Let me hold you like a hostage
Mary Kline x fem!reader
1.8k words | read on ao3 | MDNI
Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
summary: After pining over your therapist for the past 2 months, you’d never expect to track her down into an alternate dimension, much less, an endless maze of yellow wallpaper that she wants to keep you trapped in forever.
tags: therapist!Mary and eventually entity!Mary, suggestive language, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, dom/sub undertones, kidnapping, bondage, degradation and praise, slight knifeplay, sexual tension, eventual smut
notes: next chapter will be longer but this is a bit of an intro! Toxic yuri lovers enjoy <3
Chapter 1: Strange what desire will make foolish people do
The way you met her hadn’t been any unusual occurrence, anything notably out of the ordinary. After a particularly bad break up filled with late nights and dishes shattered across the floor, you finally took your friend’s advice and started searching for a therapist. One evening, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket with eyebags permanently indented into your skin, you came across an advertisement for Dr. Mary Kline on the television and scheduled an appointment for the following morning. You hadn’t expected much, just a way for your descent to rock bottom to be less painful than it already was.
You could recall your first meeting clearly in your mind, entering a modern office building and walking down a few hallways until you knocked your fist against a mahogany door. After a few moments, a brunette with kind eyes welcomed you into the room, encouraging you to take a seat on a pair of patterned armchairs arranged in a circular pattern. At first impression, everything around her appeared to be kept in a tidy, organized manner, from the tailored cut of her wide leg slacks and walnut furniture of her office, everything clearly following a predetermined pattern. She never asked any unnecessary questions, genuinely listened to your struggles, always remained impartial, and offered actually constructive advice even if it stung to hear.
However, there were a few anomalies that strayed from her professional persona. The friendly, softened tone that she used when she wanted to reassure you, those awkward silences when she bit her bottom lip and deliberated on what to say next, the way she would gesture wildly when she was caught up in her thoughts or fiddle with the gold pendant she would always wear around her neck in a manner that you found utterly charming. Most unforgettably, the tender way she stroked your bandaged palm that you had accidentally cut when you attempted to clean up the vase your ex had shattered a few weeks ago.
It had left your heart racing out of your chest even as you walked down the street after the session, internally groaning once you deduced that you had developed a crush on your incredibly attractive, sweet therapist. You spent many nights wondering what would happen if you reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear or placed a hand against her knee and an equal amount of time with your thumb poised over the dial button, contemplating over cancelling your therapy sessions entirely. Even with the knowledge that you were treading a very fine line, you just couldn’t stay away from her.
So you continued to attend therapy with Dr. Kline, growing closer yet focused less and less on actually working through your mental health issues while your every breath hung on each rustle of fabric, every movement of her lips.
One particularly uneventful day, you arrived a few minutes early at Dr. Kline’s office, eager for a chance to see her once again. She opened the door before you even knocked, beckoning you in with a smile and a soft hand against your lower back that felt seared into your skin like a wildfire.
“Hello! How are you doing?” She asked you, swiping a flyaway strand of hair away from her face and towards the rest of her waves that were neatly tied back into a bun.
“Good, how about you, Dr. Kline?” you replied instinctively.
“There’s no need to be so formal, you can call me Mary,” the brunette shook her head teasingly, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “I’m doing well.”
You paused at the fondness in her almond eyes and the sensation of her friendly touch before quickly recovering and hurrying over to the seats. Once you finally settled down into your favorite armchair, she crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap expectantly.
“Well, darling, what would you like to work on today?” Mary asked in her lightly accented voice, nearly making you swoon at the ease at which she used the term of endearment.
“Anything’s fine, Dr. Kline– Mary,” you shrugged, eyes glancing downwards at the slip up.
“Hmm,” she tapped her nails against her grey midi skirt, tilting her head in thought. “How about we do some of the exercises we’ve been practicing for that night.”
She danced around the reference to your ex, sugarcoating the hard pill to swallow with euphemisms. You nodded and fluttered your eyelids closed for a quick second to gather your senses for a moment, mentally preparing to relive the experience that had shattered your soul. While the effectiveness of replaying and reframing the scenarios of your trauma was debatable, you wouldn’t deny an excuse to maintain prolonged eye contact and spend another hour with her. Once you opened your eyes again, she was staring so intensely at you that you nearly hitched a breath, fighting to keep your pulse from running at an irregular pace like it always did when her gaze was directly upon you.
“Babe,” you spoke evenly, seeing the visions replay in your mind like a film behind your eyes. “I’d like to speak about something with you if we could sit down.”
“Alright,” Mary responded in a voice a few shades huskier, the gravelly bite of her tone similar to your ex’s.
