#GOD I wish people understood vomit is a trigger

[fitzfunnymoments]

For the love of God the next time someone posts vomit untagged I'm going to scream (<- not about anyone here)

[skz317cb97]

Once is All it Takes

Kim Seungmin x Female reader

Word count: 5.2k

A/N: 18+ only! This is my first Seungmin fic. I feel like I had a bit of a hard time writing for him just because he's such a cute puppy but I am happy with how this turned out! I hope I did him justice in this fic and I hope you enjoy reading it! If you do please give it a like, reblog, comment, shoot me an ask what ever! I love hearing back from you! As per usual warnings and smut below the cut!

Warnings: MDNI 18+ ONLY! This is VERY vanilla for me! Strong language/cursing, Fingering, piv sex (protected), I'm pretty sure that is literally it as far as sexual content goes. Other warnings include vomiting, minimal talk of accidental and unwanted pregnancy and sma-smor-shion. If any of those topics can be triggering for you, you may want to skip this story! As always if I forgot to mention something in the warnings, please let me know and I will add it!

“Fuck.” When you saw the pink plus sign you were in utter shock. You closed your eyes and you had almost convinced yourself it wasn’t real, that you had seen it wrong, but when you looked again and you again saw the indicator that you were in fact pregnant, you started to cry. You wished that it was just the hormones or tears of joy but they were not. They were tears of uncertainty and fear and heart ache. It’s not that you didn’t love your unborn baby’s father, no, on the contrary you were madly in love with him and had been for some time. The problem with that was that the father, and man you were in love with, was your best friend Kim Seungmin.

You never in a million years thought that something like an accidental pregnancy would happen to you. You were so careful. You were on the pill and you had used a condom but when you got sick every morning for two straight weeks and your period was late you thought you would take a test just to be one hundred percent sure you weren’t pregnant. Yet there it was clear as day. You were one hundred percent knocked up.

The small town you and Seungmin both grew up in had a lot of people who had nothing better to do than to gossip and they didn’t particularly care for things like premarital sex, having children out of wed lock and God forbid someone even consider saying the words casual and sex in a single sentence. People that did those things, generally, were shunned in the little community and all you could think about was that could be you and Seungmin now.

The two of you together, it had only happened once, but they always say one time is all it takes. You were clearly proof of that. You and Seungmin had been studying, of course you were, that’s all either of the two of you did as the prodigies of your families, toiling away at college to make something of yourselves for different reasons but both to make your families proud. You understood each other in a way no one else did because of your rolls in your families as well as growing up in the same town, even though you had not grown up together.

You sat there with Seungmin at the table you would always post up at in your studio apartment for your study sessions. You were stressed and beyond frustrated with an equation you were trying to factor but failing time and time again. Finally, when Seungmin thought you were going snap your pencil into pieces, he stepped over and leaned down to look at the formulation you had been using. As soon as he was in your bubble you were calmer, he was always warm and you were surrounded by the smell of his cologne and something that was just, Seungmin and it put you at ease instantly.

“Look here.” He pointed to your page and snapped you back into the moment before you were too far gone thankfully.

“You have these parts inverted flip them and try again.” You picked up your pencil and scribbled down on your scrap paper how Seungmin had told you to do it and he couldn’t help but lean in and smell the sweet strawberry scent your shampoo left behind while you worked the problem.

“I’ll be damned! This isn’t even one of your classes. You’re pretty good Minnie!” He tried to get it together and managed to laugh softly. He took his glasses off, looking at you now instead of the work page.

“I... uh I took this course my senior year for extra credits.” Of course, he did. When you looked up from your work again you realized Seungmin was still leaned in very close to you. When your eyes locked, he seemed to go deep into his thoughts. Like he was analyzing something, calculating, just like he’d done a moment before when helping you.

“Min-” Suddenly Seungmin’s lips captured the cupid’s bow of your top lip between his in a soft kiss. It was gentle and quick, but it wasn’t a timid kiss, more exploratory. When he pulled away he looked at you, his ears were red and he was calculating again, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips as he tried to read your reaction.

You had been in shock for about ten seconds before you grabbed Seungmin’s collar and gently pulled him towards you, kissing him again, this time with more behind it. His hands cupped your face as he deepened your kiss further. Things were getting more heated by the second until you were a clash of tongues and teeth. You pulled away and pressed your forehead against Seungmin’s. You bit at your kiss swollen lips as you softly panted and caught your breath.

“Do you have a condom?” You whispered and Seungmin, who had also been a little breathless from the kiss, almost thought he’d misheard you. His eyes went wide, completely surprised to hear you ask but he swallowed hard and shook his head.

“Uh, yea, yes I do.” You stood up and ran your fingers through his hair, his eyes closing at the touch and you pulled him up into another kiss. Your kisses were so sweet to start and then you’d lose yourself in Seungmin just like you were doing again right then. You started to back up towards your bed, Seungmin following, his hands glued to your waist, his fingertips kneading the sliver of exposed flesh, teasing the waistband of your pants. You parted only to pull your shirt off and started working at the buttons of Seungmin’s shirt as he peppered kisses down your neck and shoulder. Once his shirt was open you ran your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, removing the article of clothing from him and letting it fall to the floor.

You pulled away and sat down on your bed, crawling back and laying down. Seungmin got the hint and climbed on top of you, continuing his trail of kisses from before, traveling down your collar bone and chest until reaching your breasts that were covered only by a lacey white bra that did nothing to hide your perked nipples from him. He bit at his lips as his fingers toyed with the edge of the cup of your bra, the tips sending goosebumps erupting all over your body when they grazed your skin.

“Is it okay if I take this off?” You shook your head.

“Please Min...” You were already so overwhelmed by lust, writhing under his gentle touches and soft kisses. He freed your breasts from the cups of your bra and squeezed them together before he gently started licking them, taking one of your nipples into his warm mouth and tenderly sucking on it. He gave your breasts a great deal of attention which after a while had you absolutely soaked for him and that’s when one of his hands started moving down further, towards the buttons of your pants. He flicked one open slowly and then the next and the next. You lifted your hips urging him to remove the clothing from your body.

“Off... god please Seungmin take them off of me...” Seungmin obliged and removed not only your pants but the cute matching pair of white lace panties you had already drenched with your arousal. When Seungmin looked at you laying there he almost stopped breathing at the sight of you, legs spread and your glistening core exposed to him, your breasts spilling from the bra he’d pulled down but not off, his dick twitched in his pants. He cupped your mound. The air had been cool when your wet cunt was exposed and his warm hand felt like heaven against you. You shivered at his touch.

“You’re okay? Is this okay?” You were so needy already, you weren’t sure if you really needed much foreplay but if Seungmin wanted to touch you, you weren’t going to deny him.

“Yes Min, touch me.” With your consent his fingers ran through your folds collecting your essence before he started massaging your clit with two fingers coated in your juices. Between the feather light kisses Seungmin was placing against your burning skin and his fingers deftly moving over your sensitive bud, it took next to no time for him to send you spiraling into your orgasm.

“Oh... Oh my god Seungmin! I-I'm...” You could hardly form words but Seungmin knew and gently worked you through the peak of your climax.

“That’s it... good... just like that, you’re so pretty when you cum y/n.” He whispered against your skin. When you floated back down to the planet you pulled him in for another kiss.

“I need you Seungmin, please?” He nodded a little. He was relieved you weren’t going to try and jerk him off or blow him, he was already painfully hard and he was worried if you tried to touch him that he might cum before anything actually happened. Seungmin stood up and removed the rest of his clothing and grabbed the condom he had stowed away in his messenger bag ‘just in case’.

When he climbed back on your bed, you spread your legs more and Seungmin slotted himself in between them, then started to open the condom. You watched as he took it out and started to roll it down his length. His hands shook a little and it made you feel a bit better knowing he might be a little nervous too but then one of Seungmin’s hands softly slid up your thigh and he started slowly pushing into you. He was thanking God for that condom at the moment because if he had gone in and felt your soft velvety walls raw, he for sure would have cum on the spot. When he fully buried his cock in you, you let out a little gasp.

“You okay?” You shook your head quickly.

“Yea, just... mmfeels good. Keep going please?” Seungmin nodded and gave you a small smile.

“You feel good too.” He breathed out. You ran your fingers down his cheek and pulled him down, capturing his lips in yours for another tender kiss as he started setting a quicker pace, his hips snapping into you harder and the sounds that you made were music to Seungmin’s ears.

“Yes, God... right there Min, please! RIGHT THERE!” Seungmin proceeded to fuck you harder, hitting that spot that sent megawatts of electricity buzzing through your body and yet it all felt so intimate. It wasn’t that it was gentle or slow, he wasn’t afraid to use a little force behind his thrusts but the way his body stayed close to yours and his hands caressed your face and touched your hair, the soft kisses against your lips as he fucked you deeper, the exchanging of breaths between tasting each other. You whimpered his name, the pleasure of having him inside you, on top of you overwhelming almost.

“Please Seungmin, want you to cum with me.” He pressed his forehead against yours and drug his fingers across your jaw, then drew his thumb over your bottom lip as he looked into your eyes and continued fucking you. You took his thumb into your mouth and sucked, swirling your tongue around it.

The action lit Seungmin’s fuse like a firecracker. He removed his thumb from your mouth and started to rub your clit, thrusting harder and faster, rolling his hips and sending you sailing into your second orgasm. When your walls started squeezing and pulsing around Seungmin’s cock he couldn’t take it anymore and came, riding out your climaxes and filling the condom.

“Oh, fuck! Oh my god y/n! I’m... I... I’m coming!” You pinched your nipples as your hips chased his, milking him fully until he started to soften inside you. Almost immediately after, when Seungmin rolled off you to get rid of the condom and clean up a bit, it was like the air in the room had changed and there was definite awkward tension. When you were both putting your clothes back on, he still said next to nothing and couldn’t look you in the eyes. As soon as his shoes were on his feet he rushed out with a quick excuse and goodbye. You were a little hurt and very confused.

You didn’t see Seungmin for about a week after that. You missed him, you had most of your classes together so it was a big void in your day without him there. You wondered when he did show up if he would ever speak to you again or if you had completely ruined your friendship by being so bold and crossing that line. All he had done was kiss you. You were the one that brought sex into it, asked about a condom, maybe you had over stepped.

Finally, after about six days, you saw Seungmin approaching you before your morning class. He looked like he was steeling his nerves as he walked up with a coffee for each of you, he looked like he had something to get off his chest. You were terrified of what he might say, your heart was in your throat. Once he got in front of you though he saw your expression, the worry, he just stopped. All that certainty left him and he just looked at you silently holding the two cups of coffee. You needed Seungmin in your life, he was your only real friend, others, were acquaintances at best. He was the only person that understood you, you couldn’t lose him. You wanted to at least save your friendship if you could. You wanted to give him an easy out.

“Hey. Uh, been feeling under the weather huh? Missed you this week.” Seungmin’s frozen expression finally broke at your words. His eyes got wide. He started to nod and gave you a tight smile as he handed you the coffee he’d gotten you.

“Yea, yea. I... I was feeling sick so you know... stayed home. I’m better now though!” You gave him a small, sad smile when he took the out you gave him, which pretty much told you exactly what you needed to know in terms of what Seungmin wanted to do about the awkward situation between the two of you.

“I’m glad you’re better Min, we should probably get to class.” Swallow the pain, act like it never happened. So, you did and now there you were in your bathroom holding a pregnancy test crying, trying to figure out what to do. Do you just take care of it, get an abortion and never tell Seungmin? Maybe, you weren’t sure if you could when it came down to it.

Adoption? Surly you would have to tell Seungmin then? You were certain in adoption a biological father had to sign off on that. Aside from that, again, when it came down to it you weren’t sure if you would be able to go through with that and you would never want to get some poor woman’s hopes up just to change your mind. Nope, definitely not that then.

Do you leave and have the baby, raise it alone? Your family would be disappointed but they would help you, you would still be ostracized by your small town and it would certainly get back to Seungmin that you had left school and run home because you were pregnant.

You had to figure it out, your options were limited and each seemed like a worse idea than the next. There was one common denominator in every single outline you went over in your head. You were never going to tell Kim Seungmin that you were carrying his baby. Whatever you chose to do, you weren’t going to ruin his life too. He had worked too hard to get where he was for you to destroy that with a baby bomb.

Even though you two had grown up in the same small town you and Seungmin hadn’t met until you both went off to college, the reason for that being that your family was, at worst, considered upper middle class and Seungmin’s family, at best, was pay check to pay check, blue collar. He worked so hard to get the scholarships he was awarded to make it into your school and had to work even harder to maintain his GPA to keep them.

You, yes, had worked hard for your good grades, enough to be accepted to your school and you maintained an impressive GPA but your family paid your tuition. If you failed you would be okay, but if Seungmin failed he was destined to go back to a life he didn’t deserve and you couldn’t take that chance, you couldn’t take his future away from him. The day after you found out about the baby you decided to skip your lectures. After your first missed class you got a text from Seungmin.

It had been four days. You had missed four full days' worth of classes and had not responded to any texts or calls. When you had said you weren’t feeling good again Seungmin got worried and now with each passing day a pit continued to grow in his stomach. The last couple weeks you had been having issues with a bit of a stomach bug. You had been looking pale, on the verge of up chucking whatever was left of your breakfast usually, but he always made sure to say something about how nice you looked. Sick or not it wasn’t a lie he always thought you were pretty and he was trying to make you feel a little better when you so clearly felt like crap.

Even being sick though those last couple weeks you had still been going to class, refusing to fall behind. Now you were missing classes, a lot of classes. After four days, even though you had expressly told him not to the last time you had spoken, Seungmin needed to check on you. So, after his last lecture of the day he went to the convenient store and got you two bowls of your favorite instant ramen, a ginger soda, and then headed towards your apartment.

When you heard a knock at the door you knew there was only one person that it could be. You sat there on your couch under a throw blanket where you had been watching k dramas the last few days, crying and puking. It seemed the first trimester was intent on kicking your ass from the start. When the knocking persisted, you got up and went to answer the door. When you opened the door Seungmin saw you standing there with a blanket wrapped around you. You looked like you hadn’t been sleeping well and you were even paler than you had been the last time he’d seen you.

“Hey Min; what are you doing here?” Seungmin held up the bag from the convenient store.

“Well, I hadn’t heard from you so I wanted to make sure you were okay. I brought you notes from our classes this week and I got you some ginger soda and ramen.” You smiled at the sweet gesture, your heart breaking a little more.

“Thanks Minnie.” You went grab the bag from him and he pulled it away from your grasp.

“Let me come in and make it for you and you just relax.” You shook your head.

“No Seungmin really you don-” Seungmin put a hand up stopping you.

“Just let someone take care of you a little huh. Go sip on that ginger soda and let me make you 3-minute ramen. It’s not that big of a deal.” You sighed heavily but let Seungmin inside and went to sit on your couch while he made his way to your kitchenette and started your noodles. When your ramen was done Seungmin brought it in and sat down next to you. You started to blow on the hot noodles you had pinched in between your chop sticks and Seungmin couldn’t help but stare at your lips. Lips that he’d kissed, lips that had been pressed against his skin. He quickly looked away towards the tv and saw the k drama you were watching.

“Ahh you’re watching without me!” He said jokingly. You quickly chewed the bite of noodles in your mouth.

“Sorry, I’ve just been trying to keep myself distracted.” You took another big bite of your ramen and Seungmin, without thinking, pushed some stray hairs back from your face as you ate.

“Why do you need distracting?” He was being so gentle with you and then you realized what you had said. You looked at him and as soon as your eyes met it hit you.

“I’m gonna be sick Seun-” You couldn’t even get the words out before you were clasping your hand over your mouth and running for the bathroom. Seungmin was right behind you trying to make sure you were alright. You thankfully made it to the toilet before every bit of the ramen you’d just eaten came back up. Seungmin rubbed your back as you hunched over the toilet and dry heaved when nothing was left in your stomach.

He was trying to look anywhere but where you were puking. Seungmin’s eyes scanned the bathroom walls and floor and eventually landed on the trash can by your toilet. At first, he saw the box the little tests came in and then, face up, as plain as day, a pregnancy test and a very obvious pink plus sign staring back at him. His hand remained on your back but stopped rubbing.

“y/n... are... are you pregnant?” You looked up at him wiping your mouth, eyes wide and full of tears from puking. As you were about to deny it, Seungmin leaned down and pulled the positive pregnancy test from the trash can and looked into your eyes with the most serious expression you had ever seen plastered to his face.

“DON’T lie to me. Are you pregnant?” His voice was gentle but stern, he expected an answer, an honest answer. Tears started to well up in your eyes and you shook your head yes.

“It’s mine?” You hesitated and Seungmin didn’t need an answer.

“We... we used a condom; didn’t you say you were on birth control?” Seungmin was trying to process the situation and he didn’t mean for that question to come out like it had. Your eyes fell, still filled with tears and you slumped on the floor feeling utterly defeated and alone in that moment.

“I am. I was but nothing like that is ever one hundred percent. You don’t have to worry about coming up with reasons it might not be yours though, I don’t expect anything from you. I wasn’t even planning on telling you. I’ll take care of everything.” Seungmin’s heart broke hearing how devastated you sounded.

“I didn’t... I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that. Why wouldn’t you tell me? No matter what decision you make I would support you; you know that right?” You buried your face in your knees and shook your head no and Seungmin thought he couldn’t feel worse.

“That day, after we... you left, avoided me, I knew then, you didn’t want anything more than friendship from me. So, I just followed your lead and pretended like nothing happened no matter how much it broke my heart. Then a few days ago I found out I was pregnant and I just couldn’t ruin your life Seungmin.” Tears were starting to streak you face again. Seungmin almost interrupted to console you but stopped when he realized you had more to say.

“I already made my decision. I’m keeping the baby but I know you don’t want to be with me and I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want Min. I’m gonna tell my parents I’m pregnant and then I’m gonna drop out and stay with them until I save some money and have the baby and you will stay on your scholarships and focus on finishing school instead of a mistake, no hard feelings.”

He had been wrong; he could feel worse. You had formed this image in your head about the way he felt about you and it was his lack of spine and his lack of communication with you that lead you to believe that you were a mistake to him when you were anything but. He knelt down in front of you, getting at eye level.

“Stop. Stop, stop. First off, if you want to keep the baby, WE’RE keeping the baby. You didn’t make a baby on your own and you sure as hell aren’t raising one alone. Oh, and you’re dropping out over my dead body. Jesus Christ a combined GPA of 8.2 and we both communicate our feelings for shit. I’m sorry for the way I reacted after we had sex. It wasn’t because I was disinterested in you, quite the opposite. I have been in love with you since the day Felix introduced me to ‘the girl that was from my town’.” You couldn’t believe your ears.

“Everything just kind of happened so quickly that day and it all felt so right to me. Then I didn’t think I could stay without confessing everything about the way I felt and I was scared you might not feel the same, so I left. It took me six days to figure out what to do and I had decided I was just gonna tell you everything but when I walked up you looked uncomfortable and then you acted like nothing had happened. So, I just did the same.” You sat there with your mouth slightly agape unable to speak for a moment.

“You-You’re in love with me?!” Seungmin shook his head matter of factly but you looked down, picking at your nails as tears continued to rim your eyes and fall.

“I... I love you too Seungmin but that doesn’t change the fact that having a baby with me will destroy your life.” You cried harder and he grabbed your hands trying to comfort you.

“Why is it okay for only your life to be derailed? Why do I get to forgo responsibility when you don’t?” You grabbed his shirt and shouted.

“Because you have more to lose!” Seungmin gently grabbed your face with both hands and made you look at him. He looked you deep in your eyes, his staring back, dark brown and seemingly endless.

“You are the only thing I’m scared of losing y/n!” He pressed his lips against yours. When he pulled away, he had never looked more determined.

“Having a baby with you, even unplanned, will not destroy my life and I won’t let you let it destroy yours either. If you give me a chance, let me prove I can be your partner and support you through this. As a formality I have to reapply for my scholarships every year and I can update them on any changes needed to accommodate my schooling, including family housing.” You couldn’t believe how easy he made it all seem. He had known about the baby for less than thirty minutes and he had already had a concise plan that made perfect sense that kept the both of you enrolled in college. You threw your arms around his neck.

“Seungmin I love you and that big beautiful brain of yours!” You kissed his lips and he laughed as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Here I thought you wanted me for my body.” You laughed as you wiped your tears away and swatted at him. Seungmin pulled you close and grabbed your hand, kissing the back of it.

“So, a baby...” You curled up close as he wrapped his arms around you, neither of you caring you were both still on your bathroom floor and you nodded.

“Yep, a baby. How do you think your family will take the news?” You didn’t know much about his family dynamic so you were curious about what kind of reaction to expect.

“As long as I’m happy they’ll be happy. My mom and dad weren’t married when they had my older sister so it’s not so taboo in our home. What about yours?” You scrunched your nose a bit.

“Well, they aren’t going to be happy about it when I tell them at first but once I mention you’re from our town and they meet you they’ll be okay.” Seungmin smiled and squeezed the hand he was holding onto.

“It will be okay y/n. No matter what we’ll get through it together.” You nuzzled up against his chest, humming in agreement when you were suddenly hit with another wave of nausea. You sat up quickly ready to go for the toilet.

“I wish you could get through this morning sickness for me, the kid doesn’t like anything I eat!” You managed to get to the toilet again before you started heaving and Seungmin resumed rubbing your back and holding your hair away.

“Sorry beautiful.” When you stopped again Seungmin leaned down by your belly as you rested your head on the cool toilet seat and he whispered.

“Hey take it easy on her, you’re gonna get us both in trouble.” You laughed and shook your head.

“Oh, the havoc I can see you two causing already.” Seungmin smirked and grabbed a washcloth wetting it with cool water and running it over your face.

“We’ll try and behave but no promises.” Seungmin shrugged his shoulders as he helped you up from the floor. You rinsed your mouth and then he helped you to bed. When you laid down, he climbed in and held you, resting his head on your chest. As you started to doze off Seungmin leaned a bit closer to your tummy again.

“Thanks for whipping me and mom in line, I can’t promise it’s the only time you might have to do that but I do promise I’ll always do everything I can to make sure you and mom are happy and safe, alright?” He placed a soft kiss against your tummy and settled back to rest when your voice broke the quiet again.

“I love you Seungmin.” He nuzzled up against you squeezing you a bit tighter.

“I love you too y/n.”

Please do not repost or translate any of my works. My blog and stories are NSFW and 18+ ONLY! Minors, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked!

@ughbehavior @starlostseungmin @chansynie @jquellen27 @caroline-ds-world

[luxwritesfanfic]

Right Where You Left Me

Reader gets déjà vu in a way she never expected. Or, the one where Sherlock is the gift that never stops giving. AU!Bucky because he always has your back. Enjoy!

Author’s Note: There is a lot of angst and multiple different aspects that could be very triggering for some within this work. Please be mindful of the trigger warning below and if you see something that you feel should be listed, message me and I will edit accordingly!

Trigger Warning: Severe depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt (overdose), forced vomiting, talk of death in general, angst with a happy ending

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You couldn’t really tell how long you’d been lying in bed for. Time was such a foreign concept to you now. It was either before the fall, when you were happy and he was with you, or after the fall, where you were all alone. You weren’t alone physically because your friends would never allow for that. Since the fall, you’d been staying in Sherlock’s flat, and Mrs. Hudson would always bring you a plate of whatever she was cooking and put it in the fridge. And like clockwork, she’d come every Sunday and clean the fridge out from where you didn’t touch any of the plates. She never seemed to mind, though, and she never stopped bringing you food.  

Bucky would come by every day and check on you and help you do things around the house. And by help you, he did everything for you. Mrs. Hudson would let him stay in John’s old room whenever he needed, and he’d make sure you showered and that your laundry was done. He would tell you he does this because he loves you and that even though you weren’t born his sister, you would die that way.

John had moved on and moved out and you were happy for him. Mary was lovely, and you wished you could move on with your life, but you couldn’t. You knew he was taking it just as hard as you and that you both just had different ways of coping with the pain.  

When you had to quit your job, Mycroft was immediately there and offered to take care of you financially. “Please, allow me to do this for you. It’s what my brother would have wanted. He couldn’t stand me when he was ali—here, so the least I can do is make him happy where he is now,” he said quietly. Pigs must’ve been flying in the window behind you because when you reached to hug Mycroft, he met you halfway. You cried nonstop for days after that.

You had tried to be better after the scare, not for you, but for your family. You don’t remember much from it, but you do know that no one brings it up around you and you haven’t been left alone for longer than a few hours since.

You woke up with your face propped up against something cool, but you could barely open your eyes to see where you were. Your stomach was in the most pain it had ever been in and everything around you sounded so far away. You remember being yanked back and fingers were shoved down your throat and someone, Bucky, was standing over you and holding you up saying through tears, “I know it hurts and I’m sorry, but you have to throw it up, Y/N. You have to. I can’t lose you, too.”  

Everything hurt and in between gags you could hear Mrs. Hudson crying and begging whoever was on the phone to get there faster. You had never heard anyone scream like that and you were sorry you were the one who caused it.

Even though you’d promised Sherlock he would never lose you, Fate stepped in and you lost him. When you thought about the turn your life had taken, you just told everyone you were keeping your end of the deal.  

Bucky knocked on your door and stuck his head in. “Mornin’, Y/N. I’m gonna start some laundry and make us some coffee and then I’ll be back, okay?” You could tell he was worried by the tone of his voice, but he did a good job of hiding it. You didn’t say anything back to it and he didn’t expect you to.  

Bucky came in a little later with some towels in his hand and a coffee in the other. “I know you’re not feeling real good today, so I was thinking I could wash your hair for you? You can just bend over the tub and I’ll do all the work. I’ve even been watching some videos on how to braid and then you won’t have to worry it matting up either.” He set the coffee down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed next to you.  

By this point you were already crying into the pillow because how could the people in your life love you this much when you had nothing to offer them anymore?

“I love you so much,” you cried, and Bucky’s heart broke at the sound, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry and I love you.”

He brushed the hair away from your face. His hands were warm, and it made you feel human again. “You don’t have to be sorry. I love you and I will take care of you for however long you need me to. God knows you would-- and have, done the same for me. So, let me wash your hair for you and I can tell you all about how Lestrade constantly shits on Anderson now as an eternal tribute.”  

You smiled and although it wasn’t full of life, he was just as happy to see it. You ended up just getting a shower and Bucky rushed next door to get you a sandwich in hopes that you’d eat for him, too.  

As you were brushing your hair out, you heard multiple voices. You heard Bucky, and he sounded… shocked? And then there was John and then just as you were about to reach for the door you heard it. You would know that baritone voice anywhere. Barging out of the bathroom and almost tripping over your own two feet, you came to a full stop.

“Sherlock?”  

There he stood in the middle of the room with John a few feet behind him, and Bucky with his back to you, seemingly always ready to protect you. It looked like him and it sounded like him, and hell, it even smelled like him. You couldn’t believe it.

“Y/N.” He went to make a step towards you but seemed to have think better of it. It was better if he assessed your reaction to seeing him first. It had been so long since he had last seen you and while he silently fought the raw want he had to hold you, he knew you were seeing red.

“I don’t even—I can’t-- can’t even comprehend this. Where do I start? Where the fuck have you been? You were dead, Sherlock! I watched you…” You squeezed your eyes shut, steeling yourself the best you could. You weren’t going to cry. You had too much to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw John and Bucky slip through the front door. You were sure that was their best bet.

Sherlock said nothing as you went off because there was really nothing for him to say. He understood why you were so mad with him, even if he wasn’t generally self-aware when it came to his own feelings, he wasn’t that daft. He had come prepared for this and he was going to make it right.

“No, you know what? Don’t say anything. I don’t even want to hear it. I have been fucking rotting in this flat while everyone else was able to move on with their lives. I was here, because I couldn’t live without you. My world stopped. I do nothing, Sherlock, nothing but sit and lay in your bed and cry into your old shirts!” You were yelling now, hands running through your hair as you tried to make sense of it all. Somewhere in the back of your mind you made a mental note to thank Bucky for making you get up and shower this morning.

“I quit my job, Sherlock. Mycroft has been paying to keep me alive and Mrs. Hudson and Bucky take turns to make sure I’m still breathing every other hour because they’re scared that if I’m left alone for too long, I won’t be. And poor John, I see him and start fucking bawling because then all I see is you. I stopped caring about everything, and everyone else, because the only person I cared about looked me in the eyes and walked off a fucking building!”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off.  

“Seriously, don’t speak. You don’t get to just waltz in with John after all this time—you know what? There’s the million-dollar question. Was I the only one who didn’t know you were alive? Because so help me God, Sherlock, I’m this close to losing it.”

He didn’t know whether or not he should actually speak, but he took the cue after he started to physically feel the heat from the deathly glare you were giving him. You quite literally looked deranged but that didn’t stop him from taking a step towards you. He always seemed to chase danger, and you were no exception.

“No… you weren’t the only one. John only just found out a few weeks ago, and only a few select people knew the whole time.” Sherlock was careful with his words. He knew he was walking on thin ice.

You didn’t say anything to that, and Sherlock found that even scarier than when you were yelling.

“Hah, select people, huh? I like that one. So, where were you staying? Were you in London this whole time? Shit, you could’ve been downstairs for all I know. I guess I wouldn’t be a select person to know that, though, would I?”

Sherlock grimaced. Things were going worse than he imagined, and he already figured it would be pretty bad. That was an understatement. “I had to jump around often for everyone’s safety, but I stayed in London for the most part. I stayed with Molly when I could.”

You laughed in his face at that, and you clamped your hand over your mouth, turning your back on him lest you start laughing again. He watched you with furrowed brows and you knew he wanted to speak but you couldn’t do it right now.  You took a few steps towards the kitchen window and looked out at the bustling London streets beneath you. For months your world stopped, and it seemed so real when in reality nothing stopped at all.  

“Great, great. That’s so great. Splendid, really.” You murmured to yourself and perched your free hand on your hip. Drumming your fingers against your lips, you began again.  

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because he thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly.” The tone of your voice was venomous and if looks could kill, Sherlock Holmes would be dead for real this time.

Sherlock winced. “Y/N, please, let me—” You cut him off, speaking louder this time. Your face was void of emotion, but your eyes betrayed you as the tears started to fall freely and your voice cracked under the weight of everything that was being said.

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because I thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly! Damn you, Sherlock Holmes! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You grasped at the kitchen counter to steady yourself as you gasped for air between the sobs that you couldn’t contain anymore. Your heart ached so badly that you actually clutched your chest, afraid that it was going to break through your ribcage and abandon ship. You could barely register Sherlock coming up behind you through your tears and as he willed you to face him, you noticed that his eyes were brimmed red and glossy. Even sad, Sherlock looked as beautiful as a doll.

“I always come when you call, why didn’t you come for me?” You cried, fisting your hands in his shirt so tightly that you thought heard buttons pop. Your head was swimming and you had never felt more betrayed in your life. How could Sherlock turn to anyone but you? Had you not made it clear that you would do anything for him?  

“I called for you every single night, Sherlock! Begged for you, mourned you, I—” The tears wouldn’t stop flowing and your voice was starting to crack from its sudden and harsh overuse.

It was then that Sherlock wedged himself so close to you that you didn’t even have the space to move your head and look up at him. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your back and you were being squeezed so hard to him that you thought you’d either die from a heart attack or suffocation. And even now at the hands of Sherlock, neither seemed that bad. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispered against your forehead again and again as if he was repeating a chant he had been practicing for some time.

“I love you so much and you didn’t even call! Why didn’t you call?” Your words were lost to the both of you now, spoken into his shirt and distorted by your sobs. Sherlock held you as you cried and tried to contain your shaking body against his as you let out months of sadness and pain and despair. You were so overwhelmed that you couldn’t think straight.  

“I know, I know you do, and that’s why I couldn’t call. I couldn’t call for you.” He held onto you as he spoke like you would disappear. Sherlock had decided before he even stepped foot into the flat that he would not lose you again. In his time away from you, he was subjected to feelings he could only describe as both love and heartbreak in equal measure. Being apart from you had left him feeling a void that nothing could fill, but it was his love for you that he relied on to keep you safe and away from him.  

Sherlock pulled back from you and while it was only by a few inches, you suddenly felt worlds away. You go to pull him back to you when he gathers your hands in his and leaves a trail of ghostly kisses along the spread of your knuckles.  

“I have never begged for mercy in my life…” He murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. He was determined; that much you could tell. Your eyes widened as he lowered himself to one knee, and then two. “Until now. I have hurt you in ways that are beyond comprehensible. Please, grant me the mercy I do not deserve to explain myself. I am willing to bare myself before you if you’ll have me.”

You were in shock at the sight of Sherlock on his knees before you. You had heard him apologize maybe twice in your time of knowing him and here he was, begging for you to hear him out. All you could do is nod.

You expected him to stand up again, but he sat in place and looked up at you with so much love in his eyes that felt all the anger you were harboring dissipate under his gaze. He took a deep breath and prepared himself. If you were ever going to forgive him, he knew that he would have to be honest. And he knew that if he was going to be honest, he would have to admit the feelings he had for you and hope that he could express them in a way that you could understand.

“There were constantly people watching you, and John, and pretty much everyone else who held any value in my life,” he explained, rubbing his thumbs over your fingers as he spoke absentmindedly, “they knew you would be suffering, they counted on that. And if you weren’t, they’d know something was going on. Your suffering had to be real, or else it wouldn’t have been believable. I didn’t want to keep you in the dark. But I had no choice. When I faked my death, I had some help. I stayed with Molly here and there because she already knew, and my relationship with her is is…different for ours.” He paused.  

You were hanging on every word he said. You could tell he was being sincere, and even though you were upset, you understood. If leaving Sherlock meant protecting him, you would do it too.  

He cleared his throat and started again. “Molly was a safer option. They would have expected less of a reaction from her. And if things were to go wrong…” Trailing off, Sherlock squeezed your hands. You knew what he was trying to say, and you didn’t dare breathe. “You were not someone I could lose. It couldn’t have been you. So yes, I stayed with Molly, but I worked constantly to make it so that I could come home to you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Sherlock,” you whimpered, pulling him to his feet by his collar and back to you where he belonged. He followed suit quickly like he was reading your mind.  

For what seemed like the first time today, you were truly taking him in. He was just as beautiful as he was the day he left you. You reached up to brush away a stray curl from his eyes and smiled at the way he seemed to try and follow your touch.  

There were so many things that you couldn’t be sure of, but this is something you’d always know to be true. You loved Sherlock, terribly, terribly, so. If loving him was the only purpose you ever found in this lifetime, you would be sure not to fail him.

You were lost in other when the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs drew your attention. Sherlock followed your gaze as you watched John enter the flat from the living room.

