#and second of all - if you’re so damn convinced I’m such a spoiled brat shouldn’t you be encouraging me to get out of my comfort zone?

[blahkugo]

Sleepless

Shouta Aizawa X Reader (BNHA)

Warnings: 18+, bondage, bratty rc, over-stimulation, umm it’s just pure filth sandwiched between some fluff 

Word Count: 3.9k

A good night’s rest? You’ve never heard of her! 

“At least take off your heels before you throw yourself into bed,” your boyfriend’s voice rings out, still deeply agitated from a long night of feigned smiles and interest. You know that tone well— the exasperated sigh typically saved for his students at U.A— but the room is spinning too fast for you to take heed of his reprimand. 

“M’too tired,” you slur your words, face down against your mattress. 

The two of you had been at a pro-hero gala, or as Shouta called it, a “gaudy show of riches for politicians and government dickheads.” It had taken almost all of your energy, and a lot of homemade dishes, to persuade him to accept the invitation; however, he had followed through. He behaved properly all night, smiled and socialized with every partygoer that approached you, and even ensured the vicious insults on the tip of his tongue were whispered into your ears only after each person had turned away. You deemed the night a success, despite waving off Shouta’s warnings about that fourth glass of champagne you downed. 

“You’re going to get our covers dirty, idiot.” You can’t help but feel your heart flutter at that word— our. Be it the hundredth or thousandth time, you don’t think you’ll ever get over hearing him refer to the two of you as one. It had taken years for him to warm up to you, after all. While he considers it endearing now, you’re positive Shouta had initially found your constant laughter and positive nature unbearable, thinking of you as simply another nuisance to avoid; never had he met someone who reduced his usual threatening tone to something playful or entertaining. And little did either of you know, he would slowly come to adore the way his scolding amused you. 

No amount of persuasion from his students or other heroes can convince you Shouta is actually intimidating. If anything, his constant stoicism only compels you to misbehave more. You love pressing his buttons, take pleasure in watching him get riled up and lose his calm demeanor. But as of this very moment, you’re simply too tired, and a bit too tipsy, to play along. You wave off his words with a flick of your wrist, only to feel a tug at your ankle. 

“Wha–” 

“Stop squirming. I’m trying to take them off,” he struggles with the straps woven intricately up your calves, “damned things are more tangled than my cloth.” When he finally removes them, you feel the pads of his fingertips graze your legs softly. Shocks travel your entire body as he pays special attention to the indents adorning your skin— drawbacks of the tight laces that are quite easy to disregard when they urge him to touch you so sweetly. 

Shouta stalks away for a moment, only to return with a cotton pad and makeup remover. You’re surprised he even knows what products to use, though you know you shouldn’t be. He has spent countless minutes watching you complete your night routine intently, though usually his stare is paired with a sleepy grumble to hurry up and join him in bed. 

He shifts you into a sitting position, wiping tenderly at your cheek while you pull off your false lashes.

“Those are fake?” He snorts, baffled. 

“Mhhm, I’m prettier without them, right?” You poke fun at him, knowing he’ll ignore the cheesy question. A faint heat rises on his cheeks. 

“Shut up and put this on,” he nudges one of his t-shirts into your arms before he slides your strapless dress down your body. Even with your eyes half-shut, you can feel his charged stare ogling every hill and valley of your naked form. His fingers barely skim you— a purposeful maneuver to focus on the task at hand— but your body jerks into his grasp, keen for more. Sleepy or not, you’d never waste an opportunity for a quickie. You know just how swiftly a few words and caresses on his part could have you bucking and sobbing, like putty in his han– “(Y/N), stop. You’re drunk and half-asleep.” 

“Only tipsy and a quarter asleep, thank you very much.” Your eyes flutter open to see the beginnings of a smile touch his lips, but he just barely holds it back. He’s trying his damn hardest to remain stern, how cute. “Shou,” you mewl, elongating his name in the hopes that he’ll budge.

“Don’t pout at me,” he taps a chiding finger against your bottom lip, “the answer is no. I still have work to do.” Ignoring your whined protests, Shouta walks out of the bedroom. Seconds later, you hear his office door shut, a sign that he’ll be in there long into the night. 

Any inkling of sleepiness your body possessed is gone without a trace, now feeling nothing but an intense heat coursing the skin your boyfriend brushed, and the alcohol left running through your veins only intensifies that warmth. You turn yourself over in bed, naively will yourself to succumb to sleep and deal with the ache tomorrow; however, your body has other plans. Your thighs press together on their own, desperate for any sort of relief to quell the throbbing between your legs, but it’s no use. Looks like you’re getting up. 

With each step towards his office, you find yourself more impassioned. Who does Shou think he is anyways, leaving you alone in such a needy state? It’s not fair. He gives you the slightest taste of his touch and then cruelly rips it away. So if anything, it’s his fault that your body won’t rest until completely appeased— until he soothes the burn. Besides, you’ll be damned if you’re going to allow him the pleasure of hearing your moans through the thin walls knowing he goaded you into touching yourself.

Upon walking through the door of his workspace, you’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend, the stealthy pro-hero, seated ever-so casually at his desk. He has a hand pressed adamantly against his temple and his hair up in a messy half-bun. So badly do you want to run your hands through it, tug the clip off so you can watch those beautiful, dark locks tumble down his shoulders. You always catch yourself silently hoping for a piece to fall in his eyes so that you can reach out and tuck it behind his ear, delighted when you have any excuse to stroke the soft waves between your fingertips.

“Shou,” you mumble, one hand rubbing at lidded eyes. The white glow of the computer screen washes over him as he turns to you, and you feel your breath hitch again at the Adonis in front of you. 

He’s opted out of wearing any sort of top. Instead, gray joggers hang low on his hips, allowing you to feast your eyes on his lean chest and softly sculpted v-lines. A dark line of hair trails down into his pants, and you feel your mouth water at the idea of licking a long stripe up his navel. 

“Can’t sleep.” You’re aware it comes out a whine, don’t care to correct your tone because it may just convince him to join you in bed. He rolls his eyes, your name flowing off his tongue with a low sigh— music to your ears. 

“I have work to catch up on since somebody forced me to go to that stupid gala,” the accusation is probably sincere, but you smile anyways. 

“Please,” there’s that whine again, “just five minutes.” This time your words are accompanied by a quick yank at the hem of your t-shirt. Your cleavage makes an appearance, and when you see his eyes wander up towards the supple globes— tongue just barely poking out to slide across his bottom lip— you know you’ve got him beat. He mutters under his breath, but the only words you catch are something along the lines of ‘pampered brat’. 

Well, spoiled or not your methods work, and he’s the one indulging your whims anyways. Being curled up against Shouta’s sturdy chest, you find the fatigue of a long night creeping up on you once again. His close proximity is enough to relax you; all of your senses are engulfed in his presence, saturated with him. Your body gladly welcomes his scent with every inhale— clean laundry, aftershave, and something a bit woodier that can only be described as ‘Shouta’. Though he shaved this morning, newly grown stubble scruffs against you every time you nuzzle against his jaw. Slender fingers tangle in your hair, smoothing lazy circles into your scalp. And with your ear pressed to his chest, you realize the slow, steady drum of his heartbeat just might actually lull you into a deep sleep. 

But that’s all before you hitch a leg around his hip to pull him closer. At the sensation of your heat nudged tightly against him, you feel his heartbeat rise rapidly. If any thoughts of sleep linger in your mind, the prospect of riling Shouta up— and perhaps securing an orgasm or two in the process— throws them out the window once again. 

Your fingertips begin to caress his shoulders subtly, ear still pressed to his chest to listen for any jumps in his rhythm. The less he notices your movements, the easier it’ll be to overwhelm him all at once. When your fingers don’t incite any noticeable response, you run them through his hair instead. At the same time, you feign discomfort at the position you’re in and twist your hips slightly, making sure to press your core against him harder. You feel his breath hitch under you, and then your hair being jerked harshly. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he forces you to look up at his cloudy eyes, always ringed with darkness no matter how much rest he receives. Caught. You flash him your sweetest pout, gazing up at him through dainty lashes. A slight ‘hm?’ leaves your lips, but within seconds, they’re attached to his neck, shamelessly kissing and nibbling at the sweet spot near his jaw. “If you’re not going to behave on your own, I’ll make you.” Your thighs tighten around his hips, goosebumps trailing your arms at the clear-cut threat.

“Do it then,” you urge between kisses, now peppering them up his jaw. Your teeth kiss the shell of his ear before you whisper, “or I’ll just keep misbehaving, daddy.” 

In an instant, your face is shoved into the mattress, arms crossed behind your back with Shouta’s cock straining against you through his pants. Rigid cotton brushes against your folds and you realize that perhaps he was expecting this turn of events more than he let on, because the fucker never bothered giving you a change of underwear. 

“You’re such a needy slut,” he spits, heated breath fanning your neck while he tightens his grasp around your wrists. “Can’t go one night without getting me worked up, huh?” His free hand darts under your shirt, now kneading and pinching at your ass. 

“Nope,” you bite back, always ecstatic to provide sassy retorts, especially when he’s seething like this. 

A stinging pain travels your body when he slaps the globe of your ass. Once, twice, five times, each spanking invoking a louder gasp until tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

“Are you done acting up?” Shouta’s tone is slow and composed, almost disinterested. If not for his heaving chest pressed against your back, you would believe him unaffected by the punishment. 

You, on the other hand, are very obviously flustered. Tears stream down your face freely now, and you’re positive the spanking has left a blazing handprint on your cheek as a reminder for days to come. Shouta gives you a final, petty love tap to shake you out of your thoughts. “I don’t have all night.” 

But you’re left unsatisfied, the throbbing between your thighs only worsened by his harsh welts and complete neglect of your clit. He hasn’t made a single motion towards your glistening cunt, probably won’t ever if you simply take his discipline lying down. 

“What if I’m not?” The words leave your mouth hesitantly, face turning to stare back at him with wide, unblinking eyes. He doesn’t say a word, his own eyes narrowing and lips quivering into a disgusted scowl. Even though you’ve asked for this, know exactly what situation you’ve gotten yourself into, your heart quickens at the thrill of seeing your partner so worked up. He may not be outwardly angry— Shouta has always been a man who prefers quick, biting remarks over piercing screams and smashing glass— but his mannerisms tell you everything you need to know. It’s going to be a long, sleepless night.

You feel the tight, unforgiving fabric knotted around your body before you’re even aware of what’s happening. Nimble fingers quickly wrap your arms in place. Then, your legs are bent at the knees and tied securely to your wrists. Only your taut midriff and breasts touch the mattress, leaving your sopping core exposed, no way to flail or deny him entrance. You’re his to do whatever he pleases with.

“Behave.” He wraps your hair around his wide palm and yanks hard, a pained cry leaving you at the prickling in your scalp. His fingers graze your slit, but never touch you where you need him. It’s absolutely maddening. You buck into him to no avail— the cloth wraps too firmly around your limbs. 

“Shou, I– I, please,” you’re practically sobbing, his name leaving your lips over and over like a prayer. But it doesn’t matter, you’ve angered him. 

“Who said you could speak?” He tugs harder on your locks. The motion rocks your skull, all nerves standing on end. It fucking hurts, but the action has your slit quivering all the same. “Are you going to be a good little whore now?” 

“Yes, Shou.” The response wins you a sharp slap to the ass, the sore cheek. You suppress a loud wail, correcting yourself quickly. “Y-Yes daddy, I’ll behave.” He doesn’t respond, only lets out a low growl and loosens his grip on your hair. 

Then, his presence is gone. He’s moved off the bed, and your cunt pulsates at the number of delicious things he may do next. 

A slam rings out from your bedside dresser and he’s back within seconds. Something foreign, hard and long,  is pressed against your tight hole. No stretching, no warning, he simply sinks the toy into your slick cunt. After a few merciless thrusts you’re whimpering softly, choking back pleas. If he wanted you to beg, you’d know it. 

“Is this what you wanted?” The dildo is driven into you faster. “Is this what you were grinding like a bitch in heat for?” His words are spit like venom, tone disappointed— appalled— with you, but it only fuels your steady ascension to orgasm. You’re teetering closer and closer to the edge, but you just need a bit more. His cock, a finger on your clit, anything. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You can’t help the onslaught of moans that spill from your lips in between pants. His hands begin kneading at your ass again, right cheek still flaming with every touch. If he’d only remove the bindings, now digging tightly into your wrists and ankles, you’d be able to hump back onto the toy as you so desperately wish to. 

He stills all at once, leaving you distraught and gasping. If you cry out, you’ll only be met with harsh reprimands. You want to sob— for his touch, for a break, for anything to soothe the ache in your core. 

You hear it before you feel it.

A small buzzing noise as something is clicked on. Then, vibrations wracking your insides, your clit— a slew of pleasure as the dildo pulses. You sigh loudly, that stubborn itch finally being appeased by the pressure of the toy. 

“Is my pretty little slut enjoying herself?” Shouta laughs behind you, voice still cold and filled with loathing. It’s as though he’s repulsed by your desire, your ceaseless need for him. You mewl loudly at the thought. “Mhm, and you’re going to continue enjoying yourself,” you feel the bed dip as he steps away, “until I finish my work.”

The fucking bastard. He’s leaving you tied up and helpless with a sex toy on the highest setting. He knows you’ll be a drooling mess for him, probably only half-conscious, by the time he’s back.

“N- no Shou, please.” Your protests do nothing to sway him. He simply snickers and walks out of the bedroom, leaving you to writhe and wail on your own. And God, does it feel good. Your stomach pulls taut as you rut against the bed like– like an animal. In a constant cycle of edging and ebbing, your orgasms build and build and build until you’re hit full force, only to begin all over again. It’s equal parts satisfying and unfulfilling, because fuck, do you just want your boyfriend’s cock inside you. It’s all you can think of— his warmth, his hands roaming your body, sweet, degrading nothings whispered into your ear while he pounds into you.

