words crawled under your skin like something sick and wrong, twisting deep in your gut before you could shove them away.

"The way you do."

Like you were needy.

Like you wanted this.

Like this was all for you.

The slow, creeping horror curled through your veins, tightening around your ribs, but you forced it down, pushed past it. You gritted your teeth, fingers digging into your palms. "I don’t need you."

Satoru’s smirk widened, stretching just a little too far, as if he could see the fraying edges of your composure and was thrilled by it. You were going to snap. You wanted to slap him again, wanted to claw at his stupid, smug, self-satisfied face, wanted to do something—anything—to wipe that look off of him.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you forced yourself to move slowly, deliberately, picking up the ridiculous sippy cup they had given you, the plastic cool and smooth against your trembling fingers. You took a sip, the artificial sweetness coating your tongue, the taste almost childish in its simplicity. The act of swallowing felt too thick, like your throat didn’t quite want to obey. Just as carefully, you set the cup back down on the tiny plastic table, making sure not to let it shake in your grip.

You had to be calm.

You weren’t insane.

You weren’t crazy.

You weren’t violent.

But the air was too thick, the walls pressing in, the stupid, unfinished coloring page in front of you mocking in its blankness. The pressure inside your chest swelled, wrapping around your ribs like a tightening coil. Your vision blurred at the edges, hot and unwelcome, and you clenched your fists in your lap, willing it away, forcing it down.

Satoru noticed. Of course, he noticed.

"Aww, princess," he murmured, his voice honey-sweet, mocking in its gentleness, and before you could react, before you could pull away, he was pulling you in. Strong arms wrapped around you, warm, suffocating. The scent of him—clean linen, faint cologne, something unmistakably Satoru—invaded your senses, pressing in on all sides.

"Hey, it’s okay to cry," he cooed, his lips ghosting over your forehead before pressing a kiss there, his voice a soothing lull—deceptively soft. "This is a safe space."

Safe.

The word reverberated in your skull, clashing violently with the truth. This wasn’t safe. This was a cage. A well-kept, carefully controlled cage, but a cage nonetheless. And yet—your body betrayed you.

Because wasn’t this what you were supposed to do? Accept comfort? Let yourself be held? Be good?

You nodded weakly against his chest, your body folding into his hold, and the tears finally spilled over - silent, hot, humiliating. His arms tightened around you in response, as if he had been waiting for this, as if he had known you would break.

It was just a matter of when.

"See?" he murmured, fingers stroking through your hair with slow, measured precision. "That’s my good girl."

The words sent a violent shudder through you, something deep and instinctive recoiling at the way he said it. Like you belonged to him.

Satoru pulled back slightly, just enough to brush a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, still smiling, still so unshaken, so pleased.

"I’ll bring you some better clothes," he promised, as if he was doing you a favor, like he was some benevolent god. "Something warm, something comfortable."

You swallowed down the thick lump in your throat, nodding again. Maybe—maybe if you played along, maybe if you did what they wanted, they would let you go.

"I don’t think coloring is your strong suit," Satoru mused, his tone light, teasing, trying to smother the moment before had never happened. "We can make paper stars instead! I’ll keep them in my office. Maybe we can make some for Suguru too! Oh, he’d love that! Still has your wedding photo hung up."

Words that landed like a slap, sharp and visceral. Your wedding photo. Still up. Still there. Like nothing had changed. As if those papers you left had no meaning.

The weight of it all bore down on you, and you almost didn’t notice the way Satoru’s hand moved lower.

A slow, trailing touch.

Fingers ghosting beneath the hem of your hospital gown.

Warm against your bare skin.

Your body froze. Every muscle locked up in an instant, but your mind felt numb, sluggish, as if refusing to acknowledge what was happening.

"I just want to make sure you’re okay, princess," Satoru whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Can you show me that you’re okay?"

His fingers pressed just a little firmer, a test, waiting for you to comply. A slight spread of your thighs as his fingers continued their quest.

You weren’t sure what scared you more. The way your body stopped resisting or the way this felt inevitable.

Was it fear?

Resignation?

Were you just enduring, waiting for the moment this would finally be over, so you could go home?

The door clicked open.

Suguru, thankfully, walked in, his dark eyes sweeping over the scene like he already knew what had transpired.

Satoru removed his hand, but the touch lingered, seared into your skin like a brand.

"Ready?" Suguru smiled, that soft, practiced kind, like this was just another routine check-in, like he wasn’t about to upend your entire world again. Wasn't going to drug you back into compliance, wasn't going to hush and calm you when he drew blood for testing.

"You’ve been doing so well the past couple of days—taking your meds, following the schedule—that after this one little test, the head of operations agreed we can move to home treatment…"

He let the words settle, let them sink in before delivering the final blow—

"Since it’s already convenient that we live together."

Your fingers clenched against the table, a cold weight dropping in your stomach.

"We’re divorced," you said slowly, carefully, as if daring him to acknowledge it.

Suguru’s warm, easy smile didn’t falter.

"Mmm, not what your file says," he hummed, stepping closer, his gaze flicking to Satoru’s drawing.

"You didn’t make me one, angel?" His voice was light, almost teasing, but the undercurrent of expectation was there.

"I would’ve hung it up."

Something snapped inside you.

You weren’t sure what.

But you had never wanted to flip a stupid kiddy table more in your entire life.

"Where the hell is Shoko?" The words tore from your throat, sharp and raw. "I want her as my doctor - that is my right."

Suguru blinked at you, his expression shifting—just slightly. Not quite hurt. Not quite anything.

Almost like he had expected this.

"Or the nurses?" you continued, voice rising, trembling with fury. "I want Nanami to be my watch instead of this blue-eyed freak."

You saw it.

The way Satoru flinched. The brief flicker of hurt that crossed his face - so quick, so momentary, but you caught it.

And your heart twisted and cracked.

Because you knew.

You’d always known what that word meant to him.

But you couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t let yourself care.

Because they weren’t listening.

Suguru turned to Satoru, his voice dipping into something colder.

"I think we need to up the dosage."

Then, back to you - his expression unreadable, his tone soft, patronizing.

"I didn’t know you had so much anger in you, angel."

He reached for your face, fingers moving to cup your cheek—

And you smacked his hand away.

The sharp sound echoed in the small room.

Suguru stilled.

He could file down your nails.

He could restrain your hands.

He could drug you into compliance.

But he could not—would not—control your fire.

For a moment, Suguru was still.

Processing.

His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered beneath the surface—something dark, something off. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you could feel it, like the quiet shifting of tectonic plates before a catastrophic quake.

Then, under his breath, barely more than a whisper, he uttered a single word.

"Tainted."

It landed like an irreversible diagnosis, a label seared into your skin, a fact that had always been true, whether you knew it or not.

"I have to fix it."

The words were hollow. Void of real emotion. Spoken like an afterthought. A duty.

If anyone here was crazy, it wasn’t you.

"Let’s go."

His voice was measured, slow, as if testing the words, as if feeling them out himself, ensuring they fit within whatever logic governed his mind.

"We can deal with this later."

And just like that, it was decided. He turned away, moving with the same unshakable certainty as before.

You should have felt relief.

Instead, dread curled in your stomach like sickness, spreading through your limbs in slow, creeping waves. Your pulse stuttered as Satoru took your hand, his fingers lacing through yours. The warmth of his palm was comfortable in a sense.

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t flash that smug grin. Didn’t tease you. Didn’t say a damn thing.

Just walked.

Silent.

Head bowed, guiding you forward like a silent accomplice.

The hallway stretched before you, sterile and pale blue, the kind of color that was meant to be calming but only made your skin feel dirty, wrong. You knew these halls now—the group therapy rooms, the medication table, the office staff area, the standard rooms where the normal patients were kept.

But this wasn’t that.

This was deeper.

The air shifted. The temperature felt colder.

Your fingers tightened around Satoru’s. "What’s the last test?" you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady.

His skin was clammy.

Cold sweat.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, something softer than usual. Something wrong. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against the back of your hand—soothing, intimate.

Like an apology.

Suguru didn’t look back.

Didn’t seem to care that Satoru was holding onto you, didn’t seem to mind that the hands he used to hold were now intertwined with someone else’s.

He just walked.

Unbothered.

And then—

The door.

Suguru reached into his pocket, pulling out a key. Not one from his usual keychain.

Something different.

Something meant only for this room.

A cold prickle ran down your spine as the small hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. The air felt heavier, charged, the silence pressing in. Something wasn't quite right.

Where were the nurses?

The ones who usually hovered, who handed out little paper cups of sedatives, who whispered among themselves when they thought you weren’t listening?

The ones Satoru always gossiped with?

Gone.

The hallway was silent.

The key turned in the lock.

A slow, deliberate click.

The door creaked open, revealing a room stark and clinical, stripped of anything human.

Centered in the middle, like an altar, stood a medical table.

Satoru squeezed your hand. Tighter. Like he was preparing you.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, the walls pressing in, your breath coming too fast, too shallow. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the room itself was shrinking. And then—your gaze fell to the cart beside the table.

The electrodes. The wires. The leather restraints.

No—

The word stuck in your throat, thick and suffocating, choking you before you could even say it aloud. A wave of nausea rolled through you, cold and sharp. Your knees buckled, your body reacting before your mind could fully catch up. Every nerve screamed at you to run.

But Satoru didn’t let go.

"No," you gasped, collapsing to the floor, forcing yourself into dead weight. You pushed back, twisted, resisted—anything to keep from being dragged inside.

Satoru’s grip only tightened.

He was stronger.

"No - no, please!" The words broke from you, frantic, raw, barely holding shape. You kicked out, your body writhing in desperation, fighting against the inevitable. But Satoru just kept pulling, his hands steady, his strength sustained.

Your nails dug into his arm, clawing, desperate to hurt, to leave a mark, to stop this—

But there were no scratches.

Suguru had trimmed your nails.

"Protocol," he had said.

A sob wrenched itself from your throat, broken and shattered.

"Angel."

Suguru’s voice was soft. Warm. Loving. Like he was about to kiss you goodnight.

But he wasn’t.

Because this wasn’t a goodnight kiss.

This was electroshock therapy.

Something traditional.

Something brutal.

Something meant to fix you.

And the worst part? Satoru still wouldn’t let go.

You screamed. Raw, guttural—desperate. It wasn’t just fear. It was betrayal.

Satoru flinched. Just for a second.

The long fingers of his intertwined with yours twitched ever so slightly, like he wanted to let go, like he wanted to change his mind—

But he didn’t.

His grip remained firm, unyielding. A tether holding you down, delivering you to the inevitable.

"Shhh, princess," he murmured, his voice unbearably gentle, a cruel mockery of comfort. His free hand rose, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face with a touch too tender, too familiar.

Like he wasn’t dragging you to the table.

Like he wasn’t helping Suguru break you.

"Don’t make this harder on yourself," he whispered, his thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles against your temple, his expression unreadable.

But his eyes—

His eyes were glassy.

Like he was trying not to cry.

Your stomach turned violently. Your body twisted, fought, bucked wildly against their hold, legs kicking at the linoleum, heels scraping, fingers grasping at anything—

"Please—please, Satoru, I’ll take the meds, I’ll do whatever you want, just—just don’t let him—"

The words cracked, fractured, shattered in your throat, weak and pleading in a way that made you sick.

The weight of Suguru’s hands came next.

Steady. Unyielding. Final.

Like iron shackles pressing into your shoulders, pinning you in place.

"Angel," he sighed, exhaustion bleeding into his voice, like you were being difficult. Like this wasn’t the most terrifying moment of your life.

"You know this is for your own good."

Something inside you snapped.

"You don’t get to decide that!" you sobbed, thrashing so violently that, for just a second, you nearly knocked him off balance.

Nearly.

But Suguru had always been stronger.

They both had.

Your knees buckled, their hands dragging you across the floor, inching you closer—closer—

To the altar.

To your undoing.

Your screams felt smaller in the sterile, hollow air.

"NO—PLEASE!"

Suguru tilted his head, his violet eyes still so soft.

"Why do you always have to fight us, angel?"

His voice wavered—just barely.

Not an insult.

Not an accusation.

A plea.

Like he was asking why you wouldn’t just let him love you.

Why you wouldn’t just let him keep you safe.

A sob ripped through you as you felt it—the cool, sterile touch of metal against your back.

The restraints came next.

"No, no—Suguru, please—"

Your voice broke on his name.

For just a fraction of a second, his hands paused.

His expression flickered.

His fingers twitched.

Like he remembered something.

Something important.

Something about you.

The way you used to lay beside him on quiet Sunday mornings, tracing absentminded circles into his chest. The way you’d whisper I love you against his shoulder before rolling out of bed, before rushing to work, before leaving him behind.

The way you used to trust him.

And now—

Now you were afraid of him.

His lips parted, just barely.

For a second, you thought he might stop.

That maybe—just maybe—you had gotten through to him.

That maybe he would undo the straps. Take you home. Hold you the way he used to. Tell you he didn’t mean it.

That this wasn’t necessary.

That he loved you.

But then his jaw set.

And his hands kept going.

"This is necessary to keep you pure," he whispered, like he was reassuring himself, not you.

The restraints tightened around your wrists.

"Suguru, don’t do this," you whispered, voice pleading, voice breaking.

No response.

Just the final, deafening click of the straps locking into place.

Satoru let go of your hand.

The absence of his touch felt colder than the room itself.

"You’re scaring her," he muttered, voice tight, like this was hurting him, too.

Suguru didn’t respond.

His expression had smoothed into something distant.

His hand shook—just slightly—as he reached for the electrodes.

"NO—DON’T—PLEASE—"

Satoru sighed, rubbing at his temple, shaking his head like this was all just so exhausting.

Then he leaned down, brushing his fingers over your forehead in something almost affectionate.

"Shhh, princess," he whispered.

"It’s just a little reset." As he placed the clothed gag in your mouth.

Suguru’s hands were steady as he placed the electrodes against your temple, securing them into place with slow, deliberate precision.

His fingers lingered.

For just a second.

Like this was the last time he’d hold you.

Like he didn’t want to let go.

"You’ll feel so much better after this," he murmured, voice softer than before. Like he was convincing himself. Like he was telling himself this was right. That this was love.

Like he was hoping it was.

"This is mercy, angel."

"This is love."

Satoru pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

And Suguru flipped the switch.

Pain detonated behind your eyes, blinding, white-hot, like lightning through your skull, like static in your veins - erasing, ripping, rewiring.

Your body jerked, your spine arching off the table, muscles seizing, breath vanishing.

Through the haze of agony, you thought you heard something.

A voice. Maybe Suguru’s. Maybe Satoru’s.

Maybe both.

"Shhh, angel."

"It’s okay."

"We love you."

Everything went black.

Thank you for reading! <3

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #dead dove do not eat #yandere satosugu #yandere satosugu x reader #yandere geto suguru #yandere gojo satoru #yandere x reader #yandere gojo #yandere geto #yandere gojo x reader #yandere geto x reader #yandere geto suguru x reader #yandere gojo satoru x reader

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neovillains · 1 month ago

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DEATHBED | PART TWO

( HE'S NO DEADBEAT : NANAMI KENTO ) nanami believed he raised his son well, only for him to turn into a deadbeat right in front of his eyes. don't worry, he'll make it up to you. | watch time: 3.8k words.

── gilf!nanami & fem-bodied!reader, she/her pronouns, single mother!reader, adopted grandfather!nanami, deadbeat!yuuji itadori, high age gap, cunnilingus, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, multiple (2) orgasms, creampie, pussyjob, etc.

note. i am going so feral over my own series. like,,, i want to gnaw on the skin of gilf nanami so bad !

gojo satoru | toji fushiguro | sukuna ryoumen

“I just don’t understand,” Nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he throws his head back in the stress of all this. “You told me a couple of months ago that you love the girl. Now, you’re going back on your word the moment the child’s born? This is not the man I raised you to be.”

“Yeah, well,” Yuuji mumbles on the other line. “I’m sorry for disappointing you, but I just— I don’t think I’m cut out to be a father. I didn’t— I didn’t—”

“You didn’t realize how much responsibility it would be?” Nanami finishes for him. “How old are you again? I thought we were over this conversation the moment you left for college.”

“Why are you giving me so much shit?” Yuuji groans, voice getting more agitated the more his adopted father continues to chastise him. “(Y/N) and I had already had a discussion about things and I would financially provide for the child. That should be enough.”

“That should be enough?” Nanami scoffed, baffled by the words of the pink-haired fool on the other line. He could tell that Yuuji was still naive and idiotic to think that money would be the only thing that you needed to provide for a child all on your own. ��What about doctor appointments? Emergencies at school and (Y/N) having to call off work to get them— did you consider instances like that? One person isn’t supposed to juggle the job of two.”

“I’m pretty sure she’ll be fine,” Yuuji hums. “You’ve done it with me—”

Nanami couldn’t take anymore of it, pulling the phone from his ears and immediately clicking on the red button to end the call. With a sigh, he brings himself out of the kitchen and towards the leather recliner that’s starting to fade. The burnt umber starting to dull in its color and having more of an orange hue to it. Relaxing in the seat as he leans back, he shuts his eyes. Over the years, he’s finally gotten a chance to relax. Slaving away in an office for hours and hours nearly everyday and coming home to provide for a young Yuuji, it’s brought a toll on his body. Gradually letting himself go, his stomach has grown a bit more pudge to it and the blond of his hair has completely dissipated to white.

When Yuuji had found you, bringing you home to meet his father, he was happy for his son. You were such a sweet person who managed to handle Yuuji’s outgoing nature. You were someone who could provide him stability, something that Yuuji was in dire need of. However, Nanami should’ve seen this coming when the two of you had been together for ten years and he never mentioned the idea of dropping down to one knee.

“Fuck,” Nanami curses as he rubs circles into the temples of his forehead. He thought that at some point Yuuji would get it. That he’s no longer a child and has responsibilities to tend to. But instead, he’s still running from adulthood instead of embracing it, coming to terms with it, and stop solely feeding into his inner child. Though it could be a gruesome thing, aging did have its perks. It was sad to see that his son didn’t seem to find that within you and his son.

He wondered how you were doing. How you truly were doing. Reaching for his phone, he had never called you so periodically before. However, when he heard that you were pregnant, he wanted to be a present grandfather. But when he heard how Yuuji had broken your heart after so many years together, he felt ashamed to have ties with the younger lad.

Last contacted: Two Weeks Ago.

With a heavy sigh, he presses the call button and waits. He’s expecting you to decline the call but after four rings, your voice— soft— sounds from the other line. “Hello? Nanami?”

“Hello, (Y/N). How’ve you been?”

—

You’re a very eclectic person. That’s what Nanami has learned about you from over the years. When you and Yuuji moved in together, you had taken over all aspects of interior design, having a more maximalist approach to things as countertops were littered with drinkets and pieces that were so vibrant and full of color. He couldn’t tell what your style was— bohemian chic with a mixture of rustic and historical? You mismatched a lot of things, but they always seemed to be coordinated in some sort of way. In the end, your home was an organized chaos that he’s come to admire.

However, as he sits down on your couch, half of those decoratives and staples to your home are gone. Packed away in boxes as you’re ready to raise a child. Conversations between the two of you were short and brief, that light in your eye that he’s so accustomed to is starting to blow out and he can’t help but feel guilty for the role he has to play in this.

“How’ve you been holding up, (Y/N)?” He asks out of the blue. “And be truthful with me. Don’t worry about me relaying the message back to Yuuji because I’m not— if that’s what you’re worried about.”

For the first time in the two hours he’s been here, you chuckle. The newborn laying on your chest as you rock your little boy to sleep, you shake your head as the corner of your lips rise. “I’m not worried about that, trust me. I’m just trying to think about that as much as possible, to be honest. It’s been a rough couple of days. With postpartum and everything, it’s taking a toll on me while I’m trying to keep it together.”

“Has he been sleeping well?” Nanami gestures to the baby. “If you need any help with him, you know I’ll be here as much as I possibly can.”

“You know,” you hum. “He’s really not that bad. I don’t want to jinx it, but he’s been good at night. The days, too. He’s been easy so far.”

“Probably because he can detect what you’re going through,” he lets out the comment absentmindedly before clearing his throat. “It’s good that he’s not giving you much trouble though. All you need is easy right now.”

By the fourth hour, Nanami removed himself from your home. Seeing him out, you were about to shut the door when he stopped abruptly. “And I mean it, (Y/N). Call me if you ever need help. Don’t try to do everything on your own. I’ll be there for you as much as I possibly can.”

Your eyes glisten with tears as you nod. “Thanks, Nanami. I really appreciate that.”

—

Nanami had taken the initiative to do what Yuuji couldn’t. Making regular visits to you to spend time with you and help with the baby as much as he can. Months passed by and gradually you were forgetting about Yuuji. Even with Nanami in your presence, you no longer cared about the guy you had been with for ten years as the older man seemed to be filling this void inside of you as you didn’t feel alone. And when Yuuji would call, you’d always keep conversation short as your voice gained a bit more pep and you were able to get more decent amounts of sleep.

There was something stirring inside of you when Nanami was around. It was like he made the sun shine brighter.

Was this right— to be on the verge of developing plausible feelings for your son’s grandfather, your ex’s father? Adopted father, your brain corrected. Nonetheless, Nanami raised Yuuji as if he was his own. Were you just trying to fill that hollow void inside of you that was yearning for connection?

You loved Yuuji. He was childish and didn’t want to hold any responsibility, oftentimes making you do the brunt of things. Truthfully, you shouldn’t have stayed so long. But, you loved him. His childishness made you smile, his want for fun made the days go faster. However, you ended up getting the short end of the stick because of his ways. But still, you loved Yuuji.

Nanami was a tie to Yuuji. And whatever that was going on in your mind was still tied down to Yuuji.

The pipe was running for far too long that it called for Nanami’s attention. Stepping inside of the kitchen, he stands behind you and reaches to turn off the pipe. He looks down at you when you jump, your back hitting into his chest. Making eye contact, you smile sheepishly as he looks down at you in concern. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t ask if there’s something wrong, he knows that something is. And in the whirlwind of your mind, you blurt, “I think it’s best if you go now.”

The immediate switch up is perplexing, catching Nanami off guard as he instinctively takes a step back. “Huh— did I do something wrong?”

“No, but— but I think it’s best if you stop your little visits,” you continue on, turning your back away from him as you grab the sponge, squirting soap on it.

“(Y/N), talk to me.”

“I don’t think I want to talk anymore.”

“I don’t care if you don’t want to talk anymore, you’re going to,” he pulls at your wrist, dragging you away from the sink. “Tell me what’s with the abrupt decisions?”

“I—I—” you groan in frustration, flinging yourself against Nanami as you pull him in for a kiss. It lasts for only a second before he’s pushing you off of him, trying to collect his thoughts and understand what just happened. Your face heats up feeling like a complete fool.

“I’m so sorry. I just— This is why you need to—” However, before you can even finish your sentence, he’s pulling you back into his embrace. The warmth of his body makes you melt as you taste his lips, fingers scrunching in the baby blue t-shirt hanging off his body. The tension from inside of you is relieved as your hand goes to drape around his neck as you let out the slightest of moans. It’s then that he pulls away, a string of saliva following.

Nanami’s brown eyes stare into you, no longer filled with the youth of his younger days like how you’ve seen in his photo albums. However, you can see how they brighten up with you in his hold. In a low and raspy voice, “If this was what you were scared about, I would’ve assured you a long time ago that you’re safe with me.”

He plants another wet and chaste kiss on your lips, adding, “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to take care of you for the rest of the years I have.”

With your son fast asleep, the two of you become so enamoured in each other’s lust that reality slips past. Nanami’s veiny hands grip onto your hips with purpose and pull you closer into him. From the time he’s been spending with you, you’ve made him realize how much he’s missed out on companionship. How he had been so occupied with work and providing for Yuuji that he never took the chance to really connect with anyone. Aside from the occasional women and a few sporadic dates, his life was one of loneliness. Your lips are soft and full of life, transporting him back to his late twenties— blond hair and unblemished skin, green-tinted spectacles that hid his beautiful coffee-toned eyes. He was stressed out then, but imagine if he had found someone like you back then? Closer in age and held the same stupor that would make him realize his mistakes much sooner, he wouldn’t have ended up in the predicament he is in now. Kissing on a girl that’s nearly half his age, the mother of his grandson. He should feel ashamed of himself— disgusted— but his body craves this. Craves you.

You manage to guide him to your bedroom without his knowing, his mind so preoccupied that the moment you gently shut the door, he’s disoriented. The two of you have moved so seamlessly in the heat of things that it makes this all too real. But still, even when you’re sitting on the edge of the bed and he’s climbing over your body, he can’t stop himself. Lust-blown eyes that gaze into yours, he breathes heavily. “You’d willingly love an old man like me?”

“Yes,” you breathe with a faint nod. “Need someone to take care of me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Nanami breathes. “You’d let an old man use this beautiful body of yours— ruin it with his old cock?”

You go to cup his face, eyes gleaming when you say, “You could never do that, Kento.”

He grounds his erection into your covered heat, pressing his lips down on yours before haughtily saying, “Oh, but I want to.”

And your eyes say it all, giving him permission as you feel the fire that ignites in between your legs. Arousal continues to build up as Nanami’s breathing gets heavier. Aging lines that protrude the skin, cheeks sucked and exhausted eyes that reflect those many years of labor. You remember the words of your ex telling you about him, speaking so highly of his father and how he worked endlessly. Yuuji always said that his father needed a break, and finally does it feel like he is. Spending leisure time buried inside of your pussy.

Nanami knows he has to be careful not to strain the bones inside of his body, knowing that one bad ache can be detrimental. However, he’s eager— way too eager to have a taste. Traversing down your body, he stops himself at the hem of your shorts. One leg on the floor with the other knee pressing into the mattress of the bed, he grabs at the elastic of it and slowly drags it down. Your hips rise up from the sheets as your thighs press together before he’s flinging the two garments down to the ground. Your body was slowly getting back to what you used to recognize it for. After going through labor, your stomach had felt like it became a deflated balloon, gaining more and more stretch marks than you originally had. When you took Nanami up on his offer to help you, he encouraged you to get out of the house as much as you can. It had helped, but you were still coming to terms with the new you.

However, with every gentle touch that Nanami places on your body, it feels like nothing has changed. The way he caresses your waist, gently tugging you down to his lips. Hands pushing at the hem of your shirt and making it rise as your stomach is exposed. The gentle kiss to your left inner thigh and the soft rub to your stomach is a simple gesture that makes sparks fly. He spreads your legs slowly, but his eyes glued on yours as his hands come to travel higher up. He’s so close to you, his breath dancing over your pussy as he mumbles, moreso to himself than to you, “God, so beautiful.”