“Is everyone okay up here? There was a lot of yelling and then it got pretty quiet…” As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of you braced against the counter with a small amount of space between you and Sherlock that he must’ve recently graced you with because you could barely move before. His hands rested on your hips and your hands had found solace on his shoulders. John looked like a deer caught in headlights before he covered his eyes with his hands and made to walk back out, determined not to ruin the moment that all of London was waiting on.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! Don’t mind me, pretend I was never here!” He called out as he dashed back down the stairs so quickly you thought he had fallen and you were sure you heard him say to someone, “I told you so!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation and when you looked back at Sherlock, you realized he was already looking at you. Even after everything today, you still caught yourself feeling nervous under his heavy gaze.  

“So, it’s okay when you stare but not when I do?” You teased, hoping that he couldn’t see the blush you could surely feel. Sherlock squinted his eyes at your comment as if he didn’t understand what you meant but gave you a devilish smile all the same.  

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. “But you are confirming that you do stare at me, right?”  

You were torn between smacking the smirk off his face or kissing it, whatever compelled you the most and right now it was a tie. Rolling your eyes, you brought your hands down to his arms and gave them a squeeze. Not even realizing you were thinking out loud, you whispered something about having déjà vu. This caught Sherlock’s attention, and he moved tiniest bit closer to you. “Déjà vu? How so?”

Cursing yourself under your breath, you laughed and dipped your head down between the two of you, laughing at how ridiculous all of this was. “Jeez, it’s been years now. I had the most realistic dream that’s stuck with me all this time.”

Sherlock tsked at you and moved to bring your head back up so that he could properly see your face. He cupped your cheeks and in the most familiar way and just like in the dream, you were breathless.  

“Go on,” he urged, voice like velvet, “tell me what happened in your dream.”

You all but melted under his gaze. Sherlock, in any form, would always have this effect on you it seemed. His thumb brushed along your lower lip as his own parted. Physically he was with you, but mentally he was far away committing this memory to only a place he could see.

“Use your words. I’m paying raft attention, aren’t I?” Once again you thanked Mrs. Hudson and her choice in countertops because if it was any less sturdy you were sure you would collapse and bring him down with you. On second thought—

Any coherent thought was lost to you when Sherlock nosed your cheek, and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips or the words after.

“I told you I loved you, Sherlock. That’s what happened in the dream.” Your words were spoken so quickly in the effort to chase after his lips but he held you still, waiting and wanting in front of him.  

You whined like a child. None of anything that happened today was fair to you, but one kiss and you would forgive all of London for keeping your detective’s secret.

“Well, I guess the only proper response to that is for me to tell you that I’ve loved you for ages, my dear girl.” He smiled against your skin and you thought that this was it. You had officially lost your last marble, and this was the delirium finally setting in. You welcomed the insanity happily.

“Say it again, please. I need to hear you say it again.” You begged, everything hitting you at all at once.

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “I love you, and it’s only ever been you. It couldn’t be anyone else but you. You…didn’t you know that?” His eyebrows rose up and you stopped him in his tracks. That was Sherlock for “are you dumb?”

It was then that you decided you were done with talking before he had the chance to say anything smart. You pulled him down to you so quickly that you missed the shock that flashed in his eyes when your lips finally met. After years of yearning and pining for the man in front of you, you finally had him right where you wanted him. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, but no words would express how you truly felt about him and lucky for you, Sherlock was more of a hands-on learner.  

When you finally broke apart, you got to admire the man of your every hour in all his glory. The mussed hair and kiss swollen lips really added to his already suave look and you couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. “You’re handsome. So handsome, seriously, it should really be a crime. I can finally tell you that without any shame.”

He returned your smile tenfold, and you thought if you could make his eyes crinkle like that just one more time in your life that it would be a life well lived. He acted as if he was mulling your statement over, rolling his bottom lip between teeth. “You could’ve mentioned it before. It might’ve helped me make my deductions much sooner.”

You slapped him on the shoulder but then worked on smoothing his shirt out while he watched you with a gentle fondness that he reserved just for you. You still had so many questions that you wanted answered but you knew those could wait. Something had been generous enough to answer your most asked prayer and you weren’t about to be ungrateful for even a second.  

Placing one last (for now) kiss on his cheek, you led him to the door to the flat and swung it open. “Hey, has Mrs. Hudson seen you—”

As if on perfect cue, Mrs. Hudson shrieks so loudly that any bad memory you have of her yelling is now a good one.

“Sherlock!”

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 2 Co-Written with @southerngracela​

Summary: After your ordeal at the hands of Ransom, you’re not sure that things can get any worse. Famous last words….

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is Part 2 to our submission for @Jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020  Challenge. Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 1

  With his pride wounded, Ransom drank himself to sleep that night, his mind plotting and scheming of more ways to make his point clear. She was his now and nothing was going to change that. He'd decided it might be time to let her in on his secrets and breakfast seemed as good a time as any and, as such, presented her with a plate of bacon and toast along with a cup of coffee to wash it down. He didn't cook, not well anyway, his preference being diner out or order in. He supposed if this was his new normal, he'd have to learn a new skill. He cringed just slightly at the thought of such domesticity. 

When you heard the locks turn, your belly dropped out. You were shocked to see him, afraid of what was coming your way. If the events from the previous night were any indication, you had to steel yourself to once again fight back. Your tired eyes took him in. A plate and mug in his hands, jeans over his long legs, boots on his feet. Broad shoulders covered by a white ribbed long sleeve thermal shirt, eyes cold and distant, arrogant smirk over his lips. A smirk of your own barely parted your lips as you took note of the now pink lines adorning his right cheek, courtesy of your nails biting at his skin in the attack. You turned away from him, your body instinctively curling in on itself, chain stopping you from balling up completely when he approached. Your mouth watered at the smell of the bacon and coffee. You were hungry but your body fought to ignore the pangs, offering him that satisfaction.

 "I'm not hungry," you managed, desperately irritated at how weak you sounded. 

"Starve then," he set the plate and mug on the nightstand at your bedside. He stood rooted there, arms crossed over his chest. 

"People are gonna be looking for me, you know," you point out, sitting up a little more, confidence growing by the second. 

“You don’t think I’ve already thought of that?” His hands moved from across his chest to his hips. 

As you looked at him, that maddening smug look present on his face it suddenly dawned on you that he might have been more calculating than you’d imagined. And then you understood. You figured out what the connection between him and the actor you’d been supposedly meeting was. None. None whatsoever, except that Lucas Lee had been easy, collateral damage. "You set him up," your brow rose and shock filled your voice. "Lucas Lee... You set him up. What the hell did you do?" 

"Sweetheart, the guy's a complete tool, he walked right into it and he'll walk right out. Just a couple of hours of questioning and he'll be let go," Ransom shrugged as if this were nothing. 

"You're disgusting," you seethe. This arrogant asshole used someone just to get to you and he was PROUD of it. You didn't know what you expected, but the notion of the reality was appalling.

"You don't know the half of it," he winked.

"You're never going to get away with this," you managed to threaten. The look in his eyes caught your breath as he leaned in close, hands on the mattress on either side of your hips. 

"I killed Fran, got away with that. I nearly killed Marta, same story," he said, popping a shoulder up. "The point is, Sweetheart, I'm that good, they'll never find you."

"My family, my friends…they'll go to the police. Mick, my boss, he'll want to know where I am after not showing up today. You can't possibly have thought of everything," you shook your head as you wondered just how long he'd been plotting this. You’d only met the asshole a few months ago, interviewed him for a couple of hours max and then released the article days later. How on earth had that transpired into this utter shirt-show? The thoughts were spiraling so fast in your mind, it was dizzying. 

"Your boss got an email this morning saying you no longer wanted to work for him, and as for your family and friends, well let’s just say I know where they are. I know your little sister's routine. I know the time your mom walks your dog, and that she does it alone.” Ransom continued and you felt the cold course through your body “You do as I say, and they're safe. If not, well, I can pick them off, one, by one, without even getting my hands dirty," he pulled back, standing over you. "So many criminal junkies in Boston, Sweetheart. Plenty who will take the fall for a little hit,” and with that he turned on his heel and walked to the door. 

The true reality of your situation set in and you felt sick to your stomach, despite your hunger. You felt clammy and overwhelmingly dizzy. He had you. If he'd gone this far, followed your family, set up a well-known actor, plotted this entire plan down to how to convince Mick you quit, in a scary short amount of time, just to get to you, you were fully trapped. 

"What happens if you lock me down here...and something happens to you?” Worry laced your words. 

He turned over his shoulder, "I don't give a fuck." And he slammed the door, the sound of the locks echoing in your room. 

In a gut reaction you grabbed the plate of food at threw it at the door where it shattered into pieces, the bacon and toast falling to the floor with it. You screamed as you threw it, for if you hadn't you'd have vomited where you led. 

**** Ransom heard the scream and the smash of the plate and paused half way up the stairs. He took a deep breath, contemplating going back down and teaching Y/N some damned manners before he decided to leave it. He’d given her enough to think about for the time being, and besides, he didn’t want to lower himself to delivering another slap to her face like he had done last night. In all honesty, he hadn’t been expecting the site of the bruise on her right cheek to unsettle him as much as it had done. Her pretty face shouldn’t be marked in anyway, and looking at it had simply reminded him how he’d lost control. Of all the things he’d done, he’d never hit a woman before, despite murder and attempted murder. It left a bad taste in his mouth all things considered and a nasty twist in his gut that felt almost like guilt. But it wasn’t guilt, that wasn’t something he did either…no, it was the fact that in all of his actions, even the diabolical ones, he’d remained calm and in control. Until last night. He’d been feral, wild even, and it wasn’t a feeling he relished. But she’d pushed him to it, provoked him. It was her fault, not his.

He shrugged on his coat and grabbed his keys, before he headed out, locking the door and climbing into his black Mercedes SUV. God he missed his beamer, but this was a lot less conspicuous, just as he needed at the moment. He slipped his sunglasses on to shield his eyes against the bright fall sun and set off towards the City.

His mother was already seated and waiting for him when he arrived at the Harbor. He walked over to her table, pulling off his sunglasses and sliding them into the pocket of his camel coat, removing his trademark silk scarf as he went. He handed them off to the help showing him to his seat, asking him to bring him a beer, and sat across from Linda, who was watching him carefully as she lounged back in her seat, properly dressed as ever in a crisp pair of black trousers and a white long sleeved silk blouse. With her legs crossed, she cut quite the imposing figure, but not to him.

Ransom greeted her with a stiff nod and she frowned and gestured to his face.

“What on earth have you done to your cheek?” she questioned, clearly noticing the scratch marks. Ransom hesitated for a second, “Things got a little rough last night, ” he shrugged but his smirk didn't quite reach his eyes. Linda let out a slight groan as she grimaced “Jesus Ransom, I don’t want to know about your sordid little bedroom antics,” she scalded. “Then don’t ask, Mother,” He drawled, not missing a beat.

“Oh believe me, I wish I hadn't.” Linda rolled her eyes.

Ransom looked down at the menu that was on the table in front of him, giving it a cursory glance already knowing what he was ordering, the same as he always did when he was here, before he took a deep breath and raised his eyes to his mother. She wasn’t one for small talk, and neither was he, so he decided to get straight to the point.

“Why are we here?” he demanded “I mean, aside from the obvious guilt driven task of having lunch with your son.” “If you're going to be a spoiled brat why did you even agree to meet me?” Linda shot back and Ransom smirked.

“What was it you always told me mom? No matter how rich you are, never turn down a free meal.”

“Snarky smart ass” Linda retorted and it was his turn to snort as her brow furrowed.

“Now, now Mother. Those frown lines are getting worse” he arched an eyebrow and she glared at him before she sighed.

“I wanted to see how you were, is that so hard to believe.” “In a word, yes.” He shrugged.

“Well, it’s true.” She reached for her glass of wine and took a sip. “I've not seen you since you moved house.”

Ransom rolled his eyes, Jesus he didn’t have time for this shit. He took a deep breath and looked at her as she eyed him expectantly, waiting for his answer “Just fine. I'm enjoying my new place.”

“So, you like it then?” Linda set her glass down and leaned back once more. “I must admit when it came on our books I thought it would suit you.”

“It's different than Kenoak, less modern, but it does the job” he said vaguely and saw her body language stiffen.

“If you don’t like it why did you buy it Ransom?” her tone was exasperated and he had to fight back the grin that was threatening to spread across his face at the fact he was riling her. It was always so damned easy.

“Well, my last place had kinda turned into a bit of a media circus.”

“Yeah, I expect that’s what happens when you're involved in a homicide” she snapped back.

“Say it a bit louder.” Ransom deadpanned “I don’t think they heard you over by the bar.”

“Believe me, that wasn’t intentional.” she held his gaze “Your Granddad’s death isn't something I find funny, Ransom. Not that it ever occurred to you."

Ransom sighed. He was starting to get annoyed under her scrutiny and really wasn’t in the mood for a deep dive into the events of the past year.

“Not of sound mind, Mother.” He said, his voice a little softer as he reminded her of the argument his brief had made which had ensured his acquittal from his crimes, hoping it would shut her up. “Remember?”

“I know son, I know.” Linda leaned over and gently lay her hand on his where it rested on the table. Ransom took a deep breath and shifted in his seat. Physical affection from her always made him uncomfortable as he wasn’t used to it, but for some reason it was heightened in that moment. He sat and pondered for a second on what he had just said. His brief had spun the line about him being under emotional duress due to his granddad cutting him out of his will and whilst there was an element of truth in it, he’d been of perfect mental capacity when he’d enacted his plan. But, if it helped his mother believe that her only son isn’t a monster then…whatever. He pulled his hand back from her and she sighed, clearly mistaking his discomfort for guilt.

 “You know, you used to be such an affectionate little boy, Ransom.” Linda looked at her hand as if his rebuttal had burned her before she shook her head and reached once more for her drink. “I often wonder where your dad and I went wrong.”

Ok, so this he could deal with. The reminder that he was a constant disappointment.

 “Hard to say.” He snarked “Somewhere between boarding school and Harvard maybe?”

She rolled her eyes “We did what we thought was best.” She set her now empty glass down. “Clearly in hindsight...”

Ransom was saved from her self-indulgent moment of soul searching by the waiter who set his beer down in front of him and asked if they were ready to order. Ransom gestured to his mother who asked for the house salad with a side of tempura prawns whilst he went for his usual, fillet steak with all the trimmings. It was obnoxiously expensive but what the hell, like he cared. Especially not when his Mother was paying...

He took a long pull from his beer as the waiter topped his mother’s glass up from the bottle that stood in the ice bucket next to their table before she thanked him and he disappeared.

“You’ve not asked me how your father is.” Linda looked at Ransom who narrowed his eyes. Why does she care about that? But, deciding it was as good a conversation change as any he shrugged.

“How's Richard?”

Linda rolled her eyes but for the first time since he arrived he noticed a little smirk flicker on her lips before she looked at him. “He’s still your dad Ransom" she reminded.

“Ok, how is my dearest dad? Still fucking the 30 year old au-pair?”

“Yes, apparently, he's taking her to the villa.”

Now that did make him frown. The Villa that they owned in Lake Gada was his mother’s pride and joy.

“Seriously? You're just gonna let him do that?” Ransom’s tone was surprised.

“I have no choice.” Linda took a deep breath “Our divorce isn't final and he's contesting me keeping the property. It's not as cut and dry as one would assume despite his infidelity, numerous infidelities even.”

“He signed a pre-nup, Mom.” Ransom reminded her and Linda nodded.

“I know, but the Villa wasn't part of it. It's the one thing he can hold over me and he's doing just that.” She took a sip of her drink and snorted “Dumb bastard has nothing so he figures why not try his luck here. Fact is, he gets nothing else.”

“Good.”  Ransom retorted, a little viciously and Linda eyed himself shrewdly.

“Careful Ransom, you almost sound like you care.” She smirked and he rolled his eyes, not gracing her with an answer. “Anyway, what are you doing with yourself these days?” she moved the conversation on “And I don't mean with women as we've already established when you sat down. Any hobbies or God forbid a job prospect I should know about?” “Aside from my love life, I’m actually writing mother, believe it or not.” He responded, amused at the visible look of shock that crossed her face.

“You're....writing?” her mouth dropped open before she hastily shut it.

“Don't sound too surprised, Linda,” Ransom let out a low chuckle as his mother rolled her eyes at his use of her name. “Granddad always said I had a flare for it. Just-” he paused for a moment before he shrugged “-well, I guess I never really used it much.”

Linda cocked her head to the side as she considered him for a moment before her face softened and once more Ransom felt uncomfortable at her change in demeanour. “He'd be proud of you. I suppose it's what he's always wanted for you, to find something for yourself.”

And there it was. The reminder that he was nothing but a trust fund prick, with no future and nothing of his own to live off. He took a deep breath, gritting his teeth slightly before he responded with a false air of nonchalance.

“I see that now.”

“Good. I'm pleased you do Son.” Linda nodded. “I'm not glad about how it all went down but...well, as dad used to say, things have a strange way of working out in the end.” It was a funny choice of words, Ransom thought, but before he had chance to dwell on it anymore their food arrived. The conversation slowed a little as they both ate, growing a little stilted in places as he told her vaguely what his writing project was about- a private detective- go figure. Linda moaned about more about his father, and then she dropped something casually into the conversation that really did surprise him, that they were planning a memorial for Harlan. 

"When?" he frowned, swallowing a mouthful of potato.

“The end of this month, possibly the first week in December. It'll be after Thanksgiving.” Linda waved her hand before she paused, hesitating a little as if she was deliberating whether or not to tell him this next bit. And when she did, he fully realised why. “It was Marta’s idea.” The mere mention of that name was enough to get his hackles up and he took a deep breath, the nerve in his jaw twitching. He looked at his mother as she watched him carefully before he looked away and took a drink of his beer. “Hmmm” was all he could muster.

“Hmmm? What's Hmm, Ransom?” Linda looked at him.

“I figured with Harlan gone she'd be out of our lives.” He shrugged, feeling his neck grow hot. That bitch was responsible for all of this in the first place, the reason he was done out of his inheritance. If she hadn’t got her claws into him none of his would have happened.

“Yes, well, as much as it sticks in my throat that she got everything maybe if we play ball she'll come round to actually giving us all what we're owed.” Linda shrugged “And that aside...it will be nice to remember him.”

The rest of the lunch passed with simple conversation, Ransom steering it well away from the subject of his family. When they’d finished his mother, as predicted, picked up the tab and together they headed outside to wait for the Valet to fetch their vehicles. His mother’s arrived first and she turned to him, the pair of them engaging in the awkward, stilted kissing of the cheeks before she promised him his quarterly check from his shares in her company should land next week. With a nod and a thanks he bid her good bye and a few moments later climbed into his own car and set off back home.

***** With a yell you sat bolt upright, taking a moment to get your bearings as you emerged from the troubled sleep you had fallen back into. Yes, you were still here, in Drysdale’s fucking basement. The tears stung your eyes as you lay back, taking some deep breaths as you attempted to ebb the panic which was setting in. Your situation was disgusting and dire, you were trapped and therefore, you knew you needed to ask for the things you needed, not wanted, just simply needed, or in time, Hugh could add you to his notch post of growing murder victims. The question was, exactly how far could you push him for anything? One wrong move, as you'd learned last night, and you'd be regretting ever uttering a syllable. But you refused to go quietly, you'd be further letting yourself down if you did. You didn't have it in you. However, just how dangerous he was or could be now was no longer lost on you, you had the physical reminder in the biting sting of your cheek, throbbing and tenderness you felt between your legs, and the slight bruising around your wrists where he had pinned them above your head. You hadn’t examined the rest of your body to see what damage he’d done, you didn’t want to.

You ached all over from being led or sat on this damned bed since you’d arrived. The chain attaching you to the bed post wasn’t long enough to allow you to stand up and stretch our your aching limbs so for now you had to settle for attempting to massage some feeling back into your calves, your eyes casting over the various tears and ladders in your thick tights which you’d pulled back up last night with trembling hands after he had violated you.

The door clicked open and your head jerked towards the door as you scrambled higher up the bed, pressing your back into the headboard. You watched as your captor strode in, a packet of Biscoff in his hand pausing as his foot crunched over the shattered remnants of the plate that you’d hurled at the door. He looked up at you, raising an eyebrow, as if he'd forgotten he'd heard you throw it this morning. 

“I don’t like cleaning up messes” He said simply as he stepped over it, shutting the door with his foot.

“Pity you killed the house keeper then” you glared at him as he shoved another cookie into his mouth.

“Who, Fran?” he asked with a scoff, his voice muffled by his food.

“How many other house keepers have you killed?” you shot back and he gave a snort.

“None.” Ransom shrugged nonchalantly “But for your information, Fran was a useless dimwit. She only cared about two things. Drugs and getting paid.”

You frowned, was that supposed to justify his actions in some way? He too only cared about getting paid and what money could do for him. “And you care about what exactly other than yourself?” you shot back. He looked at you, a smirk crossing his handsome face as she shoved yet another cookie into his mouth, chewing slowly.

At that point your stomach growled with hunger, just another way your body had betrayed since you since you had arrived and you tore your face from his, turning it to the side.

“Now are you hungry?” he asked as you realised that was probably the bastard’s plan all along. With a deep sigh you looked back at him.

“Can I have one?” you asked meekly.

Ransom studied you for a moment, tongue poking at his cheek, before he strode towards the bed and offered you the packet. You took one and stuffed it straight into your mouth.

“No thank you?”

“Piss off.” You shot back automatically, swallowing your cookie.

His good demeanour ebbed slightly as an irritated look flashed across his face. “Don’t push me, Sweetheart.” his voice was low as he sank onto the side of the bed, looking at you “I think your situation is precarious enough as it is, don’t you?”

You merely glared at him, you had no comeback. There was no comeback. He was right.

“Now if I make you something proper to eat are you gonna take it or throw it at the door again?” he raised his eyebrows “Because, frankly, you starving yourself is of no real concern to me except I kinda think you’re gonna need to keep your strength up.”

It didn’t take a genius to work out exactly what for. But you were so hungry, and the battle inside you raged on before your self-preservation mode won out and you hung your head slightly, looking at the comforter you were led on. “I’ll eat.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Ransom smirked again.

“No.” you replied, your voice devoid of emotion. “Can I have some water too?”

“As long as you don’t throw the glass.”

“I’m thirsty.” You replied simply “I won’t.”

He nodded and stood up, offering you the packet of cookies “Have those for now.”

“Thank you.” You took them from him, your tone a little sarcastic, your eyes rolling as you spoke. He looked at you and for a moment you were worried he was about to do something about your response but he simply gave a huff of laughter and turned to leave.

“I’ll be back shortly.” He said, closing the door behind him. 

You could no longer bite back the sigh of delight as you took another of the buttery spiced cookies into your mouth. It was rich on your tongue but it was food and you were so hungry. What you wouldn't do for a cup of coffee to go with. You surveyed the room as you chewed the Biscoff thoughtfully. The earlier despair you’d felt upon waking just before he had re-appeared was slowly giving way to determination as you realised that for now practicality had to win you over. Not only did you need sustenance and water, which you knew was on the way, you also needed clothing and access to the bathroom, which you now realized you were desperate for.

So now what, you thought to yourself. The fact that he was willing to feed you despite the fact you’d launched your morning’s meal against the door meant he didn't want you dead. Mind you, if he did you wouldn’t have made it out of that fucking dilapidated house so, just what kind of a game was he playing at here? You weren't sure what his end game was if it didn't mean your certain death. You just didn't understand and felt the struggle of thoughts seep into your mind as you contemplated each step. He doesn't want you dead, but you're locked up, chained up and he's obliterated your body by force. And that was only the first round. So far he's voiced his hell bent plan on keeping you here and making you suffer. And he's done a right job at it after just the first night. He couldn't keep this up for the rest of your life, could he? No, you didn't think, but he's gone as far as to know your every day, your family's every day, detail for detail. It couldn't possibly be for ironically a ransom, no, he had plenty of money still and if you were certain, his mother was still finding ways to slip him allowances and he'd managed to get a small chunk under the table and off the record from your publishers on your behalf. So no, it wasn't for money. Did he expect a better and firm, more sincere apology? Well he sure as shit wasn't going to get one now. Stupid, spoiled fuck. You outwardly scoff at the thought. What does he want that you have? The endgame is unknown but you were in the long game now, that much was apparent. You just had to not walk into verbal traps and wait for him to reveal his hand. But you guessed just by the times you've previously had with Hugh Ransom Drysdale that his hand wouldn't be revealed until he held the right cards.

True to his word Ransom came back what couldn't have been more than 15 minutes later. He handed you a plate containing a simple turkey sandwich, a bag of chips and a plastic bottle of water. “Just in case you get any ideas about smashing it and doing me in…” he said, placing it down.

“Murder is your speciality, not mine” you snarked back biting into your sandwich as the hunger you felt won out over the need to pee that you’d felt before. It was actually pretty good. The bread was fresh, the meat succulent, both more than likely from a deli and not a bog standard store. You ate eagerly, Ransom settled in the arm chair in the corner of the room by the low coffee table, his eyes watching you. You ignored him, concentrating on your food.

“So…” you said as you stuffed the last of your sandwich into your mouth “Are you gonna keep me down here?”

“Yup” he said simply, popping the P.

You swallowed and grabbed the water, cracking the top open and draining half of it in one, your hand trembling slightly. Thankfully you avoided spilling any. You screwed the top on and placed it back on the night stand and watched with horror as he rose from his seat and crossed towards you, sitting on the side of the bed

“So, because I don’t want anything to fuck up what we got here, sweetheart, I have a simple question which you’re gonna answer.” Ransom said, looking at you “Are you on birth-control?”

Your mouth dropped open as you glared at him.

“What the fuck?” you stuttered

“It’s a simple question that requires a yes or no answer.” His expression hadn’t changed, not one bit. Cool, calm and collected, like this was something he would simply ask anyone. As you stared at his smug face, your puzzlement at the seemingly straight outta left field question gave way to anger. He was asking you this, like it was his damned right to know, like he was your fucking boyfriend by choice.

“You tell me, I mean you thought of everything or so you took great pleasure in telling me last night.” You spat. Quick as a flash his hand grabbed your face, his fingers gripping your chin painfully and you let out a little whimper.

“Answer the question.” He said simply

And then you realised, it wasn’t really that out of left field at all was it? It was clear following last night what his intention for you was and like he’d want the added complication of any little surprises turning up in around 9 months. You swallowed, your eyes looked down

“Yes” you whispered, and he released your face.

“Good.” Ransom nodded “Makes things a lot easier.” “I’m not a sex toy, Hugh.” You glared at him and he looked back at you, giving a snort.

“You’ll be whatever I want you to be.” “You’re an asshole.”

“So it’s been said.” He shrugged simply, like he didn’t give a shit. Which, as you realised, he probably didn’t. People like him never did care what they came across like, arrogant trust fund prick.

With a sigh you pinched the bridge of your nose and glanced around the room you were in, as if you really hadn't paid much attention to it's details before. Ironically, if you weren’t here under duress it would actually be quite nice. The bed was large and comfy, there was a reasonably big bathroom attached which from what you could make out contained a fairly nice sized bath tub and a separate walk in shower cubicle. There was what looked like a built in closet next to the bathroom door, a night stand which contained a reading lamp to your right and on the opposite wall to the bed in front of you there was a dresser and a small shelf fixed to the wall a little higher, which was empty. To the left of the room was a large, plush armchair behind which another lamp was fixed to the wall and a fancy oak coffee table which matched the rest of the furniture. Above the chair, was a porthole like window, hexagonal in shape, but high enough to not allow for escape but for the warmth of daylight to seep into the space. 

A fucking studio apartment, that half of Boston would probably kill to own…and you were trapped in it. Well, certainly until you could think of a way to un-trap yourself so to speak.

You looked back at him and decided to keep pressing your luck a little. There were things you needed, starting with the bathroom, and you were damned if you were going to let him degrade you even more than he already had by letting you piss yourself.

“There are things I’m going to need.” You spoke, taking care to keep your voice neutral, attempting to avoid outwardly displaying the desperation you were feeling “A pee and a shower for one” you gestured with your head to the small bathroom.

“Well if you’re gonna behave, I’ll undo this.” He reached down and jangled the chain that was attached to the shackle round your ankle.

“Clothes too…”

“The closet is full.” He said simply “But you have to behave, Sweetheart, or you go right back on the chain.

You grit your teeth. Sweetheart, you were no more his sweetheart than he was Harlan’s favorite grandchild. “Like I have a choice.”

“You do.” He said simply “Behave or not.”

You let out a frustrated growl “I told you I was gonna, now just undo the fucking dog collar on my ankle.”

“Ooh, so feisty.” Ransom mocked and you glared at him.

With a chuckle he stood up and pulled the key out of his pocket, undoing the shackle round your ankle and stood back slightly. You moved and shuffled to the edge of the bed where he watched as you rose to your legs. However, after the ordeal you’d been through the night before, plus your no doubt whacky blood sugar level, your head span a little and you staggered forward. Ransom caught you, both his hands hooking under your arms as he helped you steady yourself, his touch surprisingly gentle as his hands slid down to your ribs, thumbs brushing underneath your breasts and you looked at him, blinking. His action had caught you off guard and if the look on his face was anything to go by it had caught him off guard too. There was a moment where you stood still before you remembered exactly what was going on and with an angry scoff you raised both your hands, palms flat on his chest and shoved him as hard as you could.

It didn’t move him much, a half a step back or so, but it was enough to make a point. The unexpected softness on his face turned to anger and a split second later his right hand was round your throat.

“I'm warning you…” he snarled, his large fingers flexing causing his grip to tighten, around your throat. He gave a sharp squeeze, not enough to cut off your airway, instead serving as a threat, telling you he could if he wanted to. He released his grip as the tears stung your eyes and he moved aside to allow you to move to the bathroom. You went as quickly as you could and once you were there you made to shut the door.

Only there wasn’t one. “Why the fuck is there no door?” you turned and faced him.

“Because I won’t clean up a dead body.” He shrugged “So before you get any dumb ideas, anything that could make you think about a means to an end isn’t in this room either.”

You looked at him, frowning before you realised what he meant and you shook your head. “Oh trust me, I’m not about to kill myself over you.”

“Good.” He said simply, “You have 10 minutes” he said, leaning on the frame where the door should have been.

“You’re not watching me pee, Hugh!”

At that his face darkened “Call me Hugh one more time, I dare you, Sweetheart.” His voice was laced with venom as his eyes flashed dangerously, but despite all that you couldn’t help yourself. It was the only weapon you had in your arsenal to deploy.

“Hugh.” you spat, raising an eyebrow.

His jaw clenched and in two large strides he was on you, his hand grabbing your forearm as he yanked you across the bathroom, your feet skidding on the tiles as you struggled for traction on the floor. You yelled out at the pain of his grip but no sooner had it started it stopped as he flung you unceremoniously into the shower cubicle. Your knees and hip collided painfully with the tray and you gave a scream as a torrent of freezing cold water hit you, soaking your sweater dress. You gasped and spluttered, struggling to your feet, the cold making your chest contract and he looked at you, his face back to its stony calm expression.

“10 minutes” he repeated.

He turned to go and in a fit of rage you peeled the icy, sodden jersey dress off and flung it at him. It hit him square in the back before it slid to the floor, splattering on the tiles in a sopping mess. You saw him take a deep breath, his broad shoulders rippling under his thermal ribbed top as he stood up square and turned to face you as you stood, teeth chattering in the still cold spray in nothing but your bra and laddered thermal tights.

“You’re really testing my patience, Sweetheart.” He intoned darkly, before he cocked an eyebrow “9 and a half minutes.” He left the bathroom and headed into the main room, and you turned away instantly cranking up the heat on the shower. As it warmed you through, the water beating down on you, you reached for the shower gel which was on a small shelf in the corner of the cubicle. You scrubbed and scrubbed, not caring how much you used, attempting to rid yourself of the dirty feeling of him as you recalled his hands all over you, his cock violating you in the way it had. You didn’t stop the tears falling, your resolve breaking, as you turned your face into the spray, allowing it to hide your tears, before you washed your hair in the shampoo and conditioner.  Eventually, when you’d done everything you could, you turned off the water, took a deep breath and squeezed your hair out before stepping out of the shower. Your eyes instinctively went to the doorway and you were relieved. You couldn’t see Ransom, which meant he didn’t have an eye-line directly into the shower, awarding you some level of privacy at least.

You grabbed a towel which you wrapped around yourself, before you took another and used it to squeeze your hair before you pulled it back into a messy bun out of the way, and stepped out of the bathroom.

 “That was 11 minutes.” Ransom said simply as you emerged into the main area of the basement “I’ll let the 90 seconds slide.”

You glared at him as he sat in the armchair, his broad frame filling it, right leg crossed over his left, an I don't give a fuck look about his face, and you knew at that moment you had never hated anyone more in your life than you hated him right then. You turned towards the closet and began to route through, the tears filling your eyes again as you concentrated on finding something to wear. You pulled a few things out, checking the tags. Not only did the prices shock you (it was all high end, designer stuff- what else would the spoilt, trust fund prick buy) but it was all your size. Which unnerved you no end. Pushing that to the back of your mind, as after all in the situation you were in it was the least of your worries, eventually you settled on a simple pale blue cashmere sweater, and a pair of jeans.

“Underwear?” you turned and looked at him. He nodded to the drawers built into the bottom of the closet and you opened it, taking a breath. Of course it would all be lace, sexy. You picked the most modest pair of black, lace French-style briefs you could find and the matching bra, tossing the lot onto the bed. You looked at him, cocking your eyebrow and he mimicked the action, gesturing with his hand.

“Don’t mind me.” The dismay washed over you as you realised what he meant and you took a deep breath “You’re gonna sit there and watch?”

“Yup.” He replied simply, popping the p loudly.

You bowed your head, knowing there was no point turning your back on him, he’d just force you to turn round. As you stared to pat yourself dry though your towel, you blinked back the tears as for some reason this felt far more humiliating and degrading that what he’d done to you last night.

****

Ransom wasn’t sure he’d ever exercised self-control like this, he normally just bought (or took) what he wanted, and before he’d wanted nothing more than to trace the beads of water which moved down her neck and back, collecting in the towel as she rifled through the closet. She reached for the panties first, and attempted to shimmy them on under the towel and he gave a click of his tongue.

“Oh no doll.” He smirked, “lose it.”

