#(the next book is a little life. the last one was the bluest eye)

[newdayslinguine]

I am reading at an insane pace this year

#5 books in a month and a half?? who am i i havent read like this since i was 12 #anyway the next book im reading is about 3.5x the length of the last one so #(the next book is a little life. the last one was the bluest eye) #yes ik a little life is supposed to be like excessively sad but i read shuggie bain recently and looked at the goodreads reviews and a lot #of people said it reminded them of a little life so i caved #im curious #it cant possibly be packed with more trauma than the sbi fics i read in 2021

[owlsinathens]

I once knew a boy. He was sixteen when I knew him, four years younger than me, a part of my little sister's youth group. He had his overlong hair dyed pitch black and was perpetually stroking it back from his face. He had the bluest eyes I'd ever seen, and all the girls in the group fancied him madly. I thought he was cute, for a kid. At twenty I felt miles away from them.

That summer when I was twenty I had already moved away from my home town, to the big city, feeling very grown-up. But I went home almost every weekend, and on one of those weekends my sister had a pool party. My mum was away for the night, and I was tasked with keeping an eye on the kids. Not that they needed much eye-keeping-on; they were all pretty decent, trustworthy teenagers.

That weekend was also when Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows came out. I had a midnight delivery scheduled, and the party was still in full swing when the doorbell rang and my book was there. The kids were occupying the back terrace, playing poker dice, so I took my book to the living room where I could read and still keep an eye on them. And this boy came inside.

He was looking for something, I don't know what, the loo maybe, more snacks, more beer... but when he saw what I was reading, he seemed to forget about it. He plopped down on the carpet in front of the couch I was sitting on, a pleading smile on his face. "Please," he said, "please read out loud." And I did.

I read the first ten chapters to him, and by the end of the tenth my audience had multiplied. Seven kids were sitting before me, listening with rapt attention. (My sister was so mad the next day) The boy who had started it begged me to read one more chapter, so I complied. He listened, breathless, stars in his eyes.

After reading that last chapter, I shut the book. People were starting to go home, the last to vanish were my sister and her then-boyfriend, to her room upstairs. The boy stayed. We talked for a long time, about Harry Potter, about the world, about everything under the sun. He told me that he was into punk rock, that he one day wanted to change the world for the better. Solve climate problems, world hunger, end wars. I smiled and told him he could.

He left at four am and I went to bed. The next day I had an angry sister to placate (mostly by taking over the after party clean up), a book to read and a train to catch back to the big city. I didn't think of the boy again, but sometimes my sister would mention him when she talked about her friend group's shenanigans. He seemed to be fine.

Time happened. My sister and her boyfriend broke up, the group dispersed, the kids grew up. I had my own life, met my husband, built a life with him. My visits home became fewer. I didn't ever think of the boy. Until one weekend when my husband and I went to my mum's for a visit. Driving through my hometown I saw the huge posters that usually plaster everything shortly before an election. It was a communal one, and on some of the posters, the ones for the most right-winged party in my country, I saw a familiar face.

It was the boy. His hair wasn't black anymore but its natural light brown, not falling into his face but cut in a conservative style. He didn't wear a ratty old band tee but a checkered shirt. I still recognized him immediately. Those eyes were unmistakable. I was shocked, and saddened. The boy who wanted to change the world for the better, the boy who loved Harry Potter, was now a right-winged political candidate.

When we arrived at my mum's I asked my sister about it. She knew (everyone knows everything about everyone in my hometown). She told me that he had suddenly changed completely, somewhere down the line. He started to spout racist rhetoric, his facebook was littered with neo-nazi paroles. He was into weapons and white supremacy. It was a shock to everyone who knew him. It was a shock for me too.

That was ten years ago.

Sometime during the last week the boy I once knew, the boy who loved Harry Potter, shot his partner in the head. Yesterday her body was found. He ran. He abandoned his car in the vineyards around my hometown. There was no trace of him. My sister sent me the link to the news today (I'm travelling abroad). No name was mentioned, but from the information the police gave out it could only be him. They said he was armed and dangerous, and to avoid the area. They were searching for him extensively.

It was terrible news, but maybe the most shocking thing was how little shocked I was. Neo nazi. Murderer. I told my husband, and we talked about it. I said, "It'll probably end with him dead too." Those things almost always go like that where I'm from. Thankfully it's rare in my country, but the number of femicides is still too high. One is too high a number, and this was the twenty-fourth this year.