You lose track of time, aren’t even sure at this point whether your body is spasming or simply attempting to dispel the thick length inside you. The pleasure has turned to an entirely different ache, swollen clit now abused by the constant vibrations. Your voice is run hoarse, face carved into a permanent wince. And despite your attempts to stay quiet, chokes and gasps still rip through your throat. Even Shouta’s cloth is soaked through with the scorching sweat enveloping your body.  

Though absolutely exhausted, you’re conscious enough to hear his quick steps as he makes his way to the bedroom. You can sense the smirk plastered across his face without even seeing it. 

“Tired out?” Fingertips ghost over the cloth and across your painfully numb calves, nerves jumping at the feeling. “Ah’, you’ve soaked the bedspread.” A fierce blush runs across your skin, humiliated at the sight you must seem to him— a drooling, high-strung mess. He either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore the way your body shakes at every prod. 

All you can do is let out a meager ‘Mmph’, your brain too scrambled to form anything close to words, let alone coherent sentences. “If you use your words, I’ll consider taking the toy out.” Shouta’s ruthless; he knows every inch of your body, your reactions, like the back of his hand. Of course he’d ask you to use your words. He lives to watch you come undone, thrives off the pain etched onto your features. 

“Please,” the request is drawn out— paused midway to let loose another gasp— and dripping in desperation. “I can’t– I just-”  It’s all you can manage in your state. 

“Seems you’ve been fucked stupid,” he chuckles darkly, though the vibrations wracking your cunt finally come to a halt and the dildo is swiftly removed. Your core clenches at the emptiness. “But I haven’t had the chance to stuff this tight little pussy full,” he slaps a harsh palm against your slit, making sure to wipe the slick that now coats his palm all across your cheek. If you weren’t aware of how soaked you were before, Shouta makes damn sure that you do now. The most you can work out in response is a feeble squeak. 

One of Shouta’s hands strokes at your matted hair from behind, agile fingers tidying the disheveled strands. The other rubs harsh circles on your clit; you twitch incessantly, sparks running through every inch of your body. “There’s that pained little face I love,” he grabs at your cheeks roughly, forcing your lips into a ‘o’ while grinding into your calf. “Fuck.”

Your legs and arms slump onto the mattress as soon as the cloth is unbound. Every muscle in your body aches with overuse; numbness buzzes through the limbs that were strung together for God knows how long. 

Your boyfriend— sadist that he fucking is— thrusts himself into you without warning. Sure, you’ve been stretched by the toy, but your poor slit is so overworked by previous orgasms that even the slightest hint of friction invokes senseless blubbering, your tongue lolling to the side in defeat. Wet, harsh slaps of skin against skin sweep the room, mixed with cries of ‘daddy,’ ‘please,’ and senseless nothings.

“Wanna see you cum.” It’s an order more than a request, grunted into the crook of your neck. His chest flattens against your back. It should feel suffocating, should feel disgusting, considering your body is gleaming with hours worth of perspiration, but you’re enamored with the warmth— engrossed by the way your skin sizzles at his touch. His fingers are secured at your hips, propping your ass in the air and pulling it against him with every piercing thrust. 

“N- no, can’t,” cheek still buried into the mattress, you muster whatever strength you have left and grip at his slick bicep behind you. He simply swats your hand away, takes your wrist between his slender fingers, and presses it into the bed. His thumb caresses the marks left by the cloth, savoring the aftermath of the punishment he inflicted. 

“You can and you will.” Despite the rasp in his voice, the command still holds authority over your forlorn frame and sends prickles down your spine. You feel yourself, yet again, creeping to the edge of an orgasm. “Cum for me.” 

It’s those three, simple words that have you seeing white. Breathless, your brows scrunch together and lips open into a wide ‘o’, but no sound comes out. Your whole body tenses, all senses overwhelmed by this final tidal wave of pleasure, and then finally goes slack. 

You’re officially done, body worked to the point of no return. A couple more snaps of his hips and Shouta follows, your name grunted loudly as he spills into you. 

For a long time you simply lay together silently, chests heaving with his body still splayed over yours. You know that eventually he’ll roll out of bed and make sure you’re all cleaned up. You always revel in the way he pampers you, taking his time to ensure he doesn’t miss a single inch of skin. If you weren’t so exhausted, he’d probably run a bath as well. 

Right now, the heat is finally proving too much for you, so you tap at his hip and he slides himself out of your raw core. 

“Ouch,” you wince at the friction, the ability to speak returning to you at last. The whole bottom half of your body is tender. It’ll be a miracle if you’re able to sit comfortably for the next few days. 

“Surprised you actually behaved,” he chuckles, flipping you over to hold you. His fingers rub lazy circles into your back and he presses a kiss to your forehead, “You were so good for me.” 

“Not like you had me tied up or anything,” you poke a finger at his chest. “And to do paperwork at that.” 

“Oh,” a slow, smug smile inches across his face, “I didn’t get any work done.” You might just slap him.

“Shouta,” your voice is even, but your eyes pierce his, narrowed in disbelief, “what do you mean you didn’t get any work done?” His laugh rumbles through his chest. 

“Do you think I could really focus, hearing your screeching through the walls like that?” 

-

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[silverflame2724]

WWX is utterly desperate to not be related to Jin Zixuan even by marriage and instead of punching Jin Zixuan tries to matchmake his shijie to anyone else while also ensuring a love match of good standing, it's actually really funny to watch. Madam Yu hears and thinks that WWX will fail but hopefully in the attempt make JZX see sense.

It's even funnier when WWX recruits LWJ to his efforts when its obvious that LWJ only agreed to help so he could pine after WWX from closer up.

Wei Wuxian would not accept it. He would not accept it, damnit!! He would not accept that damn Peacock as his Shijie’s suitor.

From the way he struts forward, flaunts his money, and insults his Shijie, in all the ways, he was not deserving of Shijie!!

But for all that Jin Zixuan was a good for nothing who did nothing but make Shijie cry, Shijie still loved him. And Wei Wuxian wanted to cry at that. Shijie wants to marry someone she loves.

But then he brilliantly thought of an idea.

If Shijie wants to marry someone she loves, it doesn’t have to be Jin Zixuan, right?!

So for the next two years, he desperately tries to find suitable people to make Shijie happy. In the first year, he scours Yunmeng and its subsidiary sects for suitors with good personalities, good standing, good reputation, and of course, those that don’t have any nasty secrets behind hidden doors.

He finds three.

When he sets them up in random “accidental” meetings, they fail on every account.

The first guy wasn’t even trying before getting bored of the conversation. The second guy was instantly enamored but kept his distance since Shijie was still a betrothed person, after all. The third guy got along with Shijie well enough. He even made Shijie laugh. However. However!!!! He had the audacity to limit Shijie to just being a housewife!!! The fucking audacity to disregard Shijie’s abilities was unreal!

The suitors in Yunmeng were not good enough. He had to find elsewhere to look!!

So he spent the second year looking for suitors in Qinghe.

Nie Huaisang, he got along well enough, but perhaps he wasn’t the right fit for Shijie……hmm. He’ll leave that idea to the side for now.

Nie Mingjue on the other hand……he was strong, he was honest, he was forthright, he properly respected Shijie, and he had some anger management issues that Shijie could calm him down from!! He checked ALL of Wei Wuxian’s boxes and Shijie even seemed to warm up to him!!

Now all he has to do is wait for Shijie to tell Madam Yu that she doesn’t want to marry that Peacock anymore……

.

.

………..

Shijie friendzoned Nie Mingjue!!!!! Why??????!!!!!!!

……………………….

He had to go to Gusu but he wasn’t going to give up!! There were still the suitors in Gusu!!

(He was so desperate that he convinced Madam Yu to bring Shijie with them.)

He got himself punished the first month to see if Lan Wangji was a good match for Shijie but hmm. While he could see Shijie and Lan Zhan getting along, it was more in a distant friend or even acquaintance-like way. Lan Zhan is proper and respects the rules so he kept his distance from all females so that couldn’t be helped but there was still Lan Xichen!!

Lan Xichen was nice and kind and actually, kinda reminded him of Shijie.

But they were starting to be good friends! But he didn’t know what Lan Xichen was like so he roped Lan Zhan along in this scheme.

“What.”

“Like I said, Lan Zhan! I’m desperate, desperate, for Shijie to marry anyone but the Peac—Jin Zixuan!! Lan Zhan, please help me! I’ll even behave in class for a month!!” He even did the - he winced at the name - puppy eyes and batted his eyelashes at Lan Zhan. It always worked in convincing people!

Lan Zhan took a deep, controlled breath. “……..Alright.”

Wei Wuxian gasped with delight and, forgetting that Lan Zhan disliked touch, gave him a big, tight bear hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!”

Lan Zhan stiffened and clenched his fists.

Wei Wuxian released him not later and dragged him towards Lan Xichen.

“Now Lan Zhan, please get your brother to come to Caiyi town! If he’s too busy, then I can plan around it, but if not, then get him there! I’ll push Shijie towards him.”

“You sound experienced.”

“I’ve been trying to change Shijie’s mind for years! It hasn’t worked but I’m going to keep my mind open.”

Lan Zhan nodded and went to talk to his brother. Wei Wuxian observed them and Lan Xichen looked straight at him and smiled.

Shit. Does he know?

Lan Zhan shot him a strange, indecipherable look but Wei Wuxian didn’t understand what was going on.

Lan Zhan walked back to him, “Brother agreed.”

“He did? Yay! Thank you, Lan Zhan!!”

So he spent the next couple of days pushing Lan Xichen and Shijie together. Though…..it was strange how they always seemed to be talking about Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan from what little he could hear.

It’s great that they’re getting along - and that he sees Jin Zixuan sometimes looking a little lost and maybe a little jealous (haha! Take that, you jerk!) - but shouldn’t they talk about something else?

Wei Wuxian shrugged. Oh well, at least his hard work (and Lan Zhan’s) is paying off!

…………………….

Wei Wuxian can’t believe this.

Wei Wuxian cannot believe this!!

How did this happen?????????????

.

.

.

It turns out Jin Zixuan confronted Shijie on her recent outings with Lan Xichen to which she brilliantly replied, “And why do you care about what I do with my friends, Young Master Jin?”

“I—you’re my betrothed!”

“And when have you cared about that?” Shijie looked indifferent and Wei Wuxian had hoped that this was a sign of Shijie moving on.

Jin Zixuan’s face was red and got redder as Shijie turned her back on him. “It’s because I like you!!!” The entire plaza went silent. Except for Wei Wuxian who screamed, “ NOOOOOO—mmph.” And was subsequently silenced by Lan Zhan.

“Oh. Was that so hard, Young Master Jin? And to think it took me pretending to show interest in Young Master Lan. It seems you don’t like me as much as I thought.” Shijie’s tone was fondly teasing and Wei Wuxian struggled in Lan Zhan’s grip.

“Mmph, mm mmh mmmmmp! (Shijie, don’t do thisssssssss!)”

Jin Zixuan took a few deep breaths, “I…..I admit I didn’t see your good points before but—! But I do now!! I do now and I really really like you!! I’m sorry for acting like a…..a spoiled brat!!”

“Mmmhmmm, mmmph mmph!! (Peacock, shut up!!)”

Shijie smiled and took his hand. Jin Zixuan had the nerve to let out a small squeal and run away.

Wei Wuxian straight up fainted from this right into Lan Zhan’s arms. He could not take this.

Out of everyone she could have, she chose Jin Zixuan……..

(Ｔ＿Ｔ)

__________

Words cannot explain how much I loved this prompt.

[chrisevansgoodgirl]

you got a fetish for my love, i push you out and you come right back

summary: the softest man in the world is in love

warnings: nick is a warning. how dare he. smut. smoking (but we’re trying to get him to stop). some of that daddy shit bc ugh, that beard.

word count: around 5,320

pairing: nick vaughan x reader

a/n: let me tell you, it is weird writing nick one second, the softest, sweetest man, and then switching over to ransom, aka satan.

“You shouldn’t be smoking.”

The man with his back to you turned around, arching an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

You brought your hands up to your waist, looking as confident as you could possibly make yourself look. You didn’t have a mirror on you, but you would bet it wasn’t very convincing. “Um, second-hand smoke. Third-hand smoke. Not to mention what it could do to you.”

Moving closer, he took another brief drag. “And what’s that?”

You huffed. Really? You were going to reach way back into your 8th-grade health class memories for that. “Lung disease, it can cause cancer, like, everywhere, heart disease—”

“But you’re already taking care of my heart, angel.”

You fell silent at that, frowning.

He continued to close the gap between you. “What else?”

“It’s bad for your skin,” you asserted, tone firm despite how close he was getting. “Causes wrinkles.”

“That so?”

You nodded, refusing to step back as he stopped mere inches before you. “We wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re my father.”

He smirked, dropping his cigarette on the floor and stepping on it with the toe of his boot. Boots that were far too expensive to be stepping on cigarettes with. Hell, he shouldn’t even have been outside with them. “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

Your gaze moved off to the side and finally, you stepped away to create some distance. ‘You said you were going to stop, Nick.”

“I know, I’m trying.”

“Try harder. I’m being serious, okay? People die—”

He moved back in front of you and took your chin in his hand, forcing your gaze up to his. “I’m working on it.”

“If you really care about me, you’ll stop.”

“I’m gonna stop,” he promised. “Soon. Come on, don’t give me those eyes.”

He loved your eyes. He had to have told you about a hundred times by now, claimed he liked the innocence in them that never seemed to die out. No matter how many times he took you up to his hotel room and fucked you in every filthy way he could think of. Sure, it was pretty sick sometimes, but he always touched you so softly, whispered the sweetest things to you, and held you afterward.

Your eyes could make him do just about anything, he would often declare. Except, apparently, stop smoking.

“Come on, I’m sorry.”

You crossed your arms, pulling out of his hold. “You’re only sorry you got caught.”

