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t-o-m-hollands · 3 years

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Summery: You and Tom bet on who will touch the other first after he comes home from filming. Both refusing to give in you resort to some teasing measures to get the other one to break.

Pairing; Tom + female reader.

Themes: Light-hearted, lots of teasing. Established relationship. Fluff. Cocky Tom. Cocky reader too, let’s face it. They are both stubborn idiots. Lots of horniness all around. To be honest, very little plot and mostly smut. Bit of fluff as well though.

Warnings: Unprotected sex in established relationship. Masturbation. This work is strictly +18.

A/N: Not beta-read, I’m wine drunk and wrote this in like 2,5 hours so it is what it is.

It was such a stupid fucking bet and he wish he never agreed to it. It is all your fault, he decides, as he watches you bend over into downward dog, your breathing rhythmic and even as you stretch your beautiful body. He tries to look away from your ass, honestly he does, but you’re wearing those light grey yoga pants that practically has him drooling and the fabric is hugging your body so perfectly it would be a crime to look away.

Plus, he’s pretty sure that’s the whole point of you doing this, practicing yoga in the living room right in front of him as he’s supposed to be working. The whole point is to have him staring, so he doesn’t feel too bad about it.

It had all started the week before he was set to return from filming. He had teased you (and sure, in retrospect that was a terrible idea and he should have known better) had said that you would jump him the first chance you got, that he probably wouldn’t even get through the door before you had him out of his jeans. You had retaliated with an accusation that he would be the one all over you and obviously he had to deny that.

It had spiraled, neither one of you willing to give in and admit defeat and now here you are; a full day after his return and he hasn’t as much as hugged you.

Because whoever touches the other first loses the bet.

And now here you are, in front of him; wearing skin tight yoga pants and bending over.

A part of him, the midsection of his body to be precise, wants to just give in; to hand you the victory - fuck his pride. But the part of him, the rational part he likes to think, that has him bashing up golf clubs every time his dad beats him in a golf round; refuses to give in.

So what if he hasn’t seen you, hasn’t felt your body in over three months? Or that he now has your magnificent ass right in his face as he’s trying to concentrate on his dull emails. So what? He’s not faced by that, he’s a man of the world after all.

You lean forwards again until you’re on the ground, turn to your back and start to slowly but steadily push your hips up and down, in what Tom can only assume, is referred to as the ghost fucking position.

“Aren’t you supposed to answer emails?” You ask and he doesn’t even need to look at your face to know that you have a smug smile on your face.

“I am” he mutters, looking away from your body on the floor and back to his phone screen.

You laugh, and he pretends not to hear it, while you pretend that the visible hard-on he’s sporting doesn't make you want to climb into his lap and give in to both of your temptations.

The bet was stupid and totally his idea.

Tom comes out of the shower, drops of water still pouring from his wet hair onto his sculpted chest. The only thing he’s wearing is the white towel wrapped around his waist and the silver Rolex on his wrist. Seeing you standing in the kitchen and slicing tomatoes he sends you his widest smile.

And you thought you were playing unfair with the yoga.

He sits down by the bartop, all bare chested and golden. “Anything I can help with?” he asks as you place the tomatoes in the salad bowl. “A change of music perhaps?”

You throw a left over piece of tomato at him and it hits him square in the chest. He just smiles wider, completely unfaced. “Leave my dinner playlist alone, yeah?” You tell him, resisting the urge to give him the finger.

“So tense” he snickers and leans his head to the side, “I know what could help you relax.”

“Throwing more tomatoes at you? Because we need them in the salad, Thomas.”

He stands up and moves around the kitchen island until he’s behind you, careful as not to touch, framing you against the bench with his strong arms on either side of your body. You can smell him, fresh out of the shower, feel the warm radiate from his body; it is as he’s already holding you. He’s so close, it’s like every cell in your body is reaching out for him.

And it’s been so long.

Three months of twisting and turning alone in bed, of only your own hands as company and him on the phone screen as he encourages you; tells you how goddamn gorgeous you look fucking yourself for him. Three months of only seeing him on the phone; not being able to touch him and feel him for yourself, to taste his skin. To just see him spill all over his own hand instead of being there, catching it all with your tongue.

But it will have to wait a little while longer, because although you might love him, and the way he makes you feel, there’s no way you’re giving in just yet.

Slowly turning around, carefully as not to touch him, you reach for the bottle. “You can open this, since you wanted to help” you say and hand him the wine, “that would help me relax.”

He smiles, unbothered by his failed attempt at luring you to defeat, and steps back. You stir the pasta sauce, trying not to look at his bare chest as he’s leaning over the kitchen counter, looking for something. Finally he finds the corkscrew and sits back again at the bar table. He gets to work with opening the bottle, his strong veined hand wrapped around the throat of the bottle, as the other inserts the screw. His brow is furrowed in concentration and he’s biting his lip. Around his wrist the Rolex watch reflects in the light. Uncorking the bottle he pours blood red liquid into two wine glasses and hands you one before taking a sip from his own, brown eyes looking at you from over the rim of his glass.

“Put a fucking shirt on, Thomas” you mutter, going back to chopping vegetables.

The song and dance of torturing each other continues for the following two days. What goes on between you can only be described as a red-hot war.

“Oh for fuck sake!” Tom’s voice booms over the living room.

“Too direct?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“No, no not at all” he answers, voice dripping with sarcasm, “no please, keep deep-throating the banana, it’s incredibly subtle.”

Slowly he wakes, blinking into the dark night. The alarm clock on his bedside table tells him that it’s just after 2 am and for a few long seconds he stares at it.

A rustling of sheets beside him in bed and it hits him. He’s home, home in his own bed with you laying next to him, as it should always be. Except that things aren’t the way it should be.

Because of that stupid goddamn bet.

The sheets rustle again and he wonders if you are awake as well. But then he hears it; a soft moan.

Turning over in bed at lighting speed he stares down at you. “Are you fucking touching yourself?” He asks, heatedly.

Your answer is another soft moan as you look up at him, pupils blown wide and lips parted. Tearing of the duvet he looks down at your naked body, at you hand, covered in slick, moving over your clit.

Fuck.

He moves over, leans over you; his legs on either side of yours and his arm on each side of your face, carefully making sure that he isn’t touching you. A slight catch of breath is all the sign you give of having been surprised, your hand keeping it’s gentle pace.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, voice low in the quiet room.

“You” is your breathless reply, “you touching me.”

“Think this is how I would touch you?” He asks, snickering. He’s holding his body over you, looking into your lust-filled eyes. “I’d go much slower at first, tease you. Slowly move around your clit until your hips are bucking up and you're begging me for more”.

He moves his head, so that his lips are almost touching yours. Almost.

“You’re so good at begging after all” he murmurs against your lips, moving his boxer clad hips so that they almost touch you and you groan, your face telling of vexation and volatile bliss. But you do as he says, follow his instruction with the movement of your hand.

“Good girl” he whispers softly against your lips.

“Then I’d slide one fingers inside that wet cunt, still slow; still teasing.”

You whine, but you do as he says. Slowly you move one finger in and out of yourself, as the other hand is still circling your clit. “Need more” you moan but he just smiles.

“Such a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He teases with a devilish grin, tilting his head to the side, looking down at you with sparkling eyes. “But your hands are smaller than mine, so maybe you should add another finger.”

You insert your middle finger as well; and moan. “Faster” you beg, but he shakes his head and so a string of curses fall out your mouth and all he can do is smile at it.

“That filthy fucking mouth of yours” me mutters.

“Well if you shove your dick into it instead then this stupid fucking bet will be over and we’ll both get off.”

“You know, I’ve really missed your fantastic sense of humor while I’ve been away” he answers dryly, but with a smile.

“Tom” you whine. “I need more.”

He wants to kiss you so badly, to press his lips against yours and taste you; to remove his boxers and sink into you in one swift movement until your hoarse and wanton whines turn into satisfied moans, soft and sweet like honey.

“Go on then, darling” he says, voice huskier than usual in the dark night. “Speed up for me.”

You do, your body hungry for satisfaction, hunting your orgasm with determent, sharp movements.

“Fuck,” he swears, “fuck you’re soaked.” He looks down at your wet slit, your rapidly moving fingers, your hips bucking up to meet your hand. Looking back into your wild eyes he groans, his mouth still dangerously close to yours.

“The whole room smells of you” he moans, and it’s true. The scent of your arousal mixes with the scent of your perfumed skin and this is the closest he’s been so far to falter; to give in to temptation.

Your head is thrown back against the pillows, throat exposed, soft moans escaping freely. He wants to touch you everywhere, feel the softness of your skin with his rough hands, his wet mouth, his teeth. He’s breathing hard and he hasn’t even been touched, but he feels the want of touching you in his bones.

He wants to wrap his lips around your hardened nipples. To suck, bite, lick and kiss them until you fall over the edge.

“So fucking beautiful” he breathes out. Even if he had wanted to he wouldn't have been able to look away from you. “But it’s my hand your fucking, remember? Think I’d wouldn’t fuck you harder than that?”

And god, he wish it was his hand you were fucking, wish he could feel you come; hot and wet and pulsing around his fingers. Instead he is left to watch. Watch as the movements of your hand speeds up until fucking yourself with a carnal kind of need, until you fall apart at the seams; luscious bliss spreading over your features, and your tense body relaxes until you soften against the mattress; loose limbed and starry eyed.

And he is left to take care of the his erection all on his own.

A thin layer of sweat is covering his chest and his muscles are taut as he forces his arms to carry his weight into another push-up.

“Thirty-six” he groans out, his voice strained and deep from the physical effort, curls of brown hair falling over his face as he lowers himself to the ground again. “Thirty-seven.”

You couldn’t look away even if you tried, your eyes fixed on the muscles of his back, and the way they move as he moves.

You feel agitated and frantic and in that moment you want nothing more than to lay down beneath him; look up at him as move above you with swift, powerful moments. It’s beyond reason, the carnal tug inside you as you watch him and it is absolutely maddening that he hasn’t given in yet to his desire; because you know he desires you, have seen it in his dark eyes, always following you around the room, over the last few days.

But you are not going to be the first one to give in.

“Forty-two” he moans out, and the sound of his heavy breathing and deep groans vibrate somewhere far inside you.

You’re not.

You just need a change of tactic, that’s all.

The pub is packed tonight, but the more secluded pool area section is scarce of people. Tom sips on his beer, scrolling through instagram; waiting for you, as the speakers blast out ‘Galway Girl’ for what feels like the hundredth time since he came in. He’s been visiting a friend while you’ve been at work, having decided this morning to meet up at the pub after for a meal and a game of pool.

A text pops up on the screen, beside your picture. It simply says ‘Look up’.

He does. And fuck.

Oh, fuck no.

Oh, for all that is holy, surely you wouldn’t be that cruel to him.

Not the white shorts.

Not the white shorts you had worn last summer, the ones you know very well turns him on like nothing else. The ones you had worn that time when you had driven down to the beach on bonfire night; the time when you pulled him aside from the rest of the company and he had ended up fucking you against the birch wood tree just some meters away from all your friends, your shorts around your ankles and your nails digging into his back as you tried to bite back you moans.

Surely you wouldn’t be this cruel to him, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to die. He hasn’t had sex in over three months and you show up looking like this and he’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

He’s just not sure about whether this is going to be heaven

or hell.

He watches you as you walk through the pub with long confident strides, the goddamn heels you're wearing extending your legs, and the fabric of the white tank top stretching over your chest. Your lips are painted blood red, as if you are ready for battle.

He’s not the only one in the pub staring at you but you keep your eyes fixed on him, burning into his eyes, as you move across the floor.

“Honey” you greet him. “Got one of those for me as well?” You nod to the beer in his hand, frozen mid movement to his mouth.

“Why?” He asks, trying to regain the upper hand. “Feeling thirsty?”

You laugh dryly, looking down at his crotch, where he’s painfully aware a bulge is showing. Instead of commenting on it he hands you the other beer bottle he ordered and watches as you wrap your red lips around the opening, swallowing down. He feels warm all over in the stuffy pub and he pulls at the collar of his t-shirt.

He reaches for the cue sticks and hands you one. “Alright, darling” he sighs, knowing very well what kind of teasing hell you are about to put him through tonight, “let’s play.”

The playlist has gone from Ed Sheeran songs to Mumford & Sons and the pub is still packed with people, though the pool area remains empty apart from you and Tom. It's warm in there and Tom takes big gulps from his third beer of the night. He can feel sweat forming on his back, his brow, his chest.

You’re not helping the situation. Although he’s pretty certain that helping is opposite of what you’re trying to do.

“You’re so fucking annoying” he whines, as he watches you hit the white ball perfectly, resulting in two of your striped balls ending up in the pockets. He’s leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and mouth in a thin line.

He fucking hates losing.

“You know what you should do?” You ask, lining up against the table, arched back as you bend over with your cue stick; giving him a full view of your fucking fantastic thighs, “try to fuck it out of me.” You hit another perfect shot and a third ball goes in. You look over your shoulder at him, still bent over the table, and wink.

Standing up straight you turn to him. Swaying your hips to the music you lift the beer bottle to your red lips and you swallow a mouthful. Placing the bottle next to you on the side of the pool table you walk over to him, standing so close you’re almost touching.

Almost

In fact, you might as well be, for he can smell your perfume, mixing with the scent of your shampoo. Can feel the heat radiate of your warm body. It’s been so long since he’s held you and his entire body is painfully aware of it.

With your lips just centimeters from his you whisper; voice husky and low, “I know how bad you want me, honey.” You move your face so that you’re almost kissing the stubble on his cheek, mouth nearly pressed against it.

“You want my hands” you whisper again, looking up at him, your hand hovering right over his erection, carefully as not to touch it, and he nearly bucks out to meet your hand. He’s glad that the area is more secluded, part of the wall hiding the pair of you from view. It feels like there’s just the two of you in the entire world; might as well be for all he cares right now. A blush colours his cheeks as he stares back at you.

“You want my mouth” you breathe against him, your lips curled into an evil smile. “You want my tongue” and you lick your lips before biting it, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You wish I was on my hands and knees right now, so you could fuck my mouth.” you finish.

His skin feels tight and overheated, but he keeps his tone casual as he replies, “actually I wish you were bent over the table so spank that arse of yours, but sure, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie.”

“What’s stopping you? You think you can hold on forever? You know I’m not going to give in, Tom. You know me. Can you imagine going to sleep tonight? Untouched? Again?”

There’s no use he thinks as he plunges in for a kiss, pulling you tight against him; eager to touch as much as you as possible with impatient hands.

He tried to beat the devil at her own game and he lost.

“Think you lost, honey” you say between kisses as he’s pressing you up against the front door.

“Don’t give a flying fuck love, just keep touching me and I’ll die a happy man.” His voice is breathless and hoarse and his hands are all over you; as if he can’t get enough. Your hand is in his soft hair, holding on, as the other is cupping the bulge in his trousers, stroking him through the fabric as he whimpers in your ear.

“We should probably get inside,” you whisper. “Unless you want your neighbors to witness me give you a hand job on the front steps.”

He groans, but steps away from you. His hair is ruffled and his pupils are blown wide, spit from your previous kissing covering his lower lip. You imagine you look just as disheveled.

“Think you need to learn a lesson in delayed gratification” you tease, not being able to stop yourself.

His eyes go even darker and he takes a step forward again, cups your chin and looks you straight in the eye in a way that has bolts of excitement shoot up your spine. “Before the night is over” he says in a slow, gruff voice, “I will teach you all there is to know about delayed gratification.”

He digs in his pockets, pulls out his keys and unlocks the front door, guiding you in with a hand on your lower back.

He feels as if someone has lit a match under his skin. His whole body is screaming with vehement urgency for yours. His hands can’t get enough of you; his lips never want to leave your soft lips again. Your soft little noises are filling his head and he hardly even registers your hands unzipping his jeans; until you’re pulling them, alongside his boxers, off of him in a sharp tugging notion.

“Filthy girl, I fucking love you” he moans out between kisses as you wrap your soft hand around his hard cock.

He pulls at your tank top and for a moment your skin separates entirely from his as you step away, so that he can remove the fabric from you. Yanking at the goddamn jeans shorts he pulls them down around your ankles and you step out of them. Your underwear soon follows suit along with his t-shirt until you both are free of any inconvenient clothing.

He needs your warm and soft skin pressed against his, needs your soft little moans in his ear as he fucks into you, needs the taste of your sweet skin on his tongue.

He lifts you up on the bed and soon follows suit. Reaching down he slips a finger between your legs, feels how wet and warm and slick you are and groans loudly against your shoulder.

Lining up against you, cock in hand he looks at your lust filled eyes. “Next time I’ll go slow, yeah? I’ll take my time.”

Your answer is your hands on his shoulder, pulling him against you and he slips inside you with an ecstatic moan. You moan as well, wrap your legs around his hips. He starts moving, thrusting in and out of you with greedy dragged out jabs. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room and mixes with your whimpering mewls.

You are so hot and tight and wet around him and the pleasure is so intense it’s bordering on painful. His face is so close to yours, it is as if you are sharing breaths.

He wants to punch himself from denying himself this for several days when he already had to go without for months.

“Did you think your hands could stand in for mine while I was away? That it could measure up at all?” He asks you, voice thick with lust. He’s so full of want for you and you’re all soft noise and wandering hands. Your warm breath on his even warmer skin. His lips on your nipples; kissing, sucking, biting.

You writhe beneath him, unable to lay still as you buck your hips up to meet his; fucking into him. He’s not going to last long but neither is you and holding on is a losing battle. Like he said, next time he will go slower, gentler, softer. Drag it out for an entire night. But you both have too much built up pressure inside you to last now. He feels like a bomb about to go off, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine, as he fucks into you with even greater force. You’re hot and swollen and hugging onto him so perfectly he feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to come soon.

But he knows that you are close. Feels it in your nails, dragging along his back, in the sharp movements of your thrusts, in your laboured breathing against his shoulder. He feels it in the way your cunt squeezes around him.

“I’m coming” you whimper and he wants to cry from the relief as he feels you spasm around him.

“Fuck” you moan out as your breathing calms down, and he’s holding you pressed against his chest. “Haven’t had a decent orgasm in months, I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“You really can’t function without me, can you?” he says with a smug smile and honestly, hadn’t you’ve been so blissed out you probably would have bitten him.

A/N: I honestly don’t know if any of this made sense. I’m drunk and tired and I’m going to bed. If you read it, please leave your thoughts.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

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My Only Girl

Summary: request! Reader has to decide between keeping her secret and saving the man she loves. In the end, it's not a hard choice.

Warnings: violence/blood

Word count: 3370

a/n: I really enjoyed writing this one! I put a screen shot of the request at the end just because I didn’t want to give away the whole story :)

You never would have guessed that today would change everything. It started the same as any other Thursday.

You were seated at your desk right outside of Tony’s main office working on his schedule for two weeks from now. Your music was playing softly through your earbuds causing you to bob your head as you read email after email.

Suddenly, a Starbucks cup appeared in front of your face, a metal hand wrapped around the cup.

You swiftly pulled the earbuds from your ears, turning in your chair to greet Bucky with a hug.

“Hi.” You whispered into his chest during your hug. “You are truly a gift.” You smiled, taking the cup with your go to order. You press a quick kiss to his lips only to be pulled back in for a deeper kiss by Bucky.

“Y/N, do you know when my next press conference is?” Tony asked, walking out of his office while still looking down at his tablet.

Bucky let you pull back from him just far enough to answer Tony. “Next Thursday. You wanted to announce the new post-mission protocol for ‘Damage Control’.” You chuckled at the title, knowing Pepper was still trying to talk him into changing it.