Simple gestures and simple words that give you enough validation as you say his name, Kento. Your legs tense up before relaxing, your body beginning to jitter the more he gets so transfixed with it. It’s only for the palm of his hand to stop and relax you before spreading you open even further. “Don’t get shy on me now, love. I’ll take care of you, just like you need to be.”

The first kiss to your lips is short, a simple taste test to your nectar— you’re the finest honey he’s ever tasted. Your arousal has him addicted, pressing his nose into your clit as he inhales your scent. Intoxicating and tantalizing, he finds himself getting lost in a matter of seconds. Your body shudders, making your spine arch with the way his tongue presses down into your warmth. One hand digging into your sheets while the next knots inside of his hair, pulling at the thinning strands of his scalp. However, he couldn’t care less as he finds himself impeccably lost. Your short tugs has him moaning, a sign of encouragement for you to continue those savoury sounds as his hand goes in search for the next to guide it where it belongs.

With both of your hands tangled in what used to be blond, your legs trap him inside your heat as his arms wrap around your waist. There’s an ache settling inside of his legs, but he keeps himself still as his pink tongue prods at your folds. You’re a mewling mess as your eyes are shut and basking in this bliss. Your breathing becomes heavy as you can only think of the man making you feel so good. You gnaw on your bottom lip in hopes to ground yourself as his tongue swirls against your labia, nose nuzzling into your clit as he presses the muscle deeper and deeper within you.

Wet sounds start to seep within the air as Nanami’s not caught up for breath once as you’ve got each other locked in each other’s hold. His moans are deep and from the soul, his arms tightening around your waist as he can feel it before you can. That coil deep within your body, shortly undoing and bringing you to the brink. Arousal dressing his taste buds, your juices continue to seep out as your back arches off the bed and your fingers get tighter. “K-Ken… Kento!”

“I know,” he pulls up for a first. “And I’ve got you.”

Nanami tips you over the edge, knocking you out of breath the moment he presses a finger to your clit. A high-pitched gasp leaving your mouth as you close your eyes shut and cry out in pleasure. “Kento, ohmigosh!”

You drag out a long-winded ‘oh,’ building up pride in the older man as a smirk graces his lips as he laps up your orgasm. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as your upper body falls back into the sheets and your chin points to the ceiling. Your breath is ragged as you slowly fall from your high and feel the bed shuffle. A deep groan settles from off of his chest as Nanami has to take a moment to stretch out his limbs. He reaches to pull off his shirt and undo his pants, the tight-fitted boxer briefs resting on his lower half when your eyes start to flutter open once more. Chest rising and falling, you admire the chub of the man before you.

He dropped the habit of working out in his early sixties the moment he realized the amount of strain it was putting on his body. And no longer did he care for it, not bothering to wake up in the early mornings or get ready in the evenings for it. Instead, he opted in for daily walks and called it a day. But even those had become a biweekly hobby. He was no longer sharp and strong as he used to be, but the remnants of it and the roundness of his body was more comforting than ever. Eyes lingering to the bulge inside of his undergarments, you ogled at the size of it, white hairs leading down to it. Inching towards you, he brought your attention to his face. Your glossy eyes no longer transfixed on the length hiding under the elastic cloth as he inched down to you. One hand cupping your face as he breathes heavily, giving you a once over.

“My son,” he starts before clearing his throat. “My son never knew how to handle a woman like you.”

It was gradual. You didn’t know when he had managed to slip free of his underwear. “Could’ve never taken care of a woman like you.”

You didn’t know when he managed to hike your legs up over his waist, his tip kissing at your clit and making you absentmindedly shudder. “That’s why you need me.”

It isn’t until you feel the press of his cock head inching inside of your heat that you’re taken out of your trance, your mouth falling open into an ‘O’ as a whimper leaves your lips. “Only I can take care of you. Be everything my son isn’t— a man.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a meek nod, feeling the intrusion of his cock seer through you.

“Yeah?” Nanami hums, pressing deeper and deeper into you until he’s fully sheathed. His breathing staggers a bit before regaining control. “I’m the only man you need. The only man that can give you what you need, hm?”

“Yes, Kento,” you whine and whimper, feeling how he pauses to get you acclimated. “I only need you. You’re perfect for me.”

One more chaste kiss before he’s pulling out of you, the head prodding at your entrance. A thought he’s unaware he’s said out loud, And you’re perfect for me.

His length is thick and stretches open your walls, making you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt with any of your past partners. His hips don’t move with that same motion he had in his younger years. No longer languid movements, but growing rougher in age. Each thrust is calculated and hard against your pussy. His deep groans and grunts make your mind spiral and your eyes constantly flutter as each sound spills from his mouth. At some point, he comes to hold your face and does nothing else. A small and simple gesture that makes you melt into him.

Your pussy, while used, sucks him up in a tight grip that doesn’t make him want to ever leave it. He finds himself stuck at the thought of leaving the sweetness that it is, your cunt a gift to him from heavens themself. Your hands wrap around his neck, nails digging into his fragile skin and sure to bruise as your legs tense up around him, his eyes flutter shut. “Gosh, it’s like your pussy was made for me to enjoy.”

And when he brings you to orgasm, you entrap him with your legs and call for his release as well. You milk of what he’s worth, letting him empty himself out into you without any concerns of the repercussions. You let out high-pitched mewls and moans when he rolls to the other side of the bed, having to take a moment to catch his breath. However, with your body running ablaze, a heat still sparked inside of you, you tiredly move yourself to hover over his frame and catch him off guard. “Wha— What are you doing?”

“I need more of you.” The tip of his cock still leaking his seed and your pussy dripping of your intermingled cum, you press your cunt against his length. Grinding yourself against his softening length in hopes to liven him up again, you watch as he chuckles exhaustedly. “A pretty thing like you will surely lead me to my deathbed.”

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nsharks · 3 months ago

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-one —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.5k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

The last bed you laid in smelled like lemon mint detergent. It was the full bed in your sister's guest room. Everything was crisp and white. They rarely had guests besides you. Some of your clothes stayed in that closet, one of your toothbrushes stayed in the connected bathroom, waiting for your visits. You'd awaken that last morning not thinking you'd never sleep in bed for another five years. You left it unmade.

This bed smells like pine and warmth.

Ghost's room is small and dimly lit. The ceiling slants so that one end is not tall enough for him to fully stand. There's a dresser and a nightstand, leaving only a sliver of floorspace.

After the metal latch on the door clicks shut, Ghost lays the blanket down and grabs a pillow for himself. That leaves the bed to you. Springs creak beneath your weight as you silently slip under a heavy, rustic quilt. The years-embedded scent of him wraps around you like a drug-induced fog. You hesitate to move, frozen as he flicks off the light. You wonder if he always locks the door or did it for you, to make you feel safer.

Only when his moving about ceases do you allow yourself to get comfortable. You cocoon your body under the quilt and turn to your side, closing your eyes.

A thought reopens them minutes later. You roll onto your back and speak into the darkness. "Have you known about this Switzerland place?"

For a moment, you think he's already asleep. Then, from below the bed by your feet, he says, "Heard of it."

"That is what you guys talked about, isn't it?" you ask absentmindedly.

"Among other things."

You sit up so you can see him, but all that you can make out is a dark shadow. "Care to share?"

"Some things are on a need-to-know basis," is all he gives.

"And I don't need to know?"

"Precisely."

It stings; you don't know why. "Some team we make, huh? Or I guess we're only a team when you need me to do something for you."

You quickly realize how petulant you must sound. The shadow sits upright. "They asked me to go with them. I said no. Too far. Too many variables that are hard to predict, and she's not ready for them. Happy?"

Happy—no, but relief replaces the slight uncertainty in your gut since your conversation with Nereida. Joining them was shut down. You wouldn't tell her, but their idea sounds asinine, whether or not that commune exists. The trip will be risky at best, fatal at worst. You're tempted to ask him how many days he thinks they'll recoup here before continuing their journey, but opt for sleep instead. He seems done with the conversation, too, lying back down. Then, you have the best sleep you've had in years in his bed.

When the sun turns pink, you awaken to a room void of Ghost. He's gone. It should be expected, but you'd thought he might wake you up to train like normal. Though, the past twenty-four hours haven't been normal. You look around, the details of his room more visible now. On the nightstand, there is a stack of books and you scan the titled spines. Mostly classics. One Hemingway. All tattered and read frequently. Beside them lays a silver chain attached to a dog tag. You gently finger the engraved metal so as not to move it out of place: Simon Riley.

Snooping through his things is more tempting than you're willing to admit. You slip out of bed, socked feet padding over to the dresser. There are mostly papers. His map with the marked circle around what you now realize is Switzerland, a notepad with scribbled half-cursive on it, and then a faded photo beneath it. You freeze, breath hitching, as if you've done something dangerous just by stumbling upon it. Curiosity is thick in your chest, difficult to ignore. Gentle fingers reach to shift it out, revealing a picture that you know right away is of Blue and her mom. Blue is a baby. Maybe one year old. A woman with light brown hair holds her up, sitting on a bench in front of a playground. She's pretty and young. There is a sadness when you wonder if this is the only picture he has of them—before her death. Then, there is another feeling. You swallow it.

You quickly slip the photo back just the way you found it and leave the room. The living room is quiet, people still sleeping. Price and Kyle's blankets are empty, but Kyle is the only one you spot outside. He sits on a tree stump, using a knife and some soap to shave his beard. He looks at you the moment you step outside.

"Good morning." He splashes a scoop of water on his smoothed jaw.

You tuck your hands in your pockets. "Morning."

Without the facial hair, he looks even younger. Maybe in his early thirties. He pushes to his feet and you are reminded of his above-average height, though he is not as monstrous as Ghost. His form is lean, all muscle, with much less ink on his exposed skin. It is now you notice a scar across his jaw. Thick but faded. It trails halfway down his neck.

"Do you know where Ghost went?" you ask.

"Working on that truck of his. With Price."

A glance over your shoulder confirms it; you spot some movement behind the cabin where you know his truck sits. Guess that means no training. You nod. "So, um, you were in the military together, right?"

He takes a moment to look at you before answering. "Yeah. Same unit. Price was our captain."

"I kind of figured. He is... captain-y."

"'Captain-y.' Good way of putting it."

You're ready to turn away when he asks, "I hate to pry, but I admit I'm curious how you ended up here with him."

You force a smile. "It's not a very interesting story, sorry."

"I'm not looking for entertainment."

"What are you looking for, then?" You sound more defensive than you mean to.

He shrugs. "Just curious, is all. You're a bit young."

"I'm not fucking him if that's what you're getting at." His brows lift to his hairline, and you're almost embarrassed for assuming that is what he was thinking, but before he can speak you add, "And you're young, too. I can handle myself just as you can."

"Of course." He shakes his head, moving his hand over his chest in earnest. "I apologize if I insinuated otherwise. Though, I am older than you."

"How old?"

"Let's see. Thirty-one last November. Or maybe it's just thirty. Hard to keep track, innit?" His smile is more genuine than yours, flashing white teeth. Then, his face turns more serious and he sighs through his nose, head tilting. "Look, I understand."

"Understand what?"

"I don't know your story, but I'm sure it is a gruesome one, and you have every right to feel uncomfortable. We'll be out of your hair soon enough. I appreciate you having us, though."

You want to tell him it's not like you have a choice; you're not the host here. But he already knows that. He's trying to be nice. "Thank you," you tell him honestly.

Kyle bends to pick up his knife, wiping it off on his shirt. "So what did you need Ghost for?"

"Oh, nothing really."

"Care to accompany me for some breakfast, then?"

You consider saying no, but you need to hunt, anyway. Besides, you don't think he'd try anything in broad daylight. In another life, you may have looked at him with a more appreciative eye. But as you wade in silence through the woods, bow cinched to your back, you study him like an opponent. He's more agile than Ghost, likely quicker. When he crests the hill, it's hard to match his strides.

Small conversation picks up by the pond and you find yourself easing up. You learn he's from London, too.

"What part?"

"Islington. I shared an apartment with my girlfriend. The rent was shit but it was worth it. Top floor loft with a good view and this insane Turkish bakery just below us." His tone is so casual you forget where you are for a second, until he suddenly throws his knife. It pins a squirrel to one of the trees. He bends to dislodge it and carries the dead animal, blood on his fingers.

You keep walking. "What happened to her?"

"I had to make a choice. Go to London and find her, or go with Price and get my nephew, niece, and sister-in-law."

The understanding hits with the force of a fallen tree, and you pale.

He notices your expression and continues. "I don't regret my decision. I've come to terms with it. There was no chance of me finding her in London, not with how quickly the infection spread there and the phone lines went out. I didn't even know where to look for her. At work? Home? Up north, things weren't as bad yet. I got in contact with my sister-in-law, Ameena, and told her to meet us at the small college up there where Nereida worked."

You recall what Nereida said, about Ari's mom and sister dying, so you don't pry about them. "What about your brother? Ari's dad?"

"He died before shit happened. He was in the military, too. Different unit. Multiple gun wounds while in Afghanistan a few years back."

"I think your story is more gruesome than mine," you admit.

His lips twitch ruefully. "Not a competition. Gruesome world, gruesome stories."

A more comfortable quiet settles. He is not so different than you, you realize. Only difference is he still has his nephew to look after.

The sun is already high, enough to make a collar of sweat appear on your shirt. There is a small dirt ridge you have to climb and the effort reminds you of the still-healing bruises on your body. A skirt of movement catches your eye and this time, you act quick. You use your bow to kill a squirrel up on a branch. It falls to the ground.

"Damn." Kyle whistles, low and long, as you wriggle the arrow free. "Hell of an aim you got."

"I'm... alright."

"No need to be modest."

You straighten and wipe your bloodied hand on your shirt. The movement lifts it, and you hear him suck in a breath behind you. A hand touches your shoulder, gentle than firm, as he spins you around. You're confused, then follow his gaze to the sliver of exposed skin on your hip. It's a gross yellow.

"Twix." His voice lowers, and his friendly eyes are confused.

Shit. "It's not whatever you're thinking."

"I'm thinking someone has put their hands on you." He frowns and shifts closer. "I know you have no reason to tell me things, but I can tell you I am not okay with that shit, no matter who it is."

You inwardly cringe. "Ghost is not... hitting me. Well, he is—"

"Fucking hell—"

"No, no. I asked him to." The bewildered look on his face makes you palm your forehead. "Not like that. Jesus. We train together, okay?"

"Train together," he repeats, shoulders loosening.

"Yeah, like to help me get stronger." The embarrassment remains on your cheeks. "It's silly, really."

Kyle shakes his head and grins, clearly amused now that he knows you're not being abused against your will. "Not silly. Thought you two were into some kinky shit for a second there." He continues walking over a patch of dryer land, stepping onto a small rock and chuffing a breath under his nose. "Wouldn't have been surprised."

Your fingers absentmindedly tighten around the squirrel's limp neck. Your feet are frozen for a moment as you shake off a deep blush, then call out behind him. "Did you miss the part where I said I'm not fucking him!"

He simply laughs.

The rest of the day passes in languid warmth.

It's weird having so many people here, but you try to continue your day like usual, skinning the kill and washing your clothes. You learn more about Nereida as you eat together. You haven't had a female friend in... a long time. Save Blue. She used to be an arts professor at a private school. Sculpting, mainly. That is how she came to meet John Price, when he attended one of her galleries, buying a piece from her for far more than the listing price. He was just looking for a way to take me out to dinner. The way she speaks of him is that of a doting wife, despite everything they've been through. She tells you they were engaged before the infection. A makeshift ceremony at their old camp was the best they could do.

"No wedding ring, but we do both have this." She pulls up her sleeve to show you a small scar carved on her shoulder—a faint letter 'J'. Price has the 'N'.

You're not sure what Ghost needed to fix on his truck that morning, or why it was important to do it with Price, but when you returned with Kyle, something felt off. Ghost's tension was palpable. He usually seems in thought, but even more-so. When Ari takes Blue for a quick ride on the horse—apparently Cherry used to be owned by his parents on their family ranch in Newcastle—he watches for only a minute before disappearing somewhere with Price. You pretend to need something from the cabin. You sneak around the back way, finding them again by his truck, muttering in low voices. Only pieces reach your ears.

"...through the rural parts. Not a straight path..."

"...could take months..."

"Got quite a bit of those."

Then, he's showing Price something under the tuck bed's tarp where you catch sight of that kayak once again.

"Find it?"

A low voice in your ear. You startle and turn around.

"Huh?"

Kyle raises a brow. "You said you needed something."

Your hand flattens against the side of the cabin. "Right. Um, I just—"

Boots scuffle behind you. You don't need to turn to know Ghost and Price have detected your presence, making their way over. Kyle's gaze flicks to them and you feel like a child who's been caught by her parents—embarrassment laced over your irritation. You wouldn't have been eavesdropping if they weren't so secretive.

"Everything alright?" Price's timbre is calm. Your neck prickles where you feel Ghost's stare.

You find yourself nodding. "Yes. Just fine. Sorry."

It gets cooler by nightfall. Your knee bounces slightly under the table during dinner. You listen to Blue explain the rules of battleship to Ari. You don't eat much more of the meat you caught with Kyle. With a mostly empty stomach, you enter Ghost's room after everyone else has gone to bed. His broad form hovers over his dresser. For a moment, you fear he's somehow noticed that you looked at his things earlier. But then you realize his eyes are glued to the map, and he's penciling some things on the margins.

He looks up when you close the door behind you. His brows are deeply knotted.

"Figured you would be sleeping out there for tonight."

"What?"

"Seems like you feel just fine around them now."

He looks away from you as if you're not even there. He places the map down and opens the top drawer. Without warning, he pulls out a clean shirt and changes, revealing his bare chest. His shoulders flex as he slips it over his head by the collar. Then, he moves toward you, eyes dully expectant.

"Being asleep near them is different than hanging out during the day," you finally respond. Mouth feeling dry, you swallow. "What's going on? I can tell that you... you've been thinking about something."

"You mean you've been listening." His brow lifts. He shakes his head before you can defend yourself. "I am always thinking about something."

"Would it kill you to not be cryptic for once? I thought that we were..."

"That we were what?"

"Being honest with each other now."

A dark, slightly amused breath leaves his nose. He contemplates your words for a moment. "It is my plan to go there," he then says. "I'm not stupid. I know she needs more than what I can offer her here. It has always been my plan. Just not now."

"Because she's not ready," you breathe.

"Because she's not ready," he repeats, chin tilting. His eyes darken, veering to the left. "Price seems to disagree."

Your nails curl in your palms. "And?"

He looks back at you. "And I am thinking of your camp. What happened to you. I can't grow complacent."

The mention unsettles your stomach. Of course, he needn't elaborate, not when the memory is more fresh than you'd like. "But going to Switzerland would take days, weeks. And they have no idea what they might run into out there. It's not like we have inside info on the state of France and—and wherever the hell else we'd have to cross through to get there. They could be worse than London."

"I'm aware."

"So what, then? You're considering it now? I thought you told them no," your hushed voice edges a bit harsher, and the pulse in your neck quickens.

You hate what you think he's saying, even if you understand it. He has his daughter's future to think of. Even if he were to try finding some safe community when she's older, the opportunity of traveling with two other military-experienced men would be gone, along with whatever weapons and supplies they bring to the table.

The contemplation is vivid in his eyes as you study them. Ghost's head lowers, dipping down at the same time that he emits a harsh breath, and you realize how close the two of you have become in this quiet exchange, keeping your voices safe from any awakened ears. So close, in fact, that his exhalation hits the space between your neck and collarbones, where a small patch of skin tingles with alertness.

His voice emerges low and thoughtful after a drawn moment. "I haven't fully decided."

You nod with deep breath to steady yourself, taking in his answer. "Will you tell me when you do?"

"I can do that."

And that's all he offers—four words that give a minuscule amount of comfort, because now bitter uncertainty has snuck upon you once again. Your fate lays in his decision. You can't survive on your own, not even here, so if he leaves you have to go with him. The impending doom fogs your brain. You fail to notice his hand has moved, pinching the hem of your shirt between thumb and forefinger, and beginning to carefully lift it up. A breath hitches at the top of your throat and your eyes unfurl, only to find that he is pensively looking down at your exposed stomach.

"What the fuck are you—"

You're cut off when his bent knuckles gently brush over your mottled abdomen, sweeping down the sore midline, leaving you frozen. It's a thoughtful, slow touch—calloused skin against smooth softness. His thumb traces a particularly bad one by your hip, causing your muscles to flutter as a pleasant heat blossoms. For the second time today, your bruises are under scrutiny, and you curse yourself for not applying more of that paste on them.

"They're healing well," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, and lowers the shirt back down. He steps back. Eyes find yours. "Don't get too comfortable."

You blink dazedly, then stiffen. "Um, what?"

"Sleeping in my bed. My room isn't a hotel."

The change of topic gives you whiplash. "You're the one who made me sleep here," you remind him pointedly. "I'll just take the floor tonight, and you have the bed."

"You're a woman. Take it."

"As if you give a fuck about being a gentleman."

"You're right, I don't." A dismissive shoulder shrugs, then his back turns to you. He lays in the bed before you have the chance to even move, which leaves the blanket on the floor for you.

You should've just accepted the bed.

Once the room is shrouded in darkness, you bury your head in the pillow.

"Comfortable?" he says sarcastically above you.

"Fuck off."

Then it's silent. You don't sleep nearly as well.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost #cod #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #zombie apocolypse au

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andvys · 1 year ago

Text

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter three ⭐︎ So if you need to be mean, be mean to me

Warnings: angst angst angst! mean!Steve, bitchy!reader, slight allusions to unrequited love, mentions of Vecna and the upside down, argument, Steve being a dick to reader. and before anyone comes at me with the 'but your Steve is so ooc! he isn't mean anymore' this is a fic, this is enemies to lovers, you see the mean!Steve warnings, you know what you're getting yourself into.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve had buried his past self, King Steve was dead, but all it took was a little push for him to make a small appearance again, to rain nothing but chaos upon his already weak 'friendship' with you. You pushed him, and you did it a little too hard.

Word count: 5k+

Author's note: Big big biggest shoutout to my bestie @hellfire--cult for helping me and writing those evil evil lines, you're the best

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next chapter

♡

He regrets waking up that day.

He regrets saying yes to Robin and the kids to hang out.

He regrets picking up Max’s phone call.

If he wouldn’t have done any of these things, he wouldn’t be where he is right now.

Parked in front of your house so he can drive you both to Robin’s.

It’s been a week since the day at his place, a week since you had stormed out of his house, a week since he had last seen you. It almost feels weird. He can’t even remember the last time he had gone without seeing you this long. If you’re not hanging out with the group, he sees you going into the coffee shop across from Family Video every afternoon. Sometimes you even run into each other at Bradley’s Big Buy, but since last Saturday, he hasn’t seen you anywhere – it’s almost as though you had disappeared. Maybe he would have worried if it wasn’t for Max and El gushing over your shopping trip to Indianapolis the other day, he panicked when they told him that, thinking that you were driving again when you still weren’t allowed to, but El had calmed him down, telling him that you used the train.

With a sigh, he gets out of the car. He runs his fingers through his hair out of nervousness. He rings the doorbell and takes a step back, staring at the wooden door.

How will you even react to seeing him here?

You’re surely expecting Eddie, not him.

The door opens after a moment, revealing you on the other side, looking as beautiful as always – unfortunately. You’re wearing a white top, the soft pink stripes matching the color of your glossy lips, your skin looking soft and glowy as the sun shines into your house, the fading bruises are almost all gone, finally. The scent of your perfume, something sweet and flowery invades his space, and he can’t help but inhale it, feeling warmth blooming in his chest.

He takes you in, the way you look beneath the sun rays, the way your dainty necklace lies so prettily on your chest, the way your lashes touch your skin as you blink at him.

The smile on your face instantly fades away when you lock eyes with him, the usual grumpy frown takes over instead, that pulls him back into reality.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

Yeah, you’re only pretty and cute when you keep your mouth shut.

He clenches his jaw, trying not to show how annoyed he is already.

“Picking you up.”

You furrow your brows at him, “what? Where’s Eddie?”

“He forgot about his Doctor’s appointment, he had to rush out. Max called me and told me to pick you up.”

“Oh,” you nod and you stare at him for a long moment before a smile appears on your face, “she told you, huh?”

Caught off guard by the smile on your face, he stays quiet, only nodding at your words.

You chuckle to yourself, turning away from him to pick up your jacket and your keys. Surprising him by not fighting him, you step out of the house and close the door. You look him up and down, eying the keys in his hand.

“Can I drive your car?” You ask, tilting your head, “I promise I’ll take better care of it than you ever could.”

He snorts at your words, looking at you with an expression that almost makes you laugh.

“With that head injury? Yeah, not a fucking chance, Blondie.”

Rolling your eyes, you brush past him, already making your way over to his car.

“It’s been like what… a month? I’m all healed, I’m feeling peachy.”

“A month and you still get dizzy and don’t even lie about it.”

Once again, you keep quiet instead of throwing a smartass remark back, it makes him furrow his brows at you. Instead of opening the door, he leans his elbow on the roof of his car, looking over at you curiously.

You open the door and put one foot in before you halt when you notice him staring.

“What?”

“Did you fall on your head or something?”

You shake your head at him, scrunching your face up.

“You’re not fighting me, are you feeling okay?” He smirks.

Scoffing at his words, you flip him off before you get into the car without a single word.

He taps his fingers against the car, looking up at the blue sky with a smirk that turns into a content smile, he thought the bickering would start the moment you opened that door. Maybe today won’t be so bad.

Though when he gets into his car and he glances at you, you’re already staring back at him with that certain look in your eyes, the one that tells him everything he needs to know. Your eyes are glimmering with that smugness, the one that’s always there when you’re about to tease him with something that you know will annoy him.

“Is Nancy gonna be there?”

“Huh?”

You blink at him innocently as you fasten your seatbelt.

“Nancy, is she gonna be there? You know, since you only get the chance to be around her during these group hangouts,” you smirk.

He squints his eyes at you, biting back the bitter words that he was about to throw at you. He turns away and starts the car.

He backs out of your driveway and without a single word, he starts driving.

“Must suck being in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same, huh?”

He stares at the road ahead, blankly. He could swear there was a hint of hurt in your voice. He doesn’t look at you, despite feeling your eyes on him, he doesn’t look and only grips the steering wheel tighter.