“No, I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

“And don’t be sorry to just me, be sorry to yourself. I think you need healthy lungs for your music career, right?”

He lifted his eyebrows, still amused at how serious you were being. No one in New York took smoking seriously.

“Also, you ever stop and think about what would happen to me if you weren’t here?” That was a little on the sneaky side. You knew that there was the overall scenario of you being lonely, but he would soon start to think about how that would mean you would be with other people.

He scoffed, feigning calmness. “No, I don’t. I don’t want you to, either.”

You didn’t need to hear it, you knew he could connect the dots. “You are forcing me to.”

“Angel, what’s all this about?” he wondered. “Why are you being such a brat?”

“I’m not being a brat,” you immediately protested. Even though you knew he didn’t mind, there was just something in you that twisted at the thought of being bratty. You were not trying to be argumentative even, you were just worried.

“You want daddy to spank you?”

You looked around with wide eyes. Not that anyone in New York had the time or interest to listen to anyone else’s conversations, but still, this was private. “Nick.”

He tsked. “Nick?”

You sighed, casting a look around. “There are too many people here.”

He chuckled. “No one’s listening, angel.”

“I’m not being bratty,” you muttered. “I’m just concerned about you. Since when is that a crime?”

He smiled, reaching his hand out for you. You didn’t waste any time nearly wrapping your entire body around his arm. “What do you want?”

You were not getting away this time, he was also in a mood. Evidently, since he usually spoiled you to the point of letting you get away with “misbehaving” if you apologized or feigned discomfort.

“Take me upstairs, daddy.” It was hardly above a whisper, but it thrilled him to no end that he’d managed to get you to call him that outside of the absolute comfort of the bedroom.

Nick liked you feeling safe with him. He’d never met a more trusting soul, someone almost naive. However, it had taken him a long fucking time to get that sincere trust from you. He picked up on the body language, the things you wouldn’t say. That was why he could give the date for the night you finally let him fuck you with the lights on, the night you finally stayed with him until morning, the night you finally gave him your number because he had convinced you to sneak away from your dad to meet him at the hotel and you had to get back home but you still wanted to talk to him. He could give the date for the first morning you woke up and put on one of his shirts, the morning you let him eat you out for the first time, the morning you let him fuck you against the hotel window.

He wrapped his arms around you and started to lead you inside. It had been almost a year now and you were obsessed with Nick. He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, and he was kind and gentle, but also passionate and sometimes a little rough when he knew you wanted him to be. It was never mindless, hard fucking. Even when he made it hurt, he held you so close, so tight, his eyes would remain on yours the whole time. He would wipe away your tears and continue bucking his hips. He would whisper to you, coo at you, and make you fall apart until you were so exhausted you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

You were pretty sure you were in love with him. He would be the first. Sure, there was your first boyfriend who you had wanted to be your first for everything. He’d given you a promise ring and told you that he wanted to wait until you were his wife. That one didn’t end well. Your third boyfriend, you thought that one was real. You’d had sex with him, and then he completely disappeared. To this day, you had no idea where he was. But you knew now, those things you’d felt for them, they were so small, so weak. What you felt for Nick was consuming, you felt like every inch of you belonged to him, like you were made for him.

In the elevator, with an elderly couple, an older man, and a party of four younger women that looked like they were on their way to a club, Nick had his lips to your ear. “Angel, I’m gonna fuck you until you’re crying. You know I love those sounds you make and the look you give me when you just can’t take anymore. When your beautiful, little cunt is used and aching and dripping with my cum. But that’s only after I have you on the bed, wet, squirming, begging daddy to make you feel good.”

You felt like you were on fire. If anyone heard, you would be mortified, you would never be able to leave your house again. Things like this were supposed to be private, between the people who were doing it. Nick had the audacity to make some of it almost public. You would admit that there was the tiniest bit of thrill, but most of it was fear and panic.

He touched the side of your face and you startled a little, one of your hands coming up to settle over his forearm. “Jesus, you’re beautiful and so fucking…innocent.”

You were not innocent. You weren’t even sure what he meant by that. Ever. When he said it, you were confused each time.

“The thought of your gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock, trying to take all you can because you’re so good to me, those eyes staring up at me…”

You swallowed thickly, eyes moving to the elevator buttons. How many more god damn floors were there? The elevator stopped again seconds later, and the elderly couple got out. Fewer people but you still didn’t feel any less nervous.

“Afterward, your sweet, tight pussy will be dripping. You know how wet you get after you suck my cock.”

Embarrassingly wet. He was fascinated the first time you’d done it, then he laid you out on the bed and when he made the discovery, he ate you out until you could barely remember what year it was.

“Then I’m gonna have you on top of me, angel. You’re so good at it, I swear you were made just to ride my cock. Remember what you were begging me for last time?”

You remembered and instantly felt your skin burning all over again.

“Maybe I’ll fuck your—”

The elevator stopped on your floor and you rushed out. The group of girls was also getting out, creating some time for you to get away from Nick and breathe. He was always intense, and he never stopped pushing you. You didn’t necessarily hate it. Really, you knew you liked it, but you could never admit that to him, his behavior would just get worse.

He found you with your back pressed against the door, waiting patiently for him. He’d been staying here for several months; he had the same room because he’d wanted to give you a key. For emergencies, he claimed. If you ever needed a place to get away, even if he wasn’t home. It had only happened a few times, he wouldn’t say a word when he would find you bundled up in his bed. He would just join you under the sheets and make you come several times, at least.

He set his hands on your hips and you looked up to him. “What’s on your mind tonight?”

You woke up that morning just knowing. You were in love with Nick and you were terrified. You didn’t want to be in love, not with him. With his music career taking off, he couldn’t want something serious. You figured this was just him wasting time. When he was an established name, he would go out and find himself a proper partner. It wasn’t you, this shy, small thing with no backbone, terrible parents, and no solid plans for your future.

But why ruin a good thing? You wanted to let it last while you could. You smiled at him and shook your head. “Nothing, really. I missed you.”

He smiled back. “I missed you, too.”

You didn’t live in New York with your father, but you had been visiting a lot more frequently. Your father was thrilled about it, thrilled enough not to want to question it. Your mother took it as an insult and didn’t ask a single question about why. It was honestly the perfect crime.

It had only been three weeks since you’d last been with Nick, you were allowing for less time to pass in between the nights you spent with him. You once went a month and a half, how unimaginable that felt—you knew you wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. You would go crazy without him being able to touch you for six weeks.

“You could stay,” he pointed out. “Here. With me.”

You scoffed. “No, I can’t.”

“You could apply to NYU, I’m sure you’ll get in. You could start building your life over here. If not with me, why not live with your dad?”

This was getting serious and you were worried this conversation would wreck everything. Nick thought he wanted something, but only because he was scared. You didn’t want to uproot your entire life for something fleeting.

“I don’t want to talk about this tonight,” you said quietly.

“Okay. But we will. Later.”

You nodded—a lie. You wouldn’t even be with him much longer. You had breakfast you’re your dad and then you would be on a flight back to your mother’s. “Yeah.”

Smiling, he asked, “Well, what do you want to talk about?”

You shrugged. “I don’t want to talk.”

He hummed. “No? You don’t have more scolding to do?”

“I can wait,” you teased. Your eyes flit to either side just to make sure no one was around. “But right now, I just want you to touch me.”

He bent down just slightly to pick you up by your thighs. You eagerly wrapped yourself around him and pressed your lips to his, kissing him like it’d been years.

He struggled to open the door, but you didn’t seem to mind that you could get caught at any moment, you seemed completely distracted by him. That was his goal, make your time here so good that eventually, you just wouldn’t be able to leave him.

Finally, he managed to get you inside the room. You had it all memorized, even with your eyes closed you knew exactly where he always was. He was leading you down the hallway, past the kitchen and the living area, to the door at the end of the walkway. Past the bathroom, past the dresser full of sheet music and records.

He laid you out on the bed delicately, pulling away so he could stare at you. You moved to pull your skirt up, but he caught your hands in his. “Not yet.”

He started at your feet. He pulled off your shoes and began kissing your calves, a touch that felt so distant through your tights.

You whined. “Daddy.”

“You’re going to be patient, angel.”

And that was that. You never argued with him, rarely disobeyed. You were perfect, you were good. You were, as he so fondly called you, an angel that did everything she was supposed to do. Not just for him, but for everyone. He knew that about you, knew that you never liked to make trouble for anyone. Even your dad, who had been almost completely absent during your childhood, off chasing his current wife. Even your mother, who was mean, unsupportive, and childish. You were sweet as could be, well-behaved, soft-spoken, bright-eyed, and glowing. He thought you were perfect.

Biting your lip, paying close attention to how much you were moving, you watched in near silence as he continued to press his lips up your legs. As soon as his eyes flickered up to yours, your heart was pounding. There was a lot about Nick that you just didn’t understand.

You could look at yourself in the mirror and understand why people thought you were pretty, but of course, you did not think as highly of yourself as Nick thought of you. Alternatively, he could not do the same. He could not understand why you liked looking at him in the mornings, why you liked to trace his features with your fingers, why you spent so much time just kissing his face whenever you got the chance. You were baffled that he could look like that and not know what he did to people.

He blushed a lot. When you accidentally told him, the first time, that you thought he was beautiful—never again would you drink wine with him—and now, all the deliberate times after that. Because unintentional or not, you meant it and you wanted him to know. When you would take him in your mouth and he had his hands at his sides, leaving you to control everything, and when you took so much of him that you would gag and choke, he was permanently flushed. When he played for you, forget it.

He was at the hemline of your skirt and started pushing it up, kissing at the insides of your thighs. You bit down harder on your lip as he continued up, up, up until he kissed your pussy. Over tights and your panties, it was still good enough that you shuddered. You could feel his beard, some random hairs managing to poke into the open spots of your tights. It was a feeling that reminded you of being home, not with either of your parents now, but when they were still together in your first home. Nick was comfort and security, he was warmth and so much raw emotion.

You brought one hand up to press your fingers to your lips. You were so wet that you could feel the material against you was damp. He always knew how to do that to you, how to get you so wanting. And the neighbors always knew when you were there, they would play music because you were so embarrassingly loud, not that he was ever considerate about that. You just wanted to pretend you had some dignity, at least for a while.

He kissed across your thigh and up the side of your hip, back across until he could kiss down the opposite side. You remembered you used to hate when he would do this, when there wasn’t a part of you that he wouldn’t at least devote a moment of attention to. You didn’t hate it now, you noticed it made you a lot more confident. You didn’t care how tight a skirt was around your hips or that a skirt was so short that everyone could see your thighs touching. It wasn’t even his goal and it wasn’t dependent on his interest in you at all, but you knew he was the cause.

You often wondered if he looked at everyone like this. It really hadn’t been long, but sometimes you swore he might feel the same about you. You’d always wrote it off as your age, but how would someone his age honestly fall in love with you? And if he wasn’t, why the hell did he look at you the way he did?

“How many lives have you ruined?”

His eyebrows rose and he pulled his mouth away from you. “I’m sorry?”

“You look at me like that, you kiss me like that—”

“Like what?”

You rolled your eyes. Honestly, you weren’t sure how to put it into words. The last thing you wanted to do was accuse him of acting or pretending. That was one of the few boundary lines with Nick that was quickly established—he didn’t like analysis of his emotions. They were his own and he didn’t want anyone to presume that they knew them better than him. You truly didn’t mind. You’d come from a toxic environment of men who would sooner die than cry and couldn’t healthily express their anger if the world depended on it. “You know like what.”

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.” He leaned back down, kissing either knee once. “But I won’t make you, I want you to want to say it.”

First time he’d ever taken that route. He teased you a lot, like challenging your views. And he liked those rare times you could challenge his. You’d both talked and talked until you managed to get to this place where you were both completely comfortable with what you were. He had to compromise on how casual this could seem at times, and you had to compromise on how obscenely intimate it was to you sometimes. And though you both compromised, it was still hard to see the other’s point of view. What was he so scared of with ‘casual’? You, on the other hand, dreaded falling for someone who couldn’t reciprocate.

He reached for your tights and slowly pulled them down. Again, he moved to where he was exposing skin and scattered kisses all over you. He deliberately got as close to your pussy as he could without ever touching you, several times, and enjoyed that you gasped and shivered each time.

He didn’t pull your underwear out of his way before he finally kissed you there. He went on like this, curious to see just how much you could take. You tried not to ask for more, to feed into his ego, and you succeeded for several minutes. You could feel his tongue and his lips, the texture of your panties was slight stimulation, but as time went on, you craved him more.

When you finally broke, your eyes were filled with tears, your hands were shaking as you reached for him, and you couldn’t form a single coherent word. Instead of pulling your panties down and eating your pussy, he moved up your body and removed your sweater and your bra. Again, he was kissing you all over, but you could hardly focus on anything other than your throbbing pussy.

“Daddy, please,” you whimpered.

He moved his mouth up until he could kiss your lips. He settled down on the bed beside you and pulled away, sitting you up a little. You took his cue and shifted up on the bed until you could rest on the headboard.

You watched as his hand reached for you, holding your breath until he was sliding one finger into you. “Fuck, daddy.” Your hips bucked almost immediately, silently begging for more. He added a second finger and you turned to hide your face against his chest.

He curled his fingers slowly, focusing on the sounds you made, the way your body would tense and shudder, and soon enough, he’d found that blissful spot that he knew made you see stars.

You clumsily reached for his pants, taking far too long to get your hands on his thick cock. You felt yourself get so much wetter, remembering just how big he felt inside you. Not that you were experienced when he’d found you, but taking his cock had been so delightfully painful and you kind of liked that he was the first man really stretching you out like that.

“Fuck,” he breathed against the side of your face. “Watch my fingers, angel, watch me fuck you with them.”

You turned down, paying attention to how they moved, and the wet sounds from your pussy. You slowly moved your hand along his cock, wanting—but too shy to ask for—him to cover your body with his cum. He preferred finishing inside you, he liked letting it drip out of you and then filling you back up all over again.

