#i know a lot of people don’t like it and that’s why i had been putting it off | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

delulustateofmind · 2 days ago

Text

Hysteria

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

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.

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.

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

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.

"But—"

"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.

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.

Until he didn’t.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

Surrounded by people who didn’t believe you.

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.

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

"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."

"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.

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.

"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.

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—

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 they’d win.

"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.

"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."

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

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?"

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—"

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

"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.

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.

"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.

"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?

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

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.

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.

For a moment, Suguru was still.

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

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.

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.

You should have felt relief.

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.

And then—

Unbothered.

The door.

Something different.

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

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.

Satoru flinched. Just for a second.

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

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."

Everything went black.

"We love you."

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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dyingswanpavlova · 10 hours ago

Text

"Your girl" - Part 14 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: Life with him is really good...Right?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/gore/death, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities, loss of identity, threatening, penetration, breeding kink, degradation kink, cockwarming, edging, overstimulation, sleepy sex (both consent!), not beta-read, if I've missed any warnings or tags please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Life was good.

Uncharacteristically so even.

There was still a tiny part of you that was tense around him and that was for various reasons. One of them being, that you never really knew when his evil persona would take over. So far you could tell, albeit roughly, but there were always moments, when he would simply snap and there was nothing you could do about it. Was that a problem? Probably, but not to you, anyways. Why? Because life was good.

The little trip to the balcony hadn’t been a one-time thing. In fact, it happened more and more regular. Not only to get naughty, because he was a freak, who liked the thought of possibly getting caught – but also because, as he said, you’ve been such a good girl for me all this time. And I told you, sweet girl, I don’t want to keep you locked away. I just needed to make sure you’re mine.

That you were. Quite obviously.

That one time when you told him you wanted to leave, it had been exactly that. One time. The reasons for that outburst were in the past so far. There were still moments when you feared punishment and rightfully so. But to your great relief, you were both learning.

You were learning not to expect a painful blow, whenever you went out of your way to speak your mind (which wasn’t quite as often as you wished, but you were getting there). Slow and steady.

And he? He was learning, too. He was learning to leave you be and control the wild beast that lived inside his mind and soul. The darkness that surrounded him became lighter every day or so it felt to you. Of course he wouldn’t let you downright insult him, without at least some punishment in sight. But he was working on himself and his behavior. He didn’t hurt you without a reason. He didn’t hurt severely. And on some lucky days, he didn’t hurt you at all.

Slow and steady.

What was probably the greatest part of it all, it felt like a relationship. A real one. Two people who shared a life together, doing all kinds of things, sharing an intimate relation, but most importantly, you talked.

You talked a lot.

And now it wasn’t only through games and the fear of punishment. It wasn’t even only you who was forced to talk. No, he talked as well. The important things were still a big issue, obviously. He didn’t have a name, an identity or a past, when it came to you. But you had the great, undying hope that one day he would trust you. Trust you enough to let you know who he was and where he came from, what made him who he was and what was truly important to him.

Sometimes you’d get those tiny, little flickers that shone through his façade, his tight mask. The moments when the look in his eyes became faraway and distant, when his voice became softer and the tension in his body gave way to something quiet. Maybe one day that would be the version of him that you would get. Entirely and without question. Without the filter to rule out his emotions for him.

Until then, though, you would make do with what you had. And what did you have?

His favorite movie? The good, the bad and the ugly. What a question. Actually, anything with Clint Eastwood in it. Haven’t you seen the man?

His favorite musician? Ennio Morricone. Did you watch that scene in Inglourious Basterds, right before the Bear Jew comes out of the cave? That scene – and that composition – it’s reason enough to watch the movie. Aside from all the Nazis getting burned, of course.

His favorite food? Tteokbokki. But they have to be spicy enough to make your tongue fall off.

You smirked to yourself as you stood by the stove, slowly stirring the rice cakes in a black pan. He was talking movies all the time and that was a language you understood well.

In a minute you needed to add the spices and that disturbingly hot, red sauce. It was something you had cooked before, back in England. You had been scrolling aimlessly through one of your countless apps, which you normally used so you wouldn’t have to think and there you found some recipe that had been viral for a while. A Korean recipe with rice cakes in a sauce, topped with sesame and green onions. It had been quite the ordeal to find rice cakes back where you lived, but when you finally did and you tasted the recipe you had so carefully and lovingly prepared, you found it was worth it. It had actually been the first step into the life you were now living.

South-Korea, you had thought. Why not?

You poured the sauce in and wanted to try it, but decided against it in the end. You’d spend the next hour trying to soothe the pain in your mouth with bread and milk. With a soft sigh, you turned off the stove and served the food on two plates. You set the table with the gentle precision of a lovely homemaker. Even the napkins were folded prettily, giving the whole scene the last touch it needed to come off as…thoughtful.

Of course you never mentioned to him that you knew the dish. He had mostly likely thought it was just another Korean word he threw around and you’d forget immediately. And you had made no attempts to make him believe differently. So, when you began to cook this, it was with the intention to surprise him. A short glance at the clock showed you that it was almost ten in the evening, so he would most likely be home soon.

Home. What an odd thought.

You sighed again and washed your hands. A lecture you had to learn only once before in your life – spicy food didn’t quite match well with eyes.

You glanced around the kitchen once more, half-expecting him to be late. After he luckily gave you the books back, you asked yourself if you should go and read something, until he arrived, but that question answered itself, the moment you heard the door creak open. A nervous smile grew on your face and you nibbled on your lower lip. For some reason, a part of you was still afraid. A tiny bit, at least. It was like you expected him to punish you for good things. For being affectionate or caring.

But the moment you saw his head perk through the door, you knew you wouldn’t get punished tonight. Well, at least not, until you gave him a reason to…or asked him to.

His face lit up in surprised delight, his brows furrowed in a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

“Hello?” He murmured as he stepped closer and set the briefcase down on a chair. Your smile grew somewhat and you folded your hands behind your back.

“Hey.” You took a step closer and tilted your head to the side. “I made dinner.”

“I can see that.” He glanced at the lovely decorated kitchen table. You had put in quite some effort, looking through all the drawers until you found a tablecloth, lit some candles and then there was his favorite food. He looked from the table to you and smiled.

“And what exactly did I do to deserve this?” He raised a brow in suspicion. You returned the smile.

“I just felt like it.”

“So, you know Tteokbokki!”

You laughed quietly. “We’ll see about that. You should try it first.”

He hummed softly and stepped closer. You expected him to head for the sink and wash his hands, which he most definitely would, but before that, he stepped close to you, so close that you felt the warmth radiating off him and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek and then your lips.

You closed eyes and leaned into the kiss, immediately aching for more. But a second later he pulled his head back and smiled again.

“I just know I’m going to love it. Thank you.”

You felt yourself blush and so you averted your gaze. He finished up getting ready and then pulled out your chair for you, like the gentleman he was, or well, he could be.

The both of you settled down and you kept a keen eye on him to check his reaction, the second he brought the fork to his lips. You half-expected him to recoil in disgust, but instead, his brows furrowed and he hummed in approval.

“This is perfect.”

You scoffed in amusement. “Stop bullshitting me.”

“No, I mean it. It’s perfectly spicy, just the way I like it. And it’s homemade. Do you know how much that me-“ He stopped himself and cleared his throat. The filter. “I really love it. Thank you.” He squeezed your hand under the table.

You smiled again and leaned back in your chair, taking a moment to simply watch him eat.

When he saw you were staring at him, he cocked a brow. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Now it’s you bullshitting me, huh?”

That made you laugh. God, how beautiful this was. Just simple, plain banter. Back and forth, like normal couples shared. You loved it.

You loved him.

When you laughed, a cocky grin grew on his face. “Mhm. I still have it in me, don’t I?”

You smirked. “Oh, shut up. For an old man.”

His grin widened and he picked up the fork, bringing it to your lips. Wordlessly, you parted them and took the food in your mouth. It was painful, of course, but you tried to keep a strong façade. And failed.

He laughed and held out a glass with milk to you, of which you took a big, grateful sip.

“Why are you making it, if you can’t even eat it?”

“You like it.”

He hummed softly. “And you remembered.”

“It’s not that hard. I collect the few things I know about you like postage stamps.”

He snorted. “Oh, so now we collect stamps, do we?”

You grinned cheekily and gently nudged his shoulder. “Eat your abnormal spicy food and shush.”

He shot you another smirk and eyed you up and down for a moment. It left you feeling oddly comfortable.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbled before he took another bite. Your brows shot up and you titled your head to the side. You were better now, when it came to this. Compliments and accepting them. After all, he had no reason to lie to you whatsoever, now, did he?

“Thank you. But why are you saying that?” Not as good as you thought, but better.

He brows furrowed. “And why wouldn’t I?”

You shrugged and he shot you a long, suspicious look. “I’m not taking it back.”

That made you laugh again. He sounded like petulant child and you loved him even more when he was like this. Just…easy.

Easy to love.

“Why are you laughing at me?” He joined your laughter.

You smirked and took another sip of your milk. “If you can’t tell, it’s already too late.”

Days passed, weeks even, and life was still good. Very much so.

Every now and then you would ask yourself, when will things take a dark turn again? You couldn’t help yourself. These first few weeks were stuck in your mind like a nightmare you hardly remembered and yet felt in every inch of your body. Even when you didn’t...

Your body remembered.

He had that in him. That dark, that evil. It would undoubtedly come out again at some point. That’s why you always tried to remind yourself, not to dive too deep into what you called your perfect world. At some point, you’d surely be in pain again.

Though, you had to admit, you were hardly in pain nowadays. Your mysterious man was a gentle man, when he wanted to be and that happened more and more these days. Whenever he came home, he’d make a habit of kissing you and asking you about your day. His smile came out, more and more often. On very rare occasions, when you got really lucky, you even heard him laugh. And not the mock-kind of laugh he’d have so well-rehearsed in his repertoire of masks, he had for the world to see, but the real kind. A sound so unbridled and genuine, so warm and endearing, it made something inside of you ache. Why was it so rare?

Of course he still hurt you sometimes, but that was more of a consented kind of thing. In most cases.

Whenever he decided it was time for you to cockwarm him, for example. God, you hated, when he did. Because you loved it.

You loved the feeling of having him inside you on any occasion, really. Sometimes he’d be reading the newspaper and have you on his lap, his free hand on your hip to hold you perfectly still. You always asked yourself, how on earth did he manage to read like that, without even cocking an eye brow, while you were nearly fainting in agony, because all you wanted was for him to move?

On other nights, and you were ashamed to admit how much you enjoyed it, you’d even sleep like that. You’d lay either facing away or facing him, but often clenched around him. He’d nuzzle his face in your hair and after a while he’d usually drift off like that, his breathing slowly soothing down to a soft sound. Sometimes, when he’d wake up in the middle of the night, you felt him move and grind his hips against yours, giving you the friction you so desperately desired. Sometimes it happened quickly, sometimes it took a few hours and sometimes it didn’t happen at all. But when it did and when it did take hours to get to that point, you’d normally be half-asleep and yet desperate. The second you felt him move inside you, it was as though a switch got flipped. You became needy and…

Wicked.

For you, it didn’t matter how many times he fucked you. How many times he made you cum. When you felt him like that, you needed him. Ardently.

But in most cases you managed to be good for him, just like he asked you to. Good and perfectly still. When you did, you got rewarded. Which, in most cases, consisted of him going down on you and making you feel things with his tongue that made your toes curl and your breath stutter. He made you cum so good that you nearly forgot your own name.

At times, you did forget it. But odd enough, you didn’t really miss it. Names weren’t important. Not with him.

And then there were those other times. The times, when you got too needy, too desperate and, despite your better will, you found yourself moving against him, desperate for any kind of friction. That was when you got punished still.

Sometimes with a firm slap to get you back on track. That wasn’t enough to make you forget about your need for him though. Normally, you’d just fall back into the same pattern, given enough time. And after a while, he got more creative with his punishments. When he realized that pain was something that you were rather immune to, compared to other things, you were fucked.

Quite literally.

When you moved and disobeyed his orders not to…

He fucked you. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not at all, actually.

That was until…

You came. You came every time with him, which was something you had highly doubted, before you started this thing between you. But to your surprise, you were more than relaxed with him. And so you came.