“But what would I know,” you snort and he hears you leaning back in the seat, the leather squeaking a little as you try to get more comfortable.

Yeah, what would you know? He thinks.

You’re cold and you’re mean – he is certain that there’s not a single trace of love in your heart. How you care that deeply for Max will always remain a mystery to him.

“Are you a grandpa or something or where is the music!?”

“You make enough music for us.”

He turns to you for a brief second, to see you scrunching up your face at him, shaking your head in confusion.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Lego head?”

“Your yapping and whining is enough for me.”

“Oh, so you’re saying my yapping and whining is music to your ears?” You smirk. “Just say that you love hearing my voice.”

“Shut up,” he murmurs, glaring at you. He clenches his jaw and flicks the button to turn on the music.

Material Girl by Madonna starts playing and he instantly feels his heart dropping, his cheeks start glowing red – at least, that’s what it feels like. He grows flustered underneath your stare the moment you start laughing.

“Oh wow, I knew you were a girly girl, Harrington.”

He changes the song, calming down when some Duran Duran song starts playing instead, but you are still laughing, and he can only groan in annoyance, pointing his finger at you, “shut up, Blondie.”

Your face only grows more amused, and this is where the teasing begins and the drive to Robin’s house becomes a torture for him and he practically starts counting down the second till he can finally get out of the car that he usually loves being in.

He bites his tongue, not saying a single word while you yap away the way you always do.

What a fool he was for thinking that this day could have been good, you manage to ruin every day of his.

He can only stay quiet for so long.

“Do you ever shut up or do I have to make you!?”

That seems to shut you up. At least, for a moment. When he glances at you with angry eyes, he notices the smug look on your face that still didn’t stray away from you, not even after his words.

“And how would you do that?” You ask, mockingly.

He stares at your lips for a moment, clenching his jaw and gripping the gear stick tightly. He looks away as he turns left, pulling up in Robin’s driveway, he parks the car.

“I have an idea or two,” he mumbles and gets out before you can question him. He almost thinks that his words have stunned you, when you take a moment longer to get out of the car, but when you do and your eyes meet his, you smirk again.

He starts walking backwards, taking in the sight of you as you walk towards him. Your jeans hug your hips and your legs so perfectly that he begins to hate them. He almost feels ashamed for wanting to see them from the back. His eyes move up to your top, without intending to stare at your cleavage but he does.. and fuck, he hates how attracted his body is to you.

“So cocky and for what?” You chuckle as you brush past him, not noticing his staring.

Steve’s cheeks are red, his eyes instantly fall down to your butt when he turns around to follow you onto the porch. You move your hips and he has to clench his jaw.

It’s really a shame that he can’t stand you.

You ring the doorbell and patiently wait for Robin to open, you don’t spare him a glance, you don’t even turn around to tease him any further, he doesn’t mind it though, it gives him the chance to keep looking at you. Your skin looks soft and he sometimes catches himself wondering what it would feel like to touch you, it’s glowing and he can’t help but ask himself whether it’s because of the body cream that you put on or if it’s just this pretty on it’s own – not that he ever imagines you putting lotion on your body after a shower, definitely not.

“Oh great, you didn’t kill each other!” Robin’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he quickly looks away from you, clearing his throat.

Robin grabs your hand and pulls you into her house, only throwing a glance over her shoulder at him, “come on in Dingus, you know the way.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles as he walks in, watching the way his best friend pays more attention to you than to him. Not only did you nestle your way into his friend group, you had also seemingly nestled your way into Robin’s heart. He watches the friendship between you slowly blossoming and he can’t help but feel jealous of that.

He stays back in the hallway for a moment, preparing for a long evening with you.

He hears Robin talking your ear off already, Max and Lucas are in the kitchen too. But no one else is around. Nancy and Jonathan are on a date, he knows that, Jonathan gushed about it to Argyle before he left the other day and Steve couldn’t help but eavesdrop when he heard them talking about Nancy. The other teens are off doing god knows what. So much for the weekly group hangouts.

He hears your laughter and he can’t help but roll his eyes. It’s not the kind of laugh that he ever gets, no, whenever you laugh with or at him, it’s like you’re mocking him or making fun of him – not that he cares, he does the same to you. It’s your thing.

But for some reason it bothers him to hear and see you laughing like this with the others.

You get along with Robin, you get along with Eddie, you get along with the teens – hell, you even get along with Nancy even though you glared daggers at each other that day at skull rock.

With him, you’re either grumpy and rude or you’re just a snappy smug brat – which seems to be the case today.

Steve walks into the kitchen, putting on a smile to greet Max and Lucas with.

“Hey,” Max mumbles grumpily, only shooting him a brief and very forced smile before she goes back to her deep conversation with you.

Another grump, he thinks to himself. It’s not a surprise that the snappy teen likes you so much, you’re both the same person.

Lucas greets him with a handshake and a friendly smile, something that two of the three girls in this room should learn.

“Are you coming to my game next friday?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve nods.

“You can bring her,” Lucas wiggles his brows at him, gesturing to you with a wink, “as a date,” he whispers.

Steve scrunches his face up, as though he is disgusted by the thought of it – like he wasn’t just checking you out on the porch.

“You’re joking, right?” He mumbles as he looks over Lucas’s shoulder, glancing at you.

“No,” Lucas crosses his arms over his chest, shaking his head, “you are awfully mean to her, which means that you must like her.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he looks over at you again, in sheer panic, hoping that you didn’t just hear the ridiculous words that have left Lucas’s mouth. You’re too distracted by whatever story Max is telling you though, looking back and forth between her and Robin.

He looks back at Lucas to see him staring smugly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Isn’t that what you said to Dustin when he asked you for girls advice?” He snorts, shaking his head once again, “‘the key with girls is acting like you don’t care’” Lucas mocks quietly, chuckling after that.

Steve sighs, putting his hand on his hip, “he told you that?”

Lucas leans closer, “he sure did,” he smirks as he turns his head to glance at you before her turns back around, “I remembered it the other day, and it had me thinking–”

“Alright,” Steve interrupts him, he places his hands on his shoulders, “stop that, Sinclair.”

Lucas laughs, eying the flustered look on Steve’s face, who shoots him another glare before he steps away. He clears his throat, looking at the kitchen island where Robin had already prepared all the snacks.

He grabs two bowls, glancing back at Lucas, “help me carry the snacks over to the living room, man. These ladies are too busy gossiping,” he says, expecting you to turn around and throw a comment back at him, but you don’t.

Robin squints her eyes, nodding at him, “don’t give us the sass, Dingus.”

Lucas chuckles at her, he walks over to the kitchen island, reaching for the bowl of sour gummies and the M&M’s, “when is Steve ever not sassy?”

At that, you finally turn to face them, a smirk tugging at your lips, you don’t have to say anything to show him that you agree with Lucas.

He only rolls his eyes at you, no further words needed as he leaves the kitchen, stepping into the living room with Lucas trailing behind.

“Wow, you didn’t even say anything to her.”

Steve has to roll his eyes again, the teasing in his voice isn’t very subtle. He opens his mouth to speak when the doorbell rings and Lucas rushes out of the room before he can even move or say anything.

“Well, look at what the cat dragged in,” Lucas says after opening the front door.

“Found him on the side of the road.” Steve hears Eddie’s voice.

“Oh you two are such jokesters. You think I’d miss out on game night?” Dustin’s voice sounds through the hallway. “What are we even playing?”

Robin replies enthusiastically as she walks into the living room with Dustin by her side and Eddie tagging along, greeting Steve with a grin.

“Oh boy, the board’s definitely getting flipped today,” Dustin laughs.

Steve raises his brows, “you mean you will flip the board?”

Dustin tilts his head as he looks at his older friend, his smile turning into a playful frown, “hello to you too, Steve.”

“Henderson.”

Dustin claims the loveseat before anyone else can, slumping down with a grin on his face, he reaches for one of the sour gummies in the bowl.

“What’s wrong? Did your phone date not go so well with your girlfriend?” Steve teases.

“At least I have a girlfriend,” Dustin winks at him.

As you walk into the room, Lucas faces Steve again, with a teasing grin, “what do you mean, he’s got one too, she’s right there.”

Dustin gives him a funny look before he turns around with furrowed eyebrows, confusion flashing in his eyes before they widen and he turns back to look at a very unimpressed Steve.

“What!? You two are dating?” He shrieks loud enough for you to freeze in your spot.

Steve closes his eyes, shaking his head at him.

“Huh?”

Eddie rolls his eyes at Dustin, “Henderson, I think that Sinclair might have a little too much imagination over there.”

Lucas only shrugs, still grinning.

“You’re playing matchmaker with the wrong people,” Robin laughs, looking between you and Steve.

“Absolutely,” Eddie chuckles, sitting down on the couch next to her.

“Can we just play the game now?” You ask as both you and Max sit down on the ground in front of the board game that Robin had already put out.

“Ooh, we’re playing Ludo?” Dustin asks.

Everyone nods, everyone except for Robin.

“What?” She chuckles, cupping her cheek as she looks around, “that’s Wahoo.”

“Huh?” You tilt your head at her, “Wahoo?”

“That’s what the game is called,” Robin says, pointing to the board.

Steve watches the way you shake your head in confusion, slightly pouting as you stare at her. Fuck… you almost look cute.

As Eddie reaches for the dice, he throws it up in the air, catching it between two fingers, “this game is called Sorry! my friends,” he smirks, cockily. “We only need four players so who goes first?”

Lucas, who starts scarving down the snacks, waves a hand at Eddie, “I’ll sit this round out,” he says with a mouthful of chips.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth!” Max rolls her eyes at him.

“Red, Dustin, Robin and Steve go first,” Eddie says. “The master has spoken, now let the games begin,” he says in his deep voice.

Steve rolls his eyes at him, “this isn’t D&D dude, we don’t need a master.”

“Still.”

“Okay!” Robin claps her hands together, “let’s play!”

And as the game started, everyone laughed, everyone was having fun, everyone was joking around, it was all lighthearted. Dustin was throwing tantrums in his team with Robin, while Eddie snickered. Robin was a loser, and she accepted that she sucked at this game, competing against a bunch of stubborn teens. She was the first to sit out and stop playing. Max and Lucas preferred to stay out after the first few rounds, amused by watching the gameplay.

And then, Steve and you were outright competing as if it were a championship. Neither of you even noticed that it was only you two left, everyone else stopped playing a while ago, watching this intense competition instead.

While you took it all with ease, teasing him with a few jabs here and there whenever he was losing against you, Steve took it all a little more seriously. Because the moment he lost against you more than once, the anger in him started rising – not because of the game, but because of the looks you were giving him, those smug and cocky looks, the comments that weren’t even that bad – but everything, everything about you was pissing him off this day.

Your attitude this morning, your comments, your jabs, your arrogance, you’ve been getting on his nerves from the moment you got into his car.

And right now, he can feel his chest heaving, burning in anger and frustration.

His jaw is clenched, his eyes are hurting from the intense glares that you start giving each other.

Neither of you feel the eyes of the others on you two, the nervous glances, the warning ones because everyone knows what will follow after this.

You both want to win against the other so desperately and currently, it’s a tie between the two of you. He won three rounds, you won three rounds – this apparently will be the last one, this one will decide who will win this very meaningless, stupid game.

But Robin can’t take it any longer, she can’t keep watching the two of you getting angrier each passing second, knowing that this round will only lead to another, and both you and Steve could sit here all night, because you are both stubborn brats when it comes to each other – as it seems.

“Okay!” Robin throws her hands up, snatching the dice from Steve’s hand that he was just about to throw, “can you two stop? It’s a tie, move on!”

You and Steve look away from one another, raising your heads to look at Robin who glares at the two of you.

“We’ll finish and then we’re done!”

Steve groans at your words.

“No!” Robin shakes her head, “because one will win and the other won’t, and then it’s a fucking mess, so stop playing! You fought interdimensional monsters together, for fucks sake!”

“Right, that doesn’t mean anything.” Steve rolls his eyes before he looks back at you, only to see your face fall.

He almost feels guilty. You risked your life out there, not only for Max and Lucas but also for him.

“That doesn’t mean anything!? Well aren’t you fucking grateful, Harrington.”

“Everyone fought, not just you, don’t think you’re all high and mighty,” he mumbles through the anger that he is still feeling.

A part of him is begging to just move on and keep his mouth shut, but he is frustrated, not just because of the game, but because of you, every small comment from you reminds him of how much he can’t stand you.

“Hey, hey, hey, break it up,” Eddie says as he gets up from the couch, raising his hands up as he takes in the hurt but angry look in your eyes.

You shake your head, “no, no, let him keep going! I want to hear what this bastard with his hero complex has to say to me.”

Eddie can see the way Steve is fuming, the way the anger in his eyes gets stronger and stronger. He stands up, moving closer to you as you get up as well.

“You fought with us once. Once! And you think that makes you equal to us!? You have no idea what we all went through, you have no idea the people we lost along the way, you know nothing!” He snaps at you, ignoring the way you draw back as your eyes fill with something he can’t read.

Max straightens up in her seat, already reaching for her crutches as her eyes widen, seeing the way your lips twitch as blink up at Steve.

“Steve, stop!”

If he wasn’t so angry, he would have heard the fear in Max’s voice, something that normally would’ve made him draw back in an instant.

You glance at her, shaking your head, yet again. “No, Max, it’s okay.” You turn back to face him, looking into his eyes coldly – that’s the only look he knows, that’s the one he cannot stand. “What does Steve Harrington know about loss!?”

Steve feels his gut twisting, he clenches his jaw but doesn’t answer your question, he keeps staring at you.

“What? Mom and Dad left you the whole house to yourself, and you consider that loss!?” You frown, lifting your arm, you gesture to the people in the room. “I see Robin alive, I see Eddie alive, I see all of the kids alive, so who exactly did you fucking lose, Harrington?”

Behind the anger and the emptiness in your eyes, is sadness and pain, something he can’t see through the haze that he is in, right now. All he sees is something, someone he hates, someone who acts like she knows everything, someone who does nothing but bring chaos and anger into his heart and into a friends group that is so sacred to him.

He never felt this angry before, not even when he found Nancy with Jonathan, not even when she cheated on him and left, not during a single fight with his dad, nothing had ever made him feel such rage.

“You are so fucking horrible!” He snaps at you, not caring about anything, right this second. Everyone in the room disappears, Dustin, Max and Lucas are no longer there, and neither are Robin and Eddie, it’s just you and him now. “I hate the fucking day we ran into you at Skull Rock! You are the most despicable and cold hearted bitch I’ve ever met! I would be surprised if you ever loved somebody!”

He can’t see the shock or the pain that nestles into your features.

He doesn’t even hear the gasps from the others in the room.

“Steve!” Max yells, reminding him of the fact that she is there, that everyone else is here too.

The girl almost falls over when she jumps up. Lucas stands up as well, steadying her before she can fall. They both look at you, both of them see the hurt in your eyes, the way you helplessly stare back at the guy that you risked your life for.

Robin and Eddie stare at him in disbelief, not knowing the Steve that they are looking at, right now.

All that Steve can see is red though.

“No, Mayfield, let me fucking finish because she needs to understand how terrible she is.” He practically spits in your face, not tearing his eyes away from yours, at all. “I-I mean, don’t you ever ask yourself why you don’t have anyone? Why no one bothers to stick around because I’d be really surprised if someone did – even more, I would be surprised if anyone ever loved you at all. You’re not someone easy to fucking love, Blondie. Trust me on that.”

And the moment those words fall from his lips, the room falls silent, dead silent. His heart stops racing and his skin runs cold. Suddenly, he is brought back into the room, the haze fleeting away more and more and he can now see clear again.

And as he looks at you, really looks at you, his heart drops to his stomach and every trace of anger is gone, replaced by a guilt he had never felt before.

Your eyes are filled with tears as you stare at him with nothing but pain, not a single trace of coldness in them, not a single trace of anger or indifference or even hate for the man in front of you. All he can see is pain, pain, pain.. Your tears are welling up more and more, threatening to spill down your cheeks. Your throat bobbed up and down, like you are trying to gulp down the ball of nerves and sobs threaten to fall from your lips.

For a split second, he can see through you and he sees something there never was before – something that tells him that you would let him do this, until he’d get enough of hurting you, that you would let him break you, little by little. But, he had enough.

You look down as your bottom lip starts to tremble.

As he sees that, Steve feels like the most horrible person on the planet. Worse than his dad, worse than the monsters he had fought, worse than Vecna.

What had prompted him to throw such awful and vile words at you?

The guilt that takes over almost feels unbearable and the moment he wants to take back those words, to apologize, you are already gone.

Lucas calls out to you, but the slamming of the front door is all he gets back.

Before Steve can even look around the room, his back is slammed against the nearest wall and he is met by the sight of an angry Eddie, his eyes darker than ever, nose flaring as he grips the collars of his polo, pressing him harshly against the wall.

“I would fucking punch you in the face right now, Harrington. Don’t forget who was the first person to jump into the water to save your ass!” He yells at him, giving him one final push that knocks the breath out of him before Eddie lets go and leaves to go after you.

Steve looks down, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath.

“Steve… what the fuck?” Dustin mumbles, softly, staring at his older friend in disappointment.

Robin looks around the room, before her eyes lock on Steve, she looks at him in confusion, not understanding where all of this came from.

“Dingus.. what the hell was that? Why did you–”

“Everyone leave the room.”

It’s Max’s voice that sounds through the room, awfully calm. So calm that it takes everyone aback.

Lucas stares at his girlfriend, completely confused.

All it takes is a single look from her though and he and Dustin scatter out of the room. Dustin pulls Robin along who protests at first but follows when she looks back at Max, who only shakes her head.

It’s silent for a long minute, and Steve doesn’t know what to feel.

“That was fucked up, Steve.” Max says.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting the tears that threaten to build up.

Not only did he hurt you, something he never thought was even possible. He also showed his friends a side of him he wanted to keep buried. A side that surely makes them feel less safe around him now.

“I-I know, I don’t.. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

Max purses her lips, looking down at the ground to avoid eye contact.

“She may not have been with us from the start, hell, I wasn’t either. It doesn’t mean that she didn’t experience it just the same. She may not have fought monsters, Steve. But the monsters have gotten to her without her knowing about them.”

You fought monsters, you fought the bats off of him.

He snaps his head up, staring at her with a frown on his face.

“Max I–”

The redhead shakes her head, anger and disappointment still on her face.

“I’m not the one you have to apologize to. I will not tell you her story, I’m not allowed to do that. But you are wrong, you are terribly wrong about everything you just said about her.”

She reaches for her crutches, giving him one final look before she leaves the room.

He stares at the ground with a gnawing feeling in his chest, hating himself more and more as the seconds go by.

The look you gave him will haunt him for the rest of his life.

How could he ruin everything in the span of a few minutes?

How could he not see the hurt in your eyes after only the first words that he threw at you?

How could he not see the vulnerable side of you?

How was he so blinded by the act you had put on?

He judged a book by its cover, just like King Steve had done in the past. There is no excuse. No fucking excuse for what he had done to you.

♡

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @livosssblog

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington #stranger things angst

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solbaby7 · 2 months ago

Text

Sugar Kisses

warnings: sexual themes (not really smut but def alludes to it) , swearing, oral fixations, poor poker descriptions, idkkk i just picture cassian to be soft and flustered on the outside when he’s down bad but lowkey obsessed asf on the inside 🙂‍↕️

summary: Cassian has a sweet tooth for you and the things you do.

—

Cassian had come to the conclusion that lust was a shapeshifter.

Tonight, it seemed to favor you—setting up shop in the curves of your body and easing into the strappy little tank tops you favored and those flowy lounge pants that accentuated the curve of your ass.

Such simplicity and yet Cassian couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Utterly hypnotized—fixated solely on your mouth and the bright pink gum stuck between pearly white teeth. The slightly obnoxious chewing is soothed by the slow swipe of your tongue flattening it out, full lips parted, cheeks slightly puffing and the fruity scent blows his way when the bubble pops prematurely.

Your nose wrinkles in displeasure, tongue retrieving the remnants and tucking it back in your mouth to restart the process.

He’s hooked. Fingers digging roughly into the leathers on his thighs, worn fabric straining under the pressure but it holds strong. “Can I have another one?” Cassian hears you ask, a grin growing on your face when Azriel complies without even sparing a glance away from his cards. He pulls another from his pocket, handing it over with nothing more than a ruffle of the wrapper.

Mor huffs from her spot beside you, possessively hiding her cards as the game finally starts getting good. Her leg crosses over the other, upper body sinking further into the soft cushions when she cuts her eyes to Az and the pocket of treats he’d been steadily loading you with the whole night. “You’ve given her two already—if I have to hear her jaw smacking through this whole game, then I quit.”

Azriel breaks a smile, peeking over seven cards. “Was that a formal forfeit?”

And so it begins, that familiar banter that filled the living space once a week when the entirety of the Inner Circle gathered for family game night. It had been Azriel’s turn to pick and he always chose poker—robbing the High Lord and Lady of more gold coins than they cared to admit before deciding to sit the next round out to nurse their drinks instead.

They’re all so lax; so casual. While Cassian’s heart thudded like a bass drum against his chest, unable to stop noticing the way you were draped across the couch, taunting him with your every move. Painted fingers peel away at the faded red parchment before another bright ball of bubblegum was popped in your mouth.

It takes two whole minutes for you to smoothen everything out, all three pieces combining into one giant blob. Your cheek bulges on the side you chew on, lips sticky and tongue tinted. “That’s disgusting,” Mor whines, muttering complaints about the affects so much sugar would have on your teeth.

You take it in stride, rolling your eyes playfully as you pull your feet from her lap to move elsewhere. “Fine,” The lingering scent of your body wash fills Cassian’s nose when you plop down beside him with no regard for personal space or knowledge of the complete filth running rampant in his brain. “I’ll be disgusting over here—you don’t mind, do you Cass?”

Wide eyes framed by thick lashes peer up at him. They’re glassy, a side affect of the whiskey no doubt and an easy smile grows across his cheeks, body shifting to make room for you. “Not at all,” He answers softly, hoping that you don’t notice the way he all but shoves a pillow into his lap before your head finds a home there.

It’s not unusual. You were always the most affectionate when you were a little tipsy; five times more inclined to settle into whatever warmth you could find no matter who it came from and usually Cassian wouldn’t have minded. But you’re all sprawled out, hair fanning messily down his thigh with your neck bared and cheeks rosy.

The perfect temptation just within arms reach.

Tunnel vision takes over, golden eyes catching on the flimsy dip of your neckline. The soft fat of your breasts spilling upwards and Cassian actually finds himself jealous of the shiny gold necklace that rests between them.

“Why aren’t you playing?” Your voice pulls him from the trance, dragging his gaze back up to your eyes and a distinct warmth creeps up the back of his neck. “Usually we have to drag you away from the table.”

“Saving my luck for something more special.”

Someone more special, was more like it.

You hum in acknowledgement, finger twirling around the gum until bright pink fades into dusky hues from the strain. “Like what?” Cassian follows the hypnotic wrapping of your finger in the sweet treat, the pretty color a stark contrast to the dark polish on your fingers. Hearty laughs and soft chatter weaves a comforting symphony in the background as ice cubes melt in crystal glasses, watering down aged booze and creating a ring of condensation on the polished wood table. “Did some pretty little thing catch your eye?” You mean it as a joke and yet even after a few drinks you’re still terrifyingly attuned to Cassian’s shift in body language. His mouth clamping shut, hazel eyes drifting off to anywhere else—and maybe it was the firelight but you were certain you’d caught soft peachy tones beginning to warm his cheeks.

“Maybe.”

A flicker of emotion darkens your eye but it’s gone before Cassian can name it. “Do tell—I can keep a secret.” The same finger wrapped in pink raises to your mouth, glossy lips wrapping around until it disappears down to the knuckle.

Moisture coats his tongue, golden eyes shadowed with desire directed towards you and you alone. Maybe it’s the distraction that has the truth spewing from his mouth as if he’d injected a truth serum. “She’s—“ The crackling heat from the firelight feels slightly less comfortable now and Cassian can’t resist the way his body adjusts, hips bucking to settle better into the cushions. “Sweet.”

“That’s it?” You deadpan, the gum chewing momentarily pausing. “Come on, Cassian. I know you can give me more than that.”

It was a poor choice of words, like fuel being added to an already blazing fire. Need burns under the surface of Cassian’s skin, singing away at his self-control and his fingers itch to swipe away the strands of hair that tease at your collarbones. “She tests my self-control,” He answers vaguely, listing superficial features to mask the way honeyed eyes melt from the warmth lacing every word. “Wears my patience thin but otherwise a total dream.”

A total dream.

Your lips part to reply when Mor shouts her displeasure, throwing her hand of cards to the table while Az greedily slides his winnings to his side, shadows swiftly stacking like coins in neat piles. “You have to be cheating!”

“Come on, Mor. Don’t be a sore loser.”

Her wine sloshes over the rim of her glass, bright red seeping into a similar shade on her dress but Mor doesn’t mind a bit. Pointing an accusatory finger your way, her cheeks flush in frustration. “He cheated and you were an accomplice with that stupid gum.”

“If that’s all it takes to distract you then shuffle the deck,” You muse, making a show of blowing bubbles through your teeth and Cassian has to hide his laughter behind his knuckles when Mor flinches at the sharp sound. “I’ve been eying a pair of earrings in town— it’ll be the sweetest treat to purchase them with your money.”

“Oh, you’re on. If I win, you’re going to buy those earrings and then you’re going to give them to me.” Her heels are kicked off, the hem of her dress bunched up to make enough room for her legs to cross comfortably on the couch. “But, you have to spit that shit out first.”

With an eye roll you comply, showing off your tongue in all its stained glory. “Happy now?”

“..you swallowed it?”

“Spitters are for quitters.” Azriel spares his brother a glance, noting his fixed stare and that barely restrained clench of his jaw. The grip on the throw pillow conveniently placed in Cassian’s lap tightens, though it doesn’t hide a thing with the spicy scent of arousal tinging the air. “And, I don’t like to lose.”

Mor pauses her shuffling, eyes a little bleary and hands shaky from the alcohol. “Hm, maybe I should just forfeit before you end up conning me into giving you my apartment.”

“I do love your balcony.” You mumbled thoughtfully. “Private and with a view.” Crisp cards rustle against one another while you adjust the unruly ones and split it in two to shuffle. “The things a girl could do.”