When your breaths turned shorter and your moans became louder, he knew you were so close. He moved his fingers faster, brought his thumb down to your clit. Your whole body was shaking, and he could feel how desperate you were because your hand around him tightened.

“You wanna come, angel?”

“Please, daddy,” you blurted out. “Please, please make me come.”

He pulled your hand off his cock and kissed you when you made a noise of protest. His opposite hand never even faltered as he explained, “Daddy’s coming inside you. Keep begging.”

“Please, I want to come, daddy. I want to come on your fingers, I want you to get me wet enough so my tight, little pussy can take your huge cock.”

“What a filthy mouth, angel. Where’d you learn to talk like that? Been watching the videos I’ve been sending you?”

“Yes, daddy. I watch every single one and I touch myself, thinking about how much I miss you inside me.”

“You have no idea how much I miss having your pussy wrapped around me when you’re gone.”

You finished with a sharp cry, using your free hand to try to push his touch away, but he was so much stronger than you. Add to the fact that you really didn’t want him to stop, if you could stay there in bed with him, feeling that for the rest of your life, you would.

You almost instantly rolled over on top of him, kissing him as you moved up his body until you were straddling him. He set his hands on your hips, holding you steady as you slid down on him. As you adjusted, he let his hands wander to your breasts. You were still shaking, panting, trying to come down from your high but you were addicted to pleasing Nick.

You rolled your hips, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. You needed to see him naked, coming here without seeing all of him would be an absolute waste. He helped you get the shirt off after a moment and your hands roamed all over his torso.

He took your hips again, using his hold on you to pick up the pace just a little. You let your head fall back, he would want to watch your body anyway. You brought your arms back and rested your hands on the mattress around his legs. He had to fuck you just a little harder from this angle to see your breasts move with every thrust, but you were okay with that.

You always knew when he was close because his fingers would dig into your skin and he always did everything he could to get as close to you as he possibly could. This time, he sat up and pulled you up so your chest was flush against his. You continued bouncing up and down on his cock, mewling and whimpering because you knew he loved those sounds.

“Are you close, daddy?”

“Yeah, angel, keep going just like that.”

“Tell me when you’re really close.”

He faltered for just a second, processing your odd request, but did not argue.

You set your hands to his face, dragging him in for a kiss, open-mouthed, tongues, moaning obscenely for one another. As he was distracted, you unwound his arms from your back and held them flat on the mattress by his forearms.

“I’m close,” he informed after turning his head just slightly, breathing heavily on your skin. “I’m so fucking close.”

You started moving quickly, pulling off of him and crawling back down the bed. He was stunned silent until you bent down and took his wet cock, messy from your pussy, in your mouth. You’d only just closed your lips around him when both of his hands settled on the back of your head to hold you down. He only needed to jerk his hips up a few times before he was filling your mouth.

He kept you there until his high had drifted away, and you never once complained. You swallowed the cum that you could, but some of his had slipped out of your mouth, and sucked softly until he let you up.

As soon as you were sitting up, he was wrapping his arms around you and pulling you on top of him. Still trying to catch his breath, it was clear that he wasn’t letting you go for quite some time. Because no one would expect Nick to want to cuddle after sex.

And because his brain was not functioning at its best, he was simultaneously attempting to kick off his pants and pull the sheets over the two of you. But you weren’t there to be unsupportive, you simply laid on his chest and tried not to laugh.

After he’d managed it, which had to have taken about five minutes, he turned off the lamp on the bedside table and stretched over to do the same on the other side. He once again wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head. “Fuck, I love you.”

You weren’t sure how to respond, so all you did was lay there. He didn’t miss a beat, he just started running one of his hands through your hair and then nothing. Not another word.

Fuck.

You only woke up because Nick was moving around so much. As quiet as he tried to be and as softly as he tried to move out from under you, he always failed at it. When he realized he’d woken you up again, he froze.

You grabbed one of the pillows and yanked it over his face as you climbed out of bed. You didn’t want to have to get up because that meant that you would soon have to leave. You grabbed your phone out of your bag on the way to the bathroom, not bothering to get dressed. Nick loved seeing you walk around the room naked, and that was why you always ignored that nervous nagging feeling that told you to cover up.

“Sorry,” he called out.

You didn’t respond.

After you brushed your teeth, you opened the door. You heard him moving around the bedroom as you were performing your simple morning skincare routine. He always did that, just waited until you were done so he could get in. He liked making you watch in the mirror.

And right on cue, Nick entered the bathroom, stopping just inches behind you. You didn’t turn, you merely watched him in the mirror and waited. He wrapped his arms around you, and you noticed the single red rose he was holding. He started at your lips, letting the flower trail down, then over your nipples, and down just above your navel.

You shivered when he pulled it away, offering it to you. With a smile you were looking down to hide, you took the rose from him.

He kissed the side of your face, arms wrapping loosely around your waist He pressed one hand to your stomach, and you were reminded of how much you loved his stupid hands. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“I’m sorry about what I said last night. I know it was…a lot.”

Yeah, it was. You’d built it up in your mind as some terrifying thing that you would never want to hear, especially from him, but when he said it, it just wasn’t like that. When he said it, it made you feel safe. It made you feel loved. “But did you mean it?”

“Only if you’re not going to run away.”

You finally looked up in the mirror, meeting his gaze. “Maybe I won’t.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“And maybe I love you back.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe,” you confirmed. “And maybe I’m even considering staying.”

He perked up at that, turning you around quickly to face him. “Tell me what I need to do or say and I will.”

You brought the rose up and set it to his lips, smirking again.

He narrowed his eyes.

All you did was shrug. “Not sure yet, but you have all day to convince me.”

“I thought you were leaving today.”

You set the rose down on the counter. “Changed my mind.”

He was beaming as he picked you up and sat you on the counter. “That means you’ve already decided to stay.”

“I never said that.”

“I’m not letting you leave. Ever.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop your smile. “I have to go home, you know…and pack.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled. “Probably a good idea to let my mom meet my daddy.”

“Please don’t make those jokes in front of your parents.”

You snorted. “Oh, now you want to be a gentleman?”

“Always am, angel. Open your legs and I’ll prove it.” He spread your thighs wider as he got down to his knees. He pulled you to the edge of the counter and with his eyes on yours, he took your pussy with his mouth.

“Fuck,” you gasped. “But this means you have to stop smoking.”

He pulled back, narrowing his eyes at you. “Now, seriously?”

You buried both hands in his hair and pulled him back in.

chris tags:

@onetwo3000 @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @donutloverxo @kleohoneyao3 @cevans-fics @gotnofucks​

[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.

[miracul0us-multishipper]

Lady Wifi (part 1)

Marillion AU

“Come on...”, Marillion whispered into the glowing outline in front of her. “You can do it! You've practiced the entire morning, you've got this!”

“But they're all looking at me!”, her champion - The Magician, an amateur entertainer with stage fright from Mendeleiev's class - whispered back. After failing at a simple trick this morning her brooch had alarmed her of his distress, and since she couldn’t focus until it was resolved she had akumatized him. It was supposed to be quicker than talking to him as Marinette, but her lacking experience with a miraculous showed: she'd had to spend almost half an hour convincing him that letting out his frustration on the Eiffel Tower wouldn’t help him. Now, instead of making Paris' most famous monument disappear, he was trying to impress children at the Trocadero. Not the greatest challenge with his new magical powers, but that wasn’t the point.

“It doesn’t matter.”, she calmed him. “You can’t fail! You are using real magic now, they'll be so amazed they won’t even know you’re nervous.”

“But it won’t be forever! And then I’ll just do regular card tricks, and probably ruin it again.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But in my experience, when you’re feeling scared you're twice as likely to make a mistake! I'm just helping you to get some experience with crowds, so that you'll feel surer next time. Some positive feedback is always good to lift a creative block.”

She always went to her parents when she couldn’t finish a design. Their genuine awe and pride of her abilities never failed to get her back on her feet. But since the Magician didn’t want to call his parents, the job to encourage him fell to her.

“Okay... I... I'll try!”

He stepped forward and took off his cylinder, ready to create a cloud of white butterflies. The kids cooed and awed, and the Magician smiled hesitantly. Marillion gave him a thumbs-up from her hiding place on the roofs.

It went flawless, after that. He made little lights and clouds of colorful smoke, more butterflies and even made himself dis- and reappear a few times. The children were utterly fascinated and their laughter and applause warmed her heart. And her champion's as well: soon the clouds of butterflies were joined by a freshly purified akuma and the Magician transformed back into a carefree, laughing boy.

“See?”, she said to no one. The link to her champion had gone vacant when he had detransformed. With a last smile towards her freed akuma she turned around and vanished with a swirl of her tailcoat.

This had been a great morning after all.

-

“This is a horrible morning!”, Alya complained to Tikki. Not only had she failed to identify her nemesis via a cutout of Marillion, she had even been caught by Bustier! And Marinette wasn't here to distract her!

“Well, I did tell you to focus on your lessons.”, her cherished but unbearably goody-two-shoes friend replied. “Besides, it’s impossible to recognize the wielder of a miraculous. Your masks are magical, remember?”

“It was worth a try.”, she shrugged. “And hey, its not like you’re the one who has to focus for two hours on the most boring subject there is. Oh! Rose, Juleka! Have you seen Marinette?”

Tikki hurried to hide in her bag while her classmates shook their heads and she moved on.

“Where is that girl?”

“She said she didn’t feel well. Maybe she went home?”

“But she left her bag here!”

Tikki raised an eyebrow - or at least the skin where her eyebrows would be, if she had any.

“Because your friend never forgets anything, right?”

Good point. She loved her BFF, but Marinette sure was a mess.

“I‘ll look at her locker. If she's not there I'll just bring her bag over to her home.”

Any excuse to go by the Dupain-Cheng Patisserie was fine with her. The croissants were incredible, and Tikki barely ate anything except their delicious macarons. In her mind she was already sinking her teeth in the artwork of a pastry when a ruffling sound stopped her. Was that... Chloé?

Indeed. The blonde b... beast was hurriedly packing something into that overly expensive handbag of her, and she looked very keen on not being watched. Alya's eyes narrowed and she hid behind a corner. Suspicious!

Her spying- observing turned out to be worth it. Thanks to her infallible intuition and sixth sense as superhero, she was able to witness it: Chloé Bourgeois, heiress to the mayor of Paris and his empire of hotels, meanest little brat under the sun... pulled a purple mask out of her locker. A butterfly shaped mask. And ribbons that matched Marillion's.

The bell rang and startled Alya out of her stupor. She quickly disappeared into the yard before Chloé - Marillion! - could spot her.

“Did you see that?”, she hissed to her Kwami, still not believing her luck. “Oh my god, Tikki! Did you see that?”

“I... uh, I did? But Alya-“

“This is Perfect, with a capital P!”, she cackled. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell everyone! By tomorrow I'll have thwarted my nemesis AND the school bully. Admit it, I’m the best superhero you ever had, right? It hasn’t even been a week since Stoneheart!”

Tikki struggled to keep up.

“Alya, you know I believe in you and your great potential, but I really doubt that-“

“I'll have to prepare my article for the Ladyblog! This is gonna be the scoop of the century, Tikki!”

“Maybe we shouldn’t rush-“

“This spoiled little brat really thought she'd get away with it, huh? Thought that just 'cause she's pretty in purple I’ll have mercy? Well, think again, Marillion! Now that I know who she really is, I suddenly don’t find her attractive in the slightest!”

“Wait, you think Marillion is attractive? Why didn’t you say anything-“

“I don’t! Not anymore, at least, and even if she weren’t Chloé... She isn’t that pretty. Villainy is not her color. Oh! I gotta remember that line for when I confront her. It could be my new catchphrase.”

“Alya!”, Tikki called out with more volume than should be possible for her tiny body. Immediately her chosen fell quiet. “Alya, please think this through! We don’t have any proof of Chloé being Marillion. And her suit is created by the miraculous! Why would Marillion carry her mask around if she can make it appear with a few magic words?”

Alya scoffed.

“You don’t know her. Chloé has an Ego that thwarts the Eiffel Tower, she'd totally be the type to wear her own merch. Besides, no one ever said supervillains were smart, hm?”

“But Marillion saved Chloé, don’t you remember? When Stoneheart dropped her. They can’t be the same person, we’ve seen them together!”

“Well...” This time Alya actually paused, but soon waved it off. “Don’t you think that’s weird? First Marillion causes her to fall, then she catches her... sounds a little staged to me. She totally did that to deceive us! She's got the means, her miraculous is really op.”

“But-“

“Nah-ah. You can’t apply logic where Chloé - or magic! - is involved. But if you insist on a second opinion, I'll go and tell Nino! Oh, and I'll leave a message for Marinette.”

Tikki sighed deeply as her chosen talked on. She loved Alya with all her heart, but sometimes her creativity expressed itself in ways that weren’t always... productive. This was going to be exhausting.

-

“Did he just... die?”, Marinette asked, baffled by that utterly random turn of events. What a ridiculous ending!

Nooroo didn’t answer, instead he desperately shoved popcorn into his little mouth.

“Hey, are you crying?”, she gasped and moved to grab the tissues. Stubborn her Kwami shook his head, despite the obvious tears that ran down his little cheek.

“Oh, honey!”, Marinette tried to comfort him. “It's just a movie. They're okay in reality, I promise!”

“'M not shad!”, he insisted, the words muffled by the sugary popcorn in his mouth. “I kno' they're oh-righ.”

He hiccuped and hurried to take the tissue she offered, blowing his nose. His voice a little clearer now, he swallowed and rubbed his eyes.

“It's just that... he wanted to be better, didn’t he? He wanted to be good! And then, when he finally did it, he... he...”

Oh. Maybe this movie had been a bad idea after all.

“He was good now.”, she assured him. “And he was happy! For... a moment.”

Admittedly, that was a weak argument. Gosh, time to distract him.