But he didn’t stop there. No, it was a punishment after all, right?

So, he kept fucking into you, like a feral animal. Even after you came and the pleasure quickly shifted into overstimulation. You got so sensitive, it was close to painful. But he kept going.

And then, oh God, you’d come again. Of course you did. He was good at what he was doing. You came again, shuddering and gasping.

And he still wouldn’t stop.

Even when your body arched into the air and you tried to get away from him, all desperate, he’d continue fucking you, until your mind was a mess and all you could do was stutter and whimper, cry even.

It was one of his favorite ways to punish you.

When he didn’t keep you on edge or withdrew your release for the time being, he made you cum until you begged him to stop, sobbing and whimpering.

Oh, the crying turned him on, you could tell. Because it normally ended with him filling you up to the brim. And then he’d go back to sleep, wouldn’t he? With his length still buried deep inside to keep warm.

Let’s just hope you learned your lesson now, darling. I’d hate to punish you again.

He had done exactly that the night before and so you found yourself lying on the sofa, feeling sore and exhausted. When he came home that night, you were still passed out on the couch, too sleepy to even open your eyes. He regarded your broken frame with a warm, yet subtle smile and set his briefcase down. He took a few slow steps closer and watched over you for a long moment, before he reached for the nearby blanket and pulled it up to your shoulders. You weren’t really fast asleep, just somewhere in-between, so you felt his knuckles gently caress your cheek. You mumbled something in response and you heard the way he smiled, before he vanished to the bathroom and you heard the way the water got turned on.

After a while you slowly blinked your eyes open and yawned. When you saw the blanket, a smile crept onto your face and you hugged the material tightly to your body. Slowly and carefully, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, before you decided to try and cook something for a change. You got better and better at it, considering how little you knew about the Korean cuisine. Yet you had to admit, it seemed healthier than anything you had ever eaten back home.

When you couldn’t think of anything, you decided to be safe and went for Bibimbap. It was a mixture of near everything and also the fastest thing you could think of. But before you even started, you went back to your room to grab a claw clip for your hair. You swiftly did it up and made your way through the hallway, when you saw that the door to his bedroom stood open. You saw his white shirt splayed out on the bed and you just knew it smelled like him. You bit your lip as you slowly tiptoed inside and picked the shirt up, only to bury your face in the material and inhale softly.

If this wasn’t home, what would ever be?

You hummed softly to yourself, before you swiftly slid off your caramel colored skirt and your black tank top, to put his button down shirt on instead. The material hugged your body like a gentle hug and you smiled to yourself as you rolled the sleeves up in the way he would. Of course the shirt looked fairly huge on you. You took a long glance at the big mirror and smirked. It looked like a dress on you, albeit a short one. You twirled around like a ballerina and took in the way your thighs were barely covered by the material. That gave you a wicked idea.

Of course your body was begging you to leave it be, especially after last night, but the devil inside your mind forced you to keep the shirt on and make your way back to the kitchen.

In the meantime, he had finished his shower and now he sat on the couch, with the newspaper in his hand. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants (the damned bastard) and a black shirt. His hair was still damp and hung loosely into his face. He looked delicious.

When he heard you approach, he looked up, ready to greet you, when he hesitated. His gaze roamed up and down your body in a way that made you bite back a smirk.

“Hello, darling.” He murmured, without ever looking up at your face.

“Why, hello.” You purred cheerfully and approached him with slow, tiptoed steps. His gaze wandered up your legs and torso, until he finally met your gaze.

“You look…”

“I thought it suits me better than you.” You teased.

His lips curved up into a slow smile. “I can’t disagree.” He took your hand, ready to pull you onto his lap. But after last night, you felt in dire need to take some action and control.

Not, that you didn’t somehow enjoy it. But still.

You briefly squeezed his hand, before you pulled yours away. You gave him a quick peck on the lips, then took a step back.

“I’ll go cook.”

His brows shot up. “I can-“

“No.”

You hid your smirk, until you had your back facing him. With quick, measured steps, you disappeared into the kitchen, all the while pretending not to hear his frustrated groan.

The next few minutes went by rather quickly. You did a great job cooking up some ingredients and even an egg, Sunny Side Up. You quickly set the table and eventually left some rice on the stove, to slowly simmer. With a soft, exaggerated sigh you made your way back to the living room.

“It’s almost done.” You murmured as you slowly approached him. When you looked at him, you deliberately missed his face and his expression became more and more dour.

“Good. I was thinking-“

“I nearly finished my book.” You interrupted him in a sweet voice, as you sat down on his lap, causing him to freeze for a moment. It only took him a second to relax, though he seemed to have forgotten that you had interrupted him and what he even intended to say in the first place.

“That’s…good.” He murmured.

“Just two more pages. I’ll finish it quickly, before dinner, okay?”

He cocked a brow and shrugged slowly. “Sure. Suit yourself.”

His shirt rode up your thighs and revealed more and more of your skin to his gaze. He didn’t even try to be secretive about it, he was straight-up ogling you. All the while you buried your nose in your book, without reading a single word. You had to save up all your energy as not to smile.

His fingertips brushed over the skin of your thigh and you did your best to keep your expression neutral. And he, he was just…

“Are you-“

“Oh God, I didn’t see that twist coming.” You closed the book and sighed. Then you shot him an innocent look and smiled. “That was a really good book.”

You leaned back against his chest and kept up your innocent façade, all the while the look in his eyes equaled that of a bear with his fish.

“You really-“

“I’d better go and get myself another one. I’m sure the rice needs a few more minutes.”

His hand ended up in the middle of the air, while you practically jumped off of his lap. He let out a soft grunt of frustration, while you slowly swayed your way back to the bookshelf. Of course your hips swayed along and obviously his gaze did the same.

You held a finger against your lips, pretending to think, while you slowly went about the rows and rows of books. And then, what a coincidence, a book in the last row caught your attention. You smiled and bent down, pretending to read.

At the same time, his patience snapped. When his shirt rode up further, exposing just a hint of your rear to him, he let out a low growl.

“That’s enough.” He hissed. You smirked, before you slowly turned and replaced the smirk with innocent surprise.

“What? What’s enough?”

“Oh, stop this.” He slammed the newspaper down on the coffee table and stood up in a swift movement. “Stop acting all innocent. You’ve been parading around here, half-naked and ready to…”

“To what?” You murmured and tilted your head to the side in feigned curiosity. He growled again and ran a hand over his chin. Only then did you see the obvious tent in his grey sweatpants. It cost you half your life not to look down there and trust your peripheral view.

“Don’t play dumb.” He murmured. “Get over here. Now.”

You licked your lips. “But the rice-“

“Now!”

That made you laugh and there went your innocent act out of the window.

“You minx! You’re doing this on purpose!”

You chuckled. “Well…”

The look on his face was near rabid. Only the foam was missing.

“I’ll forgive you this once, if you’ll be a good girl for me and get your ass over here.”

You smirked and took a step back, circling the sofa. “And if I don’t?

He hissed in response. “You don’t want to test me today.”

And for some inexplicable reason, right then and there, you weren’t scared. That tiny part of your brain that had continued to keep up the fear, albeit briefly and barely, was completely silent. And you knew he wasn’t going to hurt you, no matter what you did.

“Make me then.”

His eyes widened and he tilted his chin up. “Oh, that’s a mistake.”

You grinned. “Oh, that’s a mistake.” You mocked his voice.

With a movement so quick that it almost made you wince, he jumped over the back of the couch and stood before you, eyeing you like a predator. You let out a soft shriek and turned on your heel, running and laughing, without looking over your shoulder.

It took him only a second to put his hand on your shoulder, but it took you only a second to shrug him off and circle the coffee table.

“That all you got, old man?”

You could have sworn you saw his lip twitch, but that would have been too easy. He tried hard to keep his expression serious.

“Grew a backbone, did you?”

You raised a brow and smirked. “Oh, boo-hoo. Did I hurt you, oppa?” You hinted a mocking curtsy.

“Oh, you just wait!” He rushed to catch you from one side, but you quickly ran the other way. When he tried the other way, you went the other way, yet again. He gave a frustrated growl.

“What now, hm?” You smirked. “Giving up already?”

He gave you a long, wild look. For a moment you almost thought he was indeed giving up, but then he rushed forward and kicked the table out of the way. It rolled over and crashed against the wall loudly. Your eyes widened in surprise and you took a step back, but before you knew it, your back was already pressed against the wall and you had to tilt your head back to stare up at him.

“You caught me.” You whispered.

He clenched his jaw and reached out a hand. You were sure. You were still sure, that you were safe.

And then…

His hand slowly tangled in your hair and gently grasped the back of your neck. He leaned down so that your lips nearly met.

“I caught you.” He whispered back, before he captured your lips in a bruising kiss.

And you let the rice burn.

A few days later, you couldn’t even tell which day it was, because every day was but a collection of memories you kept replaying in your head, he was off to work.

And to no one’s great surprise, you missed him.

Every waking moment without him was empty. The emptiness was so intense, it left you nearly suffocating. All the while, all you could do was wait. Wait and eat. Wait and sleep. Wait and read.

Sometimes, you wrote. You remembered that one time you told him about your greatest dream.

To become an author one day. You didn’t even care, if anyone knew your real name, you just wanted to touch people with your words. Like the Bronte-sisters.

Ellis Bell, huh? And who would you be?

Hana, maybe. The thought made you equally as sad as it filled you with hope.

But that was about all you did. And after hours and hours, the day neared its end. Eventually it was far past eleven, so you were sure he would be late tonight. Of course you were concerned. As you always were. You had no idea what his job was, but you could tell it was dangerous.

The man in his clean suit and a briefcase full of secrets.

When it got closer to midnight and he still wasn’t back, you decided to distract yourself, by getting yourself ready. You changed into a beautiful, white negligee with a neckline made of pretty, see-through lace. You loved it. The silk made you feel like you were the most beautiful girl on earth. And you were sure, once he saw you in it, he would totally destroy it. Chew it off or tear it down, whatever worked faster.

You did your hair down (it was slowly growing back and you barely thought back to the dreadful day that he cut it) and took a last glance at your appearance in the mirror. You smiled at yourself, something you rarely did, and eventually made your way back to his bedroom to surprise him. On his bed, wearing nothing but the negligee and a pair of…

Where were the handcuffs? You frowned as you glanced around and didn’t immediately find them. You bent down to look under the bed, but still no cuffs in sight. Your frown deepened and you gave another quick onceover, before you decided that they most likely were in the wardrobe.

You opened it and knelt down, finding the knife and several guns in the process. The small shudder brought you back to reality and you exhaled softly, before you sat back and looked at the countless weapons. Had he ever killed someone with them? Most likely.

But for a strange, inexplicable reason, you didn’t really care. Not really. Because it wasn’t real. Not then, not there, not in that moment. What was real, was him and his…

Desires.

You opened your mouth and closed it, before your fingers slowly closed around a small handgun. You swallowed thickly and carefully held it up, only to realize it was far heavier than you always assumed. The material felt cold and wrong in your hand.

Your mind involuntarily wandered back to the day he pressed one of them against your temple or…his. You closed your eyes. The thought of him…

Him…

With a shuddery gasp, the gun slipped through your fingers and landed on the carpet.

There was no thought more painful than that one. You couldn’t lose him. Not ever.

You loved him. And you loved him far too much.

Enough, to be what he wanted.

Enough, to give in to his desires.

You took another deep breath and picked up the gun again, determined to take it back to bed with you. You wanted to surprise him, right?

All you had to do beforehand was to make sure that it wasn’t loaded.

A frown formed on your face, when you realized you didn’t even know how to do that. The thought of accidentally shooting yourself, while waiting for him to come home…It didn’t sound all too appealing, though it did sound like something that could happen to you.

You sighed and already gave up the thought of ever finding the cuffs, when you caught sight of something else instead. It was far in the back of the wardrobe and you were sure, for some reason, you weren’t supposed to see it.

Of course you weren’t supposed to touch his gun, either, but you felt he would forgive you, once he realized you were slowly submitting to his every desire.

Even if it meant him fucking you, while he held a gun to your head. In your mouth…Or, God help you, somewhere else.

You were twisted. You were sure you were. Because you felt it. You felt how the thought did things to you.

But for now you tried to push the thought aside and instead glanced back at the box.

Then again, what terrible thing could be inside there?