She glared at him, and he simply held her gaze, not looking away and eventually he saw her shoulder sag as she reached up with a shaking hand and unhooked the edge of the towel which was tucked in on itself and let it fall to the floor. He gave a loud hum of approval as he took her in, her long-lithe legs up to her hips, the curve of her waist, pert breasts and delicate shoulders and collar bone. She swallowed on air and he watched her throat bob, and he instantly found himself thinking how good she’d look swallowing something else. He shifted slightly in his seat, the crotch of his jeans now feeling a little tight thanks to his semi-hard cock, and she reached for the lace briefs stepping into them. As she shimmied them up, her breasts jiggled a little and he gave an inward groan. For a second he thought about stopping her, taking her there and then but now wasn’t the time. They had things to discuss, certain rules she needed to understand.

Plus, the waiting and the anticipation would simply heighten the pleasure later when he finally did fuck her again.

He remained still as she pulled on the rest of the clothes before she turned to him, her cheeks adorably flushed.

“Hairbrush?” she asked.

Ransom nodded to the dresser opposite the bed and she moved over towards it, opening one of the drawers. She reached in and pulled the item out, dragging it through her hair before she braided it quickly and then turned to him expectantly.

“Sit.” He said, gesturing to the bed. She did as she was told, sinking down onto the edge of it, her hands clasped in her laps, fingers of her right hand pulling at the ones in her left nervously.

“Ok…” he leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees as he looked at her “Here’s how it’s gonna work.”

At his words Y/N looked at him, and then her hands released each other and she folded her arms, crossing her legs on the bed, chewing on her cheek with a sullen look on her face. The look of someone that really didn’t want to listen but had no option.

Such a petulant brat.

“You’re gonna do what I tell you, when I tell you.” Ransom spoke calmly and authoritatively “If I want you, I’m gonna have you.” At that she took a shaky breath but her eyes remained on his as he continued “You behave, you’ll get rewarded. If you don’t, you’ll be punished.”

“Punished?” she sputtered. “What could possibly be a worse punishment than this?” she waved her hand and Ransom allowed himself a chuckle.

Oh, Doll, you have no idea…

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow up.

“No.” she said, hanging her head slightly.

“Smart move.” He nodded.

“Anything else?” she looked back at him, the defiance once more filling her features.

“Yes, don’t call me Hugh.”

At that she smirked and he felt a flash of annoyance “Sorry, am I amusing you?”

“Nope.” She shook her head quickly, the smirk fading as quick as it had appeared.

“Good.” He said, his palms slapping his thighs as he stood up.

“Is that it?”

“For now.” He nodded.

“Do I get to make any rules?”

Ransom hesitated, and looked at her. He had to hand it to her, she was gutsy but that was part of the reason she was hear after all. He shook his head, chuckling slightly “This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Can I ask you for things?”

“I just said, this isn’t a negotiation.” He started to get a little bit irked at her attitude now, “You behave, you get things.”

“So you’re gonna leave me down here with nothing? No TV, no books, no stereo?”

“Behave and I’ll think about it.” He replied simply and when she sighed he knew she understood that arguing and bargaining with him was futile.

Ransom Drysdale bargained with no one.

“You know…” he said, stepping towards the bed and she instantly took a deep breath, shying away a little. The fact he had so much power over her was exhilarating and he smiled, stopping a foot or so away from the edge of the bed, his large frame towering over her. “I should shackle you again, for your back chatting and slapping me in the back with your wet clothes but I’m fair. I’ll let that go. I hadn’t explained my rules.”

She blinked up at him and he nodded towards the bathroom. “Put your dirty stuff in the hamper. I’ll be back later.”

As he strode towards the door he could have sworn he heard her mumble something, something that sounded suspiciously like she’d called him a prick. He stopped, smirking, before he fixed a hard look on his face and turned round.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” She said quickly

“Thought not.” He nodded, and with that he turned and left, locking the numerous bolts on the door behind him.

**** With a lack of anything else to do you cleaned up the water from the bathroom floor and tossed everything into the hamper like you’d been told to do and then, taking advantage of your new found “freedom” so to speak you set about exploring every single nook and cranny of your ‘cell’. You found the bathroom was fully stocked with all sorts of toiletries, sanitary products (fuck, you didn’t even want to think about what he was going to do to get his sordid little kicks when Aunt Flow came to visit in 3 weeks or so), there was a little make up as well in the drawer in the vanity unit that you’d spotted before and you pulled it out to examine it, once again finding it to be not your usual brand but high end all the same. Finding all this was only compounding your confusion as to what the hell his goal was in all this, but as you had realised before until he decided to show you those cards, you would simply be playing a guessing game.

In the drawers under your bed you found a few different sets of linen which was a relief as it meant you weren’t going to be at his mercy as to when you could change your bedding. Given what had happened the night before, you were half tempted to change them again but you hesitated and decided to wait until later, because you had a sinking feeling he was going to take you again, especially given his declaration earlier.

“If I want you, I’m gonna have you.”

If that was how your life was going to go for the foreseeable, you’d be going through a hell of a lot of bedding if you changed it every time he fucked you. Much more than was contained in the drawers anyway.

Pushing that horrible thought from your head, you took a deep breath, focussing on staying calm, staying collected, staying alive. She needed her wits, her strength, her continued ability of self preservation. And, given the fact that he's murdered before, you weren't entirely trusting his word of not wanting to kill you. You closed the drawers and then settled yourself down on the floor at the side of the bed nearest the arm chair and low coffee table indulging in a few yoga stretches and the like in an attempt to ease out your still aching muscles. You were sat on the floor, with your legs extended, reaching for your toes when he came back and with a little smirk on his face handed you a book.

“For the boredom.”

You blinked and then took it from him, shaking your head as you realised it was one of his granddads, most likely his idea of a joke. And what was more it was one you’d already read.

Nevertheless, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you thanked him and then stood up and dropped into the chair, opening the cover. How long had passed you had no idea, but you were a good few chapters on when the trust fund ass wipe re-emerged, and the smell of food wafted across the room. He set a tray down on the bed and jerked his head towards it, in a silent instruction for you to vacate the seat. With a roll of your eyes you tried to get comfortable on the bed to eat with said tray balanced on your knee and with an exasperated groan you looked at him.

“Is there any chance of getting some form of table and chair so I can eat off it and not where I’m expected to sleep?”

He looked at you for a second, before he shrugged “I’ll think about it, depending on how you behave.”

The chicken was dry, but you ate it anyway, remembering your earlier thoughts about staying strong. As you chewed you watched him where he sat in the chair in the corner of the room, looking at something on his phone. Having had time to think things over even more, you knew you needed to play this clever, get him on your side, let him believe that you could be trusted if you wanted to stand any chance of getting out of here. With a deep breath you supressed the desire you had to simply remain silent, sullen even and spoke.

“Are you not eating?” you asked him and he looked at you, surprise on his face.

“I had a big lunch.” He responded simply.

“Well I hope it was better than this.” You arranged your face into the best playful look you could muster “Because, no offence, it sucks.”

Ransom looked at you, before he snorted “Yeah, cooking isn’t my forte.”

“Maybe I could do it.” You offered “I’m not a bad chef.”

His eyes locked on yours and you concentrated on keeping the look on your face innocent as he studied you. Eventually he spoke again “Maybe. If you behave.”

Again, the focus on your behaviour. He clearly wanted you to be good, compliant maybe. Bolstered by the slight progress you were making into maybe understanding what you needed to do you continued. “So, did you go anywhere nice? For lunch I mean.”

“The Harbor.” He responded “Food was good, company was slightly irritating.”

“Company?” the surprise in your tone was genuine

“I met my mother.”

“Oh.” You replied, looking back down at the plate as you blinked back the tears, the thought of your own mother filling your head. She would be beside herself now. You took a deep breath, you might be able to be compliant but you were damned if you were going to show him any weakness, that’s what he wanted. Instead, you took another bite of your meal and looked up at him. “That must have been nice for you.”

“Is that sarcasm?” Ransom asked in an amused tone and you rolled your eyes.

“No, I was being serious. Mind you, you don’t strike me as being close to your family so…” you shrugged and shovelled a soggy piece of broccoli into your mouth.

“You’re smart, we're not.” He shrugged “But she wanted to know how I was getting on.”

“Bet that conversation was positively riveting.” You smirked “And that was sarcasm by the way.”

Ransom scoffed “It wasn’t bad to be honest, that was until she steered it around to Marta.”

“Marta?” you frowned, pondering what on earth could have brought their conversation around to that. “Why did you talk about her?”

“What is this Jeopardy?” he arched an eyebrow at you and you rolled your eyes. “Why not, I'll take Drysdale family politics for my share of the inheritance, Alec…”

“Watch your mouth, Sweetheart.” His tone was warning and his face stony. You swallowed and looked down at the plate.

“Sorry.” You said, keeping up your act. Silence fell again and you finished the last of your dinner and set the tray on the nightstand.

Ransom took a deep breath “Seeing as you’re so interested, Marta has approached my mother and the family about holding a memorial for Harlan.” You looked at him, and his eyebrows raised. “Ironic huh, the bitch who stole what was mine is planning a memorial for my grandad when she’s responsible for his death.”

At that you scoffed, he really was unbelievable and just like that your resolve to be nice started to ebb away at his utter narcissism “Are you for real? You’re responsible for Harlan’s death, and as for taking what was yours, you never had anything, none of you did! It was Harlan’s, you didn’t earn it.” Ransom glowered at you but you continued, shaking your head with a derisive laugh. “You know, the fact he would rather leave it to his nurse than his own family says more about you all than it does about her."

“What did you just say?” His voice was low, and there was an unmistakable flash of anger on his face.

“You heard me. Not that I expect any of that to bother you, Hugh, you do and take what you want anyway and fuck whoever gets hurt in the crossfire…” at that you gestured around the room, “prime example…”

There was a pause and in an instance you realised your mistake. You’d called him inadequate and worse, had broken one of those fucking rules, called him Hugh. His whole demeanour had changed, he was pissed. His jaw was set, his eyes dark, his entire body rigid.

Shit.

In a flash he was off the chair. You reacted equally as quick, jumping off the bed in an attempt to put some distance in between you. Why, you had no idea, it wasn’t like you were going to stop him, but maybe if you could buy some time you could talk him down as you backed toward the door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” but your apology was cut off as he rounded the bed, grabbing your hair painfully, yanking your braid down so your head was tilted back, looking at him. You let out a scream of pain and moved your hands to grab at his wrists “Oww, shit…you’re hurting me!”

“Like I care.” He snarled “Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

That predatory look was back on his face and you knew you were in for it again, and your apologetic front flew completely from your mind. Like hell you were doing this without a fight.

“Fuck you.” You spat back.

“Hard way it is.” He shrugged.

His hand tightening around your hair, he manhandled you into the middle of the bed easily. You yelled, bucked, lashed out but as with the previous night you were simply no match for him. He easily pinned you down with his knees clamped either side of your hips, holding you in place as he yanked your sweater over your head, pulling it down your arms so they were pinned behind you back. It was uncomfortable but did the job perfectly you realised to your horror, because you couldn’t move your arms at all.

Ransom then moved, his large hands grabbing at the button on your waistband and you continued to struggle, trying to buck your hips but once more to no avail. He had your jeans and panties down to your knees easily, before he flipped you over so your face was pushed into the pillow where it muffled your screams slightly. 

One hand reached up, sliding round the front of your neck and he squeezed. This time it was harder than he had done earlier that day, and the pressure increased and increased, slowly shutting off your airway. You gasped, tears stinging in your eye as you desperately tried to move but it was pointless. Then, suddenly he eased off, and you drew in a harsh gasp of air, coughing and spluttering, still conscious that his fingers remained around your throat.

“Stop fighting it.” He instructed, his other hand sliding over your entrance, making you pull away from his touch, but to no avail as the hand that was on your throat slid down your spine and twisted the sweater, tightening your make shift restraints, jerking your arms even further behind your back. Your upper arms and shoulders screamed in protest and you let out a little sob of pain as he moved both his hands to your hips, tugging them up slightly. One hand trailed over your ass before he plunged two fingers into you and you jerked forward at the intrusion. Ransom groaned before he leaned over, his lips brushing your ear. “I can feel you. Your body doesn’t lie, Sweetheart.”

You turned your head away, pressing your cheek into the pillow and Ransom uncurled himself from over you and you felt him shift behind you. The tell-tale clanking of a belt buckle, followed by a zip and the rustling of fabric told you exactly what was coming. Despite your resolve to give him nothing, a choked whimper escaped your mouth and you turned you face, pressing it further into the pillow in an attempt to stifle your sobs.

“Oh no…” he said, one hand curling into your braid, yanking hard and jerking your head back. You cried out, your body was contorted in such an unnatural shape, back arched, arms pinned behind your spine, head jerked back. “I wanna hear you.”

He shuffled a little, and you felt the top of his cock teasing your entrance and then without warning he powered forward, stuffing you full, letting out a rumble of a growl as he did so.

“So fucking tight…” he grit out as he withdrew, then plunged straight back in, jerking your body as he did so. He took a few more deep, slow thrusts before he picked up the pace and began to piston into you, relentlessly. You felt each thrust, the slap of his balls slamming towards your clit. It hurt, just as it had done last time. He had zero self-control, grunting and growling as he bottomed out with every motion. The hand that was gripping your hip went beyond bruising, his dull nails biting at your skin as the other wound tighter around your braid, the odd angle of your body gritting at your joints. You were fighting tears and sobs as your body continued to betray you, soaking your walls, allowing his cock to slide in and out effortlessly. The hand against your hip glided along your side as a deep thrust came and you could feel it grip your breast between the mattress. His thumb brushing against your nipple through your bra. The friction of his piston thrusts, his hand forcing your bralete against your nipples and the yank of your hair was driving your body into sensory overload and filled you with burning sensations that verged on painful. The tip of his cock scrapped at your insides, no doubt bruising you. Your tears burned and your throat begged with dry thirst.

“Can feel you, Sweetheart…” he groaned, as he bottomed out, rotating his hips slightly making you cry out involuntarily “You feel close…you sound close…such a needy little slut.”

“I’m not a slut…” you sob, the feeble protest sounding as pathetic as you felt.

"Fucking look like one to me..." he growled, his hips rotating again, the burn in your stomach was now getting to hard to ignore. “Please…” you begged, “Just….stop…”

He answered your plea by driving deeper into you, picking up his pace once more and you felt yourself beginning to tumble.

"Oh God," the words flew from your mouth as your body shook violently and you took on your overload of orgasm and sensory extremes. You sobbed as your body betrayed you again with this man. Your mind screaming for understanding, your insides begging for more.

“Fuck…Sweetheart…” Ransom let out a groan as he picked up the pace, before after a few more deep thrusts, the hand that was holding your hair let go. Your head fell forward as you felt the warm ribbons of his come streak up your back before he released his hold on your hip and you collapsed onto the bed, your heart and self-respect shattered.

Every inch of your body ached thanks to the way you’d been contorted and as you lay still, trying to regain some control of your limbs you felt his hands press either side of your head and gave a sob as he leaned lean over your body, his ears brushing your lips.

“I'll take you like that every fucking day if I have to until you give in. Because you will.”

At that the feel of his chest that had been pressing into your back was gone and you heard a rustle of clothing and then footsteps across the floor before the door opened and his deep baritone filled the room once more.

“I would shackle you but I don’t think we need that anymore. You’re not going anywhere.” His tone was almost playful, like he was toying with you, teasing you. “I suggest you take a bath, you’re gonna be sore. That is, once you manage to work your way out of that sweater.”

And with a click followed by the familiar sliding of bolts you were sealed in your prison and you finally gave in to your tears as the sheer helplessness of your situation crashed over you in waves.

****

Part 3

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 2

Co-Written with @southerngracela​

Summary: After your ordeal at the hands of Ransom, you’re not sure that things can get any worse. Famous last words….

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is Part 2 to our submission for @jtargaryen18​ ‘s Haunted House 2020  Challenge. Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist. 

With his pride wounded, Ransom drank himself to sleep that night, his mind plotting and scheming of more ways to make his point clear. She was his now and nothing was going to change that. He'd decided it might be time to let her in on his secrets and breakfast seemed as good a time as any and, as such, presented her with a plate of bacon and toast along with a cup of coffee to wash it down. He didn't cook, not well anyway, his preference being diner out or order in. He supposed if this was his new normal, he'd have to learn a new skill. He cringed just slightly at the thought of such domesticity. 

When you heard the locks turn, your belly dropped out. You were shocked to see him, afraid of what was coming your way. If the events from the previous night were any indication, you had to steel yourself to once again fight back. Your tired eyes took him in. A plate and mug in his hands, jeans over his long legs, boots on his feet. Broad shoulders covered by a white ribbed long sleeve thermal shirt, eyes cold and distant, arrogant smirk over his lips. A smirk of your own barely parted your lips as you took note of the now pink lines adorning his right cheek, courtesy of your nails biting at his skin in the attack. You turned away from him, your body instinctively curling in on itself, chain stopping you from balling up completely when he approached. Your mouth watered at the smell of the bacon and coffee. You were hungry but your body fought to ignore the pangs, offering him that satisfaction.

 "I'm not hungry," you managed, desperately irritated at how weak you sounded. 

"Starve then," he set the plate and mug on the nightstand at your bedside. He stood rooted there, arms crossed over his chest. 

"People are gonna be looking for me, you know," you point out, sitting up a little more, confidence growing by the second. 

“You don’t think I’ve already thought of that?” His hands moved from across his chest to his hips. 

As you looked at him, that maddening smug look present on his face it suddenly dawned on you that he might have been more calculating than you’d imagined. And then you understood. You figured out what the connection between him and the actor you’d been supposedly meeting was. None. None whatsoever, except that Lucas Lee had been easy, collateral damage. "You set him up," your brow rose and shock filled your voice. "Lucas Lee... You set him up. What the hell did you do?" 

"Sweetheart, the guy's a complete tool, he walked right into it and he'll walk right out. Just a couple of hours of questioning and he'll be let go," Ransom shrugged as if this were nothing. 

"You're disgusting," you seethe. This arrogant asshole used someone just to get to you and he was PROUD of it. You didn't know what you expected, but the notion of the reality was appalling.

"You don't know the half of it," he winked.

"You're never going to get away with this," you managed to threaten. The look in his eyes caught your breath as he leaned in close, hands on the mattress on either side of your hips. 

"I killed Fran, got away with that. I nearly killed Marta, same story," he said, popping a shoulder up. "The point is, Sweetheart, I'm that good, they'll never find you."

"My family, my friends…they'll go to the police. Mick, my boss, he'll want to know where I am after not showing up today. You can't possibly have thought of everything," you shook your head as you wondered just how long he'd been plotting this. You’d only met the asshole a few months ago, interviewed him for a couple of hours max and then released the article days later. How on earth had that transpired into this utter shirt-show? The thoughts were spiraling so fast in your mind, it was dizzying. 

"Your boss got an email this morning saying you no longer wanted to work for him, and as for your family and friends, well let’s just say I know where they are. I know your little sister's routine. I know the time your mom walks your dog, and that she does it alone.” Ransom continued and you felt the cold course through your body “You do as I say, and they're safe. If not, well, I can pick them off, one, by one, without even getting my hands dirty," he pulled back, standing over you. "So many criminal junkies in Boston, Sweetheart. Plenty who will take the fall for a little hit,” and with that he turned on his heel and walked to the door. 

The true reality of your situation set in and you felt sick to your stomach, despite your hunger. You felt clammy and overwhelmingly dizzy. He had you. If he'd gone this far, followed your family, set up a well-known actor, plotted this entire plan down to how to convince Mick you quit, in a scary short amount of time, just to get to you, you were fully trapped. 

"What happens if you lock me down here...and something happens to you?” Worry laced your words. 

He turned over his shoulder, "I don't give a fuck." And he slammed the door, the sound of the locks echoing in your room. 

In a gut reaction you grabbed the plate of food at threw it at the door where it shattered into pieces, the bacon and toast falling to the floor with it. You screamed as you threw it, for if you hadn't you'd have vomited where you led. 

**** Ransom heard the scream and the smash of the plate and paused half way up the stairs. He took a deep breath, contemplating going back down and teaching Y/N some damned manners before he decided to leave it. He’d given her enough to think about for the time being, and besides, he didn’t want to lower himself to delivering another slap to her face like he had done last night. In all honesty, he hadn’t been expecting the site of the bruise on her right cheek to unsettle him as much as it had done. Her pretty face shouldn’t be marked in anyway, and looking at it had simply reminded him how he’d lost control. Of all the things he’d done, he’d never hit a woman before, despite murder and attempted murder. It left a bad taste in his mouth all things considered and a nasty twist in his gut that felt almost like guilt. But it wasn’t guilt, that wasn’t something he did either…no, it was the fact that in all of his actions, even the diabolical ones, he’d remained calm and in control. Until last night. He’d been feral, wild even, and it wasn’t a feeling he relished. But she’d pushed him to it, provoked him. It was her fault, not his.

He shrugged on his coat and grabbed his keys, before he headed out, locking the door and climbing into his black Mercedes SUV. God he missed his beamer, but this was a lot less conspicuous, just as he needed at the moment. He slipped his sunglasses on to shield his eyes against the bright fall sun and set off towards the City.

His mother was already seated and waiting for him when he arrived at the Harbor. He walked over to her table, pulling off his sunglasses and sliding them into the pocket of his camel coat, removing his trademark silk scarf as he went. He handed them off to the help showing him to his seat, asking him to bring him a beer, and sat across from Linda, who was watching him carefully as she lounged back in her seat, properly dressed as ever in a crisp pair of black trousers and a white long sleeved silk blouse. With her legs crossed, she cut quite the imposing figure, but not to him.

Ransom greeted her with a stiff nod and she frowned and gestured to his face.

“What on earth have you done to your cheek?” she questioned, clearly noticing the scratch marks. Ransom hesitated for a second, “Things got a little rough last night, ” he shrugged but his smirk didn't quite reach his eyes. Linda let out a slight groan as she grimaced “Jesus Ransom, I don’t want to know about your sordid little bedroom antics,” she scalded. “Then don’t ask, Mother,” He drawled, not missing a beat.

“Oh believe me, I wish I hadn't.” Linda rolled her eyes.

Ransom looked down at the menu that was on the table in front of him, giving it a cursory glance already knowing what he was ordering, the same as he always did when he was here, before he took a deep breath and raised his eyes to his mother. She wasn’t one for small talk, and neither was he, so he decided to get straight to the point.

“Why are we here?” he demanded “I mean, aside from the obvious guilt driven task of having lunch with your son.” “If you're going to be a spoiled brat why did you even agree to meet me?” Linda shot back and Ransom smirked.

“What was it you always told me mom? No matter how rich you are, never turn down a free meal.”

“Snarky smart ass” Linda retorted and it was his turn to snort as her brow furrowed.

“Now, now Mother. Those frown lines are getting worse” he arched an eyebrow and she glared at him before she sighed.

“I wanted to see how you were, is that so hard to believe.” “In a word, yes.” He shrugged.

“Well, it’s true.” She reached for her glass of wine and took a sip. “I've not seen you since you moved house.”

Ransom rolled his eyes, Jesus he didn’t have time for this shit. He took a deep breath and looked at her as she eyed him expectantly, waiting for his answer “Just fine. I'm enjoying my new place.”

“So, you like it then?” Linda set her glass down and leaned back once more. “I must admit when it came on our books I thought it would suit you.”

“It's different than Kenoak, less modern, but it does the job” he said vaguely and saw her body language stiffen.

“If you don’t like it why did you buy it Ransom?” her tone was exasperated and he had to fight back the grin that was threatening to spread across his face at the fact he was riling her. It was always so damned easy.

“Well, my last place had kinda turned into a bit of a media circus.”

“Yeah, I expect that’s what happens when you're involved in a homicide” she snapped back.

“Say it a bit louder.” Ransom deadpanned “I don’t think they heard you over by the bar.”

“Believe me, that wasn’t intentional.” she held his gaze “Your Granddad’s death isn't something I find funny, Ransom. Not that it ever occurred to you."

Ransom sighed. He was starting to get annoyed under her scrutiny and really wasn’t in the mood for a deep dive into the events of the past year.

“Not of sound mind, Mother.” He said, his voice a little softer as he reminded her of the argument his brief had made which had ensured his acquittal from his crimes, hoping it would shut her up. “Remember?”

“I know son, I know.” Linda leaned over and gently lay her hand on his where it rested on the table. Ransom took a deep breath and shifted in his seat. Physical affection from her always made him uncomfortable as he wasn’t used to it, but for some reason it was heightened in that moment. He sat and pondered for a second on what he had just said. His brief had spun the line about him being under emotional duress due to his granddad cutting him out of his will and whilst there was an element of truth in it, he’d been of perfect mental capacity when he’d enacted his plan. But, if it helped his mother believe that her only son isn’t a monster then…whatever. He pulled his hand back from her and she sighed, clearly mistaking his discomfort for guilt.

 “You know, you used to be such an affectionate little boy, Ransom.” Linda looked at her hand as if his rebuttal had burned her before she shook her head and reached once more for her drink. “I often wonder where your dad and I went wrong.”

Ok, so this he could deal with. The reminder that he was a constant disappointment.

 “Hard to say.” He snarked “Somewhere between boarding school and Harvard maybe?”

She rolled her eyes “We did what we thought was best.” She set her now empty glass down. “Clearly in hindsight...”

Ransom was saved from her self-indulgent moment of soul searching by the waiter who set his beer down in front of him and asked if they were ready to order. Ransom gestured to his mother who asked for the house salad with a side of tempura prawns whilst he went for his usual, fillet steak with all the trimmings. It was obnoxiously expensive but what the hell, like he cared. Especially not when his Mother was paying...

He took a long pull from his beer as the waiter topped his mother’s glass up from the bottle that stood in the ice bucket next to their table before she thanked him and he disappeared.

“You’ve not asked me how your father is.” Linda looked at Ransom who narrowed his eyes. Why does she care about that? But, deciding it was as good a conversation change as any he shrugged.

“How's Richard?”

Linda rolled her eyes but for the first time since he arrived he noticed a little smirk flicker on her lips before she looked at him. “He’s still your dad Ransom" she reminded.

“Ok, how is my dearest dad? Still fucking the 30 year old au-pair?”

“Yes, apparently, he's taking her to the villa.”

Now that did make him frown. The Villa that they owned in Lake Gada was his mother’s pride and joy.

“Seriously? You're just gonna let him do that?” Ransom’s tone was surprised.

“I have no choice.” Linda took a deep breath “Our divorce isn't final and he's contesting me keeping the property. It's not as cut and dry as one would assume despite his infidelity, numerous infidelities even.”

“He signed a pre-nup, Mom.” Ransom reminded her and Linda nodded.

“I know, but the Villa wasn't part of it. It's the one thing he can hold over me and he's doing just that.” She took a sip of her drink and snorted “Dumb bastard has nothing so he figures why not try his luck here. Fact is, he gets nothing else.”

“Good.”  Ransom retorted, a little viciously and Linda eyed himself shrewdly.

“Careful Ransom, you almost sound like you care.” She smirked and he rolled his eyes, not gracing her with an answer. “Anyway, what are you doing with yourself these days?” she moved the conversation on “And I don't mean with women as we've already established when you sat down. Any hobbies or God forbid a job prospect I should know about?” “Aside from my love life, I’m actually writing mother, believe it or not.” He responded, amused at the visible look of shock that crossed her face.

“You're....writing?” her mouth dropped open before she hastily shut it.

“Don't sound too surprised, Linda,” Ransom let out a low chuckle as his mother rolled her eyes at his use of her name. “Granddad always said I had a flare for it. Just-” he paused for a moment before he shrugged “-well, I guess I never really used it much.”

Linda cocked her head to the side as she considered him for a moment before her face softened and once more Ransom felt uncomfortable at her change in demeanour. “He'd be proud of you. I suppose it's what he's always wanted for you, to find something for yourself.”

And there it was. The reminder that he was nothing but a trust fund prick, with no future and nothing of his own to live off. He took a deep breath, gritting his teeth slightly before he responded with a false air of nonchalance.

“I see that now.”

“Good. I'm pleased you do Son.” Linda nodded. “I'm not glad about how it all went down but...well, as dad used to say, things have a strange way of working out in the end.” It was a funny choice of words, Ransom thought, but before he had chance to dwell on it anymore their food arrived. The conversation slowed a little as they both ate, growing a little stilted in places as he told her vaguely what his writing project was about- a private detective- go figure. Linda moaned about more about his father, and then she dropped something casually into the conversation that really did surprise him, that they were planning a memorial for Harlan. 

"When?" he frowned, swallowing a mouthful of potato.

“The end of this month, possibly the first week in December. It'll be after Thanksgiving.” Linda waved her hand before she paused, hesitating a little as if she was deliberating whether or not to tell him this next bit. And when she did, he fully realised why. “It was Marta’s idea.” The mere mention of that name was enough to get his hackles up and he took a deep breath, the nerve in his jaw twitching. He looked at his mother as she watched him carefully before he looked away and took a drink of his beer. “Hmmm” was all he could muster.

“Hmmm? What's Hmm, Ransom?” Linda looked at him.

“I figured with Harlan gone she'd be out of our lives.” He shrugged, feeling his neck grow hot. That bitch was responsible for all of this in the first place, the reason he was done out of his inheritance. If she hadn’t got her claws into him none of his would have happened.

“Yes, well, as much as it sticks in my throat that she got everything maybe if we play ball she'll come round to actually giving us all what we're owed.” Linda shrugged “And that aside...it will be nice to remember him.”

The rest of the lunch passed with simple conversation, Ransom steering it well away from the subject of his family. When they’d finished his mother, as predicted, picked up the tab and together they headed outside to wait for the Valet to fetch their vehicles. His mother’s arrived first and she turned to him, the pair of them engaging in the awkward, stilted kissing of the cheeks before she promised him his quarterly check from his shares in her company should land next week. With a nod and a thanks he bid her good bye and a few moments later climbed into his own car and set off back home.

***** With a yell you sat bolt upright, taking a moment to get your bearings as you emerged from the troubled sleep you had fallen back into. Yes, you were still here, in Drysdale’s fucking basement. The tears stung your eyes as you lay back, taking some deep breaths as you attempted to ebb the panic which was setting in. Your situation was disgusting and dire, you were trapped and therefore, you knew you needed to ask for the things you needed, not wanted, just simply needed, or in time, Hugh could add you to his notch post of growing murder victims. The question was, exactly how far could you push him for anything? One wrong move, as you'd learned last night, and you'd be regretting ever uttering a syllable. But you refused to go quietly, you'd be further letting yourself down if you did. You didn't have it in you. However, just how dangerous he was or could be now was no longer lost on you, you had the physical reminder in the biting sting of your cheek, throbbing and tenderness you felt between your legs, and the slight bruising around your wrists where he had pinned them above your head. You hadn’t examined the rest of your body to see what damage he’d done, you didn’t want to.

You ached all over from being led or sat on this damned bed since you’d arrived. The chain attaching you to the bed post wasn’t long enough to allow you to stand up and stretch our your aching limbs so for now you had to settle for attempting to massage some feeling back into your calves, your eyes casting over the various tears and ladders in your thick tights which you’d pulled back up last night with trembling hands after he had violated you.

The door clicked open and your head jerked towards the door as you scrambled higher up the bed, pressing your back into the headboard. You watched as your captor strode in, a packet of Biscoff in his hand pausing as his foot crunched over the shattered remnants of the plate that you’d hurled at the door. He looked up at you, raising an eyebrow, as if he'd forgotten he'd heard you throw it this morning. 

“I don’t like cleaning up messes” He said simply as he stepped over it, shutting the door with his foot.

“Pity you killed the house keeper then” you glared at him as he shoved another cookie into his mouth.

“Who, Fran?” he asked with a scoff, his voice muffled by his food.

“How many other house keepers have you killed?” you shot back and he gave a snort.

“None.” Ransom shrugged nonchalantly “But for your information, Fran was a useless dimwit. She only cared about two things. Drugs and getting paid.”

You frowned, was that supposed to justify his actions in some way? He too only cared about getting paid and what money could do for him. “And you care about what exactly other than yourself?” you shot back. He looked at you, a smirk crossing his handsome face as she shoved yet another cookie into his mouth, chewing slowly.

At that point your stomach growled with hunger, just another way your body had betrayed since you since you had arrived and you tore your face from his, turning it to the side.

“Now are you hungry?” he asked as you realised that was probably the bastard’s plan all along. With a deep sigh you looked back at him.

“Can I have one?” you asked meekly.

Ransom studied you for a moment, tongue poking at his cheek, before he strode towards the bed and offered you the packet. You took one and stuffed it straight into your mouth.

“No thank you?”

“Piss off.” You shot back automatically, swallowing your cookie.

His good demeanour ebbed slightly as an irritated look flashed across his face. “Don’t push me, Sweetheart.” his voice was low as he sank onto the side of the bed, looking at you “I think your situation is precarious enough as it is, don’t you?”

You merely glared at him, you had no comeback. There was no comeback. He was right.

“Now if I make you something proper to eat are you gonna take it or throw it at the door again?” he raised his eyebrows “Because, frankly, you starving yourself is of no real concern to me except I kinda think you’re gonna need to keep your strength up.”

It didn’t take a genius to work out exactly what for. But you were so hungry, and the battle inside you raged on before your self-preservation mode won out and you hung your head slightly, looking at the comforter you were led on. “I’ll eat.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Ransom smirked again.

“No.” you replied, your voice devoid of emotion. “Can I have some water too?”

“As long as you don’t throw the glass.”

“I’m thirsty.” You replied simply “I won’t.”

He nodded and stood up, offering you the packet of cookies “Have those for now.”

“Thank you.” You took them from him, your tone a little sarcastic, your eyes rolling as you spoke. He looked at you and for a moment you were worried he was about to do something about your response but he simply gave a huff of laughter and turned to leave.

“I’ll be back shortly.” He said, closing the door behind him. 

You could no longer bite back the sigh of delight as you took another of the buttery spiced cookies into your mouth. It was rich on your tongue but it was food and you were so hungry. What you wouldn't do for a cup of coffee to go with. You surveyed the room as you chewed the Biscoff thoughtfully. The earlier despair you’d felt upon waking just before he had re-appeared was slowly giving way to determination as you realised that for now practicality had to win you over. Not only did you need sustenance and water, which you knew was on the way, you also needed clothing and access to the bathroom, which you now realized you were desperate for.