“Maybe we should watch Pride and Prejudice next? No bad endings, I swear! Plus, the dynamic is really similar and I'm sure you'll adore Keira Knightley!”

Nooroo sniffled and looked up at her.

“Are you sure? It's almost four o’clock in the morning.”

“What?!”

A panicked glance at her phone confirmed Nooroo's statement and she all but hauled herself up the ladder to her bed.

“I’ve got school tomorrow!”, she wailed and frantically tucked herself in. “That means I'll have to get up in three hours! That means I won’t get enough sleep! That means I’ll have bags under my eyes and yawn like a hippo just when Adrien looks at me! Alya is going to think I’m a freak who stays up all night like a vampire! This is a disaster!”

“Uhm... are you sure that's going to happen?”

“With my luck? Definitely.”

-

Contrary to her fears, she did not wake up dead tired and embarrassed herself in front of everyone. No, she didn’t wake up at all!

Until Nooroo gently nudged her shoulder, that is, to inform her that they had overslept.

“Noooo! No, no, no!”, she all but cried as she shoved her homework into her bag and got dressed. “Damn Disney for making this many movies!”

“Marinette, you lost something!”

Eagerly Nooroo caught the note that had fallen out of her bag and gave it to her.

“It's from Alya!”, she realized and her eyes widened. “What?! She found out who the real Marillion is?”

Her Kwami gasped.

“Oh no!”

“We gotta hurry! Before she tells anyone!”

-

“I'm telling you, she is Marillion!”, Alya insisted and pointed at Chloé. “So what if I took a measly photo of her locker? She's a supervillain! You have to search her for her miraculous!”

Monsieur Damocles cleared his throat.

“Mademoiselle Césaire, I understand if you feel embarrassed, but that’s no reason to make such accusations. Please don’t aggravate your situation.”

“Aggravate her situation? She broke into my locker!”, Chloé - that little monster - complained. “How can it get worse than that?”

M. Damocles blinked.

“She, uhm, is kind of accusing you of terrorism?”

“What, because she called me Marillion? That’s a compliment, though not one I want to her from the likes of her. But what about my locker?! Suspend her already!”

The headmaster sighed deeply. He wasn’t paid enough to deal with these kids.

“A week of suspension, and now out of my office.”

“WHAT?!”

-

When Marinette entered the class, she was prepared for betrayed looks and roared accusations. Instead, everything was silent as Bustier wrote something on the blackboard. And Alya was missing.

Nervously she tapped Nino on the shoulder.

“Where is she?”, she whispered and nodded to Alya's vacated seat. Nino shook his head. “She got into a fight with the Principal because she thinks Chloé is Marillion. She's even been suspended!”

“What?!”, she yelled, but she wasn’t the only one. Adrien had been surprised as well.

After Bustier rebuked her for the disruption, Adrien leaned over to Nino as well.

“What do you mean, Chloé is Marillion?”

“That’s what Alya thinks. Crazy, huh? Not that I wouldn’t suspect Chloé of being a supervillain, but... yeah, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“That's horrible!”, Marinette murmured, masking her relief that her secret was safe. Poor Alya! “We've got to do- Ah!”

With no warning a wave of hot red anger crashed into her, searing through her brooch. She barely noticed Madame Bustier sending her to the Principal, she was already on her way out and running towards the bathroom.

“Marinette!”, Nooroo worried as she gasped in air and waited for it to pass. “Oh, this is bad. The closer your bond to a person, the stronger you feel their emotions!”

“Don’t worry about me.”, she said, the pain already receding. “Worry about Alya! She must be so hurt and we've got to help-“

She fell silent all of a sudden. Nooroo paused.

“Marinette? What happened?”

She shook her head, confused.

“It... stopped.”

Her eyes widened.

“I can’t feel her anymore.”

- - -

Any guesses what movie they watched? ;)

[avionvadion]

More of my old pokemon drawings! Since... I’m apparently back in that obsession now. Frick. Oh well. These were for chapters 10 and 12 respectively. The Underground Hideout and The Taste of Freedom. 

Basil: Bulbasaur. Belladonna: Weepinbell. Ansem: Eevee. 

There is a lot of dark topics surrounding this story, such as kidnapping, trauma, and abuse, so... if that makes you uncomfortable please don’t keep reading. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22998952/chapters/54987940

Grunt, the girl, is  thirteen. Various factors such as stress, depression, and malnourishment had caused her growth to be greatly stunted so she looks like a small child. One of her hands is crooked from an injury she received growing up in Team Rocket, the majority of her arm numb as a result of poor healing. She met Steven YEARS ago, which is the very start of the story, when he was ten and she was four. They made a promise over a broken dawn stone to meet again after she was taken in by social services, but then Team Rocket happened. Because of her lack of a name they called her “Grunt” to mock her future as a Team Rocket grunt. 

As a result of learning from the news that his very new friend got taken, Steven makes it a goal to track them down. Several years pass with no luck and everyone convinces him to give up, so he focuses on his career instead. But then... the headquarters blows up, because a certain legendary pokemon was told the truth and escaped. And he picks up where he left off, aiming to avenge the friend everyone is convinced is long dead or a member of Team Rocket, with Wallace and Winona’s help. (This is where the conspiracy theorist Steven drawing desire comes in, since he has all these old newspapers and stuff for all the Team Rocket sightings and missing children/pokemon) 

Meanwhile, Grunt- having recently escaped due to the explosion- ends up journeying, very reluctantly might I add, with Brock and eventually Blue, to strengthen her pokemon by taking on the gym leaders, heading back to Hoenn, and freeing all the children/pokemon being held captive by Team Rocket, and hopefully reunite with that friend she can no longer truly remember- the dawn stone being the only thing she had that reminds her that he had once existed. 

The man antagonists in this story are Richard (Rich) and Velga, Giovanni, and all of Team Rocket. (Jesse and James will make their appearance in ORAS) 

Chapter 10 Bit: I had been more than prepared to defend myself against anything the adult could have done. The battle went by easier than expected, especially compared to Rich and Velga, and his tactics reminded me more of those random goons found lurking about in Mt. Moon when Brock and I had been searching for the fossils. What neither of us had been expecting, however, was what happened after I defeated him.

"Wh… What!?"

"I told you before," I growled, starting to feel the familiar sensation of frustration as my words continued to fail in being understood by this person, "I'm not joining you."

"But… with your skills you could totally become a top leader!" He protested. "Your pōkemon and leadership are incredible!" When he saw I was not being swayed he faltered, taking several steps back. His teeth ground together and his eyes lit up with rage, frustration on his face. "You and that boy… damn it all! Do you realize what you're turning down!? You selfish, spoiled little kids will never understand what it's like to be part of something great! Not like this! So I guess… I'll just have to show you."

"Explain!" Brock frowned deeply when the adult started to cackle, the teen stepping forward and readying to summon a pokemon at a moment's notice. "What are you trying to do? Why does Team Rocket want to use kids so badly?"

"Hm?" He tilted his head, blinking. "Oh, you haven't figured it out? You really are just a child."

I closed my eyes, expression growing empty and solemn. It was such an obvious answer, one I had learned a long time ago. Considering how he's acted so far, I knew my travelling companion would not like the answer. Ignorance, in cases like these, was complete and total bliss. But when living under such terrible conditions like I had for so long ignorance was a curse and knowledge was power. With his view of the world, I knew the truth would only enrage him further should he find out.

"Brock, don't…"

The boy looked back at me, confused when he heard my voice trail off and go quiet. "But you want to know, right? You deserve to know! Grunt, you-"

"Grunt?" The adult echoed. Realization dawned on his face and he whirled around, staring at me with big eyes. "You can't be… no, no, no- hold on. Yes, of course! How did I not realize!? You were there that day, weren't you? The day the headquarters blew up…"

The hate on his face intensified and Brock tensed, chills going down his spine as he took a fearful step back, holding a shaky arm up in front of me, the boy bravely pushing me behind him. His actions no longer surprised me, though the logic behind them did. "It wasn't her fault!" He protested, defending me. The way he said it made it almost sound like that sentence would solve everything; that it would make all the hurt go away. Brock, despite his fear, spoke with confidence.

Unfortunately, he knew nothing. I still haven't explained everything to him.

Him believing that I didn't know why children were being used was proof of that. I knew all too well why kids like me were targeted; I just… found it hard to speak about it. I think I just didn't want to upset him anymore than he already was over my situation, which was weird. He shouldn't be so upset about it; it wasn't like my life was something particularly special that should be deserving of attention, and yet… here we are.

He said I was the one who cared too much, but it was so obviously the other way around. This only showed more with Brock's kind words.

Unfortunately, the person across from us did not care to listen. He was bristling with rage, only hearing and focusing on what he wanted to. "It was… It was you! You little brat- my friend died in that fire!"

I flinched at those words, the guilt washing over me like a tidal wave. It was suffocating, the weight of the lives taken crushing me inside. My head ducked down as he continued to scream, Brock's back being the only thing blocking him from my view. The boy kept me behind him as best as he could as we started to become surrounded- all the trainers from before crowding around us and removing their disguises, revealing the large red R that was plastered over all of their chests.

"That's not on you," I heard Brock say firmly, speaking to me and momentarily snapping me out of my darker thoughts, his attention never leaving the evil trainers around us, "you didn't mean for it to happen."

But... I still caused it. I freed the legendary pōkemon that exploded the building.

Their deaths were on my hands. I murdered them.

And these people… those that were little kids had actually been wearing well-made masks, revealing very small adults. They were all Team Rocket. In my panic to rescue Blue I made a very grave mistake; I stopped observing. If I had paid the slightest bit of attention to their attire or appearance anymore than I had then this could have been avoided. I knew their tactics inside-out and yet I let this happen.

I… I screwed up. Frick.

Why do I keep making the simplest of mistakes? Was it because this was the outside world?

It was so much larger and vast than I had ever expected it to be, and despite my reluctance to trust strangers I still found myself letting down my guard, fooled by the kindness that had been shown to me by so many. This was going to cost us dearly.

The people started to grow closer and I tensed, watching as Ansem and Basil growled at the Team Rocket members. There were so many of them; I could handle one or two of them easily, but six? The leader yelled at me, cursing my existence, and without realizing I found myself grabbing onto the hem of Brock's jacket, scared as the consequences of my foolishness caught up with me, clinging onto the newer light shining before me in desperation for comfort.

I… caused this.

I failed. Just like back in the caves, I… couldn't protect anyone.

We were totally trapped.

Brock glanced over his shoulder at me before turning around, wrapping his arms around me. I was shaking, barely breathing as horror and guilt took over, the older teen keeping me pressed close to his chest protectively. He called out to my pōkemon, catching their attention as I started to shut down and surrender to my darker emotions. "Ansem, Belladonna, Basil! Get us out of here!"

"Oh, no you don't! Aerodactyl, go!" The violet-haired man raised a hand outwards, eyes flashing dangerously. A large gust of wind appeared, nearly blowing us all off our feet. Suddenly a big pōkemon appeared from a pōkeball, flying high into the air, beating its wings. An ear-piercing screech erupted from its throat, making it difficult to hear the goon speak. "If it weren't for the boss wanting you alive, I'd kill you myself! So instead, I'll have you all suffer! "

The ground began to shake, and Brock stumbled sideways- being forced to let go as I staggered backwards. Basil panicked and leapt into his arms, scared of being seperated, and Ansem started to bark again and dashed towards me, Belladonna right behind him.

Just where was this earthquake coming from? It wasn't from his Aerodactyl; it was coming from…

...underground?

Oh frick, oh frick, oh Arceus, oh gods-

I'm so sorry-!

We're going to be killed!

I screwed up!

This is all my fault!

Why did I escape so soon!?

The ground itself began to open up, shifting as two metal slabs drifted apart, and as I sat there frozen in terror Brock was shouting, calling out me as he stumbled over, trying to get to me and the rest of my pōkemon. Basil wailed loudly, tears in his eyes, and in my shock it took me a second too long to notice Brock's outstretched hand. I struggled to move, constantly knocked back down by the violent shaking of the earth, and in my desperation I reached out for him.

This was all too familiar.

In the recesses of my mind, buried deep into my memory from a time long ago, I remembered. It wasn't the first time I bore witness to such a thing, but I was certainly never on it when it happened. It was just like how the Hoenn base opened up when I was first stolen away and… when I left to Kanto on that cursed helicopter Rich and Velga made me ride.

And, deeper still, I had the feeling that I once reached out like this for someone. Who, I wasn't sure, but the sensation of a memory was there- trying to claw its way to the surface and tearing at my brain, forcing my skull to throb even more than it already was.

The Team Rocket goon raised his voice, shouting at us with a crazed grin, rage in his eyes. "Your pōkemon, your supplies; they'll all be ours!" He declared. "And you, Grunt, traitor to our kind, will suffer alongside your foolish companion!"

That was when the ground beneath me gave way, crumbling to pieces, and as I fell through the trap door I saw a quick flash of green-and-brown as Brock leapt after, following me down into the underground like a fool.

"Together forever! Trapped in the underground maze we've created!"

Rather than air, I thought of water- cold, freezing water that was filled with debris, and skies that seemed to boil with heat. Falling deeper and deeper, sinking below the surface.

Stuck… in the terrifying abyss of darkness.

As we tumbled deep into the black I muttered not so much as a word, not even able to scream, only watching with wide eyes as the light above us vanished. For a moment, as the trap doors closed and we continued to fall, all hope was lost. I found myself wondering if this was truly the end.

"A-Are you okay? What's wrong?"

It was still there- buried in the recesses of my mind. As much as I felt I should start ignoring it, I couldn't help but find that the traces of connection still held strong. My heart just couldn't let go. Everything always went back to that one person, after all, and I spent so long surviving on the pure hope of seeing him again. Even now he was haunting me, the memory of that promise keeping me rooted to this earth.