“Right! Thank you.” He finally looks up, taking in the sight of you in Bucky’s arms. “Barnes! Let her work.” He nearly whined, playing up the annoyance.

“I will.” Tony leveled him with a pointed glare, looking between you and your computer. “I will! I just wanted to say good morning to my best girl.”

You scrunched your nose at the term of endearment, leaning farther back from Bucky to look in his eyes.

“You don’t like being my best girl?” He sounded genuinely concerned, earning a small chuckle from you.

“I like being your only girl. Best implies that there are others, and though I would love to be the best of them, I don’t want there to be others.” You nodded your head resolutely, taking on a serious expression.

“Please, you’ve had this man wrapped around your finger from the second he saw you.” Tony scoffed.

“He’s right, doll. And you are my only girl. I love you.” Bucky pressed a quick kiss to your lips, letting you remove yourself from his arms to continue working.

“I love you too. See you for lunch?” He nodded as he walked backwards to the elevator, keeping his eyes on yours until the doors closed.

“Wrapped around your finger, I swear.” Tony laughed when you glared at him, retreating back into his office to make some phone calls.

Sometimes it’s really easy to pinpoint the exact moment everything went to shit. This was one of those times.

22 minutes before you were due to meet Bucky for lunch, the red emergency lights started flashing with an accompanying alarm blaring in your ears.

Friday announced “The compound is under attack, enacting lockdown protocol.”

“Shit.” Lockdown meant you needed to use specific codes to get into or out of any room. It definitely makes your life harder.

Tony left to meet Pepper 15 minutes ago, so to your knowledge you were the only one on this floor.

Glancing up and down the hall to double check, you swiftly enter Tony’s office, pulling up the security footage to see who you’re dealing with. Three different sides of the compound are surrounded by mercenaries clad in black fighting gear.

You watch the screens, contemplating the best course of action to subtly help when one of the mercenaries pulls out a missile launcher. He aims it quickly, firing into the side of the building.

You feel the walls shake as you watch part of the wall collapse, giving them an opening to enter the compound through.

“Shit.” You run from Tony’s office, heading for the action without another thought even though this is definitely the biggest problem you’ve ever helped them with.

You phase through the walls, doing your best to make sure nobody will see you when you come out on the other side of the wall. If all goes well, you’ll be back at your desk before anyone even notices you were gone.

Your powers are a secret, even from the team. The powers that be, meaning your boss, don’t want the Avengers knowing they have an Angel on their side. It took you enough negotiating to get yourself assigned to this “project”, you were willing to do it without telling anyone that you are a angel.

You basically had to beg your boss to let the Avengers be the people you watched over. Typically, angels are assigned to help those who can’t help themselves. Your logic for this assignment was that keeping the Avengers safe would, in turn, protect millions of other people.

The one stipulation you faced when finally being assigned the the Avengers, was that you couldn’t tell them what you are.

At first, You had no problem keeping the secret. Being Tony’s assistant hardly meant spending ample time with everyone. You didn’t need to befriend them to keep them safe. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Overtime, Tony broke down your walls. He convinced you to go to one of his galas, ultimately starting your demise. One look at Bucky had your heart soaring. Not telling him the truth has been eating away at you ever since he first asked you to get dinner with him.

You pushed your guilt to the back of your mind, refocusing on getting closer to the attackers so you could figure out what to do.

Typically, you use your powers to slightly change the path of bullets or hold off a bomb for a few extra seconds. It gives the team enough time to escape, not necessary unscathed, but with recoverable injuries. Plus, it keeps your powers hidden.

It’s hard enough to hack into the video feed from various super suits without alerting anyone, you were definitely concerned about how to keep your powers hidden while using them so close to everyone.

You skid to a stop just around the corner, listening as two of the mercenaries instruct the others.

“Split up. You know who we’re looking for. If you find him, report in. First priority is getting out of here with him alive. All else fails, kill him.”

Immediately, you’re mind jumped to Bucky. Of course, Hydra scrum could be looking for anyone to use as a weapon, but Bucky made the most sense. When would they finally realize they can’t control him anymore?

You used your powers to confuse the men, making it look like whatever blueprints they studied were outdated. It would hopefully give everyone else enough time to get here and fight them off.

You hid in a closet when you heard people approaching from behind you.

“Sam, find Wanda and get to the east side. Nat and I will handle these guys.”

You relaxed at the sound of Steve’s voice, waiting for the group to disperse before sliding out of the closet.

You ran back through the compound, heading for the lab. It was the closest place for you to retreat to in order to look through the security cameras again.

“Friday, give me a rundown of what’s happening please.” You looked between the screens, intently listening to the AI’s voice.

“The east side is being secured by Ms. Maximoff and Mr. Wilson. Based on projected outcomes, they will have everything under control in 7 minutes. Captain Rogers and Ms. Romanoff are fighting on the south side, near the blast sight. They will have the area secure in 6 minutes.”

You nodded, following along as you looked between the cameras.

“The west side is secure. Mr. Stark and Mr. Barton have cleared the area and are holding off any additional attacks.”

“Good. Where’s Bucky?” You looked between the cameras, but couldn’t find him.

“Sergeant Barnes is on the roof, engaged in hand to hand.”

“What the hell is he doing on the roof?” You panicked, clicking between camera angles until you could see him.

There were ten Hydra agents on the roof, surrounding Bucky as he did his best to fight them off.

“How did he get singled out so fast?” You mumbled to yourself, trying to think of a plan. They had Bucky backed up to the edge of the roof, slowly pushing him further and further.

You could see what was about to happen nearly in slow motion. You acted quickly, not thinking about keeping your secret, but rather solely focused on helping Bucky.

You broke through the window in the lab, wings appearing on your back as you flew to him. Just as you arrived, one of the agents shot him three times, propelling him backwards off the roof. Sending a shockwave over the roof, you knocked out the remaining agents as you dove, hurtling through the air to catch Bucky before he hit the ground.

You grabbed him around the waist, lugging his body through the air with some difficulty. It wasn’t the most convenient position, plus you were slightly rusty from hiding your wings for so long.

“Doll?” Bucky questioned, glancing at you through fluttering eyelids. “I knew you were my angel.” He whispered before his eyes fell closed, the blood loss getting to him.

You swung around the building, re-entering through the broken lab window and laying Bucky on the lab bench.

“Lifting lockdown protocol.” Friday announced, the noise barely registering in your ears.

“Ms. L/N, Captain Rogers is requesting a check in from everyone on the team, would you like me to update him on yours and the Sergeant’s situation.” Friday asked.

“Yeah, go ahead.” You muttered, not really paying attention to the question as you did your best to slow the bleeding. You haven’t tried healing anyone in years, so it was taking more effort than it should for you to fix this.

You closed your eyes, hands hovering over Bucky’s body. Your wings were still present, although no longer fully extended.

You channelled everything you could into healing Bucky’s wounds, drowning out any outside interference. Your hands began to glow, a warm golden light surrounding Bucky’s body as his bullet wounds healed.

A few minutes passed as his wounds fully healed. You nearly collapsed from the relief of seeing him no longer bleeding out. His color was returning to normal, heartbeat speeding back up.

“Y/N?” You jumped at the noise, turning around to see nearly the entire team staring at you.

Your eyes went wide, hand still clutching Bucky’s as you stuttered in an attempt to come up with an explanation.

“You have wings.” Wanda pointed out the obvious, everyone still wearing matching expressions of shock.

You looked over your shoulder, nearly surprised by their presence on your back yourself. You had been so focused on healing Bucky, you forgot to hide them again.

“Your hands were glowing.” Sam’s brow furrowed, looking between you and Bucky.

You nodded, still unsure of what to say.

Suddenly Steve barged into the room, unaware of the tension. He ran right for Bucky, yelling for someone to get a medic.

“Why are you all just standing there? Friday said he was shot! Three times! Get a medic!” He looked at everyone in a panic before turning to look for wounds on Bucky.

His brow furrowed as he tried to find any of the bullet wounds. “Wha- Where are the bullet wounds... He’s covered in blood, but not bleeding? Even we can’t heal that fast, what’s going on?” Steve turns back to the team, mouth slightly agape.

They all point to you.

Slowly, Steve turns finally noticing your presence. “Y/N?” He looks between the team and you again, a double take so fast it would have been funny if not for the situation.

“You have wings?” He says it with much more confusion than Wanda’s point blank statement.

You nod, voice still eluding you. You finally manage to get the wings to disappear.

“Care to explain...” Tony asks, pointing to where your wings just were, your hands, and Bucky, “All of that?”

Before you can reply, Bucky jolts awake with a groan.

“What the hell?” He looks around the lab, taking everyone’s confused faces. Even Nat looks surprised. “How did I get here?” He rubs his abdomen, slightly sore from the bullets.

Everyone shakes their heads, looking to you for answers.

“Y/N?” He turns to you, hand squeezing yours slightly. “You were an angel. I thought I was dying...” He trailed off, trying to makes sense of everything in his head.

“An angel?” Steve balks. Everyone else nods, various expressions of understanding on their faces.

“I mean, that makes sense.” Nat chimes in, ready to accept it. “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that ever happened.”

“What?” Bucky asks, sitting up on the counter. “She’s not actually an angel. I just saw that as my... I don’t know, dying wish?” His face scrunched in confusion, trying to make sense of what he saw.

“Well, I’m not dying and I saw the wings. And the glowing hands.” Clint speaks up, turning all eyes back to you.

A voice in your head is suddenly booming. Your hands fly up to the sides of your head, trying to dull the ache of the screaming voice in your mind.

“Y/N L/N, you have broken the only rule bestowed upon you. According to contract 71, you are no longer permitted to enter the Angel Realm. Any attempts to return here will result in termination of your capabilities. Misuse of your capabilities on Earth or any other planet will result in termination of your capabilities.” Your boss’s voice was instantly recognizable.

You didn’t notice the team crowding around you while you doubled over in pain, rubbing your temples as the message repeated.

“Ugh, why did you have to say it twice?” You suddenly stared up at the sky, annoyed with the whole system.

“Um, who said what twice?” Banner finally entered the lab, having been avoiding any anger inducing scenarios.

Before anyone could jump in with what little knowledge they had, you started talking.

“My Boss.” You winced, looking at Tony as he raised a brow. “My other boss... well, I guess not anymore. My former other boss.”

“Which is...” Tony gestured for you to continue.

“Maybe you should all sit down, this could take a while...”

Everyone followed as you lead them to the kitchen and living room.

“Okay, I’ll just jump into I guess.” You took a deep breath, looking around the room at everyone’s curious and slightly impatient expressions.

“I’m an angel.” You nodded, trying to reassure yourself that it was okay to say out loud.

“Yeah, and? We figured that one out fifteen minutes ago.” Tony huffed, wanting more information.

“Four years ago, I found out about the Avengers.” You looked at all of them, nervous for their reactions. “Angels are supposed to protect those who can’t help themselves, but I wanted to protect you all.”

“Why?” Steve asked, eying you curiously.

“Would you all stop interrupting and let her explain!” Wanda whisper yelled, gesturing for you to continue.

“It’s a valid question. Um, I guess I just thought you all put your lives on the line to help everyone else and I wanted to do what I could to help you. I convinced my former boss to let me come here. I told her protecting you guys would protect all the people you were bound to save, and that’s a lot of people.”

Everyone nodded, seemingly taking in the information.

“I wanted to tell you. I really did, but it was my only rule. I wasn’t allowed to.” You nervously wrung your hands together, biting your lip as everyone took in the information.

“That’s why it’s former boss?” Nat questioned.

“Yes. She fired me?” It was a question to your own ears. “I’ve never heard of an angel being fired before. That kinda sucks.” Everyone chuckled at that.

“And that was why you doubled over in pain in the lab?” Bucky questioned, concern in his voice.

You nodded. “Yeah, she has a habit of yelling in my head. And she always says everything twice.” You glared at the ceiling again, knowing she had probably moved on from you already.

“You’re not mad?” You looked back at Bucky, practically forgetting about everyone else in the room.

“You caught me after I was shot off of a building and then healed my three bullet wounds. I think you’ve made up for the secret.” Bucky smiled, pulling you into his lap for a hug. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You nearly burst into tears at the relief you were feeling. “Oh thank God.” You squeezed him as tight as you thought he could handle, needing to feel him close to your for a second.

You then turned to face the rest of the team, giving them an equally nervous look. “Are you guys mad?”

“Well, I didn’t get any magic healing.” Sam huffed, a smile on his face.

“Nobody flew me around the compound.” Tony added on.

“But, you can fly?” You gave him a confused expression.

“Dammit” Tony muttered, thinking on his feet. “Tell you what, tell me what else you can do and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal... Maybe we can meet back here in half an hour?” You looked at their bruised and bloody bodies. “You all look like you could use a shower, and I for one would love to get this blood off me.” You gestured to the blood covering your jeans and shirt.

A half hour later, you were back in the living room. Tony ordered pizza, everyone crowding around the coffee tables and couches.

“Alright. Get to it!” Tony called out, excitement clear in his voice.

You stood up, turning to face the crowd. “Well, you know about the wings.” Your wings extended from your back with a woosh, spreading out before settling in a resting position.

You heard various mutterings as everyone took in your wings in their full glory. You then floated slightly above the floor, wings gently flapping to keep you suspended.

“How’s it feel birdman, her wings are part of her.” Bucky jested at Sam, a proud smile on his face.

“Yeah, well mine are bulletproof.” Sam sneered, a smile on his face.

“Actually,” you winced, “Mine can be bulletproof. Basically, I can do whatever I want, but only for short periods of time. Like if someone surprise shot me, it would hurt. But if I was prepared, it would bounce off.”

“Wow.” Steve looked at you, a mixture of surprise and wonder in his eyes.

“Um, I can also walk through walls, create shockwaves, move things with my mind, hack into any computer- although it takes some actual knowledge to not leave a trail... I mean, I’m pretty strong, but I don’t have much training for fighting hand to hand or anything. Oh, and mind manipulation? Not like mind control or anything, that is definitely frowned upon. Just... like earlier I made the Hydra agents forget the blueprints so they wouldn’t be able to get around the compound as quickly.”

Everyone jumped in with questions. You answered every single one, talking well into the night. You did your best to give examples of your powers, like moving the rubble around to fix the giant hole in the south side of the compound.

After a few hours, Bucky cut in. “Guys, she’ll still be here tomorrow. Wait, you will still be here, right?” He looked at you in a panic.

“Yes, unless you all want me gone, I’m here to stay.” You smile at them.

“Good. Now as I was saying, she’ll be here tomorrow. Ask her the rest of your questions then. Hell, make a list if you want. Just let me take my best girl to bed.” Bucky pulled you up from the couch, leading you out of the room.

“Goodnight!” You called back to the team before turning to Bucky. “What did I say about being your best girl?” You playfully hit his side.

He pulled you into his arms, hugging you while you waited for the elevator. “I’m sorry. My only girl.”

“That’s better.”

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #avengers x reader #marvel fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes one shot #marvel #mcu

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handsomelyhiddleston · 3 years

Text

Stormy Sleepover - Tom Hiddleston x Reader

I haven’t written in like, years. I previously wrote for Colby Brock at @colbybrocksmolder and someone asked me to write for Tom so I figured I’d give it a shot.

I hope you enjoy!

_________________________

“Did you hear there was a storm coming?” one of your PA’s, Andi, asked you. You were in charge of making sure the cast all had assistants and that their life on set ran smoothly. You’d been working with these guys since the very first Thor movie.

“I got a notification on my phone a few hours ago, but this building is so big I doubt we’d know if it had actually hit yet.” You pulled up your weather app and clicked on the “!” checking to see what the “alert” was. “Oh god” you said, shocked to read that most of the county was already out of power.

“I told you, call me Chris.” Behind you, Hemsworth was chuckling leaning over to read what you were looking at on your phone.

“Ha, ha.” You laughed at his cheesy joke. “But seriously, has anyone been outside in the last few hours?”

Looking at your phone, Hemsworth shrugged and headed towards one of the truck bays.

In front of you, you watched Evans and Tom training with each other. There were various scenes in this movie involving water and a big thing the trainers had been working with them on was safely landing in water. It sounds funny, but you can break bones or knock yourself unconscious if you land wrong.

“Bad news” Hemsworth yelled out, getting everyone’s attention. “This building has been running on generators. There’s no power in the whole lot.” He dramatically shook his arms, flinging rain water on you and Andi.

“No wonder this water has gotten so cold” Evans added, shivering. “It’s usually warmed, but It’s ice right now.”

You sent a text to the director who was in a meeting with the writers. You received a text back fairly quickly. “Let everyone know we’ve got 6 more rooms at the Hyatt Hotel a few towns over for those who don’t have trailers on the lot. Tell everyone else that it looks like the power won’t be fixed until tomorrow afternoon. There��s a whole line of downed power lines that they can’t get to until the storm stops. The generators only run lights and a few outlets and it looks like they’re going to die soon too. The 16 seater van is outside with a driver to take people to the hotel.”

“Looks like we’re done for the day.” You said mostly to yourself, with Hemsworth and Andi hearing you.

“Everybody in.” Hemsworth hollered out so you wouldn’t have to yell.

“Thanks.” You shot him a smile.

“Any time” he replied, flinging his long wet hair towards you.

“I take it back.” You laughed, moving to stand on your chair.

“I know that not everyone has a trailer in the lot yet as we haven’t actually started filming, so for anyone that doesn’t have a home here there’s a van outside that will take to you the hotel that has power nearby. It’s already super chilly in here, so I imagine it’s freezing outside.” You spoke so everyone could hear you.

“Can confirm.” Hemsworth said, starting to shiver a bit.

“There’s umbrellas near the catering tables and there’s a bunch of old hoodies and jackets in the extras costume bay. Make sure you’re warm and dry before you head to the van.”

Everyone that didn’t have a trailer on set left once they had their instructions.

“As for the rest of us, we have to hunker down in our trailers until this passes. I have solar power and full solar batteries on my trailer so all of you are more than welcome to come crash with me if your trailer is too cold or you need electricity for anything.”

You, Hemsworth, Evans, Tom, and Scarlett were the only ones on set that had trailers so far.

“It can’t be THAT cold” Evans joked, grabbing his bag and heading towards the door.

“Scarlett went to her trailer a few hours ago” Tom shared. “I only got here last night so I don’t even have my trailer set up. Are you sure you’re okay if I go grab my bag and come steal some of your space?”

“Absolutely” you smiled at him. “And if I know Scarlett, she’s already in my trailer. I don’t think her trailer was even hooked up to power yet. Her’s was the newest one on the lot.”

“Thank you, darling. I’ll go grab my bag and check Scarlett’s trailer on my way to yours.” Tom replied and then jogged towards the door.

Andi left to catch the van once you passed your notes from the day on to her. “Be safe. Don’t worry about making it back tomorrow. I will email you any further updates I have for assignments.”

“I’m going to head back to my trailer and see if I have any cell services.” Hemsworth shared after everyone else had started leaving. “I know my wife probably has all of the weather and accident alerts on for the whole county and she’s probably worried.”

“Be safe.” You said, taking his offered hand so you could step off of your chair safely. “I’ll grab the satellite phone in the emergency kit and take it to my trailer just in case we need it.”

“It looks like you may have a full house tonight.” Hemsworth Joked.

“You’re welcome to join the insanity.” You teased, throwing your hoodie on and grabbing the satellite phone.

When you made it to your trailer, you were pretty soaked. Even with the umbrella, the rain was insane.

“Thank God you didn’t leave.” Scarlett startled you.