“I think we should talk about your drinking habits,” you stated, fighting to keep the hesitation out of your voice.
“What drinking habits?” Mary asked, feigning ignorance.
“You’ve been at the bar almost every night, and we’re already tight on money as it is,” you replied, following your therapist’s methods to get straight to the point. “You barely pull your weight with any of the chores, and I just feel like this isn’t a very equal relationship.”
“What I do in my free time shouldn’t be any of your concern,” Mary responded forcefully. “I’ve been providing for you for how many years? So I don’t want to hear a goddamn word about how I’ve been spending my money.”
“If you don’t give a shit about my thoughts, then why are we still together?” your voice cracked, hot tears welling up despite the initial control you had. “This doesn’t feel like love anymore.”
Maybe it was the internal loneliness you had been feeling that set you off, like a void swallowing everything around you until your senses barely tingled with numbness. You yearned for something real that wasn’t screaming your lungs out, blurry eyes, and pounding headaches that kept you up at night.
“I swear to you, you’ll never find somebody else out there who loves you like I do,” Mary tilted her head, leaning in ever so slightly. Her skirt hiked up with the movement, making it suddenly hard for you to swallow. “Everything I’ve done is to protect you, to keep you safe. Anytime you accuse me of infidelity or irresponsibility, you’re just letting your delusions get to your head. Why won’t you trust me?”
“None of that is true!” you exclaimed, sick of hearing the same tirade over and over again until you finally reached a breaking point. “If you truly cared about me, you wouldn’t let me simmer in this doubt alone every night.”
“You’re only doing it to yourself,” Mary replied in a hoarse whisper, scooting forward until your knees nearly brushed against each other, her finger tilting your chin slightly upwards. “You know, deep down, you need me to put you back together.”
She was uncannily good at mimicking your ex’s obsessive behavior, and you didn’t know if you found it more strange or intriguing.
“You’re fucking deranged,” you shouted in the nearly nonexistent space between your breaths, suddenly aware of your close proximity.
The scent of her honey chamomile perfume floated around her in an intoxicatingly enticing way, and you couldn’t help but drop your gaze to her lips. When you looked back up, you saw her chestnut eyes glance downwards knowingly, glimmering with something unnameable.
“Deep down, you enjoy the feeling of being absolutely ruined by me,” Mary murmured under her breath, the tension between the two of you suddenly palpably thick in the air.
“Fuck…” you spoke aloud, feeling your heart jump into your throat at the offhand comment that she had just uttered. It was so unexpected, so off-script, barely veiled behind the traumatic scenario while it held implicative undertones. A steady pulse began to grow between your thighs as you became painfully turned on by the controlling way she manhandled you with such ease. “Sh- she never said that to me.”
You nearly slapped a hand over your mouth when the words left your lips. Over the course of the two months you had spent with Mary as your therapist, you’d never once specified the gender of your ex. Everything about her procedure had been ‘don’t ask don’t tell,’ her impartiality making it unnecessary for you to provide further details into your preferences. Realistically, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but something about this moment made the revelation much more delicate.
Abruptly, you heard the stutter in Mary’s breathing between your mingled breaths as she began focusing all of her attention onto you at once. The depths of her honey brown eyes were suddenly consumed by a molten creme brulee sheen, and she stared at you almost hungrily as if she wanted to devour you. The flowy white blouse she wore was loosely buttoned and exposed the pale skin of her chest, while her gold pendant swung back and forth as mesmerizing as a pendulum.
An uncanny smirk curving the side of her mouth upwards, Mary leaned forward until her lips ghosted your temple, sending a shiver down your spine. Her other hand brushed against the side of your thigh, just enough to prickle the hair against your skin and leave you breathless.
“You know it's true,” Mary whispered in your ear, a sweet nothing amidst your whirlwind of sensations.
‘Is she still in character?’ You wondered, limbs momentarily frozen with how far she was invading your personal space. Her perfume and the fresh scent of linen overwhelmed your senses, making it harder and harder for you to string together coherent thoughts or even speak in her presence.
And just like that she retracted away from you, smoothing the folds of her blouse out, heels clicking as she moved toward her desk to grab her things. You barely had time to register the overwhelming feeling of her touch and her scent before she became the distant and impassive therapist that you were so familiar with once more.
“Lovely time chatting, but I have an appointment to get to,” Mary told you, giving you a dismissive glance before heading out the door.
You continued to stare dumbfounded at the door in her wake, dazed and confused. You weren’t sure if her words were truly implying a deeper meaning or if you had dreamt up the entire interaction. But if the flush across the back of your neck and your heavy breathing meant anything, there was no denying that your deep infatuation with the woman was dangerous, borderlining on destructive.
Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