Someone’s teeth maybe?

Your soft smile disappeared the second you realized it was possible. You nearly recoiled in disgust. But then you realized, you had to know.

It couldn’t be teeth. It was too sick. Too deranged.

Too…him?

No. No, no, no.

As if in a trance, you picked up the light, wooden box and took off the lid.

No teeth inside. Only…

Fuck.

What was in there was so much worse than teeth.

Your forehead creased into a small frown, which grew further with every second.

And suddenly you felt nauseous.

No.

Oh, no.

You nearly dropped the box and backed away like you’d been struck, the moment you heard it.

“Goddamn it." He sighed impatiently and the door slowly closed behind him. "You weren’t supposed to see that.”

___________________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q

Author's note: Did I lately mention that I love you, guys?

Ps. The Tteokbokki and the teasing were anon requests! I loved them and I hope I did them justice!

383 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 1 day ago

Note

you rang for steve requests!!!

you write him so soft and boyish and nice, i've been wanting to request something and i just got an idea!

maybe some hurt comfort about reader coming to the starcourt parking lot to pick up steve (and robin and dustin) as soon as they hear abt the fire? or the emts asking steve who they should call and he just says rs phone number, and then like a "you came" "you called" moment?

I did ring, thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: season 3 canon events, reader is in the dark but won't be for much longer, mentions of physical injury, fire, suspicious governement folks covering shit up as suspicious government folks do

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 868 words

Your throat is impossibly dry the whole drive to the mall. Dry, and tight, like you couldn’t swallow if you tried. The parking lot is filled with everything from firetrucks to military helicopters, which you won’t think to wonder about until later. You’re scanning the smattering of people for Steve before you’re even out of the car.

You don’t actually remember parking. Or pulling your keys from the ignition, or opening your door. The next thing you know you’re breathing in smoke and bumping shoulders with firefighters, your focus narrowed on the back of an ambulance.

“Steve?”

Your voice is hoarse, but he looks up like he can sense you. You see his lips form your name, brow bunching in that cute way of his. You start running.

“Steve!”

“Hey, hi.” He stands from the chassis of the ambulance, rocking back a little when he catches you. You hug him fiercely. “What’re you doing here?”

He smells like smoke and oddly like iron, his skin damp with sweat. You don’t care; you curl your face into his neck. “I saw the fire on the news.”

“So you…drove towards it?”

“I knew you were here!” You pull away from him, suddenly furious. “Why do you always have to work on your stupid project at night?” Steve’s been up to something lately. He won’t tell you about it, but you know it involves Robin and Dustin and something to do with translation. Steve says it’s not important but he acts like it is, and he’s been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about the whole thing. “Where’s Robin? Is she—”

“She’s fine, she’s over there.” Steve juts his chin to the right. Through the smoke and chaos, you can just make out her familiar silhouette. She’s standing with a couple of kids about Dustin’s age.

You let out a breath that turns into a shiver, and Steve cups your arms, rubbing up and down almost thoughtlessly. It melts down your anger into something wetter. When you look at him again, your voice is rough.

“What happened to you?”

“I’m fine, honey.”

“Steve, your face.”

He touches it, as though the tableau of black and purple bruises had slipped his mind. It’s hard to tell if his wince is from pain or remorse. “Right, yeah. Um…”

“Mr. Harrington.” A voice comes from behind you, brusque and tired-sounding. You press closer to Steve instinctively, protective, but Steve’s face lights with recognition.

“Oh. Hey, Doc.”

You turn, too surprised to do much for covering your bemusement. Why would a doctor be wearing military gear like this, and be followed by a soldier carrying a gun?

“Can we speak to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” Steve says, but you talk over him.

“No.”

The man—Doc, whoever he is—looks at you as though just noticing you’re there. You steel yourself, but his gaze is more kind than hostile. Sympathetic, even.

Steve squeezes your hip gently. “Y/n—”

“No.”

You don’t know what these people want with Steve, but you know you don’t like it. Your instincts are screaming at you not to let him go. To keep him close, preferably forever.

Steve looks past you. “Can you give us a minute?”

They go without a fight, seemingly assured in your boyfriend’s ability to placate you. You don’t want to be placated. You feel patronized and pent-up, and you blame that for the stinging tears that invade your vision. You cling to the fabric of Steve’s shirt like a vice.

“Hey,” he lowers his voice, head dropping to meet your eyes. “It’s fine, they just wanna talk to me.”

“Why? Can’t it wait? You just got out of a burning building, you—”

“It won’t take long. They just want me to tell them what happened.”

“You haven’t even told me what happened.” Your voice tightens and splinters, fist clenching so hard in Steve’s shirt you can feel your own nails through the fabric. Steve grabs your face in a panic.

“Honey, it’s fine. Okay? It’s fine. I’ll tell you,” he says in a rush, then pauses. Something new comes over his expression, and he drops his forehead to yours. Lets out a breath. “I’ll tell you, I promise. Later, okay? This’ll just take a minute, and then we’ll go back to my place and talk. Alright?”

You feel silly, sniffling and with tears on your cheeks, but you nod.

“Okay,” Steve breathes out. His grip on your face gentles, cradling your jaw as he bends to kiss you.

It’s meant to be a brief, conciliatory kiss, you know, but with all your overwhelm and all Steve has no doubt been through it heats up fast. You’re both gasping when he pulls away, using a thumb to wipe the wetness from your cheeks.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises you.

“You better be,” you threaten. You’re really quite serious, but Steve smiles, and naturally the sight of it makes your lips tug too.

“I will,” he says. “Just, wait here, okay? Right back.”

You hop up on the ambulance as he goes, making his way through the smoke to where Doc and his armed buddies wait for him by a helicopter. You couldn’t take your eyes off him if you tried.

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callipraxia · 11 hours ago

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I’ll admit it - thinking of ‘but what will people think of me?’ has stopped me short of writing things before, in everything from writing actual content to writing part of a review on a friend’s story. “What will [Friend] think, seeing that I know that? Even if I explain the actually relatively innocuous reason why I know it, would they even believe me? This is an issue of how something is portrayed in media that I feel pretty strongly about, but in context, it might be better to just…drop it.”

I…tried actually including a detailed example of my next point here, drawing from Anon’s Robert Jordan remark, but it ended up breaking the thousand-word limit before I even got past the introductory explanations, so I guess I’ll write a separate essay about why I don’t really agree with the “dudebro is secretly obsessed with lesbians and BDSM” line of thinking, maybe link it back here later if I remember. In the meantime, the point was - if I start thinking “dang, I think Author X has an Issue with Y,” it’s usually a lot less because of what the author leaves in than what the author leaves out. As an author, one deliberately chooses to explore certain topics, including dark ones that reflect the issues that preoccupy us (isn’t Anne Rice’s work supposed to be kinda messed up? I mean, I’ve never read a word she wrote that I can recall, but aren’t they all, y’know, horror novels?). As distasteful as we might find it, incest and pedophilia and sexual assault and suicide and all those other words you can’t use on YouTube are real things that happen every day. There’s a plethora of reasons why any given author might want to explore such issues in writing, and at least half of ‘em have nothing to do with sex. I’ve never heard anyone imply that Dostoyevsky must have been really, really turned on by the thought of attacking pawnbrokers with axes, much less that he ever committed a murder in real life just for the heck of it. From what I’ve read - though to be fair, my reading on the subject is not extensive - Nabokov probably wasn’t really a pedophile, and Mario Puzo probably had nothing to do with real-life organized crime. I have heard a few people suggest Stephen King must be a perverted serial killer in real life to write what he writes, but those people were idiots. And so forth. Point is, an author examining evil through a certain point of view really should not lead to the assumption that the author has done or wants to do any of those bad things. That’s why we say that authors use their imaginations when they’re working.

Plus, well…nine times out of ten, nobody’s going to make you read a book. If you really can’t read a book without getting uncomfortable because you can’t stop thinking that X or Y means that the author might have wanted his wife to put him on a leash and spank him, you can almost always just…put down the book and go read something else. You can also do this if you’re uncomfortable with Anne Rice apparently having conflicting feelings about God - that isn’t a potential theme that bothers me, but I know people who would be upset for days about reading something that even hinted at someone Having Questions about the divine. Heck, I have a few books I 99% enjoy and I just skim over or entirely skip parts that involve actions I find uncomfortable - my one hard rule is that I won’t willingly even skim anything where bad things happen to pets, but even then, I don’t assume that everybody who ever earned a Newbury Medal is a bad person who likes thinking about such things. I just don’t read their books. Unless you are compelled to do otherwise for a class* or the like, just do thou likewise.

*I was, very reluctantly, compelled to read two books in my undergraduate Adolescent Literature class where bad things happened to dogs; it was the first and last time in my life that I’ve ever tried to get out of reading something, but the professor didn’t believe what I could bring myself to explain about just how negative of a reaction I knew I would have if I read any books with dying dogs in them. Now I still have one of those scenes lodged in my carousel of intrusive thoughts that drive my anxiety level up and make it really difficult not to engage in compulsive behaviors whenever they rudely shove their way up to the front of my brain, but I don’t think badly of Sherman Alexie because of it.

Do you think authors sometimes don't realize how their, uh, interests creep into their writing? I'm talking about stuff like Robert Jordan's obvious femdom kink, or Anne Rice's preoccupation with inc*st and p*dophilia. Did their editors ever gently ask them if they've ever actually read what they've written?

Firstly, a reminder: This is not tiktok and we just say the words incest and pedophilia here.

Secondly, I don't know if I would call them 'interests' so much as fixations or even concerns. There are monstrous things that people think about, and I think writing is a place to engage with those monstrous things. It doesn't bother me that people engage with those things. I exist somewhere within the whump scale, and I would hope no one would think less of me just because sooner or later I like to rough a good character up a bit, you know? It's fun to torture characters, as a treat!

But, anyway, assuming this question isn't, "Do writers know they're gross when I think they are gross" which I'm going to take the kind road and assume it isn't, but is instead, "Do you think authors are aware of the things they constantly come back to?"

Sometimes. It can be jarring to read your own writing and realize that there are things you CLEARLY are preoccupied with. (mm, I like that word more than concerns). There are things you think about over and over, your run your mind over them and they keep working their way back in. I think this is true of most authors, when you read enough of them. Where you almost want to ask, "So...what's up with that?" or sometimes I read enough of someone's work that I have a PRETTY good idea what's up with that.

I've never read Robert Jordan and I don't intend to start (I think it would bore me this is not a moral stance) and I've really never read Rice's erotica. In erotica especially I think you have all the right in the world to get fucking weird about it! But so, when I was young I read the whole Vampire Chronicles series. I don't remember it perfectly, but there's plenty in it to reveal VERY plainly that Anne Rice has issues with God but deeply believes in God, and Anne Rice has a preoccupation with the idea of what should stay dead, and what it means to become. So, when i found out her daughter died at the age of six, before Rice wrote all of this, and she grew up very very Catholic' I said, 'yeah, that fucking checks out'.

Was Rice herself aware of how those things formed her writing? I think at a certain point probably yes. The character of Claudia is in every way too on the nose for her not to have SOME idea unless she was REAL REAL dense about her own inner workings. But, sometimes I know where something I write about comes from, that doesn't mean I'm interested in sharing it with the class. I would never ever fucking say, 'The reasons I seem to write so much of x as y is that z happened to me years ago' ahaha FUCK THAT NOISE. NYET. RIDE ON, COWBOY.

But I've known some people in fandom works who clearly have something going on and don't seem to realize it. Or they're very good at hiding it. Based on the people I'm talking about I would say it's more a lack of self-knowledge, and I don't even mean that unkindly. I have, in many ways, taken myself down to the studs and rebuilt it all, so I unfortunately am very aware of why I do and write the things I do most of the time. It's extremely annoying not to be able to blame something. I imagine it must be very freeing. But it ain't me, babe.

Anyway, a lot of words to say: Maybe! But that might not stop them from writing it, it might be a useful thing for them to engage with, and you can always just not read it.

Also, we don't censor words here.

#books #writing books #authors

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revelboo · 2 days ago

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This is all your fault. 🤣 They have been so much fun to put together!

I am loving all your stories, especially Everything is Alright. The boys are such asshats! I'm looking forward to Reader putting them in their place.