“I knew you’d already be in here.” You laughed. “Tom is on his way. His trailer is like yours. We didn’t even get a chance to get them hooked up before this crazy storm hit.”

“Oooo Lover boy is coming.” She teased.

“Oh, shut it. We’re friends, Scar. That’s it. We’ve never been more than friends.” You started stripping out of your wet clothes and slipped on a pair of soft black sweatpants and your favorite hoodie. It was dark green with “Mischief” written across the front. There were gold horns painted on the hood.

“I’ve known your friend almost as long as you have and the way he looks at you…I’m just saying. I think there’s something there.” She teased, gathering your wet clothes and putting them in a laundry bin that was tucked under one of the beds.

You both turned to the door hearing what sounded like a woman screaming bloody murder. “Let me in” Evans yelled, banging on the door.

Scarlett opened the door while you grabbed a towel. She laughed at him, seeing him drenched head to toe. “It was unlocked, tough guy.”

“You hit an octave I don’t think I can even reach, Cap” you teased, throwing him the towel and going back into your PJ drawer for an oversized t shirt and a baggy pair of sweats.

“I was wrong. I was so wrong. It’s fucking freezing in my trailer and I didn’t realize that the water would be cold because the power has been out for so long.” Evan’s teeth were chattering as he stripped out of his clothes, trying to dry off.

“I think I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve seen you naked, Evans.” Scarlett laughed, handing him the clothes you picked out for him.

“Thank god you aren’t seeing the front. It’s so cold I think my manhood has retreated fully into my body” Evans replied, throwing the clothes on and drying his hair with the towel.

Both of you laughed. You started brewing a pot of coffee and turned your water kettle on for tea. “Well, Scarlett already claimed the couch.” You mentioned. “Why don’t you take the regular bed so that if Hemsworth joins, you two can bunk together. It’s queen size so it should fit you both comfortably.”

Evans crawled into bed, wrapping himself in the blankets and trying to warm up. “Where will you sleep?”

“The dining room table and benches turn into a bed.” You replied. “It’s a full size, so almost as big as the one you’re in.”

“Did you hear that?” Evans perked up, trying to look out the tiny window he could still see through from the bed.

You and Scarlett quieted down. Getting louder you could hear Hemsworth yelling “NO, I AM THE GOD OF THUNDER!” every time lighting would strike and the sky would boom.

“Looks like it’s going to be a full house tonight.” Scarlett laughed, opening the door. “Get your godly ass in here, you crazy Australian.”

“He’s clearly the superior Chris” Evans joked. “Are you fucking crazy?” he asked as Hemsworth stepped into the trailer.

“Possibly. Probably.” Hemsworth laughed, trying not to get water all over the floor.

Scarlett grabbed the towel Evans had used to dry off and put it down on the floor by the door. “Here you go.”

“Much appreciated.” Hemsworth replied, dropping his duffle bag. “Can I change in your bathroom?”

“It’s all yours” you said. “Do you need clothes or did you bring some dry ones?”

“I brought some. I also brought some fun. I’ll show you after I get out of my sopping clothes.” He answered, leaving his shoes by the door and stepping into the bathroom.

When the bathroom door clicked, you heard a knock on the door. “Tom, come in” you hollered.

Tom was wearing a long poncho with an umbrella. He had a large bag with him and when he got inside he kicked his shoes off, putting them by Hemsworth’s shoes. You grabbed his bag from him, putting it by the second bed you had just finished setting up. He closed the umbrella and pulled his poncho off, his black sweatpants and black hoodie bone dry.

“You make the other two look like heathens.” Scarlett laughed. “They showed up soaking wet and screaming.”

“He is a gentleman.” You gave him a smirk, causing his cheeks to blush ever so slightly.

“Is there even room for all 5 of us?” he cleared his throat and laughed.

“Absolutely” you ushered him towards you. “Evans and Hemsworth are sharing that bed. Scarlett has the couch. I just set up the extra bed right here, for you.”

“For us” he replied with a stern look. “I know you too well, darling” he smirked. “You’re going to offer to sleep on the floor by the couch and I won’t have any of it.”

“Tom, it’s fine. I have a sleeping bag and…” You tried to ensure him you’d be okay, but he interrupted you.

“If you try to sleep on this floor I will walk back to my freezing trailer so you can have the bed to yourself.” The stern look softened as he pulled you into a tight hug. “You know you don’t always have to be the one to make the sacrifice. Plus, I promise I don’t talk in my sleep or have crazy dreams. I’ve even been told I’m quite comfy to cuddle with.” He dropped his eyes to yours, smirking.

“Oh, if I must.” You teased him, kissing his cheek as Hemsworth finally came out of the bathroom. “Scarlett knows where the laundry bin is.” You pointed him towards the hamper full of wet clothes.

“Do I smell coffee?” Evans sat up in bed, looking towards you. “Come cuddle, buddy” he laughed opening his arms for Hemsworth who let all of his body weight drop on Evans. “Jesus Christ, you’re a brick.”

You laughed, pulling down mugs from the cabinets and making everyone coffee. “Coffee or Tea, Tom?” you looked over at him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed you two would share.

“Tea, my sweet. But let me help you.” He stood and started grabbing sugars for everyone’s coffee, asking how many they normally added.

“There’s pasta in the crock-pot as well if anyone is hungry.” You announced.

“Food?” Hemsworth’s head shot up and he crawled off of Evans.

“God, men are so simple.” Scarlett laughed, grabbing the coffee you handed her.

“You are not wrong.” Evans added, asking if he could help with anything now that he wasn’t freezing to death.

“I think we’re good.” You replied, dishing up some pasta for Hemsworth and Evans and passing them off to the boys. “Scarlett?” you offered her food, as well.

“Actually, I’m craving something sweet.” She answered.

“I’ve prepared for this one” Tom answered, going to the large bag he brought with him. “It took me so long to get here because I walked to the catering room to grab some snacks. I’ve got a whole tub of cookie dough that probably needs to go in the refrigerator soon, a tub of sour sweets, and what looks like a large cherry pie.”

“Pass the cookie dough this way” Scarlett answered. “This man has his priorities straight”, she laughed.

After everyone had sat back on their beds, dug into their food, and warmed up with their coffee or tea, Hemsworth remembered his bag. “Since we are most likely going to be stuck in this trailer until tomorrow afternoon, I brought a different kind of treat.” He picked up his bag and started pulling out bottles of alcohol and putting them on the counter. “Anyone opposed?” he asked.

“What a G!” Evans laughed, crawling out of the bed to help Hemsworth make drinks. “What kind of mixers do you have, Y/n?”

“There’s some cans of soda, some energy drinks…there’s some juice…and then we’ve got coffee for that Bailey’s I see” you answered.

Tom was smirking next to you as the Chrises started making a make-shift bar out of what they had available to them.

“We’ve got to get this started with a bang” Hemsworth said, handing everyone two shots each. “The first one is to us having a great night reunited with our make-shift family.” He smiled at everyone and downed the first shot, everyone else following suit.

Evans spoke up after. “The second one goes to our incredible, gracious, and always prepared host. To Y/n!” He downed the second shot, everyone following his lead. Except for Tom.

You shivered as the second shot went down your throat and looked over at Tom who was still holding his full shot glass, sitting next to you on the bed. He had a small smile, giving you a look you couldn’t place. Quietly he spoke to you “I’d like to add a few things to his toast, but I think it may take a few more drinks to find the right words.” He downed the shot and took a sip of his tea to wash it down.

“Who wants what?” Evans asked, making everyone a strong drink.

For the first few drinks, everyone just talked and caught up. It had been a while since the group had been on a press run or a film set together.

“Y/n!” Evans spoke up.

“Yes, Cap?” you answered, starting to feel the alcohol course through you.

“Truth or Dare?” He smirked. His eyebrow raised like he was challenging you.

“Truth.” You answered, staring him down.

“Hmmm…Have you dated anyone working on any of these movies? Cast or crew?” He asked, finishing off his drink and standing to make another.

“I haven’t” you answered truthfully.

“Wait, let’s not do truth or dare, lets do truth or shot.” Scarlett suggested, wanting to get a few answers out of you and Tom.

“I like it.” Evans said, grabbing everyone’s shot glasses back and filling them so he could hand them out as needed.

“I answered, so I’m in the clear. Hemsworth has a higher alcohol tolerance than we do so I need him to catch up. Who is an actor in the MCU you hope you never have to work with again?” You asked, hearing Tom chuckle next to you.

“I can’t answer that!” he laughed, taking the shot Evans handed him.

“That’s the point.” You laughed.

He laughed, handing the empty shot glass back to Evans. “Fine, fine. Tom. In our last interview panel together, they kept asking you if you were seeing someone and you answered no. You then said that you were interested in someone, but that you hadn’t done anything about it. Who is she?”

“Oh no.” Tom laughed, feeling the alcohol a bit himself. “I think I need to take a shot. Are all of these going to be so hard?” He grabbed the shot that Evans passed off to him.

“I think you guys just need to not be pussies and answer the damn questions” Scarlett laughed, shooting you a look.

“Right?” Evans laughed, taking the empty shot glass from Tom.

Tom scooted a bit closer to you when he handed off his shot glass. “Okay, Evans. If you had to marry one of your on screen romantic co-stars, who would it be?”

“Oh, come on! It’s gotta be Scar Jo! The one and only.” Evans laughed, putting his hands over his heart and giving Scarlett a loving look. “We’ve been in movies together damn near my whole career.”

“We would annoy the hell out of each other.” Scarlett laughed.

“It’s true. We’re practically siblings. Okay, Y/n” Evans rubbed his hands together like he was plotting. “Favorite actor you’ve been able to work with ever.”

“Why do I feel like there’s a very specific question you want to ask, but instead you’re asking questions trying to fluster me?” you shot him a look, trying not to blush.

“Hey, I’m just playing the game.” Evans laughed, picking up a shot to let me know I didn’t have to answer.

“Keep your shot. I’ll answer this one. It’s definitely Mr. Mischief himself over here.” You pointed your thumb to your side at Tom, trying not to blush.

“No, there has to be someone cooler than me.” Tom blushed, hiding his glee by taking a sip of his tea.

You looked at him, summoning the strength of the drinks you’ve been throwing back. “You should give yourself more credit. You’re amazing.”

You stayed in the moment for a few seconds, just smiling at each other. “I think it’s your turn”, Tom said, putting his arm around your shoulders.

You blushed, realizing you had just been staring at him. Leaning into his side, you asked “Okay, Evans. Have you slept with any of your MCU co-stars?”

“Oh shit!” Scarlett laughed, standing up and handing Evans one of the shots.

“Yeah, yeah.” He laughed, downing the shot. “I’ll pick on someone else this time.” He filled up everyone’s drinks while thinking of his next question. “Okay, Scar. Who is the most attractive man in the current MCU?”

“Oooh, good question.” Scarlett thought about it, going through the movies outside of the Avengers. “I have a few different answers.”

“Explain.” Hemsworth replied.

“Well, There are a few people I find attractive for different reasons, I guess.” She answered.

“How about you share this list and we decide if you still need to drink for not picking one person?” You laughed.

“Well, Hemsworth is an amazing dad. Like, you look your happiest when you’re in the messiest, most chaotic situations with your kids. Most dads are the opposite. They’re trying to escape that.” Scarlett explained her first answer.

“Valid points made so far” Evans agreed, leaning against the counter.

“Hiddleston is the fucking epitome of a gentleman. You’re literally everything women want.” Scarlett turned towards tom, making him blush.

You quietly spoke “She’s not wrong” in Tom’s ear, feeling him pull you tighter to his side in response.

“You’re too kind”, Tom answered to her, downing the rest of his drink.

Scarlett looked to Evans. “I think I have to go with…Idris Elba.”

“I want to be mad that I didn’t make your list, but that man is truly a god.” Evans responded.

The game started to wind down as it got later into the night. Seeing everyone kind of calm down and get settled, you walked around making sure everyone had what they needed.

“Anyone want water so you don’t wake up hungover?” you laughed, pulling some water out of the fridge.

“Here!” “Please!” you handed water bottles out to everyone.

“I’m not setting an alarm for the morning. It’s super late and I doubt anyone is going to be back on the lot before dinner time anyways.” You said, grabbing you and Tom each a water bottle before turning off the main light.

You turned on the small light above your bed so you could sort out your sleeping arrangements. You grabbed your toiletries bag and pulled out a make-up wipe, trying to clean your face since you didn’t really get to do your nightly routine.

“Can I use one of those?” Tom asked, realizing he hadn’t been able to wash his face either.

“Come here” you said, scooting against Tom so you could run the damp cloth over his face. He watched your gentle movements, feeling you run the cool cloth across his skin.

“Thank you” he said, kissing the back of your hand before scooting back in the bed and laying down.

You put your bag back and drank some of your water before crawling fully into the bed and turning off the light. “Are you good?” you asked, turning to face Tom in the dark. You could feel his hand reach out and settle on your arm.

“I am” he answered, running his hand down your arm, to rest on your hip. “I want to finish your toast” he whispered, scooting his pillow closer to yours. “What Evans said was true, but you’re so much more, y/n. You’re beautiful and incredibly intelligent and there is not a single person I look forward to seeing more than you.”

“I think you’re drunk” you replied, knowing that if the light was on your face would be bright red.

“I am” Tom chuckled. “I still stand by what I said.”

You reached forward and ran your hand up Tom’s chest until you felt your fingers graze the side of his face. “I’m going to have to thank Hemsworth for getting you tipsy” you laughed, teasing Tom. You scooted closer to him, feeling him wrap his arm around your back and hold you against him.

“I couldn’t have waited much longer to tell you anyways” Tom replied. “I was just nervous you didn’t feel the same. We’ve been such good friends for so long…”

You interrupted him, capturing his lips in a kiss. “I’ve wanted to do that for years” you said, connecting your lips in a second kiss.

“Oh, thank god.” Tom said, a little louder than intended. “Can I call you mine?”

You laughed, trying to stay quiet. “Please, do.” You answered reconnecting your lips.

Tom rolled to hover over you, deepening the kiss.

“Fucking finally!” you heard Scarlett call out, making Tom collapse on top of you in laughter.

“Right?” Evans added. “It’s been ages.”

“Fair warning, I am telling this story at your wedding” Hemsworth said.

“I think our friends are happy for us” Tom said in a much quieter voice, flipping the two of you so that you were laying against his chest.

“I mean, I’m pretty happy for us” you replied, snuggling into his warm chest.

“Me too, love. Get some sleep” he said, running his hand up and down your back as he felt your breaths even out.

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston x Reader #Tom Hiddleston Imagine #Tom Hiddleston Fic #Loki

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illfoandillfie · 3 years

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Kinktober Day 1: Rimming

Kinktober Masterlist | Regular Masterlist

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Fem!Reader

Words: 3,560

Warnings: Rimming, anal sex, some vaginal fingering, himbo Ben (mild unintentional hypnosis I guess)

A/N: Welcome to Kinktober! This is actually an idea i’ve been thinking about for quite a while. We’ve done himbo Rog and himbo Gwil so it only seemed fair to do himbo Ben and since he’s obviously an ass man......only made sense that he’d be into anal lmao. It seemed like the perfect fit for the first of these prompts. But this is the first time I’ve written (or even really thought about) rimming so I hope it’s okay!

“Geeze Ben, could you maybe close your porn next time. Didn’t really expect to see that autoplay when I woke the computer up this morning,” Ben snorted into his plate of eggs, “Which one was it?” “Something called Anal Punisher 3.” “Don’t know what you’re complaining about, that’s a good one.” His eyes twinkled teasingly and he poked his tongue out as you sat in front of your own plate. “I’m sure it is.” You chuckled, able to see the funny side now that you weren’t staring directly at close up of a porn stars arsehole, “Just not when I’m trying to check my emails on our shared desktop.” “As if you’ve never had a cheeky wank at that computer.” “That’s what I have a laptop for,” You laughed again, shaking your head. “Alright, fair play. I only left it up cause you got home early last night and I had to, um, clean up.” You rolled your eyes at the flimsy excuse. “And if you don’t want me watching Anal Punisher 3 then maybe you should let me punish your anal....arse....fuck, you know what I mean.” It was your turn to snort into your breakfast, Ben’s clumsy attempt at seduction nearly making you inhale the scrambled eggs. When you finally got yourself under control you said, “I don’t care if you watch it, just shut it down when you’re finished.” “Sorry love,” “But y’know, if you did want to anal arse fuck me tonight I wouldn’t say no.” Ben’s eyes lit up in excitement. He’d either not heard the joke you’d made at his expense or decided it wasn’t worth bringing up if the possibility of anal was on the table, “Serious?” “Serious. I’ll even put my plug in when I get dressed so we don’t have to spend as much time on foreplay.” “If I hadn’t already married you, I’d propose on the spot.”

But by the time Ben got home he seemed more interested in just cuddling on the couch. You’d done as you said you would and worn your plug all day, constantly thinking about what would happen later that night. Right up until Ben stepped inside yawning, when you snuck off to the bathroom to remove it, realising your plans were unlikely to go ahead. You’d half expected him to fall asleep on the couch after dinner but evidently, some part of him still wanted you. He tapped his thigh and beckoned you towards him, pulling you down so he could hold you close and kiss your shoulder. Soon enough that cuddling had turned to making out, you straddling his lap as you kissed him deeply, his large hands pulling you into him, stroking whatever bare skin he could find. Without thinking you dragged your fingers through his hair. He hummed in response so you did it again, your fingers creating small, firm circles against his scalp, drawing random patterns there as you focused on keeping your lips on his and your tongues entwined. Ben made soft pleased sounds as your fingers kept up their movement, almost moaning at the sensation. You could feel him getting harder under you as you carefully rocked your hips. “Benny?” “Huh?” His hands had begun to roam more, moving down to your arse, grabbing and squeezing as he pulled you against him. “Kinda got me excited here honey. Might wanna stop if you’re too tired to carry through,” “What?” He seemed nearly dazed, not properly comprehending what you were saying. You shifted your hand to his chest, drawing small circles with your finger, “I mean I’ve been thinking about you fucking me all day anyway.” “Think?” “Exactly, thinking about our conversation this morning. Remember? Anal Punisher 3?” “Anal?” It was still a question but there was a tone of excitement behind the dopey confusion. “You said you wanted to.... I kinda really want you to.” “Mmmm,” “I mean I get it if you’re too tired,” you said softly, stroking your palms over his biceps, “but I’m up for it now if you are. So, do you still want to?” “Mmhmm,” but as keen as he sounded, Ben didn’t seem inclined to move to the bedroom or even to begin to undress you. He was too caught up in feeling you up and trying to kiss you again. “Don’t you want me Benny?” He was slow to react, eyes still shut as he nodded, speech flowing like treacle “Want - you.” “You can have me.” You had to lean back to stop him from kissing you again. As much as you liked making out, you were getting eager for more and wanted to know where he was at. He nodded again, not seeming to hear you, and then, when he couldn’t immediately locate your lips again, opened his eyes. It reminded you of the time a few friends had dragged you and Ben to a hypnotists show. None of your group had been pulled on stage to experience the hypnotic powers the man claimed to have, but those who had been had all worn similar expressions to Ben. Eyes heavy lidded and almost glazed over and when they’d gone back to their seats you’d noticed that they seemed a bit dazed and confused. You’d not seen Ben look like that before. Well, maybe a bit dazed after you gave him a proper good blow job, but nothing to this extent. Not even when you edged him repeatedly. He tended to get whiny and loud rather than glassy eyed and dopey. Usually more talkative too, begging or moaning your name. This was something new.