Earth…

So many years I spent living on this planet; obeying orders, acting as the puppet I was groomed to be, and plotting schemes that were only doomed to fail. Everything I ever dreamed of or desired to obtain was just too far out of reach, and they were all centered around that boy I had met so long ago. As time past my goals did shift, focusing more on the rescue of the other children, but the fact remained- I wanted to see him again.

To thank him for saving me so many times.

But… it was all an illusion. Even this freedom I have now is false.

I'm still trapped by Team Rocket.

And now… I've never felt more useless. Falling endlessly through nothingness, mind and heart slowly giving up as everything went downhill once more. It wasn't as if I truly desired to go on this journey in the first place; all I wanted was to find the police, inform them of the hideout, and then go on my way to find that mysterious boy whom I made a promise to. Yet… those plans failed too.

Everything I come up with just… fails.

Perhaps this was the world's cruel sense of justice- to get back at me for causing such a tragedy. Team Rocket was full of cruel and terrible people; they were evil beyond belief. But that didn't mean the deserved to die. Those evil enough to kidnap children and torture them, stealing them away from their families, and even go so far as to experiment on innocent pōkemon…

They needed to be imprisoned. That fate, that kind of suffering, was far worse and more befitting.

But… I was starting to believe that there was no such thing as justice. Only karma, the world making twists and turns to toy with the lives of those that lived on its back.

"Don't forget about me, you hear!?"

I'm sorry. I did. I remember your words, though the voice that once accompanied them is long gone. It was thanks to you that I became so good at surviving, yet I'm afraid that that itself was a grave mistake. My existence only ever seemed to cause others to hurt. Whether it be by putting them in danger or inadvertently hurting them with words…

I'm starting to think you should have let me rot on that street.

"Veeevaa!"

That cry snapped me back into my senses.

The world around me seemed to recollect sound and my eyes slowly opened, vision taking a while to adjust to the dark. In the distance, somewhere nearby, I could hear Ansem barking. Brock was screaming- calling out to me and trying to locate where I was. The guilt hit full force as I thought about the family that was waiting for him. They had told me to protect him, to keep him safe, and here he is falling to his death because of me.

There's… no way I can just let him die, can I?

Not like this.

Basil, Belladonna… they were all so innocent. Like the kind strangers I've met, they've only done things to help me. The pōkemon chose me as their trainer.

Did that… Did that condemn them to this fate? Because they outstretched their hands to me?

I don't… want that. I don't want them to suffer because of me.

Too much blood has already been spilled.

I can't help people; I'm only ever good at endangering them. My only real accomplishment was staying alive- so, that means… I just have to figure out a way to extend that to those I surrounded myself with. The determination to reach my goal, the willingness to do whatever it took to reach the finish line. The reluctance of falling back into the arms of those who would hurt me, to accept those who would gather me.

Obligation, obedience. Fear, guilt. Cowardice, courage.

Hate… and love.

My eyes squeezed tightly shut, burning with tears as so many emotions welled up inside me, mixing together and creation a concoction that was far from healthy. As they bubbled up, some strange sensation rising in the back of my throat, I opened my mouth and out came a cry- a scream full of rage and frustration, aggravating my still-not-quite-healed vocal chords. A howl echoed out afterwards, coming from the ever loyal Ansem, the pōkemon reacting quite intensely to my overflowing emotions. My arms shot out and I reached blindly in the direction I heard them, body coiling around a large and soft body, fur tickling my face.

It was so dark I couldn't see anything and it hurt so much to keep my eyes open, but I have to get us through this! I have to survive, so they can survive! It's the only thing my foolish self is good at!

I had no idea how much longer we had before we splat against the ground, as we had been falling for quite a while, and as a result of this knowledge adrenaline started to pump through my veins, causing my heart to race as I hiccuped and choked, mind reeling with ideas and solutions to the problem we found ourselves in. That goon said we were heading into an underground maze, which meant it could very well be a Team Rocket hideout they've created. Our pōkemon, our supplies- he said they would be theirs.

This trap was most likely designed to capture those who refused their offer to join the organization, made with the intention of stealing their money and pōkemon.

That meant that there had to be some sort of safety mechanism at the bottom- or maybe they expected us to call the pōkemon back into their pōkeballs to save them, leaving us humans to splatter into goop at the bottom. Regardless the reason, the design, or their plans, we couldn't risk just falling forever until we became sludge on the ground. We had to take precautions. And, as someone who grown up learning how to plot and scheme by the very criminals that were entrapping us, they were greatly underestimating me.

No… they were underestimating us.

I'm not alone anymore. Brock, the pōkemon… we're all here working together. Journeying together. We're friends.

And Brock just so happened to be a retired gym leader, who owned a pōkemon that was so large that he could easily stop our fall if he so wished.

If memory served correctly, and I'm praying it did because I'm panicking so badly right now that it was rather hard to think straight, Onix was a pōkemon who liked to burrow in underground places. He could even evolve naturally into some kind of steel-type pōkemon once deep enough, becoming embedded with either crystals or diamonds, or maybe both.

It might hurt a bit, but… we could use him to our advantage here. Feeling Ansem nuzzle his face into the curve of my bandaged neck, I called out as loudly as I could, ignoring the sensation of what felt like glass piercing the inside of my throat. "Brooooock!"

"Grunt!?" The boy was alarmed. It sounded like he was coming somewhere from my… left… yet higher up. He jumped in after me, so it makes sense that I'm farther down than him. "Grunt, where are you!?"

"O-Over here!"

Ansem started to bark, sensing my pain as I started to cough. Frick- I seriously needed a drink now. It felt like needles were stabbing my neck from the inside. It was almost as if the pōkemon was trying to alert the others to our presence, so that I wouldn't have to.

Still, if we couldn't reach each other… the plan might not work. "Can you hear me!? G-Grab my hand!"

"Where!?"

I reached out above me, following the sound of his voice, trying to grasp some part of him.

Something brushed my fingers and, before I even had a chance to latch on, his hand grabbed onto my wrist and suddenly I was being pulling forward. I barely had time to let out a yelp before his arms were around my back, holding me and Ansem to him, the boy cradling the back of my head as if to shield my skull from anymore injury. I wasn't quite sure when it happened, how it happened, but sometime during the past few days his touches were starting to become less anxiety inducing and more comforting.

"I've got you!"

I didn't flinch away as much in the hospital when he was braiding my hair back then, either, so I could only assume it was because of something during my wretched stay there. Something that was actually making me reach out for touch. Keeping one hand on his shoulder and the other wrapped around Ansem so not to drop him, I was about to suggest my idea when Brock yelled again.

"W-We need to do something quick!"

"I-I know, just- where's Onix!?"

"Onix? Oh, of course!" Keeping an arm around my waist, Ansem wailing as his claws dug deep into my shoulder, Basil clinging to Brock's backpack while Belladonna cried from somewhere nearby, Brock reached out to his belt. Snatching a pōkeball and enlargening it, he held it up into the air and yelled, "Onix, come out! I choose you!"

Chapter 12 Bit: 

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, bringing the dawn stone up and resting my knuckles against my lips. My voice was muffled, but I didn't care. Everything just hurt so much, yet somehow not enough all the same. The cold, the numbness- it was all there. Amplified. Suffocating. Choking. I could barely think.

"H-he gave… he gave me the stone… t-to remind me. To remind him in case he… he forgot about me."

"...I see." Brock gave my shoulder a light squeeze, seeing how hard I was trying not to break down. "I'm glad he found you, then."

Yeah. But…

"I-I don't remember." Brock's eyebrows shot up, alarmed when he heard the sudden crack in my voice. I looked up at him, bottom lip quivering as a fresh wave of tears welled up. "I-I don't remember him, Brock. H-His face, his name, I- I can't… I can't r-recall…"

I can't recall anything.

Before he could say something to that and before I could say anything else, the woman suddenly spoke up- near flinching back when Ansem snarled at her. "W-We're here! T-Take this staircase and go through the teleporter, and you'll find the control room. See? I-I'll… I'll show you!"

Inhaling sharply, trying to distance myself from my emotions long enough to get through whatever the next encounter was, I pulled away from Brock and picked up the pace, moving my short legs as fast as they would go. I waited until the woman was through the teleporter to go myself, Ansem still being carried and stone back in my pocket, and Belladonna and Basil followed suit. Then it was Brock, then Machamp and Blue, and gradually the rest of the pōkemon…

But we weren't the only group here in the room. Without a word Machamp lowered Blue to the ground, leaving me to struggle in holding him up alone until Brock came over and grabbed the teen by the shoulders. Then the large muscular pōkemon stepped forward, standing in front of us three with Ansem and Umbreon on either side of him. Basil and Belladonna released the woman we were holding captive and she stumbled forward, rushing to the group of Team Rocket goons and… their pōkemon.

They were expecting us.

I mean, I can only imagine how much word got around about us kids when Brock was tending to Blue back in the lab- the people Belladonna knocked out must have woken up and alerted the higher-ups. These people, the adults, were more than ready to fight.

Or, rather, more than ready to have innocent pōkemon do the fighting for them.

The woman we had released whirled around with a gasp, striking the pose every goon had been forced to memorize. It took everything I had not to cringe at the sight of it, instead focusing on making sure I didn't topple over from Blue's body weight. "To infect the world with devastation, to blight all people in every nation! To denounce the goodness of truth and love, to extend our wrath to the stars above! We are Team Rocket circling the earth day and night, and you are just a bunch of brats in our way! C'mon, everyone- group attack!"

Oh no. Okay. Here we go.

A Tauros lowed and stomped a hoof against the floor, a Meowth residing atop its back. Two Zubats flew around them, flapping their wings as they stared at us nervously. Brock scowled, clicking his tongue and using one hand to reach to his belt. "Of course there are several here… Geodude, go! Help out the others!"

"M-Machamp…!" Blue began, voice hoarse from coughing. "Get them!"

"Ansem-!" I was unable to finish. Machamp was suddenly storming forward, locked onto its targets, swinging with all four fists at the Tauros when it charged. I cringed and ducked my head down upon hearing the bull-pōkemon's cries of pain, knowing full well it was fighting against its will. I hated this violence so much. "Belladonna, Basil…"

"Bulba!"

"Weeeepin!"

Vines erupted from their bodies and swung towards their foes, catching the Zubats before they could unleash a devasting flying-attack upon them. Meowth leapt up from the defeated Tauros' back, landing atop Machamp's head and using it to boost itself up again, and slashed at the vines. Basil cried out and loosened his hold, allowing a Zubat to escape, and the pōkemon hurriedly let loose several blades of wind.

Aerial Ace.

Belladonna was sent flying, several cuts lining her body as she crashed into the wall, vines retreated back into her body. Basil let out a concerned shout, but barely had time to recover himself when the second Zubat slammed itself right into him, head ramming into his side. No…

"Stand up!" My voice was panicked. Blue looked down at me in surprise as Brock ordered his Geodude to defend Belladonna as Meowth approached her. He never heard me sound so desperate and scared before. "Stand up now!"

Don't do this.

Don't you dare die.

"Basil!"

We haven't lost a single battle, so there was no way it could happen now. I won't let it.

Bulbasaur struggled to push himself up onto his feet, red eyes watering from the pain. Cuts now lined his legs from Zubat using Aerial Ace on him after the headbutt, but his expression was a determined one.

Ansem, seeing the way his companions were harmed, let out an angered roar, deciding to leave Meowth and Belladonna's Zubat alone for now, Geodude taking care of it with Machamp's help, and targeted Basil's Zubat instead. Stretching out his claws, Ansem jumped into the air as high as his legs would let him, and he caught his front paws on the pōkemon's wings, knocking it greatly off balance.

"Vaaaa!"

As they fell to the ground Ansem rolled over, biting down hard into its wings and tearing them. He was furious. The woman from before- the one we had guide us here- was glaring daggers at us, shaking with her fists held to her side in a rage. The other Team Rocket goons were both startled and very much angry, unable to believe they were now losing the battle. Worse of all, it was to a bunch of kids and their pōkemon.

Feeling Blue's weight increase I shifted in place, standing on my toes in an attempt to straighten my back and keep Blue from leaning over too much. Unfortunately, that was quite difficult as I was the smallest human in existence and these two were hecking towers in comparison. I could feel the heat coming off of Blue's face due to his fever- his heart pounding desperately in his chest in an attempt to keep him breathing. It was very unnerving.

"W-Weezings!" I glanced behind me as best as I could, trying to get a look at the other pōkemon, but auburn hair was in the way. "C-Can you help? Please?"

"Weeez?" They looked at me, surprised. "Weezing?"

The many Weezings looked at each other. If memory served right, these pōkemon had a variety of very useful moves- assuming they've already learned them, of course, and Belladonna was a bit too hurt to use her Sleeping Powder special on them.

"Weez…"

"Weez, Weezing!"

"Weez!"

"O-On the Team Rocket members!" I continued, voice cracking a little. Brock stopped issuing orders and looking back at me, alarmed. Then a bright grin spread across his face.

"Grunt, you're a genius!"

That was the wrong thing to say. The higher-up Team Rocket members shared a glance, their faces paling and somehow becoming disbelieving and enraged all at once. "Wait, what?"

"Grunt?"

One of them pointed at me, narrowing his eyes. "You're the escapee from headquarters? You? I knew you were a child, but… how old are you!? Eight?" The gaped, dumbfounded, and I tensed upon hearing their words. I was starting to believe that maybe going by my old title was a bad idea, and that maybe I should just go around titleless and nameless. "The fuck? Holy Arceus- if we bring you back to the boss…"

"We'll be promoted again!" A female Team Rocket member gasped, pressing her hands to her face. The woman from before looked exasperated by their behavior, her main goal being revenge for how we treated her. "And their pōkemon… they might be ours!"

"Who cares about that?" Another exclaimed. "Think of the pay raise!"

"Wow," Blue choked out, trying to joke, "you're famous, huh?"