So now what, you thought to yourself. The fact that he was willing to feed you despite the fact you’d launched your morning’s meal against the door meant he didn't want you dead. Mind you, if he did you wouldn’t have made it out of that fucking dilapidated house so, just what kind of a game was he playing at here? You weren't sure what his end game was if it didn't mean your certain death. You just didn't understand and felt the struggle of thoughts seep into your mind as you contemplated each step. He doesn't want you dead, but you're locked up, chained up and he's obliterated your body by force. And that was only the first round. So far he's voiced his hell bent plan on keeping you here and making you suffer. And he's done a right job at it after just the first night. He couldn't keep this up for the rest of your life, could he? No, you didn't think, but he's gone as far as to know your every day, your family's every day, detail for detail. It couldn't possibly be for ironically a ransom, no, he had plenty of money still and if you were certain, his mother was still finding ways to slip him allowances and he'd managed to get a small chunk under the table and off the record from your publishers on your behalf. So no, it wasn't for money. Did he expect a better and firm, more sincere apology? Well he sure as shit wasn't going to get one now. Stupid, spoiled fuck. You outwardly scoff at the thought. What does he want that you have? The endgame is unknown but you were in the long game now, that much was apparent. You just had to not walk into verbal traps and wait for him to reveal his hand. But you guessed just by the times you've previously had with Hugh Ransom Drysdale that his hand wouldn't be revealed until he held the right cards.

True to his word Ransom came back what couldn't have been more than 15 minutes later. He handed you a plate containing a simple turkey sandwich, a bag of chips and a plastic bottle of water. “Just in case you get any ideas about smashing it and doing me in…” he said, placing it down.

“Murder is your speciality, not mine” you snarked back biting into your sandwich as the hunger you felt won out over the need to pee that you’d felt before. It was actually pretty good. The bread was fresh, the meat succulent, both more than likely from a deli and not a bog standard store. You ate eagerly, Ransom settled in the arm chair in the corner of the room by the low coffee table, his eyes watching you. You ignored him, concentrating on your food.

“So…” you said as you stuffed the last of your sandwich into your mouth “Are you gonna keep me down here?”

“Yup” he said simply, popping the P.

You swallowed and grabbed the water, cracking the top open and draining half of it in one, your hand trembling slightly. Thankfully you avoided spilling any. You screwed the top on and placed it back on the night stand and watched with horror as he rose from his seat and crossed towards you, sitting on the side of the bed

“So, because I don’t want anything to fuck up what we got here, sweetheart, I have a simple question which you’re gonna answer.” Ransom said, looking at you “Are you on birth-control?”

Your mouth dropped open as you glared at him.

“What the fuck?” you stuttered

“It’s a simple question that requires a yes or no answer.” His expression hadn’t changed, not one bit. Cool, calm and collected, like this was something he would simply ask anyone. As you stared at his smug face, your puzzlement at the seemingly straight outta left field question gave way to anger. He was asking you this, like it was his damned right to know, like he was your fucking boyfriend by choice.

“You tell me, I mean you thought of everything or so you took great pleasure in telling me last night.” You spat. Quick as a flash his hand grabbed your face, his fingers gripping your chin painfully and you let out a little whimper.

“Answer the question.” He said simply

And then you realised, it wasn’t really that out of left field at all was it? It was clear following last night what his intention for you was and like he’d want the added complication of any little surprises turning up in around 9 months. You swallowed, your eyes looked down

“Yes” you whispered, and he released your face.

“Good.” Ransom nodded “Makes things a lot easier.” “I’m not a sex toy, Hugh.” You glared at him and he looked back at you, giving a snort.

“You’ll be whatever I want you to be.” “You’re an asshole.”

“So it’s been said.” He shrugged simply, like he didn’t give a shit. Which, as you realised, he probably didn’t. People like him never did care what they came across like, arrogant trust fund prick.

With a sigh you pinched the bridge of your nose and glanced around the room you were in, as if you really hadn't paid much attention to it's details before. Ironically, if you weren’t here under duress it would actually be quite nice. The bed was large and comfy, there was a reasonably big bathroom attached which from what you could make out contained a fairly nice sized bath tub and a separate walk in shower cubicle. There was what looked like a built in closet next to the bathroom door, a night stand which contained a reading lamp to your right and on the opposite wall to the bed in front of you there was a dresser and a small shelf fixed to the wall a little higher, which was empty. To the left of the room was a large, plush armchair behind which another lamp was fixed to the wall and a fancy oak coffee table which matched the rest of the furniture. Above the chair, was a porthole like window, hexagonal in shape, but high enough to not allow for escape but for the warmth of daylight to seep into the space. 

A fucking studio apartment, that half of Boston would probably kill to own…and you were trapped in it. Well, certainly until you could think of a way to un-trap yourself so to speak.

You looked back at him and decided to keep pressing your luck a little. There were things you needed, starting with the bathroom, and you were damned if you were going to let him degrade you even more than he already had by letting you piss yourself.

“There are things I’m going to need.” You spoke, taking care to keep your voice neutral, attempting to avoid outwardly displaying the desperation you were feeling “A pee and a shower for one” you gestured with your head to the small bathroom.

“Well if you’re gonna behave, I’ll undo this.” He reached down and jangled the chain that was attached to the shackle round your ankle.

“Clothes too…”

“The closet is full.” He said simply “But you have to behave, Sweetheart, or you go right back on the chain.

You grit your teeth. Sweetheart, you were no more his sweetheart than he was Harlan’s favorite grandchild. “Like I have a choice.”

“You do.” He said simply “Behave or not.”

You let out a frustrated growl “I told you I was gonna, now just undo the fucking dog collar on my ankle.”

“Ooh, so feisty.” Ransom mocked and you glared at him.

With a chuckle he stood up and pulled the key out of his pocket, undoing the shackle round your ankle and stood back slightly. You moved and shuffled to the edge of the bed where he watched as you rose to your legs. However, after the ordeal you’d been through the night before, plus your no doubt whacky blood sugar level, your head span a little and you staggered forward. Ransom caught you, both his hands hooking under your arms as he helped you steady yourself, his touch surprisingly gentle as his hands slid down to your ribs, thumbs brushing underneath your breasts and you looked at him, blinking. His action had caught you off guard and if the look on his face was anything to go by it had caught him off guard too. There was a moment where you stood still before you remembered exactly what was going on and with an angry scoff you raised both your hands, palms flat on his chest and shoved him as hard as you could.

It didn’t move him much, a half a step back or so, but it was enough to make a point. The unexpected softness on his face turned to anger and a split second later his right hand was round your throat.

“I'm warning you…” he snarled, his large fingers flexing causing his grip to tighten, around your throat. He gave a sharp squeeze, not enough to cut off your airway, instead serving as a threat, telling you he could if he wanted to. He released his grip as the tears stung your eyes and he moved aside to allow you to move to the bathroom. You went as quickly as you could and once you were there you made to shut the door.

Only there wasn’t one. “Why the fuck is there no door?” you turned and faced him.

“Because I won’t clean up a dead body.” He shrugged “So before you get any dumb ideas, anything that could make you think about a means to an end isn’t in this room either.”

You looked at him, frowning before you realised what he meant and you shook your head. “Oh trust me, I’m not about to kill myself over you.”

“Good.” He said simply, “You have 10 minutes” he said, leaning on the frame where the door should have been.

“You’re not watching me pee, Hugh!”

At that his face darkened “Call me Hugh one more time, I dare you, Sweetheart.” His voice was laced with venom as his eyes flashed dangerously, but despite all that you couldn’t help yourself. It was the only weapon you had in your arsenal to deploy.

“Hugh.” you spat, raising an eyebrow.

His jaw clenched and in two large strides he was on you, his hand grabbing your forearm as he yanked you across the bathroom, your feet skidding on the tiles as you struggled for traction on the floor. You yelled out at the pain of his grip but no sooner had it started it stopped as he flung you unceremoniously into the shower cubicle. Your knees and hip collided painfully with the tray and you gave a scream as a torrent of freezing cold water hit you, soaking your sweater dress. You gasped and spluttered, struggling to your feet, the cold making your chest contract and he looked at you, his face back to its stony calm expression.

“10 minutes” he repeated.

He turned to go and in a fit of rage you peeled the icy, sodden jersey dress off and flung it at him. It hit him square in the back before it slid to the floor, splattering on the tiles in a sopping mess. You saw him take a deep breath, his broad shoulders rippling under his thermal ribbed top as he stood up square and turned to face you as you stood, teeth chattering in the still cold spray in nothing but your bra and laddered thermal tights.

“You’re really testing my patience, Sweetheart.” He intoned darkly, before he cocked an eyebrow “9 and a half minutes.” He left the bathroom and headed into the main room, and you turned away instantly cranking up the heat on the shower. As it warmed you through, the water beating down on you, you reached for the shower gel which was on a small shelf in the corner of the cubicle. You scrubbed and scrubbed, not caring how much you used, attempting to rid yourself of the dirty feeling of him as you recalled his hands all over you, his cock violating you in the way it had. You didn’t stop the tears falling, your resolve breaking, as you turned your face into the spray, allowing it to hide your tears, before you washed your hair in the shampoo and conditioner.  Eventually, when you’d done everything you could, you turned off the water, took a deep breath and squeezed your hair out before stepping out of the shower. Your eyes instinctively went to the doorway and you were relieved. You couldn’t see Ransom, which meant he didn’t have an eye-line directly into the shower, awarding you some level of privacy at least.

You grabbed a towel which you wrapped around yourself, before you took another and used it to squeeze your hair before you pulled it back into a messy bun out of the way, and stepped out of the bathroom.

 “That was 11 minutes.” Ransom said simply as you emerged into the main area of the basement “I’ll let the 90 seconds slide.”

You glared at him as he sat in the armchair, his broad frame filling it, right leg crossed over his left, an I don't give a fuck look about his face, and you knew at that moment you had never hated anyone more in your life than you hated him right then. You turned towards the closet and began to route through, the tears filling your eyes again as you concentrated on finding something to wear. You pulled a few things out, checking the tags. Not only did the prices shock you (it was all high end, designer stuff- what else would the spoilt, trust fund prick buy) but it was all your size. Which unnerved you no end. Pushing that to the back of your mind, as after all in the situation you were in it was the least of your worries, eventually you settled on a simple pale blue cashmere sweater, and a pair of jeans.

“Underwear?” you turned and looked at him. He nodded to the drawers built into the bottom of the closet and you opened it, taking a breath. Of course it would all be lace, sexy. You picked the most modest pair of black, lace French-style briefs you could find and the matching bra, tossing the lot onto the bed. You looked at him, cocking your eyebrow and he mimicked the action, gesturing with his hand.

“Don’t mind me.” The dismay washed over you as you realised what he meant and you took a deep breath “You’re gonna sit there and watch?”

“Yup.” He replied simply, popping the p loudly.

You bowed your head, knowing there was no point turning your back on him, he’d just force you to turn round. As you stared to pat yourself dry though your towel, you blinked back the tears as for some reason this felt far more humiliating and degrading that what he’d done to you last night.

****

Ransom wasn’t sure he’d ever exercised self-control like this, he normally just bought (or took) what he wanted, and before he’d wanted nothing more than to trace the beads of water which moved down her neck and back, collecting in the towel as she rifled through the closet. She reached for the panties first, and attempted to shimmy them on under the towel and he gave a click of his tongue.

“Oh no doll.” He smirked, “lose it.”

She glared at him, and he simply held her gaze, not looking away and eventually he saw her shoulder sag as she reached up with a shaking hand and unhooked the edge of the towel which was tucked in on itself and let it fall to the floor. He gave a loud hum of approval as he took her in, her long-lithe legs up to her hips, the curve of her waist, pert breasts and delicate shoulders and collar bone. She swallowed on air and he watched her throat bob, and he instantly found himself thinking how good she’d look swallowing something else. He shifted slightly in his seat, the crotch of his jeans now feeling a little tight thanks to his semi-hard cock, and she reached for the lace briefs stepping into them. As she shimmied them up, her breasts jiggled a little and he gave an inward groan. For a second he thought about stopping her, taking her there and then but now wasn’t the time. They had things to discuss, certain rules she needed to understand.

Plus, the waiting and the anticipation would simply heighten the pleasure later when he finally did fuck her again.

He remained still as she pulled on the rest of the clothes before she turned to him, her cheeks adorably flushed.

“Hairbrush?” she asked.

Ransom nodded to the dresser opposite the bed and she moved over towards it, opening one of the drawers. She reached in and pulled the item out, dragging it through her hair before she braided it quickly and then turned to him expectantly.

“Sit.” He said, gesturing to the bed. She did as she was told, sinking down onto the edge of it, her hands clasped in her laps, fingers of her right hand pulling at the ones in her left nervously.

“Ok…” he leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees as he looked at her “Here’s how it’s gonna work.”

At his words Y/N looked at him, and then her hands released each other and she folded her arms, crossing her legs on the bed, chewing on her cheek with a sullen look on her face. The look of someone that really didn’t want to listen but had no option.

Such a petulant brat.

“You’re gonna do what I tell you, when I tell you.” Ransom spoke calmly and authoritatively “If I want you, I’m gonna have you.” At that she took a shaky breath but her eyes remained on his as he continued “You behave, you’ll get rewarded. If you don’t, you’ll be punished.”

“Punished?” she sputtered. “What could possibly be a worse punishment than this?” she waved her hand and Ransom allowed himself a chuckle.

Oh, Doll, you have no idea…

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow up.

“No.” she said, hanging her head slightly.

“Smart move.” He nodded.

“Anything else?” she looked back at him, the defiance once more filling her features.

“Yes, don’t call me Hugh.”

At that she smirked and he felt a flash of annoyance “Sorry, am I amusing you?”

“Nope.” She shook her head quickly, the smirk fading as quick as it had appeared.

“Good.” He said, his palms slapping his thighs as he stood up.

“Is that it?”

“For now.” He nodded.

“Do I get to make any rules?”

Ransom hesitated, and looked at her. He had to hand it to her, she was gutsy but that was part of the reason she was hear after all. He shook his head, chuckling slightly “This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Can I ask you for things?”

“I just said, this isn’t a negotiation.” He started to get a little bit irked at her attitude now, “You behave, you get things.”

“So you’re gonna leave me down here with nothing? No TV, no books, no stereo?”

“Behave and I’ll think about it.” He replied simply and when she sighed he knew she understood that arguing and bargaining with him was futile.

Ransom Drysdale bargained with no one.

“You know…” he said, stepping towards the bed and she instantly took a deep breath, shying away a little. The fact he had so much power over her was exhilarating and he smiled, stopping a foot or so away from the edge of the bed, his large frame towering over her. “I should shackle you again, for your back chatting and slapping me in the back with your wet clothes but I’m fair. I’ll let that go. I hadn’t explained my rules.”

She blinked up at him and he nodded towards the bathroom. “Put your dirty stuff in the hamper. I’ll be back later.”

As he strode towards the door he could have sworn he heard her mumble something, something that sounded suspiciously like she’d called him a prick. He stopped, smirking, before he fixed a hard look on his face and turned round.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” She said quickly

“Thought not.” He nodded, and with that he turned and left, locking the numerous bolts on the door behind him.

**** With a lack of anything else to do you cleaned up the water from the bathroom floor and tossed everything into the hamper like you’d been told to do and then, taking advantage of your new found “freedom” so to speak you set about exploring every single nook and cranny of your ‘cell’. You found the bathroom was fully stocked with all sorts of toiletries, sanitary products (fuck, you didn’t even want to think about what he was going to do to get his sordid little kicks when Aunt Flow came to visit in 3 weeks or so), there was a little make up as well in the drawer in the vanity unit that you’d spotted before and you pulled it out to examine it, once again finding it to be not your usual brand but high end all the same. Finding all this was only compounding your confusion as to what the hell his goal was in all this, but as you had realised before until he decided to show you those cards, you would simply be playing a guessing game.

In the drawers under your bed you found a few different sets of linen which was a relief as it meant you weren’t going to be at his mercy as to when you could change your bedding. Given what had happened the night before, you were half tempted to change them again but you hesitated and decided to wait until later, because you had a sinking feeling he was going to take you again, especially given his declaration earlier.

“If I want you, I’m gonna have you.”

If that was how your life was going to go for the foreseeable, you’d be going through a hell of a lot of bedding if you changed it every time he fucked you. Much more than was contained in the drawers anyway.

Pushing that horrible thought from your head, you took a deep breath, focussing on staying calm, staying collected, staying alive. She needed her wits, her strength, her continued ability of self preservation. And, given the fact that he's murdered before, you weren't entirely trusting his word of not wanting to kill you. You closed the drawers and then settled yourself down on the floor at the side of the bed nearest the arm chair and low coffee table indulging in a few yoga stretches and the like in an attempt to ease out your still aching muscles. You were sat on the floor, with your legs extended, reaching for your toes when he came back and with a little smirk on his face handed you a book.

“For the boredom.”

You blinked and then took it from him, shaking your head as you realised it was one of his granddads, most likely his idea of a joke. And what was more it was one you’d already read.

Nevertheless, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you thanked him and then stood up and dropped into the chair, opening the cover. How long had passed you had no idea, but you were a good few chapters on when the trust fund ass wipe re-emerged, and the smell of food wafted across the room. He set a tray down on the bed and jerked his head towards it, in a silent instruction for you to vacate the seat. With a roll of your eyes you tried to get comfortable on the bed to eat with said tray balanced on your knee and with an exasperated groan you looked at him.

“Is there any chance of getting some form of table and chair so I can eat off it and not where I’m expected to sleep?”

He looked at you for a second, before he shrugged “I’ll think about it, depending on how you behave.”

The chicken was dry, but you ate it anyway, remembering your earlier thoughts about staying strong. As you chewed you watched him where he sat in the chair in the corner of the room, looking at something on his phone. Having had time to think things over even more, you knew you needed to play this clever, get him on your side, let him believe that you could be trusted if you wanted to stand any chance of getting out of here. With a deep breath you supressed the desire you had to simply remain silent, sullen even and spoke.

“Are you not eating?” you asked him and he looked at you, surprise on his face.

“I had a big lunch.” He responded simply.

“Well I hope it was better than this.” You arranged your face into the best playful look you could muster “Because, no offence, it sucks.”

Ransom looked at you, before he snorted “Yeah, cooking isn’t my forte.”

“Maybe I could do it.” You offered “I’m not a bad chef.”

His eyes locked on yours and you concentrated on keeping the look on your face innocent as he studied you. Eventually he spoke again “Maybe. If you behave.”

Again, the focus on your behaviour. He clearly wanted you to be good, compliant maybe. Bolstered by the slight progress you were making into maybe understanding what you needed to do you continued. “So, did you go anywhere nice? For lunch I mean.”

“The Harbor.” He responded “Food was good, company was slightly irritating.”

“Company?” the surprise in your tone was genuine

“I met my mother.”

“Oh.” You replied, looking back down at the plate as you blinked back the tears, the thought of your own mother filling your head. She would be beside herself now. You took a deep breath, you might be able to be compliant but you were damned if you were going to show him any weakness, that’s what he wanted. Instead, you took another bite of your meal and looked up at him. “That must have been nice for you.”

“Is that sarcasm?” Ransom asked in an amused tone and you rolled your eyes.

“No, I was being serious. Mind you, you don’t strike me as being close to your family so…” you shrugged and shovelled a soggy piece of broccoli into your mouth.

“You’re smart, we're not.” He shrugged “But she wanted to know how I was getting on.”

“Bet that conversation was positively riveting.” You smirked “And that was sarcasm by the way.”

Ransom scoffed “It wasn’t bad to be honest, that was until she steered it around to Marta.”

“Marta?” you frowned, pondering what on earth could have brought their conversation around to that. “Why did you talk about her?”

“What is this Jeopardy?” he arched an eyebrow at you and you rolled your eyes. “Why not, I'll take Drysdale family politics for my share of the inheritance, Alec…”

“Watch your mouth, Sweetheart.” His tone was warning and his face stony. You swallowed and looked down at the plate.

“Sorry.” You said, keeping up your act. Silence fell again and you finished the last of your dinner and set the tray on the nightstand.

Ransom took a deep breath “Seeing as you’re so interested, Marta has approached my mother and the family about holding a memorial for Harlan.” You looked at him, and his eyebrows raised. “Ironic huh, the bitch who stole what was mine is planning a memorial for my grandad when she’s responsible for his death.”

At that you scoffed, he really was unbelievable and just like that your resolve to be nice started to ebb away at his utter narcissism “Are you for real? You’re responsible for Harlan’s death, and as for taking what was yours, you never had anything, none of you did! It was Harlan’s, you didn’t earn it.” Ransom glowered at you but you continued, shaking your head with a derisive laugh. “You know, the fact he would rather leave it to his nurse than his own family says more about you all than it does about her."

“What did you just say?” His voice was low, and there was an unmistakable flash of anger on his face.

“You heard me. Not that I expect any of that to bother you, Hugh, you do and take what you want anyway and fuck whoever gets hurt in the crossfire…” at that you gestured around the room, “prime example…”

There was a pause and in an instance you realised your mistake. You’d called him inadequate and worse, had broken one of those fucking rules, called him Hugh. His whole demeanour had changed, he was pissed. His jaw was set, his eyes dark, his entire body rigid.

Shit.

In a flash he was off the chair. You reacted equally as quick, jumping off the bed in an attempt to put some distance in between you. Why, you had no idea, it wasn’t like you were going to stop him, but maybe if you could buy some time you could talk him down as you backed toward the door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” but your apology was cut off as he rounded the bed, grabbing your hair painfully, yanking your braid down so your head was tilted back, looking at him. You let out a scream of pain and moved your hands to grab at his wrists “Oww, shit…you’re hurting me!”

“Like I care.” He snarled “Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

That predatory look was back on his face and you knew you were in for it again, and your apologetic front flew completely from your mind. Like hell you were doing this without a fight.

“Fuck you.” You spat back.

“Hard way it is.” He shrugged.

His hand tightening around your hair, he manhandled you into the middle of the bed easily. You yelled, bucked, lashed out but as with the previous night you were simply no match for him. He easily pinned you down with his knees clamped either side of your hips, holding you in place as he yanked your sweater over your head, pulling it down your arms so they were pinned behind you back. It was uncomfortable but did the job perfectly you realised to your horror, because you couldn’t move your arms at all.

Ransom then moved, his large hands grabbing at the button on your waistband and you continued to struggle, trying to buck your hips but once more to no avail. He had your jeans and panties down to your knees easily, before he flipped you over so your face was pushed into the pillow where it muffled your screams slightly. 

One hand reached up, sliding round the front of your neck and he squeezed. This time it was harder than he had done earlier that day, and the pressure increased and increased, slowly shutting off your airway. You gasped, tears stinging in your eye as you desperately tried to move but it was pointless. Then, suddenly he eased off, and you drew in a harsh gasp of air, coughing and spluttering, still conscious that his fingers remained around your throat.

“Stop fighting it.” He instructed, his other hand sliding over your entrance, making you pull away from his touch, but to no avail as the hand that was on your throat slid down your spine and twisted the sweater, tightening your make shift restraints, jerking your arms even further behind your back. Your upper arms and shoulders screamed in protest and you let out a little sob of pain as he moved both his hands to your hips, tugging them up slightly. One hand trailed over your ass before he plunged two fingers into you and you jerked forward at the intrusion. Ransom groaned before he leaned over, his lips brushing your ear. “I can feel you. Your body doesn’t lie, Sweetheart.”

You turned your head away, pressing your cheek into the pillow and Ransom uncurled himself from over you and you felt him shift behind you. The tell-tale clanking of a belt buckle, followed by a zip and the rustling of fabric told you exactly what was coming. Despite your resolve to give him nothing, a choked whimper escaped your mouth and you turned you face, pressing it further into the pillow in an attempt to stifle your sobs.

“Oh no…” he said, one hand curling into your braid, yanking hard and jerking your head back. You cried out, your body was contorted in such an unnatural shape, back arched, arms pinned behind your spine, head jerked back. “I wanna hear you.”

He shuffled a little, and you felt the top of his cock teasing your entrance and then without warning he powered forward, stuffing you full, letting out a rumble of a growl as he did so.

“So fucking tight…” he grit out as he withdrew, then plunged straight back in, jerking your body as he did so. He took a few more deep, slow thrusts before he picked up the pace and began to piston into you, relentlessly. You felt each thrust, the slap of his balls slamming towards your clit. It hurt, just as it had done last time. He had zero self-control, grunting and growling as he bottomed out with every motion. The hand that was gripping your hip went beyond bruising, his dull nails biting at your skin as the other wound tighter around your braid, the odd angle of your body gritting at your joints. You were fighting tears and sobs as your body continued to betray you, soaking your walls, allowing his cock to slide in and out effortlessly. The hand against your hip glided along your side as a deep thrust came and you could feel it grip your breast between the mattress. His thumb brushing against your nipple through your bra. The friction of his piston thrusts, his hand forcing your bralete against your nipples and the yank of your hair was driving your body into sensory overload and filled you with burning sensations that verged on painful. The tip of his cock scrapped at your insides, no doubt bruising you. Your tears burned and your throat begged with dry thirst.

“Can feel you, Sweetheart…” he groaned, as he bottomed out, rotating his hips slightly making you cry out involuntarily “You feel close…you sound close…such a needy little slut.”

“I’m not a slut…” you sob, the feeble protest sounding as pathetic as you felt.

"Fucking look like one to me..." he growled, his hips rotating again, the burn in your stomach was now getting to hard to ignore. “Please…” you begged, “Just….stop…”

He answered your plea by driving deeper into you, picking up his pace once more and you felt yourself beginning to tumble.

"Oh God," the words flew from your mouth as your body shook violently and you took on your overload of orgasm and sensory extremes. You sobbed as your body betrayed you again with this man. Your mind screaming for understanding, your insides begging for more.

“Fuck…Sweetheart…” Ransom let out a groan as he picked up the pace, before after a few more deep thrusts, the hand that was holding your hair let go. Your head fell forward as you felt the warm ribbons of his come streak up your back before he released his hold on your hip and you collapsed onto the bed, your heart and self-respect shattered.

Every inch of your body ached thanks to the way you’d been contorted and as you lay still, trying to regain some control of your limbs you felt his hands press either side of your head and gave a sob as he leaned lean over your body, his ears brushing your lips.

“I'll take you like that every fucking day if I have to until you give in. Because you will.”

At that the feel of his chest that had been pressing into your back was gone and you heard a rustle of clothing and then footsteps across the floor before the door opened and his deep baritone filled the room once more.

“I would shackle you but I don’t think we need that anymore. You’re not going anywhere.” His tone was almost playful, like he was toying with you, teasing you. “I suggest you take a bath, you’re gonna be sore. That is, once you manage to work your way out of that sweater.”

And with a click followed by the familiar sliding of bolts you were sealed in your prison and you finally gave in to your tears as the sheer helplessness of your situation crashed over you in waves.

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter Four: Waylon]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Trigger warnings: Sexual assault plus everything already in the game; eye gore

Waylon hopped out of the vent into a tiny, mostly bare room. A Variant sat in the corner, hugging his legs with his face buried in his knees. A metal storage crate barricaded the door. 

“You mind if I move this?” Waylon asked quietly. 

The man shook his head. 

Waylon swallowed and braced himself against the crate. His weak muscles trembled and strained as he pushed. Holding back a groan, he squeezed his eyes shut. When it was finally out of the way he shook his hands out and sighed. 

Poking his head into the hall, he bit his lip. It was empty, the walls covered in plastic, emergency lights still blasting. The rest of the lights had gone out. There were several dead bodies littering the hall, blood smeared on the plastic. One body was completely ripped in half, torso from legs, guts spilling into the floor. 

He snuck into a security room and shut the door behind him. Through the window to a decontamination chamber, a man in scrubs pressed his hands to the glass. 

“Help me, please!” He cried. “I’m a doctor! I need to get home to my…” His eyes widened. He spluttered for a second, then said, “You’re not security. I was… I’m a patient,” he said carefully. 

Waylon stepped closer, brows furrowed. 

“I stole these clothes from a… dead body I found. You gotta let me out of here. Please. Just push the button, open the door. We can get out of here together!” 

Waylon hesitated. He wished he’d recognized the man—if it were really a doctor, he’d leave him to rot, but he couldn’t risk hurting a patient, could he? Fuck. He slammed his hand on the button. 

The doors slid open, and a Variant with a grimace and a red face stepped inside. The doctor/patient gasped and stepped back. 

“No, no!” 

“All of you,” the Variant snarled, grabbing the back of the doctor/patient’s head and slamming it into the glass. Waylon stepped backwards with wide eyes, “doctors and liars.” 

He slammed the man’s head into the glass, over and over and over and over again, thunk, thunk, crack, thunk, blood spurted everywhere. Slipping out of its socket, the eye was crushed against the glass. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose and eyes. Crack! Thin lines stained the glass like a halo. 

Waylon felt sick. Gagging, he backed up until he was pressed against the door. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

The Variant thanked him, then left. 

He’d never seen a man die before today. Never seen a dead body outside of a coffin. Dozens in the last few hours, murdered and worse. The look in the Variant’s eyes, the raw anger, as he crushed the man’s skull… There was no real difference between the doctors and patients now. They were all crazy, all sick. 

And what was Waylon? He watched a man die and only thought, it’s not me, thank God. 

He knew he’d die someday. He didn’t want to be murdered. 

Waylon stumbled out of the room and made his way to the airlock. It sprayed him with that awful-smelling green gas, then let him through. The corpse watched him as he left. He crept through to the closest exit he knew of, but it was jammed and blocked. Dead Variants littered the ground. 

A file caught his eye. He picked it up with shaking hands. 

 From: j.blaire@murkoffcorp.us.com

To: h.grant@murkoff.us.com

Subject: Resignation for Mental Health, CC 8208 

Ms. Grant, 

 You may receive requests for information from a Mrs. Lisa Park, of Leadville, CO, in the coming weeks concerning the resignation and hospitalization of her husband, Waylon. If so, please forward them to my personal attention. 

 Waylon’s stomach lurched. Lisa? Oh, God… 

 Waylon Park (former consulting contract 8208) resigned due to previously undiagnosed mental illness. I personally visited Mrs. Lisa Park and her sons and broke the news to them, with the “silver lining” that Murkoff Psychiatric would be graciously providing treatment. 

 Mrs. Park had some less than charitable things to say about myself and the Murkoff corporation. I assured her that with her power of attorney she could try to fight the doctors’ diagnoses of her husband’s illness. 

 However, if it were discovered that he resigned under false pretenses, his insurance would be cancelled and the family would be saddled with not insignificant healthcare debts. 

 The paper crunched in Waylon’s fist. 

 Hopefully she understood. 

But if she insists on making a nuisance of herself, or tries to get around me, please let me know. This is one I want to take care of personally. 

 Yours, 

Jeremy Blaire

 Waylon shoved the paper in his pocket. Please say she let it go. Please let her be okay. 

 Blaire’s voice echoed in his head. 

“Somehow not smart enough to realize that the last thing a fly ought to do in a spider’s web is wiggle.” The laptop cracked on the ground as Blaire dropped it. “Somehow dumb enough to think that a borrowed laptop, onion router, and firewall patch would be enough to fool the world’s leading supplier of biometric security.” He tapped his forehead. “Stupid, Mr. Park. More than stupid. In fact, that was crazy!” A sick grin spread across his face. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to have you committed. Mr. Park, will you willfully submit to forced confinement?” He glanced over his shoulder at the three armed security guards that followed him. “Did you hear that, agent?” 

Waylon’s heart slammed against his chest, his fingertips. The fear burned hot in his abdomen, sweat gathering on his brow. 

“He said ‘yes,’ Mr. Blaire.” 

“Great!” Blaire waved his finger. “Oh, and… did I just hear Mr. Waylon Park volunteer for the Morphogenic Engine program?” 

“That’s what I heard, Mr. Blaire.” 

“That was brave, indeed, Waylon. The Murkoff Corporation and the onward march of science both appreciate your bravery… and sacrifice. Maybe you should administer Mr. Park here a light anesthetic?” 

“Gladly.” The front guard stepped forward and wound his arm back. 

Waylon raised his hands. Blinding pain rippled across his face, and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

Waylon ground his teeth together so hard something cracked. He would get back to Lisa and the boys if he had to tear through the entire asylum. 

The next airlock was broken, so he climbed atop a stack of crates covered in a blue tarp and dragged himself on top. Army crawling across, he jumped to the ground. It was pitch black in the hall. He raised his camcorder and flicked on the nightvision. 

He found himself in the cafeteria. Body parts were strewn across like decorations. Someone hummed and mumbled nearby. Bodies hung from the freezer’s ceiling like cured pigs. Flesh teared in the cafeteria, munching. Hands shaking, he crept into the kitchen. 

Waylon gagged. Blood boiled on the stove like someone was making fucking spaghetti, an arm and a hand poking out of the bubbling warmth. He entered the dining area, and behind the glass of the bar, blood splattered across the copious amount already caked on. Around the corner, then he zoomed in to look through the glass at the naked, bearded man sawing into a corpse. 

Keeping his camera up, Waylon’s eyes watered. He stepped forward. 

POP!

The microwave beeped and the head inside exploded. 

“Oh, God,” Waylon choked out. 

“Don’t you look at us,” the man snapped. “I love him.” He pulled out an organ and dropped it into his mouth. 

He chewed with his lips open, blood spurting, tissue tearing. Waylon stumbled back and hurried out of the room. He doubled over and gagged, choked, trying to vomit but nothing coming up. 

Sitting on the ground, he set the camera down facing him. “Don’t ask to see my body, Lisa,” he choked out. “When I die, when you finish the lawsuits that let you pry this footage from Murkoff’s army of lawyers and corporate hitmen, don’t make them show you my body. Just bury it. Or burn it. Let my sons remember me whole.” He looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. “That man is eating human flesh,” he whispered. “He looks at me and I see anger. A little desire. But more than anything, hunger. Please don’t make them show you my body.” 

He grabbed the camera. He didn’t plan on dying, but he would not risk not warning Lisa. 

He passed through a locker room and into a hallway, towards a grated door. A corpse hung by the wrist to set of handcuffs, looped through the grate, holding it closed. He had to get through there to get to the prison, get to the radio. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, yanking at the handcuffs. He’d have to find the key. There had to be a security guard around here somewhere. 

Across from the grate was a boarded up door. The glass above it was broken. He climbed atop the desk resting there and pulled himself through the broken window, hissing as glass cut across his thighs. 

Keeping an eye out for the key, he crept down the hall. Bzzzz! 

Waylon dropped to the floor as the cook came into the hall. His eyes glowed in the infrared, slowly surveying every inch of the blackness. There was that desire in his eyes, that hunger. Waylon kept the camcorder up and swallowed, his skin crawling. Out of all the people in Mount Massive, he did not want to be in the hands of the cook. 

He thought about turning around and finding an alternate way to the prison, but it would take too much time. He’d just have to be careful, quiet. He crept forward. The hall went forward and then to the left, with a room to the right. As the cook disappeared into the room to the right, Waylon hurried forward, still low to the ground. His eyes were on the corner. If he could just get around the corner, maybe he wouldn’t be seen. 

His foot crinkled on a sheet of plastic hanging off the wall. He froze. 

“I can smell you!” 

Shuddering, Waylon crept further into the darkness. 

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!” 