Now you’re just being cruel, Cassian thinks. Mind wandering to the picture you’ve painted. You dressed in some skimpy silks or see-through gossamer, the winds chill cooling sweat slick skin after the rigorous physical activity the General would make you endure.

He gets stuck fantasizing about flushed cheeks and unbound hair. Lacy panties left in a messy heap on the floor and duvet sheets that reek of sex. Breakfast in bed with a sappy sunrise illuminating mouth shaped bruises along your neck while hand feeding you chopped fruit.

A fools dream. A sinners fantasy. A need that refuses to go unfulfilled.

“We doing this or not?”

Complying ends up being Mor’s downfall, with every second that passes you conjure up some new way to goad her on—adding to the stakes and then grinning like a fool when sliding the earnings over to your side. A shiny gold key dangles from one of your fingers, palms cradling a pouch of coins, a triumphant glow gracing your cheeks. “I hate you,” Mor grumbles but it only makes you laugh harder, hips shimmying in a little victory dance. “I’m going to bed.”

“Enjoy my sheets,” You tease, jubilance evident in the grin you sport as you wave her goodbye and even Azriel can’t fight a smile at the antics, your joy too contagious. “I’ll definitely be enjoying yours!”

Cassian tracks your exit, grinning to himself about the pep in your step and once you’ve finally gotten out of earshot he faces his brother. Azriel’s already looking, a knowing expression lingering in his eye as he pockets his winnings. “She can’t winnow, you know.” Cass’ brows furrow in confusion. “It’s dark out,” Az continues, tone holding a restrained amusement. “And awfully late for a female to be out travelling alone.”

“I don’t know what you—“

“Take her home, Cass.” There’s an annoying amount of smugness settling into the line of Azriel’s shoulders. It festers in his stride, steps casual and lacking any real urgency as if he wasn’t unveiling the crush his brother has had on you for years. “I know you want to—whole room fucking stinks of it.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“No, fuck her. Seriously, the sexual tension is making dinners unbearable.”

Az leaves him there, lips parted in what appears to be shock but Cassian identifies the feeling that emerges rather quickly.

He knows he shouldn’t haven taken it the way he does.

Like permission.

As if the locks to his cage had been picked open, iron bars creaking agape; urging Cassian forward, crooning for him to seek out what he’d fixated on during the entirety of his imprisonment.

Colorful candies and the stain they leave behind. Sticky lips, sugar kisses and coy smiles. Strappy pajamas with pretty lace trim. Dainty gold jewelry. Unbound hair and soft skin that smells of cocoa butter and comfort.

A sweet thing that Cassian’s just dying to sink his teeth into. He barely notices the way he seeks you out, body moving on autopilot; nose greedily huffing in the trail of your perfume until he sets eyes on you and the duffle bag at your feet. “Make a wrong turn, General?”

“M’not that drunk.” He hides the greedy flinch of his fingers by grabbing your things instead, just barely grazing the curve of your ankle—he thinks his hand would make the perfect chain around it. All his. Locked in place; to do with as he pleased. “Just here playing escort.”

“Only playing? Could’ve sworn you were trying your luck on something sweet.”

That makes him double-take. A brow raising as he’s frozen in place, watching the swish of your hips while you walk down the hall.

He’s certain he’s imagined it; the teasing way you’ve dangled a hot meal before a starving animal. But he can smell the sustenance, swears he can feel a hearty supper filling his maw and settling in his belly. Watches the way you peer over at him through half-lidded eyes, tongue stained red when it wets supple lips. “Hurry now, Cassie.” The strap of your shirt dips down the curve of your shoulder, lashes fluttery and flirtatious when you lean against the doorway. “Luck runs out.”

#acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #cassian smut #cassian x you #cassian x reader fic #cassian fanfic #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #cassian fic #acotar fics #acotar cassian #cass x reader #cass fic #cass smut #cassian #acotar oneshot

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whoretan · 4 months ago

Text

ARK 45 | 03

Summary: One misstep spirals into chaos. An "audition," a quiet dinner—and suddenly, you’re in the lion's den, with secrets unraveling faster than you can catch your breath.

WC: 11.4k

Play me while you read.

Pairing: Club Owner/Mafia!Jungkook, Hitman!Reader (ft. Jimin)

tags: um, this is long af, shit is getting INTEEEENSE, everyone is up to no good, does this bitch have a degradation kink?

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 (ur here)

Your heels click against the marble floor, each step echoing like a gunshot in your skull. The security guard barely glances up as you flash your ID, probably because you look like death warmed over.

You'd spent an hour in the shower trying to scrub away the feeling of Jimin's hands, his mouth against your skin. The memory burns through your mind like acid, making your stomach clench.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding that feels too cheerful for your current state of mind. You step inside, jabbing the button for the executive floor harder than what was necessary. Your reflection stares back at you from the mirrored walls, and you note with grim satisfaction that at least the bruises on your cheeks have faded to a dull pink. The ones on your shoulders, hidden beneath your crisp white blouse, are a different story.

The massive oak doors leading to Jimin's office loom at the end of the hallway like sentries. You force yourself to look away, focusing instead on the mundane task of settling into your desk and powering up your computer.

Your phone vibrates in your purse, making you jump. Unknown number. Odd. You consider letting it go to voicemail, but something makes you answer.

"Hello?"

"Joanna Webb?" A smooth female voice asks. Your stomach drops at the fake name. No fucking way. "This is Jessica from ARK 45. Mr. Jeon would like you to come in for a second interview tonight at 11."

Your throat goes dry. Jimin's office doors seem to mock you from down the hall, holding secrets you'd rather forget.

"Miss Webb?" The woman prompts. "Are you there?"

"Yes," you hear yourself say. "I'll be there."

You end the call, fingers trembling slightly as you lower the phone. The familiar ding of your email draws your attention to the screen.

Dear Park Incorporate, This is the Goutman Courier Services, regarding Shipment 401928 to the Terrero region has been successfully delivered.

The blood in your veins turns to ice. Jungkook's shipments. The very thing that started this whole mess.

You stand from your desk, legs unsteady. The walk to Jimin's office feels like a death march. Each step brings you closer to facing him, to pretending last night never happened while discussing business that could— probably will— get you both killed.

Your knuckles rap against the solid wood before you can lose your nerve.

"Come in."

Jimin's voice carries through the door, professional and detached. As if he hadn't left bruises on your skin just hours ago. As if you weren't still feeling the ghost of his touch with every breath.

You turn the handle, stepping into the lion's den.

The first thing you notice is the sound– rain beating against the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the back wall of his office. The second is the scent of his cologne, stronger now, mixing with the rich leather of his chair and something else. Coffee, maybe. Black, no sugar, like always.

Jimin doesn't look up from the stack of papers on his desk. His shoulders are rigid beneath his tailored suit jacket, an unusual tension in his normally fluid posture. A strand of black hair falls across his forehead as he signs something with careful precision.

"You received an email," you say, voice steady despite the way your pulse quickens when his pen stills. "Goutman Courier Services. The shipment to Terrero was delivered."

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Still, he doesn't look up. "Close the door."

You turn, giving him your back as you push the heavy door shut. The soft click of the latch feels too loud in the quiet office. When you face him again, his eyes are fixed on the papers before him, but his pen hasn't moved.

"Anything else?" he asks, tone professionally distant. As if he hadn't left marks all over your body mere hours ago. As if you couldn't still feel the ghost of his fingers wrapped around your throat.

Thunder rolls outside, making the windows tremble. You take a measured step forward, heels sinking into the plush carpet. "ARK 45 called. They want me to come in tonight."

Now he looks up. His dark eyes find yours, and for a moment, that careful mask of indifference slips. Something hungry flashes across his features before he can catch it, gone so quickly you might have imagined it.

"Interesting." He leans back in his chair, finally abandoning the pretense of working. His fingers drum once against the leather armrest – the only tell that he's affected at all. "What time?"

"Eleven."

His gaze drifts to your neck, lingering just behind your ear. A slight furrow appears between his brows. "You missed one."

Heat crawls up your spine as his meaning registers. The hickey. You resist the urge to touch the spot, to cover it like a guilty teenager. Instead, you maintain eye contact, watching as his pupils dilate slightly.

"I'll take care of it," you say, voice low. Professional. Even as your skin burns under his scrutiny.

He nods once, sharp and dismissive. "That's all."

You turn to leave, focusing on keeping your steps measured, unhurried. The weight of his stare follows you across the room like a physical touch. Just as your fingers brush the door handle, his voice stops you.

"And ___?"

You pause, not turning around. "Yes?"

A beat of silence, filled only by the steady drumming of rain. Then, so quiet you almost miss it: "Be careful."

The words settle between your shoulder blades like a blade.

The handle feels like ice beneath your palm as you pull the door shut behind you. Your heels click against the marble with each step back to your desk, mind racing behind your carefully blank expression.

Be careful.

The words replay in your mind as you sink into your chair. Coming from Jimin, they may as well be a death sentence. He doesn't tell you to be careful– not when you're tracking targets, not when you're disposing of bodies, not even when you're playing with fire in the form of Richard Ricci's empire.

Why would Jungkook want you back?

The question pulses through your mind as you stare unseeing at your computer screen. He'd made it crystal clear what he thought of you. Called you a whore before walking away like you were nothing more than a mild inconvenience in his night.

But he'd known who you were.

He'd known, and he'd still let you grind against him, his hands guiding your hips like he owned them. Like he wasn't fully aware that those same hips had been positioned over his father's body weeks before.

Rain continues to pour outside your window, the sky growing darker as evening approaches. You spend the rest of the day moving through the motions of being a secretary, all while your mind dissects every possible angle. Every potential trap. Every way this could end with you in a body bag.

Your reflection catches in one of ARK 45's tinted windows as you approach. The black dress hugs every curve, falling just below your knees, the off-shoulder neckline exposing enough skin to be enticing without looking desperate.

You'd curled your hair, letting it fall in waves behind your shoulders, and painted your lips the exact shade of red that coats the bottoms of your Louboutins.

The neon sign bleeds red through the rain, and the bouncer simply nods, same from before, pulls the door open without a word. No clipboard. No questions.

They're expecting you.

The main floor of ARK 45 pulses with a different energy tonight. Gone are the typical strobe lights and pounding bass, replaced by something deeper, darker. The air is thick with expensive cologne, cigar smoke, and worn leather- the scent of old money and even older sins.

Red velvet drapes frame the main stage, and crystal chandeliers cast shadows that dance across the walls like wandering spirits. The usual poles have vanished, leaving an expanded platform dotted with vintage microphones and elaborate props.

Men in tailored suits crowd the tables, drinking amber liquid from crystal glasses while their eyes follow the girls who weave between tables in elaborate costumes - corsets dripping with jewels, feathers that trail behind them like oil spills.

"This way," the hostess says, leading you toward one of the elevated booths that line the upper level.

A voice like honey and smoke fills the space, drawing your attention to the stage. A woman in a black corset trails her fingers down the microphone stand, her red lips forming words that make the men below her lean forward in their seats. The backing track builds slowly, promising something sinful.

"You must be the new girl."

You turn to find a woman leaning against the railing beside you. Her costume- if you can call it that - consists mainly of strategically placed crystals and black lace. A snake tattoo winds up her thigh, disappearing beneath the lace.

"I'm Angelina," she says, eyes scanning you with the kind of attention usually reserved for identifying weaknesses. Her gaze lingers on your shoes, your dress, calculating something behind her practiced smile. "Haven't seen you around before."

You take her offered hand. "Joanna."

"Hmm." She tilts her head, studying you like a cat who's found something interesting to play with. "Private booth on your first night? That's... unusual."

The word carries weight, a warning wrapped in curiosity. On stage, the singer's voice builds to a crescendo, and Angelina's smile sharpens.

"Enjoy the show, honey. And remember,” she leans in close enough that her breath tickles your ear, "not everyone survives their first night here."

You watch Angelina sashay away, cataloging every detail with the same precision you use before a kill. The slight favor of her left leg when she walks- old injury, probably a torn ACL. The way her eyes dart periodically to the VIP section as if she's waiting for someone's attention. The calculated swing of her hips doesn't match the nervousness in her fingers as they tap against her thigh.

She's scared of something. Or someone.

The realization brings a familiar thrill to your spine, the same one you'd felt watching John squirm in his chair. People are always so easy to read when they're afraid. Like now, watching the way Angelina keeps glancing over her shoulder, the slight tremor in her practiced smile.

You could break her in half without smudging your lipstick.

The thought brings a smile to your face as the hostess gestures to the booth. You slide into the plush leather seat, letting the elevation give you a better vantage point of the club. The strategic positioning isn't lost on you- perfect view of the stage, but your back exposed to the door.

The opening notes of "Fever" fill the air as the curtains part. Three dancers emerge, their movements liquid and practiced. You force yourself to appear engaged even as your mind dissects every possible exit route. Two through the main floor, one through the kitchen if you cut through the service corridor, and, if things get really ugly, the large windows could work with enough momentum.

The leather seat dips beside you.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show."

Your blood turns to ice in your veins. You don't need to turn to know who's joined you, his presence alone sets every instinct on high alert. But you do turn because that's what an innocent wannabe dancer would do.

Jungkook lounges against the leather like he was born to it, one arm draped across the back of the seat. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kill. His dark eyes find yours, and his lips curve into that same arrogant smile that had haunted you all day.

"I always keep my appointments, Mr. Jeon."

The lights from the stage catch on his Patek Philippe watch, the kind that costs more than most people make in a year. His black suit is perfectly tailored, each line custom cut to his frame, making him look like sin personified. The fabric shifts like liquid shadow as he moves, revealing the crisp white shirt beneath. His hair is slicked back tonight, showcasing the sharp angle of his jaw, the dangerous curve of his lips.

A heavy silver ring adorns his right hand as he signals for service, the same hand that had gripped your hips days ago. You notice there's an engraving on it, but can't make out the details in the dim lighting.

"Champagne," he tells the server without taking his eyes off you. "The Armand de Brignac."

His voice carries that same arrogant lilt from before, but there's something else there now. Something predatory lurking beneath the polished surface. You've heard that tone before, in your own voice, right before you go for the kill.

"Expensive taste," you comment, watching his reaction. Testing.

His lips quirk upward, and he shifts slightly closer. The movement is subtle, calculated. Like a snake coiling before it strikes. "I only invest in things that interest me."

On stage, the dancers move through their routine, all glitter and grace. But you're hyperaware of every micro-expression that crosses Jungkook's face. The slight tightening around his eyes when he smiles. The controlled way he breathes. The steady rhythm of his thumb taps against his knee.

He's studying you just as intently.

"Tell me about your dance experience," he says, accepting two crystal flutes from the returning server. The champagne glows golden in the low light as he hands you a glass. "You seem... experienced in movement."

Your fingers brush his as you take the glass, and you swear you feel him tense for a fraction of a second. "I'm versatile," you reply, matching his tone. "I adapt to whatever the situation requires."

Something dark flashes behind his eyes. He takes a slow sip of champagne, and you watch his throat work as he swallows. When he lowers the glass, his tongue darts out to catch a stray drop on his bottom lip.

"Adaptability is crucial in this line of work." His gaze drops to your neck, lingering on the spot where you'd covered the hickey. "Things can get... intense here. Not everyone can handle the pressure."

The implications hover in the air between you, sharp as razor wire. Below, the music swells to a crescendo, but all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears as he leans closer.

"Are you sure you can handle it, Joanna?"

The way he says your fake name makes your skin crawl. Like he's savoring some private joke.

You meet his gaze over the rim of your glass, letting the champagne sit untouched. "I've handled more intense situations than you could imagine, Mr. Jeon."

The corner of his mouth twitches. He shifts again, angling his body toward yours, and the expensive fabric of his suit brushes against your bare shoulder. The contact sends electricity racing down your spine.

"Have you?" His eyes are impossibly dark in the low light. "Tell me about them."

On stage, one of the dancers lets out a sultry laugh that echoes through the club. Jungkook doesn't even blink. His attention is laser-focused on you, waiting for your next move like this is all some elaborate game of chess.

"My last position was..." you pause, watching his ring catch the light as his fingers tighten infinitesimally around his glass, "particularly demanding. The kind of job that keeps you up at night."

His smile grows wider, showing teeth. "I can imagine. But that's what I appreciate in my employees— dedication. The willingness to do whatever it takes."

The music shifts to something slower, heavier with bass. Jungkook's knee brushes yours under the table, and this time it doesn't feel accidental.

"Even if it means getting your hands dirty?" you ask, the words escaping before you can stop them.

Something flashes in his eyes, triumph, maybe. Or hunger. He leans in close enough that you can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Especially then," he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. "Though I have to admit, you don't strike me as someone afraid of a little mess."

Your heart pounds against your ribs as he reaches across you, arm brushing your collarbone as he sets his empty glass on the table. The movement brings his lips close to your ear.

"Tell me, Joanna," your false name drips from his tongue like honey-coated poison, "what exactly are you willing to do for this position?"

The question hangs between you like a blade. You turn your head slightly, meeting his gaze at close range. This close, you can see flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the faint scar above his eyebrow. Can count his individual lashes.

"Whatever's necessary," you breathe, watching his pupils dilate. "I'm very... thorough in my work."

His exhale ghosts across your lips. "Are you?" One hand slides from the back of the booth to rest on your bare shoulder, fingers tracing patterns that feel like threats. "Even when it gets messy?"

The touch burns through your skin, but you hold still. Like facing down a predator. "The messier the better, Mr. Jeon."

His grip tightens fractionally on your shoulder. "Call me Jungkook."

On stage, the music builds to something primal, all bass and breathy moans. The dancer's silhouette writhes against the backdrop of red velvet. But in your booth, time seems to stop, crystallizing around the dangerous game you're playing.

"You know," his thumb brushes your collarbone, "I had someone look into your background."

Your pulse skips, but you don't flinch. Can't flinch. "Find anything interesting?"

His laugh is low, dark. The kind of sound that promises violence. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing before six months ago." His fingers trail up to the spot behind your ear where Jimin's mark had been. "It's like you appeared out of thin air."

"Maybe I did."

"Or maybe," he leans impossibly closer, lips brushing your ear, "you're very good at covering your tracks."

Heat pools in your stomach, warring with the ice in your veins. Every instinct screams to put distance between you, to run. But you're trapped between his body and the leather seat, his cologne filling your lungs with each breath.

"Tell me, Jungkook," you turn your head, letting your lips brush his jaw as you speak, "do you always investigate your dancers so thoroughly?"

His other hand finds your knee beneath the table, fingers splaying across bare skin. "Only the interesting ones." His grip tightens, thumb stroking slow circles that make your breath catch. "Only the ones with secrets."

You feel his smile against your temple. "And you, Joanna? You seem like you're full of them."

His thumb continues its torturous path along your knee, each circle drawing slightly higher. The touch burns through your skin like a brand, setting every nerve ending alight. You can't remember the last time someone made you feel this unraveled, this desperate to maintain control while your body betrays every attempt at composure.

"So many secrets," he murmurs against your skin, and you can feel his smile widening. His cologne fills your lungs with each shortened breath, making your head spin. Or maybe that's from the heat of his palm sliding higher up your thigh, fingers splaying possessively across bare skin.

The rational part of your brain screams that this is dangerous, that you're losing control of the situation. But your treacherous body leans into his heat like a moth to flame. Your eyes flutter shut as his other hand traces patterns on your shoulder that feel like ownership, like promises of violence wrapped in silk.

His breath fans across your neck, lips barely grazing your pulse point. "I wonder what other surprises you're hiding."

A small sound escapes your throat- half gasp, half surrender. Your fingers grip the leather seat beneath you, nails digging in deep enough to leave crescents in the expensive material. The music from the stage feels distant, muffled under the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Then. A shift.

The pressure of his fingers lessens incrementally. His breath moves away from your neck, the loss of heat making you suppress a shiver. When you force your eyes open, he's leaning back slightly, watching you with dark satisfaction.

"Tell me something," he says, voice dropping lower as his hand stills on your thigh. "Do you always get this... affected during job interviews?"

The question cuts through the haze like ice water. You watch as he withdraws completely, each movement deliberate and controlled. He straightens his perfect suit jacket, adjusts the heavy silver ring on his finger. All trace of intimacy bleeds from his expression, replaced by cool professionalism, except his eyes. His eyes still burn with dark amusement at your flushed state, at the way your chest still rises and falls too quickly.

"Well," he says, tone shifting to something lighter, almost casual. But there's a edge underneath, sharp as a razor. "I think you'll make an excellent addition to ARK 45."

You force your breathing to steady, trying to ignore how your skin still tingles where he touched you. How your body aches at the sudden loss of contact. His calculated withdrawal feels like another form of torture, knowing he can affect you this way and simply choose to stop, like flipping a switch.

"The position is yours, if you want it." Each word is crisp, businesslike. But the slight quirk of his lips betrays his satisfaction at your struggle to compose yourself. "You'll start tomorrow night. Eight sharp."

The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth grows wider as he watches you process this shift. This is what he wanted: to prove he could unmake you with a touch, then sit there looking perfectly composed while you try to piece yourself back together.

His eyes gleam in the low light, and the message is clear: he owns this game.

"I should check on the other girls." He glances at his Patek Philippe, the gesture unnecessarily theatrical. "Busy night."

You watch him stand, every movement fluid and precise. Like a predator who's finished playing with his food for now. The leather of his shoes catches the stage lights as he steps back from the booth, giving him just enough space to button his suit jacket with practiced ease.

"Oh, and Joanna?" The fake name rolls off his tongue like a threat wrapped in velvet. "Wear red tomorrow. It suits you."

His eyes drift pointedly to your lips, then lower, and the weight of his gaze feels like a physical touch. You know he's remembering the other night - you in that red dress, grinding against him to The Weeknd while he played along with your charade.

He turns without waiting for a response, without a second glance. Like you're already forgotten. The dismissal stings more than it should.

The leather seat still holds his warmth, a ghost of his presence that makes your skin prickle. Through the crowd below, you catch glimpses of him, the broad line of his shoulders, the predatory grace in his movements. Bodies part for him instinctively, and you notice how the other dancers' eyes follow his movement, some with hunger, others with barely concealed fear. Even Angelina straightens her spine when he passes.

He stops at the bar, and even from here, you can see how the bartender's hands shake slightly as she pours his drink. Everyone in his orbit seems to vibrate at a different frequency. Like planets circling a black hole, both drawn to and terrified of getting too close.

You press your own trembling fingers against the cool glass table, watching condensation gather beneath your skin. Your thigh still burns where he touched you, each point of contact a silent reminder of how easily he'd played you.

You're supposed to be better than this. You've tortured men twice his size without breaking a sweat. Have ended lives with the same hands that are now unsteady against the table's surface. The Viper doesn't get rattled by pretty boys in expensive suits.

Except Jungkook isn't just a pretty boy, is he?

The way he'd touched you, like he knew exactly how it would affect you. How he'd pulled back at the precise moment you started to lose control. Each word, each gesture calculated for maximum impact.

Wear red tomorrow.

Your lip catches between your teeth as you watch him disappear into his office. The entire interaction plays on loop in your mind: his fingers on your skin, that dangerous smile, the sudden shift to cool professionalism. Like a choreographed dance where you'd somehow missed half the steps.

On stage, the dancers transition into something slower, more sensual. The spotlight catches on their jewels, sending fractured light across the walls like broken glass. Like the shattered pieces of your usually impeccable composure.

What kind of game is he really playing?

The champagne bubbles mock you from their crystal prison, and you resist the urge to knock the glass over. To create some small chaos in his perfectly controlled world. Instead, you dig your nails deeper into your palms, using the sharp pain to center yourself.

Two can play at whatever this is. Tomorrow night, you'll be ready for him.

At least, you hope.

The untouched champagne mocks you as you finally push yourself up from the booth. Your legs feel steadier now, the trembling in your hands replaced by something more familiar: determination. Tomorrow, you'll be ready for whatever game Jungkook's playing. Tonight, you just need to get the fuck out of here.

The music thrums through your bones as you navigate the upper level, each step carefully measured in your Louboutins. The red soles flash with every movement, reminding you of his parting words.

Wear red tomorrow.

Your heel catches on the last step down from the VIP section when a solid wall of expensive fabric collides with you. The sound of glass shattering cuts through the music, followed by a string of creative expletives.

"What the fuck?"

You steady yourself against the railing, taking in the man before you. Honey-blonde hair, sharp features twisted in fury, and a white button-down now soaked through with what smells like top-shelf whiskey. The liquid darkens the fabric, making it cling to what's clearly an expertly muscled frame.

"Watch where you're fucking walking," he snarls, accent thick with anger. His eyes flash dangerously as he assesses the damage to his clothes.

Something hot and familiar rises in your chest. The same feeling you get right before you make someone bleed. Your body shifts automatically, weight transferring to the balls of your feet. You catalog his weaknesses with practiced ease - the slight favor of his left side, the exposed tendons in his neck, the way his anger makes him drop his guard.

Three moves. That's all it would take to put him on his knees. Heel to instep, elbow to throat, knee to solar plexus. You can almost taste the violence, feel the satisfying crunch of cartilage beneath your hands.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going," you snap back, straightening to your full height. "Or is spatial awareness not a requirement for whatever it is you do here?"

His eyes narrow, jaw clenching. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

Your fingers curl into a fist, nails biting crescents into your palm. The urge to hurt him pulses through your veins like poison. You imagine grabbing the broken glass at his feet, showing him exactly who you are by opening his throat right here on the club floor.

He notices your stance, the predatory stillness that's overtaken your body, and his lips curve into something cruel. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Try it."

You're moving before you can think better of it, body coiling like a spring. The distance between you closes to inches, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath, see the moment his eyes widen as he realizes his mistake in challenging you.

But then you catch it— movement in your peripheral vision. In the VIP section above, Jungkook lounges against the railing, watching the scene unfold with undisguised amusement. His dark eyes meet yours, and that familiar smirk plays at his lips.

The reminder of where you are, who you're supposed to be, hits like cold water.

You force your body to relax, untangling yourself from the knife's edge of violence. The smile you plaster on feels like broken glass in your mouth. "I'm so sorry about your shirt. Send me the cleaning bill?"

The blonde's eyebrows shoot up at your sudden shift in demeanor. He opens his mouth to respond, but Jungkook's voice cuts through the tension.

"Taehyung." Just the one word, but it carries weight. A warning, maybe. Or a command.

Taehyung's posture changes instantly, though the anger still simmers in his eyes. "We're not done," he mutters, low enough that only you can hear.