His body was found earlier this evening. He took his own life, as I suspected he would. The easy way out? The coward's way? I don't know. I don't know what went on in his head, why he did what he did, and long before that, why he went down the path that he did. I cried when my sister told me they found him. I still am.

I didn't know the woman he killed. I only know what the news said, that she had owned a riding stable, that she was a member of the same party as her partner and killer, that she demonstrated against mandatory vaccinations during COVID. I know she didn't deserve to be killed by her partner. I feel sorry for her family.

But I'm not crying for her now. I'm not crying for the neo nazi killer either. I'm crying for the boy I once knew, the boy who listened with stars in his eyes as I read Harry Potter out loud to him. The boy who wanted to change the world for the better.

Recently, the party he was part of, the right-winged ones, protested against tougher laws on gun possession.

#personal #tw femicide #tw suicide #fuck neo nazis #fuck weapons

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 3 Co-Written with @southerngracela​

Summary: It’s Thanksgiving, but when you’re being held hostage by Hugh Ransom Drysdale there’s really not a lot to be thankful for, is there?

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 2

You could feel the chill of the outside seeping into your space, your bones, through the vented window following your shower. The way it crept in made you realize just how far along through fall you were, maybe it was even approaching the onset of the holiday weather. Either way, a storm seemed to be outside. At least it felt like it. Once dried, you found yourself wrapping up tighter in the thick cardigan you’d chosen before you dried your hair, and allowed yourself a quick squirt of perfume before settled into the reading chair in the corner of your room, your journal on your lap.

The little, leather bound book had been in your handbag which had been given back to you earlier that morning as the latest reward for behaving and as you ran your hand over the deep brown cover, you couldn’t help the air of excitement you felt at having been given your treasured little note book, despite the dreary sky you could see from the porthole above your chair.

It had actually surprised you that Drysdale had kept it and not disposed of it the same way he had your phone and your car. But for whatever reason, he’d held onto it, and for that you were grateful. Grateful that you had something of your own from before this imprisonment to anchor too. You’d expected him to want some kind of favour in return but he hadn’t demanded any sort of sexual gratification, simply informed you he would be out most of the morning and would be back mid to late afternoon. As soon as he had gone you had eagerly tipped the contents of your bag onto the bed, almost crying at the sight of your half empty bottle of Coco-Mademoiselle, the Mac Lip-gloss, NYX Eyebrow pencil, Mont Blanc fountain pen, a full tube of mints and your treasured journal. With teary eyes you’d put everything away in its new place, apart from the book and pen before padding into the bathroom for a shower, deliberately sorting yourself out for the day. All you could think of was taking the time so you could savour the moment when you could hopefully make some sense of the jumble in your head by spilling it onto a page.

You opened the cover and flicked to your last entry, the morning of Halloween. A rambling rant about Mick-The-Prick filled the page and you paused, tears in your eyes, as you’d give anything to be stood in his office thinking about ingenious ways to kill him and get away with it. Ironic, really considering that was exactly what your captor had done; committed murder and gotten away with it.

You went to jot the date down in the corner of the page and realised that actually, you didn’t have a clue what it was. Down here, night bled into day, day bled into night…and soon it all bled into weeks. However, given the fact your cycle had been and gone a week ago you figured that it was maybe four weeks since Halloween. Of course, you could ask Hugh, but the less you had to ask him the better as far as you were concerned. You hate the fact that he had this hold on you, that you had to ask for and ‘earn’ things by being ‘good’. And whilst it made you sick to your stomach, you’d fast learnt it was easier to comply than rebel. The night he had left you tangled in your sweater had hurt. It had taken you a good twenty minutes to muster the strength to work your way out and drag yourself into a bath, your body shaking with the trauma, sobs wracking your frame. Your body ached for days, your mind in a post-traumatic cloud of despair. And whilst it hadn’t broken you per-say, it had certainly made you realise exactly what the bastard was capable of, and you had no intention of finding out just how much further he was willing to go.

So, in summary, it had taken Ransom Drysdale two days to break you into compliance.

You’d become passive, so to speak. You gave into his whims, let him use you as he saw fit, did as he told… for the most part anyway. There had been a few other incidents post the sweater one where you’d forgotten yourself and protested, fought a little and he’d gone hard on you, but nothing like that second night. Your passive behaviour was mistaken by him for compliance, and as such you had earned a number of rewards. The bistro table where you took your meals, a book or two which just so happened to be by his grandfather, a gesture you weren't sure was him purging or pressing an agenda onto you. And more recently and most preciously, your bag. But, the strange thing was, that whilst he wanted you to give into him physically, he seemed to enjoy the fact that you were in no way, shape or form compliant to him in others. You openly sassed him, bit back, called him out and he actively encouraged it. He’d started spending a little more time with you in the mornings and afternoons, not just visiting you to toy with you or fuck, but to engage in these little tete-a-tete’s, and the sickest, most perverted thing about it was that you were almost glad. The loneliness was crippling, and you craved company. Even if it was his.  