The Blokees are adorable, especially the minis. I kind of want to just accrue them and let them ride on my dash. And reader is definitely not happy with any of them right now, but is beginning to realize they have leverage

Everything Is Alright Pt 124

IDW Starscream x Reader, Megatron x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• Starscream expects you to yell some more. To get angrier. Instead you just offer them a flat, empty smile and make a show of looking over the edge of the berth. And a whisper of fear twists through his spark. Wings drawing tight to his frame, Starscream isn’t sure what that expression of yours is, but he doesn’t like it. Hadn’t meant to just say all that in front of you, but it’s out there now. Had meant to hurt Megatron, not you. And Soundwave is slowly approaching you, frame tense. What is he picking up from you?

• “It occurs to me that you two need me a lot more than I need you. And I’m just one little, helpless human, right? You can bully me into whatever you want and there’s nothing I can do.” Heart racing, you keep an eye on Soundwave. Because he’s clued in to your mindset and he’s edging closer in slow movements like you’re a stray he’s trying not to spook into running. Star’s wings flare out slightly with your words, but Megatron is just frowning at you. “But lots of things can happen to me. I could fall off of here. It’s a long way down, isn’t it?” Ignoring Star and Soundwave, you focus on Megatron. Watch those optics narrow. “I don’t think I’d cope very well if something happened to my world and my people, you know? But nothing’s going to happen, because you’re going to leave my world alone. As a wedding gift.”

• Wedding? A human thing? “You think you can make demands of me?” Megatron ask, fighting to keep from smiling as you stare him down. Why is your anger so appealing? Makes him want to provoke you just to see how far you’ll go, because he doesn’t believe for a moment that you’ll actually try anything. There’s your equally helpless sparkling you saddled him with to worry about. It’s an empty threat and maybe it bothers him that you’re scared enough to make it. Because you are right about one thing. Anything could happen to you and his life depends on you staying safe. And despite himself, he’d prefer you to be happy, so tired of fighting all the time and don’t want to fight you.

• “Not a demand. A present for your bonded mate,” you say, glancing at Soundwave as he stops short of you and holds out a hand. Asking you to come away from the edge, because he’s afraid you might accidentally fall. That Megatron might push you into something rash. “For our sparkling,” you add, look up at him, not Megatron. And it’s a relief when you place that little hand in his and let him pull you to him. Wishes you wouldn’t try to push Megatron, but understands why you’re doing it. “Because this is their home, too.” Understands the game you’re playing and doesn’t like it. And he’s the outsider here now, not bonded to you anymore because of Starscream. The first bond had been all need and desire. He hasn’t considered the consequences of his actions if you’d accepted him, but he still wants it. Still wants you. Even if it’s just this, trapped on the outside acting as mediator to keep you safe.

• Crossing the berth to you and Soundwave, his wings drop, flicking guiltily when you look at him. Knows you’re mad at him, too, but can’t stop reaching for you. And his spark aches when you take a slow breath and catch his hand, tugging him to you. “It’s a reasonable request,” he says, knowing it’s not his call to make, but he’d give you this if it would make you happy. Hadn’t really cared about this mudball beyond that you’re on it. Wants to ask what a wedding is, if it’s some kind of bonding ceremony, but he just looks at Megatron in challenge instead. Watches the warlord vent in exasperation at the three of you, optics fixed on you.

• Heart still racing as you lace your fingers with Starscream’s servos and glare defiantly up at Megatron. Still angry at all three of them, but Star and Soundwave are at least taking your side. Or they just don’t want you angry with them and are trying to get back in your good graces. It’s hard to tell with them sometimes. “You really are more trouble than you’re worth,” Megatron growls, shoving off the berth and striding to the door. “Mining and refining energon will continue as planned.” And your breath catches, fingers gripping Star’s servos as Megatron hesitates, back to all of you. “But I suppose this world could be declared a protected nature reserve. Since our species are compatible and I’d hate to wipe out any potential resources.” That’s sort of a victory, right? Why doesn’t it make you feel better, though? Because you might have saved your world but accidentally turned the Decepticons loose on your people to save their own declining race. Well, shit.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #megatron x reader #soundwave x reader #starscream #megatron #soundwave

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chlerc · 2 days ago

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hidden recordings ; charles leclerc

— summary; you never realised how sentimental and adorable charles could be until you come across the black box tucked away in a corner of a drawer.

pairing — highschool-best-friend-charles leclerc x f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 1172.

content — 5 short recordings he recorded just to remember you, and how he secretly wishes you’d stumble upon it one day. he loves you a lot, like a loooottttttt. you’re it for him.

NAVIGATION + author’s note: i love this vcr love confession concept so much, it’s so cute recording things and people that means the most to you. happy chinese new year :o

THE LATE AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT FILTERED softly through the window, casting a warm, amber glow across the apartment as she worked her way through the cluttered shelves. It was supposed to be a simple day of tidying up — a routine chore that had grown overdue — but as always, the small, nostalgic things had a way of slowing her down. Dust motes danced in the air as she opened an old, wooden box tucked away in the corner of a drawer, a box she had almost forgotten. Its contents were a time capsule of sorts, filled with small mementos and keepsakes that had survived the years — photographs, letters, concert tickets, and little trinkets that had woven themselves into the fabric of her relationship with Charles.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she sifted through the items, fingers brushing over the worn edges of a photograph of them as children, their innocent grins forever preserved in time. It was a testament to how far they’d come, from childhood friends to something far deeper, a bond that had grown over years of shared experiences and memories. As she dug further into the box, her hand paused as it closed around something unfamiliar — a small, black thumb drive, half-buried beneath a stack of old letters.

Her brow furrowed in curiosity as she pulled it out, turning it over in her fingers. It wasn’t labelled, and for a moment, she wondered what it could contain. Charles was never one to leave things lying around without a reason, and this had clearly been tucked away for some time. Her curiosity piqued, she reached for her laptop, a quiet hum of intrigue settling over her as she plugged the thumb drive into the port.

The screen flickered to life, revealing a folder containing five short video files. No titles, just numbered sequences — each one simple and unassuming, yet they called to her like fragments of a forgotten story. With a small click, she opened the first file, and her heart skipped a beat as the screen filled with the familiar face of Charles, much younger, his boyish charm evident even then.

He must have been in his early teens in this first video. His hair was a little unruly, the way it always used to be when he wasn’t bothered by appearances, and there was a hint of nervousness in the way he looked directly into the camera. He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before speaking. “Uh, hi,” he began, his voice cracking slightly with the uncertainty of youth. “So, I’m not really sure why I’m doing this… but I guess it’s just something I wanted to keep. A reminder, maybe. For her.” There was a pause, and he ran a hand through his hair, glancing off-camera as if gathering his thoughts. “She’s always been there, you know? My best friend… even though I’m older, I still think she’s way braver than I am.”

A soft chuckle escaped her as she watched him stumble through his words, that endearing awkwardness still as familiar as ever. The screen flickered as the video ended, and without hesitation, she opened the next one. This time, Charles appeared a little older, his features more defined, his smile a little more confident.

“It’s funny,” he said, the camera slightly shaky as if he were holding it himself, “I never realised how much she means to me until recently. We’ve always been together, and it’s like… it’s always been her. I don’t know how else to explain it.” His gaze softened, and there was a vulnerability in his eyes that made her heart ache in the sweetest way. “She’s the one person who can make everything feel right, even when things are a mess. I think, no — I know, I’m in love with her. I’ve been in love with her for longer than I knew.”

The words hung in the air, settling deep within her as she paused the video, feeling the weight of his confession even though it had been made years ago. It was a piece of him, captured in time, before they had ever taken that leap from friends to something more. She pressed play again, her heart caught in her throat.

The third video was taken during what looked like a school trip. The background was noisy, filled with the laughter of classmates and the hum of distant chatter. Charles was standing by a river, looking a little winded as if he had just finished some outdoor activity. “She’s going to laugh at this,” he grinned, breathless but radiant. “She always teases me about being uncoordinated, but she’s the one who nearly fell into the river earlier. I had to catch her — again.” His smile softened. “I wouldn’t change a thing, though. She’s… she’s my favourite person in the world.”

By the fourth video, she found herself holding back tears. In this one, he was visibly older, perhaps just before he left for university. His expression was more serious, the playful boyishness replaced with something more resolute. “I’m leaving soon,” he began, his voice quieter, as though he were speaking directly to her even though she wasn’t there. “And it terrifies me. I don’t know what it’s going to be like, being apart for the first time in… ever. But I know one thing for sure: no matter where I go, or how long we’re apart, I’ll always come back to her. I have to. She’s… she’s home.”

Her hands trembled slightly as she clicked on the final video, her breath catching in her chest. In this one, Charles was as she knew him now — his familiar face filling the screen with that smile that always seemed to disarm her. “If you’re watching this,” he said softly, “then you’ve found it. I wasn’t sure if you ever would, but I hoped you might.” His eyes glimmered with affection, his smile gentle. “You’ve always been the best part of my life. From the very beginning. I made these videos because I wanted to remember — wanted you to remember — how much you’ve always meant to me. I’ve loved you for a long time, and I’m going to keep loving you for the rest of my life.”

Her vision blurred as the final video ended, the stillness of the room punctuated by the steady hum of the laptop. She sat there for a long moment, overwhelmed by the depth of what she had just witnessed — memories of Charles, preserved like fragments of a love story that spanned years. Each video was a testament to the quiet, unwavering devotion that had always existed between them, even before they had given it a name.

As she closed the laptop, her heart swelled with an indescribable warmth. This was their story — one that began in childhood and grew into something more, something profound. And as she held the thumb drive in her hand, she knew that whatever lay ahead, they would always have these memories to hold onto.

#🕷⋆⭒˚｡⋆ chloe’s drivers #chlerc #charles #charles leclerc #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #cl16 #cl 16 #charles leclerc fic #f1 fiction #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

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bytemee · 21 hours ago

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NO DOUBT — KIM MINJEONG.

“i want you, it’s so painful, but, oh, i’d burn myself to prove it, baby, no doubt.”

synopsis. stuck in a boring office job, the only thing getting you through the day is sneaking off with winter. stolen kisses and locked doors make work a lot more interesting—especially when you’re pushing the limits of what you can get away with.

pairing. officeworker!winter x officeworker!gn!reader

warnings. 18+ (smut), public sex (in an office & breakroom), fingering, oral, reader wears a tie bc whats an office job w/o a tie???, bad writing & let me know if there's more!

words. 1.6k

authors note. winter has been bias wrecking recently ☹️ i also have to update my masterlist and link it on these works; lowkey forgot that was even a thing!

you hated your job.

every day felt like an endless loop of emails, meetings, and deadlines that only seemed to multiply. the worst part? the clients. no matter how much effort you put in, someone always found something to complain about.

"can you believe this?" your coworker, jaehyun, groaned as he dropped into the chair beside your desk. running a frustrated hand through his hair, he glared at his laptop screen. "i spent two weeks on that pitch, and the client rejected it in five minutes. five. freaking. minutes."

you sighed, barely looking away from your own stack of unfinished work. "sounds about right. did they at least give you a reason?"

"oh, the usual: ‘not what we’re looking for,’ ‘we need something fresh,’ ‘we’ll get back to you.’" he mimicked their voices with a scoff. "they won’t."

"of course they won’t." you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples. "i don’t even know why we try anymore."

jaehyun huffed in agreement, shaking his head. there was no point in trying to convince these people. they had already made up their minds, always chasing something better.

he was about to launch into another rant when movement across the office caught your eye.

winter.

she stood from her desk, stretching slightly before picking up her cup and making her way to the break room. a gray cardigan draped over a crisp white button-down, tucked neatly into a black skirt that ended just above her knees. her long, blonde hair framed her face perfectly; her smile was soft and sweet.

you could watch her all day.

"are you even listening?" jaehyun’s voice snapped you back to reality.

"what?" you turned to him, blinking.

he sighed. "never mind. i gotta get back to work anyway. this pitch isn't going to fix itself."

you barely heard him. pushing back from your desk, you stood up, your feet already moving in the direction winter had gone.

the break room was quiet when you stepped inside, the steady hum of the coffee machine filling the space. she was alone, stirring sugar into her tea, her eyes focused on the swirling liquid in her cup.

you glanced at her, humming out a tune to break the silence. winter glanced at you through her lashes, watching you reach for a mug, but before you could pour your coffee, winter’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you gently toward her. you stumbled, nearly crashing into her.

she steadied you with a quiet laugh, her eyes twinkling as she met your gaze. "we have ten minutes before anyone starts wondering where we are," she whispered.