You watch him stalk toward the VIP section, those expensive shoes crushing broken glass beneath them. When you glance back up, Jungkook is still watching you. His grin widens like you've just confirmed something he suspected.

Like you've just played right into his hands.

The broken glass crunches beneath your heels as you turn away, forcing yourself to maintain an easy stride despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You can feel Jungkook's eyes following your movement, heavy as a physical touch. But you don't look back. Won't give him the satisfaction.

The main floor feels suffocating now, with too many bodies, and too much perfume mixed with smoke and expensive liquor. Your skin prickles with awareness, hyperconscious of how many of these faces might report back to him. How many are watching your exit, cataloging every micro-expression?

The cool night air hits your face like salvation when you finally push through the entrance doors. Rain still falls in sheets, casting halos around the street lights and turning the sidewalk into a mirror of neon reflections. Your hair will be ruined, but you welcome the excuse to duck your head as you navigate to your car.

It's only when you're safely behind the wheel, rain drumming against the roof, that you let out the breath you've been holding. Your hands shake slightly as you pull out your phone, droplets of water falling from your hair onto the screen.

You stare at Jimin's contact for a long moment before typing:

Need to meet. Now.

The response comes before you can even set the phone down. One word, like a command:

Côte.

Of fucking course. Trust Jimin to pick the most pretentious restaurant in the city after the night you've had. The kind of place where the waiters look down their noses if you can't pronounce 'bouillabaisse' with the proper French inflection. Where they serve portions that wouldn't satisfy a toddler and charge more than your monthly ammunition budget for the privilege.

He's probably already there, sipping some overpriced wine and charming the staff with his perfect pronunciation while you sit here in rain-soaked designer wear, still trembling with the urge to break Taehyung's pretty face.

You start the engine, watching rain cascade down the windshield. In the rearview mirror, ARK 45's red glow bleeds into the night like an open wound.

Time to find out just how deep this one goes.

Côte buzzes with the quiet murmur of New York's elite, the soft clink of crystal, the whisper of expensive fabric, the gentle scrape of silver against bone china. Every table draped in pristine white cloth, every surface reflecting the warm glow of crystal chandeliers.

Jimin sits at a table dead center in the dining room, positioned like a king holding court. His suit is different from this morning, a black Tom Ford that probably costs more than a car. The rosary still hangs at his throat, catching light with each breath.

He doesn't look up from his wine when you approach, just gestures to the chair across from him with two fingers. The movement is elegant, casual. Terrifying.

"You're late," he says, voice pitched just loud enough to carry across the table. A waiter materializes beside you, pulling out your chair with practiced efficiency.

"Traffic." You slip into the seat, hyperaware of the other diners. A couple to your left celebrating an anniversary. Business meeting three tables over. Everyone within earshot of whatever game Jimin wants to play.

His eyes finally meet yours as he sets down his wine glass. "How was your evening?"

The question sounds innocent enough, but his gaze is sharp as a blade. Testing.

"Productive." You accept the wine list from the hovering waiter, not bothering to open it. "My interview went well."

"Wonderful." He smiles, the kind that makes people think of angels instead of demons. "The Château Latour, François. The 1982, I think."

The waiter's eyes widen slightly at the casual mention of a wine that costs more than he makes in a month. "Excellent choice, monsieur."

Jimin waits until François retreats before speaking again. "And the entertainment? Up to standard?"

You think of Jungkook's hands on your skin, of Taehyung's fury, of the violence you'd barely contained. "Exceptional. Though I had a small wardrobe malfunction."

His finger traces the rim of his glass, the motion hypnotic. Deliberate. "Nothing that can't be fixed, I hope?"

"No permanent damage." You hold his stare, refusing to look away first. "Though I might need to adjust my approach."

"Hmm." The sound is noncommittal, but his eyes darken fractionally. "The clientele can be... demanding. Particularly the regulars."

François returns with the wine, going through the elaborate ritual of presentation and pouring. Jimin maintains perfect posture, the picture of refined wealth, while you fight the urge to drain your glass in one go.

"I noticed," you say once the waiter disappears again. "One seemed particularly interested in my qualifications."

Jimin's lips curve slightly. "Natural talent tends to draw attention."

"The foie gras to start," Jimin tells François without consulting the menu. "For both of us." His eyes never leave your face, studying every micro-expression like he's reading a book written in your skin. "And perhaps you could tell me more about these... qualifications they found so fascinating."

You watch him take another sip of wine, the motion deliberately slow. The crystal catches the light, sending prisms across the white tablecloth between you. "Standard interview questions. Experience, availability, flexibility."

"Flexibility," he repeats, setting down his glass with precise care. "Essential in any new position."

A couple at the next table laughs at something, the sound jarring against the tension coiling between you and Jimin. He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on either side of his place setting. The position looks casual, but you recognize the predatory intent behind it.

"And the dress code?" His voice drops lower, intimate. "Did they have any specific requirements?"

Heat crawls up your neck as you remember Jungkook's parting words. Wear red tomorrow. "They seem to have strong opinions about color."

"Red, perhaps?" The corner of his mouth twitches. "It does suit you. Particularly when it's fresh."

Your wine glass freezes halfway to your lips. The double meaning hits like a slap, red like the dress he'd given you, red like the blood you spill for him. You force yourself to take a measured sip instead of throwing the contents in his perfect face.

"They also seemed interested in my... previous work experience."

"Did they?" Something dangerous flashes behind his eyes. "And how deep did that conversation go?"

François appears with the foie gras, arranging the plates with flourish. Jimin sits back, that angelic smile returning as he thanks the waiter in perfect French. But the moment François retreats, his expression shifts back to something hungrier.

"Every detail," he says softly, cutting into the foie gras with surgical precision. "I want to know every detail of how interested they were."

You mirror his movements, cutting into your own foie gras with deliberate care. "The owner took a particular interest."

"Did he?" Jimin's voice remains light, conversational, but his knuckles whiten slightly around his fork. "How hands-on of him."

The foie gras turns to ash in your mouth as you remember Jungkook's fingers on your thigh, that calculated intimacy. Jimin watches you swallow, his dark eyes catching every tell you're trying to hide.

"Very." You take another sip of wine to wash away the memory. "He has an interesting approach to personnel management."

The businessman three tables over laughs too loudly at something his companion says. Jimin doesn't even blink, his focus razor-sharp on your face. "I imagine he does. Did he share his management philosophy?"

Your thigh burns with phantom heat where Jungkook had touched you. Where Jimin had marked you the night before. "He believes in testing boundaries."

"Testing?" His tongue catches the word like it's something sweet. "Or crossing them?"

A waiter passes too close to your table, and you wait until the footsteps fade before responding. "Both, I think."

Jimin sets down his fork with careful precision, the small clink against fine china somehow ominous. "And did you let him?"

The question hangs between you like a blade. You know he's not really asking about Jungkook's tests, not entirely. The marks he left on your skin throb beneath your dress, a reminder of boundaries already crossed.

"I played my part," you say carefully, watching his eyes darken. "Though there was a small... incident with one of his associates."

His eyebrow raises a fraction. "Oh?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"I'm sure." He reaches for the wine bottle, refilling your glass with practiced ease. The motion brings him closer, and his cologne mingles with the rich scent of the food. "Though handling things isn't always the wisest course of action, is it?"

"Depends on the situation," you say, watching him settle back into his chair. "Some things require a... delicate touch."

"Ah yes." His smile is razor-sharp. "And you're known for your delicacy. Like a bull in a china shop." His eyes flick to something over your shoulder. "Speaking of which, François? We'll take the lamb. Rare."

The waiter appears to clear your plates, and Jimin's expression shifts seamlessly into practiced charm. The transition is terrifying, the way he can slip between masks like trying on clothes.

"Though I have to admit," he continues once François disappears, "I'm curious about this associate. The one you handled so delicately."

You think of Taehyung's fury, the whiskey soaking his shirt. The way Jungkook had watched it all unfold like it was a show put on for his entertainment. "Just a minor misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding." He tastes the word like the wine, letting it roll over his tongue. "The way a hurricane is a minor weather event?"

Heat crawls up your neck. "He started it."

"What are you, twelve?" But there's something almost fond in his mockery. It vanishes as quickly as it appears, replaced by that calculating stare. "Tell me, did our friend upstairs seem amused by your little display?"

The memory of Jungkook's knowing smirk makes your stomach clench. "Extremely."

"Mm." Jimin's fingers drum once against the stem of his wine glass. "How fascinating. The mighty Viper, reduced to bar room brawls and schoolyard excuses."

Your nails dig into your palm beneath the table. "Would you prefer I'd killed him instead? Made a scene? Blown my cover on the first—"

The word dies in your throat as Jimin's eyebrow arches a fraction. The subtle movement is more effective than a slap, reminding you of the couples dining nearby, the waiters hovering within earshot. Your voice had risen just enough to draw a curious glance from the businessman two tables over.

"What I prefer," Jimin says, voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "is precision. Control." His smile remains perfectly pleasant, but his eyes promise consequences. "Perhaps we should discuss your methods of subtlety instead? Besides attempting to assault his inner circle?"

The weight of his stare makes you reach for your wine glass, needing something to do with your hands. Something besides imagining how satisfying it would be to wipe that controlled expression off his face.

"Well?" He leans back slightly as François approaches with the lamb, switching seamlessly into the role of gracious diner. "Merci, François. C'est parfait."

The meat on your plate is exactly as he ordered, blood red in the center. You wonder if he's trying to make a point.

"The owner," you say once François retreats, keeping your voice carefully modulated. "He had questions about my background."

"I'm sure he did." Jimin cuts into his lamb with surgical precision. "And did our thorough friend find what he was looking for?"

The memory of Jungkook's words echoes in your mind: It's like you appeared out of thin air. "He seemed... satisfied with the interview."

"Satisfied enough to hire you, apparently." Something dangerous flashes behind his eyes. "Though I have to wonder what kind of performance earned such a quick decision."

The double meaning in his words makes your chest tight. You watch him take a deliberately slow bite of lamb, the crystal chandelier above casting shadows across his features that make him look almost demonic.

"I maintained my cover," you say carefully. "Like you asked."

His laugh is soft, barely a breath. "Did you? Because from what I hear, you gave quite the... private audition."

Your wine glass freezes halfway to your lips. How does he—

"I do love," he continues, dabbing his mouth with his napkin, "how dedicated you are to your roles. Tell me, did he request the same song as last time? Or did you choose something new for the occasion?"

Your fingers tighten around the crystal stem until you're half afraid it might shatter. Around you, the restaurant continues its elegant dance of clinking silverware and murmured conversations, oblivious to the way your world tilts on its axis.

"Don't look so shocked," Jimin says, cutting another piece of lamb with meticulous care. "Did you really think I wouldn't have eyes in his club? That I wouldn't hear about my secretary grinding against New York's most eligible bachelor to The Weeknd?"

Heat crawls up your neck, but you force yourself to maintain eye contact. "You sent me in there to get information."

"Information." He lets the word hang between you, sharp as a blade. "Is that what you were getting when he had his hands on your hips? When you were putting on a show for him in that pretty red dress I bought you?"

A waiter passes too close to your table, and you both pause, masks of polite dinner conversation sliding seamlessly into place. But the moment he's gone, Jimin's eyes turn predatory again.

"Tell me," he says, voice dropping lower, "did you enjoy it? Playing dress up for him? Letting him touch what's mine?"

The possession in his tone makes your stomach flip. You think of last night, of his hands on your skin, his teeth in your shoulder. Of how quickly he'd switched to cold professionalism this morning.

"What I am," you say carefully, "is whatever you need me to be for the job. Isn't that what you pay me for?"

His smile is all teeth. "Oh, sweetheart. I pay you to kill people. Everything else?" He takes a slow sip of wine, eyes never leaving yours. "That's just you getting carried away with your performance."

"Getting carried away?" The words taste like battery acid on your tongue. "Like last night, you mean? Was that part of the job too?"

His expression doesn't change, but something dark flashes behind his eyes. "Careful."

"Why?" You lean forward slightly, voice barely above a whisper. "Afraid someone might overhear how you bent your secretary over your windows? Or is it only a problem when Jungkook's the one touching me?"

François materializes at your elbow with dessert menus, and Jimin's face shifts into that perfect smile. "The crème brûlée, I think. Two." He waits until the waiter disappears before continuing, "You're playing a very dangerous game right now."

"I learned from the best." You watch his jaw tick at your tone. "Tell me something— did you plan it? Send me to his club in that dress, knowing what would happen?"

"And what exactly happened?" His fingers trace the base of his wine glass, the motion hypnotic and threatening all at once. "Besides you spreading your legs for the man who's trying to kill us both?"

"You're one to talk about spreading—"

"I own you." The words are soft, precise, but they hit like a physical blow. "Every breath, every move, every drop of blood you spill— it's all mine. Or did you forget that while you were auditioning for your new position?"

The businessman at the next table signals for his check. A woman laughs somewhere behind you. The normal sounds of the restaurant feel surreal against the electricity crackling between you and Jimin.

"How could I forget?" You smile, sweet as arsenic. "You make sure to remind me every time you send me to kill someone. Every time you dress me up like a doll and point me at your enemies. Tell me, is that what last night was? Another reminder of ownership?"

His pupils dilate slightly. "Would you like another one?"

The crème brûlée arrives in pristine white ramekins, the caramelized sugar gleaming like amber in the low light. You watch Jimin crack through the surface with his spoon, the sound sharp as breaking bones.

"You haven't answered my question." His voice is velvet-soft, lethal. "Would you like another reminder of who you belong to?"

"Here?" You gesture subtly to your surroundings with your own spoon. "In front of all these nice people? How scandalous, Mr. Park."

His eyes flash at your mocking tone. "You didn't seem concerned about scandal when you were putting on a show in Jungkook's office. Tell me, did he make you beg for the job? Or did you offer that up freely?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you."

"Jealousy?" He laughs, the sound cutting through you like glass. "Why would I be jealous of him playing with what's already mine?"

Your spoon clinks against the ramekin harder than necessary. "Is that what I am? Your toy?"

"No, sweetheart." He leans forward, close enough that his breath fans across your face. "You're my weapon. And weapons don't get to choose where they're aimed."

"But they can misfire." The words slip out before you can stop them, sharp and dangerous in the space between you.

His smile grows slowly, predatory. "Is that a threat?"

"A reminder." You meet his gaze steadily. "Since you're so fond of those."

Something shifts in his expression, a crack in that perfect control. His hand moves under the table, and suddenly his fingers are wrapping around your knee, right where Jungkook had touched you hours before.

"Careful," he says again, but this time it sounds like a promise. His grip tightens just shy of painful. "You're forgetting yourself."

"Am I?" You don't pull away from his touch, even as his fingers slide higher. "Or am I just reminding you that weapons can cut both ways?"

"You know what I think?" Jimin reaches for the wine bottle between you, his movements liquid and precise. "A good vintage is all about control."

He stands slightly, leaning across the table to refill your glass. The motion brings him close enough that his cologne mingles with the wine's bouquet, close enough that you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Too much pressure," he continues, angling the bottle with practiced ease, "and everything spills over."

The elderly couple at the next table glances over with polite interest, and Jimin's smile widens. He turns to them, bottle still poised above your glass.

"The '82 Latour," he says conversationally, like he isn't in the middle of threatening you. "Have you tried it? The tannins can be quite... overwhelming if not handled properly."

The woman practically preens under his attention. "Oh, how lovely. Richard, didn't we have that at the Bennett's last summer?"

"Indeed." Jimin's hand is perfectly steady as he finishes pouring your wine. "Though personally, I find it's best to let it breathe. Some things require patience to reach their full potential." His eyes lock with yours as he settles back into his seat. "Wouldn't you agree?"

You take a deliberate sip of wine to avoid responding, watching him over the rim of your glass. The elderly couple continues to eye him appreciatively, completely unaware of the game he's playing.

"The key," he says, loud enough for them to hear, "is knowing exactly how much pressure to apply." His fingers drum once against the stem of his own glass. "Too little, and you waste its potential. Too much..." He trails off, smile sharpening. "Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?"

The elderly woman - who introduces herself as Margaret, practically glows under his attention. Her husband Richard nods along, completely taken in by Jimin's performance. You watch him work, recognizing this for what it is - another form of torture, drawn out in public where you can't do anything but sit and take it.

"Take my colleague here," he says, gesturing to you with his wine glass. "She has quite the... refined palate. Always willing to try new things."

Your fingers tighten around your own glass as Margaret turns her interest your way. "Oh, how wonderful! Are you in the wine business as well?"

"She's my secretary," Jimin answers before you can speak. "Though she's recently taken on some additional responsibilities. Haven't you, darling?"

The endearment drips like poison from his lips. You force a smile, playing your part in his little show. "I like to stay busy."

"She's being modest." Jimin swirls the wine in his glass, watching the light play through the dark liquid. "She's quite talented at... handling delicate situations. In fact, she has a new position starting tomorrow night."

Richard perks up at this. "Congratulations! Where will you be working?"

Your mouth goes dry as Jimin's eyes meet yours over the rim of his glass. He's really going to do this, discuss your cover job at a strip club with this sweet elderly couple in the middle of Côte.

"A very exclusive establishment," Jimin answers smoothly. "Members only. The owner is quite particular about his employees." His smile sharpens. "Especially the ones who perform."

Margaret claps her hands together. "Oh, how exciting! Is it that lovely new theater in Manhattan? Richard, what's it called? The one with the red lights?"

You nearly choke on your wine.

"Not quite," Jimin says, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Though there are certainly theatrical elements involved. The costumes alone are quite memorable."

Your heel connects with his shin under the table— hard. His only reaction is a slight tightening around his eyes, but you feel a savage satisfaction at the contact.

"Speaking of memorable," he continues, not missing a beat, "you simply must try this vintage. François?" He signals the waiter with two fingers. "Please bring our friends here a taste of the Latour. On me."

Margaret tries to protest, but Jimin waves her off with practiced charm. "I insist. After all, some pleasures are best shared, wouldn't you agree?" This last part he directs at you, voice laden with meaning.

François arrives with fresh glasses, and you're forced to watch as Jimin guides the couple through the proper tasting technique. His voice is hypnotic as he describes the notes of black fruit, the hint of tobacco, the way it opens up on the palate.

"The true art," he tells them, "is in the finish. The way it lingers." His eyes find yours again. "Some things are designed to leave a lasting impression."

You think of the bruises hidden beneath your dress, of the marks he'd left on your skin. Of how he's marking you again now, in a completely different way.

"Of course," he adds, "not everyone appreciates such refinement. Some prefer their pleasures more immediate. Raw." He takes another slow sip. "But those tend to leave a bitter aftertaste."

The threat in his words is clear. Jungkook is beneath you. Beneath us.

"More wine?" He's already reaching for the bottle again, standing slightly to lean across the table. The motion brings his face close to yours, and his next words are pitched low enough that only you can hear them. "Since you seem so thirsty tonight."

Your pulse jumps at his proximity, at the dangerous edge in his voice that their audience can't detect. Margaret and Richard are too busy savoring their wine to notice the way Jimin's hand trembles slightly as he pours, the only sign that his perfect control might be slipping.

"Tell me," he says, loud enough for the table to hear again, "what do you think of the finish? Does it satisfy your particular tastes?"

The conversation is cut short with a ring erupting from Jimin’s suit pocket.

Namjoon's call lasts exactly thirty-seven seconds. You count them, watching Jimin's face remain perfectly composed as he listens. Only the slight whitening of his knuckles around the phone betrays anything amiss.

"When?" A pause. "I see."

He ends the call with the same precision he uses to end lives, clean, efficient, and final. The elderly couple barely notices when he signals François, too engrossed in their wine to catch the predatory shift in his movements.

As the valet brings his Bentley around, rain starting to fall in earnest now, he tells you Jiwon is missing. One of his most trusted men— gone. At the snap of a finger. This will be an issue for tomorrow.

You're already stepping toward your car when his voice cuts through the humid air.

"Get in."

Two words, soft as a bullet before it's fired.

The leather seat is cold against your back as you slide in beside him. He doesn't speak, doesn't even look at you as he pulls away from the curb. The engine purrs beneath you as he takes the first corner too fast, tires squealing against wet asphalt.

You watch him from the corner of your eye, cataloging each micro-expression like you would a mark before a kill. His jaw clenches and unclenches in a rhythm that matches the windshield wipers. The tendons in his neck stand out like rope under skin. His breathing comes slightly too quick, slightly too shallow.

A red light bathes the interior in crimson. He runs it.

Then another.

The city blurs past in streams of neon and shadow. You count his breaths, twenty-three too fast, fifteen too shallow. His fingers adjust on the steering wheel every forty-five seconds, like he's trying to maintain that last thread of control.

The elevator to his penthouse opens with a soft ding that feels too cheerful for the electricity crackling beneath his skin. An elderly woman with a small dog gets in on the thirty-fourth floor. You watch Jimin's mask slide seamlessly into place, perfect smile, perfect posture, perfect lie.

"Evening, Mrs. Chen."

His voice doesn't waver. Doesn't betray how his left hand trembles slightly at his side, how the muscle in his jaw jumps arrhythmically. The woman chatters about building maintenance as you climb higher, oblivious to the bomb ticking beside her.

Nintey-six floors have never felt so long.

The moment his door closes behind you, something shifts in the air. You can feel it - that last thread of control starting to fray. He stands perfectly still in the center of his living room, staring at nothing. At everything.

The first crack appears when he loosens his tie. The motion isn't smooth like usual - it's jerky, aggressive. He tears the silk from his throat like it's choking him.

Then his suit jacket. The fabric whispers against his shirt as he shrugs it off, letting it fall to the marble floor. You've never seen him treat clothing so carelessly.

His chest rises and falls too quickly now, each breath slightly more ragged than the last. You watch him rake fingers through his perfectly styled hair, destroying hours of careful grooming in seconds.

The lamp goes first.

The Tiffany piece you'd admired that night against his windows becomes a constellation of crystal across marble. The sound of its destruction seems to awaken something in him - something primitive and raw that's been lurking beneath his perfect surface.

You don't move when he disappears into his office. Don't flinch when he emerges with a baseball bat that looks wrong in his manicured hands. Just analyze the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders as he takes the first swing.

The glass coffee table explodes.

Then his flat screen, expensive and pristine like everything else in his life. The screen spiders with cracks before sparks fly from its dying circuits.

The grand piano becomes kindling under his methodical swings. Each string snaps with a discordant scream, like the instrument is dying. The sound mingles with his ragged breathing, creating a symphony of destruction.

His aim never wavers. Even in this, he maintains a terrible precision. The bat connects with his drink cart, sending bottles of thousand-dollar liquor cascading across marble. The scent of alcohol fills the air, bourbon and scotch and wine mixing with the ozone smell of destroyed electronics.

You catalog every detail with professional detachment. The way his white shirt darkens with sweat. How his perfectly pressed slacks tear slightly at the knee as he kicks through the wreckage. The precise angle of each swing, like he's conducting an orchestra of chaos.

When he finally stops, chest heaving and surrounded by destruction, you understand. This isn't about Jiwon disappearing. This isn't about business or territory or power.

This is about control slipping through his fingers like water.

Like you, dancing in Jungkook's office.

"He knew," Jimin says finally, voice raw. The bat clatters to the floor beside what used to be a Versace vase. "He fucking knew about Jiwon. About the ports. About—"

He cuts off, running shaking fingers through his ruined hair. You step carefully through the wreckage, glass crunching beneath your heels. He doesn't move as you approach, just stares at the devastation he's created like he's seeing it for the first time.

"This isn't about Jiwon," you say quietly.

His laugh is ugly, sharp enough to cut. "No." His eyes finally meet yours, and they're black holes in his too-pale face. "No it fucking isn't."

Liquor seeps into the hem of your dress as you stand in the wreckage, watching him piece himself back together. His chest still heaves with each breath, shirt clinging to his frame with sweat and effort. The perfectly styled hair you'd watched him ruin now falls across his forehead in damp strands.

He looks wild. Dangerous. More like the man who marks your skin than the one who signs your checks.

"You should go." The words come out rough, like they've been dragged across broken glass.

You don't move. Can't move. Something tells you this moment matters, that walking away now would shift something irreparable between you.

His eyes snap to yours, dark and feral. "I said—"

"No."

The word hangs in the air between you, sharp as the crystal shards beneath your feet. You watch his jaw clench, watch the muscle jump beneath skin that's too pale.

"You don't give the orders here." But his voice wavers slightly, betraying the cracks in his armor.

"Then give me one." You take another step closer, glass crunching beneath your heels. "Tell me what you need."

His laugh is all edges. "What I need?" He runs a hand through his ruined hair again, the gesture almost violent. "I need Jungkook's head on a fucking platter. I need to know how deep his reach goes. I need—"

He cuts off, throat working as he swallows whatever confession was about to spill out.

You're close enough now to smell his cologne mixed with sweat and spilled alcohol. Close enough to see the barely contained tremors in his hands, the wild pulse at his throat.

"Tell me." Your voice comes out softer than intended. "Tell me what you need."

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment you think he might grab you. Might press you against the wall and fuck you right here among the wreckage of his perfect life. Instead, he does something worse.

"Kill her."

The words slip out like a caress, barely above a whisper. You watch his face transform. the wild thing in his eyes crystallizing into something colder, more familiar.

"Miranda?" Your voice remains steady even as your pulse quickens. "She's not involved in this."

"Developing a conscience?" His smile is perfectly crafted to cut. "How disappointing. You've gotten too comfortable behind that desk, haven't you? Started believing your own cover story?"

The air feels thick, heavy with spilled alcohol and the ozone scent of destroyed electronics. A bead of sweat trails down your spine, making your dress cling uncomfortably.

"You're upset," you say carefully, watching his eyes darken at the observation.

"No, darling." He steps closer, glass crunching beneath his feet. "I'm just remembering what you really are. What I made you to be." His perfectly pressed shirt clings to his chest, dark with sweat. "A weapon. Nothing more."

"This isn't about me."

"Isn't it?" His breath comes quicker now, shallow. "You walk around my building like you belong there. Playing secretary, playing normal." He runs a hand through his ruined hair. "Have you forgotten what those hands are for? What you are?"

Heat prickles at the back of your neck. "I know exactly what I am."

"Do you?" He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne mixed with sweat and rage. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone who's forgotten their purpose. Who's started thinking they're more than just a tool."

"And you look scared."

The words hit like a physical blow. His chest stills mid-breath, eyes going dark as pitch.

"What did you say?"

A drop of sweat rolls down your temple. The air crackles between you, heavy with violence and something else. Something rawer.