All things considered, you’d rather ask him for as little as possible so instead, you flicked to the front of the book and crossed off the days on the small calendar inside the cover. Deciding that the date it led you to was as accurate as it was going to get, you turned back, jotted it down in the top right of your page and stared at the blank lines, looking to sort your thoughts for your next entry.

The saying used to go, what's in a name, however as I sit here thinking back on the last few weeks I wonder now what's in a day. My days consist of imprisonment. Held by a captor I have met once before. He's smart, almost too smart. Displaying forms of abuse and aggressive behaviors any FBI analyst would love to dive deep into. But that's not my job, no, my job is to please and satisfy him. Answer to his whims of gratification at any call of the day. I have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. But if I behave, he lets few things get by. I miss home, my bed, my life. I miss Mick, which is saying a lot all things considered. I don't know still what he wants from me, other than the obvious sexual gratification with little to no room for anything else. I'm a toy, a means to an itch. I don't know how long exactly I've been here, I can only guess it's been about a month. Nor do I know how long I'll have to stay. The answers are blurred like my vision, marred by tears and the low light inside. I haven't seen outside since the day he took me. I haven't been anywhere outside this room. I can see from the small porthole window above this stupidly soft leather chair the season has changed. It feels like deep fall, and as a storm comes outside, what little sky I see is bleak and dark, clouds covering the bluest of skies, angry and ready to open up, raining down water to wash away the sins of the day. I wish I could do the same. 

Before you realized, time had obviously passed, for the sound of the door bolts unlocking had you guessing it was late afternoon or early evening. A glance up at the porthole behind you confirmed as much. The sky was dark and rain had been beating on the window for a little while. 

In came Drysdale, hair a bit wet, a strand slightly out of place, wool pants and maroon sweater. He carried a plate of food in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He looked irked, like he'd wasted time on something, a look you were now able to decipher after weeks of seeing it. 

"Happy Thanksgiving," he said, setting the plate down on the bistro table with its two accompanying chairs, waiting for you to join him. 

Instead of biting back, you simply whispered, "it’s Thanksgiving?" You checked the inside cover of your journal and see the date again. You were a day off and it now dawned on you. It was the fourth Thursday of the month and indeed, Thanksgiving. You glanced back up at Ransom and a deep sadness washed over you. Closing your journal and setting it on the table by your chair, you stood, moving towards him and the plate of food. You took a seat and looked down at the plate, full of the holiday dish basics; turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffing, diced not candied yams and roasted green beans. It was gourmet and nothing near what he'd been serving you or managing to try. "Thank you," you said softly, rolling your fork through the potatoes. You take a bite but it's about as bland and tasteless as your despair. 

"I brought it back from the country club, I met my father there," he looked under your gaze again, as if willing your eyes to his. "Do you not like it?" 

Finally, your gaze met those cold cerulean orbs, setting your fork down and you took a drink of water, "No, it's fine." Then you picked up your fork again and took another bite, this time of the turkey and gravy. You didn't have it in you for an argument or it's physical ramifications. 

"Are you not hungry?" Ransom pressed. 

"I guess not as much as I thought," you repled further poking at your food, your voice cracking a little as you try to keep your composure. The sting of the holiday has you broken, far more than you'd expected. Normally, today you'd be helping your mother in the kitchen, settling the final touches on the side dishes and listening to your father tell your uncle about some a-typical dad joke he'd heard. Your sister would be giddy over the wine while her boyfriend of the month received death glares from said uncle and your father. 

Ransom outwardly sighed and you wait for what you were trying to avoid. "Are you alright?" 

The question threw you off guard completely and you struggled to hide the shock from your expression. He never cared about your feelings before. Maybe he thought you were coming down with something. You braced yourself to answer honestly. There was no point in lying, he'd see through it. 

"I'm fine, I'm not sick if that's what you're thinking," you answered, a deep restraint on your tone to keep yourself in check. "I hadn't realized what day it was. I didn't know it was Thanksgiving." You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked hard. "My mom, my sister and I, we used to all help make dinner as a family. My dad and uncle would talk a bunch of shit around the fireplace while shooting death glares at my sister's flavor of the month."