My expression went blank at that, disliking the attention I was receiving. A flash of purple in the corner of my eyes snapped me back into attention, and I raised my head with wide eyes to see the many Weezings floating forward, Machamp carrying Belladonna and Basil back to us while Ansem removed his fangs from a fainted Zubat.

The Weezings continued forward, not stopping until they were past our pōkemon and residing over the fainted ones, facing the Team Rocket goons with a strange look in their eyes. The poison-type pōkemon looked angry, hurt, scared… and very fierce. "W-Weezings?"

Suddenly, and without warning, they all surged forward- flying over the crowd to the goons and headbutting them as hard as they possibly could. On impact the Weezings let out huge clouds of grey and purple smoke, causing the Team Rocket goons to start coughing as the smoke filled up the area. The many Zubats behind us, the ones we freed, decided they wanted to help out as well- swinging their wings forward and causing air blades to shoot towards them, slicing at the goons and tearing up their uniforms.

I tried not to flinch away this time upon hearing their screams, but it was too much. I just… couldn't not close my eyes. Machamp setting Basil and Belladonna by my feet, he dashed back into the action with Geodude, Ansem following behind. Together they all attacked the goons, knocking them out hard as they collapsed onto the ground. I think I heard a nasty crack from one of them, probably from the one Machamp punched in the ribs, but…

No. You know what? I'm not…

I'm not going to think about it. I cringed and shook my head, eyebrows knitting together as pain temporary flickered onto my expression. I tightened my hold on Blue's arm and waist, shifting once more as I nearly lost balance from standing on my toes for so long. "Um, frick. Okay. Uh- Brock, I-"

"I'm on it."

"Huh?" I blinked, eyes opening and turning to see him walking over there where the adults and pōkemon were, the Weezings' smoke clearing. He still had to hold part of his hood over his mouth so he wouldn't start coughing, since there was quite a bit left, but it was otherwise okay for him to head into it. "What are-"

Oh.

He knelt down, patting the adults down in an attempt to find what I could only assume to be a keycard or remote, or anything that would help us get out of here. He tossed whatever pōkeballs he found onto the ground, leaving Machamp to stomp on the empty ones- while freeing the others that remained inside. Brock also rummaged through their bags, pulling out several super potions and berries, and used those on the fainted and injured pōkemon.

Blue and I slowly waddled our way over there, and upon seeing the pōkemon's confused stares and the way the boys were looking at me… I had to greet the previously abused pōkemon. It was very awkward and uncomfortable, and it was only thanks to the other rescued pōkemon jumping into the conversation that the newly freed ones calmed down. It was mess.

Meowth looked especially lost.

"Meow…?"

A Weezing floated down and spoke to it. Understanding dawned on its face and relieved tears welled up in the pōkemon's eyes.

"Mrrooooooow!"

Haaaah, I need to get out of here. Brock shoved the remainder of the supplies into his own backpack, deciding that Team Rocket didn't need these supplies if they were just going to use them for villainy, and he slid the straps over his shoulders. Standing, he let out a heavy sigh and looked up, smiling softly at Geodude as he floated over. "Hey, buddy. You did great out there!" He raised a hand, petting the pōkemon lightly on the head.

"Geooo!" Geodude beamed, proud of himself. Shortly after, Brock recalled the pōkemon back into its ball. The boy turned, staring at the large array of computers behind him.

"I… think this might be the control panel you were talking about, Grunt."

Yeah. Yeah, he calls me by my title way too often.

He was a stupidly nice person, but every time he called me by that title it always sent whatever Team Rocket goon we were battling into a fury. And while, strategically, it could be a good thing as that meant the opponent would stop thinking clearly and act on impulse… it mostly depended on the person we were dealing with. And while deciding not to go by it anymore would prevent that from happening, chances are Team Rocket will now recognize me no matter what since so many have seen what I look like.

So… what should I do?

I bit down on my lip, thinking deeply as I glanced around at the many screens and buttons. They were all so familiar to me, yet strange all the same. How come? It wasn't from the Hoenn base, though I have seen many adults work with the computers there. I watched as Brock began to fiddle with the buttons, Basil marching up and nuzzling his leg, Belladonna and Ansem sitting at my feet. I've come to the conclusion that Basil really liked Brock, which just goes further to show what a kind person he is.

I'm surprised he didn't choose him as trainer instead.

[tingleparker]

When in Hawaii

Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Request: No one asked for this but Tom’s Instagram Hawaii pics are just too tempting.

•Warnings: Fluff, bad writing (definitely not my best), swearing?.

•Summary: When in Hawaii, You got to do something new. Sport? Not always your forte but you didn’t realize you are so awful at golf until you meet a handsome, trust fund golfer.

•Word count- 2.7k (how did I manage to write so much scrap)

When in Hawaii you got to try something new. In this beautiful place like this, you need to just get away from reality; take the world in for once in your life. Your family had planned this holiday for weeks now, and finally, all of you are here. Just like the pictures you see on Instagram feeds, the island is as beautiful as it is captured on our phone screens. While dragging all our luggage to the hotel, other families and groups of friends pass you by; but a certain group catches your eye. You don't remember them on the same plane but you do remember seeing a fancy jet at the airport surely that wasn't theirs right? You shrug it off, you didn't even know them anyways; so who are you to judge. You caught the eyes of the prettiest of hazel, the sun’s light shining down on the colour bringing out a little shine to it. Your lips twitch into a smile, as you see the rest of the handsome man that has now caught your attention. His eyebrow quirks up before returning the smile towards you and turning around to his family, catching up with them. You do the same, having to lightly jog to return to the group. A smile remained on your face throughout the rest of the day; which wasn't long as straight after dinner, you pass out on the hotel bed; exhausted by jet-lag and the journey here.

It is like waking up in paradise; the sunshine, the view, the atmosphere. Though you never liked waking up, you got up seeing a text from your younger siblings about the family already at breakfast. You sigh, you seriously thought you were early for once but anyways you begrudgingly cleaned yourself up before exiting your room and heading down for breakfast.

“So we were wondering if we could go?” You hear your younger brother Liam ask, as you get closer to your family.

“Go where?” You ask whilst pulling out a chair joining them, grabbing a plate instantly and getting what you wanted to eat.

“Golfing!” Your youngest sibling Malia, exclaims.

“You have permission to go but Y/n has to go with you two.” Your mother stated causing the pair of teenagers to groan.

“Out of everything you guys choose golf?” You ask after swallowing your mouthful, curious about why they chose what seems to be a boring sport in your opinion.

“You don't even play sport, maybe you should start. Golfs easy enough for you...I think” Liam sasses, causing you to shoot him a glare; your dad sternly calling out his name.

“Maybe I shouldn't go, which means you can't either.” you clap back, poking your tongue out at your brother as he huffs; crossing his arms angrily.

“Please Y/n… I really wanna go play and you gotta step out of your comfort zone. Try something new!” Malia convinces, grasping at your arm and putting on the best puppy eyes she can.

You sigh, you couldn't resist her damn eyes. The younger pair let out a big cheer, high-fiving each other knowing they had won.  

“Alright, you two little shits-”

“Language.” Your mum scolded, as you give a little sorry for an apology.

“As I was saying, my two dear siblings; you better be ready before twelve or else I'm leaving your asses.”

“Y/n!” You dad now piping up as you once again apologize but stood up from your chair, ready to head back into your room to have some alone time before having to go out.

“Oh! Before you go, just remember we’re all having lunch at the small restaurant near the golfing range at two-thirty” Your dad informs, you nod putting the information in the back of your head before heading up to your room.

~

After getting ready for golf, you head out of your room at exactly twelve and you turn the corner to see both Liam and Malia standing at the elevator all dressed and ready to go. You roll your eyes at their antics, all of you hopping into the; heading out to the golf course.

The three of you arrive, renting out some clubs and golf balls before heading out to the holes. You’ll admit that when you see others playing golf, it never piqued your interest; actually, you think you've never actually played before after recalling some past memories.  Your two younger siblings are smiling ear to ear as we get to hole number one, Malia setting up her shot first. You look around noticing a group of boys on the next hole, you decide staring is rude so you look around the scenery; getting into your own bubble.

“Y/n! Your turn.” Malia shouts, snapping you out of it and gripping the golf club that Liam hands to you.

“If you don't remember, Golf is where you hit the ball into that hole over there. Easy.” Liam instructs but obviously being sarcastic as always.

“Yeah, I got it. Should be easy right?” You say mostly to yourself, you don't even know why you were stressing; it is literally just golf.

“It’s easy, you got this Y/n!” Malia encourages with a bright smile.

You line up your shot, making sure that you'll hit the ball at the right angle to get it somewhat near the hole. Taking a deep breath you swung the club back before swinging it back forward hitting the ball. What you didn't realize was maybe you got your angles wrong, as the ball flew through the air landing right on the head of one of the boys ahead of you. You gasp loudly as Liam and Malia burst into laughter, you instantly start moving to the boy you hit; him now on the ground clutching his head as you see another person probably calling for staff. As you arrive at the group you realize it's the same family from the airport. Your mind could only focus on the fact that you have just hit the most the most attractive man you've ever seen, and you're not even exaggerating.

“I am so sorry!” You apologize, making all their heads turn towards you, but you only look at the injured man as he stood up right in front of you.

“Don't come near me ever again! My dad can sue you for this, not like we need any more money from people like you.” He basically hisses out, fire in his eyes; and if looks could kill, you’d definitely be six feet under in a second.

“People like me? You mean people who aren't spoiled brats?” You fire back, the words just coming out without a thought; not caring about the consequences.

“You want to say that again? Y-”

“Woah, woah, woah. Alright, let's not get violent now. How about we get you to the first aid bay inside Tom.” One of the other men steps in the middle before reaching out to help the injured ‘Tom?’.

“Don't touch me! I can walk myself, it's not like she hit me in the leg.” Tom pushes the blue-eyed boy away but the other two boys swooped in helping him walk.

“But she did hit you in the head, so you could have a concussion dumb-ass.” The curly, red-haired one spoke up as they aid him to walk towards the building.

Your phone pings with a notification from your siblings, saying that they'll continue through all the holes and meet up with you after. You quickly respond to them, hoping they won't misbehave, and you knew you would meet up with them soon. You look up again to see their figures getting smaller in the distance, without realizing the one who stepped in is still next to you.

“I’m sorry ‘bout him. He’s -” He begins to speak but you cut him off.

“Spoiled?”

“Yeah, but I bet he doesn't mean whatever dumb shit comes out of his mouth.” He defends after laughing at your response.

“Yeah, I bet” You sarcastically say, rolling your eyes.

“Seriously, C’mon we’ll go see him in the bay” Blue eyes says before starting to walk in the direction of the building.

“Are you kidding? Like he… I would want to see him again!” You say, a tad loudly for the man to hear; causing him to stop and turn around to face you.

“Well, I think you and him deserve some apologizes,” He says before turning around again, continuing on his journey.

You close your eyes, asking yourself; were you really going to face him again? You called this guy hot in your mind before hitting him with a golf ball and then going off at each other. You sigh, opening your eyes; seeing the man was quite far now before running to catch up to him.

“Glad you could join…”

“Y/n”

“Harrison, that div’s best friend.”

~

As you got to the first aid room, you see the two other boys who helped out heading out of the room.

“We gotta check up on dad, catch up later Haz.” One of them says before the two walk away, obviously to their father.

You are starting to second guess things, he obviously wouldn't want to see you after what you did; so why were you here? Harrison then goes to open the door but before he could push it open, your hand shot out to stop him.

“A-are you sure I should be here?” You ask feeling doubt and like you shouldn't actually go in.

“Seriously Y/n? We’re both going in. Don’t worry about him.” Harrison reassures before opening the door fully this time.

You were behind Harrison, Tom not being able to see you yet as Harrison greets the injured man. Tom is sat on the bed in the bay, the aid had gone off somewhere; so it was just him in the room.

“Oh thank lord you're here Haz. Did you tell that girl to get lost? Seriously as pretty as she was, she hit me in the head.” You hear the trust fund kids voice, wanting to run away and crawl into a hole but at the same time confront him.

He called you pretty but at the same time can't let go of his dick of a personality for one second.

“Not exactly…” Harrison draws out before stepping to the side, showing your figure behind him.

Tom sends a glare to Haz before turning to you, looking you up and down in judgment. You want to cower away from his sight but you needed to stand your ground, you couldn't let this rich, trust fund and handsome man beat you.

“Sorry?” you apologize but it came out more like a question, earning a nudge from Harrison who shot you a glare as well as Tom.

“Seriously? That's all?” Tom questions.

“Well, what do you want me to say? I’ve already apologized so what do you expect?” You ask, words just flowing out from your mind.

“Alright, I’m sorry. For being a div, how ‘bout we talk? You can sit if you'd like” Tom surprisingly nicely suggests.

You give him a weird glance but wouldn't refuse his suggestion, so you went to sit next to him on the bed; space between you two is still substantial.

It started off with awkward small talk before it just clicked. The two of you actually had common interests, sharing jokes that brought tears to your eyes. The two of you were in your own world and didn't realize Haz had walked out the room minutes ago. Harrison walking out the room proud to be the best wing-man for his best mate and wanting a ‘thank you’ from him later

“You know you're actually pretty funny for someone who hit me on the head.” Tom jokes.

“C’mon that was a low blow. Does it still hurt?” You ask, unconsciously moving closer to inspect the bump on his head.

“A bit, it's not bad though,” Tom says as your fingers reach out to slowly graze the injury you had caused.

You hadn't realized how close your faces were until your eyes flicker down to see that there was barely centimeters between the two of you. You feel Toms' hand fall to your hip as your hands slid down to cup his face. The two of you leaning a tad closer, lips brushing against each other. Just as you were about to close the gap, your phone notifications blare through the room causing the two of you to jump apart. You quickly grab out your phone, to see Liam spamming you with messages.

‘Where are you?’

‘We gotta meet for lunch remember?’

‘Or are you too busy getting a restraining order from that dude you hit?’