Curiously, you stoked his hair back off his face and asked him how he felt, tugging lightly on the ends that reached the back of his neck. “Good,” he sighed softly, “Kiss?” You couldn’t deny him that when he’d asked so cutely, so you leaned in to kiss him again, letting him draw you in deeply for a moment. When the chance arose you let your lips slip from his, kissing along his jaw until you reached his ear, “What else do you want?” Ben hummed softly and then said, “Arse.” It was unusual for Ben to be so monosyllabic. Even when he was super horny and desperate for you, he could generally get most of a coherent sentence out. Nothing that would win any literary awards of course, but enough so you knew what he meant. “What do you mean Benny?” “Ummm....arse.....cock.” It sounded like it had been a struggle for him to even think of the two words he wanted but you couldn’t help but giggle, “Does that mean you want to fuck me?” “Yeah,” “Okay baby. But you have to do everything I say, understand?” Ben nodded. “Can you do what I say Benny? Be a good boy and follow my instructions?” He nodded again, “Yes. Please.” You kissed him once more, trying not to laugh too much, and then scooted off his lap. Ben whined as soon as the physical contact was broken. “If you want my arse we gotta move to the bedroom,” He frowned as if he didn’t quite understand but let you take his hand all the same and followed you to the bedroom.

Ben’s hands began to wander again when you stopped to open your bedroom door, grasping your hips and then dropping lower to rest against your behind. It was hard to ignore the tingle the light contact sent through you but you bit down on your rising need as you turned and grasped Ben’s hands, “Gotta wait for that Benny. Just a little longer.” You stepped back towards the bed and Ben smiled dopily as you pulled him along. “I mean I’m ready but not all the way. But if you help get me lubed up you can fuck my arse for as long as you want.” It was like a light turned on inside Ben’s mind. His eyes still had that unfocused look but they were wider and he was nodding enthusiastically. “You gonna undress me or should I start for you?” You laughed and when he didn’t immediately move you began pulling your shirt off over your head, too eager to wait. You reached behind you to unclasp your bra, “C’mon Benny. Help me out.” Ben blinked twice before he seemed to understand but was soon offering his help, pulling the bra from your arms, gently cupping your breasts as he revealed them, thumbs falling into a familiar rhythm rubbing back and forth over your nipples. Still moving slowly, Ben leaned in and kissed your throat, humming in response as you pressed your chest into his hands and sighed contentedly. But he clearly had something else on his mind because soon enough his hands fell, fingers picking at the waistband of your leggings. Indulging him you quickly shed your pants, turning so he could see the thing he really wanted as you stripped off the final layer of clothing. Ben watched intently as you wiggled your hips teasingly and eked the waistband of your knickers down a few inches. And then something changed.

You felt it in the air, a shift in energy, but even that wasn’t enough to prepare you as Ben growled and lunged forward, his hands tight on your waist as he lifted you onto the bed, barely giving you time to settle on your hands and knees before he dived in behind you. All you could manage was to gasp his name as he rushed to tear your underpants down your thighs. But your surprise at his sudden movement doubled as he spread your cheeks and buried his face between them. He’d licked you like that once or twice but only when he’d been eating your pussy and teasingly snuck his tongue elsewhere as you tried to recover from your orgasm. This was entirely different.

It felt similar to the vaguely tickly sensation he made you feel when he was helping you relax before a round of anal, when he would tease you with light strokes from his fingers until you were shivering and wanting more. But there was more heat to it. His breath hot and his tongue wet as he traced your hole. You felt like you’d been completely lit up from within, like he’d suddenly discovered a hundred more nerve endings than he usually hit. And adding to all the physical sensations of Ben’s fingers holding you open and his mouth exploring your darkest nooks, was the feeling of doing something properly filthy. You’d felt the same when you and Ben first tried anal, completely depraved at enjoying something so taboo. That feeling had lessened as you did it more, your enjoyment then stemming from Ben’s improved skills more than the act itself. But with your head against the sheets and your arse in the air you remembered why you’d liked feeling so downright dirty. It only heightened your desire and made every caress of Ben’s tongue sweeter.

Of course, best of all was just how into Ben was. You wondered how he could possibly be breathing when every second seemed to be taken up with moans and groans as he feasted on you. The noises started softly as he tantalized you with hard licks against your arsehole and the surrounding area. But as his tongue explored deeper, as he pressed into you, making your arse feel slick and hot with his drool and making your pussy throb, he got louder. He seemed to enjoy you more and more, as if he’d never eaten anything as satisfying in his life. That was enough to have you shaking. You were already wet from grinding against him on the couch but the ways he was touching you and how thoroughly he was enjoying it had you positively soaked. “Finger me Benny,” you gasped, trying to maintain some of the control you’d intended to have. Ben did as you asked, never able to deny you what you craved, but it wasn’t up to his usual standard. His fingers weren’t as deft as normal, moving awkwardly and out of time. It was as if his fingers were trying to work off of muscle memory alone, his mind too consumed with something else to take any notice of your cunt. With a needy whine you clumsily disentangled one fist from the sheets and batted Ben’s hand out of the way, replacing it with your own. Ben didn’t make any indication that he’d noticed you start touching yourself, except to tighten his grip on your arse, holding you firmly as you began to writhe against your fingers. He happily went back to gripping a cheek in each hand, pulling them wide to give himself better access to your arsehole. It seemed that wearing your plug had been a good idea because Ben found it easy to press his tongue into you, licking around and making your muscles tighten before withdrawing and sinking in again. And that stimulation plus your own fingers in your cunt made you moan wantonly into the bedding. Ben answered with his own long, loud moan of desire, sending a shiver along your spine. It was enough to tip you over the edge, your fingers massaging a spot within you as Ben rapidly tongued your hole.

You rode out your high before letting your fingers slip back to tangle in the sheets once more, but Ben showed no signs of stopping. He might very well have kept up the intoxicating performance all night if you hadn’t whined his name. Even that wasn’t enough to make him stop entirely, just slow down and hum. “Ben? Benny?” you gasped, as he readjusted his grip on you, “You gonna fuck me or what?” Ben groaned as if he didn’t want to stop tasting you but wanted to move on to other things as well. And you were on the verge of instructing him to get the lube when you felt his fingers. He reached under you, two digits carefully tracing along your cunt, sliding through the creamy evidence of your earlier orgasm. He didn’t break contact, his fingers just as softly sliding along your crack and up to your arsehole. And then they were pushing against the ring of muscle. Usually he’d take his time applying lube but he seemed too lost in the moment to remember it. You didn’t mind too much though. Lube might have made it a touch more comfortable but wearing the plug had helped loosen you up and Ben had thoroughly coated everything with his saliva and your own cum. His fingers breached you moderately easily, making you shiver and whine at the feeling of being filled again. “God it’s a good thing we do this a lot,” you half sighed, half laughed into the sheets, as Ben’s fingers sank another inch into you. Ben’s only response was to lean forward and lick around where his fingers were penetrating you, humming happily as he did so.

Ben seemed inclined to spend just as long fingering you as he did licking you, but the way his fingers moved inside you quickly had you worked up and eager for more. “God Ben. You’re hard right?” Ben only pumped his fingers into you faster but you took it as a yes. "So fuck me already. Please Benny,” It came out whinier than you’d expected so you cleared your throat and tried a proper demand, “I need your cock in my arse now Ben.” You weren’t sure it would be enough to get Ben’s attention. He seemed too engrossed in fingering you to even hear what you were saying. But thankfully, something broke through his blinders. Suddenly, his fingers disappeared. It was followed by the sound of his pants coming down and then you felt the head of his cock against your back entrance. “Wait,” You gasped, “Wait. Lube.” Ben repeated the word lube in a grunt, shifting hips slightly so he could run his shaft along your soaked cunt. You felt him between your lips, as if he were teasing you, sliding back and forth, coating his length in your juices. A moment later, he returned to your other hole, his hands on your hips to pull your arse back onto him. Ben let out a satisfied groan as he sank into you but you were panting roughly, almost seeing stars with how good it felt to finally be filled the way you wanted to be. Once or twice your breath hitched, the discomfort of his size pushing into you exacerbated by the lack of proper lube. But it wasn’t enough to truly bother, certainly not enough to stop. The fact that just seeing your arse had made Ben snap into an animalistic, almost feral demeanour had made you impossibly horny. And you were desperate for him to fuck you properly now he was fully sheathed in your arsehole’s tight embrace. Ben moaned at the feeling, vocalising your own desire. And then he said something. “What was that Benny?” you asked, unable to comprehend him. “Fuck....arse......hngggg.....arse.....” he said though you were sure you were missing something. But as nonsensical as it was it was still hot. Knowing Ben was so desperate for this, for you, knowing you could make him babble incomprehensibly. It was insanely hot. And then he began to fuck you. You whined and brought your hand to your pussy again, finding your clit, though Ben’s frantic thrusts made it hard to keep the contact consistent.

You screamed when you came, voice tearing out of your throat as Ben roughly pounded into you, his hips almost bruising hard against your arse. It was nearly impossible for you to breathe under so much pleasure and you panted for air as the orgasm subsided. But Ben was still going, still thrusting into you furiously, grunting with the effort as he neared his own release. You gasped his name and told him to cum, trying to not get swept away by the feeling of his cock moving inside you, wanted him to keep going almost as much as you wanted to feel his semen warm you from the inside out, and drip out of you. Your request was enough to make him shudder to a halt, his hands squeezing your hips tightly as he released himself with a groan. He thrust a few more times and your limbs gave out. You felt them wobble and then collapse under you, Ben’s body pressing you into the mattress as he sank down too, still trying to fuck you.

It took you saying his name twice before he stopped though he made a reluctant sort of a sound when he realised he had to pull out. “Well if you didn’t fuck me so well you probably could have gone on a bit longer,” you laughed as he, somewhat grudgingly, pushed himself to his feet. With a satisfied groan you rolled over and stretched your arm out to grab Ben’s hand so you could pull him onto the bed too. He lay on his front, sighing as his head fell into the crook of your neck, his body resting almost entirely over yours. You were half being crushed by his weight but you enjoyed it. It was comforting and warm and you softly drew your hands over his back as you caught your breath properly. Ben was quiet as he lay there until, some ten minutes later, he suddenly pushed himself to his knees, blinking at you. His eyes still had a vaguely unfocused appearance but the more he blinked the more normal he seemed. “Are you okay?” He asked slowly. You laughed and nodded, “More than okay. Lie back down, I’m too tired to sit up.” He compiled with your request, lowering himself again but this time on his back, “I have no idea what just came over me, babe.” With a sigh you shifted to your side, propping your head up on one hand, “What do you mean?” “All I know is I saw your arse and just needed it, more than anything else, more than air, I just wanted you.” “Gotta admit, it was a little unexpected,” you lay your palm on Ben’s chest, his skin still flushed and warm to the touch, “But ummmm, definitely didn’t hate it.” His hand landed gently on top of yours, holding you against his heart, “Did I use any lube at all?” “Only spit and my cum.” “Fucking hell. Are you sure you’re okay?” “It’s fine Benny. If I’d needed anything else I would have made you stop. If I’m honest....kind of made it hotter.” “Babe!” “Not in a weird way! I’m not going to let you get away without lube all the time.” You laughed, “Just knowing you wanted me so badly was nice.” “I always want you badly.” You patted Ben’s chest softly, your heart fluttering, “Does that mean you’d want to eat my arse again another time?” “You liked it?” “Well you were very thorough.” Ben groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes which just made you laugh again. “I did enjoy it,” you said softly, deciding to put him out of his misery, “Wasn’t necessarily expecting it but it felt really good.” “Well that’s something. I still don’t understand what just happened though.” “What’s that saying...Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?”

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini

#my writing #my fics #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy smut #kinktober 2021

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

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Watomatic, for lower Whatsapp switching costs

Any discussion of monopolization of the web is bound to include the term “network effects,” and its constant companion, “natural monopolies.” This econojargon is certainly relevant to the discussion, but really needs the oft-MIA idea of “switching costs.”

A technology has “network effects” when its value grows as its users increase, attracting more users, making it more valuable, attracting more users.

The classic example is the fax machine: one fax is useless, two is better, but when everyone has a fax, you need one too.

Social media and messaging obviously benefit significantly from network effects: if all your friends are on Facebook (or if it’s where your kid’s Little League games are organized, or how your work colleagues plan fun activities), you’ll feel enormous pressure to join.

Indeed, in these days of Facebook’s cratering reputation, it’s common to hear people say, “I’m only on FB because my friends are there,” and then your friends say, “I’m only there because you are there.”

It’s a form of mutual hostage-taking.

That hostage situation illustrates (yet) another economic idea: “collective action problems.” There are lots of alternatives to Facebook, but unless you can convince everyone on Facebook to pick one and move en masse, you’ll just end up with yet another social account.

This combination of network effects and collective action problems leads some apologists for tech concentration to call the whole thing a “natural monopoly” — a system that tends to be dominated by a single company, no matter how hard we try.

Railroads are canonical “natural monopolies.” Between the costs of labor and capital and the difficulty in securing pencil-straight rights-of-way across long distances, it’s hard to make the case for running a second set of parallel tracks for a competing company’s engines.

Other examples of natural monopolies include cable and telephone systems, water and gas systems, sewer systems, public roads, and electric grids.

Not coincidentally, these are often operated as public utilities, to keep natural monopolies from being abused by greedy jerks.

But the internet isn’t a railroad. Digital is different, because computers are universal in a way that railroads aren’t — all computers can run all programs that can be expressed in symbolic logic, and that means we can almost always connect new systems to existing ones.

Open up a doc in your favorite word processor and choose “Save As…” and just stare in awe and wonder at all the different file-formats you can read and write with a single program. Some of those formats are standardized, while others are proprietary and/or obsolete.

It’s easier to implement support for a standard, documented format, but even proprietary formats pose only a small challenge relative to the challenge presented by, say, railroads.

Throw some reverse-engineering and experimentation at a format like MS DOC and you can make Apple Pages, which reads and writes MS’s formats (which were standardized shortly after Pages’ release, that is, after the proprietary advantage of the format was annihilated).

This is not to dismiss the ingenuity of the Apple engineers who reversed Microsoft’s hairball of a file-format, but rather, to stress how much harder their lives would have been if they were dealing with railroads instead of word-processors.

During Australia’s colonization, every state had its own governance and its own would-be rail-barons. Each state laid its own gauge of rail-track, producing the “multi-gauge muddle” — which is why, 150+ years later, you can’t get a train from one end of Oz to the other.

Hundreds of designs for interoperable rolling stock have been tried, but it’s proven impossible to make a reliable car that retracts one set of wheels and drops a different one.

The solution to the middle-gauge muddle? Tear up and re-lay thousands of kilometers of track.

Contrast that with the Windows users who discovered that Pages would read and write the thousands of documents they’d authored and had to exchange with colleagues: if they heeded the advice of the Apple Switch ads, they could buy a Mac, move their files over, and voila!

Which brings me to switching costs. The thing that make natural monopolies out of digital goods and services are high switching costs, including the collective action problem of convincing everyone to quit Facebook or start using a different word-processor.

These switching costs aren’t naturally occurring: they are deliberately introduced by dominant firms that want to keep their users locked in.

Microsoft used file format obfuscation and dirty tricks (like making a shoddy Mac Office suite that only offered partial compatibility with Windows Word files) to keep the switching costs high.

By reverse-engineering and reimplementing Word support, Apple obliterated those switching costs — and with them, the collective action problem that created Word’s natural monopoly.

Once Pages was a thing, you didn’t have to convince your friends to switch to a Mac at the same time as you in order to continue collaborating with them.

Once you get an email-to-fax program, you can discard your fax machine without convincing everyone else to do the same.

Interoperability generally lowers switching costs. But adversarial interoperability — making something new that connects to something that already exists, without its manufacturer’s consent — specifically lowers deliberate switching costs.

Adversarial interoperability (or “competitive compatibility,” AKA “comcom”) is part of the origin story of every dominant tech company today. But those same companies have gone to extraordinary lengths to extinguish it.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Just as a new company may endorse standardization when it’s trying to attract customers who would otherwise be locked into a “ecosystem” of apps, service, protocols and parts, so too do new companies endorse reverse-engineering and comcom to “fix” proprietary tech.

But every pirate wants to be an admiral. Once companies attain dominance, they start adding proprietary extensions to the standard and fighting comcom-based interoperability, decrying it as “hacking” or “theft of intellectual property.”

In the decades since Microsoft, Apple, Google, and Facebook were upstarts, luring users away from the giants of their days, these same companies have labored to stretch copyright law, terms of service, trade secrecy, patents and other rules to ban the tactics they once used.

This has all but extinguished comcom as a commercial practice. Today’s comcom practitioners risk civil and criminal liability and struggle to get a sympathetic hearing from lawmakers or the press, who have generally forgotten that comcom was once a completely normal tactic.

The obliteration of comcom is why network effects produce such sturdy monopolies in tech — and there’s nothing “natural” about those monopolies.

If you could leave Facebook but still exchange messages with your friends who hadn’t wised up, there’d be no reason to stay.

In other words, the collective action problem that the prisoners of tech monopolies struggle with is the result of a deliberate strategy of imposing high technical and legal burdens to comcom, in order to impose insurmountable switching costs.

I wrote about this for Wired UK back in April, comparing the “switching costs” the USSR imposed on my grandmother when she fled to Canada in the 1940s to the low switching costs I endured when I emigrated from Canada to the UK to the USA:

https://www.wired.co.uk/article/social-media-competitive-compatibility

Today, there’s a group of tech monopoly hostages who are stuck behind their own digital iron curtain, thanks to Facebook’s deliberate lock-in tactics: the users of Whatsapp, a messaging company that FB bought in 2014.

Whatsapp was a startup success: founded by privacy-focused technologists who sensed users were growing weary of commercial surveillance, they pitched their $1 service as an alternative to Facebook and other companies whose “free” products extracted a high privacy price.

Facebook bought Whatsapp, stopped the $1 charge, and started spying. In response to public outcry, the Facebook product managers responsible for the app assured its users that the surveillance data WA extracted wouldn’t be blended with Facebook’s vast database of kompromat.

That ended this year, when every Whatsapp user in the world got a message warning them that Facebook had unilaterally changed Whatsapp’s terms of service and would henceforth use the app’s surveillance data alongside the data it acquired on billions of people by other means.

Downloads of Whatsapp alternatives like Signal and Telegram surged, and Facebook announced it would hold off on implementing the change for three months. Three months later, on May 15, Facebook implemented the change and commenced with the promised, more aggressive spying.

Why not? After all, despite all of the downloads of those rival apps, Whatsapp usage did not appreciably fall. Convincing all your friends to quit Whatsapp and switch to Signal is a lot of work.

If the holdout is — say — a beloved elder whom you haven’t seen in a year due to lockdown, then the temptation to keep Whatsapp installed is hard to resist.

What if there was a way to lower those collective action costs?

It turns out there is. Watomatic is a free/open source “autoresponder” utility for Whatsapp and Facebook that automatically replies to messages with instructions for reaching you on a rival service.

https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.parishod.watomatic

It’s not full interoperability — not a way to stay connected to those friends who won’t or can’t leave Facebook’s services behind — but it’s still a huge improvement on the nagging feeling that people you love are wondering why you aren’t replying to their messages.

The project’s sourcecode is live on Github, so you can satisfy yourself that there isn’t any sneaky spying going on here:

https://github.com/adeekshith/watomatic

It’s part of a wider constellation of Whatsapp mods, which have their origins in a Syrian reverse-engineer whose Whatsapp comcom project was picked up and extended by African modders who produced a constellation of Whatsapp-compatible apps.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/03/african-whatsapp-modders-are-masters-worldwide-adversarial-interoperability

These apps are often targeted for legal retaliation by Facebook, so it’s hard to find them in official app stores where they might be vetted for malicious code.