"You're terrified," you press on, even as your pulse races. "Jungkook's in your head and you can't stand it. So you're here, breaking your own things, trying to break me too."

"Get out." His voice drops to something dangerous, something barely controlled.

"No."

"Get. Out." Each word comes with a step forward, backing you against the wall. "Before I remind you exactly what you are. What you're for."

You hold his stare, even as your heart threatens to break through your ribs. "You mean before you remind yourself that you're losing control?"

His hand slams into the wall beside your head, making you flinch. His breathing comes in harsh pants now, chest heaving with barely contained violence.

"Leave," he grits out, voice raw. "Now. Before I do something we'll both regret."

You can feel the heat radiating off him, see the muscle jumping in his jaw. The perfect mask has cracked completely, leaving something wild and desperate in its wake.

Around you, his perfect life lies in ruins.

So you go, leaving him alone in his destroyed kingdom, both of you pretending not to notice how his hands shake as you walk away.

The elevator descends in artificial silence, only the subtle whir of machinery accompanying your reflection in the mirrored walls. Your hair slightly mussed, lipstick somehow still perfect. Like the confrontation upstairs was just a nightmare your body hasn't woken from yet.

Forty-seven floors to ground level. You count each one, using the numbers to steady your pulse. To push down the urge to go back up there and show him exactly what his weapon can do.

The lobby stretches before you in shadow and marble, empty except for the night security guard who barely glances up from his crossword. Your heels mark time against the floor, each step echoing your thundering heartbeat - too fast, too hard, everything threatening to spill over.

Night air hits your face when you exit the building, carrying the metallic tang of recent rain. The city spreads before you in sharp contrasts - neon bleeding across wet pavement, shadows pooling between towers of steel and glass. You inhale slowly, tasting ozone and exhaust and that particular Manhattan mixture of ambition and decay.

Bass thuds from an upscale bar ahead, all crystal chandeliers visible through floor-to-ceiling windows. You catalog the exits reflexively, the cameras, the blind spots. Old habits.

"Well, look what we have here."

The voice slides through the darkness like oil. Taehyung leans against a sleek black Mercedes, all dangerous grace in expensive clothes. His white button-down is rolled to his elbows, exposing ink that maps stories across his skin.

You catalog his stance with professional detachment, the same way you'd studied John strapped to that chair. Weight slightly forward, shoulders loose, that same arrogant tilt to his head that says he has no idea what's coming.

"Not tonight." You move to pass him, but he shifts, blocking your path.

"What's wrong, sugar?" Smoke curls from his mouth as he speaks. "ARK not hiring tonight? Or did they finally realize what kind of trash they were letting through the door?"

Fuuuuuuck it.

The first hit is pure precision, heel of your palm to his solar plexus, angled up and in. Just like you'd done to that businessman in Dubai last year. The cigarette falls from his lips as he doubles over, giving you the perfect angle to bring your knee up into his face.

The crunch of cartilage under your kneecap sends electricity down your spine. It's different from torture, faster, rawer. No time to savor each break and tear. But there's something beautiful in this too, in letting the violence flow through you like water.

He swings wild, trained but sloppy. You duck under his arm, noting how his stance betrays formal training. Boxing maybe, some Muay Thai. Everything too clean, too structured. Not like you, you were taught to end things.

Your elbow finds his kidney with surgical precision. The same spot you'd pushed the knife into that politician in Seoul. His grunt of pain is poetry, the way he tries to protect his side leaving his throat exposed for another strike.

The Mercedes alarm wails as you slam him against it, but you're already moving, letting momentum carry you both into the shadows of the alley beside the bar. This is what you're good at, making violence look like a dance, like something beautiful instead of brutal.

He tries to grab you, to use his size advantage, but you're already inside his guard. Your knee finds his liver, your elbow his temple. Each point of impact chosen with the same care you use when selecting knives for a job.

Your dress rides up as you move, but you don't care. This is what you are, not the secretary in designer clothes, not the dancer in red. This is your true face, painted in someone else's blood.

When he finally drops, you follow him down. One hand fists in his honey-blonde hair while the other draws back. His face is a masterpiece of destruction, nose crushed, lip split, eye already swelling shut. The kind of methodical damage that comes from years of practice.

You lean in close, letting him smell the Chanel on your breath mixed with his own blood. "Next time you decide to threaten me," your voice drops to barely above a whisper, "make sure you're ready for what comes after."

You leave him there, crumpled among garbage bags and broken glass. Your knuckles throb as you smooth your dress, check your reflection in a darkened window. A single drop of blood mars your cheek, you wipe it away with your thumb, watching it disappear into your skin like all evidence of violence eventually does.

The city swallows you back into its rhythm, the pulse of music from nearby clubs, the whisper of tires on wet asphalt, the steady beat of your heels against concrete. You rejoin the flow of normal people living their normal lives, carrying your savage satisfaction like a secret beneath your skin.

This is what you are. What you're for.

And for once, that doesn't feel like a curse.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #ark 45 #jungkook bts #jungkook au #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader smut #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #jimin #bts jimin #bts fanfic #bts x reader

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 8 months ago

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to many more | s.r. x liaison!fem reader

“what’s your favorite book?”

spencer looked away from his open files to turn in his chair to see you standing behind him, a couple of manila folders held close to your baby blue long sleeve dress shirt. he had to keep his eyes from dropping lower to get a glance at the curves that hugged to your black pants.

he coughed as he blinked a few times behind his glasses, “uh, well there’s- there’s too many to choose from. if you’re asking about general literature i’d probably say-“

you held a hand out with a shaky smile, “sorry. don’t mean to interrupt. but um, i’m asking if there’s a book or story that’s very meaningful full for you.”

spencer straightened his mouth, feeling it form into that usual line. he let his mind scour for a moment, “uh maybe… alice in wonderland. my mom used to read it as a bed time story from time to time in between narnia and fifteenth century literature. she used to read me valentines poems.”

he saw your brows raise for a moment, “that’s sweet. which did she recite the most?” you readjusted the files.

spencer tapped his fingers over his thighs, “mostly chaucer’s parlement of foules. The poem, which is in the form of a dream vision in rhyme royal stanza, contains one of the earliest references to the idea that St. Valentine's Day is a special day for lovers…” he stopped short when he saw a bored expression draping your face. “sorry, rambling.”

your eyes widen and you took a step closer, “no, no. you’re fine. your voice soothes me, probably looked a bit drowsy.”

spencer scrunched his face, “most people would look tired cause i’m boring them to sleep.” he saw your face fall at his words, he didn’t like the sight.

“well i like hearing your information. i find what you know quite fascinating, like last week you told me that flamingos feathers are actually white or pale gray, but appear pink cause of algae and shrimp. i would’ve never know that.” your smile pushed your cheeks, pupils beaming alight as he felt them ghostly tracing his face.

bashful your eyes directed to your feet, “i enjoyed our date last week.” moving some fingers to run behind your ear, “i’ve always wanted to visit the planetarium, but never found the time.”

spencer smiled fondly, “i’m glad i was able to get you the chance. sometimes they do thirty minute segments on each zodiac sign, it’s when i see a lot of ‘psychics’.”

you chuckled lightly, spencer’s grin widened. “i should take you to one for fun. just to test how real they are.”

he couldn’t help rolling his eyes, “don’t waste your money.” you shrugged simply, “could be a fun third date. she can verify that we’re a match.” giving your upper body a slight twisting at the waist.

before spencer could say anything in reply, you both turned to see hotch calling you from his upper office. “shit, forgot i had to drop these off. i’ll see you later.” and you stepped into his space to lean in an leave a kiss to his forehead. he could feel the residue of your fading gloss. he was happy there wasn’t many people in the bullpen, he didn’t want to deal with morgan’s teasing right now.

the only possible person to have witnessed that display would be hotch. “reid, a word,” his stern voice causing him to flinch in his seat. he quickly made his way up the steps and into the office, closing the door behind him and standing beside you with his hands behind his back. he wasn’t planning to have this conversation a month early.

“is there something you both would like to inform me on?” hotch letting either of you confirm your new relationship instead of assuming.

“uh,” you started to say before spencer interrupted more confidently, “y/n and i are currently seeing each other. it’s only been about two months.” he turned to you, eyes locking and both of you smiled at each other, “but i’d like to believe this will last awhile.”

“well,” hotch cleared his throat, “since you’ve probably read through the handbook spencer, there isn’t anything wrong with fraternization between employees. i would just need both of you to fill out some paperwork.”

you both nodded in agreement. “and please, try not to let this distract you in the field. otherwise you’ll have to be in separate rooms, hotel and assignments.”

“yes sir,” giving a playful salute as he dismissed you both. you decided to pull spencer by his hand in the direction of your, shared office, already knowing jj was busy elsewhere.

“i hope that was-“ you spun into spencer, palms on his cheeks as your lips pressed onto his. he went still for a moment, but you knew he just needed a second to process. his fingers curled along your hips, his warmth seeping through your fabric and onto your skin.

you sighed into his mouth as he worked your lips apart, taking the lead he moved both of you further into the office. your thighs hit the edge, a small gasping allowing for spencer to boldly slip his tongue into your mouth, your heart was pumping in your ears.

if you weren’t in the office you’d let your greedy fingers start to work at unbuttoning his shirt, but instead you were stopped short when someone groaned out, “holy shit!”

spencer was the first to jump away and you saw that penelope and jj were at the threshold with jaws dropped and bugged eyes. “you freaky love birds!” penelope screeched.

“i need to burn this room,” jj groaned as she turned on her heels.

#erin writes spencer #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x liaison!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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revasserium · 8 months ago

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entwined shadows

zayne, rafayel, xavier; 1,872 words; fluff, semi-canon compliant, spoilers! for entwined shadows cards, v!suggestive, no "y/n", genderless!reader, lapslock cause lazy, so! many! kisses!

summary: kiss me once, kiss me twice, kiss me thrice or a thousand times

a/n: inspired by the poems of robert frost and also obviously by the entwined shadows cards cause... bruh.

perish, twice - zayne

the hideout is cold — but his lips are warm, hungry.

“z-zayne!”

there’s fire in his veins, pulsing beneath your fingertips, the kind that his ice has never been able to put out — not even once.

“please…” he sounds like a broken man; you know better than to believe him, “i told you… i warned you…” he trails his lips along the column of your neck, his fingers digging into the bend of your hips, his other hand pinning your wrists above your head, “that i might not be able to control myself this time…”

he lets out a breath, the heat of it fogging the air between you in the dark chill of the room. you feel your skin burning, even as you shiver. your mind spins with the incongruencies, the push and pull, the icy bite of the air, the stinging heat of zayne’s body against yours.

“i-if we freeze tonight —” your voice is unsteady, heady with desire, but zayne cuts you off.

“i won’t let you.” he cups your cheek and you feel the skin there tingle with warmth. slowly, you watch as the vines of pale blue begin to fade from his skin.

you shake your head even as you pull him down for another deep, long kiss, the kind that sears —

“no… i won’t let you.”

when you break apart again, there’s a wild, unfocused light to his eyes, a shallowness to his breaths. he looks dazed, but as his gaze flickers down to your kiss-swollen lips, a razor like focus shifts inside him and suddenly, he’s caging you in, his teeth skimming the delicate skin above your fluttering pulse.

“tell me… tell me this is okay…” his voice is barely a whisper. but you hear it loud as the howling of the storm outside. you breathe out.

“zayne. i want this — i want… you.”

a groan rumbles through him, base and heavy as an avalanche.

he murmurs something that sound suspiciously like a prayer before he sinks his teeth into the bare skin of your shoulder and rips open the front of your shirt in one smooth motion.

the storm outside continues to rage, but at the very least, you can be certain — the ice pulsing beneath his skin is slowly beginning to thaw away.

taste of desire - rafayel

“but this one… i think i like this one best.” rafayel grins as he leans down to press two quick kisses to your cheeks, pulling back to trail his gaze over your blush-tinted skin. heat prickles at your neck but you refuse to look away.

instead, you attempt a glare, “y-you said that three seconds ago.”

rafayel makes an aggrieved expression, “it’s not my fault your cheeks can turn so many colors so quickly! do you know how tiring it is to try and pick my favorite color when i can see so many? ah — there, this one’s nice too!” he taps his finger against the tip of your nose even as you feel your entire face flush.

you bite your lips and push back against him, toppling the pair of you over onto the sofa in his wide-open studio. the windows are cracked, and the spring breeze flirts with the gauzy white curtains; the setting sun paints the entire room in a soft, dreamlike glow.

“why can’t you just call it blush pink like everyone else?” you crinkle your nose and try to turn your head away, even as rafayel shifts beneath you, running a warm palm down the length of your spine to shift you closer.

he cocks his head, lips pushing into a familiar pout, “how can an artist like me be so vague?” he shakes a few strands of hair from his eyes, batting long lashes up at you, “in order to achieve perfection, you have to be specific with your words, you know.”

you’re about to say something else but he sits up, pressing in close enough for your noses to brush, “for instance — if you want a kiss…” his eyes flicker down to your lips; you feel your breath hitch, your heartbeat scattering within your chest like a handful of tossed marbles.

he inches forward, agonizingly slowly, till his lips are hovering only a hair’s breath away from yours. your fingers tighten in his shirt but he makes no move to kiss you.

“you should tell me where…” he makes to lean in, but turns his head at the last moment to skim his lips along your cheeks, his breath tickling your earlobe for a second, “like… here?” he lowers his head, trailing a light kiss against your jaw, “or… perhaps here…” he drops his lips to the bend of your shoulder.

you tremble in his arms, fingers fisting as you attempt to pull him closer.

“r-rafayel… you’re not playing fair.”

he pulls back, an almost gleeful grin spreading across his lips, the light cascading across the room drawing his lashes into long, mesmerizing shadows across the highs of his cheeks.

“why should i? you humans’ve never played fair before. for my own self-preservation… i’ve gotta have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

you squirm in his lap as you feel his fingers tickling at your sides, but as he pins you to his chest, you let out a surprised yelp, palms pressing flat against his chest to steady yourself.

“so, tell me, strange human…” he leans in, nose nudging yours, “what exactly do you want from me, hm?”

you lick your lips, a dull, pulsing ache echoing up from the base of your belly to the top of your spine. you reach up to trace a thumb against the pad of his lips and watch with a stomach-twisting satisfaction as his breath goes shallow, his eyes go wide, go dark.

“kiss me,” you say, leaning down till you’re sure he can almost taste you on his tongue.

you feel him swallow as you trail your thumb down along his neck to the place where his pulse flutters, light and fast as the flurried beats of a butterfly’s wings.

“i thought… i thought i told you… you have to be more specific.”

you allow yourself a grin, fingers tightening ever so slightly around his neck; his cheeks flush the most gorgeous shade of sunset pink and you take a second to marvel to yourself that you’d never quite seen this color on him before. it might just be your favorite yet.

“rafayel… kiss me… right here.”

here come the stars - xavier

looking back, it had felt like a dream — twenty-one days of living together, of grocery shopping and tv-watching, of sleeping next to each other, of waking up to the warm scent of his skin.

“what if we just stayed here forever?”

you twist to face him in the dark; it’s your last night here, and the previous afternoon, you’d sat beneath the thick slices of lemon-yellow sunlight pouring through the windows with a bowl of cherries and the taste of each other resting on your tongues.

“we’d be implicating ourselves in the mission.”

xavier sighs, shifting a bit closer and reaching out to cup your cheek. you lean into the touch, letting your eyes flutter shut as you nuzzle into his heat.

“i know. but…” his finger traces the line of your nose down to the soft of your lips. you let them fall open a second before you feel him pressing in closer, before his lips graze yours and you feel yourself falling into his embrace.

the sheets twist around your ankles. outside, the the scimitar moon watches with slitted silver eyes.

“but…” you say, your voice thick with the honey of recent kisses, “who says that it can’t be like this when we get back to linkon city?”

xavier makes a soft noise at the back of his throat, pulling away to glance down at you.

“what… are you…”

there’s a breathless anticipation pulsing beneath the current of his voice; you sigh and lean up for another quick kiss.

“and you were calling me a dummy earlier…” but even as you steel yourself against the words weighing down the tip of your tongue, you feel your cheeks go hot and silently thank the heavens that it’s too dark in the room for him to see just how red you’d probably gotten.

“i — i’m asking if you want to — i mean, we’re already neighbors so, it wouldn’t even be a very hard move…” you lick your lips, mouth suddenly very dry. beside you, xavier’s gone white-rabbit still. if it weren’t for the shallow sound of his breaths or the wild beating of his heart beneath your hands, you might’ve wondered if he were even there at all.

“i just thought —” you quickly amend, the silence thickening around you like churned butter, “if you really did l-like it like this… it wouldn’t be hard for us to —”

he silences you with another kiss, more forceful this time. and whereas the previous ones were all soft and languid, this one is open-mouthed, a stomach-clenching hunger pouring itself from his mouth to yours as he presses you down beneath him and pins you to the bed.

his knee presses up between your legs and desire lances through you, bright and sharp as lightening. you gasp, biting down on his lips as he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“i don’t know — if that’s a good — idea —”

you lick your lips, frowning up at him. you’ve never seen him so winded; you’d barely even seen him out of breath, but right now, even in the dim light, you can see him shaking apart at the edges.

“w-why?” you have to fight to keep the hurt from your voice, but the next second, xavier is pressing his tongue back into your mouth and running it along the backs of your teeth. he kisses you so hard and so thoroughly you nearly pass out from the lack of air.

“because — i — we’d never get any sleep. and —” his hair tickles the skin of your cheeks as you let out a surprised laugh, his lips trailing down the length of your throat, “and i rather like my sleep…”

you let your eyes fall shut again, tangling your fingers in his starlight hair as he hisses against your chest.

“well — at least tomorrow we have the day off… so, i suppose if there’s any night we won’t need much sleep…”

xavier lets out a soft groan, shaking his head even as he peppers your skin with even more kisses, “don’t… don’t say stuff like that. people might get the wrong idea.”

you give his hair a playful tug, reveling in the way his whole body seems to go taut above you as he lifts his head.

“or,” you smile, slowly releasing his hair from your fingers, “they might be getting exactly the right idea.”

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r0-boat · 29 days ago

Text

Whb AU where everything's the same but the Demons are dragons

Something something Bible quote something something dragons are the devil something something whatever cool ass lizards.

Satan

A white Wyvern with blood red markings, It's piercing red eyes, The same color that stains the ground and on the scales of his true form, burn with a fire ignited from wrath burning ever constant. Contrast to his white scales and ghostly tattered wings It's horn sit like a crown atop his head It's tips speckled with that same red color, his markings end at his tail which slithers on the ground does it approaches you.

The smallest of the seven, and hates it. Always snarling and huffing when he's angerly yelling at another king You can see his pupils go into pin pricks as you can see his throat glow a orangen yellow as smoke begins to seep out from his mouth.

Satan has fine scales and spines along his head neck all the way down to his tail which like to puff out like an angry cat when he's agitated making him look like a puffer fish with wings.

Satan prefers his human form when he's not fighting seriously, since it gives him an excuse to use his horde of fast vehicles and weapons. Hehe; He likes sharpie explody things. Despite being their king his dragon form is actually the smallest even among his subordinates.

When his scales are about to shed they turn black before falling off. His scales can be sharpened and used for many things. Including daggers and sometimes even bullets or the heads of arrows. The scales are sharp and light.

Mammon

The onyx mane of this lung dragon glitters like jewels working beautifully with the gold scales and horns That decorate this beast. Black markings adorn his face and down his body like tiger stripes. He is benevolent in his in his own way. His golden eyes shine with Greed. Anything that his eyes fancies is his. His metallic scales shimmer like gold, And they are worth more than their weight in gold.

Lung dragons are usually elegant elegant yes but delicate no. His scales are smooth and as hard as stone. He loves them very much So much so He always keeps his tail or at least part of his scales showing from his human disguise.

A shame he never got a painting done of his late father He was the most beautiful bronze you've ever seen if you thought his mane was beautiful before His father was wild and flowing. He could grow it out if you like.

When his scales fall he likes to keep them His favorite thing to do is contact his jeweler fasten his scales into jewelry so he can adorn his favorite subjects and other things he likes with them. It's a good way to staking his territory He's not the only dragon who does this.

His scales are not only great for jewelry but also armor However given how much Just one scale go for and you do need a lot for a single piece that covers your body It is extremely expensive. Mammon has two bedrooms, His normal human one and his dragon lair where it's just decked with shiny gold coins and other jewels have too many imperfections for his personal treasure museum.

Leviathan

Wyrms, large ugly serpents found tumbling through the earth or in the deep depths of the ocean. But this one, This one is different It's pearly smooth scales reflecting vibrant pinks and purples. If you look closely you could see Platinum underbelly. It's silver eyes glow and pierced through you unreadable unmoving watching your every move as its tail holds you in place. It's Envious heart itching to coil around anything it fancies hiding it from the rest of the world that isn't itself. At the same time wanting to squeeze until the potential threat's lights go out.

He hates His true form his everything. He doesn't even shed his scales like the other kings instead His scales all come off at once like a snake shedding his skin He itches like crazy. When this happens he spends most of his time in a hot bath his human disguise half faded his torso is still human but everywhere else is serpent.

He prefers his human form for very obvious reasons... Hands; legs. When he's not in the room His subordinates fond over briefly in the early years when he took his human form as he was not used to standing on two legs. Even now if you're very lucky you can catch him stumbling over and hopefully you'll live to tell the tale.

As a dragon, he is more called blooded than his relatives. Levi craves warmth. Craves it. His entire body is constantly cold, and as much as he hates to admit, human bodies are very warm. So once winter starts, congratulations, you are now his human heat rock by force. Take everything you touch that is his and warm it up right now! Even though he looks like he belongs in the water and can swim very well, Levi's sensitive to temperature Even if water temperature in particular doesn't harm him. Leviathan prefers warmer tropical water.

Leviathan's true form is actually the biggest, But you'll never know since he's always coiled up. Despite not having limbs in his true form He's perfected his magic to use long snaking appendages to grab and hold whatever he wants.

Beelzebub

The more food a dragon has access to, the bigger it gets. Even though these kings of lizards grow very slowly, there is only one exception. Despite Fae Dragons supposedly being miniature, the Gluttonous appetites of the inhabitants of Abyssos make these dragons grow and grow. Its insectoid velvety wings shimmer with greens, yellows, purples, and oranges with intricate patterns. It has one horn similar to a unicorn but it's head is crowned with a ribbon like antennae. Start the beast It's tale with flexible fins stir in the air like rudders on a boat as it flies in place looking at you with interest... Or perhaps hunger?

While the other kings roars shake the ground His is song like and rhythmatic sending chills down your spine as it echoes through the sky.

In his true form Beel Actually has two pairs of jaws You just can't see his other pair since it's attached giving it the illusion of his normal maw. He also has mandibles folded on both sides of his cheek. They blend into his face so well at first glance you could never notice until you look very close. This translates to his human form albeit more like lines on his face and an unhingable jaw.

He is the most insectoid of his class all other fae dragon are not only well smaller than him... They're also more butterfly like where he is more moth like. Very fluffy! And please don't freak out when in battle he loses a wing or two unlike insects that when their wing scales break they will never grow back His wings and limbs can constantly grow back forever. In fact the scales on his wings always shed like pollen. It's shimmers like glitter.

He also eats his clones a fact that he loves to tell you with a smile just to watch you squirm. You remember other facts about insects and if you ask him that if he eats his lovers he just silently stares at you his smile widening more.

Lucifer

You thought he was a Drake at first glance, but then you realize The feathering nubs on his back where his wings should be; he was a dragon, The Dragon. He is a perfect amalgamation of scales and feathers. Its feathers and scales were white as snow other than the bright red horns on his head, the red scar across his body, and, of course, hisbehold. It. His snout was narrow, raptor-like. Just like his White irises glowing through the black voids of What should be white and his sharp black curved claws. As he lays before you, his wings or what's left of them move to spread out like a prideful peacock. If he could still soar, what a sight it would behold.

Lucifer once was an angel turned into a beast as a punishment for his own pride. He is still used to this draconic power as he has not fully mastered transforming and staying in his human form. He occasionally preens what is left of his wings. And other feathers. Pin feathers are the bane of his existence, and he can't reach the ones on his wings. Tiny human hands are always a blessing to have around. He can't help but move his giant dragon snout, trying to preen or pick at your own. He knows humans do not have pin feathers, but it feels nice.

He could always heal himself just like any demon can but he refuses to Even when his scales grow back in places he doesn't want He purposely picks them off. When his scales are grinded into a fine powder they're curiously bitter to the taste but a very potent with magical and medicinal properties. Ingesting the powder and/or god forbid the scale is highly ill-advised without proper preparation at as it is very poisonous.

"This is my son little brother." The beast grumbles in his true form He disappears for a second only to come back with a young man dangling from the collar He is leaning lanky His clothes slightly overgrown as if the tailor had no idea how to make clothes for a human. What really got your attention was his blue hair with icy blue eyes. you can't tell if the hair has been dyed or natural You've seen crazier shit in hell So it wouldn't surprise you. Lucifer puts him down and exclaims "He is human just like you. He needs human friends, please get along." This man has A pendant around his neck radiating magic. Perhaps this is what he uses to slow the growth of his tiny kid.

His true form is the largest of the seven without his wings. Sometimes he forgets he doesn't have them It's kind of awkward when he's trying to fly before realizing he can't. An odd thing he's picked up, instead of running how you would expect a dragon to run He actually gallops like a horse. He will admitly deny no matter how wrong he is. Perhaps he picked this up from watching horses.

Belphegor

With its long serpentine body sprawled across its layer at first you thought the black serpent was another one of Leviathan's kind But that's when you noticed upon the snoring beast front limbs folded as its face smushed into the pillow. The Lindwurm moved suddenly spooking you the mountain of pillows and blankets fell off its face as you got a better look. It's jet black main usually slipped back messy. It turns out dragons also get bedhead. It rolled Sloth-like onto its stomach It's whole body rotating with it that's when you saw more of its fur it's serpentine body stretched out with its One pair of front limbs letting out a loud yawn It's sort of reminded you like a cat.

Leviathan hates his long serpentine body but Belphegor fucking loves it. His long body if it weren't for a size could fit anywhere. Well that won't be a problem anymore actually since one of his beloved and very smart and very hardworking subordinates is currently working on a chemical compound that could shrink dragons down to size... Just think of all the napping spots!