Your eyes widen as you forgot about the family lunch you had at two-thirty, looking at the time it so happened to be two-twenty.

“Shit!” You say out loud to yourself as you shoot to stand up from your spot.

“What's wrong?” Tom asks, looking at your frantic state.

“I forgot I had something and I really need to go if I don't want to be late.” You inform him, almost taking off.

“How about I give you my number? We could meet up sometime again?” Tom asks almost calmly but on the inside, he was freaking the fuck out; hoping to see you again.

“Yeah, sure” You respond; giving him your phone, obviously you wouldn't turn him down.

After Tom gives your phone back you quickly thank him and without thinking lean in for a kiss on his cheek, before basically darting out of the room with an ‘I’ll text you later!’.

Tom's lips tug into a smile, thinking about how this situation has turned before plopping his head on the weirdly comfortable pillow of the bed.

~

After rushing out of the room, you run to the reception desk; wanting to ask to place an announcement for your siblings but you see them standing at the side leaning against the desk. You let out a breath of relief, walking over to them and ushering them out; not wanting to be late for the family lunch, know mum would kill you.

“So how’d it go with the guy you hit?” Liam teases, obviously not knowing that you had made up.

“Actually good, thank you very much.” You respond as the three of you sped walk to the nearby restaurant.

“Ooo Y/n has a crush on the guy she hit in the head.” Malia joins in with the teasing, a skip in her step now.

“Y/n must've given him a concussion if he has any interest in her.” Liam snarks like he always does, earning a hit on the back of the head by you.

“Shut up and walk faster.”

~

The three of you make it in just in time, you spot your parents already sat at a table and you join them. Just as you were browsing the menu, you hear a loud chatter of people. Glancing up you see the Hollands and Haz, your eyes instantly finding Tom. With the feeling of someone watching him, Tom turns to see Y/n looking straight at him. With a wink of his eye, making a blush crawl up your cheeks the two of you turn away. The waiter comes, making you stutter out an order; making your family look at you weirdly. Your phone lights up with a message from a contact under “Div you hit in the head’

‘Fancy seeing you here love.’ The message read, you smile at it before looking up to see Tom sat at a table near yours; eyes already on you.

“So how was golfing?” Your dad asks, making the younger pair basically jump in their seats.

“It was so fun! I loved it” Malia exclaims in excitement, recalling the events of today in her mind.

“Yeah! It was fun seeing Y/n hit her crush in the head.” Liam exposes as you kick him under the table for the comment.

You didn't say anything back, but you glance up to see the prettiest of eyes and a purple bruise that you caused. Whoops. But you wouldn't change anything that happened today because...

When in Hawaii you gotta try something new and maybe you'll hit something you like.

[greyias]

FIC: Unsent Correspondence (4/10)

Title: Unsent Correspondence Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Synopsis: Lana’s making plans for the future -- Theron’s just trying to focus on the task at hand. Genre: Angst, All of the Feels, Epistolary Fic Warnings: See Part 1. Author’s Notes: We continue on our lovely journey through Angstville. Population: Angst. Make sure to stop by Angst’s Diner and try a slice of their famous Angst Pie. But leave before curfew hits, which is of course at Angst O’Clock. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Crossposted to AO3 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

From: Theron Shan Subject: Long Term Planning

You’re still in there. I know that because I keep checking. It’s stupid, of course you’re in there, because we haven’t gotten you out. We’ve been at this so long I’ve started to lose track of time. I mean, it’s not like you can actually tell in there, it’s like the rest of the galaxy is just passing you by. You aren’t even going to recognize the place when you get out.

I think the only thing that hasn’t changed is that the Republic and Sith Empire are still taking pot shots at each other. It’s so damn stupid, like finally winning this endless grudge match is going to suddenly rock the Eternal Empire from it’s new place on top of the galaxy. Like Arcann still won’t have them all by the throat. Lana and I both have been scouting and I’m really not liking what I’m seeing—and I like what I’m hearing even less. There’s some kind of construction going on over hundreds of worlds, and the materials list Lana found squirreled away in an accounting ledger doesn’t paint a happy picture. It’s some kind of weapon I think. I need to get eyes on one to know for sure, but I don’t have time for that yet.

Lana’s been talking about Yavin a lot lately, and what we did there. I think she wants to try that again but scale it up. I didn’t quit the SIS to go off and form some new rogue government, but she’s convinced that if we band everyone together we can dethrone that egotistical bastard that took you away. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing I’d like more than to take him down a peg or three as well, but she’s acting like this is some giant Dejarik game where she can arrange the pieces of galaxy at will and expect them to fall into place. You’re the king in her gambit to retake the galaxy from that spoiled brat — she’s thinking of contingency plans and the end goal. It’s classic Lana, forgetting to actually ask the key players in her little games if they want to take part. It’s a little too close to her attitude on Rishi for my comfort, but try telling her that when she gets in one her moods. I guess you could say that she and I are having a fundamental disagreement on the reasons for your rescue—but I’m more focused on the “rescue” part. If you still want to save the galaxy after that (and knowing you… you will), she can ask for your help then. 

Not that I care, but she’s not too impressed with my thoughts on the subject—the term “emotionally compromised” hasn’t been said but it sure as hell has been implied pretty loudly. Like after she caught me checking on you again this afternoon, and she even had the gall to say I was actually putting the rescue mission at risk. Like I would ever do anything to jeopardize getting you back. Lana might have run Sith Intelligence for a year, but I’ve been doing this since I was almost a kid. She’s acting like I’m letting my feelings get the best of me when I know what I’m doing. 

Also, it’s possible Lana may now know that you and I kind of had a thing. Sorry.

But maybe I have been checking in on you a little too often, have stared at your life sign readings too much. I swear they just looked a little weird today. I don’t know, it just wasn’t quite… right. I’ve reviewed the logs I was keeping and something seems off but I can’t put my finger on it. I’m probably just imagining things. There’s a guy in the Old World who knows a thing or two about carbonite—he worked on those chambers on Belsavis actually. I’m going to get him to take a look at the logs (obviously everything will be very anonymous)—just to get a second opinion. I mean it’s probably nothing and I’m just jumping to the worst case scenario again and reacting on instinct instead of letting things happen naturally.

I do that. A lot.

If I hadn’t done that after Ziost, had gone and had that drink with you I might have seen that you weren’t as fine as you were pretending to be. I was too damn focused on my own failings—so convinced that being seen with me would drag you down too. I shouldn’t have clung to the SIS so tightly, thinking I could put everything back the way it had always been. I should have took you up on your offer and joined your crew. Then we would have had more time together. That wouldn’t have been the last time I felt you in my arms, the last time I kissed you. And maybe everything would have turned out exactly the same but you wouldn’t have felt so alone. I should have known you weren’t okay. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I just wasn’t thinking.

Like I’m not now. This wasn’t a conversation to be had in a letter back then and it’s still not.

Delete message? Y/N … Message deleted.

[needsmoretea]

[I should really be studying for exams right now, but what the hell, have some more omegaverse fic]

It starts with a simple question.

 “What do you want to do for your birthday this year?” asks Yuuri.

 Victor doesn’t really feel like doing anything, because he’s turning thirty and that means he’ll be Officially Old from now on.

 “We could go out for a meal somewhere,” Yuuri suggests.

 Victor avoids him with a non-committal “mm” from behind his laptop. He’s been watching videos from his junior division days, but it stops being fun when his teenage self brings him to the realisation that he’ll never have hair like that again. Then the camera zooms in on his face and reminds him that he’ll also never have skin like that again either, all rosy and glowing with the vitality of youth.

 Something else he notices now, which never occurred to him back then, is a trend where, the more successful his career becomes, the more hair Yakov seems to lose over the years. Victor shrugs it off as a coincidence, but it still makes him uncomfortable enough to switch to watching Yuuri’s videos instead because they soothe his soul and make him coo over his adorable nervousness.

 “What is this feeling when you want to protect something tiny and helpless?” he sighs as younger Yuuri flubs yet another jump onscreen.

 Present day Yuuri, however, is not so enamoured. “I was eighteen in that video. I’d only just moved to Detroit.”

 Victor does a double take. The Yuuri he’s watching could barely pass for twelve, never mind a legal adult.

 Now he really is starting to feel old.

 As usual, he goes to share his misery with Yakov, and it only takes Victor sighing dramatically three times in less than as many minutes to make a vein start throbbing in his forehead.

 “Stop that,” he warns.

 “I can’t help it,” Victor says mournfully. “My life is nearly over.”

 “You haven’t even lived half of it yet, so stop moping,” Yakov retorts. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re still the same insufferable brat now as you were when we first met. Now go and take your mid-life crisis to someone who might actually give a damn.”

 “It’s an *existential* crisis,” Victor corrects, because he has no intention of acknowledging the other one. “There’s a difference.”

 Even getting a video call from Yuuri’s family and friends to wish him a happy early birthday doesn’t do much to shake away the listlessness, which is the first thing Minako comments on when she receives his less than heartfelt thanks.

 “Why the gloomy face?” she says, waving a half-downed beer glass at him disapprovingly via the webcam. “You should be happy!”

 “How can I be happy?” Victor groans. “I’m already thirty.”

 “You’re *only* thirty,” Minako corrects. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you!”

 She sounds just like Yakov, which makes Victor suddenly wonder how Minako manages to keep her youthful appearance despite being almost as old as his former coach.

 His gaze slides over to Yuuko, who really doesn’t look old enough to be the mother of three grade school children. Yuuri is the same, with his baby face and his big doe eyes and his full head of hair.

 Is there something in the hot springs? Is Hasetsu the land of eternal youth?

 At least the triplets seem to be ageing like regular humans, if only because they’re a lot taller than Victor remembers.

 “They’ll be second years in the spring,” Yuuko informs him fondly. “Time sure flies, huh?”

 Once again the triplets guide Victor to his destiny by snapping him out of his slump, albeit unwittingly this time round, bursting out of the bedroom where he’s been ordered to stay put until he’s called for, because he needs to see Yuri now, right away, and tell him that he’s finally found a solution to his problem.

 Hiroko spots him first from where she’s been instructing Yuuri on his own phone, making him balk when she interrupts their conversation with a cheery “happy birthday, Vicchan!”

 “Thank you, Mama,” Victor trills back as Yuuri goes red and flustered.

 “I thought the others were supposed to be distracting you?”

 “They were, but then inspiration hit and I really needed to–” Victor forgets to finish his sentence when he sees that Yuuri has been busy cooking a romantic meal for two while he’s been occupied. He’s even bought roses and a fancy tablecloth, and it’s all so wonderful that Victor can’t help but beam.

 “I know you said you weren’t that keen on celebrating,” Yuuri says quietly, averting his gaze shyly as though he can’t see Victor practically brimming over with joy right in front of him. “But I wanted to do something for you, so...”

 “It’s perfect,” says Victor, gathering him into his arms and smothering kisses all over his face. “*You’re* perfect. I love you.”

 “Victor, my mom is watching,” Yuuri protests, like Hiroko hasn’t already seen this scene a thousand times before, but she takes it as her cue to hang up anyway and spare him the embarrassment.

 Victor insists on taking pictures of the finished meal from twenty different angles, and he’s only posted half of them online when Yuuri plucks his phone from his fingers and tells him to eat before the food gets cold. He even indulges Victor by feeding him when he opens his mouth expectantly, expression soft and affectionate as Victor alternates between “delicious!” and “amazing!” with every bite.

 Yuuri spoils him even more when he agrees to wear Victor’s old team jersey, which he doesn’t do very often because it makes Victor lose his mind, and he’s totally okay with being thirty now if it means getting birthday sex this hot.

 He only remembers the big reveal he planned on making earlier when he comes to his senses during the middle of the night.

 “Yuuri, wake up.” Yuuri stirs, but only enough to smack Victor in the face like he’s a particularly annoying fly. Victor is too impatient to be hurt by the rejection. “Yuuri, come *on*.”

 At last, Yuuri opens his eyes, but the way he squints at Victor through the darkness is more serial killer than sleeping beauty. It’s still not enough to dull Victor’s enthusiasm, and he’s at least alert enough to grunt out, “What is it?”

 “We need to make a baby,” Victor tells him urgently.

 Yuuri looks this close to kicking him out and locking the door, but he humours Victor by repeating his words. “A baby?”

 “That’s right.” Victor starts talking faster in case Yuuri decides to roll over and go back to sleep. “I’m thirty years old now. My biological clock is ticking. I have to reproduce while I’m still healthy and virile.”

 He’s about to continue, but Yuuri shuts him up with a kiss and a stern look. It’s very hypocritical considering how much he hates it when Victor tries to do the same to him when he’s trying to communicate something important, but he’s tired, and he’s grumpy, so Victor can forgive him.  

 “I know it’s your birthday,” Yuuri says, trying to be patient, “but can you please have your mid-life crisis at a more reasonable time of the day?”

 “It’s an *existential* crisis,” Victor replies automatically. “And it’s one that can only be solved by having children.”

 Yuuri strokes his face with a sigh. “You shouldn’t make these decisions on a whim.”

 He’s not taking Victor seriously at all, and Victor tells him as much. It’s not a whim. He’s been thinking about it all day long, and he’s arrived at a perfectly logical end result. Besides, Yuuri has been off suppressants now that he and Victor are both mated and married, so it’s probably fine for him to stop taking contraception too now that they’re retired. He goes through heat cycles naturally now, which Victor tracks obsessively through an app on his phone to plan when their next epic sex marathon is due, and which still disturbs Yuuri sometimes because Victor knows more about his body than he does.

 “We’ll discuss this properly when I’m feeling more coherent,” Yuuri promises, but he has no recollection in the morning, and is probably why waking him up at 3am for life changing choices wasn’t the best idea Victor has ever had.

 So Victor does what he always does when he needs someone to convince Yuuri to change his mind by getting help from Yurio.

[TO BE CONTINUED WHENEVER I’M NOT DROWNING IN DEADLINES???]