The saw buzzed, bzzz! 

Just keep moving, Waylon. 

He crawled forward in the hall and turned the corner. The man was still busy in the room to the right. In the turn of the hall, the walls were lined with wooden doors. He crept into the first one just long enough to catch his breath. It was bare with just a stack of mattresses on a metal bedframe, no key in sight. He stood up halfway and peeked open the door. 

The hall was empty. He swung the door open and snuck out. 

“MINE! You are mine!” 

The voice was right behind him. He broke into a sprint, just in time for the buzzsaw to catch the hairs on the back of his neck. 

“Fuck!” He gasped, skidding to a stop at the blocked end of the hall and slamming his fist into the door as he barged inside. 

He ran straight across the hall to the next door, barging through that one as well, leading him into a room full of storage shelves and crosses on the wall. A dead end. He looked around wildly, a place to hide, a place to escape. 

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!” 

Waylon whipped around. The cook grinned, blood glinting on his teeth, white in the night vision. He swung the buzzsaw and Waylon leapt backwards. Tripping over his own feet, his back smacked against the ground. The saw came over the cook’s head, and Waylon rolled out of the way, only for burning pain to rip through his leg. 

“FUCK!” He staggered to his feet and felt frantically at the blood dripping down his calf. 

Another swing, Waylon brought his hand up, a slash down his palm. He whimpered and stumbled backwards. 

Then he saw it—an open vent sat above a desk. He ducked another blow and dashed for the vent. His collar caught and he choked, his eyes watering. The cook dragged him backwards and threw him into a shelf. His chest and knee and elbow slammed into the corners. Wheezing, he made another break for the vent. He shoved past the cook and leapt onto the desk as all the lights flicked on. 

The buzzsaw caught the bottom of his foot as he dragged himself into the vent. He curled into a ball and hissed through his teeth. His blood smelled of iron, it was all he could smell, all he could think. He sat up as best as he could, cramped in the little square space, and looked for a seam to rip with his teeth. The cook grunted and cursed as he tried to get into the vent, only to turn and leave the room. 

“I’ll find another way…”

Waylon found a seam in his pants and ripped off what fabric he could. It wasn’t even or clean, but it was long enough for him to wrap around his calf and tie tight enough to hurt. He ripped off another piece for his foot, and another for his hand. 

He was shaking when he dropped to the ground. His foot burning, he bit back a whimper. 

A Variant stood in the corner. He was dressed, thank God, but bandages wrapped around his eyes. 

Waylon held his hands up as the Variant stalked towards him. “Hey, hey… What’s going on, man?” 

“I have an itch.” 

He cringed. “I can’t help with that. Want me to get those bandages off?” 

The Variant shook his head. What could be behind the fabric? 

Waylon swallowed. “Your clothes… you come from upstairs?” He wasn’t wearing the standard jumpsuit the Morphogenic volunteers wore. His clothes came from the Male Ward. 

“Yes.” 

“So you can get around safely, you know how to not get caught?” 

The Variant hesitated, then continued forward. Waylon stepped back. “I can move around.” 

“I need you to find someone for me. Can you do that? I can switch out your bandage for something cleaner.” 

“...okay.”

“There should be an investigative journalist running around here somewhere—”

“Miles Upshur.” 

Waylon blinked. “Y… yeah. How’d you- how’d you know?” 

“He’s been… talking to everyone. Trying to. In the abandoned sections. Headed to the basement, last I saw. Why do you need him?” 

“Find him,” Waylon begged, “tell him Waylon Park, the whistleblower, is headed to the prison. I’m going to get help.”

He stopped walking. “You’re the whistleblower?” 

“Yes,” Waylon said uncertainly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” 

Waylon found a seam in his shirt sleeve and ripped it free. He carefully pulled the bandages away from the Variant’s face. In the sockets, the eyes were completely eviscerated, nothing but bloody pulp. Waylon felt like gouging his own eyes out with a spoon. He bit back a gag and pulled the new bandage around his eyes. 

“Get those clean,” he mumbled, then patted his shoulder. “I need to go.” 

Waylon was back towards the labs, plastic lining the glass walls and laptop carts clogging up the halls. He wasn’t sure if the handcuff key would be around here, but he was just grateful to be away from the cook. 

He looked around for a tense couple of minutes, stepping quietly and keeping an ear out for any buzzing, before he finally found a bathroom with a dead security guard. He snatched the key from the man’s belt and sighed in relief. 

All he had to do now was get back. 

He found his way back to the main hall and stuck his head out the door. The cook grumbled to himself, peeking inside a room, saw buzzing beside him. Waylon swallowed and crouched. He crept into the hall and around the corner. 

If he comes this way, I’m fucked. But the barred door he originally jumped over was in sight. The cook was not agile, couldn’t follow him. It was Waylon’s only strength here. 

He cursed himself, then broke into a sprint. 

“MINE!” 

His feet slapped the floor as the cook raced behind him. Vaulting over a turned over bed and leaping onto a desk, he scrambled up through the window again, the broken glass making more cuts across his thighs. 

Waylon stumbled to the ground. His vision blurred, his head hot. Panic? Blood loss? Both? Whatever. He got the key. 

Unlocking the handcuffs, the corpse’s arm slipped out and thunked to the ground. With shaking hands, Waylon pulled the handcuffs out of the lock and swung the grate open. 

It led into the crematorium. He headed down a short staircase and crept into the room. His heart was still racing, his legs still equipped to run. Something banged on the nearby door as he passed the ovens. He nearly jumped out of his skin. 

Backing up, he watched the door shake again, then stop. He hesitated. 

I have to go this way. 

He watched his steps, stepping over broken glass and litter. The second he passed the door slammed open. The cook grabbed him by the neck and threw him onto his back. Waylon wheezed and kicked, the wind knocked out of him. The cook hauled him onto a wooden slab and raised the buzzsaw. 

“This meat is mine,” he cackled. 

He brought the buzzsaw to his chest, slowly inching forward until red splattered. Waylon threw his head back and screamed. Then the cook pulled the saw away. 

Grabbing Waylon by the legs, he shoved him backwards. The heat of the oven burned the back of Waylon’s head. 

“You stay there,” he grinned, “and cook!” 

Then he threw Waylon into the oven, and slammed the door. 

@wasnt-hiding-in-cuba-for-7-years asked for waylon torture porn so here’s me delivering the best i can this early in the story. more whump later, hope you enjoyed lol 

[dexmonheart]

Hell in Castle Park // Calista x Myles x Stella

Location: Castle Park.

Time: Middle of the evening.

TRIGGER WARNING: death, gore, bodily fluids, body parts, murder.

@myleshcrt , @suspixiions

CALISTA.

Calista never really found herself moving outside of her social circle, yet somehow, she felt comfortable around Myles. He didn’t judge her, nor did he judge all she had to go through with her dad. Their common love of music had assisted in blossoming a beautiful friendship. This night in particular, Calista had been asked to try some new guitars. Of course, she invited Myles. She could invite Fin another night: new friendships took time and Calista really wanted to see this one succeed.

“Is it really that smart to cut through the park at night?” She asked once they reached its entrance, turning to him with a raised eyebrow. Regardless, she followed him in. At least they weren’t alone. While it still wasn’t that safe, there was more safety in numbers. The darker it got, the more her fear increased. The woman could feel herself sticking closer to him, just waiting for something horrible to pop out of the shadows. “I feel like I’m in a horror movie... please tell me somethings not going to jump out at me in the next ten seconds.”

And then, it did.

Out of the shadows, came something terrible. Something that Calista never thought she’d have to see not just in her twenty-six years of living, but in the life she had ahead of her.

Calista was more so fueled by curiosity than anything. “Yo, what the hell?” She exclaimed, motioning for Myles to follow her. The closer she got, she could feel her stomach contents begin to churn.

“What the fuck is that?! Is that a fucking torso?!”

MYLES.

Myles was more than happy to meet with Calista. He welcomed the very few actual friendships he had in town when it felt like he was going up against the locals. He couldn't blame them when he was seen with Frances McBride a lot for the past year. Her brother didn't like him, her friends didn't trust him. And he was only trying to survive each day she was gone.

Walking besides Calista, he let out a soft laugh. "Probably not, but if it makes you feel better, I'll sacrifice myself so you can go on." Even if it was in a joking tone, there was truth behind his words.

Myles gave his friend a look. "You freakin' jinxed it, Calista," he said as an attempt to keep the mood light, but he was quickly becoming nervous. Following closely behind her, the view of a torso became more visible. "What the fuck..." A chill ran down his spine, his throat suddenly becoming dry. "Calista...Calista, the-the tattoo, it's--"

Frances. He recognized that butterfly tattoo. "N-no...no, no, no, no, no..." He got closer, hoping that he was only seeing things, but it was clear under the nearby streetlight. It was her. "Fuck...I--" Myles moved away quickly, falling onto his knees as he vomited. He couldn't believe it. His head was empty, only thoughts of Frances and her smile and the sound of her laugh playing in his mind.

Glancing up, he noticed there was someone nearby, and he called out at them. "Help..." His voice croaked. Getting himself up, he waved them down. "Help! Help, please!" he cried.

STELLA.

Stella was never really one for late night walks, at least not until recently. Where crime scenes were suddenly a thing again, and a violent thing at that. She frowned as she walked, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket as she glared at the sidewalk. Typically, she would be listening to music, but there was a serial killer on the loose after all, and she wasn't about to make herself an easy target.

It took a second for the yelling to shake her from her thoughts, brows furrowing as Stels started to move towards the pair that waved her over, walking at first, then breaking out into a run once she realized the panic in their tone. "What the hell is going o-" She all but slid to a stop, eyes wide as she started at the body, once upon a time, this would have shocked her, but she'd seen many a body by this point.

"Step back-stay away from the body!" She was quick to pull them further away, last thing she needed was any additional DNA samples from some kids. "Fuck...it's-" It was her. Franny. Shit. Her teeth ground together and she scrambled for her cell phone, quickly detailing their location to the police. After pocketing her phone, she turned to the others. "Listen, I know this is hard right now, but can you tell me if either of you saw anything before you..." She swallowed hard, a feeling of failure washing over her. They hadn't caught the killer in time. "...before you found her." She would have time to investigate the surroundings soon enough. As soon as the question left her lips, she paused, expression shifting to a sympathetic one. "I'm sorry you had to see this."

CALISTA.

Calista was beside herself. Once another person had arrived she was at Myles side. Her first instinct had always been to make sure that everyone else around her was okay. “Myles... you don’t have to see this. Please.” Her arm was around him, tears absolutely streaming down her cheeks. Calista looked to the other woman, completely at a loss for words. How was she possibly going to get over this? How was she going to tell her dad that she found the body of another victim?

“No, we didn’t see anything.” She eventually shook her head, looking up from making sure her friend was okay. “W- We were on our way to the music store. Sometimes they let me come in and try out some new instruments. We were on our way there, I usually cut through the park...” Her voice was cut off by a strangled sob. “I invited Myles. We’ve been together the whole time..”

Of course, she knew that the police were going to try to account for her whereabouts for the past couple hours. It certainly did look suspicious, seeing them out here in the dark of night. At least they could account for each other. They had even jammed earlier with a couple of other people.

MYLES.

Myles stood away from the body as the other woman ordered, sinking under Calista's touch, his body shaking. He barely just processed what she and the other woman were talking about, glancing up to finally meet their gazes. "Y-yeah. Yeah, it's true. We just...came upon the body." The body, the words repeated in Myles' head. It wasn't even Frances' whole body, and he felt sick again. "It's...it's Frances McBride," he said to confirm before he felt tears running down his face. The rest of the night would've passed in a haze for him.

STELLA.

She couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed, but it wasn't their fault. The killer had been clever up until now, to think that they slipped up now was just...wishful thinking. "Yeah. Yeah, I know." Her eyes dropped to the ground before raising to glance at the two. "Here, let's go over here. I'm Stella, I'm a crime scene investigator." She shrugged off her jacket and held it out to the one who was shaking. This was never really her forte. It certainly wasn't usually part of her job, this was pure chance that she was here. And while she longed to actually do her job--she was more worried about these two.

"They're gonna ask you questions when they get here." She explained, running a hand through her hair. Hell, Stels wanted to ask questions, but there was protocol to be followed. "You knew the vic, I take it?" It seemed like everyone heard of her, but these two seemed to know her. Damn. That was some shit luck. "I'm sorry for your loss. Do you guys have someone you can call? Someone you can stay with for the night?"

CALISTA.

Calista could still see Frances’ face in her mind. How could someone do this? What reason could someone have for wanting to kill someone so kind? She followed Stella wordlessly, clinging to Myles not just to support herself, but to support him as well. They both needed it. “I’m Calista. This is Myles..” The woman murmured, wrapping Stella’s jacket around her friend.

“Understood.” She nodded. While she wanted nothing more than to just curl up and forget everything that happened, she’d do anything she could to put away this sick fuck. Calista just couldn’t stop looking at it.. the torso of someone she had once called a friend. “We both did.” Calista spoke once again after a period of silence. “Frances and Myles both came to my band’s shows. That’s how we met. We all became friends.” She gave her friend a squeeze, as if to remind him that she was there. “We can go back to my place in Castle Bay. I live with my dad, Bill Yates.. my aunt was one of the original victims, Kimberly.. I’d rather he hear what happened from me than some newspaper article. He hasn’t been the same since my aunt disappeared.” She looked to the person in her arms. “Is that okay, Myles? Maybe an officer can take us to my house?”

MYLES.

Myles was nearly startled when he felt the jacket being wrapped around him, but he took it wordlessly. The voices around him were coming muffled as he was unable to focus on what was happening. The only lifeline he had was Calista and her touch. He gave Stella a slow nod. "Frances and I were...a thing," he said. "It wasn't romantic. I mean, it was one-sided. We've been seeing each other for a year." Fuck. And the last thing that happened was when Myles broke things off with her, because she wouldn't commit. God, how was he so selfish? When his friend mentioned her aunt being one of the original victims, Myles quickly looked up at her. "You...you never told me that," he said, his voice low and soft. But he nodded at her, taking a deep but shaky breath. "Yeah, that's fine." The worst thing he could do was be alone right now, so he was grateful to have at least one friend on his side.

[jaseyspace]

Adventures with little Class 1-A (long)

(trigger warning does involve suicide attempt,bullying, mentions of selfharm and such nature if this bothers you then please don't read any further) Midoriya's pov: I was walking through the halls of yuuie, while hearing constant chatter and clanking. Looking up to see Shinsou being pushed against the lockers by his usual bullies. It angered Midoriya to see the other not fight back and just take what was coming to him. There'd been times he'd caught Shinsou shaking during class because of his anxiety. From the distance he could see that the bully was holding something over his head with a levitation quirk. Continuously shoving shinsou against the wall of lockers, the bully's lackeys used taunting words Midoriya had heard from them all to often. Midoriya's dom side was beginning to come on, he was a daddy dom, he had a little and a boyfriend. Todoroki was the said boyfriend and little, but both boys grew feelings for Shinsou, in a way they were more platonic than sexual. Still it angered the green haired daddy, having Todoroki as a little opened him up to a different world. Knowing that the little had problems with anxiety and abuse from his 'father'. Midoriya had at many times used his daddy side to help Todoroki through those tough panic attacks. This was no different except for the anger that rose, it wasn't enough to full activate his quirk at full charge but he did glow with all for one. Approaching the group Izuku used his stern daddy voice and said. "Get away from him.now!" The bully looks down to see his challenger and laughed "Or what, you gonna bite my ankles shortie?" Shoving the bully forcefully he growled "I said get away from him didn't I?" A sneer plastered on his face as he looked at the other on the ground who had a slightly taken a back look. "What, did you not hear me? This is why you open your ears and pay attention." Midoriya faked a step forward and the bullies flinched, inactivating his quirk the bullies scattered. The thing fell from the sky and in front of him, it was a journal, that said 'little space journal'. Picking it up he turned to see a frightened Hitoshi Shinsou holding himself tightly against the lockers. "this is yours right?" Midoriya asked holding it out to him, Shinsou gave a nervous nod but slowly took it back. The greenette could see that he was shaking harshly obvious having a panic session, frowning he sighed and said. "I know what you are...and its okay...they have no right to bully you no matter the reason." Shinsou's teary eyes looked up from his hunched state, Midoriya began to talk as if he was talking to Todoroki. "You're safe little guy, I promise, I wont let them hurt you any more. Its okay to be little, its okay to be you." "th-they s-...they say I is bad" Midoriya could tell Shinsou was slowly slipping into little space, he understood what he said. "is it because of your quirk?" Shinsou gave a small nod, Midoriya frowned and replied with a heavy heart. "Your quirk doesn't determine who you are, you decide who you are not your quirk...There are gonna be dummies out there who are gonna tell you different but just know that, I think your quirk is great." Shinsou's breath was still fast but he was a little less jittery, Midoriya then decided to do breathing exercise. "alright take slow deep breaths in with me ready?" Shinsou agreed and followed Midoriya in his breathing exercise that seemed to help after a bit. When Shinsou had calmed down Midoriya got out a tissue from his book bag travel sized back of tissues. Handing it to Shinsou who gently blew his nose and shoved it into his pocket to throw away later he smiled. Glad that his classmate was better, and he'd gotten his belonging back. "Well why don't we head to class, don't want to be too late now do we?" Shinsou only nodded not ready to talk as he was battling between his little space and big space. As the days went on the bullying didn't exactly stop, but Shinsou just stopped reacting. He didn't flinch when he was grabbed and shoved around, he didn't utter a word when he was spoken so cruelly of by his peers. He didn't say anything when he was castes to the side and abandoned, when no one would talk to him out of fear of him using his quirk on them. He didn't argue when others would tell him that his dreams of being a hero would never come true. That he was weak, useless, stupid, and could only be good for a villain's apprentice but. It was still eating at him alive, he was eating less, crying himself to sleep at night, forcing himself to take the pain, and was in little space less. He thought that being a little was his weakness, no one will want a weakling in their life. He would force himself out of little space and would 'punish himself' if he dared to slip even if it only for a bit. The purple haired teen was slowly self-destructing again, and he didn't know what to do anymore. He wished he'd had a caregiver who would cuddle him and remind him of his goals, and that he was worth it, and other positive things. Shinsou felt as if he'd had no one to comfort him, no one to make him feel better, no one to kiss his painful scars better, no one to hold him and let him cry on their should. No one to love him. Shinsou had been hurting himself, starving himself, over training, and over studying weren't the only things he did. He would also bite himself, cut, scratch, or hit himself. Today was one of those days were he didn't want to even get out of bed, but he had to hide that from his dads and sister. He had to hide all of the pain from every one, Hizashi, Aizawa, Erie everyone. He didn't wanna burden anyone else so he kept his mouth shut, it seemed to put people at ease when he didn't speak. Getting out of bed, Hitoshi quickly got ready put on new bandages over his fresh wounds he'd given himself during the night and getting dressed. Going down to get breakfast he was greeted by his parents and little sister who were happily chatting in the kitchen. "Here Toshi eat your breakfast before we go." Aizawa says handing his son his breakfast, Hitoshi takes it and takes a few bites which convince his parents that he's eating. Though he planned on not eating the rest, he didn't deserve his parent's kindness, he didn't deserve to eat. Before he left for school he kissed Erie on the forehead thinking 'she deserves a better brother'. At school he didn't bother to fend off the bullies he didn't even stop he just kept walking as they circled him. He'd take the beating at his locker, then head into the bathroom to spew up the food he forced himself to eat. When he walked into the bathroom he didn't see Midoriya or Todoroki when he burst in and shoved his fingers down his throat to force up the half digested food. Crashing to his knees in front of the toilet he gagged up what he made himself eat to please his parents. Both boys could hear the purple haired teen vomiting from outside of the stall. Midoriya felt bad for him but when he opened the unlocked stall what he saw made him sick to his own stomach. When Shinsou couldn't puke any more he sat shaking, crying and tearing off the bandages with his teeth, gnawing at his still scarred or raw skin. Midoriya whispered to Todoroki to get a teacher while he would try to help Shinsou. Midoriya knelt down and rubbed his back and began to gently hush him. Shinsou held himself tightly and began to shake fight Midoriya's gentle hold. "Shh its gonna be alright, just take deep breathes, no one's gonna hurt you any more." Midoriya used his soft daddy voice holding Shinsou to his chest, he then gasped when he hear loud grunt. Looking over Hitoshi's shoulder he panicked, seeing that he'd completely chomped down on his hand. Blood was streaming from his injuries. "j-just let m-me do this M-Midoriya, I deserve it." He cried but the caregiver wasn't gonna take 'no' for an answer, he force-ably took Shinsou's hand out of his mouth and grabbed wads and wads of paper towel to help with the bleeding. "I wont let you hurt yourself just as I wont let anyone else hurt you. Do you understand little one?" His last words were serious but caring, Midoriya didn't mean to trigger Shinsou's little space but it happened. Shinsou made a little whimper before having a complete melt down, crying into Midoriya's chest his breathing was still fast but he was making incoherent words. Midoriya had to keep applying pressure and more paper to the wounds. 'god where's Todoroki with a teacher?' The green haired teen thought as he did his best to keep calm, thankfully his prayers were answered. Todoroki came in dragging Vlad King behind him, the teacher asked what was going on and Midoriya gave him the explanation. Vlad knelt down and asked Midoriya to hand over Shinsou, with the request being followed Midoriya stood up not realizing his hand and uniform shirt was covered in blood. "I'll need you to come with me Midoriya-" Noticing the blood stains Vlad knew he needed to get him to recovery girl, Vlad looks to Todoroki. "Can you get Aizawa and Present Mic, take them to Recovery girl please." Todoroki nods and quickly leaves as does Vlad and Midoriya. As they hurried thoughts raced through Midoriya's mind, they weren't pleasant ones int he slightest. 'is he gonna be okay?' 'that was a lot of blood' 'why would he do this?' 'I didn't even get a chance to tell him that I love him' 'I wish I could've helped him more!' When they arrived at Recovery girl's office, Izuku knocked on the door and was soon given the 'come in'. Frowning upon seeing only Izuku she sighed and said. "what did you do now Midoriya?" Midoriya twiddled his thumbs saying "its not me this time," Vlad soon walks in holding a limp lifeless Shinsou in his arms. "Oh my god!" Recovery girl gasped with a look of shock "its Shinsou who needs your help. Me and Todoroki found him trying to hurt himself in the bathroom." Vlad lays the boy on a cot and Recovery girl takes off his uniform removing him of its bloody stains. Seeing all of the damage from the outside a look of horror came when she heard Izuku. "H-he did this to himself?" Izuku nods having a hunch on why, the hunch was very strong, and a very correct one. "is someone getting Mr Aizawa or Present Mic?" Speak of the devil and they'll come a knocking, and that's exactly what happened. Both adults had appeared, Todoroki left them be, waiting for Izuku with both of their book bags, saying he'd meet him in class. Walking into the room both parents had a look of complete shock and hurt, Aizawa was good at hiding his emotions from Hizashi. Hizashi on the other hand was trying his hardest to stay strong as he laid his eyes upon Shinsou. "wh-...What ha-happened to him? T-Todoroki said he and Midoriya found him in the bathroom puking." Hizashi asked, Shota looked to Izuku who spoke looking them in the eyes. "We found Shinsou trying to force himself to vomit, I though maybe he was sick but. Soon when I opened the stall I see him getting and then ripping off the bandages and biting at himself. He had a lot of scars and bite marks. I tried to stop him but next thing I knew in the midst of screaming he bit himself hard" Recovery checks out the self inflicted injury on Shinsou's hand. Shota gently wrapped an arm around his partner rubbing his back softly to comfort him, still holding onto his tough face. Izuku soon finished his explanation, mentioning the bullying he'd witnessed. Aizawa's tough expression hid the hurt, the fear, the nervousness, and the guilt. "I-I'll leave you guys alone so you can be with Shinsou" Midoriya says but it stopped by Recovery girl, she hands him a fresh uniform for him to change out of. "thank you" He says before leaving to change, and eventually go to class. Ready to keep this whole situation under wraps and take it to his grave, him and Todoroki made a silent promise not to speak of it to anyone else. Sitting in their home room class for what felt like forever with solemn looks on their faces Iida noticed and brought it to Ururaka's attention. "Hey you guys okay?" She ask quietly, Midoriya and Todoroki fixed themselves and nodded Todoroki faked a yawn, while Midoriya pretended to have a head ache. "y-yeah just have a head ache, little Todo had a nightmare last night and kept me up on the phone all night. But it was worth it, he felt better after we talked it out. Though he's most likely still a bit sleepy, aren't you Todo?" Todoroki nods and nuzzled into his boyfriend's shoulder earning a sweet smile from his friends. "Oh well that's good to hear that's all it is, you had us worried for a minute." Ururaka spoke with a bright smile, Iida made his robotic arm movements as he agreed. Suddenly Mr Aizawa came back with a neutral face, he sat as his desk quietly. Staring blankly at his class, he'd shortly received a text from Hizashi, saying just end class. "Cl..Class is canceled for the day" The students returned a silent blank stare at their teacher so gave off a different aura than he looked. Only Midoriya and Todoroki knew what this was, and in a way they were experiencing their own feelings. When two minutes went by the class had began to empty out and pack up to leave. Shota Aizawa sat there all alone, feeling alone, feeling like how Shinsou felt. Feeling like how Hizashi felt when he found the raven haired male drowning in the bathtub with an empty bottle of ipecac and vomit all over the toilet. He began to lose himself in the depths of his mind pulling him down, down, down. 'I'm an awful parent' 'this is his second time' 'Why didn't I notice this sooner' 'He's hurting because of me' 'I'm a horrible excuse of a mentor and parent if my own child tried to kill himself again.' Slamming his hands on the desk then burying his face into his hands letting go of the tears. The thing was he didn't know he was crying, he didn't know how much he'd balled up since he'd seen Shinsou. 'What's gonna happen, is he gonna be mad at me for not helping him sooner!? Is he gonna quit, is he gonna hate me and Hizashi? How am I gonna tell Eri this time?...She's such an understanding child, so is Shinsou, they both deal with so much.-' Interrupted from his thoughts by a knock on his classroom door, looking up to see the teachers along with Hizashi they all had a look of pity. "sh-Shota, y-you're crying love." Hizashi tries to pull up a sweet smile as he watched his husband wipe away his tears wordlessly. "Eraser...we're sorry this happened to you guys" They all bowed Shota sighed and thanked them, Vlad then speaks. "Recovery girl told me to tell you that Shinsou is able to go home when you're able to take him." Both males nod at the information, Hizashi agreed to go out and get Eri from preschool. That left Shota to go and get Shinsou, slowly getting from his chair he ventured out to Recovery girl's office once more. Walking inside seeing the sleeping boy he tries his best to enter quietly as to not disturb him. When he's close, he looked down to see multiple scars scattered across his body it almost made him sick. Gingerly laying a hand on the pale scarred shoulder, tracing the scars seemed to make the teen stir. Aizawa stopped noticing his gesture had made the other move, it didn't take long for Shinsou to wake up. "hm?" He hummed groggily trying to sit up but, his body felt heavy and weak. "shh just lay down Shinsou, you've been through a lot" He whispered gently pushing him onto his back. Shinsou frowned when looking seeing Aizawa but his eyes were more red than usual. As if he'd been crying, and Shinsou knew why, he'd been caught! "I'm going to take you home alright" Aizawa says offered a hand his son's bandaged one to hold onto. Shinsou nods and slowly sits up taking Aizawa's hand, standing with his help. Shinsou had soon made it to the car and sat in the passenger seat. Sitting in a silent car ride with Hitoshi curled up in the seat with thought swarming his head. It seemed that Aizawa's mind was being swarmed too! "H-...Hitoshi" Shota tries to break the painful silence but doesn't know how to. "I-I'm sorry you're hurting on the inside, I really am." Shinsou could hear the sincerity in Shota's voice, hearing how much it hurt to say it. Knowing no parent should have to see the sight of their child covered in blood and scars because of how awful they feel. Knowing that no parent should hear that they're kid tried to kill themselves, or that they're being bullied. Shinsou began to shake trying to hold back tears as his anxiety began to come back. 'were they mad at him?' 'would Aizawa dump him back to the foster system?' 'would Eri be afraid of me?' Aizawa looked to see his son was starting the breath rather quickly and tears started to fall. Thank god they were in the neighborhood, it really hurt Shota to see his son shut down. When they pulled into the drive way Shota parked the car and got out, going to the other side Watching Shinsou slowly get out. Feeling weak on his feet he hand to lean on Shota for support, they soon walked into the house together. Taking off their shoes Shota guides Shinsou to the couch and sat him down, setting his book bag on the floor next to them. Shinsou is starting to shake harder, Shota gently hugs the boy holding him to his chest allowing the other the release he needed. "Go on Hitoshi, get it all out. I know you want to, I know you need to." His soft loving voice says as he rubbed Hitoshi's back, earning a choked sob from his shaking body. Crying from all of pain he'd bottled up for so long, crying all of tears he'd held back. Crying into Shota's shoulder, the shoulder he needed for so long, he didn't care who but he needed someone to let him cry it out. "There you go, that's it...come on Toshi" His sobs weren't loud they weren't earth shattering, they weren't silent, they were just sobs. Soothing circles rubbing into his back to help him, Shota didn't say much except words of encouragement. It wasn't long that Hizashi came home with Eri, walking into the house he announced that they were home. Walking into the living room Hizashi sees Shota comforting Hitoshi on the couch and asked if Eri could give them a few minutes. Being the sweet understanding child that Eri was she nods and scurries off to her room to go and play with the cats. Joining the two on the couch Hizashi talks in a more gentler voice like Shota. "Hey there kiddo, how ya doing?" Shinsou didn't answer he just continued to cry, making the blonde frown he looked to Shota. "Its gonna be okay bud, we're here for you whenever you're ready to talk." Finally Shinsou managed to get out a soft "I-I'm..s-sorry" It really killed the two heroes to hear how broken their son was. Shinsou cried for a little while long until he was ready to talk. "H-Hitohi, can you tell me why you did this to yourself?" Shota asked referring to the cuts and bite marks all over him, Shinsou sighed and explained why. "I-it was a punishment, I punished myself when I did something wrong, or didn't meet up to expectations. I felt like I didn't deserve the things that I have, being in the heroes course, having you guys as parents and Eri as my little sister." "oh Hitoshi of course you deserve this, you deserve so many things you don't even know." Hizashi replies "Besides it doesn't help that I still get bullied because of my quirk" Hizashi and Shota frowned, they thought they'd passed that hill already but, I guess not. "They're still bullying you? Why don't you fight back?" Hizashi asked "I don't want to cause trouble, and give them another reason to call me a villain." Aizawa nods understanding how Shinsou felt about his quirk, what he didn't expect was for Eri to come out with a cute card and words that would make Shinsou feel better. "Hitoshi" She gently tugs on his pants for his attention, looking down to see the ivory haired girl with a card in her hand. She offers it to him, thankfully taking it he opens it. Its a picture of Eri and him hugging, it seemed to crack a smile from the depressed boy. "I like your quirk though, its really cool." "Can you tell Shinsou why you like his quirk Eri?" Shota asked, the other parent knew what he was trying to do. Sometimes kids know how to help better than other adults do, being that they are able to better connect to the same energy. "Its really cool,he can control people and make them do silly things is really cool!" Even though Eri didn't exactly know what Shinsou could do with his quirk she wasn't that far off with her description. It seemed to make the other's heart feel warm again, giving her a soft smile. Eri noticed the bandages and asked him why he had them. Even though Eri had been through her own bouts of depression its not easy to explain to such a small child. Both parents didn't know how to answer Eri's question with out making anyone feel bad but Hitoshi seemed to know how. "Well Eri I don't feel good, I've been feeling very sad a lot and sometimes when you get too sad you tend to hurt yourself...Its not something you should do, its not good for you but. I thought that if I hurt myself then I'd feel better...but it didn't make me feel better it made me feel worse." Eri frowned and did something very sweet and something that made them all smile. Taking Hitoshi's bandaged arm she kissed it softly, like how some parents do for their younger children when they scrape their knee or get a cut. Hitoshi couldn't help but cry at how sweet his sister was and how close he was from hurting her by killing himself. "that help Hitoshi?" "yes Eri that made me feel so much better" He says hugged his little sister who happily hugged him back. Hitoshi gave a soft tired yawn and snuggled into Shota's chest like Eri would when she was tired. Surprised by their older son's sudden gesture they then hear him say "sleepy" in a small child like voice. They figured he was just tired and needed so they just let it slide, letting the teen drag himself to bed. Telling him not to lock the door as he entered his own bedroom to change into his PJs. When the teen had left the living room Aizawa thought to check Shinsou's bag just in case he had blades in there. As he searched he found two of them and then a small purple journal that had a few stickers that spelled out 'little space Journal'. Curiosity said to look inside, the other side said that's most likely a diary and you shouldn't read someone's diary. Still he was curious maybe Hizashi knows what this is? "hey Hizashi do you know what it is?" Showing the blonde the journal Hizashi furrowed his brows "I found this in Shinsou's bag" "Well open it maybe its just a diary, maybe it'll help figure out what we can do to help him more." So with that Aizawa opens the journal and looks through the first page. "What's it say shota?" "Its says 'little space to me: a head space that allows me to relax and cope with emotional pain and be myself. Def of little space: allows me to mentally feel younger than I already am' There's more it says 'about little me. name: Hitoshi Shinsou, big age: teen, Little age: 2-5, likes: to play with legos, watch little kid movies, take naps, play with the cats, and eat jello. Dislikes: mean people, loud people, & yucky tasting things.' hm so it seems to be a lifestyle thing that he enjoys, it allows him to act like a small child around Eri's age." Aizawa says while reading a few pages, he soon gets to a page that says 'Things I want as a little' "hm? Pacifier, a stuffie, a caregiver who doesn't mind my depressed self.' and other things that you give toddlers." "sounds kinda cute" Hizashi smiles "Well if it makes him happy then why not let him do what he needs to do. Whether that's acting like a toddler or crying on one of us for an hour n a half. As long as he doesn't go back to hurting himself that's all that matters." The next day was the weekend and Shinsou was walking with his parents over to the Todoroki house. It hadn't taken long to find their place seeing as Endeavor was a hero and heroes tended to talk about home. Reaching the house Shinsou rang the door bell, waiting a little but Fuyumi Todoroki answered the door. "Ahh hello" "Hi I'm Hitoshi Shinsou and these are my parents" Fuyumi recognized the two other pro heroes they recognized her, sometimes pro heroes would have family get together parties. "Hello Fuyumi is Todoroki home?"  Eraser head asked noticing his son was anxious "uh yes he's training with father I'll go get him, please come in." she smiles allowing the three inside of the house settling them in the living room she excused herself to get Todoroki. Of course hearing that Todorki's teachers were here and wanted to speak to him Enji had to join in, so they followed Fuyumi back. Todoroki smiled when he saw Shinsou seeing the bandages he was glad to see him a live and okay. "Hello Mr Aizawa and Mr Yamada, hi Shinsou.-" "So Eraser head what brings you Present mic and...him hear?" Of course Enji knew none of Todoroki's classmates by name only by the nicknames such as 'All might's brat' you could guess who that is. "Well first off this is our son Shinsou, second Shinsou you said you wanted to tell Todoroki something?" Shinsou was shy and Enji's intimidating aura wasn't helping the situation he then stuttered out. "th-thank you...f-for s-saving m-me" Enji raised a confused proud looking down at his son who cracked a smile from his usual blank face. "Well I'm glad you're okay, Midoriya has been very nervous about you." "I'm just so glad Hitoshi has at least someone who cares, I thought the bullying was over if he switched classes." Aizawa smiles gently rubbing Shinsou's back, folding his arms the largest of the heroes in the room then breaks his own silence. "Any one mind explaining what you are all talking about?" "uh Hitoshi do you feel like explaining what happened? you don't have to go into detail." Hizashi asked he could tell that Endeavor was very hard to talk in front of even as an adult. "I..I tried to end myself, Todoroki and Midoriya found me in the bathroom, if neither of them had went and did what they did I would've tried harder to kill myself. Even if I didn't succeed I would've kept trying." Looking down at his son he was a little surprised but then smirked "Well Aizawa I guess my son will definitely be a hero if he's already saving lives. Good thing he's got me as a father and mentor." Enji says ruffling Shoto's hair roughly making the other flinch a little. Aizawa and Hizashi could tell their loving father son relationship was fake but, they knew that Todoroki didn't really have anyone. Well except for Midoriya all of class 1-A knew that 'tododeku' was a thing, and Todoroki was basically another son to Mama Midoriya. "Hey Sh-Shinsou does Midoriya know you're okay?" "uh well we were headed there" "ah okay" The three of them stand up and Enji offers to lead them out which they all smile at and gratefully take it. (we're all gonna pretend Inko doesn't exactly know she's dating the number one hero) Approaching the Midoriya house hold Shinsou knew that Midoriya was the one who got all of the blood on his hands, and saved him the time before that. Knocking on the door Shinsou is soon greeted by a brightly smiling Inko Midoriya. "hello oh you must be Shinsou, and hi Mr Aizawa and Mr Yamada." "Inko dear who's that?" Asked Toshinori who was in the living room with Midoriya, only a few of the teacher have seen the Toshinori side of him the more human side of him. "Izuku's teachers Mr Aizawa and Mr Yamada" Hearing it was them his sighed in relief and smiles coming to the door hearing her invite the three inside. "Izuku can you come here please?" Inko called out, which prompts for the green haired teen to come into the living room. "h-hi Midoriya" Shinso says shyly Izuku smiles seeing the other, as they sat on the couch Shinsou fidgeted with his fingers. "Go on Shinsou, take your time." Aizawa encouraged, as Shinsou tried to make words tears began to form. He realized he was sitting in front of the person who'd saved his life, saved him from trying to kill himself. He knew that if he didn't succeed the first time he would've tried it again. "Oh Shinsou~" Midoriya cooed feeling himself slipping a little into caregiver space, he approached the other and opened his arms for a hug. Shinsou embraced the other and cried into his chest, the room was quiet aside from the soft crying. "Th-thank you M-Midoriya for s-saving me, I-I'm sorry I tried to kill myself." Hearing that Inko and Toshinori both had a look of shock, not judgement but shock. Still since they knew that Midoriya was dating Todoroki it wasn't the first time this has happened. "Don't worry about it Shinsou, I'm just glad I found you in time and that you're okay." Wiping his tears the violet haired boy sniffled and smiled "If you need someone to talk to you've got me alright." "Ahem." Came from Eraser head who caught Midoriya's attention "yes thank you so much Midoriya" Inko looked to her son and hugged him proudly but then Shinsou "I'm glad to hear you're feeling better, all Izuku said when he came was that someone had attempted to hurt themselves and he did what he could to help." (and that is how ToddoShinsodeku happened)

[imagine-loki]

Broken Trigger Warning - Depression

TITLE: Broken

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: breemaggs

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki helping you through a new medication regimen. At first you don’t even tell Loki that you’re taking medication, you’re embarrassed and afraid that he’ll think you’re weak. Soon you can’t hide the exhaustion, the mood swings and the insomnia that occurs while you and your doctor attempt to find the perfect dosage. (Click to read the full imagine!)