If it weren't for the fact he lacks hind legs he would look exactly like a lung dragon. Belphie does not care. Walking sucks ass, how could anyone humans or dragons in their human form put up with walking on two legs. It's so much easier to slither. In fact he hardly uses his front limbs for anything other than support when he wants to lay down in a different way.

If it weren't for humans being so fragile he would absolutely lay right on you. Lindworms being a weird mix of Lungs and serpents they are also more cold-blooded. Unlike Leviathan who dreadedly hates cold anything. Belphegor loves the cold It makes him feel nice and sleepy. He doesn't like having too much warmth The only warmth he wants is your body heat. Congratulations another cold reptile laying directly skin contact onto you.

His room is a lot larger with a fuck ton of pillows and blankets all in one corner That's how he likes it when he is sleeping that's when he has less control over his forms as he shifts freely in his dreams be careful when you're snuggling him. And if it wasn't for a very nice subordinate of his, he would lay his entire collection of anime manga and other otaku stuff in a pile right next to his giant nest.

Asmodeus

This Drake moves in a way that disturbs you as it stalks and circles you. Its wild eyes roamed your body with such lust that it made you shiver. This dragon has perfected his form so well that he has many forms. But he prefers his "natural" appearance, bland, unassuming, smooth, leathery skin as black as night. The only thing with a splash of color is the thorns, chains, and flowers he decorates with. And a single blood-red eye. His hatchlings His beloved babies steam to take all sorts of draconic elements, whether feathers, scales, or fur.

"have you ever laid with a dragon?" He says with a smile...."Do you want to?"He also has a half form like Levi, But it looks less clean and more werewolf-ish more monstrous. He almost always shifts when he's trying to mate with you.

His horde is the red prison, delicious little sexual freaks that he collects in all corners of hell. And he thinks you'll be the prettiest addition of them all. He will shower you with all his treasures; all of them.

Instead of a powerful flame like all the others, he breathes a neurotoxin. His saliva is also toxic. With sharp serpentine-like fangs, he can control the right dosage. Only four dragons of the seven have venom. Leviathan's venom paralyzes, Belphegor makes your body go numb and limp, Lucifer's saliva thins your blood; Asmodeus's venom is sweet to the tongue and heavily intoxicates. Making his victim nice and suggestible.

His lack of wings does not concern him in the slightest. Even if he could magically produce wings, he couldn't fly with them; it would only be for show. Who needs flying when you can have someone big and strong? Carry him... No King will ever volunteer.

Bonus lightning round with random demons :D

Sitri & Amy:

Lindwyrm and Drake They fight a lot sometimes they'll turn into their true form Sitri trying to strangle Amy. As he tries to bite and tear into his flesh. I see Amy as a Drake that will run at full speed before tackling full force into an enemy while Sitri rather wait for an ambush strike.

Beleth

Tatzelwurm It's like a snake lindworm cat, It's an Alpine folklore animal but it looks very yokai like. His venom but also have the same alcoholic properties as Asmodeus, His flame is very weak He only uses it to light his Cigarette.

Naberius

Hydra in his true form his emotions split into three heads.

Stolas

Cockatrice I love him, bird lizard with his little crown. *Adds Fluffed up cockatrice trying to look scary here*

Bael

Fae Dragon, in my head he has a butterfly dragon trying to mimic a moth! Insects in the animal kingdom love their mimicry!

Foras

amphiphere You can pry this headcannon out of my cold dead hands. He would just look like Leviathan but with feathers and wings, and with more Sakura pink color. His wings are very soft so he flies silently.

Barbatos

Salamanders are a combination of drakes and lungs with multiple limbs. They have lots of limbs, and they are said to have fire capabilities. But this one seems to never use those combustible flames, instead soaking in the sun in a field of beautiful red roses.

Zagan

Wyvern Zagan never uses his true form around you because he wants you to feel more comfortable with him. When he is in his true form he just stares at you like how a big dog stares at a little kitten before picking you up like- 'This small thing is mine now.'

Bimet

I'm so stuck between Lung and Kirin AAA. Lung fits him more but I have yet to use Kirin... Maybe that one horse character from the new chapter can be a Kirin.

Gamigin

Human because it's funny, Lucifer and his tiny human baby. Whether he is a full-grown adult or a child is up to you. I just thought It'd be cute for a scary dragon to haul a small toddler around on his back.

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb beelzebub #whb satan #whb asmodeus #whb leviathan #whb x reader #whb lucifer #whb belphegor #whb x mc #whb dragons #what in “hell” is bad?

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pathologicalreid · 9 months ago

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Comforting spencer 🙏🙏 Maybe after the Tobias thing or something, sorry if this is too vague 😭

your needs, my needs | S.R.

who? spencer reid x gn!reader category: angst; hurt/comfort content warnings: takes place following 3x12 "3rd life", spoilers for 2x15 "revelations", drug addiction, mentions NA and narcan word count: 1.74k a/n: hey anon! this is kind of too vague BUT i've had this idea marinating in my brain for so long and i just needed to find a place for it in the timeline! i hope this works for you! thank you for requesting!

Halfway down his arm, in the crook of his elbow, your boyfriend had a scar.

It was left by someone who was now dead and had been for months. The pink, new skin would eventually fade, but you’d always see it there.

The memory of Tobias Hankel would always haunt your relationship, but the two of you would manage to create new memories in the wake of everything that he had almost destroyed.

Hanging up your keys next to the front door, you note the silence of the apartment, there was no radio playing, no turning of book pages, and yet, you glanced over at the couch, seeing Spencer’s signature mismatched socks hanging over the edge of the couch.

Quietly, you set your bag down before you made your way over to the couch expecting to find Spencer asleep, but you’re surprised when deep brown eyes look back at you. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, a book tucked in the crook of his arm like he had given up on reading for the evening. “Hi, love,” you whispered, making your way around the back of the couch and squatting next to him, studying his expression intently. “How was work?”

He closed his eyes as you reached out and smoothed his hair back, “Hi,” he responded. His voice was raspy like it had been a while since he used it. You had woken up in an empty bed this morning, so the BAU must’ve arrived home from Chula Vista at some point while you were at work.

Spencer didn’t offer any other conversation. He didn’t tell you how work was. He didn’t ask you how work was. Sadly, you pressed your lips together in a thin, white line and tilted your head to the side, “What happened?”

“I’m tired,” he answered, averting his eyes from yours as he deflected. The avoidance was telling enough, you knew what was going through his mind. “I need to take a shower,” he admitted, his voice softening with use.

You raised your eyebrows curiously at him, despite the fact that he wouldn’t look at you, “Did you want me to leave you be for a while?” You asked, letting him know that you could keep your distance, but you wouldn’t leave him alone – not when he was like this.

His lips parted as he prepared to answer, “I don’t want to go into the bathroom,” he admitted meekly.

A deep understanding filled your chest. The bathroom was where you first figured out his addiction. The bathroom was where you now kept Narcan in the medicine cabinet. “Did you want me to go in with you?” You asked him a new question, hoping you could somehow gently guide him to an answer.

“I just don’t want to go in,” he said, voice raising in frustration before he checked himself, “I don’t want to be in a bathroom.”

You steeled your expression, not wanting him to know that you caught on the way he said a bathroom instead of the bathroom that time. “Alright,” you told him, pushing up on your knees so that you could stand and head into your shared bathroom. Going into the shower, you reached in and grabbed Spencer’s shampoo and conditioner, pulling a towel from the linen closet before you walked back out, passing him on the couch as you made your way into the kitchen.

Setting everything down on the counter you went back to the bedroom, closing the door to the ensuite before calling Spencer over. You heard heavy footsteps approach the bedroom before your boyfriend showed up in the doorway, “What is it?”

“Change into more comfortable clothes, then I can wash your hair in the kitchen sink,” you told him insistently, taking up a tone that told him you weren’t going to take no for an answer. Reaching into his side of the dresser, you pulled out a pair of flannel pajama pants while he stripped himself of his work clothes. Making sure he was moving, you followed suit, pulling off your work pants before resorting to sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

He grumbled as you herded him into the kitchen, sock-covered feet shuffling on the tile floor. Despite giving you a look when you instructed him to lie down on the counter, Spencer did so without much of a challenge. As you flipped on the tap, he settled on the laminate surface, “What are you doing?” He asked, frowning at you as you gently took his glasses off and placed the thick, black frames on the opposite side of the basin.

You hummed, taking the towel and tucking it underneath Spencer’s neck so the edge of the counter didn’t hurt him, “I don’t want to get soap and water all over your glasses.”

With furrowed brows, he looked up at you, “I won’t be able to see without my glasses,” he informed you.

“Then you’ll have to use that memory of yours to remember just how good-looking I am,” you responded earnestly, refraining from victoriously throwing your hands in the air when a small smile bloomed on his face.

Sighing, he relaxed against the hard surface of the counter. Too tall to fully lay down, he kept his legs folded up at the edge. It looked awkward, but if he was comfortable, who were you to judge?

Checking the temperature of the water with your hand, you took the sprayer in your hand and quickly sprayed a bit of water on Spencer’s hair, “Is that too hot?” You asked softly, watching his face for any kind of reaction.

Spencer quickly shook his head at you, “No, that’s good.” His answer prompted you to continue wetting his hair, using the sprayer before setting it down and taking his shampoo in your hands.

Lathering a dollop in between your palms, you slowly started to work it into his hair, he closed his eyes as you massaged the shampoo into his hair, focusing on his scalp as you did so. You smiled softly at the way he visibly relaxed, watching the way peace overtook him as a result of the simple service of having his hair washed.

Using your hand to protect his face from soap and water, you took the handheld sprayer back in your hand and rinsed the shampoo from his hair, the suds slipping from the locks in a waterfall. Taking a moment, you elected for another round of shampoo, squirting the same amount in your palm before repeating the process.

In your periphery, you noticed Spencer fiddling with something in his hand, a flash of gold caused your heart to clench while he flipped the coin through his fingers. His six-month NA chip.

Deciding against mentioning it, you continued working your fingers through his hair, the second round of shampoo foaming up even more than the first had, leading you to rinse your hands off before going back for the sprayer. Using your hand, you made sure to get all of the remaining shampoo from his hair before gently wringing his hair dry.

Putting a small amount of conditioner on your fingers, you deftly worked the product through the ends of Spencer’s hair, “Your hair’s getting long,” you observed aloud. “Did you want to cut it or keep growing it out?”

Not opening his eyes, Spencer responded, “Not sure yet,” he mumbled, clearly still enjoying your ministrations on his hair.

Finger-combing the conditioner through his hair, you nodded to yourself, “If you want to cut it, just let me know and I can help.”

In response, he nodded slightly while you tried to work through a small knot in his hair, “I thought I could stop him.”

Your movements faltered at the sudden change in subject, but you quickly regained your footing and continued, “You can’t save everyone.”

“I hate that,” he told you. Spencer had a lot of anger, it was never directed at you, it was directed toward the world, but that didn’t mean you liked it.

Letting the conditioner sit in his hair, you rinsed the product off of your hands before turning the tap off. “Do you need to go to a meeting?” You asked him gently, reaching over to seal the caps to the shampoo and conditioner before glancing at your boyfriend.

Mentally, you recalled where you had set your keys and bag when you got home, just in case you needed to take him away, “I’ll go tomorrow,” he answered.

His usual NA group met on Wednesdays, so it made sense that he’d want to go to that group. It didn’t mean you wouldn’t keep an eye on him tonight. “Okay,” you murmured softly, flipping the tap back on before you proceeded to rinse the conditioner from his hair, using your fingers to get all of the product from his silky brown strands.

Adjusting the temperature slightly, you focused your energy on getting the product out, settling into a comfortable silence until you felt satisfied, shutting off the water and wringing the water out as best you could with your hands.

You carefully coaxed the towel from where it rested beneath his neck, getting him to sit up while you towel-dried his hair. Pulling the cotton off of his head, you left his damp hair sticking every which way as you reached over to return his glasses to him, “Do you feel any better?” You asked, refraining from reaching up and touching him, you put your hands behind your back.

He nodded softly, settling his glasses on his face and blinking as his eyes focused. Spencer surprised you when he reached out for you, sitting up and leaving his legs dangling off of the edge of the counter, he parted his knees and pulled you so that your body was flush with the counter, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “I love you,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck.

Burying your face in his shoulder, you breathed in the all-too-familiar scent of his shampoo and conditioner and leaned into his embrace, “I love you too, Spence.” Tears pricked your eyes, and you pulled away from him before any could trickle down your cheeks. “Come sit down on the couch, I’ll brush your hair out.”

A small, content smile grew on his face, nodding at you before he pushed himself off of the counter, following your footsteps back into the living room.

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darknesseddiem · 1 year ago

Text

Do I Make You Nervous?

Request: "How about Eddie and Y/n are like owing to have sex but Eddie has a hard time getting hard?"

Warnings: +18 MDNI, angst with comfort, mentions of erectile dysfunction, Eddie being mean to Reader, talking about anxiety, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), aftercare.

Word Count: 9k

Tagging who must be interested: @tlclick73 @mykuup @ali-r3n @starksbabie @spideydreams00 @alanamarie @oatmilk-vampire @rose1518 @hereforsmutbcicantgetenough @iheartgrayson @stephanie-nicks76 @corrodedcoffincumslut @livsters @ami01x @skrzydlak @yujyujj @thehuntresswolf @hxlly678 @torimcc @skyline4446 @choke-me-eddie @samz31 @birdysaturne @spenciesprincess @prestinalove @whatwedontdointheshadows @hookandchain @nobodycanknoww @rogueinmymind @jenniquinn

His face burned with deep shame, his white skin tinged with scarlet red painting his cheeks and ears, fading into a soft shade of pink on his neck. He wished he could shrink himself to the smallest size possible to hide from the burning gaze of the beautiful woman in his bed, instead, Eddie decided to focus his gaze on an Anthrax poster on the other side of his messy room, and for the first time, he paid attention to the details that the figure of the Statue of Liberty making horns with it's hand and holding a book with a pentagram on the cover had.

“Eddie…” Your sweet and attentive voice made him even more nervous than he already was, he could feel the droplets of sweat accumulating in his hairline and his breathing becoming short and labored.

“Can you look at me? Please?" 'No', he thought in his racing mind, but his body did the opposite of what he wanted.

Humiliation pressed against his eyes and tried to show itself through tears he fought to contain.

With his heart rate similar to that of a marathon runner, he slowly turned his flushed face towards you until his teary eyes met yours and, God, it was the worst thing he decided to do that night.

You looked at him with such pity that he was sure that at some point that hard shell he kept to protect himself would be broken into little pieces with the intensity of your gaze and the feeling he conveyed.

He didn't want your pity, he didn't need it, he had already been through enough humiliation that day.

Overcome with frustration and embarrassed by the event, he did the last thing he wanted, he took it out on you.

"I-"

"No." The rude tone he used made you shrink in your place when you noticed how he looked at you.

You opened your mouth again but no sentence or words came out, intimidated by the enraged look, your eyes looked away from his and stared at your bare legs.

“I think you should go.” Your chest tightened at his sharp, emotionless voice.

"But-"

“Are you fucking stupid?” He knew he was being irrational at that moment but he would rather hurt you verbally than let his wounded ego and crushed pride show. “I don’t want you here, get out.”

The look in your eyes was enough to make him regret what he had said, but it was already too late to take back his words.

Overwhelmed by the feelings that your sad and desolate eyes caused, Eddie abruptly got up from the bed and wrapped himself in the sheet in an attempt to cover his shame, failing. Without looking back, he awkwardly crossed the room without paying attention to you and opened the door, disappearing into the hallway.

Sitting on his bed, you could finally let the tears flow, he had been so mean, but even so, you still couldn't help but understand him.

Eddie had this confident energy about him, a debauched smile and immaculate bad boy attitude, consequently it was a bucket of cold water when amidst the hot kisses and desperate touches on your naked bodies he realized that nothing had happened down there.

Shaking your head to clear the thoughts, you picked up your clothes thrown on the floor and quickly started to put them on so you could get out of there as quickly as possible.

Eddie was a good guy, fun and caring towards you, but at that moment he was insensitive and irrational, so the best thing to do was to leave and try to talk when things calm down.

Although the words and the tone used to say them still caused pain, you didn't blame him for reacting like that, you would do the same if you were in his place.

Dressed and with your dignity forgotten, you went after yet another humiliation.

Leaving the room and heading towards the bathroom, you slowly stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath before speaking one last time.

“Eds, I… I'm already going, when you want to talk again, you know where to find me.” Silence was your only response.

Sighing, you turned towards the living room and finally left the trailer, sooner than you had anticipated.

In the bathroom of his trailer, Eddie faced his own demons.

Leaning on the white porcelain sink, the boy stared at his disheveled reflection in the mirror: slightly reddish eyes, hair messy and damp from the sweat and water he had thrown on his face to clear his thoughts, a complete mess.

In the confines of the blue and green tiled walls he was finally able to peel off that confident and self-assured persona he showed to everyone and welcome the insecure boy he hid under lock and key.

That same little boy who spent sleepless nights with the insecurity of what tomorrow would bring for him, who thought so low of himself and had no idea how to be like other nice guys, so he pretended and tried to deceive himself when deep down he knew he would never heal his wounded inner child.

What happened today was just the culmination of his journey of humiliation.

It could be anything with anyone, but not you, not with you.

So many years spent just watching from afar as your silly childhood crush grew even more, and just when he had managed to prove himself worthy of your attention, his body decides to betray him in the most treacherous way possible.

His desire for you was undeniable, as strong as liquid lava that coursed through his veins and burned all of his senses, and like the pepper that burned in his tender flesh, he burned with desire for you, his soul burned in ecstasy to intertwine up with yours and make them one single flesh.

Now that the raging fog in his mind had lifted, he saw how stupid he had been to the one person he was completely sure would understand him better than anyone and even himself, but had allowed himself to be carried away by the bonds that his ghosts held from the past and ruined the only thing he was proud of having accomplished by being himself.

Not the Eddie who pretends, or the confident one, or the debauchee, nothing like that, but the insecure Eddie full of fears who one day thought he would never see the light of sun again.

Of all the moments that could happen, why now? Why?

His pride and ego were deeply hurt that night, he felt helpless.

This had never happened, even in his moments of pleasure alone he didn't need much to get horny or have an erection, just a glimpse of anything from you was enough to get him going for hours straight.

Eddie had no idea how he would face you again after the fiasco that was tonight, the night you were supposed to spend entwined with each other just letting your wildest instincts take over your naked and fervent bodies.

Putting an end to his torment, at least for now, he straightened up and walked away from the sink, walking towards the door and heading towards his empty room.

Your delicious perfume invaded his nostrils as he crossed the door frame and his eyes involuntarily closed and rolled to the back of his head in delight, if he concentrated a little he could still remember the exact smell that your sweaty neck exuded: citrus and slightly floral with a salty and warm touch.

Walking slowly to the disheveled bed, he followed the path the two of you, lost in pleasure, took earlier.

Starting with the desk, where Eddie sat you down and your tongues danced fiercely against each other, fighting a battle that neither of you intended to lose.

His hands roamed your body, yearning to map every curve and every piece of soft skin he could reach, tracing his fingertips softly under your blouse and watching you shiver with lust as you tangled your fingers in his wavy dark hair, pulling him closer as if you wanted him to devour you in that instant.

Hurrying to get to the bed, the two of you walked awkwardly without letting go and you ended up pressed against the wall with one of his hands full of rings around your neck, his teeth nibbled your swollen lips and slid sensually to your jaw where he traced figures with his warm and experienced tongue. His left hand rested inside your panties, cruelly teasing your clit with his thumb and index finger while his middle and ring finger slid into your wet, warm hole giving you enough to squirm in pleasure but not to cum until he wanted you to.

And finally, the last destination, the bed.

He moved and knelt on the mattress, remembering how he had grabbed you by the waist and thrown you there, seeing your face contort into the most beautiful expression of lust he had ever seen.

His fingers still tingled from the feeling of your soft, swollen lips enveloping them in the wet heat of your sinful, ungodly mouth, the taste and smell of your arousal had been tattooed on his mouth and nose, altering the entire chemistry of his weak brain.

The roots of his locks were still throbbing from the aggressive encounter of your nervous fingers and his scalp of the moment he allowed himself the eroticism of his first taste of your sinful and seductive pussy, almost as if it hypnotized him with the earthy and luscious flavor that dripped and flowed like the honey of the gods.

His eyes closed and your naked image was tattooed inside his eyelids, just as your moans played on replay in his ear from the moment the first sound left your mouth.

He laid down on the bed and shook his head against his pillow but stopped abruptly when he realized one small thing.

Eddie looked down and let out an incredulous snort.

“Oh, now do you want to do your work?” He looked at his dick with disdain. “Great news: she’s not here, champ.” He ran a hand over his face and exhaled in frustration.

The sound of vibration caught his attention, making him raise his head and take his cell phone from under one of the pillows, it was a message from you.

His heart beat faster and he swallowed hard, he wasn't going to lie, he was scared as hell by whatever you sent him.

With a trembling thumb he clicked on the messaging app icon and saw your contact appear pinned at the top with the text highlighted and the number “2” next to it.

Closing his eyes and breathing heavily he pressed into your contact, and after a few seconds that seemed like hours, he opened them again and breathed a sigh of relief.

lightfury 🤍: hi, I don't know when you'll see this, but I wanted to let you know that I'm already home

lightfury 🤍: I hope we can talk later, I don't want things between us to be like this. good night, eds

With a relieved sigh, he let go of his cell phone and let his arms fall to his sides, smiling at the ceiling of his room. You really were a badass woman.

Pondering for a few seconds, he took the device in his hands again and went straight to the search app.

“Why can’t I get hard?”

He looked through the countless search results until he found the one that most resembled his case.

‘Powerful erection, buy it and receive it in two business days.’ What the fuck? No.

‘Age crisis? SexBull pills are the solution.’ No, absolutely not.

‘Erectile dysfunction, understand the causes and how to treat it.’ Oh God, please don’t be that.

He clicked on the last option and started reading the article.

“Erectile dysfunction, also known as impotence, is defined by difficulty getting and keeping an erection. It can be an embarrassing thing to talk about. It's been reported that more than half of men between the ages of 40 and 70 experience some form of ED.”

His eyes widened as soon as they passed the section where the most susceptible ages were indicated.

What the hell? Eddie was only 25. Could it get any worse?

Oh yeah, it could...

“Various risk factors can contribute to erectile dysfunction, including:

• Tobacco use, which restricts blood flow to veins and arteries, can — over time — cause chronic health conditions that lead to erectile dysfunction;

• Drug and alcohol use, especially if you're a long-term drug user or heavy drinker.”

Oh yes, he was completely fucked if he were to take these two factors into consideration, as he smoked so much that he could be compared to a walking chimney, and his body was almost at the point of producing alcohol on its own accord.

But his concern soon disappeared when he read the rest of the article.

“The brain plays a key role in triggering the series of physical events that cause an erection, starting with feelings of sexual excitement. A number of things can interfere with sexual feelings and cause or worsen erectile dysfunction. These include:

Depression, anxiety or other mental health conditions;

Stress;

Relationship problems due to stress, poor communication or other concerns;

Anxiety.”

Anxiety…

This last topic caught the boy's attention because it was exactly what he felt when he was around you, not that it was caused by your person, but rather by his dangerous mind.

All that euphoria of wanting to please you and insecurity that he wouldn't be good enough had created a black cloud above his head that rained liquid worry straight to his brain and caused a breakdown in his nervous system due to the pressure he felt, which led to his failed performance today.

He turned off his cell phone screen and lay on his side with his eyes closed, thinking about what a complete jerk he had been to you and how he would explain the whole situation without sounding even more ridiculous.

But that would be for tomorrow, with a quick movement he raised his left arm and slammed the palm of his hand against the light switch, leaving the room in complete darkness and silence as he fell into a deep sleep.

A few kilometers away, you were already lying in bed and ready to sleep, a few seconds away from turning off the light when you heard the notification sound of a new message.

Normally you would let it go and go to sleep, but the name that appeared on the screen caught your attention and you picked up the device and unlocked it, clicking on the messaging app icon.

nightfury 🖤: hey

nightfury 🖤: I'm sorry if I was an asshole today

nightfury 🖤: can we talk tomorrow? I don't want to lose you because of my stupidity

night fury: night baby

Upon reading the content of the messages, you smiled widely until your cheeks hurt, and with your heart filled with tenderness and joy you finally allowed yourself to lie down and sleep.

Tomorrow would be a new day, and hopefully, a much better day.

47 minutes and 15 seconds, that was how long Eddie had spent in front of the mirror rehearsing his monologue, and he was not at all satisfied with what came out of his mouth.

Nervousness had turned him into a pathetic chattering mess and he couldn't stop himself from spewing nonsense words in the middle of sentences.

Walking back and forth across the room, the young man decided that it would be better to stop that stupidity and act like an adult, he would go to your work and talk normally without all this ridiculous rehearsal.

Be yourself, Munson. He spoke in his mind whilst taking a deep breath.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m ready.” His hands ran through his wavy hair and he bit his bottom lip anxiously.

“I’m not fucking ready for this.” He grumbled as he furtively watched from across the street where he could see you at the register through the large glass window.

Robin and Steve were nowhere to be seen, which was easier because he certainly didn't want to deal with those two loudmouths today.

Eddie thought about standing there until you noticed him staring at you like a maniac, and then calling the police so he wouldn't have to go through the second humiliation of explaining himself. Ha, good idea Edward.

The boy shook his head, making his hair messier and putting his hand on his face, exhaling in exasperation. Do you have a fucking problem?

“Okay, it’s now or never Eddie…” People on the street looked at him strangely as they watched him talk to himself. “You can do it, just get there and act cool, easy, you got this.” And repeating this about a hundred more times in his mind, he took courage and walked towards Family Video, which was now Family Books.

The sound of the bell ringing echoed throughout the empty store, making you look up ready to greet the customer who had arrived.

A smile formed on your mouth when you noticed Eddie standing in front of the cashier counter, playing with the rings on his fingers.

“Hi..” Your voice broke him out of the trance he was in. "Can I help you with something?" Eddie looked at you with slightly widened eyes.

“Um, can we… Can we talk? Both of us? In particular?" He wanted to slap himself for the way he was stuttering the words.

"Of course! I just need to call Robin or Steve,” Your eyes scanned the store for your two noisy friends. “I can’t leave the register without anyone here.”

“No problem,” Eddie said shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Take your time, I’m not in a hurry.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” You smiled before disappearing down the hall.