"then we better make it count."

her lips met yours in a fleeting kiss—soft at first, then deeper, more urgent. her hands were everywhere—pulling at your tie, gripping your waist, threading into your hair. a quiet moan slipped past your lips as she kissed you harder, hungrier. it was too much and not nearly enough all at once.

"someone's impatient today," you teased, pulling back to catch your breath.

she giggled. "can you blame me? it's been three whole days."

your mind thought back on three days ago.

winter's hands were tangled in your hair, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, trying desperately to stay quiet. she glanced around the office before settling her gaze back on you. your head was deep into her lap, your mouth buried between her legs, your tongue teasing her clit underneath her desk.

her grip on your hair tightened, her eyes closing briefly as she fought to keep her composure. you couldn't help but feel a little bit pleased with yourself—you knew that she only got this impatient when she really, really wanted you. to risk you going down on her in the middle of the office, mid-workday, where anyone could walk in and catch the two of you.

a low moan escaped her lips, and you pulled back slightly, just enough so that your words wouldn't be muffled. "shhh, you have to be quiet."

"i'm trying," she whispered, her hips bucking against your face.

"trying" didn't seem like it was quite cutting it. she was squirming in her chair, her grip on your hair getting tighter with each passing second. "we really shouldn't be doing this here," you murmured, but you didn't give any sign of actually making a move to stop.

"you're just too tempting," she responded, her voice barely above a whisper, her legs trying in vain to close around your head.

"can't blame you for that," you murmured back. "doesn't mean we shouldn't be a little more careful, though…"

her eyes darted briefly around the office again, everyone too involved in their own work at their own cubicles to notice the illicit activity happening right under their noses. the risk of getting caught was still very real, and winter knew she should care, but she was way too far gone.

"it's hard to be careful when you're doing... that," she whined, her eyes fluttering shut as you went back to work.

winter's tongue pressed against yours, hot and insistent, and you felt a rush of desire course through you. it was so easy for her to push all the right buttons. "how much time do we have left?" you asked, pulling back slightly.

"six minutes," she breathed, guiding your hand to the waistband of her skirt.

six minutes. not a lot of time, but definitely enough.

you smiled wickedly, your fingers trailing along the edge of her skirt for a moment before sliding underneath it. she gasped softly, her eyes darkening with anticipation as you leaned in to kiss her again.

you could feel the heat radiating off her body as your fingers brushed against her bare skin. she was so responsive, so reactive, and you knew that you could make her come undone with just a few well-placed touches.

"i think i can make that work," you murmured, your hand creeping higher, higher, higher, until it was resting at the edge of her underwear.

her hips bucked involuntarily towards your hand, a desperate whine escaping her lips. you chuckled, your fingers tracing slow, teasing circles on her skin.

"someone's impatient," you teased, your mouth moving to her neck. you could feel her pulse racing under your lips, her breathing ragged and uneven.

"don't have all day, you know," she protested, her words at odds with the way her body was melting into yours. her hands clutched at your shirt, trying to pull you closer.

you pulled back from her, your fingers leaving her skin, and she let out a sharp gasp. before she could complain, you brought your middle and ring fingers to her mouth. she understood immediately, her lips parting and her tongue darting out to meet them.

you watched her suck on your fingers, her eyes locked on yours, and your heart skipped a beat. "fuck, you're gorgeous," you breathed, the way she was looking at you, like nothing else existed in the world except the two of you, was intoxicating.

she blushed at the praise but didn't stop. your fingers slid in and out of her mouth, and she sucked on them eagerly, her tongue swirling around them.

winter could feel herself getting wetter by the second, her thighs rubbing together impatiently.

once you were satisfied with her work, you pulled your fingers out of her mouth with an audible pop, a thin trail of saliva connecting them to her lips. she let out a disappointed sigh, her lips already swollen and parted, begging for more.

you leaned in, whispering in her ear, "i bet you're already dripping wet."

winter's breath hitched. she knew that you could always tell when she was turned on, and you were right—she was practically aching for you, desperate to feel your fingers inside her.

you didn't waste any time, bringing your hand back under her skirt and pushing aside the fabric of her panties. winter inhaled sharply as your fingers brushed over her clit, her eyes falling closed.

"so ready for me," you cooed, sliding your middle finger between her folds. "so wet."

she shuddered, her hips rolling forward involuntarily, seeking more friction. "please," she whimpered, her hands fisting in your shirt.

you loved how responsive she was, how easily you could make her fall apart. you leaned forward, capturing her lips in a heated kiss as you eased your finger inside her. winter moaned into your mouth, her walls clenching around you.

"quiet, baby," you reminded her, curling your finger and finding that spot deep inside her.

the possibility of getting caught in the break room was surprisingly low. tucked away in the farthest corner of the office, it was separated from the main workspace by a frosted glass wall and a door that locked from the inside.

wait…did you lock the door?

maybe. maybe not.

she nodded weakly, her nails dug into your shoulders as she struggled to keep her composure, her breath coming in shallow gasps. you added a second finger, pumping them in and out of her at a relentless pace, your thumb brushing against her clit.

"fuck, baby," you groaned, pressing her harder against the counter. you could feel her body shaking beneath yours, her orgasm approaching fast. "you're so close, aren't you?"

winter could only nod, her hips bucking against your hand, trying to get as much friction as possible. She was close, so fucking close, and you could tell. the way her breathing hitched, her nails digging into your shoulder, the way her thighs squeezed together, trying to relieve the tension.

"i can feel it, baby. come for me."

she cried out, her body going rigid, her walls clenching around your fingers as she came. her eyes rolled back, her mouth open in a silent scream, her legs threatening to give out. you kept stroking her through her orgasm, prolonging the pleasure as long as possible, until she was trembling and weak.

"f-fuck," she whimpered, her head resting against your shoulder.

You chuckled, removing your fingers from her and licking them clean. "you okay?"

"more than okay," she said, a satisfied grin spreading across her face.

you couldn't resist stealing one last kiss before pulling away. she looked completely fucked out, her hair disheveled and her cheeks flushed. "better get back to work before anyone misses us."

"i guess," she said, pouting a little.

"we can continue this later," you assured her, fixing her clothes and smoothing down her hair.

she grinned, reaching for your hand and giving it a squeeze. "it's a date."

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mayrose713 · 3 days ago

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Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 18

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

I have a question for you guys. How do you guys read Innie? Because I saw someone on TikTok read it as I.N-ie where I've always read it as in-ie, like Jeonginnie. I'm just curious as to how people read it.

Chapter 18

“Are you sure you guys don’t need any help?” Y/n asks as she watches Minho and Felix move around the kitchen making dinner.

“We’ve got it, baby.” Felix smiles at her before booping her nose causing her to scrunch it up. “Go relax a little.”

The omega sighs before turning to see where everyone else is. She knows Jisung and Jeongin are out walking in the neighborhood. She then spots Changbin standing outside the back door and walks out to join him.

“Hey pretty girl.” He smiles looking up from his phone.

“Is that your omega?” A female voice asks from his call.

“Oh, sorry Binnie.” Y/n frowns a little for interrupting his phone call. “I didn’t realize you were talking to someone.”

“It’s okay baby, it’s just my sister.” He holds his hand out for her to join him. “She’s been wanting to meet you anyways.”

She takes his hand and he brings her close to his side, wrapping an arm around her waist as she looks at the phone seeing his sister on a video call.

“Hi Y/n, it’s so good to finally meet you.” The older girl beams on the phone. “I’m Jaehee.”

“Hi.” Y/n waves shyly. “I didn’t know Changbin had an older sister.”

“That's just like him, not to mention me.” Jaehee rolls her eyes. “He’s told us a lot about you though. You’re even cuter than he described. Not sure how you ended up with someone like my brother though.”

“Yah!!” Changbin yells, causing the girl to lean away from him a little at his loud voice.

“Don’t make the poor girl deaf, Changbinnie.” Jaehee scolds. “God you’re so loud.”

“If I had known you were just going to make fun of me the whole time I wouldn’t have answered your call.” He grumbles causing his sister to laugh.

“I’ll be nice.” Jaehee smiles then looks at the omega through the camera. “So Y/n, how are you liking Jeju Island? Changbin said it’s your first time being there. Do you like our beach house?”

“It’s very beautiful here. And the house is amazing.” Y/n smiles. “I can understand why Jisung and Felix wanted to come here so badly.”

“What have you guys been up to so far?”

“All together we’ve only done a beach day. Though I think we’re all going to the drive-in theatre tonight since Felix and Minho are making an early dinner.” She looks at her mate for confirmation who nods yes. “And they’ve each paired up and have been taking me on dates as proper courting.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet.” The older female gushes. “What did my brother do for his date?”

“We haven't gone yet. He and Ji are my last date tomorrow.”

“Changbin, you better treat this girl right on your guys date tomorrow.” She scolds. “I expect princess treatment, you hear me?”

“Trust me, all she knows at this point is princess treatment.” The alpha defends making the girl next to him blush as he pulls her closer to him and nuzzles her cheek.

“Y/n, if he ever does anything to upset you, call me okay?”

“Will do, Jaehee.”

“So what did the others do for your dates?” Jaehee places her chin in her hand.

“Chan and Seungmin took me to some shops to get a swimsuit and we got desserts.” Y/n smiles as she thinks about her dates. “Felix and Jeongin took me to a gaming cafe and Minho and Hyunjin took me to the farmers market and craft fair.”

“Ooh Changbinnie, you’ve got some competition.”

“It isn’t about which pair takes her on a better date Jaehee.” Changbin looks annoyed with his sister now. “This trip is about all of us bonding and getting to know our girl better.”

“Alright, alright.” She puts her hands up in surrender. “I’ll stop being a pest and let you guys go. Have fun on the rest of your vacation. And Y/n, we’ll have to figure out sometime when you and Changbin can come over to our parents so we can meet in person.”

“Sounds good.” The omega smiles. “I know we’ll have to figure that out for everyone's families.”

“Tell everyone else I said hi. And we’ll talk again soon.”

“Bye.” Y/n and Changbin say at the same time before hanging up the video call.

“Sorry about her, pretty girl.”

“Don’t worry about it, I like her.” Y/n smiles up at him. “I can’t wait to meet her and your parents in person.”

“We’ll definitely have to figure out with everyone when we can finally introduce you to all of our families.”

“Do you think all of your guy’s family will like me?” The omega scent starts to sour as she starts to get into her head.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” He places a finger under her chin to lift her head up so they are making eye contact. “Our families will love you. They’ll have no reasons not to.”

“You sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“Dinners ready.” Jeongin pokes his head out from the sliding glass door but then frowns when he sees the alpha and omega. “Jagiya, you okay?”

“She’s good, pup.” Changbin grabs her hand and leads her into the house and ruffles his hair as they walk past. “Let's eat so we can get ready to head out.”

Minho and Felix place the last of the food on the table as they all start taking seats. Jeongin quickly takes one of the seats next to Y/n. He’s been worried about her since she had asked him to help her slip into subspace, hovering around her a little more.

“So there are two movies playing tonight.” Chan says as everyone starts eating. “One screen will be playing Jurassic World. And the other screen will be playing Five Feet Apart.”

“We have to see Five Feet Apart.” Felix sits up straight, eyes wide with excitement.

“Isn’t it a sad sappy movie?” Seungmin scrunches his nose. “At least Jurassic World has action.”

“Like always, we’ll put it to a vote.” Changbin eyes the two in warning not to start arguing. “If you want to see Jurassic World, raise your hand.” Changbin raises his hand along with Seungmin, Jeongin and Chan. “And Five Feet Apart.” Felix, Jisung, Hyunjin and Minho raise theirs.

“Y/n, you didn’t vote.” Chan looks at her with a frown.

“Why do I have to be the one to decide?” She looks at all of them, scared that depending on which one she picks, the four who picked the other movie will be upset and grouchy the whole time.

“You get to have a choice in this too, babygirl.”

“And now that we have nine people we actually have a better voting system unlike before.” Jeongin places his hand on her thigh. “We would have so many ties with there being an even number of us that we would have to flip a coin to decide most of the time.”