RATING: M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Trigger Warning for discussion of depression. Rated M for language.

I was a zombie. No, I was past the zombie phase. I was just straight up exhausted. And I was starting to get frustrated. And distraught. This was supposed to be helping me. Instead it was making me worse.

And logically, I knew that new medication tended to make you dip before it picked you back up, but it had already been several weeks and two dose increases and things still weren’t better. I wanted to throw in the towel. It wasn’t working. I wasn’t sure it would ever work.

Patience, my psychiatrist said. And I knew she was right. Depression didn’t work on a time table and medication wasn’t magic. It took time to get the medication and dosage right. And giving up after two increases wasn’t going to get me anywhere. If the next one didn’t help... We’ll, then she agreed that we would need to try something different. But we weren’t there yet.

I knew recovery was a long road; I’d been walking it for years. I’d been through med changes. I’d been through the ups and downs. And the truth was... I was just tired. I was tired of trying. Tired of failing. Tired of fighting. Tired of pretending. Tired of everything. This exhaustion was deeper than just the physical symptoms.

And then there was all the effort that I put into my great act. My mask. That was another level of exhaustion. Pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t... That was hard. And I had been doing it for so long. I didn’t want to be strong anymore. I wasn’t sure I was even capable of being strong anymore.

I swiped at my leaking eyes and readjusted myself on the floor for the third time since I’d sat down. I tried to focus on the fireplace in front of me. The flames used to relax me. Now I just wished they would consume me. I sighed and cast a quick glance at the clock on the wall. Three-thirty in the morning. Witching hour. Just another reminder that I should be sleeping.

My boyfriend, Loki of Asgard, was having no trouble sleeping. Which was how I preferred it; that way he couldn’t see me like this. But he wasn’t stupid so I knew I that I probably didn’t have a lot of time until he figured it out. Or at least figured out that something was amiss, since he had no idea that I even had a mental illness, let alone one that was overrunning my entire life. So far I’d managed to get away with the excuse of getting up early for beating him out of bed. And makeup went a long way towards hiding the bags under my eyes. And bright smiles hid the pain behind my eyes. And after years of pretending, I was excellent at acting like everything was sunshine and daisies when it was anything but.

But, like I said, I knew it wouldn’t last forever. I wouldn’t be able to keep the act up much longer. I wouldn’t be able to hide behind my mask. Because I was slipping. I was starting to get irritated at the smallest things and it had already earned me more than a few strange looks from him.

Fuck. My eyes watered again and I dropped my head into my hands. When had it gotten so out of control? When had it started running my life? I didn’t know. I knew that I was ashamed and embarrassed.

Why can’t you just snap out of it? Other people have it so much worse than you. You’re being irrational.

I knew all of that! People had routinely thrown those phrases at me in the past. As if I wasn’t aware. As if I was willingly going through this. As if I was just trying to get attention. I choked back a sob. How could I possibly expect Loki to still love me after he found out about this? I was so broken.

I bit my lip, trying my best to keep quiet as the emotions engulfed me. I had never met anyone who actually understood what I was going through aside from my psychiatrist and counselor. But a part of me felt like they didn’t count. Because they were trained to understand and deal with these things. I’d never met another person outside of my treatment that understood. Even my own mother, the only family I had left, had walked away from me after my diagnosis.

Selfish, she had called me.

While I knew that that wasn’t true, the word still stung. And it still hurt that she didn’t even try to understand what I was going through. It had set the precedent for everyone else I had ever told. Relationships? Forget those. They always left after I opened up to them. So I stopped telling them.

And I had held true to that, refusing to give a voice to my pain in Loki’s presence. But it was all about to come crashing down.

I took a shuddering breath and tried to calm down. Freaking out was not going to help and it would probably just spin me into a panic attack. So I did my breathing exercises and closed my eyes. I hugged my knees to my chest and laid my head down on the surface the position created.

Maybe... maybe I could catch a few minutes of sleep... I just had to calm down. I had to relax. I had to breath. I had to remember that, no matter how bleak things seemed, the sun would rise in the morning. Maybe things would look better in the morning light. I gave a soft, cynical laugh. Things tended to look worse when the sun was shining, in my opinion. It was as if the sun was mocking me and my darkness with it’s bright light.

I started humming softly to myself as I rocked back and forth. I concentrated on my made up song and just let go. I just... let... go...

xoxo xoxo

I woke up violently. I came up swinging, my heart racing, confusion consuming me. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know what was going on.

“Shhh,” a voiced murmured. “It’s okay. Did you sleep here all night?”

Fuck. Understanding hit me like a truck. I must have passed out in front of the fireplace last night after my mini melt down. And I hadn’t gotten up before Loki. And now... I was propped up on the floor with my back against the couch. He was crouched in front of me. My bottom lip quivered at the implications. I had known my time was running out, but I thought I’d have a little more time than this.

I fought for normalcy. “No...?” Shit. That was the opposite of normal. “No. I got up early and I must have drifted off...” Better, but still not terribly believable.

I watched a frown twist on his lips. “What time did you get up? It’s only twenty after five.”

Double fuck. “Um, I’m not sure. I didn’t look at the clock. I got up to pee and then I just sat down...”

Ohhh, this was going downhill so fast. His frown deepened. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I felt my eyes well up. This was it. This was the end. I wasn’t going to be able to lie myself out of this one. I wasn’t going to be able to hold it together long enough to try. I bit my lip hard, trying to bring myself back to the moment.

“I guess I was having trouble sleeping,” I finally admitted quietly, dropping my head so that my hair fell into my eyes.

He didn’t say anything for what seemed like a long time. I’m sure it was no longer than thirty seconds or so. But it felt like a lifetime.

“Again? You haven’t slept more than a few hours a night for months.”

My heart dropped to my stomach with his words. Stupid! I was so stupid. Did I really think I would be able to fool a Norse God into believing my white lies? Especially this God. I should have known better. My throat burned with the effort of keeping my tears at bay. I slowly drew in a breath.

I didn’t know what to say.

His hand came up and tilted my head so that our eyes met. I slid my eyes away from his and he made a frustrated noise.

“Look at me.” His words were gentle, but commanding.

I lifted my eyes. What he saw in them, I’ll never know, but his jaw clenched and my heart spasmed. I wanted to look away, but found myself held captive in his eyes. There were so many emotions swirling in their depths that I couldn’t pick them apart.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on with you?” he asked softly.

“I...” My voice cracked. I tried again. “Not particularly...”

He sighed. “I have been very patient with you, love. But I cannot be patient when you are so distressed. Tell me how to help.”

I sobbed, but tried to swallow it. It came out garbled and I couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.

“You can’t,” I practically wailed. “It’s... Its just who I am.”

I began crying in earnest, my emotions taking me over completely. He sank down to the floor and pulled me into his lap. He whisked one hand through my hair soothingly while the other held me tight around my waist. He rocked me back and forth, singing to me quietly in another language. I fisted my hands in the material of his sleep shirt, sucking in desperate breaths as I tried to calm down for the second time this morning.

It took me much longer to come down this time around. Probably because there was more at stake. I licked my lips and tried not the think about it, lest I work myself up again. I felt Loki press a kiss to my forehead and almost lost it again.

“Please,” he entreated. “Let me help you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

I bit my lip. Did I dare? I shook my head slightly and he tightened his arms around me. Please. I just... I didn’t even know how to tell him. I didn’t even know what to tell him. There was so much...

“I can’t help if I don’t know. I want to, no, I need to help you,” he pleaded.

The raw emotion coloring his voice ended up making the decision for me. I opened my mouth and just started talking. It was word vomit that no one except my counselor had ever heard.

I apologized for lying to him. I told him that I didn’t want to lie to him, but I wanted to keep him. I told him about how I was worried he would be disgusted with me. I told him about my nightmares. I told him about the insomnia. I explained my mood swings. I told him about the new medication. I told him about my mother. I told him about counseling. I told him about everything.

I talked until I was hoarse. And he didn’t interrupt. He just held me and listened. It was far more therapeutic than I thought possible. I took a couple of deep breaths when I was done and closed my eyes, reveling in the relief coursing through me. And I tried very hard not to think about what Loki’s reaction would be.

It was a long time before he said anything.

“I’m proud of you.” He said it simply, as if it was just another fact of life. “It takes great courage to face your inner demons.”

I swallowed thickly, trying to comprehend what he was saying. “But... I’m broken.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a work in progress,” he corrected, loosening his grip and turning me in his lap until I was facing him. “That does not mean you are broken.”

I felt the tears form again, but these weren’t tears of sadness. They were a product of relief, pure and simple. This... this wasn’t rejection. This was validation. This was acceptance. This was... new.

His hands cradled my face, his expression serious. “I don’t want you to feel as if you need to hide from me. I will help you through this. You will get through this.”

I gave him a small smile and nodded. It was amazing how empowering it was to have someone in your corner. I had never known anything like it. I knew that I didn’t want to walk this path alone anymore. And I didn’t have to. Loki had made that much clear.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“You don’t have to thank me. I will always be there for you. You are stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

I gave a little giggle and met his eyes. They were no less intense, but they were shining brightly. He smiled at me before leaning in and planting a sweet kiss on my lips. It was soft and slow. It was the reassurance that I needed.

It was perfect.

Everything was going to be okay. Loki was right; I was going to get through this. And I was going to do it with him at my side.

It was more than I could have hoped for.

[empatheticfoxwritings]

Not in That Way

Pairing: Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski 

Show: South Park 

Summary:

Over the years, Kyle never really changed in terms of personality.

He was always there for Stan when he needed him the most. Always a source of comfort and support. They were super best friends until the end of time. Which is why it's so hard to bear that Kyle will never love Stan back. Because you see, Kyle is straight and with every girl he kisses, Stan gets closer to his breaking point.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Self-hatred, alcohol abuse, suicidal thoughts, implied self-harm, some swearing

A/N: Was a little nervous to post this since I have other fics unrelated to this one I’m working on but I’m quite proud of this one. So, I hope you enjoy!

Over the years, Kyle never really changed in terms of personality.

He was always that reliable, care-too-much kid. Always the one to hold study groups and tutor on the weekends to those who struggled. He was caring, compassionate, and just an overall good person. And yet, despite his kind disposition, he had a temper that could rival anyone. Call him a name and you’d be kissing concrete before you could even blink.

He had always been that way and he still is.

The only thing that really changed about Kyle was his look. His ushanka stayed on him most of the time but he, occasionally, takes it off. The day Kyle Broflovski took his hat off, all eyes were on his tamed curly locks. The Jewfro was long dead and Kyle radiated a new confidence that no one had ever seen. His wardrobe remained the same which consisted of polos, t-shirts, odd colored jeans, and his weird fixation with orange cardigans. Stan never understood it considering orange wasn’t even Kyle’s favorite color. Nevertheless, after Kyle’s “transformation” all the girls flocked to him. Oh, that’s another change.

Kyle was a total ladies man and he enjoyed it.

Kyle had told Stan often that he hated girls and never wanted to kiss them. Sure, that was when they were young but even in freshman and sophomore year of high school, Kyle barely spoke to girls. Never went to dances, never went out on dates, never even kissed a girl. Then he completely changed. Stan caught Kyle and Wendy making out in the men’s bathroom one day during junior year and he had to control the urge to vomit everywhere. Kyle was initially embarrassed but after being caught many many times by Stan, he lost whatever filter he had. Kyle would have girls over when it was just supposed to be bro time and Stan would leave an hour in to escape the nastiness that was straight Kyle. Regular Kyle was sometimes hard to deal with but straight, horny Kyle was a whole other ballgame.

What even brought on this sudden change in his super best friend?

I guess you could say it was a change for a change. Stan had changed too but his felt more soul-crushing. It all started with the depression, the cynicism, and the anxiety. It all came so suddenly and his parent’s inevitable divorce didn’t help. Nothing helped and everything was complete shit. To top it all off, Kyle decided he had enough of Stan’s bullshit. He told him that he couldn’t do this anymore, being around him was too emotionally draining. Then he turned his back on him. So, he did the only thing that made life bearable, he drank.

At the time, Stan was pissed and he still kind of is but, he understood where Kyle was coming from. Stan was being an absolute asshole and Kyle didn’t deserve that shit. After that day, Stan spent most of his nights drowning himself in alcohol. It wasn’t hard considering how Randy bought more beer than groceries most of the time.

All those nights, Stan wondered how everything went wrong. His friends, his family, his whole life was just gone. What was the point of going on when nothing makes you happy anymore? He was a such a fool for even thinking he could make something of himself. Everything he touched fell apart. What was the goddamn point of anything?

His self-deprecating thoughts made him drink more. Everything got hazy those nights. He would wake up with no recollection of what he did the previous night. He used to check his body in the morning for any damage but once he started finding cut marks he stopped. He didn’t want the reality of the situation to sink in. It would just give him another reason to hate himself.

One of the things he did amidst his drunken deeds, apparently, was text people. After a noticeable line was cut in his close friendships, he never hung out with anyone. Kenny would come over once a month for booze and that was all the contact he had. However, out of nowhere, people started approaching him about things he had texted to them. If he had any dignity left, he might have felt embarrassed. He would simply give a monotone apology and move on. This all continued for some time until one night.

One night, he got completely hammered but despite the alcohol, he remembers exactly what happened.

He was nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels and texting what he thought would be his last words. He sent the message and threw his phone across his room. A ringtone came on immediately but he didn’t check it. What was the point? He could barely remember what it said. Something about dying or hating himself probably. He took another long drink of the Jack Daniels. Everything was white noise.

“I could just leave.” He speaks out loud. “Life would move on.”

The spoken words strike him. Hot tears pour down his face as he looks out his window. He rarely cries but tonight the tears come without restraint. Sobs ripped through him as he curled into himself. It felt like the walls were caving in on him. He yanked at his greasy hair and writhed against his sheets. Some part of him hoped that someone would hear his cries. However, after some time, no one came. That fact began to soothe him and his cries turned into whimpers. The silence brought a sense of calm that made him bring the bottle to his lips again.

After every breakdown, Stan was left with the lonely silence he became accustomed to.

The silence was loudly interrupted by a soft knocking at his door. Shit, is mom home? He stayed quiet in hopes that whoever it was would go away, come in, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. He hiccuped softly and pressed himself against the corner of the wall.

“Hey,” The voice spoke softly with another knock. “I know you’re in there, Stan.”

He knew that voice. Or did he? “I’m fine, ma.” He slurred.

The door opened and Stan pulled the covers over himself. The voice sighed harshly. After a moment, he felt the bed dip and the covers were yanked off of him.

“Hey,” Stan whined. His face changed when he realized who the person was. “Oh, Kyle.”

“Hey, Stan.” Kyle bit his lip and furrowed his eyebrows. He wore that face. That face that Kyle reserved just for him. Was it pity or concern? He didn’t give a fuck, he just didn’t want to see it right now.

“Don’t give me that face.” He hiccuped and went to take another drink.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Kyle placed his hand on the bottle.

“Who cares?” Stan slurred and took another long drink.

He took a second to look at Kyle. He wasn’t wearing his hat which was very un-Kyle. Things were starting to blur but he remembers seeing checkered pants and a grey shirt. Kyle was wearing his pajamas. Why was he even here?

“Why you here?” Stan grunted.

A pause. “You texted me.” Oh.

Stan stared at him for a few moments. “I don’t need a lecture mom!” He shouted and took another drink, as if indignant. He frowned when he realized that the bottle was lighter now.

Kyle sighed again and ran a hand through his curls. “I’m not here to lecture you…. Look, I’ve been really shitty lately. I’ve been...really selfish…I miss you, Stan. I’m worried about you.”

“Why?” Stan spat. “I don’t deserve anything. I’m worthless-”

“No, you’re not!” Kyle’s voice cracked from the sudden volume of his voice. “You’re my best friend, asshole! I love you and I can’t stand to see you do this to yourself. Don’t think I haven’t been keeping an eye on you! I thought if I stepped aside...it would help you. It was dumb, I was dumb.”

Kyle reached forward and snatched the bottle from Stan’s grip. He placed his other hand firmly on Stan’s shoulder. His eyes bore into Stan’s. Stan couldn’t figure out the intense almost conflicted expression the redhead held. He remembers the fire in those green eyes. The softness of that fire made him want to lock himself away and write Emo poems about those emerald eyes. Stan’s stomach flip-flopped at the tight feeling in his chest. Why was Kyle looking at him like that?

“I really care about you, Stanley,” Kyle whispered.

Those words broke him. Stan hiccuped a sob and threw himself into the other’s arms. Everything poured out of him. The way Kyle gripped him back and hushed him made him break down more. Love, comfort, support. That’s all he really needed. Nothing could be fixed overnight but, being in Kyle’s arms was a start. Stan’s sobs faded to whimpers and his body shook from the exhaustion. Kyle helped lower him from his shoulders so that Stan could lay his head in Kyle’s lap.

Stan couldn’t look Kyle in the eyes, the sobbing having sobered him up. Still, Kyle brushed his bangs back in such an intimate way. He took a chance to look at Kyle’s face. Their eyes locked and Kyle smiled softly and Stan felt his cheeks grow warm. He hiccuped again and looked away. He didn’t move yet, he didn’t know what would happen if he broke the silence. Luckily, he didn’t have to because Kyle started to hum.

“Oh, Florida please be still tonight. Don’t disturb this love of mine. Look how she’s so serene. You gotta help me out,” Kyle sang quietly and Stan felt a lump in his throat. “And count the stars to form the lines and find the words we’ll sing in time. I wanna keep her dreaming. It’s my one wish. I won’t forget this.”

Stan looked up at his best friend and whispered the next few lyrics. “I’m outdated, overrated. Morning seems so far away.” Kyle grinned brightly, his nose crinkling. Stan sighed heavily. God, since when was Kyle so goddamn beautiful?

“So I'll sing a melody and hope to God she's listening. Sleeping softly while I sing. And I'll be your memories.” The two sang softly together. “Your lullaby for all the times, hoping that my voice could get it right.”

“Kyle…” Stan’s voice shook. Everything in him was screaming to kiss him. Grab his best friend and kiss him senseless. Surely it was the alcohol? But no, oh god no. Had he always felt this way? Stan gazed at the redhead who was practically beaming like the damn sun at him. What the fuck is wrong with me? Overwhelmed by these feelings, he simply stared back and tried not to puke.

“Stan,” Kyle laughed and shook his head. “I’ll always be here as your friend, okay? Super best friends. I swear this time I mean it.”

“I-I,” Stan whimpered. He took Kyle’s hand and laced their fingers together. “I’m sorry for everything. I’ll always be here too. Super best friends…..I swear this time I mean it.”

Kyle giggled. He giggled and squeezed Stan’s hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into bed, stupid.”

Kyle helped him into the bathroom and sat him down on the stool. He gently rolled up Stan's sleeves and rubbed the fading marks along his arms. He sighed and grabbed the first aid kit. He cleaned each mark gently despite the fact they were already healing. As Kyle helped him clean his face and brush his teeth, Stan hummed quietly to himself. You could crush me. Please don’t crush me.

The following morning after he and Kyle reconciled was interesting. First of all, he woke up and nearly broke his leg in his haste to vomit in the bathroom. He and Kyle had apparently fallen asleep in the same bed and Stan was stuck between him and the wall. The sudden lurch of his stomach woke him up and he nearly crushed Kyle in his rush to get out of bed. He remembers a loud thunk faintly. Okay, so maybe he knocked Kyle off the bed but it was a matter of life or death.

In hindsight, Jack Daniels was a mistake. The whiskey never settled well in his stomach and it made his throat burn. And he had consumed almost a whole bottle of it which was just great. After all the contents of his stomach were removed, he laid his head against the porcelain with a groan.

“Feel better now?” Stan gave a gurgling moan and Kyle chuckled. “Here, drink some water. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Where ya going?” Stan mumbled. Please, don’t go.

“I’m going to make breakfast, dude. Now drink your water and shut up.” Stan gagged at the idea of food. Kyle laughed. “Hush, It’s a hangover cure and I’m hungry.”

Stan drank the cup of water and leaned his head against the wall. Most hangovers were spent on the floor of the bathroom or in the shower dissociating. It was odd to have someone take care of him instead. Odd but not bad. Also unlike most hangovers, he remembered a majority of the previous night. Kyle’s apology, Kyle’s voice, the way Kyle looked at him as if he was the most important thing in the world. He remembered every detail vividly. Even the white panic he felt when he wanted to kiss him.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

His cheeks heated at the thought. He pulled himself up and began to wash his face. The cold water was welcoming but his thoughts still swarmed. Why did he want to kiss Kyle? Kyle was his best friend and he was convinced he hated him until last night. Why now? Maybe, it was the alcohol. Maybe he just wanted to kiss him. Yeah, that must be it. It was just an urge to kiss him and that’s it. He was starved of affection clearly.

Stan gave a large exhale and frowned at his reflection. He needed to shower right now. He sniffed his clothes and realized that those had to go too. He went to grab some cleaner clothes and took a fast shower. Feeling sufficiently better, he went down to see if Kyle was in the kitchen. Kyle was leaning against the counter scrolling through his phone. He looked up when Stan walked in.

“I made eggs and toast. You should try eating a little at least.”

“Thanks, mom.” Stan sat and grabbed a piece of toast and took a tentative bite. He was pleased to not feel nausea creep up again.

“Shut up.” They ate in silence for a bit. Kyle was the first to break it. “So, do you remember anything about last night?”

“Vaguely.” He lied.

“Hmm,” Kyle chewed on his egg and seemed to choose his next few words carefully. “Do you remember texting me?”

“Oh,” Stan tried to recall, but that was one thing he blocked out. “I really don’t. How stupid was it?”

Kyle was silent for a while so, Stan looked up at him. Kyle was chewing his lip with a concerned look on his face. His arms were crossed almost defensively against his chest. Stan, suddenly, really didn’t want to know what he said.

“It was hard to completely make out but you said you missed me. You said that ever since we fought you haven't forgiven yourself and that life is miserable. You said that you...you had nothing to live for anymore and that if you just...offed yourself everyone would be happy.”

“I-” Stan’s breath hitched. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“Why?”

“W-Why? Why what?”

“Why do you think everyone would be happy if you killed yourself?” Kyle finally made eye contact with him. His eyes burned and Stan wanted to hide but he was frozen in place.

“I-I just...I screw everything up. I drove away everyone who ever cared about me. I’m such a burden. No one wants to be around a mess like me. I’m just worthless-”

“Stop!” Kyle shouted causing Stan to jump. “You are not! Don’t just say that!” Kyle’s face reddened and he took a moment to rub his eyes. Was he crying?

“Kyle?”

“You’re not worthless. You’re my b-best friend, Stan. I-” Kyle sniffed and tried to compose himself again. “I care about you. I would care if you...you know. I would! You know how fucking scary it is to get a text like that in the middle of the night? I know you’ve been struggling, okay? I was watching you at school. I saw the c-cuts on your arms and how exhausted you always looked. I knew and I just...I was too much of a pussy to say anything.”

“I-,” Stan spoke shakily as tears started to slide down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Kyle.”

A loud silence passed between the two of them. They both cried openly now, but both were too scared to move. A string had been stretched taut and one wrong move could cut it indefinitely.

“Left turn,” Stan whispered.

“What?” Kyle questioned exasperatedly.

“When we fought you told me that sometimes you need to make a left turn.”

“Stan, that wasn’t-”

“No, you were right. I don’t...I don’t want to keep doing this. I wanna be happy dammit!” Stan banged his fist on the counter. “I want to be better but I...I can’t do this alone. I hate to be selfish...God, I hate it so much but I need you.”

Stan looked down at his feet and braced for the worst. Opening up was never easy for him. He preferred to look at everything with a sense of apathy. Kyle called it nihilism but really he was just scared. Scared to face the shithole he dug himself into. Sometimes you just need to make a left turn.

He felt an arm wrap around his shoulders and looked up. Kyle was smiling. That small smile he rarely gave. The one where his head tilted slightly and his eyes squinted just so. He took Stan’s breath away. Even the tear tracks down his cheeks were beautiful. He was close enough for Stan to see the light freckles on his face.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I needed you too? Cause I do.” He pulled Stan into a hug that the other boy welcomed. “We’ll get through this together.”

Stan was slightly taller than Kyle so he pressed his nose into his hair. He held onto him tightly and quietly came to a realization. These feelings he had, it wasn’t just about a kiss. It was more than that. He needed this boy, more than anything else in this world. There he is, the boy I love. There you are, I’ve been looking for you forever.

Ever since that night, their friendship went back to normal. No not normal, it was stronger. Stan slowly weaned off drinking frequently and, despite his many protests, was seeing a therapist. A shift happened in South Park, the dynamic duo was back. The world righted itself and everyone gave a sigh of relief. Everyone, except Stan Marsh. Sure, he had his best friend back and he was in a healthy mind space now but there was a huge problem.

He is absolutely in love with Kyle and he has no idea what to do about it.

Kyle was straight, or at least that’s what he gathered from the boy’s track record of girlfriends. After that night, the two were inseparable but during junior year, Kyle started dating. God, it made Stan feel physically sick to see him with other people. It was worse than seeing Shelly dating. At least with Shelly, he could just ignore her boyfriends and move on. He couldn’t do that with Kyle. Cause each time Kyle had his arm around another girl a part of Stan chipped away.

At first, he tried to ignore this new development in Kyle. So he wanted to date? That’s fine. He even selfishly hoped that Kyle would find that he doesn’t like girls. It was a hopeful dream at best because Kyle never stopped dating. The time he spent hanging with his best friend lessened and Stan’s love for him only grew the longer they were apart.

Yet, as their senior year went by he never complained about this to Kyle. Partly because he was afraid of blowing his cover but also because he didn’t want him to worry. Kyle would drop anything for Stan and while it was another reason to love him, he couldn’t do that to him. The redhead may have been making out with a lot of chicks, but he was also putting everything into his studies. Kyle never said what he wanted to do but he always said that he wanted to do something important. Whether it was teaching, politics, or being a goddamn superhero. It didn’t matter to Stan because he knew that he could do it. If anyone could get out of South Park and make something out of himself it was Kyle. So, as finals approached, Kyle became more tense and angry. Stan knew it was best to stay out of his way. However, if he happened to pay Ike to give Kyle care packages every so often then that was just that.

So, it was a surprise to Stan when on the night before their last day of exams, Kyle asked him to hang out.

“Dude, let’s go sit on the billboard at sunset, like old times.”

“The Tweak Bros one?” Stan smiled. “Let’s do it. You gonna supply the shitty teriyaki?”

“Duh.” Kyle punched his shoulder lightly.

“Broflovski!” Clyde Donovan shouted and smacked Kyle on the back. “Heard you got lucky with Heidi last Friday. You dog!”

“Shut the fuck up Clyde.” Kyle blushed and Stan stiffened. “You don’t know shit.”

“Sure,” Clyde drawled. “The look on your face just proves it. Glad to know you found someone. Now the rest of us stand a chance right, Stanley?”

Stan merely grunted. Sure, Clyde, that’s absolutely what he wanted. Stan knew Kyle had made out with practically every girl. He just wasn’t expecting to hear that he fooled around with some. He tried to not picture it. Kyle kissing someone else. Kyle moaning and having sex with someone else. Kyle loving someone else. It didn’t work.

Bile burned his throat and he had to leave. He slammed his locker shut and walked away without a word. He hears Kyle shout for him but he ignores it. He needed to get away, he needed to go home. He doesn’t remember the drive home in his beat-up Impala. He doesn’t remember throwing up everything in his stomach. He doesn’t remember grabbing the tequila and climbing to the top of the Tweek Bros billboard. The only thing he remembers is the dull ache in his chest.

He takes a sip of the tequila, it burns his throat making him gag. Guess alcohol lost its touch as well. He sets it aside and sighs. He rubs his chest and lets his feet dangle off the edge. He remembers reading about this disease on the internet. What was it, Hanahaki disease? Something like that. A disease of unrequited love. A beautiful, tragic disease. The details escape him but when he compares the color of the sunset to Kyle’s curls he knows that he has it. He rests his arms on the railing in front of him.

Stan has to admit it. He had to say it to someone, anyone. Maybe if he could get the words out he could move on. Kyle and he were best friends and he wanted to keep that above all. Kyle loved him sure, but not in the way he yearned for.

He loves you but, not in that way.

Stan rubs the tears away before they fall. He had to tell him. He hates to admit it and he knows the truth will hurt more than anything else. It’s such a shame too considering Kyle always says “I really care about you”. Loads of people cared about him. He’d been through that with his therapist. His mother, his father, his friends, Kyle. They all did but caring for and loving are different. You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t.

He had to tell him.

“Hey,” Stan looked down to see the boy that was consuming his thoughts. “Got room up there for two?”

He was wearing his green ushanka. He wore an orange sweater with grey joggers and his beat-up black Converse. In his hand, he held a plastic bag from City Wok. A brown satchel hung off his shoulder and he smiled sheepishly. In the warm glow of the sunset, you could see the freckles dance across his cheeks. Stan never wanted him more.

“Yeah, come on up.”

Kyle managed to climb up the latter and keep his belongings intact. He was always talented in little ways. God, Stan was such a fool for him. He felt like a damn chick in one of those sitcoms. Everything Kyle did was perfect and it made him feel soft inside.

“Here, I got you your usual if you’re hungry.” He handed the styrofoam container over and Stan wished he could kiss him in thanks. He simply took the container with a murmured thanks. “Mind if I put on some music?” Stan shook his head and Kyle pulled out his phone.

Forever The Sickest Kids began to play and Stan relaxed against the billboard. He quietly thanked Kyle for picking one of his own playlists. They were mainly depressing and emo but it was what he needed right now. They ate in silence for some time with the soft music coming from Kyle’s phone.

“You doing okay?” Kyle almost whispered.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

“I was worried when you left earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” And he really was. “I just wasn’t feeling well.”

“You wouldn’t answer my texts.” Kyle pressed.

“I-I told you I’m fine. I just needed some air.”

“If you are fine then why is there a bottle of booze up here?”

Well damn, he got him there. “I-I just….I need...I need to tell you something.” Well, it was now or never.

“I love you, Kyle.”

“Wha-” Kyle cocked his head. “I love you too, man. Now, what's wrong?”

“That’s just it Kyle. I’m in love with you. I have been for some time.”