You practically ran through the bookshelves looking for those two, and no sign of them.

"What a hell?" You stood in the hallway talking to yourself. “Where were those two-” The shrill noises of laughter reached your ear, revealing the location of the two lazy people you called friends.

You marched furiously to the storage room while thinking of millions of curses to throw at them, opening the door with a quick movement letting it slam against the wall, scaring the both of you, you began to complain.

“What do you two think you’re doing here?” Robin and Steve looked at you scared from where they were sitting, laughing about something on Robin's phone. “Did you forget that you also have to work?”

“We were…Uh, the books… The books needed to be scanned? Yes, the books needed to be scanned into the system!” Steve was slurring his words trying to explain himself, while Robin just looked elsewhere as if she wasn't to blame for anything.

“Oh really?” You asked and they both nodded. “Then where are the books and the scanner? I don’t see either one.”

The two remained silent, staring at you, wishing that a stack of books would magically appear in front of them.

"Hey, did you hear that?" Robin began.

“Yes, I think I heard some customer calling us.” The brunette agreed with the blonde girl and they both got up from the couch, hurriedly passing you who was still standing in the doorway.

“What the-” Snorting you rolled your eyes. "Forget it." You mumbled.

Turning to go back to the front of the store and tell Eddie that he could come now, you came face to face with the boy a few feet away, which made you let out a scared yelp.

“Jesus…” You placed your hand on your chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He smirked and approached you.

“Sorry, I thought you saw me follow you.” Eddie was looking at you with such intensity that you had to look away.

“Yeah, no, no problem,” You let out a nervous laugh. “Come in, here we can talk privately.” He entered the storage room as you stepped aside and gestured with your hand.

The two of you sat on the brown leather couch and stared at each other.

“So…” “I…” You let out a laugh as you spoke at the same time.

"You first." You said smiling shyly.

“Okay,” The metalhead took a deep breath before starting to speak. “Firstly I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you yesterday, I was rude and mean to you when you didn’t deserve it.” His brown eyes remained fixed on yours the entire time. “And secondly, I wanted to explain myself about-” You cut him off before he could say anything else.

“No, no, it’s okay. Seriously, I understand why you reacted the way you did and I don’t blame you for it.” Your body moved closer to him and your hands took his in yours affectionately. “You don’t need to explain yourself about anything, Eds.” The boy felt his heart beat faster and his eyes burn with tears forming in his waterline. “What happened yesterday could have happened to anyone, including me, and I'm sorry if at any point I made you feel embarrassed or uncomfortable, I swear that wasn't my intention. You are the most precious boy to me and I truly apologize if you felt this way because of me.”

Eddie had been left speechless.

His mouth was dry and his heart was pounding like it was going to jump out of his chest. He was so moved by the things you said that he barely noticed when tears started to run down his beautiful pale face.

“Oh no, no, please don't cry,” Worry was written in capital letters all over your face. “I-I didn’t say anything in a bad way, please-” Your chatter was interrupted by the warm smile he directed at you.

“You…” He said shaking his head in disbelief. “You have no idea what your words mean to me.” The curly-haired boy felt his cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “All my life I've been told I wasn't enough and judged for who I am, I was so insecure about myself that the only way I could find it was to mask who I was, so I created this confident shell that didn't care about the rest of the world, so that maybe one day I could be accepted by someone…” Now you were the one crying silently at his speech.

“And after all these years thinking that I would live with fragments of my true self, you came and knocked me off my feet,” He smiled through his tears and brought one of his hands to your face, caressing it affectionately.

“It scared the hell out of me the way I lost all my composure around you, I felt scared because that boy who was so hurt in the past always tried to be present around you, all the time he wanted to show himself but I suppressed him as much as I could, afraid that I would lose you because of my ghosts. It was a new feeling for me, you know? You brought me comfort and kindness, and it made me want to run, 'cause I was so used to living in pain and being hurt that it became my comfort to feel this all the time, and the idea of being… Truly loved for who I am, made me have so much fear." His eyes widened in realization after the last sentence.

Eddie lived for so long feeling pain and finding comfort in it, that he was afraid of being loved and cared for by someone, believing that he was not worthy of such feelings.

“Eddie…” You looked deeply into his eyes before continuing, and in that moment you didn't see 'Eddie Munson, the Satanist leader of a cult who didn't care about the opinion of any living soul' but 'Eddie Munson, the scared and fragile boy who was so hurt by people who once pretended to love him, the insecure young boy who believed he would never be good enough to be loved by anyone'. “You are more than enough, you are not broken and less worthy of someone’s love, do you hear me?” Despite the serious tone of your voice, it still carried a whirlwind of emotions. "Nobody! No one has the right to say whether or not you deserve to be loved, because you do deserve to be happy in any and every way, Eddie. And this little boy inside you?” You asked with teary, red eyes and he nodded. “Let him out, let me get to know him, let me take care of him and show him how loved he is. Let him be free this time, because this time I will take care of you two, I will show you how much love I have to give you.”

The two of you looked at each other as if there was no one else in the world, just two souls destined to find each other and become just one, a single soul that carried with it the fragments of the past so that in the future they would remind them of the arduous path they had taken until they found home at each other's hearts.

Eddie was the first to close the distance between you, being followed by you immediately.

Your lips touched, causing an explosion of feelings in your hearts and pure passion to run like thick honey through your veins, filling each wound and healing the cuts that seemed to not want to heal.

His hands were like warm silk that slid easily across your skin, taking place at the base of your neck as he possessively cupped your cheek and claimed your mouth for himself with his warm, sensual tongue, caressing every corner and edge of your cavity.

You gave in equally to the kiss and holding his wet face, you let all the feelings flow as you lost yourself in the taste of love that was in each other's mouths.

Passion. Euphoria. Reassurance. And love, so much love.

He deepened the kiss even more and sighed intensely, sliding one of his arms around your waist and holding you as if you were going to disappear at any moment.

Your hands found the base of his neck and you intertwined your fingers in his long locks, bringing him to you.

But it still wasn't enough, your bodies screamed for each other and your minds clouded with the desire to feel the raw and pure nature that emanated from your pores and dripped from your centers.

You broke the kiss and lightly ripped off the leather jacket he was wearing, placing your mouth on his again and running your hands up his arms in a frantic manner. You wanted to feel him in his entirety, his body, his essence and his soul.

Eddie was no different, his mind screamed your name incessantly and his body cried out hotly to possess your flesh and infiltrate you, draining your arousal until there was no drop left.

With a quick movement he laid you down and was on top of you, stopping only to take off his shirt and throw it somewhere in the storage room.

“God, tasting you is like having a taste of the nectar of the gods, I can’t get enough.” He admired you and smiled, placing his lips on your neck and jaw.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with his mouth trailing kisses and licking your sensitive spots. “God, Eddie.” Your body was on fire and his attention only intensified that.

“Wait, wait…” You managed to mumble breathlessly.

“Did I hurt you? We can stop if-” You silenced him by putting a finger on his mouth. “Shhh, lay down. Now.” Something in his gaze changed and you could swear you heard him whimper softly.

Eddie lay down on the couch and you stood up watching him, his Adam's apple bobbed and he swallowed hard seeing your look. You were like a seductive panther looking at him as if he was your prey and you were waiting for the right moment to enjoy the meal. Him.

“I’m going to make you feel so good…” Draping one of your legs over him you sat on top of his crotch. “And I will show you who owns this body.” With that said, you attacked his mouth with yours, this time the kiss was fierce, full of bites and sinfully whispered moans.

He filled his hand and squeezed your ass tightly, drawing a breathy sigh from you, while the other moved up to your breast and pinched your nipple through the fabric of your blouse and bra.

You ran your lips and trailed a path of wet kisses to his jaw, going straight to his earlobe and nibbling, feeling him stiffen beneath you. That's the spot, you thought.

“You love teasing me, don’t you? Always trying to make me surrender first…” He asked as he placed his feet firmly on the floor and held your waist, pressing down and rubbing your pussy with his rock-hard cock. “You’re going to need more than that, sweetheart…” He held your head, pushing you against his sensitive spot and sighed with lust.

"Me?" Pretending to be innocent, you began to kiss hotly down to his pale pink nipples and, God, they were pierced. “And what have we here?” You ran your tongue gently, seeing him shiver and smile, biting his lip. “Oh… They’re sensitive, aren’t they?” With your thumb and forefinger you began to squeeze and roll them between your fingers.

“Oh God, please.” He panted and arched his back bringing his chest to you. “They're still too sensitive…” He let go of your waist and unbuttoned the buttons on your beige uniform shirt, taking it off and throwing it in some corner. “I need to feel you or I’ll go crazy.” He pulled the clasp of your bra in one agile movement and ripped it from your body with violence. “What did you do to me, woman?” His hands grabbed both of your breasts and squeezed with voracious force, eliciting a muffled moan from you.

“I just put you in your place, big boy.” You sat up straight and took your time admiring him, his disheveled look, his alabaster chest full of tattoos and his hard nipples, his slender waist and his happy trail that led to the treasure you selfishly wanted to enjoy. “The other women never knew how to deal with you, isn’t that right?” He looked at you with his eyes half closed and mouth hanging open and nodded. “Hmmm…” You began to roll your hips into his crotch and brought your hands to his that were resting on top of your breasts and pressed them even harder, throwing your head back with the pleasure that electrified your body as your clitoris started being stimulated with friction. “They never knew how you become such a good boy when someone commands you, right my pet?”

“Hmmm fuck yeah, I'm such a good boy for you... No one can have me like you do, my love…” He was slowly losing the last bit of sanity he had left, you were like a drug and he was the addict in abstinence and would use you until he couldn't take it anymore and dropped dead.

“That’s it, baby, you poor thing… You just needed someone to tame you like you deserve, right?” Mocking his fucked up state you laughed mischievously. “Shhh, don’t worry, I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll beg me not to stop…” Sliding off his lap and kneeling between his legs covered in ripped black jeans, you began to play with the hem of his pants, teasing him.

“Jesus…” He panted and ran a hand through his untamed curls. “Please don't fuck with me this time” Whispering quietly and looking at his dick he bit his lower lip so hard that he was sure he would draw blood. “Are you nervous, big boy?” Your seductive voice penetrated his ears like the song of a siren who was about to take him to the bottom of the ocean and drown him in the dark waters of pleasure. “Yeah-” he cleared his throat. “Do I make you nervous?” Your hand slowly crackling down his pelvis and caressing his thighs was enough to short-circuit his poor, lust-ridden brain, allowing him to only nod pathetically.

Sliding one hand up his inner thigh and giving it an experimental squeeze as your left trailed its way to the hard bulge in his pants, you saw his face contort in pleasure and he let out a shuddering breath. “Hmm, I can make you relax… But I don’t know if you deserve it, you know?” Teasing him for fun just to see the desperate look on his beautiful face that was sin incarnate.

“W-What? No I-I” his plea was interrupted by your mocking tone of voice. “Ah, ah, ah… You've been such a bad boy recently,” The smile on your face widened even more when you noticed how wide his eyes were, dilated pupils swallowing any trace of the chocolate that painted his iris, giving way to the black that emanated the lust that his body failed to contain. “Bad boys don’t deserve good things, my pet.”

Shaking his head like a maniac, his hoarse and sly voice pleaded. “N-no, I was… I was a good boy, please! Please touch me… Fuck, please touch me.” He didn't care how pathetic he sounded now, his mind was completely clouded. You you you. It was all he could focus on, your fresh citrus smell that invaded his nostrils and made him want to stick his nose in your neck, your ethereal and unique taste that stuck to his tongue and permeated his taste buds, your curves that fit so perfectly in his hands and your body that reacted so deliciously to him.

“I don’t know… You still haven’t convinced me that you deserve it.” You looked at him intensely and he swallowed hard when he noticed the strange gleam in your eyes. “Beg… Beg me to touch you, Eddie.” You waited with a small smile. “Please? Please touch me?” He spoke quietly, his face turning pink. “You can do better than that, pet…” He huffed and looked to the side with a pout. “Okay, since you don't want to ask nicely,” Leaning on his knees, you stood up and stood. “I’ll come back-” “No, wait wait!” He quickly dropped to his knees at your feet and circled his arms around your waist and hips, looking at you with puppy dog eyes that would make you commit atrocities if he used them against you. “Please…” He began, “Please touch me, I’m begging you.” He rubbed one of his cheeks on your bare stomach and began trailing kisses down to the hem of your jeans. “Let me feel you… Please, I’ll do anything.” He held your waist with such strength that you would definitely have had his finger marks the other day - not that you cared at the moment, too focused on the way he begged for your touch.

“Stand up,” You ordered and he promptly obeyed, rushing forward, almost losing his balance. “Take your pants and shoes off, now.” His hands flew to the button on his pants, undoing it and then unzipping his black jeans, bending down to untie the knots on the black combat boots he wore and discarding them somewhere nearby. You saw the hesitation in his eyes as he bit his lip and commanded again. "You are deaf? Strip. The pants. Now." Your hard, dominating voice made him tremble and shiver with desire.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and removed the item of clothing, revealing the white Calvin Klein boxers he was wearing. Your eyes migrated to his crotch and your mouth watered as you noticed the size of the bulge that stretched the fabric almost to its limit, a small wet spot could be seen where his pink tip rested and could be seen due to the transparency of the damp fabric.

“You know, I don’t think it’s fair that I’m the only one taking off my clothes, don’t you?” His voice dropped a few octaves and reverberated through your body, his eyes practically burning each and every piece of clothing you wore. “And who said I care what you think?” You slid a finger down his tattooed chest, stopping before your hand came down on his erection. “But I suppose you’re right…” Withdrawing your finger and walking away, you saw him exhale in frustration and the corners of your mouth turned up in a wicked little smile.

You took off your sneakers and socks, taking your hand to your denim shorts and unbuttoning and unzipping them quickly, making a show for the brunette standing in front of you. He licked his lips hungrily at every bit of skin that was exposed in the process, his eyes making you feel like a furnace inside.

The two of you were now standing face to face in just your underwear, Eddie couldn't take his eyes off your body, he was looking at you so intensely that your knees went weak when you took a step forward.

“Why don’t you get comfortable on the couch and let me take care of you, huh?” You placed both hands on his chest and pushed him until he sat on the furniture, taking a place between his open legs and kneeling again.

“I’m gonna' make you feel so good, Eddie…” You rubbed your hand over his crotch, avoiding his cock only to see him twitch. “I don’t- fuck- I don’t doubt that, sweetheart, but please-” His babbling was cut off by the feeling of your small hand stroking the base of his dick so lightly that he was barely sure you were touching him. "What? Please, what-” Your fingers collided with something even harder.

His eyes glittered with a wild glow and you narrowed your eyes and looked down to where your hand rested.

Eddie smirked and bit his lower lip when he noticed your surprised face. “What’s wrong, sweetie? See anything you like?” He was making fun of you and you could tell.

Moving your hand, you spoke again, “A piercing… Munson, Munson, you’re a box full of surprises…” Your index fingers hooked into the waistband of his underwear. “Do you have any more surprises for me, Eddie?” Your playful question was answered as soon as you removed the last piece of clothing from him and his cock emerged free in all its glory: big and thick, probably a good nine inches, with a prominent vein on the underside, curved slightly to the right and, the cherry on top, his gray metal piercing decorating the drooling, reddish tip.

His eyes were boring into your face, trying to catch your reactions.

Your eyes widened slightly and your mouth parted, forming a slight “o”, while one of your hands crept up to his erect dick and caressed the long shaft.

“Oh yes, this is a big surprise…” Your hand moved up and down. “Now be a good boy and keep still while I suck your cock.” His face contorted into an expression of pleasure and his mouth fell open in a whimper. “Damn, woman, you're going to be the death of me…” He laughed and shook his head in disbelief.

His eyes were boring into your face, trying to catch your reactions.

Your eyes widened slightly and your mouth parted, forming a slight “o”, while one of your hands crept up to his erect dick and caressed the long shaft.

You drooled, wetting your lips, before you took it in your hand and dipped your head.

You took him in your mouth easily, sucking on the tip while your tongue slid over the sensitive head that leaked the milky fluid. Eddie whined loudly, his hands moving to hold through your hair, tangling his calloused fingers through your soft hair. Your mouth, velvety warm, sucking him down gently while driving him crazy.

Eddie exhaled languidly, eyes fluttering down to watch you through thick lashes.

You look up at him, jacking him slowly and still sucking his red swollen tip, Eddie nodded at you gently, a bow down towards you that was your go-ahead signal.

"Just like that, honey..." His face writhed in the purest expression of lust, shutting his eyes for a moment.

He could feel his tip hitting the back of your throat and your skilled tongue caressing his shaft, and still willing to take him further into your tight throat. "Goddamit, baby, this sinful mouth of yours… F-fuck that feels so good.."

"So good, you’re so good to me baby." Eddie rasped, voice drowned out at the empty storage room where the two of you vulgarly expressed your most carnal and sinful desires.

You gave him your best ‘fuck me’ eyes, moving to cup his balls while your head bobbed up and down his cock.

His eyes trailed down to you, seeing you looking at him while almost sucking his soul out of his body,it was too much for his poor brain to handle. Eddie closed his eyes again and let out a symphony of moans and whimpers to the feeling of your warm wet mouth.

Your hand cupped his balls, squeezing lightly, pulling back to suction on his heavy sac and moving your hand down his shaft, deeply inhaling the musky scent of his manhood.

Eddie could feel his own abs clenching with every slow drag of your mouth licking the soft skin of his balls and making them jump and squeeze at your expert movements.

"Holy fucking shit." Eddie gritted, tightening his grip in your hair. "You take me so good, isn’t that right baby? Gos, such a fucking slut for my dick, huh? Bet you soaking through these panties ."

You hum in response, vibrations from your throat tickling and sending shockwaves through his sac.

He wasn't going to last long with jerking him and fondling his ball like that, you were too good at this. Too good at making him a total and pathetic mess.

You knew he was so close, his toes were curling, his breath becoming erratic and his grip on your head getting tighter each time, the coil in his lower belly pulling closer and closer until it snapped, spilling hot spurts of his seed onto your flattened tongue while he threw his head back and groaned loudly.

He milked himself into your mouth, finger hooking to catch a dribbled spurt on the side of your lips before he pressed them in your mouth. .

You swallowed him in one big gulp, opening your mouth open to show him, seeing the way his eyes became darker.

“Fuck,” he panted and ate you with his eyes. “I have to be inside you in the next five seconds or I’m gonna’ get fucking crazy, ‘cause you're killing me here, baby.” Desperation and lust were written across his eyes.

You smiled, still kneeling between his legs, and bit your lip seductively with half lidded eyes.

“Oh yeah? You're that desperate to feel my pussy around your cock, huh?” You stood up and looked down at him through your eyelashes, seeing him nod dumbly.

"I'm being such a good boy for you, don't you think I deserve this..." Nothing could prepare you for the word that would come out of his mouth in the next moment. "...Mommy?"

You choked on your own spit.

Jesus Christ, that simple word leaving his mouth was able to light an intense flame inside you, that licked your center and melted into a slick that soaked your panties and ran down your thigh.

You stood there, opening and closing your mouth like a fish in water, completely speechless.

Eddie watched you with a shit-eating grin as if to say "I won."

His expression faltered as he noticed your hard gaze and sinister smile at him, you saw his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed dry and cleared his throat.

“Yeah...you really are a box full of surprises, Eddie, and it's going to be so fun to play with you..." You hooked your thumbs into your wet panties and dragged them down your legs, letting them fall to the floor and kicking it to some corner of the room.

His eyes were now fixed on your smooth, glistening pussy, you felt a surge of pride and self-confidence as you noticed his cock kicking in interest.

Eddie was sure that at this point he was shamelessly drooling at the sight of you naked in front of him, your body must surely be the representation of Satan and his sin as how provocative and ungodly it was.

"Shit..." With the way you were looking at him, like you wanted to eat him alive, he probably wouldn't get out of there in one piece.

You grinned at him and leaned over, putting a leg over him and sitting on his hairy thighs.

Your eyes skimmed over the pretty boy below you, his fucked out face, he never looked so beautiful.

Your eyes wandered his slender torso and followed the delicious happy trail that led to the thatch of dark curls framing his gorgeous dick..

“Ready for me sweetheart?” He asked with an air of smugness and tucked his hands behind his head, but you could see that he was controlling himself not to jump on your bones. "The real question here is, are you ready for me, Eds?” You trailed your hand from his stomach to his tattooed chest, fingers ghosting over his nipples drawing a shaky breath from him. "So...so ready, princess, please..." His glazed eyes were heavy, you hummed, but remained silent as his hands hovered over your thighs before shakily running through your hips and waist.

Still grinning at him, you reached between your bodies to give his cock a few steady strokes. He pulsed in your palm and it sent a surge of need through your lower belly.

Adjusting yourself and sitting upright, you moved until you were sitting on top of his rock hard cock, giving your hips an experimental rock and shivering as you grind against his cock slowly, the fiction on your clit sending waves of arousal coursing through your veins.

“Go ahead baby, take what you want.” Eddie closes his eyes, fighting his inner demons to not to cum with just that, his hips thrusting into you into its own accord. "Sit still or I'll stop." You warned and Eddie's hips stilled before reluctantly settling against the couch. "How badly do you want to cum, baby?" You asked, slowly rocking your hips before sitting back down on his lap. You set a lazy pace, making sure each glide of your wet cunt was slower than the last. “Christ, mommy-” Eddie whimpering, his hips thrusting weakly against yours.

He didn't see it coming, he just felt the burning sensation and the impact of your hand on the left side of his face. “Dont. Fucking. Move.” You hold a tight grip on his throat. “Answer me, you pathetic slut.”

"Fuck," he panted as his back arched off, "I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to–" Another slap delivered across his cheek, the skin blossoming a pretty shade of pale pink-reddish. "Fuck! I want it so bad, I want to cum so bad, Mommy!" Lustful tears were forming on his waterline and threatening to spill over his hot cheeks. “Hmm, that’s a good boy…” Your lips kissed his red cheek with tenderness.

"Who-who thought that you were into that shit..." Eddie's voice has a rasp to it. “Might be a lot about me you don't know, Munson.”

Your fingertips dug into his chest as you steadied yourself with one hand and grabbed his cock with the other, and ever so slowly sank down on his generous length. Mingling moans and whimpers paired with the sounds of his grunts filled the small space of the storage room, you shuddered as he stretched you inch by glorious inch and let out a content sigh when you were fully seated on his lap, his balls pressed against your ass.

“Oh my god, Eddie…” He had one hell of a view, and it had him entranced. Your jaw was slack as you gasped and panted from how deep he was, and your head was thrown back with pleasure. He gave you a moment to adjust before both of his hands found purchase on your ass and he started fucking into you like a wild animal. "Hoooly fucking shit, you're so fucking- Oh God!” he whimpered. “Yes… Oh fuck, right there!” Your hands held onto his arms that were circling your waist while his thick cock pumped in and out of you.

“Eddie!” You cried, your pussy clamping down around his dick as your thighs snapped closed on his narrow waist. “Oh my fucking god! Ohhhh-” The boy laughed breathlessly seeing you lose your mind over how good he was fucking you. "Yeah Mommy? Where's all that atittude, huh? Got so dumb on my cock that you can't even answer me?" He met you for a sloppy kiss, both of you too far gone to care about the clumsiness. "You... Dick." He moaned into your mouth as you clenched around him, hands flying to your face as he bucked into you.

“Close, I'm- baby I’m so close,” you whined against his lips.

The white burning coil in your core grew to reach its snapping point with every brush of his dark curls against your clit.

“Yeah, you gonna cum for me?" His sweaty forehead pressed to your own while his almost black irises looked deep into your soul. “Fuck, that's it Mommy, I wanna feel you cumming all over my cock.” His hand left your waist to snake down, his thumb rubbed tight circles to your clit, helping that tight band snap inside you. “Oh fuck!” You cried out loud as you came, not caring if Robin or Steve would hear. Your hips continued to roll, a clumsy attempt at keeping up with his thrusts and his thumb that still rubbed your bundle of nerves.

“Feels so… fuck, your pussy…” He babbled, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Hmm… you’re just so… tight and warm.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck and let every one of his senses be entirely consumed by you.

He's loud when he comes, whimpering loudly, full body weak with it. You feel his cock pulse and kick inside of you, deep painting your insides white.

"Thank you, Mommy..." He's mumbling against your skin, kissing the side of your neck softly as he comes down. "God, you're so perfect."

The mixing of his cum and your arousal is now coating your inner thighs, and dripping onto his balls and crotch. “Jesus fuck—” He slip his now soft cock out of your cunt, seeing the white fluid dripping of your insides.

Both of his arms wrapped protectively around you and his nose nuzzled against your temple as he whispered how good you were for him.

Eddie pressed your cheek to the crown of your head and drew soothing patterns across your warm, sweaty skin. “Do you think they heard us?” You broke the comfortable silence. "For sure." He laughed softly and you widened your eyes, slapping his chest. "Eddie!" "What? You asked and I just answered." You rolled your eyes and stood up, getting off his lap. "Wait, wait!" He held your waist and sat you down on the couch, heading towards the black shirt he had thrown on the floor a few minutes before. "Gotta clean up my girl." He went to the water machine in the corner of the room and wetted the fabric, returning to where you were and gently rubbing it against your skin.

You both got dressed in silence and looked at each other.

“So…” “Yeah…” You looked at the wall as if there was something interesting there as he rocked back on his heels with his hands in his leather jacket pockets. "Um..." He began. "What do you think about... I don't know, going to the movies today? I saw there's a really cool movie in the theater and- and it would be cool if we went together." You smiled, biting your lip. "Really? What's the movie?" The boy smiled too and was sincere. "I don't know, but with you anything is cool." Your heart melted at his sweet words.

"Pick me up at seven?" You opened the door, stepping outside so he could get out too. "Seven, great, very good." He wanted to beat himself for being so nervous, for God’s sake just a few minutes ago he was balls deep in you.

"Okay! I'll see you at seven then." You smiled and walked towards the front of the bookstore, coming face to face with Steve and Robin whispering, who soon stopped as soon as they saw you and Eddie.

Eddie said goodbye to you and left the store, waving his hand and smiling once again as he mouthed 'see you at seven'.

You turned to your friends who had a mischievous smile on their faces and walked back to your spot behind the counter.

"So..." Robin said. "Mommy, huh?" Bursting into laughter with Steve.

"Fuck off, you two." You mumbled, face burning with embarrassment.

You could say that those two gave you hell for a long time after that day.

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