“What if we see both?” She mumbles not looking at any of them. “We’re already planning to take two of the three cars right? So everyone that wants to see Jurassic world goes in one and everyone who wants to see Five Feet Apart goes in the other and everyone is happy.”

“No we’re not.” Minho shakes his head. “We’re supposed to be doing this as a pack, so we all see one movie, not split up to see different ones, it’s not how it works.”

“But I don’t want anyone who was wanting to see the other movie than the one I pick be upset and unhappy the whole time.”

“That won’t happen, pup, I promise.” Seungmin gives her a reassuring smile. “As long as we’re all together we’ll enjoy it.”

“Yeah, the plan is to put all the pillows and blankets in the bed of the trunk and we all get in it to watch the movie and cuddle.” Jisung smiles brightly, already excited for what's to come.

“So which do you pick, princess?” Hyunjin folds his hands together and rests his chin on them while waiting for her answer.

“Ummm…” She looks at all of them for a moment before taking a deep breath reminding herself that she actually has a say in things now and that no one will be upset with her for what she chooses. “I wanna see Five Feet Apart if that’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay.” Changbins eyes soften at her. “Five votes for it makes it the winner.”

“Yes.” Felix and Jisung high five each other.

“Kitten, why don’t you go change into something comfier and grab whatever extra pillows and blankets are in the closest that we can set up in the bed of the truck.” Minho stands up to start cleaning. “We’ll get everything cleaned up so we can head on out as quickly as possible.”

“Okay.” The omega stands and quickly goes to her room to change as she hears the sounds of plates and dishes being handled.

“Why’d you send her off like that?” Jisung frowns as Minho takes his and Felix’s plates. “I thought what she was wearing was just fine.”

“Because I wanted your guys' opinions on something I had bought at the craft fair.” Minho places the plates in the sink before pulling the collar with the amethyst compass rose pendant out of his pocket showing it to all of them.

“Is that?” Chan moves closer to look at it while everyone sits there gapping at it.

“The booth was run by a nice alpha and omega couple, everything is handmade.” Minho gives Chan the collar so he can look at it and they can all pass it around. “I just felt that the compass rose was a good symbol for us and the omega said that amethysts is a symbol of faithful loves and a popular choice for those seeking a soulmate. Or something like that.”

“I think you put more thought into this than you did for my collar.” Felix says as he looks at the pendant.

“Lixie, you were determined to pick out your own collar, you didn’t give us a choice.” Chan nudges the omega.

“Because I’m picky with what I wear.” Felix pouts, handing the collar to Jisung before placing his hand on his own collar around his neck. “But I do love mine and I think Y/n will love this one.”

“So is this the one we’re gonna collar her with?” Hyunjin admires the pendant.

“Does everyone agree?” Chan asks and they all nod in excitement.

“I think it’s perfect.” Changbin hands the collar back to Minho.

“Chan, as pack alpha it’s only right that you give it to her.” He hands it back to the oldest male.

“But you were the one who found it.”

“And Felix found his own collar but you were still the one to collar him.” Jeongin speaks up.

“We all agree as pack alpha you should do it, Channie.” Seungmin forces him to fold his fingers around the collar before moving his hand to his pocket.

“I’ll do it tonight while we’re all in the bed of the truck. That way everyone is there.” Chan nods as he places it safely in his pocket.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Felix, Y/n and Jisung move around the bed of the truck situating the pillows and blankets almost making a form of nest for everyone. Chan and Jeongin watch over the three of them as Minho, Changbin, Seungmin and Hyunjin went to the snack bar to get drinks and snacks. The second car is parked right next to the truck, the trunk open, back seats down and also set up with some blankets and pillows in case anyone gets too cold and wants to move inside the vehicle.

“You guys are just so cute.” Jeongin gawks at them which results in him getting hit in the head with a pillow by Jisung gaining a laugh from the omegas.

Jeongin grunts and his eyes show that he’s about to put the beta in his place but Chan stops the young alpha. “Not in public, Innie.”

“But hyung, he started it.”

“Don’t give me that tone, pup.” Chan asserts his dominance causing Jeongin to pout a little, making Jisung laugh. “Ji, you have no room to laugh, you did start it, don’t push it.”

“Alright, we’re done.” Felix announces hoping to defuse the situation between the three of them.

“And just in time.” Changbin calls out as he rounds the truck holding popcorn and a drink carrier, Minho, Hyunjin and Seungmin following behind with more drink carriers and popcorn or candy. “We’ve got the food.”

Jeongin gets in the truck and takes the food from them to place around. Felix and Jisung claim a corner of the truck and start cuddling as Minho gets into the bed of the truck and grabs their snacks and drinks, handing it to them. Changbin and Chan help Seungmin and Hyunjin get up into the truck before climbing up themselves.

Chan moves over near the two already cuddling and pulls Y/n along so she can lay against him. Hyunjin follows wanting cuddles from his alpha too. Changbin sits down before manhandling Seungmin into his lap and the beta allows it. And Minho moves over to pull Jeongin to him from where he’s kneeled, still watching the female omega like he’s been doing since their date.

“She’s okay, pup, relax.” Minho whispers into the youngest alphas hair as he’s pulled to his chest. “I’m proud of you for being observant of her but you’re hovering too much. Has she seemed to be actining any differently or on edge, more than normal?”

“No.” Jeongin shakes his head.

“Exactly. I know we were all worried because of her asking you to scent her into subspace but I genuinely think she was just wanting to experience it after she and Felix talked about it.” Minho reassures him. “You should be proud that she trusts you to do that for her. Be happy, okay.”

“Hey, babygirl, we’ve got something for you.” Chan says pushing on Y/n and Hyunjin a little so he can sit up.

The omega looks at him confused before looking at everyone else who are watching with excitement before turning back to Chan as he pulls something out of his pocket. Her eyes widen as she gasps when she sees the pendant necklace.

“Is that?” She covers her mouth in disbelief.

“We want to collar you if you’ll let us.” Chan smiles at her, his eyes filled with nothing but love. “Even though we all haven’t claimed you yet, we wanted something to show to you that we’ll be yours forever.”

“We know that not all omegas enjoy being collared, and it’s okay if you don’t want to be.” Hyunjin speaks up when she still hasn’t said anything.

“But we still wanted to give you one just like we did with Felix when he came out to us.” Changbin explains and Y/n looks over at the other omega and he shows off his collar he’s wearing.

She takes it from Chan to get a closer look. “It’s beautiful.”

“Minho hyung picked it out.” Jisung nudges her leg with his foot and the girl looks over at the second oldest alpha whose ears are burning red.

“I felt that the compass rose was a good representation of how we came to be.” The alpha watches her lovingly. “We were lost without you, you were lost on your own, and we managed to find each other, as if you were meant to run out of gas at that park because your true north was there or something.”

“Hyung, you’re getting sappy on us.” Seungmins groans, gaining a pinch to the side from Changbin who's still holding the beta in his lap.

Y/n starts to tear up and she quickly wipes her cheeks. “I love you guys.” She finally admits to all of them, her lip still trembling a little with overwhelming emotions, and her tears just keep coming.

She gets a chorus of “we love you too” as they all sit up to give her a group hug and they tell her not to cry.

“It’s happy tears.” She tries to laugh a little as they all hold her. When they all eventually pull away, she turns to Chan and gives him the collar. “Can you help me put it on?”

“Of course baby girl.” He kneels behind her and puts it around her neck as she holds her hair out of the way.

Once it's clasped in place she puts her hand over it and smiles before showing it off, everyone admiring her. They all still can’t believe that the beautiful omega in front of them is theirs.

______________________________________________________________

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mysterious-moonstruck-musings · 2 days ago

Text

Buried Secrets Chapter 1: Demons of Deception

Buried Secrets Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Summary: After the harrowing events in South America, Frankie and the guys have returned home and opened their own private security business. They're eventually approached by an archeologist, named Mya, who is requesting their specialized services for an archeological expedition in the Amazonian jungle of southeastern Peru, hours away from where they stashed Lorea's money just over the border in the mountains of northern Chile.

Frankie is hesitant to accept the job, but with Pope's insistence this could be their cover to go back for the money, he relents. However, Frankie soon learns their new job assignment only further puts them and his new love interest in danger in an unexpected way as they set out to find the lost Incan city of Paititi.

Word Count: 6.2k

👉 Warnings: smut (MDNI), angst, mentions of mental health struggles and past drug use (it's Frankie), there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, death). Frankie Morales comes with his own warnings.

👉 Chapter Warnings: Badass OFC, there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, blood), a surprise appearance or two, brooding Frankie

Chapter Quote: “Why don’t you come a little closer so you can experience the adventure for yourself.”

Mya’s POV

I had been in a lot of tight spots in the past, but nothing could compare to this. The most infuriating thing about it all, it wasn’t because of something I did. I was left to take the fall by someone that I thought loved me.

When I came to, I found myself suspended from the ceiling by my shackled hands. My toes barely touched the floor, just enough to help take some of the weight off my aching shoulders and wrist that stretched above my head. The room was empty and dark, only small hints of sunlight sneaking in through the thick tattered curtains.

Looking around, I saw no way out of this. There was nothing I could use to my advantage and my restraints seemed secure. They had done their due diligence in making sure I couldn’t escape. That was the downside to being taken hostage by people who were familiar with your unusual skill sets.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed before the door creaked open, but it felt like hours. A very pissed off looking Miguel Collazo and one of his enforcers strode into the room, pausing several feet in front of me. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach because I could sense he was beyond reason.

He gave me a menacing glare as he spoke with his thick Spanish accent, “I never thought I would find myself in this kind of situation with you, Mya. You are one of my best collectors, so I am torn on what to do with you.”

I was seething, “How about you unlock these cuffs and let me go. I had nothing to do with this, and you know it.”

He tutted, “I do not believe you. You and Damien have always been inseparable, so I know you know where he is. I want my artifacts and money back.”

Collazo was a pudgy little man with a crooked nose and curly villain mustache that rivaled Dustin Hoffman in Hook. He had a perpetually smug expression that I really wanted to bitch slap off his face as he smirked up at me.

“I don’t know where he is. What would he have to gain from leaving me behind?”

He shrugged as he began to pace back and forth in front of me, “I do not know, to keep me off his trail? It does not make sense to me that he would not tell you his plan.”

I scoffed, “Well I haven’t done that now have I? I have no fucking idea where he is. He was gone when I got home…his phone has been disconnected. I have no way of reaching him.”

The door swung open with a little more force this time. Comandante Veracruz entered, moving to stand next to Collazo. I could see his scruffy angled jaw ticking as his dark eyes looked me over from head to toe. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, I could only hope he would take pity on me and talk Collazo off the ledge.

Veracruz was head of security for Collazo. Damien and I had gotten to know him well since we worked closely on several heists in the past. He had made his affections for me obvious but would never have acted on them because of Damien. Now that Damien was long gone, I hoped I could use his affections to my advantage.

“What are you thinking?” He asked Collazo in his Spanish accent.

Collazo smiled, “Still undecided…I am going to let Diego work his magic and see what happens. If she knows, she will break.”

Veracruz shifted his gaze to me. He looked conflicted, but didn’t say anything further. Collazo looked to Diego, nodding in my direction as he rasped out, “Comenzar.” (Begin.)

Diego stalked forward, then backhanded me across the cheek. I let out a threatening chuckle as I shook it off. “This isn’t gonna change my answer. I don’t know anything. All you’re doing is pissing me off.”

Collazo laughed, “Good thing we have you chained up then… Continuar, Diego.” (Continue, Diego.)

Diego gave me an empty stare before punching me in the gut, knocking the air out of my lungs. He went on like this for several minutes, punching and slapping. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I pushed through the pain. I refused to let them see how bad I was hurting, even as I felt my left eye swelling and blood running down the sides of my face. All the while Collazo continued to question me.

“Perhaps you could also fill me in on what happened at Lorea’s? Was Damien involved with that too? How much of my money does he actually have?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know anything about that. Maybe he was. If he’s capable of this, then why not? But I don’t know anything. He didn’t tell me.”

Collazo inched forward, causing Diego to momentarily pause his blows and face him as he awaited further instructions.

“Are you sure you do not have anything you wish to tell me, Mya?” Collazo asked.