Kyle sucked in a breath and Stan swore he saw his posture stiffen. He wrapped his arms around his frame and Stan felt tears well in his eyes. He had to do damage control fast before he went home and cried to his mom just like in every shitty romcom he’d seen.

“Look I’ve never wanted to tell you this because deep down I know what you’ll say.”

“Stan…”

“You’d say I love you dude but not in that way.” Stan chuckled bitterly. “Yet, here I am. My feelings are out in the open. I’ve loved you since we were kids. I didn’t realize until that night you saved me but….they were there. Always. I want you and I need you, Kyle.”

An uncomfortable silence passed. Stan decided to cut the tension. “I feel like I needed to tell you even if I can’t bare what happens next. I can’t sit by if you decide to move after graduation without telling you how much you mean to me. And I guess that’s why I was so sick to hear that you slept with someone...I guess I had just hoped somehow...that would be me. Stupid, right?” Stan sniffled and rubbed his face again.

“Stan...We...We’ve never been like that.” Kyle’s voice shook.

“Yeah well,” Stan glared at the ground. The sorrow being replaced by sheer bitterness. “I’ve tried to stop it but I can’t...I guess telling you is my way of trying to get over this. I don’t want to lose you.” Stan tried to fight the tears that were already streaming down his face.

The soft sounds of One Day at a Time fill the silence. Kyle, stiff and closed off, and Stan, crying quietly to himself. Stan sighs shakily. The longer he stays, the harder this will be. He just needs to go home, take a shower, and sleep for days.

“Look,” His voice cracks. “I’m just going to go. I can’t make you love me.”

“I-I never said that I didn’t love you.”

“I love you as a friend too.” I can’t bear this.

“Stan!” Kyle grabbed his arm tightly. Stan wobbled and nearly fell off the railing. Kyle pushed him back so he was flush against the billboard. “You always fucking do this! You never let me get a word in because you’re too busy playing the fucking scene out in your head! You don’t know everything!”

Stan stares back in shock. He should have expected Kyle to get angry but he didn’t expect him to say those words. Don’t know everything? What was there to know? Kyle’s body language said enough.

“Kyle,” He practically sobbed. “I can’t do this...Please, just let me go.”

“No! No, you don’t...You don’t get to just say that and...You-”

Kyle placed his hands on Stan’s head and forced them to lock eyes. Stan hitched a breath. Those green eyes stared into his soul. Everything was out in the open for him. Could they go back to the way they were after this? It was never that easy, was it?

Kyle wiped away a few of Stan’s tears. It was so gentle that Stan just cried more. Kyle moved forward hesitantly and placed their foreheads together. Stan leaned into the touch and placed his hands on top of Kyle’s. Stan’s cries became more of sobs and his body shook. Kyle rubbed his thumbs against his cheeks and tried to shush him.

“You never had to be scared,” Kyle whispered, his breath sending a chill down Stan’s spine. “You never had to worry.”

Kyle pressed forward and let their lips brush. Warmth. Everything was warm. It was sun-kissed skin on the first day of summer. Hushed whispers under the soft light of a lamp and relief in the arms of an embrace. It was breathtaking and, yet, a breath of fresh air. Stan wondered how he had lasted so long without his touch.

“I love you, too.”

“I...You do?”

“Yeah...I have for a long time.”

“You have?” Stan let a giggle slip out. And because he could, he leaned in for another kiss.

“Yeah,” Kyle breathed. “I don’t know if you remember but freshmen year I asked you if you were going to the dance. You said yeah and that you had asked Wendy to go. Then...you asked me if I had anyone in mind…”

“You...You said that the person you wanted to ask was already taken.”

“Yeah, well, that was you.” Kyle looked away and blushed. “I knew I liked you since maybe middle school? Or forever, I honestly couldn’t tell you when it started.”

“Oh,” Stan’s face burned. “Then why were you sucking girls faces?” Wow, so blunt, Marsh.

“I guess I was trying to...get over you? Also experimenting to see if I was gay or whatever. Never really helped me get over you clearly.” Kyle rubbed their noses together and Stan giggled again. The love of his life loves him back. How could he not? "I should have told you but...I was terrified of what you would do. I convinced myself that we could never be together. Which, like a lot of things I have done, was really dumb."

“But Clyde said, Heidi-”

“Clyde doesn’t know shit,” Kyle growled. “You want to know what we did? We talked about you. We talked about how I’m madly in love with you and she could see it from ten feet away. She was trying to help me sort out my feelings.”

“Oh,” Wait. “You’re madly in love with me?” Stan grinned impossibly wide.

“I didn’t-” His face turned a dark red to rival his hair color. “Shut the fuck up.”

Stan threw his head back and laughed. Still chuckling, he wrapped his arms around the other boy. He squeezed him tightly and rocked them back in forth a few times. He pressed Kyle to his chest and placed a kiss on the top of his hat.

“What made you know?” Kyle whispered.

“That night when you saved me from myself.” Stan looked up at the stars and thanked each one for the boy in his arms. “God, Kyle, I was so gone that night. You didn’t have to come over after reading my text. You didn’t deserve that. I treated you like shit. I don’t deserve you.”

“Stan, don’t just-”

“No, please let me finish.” He tangled their fingers together. “You came over to see me regardless...And you were so gentle. You fucking sang Mayday Parade and smiled at me. Your smile literally leads me out of the dark of my head, Kyle.”

“Sorry, that was pretty gay.” Stan laughed nervously.

“Hey,” Kyle turned to face him. He was crying again. Stan tried to wipe them away and Kyle chuckled. “Nothing wrong with being gay.”

“Good.” Stan grinned.

“I-I love you so much. I’ll always be here, okay? Now that I have you...I'm never letting you go.”

“Okay...I love you too. So much, you have no idea.”

Kyle blushed and wrapped his arms around Stan’s neck. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“Ky?” Stan hummed.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me again.”

“If you want a kiss so bad then what’s stopping you? You have a pair of lips too.”

“I want you to kiss me. I forgot what it’s like.”

“I just kissed you not even ten minutes ago?”

“Sounds like a pretty shitty boyfriend if you ask me.” Woah, Marsh, that was fucking bold.

“Boyfriend...Well...I guess I need to make up for it then.” Kyle smiled slowly.

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

Despite his words, Stan met Kyle halfway for another kiss. Kyle’s lips were so soft and Stan made a mental note to take better care of his chapped ones. Kyle pulled away after but Stan found himself chasing after him. He placed his hands on the sides of his face and pulled him into a deeper kiss.

Stan had only kissed a few people and he was never confident in his abilities. He often got too enthusiastic which led to him bumping the other girl’s nose or clunking their teeth together. Kissing Kyle, like everything else involving him, was different. He felt confident, he felt good. He brushed his tongue along Kyle’s lips and they both sighed when Kyle let him in.

Stan groaned low in the back of his throat. It was like the two had been starved for so long. It was so much that Stan had to pull away to breath for a second. Kyle began peppering his face with light kisses. Stan sighed contently until Kyle blew a raspberry onto his cheek. Stan shoved him away playfully.

“Dude, gross!” He giggled.

“What? You don’t like that?” Kyle grinned devilishly. He dug his fingers underneath Stan’s arms. “How about this?”

Stan practically screeched. No, his underarms were his kryptonite! He tried to wrestle away but Kyle was no weakling. They used to tussle all the time as kids. The rules were always simple: the first one to die loses. As Stan gasps for air, he thinks that Kyle still goes by those rules.

“Okay!” Stan wheezed. “Uncle! Uncle! I give up.”

“Victory for the Jews!” Kyle chants. His face softens briefly. “Hey, it’s our song.”

Kansas played through the speaker of Kyle’s phone and Stan smiles. Once he catches his breath, the two begin to sing. It turns into screaming as they shout into the open night. They wrap their arms around each other’s shoulders and sway back and forth cackling. And just like that, it was as if nothing had changed.

Kyle was still Kyle and Stan was still Stan. They were super best friends.

They loved each other and nothing could tear them apart.

A/N: Songs Referenced: I swear this time I mean it - Mayday Parade Not in that way - Sam Smith Coffee Break - Forever the Sickest Kids One day at a time - Sam Smith Carry on wayward son - Kansas 

I would just like to say that this fic was heavily inspired by this fanart by @dudemarsh Please check out their work! They are such an amazing artist and that Style comic just killed me.  Anyways, I fell deep into South Park haha. I love Stan and Kyle and had to write about them. Especially, after all the drama they've been through recently ((´д｀)). This was originally supposed to be 100% angst because I started it during a horrible semester. However, my heart couldn't take it so I changed it. This fic and this note are so long, I'm so sorry. Hope you enjoyed! (*^▽^*)

[arts0uls]

Eighteen.

(Short Story)

Dela Rosa, Rebekah Charm G.

12-Jotham

          I have hated you for the longest time, Hiraya. The reason is still unclear. Maybe it is because the only times I remember you were bad encounters. It could be that time when you made fun of my art in 7th grade which ruined my perception of my craft, or when my mom died of cancer and yours was her resident doctor. Though you barely have contact with her, it still bothered me. Your faces were remarkably similar in my defense. It could also be insecurity, the way you are always talking with everyone in classes like it was the most important thing in the world—socializing, the only thing I hate more than you. But whenever we talked, it would always be about something that would trigger me. You like long talks and deep conversations; I like peaceful silence and short awkward exchanges that were enough not to be labeled as disrespectful.

          Despite these unfortunate encounters, I did not loath you the day I saw you in the emergency room that one night. It appeared that you were waiting for someone to attend to you, or maybe your dad took care of that and that is why he left you in the waiting area. I looked away then looked again to avoid seeming like a creep, I also tried if my hatred would come back after a second look. However, it did not. It could be that The Beatles shirt you had on, even though you picked on me for liking that band—accusing me of being a wanna-be-hipster. Maybe it was the way you sat restless in that metal chair. You still looked like that girl who had so much to say in high school, but your eyes were different. Your eyes gave up.

          When I met you, we were in 7th grade. You already knew which president should be elected and which one would win even though the debates just aired. I could not describe how annoyed I was. It was just the way you never lost a debate or even everyday arguments that made you seem so impossible. I stutter on greetings, yet there are people like you who talk for hours. And you still have the guts to rant about your self-esteem issues on Twitter, you are unbelievable. I always thought of why you couldn’t just be content for being an extrovert. This world was made for extroverts like you, not for people like me. I should’ve been the one ranting on Twitter to death.

          As the nurse started to escort you, I had a feeling I would meet you again. I knew you were going to make another one of those unnecessary exchanges. You all were walking towards my direction, of course, you’re going to be escorted to the bed next to mine. I am not certain with other things, but with this, I was. And I was not wrong either.

          “Nick.” You said. Surprisingly, I didn’t hate it at all. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen you for so long. I looked at you and you had a sly smile. “Hiraya.” I said. I gave you a quick nod, then I looked away. You chuckled. “You haven’t changed a bit.” You add. What did you even mean? Is it the way I looked? Was it my mannerisms? I shook my thoughts away asking you what you were doing in the hospital. “I’ve been passing out and vomiting my brains out. I don’t know what’s up with me yet.” You said. You’re always straightforward. You continue, “It sucks. I was gonna see Ely Buendia live next week but look at what stupid crap I have to put up with.”

          “How ‘bout you?”

          “I’m having surgery tomorrow. I mean, hopefully, tomorrow’s good.”

          Your eyes widened. They were still beautiful—your eyes. Your eyelids’ folds grew a bit more though. And yes, you had really beautiful eyes. It was not the only thing beautiful about you though. You once made this beautiful speech for History in 8th grade, your eyes were burning as you ran your mouth on colonialism. Your hands were beautiful too, I reaffirmed that as you tucked your hair behind your ear, apologizing for my state.

          Of course, I tell you it’s fine. You had nothing to do with it, you didn’t know anything. You didn’t know my dad didn’t want to push this through because it’s what killed my mom and my other relatives. I still wanted to do the surgery. ‘It’s just a stage one tumor anyway’, I keep telling myself. Besides, it’s true. We all are going to die at some point, this surgery just has the probability of extending me like a text subscription. And what’s the point of wanting a life if you won’t fight for it?

            “Tomorrow night is available.” My resident doctor says after a day of meeting you again. I got transferred to a room and so were you, but I still did not know then. Our awkward silence is disrupted by what appeared to be a distressed woman coming from the hall. A nurse enters to assist my doctor and take note of our confirmation. My doctor, later on, asks the nurse what the fuss was all about. They quietly converse but not quiet enough for me not to hear.

          “Oh, that’s Dr. Palma. Her daughter just got diagnosed with Brain Aneurysm.”

          “What? Unbelievable. Ella and Anna are just grade-schoolers.”

          “No, no. Daughter from her first husband.”

          I could not believe what I just heard. You. You were diagnosed with a Brain Aneurysm. Someone like you? I could not have thought. People like you are those characters that either overthrow a corrupt government or become a superstar at the end of a story. But this is real life and in real life, you were diagnosed with a Brain Aneurysm.

            That night, all I could think of was the confirmation that you were in fact human. You weren’t a super-being; you weren’t a character in a story. At that moment, maybe you did feel vulnerable too, I thought. What if your strong personality was because of your parents’ separation? Maybe I didn’t understand you enough. I loathed myself for loathing you—you’re just another person after all. I’m not a deity to judge you for your actions nor am I someone who could cure you. Yet I hit you up that night as if I were a supreme being. As if I could cure you.

          I open an overused messenger application to contact you. I asked the most stupid question.

          “How are you?”

          I hated myself so much. What was I thinking? Yet it seemed to be the right move, you replied quickly.

          “I’m going to die.”

          Nope. Still a bad idea and a stupid question.

          “I’m so sorry.” I replied.

          “I’m gonna die. I don’t have any music downloaded on this phone. I have them on my other phone! God, I’m really stupid, aren’t I? Haha.”

          You really are unbelievable. What is more unbelievable is the favor you asked of me. You asked me to record myself singing. You even brought up our video for CLE in 9th grade where we had to make a video of us singing a gospel song and everyone noticed my voice. “Too bad you’re not at home. You could’ve accompanied yourself with a guitar too.” You add, teasing me about learning Magbalik’s song intro at school. What’s even more unbelievable was that I did the favor you asked me of.

          You were human, I remembered. You were a human who was diagnosed with Aneurysm, and I asked you the most stupid question. How could I turn you down? You just wanted to hear ‘Eighteen’ by One Direction through a voicemail of someone who listens to a completely different genre. But we’re both 18, and everyone who turns 18 knows that song. You continue to say you only have a year to find someone and make that the anthem of your wedding in a few years. The unbelievability of that night continues as you compliment me. Not a single mockery. You thank me and say goodnight. I say it back.

             My surgery was a success. As I said, it was only stage one anyway. It was definitely worth the risk. That time, I wondered if you went through surgery or if you even still had that on the table. You’re still young yet you have this disease limiting you from living a life like how a One Direction fan would want. So curious, I decide to visit you a day after I got discharged.

          I wish I didn’t visit you. You told me you weren’t having surgery because it wasn’t worth the risk. You proceeded to tell me you plan on donating your organs. We all know what that meant. You have accepted your death. I wish I didn’t visit you because it made me realize why I truly did hate you. In 4th year of junior high school, you told me you were leaving for senior high. I had this feeling I did not like, a wave of loneliness just crashed onto me. I felt like I was drowning. You were leaving, I did not like that. Because at that moment, and I didn’t know, I already liked you.

          But you left for senior high school, I couldn’t blame you. We were in the same institution from grade school to junior high school and we could attest to its poor performance. That’s why we were always in the same class because no one went there unless you’re from that area and it’s the nearest school. That was our case. So you left, I guess I hated you ever since.

          “Hey, could you come back tomorrow and bring your guitar with you?” You shook away my thoughts as you gave me a request. Let me tell you, a request is harder to turn down in person. It would always be hard to say ‘no’ while looking at your eyes. So I come back and visit every time you ask me to.

            Your songs were the soundtrack of my day and night. In the night, I would practice the song you asked for like it’s my very last gig ever. In the day, I still get nervous like it’s my first time singing to you. We were classmates so that means that you have heard me play and I’ve jammed with you all more than I could remember. Yet I’m still nervous every time I go into your room to visit. I’m thankful that you made efforts to make me feel comfortable. Like how you tell me to visit when your dad’s gone or when your friends aren’t over because you’d know how uncomfortable it makes me feel. It must be the time that we’ve already spent together. But now, our time is limited.

          There was this one time I fell asleep waiting for you to wake up. As soon as I woke up, I saw you just starring at me. We smiled at each other and you looked so beautiful. I was about to get my guitar, but you held my hand stopping my tracks as if you wanted us to stay like that longer. But I understood your touch, it meant we won’t have moments like these anymore anytime soon. There won’t be a future with us waking up next to each other, because one day you won’t ever wake up again.

          Our smiles fade, you understood as well.

          “Not that it counts now, but I like you.” You said.

          “It counts. I’ve liked you for the longest time.” I answered.

            You were way ahead of your time. Literally. It’s not just how you told me before that you had to grow up immediately to cope with your mom leaving both you and your dad, it’s also the fact that you told me you only have a week left. It made me upset.

          “Why can’t you just fight it?”

          “There’s no chance, Nick. I won’t risk it.”

          “Why? Don’t you want a future? Suddenly it’s alright for you to just stop living?”

          You paused for a moment and then answered, “Do you know who’ll get my kidneys? She’s a single mother. She lives off of contractual work and her 3-year-old daughter will go to school this year, My heart goes to this kid who will be having heart failure, they told me all about him. He has imaginary friends. I used to have those. I hope my eyes go to this sixteen-year-old though, she’s still not sure but I hope she says yes.”

          “If I risk it, my death won’t mean anything.” You said. “My whole life, I’ve been for the people. Believing in advocacies and in serving the people. But I’ve done nothing. I’ve been all talk, Nick. But now, I have the chance to save more lives. Do you how much that means to me? My death will actually mean something. I might’ve actually answered the Trolley Problem.” We both chuckle at your last statement. I nod trying to be understanding and hide the way I was so selfish that time for wanting to keep you from doing your most selfless act.

          I eventually meet your friends and your dad. They were alright. All I wished for was that you stayed just as alive as we were.

          On the day before you go away, I stayed with you until sunset. Of course, you had to spend the night and your last day with your dad. “If I had tomorrow with you, I’d bring you to this place in Baguio where I went to every year when my mom was still alive,” I said. “We didn’t even get to try Tiktok.” You say and I chuckle. “I wish I had more time with you, I would’ve brought you everywhere so that everything would remind you of me.” You said. “I’ll remember you. I’d go to our high school every time just to remember you. Hell, I’ll remember you even in my room trying to sleep because I can’t forget you.” Needless to say, we both wish we had more time.

          “Hiraya, It’s too soon to say, but I’ll never get to say it anyway.” I said. “I don’t know what love is, I’m still trying to figure it out. But if I had to define it on my own, I’d say that you’re my very own kind of love.” I said. “I love you too.” You respond. Whether we mean it or not, it doesn’t change anything. We both won’t get to say it to each other ever again. And if this is love, if I actually do love you, it still doesn’t change the fact that you’ll be gone tomorrow.

             Tomorrow came, so did the next day after that, the next month, and the next year. You forgave your mom. You said goodbye to your dad. You put other people first. You leave me again. You haven’t changed a bit, Hira. Because of your broken pieces, many were mended. I know I’ve hated you for the longest time, but I’ve loved you in our short time together and more. Also, I get to say I’ve loved you since we were Eighteen.

[jawritter]

Save Me

Summary: It’s hard to be the hero, especially when no one saves you. 

Warnings: Cannon level Dean Winchester depression. Mentions and hints of drug use, Alcohol abuse and excessive drinking, language, self loathing, maybe a hint of jealous!Dean? Dean’s in a very dark place in this fic, and it’s a tear jerker. 

Paring: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2013

A/N: This fic was based on the song Save Me, by Jelly Roll. The lyrics are in Italics. This fic was also beta’d by @miss-nerd95! Thanks so much hun! Please do not copy my work! I hope you all enjoy this one! 

Want More? Check my Masterlist!!! Want even more? Become a patreon, and as little for two dollars a month you can get exclusive fics first!!

**MASTERLIST**       ***BECOME A PATREON***

Somebody save me Me from myself I've spent so long Living in hell

Dean twisted the cap off of another bottle and downed the contents of the warm alcohol quick enough to make himself a little tipsy, and that alone felt like an accomplishment. He could hear Elieen and Sam in the room just down the hall from him, and honestly, it made him sick. 

It wasn't  that he disliked Elieen. In fact, he was the one that told Sam to go for it. She knew what they did, understood their lifestyle because she herself was a hunter and if Sam had a chance at being happy, who was he to tell him otherwise. It was more than Dean himself felt he’d ever have, or even deserve. 

He supposed this was the price of being the 'hero'. The guy who saved everyone's  ass. Why couldn't he be the one getting saved for once?

Eileen’s laughter cut through the silence  of the Bunker and drifted into Dean’s room where he pulled the covers up over his head to try and block  the sound. 

He was tired of living this way, but once he got drunk enough to not feel the lonely ache in his chest, he guessed it would stop mattering then. Then he could carry on with this shit-storm of a life he’d been reduced too. People thought Hell was lonely, turns out it was pretty much the same topside too.

They say my lifestyle is bad for my health It's the only thing that seems to help All of this drinking and smoking is hopeless but feel like it's all that I need Something inside of me is broken, I hold onto anything that sets me free

“Dean, you're getting too old to drink like that, man,” Sam said from his side of the table in the library where he and Eileen had taken up residence to look for another hunt. Dean hoped they’d fucking find one because he was tired of sitting here looking at them and just twiddle  his thumbs.

His liver desperately wanted him to find something to do with himself as well, not just keep on damaging it, and seemed to be screaming at him pretty loud this morning. 

“I’m fine, Sam. I quit the hard stuff a long time ago. I just need some sleep. Come get me if you guys come up with a hunt.” 

He got up and slid the chair back with more force than needed, but he hated it when Sam tried to butt in his life and tell him what he should and shouldn’t be doing. It’s easy to say shit like that when you don’t have to wake up to a cold bed every morning. 

Dean was just like everyone else. He craved companionship that didn’t come from some one night stand he picked up at a bar. He wanted a family, hell, he wanted to have kids someday. There goes that opportunity when you're in your forties and too damn broken to even get through the night without alcohol. 

“So much for being a good father figure,” Dean snorted to himself as he flopped down on his bed, letting the silence that stood in his room carve him deeper than any torturer from Hell could conjure up, or any wound his body had ever endured. 

Dean’s eyes drifted over to the almost empty bottle of Tennessee Whiskey on his nightstand, and he let out a huff. He would never tell Sam about the dime bag he kept in the hiding place under the floorboard of Baby for when things got really bad and he knew that he should stop doing this shit to himself, but it was the only relief he seemed to get sometimes. Today seemed like one of those days.

I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams

Dean picked up his phone that was lying next to him on the bed, and somehow he started to dial your number, just like he’d done a thousand times over the years. It felt like a lifetime since he’d last seen you, but he always kept your phone number and would even dial it on occasion to just hear you say “hello” before he would quickly hang up. 

But he couldn’t do that to you, he couldn’t put you in the kind of danger his life seemed to be saturated in.  Besides there was no hope for someone like him, and if he thought he was fucked up years ago when he’d first meet you on that hunt in Wichita? Well, fuck if he wasn’t more in deep shit now than he’d ever been. 

Dean was sure you’d moved on by now anyway, he wasn’t going to waste your time on him. He was a lost cause. A shattered, broken shell of the former hunter when he was 28. Now it was all an act and a brave face until he could get stoned enough to get numb to not give a damn, because Dean fucking Winchester wasn’t allowed to feel. And as a result, he never did .

What if the night sky was missing the moon? And there were no shooting stars, to use wishing on you And all of my sorrows, I just wash them down It’s the only peace I've ever found. All of this drinking and smoking is hopeless but feel like it's all that I need Something inside of me is broken, I hold onto anything that sets me free

Dean didn't stop until he was tired of driving, but it was better than being in that Bunker with the couple fucking happy in love. He found himself in probably another state, but fuck if he even knew which one, they all looked the same after so many years on the road. A joint burning slowly in one hand, a bottle of cheap whiskey in another, and his back stretched out on Baby’s sleek, black hood. Nothing out there between him and all of his past years of regret but the stars, and the moon that shined out over the body of water he was parked in front of.

He was starting to feel the effects of his self-medication, and he knew he’d end up spending the night out here-which wasn’t much of a problem for him. At least it was quiet, peaceful even. That or he was just shit-faced enough to drown out the voices in his head that were screaming at him louder than usual that he would die alone, just like his father. Chasing his demons. 

If this little bit of pot and that little bit of alcohol gave him a little earlier out without having to actually pull the trigger? Well, fuck he’d take that too. He deserved nothing less than to die stoned, drunk, and probably in his own vomit. So much for being a hero. At this point though, he was pretty positive that heroes didn’t get saved. 

When the alcohol had run out and he had to lean against a tree to take a piss, he decided that he’d go crawl in the backseat and try to sleep it off so that he could play the hero one more day. That was, if he woke up

When he had flopped across the leather seats of the only real home he’d ever known, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number he was pretty sure he’d never forget. It rang and rang until he was just about to say fuck it, and hang up when you finally answered the phone. 

“Hello?”

Dean’s breath hitched in his throat, and he knew that he should've just hung up but for some reason, he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand the ache in his own chest any longer.

“Hello?” your voice said again as one silent tear slipped down his cheek onto the leather seat underneath him.

“Y/N, It’s Dean… I-uh, I’m sorry to call you so late.”

You could have heard a pin drop as your own heart picked up pace, your mind racing a thousand miles a minute. 

“Dean? Damn it’s been years. I thought you were dead!” you tell him in disbelief, sitting down on the concrete steps outside of your little house. His face still was a clear picture in your mind, the night he’d left you felt like it was yesterday as it was all those years ago. 

“Not dead yet, Sweetheart,”  Dean laughed almost humorlessly. It was too late to hang up now, so he could either lie to her, or he could tell the truth, he could tell her how lonely he really was and how much he regretted the day he’d left her all those years ago. “I’m-uh… I’m thinking about coming by and seeing you for a few days. It’s been a long time, and I just… God Y/N, I just really want to see you again.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You could tell he’d been drinking by the slurred speech, but it was almost as if you could hear the cry for help in his voice. 

“You know you're always welcome here Dean. I told you years ago, and it still stands today, you can always come home.”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as the tears started to flow freely down his face now. “So you never moved on? No, Mr Right?” Dean tried to sound like he was joking, but honestly, he just felt like he sounded weak. Still, he had to know. 

“No Dean, I told you-it was you, and it would always be you,” you said, drying tears of your own away with the sleeve of your shirt. “I still love you, Dean, I always will. No matter how dangerous you say it is.”

Dean was about to hang up and tell you it was a mistake, but you had to go and say that. The internal battle was still raging inside of him, but dammit if he wasn’t tired of fighting it.

I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams

You talked to Dean until he had passed out with the promise he’d see you in the morning. He told you over and over again that you should hang up on him, that you should rightfully tell him to fuck off, but you refused to. So now you stood pacing the front porch of the address you had texted to his phone last night. Praying, hoping that you’d see that beautiful black Impala that haunted your dreams pull down your driveway. 

Some of the things that he’d told you last night that he’d been through were horrific and you knew he wasn’t the same man he was all those years ago, but you also knew he still had the same soul. He saved you all those years ago, and now, it was your turn to save him. 

You didn’t breathe easily until you heard Baby’s engine purr and saw her coming down your street. It took all you had not to run to meet him halfway, and when he got out of the car, he said nothing, just wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight into him-like you were a lifeline, and if he let you go, he’d never surface again. Little did you know that it was exactly what he felt.

“You’re home Dean,” you told him through broken sobs of your own mixed with his. 

And he was. Finally, someone decided he might just be worth saving too, and he was glad that it was you.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @hayleeharling​   @flamencodiva​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @bxbyizzy​ @rain-dance-goblin​ @itmejado​ @supernatural3002​

[amnachil]

The High School Game Part 15

Hi everyone ! I know the story is kinda long and it’s hard to follow... But I want to post it until the end anyway x) Don’t worry, we already exceeded the halfway point !

Gregory DAY 109 Saturday

Exceptionnally, Finn organized a party depiste not being an after-match saturday. The dark-haired boy went his head full of expectation. The 3rd week of January ended and depiste some setback, his plans were working well. His own popularity started to rise again. They all had forgotten his dramatic "perverse" attitude, from now on, and with his new behavior he attracted sympathy. Plus, with his bulk-up, he would soon be better than Raphaël, and took his place. By the way, Gregory had found a new partner in crime : Kim. They had been talking lengthily. The girl had been expelled from her last school because she had insulted and assaulted physically a schoolmate. But she had big expectations for her new high school. Raphaël and Shirley were exactly the kind of people she hated. She planned to humiliate them, one after another, with his help. And Gregory was happy to help, of course. Plus, tonight, she prepared something for another bitch he hated. But right now, the lad was eating joyfully at the buffet with Sam. Shirley's boyfriend, despite being the fatty, was quite popular among the 11th grade. Several student still respected the ex-right arm of Raphaël. Gregory hated Shirley, but he learnt to appreciate Sam. His advice were usefull, after all. And while he’s with me, he isn’t with his fucking girlfriend. She was not here, by the way, and Sam told Gregory she was busy, without details.

"Jeez, it was a good meal." whispered the fatty while patting his belly.

Gregory looked at him with a glint a challenge.

"Are you seriously stuffed ? I can eat at least a whole pizza by myself because of my bulk-up."

Sam smiled.

"Do you imply you can eat more than me ? Man, you already tried to overfeed me, and you never succeed."

"We'll see."

I know I’ll not gain weight, by the way, while you will balloon even more... Stupid cow. They both dug in wishing to win this food contest. Gregory took a slice of pizza, then a can of beer, and then a slice of pizza. He repeated the little game several time, only taking break to belch loudly and evacuate the air. After a while, feeling bloated, he discreetly unbuttoned his belt and jeans in order to let his expanding belly breathe. Sam smiled while swallowing a big slice of pizza.

"Are you stuffed little boy ? I'm only starting, you know ?"

Liar. His opponent's paunch was bloated, hard, and pushing against his shirt, and he rubbed it with his free hand. Gregory took a can of beer, and gulped.

"I'm, buuurrp, not finished yet. Burp. You'll be.. buuuurrp, surprised."

He began again to stuff his face. He could feel his shirt button having an hard time holding the pressure, but did not care. He ate again a whole pizza, while drinking beer. Sam was right on his heels, but he did not care. He swallowed again a slice, burping loudly. I can't lose this again. No way. He rushed another pizza and polished it as fast as possible. He bloated belly was heavy now. He had some difficulties to walk, but he did not care. Eat was his only aim. After a while, he took a break and sighed, overstuffed. His belly gurgled, in pain, and he rubbed it slowly. Woah... However, Sam smiled, himself rounder and bigger, but still eating.

"Do you give up ?" he asked.

"Nah... buuuuurp... I know I can.... buuuuurp.... eat more."

His opponent pushed a big container towards him.

"This is chocolat mousse. Easy to eat. Let's see if you can do this."

Gregory nodded, took a big spoon and swallowed. Wow, this is tasty... Slowly, under Sam eyes, he ate spoon after spoon. His belly, gurgling, was pushing against his shirt. Oooh. Sometimes, he drank another beer and burped. After a long time, he succeeded to finish the container. He was so stuffed he could barely move, and certainly not get up. His both hands rubbing his belly, he closed his eyes, be prey to a succession of belch. He was near to a food-coma, and unable to speak. Did I won ?

"I think, burp, you did a good job." whispered Sam. "But I'm, brup, still better. Maybe you should try, burp, again later."

A clamor woke Gregory up. His friend were gathered in Finn's garden, and laughing. What’s happening ? Slowly, he stood up. Wow... He felt his belly, still complety bloated, heavier than usual. Sam was sleeping on a chair next to him, but he ignored him. Groggy, he headed towards the gathering. He glimpsed Raphaël, sat on a corner, his legs spreaded while speaking with Liam. Otherwise, the room was wasteland : they all were in the garden. Gregory arrived and watched what triggered this laughs. Barbara, the class delegate he hated, was in the pool, half-naked, trying to wash the vomit covering her hairs and clothes. Kim, apparently drunk, was yelling :

"I'm sorry ! So sorry ! Please, let me help you !"

She dived into the water and reached their schoolmate while screaming like a pig. My god, she's so funny. I love her. Finn gave him a beer and laughed :

"She's awesome ! Just watch her Gerg !"

The supporting striker agreed. He took a mouthful of his can and laughed when Kim, pretending to help Barbara, took this one pants off. The class delegate shouted :

"Stop it ! Stop it ! You're drunk ! Let me alone !"

Holy shit... They all were in stitches. Kim threw up her diner on Barbara, who screamed with horror. My fuckin' god ! Barbara headed towards the edge and got out of the pool, only with her lingeries, soaked. Kim yelled :

"I'm sorry ! Really sorry ! Can I help you ?"

"Hell no ! You did enough !" retorted the class delegate.

She looked for Jessy, but Liam's girlfriend was too busy laughing to help her. Consequently, Barbara left them running towards the exit. Gregory drank the rest of his can, patted his still bloated belly with satisfaction, and came near to the edge. Kim smiled. He loved this. She was ready to humiliate herself in order to beat her opponent. And she was perfectly serving his interest by doing so.

"Did you liked this ?" she asked, not in the least drunk.

He opened his mouth and belched loudly.

"Yeah, I kinda liked, buuuuurp. You know what ? I think you're my favourite... buuuurp... evil girl."

I need another beer, by the way. She smiled spitefully.

"I guess you're me favourite burping man. Did someone already tell you that you were good at belching ?"

Again, he burped loudly, and shook his head. Except you of course, because you already understood I'm the best for everything.

Liam DAY 111 Monday

Last monday of January came with a good new : snow. The entire town was under a covering of snow. Cool ! This morning, Liam woke up earlier, excited like a kid, and rushed outside in pajamas despite the cold. He ran in circle during at least 5 minutes, before his sister shouted :

"Brother ! Come here before getting sick !"

"Chloe ! It's snow !!!"

"Yeah, I saw !"

He made a snowball, and watched her with a smile. (Okay, he maybe grew in height, but his mind was still 10 years old). She screamed when he threw his missile.

"Seriously ?!"

Liam nodded. Suddenly, he glimpsed Raphaël, in sportwear, running next to them. Hum... This was a terrible idea. A bad idea. But boy with a 10 years old maturity would probably do it. However, he did not have time to attack, because a big and soft snowball hit him in the belly. His captain smirked.

"I know what you were thinking, dude."