It’s a strategy that imposes a new switching cost on Whatsapp’s hostages, in the form of malware risk.

Legal threats are Facebook’s default response to comcom. That’s how they responded to NYU’s Ad Observer, a plugin that lets users scrape and repost the political ads they’re served.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/04/553000000-reasons-not-let-facebook-make-decisions-about-your-privacy

Ad Observer lets independent researchers and journalists track whether Facebook is living up to its promises to block paid political disinformation. Facebook has made dire legal threats to shut this down, arguing that we should trust the company to mark its own homework.

Whatsapp lured users in by promising privacy. It held onto them post-acquisition by promising them their data would be siloed from Facebook’s main databases.

When it reneged on both promises, it papered this over by with a dialog box where they had to click I AGREE.

This “agreement” is a prime example of “consent theater,” the laughable pretense that Facebook is “making an offer” and the public is “accepting the offer.”

https://onezero.medium.com/consent-theater-a32b98cd8d96

Most people never read terms of service — but even when they do, “agreements” are subject to unilateral “renegotiation” by companies that engineered high switching costs as a means of corralling you into clicking “I agree” to things no rational person would ever agree to.

Consent theater lays bare the fiction of agreement. Real agreement is based on negotiation, and markets are based on price-signals in which buyers and sellers make counteroffers.

A “market” isn’t a place where a dominant seller names a price and then takes it from you.

Comcom is a mechanism for making these counteroffers. Take ad-blockers, which Doc Searls calls “the largest consumer boycott in history.” More than a quarter of internet users have installed an ad-block, fed up with commercial surveillance.

This is negotiation, a counteroffer. Big Tech — and the publications it colonizes — demand you give them everything, all the data they can extract, for every purpose they can imagine, forever, as a condition of access.

Ad-block lets you say “Nah.”

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

The fiction that tech barons have “discovered” the “price” that the public is willing to pay for having a digital life is a parody of market doctrine. Without the ability to counteroffer — in code, as well as in law — there is no price discovery.

Rather, there is price-setting.

Not coincidentally, “the ability to set prices” is the textbook definition of an illegal monopoly.

#pluralistic

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darkacademicfrom2021 · 3 years

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The Dark Team (part 13)

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(Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman, @idontknow296, @beksib, @spythoschei, @geekwritersworld, @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 @toe-vind-ek-jou @joscelyn02, @t00-pi, @irwxnhugsx )

Warnings: creepy man, hungover (alcohol mentions), abduction mentions.

Chirping birds woke you up as the light hit your face. It was a slightly sunny morning, you could see. A cold one, too. Your head ached; yesterday’s wine was stronger than you’d think. You remembered very little, and the hangover weighed on your feet as you tried to stand up. Soon, that weight redistributed up to your head, dizziness almost throwing you back in bed.

With much more effort than before, you got up and walked slowly to the kitchen, glancing around. Last night, a sticky kid fell asleep on the doorframe. You chuckled and decided to not wake him up. Loki was nowhere to be found; must be sleeping in his own room, if he had one by then.

An ibuprofen and some cold water later, you checked the time. It was so early; six in the morning. You decided to get working already; maybe someone on the team was awake. If not, you could at least take things off your to-do list for the day and get time free at noon to play videogames with Peter, or help him with that Lego Stark Tower he has been trying to build for almost two weeks now. A nice walk in the park to get some fresh air until some coffee shop opened; that’s what you needed.

The streets were emptier than you’d imagine, and then you realized it was saturday. Peeping in, a coffee shop next block was already opening, and people were lining up to get in. You made sure to have brought money and a laptop with you, and as you reached your pockets you realized you had your suit on, under normal clothes. Well, at least I’m prepared for anything now. Even a sunday morning in a lovely coffee shop, you thought, laughing to yourself. If Tony saw you like this, he’d recall that word he says you inherited from him. Paranoid. But no, Stark, I’m just hungover. Good to know your first instinct once you get up off bed is to suit up. Tony'd be proud. And a little disappointed, too.

You got a table far from the window, wall behind your back making sure nobody could eye your laptop. Once you were settled in and your coffee was getting cold, you started working. You were so glad you were out of the public eye, so you could afford yourself all of these outside activities. Sounded stupid, but if you were to have dinner with Sam, or Steve, or Thor, you’d have to also deal with paparazzis all night long. Actually, in dining out with Thor, paparazzis would be the least of your problems.

“Hey”, greeted Bucky from the other line. “It’s so early, what are you doing up?”.

“Buck, it’s already ten”.

“Oh”, he said, and you heard a sliding curtain by his side. “Oh, there it is. Sunlight”.

“Why are your times all twisted?”.

“We stayed up until five”.

“Doing what?”.

“Let’s say the mini bar was not so mini”.

“Oh my God”, you laughed, and checked for your work on the laptop. “At this point, I think the only one who didn’t get drunk last night is Spidey. Ah. Listen, I’ve arranged today’s plan, and it has to go right or else you can get abducted again. And we don’t want that, okay?”.

“I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do now. Didn’t we already get the stick?”.

“That’s the point, there’s more… you know, bottles hanging around” you lowered your voice. The coffee shop was almost empty, but just in case, you kept it under your breath. “That’s why you gotta get into Hydra’s last base again. Do not go alone”.

You instructed Bucky and then he tried his best to put you on speaker to the rest of the team, but failed. None of them could actually figure out how to do it; Steve was even less familiar with cell phones, and Thor… well, not even elaborating on him. The only Asgardian who seemed familiar enough with Midgard’s technologies was sleeping soundly on the compound. You had to explain the plan thoroughly another two times individually, and then finally hung up and got to work, sending them coordinates and turning off Hydra’s hacked security cameras.

Once they were already in, you had not much more to do. At least for a few hours, they’d be completely submerged in there, and your help wasn’t needed anymore. You still planned for some outcomes and didn’t even notice the man standing in front of you.

“Excus…”.

“OH... my God”, you gasped, taking yourself off your hyper focused state. The man chuckled. His teeth, yellow, seemed like he didn’t know anything about dental hygiene. His clothes were perfectly cleaned, though, in a tidy office-type suit; but his hair was hidden by a peaked cap that barely let you see his eye expressions. Very weird looking. Hard to read. Just now unemployed? Dressed like that to get attention? You frowned and closed all tabs, opening a fake account of email and some cheap online magazine. “What do you need?”.

“Can I sit here?”.

“No”.

He smiled weirdly and manspreaded in the chair you told him not to sit in. You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“What are you doing?”, he asked.

You ignore him and keep pretending to read your mails, eyeing how many people were in there too. It was getting fuller than before. If he wanted to steal your laptop he’d have to do it in front of all of these people, and cross the whole coffee shop. He wasn’t planning on stealing. You made a security copy of all the files anyways.

“You have pretty eyes”.

You ignored him again, but now understood his intentions. God, people could be so shameless sometimes. You literally told him to go away. You’ll repeat it, just in case he would actually listen this time.

“Go away”.

He chuckled and stayed in place.

“I just want to talk, sweetie”.

“Sure. I’m not interested”.

“You have a boyfriend?”.

“I have a very strong fist”.

He got closer, leaning on the table, and lowering his voice said “You’re working on the supersoldiers mission, yes?”.

You froze. Suddenly, the creepy man was a bigger threat than you’d anticipated. Your hand hovered over the gun in your pocket, holding strong eye contact with him.

“Who are you?”.

“What do you have in your pocket?”, he teased.

“Wanna find out?”, you threatened.

Looking over his shoulder, an all-too-familiar fifteen year old hid behind a pile of coffee cups from the bar counter, holding his breath to not laugh. You sighed and broke the tension.

“Funny. Very funny. I almost shoot you, you know”.

“That’s not a very good instinct”.

“Not an instinct, I truly wanted to shoot you”.

“You sure were, pancake”, he said as he transformed back into himself, still in those ugly clothes covering half his face. As he looked down to himself, he frowned and changed his clothes to an Asgardian armor. “But your mortal bullets would be no more than a caress to my skin”.

“Let’s give it a try, shall we?”, you cocked your gun, joking. He laughed, and Peter got increasingly nervous as you played with your toys in a public and safe place, surrounded by civilians. “Don’t worry, Pete, it’s fake”.

Peter sighed in relief as you clarified and put it back in your pocket, and Loki smirked, knowing perfectly well you just lied.

“Why don’t we get something to drink, too, mr. Loki?”.

“Yeah, whatever you want, kid”.

“Not a kid”.

“Apologies. Actually, can you order it? I’m afraid Midgardians don’t usually take kindly to my presence”, he asked. Peter nodded.

“I do, mr. Loki”.

"What?".

"Take it kindky".

Loki smiled and raised his eyebrows, a bit confused. Muttered an “I’m glad” and instructed him to get an americano, while you packed your laptop in the backpack.

"How's the incognito working out for you in your shiny armor?"

"Better than before. At least now I'm comfortable while getting the same bad looks I always get anyways".

"Shapeshifter can't manage to hide, how ironic", you said, giving him one of the new earbuds, with an attachable mic. "Since you have good strategy plans and you sort of know what you're doing, work with me".

"I thought we were already working together. You know, in this stupid thing called The Dark...".

"Yeah", you interrupted him, rolling your eyes once again. "From behind the scenes, I mean. This is so you can listen to whatever my earbud hears. Don't bite your tongue if you have any inputs, I'm running out of solutions".

Your phone rang again as you were getting up.

“Yes?”.

“It’s all gone to trash, y/n. We need a new plan, I can’t find Buck anywhere. What’s your backup?”, rushed Steve’s voice. It sounded like it was from a public service phone, and the static didn’t let you hear Steve’s surroundings. Loki looked at the floor, concentrating. He didn't find anything either, and was too far away to read his mind.

“Wait. What do you mean you can’t find him? You were supposed to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t get kidnapped again”, you said, opening your laptop again and looking for Bucky’s location. He didn’t have it on him.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant with ‘it’s all gone to trash’”.

“Okay, don’t freak out. Where are you?”.

“Hydra’s last base, top of the buil…”.

“Hold up, I have another incoming call”. You put him on hold and see who’s calling. It was Bucky, this time. You sigh out of relief. Peter watched you two concerned while approaching you with two coffee cups. You gestured to him to not talk, and Loki had started to type things in your computer. “Buck, where are you? What happened?”.

On the other side of the line, you didn’t get a specific answer. You heard muffled noises that you still couldn’t quite figure out what they meant, and more than one person behind the phone.

“Buck, you there?”, you asked once again. Bucky’s voice filled the silence with a heartrending scream of agony. You almost dropped your phone, and your heart beated to the speed of light. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. They have him. “Buck!”.

“Three hours”, called someone, probably one of the Hydra butchers. “You have three hours”.

“Three hours for what?!”, you tried to hold them on the line while tracing the call. It was from a specific coordinate, nobody could get there unless they teleported. Luckily, you had the perfect person for the job. Loki looked at you quizzically.

"Do we not have better people on it? Can't Stark go?".

You returned to Steve’s call, while thinking about some other alternative than taking you three there (including Peter). “They have Bucky. Location’s very far away from where we all are, so you try to get out of there and go to Asgard with Thor; they’ll try to kidnap you too, and Hydra’s resources are global. No, don’t argue, you screw up, now you do exactly as I say”.

“Do you think they’re the same that hijacked the ship on the first part of the mission?”, asked Loki once you cut the call.

“They might. We have to go get him, there's no other way. The rest of the team comes back tomorrow and they can't leave”.

“No, I have to go”, said Loki. “But I’m supposed to stay with you two and make sure you’re not endangered, and I’m sure if I leave you here all alone, you’ll try to come by your own means”.

“Which means”, you added, “if you take us with you, you can make sure we don’t endanger ourselves”.

“This is a terrible idea”.

“But the only one so far”, you convinced him. “Pete, feeling like going on a dangerous mission?”.

“Hell yeah!”, he said eagerly. Loki was not very fond of his enthusiasm.

“I can do this”, you assured him. “Do you trust me?”.

“Yes”. He didn’t hesitate. “But I don’t trust them. You two will stay behind me facing the danger, alright? Nothing of wanting to play heroes”.

“Got it. Let’s suit up, fellas. Bucky’s waiting”.

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a-simple-gaywitch · 3 years

Text

Poetry by Dead Men

Sequel to The Other Side of Someday

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer is still in love with (Y/N). And when he finds out she’s single again, and back in D.C., he needs to tell her how he feels, no matter the consequences.

Song Inspiration: Poetry by Dead Men by Sara Bareilles

Word Count: 1207

Warnings: Slight angst, mentions of nightmares/trauma

“We loved with a love that was more than love.” -Edgar Allen Poe

Spencer was walking out of the apartment complex after interviewing the family of a recent victim when he saw a familiar figure in the hallway.

“(Y/N)?”

You looked up from digging through your bag. “Spencer? What are you doing here?” You brushed a piece of hair out of your eyes.

“I could ask you the same question. I thought you lived out in Alexandria.”

“I got a job as a professor at Georgetown,” you said, gripping the side of your bag.

Spencer noticed your bare ring finger on your hand. He cleared his throat. “What, uh, what happened to your ring?”

“Oh. That. Yeah, uh, Gavin and I got divorced,” you admitted.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said.

“Yeah, well, you know.” You brushed your nose with your thumb, a sign you were hiding something. It might have been years since Spencer last saw you, but you still profiled the same. “It’s life. You pick yourself up and move on.” You looked at Spencer properly for the first time since he came up to you. “I thought you didn’t like facial hair,” you said. “You used to always say it made you itchy.”

Spencer chuckled and brushed the scruff lining his jaw. “Yeah, I guess I just got used to it.”

“Reid.” Spencer turned his head to see Luke. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.” He turned back to you. “It was good to see you, (Y/N).”

“You too, Spence.” You gave him a smile before the two of you parted ways.

You stood at the front of the lecture hall, instructing your class of undergrads. You clicked to the next slide on your presentation for the class to copy some notes.

“So, as I previously mentioned, while many serial killers do have some degree of psychopathy, it is not necessary. As you learned in your introduction to statistics course, correlation does not imply causation. I have met psychopaths that are not serial killers, and I have met serial killers that are not psychopaths.” A student towards the front of the hall raised his hand. “Yes, Mr. Ramsey?”

“What about other mental illnesses? Like schizophrenia and dissociative identity disorder?” he asked. “Don’t people with those become serial killers too?”

You sighed. “It is very rare for people with those kinds of disorders to hurt others, though it is not impossible. In my time with the FBI, I saw very few cases with unsubs, or unknown subjects, with schizophrenia or DID. Most people with those disorders are more afraid of hurting others, and are more likely to hurt themselves. In fact, with proper care and medication, many people with psychotic disorders can lead fairly normal lives. In fact, I knew a woman with schizophrenia, and she was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”

You glanced at the clock at the back of the room. “And unfortunately, that’s all the time we have for today’s lecture. If you have questions, please email me or stop by during my office hours.”

While you were gathering your materials and the students were filtering out, you heard someone walk up to the desk behind you.

“So, you’re a psychology and criminology professor now?”

You spun around and sighed, tension dropping from your shoulders. You thought Spencer didn’t notice your change in body language, but of course he did. “Spencer. What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I was in the area on a lead. I thought I’d drop by and listen to one of your lectures.” He leaned against the desk.

“You’re different, you know,” you said, looking back at the books you were putting in your bag.

“So are you. The last time I saw you, you had more light in your eyes. What happened since then?”

You sighed. “After my uh, my kidnapping, I had nightmares. Every night. And for a while, Gavin helped me through it. But he said it came to be too much to handle. That I was too much to handle.” You shook your bag down and zipped it up. “But you know, you pick up and move on.”

You picked your bag up and were about to head back to your office when Spencer grabbed your arm. His hazel eyes bore into yours. Those beautiful hazel eyes that you had known oh, so long ago. His eyes searched your face. His tongue darted out and licked his lips before he opened his mouth.

“(Y/N), I-” He was at a loss for words, the first time you’d ever seen him struggle to find what to say. He grabbed the sides of your face and kissed you. He kissed you like a man starving in the desert. And in a sense, he was. He was starving for you. For your smile, for your laugh, for everything that was you.

After a moment of shock, you dropped your bag to the floor and wrapped your arms around Spencer’s neck, kissing him back with just as much fervor. When the two of you broke away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“You’re never too much, (Y/N). Never. He was wrong, and he never deserved you in the first place.”

“Spence-”

“Tell me you don’t feel the same way I do. Tell me you don’t still love me, and I’ll go.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Spencer.”

Spencer smiled before kissing you, pushing you back against the wall. Your hands threaded through his curls and his hands gripped your waist. He started kissing along your jaw, before kissing your neck.

“Spencer…”

“Did he ever treat you like the goddess you are?” Spencer asked you, kissing along the column of your throat. HIs grip on your waist tightened. “Did he ever worship you the way you deserve?”

“Spencer, I-I have a class,” you said, separating yourself from him. You saw the disappointment in his eyes. “Meet me at my place tonight, okay?”

Spencer’s face lit up and he said, “Okay.” He kissed you one last time before you grabbed your bag and left for your next class. You smiled like a schoolgirl the whole way down the hallway.

When you got to the class, you cleared your throat, setting your bag on the desk. “I’m sorry I’m late,” you said to the students. “Shall we get started?”

Spencer was beyond giddy when he got back to the office. He sat down at his desk and spun around in his seat.

“Whoa, what’s going on with you, Spence?” JJ asked. “I haven’t seen you this happy in years.”

Spencer shrugged, but was still smiling like a lunatic. “Maybe I just had a good lunch break. Or maybe I found out (Y/N) still loves me.”

JJ’s jaw dropped. “What? Spence, you have to tell me everything!” she practically yelled.

“What is he telling you?” Emily asked, coming into the bullpen.

“(Y/N) still loves him! God, Spence, you’ve been miserable without her for years. You have to tell me how this happened.”

Spencer smiled and twirled a pen in his hand. His heart was soaring. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this light.

“Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.” - George Eliot

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #em's fics #x reader #criminal minds

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

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

#murder he wrote #js haunted house 2020 #dark ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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ink-and-flame · 3 years

Text

Kinktober - Intensity Undone

Kinktober Day 3 Prompts: No Prompts

Fandom: Original

Tags: exophilia, angst, hurt/no comfort, relationship arrangements

Pairing: Orc(M)/Human(F)| Darnok/Lia,

[Authors Note: Since the plans for Darnok and Lia had changed this is completely off script now and no longer following the outline. The way the rest of this goes is going to be as much of a surprise to me as it will be for everyone else. There are only a few more parts of this left for what I am considering book 1 of this overarching story. This is a bridge story that does not fit anywhere in the Kinktober prompt list. I felt it worked better as a stand alone as opposed to trying to cram kink into it or having 2 separate stories be one. ]

Lia had been ignoring her phone and email for days now, as she knew it was Darnok trying to contact her. Double checking her messages to make sure she didn’t miss something important for work, she sent everything to voice mail and ignored the rest. That last moment in the club played over and over in her head. The look of shock in Darnok’s eyes as she mentioned his engagement. Everything after was a blur and she wasn’t sure how she made it home.

Ember had been checking up on her every day, letting Lia know that Darnok was sending her messages trying to get any information he could on Lia. It was bothersome but Lia understood. She didn’t give him a chance to say anything, but she couldn’t. If she had risked it, she might have simply fallen back into his arms with whatever excuse he could come up with.