Clearly, this was going nowhere. It didn’t matter what I said. He didn’t believe me. I spit out the blood that was pooling in my mouth toward his expensive looking white leather shoes, “Yeah, fuck you.”

He didn’t seem impressed, “Still not breaking…I’m shocked. You are stronger than I would have guessed. Hora de tu especialidad, Diego.” (Time for your specialty, Diego.)

My breath caught in my throat as I watched Diego reach for the knife at his belt. A sadistic smile curling on his lips as he nodded in affirmation to his boss. However, he had made a mistake, standing too closely to me with his back turned. I reacted before he even realized what was happening, kicking the knife from his hand and using the chain as leverage to lift myself so I could wrap my legs around his neck. The adrenaline pumping through my veins allowed me to push through the debilitating pain, but I wasn’t sure how long I could hold him. Every muscle and joint in my body was protesting, but I still managed to clamp down tightly around his throat as he clawed at my jean-clad legs. He fought it for a time but eventually passed out from lack of oxygen.

Veracruz stood in shock as he watched Diego fall to his knees. Collazo let out a boisterous laugh and clapped his hands in amusement, “It’s always an adventure with you, Mya.”

I loosened my hold on Diego, allowing him to drop the rest of the way to the ground. I gave Collazo the best sarcastic smile I could muster in my current state, “Yeah? Why don’t you come a little closer so you can experience the adventure for yourself then.”

Collazo chuckled, “I am going to miss your feistiness.”

Veracruz finally interjected, “Perhaps she is telling the truth. It does not make sense that he would leave her if she knew something. Maybe he is planning to return for her?”

Collazo weighed Veracruz’s words, his eyes eventually narrowing in suspicion. “Then he will find that she is missing and that you wait in her place…Acaba con ella, Comandante.” (Finish her, Comandante.)

Fuck. How do I get out of this one?

Veracruz gave a curt nod, taking a deep breath as he drew his pistol and walked toward me. He made sure to stay far enough away that he was out of my reach, but I could still see the nervous sweat forming on his brow and conflict burning in his eyes as he aimed at my face. He held the weapon there, his nostrils flaring and jaw flexing as he clearly struggled with his instructions. I held his gaze, my eyes silently pleading with him in hopes it might sway him to help me in some way. If he didn’t, I was fucked.

“What are you waiting for, Comandante? Finish her,” Collazo ordered again.

I sighed. I didn’t want to do this, but it was the only card I had left to play if Veracruz wasn’t going to help me. I knew it would stop Collazo in his tracks, but I hated myself for it before the words even left my mouth. The Comandante’s finger slowly moved to the trigger, but he was still hesitating.

I flinched away from the barrel of the gun. “WAIT! Wait…” I finally called out.

Collazo sneered as he twisted his stupid mustache with his fingertips, “Better make it good, Mya. This is your last chance.”

I could feel the fight leaving my body as I finally shared the news that I hoped would save my life - at least until I could come up with another way out. “I know the location of Paititi.”

Veracruz lowered his weapon, then turned to give Collazo a questioning look. Collazo’s brows pinched together in doubt, “You lie.”

I shook my head, “I would never…not about this.”

He scoffed, “How do I know you are not just saying this so I do not kill you?”

I huffed out a nervous laugh, “Well, that’s exactly why I’m saying it…but it doesn't make it any less true. I’ve seen the Vatican documents. I know where to look.”

Collazo smiled contemptuously, “That’s impossible. They are inaccessible...How?”

This was the tricky part that was probably going to get me shot, “I-I can’t tell you how…but just know, if you shoot me, the knowledge dies with me. No one else knows about this, not even Damien.”

Veracruz smirked in my direction, “Well…it seems the secrets run deep between both of you then.”

I let out a sardonic laugh, “Damien never believed in Paititi…he said it was a wasted effort…a myth. I kept a lot from him...”

Collazo came closer but made sure to keep Veracruz positioned between us. “What are you proposing, Mya? How can I trust you after this?”

“Let me prove my loyalty. Let me lead an expedition to find the lost city for you. All I ask is that you let me do it the right way, the legal way. I just need funding…”

He didn’t seem convinced, but I was still breathing, so it wasn’t a no. I changed tactics, now playing the role of a hurt and scorned lover, “I swear, I had no knowledge of what Damien was doing. IF he comes back for me, I’ll kill him myself. He betrayed me too. I’m here because of what he did. I can’t forgive him for that.”

Collazo sighed, “If you want to do this the legal way, you know you cannot have any known ties to me…”

I had him. Death would not be taking me today, but I had to think quickly so I could talk myself out of this mess.

“I’ll figure out the logistics…Maybe I set up a donation fund through the gallery…you can donate anonymously to fund the project. I’ll give you access to whatever I find first before I report the discovery.”

This was far from how I wanted to do things, especially since I was hellbent on getting out of my life of crime, but I saw no other way forward at the moment.

Veracruz turned to Collazo, “If you’re willing to chance it, I can keep an eye on her…”

Collazo met my gaze, “Fine. One wrong move though…and you are done. You understand?”

I nodded, “Yes, I understand.”

My eyes shifted to Veracruz, who visibly relaxed, realizing the threat had passed. Collazo turned to leave and tossed him the key, “Cuida sus heridas.” (Take care of her wounds.)

He watched Collazo exit and close the door before he turned to me, leaning in close to my ear as he worked to unlock the cuffs, “I really thought I was about to have to shoot up the place to get you out of here. That was clever…how long can you keep this ruse going?”

The cuffs loosened, I groaned at the ache in my joints as I lowered my arms and leaned into him for support, “It’s not a ruse…I was telling the truth…”

My words trailed off as I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

I shook my head, my breath now shaky as the pain began to overtake me, “Fuck n-no. I-I think he cracked some ribs.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry. I should have done something more…”

I winced as we began to walk, “No, I get it. It probably just would have gotten us both killed. You did what you could in the moment.”

Veracruz did have a soft spot for me, but I wasn’t a fool. He would never sacrifice himself for me. He wasn’t that selfless. He would only help so long as it didn’t put him in the crosshairs. He was an unreliable ally in the best of circumstances, and I knew that. At least he cared enough to see that I was taken care of while I recovered.

I knew I would have to watch out for myself as I plotted and planned because there were demons of deception around every corner. I could put my trust in no one, not even the one person I thought was safe. I was quickly learning they would all betray me in the end, which is why I wanted out of this life. I wanted to walk the straight and narrow again. The money was not worth death. It was getting too dangerous to continue living this way.

Six Months Later…

Frankie’s POV

I awoke with a groan, squinting toward the window to find the sun was just beginning to rise. The reason for my sudden waking, my cell phone incessantly pinging from incoming text messages on the nightstand. I didn’t even need to look to know that it was Pope. I huffed, reaching for the device to see what the hell he wanted this early in the morning.

Pope: We still on for the range today? I know we had a late night, but I’m still going.

Pope: Will and Benny are out. Apparently, Benny is feeling last night’s fight. He 100% got his ass kicked.

Pope: Which means Will is being his bitch today.

Pope: So, that leaves us. You better not stand me up, pendejo.

I rolled my eyes. Why can’t he just put all of that in one fucking message? He texts like a teenage girl.

Frankie: Chill the fuck out, pendejo. I’ll be there.

Pope: 9AM. Don’t be late.

Frankie: 🖕

Pope: 🖕🖕

I dropped the phone beside me on the bed and sighed. Without Benny and Will there, I knew Pope would start badgering me about going back for Lorea’s money. He was becoming almost obsessive over the idea. Not that I could blame him, having a little extra cash on hand would be a huge help right now. Supporting two households wasn’t easy, even if the new private security business was doing well.

I palmed at my sleepy face, trying to wake up. My eyes finally blinked open and surveyed my near empty bedroom. The bareness of the place was a constant reminder of how I had fucked everything up and ended up alone. Starting over was never fun, but this was torture knowing that my now ex-fiancé, Maria, had given me every chance and I squandered them. Now she was moving on, my young daughter now spending time with a new man in their life and calling him Papi while I fought for unsupervised visitation.

I had no one to blame but myself. I was the one who fell off the wagon and started a slow coke spiral after we got back from South America. What we had gone through, losing Tom, it was too much and we did it for nothing. We left with nothing to show for it but the body of our Captain. We got messy. I got messy. And it broke me. I should have put my foot down about how much weight that bird could carry. If I had, we might be living completely different lives right now. Tom might still be here.

I puffed air out of my cheeks before slinging the blanket off so I could go make some coffee. After padding down the short hallway of my very modest two-bedroom fixer-upper, I loaded up the coffee machine. I stood, leaning against the counter, scanning the space while the sputtering drips began to fall into the pot. I really needed to do something to make the place look less like military barracks and more like a home. Especially if I was eventually going to have my kid here. The mere thought of all the work that needed to be done made my chest feel tight. I had to shake my head to push the never-ending checklist out of my mind and focus on something else before it put me in an even worse mood.

Once my coffee was ready, I decided to sit out on the front porch swing to enjoy the calm of the morning. After getting comfortable, I let my mind run through several things that needed to be taken care of at the office. I was thinking through some budget requests while watching two squirrels chase each other around the base of an old Oak tree when movement on the street caught my attention. A blacked-out SUV crept down the road, eventually speeding up and disappearing around the corner. It put me on edge. It was too nice of a vehicle to be driving through this neighborhood.

I was probably just being paranoid, but the fear of one of Lorea’s business partner’s finding out who stole some of their money and then torched the rest was a very real concern - for me at least. The rest of the guys seemed to think we were in the clear. I wasn’t completely convinced, and it constantly had me on alert.

I sat for a while, my eyes scanning the quaint neighborhood I had chosen to settle down in, looking for anything that seemed out of place. Finding nothing, I eventually scoffed at myself, thinking that perhaps I was being ridiculous about this whole thing as I stood to go get ready to meet Pope.

A short time later, I found myself pulling into the gun range parking lot. This had become sort of a weekend routine for us. It served as an escape, allowing me to have a taste of the military life that I was so accustomed to before retiring. It was the only time I found that my mind was completely empty. There was something freeing about it, helping me to relax - most days. Today, however, was another story. I could tell from the look on Pope’s face as soon as he stepped out of his vehicle that he was cooking up some kind of plan.

He smiled as I approached, clapping me on the back in greeting, “Hey, hermano. You get enough sleep?”

I gave him a tight smile, “Could have gotten a little more if you weren’t texting me at the asscrack of dawn.”

Pope grimaced, “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

I rolled my eyes at him, “Of course not... What did you book for us today?”

He turned to grab his duffel out of the backseat, “I got us two one-hundred-yard lanes. They only had one three-hundred open.”

I shook my head, “Figures. Alright, let’s go.”

The range was busy, for which I was thankful. It made it harder for Pope to get a word in. There was an eventual lull in the shooting, and he wasted no time in taking advantage of it. He leaned in closer, pulling one side of his earmuffs away as we worked to reload. I did the same so I could hear what he had to say.

“I think I can get us into Columbia, off the radar. I’ve got a contact…”

I held up my hand, “Stop. I don’t wanna hear it.”

I could see the frustration on his face as his jaw tensed, “Come on Fish, this could work. I’ll cover the cost again…get the documents…everything. No one knows where that money is except for us. We shouldn’t run into any problems. There wouldn’t be any contact with the cartel. It’s a quick in and out.”

After inserting a fresh magazine into the rifle and replacing my earmuff, my lips set into a tight line. I gave him a tense look before stepping to the firing line to discharge at the target. My non-answer seemed to end the conversation, for now.

I took the time to get lost in the target, giving it all my focus as I peppered it with bullet holes in and around the center. My mind was finally quiet, and I reveled in it, wishing it would stay that way for the rest of the day. I knew that was wishful thinking though. It never did.

Once that magazine was empty, I returned to the table that separated my lane from Pope’s so I could reload. He joined me, staring off in the distance, seemingly distracted by something before finally turning his attention to me and removing his right muff. I did the same as I gave him a warning with my eyes.

“How’s it going with Maria? Any headway?”

I shook my head, “Nope. If she has it her way, I’ll get zero visitation. She’s done with me…won’t listen to anything I have to say. She doesn’t believe I’ve cleaned up my act.”