" How ?"

Raphaël smiled, but Chloe, who took his winter jacket and was now making a snowball, answered :

"You did the same thing last year brother. And the year before. I think we are used to it, now."

"Remember, do not hit under the belt." ordered Raphaël.

Liam spirit was suddenly excited like for christmas. Oh yeah ! He rushed a tree to hide and collect his munitions. This is the best day of my life ! (Okay, not the best, but as every 10 years old kid, every day was the best day of his life). Anyway, it was time to win a battle.

Latter, during the afternoon break, Liam sneezed. I think I caught a cold... Obviously, playing in the snow in pajamas was probably the cause, but he had a lot of fun, and it was worthy. The goalkeeper ate slowly his donut (this donut was supposed to be eaten by Jessy, but whatever) and sighed. With the snow, the heated spirits were gone, and everyone just enjoyed the day, without any complaint. Raphaël, sat on the bench, stared at him and frowned.

"Why aren’t you with Jessy, by the way ?"

"She is comforting Barbara... They decided to stay together today, even if my love didn’t help our delegate during the party... I wonder if Kim apologised."

"Probably..." replied softly Raphaël. "Are you bulking-up, or somethin' ?"

Liam turned his head towards his friend, surprised.

"No. Why ?"

"Well, you just eat more than before, but it's not a big deal I guess."

Oh... well... this food is supposed to feed Jessy... To be honest, Jessy ate enough by herself, and she was gaining weight by being lazy and gourmand. However, Liam did not realized he was becoming like her.

"Do you fear I gain weight ?" he asked prudently.

He knew his captain was a sport addict. Workout was his religion. And Liam feared his judgment. (Not only his judgment, by the way...).

"Absolutely not." replied Raphaël with a smile. "Firstly, you just did a growth spurt, and your weight have to catch up. Secondly, you have a fast metabolism to help you, and I'm sure indulging a little is not a big deal. Thirdly, you're our goalkeeper, not our supporting striker. You could have some meat on your bones you know, we're not playing at national level."

Liam nodded silently. This reaction was unexpected. Raphaël noticed, because he laughed.

"Being a workout passionate don't mean I will oblige my friends to do the same, you know ? As much as you respect the rules, I'm fine with you."

The rules. The team captain often spoke about the rules. However, the goalkeeper was not sure to understand well.

"Well, you gave up Sam because he was not respecting the rules, so ? I thought it was because he became fat."

"That's funny, because I never gave up Sam. He left by himself, convinced I would abandon him, but I never intended to. As far as you're conforming to the rules Liam, I have nothing against you. Sam could be a little overweight, I did not care until he decided to encourage this way of life. He became a deviant. Do you get it ?"

"Not really, but don't worry. I'm not becoming fat, and I'm not a chubby chaser."

(A little lie from time to time was not serious... Okay, it was serious, but Liam refused to lost Raphaël's friendship only because they had a different point of view).

His captain nodded, and they went to the class, as close as ever.

Shirley DAY 113 Wednesday – 114 Thursday

This evening, the girl sat nervously on the couch. She was alone, for now, and stressed. According to her mother, Dan would be back today, only for the night. He had been sleeping at a friend's flat, still according to her. Tonight, I will apologise... Shirley did not see him since their argument, and each day, she felt more pathetic. Plus, she tried to offer Kilian some food, and help for his homework, but he always declined. Sam supported her in this initiative, but still, their schoolmate was too afraid about his family's reaction. She heard the door opening. Dan was there. Quite stressed, she waited him. Her brother dressed with a black jeans and a tigh white shirt (the buttons were compressing his belly), looked at her. He is mad...

"Hi brother. I waited you to talk." she hesitantly said.

He ignored her, put his bag on the floor and then opened the cookie box (they had a cookie box in the living room). While eating, he turned towards her. He knew I was here... Mum likely told him before going at the restaurant.

"I'm sorry." she proclaimed. "I was selfish and blind. I did not understand your feelings. But I do now, and I want to help you with all this stuff."

"Do you know what is an erogenous zone ? And how it could be weak with some people ?"

"What do you mean ?"

He was eating a cookie, patting peacefully his belly, but his tone was cold. And she glimpsed a glint of rancor in his eyes.

"You want to help me ? Apologise to Raphaël for everything you did."

"What Raphaël is doing in this stuff ? Who care about him ?"

"I do. I knew you disliked him, but I did not expected you would kick him in the balls and then punch him like a barbarian !"

Shirley did not understand. She felt her rancor against the devil growing inside. Jeezus, I need to control myself. Dan is my brother, not one of his minions... And Kilian told me Raphaël did something good for him.

"Look, I don't really get it, but I think he lied to you and told some bullshits about me. I just want to help you. I'm not a bad sister."

"Can you, for once, stop thinking only about you ? You said you're selfish, and again, you proved this. I'm just asking you to apologise."

This is the best. She skipped the restaurant in order to make up with him, and he came here, insulting her and speaking about the devil ?

"I will not apologise to him, brother. He lied to you, I swear. Yes, I kicked him, but it was not that violent or..."

"Shut the fuck up Shirley. You're a fucking disappointment. I thought we were inseparable, but it seems I was wrong. You only think about your person, and you don't care about the other, including me."

"That's a lie !" she shouted. "How can I prove you I'm not selfish ? You're just blinkered ! How can I convince you ?"

"Not by yelling on me." he whispered before taking his bag.

He went upstairs, leaving her alone and tembling. How the fuck it degenerated like this ?

The next morning, when she woke up for her daily workout, Dan was already gone. Her mother told her he was not coming back for a while, feeling uncomfortable here. The most ironic ? Mr and Ms Vince, as her twins sisters all accepted kindly Dan's coming out. I'm the only one being so selfish. She felt even more pathetic. But, in order to do the right thing, she could not feel demoralized. Sam was busy with Gregory, trying to fatten this asshole. And by the way, it was slowly working. His high consumption of energy drinks and beer made his belly slightly round the whole day. Sadly, it was hard to say if he was gaining weight or only bloated. Anyway, Sam was working on it, and she was useless, Gregory hating her. She decided to focus on another problem. Raphaël being out of range, and Barbara too cautious since the last party, Shirley tried to help Kilian. But today, she needed to shift into high gear. She did her workout, showered, and then left the house. In 15 minutes, she reached her schoolmate's home (being the only De Beauchêne in town, it was easy to find him). Feeling brave for once, she knocked. A giant opened. Kilian's father was really tall (like 200 cm) and Shirley needed to look up in order to see his face. Futhermore, he was quite muscled, and she gulped, suddenly less brave. Behind him, two guys exactly like him, tall and impressive, stared at her. Holy shit... I start to understand... In comparison, Kilian was like a tiny little kid.

"Who are you ?" asked Mr. De Beauchêne with a booming voice.

Oh wow... Maybe this was not a really good idea after all...

"I'm Kilian's friend, and I went to pick him up." she eventually say timidly.

The father scrutinized her like if she was for sale. The tow brothers were smiling maliciously, and she seriously considered running (despite their physics, at least she was pretty sure to win a race).

"Have you a boyfriend ?" asked Mr. De Beauchêne suddenly.

She nodded, and the atmosphere relaxed a bit. Kilian was serious, about this anti-gay and lesbian stuff. His schoolmate showed up, and stared at her with a glint saying "you're mad Shirley" in his eyes. I'm here now, so please, come. Slowly, he came closer.

"She pretended to be your friend." proclaimed his father. "Is that true ?"

Kilian nodded carefully. Then, he went in the street and intimated her to follow. She felt Mr. De Beauchêne and his sons staring at them until they disapeared behind a house. At this moment, Kilian sighed loudly.

"I did not know you wanted to die, Shirley." he whispered.

She smiled. I'm not committing suicide. I'm proving to myself I'm not selfish. They went to Ms. Liliano's bakery (where she glimpsed Gregory buying his donuts, just before they entered).

"Choose somethin', I will buy it." she said.

Kilian stared at her, amazed.

"You sure ?"

"Well, I did this for Sam before he decided to buy it by himself because I was not providing enough, so yes, I'm sure. I guess you have no breakfast, and everyone need a breakfast."

He smiled like a kid. Behind the plaster, his black eye (apparently, his brothers made sure he always had one) and his hood, she glimpsed his cute face. The face of an happy man. And this was all she wanted right now. Someone happy and thanksful.

Gregory DAY 116 Saturday

"Come on, it's like protein shake you know ?"

The lad watched the mixture with reluctance. I don't know, I already ate a lot and drank a lot too... He patted his bloated belly, convinced he had already enough energy. But Kim, who offered him this mixture, was insistent.

"You know, it's not a drug or something. It's a protein mixture, in order to have a good condition during your match. Don't be silly, for god sake."

"Are you sure it will work ?"

"Sure. And no one need to know. You and me, that's all. You said you wanted to surpass Raphaël, don't you ?"

Well... I guess I can take it, after all. He prudently took the mixture, and injected it himself. He felt his whole body shaking when his musled recieved the excess of energy. Kim smiled, satisfied :

"Are you ready to win like a superstar ?"

"Hell yes !"

They suddenly heard clapping. Surprised, Gregory tunerd towards the sound : it was Jessy, proudly holding her phone.

"I wonder what I will do with those photo..." she laughed. "I bet Raphaël will expell you from the team."

Gregory rushed her and stood in front of her, menacing.

"You'll not do that, fucking bitch."

"Why not ?" she asked.

This asshole. Fucking slut. Come on, we already humiliated you...Do you really want to do this again ?

"Barbara will be pleased to finally punish you Kim. She did not like you, in case you care."

The chubby girl smiled.

"Neither do I, little girl. But I know you will ask something for yourself before all."

Gregory gave her a dirty look. No way. We don't negociate with this bitch. She's a fucking defeated slut.

"Delete those photo, Jessy, or I will." he threatened.

She stared at him, smiling.

"You'll not. Because you're a coward Greg." she looked at Kim. "I want your help for a plan I made."

"Why on Earth do you think I will agreed ?" asked the chubby girl.

Did they are negociating ? We don't negociate. Fuck off. Fuck off. Gregory tried to took her phone, but Jessy moved backwards easily.

"Come on Kim. You're a nuisance. I'm a nuisance. We can do something big together. But firstly, you should join the team Gregory, I heard the signal of the beginning of the match."

The lad hesitated. Fuck you. Both of you. I'm trapped now... He left them, enraged, and ran towards the field.

Embolden by the mixture, Gregory did quite a good match. He scored two time, as much as Raphaël, and their team won 4-1. However, he was worried about Jessy and Kim alliance. They were both fucking bitches, and he feared a noxious plan. During the party Finn organized for the after match, he felt a little paranoid. Plus, his body quivered, demanding more energy than usual to hold on his feet. Jeezus, I consumed more than I expected during this match. The montlhy check-up was Monday, and he was convinced he gained a lot of muscle mass. But right now, he needed some supply. Drinking beer after beer, he was constantly eating, until 3:00. Then, he left the party bloated, feeling heavy and sick. Holy shit, what is happening to me ? His belly was gurgling in pain, and he had some difficulties to walk. Moreover, he felt exhausted despite his stuffing session. Slowly, he headed towards his house, but did not reached it. Groggy, he fell onto the sidewalk. What is happening ? My stomach hurt so much... He vomited without even noticed. His whole body shivered. I need help. His thoughts was clouded. He never ate and drank that much. And he never consumed a mixture like Kim's one before. His hands tried, with much effort, to rub his distended tummy. Around him, there was nothing. The city block was sleeping. In a food-coma, drowsy, he tried to get up, but failed. It hurt. Please, help me. He cried, like a stupid kid, afraid. He was alone, in pain, and nobody would help him. He fell asleep, despite the pain. The only thing he heard was Raphaël cold tone, telling him how much this mixture was harmful for his body. And then, he reached the realm of the dreams.

To be continued

Gregory met the badest girl of them all... Where it will lead ? In the same time, Shirley is struggling with Kilian (I like this kiddo) and Dan... At least there is Liam, without any problem, who help us to understand a bit more Raphaël. I think I love them both ! :) See you soon (I hope) for the next part !

[gospacegay]

LRTIHEW: Part Four

The title stands for “Longest Rusame Thing I Have Ever Written”.

First Chapter: https://gospacegay.tumblr.com/post/165808913233/lrtihew-part-one

Previous Chapter: https://gospacegay.tumblr.com/post/165835878803/lrtihew-part-three

There is swearing, fluff, eventual smut, insanity, and lord knows what else.

“Well... You have a lot of experience with this but... I was thinking of killing my president.” Alfred stated bluntly. Ivan was shocked to hear this, keeping his expression blank. “He can not be that bad, Alfred.” Ivan objected, feeling a sick mix of joy and concern. This was definitely a real name type of conversation. The possibility of international anarchy was somewhat exciting.

“He's stripping human rights, deregulating the market... He's a fucking monster. I need to kill him.” Alfred insisted, expression steeled. “Can you ah... what is it... impeach him?” Ivan asked, still knitting. “It's going to take a year to work, and... He needs to be out now. He wants to go to war with China. Fucking China. That dude is as tough as you are.” his guest fretted, clearly losing his cool.

This was serious. China would look for allies and Ivan would be torn from his comfortable neutrality. The global markets... Ivan didn't want to think about what a potential market crash would do for his already struggling citizens. “Okay. I will help you kill him.” the Russian agreed, keeping his regular demeanour.

“Oh thank you! You have no idea how stressed out I've been about this!” Alfred crooned, sweeping Ivan into a massive hug. Not certain what to do, the taller nation awkwardly patted America on the back. “It will be fine, yes?” he soothed, or hoped he did. He wasn't very good at these positive types of interactions. Released, the Russian settled back in his rocking chair.

“Oh I'm so excited! I was thinking, oh he's not gonna go for it or be a huge dick, but oh my god you're so chill about this!” Alfred squealed happily, bouncing all over the place. “Yes, I am chill, as you say. Now, how do you wish to kill him?” Russia answered calmly. “I want to rip his head off.” Alfred answered quickly, expression dreamy as he clearly imagined it. Ivan couldn't help but truly smile, seeing a kindred spirit of carnal destruction for a few seconds. Maybe they could be friends, someday.

After a long night of scheming and evil plans, the duo ordered takeout from the functioning half of Moscow. Dinner was fish with fries, a heaping helping of coleslaw on the side. The dessert squares turned out to be nanaimo bars, which were absolutely delicious. After killing the bottle of vodka, a mostly sober Ivan and a drunk Alfred decided to sleep.

With the power still off, Ivan's bedroom had turned into an icebox. Alfred was largely useless, still unable to hold his liquor after two centuries. Must be a trait he inherited from England. Dragging a mattress from a long abandoned guest bedroom, Ivan set it up in the warm living room. A few dusty blankets later, everything was ready.

Getting comfortable, the tall Russian looked over at his guest. “Where am I supposed to sleep big dummy?” Alfred slurred, slumped over the worn love seat. “Wherever you wish, though it is advisable to share the mattress. Body heat is wonderful for blizzard survival” Ivan answered, meaning it in the most platonic way possible. He had saved many lost and cold travellers in the past by keeping them awake and close. It was possible to freeze to death even inside structures, if the heat couldn't stay in effectively.

“I'm not layin' with you commie. Uh, not commie. Whatever.” Alfred complained, correcting himself mid insult. “I am curious America. You have not called me communist for almost a year. Perhaps you have gleamed my reasons for the soviet union?” Ivan wondered out loud, one of several questions that weighed on his mind.

“Communists are still evil, and capitalism will always prevail.” The tanned American argued predictably, then sighed. He looked remorseful a moment, continuing, “But I'm trying not to hold it against you anymore. You were starving at the time, or at least your people were. Starving people do crazy things, like kill the royal family, or start cult societies. Evil stupid cult societies.”

Ivan had been hungry prior to the massacre that triggered the soviet union. Hungry enough to kill, to do something regrettable. His precious Romanovs had ignored the signs. He loved them, he did and always would, but they had been so dense. They took little heed of his condition, presuming him to be sick, ignoring his warnings. They died for that sin, painfully and horribly.

“At least you understand that much.” Ivan whispered, glad someone understood even a sliver of his motives. Rationing the few pieces of firewood left, Ivan tossed a few on to keep the heat in the room alive. Sleep came quickly, the cold of day having sapped Ivan of his energy. He slept poorly, shivering  and getting up frequently to stoke the fire.

After an unknown amount of time Ivan woke to weak light of morning. The snow plastered windows filtered the room pale grey. A lukewarm America was wrapped tightly around him under the covers, still wearing that fluffy sweater. Fearing the worst, Ivan checked Alfred's pulse. It was much too slow. As dangerous as Ivan could get when enraged, he had no wish for people to die on his watch. Unless they particularly deserved it, life was indeed sacred.

The fire was completely dead today, the room plunged to hair raising temperatures. If Ivan was feeling uncomfortable in this environment, it could kill his temperate to subtropical guest. Using a newspaper as kindling, Ivan built the fire up again and started boiling water. Alfred was still unconscious, pulse low. “Please wake up America.” Russia muttered anxiously, taking off his treasured scarf and winding it around the other nation's neck and face. Desperate, he resorted to holding his guest close and attempting to rub heat into his back. He had to react to something!

After twenty fearful minutes, a very groggy America came back to life. “Never coming back here again.” he coughed, looking exhausted. Relieved, Ivan brought him a fresh extra strong coffee. “Drink, America. It is warm.” he urged, not giving the younger man a choice. “I am glad you are not dead. Your soon-to-be-murdered boss would be very displeased with my government.” Ivan commented once Alfred was fully revived.

“You mean... you still want to help? I thought all the plans were drunk talk.” Alfred answered, looking very happy. “This act will bind us as comrades.” Ivan purred, quite pleased. “What do you mean? Why are you acting like a bond villain?” Alfred demanded, looking apprehensive. “We will be friends, yes? Then you can return a big favor for me!” Ivan explained, letting his inner glee seep through his normally flat expressions.

“I'm not killing Putin. Even if he is a jerk.” Alfred refused, munching on freezing cold bread from the kitchen. “No, silly American. You will not bring harm to my boss. He is mine.” Russia replied with ease, not bothering to disguise his dark possessive nature towards the end. “Oooh, crushing much on the Putinator. You know hes getting old right?” Alfred teased, ignoring the warnings like always. Ivan scowled but said nothing. His favorite strong willed leader aging less than gracefully was a concern gnawing at the back of his mind.

After a cold breakfast of cereal and breads, the duo set to work shoveling out the front door. It took three hours of labor, but the punishing blizzard had finally settled in the night. The amber glow of street lamps came closer, humming to life one city block at a time. Finally, Ivan's house was live again. It was just in time for both of them to have hot showers before heading to the airport. They separated peacefully at the waiting area, for Alfred had a military jet on stand by.

They would not physically see each other again for many months. Convening too often would arouse suspicion, outside their normal boxes of behavior. While not dead, Alfred's president was almost immediately absent from office, horrendously ill. Ivan knew the man would be sleeping most days, vomiting and becoming blistered. The pain of the blisters would drive him to assured madness. He would eventually die, when his heart gave out from the stress. Ivan knew this intimately.

During the cold war, Ivan had entirely embraced the hate and darkness within. His people produced nuclear bombs, rockets, and guns never seen before. They also engineered insidious diseases, all of which ever left a laboratory. Strains of disease so virile they had to seal the files for then underground in hidden bunkers. The particular strain infecting the American president was so obscure, it's name was stripped from soviet records. It had a fatality rate of eighty percent, they highest they ever tested on dogs.

Although the president's death would be a bit on the flashy side, it could easily be explained away with deadly allergies to certain foods or alcohol. After all, the main catalyst for the disease had laced every drink the man had for months. His body was primed for any disease at all, immune system almost permanently crippled.

[cyarikryze]

broken mirror; chapter 3

trigger warning again! for abuse, depression & anxiety mentions. —— I decide against going up to bed tonight. I find myself afraid of facing him with the dark blue bruise angry on my cheekbone, my red, puffy eyes, my cheeks stained with a mix of mascara and tears. I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want to see him, either.

I set up the couch with some pillows and blankets, my hands still shaking. I feel sick. My phone lies on the table, all notifications switched off. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. Not if it’ll cause this.

I lie down on the couch and curl into a tight ball, pulling the covers over me and burying my face into the pillows. The shaking takes over my whole body. I heave.

My cheek is still throbbing. I bring a hand to it, and whimper again. I’m trying to stop myself from crying.

I’ve only seen him for moments at a time since it happened. Once, he stalked through the living room, barely glancing at me. I’d kept my head low, and didn’t move until I heard the door slam. He came back just a moment ago, hours after leaving. He was far more drunk than before, and as he walked past I thought I caught a smell of a woman’s perfume dissolving in the air. I told myself I was imagining things. I didn’t look up then, either.

I chew the inside of my mouth, scratching my hand. I keep replaying it, over and over again, like an old film reel in my mind. The empty scotch bottle shattering against the wall beside me. The yelling and the accusations. His hand around my throat, tightening and tightening, until I can’t breathe. The thud of a blow so unexpected it knocks me to the ground. The shatter of a bottle. Yelling and accusations. Hand around my throat, I can’t breathe. Thud, I’m on the ground. Bottle, shattered. Yelling. Accusations. Hand, throat. I can’t breathe. Thud. Ground.

I sit up abruptly and heave again. I feel sick, so so sick. I pull the covers off myself and rush into the downstairs bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time to vomit. I’m shaking again, or maybe I always was, and it’s just more violent now. My head throbs. I wipe my mouth with a piece of tissue, and flush, before I stand and stare at myself in the mirror. I look like a ghost, I’m so pale - the mascara stands out against my cheeks so much so that I look like a phantom from a horror film. I groan and shake my head.

I turn on the tap and splash cold water into my face, over and over again until all the makeup is cleared from my face. I dry the water off with a towel, and study myself again. With all the black washed off, I realise that I now look dead - or at least like an ailing, dying woman. I catch myself, just for a moment, wishing I was.

I swallow and close my eyes. My head’s spinning. I think I’m spiralling again.

*** My phone buzzes beside me. I ignore it. Whoever it is, it can wait.

I’m lying in my bed, blankets over me, pillows under my head. I haven’t even attempted to move in hours, maybe even days. I’m not sure how long it’s been. I know I haven’t slept, but that’s not much to go by, I know. I could just reach to check the time, but even that small action feels as though it will be too tiresome.

My phone buzzes again, and again, several times over the next hour or so. I still don’t reach for it. I want to, with everything in me, but everything just feels heavy, as though it is pinning me to the bed. Crushing my chest, my lungs. It’s such an effort even to breathe, I don’t know why I don’t just stop trying.

There’s a knock at my door now. I move to hide my face in the pillows. Go away, please, leave me alone.

“Mels?” I hear Julian’s voice, and feel an instant guilt for not calling out to him sooner, to let him know I’m okay. He’ll only be worried. The door opens. I hear him waking up the stairs. “Mels, are you home?”

I hear my bedroom door open. I can’t bring myself to look up. “Hey, sweetheart, I’ve been worried about you. Are you sick?”

He sits down beside me and puts a hand on my back. I muster up all the strength I can to look up at him, to shake my head. “God, you look like you haven’t slept in days. Are you okay?”

Another shake.

“Do you want to talk…? Or you can write it out, if that’s easier.”

I gesture weakly for my phone, and he hands it to me. I unlock it, try not to look at the worried messages he’s sent me. I take a deep, shaking breath, and start typing:

“I’m sorry. I get this way sometimes. Just really huge depressive episodes. They always pass, I’ll be fine. I’m just not up for anything at the moment.”

I press send, and throw my phone down to the side of me, bringing my hands to my head. He picks his up as it vibrates, and I can’t look at him as he reads it.

“Oh, Mels…” he rubs my back, kisses my head gently. “Do you need me to go?”

I’m about to nod, but then I stop, and think. Maybe I do need someone with me. Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing all this time, maybe isolating myself in these times was never the best idea. So I look at him, at the worry on his face, and shake my head.

“Alright, love. I’m gonna go make us some tea, alright? You should at least try to drink something.”

He squeezes my hand, and kisses my temple gently.

*** I wake up on the bathroom floor, everything seeming lighter than it was before. I realise that I must’ve passed out and slept through the night. My head’s still throbbing.

I push myself up slowly, clinging onto the sink for support. I feel dizzy, so dizzy, and I almost lose my balance as I stand. I catch a glance at myself in the mirror and groan weakly. The bruise stands out against my cheek so badly that no one could ignore it.

I reach my shaking hands forward to the spare makeup bag I keep in the bathroom. I spill out the contents onto the counter, tearing through it all until I find my concealer. I apply it to the bruise, and add a little foundation, until it’s blended into my skin and cannot be seen. I can’t let anyone know what happened, more importantly I can’t let him see the damage he’s done to me. I can’t let him know the amount of power he has over me now. Maybe it was just a mistake, after all, and seeing what he’s dome will only make him feel bad. Maybe I should just act like nothing has happened. I think I’ll see if he mentions anything.

I breathe in deeply, shakily. I feel sick again, and my hands won’t stop shaking. I bring a hand to my head and groan. I don’t feel good at all, but I have to face this. The more I hide, the more he’s going to think I’m afraid. And if he didn’t mean to do it, he’ll feel worse. If he did… he’ll think he can get away with it again. I have to show him that I’m stronger than what he does to me.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror again, and force a smile at myself. There is a fake smile that I have perfected over the years that I only bring out in times like this, in times where I have to come across one way when I feel a complete other. I look like an idiot, I think. But maybe he’ll buy into it. Julian never did.

I swallow, and head towards the door. I open it slowly - and remember how the last time I did this, the scotch bottle shattered beside me. I shudder and look around the door. Ian’s there. Stood in the middle of the room. The glass is gone now, his clothes finally cleared from the floor. The glass he was drinking from has evidently been washed and put away. It’s like it never happened. I guess that’s the way I have to act.

“There you are, baby,” he walks over to me with a smile - there’s something sinister about it, I think, something dark. But maybe I’m just imagining it, maybe my mind is playing tricks on me after last night. “I was worried that I couldn’t find you. Were you in there all night?”

“I, um-” I flinch as he comes closer to me, and try to disguise it with a grimace I at least hope looks somewhat like a smile, “I think I passed out or something. I wasn’t feeling well last night, and I went into the bathroom and - next thing I know - I wake up - and it’s - it’s day.”

He’s closer than ever to me now, and my heart races, not in the excited and passionate way it used to, but in a fearful and wary manner. I don’t know if he notices. I’m trying my hardest to keep control of my breathing. I don’t want him to see how scared I am.

“Oh no, are you sick?” he puts the back of his hand against my forehead, and I flinch away - he notices this time. “Aw, babe, don’t be scared of me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I feel sick to my stomach. Does he even remember what he did to me last night? I can’t work it out. I laugh, somewhat nervously, and try to brush it off.

“Ha, right, sorry… you - you know how I get sometimes.” I wipe my hands on my jeans and start to walk past him, closing my eyes for a second while my back’s to him.

“Oh, right. That,” he laughs, and his arms fold around me from behind. I have to refrain from stiffening. “You need to get over that, Melissa. It’s a little ridiculous.”

“Ha…” I trail off, not wanting to show how much that comment stung. I want to whip around and ask him what the hell was wrong with him, telling me that, does he not understand that if I had any control over this, if I could just get over it, I would? It’s hardly my choice to feel this way - I wish he understood that.

“Babe, I’m sorry I got so mad last night,” he kisses my neck gently, and whispers into my ear, “I just can’t stand the thought of you being around other people without me. I can’t stand the thought of sharing you. Or losing you. I guess I just love you too much.”

“Oh… it’s - it’s fine. I get that.”

“I can always - make it up to you.”

The sick feeling rises to my throat.

“N-not right now. I - I still don’t feel great… I think I need to lie down.”

I push him away and head up the stairs.

[brimahandjohn]

Nimz And Sexual Harassment

Nimz and Everything Under The Sun

So recently I’ve come to realise I experienced work place harassment and the gravity of it is only really daunting on me now. 

I’m pissed to say the least. I’m pissed for several reasons and I’m still discovering new reasons. I can’t ever think my thoughts through without reaching a blockade of anger, sadness, regret, guilt, disgust and shame. 

We learn and we grow, and when I think back on certain situations in my past I can’t help but think how lucky I am to have survived this long with all the dumb ish I’ve gotten up to in the years. 

But that’s going off track, I was harassed and I’m pissed, I’m vengeful and saying it, admitting it, makes me shameful. 

It was 2013/14, I was working in retail, my manager was Muslim. I could finally pray comfortably at work - not that I couldn’t before, but before I wasn’t really understood. Or maybe that’s what I projected. Or maybe that was the atmosphere. Either way prayer was something I did when the shop front quietened down, not when it was due. So working with a Muslim manager and being able to pray was a big deal to me. 

A few weeks after I started working, the store was hiring again and I got to work with my friend from uni. The store was relatively young and the atmosphere was fun and vibrant. We’d banter, gist and chill. Most of us part timers were in our final year and we understood each other.  

I started off intent to work hard, I’d come from a more intense store so I didn’t have to do much to prove myself. 

I quickly rose in reputation, from newbie to trusted advisor. Which came mainly with the responsibility of helping the others. 

Life was pretty much calm, till one day my spider senses kicked in. 

I started feeling uncomfortable around my manager, I couldn’t put my finger on it directly. But I knew I hated being around him, his gaze lasted a little to long, I’d look up to find him staring at me, he’d stand a little too close. He seemed to always enter my space. 

I fobbed off the problem as being mine, I’m notoriously sensitive about my personal space and hate people encroaching. I felt I had to get over it because I couldn’t expect everyone to understand my unsaid laws about personal space. So I kept quite. 

He continued to stand closely and I continued to look for random reasons to ‘naturally’ move away. “I need a drink”, “I need to tie my shoe”, “what’s outside” and sometimes randomly helping someone else lol. 

My behaviour towards him started to change. I grew cold and dismissive, I shortened my responses and replied with closed sentences. I began to dread doing late shifts, because all the staff would have to close together and walk to the station together. Early shifts meant I could walk out on my own and the manager usually never does an early shift. I hated being called into his office. It was the size of shoe box and you were literally recycling air with the other person in there. If I had to go into the office I’d stand by the door leaving it slightly ajar. I’d fake smile and keep it short and sweet, so as not to prolong the conversation. 

However I was still convinced it was all in my head and I was being sensitive. My fix for the issue was to just be cold and distant and hopefully he’d get the message. I didn’t want to cause issues with my manager and I didn’t have the vocabulary I do now to be able to highlight the issue properly. 

At most what could I say? “you stand too close and the way you look at me makes me uncomfortable”, even now I look back and I see that as asking for further problems. For him to explain he had no negative intention, for their to be an elephant in the room, for the rest of the staff to rush to his defence and talk about how great a guy he is, how he’d never do anything to harm a woman. How nobody saw it like that, it was just me, I read too much into it and now things are awkward.

In the middle of the store was an oblong shaped island where the staff would naturally huddle around and chat during quiet time’s. During one shift we were all standing around and the manager came to stand too close to me once again. Our elbows were practically touching, I naturally shifted a little to the side. 

I can’t remember how the conversation went exactly but my (Muslim) manager says “Nimat is my work wife”, I remember freezing. He then says another staff member (who was married) was his other work wife. She laughed it off saying he’s always saying that. 

I felt disgusted. If I remember correctly it was during one of the many times he told us about his really brief marriage to some woman. I never asked questions because I was never interested, but it seemed prior to me moving to the store he had been in a marriage with a woman that barely lasted. The staff used to talk about it a lot. That conversation some how led to me being announced as his work wife whilst he stood too close to me. 

The statement validated all my suspicions. This guy was intentionally in my space and staring at me, I wasn’t imagining it. And now he’s making a statement of it. Almost looking for my co-sign. If I laugh and banter it off then this’ll be the running joke and a catalyst for worse. 

I didn’t laugh. I made a rubbish excuse and I moved away. From then on I hated work. It could be seen in my attitude. I’d be the first one out, id sit far away from the group and I’d call in sick on days when my manager was scheduled in and I couldn’t stomach being in with him. 

But I never said anything. 

He one day pulls me to the side and tells me how I used to be so sweet to him, but now I’m cold and how he felt like I faked my personality just to get the job. How he doesn’t even know how to talk to me anymore. I felt bad for him. I wanted to reassure him that everything’s fine, but I couldn’t. I said I’d try to be better. 

But the gazes continued and I remained uncomfortable. 

Eventually he got promoted but I still never said anything. 

I mean he’d never actually done anything. 

Did he even harass me? 

I spent months navigating myself, my personality and my time around a man who made me uncomfortable rather than calling him out. I grew sensitive and anxious, always aware of where he would be, where he was going to stand. I tried to preempt his moves, go for lunch after id seen him eat or heard him share his plans. I never wanted to be caught off guard, all because I was protecting someone else. Someone I didn’t even care for.

That’s why I’m so pissed when I think back to this situation. I’m annoyed at myself, I feel like a sham, this superwoman persona I parade in, #OpenYourMouf, and here I am silent. I didn’t speak out on a situation and I let the man continue with his behaviour, never once checking him and thus allowing him to be promoted into a higher position of power. 

If I felt powerless at him being a store manager, with all my bravado and fearlessness... how would the next girl feel now he’s higher ranking. 

I’m annoyed that a part of me still feels like it was my fault and all in my head. That I dramatised the attention given and made it into more than it was. I was sensitive.

I wrestle with the idea that it was sexual harassment or that I was harassed and I let it happen. If I read a story where someone is detailing events that happened to them and it feels a little too close to home I scroll past. I never finish reading, I never want to know how it was labelled. 

#MeToo really shook the tree I live under, it’s uncomfortable. It makes me hyper aware of how much I’ve betrayed myself, my values, how fraudulent I really am. 

All the wrongs I’ve rewritten as rights in my memory bank. How complicit I really am in the betrayal of women. 

I’m trying to navigate an energy consuming world whilst relinquishing as little energy as possible. I with my none of my business, just gonna mind my own, go hard or go home attitude. 

I’m finally starting to see how tiredness is part of the package when you’re born female, how minding your business and working hard isn’t enough. How the silent suffer, offer ourselves as sacrifices and if we don’t speak out now we choke on the words swallowed till eventually we either die or vomit it out. 

I’m currently vomiting. I refuse to let mad men and women kill me, I rebuke it. - I wish I can claim exaggeration for dramatic effect but the Nigerian jumped out. I honestly to God cannot come and kill myself. On this formally green earth of God, that you people have come to ruin and demolish with your over consumption and non renewable lifestyle, I cannot allow you to come and kill me too. 

Nope. Tofiakwa. 

I eventually left the company after a few more run ins with mad management. but when I think back to 2014, this incident sits firmly in my top 5 triggers for what was to follow that year.