A part of her mind argued that she should have let him speak, should answer him, because what if she was wrong. Though that was the part of her that loved him and wanted to be with him. Lia didn’t trust herself, and whatever reason or excuse he had it wouldn’t be enough. At the end of the day she wanted more than what he was willing to offer, and she had to do what was best for herself.

The phone calls and messages continued into the next week, a few times it was Lucien or Zane calling to check on her, making sure she was ok. Thankfully they had managed to keep all of this from spreading outside their little group to avoid any drama or make things more difficult for Lia when she chose to come back to the club. Lucien had urged her, gently, to talk to Darnok and make a clean break if that was what she truly wanted.

Thankfully for Lia he had no idea where she lived so he couldn’t just randomly show up at her home without notice. Though she wasn’t sure if he remembered where she worked and hoped that he didn’t show up and cause a scene. There was a small part of her that did want to talk to him and she considered what Lucien said as the days kept ticking by.

Lia was in the back at work on her break when her coworker walked up to her with the strangest expression, she looked nervous.

“Uh, there is a car outside for you. A really expensive car and the driver said he was here to pick you up?”

Lia sighed and rubbed her face. “I’m sorry, I will go out there and tell them to leave.”

Lia only had a few minutes left of her break and didn’t want to waste it on this, but she had no choice. Walking outside she told the driver she was working and that he needed to leave. Regardless of his insistence that she get in. Turning around she headed back in and tried to ignore the situation. The car stayed right where it was for the rest of her shift and she was tempted to sneak out the back and drive home, but she didn’t want to risk being followed.

“Ok, my shift is over, clearly you aren’t leaving and I am certain that if I try to drive myself home you will follow me. Right?”

“I have been given instructions to pick you up, and where to take you, that is the limit of my instructions. But yes, I would follow you.”

Rubbing her face with a sigh, Lia felt she had no choice. Giving a vague gesture of acquiescence she waited for the door to be opened and reluctantly got into the car. She knew this was Darnok and not some elaborate abduction, though it certainly felt like one. Of course it did not make her any less angry and Lia held that anger close to her chest, she would need it to keep from falling into his arms the moment she saw him. Despite everything, she missed Darnok.

When the car finally stopped Lia took a deep breath in and waited. The door opened and she stepped out. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. She was at the hotel her and Darnok would use on nights they stayed together after being at the club. She wasn’t sure how to feel about this choice, but it did make some measure of sense.

The driver gave her a key card and a slip of paper with instructions on it. Rolling her eyes she thanked the driver politely, none of this was really his fault, and headed into the hotel. Making her way past the desk and up to the room she was relieved to find that it was empty. It gave her a moment to prepare herself, take a few calming breaths, and sit down to relieve some tension.

It wasn’t long before she heard another key card in the door and it opened. In walked Darnok, alone, and looking worried. Lia set her features as close to neutral as she could even though just the sight of him was enough to overwhelm her emotions.

At first there was silence as Darnok stood somewhat awkwardly just inside the door. He stepped closer and cleared his throat.

“Lia.”

Stopping him, Lia held up a hand. “Ms. Doran will be fine. If necessary I will allow you to call me by my full first name. Adalia. You have lost the privilege of calling me anything else.”

The startled look on his face followed by one of pain was all that kept Lia from breaking her facade. She did not feel anywhere near as confident as she sounded and knew that she would probably break before he did.

“Of course Ms. Doran, I understand. Would it be ok if I sat at the table with you?”

Lia nodded and gestured to the chair furthest from her, waiting for Darnok to take a seat. She had not seen him in a bit, but he already looked different. It was hard to place exactly what was different, other than her perception of him, and perhaps that was all it was.

“I know you are angry with me, upset, hurt, dozens of other things. I would just like an opportunity to explain everything to you. If you will allow it.”

Lia sighed and leveled him with an annoyed expression. “If at any point this starts to sound like excuses. I am shutting it down and leaving.”

“That is more than fair.” Darnok took a deep breath clasping his hands together on the table.

“I should have told you of my arrangement the moment I started to consider you as my sub, that was entirely my own fault, I own all of that. All of this is my fault and I will never be able to apologize enough.” Dar held up a hand when he saw Lia open her mouth. “Please, just, let me get through this first part or I never will be able to. I will answer every question you have after.”

Lia nodded and gestured for him to continue. Though the word arrangement already had the wheels in her head turning and she was certain some of her initial suspicions about Darnok had actually been true. Maybe they wouldn’t be where they were if she had just asked questions the moment she became suspicious instead of holding it all inside out of fear of losing him.

“I am in an arranged marriage. It had been planned long before I met you, and I have spent much of my adult life trying to get out of it. Well, trying in ways that will not shame either family or get someone killed.” Clearing his throat again Darnok looked down at his hands. “It was obvious to my intended that I didn’t want this, and as a fae, she is indifferent to all of it herself. She does what her parents tell her and that is pretty much that. Though she did notice and eventually we sat down and had a discussion of what is and is not acceptable for our relationship and how we appear in public.” Dar paused and stood up. “I need a drink, do you want anything?”

“Water is fine.” Lia waited as he brought her water from the mini bar and a juice for himself.

“Our agreement is that in public we appear a normal, happy, loving couple. Whatever it takes to convince the media, our peers, and our families that everything is working out. Privately I am allowed to indulge my sexual desires however I choose but there are rules I have to follow. I can’t be with anyone in our social circle, preferably I keep it out of the city entirely. I can’t fall in love or have feelings for my sexual partners. I cannot be seen publicly with them, and I can’t get anyone pregnant. There are a few smaller rules about visible markings and how I dress, but those are often overlooked.” Darnok took a swig of his juice before continuing.

“I did everything I could to stall the engagement or try to get out of it, but I can’t and my hand has been forced. Both families are pushing for us to be married by the end of next year.” He rubbed his face and looked sadly at Lia. “We have no love for each other, I honestly don’t even think she likes me. Our entire relationship is devoid of intimacy and even the barest shred of warmth. It is entirely a power move and my family was willing to sacrifice me as I am not the oldest son.” Pausing he shrugged. “You can ask questions now if you want. Or just leave, I honestly wouldn’t blame you. It is a fucked up situation that I made worse by not being honest with you.”

Lia sat for a moment, letting everything he said sink in. She toyed with the water bottle a bit as she thought of any questions she could ask. Really he laid it out pretty plainly. There wasn’t a whole lot of mystery, other than the whole arranged marriage part. She wasn’t even aware that was still a thing, but clearly it was.

“I guess the only question I can think of is just why? Why weren’t you just honest with me from the beginning? It seems like such a simple thing, you could have brought it up that first night, or if not then, after the first month would have been appropriate.”

Darnok nodded, knowing Lia was absolutely right. He should have been honest from the very beginning. It could have avoided all of this.

“It is a valid question and one I have no acceptable excuse for. The reason I didn’t in the beginning is because of privacy. I had gotten used to the arrangement and rarely had partners that I would do enough sessions with that it would be necessary to disclose it. After that though, I guess the reason was fear. I connected with you in ways I have never connected with anyone, I didn’t want to lose that. I kept telling myself you would move on, or I could just tell you the next month, but I always managed to find a reason to not say anything and it then became an issue of feeling too late.” Darnok looked down at his hands before continuing. “I guess part of me was living in this fantasy world where I could have both. I could keep the families happy, and I could have you which made me happy. I should have known it was impossible and I am so sorry for how much this hurt you.”

It was hard to stay in her seat, not run to him and throw her arms around him. She loved him, Lia knew that she loved him, but that love was poison to her heart. Even if he had been honest from the beginning, she knew she would have fallen in love with him anyway and it would have hurt just as much, but in a different way.

“At least I understand now. I can’t say I envy your position, and you should be honest with your partners from day one going forward. Privacy or no, this is a cruel thing to do to a person and I would hate for it to happen to anyone else. I am fortunate I got my club membership on my own merits because I like the people I have met there and I don’t want to lose that too. I am sure we will see each other at the club, but I think it would be for the best if you kept your distance for now. Even though I understand your situation, I don’t think I can do any more scenes with you Darnok.”

Lia stood up. It was the most difficult thing she had ever done, but she had to let him go. Mostly for her own sake. He was never going to leave his fiance, he couldn’t, and she loved him too much to be his dirty secret. Maybe others could live with that, but she had grown far too attached and there was nothing to be done about it now.

“So this is goodbye then?” Darnok asked, looking at her with sorrowful eyes. “You want a clean break, no friendship, no anything?”

“I can’t. I just, Darnok I can’t. Find someone else to be your sex toy. I am a sub, but I am still a person, and I refuse to let myself be used like that.”

Turning away from him Lia headed towards the door, she could already feel the heat of the tears in her eyes threatening to fall and she did not want to cry again, not now.

“Please wait!”

“NO! I am leaving and you are going to let me. This is on you. You broke everything Darnok, and you can’t fix this. There is nothing you can do to ever make this ok. Do not contact me again.”

Storming out of the room Lia all but ran to the elevator and stepped inside. She held it together long enough to make it down to the main floor and out the door. Of course she did not have her car, and while she did see the driver she avoided him and just began walking. The hotel wasn’t far from the club, she could see if Ember was there and get a ride back to work that way. As far as she was concerned Darnok no longer existed and she had to restart her life as best she could.

Thankfully Ember was there, along with some of the others she knew. The walked helped to clear her head and kept her from looking overly disheveled as the tears had time to fall, but the cool air kept her face from going too red or splotchy. Ember called it a night early and headed out with Lia, driving her to her work and then following back to their building.

Like a good friend Ember stayed with Lia all night, letting her friend rage and cry, doing whatever was needed to get it all out. It was necessary to heal, the wound had to be cleansed before the healing could begin. It was a shitty situation for certain, but Lia was strong and would eventually be able to move on. Until then, she had friends that would help her through all this.

#Darnok/Lia #orc boyfriend

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xiaomoxu · 3 years

Text

MLQC CN Victor - Chapter 37

SPOILER ALERT!!

A main story from CN server which hasn’t been released in EN server. REALLY contains detailed spoilers. A mixed feelings such angst, sweet and love-his-dummy by CEO Victor!

PART 1

Downstairs LFG, the film crew is still busy in an orderly manner.

A month ago, LFG launched an unprecedented charity project, mobilizing all the resources of the group, and watching the last moment before the arrival of the comet group with all mankind.

In addition to regular material donations, psychological counseling, and medical assistance, there is also a special item one wish list.

In the last issue of "Miracle Finders", we selected this subject for reporting.

Photographer: Everyone pay attention, go one first, and prepare the light for one-

Teenager: Ok, can I just say the words directly?

Willow: To put it straight, there is nothing to worry about, we can do it again, let's do it again!

The teenager was encouraged, and smiled and showed two small teeth.

Teenager: I am seventeen years old. I am an ordinary high school student. Although you can't see it now, I have lived in darkness for these seventeen years.

Teenager: Due to chromosomal abnormalities, I have suffered from congenital blindness since birth...

Teenager: The doctors all said that despite the advanced level of medical technology, they are still helpless against such diseases and hope that I will accept the reality.

Teenager: But I still don't give up. I don't want to usher in death without actually seeing the world, so I contacted LFG Group with the last hope!

Just as the teenager expected, LFG quickly found a Healer Evolver on the Island, and treated him so that he finally saw the light.

Teenager: Although I can only look at the world for a short time, how many times in a person's life can I witness miracles happen? I am very satisfied!

After he finished speaking, he gave everyone a young and a little embarrassed smile. The beautiful dark eyes are full of light, especially bright in the night.

MC: ... That's nice.

Until the last moment, miracles continued to happen.

I raised my head and looked at the towering LFG Building in front of me, thinking back to Victor when he started the project and jokingly said-

"I hope everyone can be like an idiot, as long as they fulfill their wishes, they will be happy." The tone couldn't help but felt a moment of surprise.

I hope that the last issue of "Miracle Finders" will produce satisfactory answers to him.

With emotion, I strode into the LFG Building.

At this time, most of LFG's staff has left, and most of the work spaces in the building have been vacated.

Even if some are still willing to suspend their posts and help Victor handle some charity projects, they are no longer sitting here and only exchange information via phone and email.

Goldman: I have been waiting for you for a long time!

I was still in a daze, and Goldman came over with aggrieved expression. Probably because I told him that I was almost there an hour ago, but I didn’t come up because shooting for most of the day in the downstairs town.

As soon as he saw me appear, he cast a "God finally" look.

Goldman: The CEO handed it to you, I'm going to prepare for the next meeting.

He hurriedly put the previously prepared contract into my hand, lightly approached the door of the CEO's office, and knocked the door.

Victor: Come in.

Hearing Victor's voice coming from behind the door, I quickly hid the hand holding the contract behind my back.

Goldman opened the door halfway and walked in.

Goldman: CEO, can we conduct an induction interview now?

Victor: Interview? When is it scheduled?

Goldman: Yesterday, I remember it was in your schedule.

After a short silence, Victor gave instructions indifferently.

Victor: Bring it in.

I strode forward, held back a sneer, and stood still in front of Victor. Before speaking, Goldman hurriedly took the door out, leaving a room of silence.

MC: Hello, CEO! I am the candidate for interview today!

I said hello to Victor very politely, and even bowed symbolically, with a sincere expression when I raised my head.

Victor: ....

Victor let out a sigh of relief, as if he had lifted his spirits from a long and exhausting work, and couldn't help but laugh when he met my sincere gaze.

MC: Reporting to the CEO, although I have limited work experience, I am active in doing things.

MC: The CEO of the most ruthless venture capital company in the industry has won a 500 million investment!

MC: Moreover, the level of stress resistance is first-rate, no matter how big the challenge is, how many plans are rejected, you can face the difficulties!

MC: In addition, I am quite familiar with LFG's business and can start working in a short time.

Victor sighed lightly, probably because I was too noisy.

Victor: Only you can make such boastful remarks without blushing at all. You come to LFG, don't care about your company?

MC: The final issue of "Discovering the Miracle" will soon be filmed, and sister Anna will be responsible for the remaining post-production work. I don't need to worry about it anymore.

MC: I always find a place to shine and heat, right?

MC: Or I have to be a rice bug for a month...

MC: In short, I am especially willing to share the worries and problems for the CEO

Victor touched his lips slightly, revealing a smile.

Victor: Didn't you often say that being a rice bug is your ultimate dream? Now that you have a chance to realize your dream, but you are not willing?

He was so eloquent, so that scenes of past scenes of bluffing and saying that I didn't want to go to work really appeared before me.

MC: But I have already changed my dreams.

I stepped forward two more steps, narrowed the distance with Victor, and stared quietly into his eyes

MC: My dream now is to be with you.

The outline of Victor's smile on the corners of his lips curled up, and his expression sank duplicity, and put out the CEO's frame in a serious manner.

Victor: LFG’s attendance system is strict, and the consequences of absence are serious. Be mentally prepared.

I walked up to him, took out the contract that had been hidden behind my back, and unfolded it on the table.

MC: I won't be absent, I will do what you say.

Speaking softly, pressing his usual fountain pen directly on the contract, it seemed to be "forcing the signing".

MC: If I can't do it... I will be punished.

Victor hastily flipped through the contract, which was only a few pages long, and paused as his gaze passed by the post.

Victor: Confirmed?

MC: Yes!

I deserved to be confident and without any explanation. Victor raised his head and looked at me with a clear smile in his eyes. He turned the contract another page.

Victor: The contract is valid for three years.

MC: Huh? It should be the contract template copied by Goldman, right? Renew after the three-year period expires!

Victor neatly signed his name on the last page, stood up and took my hand.

Victor: Let's go, the meeting is about to begin.

MC: What meeting? Wait, am I going to work as soon as I start?

Victor: According to the contract, every minute of yours belongs to me, and it takes effect immediately.

Is there such an unequal clause? Goldman's drafting of a contract is quite tricky

MC: You capitalists are squeezing employees too much!

Victor was slightly late to me, with a smile on his lips.

Victor: Well, capitalists are like this.

The conference room was already full of people, only the first two seats were still empty.

One of them is where Victor often sits.

I remember when I came to LFG for a meeting for the first time, I could only sit on the small bench in the corner and couldn't see his face even when I stretched out my head.

Victor: let's start.

I sat down next to Victor, glanced across the crowd, and leaned silently on the back of the chair.

Goldman opened the prepared PPT and stood in front of us.

Goldman: Now carry out the relevant reports on the work of last week,

PART 2

A sign hung at the door of Souvenir, which said that today is the last day of the restaurant’s business.

MC: Thank you for your preference for this restaurant, Souvenir will permanently close the store

LFG provoked too heavy responsibility, and Victor had no time to take care of Souvenir. I raised my head and looked at the blue light on the TV tower.

During the eternal night, the TV tower is bright yellow during the day and blue at night, marking the day and night. These days, people have been accustomed to measuring time in this way.

It seems that no matter what kind of predicament they are in, as long as there is a moment of peace, people are willing to steal a moment of peace and delay satisfaction.

I am no exception.

With Victor in front of the wind and rain, I even occasionally forget the reality that I am about to face, can let go of all my worries, and be silly in front of him carefree.

If time can be reversed, I can go back to the first time I stood in front of Souvenir...

I lowered my gaze and pushed the door into the restaurant.

MC: Mr. Mills, I

Before I could say hello, I was stunned by the scene before me.

Souvenir, who had always been cold and cold, is now full of voices, all seats are full of seats, even those who have never been before, and he has added new chairs.

Mr. Mills was busy between the tables with a smile on his face.

I hurried over to ask if I need help.

MC: Mr. Mills, shall I do this?

I was about to take the tray from Mr. Mills, but he shook his head hurriedly.

Mr. Mills: No, no, it's going to close in a while, the manager is waiting for you inside.

MC: Alright!

I walked towards the kitchen, and along the way, I was surprised by the food on the guests' table.

Like what the customer wanted to eat, Victor made something for them.

At the last moment, Souvenir's rules are no longer important.

Girl: Mom, this one is delicious, so delicious!

Six or seven-year-old children ate the little cakes with all their faces, holding their little hands and sending the spoons to their mothers, wanting their mothers to taste them too.

The young mother cooperatively ate the cream in the sentence and smiled hesitantly. She gently touched her daughter's head, but her eyes were full of sighs.

The family at the table next door talked about the topic of the younger son's college entrance examination this year, and they were rushing to plan for his future. They seemed to believe that someone would come out to save the world.

I stepped into the restaurant and walked into the back kitchen.

MC: Victor....

He stood at the window with his back straight. There was a deep night outside. I dazzled my eyes to see his black suit melt into the darkness, lonely and silent.

I walked over and pulled his sleeve slightly.

MC: Have you been busy all night?

MC: You can call me over in advance, and I can give you a hand.

Victor: With your culinary skills, you can't match up with Souvenir's back kitchen.

Victor glanced at me from the corner of the light, smiled faintly, and closed the slightly open window.

The moment he raised his hand, I saw that the pointer on his wrist watch was already three o'clock in the morning, but everyone didn't realize that the night was deep.

The world freezes in the dark, making time lose all meaning.

MC: The guests outside all had a good time.

MC: By the way, there was a little cake that a kid ate, with a few blueberries on top, and a layer of soft stuff inside. I don't know if it's ice cream... it looks super delicious!

Faced with my vivid expressions, Victor looked helpless as expected.

Victor: Three year old are not as good as you in eat. A pair of eyes fixed on the food all day long.

MC: Isn't it great? I will eat everything you make clean and happy, and I will change my way to praise your superb cooking skills!

I used an exaggerated tone to learn the child's way of speaking, trying to make Victor smile, but he still looked calm.