He looked at you like he was confused. You scoff, "Of course you wouldn't understand."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He squint his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek. His body language completely changed as he leaned forward on his forearms, popping one shoulder up higher than the other. 

"Nothing," you backed down immediately. 

"Tell me," he pressed. 

God, he was relentless. You pushed your plate forward and leaned on your own elbows. You looked at him with a raised brow, "am I going to be in trouble if you don't like what I have to say?" 

"Depends," he popped a shoulder smugly. 

You matched his expression and his demeanour falters just a fraction. You saw it, but you didn't hold back. "Then I'd rather keep it to myself. That's what you want isnt it? Me to comply, be obedient? Frankly, I'm not in the mood." 

He failed to hide his smirk and you noticed that too, "Sweetheart." It wasn't laced with teasing, rather his pet name for you on his tongue held a cautious venom. 

"You hate your family. You know nothing about love and what it takes to give love. Hell, I don't doubt that for a minute you've ever felt loved. It's all an act. Self-preservation even. I don't know you or your family outside of the hours of research I did and the mere forty five minutes I listened to you drone on about your 'predicament'. But, the cold hearted truth of it is, you don't know how to love." You watched him run his tongue along his teeth as he continued to glare at you, but you weren't finished. "And that's what family is, it's what they do. They love, they are the embodiment of love at its deepest root. Maybe, just maybe somewhere along your life, your parents loved you, but judging by the Thrombey-Drysdale standards, none of you know what love is outside your selfish tithings and flashy cars. It got lost along the way, more than likely long before you ever were born."

"Wow," he raised his brows and clicked his tongue against his teeth, "That's good, that's really good."

You're fear receptors suddenly spiked as recognizable flash of anger in his eyes flashed through his irises. But there was something else there that you couldn't put your finger on it. Your breathing quickly up-ticked as you felt your palms begin to sweat.

He inhaled a deep, almost centering breath, "that perfume in your bag, I like it."

As if he'd grown a second head, you blinked hard refocusing on him. Had you heard him right? You'd just broken a rule, laid out an unspeakable truth for him and now in a blink he's, God forbid, complimenting your scent? Who the fuck was this guy? Was he on meds? Because he should be or he should at least probably share. It might make life here more bearable. "What?" 

"The perfume from your bag, you're wearing it. It smells good," he lamented. 

Alright, now the 'of sound mind' argument might be worth something because he sure as shit wasn't now. You swallowed and picked up your fork, taking a bite of the cold food just to buy yourself some time as you tried to process the scene before you. You had no remark to make. Confusing jumbled any thought of a coherent word you could utter. 

"Maybe if I'm out, I can pick you up a new bottle. I noticed you were near empty," Ransom offered. 

This was starting to make your stomach turn. If he'd gone through your bag, because why wouldn't he at this point, smelled your perfume, had he read your journal? You made a mental note to go back through and see if there was anything he'd read that he had used against you thus far or could use to corner you in the future. You looked around the room, waiting to see if you were being Punk'd. Just who the fuck is this guy? Without your expression giving too much of your confusion away, you nod at him in reply. "Thank you, I'd like that."

"Hmph," he paused, a dramatic effect he seemed to know that your heart rate up in anxiety. "Well, then why are you looking at me like I have two heads, Y/N?" 

Tread lightly, you thought to yourself. He didn't call you by your first name often, in fact, the last time he had, you were very much smarting back and it resulted in a forceful situation that left you raw and sore for a few days. It was always 'Sweetheart'. 

He baited you, you knew it, but you couldn't back out now. So you sighed, "I know I'm not supposed to ask questions, but, I don't even know who you are right now. Do you? One minute you're giving me food and being gentle, the next you're allowing my opinion, and now you're ready to flip this table. That's as close as two heads as it gets." 

"Careful, Sweetheart," he now glared at you. There it was, you were in for it. The approach of choice, you weren't sure of, but he was done. You'd learned the different tones in his voice by now, the cues he gave. You were definitely in trouble. You dropped your eyes to your plate. The food stone cold and no longer even appealing in its slightest measure, a wave of nausea washing over you. You further pushed your plate away, "I don't think I'm hungry anymore."

His broad frame rose from the chair, "you weren't to begin with," his left hand reaching for the plate and holds it in his hand, "Third drawer down in the armoire. Pick something, I'll be back."