Pope sighed as he gave me a sympathetic look, “Sorry, hermano. I hoped she would come around. Don’t let it get you down though. We’ve got your back. Whatever you need…”

I nodded, “Yeah, I appreciate it. I might need you guys as character witnesses if it gets to that point.”

He gave me a soft reassuring smile, “Consider it done.”

His eyes drifted again as a larger caliber rifle began to sound off from the far lane. He seemed intrigued as I raised a questioning eyebrow at him. He glanced over at me, jerking his chin upward indicating I should have a look. It didn’t take me long to figure out what had his attention, or who rather. There was a woman in the farthest three-hundred-yard lane, lying on her stomach, shooting the high caliber rifle that had ended our conversation. She was wearing army green fatigues that definitely did not fit like military issue pants as they hugged her curvy hips and ass just right. She was also wearing a black ribbed tank top, black military style boots, and a black SWAT hat pulled down low over her aviators. Her dark hair was tied back in a messy knot at the nape of her neck. I could see why she had his attention. Aside from her attractive form, this wasn’t a sight we saw here very often.

As she stood, she turned toward us. Her eyes hidden behind the dark glasses with her lips set into a tight line, giving nothing away. I glanced at Pope, who seemed smitten already. I rolled my eyes at him as I stepped back up to the firing line. Hot women were always his weakness. He would disagree, but we all knew it.

When I returned to the table, it was clear Pope was still distracted as he continued to glance her way. His eyes finally met mine. “You been out with anyone since you and Maria split?” he asked.

I gave him an admonishing look as I shook my head. I didn’t feel like that was the best idea right now. I had too much going on.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, “Not saying you need to step into anything serious, but you do need to lighten up. A one-nighter might do you some good and help with that.”

I glared at him, “I’m not doing that. It always turns into trouble.”

He snorted, “Well…maybe you should be worse at it, so they don’t come back for more.”

I could feel my cheeks warming from his words as I flashed my middle finger at him, “Fuck off.”

He jerked his chin toward the last lane as the woman got into position again, hitting the three-hundred-yard target dead center when she finally shot off a round.

“You should go ask her out.”

I scoffed, “No. I’m not…”

Pope jutted his hip out, putting his weight on one foot, “Come on… Maria’s moving on. It’s time you did too.”

I could feel my jaw flexing at the mention of that, “No. Just let it go.”

Pope chuckled, “Yeah, I don’t blame you. That looks like too much woman for you to handle anyway. She’d probably kick your ass…I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

I shook my head, giving him an exasperated look, “What the hell does that even mean?”

He gave me a mischievous smile as he shrugged, then turned toward the firing line to begin shooting again.

Fucker. I was half tempted to talk to her just to prove a point.

I suddenly felt like eyes were on me as I glanced back over at the woman. I couldn’t tell because of her glasses, but it appeared that she was looking directly at me with a small smirk on her full lips. One eyebrow raised slightly as she picked up another clip, returning to the rifle to reload it. Now I was intrigued.

By the time Pope and I finished off our last magazine, she was gone. As we walked to the parking lot, Pope was quietly berating himself for letting the opportunity pass before he asked if I thought she might be back again. I shrugged, somewhat amused over his new infatuation because I knew he would be distracted by someone else as soon as he stepped foot into the bar later this evening.

After our goodbyes, I made my way to the local auto parts store to pick up a couple of specialty tools that I needed for a restoration I was currently working on in my spare time. I had inherited my dad’s dark red 1970 Chevelle SS 454 when he passed away several years ago. We always said we would work together to fix it up, but it never happened. Instead, it sat idle in his garage for years. It did the same after I took over ownership of it, not having the time or the energy for it. Now that I was alone, I found myself with plenty of opportunities and the need to keep myself occupied. It was another one of those things that helped keep my mind distracted when I needed it most. I was actually thankful for it even though it was turning into an expensive project.

With the new tools in tow, I returned home. After making myself a quick sandwich and scarfing it down, I sequestered myself away in the dilapidated shack beside the house that was meant to serve as a garage. It quickly became my refuge, and I had zero complaints about it - even if it did have a leaky roof and shitty lighting. It got the job done and that was all that mattered.

I spent all afternoon working, attempting to keep my mind from drifting to thoughts of the large bags full of money hidden in the Andes mountains of Chile. After the cluster fuck we got into last time we were in South America, I was having a hard time reconciling the idea of going back. Pope was right, we had no reason to interact with the cartels this time. We could easily sneak in and collect the cash without anyone knowing, assuming it was still where we left it.

What we should do about the money was a constant internal battle for me. I didn’t know if I should accept Pope’s reasoning over mine. However, the fear of losing another team member acted as a grey cloud that hung over my head and kept me from going back. I couldn’t go through that again. It affected every decision I had made since we got back. I couldn’t shake it no matter how hard I tried. The risk was too high without guarantee of a reward.

While I respected Pope’s attempts, I still had to consider outside forces that we had no control over. He had all of the trust in the world for his ‘contacts,’ but I didn’t. It would only take one of them to tip off the cartel if they got wind of what we were doing. It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. I had spent hours going through every angle, all the possible problems we could run into. All of his plans seemed too dangerous, leaving too many unknowns. He just needed to accept that as my final decision and stop trying to rope us into another one of his crazy plans.

That was my final thought on it - for today anyway.

Mya’s POV

I had been planning the expedition for six months, meticulously researching every detail. That’s how I ended up at the local gun range for the last three Saturdays, doing a little recon on the owner of the security firm I was looking to hire. Collazo offered to provide security, but I needed this to be as far removed from him as possible to protect the reputation of my Gallery and the Archaeology Preservation Foundation that I had set up to fund the dig. Veracruz would still be on site to keep an eye on things, but all other aspects of the project were up to me and that included keeping my team safe.

Delta 5 Security Solutions had been recommended to me by a number of high-profile locals. It was owned by a military veteran named Francisco Morales, who worked to keep other veterans employed. Because of this, Delta 5 Security Solutions seemed much more equipped to handle the dangers of the Peruvian jungle than other firms. Word on the street was that they even offered specialized air transport services, on occasion. I needed a couple of pilots, so they seemed to check all the boxes. It would save me from having to set up multiple contracts at least.

The more time I spent watching Francisco, the more I questioned if he was the right choice. He definitely didn’t have the brightest of personalities, often seeming frustrated and stressed when he arrived at the range - like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I could, however, see his focus and determination as he fired at the targets. He was a good shot and exuded authority and control with his weapon. Sure, he came across as a little disheveled and scruffy, but there was something under the surface that intrigued me just enough to see where things went.

Like most Saturdays, Francisco wasn’t alone for his latest outing. He was accompanied by one of his employees, Santiago Garcia. Santiago seemed a lot more easy going and appeared to enjoy pushing Francisco’s buttons based on the serious side eye that was being thrown his way. From the intel I had gathered, these two, along with the Miller brothers, all served in the same military unit and seemed to be close friends in addition to running the security firm together. I had been watching all of them over the last several weeks to get a feel for their dynamic. I could see that they were loyal to each other and worked well together. It was almost for those reasons alone that I felt they would be a good fit. At least they understood loyalty and it left me wondering how loyal they could be to me if things took a turn.

However, I knew this all hinged on Francisco accepting the job. I had been warned that he wasn’t big on risks and wasn’t afraid to turn jobs down for that reason. He really was an enigma that I couldn’t figure out. Aside from his gruff demeanor, he seemed quiet and introspective - a reluctant leader, but the guy in charge, nonetheless. He also seemed to be having some life struggles but appeared to be on the upswing from those. I was concerned that it could serve as a distraction for him, but I still found myself wanting him and his team. I wouldn’t settle for anything less. My gut told me there was more to him than meets the eye and I wanted the opportunity to peel back those layers so I could find out who he really was as a person.

As I positioned myself on the ground to shoot the high caliber rifle that I had rented from the range, I could feel eyes on me. It probably wasn't the best choice since I hadn’t intended to draw attention to myself. There weren't a lot of women at the range, let alone any shooting a weapon like this at three-hundred yards. After hitting the target with multiple rounds, I stood, adjusting my aviators as I glanced toward the two men I was here to watch, realizing that I definitely had Santiago’s attention. Francisco gave me a brief glance before stepping up to shoot his own rifle. I had to give it to him; he didn’t allow for distractions. Santiago on the other hand, seemed to have at least one weakness. Women. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes over that realization as I packed up to leave.

After running home to shower and change into more professional attire, I headed toward my antiquities gallery to open for the day. Soon after opening, a well-dressed gentleman with dark hair and a beard entered, immediately asking to speak with the owner. The first thing I noticed were his kind eyes and submissive nature. He definitely had the tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him. Once I introduced myself, he got down to business with a polite smile.

“I apologize for showing up without an appointment, but I got a lead on this painting and wanted to follow up on it right away. I’m looking to purchase and pay cash if you have it…or can point me in the right direction.”

I returned his polite smile with one of my own, “If you can provide me with the details, I’d be happy to check our inventory for you.”

He pulled out his phone, tapping away to pull up a picture, “It's the Cazador (The Hunter), by Luis Magin…a 20th century Maya oil painting.”

I could feel my blood run cold as my body tensed. This was a missing painting listed in the National Stolen Art File. I was taken aback that this man would be asking for stolen artwork. He didn’t seem the type.

I laughed nervously, “Sir, I’m sorry…but we don’t sell stolen art. I’m not sure why you were sent here…”

He reached to pull a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and held it up, revealing Damien’s name scribbled on it. I could feel my breathing pick up as I fought to stay calm. Something felt wrong about this.

“I was told you could put me in contact with Damien Ravenwood…”

He seemed a little pushier now, like that name was supposed to magically solve the problem.

I shook my head, “I no longer associate with Damien Ravenwood…for obvious reasons. I don’t allow black market antiquities in my gallery.”

The man narrowed his eyes slightly, “My apologies. It must be a misunderstanding…”

His words trailed off as he reached inside the breast pocket of his suit jacket to pull out a business card, handing it over as he continued, “If he happens to show up…for any reason at all, please give me a call. I’d love to lock him down for a few minutes of his time.”

I glanced at the name on the card, Vincent Delacroix. It was obviously fake - a mashup of two famous painter’s names. There was nothing else on the card but a phone number. I gave him a tight-lipped smile as I waved the card in the air, “Yeah, sure, Mr. Delacroix. I’ll be sure to send him your way.”

There was something seriously off with this guy. I wasn’t sure if he was a black-market buyer or working undercover. Either way, I did not want to be in the middle of it. ‘Mr. Delacroix’ nodded and smiled before moving toward the exit. He paused halfway to the door, turning back in my direction, “I’m assuming you no longer have contact with Miguel Collazo either then? Or Persephone, by chance?

I could feel my jaw clench at the mention of Collazo and my black-market alias. I shook my head, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve had any dealings with those individuals.”

He gave me a charming smile in return, “Yeah, I thought that might be the case. Never hurts to ask...Thank you for your time, Miss Carnahan.”

He hesitated briefly, still smiling as he turned to leave. Once he finally exited the building, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

I was startled from my thoughts when my archivist, Emily, appeared at my side. “Who was that?” she asked.

“Honestly, I have no idea…if he shows back up, come get me. No one else talks to him. Understood?”

She nodded in agreement.

The day was certainly taking a turn that I hadn’t expected. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about as it was, it felt like something else had just been added to the list.

Chapter 2: The Divine Source

✨If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to shoot me a DM or leave a comment.

A/N: SURPRISE! I know I said I wouldn’t start posting until Closed Position was complete, but it’s taking me for fucking ever to finish that one and I think I’ve made you wait long enough. Since I’ve got a decent start with this lovey adventure, I’ll go ahead and start posting. 😘

Now that we’ve gotten the first chapter out of the way, what are your thoughts? How are we feeling about Mya and Frankie? We definitely started with a bang (no pun intended).

I know I teased that Veracruz would be making an appearance. It turns out…he may have a slightly bigger role than I originally planned. We need a little extra tension with Frankie and I think Veracruz will serve as an excellent plot device for that. How do we feel about him so far? 🤭

We had another special appearance too. Anyone want to take a guess on who Mya’s surprise visitor is?

In the next chapter: Mya will drop in to visit the boys, Frankie has a decision to make, Mya accidentally gets a little nerdy on Frankie, and Frankie and Veracruz cross paths. Please do share your predictions. 😏