Victor: Ah, very good.

Those eyes that met me were as light as water, and they saw an unspeakable feeling in my heart. After he came back, something changed in his eyes.

I can't be sure, but I just faintly feel that the person standing in front of me at this moment is stronger than before but also lonelier than before.

In the past, silence was due to work habits and character.

The silence now means that no matter what you face, you can be calm and calm. The calm is strange.

MC: Victor, seven of the travel coins you gave me have not been exchanged. You said before that you would do everything you promised me.

I changed the subject suddenly, and Victor was still indifferent.

Victor: Seven? Didn't you secretly put a lot in the box again?

MC: … you’re not paying attention.

Victor: Really, when I don't pay attention?

The silence of the night was always reflected in his eyes, brewing the silence deeper.

MC: So you won't break your promise, will you?

MC: Everything you promised me will be honored in the future, right?

Perhaps it was because my words were too impatient to be too direct, Victor finally touched my hair as if calming down, and stepped forward to get closer to me.

The familiar temperature fell on the front of my forehead, which made my panic feelings find support.

Victor: Don't worry, I won't break my promise. Not now, and not in the future.

At this moment, I saw a slight surge of joy in his eyes.

Mr. Mills: Mr. Victor.

Mr. Mills walked in slowly, smiling.

Mr. Mills: Mr. Victor, after proofing today, I would like to continue to look after the restaurant. Please allow me.

Victor: Mr. Mills

Victor took two steps forward and solemnly nodded to Mr. Mills.

Victor : Of course. Over the years, thank you very much for taking care of Souvenir.

Mr. Mills turned to look outside the kitchen.

Mr. Mills: The guests all had a nice evening, and they hoped that I would convey my thanks to the chef.

Victor: It is..

Victor paused slightly and thought of something.

Victor: Excuse me, please take out all the wine in the cellar and give it to the guests tonight.

Mr. Mills: .... I understand. Do you need any congratulations?

Victor turned his head and looked at me, raising the corners of his lips indifferently

Victor: Just thank time for giving us abundant food and accumulated wine... With the feelings that have passed through the years.

Outside the window, the silent snow fell slowly in the dark night. In the cool night breeze in midsummer, a layer of untimely coolness blows off.

PART 3

Victor: Is this your specialty?

MC: Do you look down on tomato scrambled eggs?

Victor did not speak, but frowned slightly to express affirmation.

MC: The scrambled eggs with tomatoes are delicious. You can't judge the taste of a dish by its difficulty. I feel wronged for him.

When the Haikou that I once boasted was fulfilled, I vowed to make a rich meal for Victor.

Victor probably feels a headache for me to prepare a home-cooked meal and have to put out ten kinds of kitchen utensils...

He has been standing in the kitchen supervising the work since the beginning, and I don't know if he's afraid of what would happen to the kitchen or what'd happen to me .

MC: Can you stop staring at me like this, I'm nervous.

Victor: What is the guilty conscience?

MC: It feels like waiting for you to approve the plan.

MC: I dropped the eggshells into the bowl when I was beating the eggs just now, I was thinking that you must spit me out.

Victor took out a bottle of red wine from the wine cabinet and unsealed it skillfully.

Victor: I'm used to it as you are.

I dealt with the ingredients in my hand and smiled without saying a word.

In the fireplace in the living room, the wood made a snapping sound under the lick of the tongue of fire, and it sang softly to the piano music from the record.

The fine snow outside the window disappeared into the night as soon as it fell to the ground, and time seemed extremely long at this moment.

I carefully handled the ingredients in my hand, and did not notice Victor's gaze.

He put down the wine glass, the glass collided with the marble countertop, and there was a pleasant sound.

At this moment, the night snow stopped in the air, and the fire and the record were speechless. The whole world stopped, and everything was quiet.

Victor: If I let time eternally stop at this moment, would you think I am selfish?

He murmured, as if asking himself or answering himself.

Staring silently at her profile for a while, he stretched out his hand and silently hugged her in his arms.

This is an overly tender hug, without a trace of strong attitude, even the palms that are close to the back appear cautious

MC: Victor...

I stretched out my hand and hugged him tightly without leaving any gap.

Victor took a breath, as if he didn't expect that I would break away from his Evol, but didn't say anything.

MC: If I were not the dignified Queen, I would be completely controlled by you. Your Evol is stronger than I imagined.

He laughed and teased me helplessly.

Victor: It's amazing.

Although he was smiling, I heard a dumb sigh in his voice, so I opened my arms as much as possible to hold him tighter.

MC: Not even...

I stayed securely in his arms, with no intention of leaving this embrace.

MC: It’s just that I always remember the reason why I want to fully awaken, because I don’t want to let you bear everything. Always remember.

This dinner took longer than expected. When we sat down on the sofa in front of the fireplace with red wine, the night was already almost reaching the sky.

For all this time, I have a lot to say to him.

Whether it is the heated discussions in the recent issues of "Discover Myself" or the process of LFG helping people realize their wishes one after another, I am deeply moved.

A couple wanted to go to a very famous sea island to watch the sunset before the end. Unexpectedly, before the trip, the island disappeared overnight.

MC: In fact, I also feel that it was a pity that I couldn't help them realize their wishes. I had seen that island before on the Internet.

MC: At that time, it was also selected as one of the "Top Ten Scenic Spots to Go to Before the End", I did not expect to be submerged by the sea so soon...

Victor: This is what you often say, do what you think of, and don't leave any regrets for yourself. Sometimes impatient fools can do things that many people can't.

I listened to every detail and smile in his voice, and my fingertips drew across the texture of the leather on the sofa.

The more I get to this kind of time, the more I feel that even his laughter seems precious.

MC: But I was a little surprised. The wishes that everyone wants to achieve before the end are so simple.

MC: Look at the light, look at the world, eat a delicious meal with the most important person.

Victor: What people really want has always been very simple. Before that, it was only controlled by desire.

Victor: No matter how long this moment of tranquility can last, for many people, it is enough to enjoy the life they still have.

MC: It is not easy to find the true desire in the heart.

Victor put the empty glass on the coffee table.

Victor: What about you? What is your wish?

After drinking a few glasses of wine, my thoughts were empty. I only heard his low and hoarse voice falling in my ears, and many pictures flashed before my eyes.

MC: I want to see your heart.

I turned to Victor and wanted to find the answer to this question very seriously.

MC: I want to see the real Victor. Without the burden of the CEO, there is no need to worry about the world...

MC: I can put down all the responsibilities on my shoulders, just be yourself... In this way Victor, What will it be like?

He paused for a few seconds, but quickly laughed faintly.

Victor: People cannot put aside all the past and responsibilities independently. In front of you, Victor will always be the most true.

I turned to him, stared at his deep eyes carefully, then stretched out my hand and slowly touched the position of his heart.

When the five fingers fell slowly, I already felt the warmth under his shirt.

A little closer, and the fingertips rubbed the texture of the shirt, and soon, my palm felt the rhythm of his heartbeat warm and powerful.

Victor: ...

With a sigh, Victor reached out and held my fingertips lightly.

Suddenly, the scene before me changed.

PART 4

This is a space I have never seen before.

The solitary galaxy and the dazzling sunlight are constantly flashing in front of my eyes, just like every ray of time that has been inscribed in memory, the brilliance of the moment only flashes, making it impossible to capture.

MC: Victor

He was sitting in the seat directly in front of me, proud and lonely.

All the changes in the stars passed through his silent and deep eyes, and he just stared lightly.

Time passed, he had been sitting like this, his back was straight, his eyes were firm, and he was silent without a word, yet he caught every light and shadow in his eyes.

He seemed to had been sitting here for thousands of years.

For a while, my heart felt like being held down by a deep sea-like loneliness, which made me breathless. After a slight pause, I walked along the long carpet to him.

I squatted down in front of him and looked up at him.

He lowered his head and met my gaze, as if waking up from a long wait, with loose eyebrows at the corners of his eyes.

I stretched out my hand, my fingertips slowly climbed over the edge of his slender finger, and squeezed him from the gap between the slightly bent fingers.

At this moment, I recovered, seeing Victor's eyes reflected in the fire of the fireplace.

We don't know since when we clasp our fingers together and hold our hands together.

In a silent night, only the firewood was still snapping.

MC: Victor, are you tired?

Victor: What do you mean?

MC: Everything.

*All the fatigue of endlessly walking through the timeline, all the tragedy you had to witness, all the pain that you had to bear, all the hopes that you've repeatedly dashed countless times .

MC: You said that it is enough to enjoy your current life before the end. You already know the ending, understand the truth, or do you want to move on?

Victor: Not enough.

Victor spoke softly, but every word made a sound.

Victor: I am not someone who can transcend desires, I also have my own desires.

He doesn't need to say anything, I already know everything.

I curled up on the sofa, silently nestled in his arms, clasped his waist tightly with my hands, and fell on his sturdy chest.

Victor pulled the blanket and put a light hand on my shoulder.

With fire light and falling snow, the sound of two hearts beating is clear.

I know that I am embracing the most real Victor, the extremely real Victor.

PART 5

Time passed quietly, and it came to the last moment.

The whole city is shining bright neon under our feet. Busy and calm-as usual, as if we can wait for every night in the morning light.

MC: Victor, when you brought me here for the first time, did you expect the world to become like this?

Victor shook his head.

MC: So what was the anxiety in your heart when you stood here?

Victor turned his head and looked at me, then smiled.

Victor: It is impossible to completely hold a fool in his hand, hold it tightly, and keep her from leaving.

MC: Did I make you worry a lot? I know you have been looking for me for a long time.

Victor: Not long.

Victor: After experiencing real time, I only feel that the years when I found you were as short as you went to buy me a cup of coffee

Heard what he said, I couldn't help being reminded of memories long ago.

MC: I just thought you were really harsh and annoying. There were so many conditions for asking me to buy a coffee.

MC: .. Now, I really want to buy it for you again

MC: No matter how many weird conditions you have, I will never get it wrong again.

Victor looked towards the boundless sky with emotion. In the night, countless meteors slowly fell, dazzling light across the blue to dark night sky.

It's not long since 19:17.

MC: Victor, I want to do something very important.

Victor: I know.

MC: But I just want to be your dummy and live the most ordinary and ordinary life.

MC: Let you have endless heart and endless planning plans every day, and bring you all kinds of trivial troubles.

MC: Then in the blink of an eye, you can...

With tears in my eyes, crying was already entrained in my voice, so I refused to continue.

Victor: She also said that she didn't like crying anymore.

I took a few breaths and stubbornly held my voice.

MC: I didn't cry!

Victor stepped forward and held me tightly in his arms. Surrounded by the familiar smell, I closed my eyes and gripped the corner of his suit with my hands.

My only wish is to be with him.

It’s okay to laugh and being embraced in his arms like this, I don’t want others.

But more important than this wish...

It's him. He can't just usher in the ending like this.

MC: When I come back, I will bring you a cup of coffee.

I grab his arms and made a promise, and he softly responded by caressing my hair.

Victor: Alright.

MC: That’s all? Don’t you have anything else to say?

MC: In the past, you always remind me about the deadline of my proposal, you would remind me not to oversleep like an elementary school kids for the meeting the next day.

MC: At this important moment, don’t you have something else to say?

MC: I’m going to do something big this time.

Victor loosened his arms around me slightly and looked at me.

Victor: I know.

Victor: But you’re no longer a dummy you used to be, there’s nothing you can’t do.

I have already understood his calmness from his eyes. As expected, I can’t still beat him.

I want to say something, but I felt something. There were snow-white feathers on my fingertips.

There is no time.

I subconsciously grabbed Victor’s hand--

MC: Victor..

My heart was overwhelmed by the huge perseverance, I almost called his name from the deepest part of my throat.

As he was holding me, there’s deep complex look between his brows.

Victor: Are you afraid?

I kept shaking my head, shaking my head anxiously!

It is not fear, nor regret, no matter what is waiting for me in front of me, at this moment I will walk firmly.

But even so, I still want to stop for another moment, a moment is enough for me to call his name again, to look at him again. .

Even... hoping that time can stop at this time.

I don't want to let go of his hand.

Victor hugged me with one hand, lifted my chin, and dropped a deep lingering kiss.

During the exchange of our breathing, I looked into his squinted eyes & saw a love that I had never seen before.

The tears that kept spinning in my eyelids were still drawn from the corners of my eyes when I was on my post. I gripped his shirt tightly, very tightly.

Aware of my silent choking, Victor clapped his hands and wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes with his index fingers.

Victor: Don't be afraid. No matter how difficult things are in front of you in the past, can't you always do well?

Victor: This time, there will be no exception.

The scene in front of me and his voice were slowly dissipating, and I looked at him deeply, unable to say a word.

I clearly felt that Victor held my hand tighter, tighter than ever, as if he wanted to keep me too.

Like he didn't want to leave me alone.

He opened his mouth, what he was saying, but I couldn't hear anything and my senses were blurred.

Victor: ...Remember, to get me back.

MC: What?

I vaguely heard something, but couldn't be sure.

The white wings spread out in the dark night, and the sky is connected one after another, and the scattered white wings sit on the tall buildings together with the meteor, and fall into the street...

Victor let go of my hand and stepped back half a step, his eyes showed unprecedented joy.

MC: Victor!

Victor: I....

He was telling me something. His deep voice was mixed with a firmness that I've never heard before, but I could only vaguely recognize the words that I wanted to hear the most from his mouth. After that she calls his name

MC: Victor...

The sight was finally dark, and Victor's deep gaze disappeared in front of me.

The city fell into the night amidst the noisy shouts-

Victor slowly opened his hand and caught a piece of pure white feather in the air. The corners of his lips were gentle, his eyes drooping slightly.

That feather just lay quietly on his palm, soaked in moonlight, as slender as she looked at him at the last moment.

---- END ----

I’m sorry if there’s some mistranslation. Kindly tell me if you found some :) thank you for read it~ ^^

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc translation #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc spoilers

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Text

Correspondence, Chapter 03

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Mentions of alcohol, a very long conversation happens where Hotch is a little buzzed. Big, BIG focus on their age difference, and unintentional misinformation. Spencer has no idea Hotch thinks he’s older, or at least not OLD older, and gets a little panicky/clams up -- and yes I realize Hotch could just background check him and find it out but he respects the man enough to not do that. The chapter is linear, it just encompasses a lot of time passing so hopefully that’s not too confusing. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 5025

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

Chapter 03

Early September 2010

And so, it begins.

The dynamic shift, the vast change in how Hotch and Dr. Reid had been corresponding for the past few months. Evolving from something so professional and academic to something… looser. More freeing. More room for error, of course, but the risk turns out to be more than worth it for what they gain.

The texts are sporadic, at first. Short interactions, here and there, all stemming from that first, longer conversation about Jack. Hotch follows up the very next day, after he gets to talk to his son in the morning over pancakes. Jessica hovering nearby the whole time. She had apologized for her harsh words, and commended him after the fact how he’d approached Jack on the subject and led the little boy into a conversation rather than a lecture like his teachers had done. Because, as Spencer had mentioned -- there was no need for one. Jack already had the situation handled.

[]6/4, 12:39[] You were right.

[]6/4, 12:39[] He invited the kid that was bullying him over for a playdate. Trying to win him over by killing him with kindness.

[]6/4, 12:43[] My kind of kid.

[]6/4, 12:44[] You’ve taught him well, Hotch.

And that was it. That was all it took to kick off what turns into a frequent occurrence. Slowly, as time passes, their quick texts turn to conversations that naturally revert to work. It’s where they spend most of their time, after all, and what they had bonded over in the first place. But unlike in their emails, it isn’t just about the cases or profiles or statistics required to crack them. It’s much more opinionated than that, erratic in it’s content and frequency. Commentary on Hotch’s team, ideas on the cases they work, case studies and research projects and sometimes even just office gossip that somehow always makes its way to Hotch’s attention despite everyone trying to keep it from doing so.

Or just Dr. Reid observing their antics. This is the beginning of the tonal shift, and Hotch can’t help but think… it just might be a welcome one.

[]6/12, 10:03[] Your tech analyst always sends me rainbow font emails.

[]6/12, 10:07[] Yes, she’s doing that with everyone on the team. It’s Pride month and she’s being supportive.

[]6/12, 10:11[] She considers me a part of the team? How sweet of her.

[]6/12, 10:12[] You are, and as far as the bureau goes you might as well be.

[]6/12, 10:13[] I doubt I could sneak you into payroll, though.

[]6/12, 10:21[] I bet Ms. Garcia could.

[]6/12, 10:28[] Don’t. Say. Anything.

[]6/12, 10:29[] But yes, she could.

It turns into a small reprieve, for Hotch, in the constant deluge of bureaucracy and violence that fills his work day. The single moment he allows a sliver of himself to appear through the cracks of his armor he has to wear to guard himself from it all. To be the stoic leader the team needs, the unmovable tree in the storm.

Only in his quick, typed under the table conversations he has with Spencer does he allow himself the slips of humor. Barely there traces of a smile. Finding the smallest spots of light in his dark days, in his work that can surround and consume to the point of suffocation. Hotch thrives in it, he always has -- while others have drowned. But he doesn’t mind finding this small self-indulgence. Making the decision for himself that he can joke and poke fun at his work and not feel guilty about it. That, for once, he can allow himself this.

Until one day, Spencer returns the favor -- and starts talking about his own work.

[]7/21, 16:17[] If I leave all of my Ph.D. applicants in a ditch in the desert, is that still murder?

[]7/21, 16:30[] Technically or hypothetically?

[]7/21, 16:34[] Different question, would you be my legal council if I snap and it happens anyway?

[]7/21, 16:37[] Of course.

[]7/21, 16:38[] But as your attorney, I have to advise you that we never had this conversation, and murder is wrong.

[]7/21, 16:40[] Hypothetically.

Spencer takes a little longer to open up, but when he does it is through this window into an academic world Hotch had never planned or thought he would ever be privy to. He begins to reveal pieces of it, bit by bit, until Hotch starts to form a picture in his mind of what shape this professor’s life really takes. Making deductions based on his speech patterns, what goes on throughout his day, his word choices, and profiling the man through text message without even meaning to.

He tries to put a stop to it as soon as he realizes this. Dr. Reid isn’t just a consultant anymore, he is his friend -- and Hotch will always do his utmost to not profile his friends. But it’s a little too late for some aspects that can’t help but stand out as time goes on. Such as the inkling that the other man probably isn’t senile with a cane and a stooped back, like Hotch had first thought. Certain parts of his day allude to someone who is a bit fresher to the academic scene -- instead of spending decades on a college campus.

But Hotch sets that aside, to be scrutinized at a later date, and instead turns his focus into enjoying what Spencer has to offer him. As his friend. The stories he shares freely, now that they’ve spent all this time breaking down the barriers. He regales Hotch with his own daily problems, grievances, as well as the little bright spots that he just wants to share with Hotch so that it can lighten up his own days. Which were much more bleak, and crowded with danger and horrid things.

Hotch lives for those messages.

[]7/28, 20:42[] So I have a godson.

[]7/28, 20:44[] He’s four, and he just came to visit last week with his mother. Have you and Jack ever done science experiments at home?

[]7/28, 20:46[] Because I have some that are definite crowd pleasers. Do them right, you can call them ‘physics magic’. I can send you the instructions, it’s well worth it.

[]7/28, 20:47[] I’m not sure how helpful I would be in a scientific area, but I’m always willing to try.

[]7/28, 20:49[] I’d require video evidence of it, then.

[]7/28, 20:50[] But they are so fun, I’d forgotten how much.

[]7/28, 20:51[] No children of your own?

[]7/28, 20:54[] Never found the right person, but I always spent so much time on my degrees that I hadn’t really thought about being a parent.

[]7/28, 20:55[] My Godson really brought it to light, though. I love having him here.

[]7/28, 20:56[] I bet he loves when you come around, or when they get to visit you, too.

[]7/28, 20:59[] I work in a science lab, with lasers and telescopes bigger than my first apartment. My approval rating is pretty high when it comes to my godson.

Although Hotch finds that he doesn’t always start these interactions, the ones that lead to topics outside of work, he also isn’t against them in the slightest. They begin to start messaging at all hours, because of this; first thing in the morning, during their lunch break, whenever something pops up -- what used to be jokes that would just be kept to themselves, turn to conversation starters. And that development shifts the dynamic even more.

[]8/11, 10:31[] Coffee shops always make me feel old, and like I’m a grad student all over again.

[]8/11, 10:38[] You don’t have a T.A. to run and get you coffee?

[]8/11, 10:41[] Of course you would send out for coffee.

[]8/11, 10:42[] Well my order is two steps, not sixteen.

[]8/11, 10:43[] Tyrant.

[]8/11, 10:43[] Pretentious.

They start to tease, banter, and poke fun at each other. Comradery, friendship, and the more it goes on the more it seems to spiral towards something else. Something new.

But it’s these small moments, messages, conversations that can last a minute or an hour, that make Hotch’s chest feel so much lighter as the weeks go by. Hints of a smile easing onto his face, smoothing out and softening the edges in a way they haven’t in a long time. Garnering some attention from the rest of the team, or whoever is in the vicinity that felt brave enough to mention it.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Who’s the lucky lady?”

“No one,” Hotch would answer, schooling himself and pocketing his phone. “Just a consultant on a case.”

This is how it goes… for months.

They never speak on the phone. Never even hint at video calls. Never send pictures. (Although Spencer does make a mention once or twice about that promised video when Hotch finally gets around to attempting the ‘physics magic’ experiment he’d emailed him. Hotch secretly hopes that maybe, one day, Spencer will just get to show them in person. Instead of Hotch having to record it for anyone to witness.)

But they talk like clockwork. Play chess on the regular, allowing them to talk more fluently with a laptop to aid the flow of conversation. It starts with once a week, then twice a week, standing dates after hours that meld so seamlessly with their messages every workday. They keep it to the weekdays, at first, since Hotch is busy with Jack on the weekends. But that doesn’t last long. Suddenly, without warning -- it becomes every night as well. That shift is such an organic, natural progression, that it slips in without either of them making comment on it. A silent agreement, because mentioning it would mean admitting why they were pushing this in such a new direction.

They just… missed talking to each other. Two days was too long.

Now, it’s every day.

They text for hours; check in on each other at random throughout the day even when Hotch is on cases or Spencer is busy with his duties as the leading doctoral expert of Caltech. Times when they should be swamped, unavailable to anything other than their primary focus and work load, still littered with short messages. Before and after each flight, when Hotch gets back to his hotel at night, when Spencer has to lecture out of town and they just so happen to be passing each other during travel -- mere states away. So close, yet so far. It’s all the time, it’s constant, and it’s wonderful.

Spencer still helps with cases. Often, even more often than he ever helped the L.A. field office. But it’s not always through email, anymore. Sometimes it’s just easier for Hotch to shoot him a quick text. A detailed message in the middle of their everyday banter and dribble but no less out of place, knowing the good Doctor will answer him quickly. Time is of the essence when they are on a case, but they are always on retainer for each other. Waiting in the wings, ready to jump in with quick, snappy wit and bitten-back smiles, and Hotch feels so good. So light. Better than he has in years.

Happy.

Hotch is happy, finding a friend in Dr. Spencer Reid, even if sometimes that friendship seems to transcend layers he didn’t know were there. Developing into something else, something he hadn’t touched in a long, long time.

Months pass. Months. Like a blur. Like they’ve only just started this thing that’s anticipatory and comfortable and flexible in its medium and that is so easy -- everything Hotch needs in his life -- that he can barely imagine what his days and nights were like before this. Before Spencer.

But it’s months into this correspondence, this charged and bright thing, that he’s home late one night with a Scotch in one hand and a losing game of online chess long forgotten on his laptop screen. Lost in messaging Spencer, back to his phone instead of the chat feature of the chess game. Because texting is their comfort zone, now. He never thought it would be, had seen teenagers and adults attached to their phones like a lifeline and used to scoff about it, but he finally has begun to understand.

Because here he is -- not even looking up when he takes a drink -- lost in his conversation with Spencer. Making each other laugh, in a way he hasn’t in so long. Loud and high and afraid he might wake Jack down the hall so he stifles it with another sip of his Scotch.

[]9/8, 21:12[] If Jack wakes up, you know that’s it for us. He’ll never go back to sleep.

[]9/8, 21:13[] Then stop laughing so loud. I honestly can’t imagine you laughing enough to wake him.

[]9/8, 21:14[] Usually I don’t. I never laugh like this, but I used to.

[]9/8, 21:16[] Mr. FBI isn’t allowed to laugh, I thought. Didn’t they beat that out of you at the academy?

[]9/8, 21:19[] I was able to retain a smidgen of humor, it’s well hidden. You just seem to bring it out more than others.

[]9/8, 21:20[] I’m flattered.

[]9/8, 21:20[] You should be.

[]9/8, 21:21[] If my team saw me crack a smile I’d probably be forced to get a CAT scan.

[]9/8, 21:23[] Do you need one? I have an M.A. in Cognitive Sciences, I’ll be your second opinion.

[]9/8, 21:24[] Probably, but I’ll live.

[]9/8, 21:25[] Very stiff upper lip of you. They teach you that at the academy, too?

[]9/8, 21:26[] No, that would be Scotland Yard. I liaised there for a while.

[]9/8, 21:28[] Wow, you get around. Have you been anywhere else on your global exploration?

[]9/8, 21:31[] Hardly that, I just go where the bureau tells me. I’ve already been bounced all over the country before landing at the BAU. All you can do is keep the ‘stiff upper lip’ and adapt.

[]9/8, 21:31[] “Keep Calm & Carry On”?

[]9/8, 21:33[] Garcia gave me that on a mug last Christmas. I still don’t know what it’s from.

[]9/8, 21:34[] Your age is showing. Get with the times, old man.

[]9/8, 21:35[] You’re one to talk.

[]9/8, 21:35[] What?

Hotch bites back a smile, thinking about how for months he had been so sure Spencer was this elderly professor in his 60’s or 70’s that just happened to find their conversations interesting. That was… very apparently wrong, Hotch can see that now, but he hadn’t had any evidence to the contrary for the entire time they corresponded those first few months.

He could have done a background check on the professor at any time, is sure Garcia already has one saved in a file ready to send him at his first request, but it’s more fun this way. The not knowing, the learning about each other piece by careful piece. Even the smallest bits of information, such as age.

He bet Spencer would get a kick out of his first impression of the man, though.

[]9/8, 21:37[] Oh come on, you know.

[]9/8, 21:39[] No, I actually don’t. Congratulations, you’ve stumped the super genius.

[]9/8, 21:39[] But really, what do you mean?

[]9/8, 21:42[] I always just assumed you are at least ten years my senior, maybe even fifteen. How are you more with the times than I am?

[]9/8, 21:43[] I work at a University. I am surrounded by hormones and the dribble of youth.

There’s a slightly lengthy pause after that exchange, enough Hotch starts to pay closer attention through the buzz of liquor settled over his skin pleasantly.

[]9/8, 21:49[] How old do you think I am?

[]9/8, 21:50[] I don’t know, is it rude if I answer?

Hotch is not laughing to himself, he promises.

[]9/8, 21:52[] Why do you think I’m older?

[]9/8, 21:53[] This feels like a trap.

[]9/8, 21:53[] It’s not.

[]9/8, 21:56[] Well, honestly just from your academic achievements. Not everyone has that kind of time. And all your departments you run, you have to have a pretty level head and knack for maturity to keep that all in order. Especially doctorate students.

[]9/8, 21:58[] Thank you, I think.

[]9/8, 22:00[] I bet you’re the coolest old man on campus, though, don’t get me wrong.

Hotch does outright laugh after he sends that, manages to keep it a little bit quieter, and commends himself on having the upperhand in the conversation for once as he stares at his phone for a few minutes, awaiting an answer.

If he had to guess, Hotch supposes he’s held on to that stubborn image of Spencer being a stooped old professor out of habit. But the more the two have talked, after he'd gotten to know the man and his written verbal expressions and just the way his life runs day to day, it’s pretty easy to see that that is not correct. Spencer could be someone around Dave or Jason’s age, but more likely even younger than that -- closer to his own.

And that… is an intriguing thought that sparks something in his chest. He smothers it with another sip of Scotch and realizes that it has been a solid five minutes of silence. With Spencer not even typing out a response.

[]9/8, 22:06[] Was it something I said?

[]9/8, 22:07[] No, I’m just… contemplating my answer.

[]9/8, 22:07[] Answer to what?

Hotch hasn’t drank that much, but he doesn’t believe he asked a question at all. He scrolls back through their conversation and doesn’t see one. Spencer has asked a good handful, though, all about Hotch’s perception of his age.

Interesting.

[]9/8, 22:09[] Respond, not answer.

[]9/8, 22:10[] I’m all turned around now.

[]9/8, 22:12[] Flustered in your old age? Now I’m flattered.

This is almost like flirting. Skirts the edges of it, and Hotch feels more emboldened to try the more Spencer tap-dances around what is obviously Hotch’s incorrect assumption of his age. He had had no idea Hotch thought he was older, that is apparent, and it’s throwing the other man for a loop for some reason Hotch can’t ascertain.

[]9/8, 22:15[] I’m not old.

[]9/8, 22:15[] I’m not even older than you.

[]9/8, 22:16[] And how do you know that?

[]9/8, 22:17[] Just trust me on this.

[]9/8, 22:17[] Well, how old are you?

Another long, lengthy pause that Hotch waits for with baited breath. He knows that Spencer is there, that he’s staring at his phone and trying to decide the best way to answer without really answering anything. It’s only a matter of minutes, but that is a long time for them. When they are deep in a conversation like this.

Hotch isn’t laughing to himself anymore, but he’s more pleasantly confused than worried. He really has no idea what is making Spencer so hesitant.

[]9/8, 22:22[] Spencer?

[]9/8, 22:25[] I’m not going to tell you.

[]9/8, 22:26[] What, you want me to guess?

[]9/8, 22:28[] You’ll never guess.

[]9/8, 22:29[] That sounds like a challenge. How many guesses do I have?

[]9/8, 22:31[] None. Listen, I don’t want you to know. I shouldn’t have said anything.

[]9/8, 22:33[] I’m afraid it’s going to change your perception of me, and we’ll stop talking like this.

[]9/8, 22:34[] Just keep imagining me with wrinkles and a cane, I’m okay with that.

That drops the small smile right off his face.

Hotch is… surprised by this turn of events. What could be so shocking about this that Spencer thinks they would stop talking to each other? They’re corresponding every night. How could he possibly stop on a dime like that?

It doesn’t make any sense. And that’s not the alcohol talking.

[]9/8, 22:37[] I honestly don’t see how that would be possible.

[]9/8, 22:39[] I’m not going to stop talking to you just because you aren’t the senior professor I imagined running Caltech with an Iron Fist.

[]9/8, 22:40[] Now you’re projecting.

[]9/8, 22:40[] You saying I’m too strict?

[]9/8, 22:41[] Tyrant, I think was the term I chose.

[]9/8, 22:42[] Pretentious.

[]9/8, 22:44[] But Spencer, unless you are somehow underage with five Ph.D.’s, there’s no reason for us to stop talking.

[]9/8, 22:47[] You would not believe how many people treat me like I'm underage, to this day. So that doesn’t inspire confidence.

Hotch pauses with his glass halfway back to his lips, only a few sips left in the glass. Staring at his phone and struggling to make sense of what Spencer is saying. Hotch had been trying to joke and tease with him, but now the word ‘underage’ feels like a glaring beacon of a word on his screen.

He’s very suddenly more than a little nervous, even through the haze of alcohol. He is 45 years old, no matter what he keeps telling Spencer -- there is a limit to this being appropriate or not. What that limit is, he’d have to consider when he’s more sober, and it makes him feel like he should be reigning in the flirtatious notes that keep worming their way into the conversation.

But it’s not actually possible for him to be that young, and everything he’s learned about the man indicates he’s closer to his own age. Was he in his 30’s? Even that felt too young for what Hotch had (subconsciously) profiled -- no, it has to be something else.

No matter what, he didn’t want to keep getting Spencer worked up like this about it. His age hadn’t bothered Hotch before that night, so maybe if he drops it they can revert back to how they’d been spending their late evening hours before this turn in the conversation.

[]9/8, 22:50[] But I’m NOT underage.

[]9/8, 22:51[] If that needed to be said.

[]9/8, 22:53[] Can you buy alcohol by yourself?

[]9/8, 22:54[] Yes.

[]9/8, 22:54[] See this is what I was afraid of.

[]9/8, 22:55[] Relax, I was trying to tease you.

[]9/8, 22:57[] You don’t have to tell me, Spencer. I’ll just keep picturing Sean Connery, or John Steinbeck in the later years.

[]9/8, 22:59[] I see you have a type.

[]9/8, 23:00[] Well, who do you picture when you think of me?

[]9/8, 23:01[] Hugo Weaving, Matrix era. Or Richard Feynman.

[]9/8, 23:02[] Well now I feel typecasted. Who’s Feynman?

[]9/8, 23:02[] An American Theoretical Physicist from the 40’s-60’s.

[]9/8, 23:03[] Ouch. How old do you think *I* am?

[]9/8, 23:04[] I’m afraid to answer that.

[]9/8, 23:04[] O.u.c.h.

[]9/8, 23:06[] You’ve been borderline flirting with me, and you just said you thought I was in my 60’s! What was I supposed to think?

[]9/8, 23:07[] If you’re looking in that age bracket, I’m sure I can get you the Biology Department Head’s number.

[]9/8, 23:07[] He’s 72 with rheumatoid arthritis.

[]9/8, 23:08[] You are hysterical. So funny.

Hotch is smiling wide down at his phone again, feeling lighter and glad he got them back on track.

But…

He can’t help but think back to what he just tried to drop entirely. Blame the Scotch, or whatever drive to know that makes him dig down and root out information in cold cases in his spare time, Hotch doesn’t think he can let it go. Not when it was something Spencer hadn’t meant to be a secret in the first place. Not when, knowing that it has created misinformation between them unintentionally, results in Spencer shying away and hesitant to tell Hotch anything more about himself.

Not when he’d said ‘flirting’, because that had been what Hotch was doing, and he can’t even describe how disappointing it would be to quit while he was ahead. When the build up has been so gradual and easy and everything he’d been looking for and could never seem to find.

Now, this slight disruption is sticking in his mind, sharp like a thorn in his side. Always there, making itself known, and he wonders if he is lucid enough to try and draw the information out of Spencer via interview tactics -- or if the brilliant man would see right through any of his attempts.

Probably. Who was he kidding? Spencer had more degrees and college hours under his belt than Hotch could manage in a lifetime. Best to do this the old fashioned way, then.

[]9/8, 23:10[] 38.

[]9/8, 23:11[] Oh. Really? That’s kind of young to be Unit Chief, congratulations.

[]9/8, 23:11[] No, not me. You. I’m guessing 38.

[]9/8, 23:12[] Oh.

[]9/8, 23:12[] Incorrect.

[]9/8, 23:13[] I don’t even get a hint?

[]9/8, 23:13[] Nope.

[]9/8, 23:15[] We’re not playing a game. I’m not telling you.

[]9/8, 23:15[] So you won’t guess my age, either?

[]9/18, 23:17[] Chicken.

[]9/8, 23:17[] 45.

Hotch near throws his phone across the room. Almost makes a quip about how reading his file is cheating -- but he knows Spencer just made a stupidly accurate ‘educated guess’ because he knows fucking everything.

They really should just put him on the payroll. Hotch is being selfish keeping the man all to himself.

But God, is he enjoying it, too.

[]9/8, 23:19[] There’s no way you profiled that with that kind of accuracy.

[]9/8, 23:20[] How do you do that?

[]9/8, 23:21[] Black magic.

[]9/8, 23:22[] I’ll get it out of you one day, I swear.

[]9/8, 23:23[] And as a man of your word, I believe that you truly believe that.

[]9/8, 23:23[] Full of jokes tonight, aren’t you?

[]9/8, 23:25[] I live to amuse.

[]9/8, 23:25[] And make you smile.

[]9/8, 23:27[] You are one of the few that do.

With a careful pause, nothing left in his glass, a thought perched on the edges of his mind that is already watery with cognitive dissonance, Hotch starts typing before he’s even fully made the decision.

[]9/8, 23:30[] You really think my flirting is borderline? I was going for subtlety, but I must be rusty.

[]9/8, 23:32[] Actually, I just thought I was projecting.

[]9/8, 23:23[] You were married, I didn’t want to presume.

Oh.

The consideration is touching, and sobering even in the dimness of his home office, but it draws the softest of smiles back to Hotch’s face when he begins to type out his answer.

[]9/8, 23:35[] Thank you, for thinking of me first.

[]9/8, 23:37[] But Haley and I separated a long time before she died. We were actually divorced before she went into WICSEC. I miss her every day. But I did try to date for a while, before that.

[]9/8, 23:39[] No luck? I would have thought the FBI badge would at least garner some interest.

[]9/8, 23:40[] I’ve been told I’m intimidating.

[]9/8, 23:41[] I don’t think you are.

[]9/8, 23:42[] You will if you ever meet me. I’ve made underlings cry before without speaking a word.

[]9/8, 23:44[] The Hotchner stare. Have you coined that?

[]9/8, 23:45[] I should. It’s got a ring to it.

They banter and causally slip a few more… flirtatious comments in, and Hotch realizes it really isn’t that much different than before. That he had indeed been flirting with the man long before he knew his age. Which was odd, he didn’t typically go for older men and women. But now that he’s aware Spencer is younger than he thought, possibly even his own age (he swears he is, would put money on it if he could), somehow there’s more of a charge in their correspondence, a warmth and buzzing elation that has nothing to do with his Scotch. Especially now that it’s long gone.

It’s all Spencer, and how they compliment each other, and Hotch finds himself near giddy with that information.

He tries, towards the end of the night where it tips over into the early hours of the morning, to imagine an image of Spencer again -- and finds that he doesn’t even care to. He’s enamored with the man and his wit and the way he makes Hotch laugh without trying. How he looks, his age, it doesn’t matter. Not really. Not to Hotch.

But he is still curious why Spencer won’t reveal it. He can’t be that young.

[]9/9, 00:43[] You really won’t tell me?

[]9/9, 00:45[] Maybe one day. When I’m feeling brave.

[]9/9, 00:46[] Well, I’ll be there. Waiting.

[]9/9, 00:46[] 32.

[]9/9, 00:47[] You’ll never guess.

[]9/9, 00:48[] There’s only so many numbers.

[]9/9, 00:50[] Goodnight, Hotch.

[9/9, 00:51] Goodnight, Spencer.

(tbc...)

Tagged List: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

#I've read and rewritten this chapter so many times I'm starting to hate it #but it's super important so I hope it lives up to expectations #we get to all the good stuff after this #but the development here is something I've spent WEEKS trying to make realistic so #I hope you all enjoy it <3 #Chapter updates are Saturdays at 5pm EST #if you want in on the tag list just message me <3 #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

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.