You watched him leave, the familiar click of the door shutting and snap of the lock sounded around the small apartment and you exhaled loudly, your head dropping into your hands. This wasn’t the first time he’d requested that you ‘dress for the occasion’ so to speak. With a deep breath you stood up and crossed the room, opening the drawer of requirements, seeking out a negligee for him to no doubt remove. Your fingers roamed over the fabrics and selection. La Perla, Agent Provocateur, Carine Gilson, Coco de Mer and Fleur of England were just a handful of the expensive, high-end brands that filled the space. Your fingers smoothed over a black macrame and tule underwired long line bra and the matching thong that was folded neatly under it. Plucking it from the drawer, you headed for the bathroom. You slipped out of your casual tee, duster cardigan and leggings, the bra and panties you'd had on. You sighed as you took a good look at yourself in your naked form. 

While you hadn't lost a ton of weight over the last month, you could tell you'd grown thinner. You weren't gaunt but your lack of a daily Dunkin' Donuts macchiato had seemed to thin you out. Your captor made sure you were fed, but you didn't always eat. The plump of your cheeks had receded and your little pooch brought on by happy carbs was sucked into your frame. There were a few bruises still seen, near green, an indication of their final healing stage. The pock mark from a hickey he'd given you still a bit scaby as he'd broken the skin just barely. This was your life now and it made what few bites of Thanksgiving dinner in your stomach nearly lurch forward back up your throat.

You swallowed it down, pulling the long line bra straps up your arms and clasping it behind your back. Your legs slipped into the thong panties and you pulled the material up your freshly smooth legs. Your shaky fingers plucked at the hair tie that fastened the end of your brain closed, nails raking through your hair to loosen your tendrils. He always wanted your hair loose. You looked at yourself in the mirror, you were ready. 

***** Ransom tossed the un-eaten food into the garbage and dumped the plate into the sink to be dealt with later. Turning so that his lower back was leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter he ran a hand over his clean shaven jaw, his mind ticking over the events of the day so far. A pain-in-the-ass Thanksgiving meal with his father had been made bearable by the fact he knew he was coming back to her, and because he hadn’t wanted to be a complete monster he’d made the effort of bringing her a nice dinner back too. But she’d hardly touched any of it.

And what disturbed him most about it, was the fact that instead of wanting to punish her for being an ungrateful bitch, he instead felt a deep rooted sense of concern. She’d lost weight, her face was pale, her hip bones more pronounced, and frankly the last thing he wanted was her passing out on him. Whilst he wanted her compliant, necrophilia really wasn’t his bag.

He had thought by giving her back the bag she’d had on her the night he took her he might have seen a lift in her spirits so to speak, a little gratitude, but instead she’d been meek and reserved until he’d coaxed that familiar sass out of her. And even then she’d been reticent.

It should have pleased him that she was learning her place and becoming more subservient. But if he was being honest with himself, he almost missed her fighting and arguing back. It had been exciting in a way, and he had thought it would have taken longer than it had to break her so to speak. Maybe he had overestimated exactly what a fighter she was, maybe she wasn’t the right muse for his writing after all. Because, let’s face it, writing a tale about a woman who was captured and broken into submission within two days, merely becoming a puppet for her captor’s whims was hardly going to win him any accolades was it? He needed more, needed something that he could spin a good story from. He knew now that when he went back down to her he had to try a different tact so to speak, he needed to coax her mind into reacting not merely her body.

Because if he couldn’t do that, there was no point in keeping her.

He allowed her half an hour or so before he headed back down the stairs and found her sat on the bed, dressed in one of the sets he’d purchased, her hair loose round her face and shoulders the way he liked. She jumped to her feet and he had to actively supress the groan that was rolling in his throat as his eyes scanned her up and down, and he didn’t miss the slight bruises that dotted her skin in various places where he’d marked her as his own. She’d long since stopped trying to cover herself up. Instead she stood stock still, her eyes focussed on the floor.

With long strides he walked into the room and stopped in front of her, tipping her chin up with his finger so she was looking at him, her eyes wide with trepidation and he gave a smirk as he reached up, brushing her hair off the side of her face and neck, dropping his head as he did so.

“You smell so good, Sweetheart.” He inhaled against her pulse point, lips pressing into her there. He felt the gasp of her breath, the way her skin pricked with chill bumps. He smirked to himself, he’s found her spot. And he filed that away, committing it to memory. 

“I like this…” he practically purred as he toyed with the straps to the bra, a long, thick middle finger outlining the strap against her skin, lips following pursuit.

“You should, you chose it.”

He chuckled, ignoring the snark behind her words. “Like I chose you, huh?”

Like I chose you.

His words echoed around your head, reminding you exactly why you were in this fucking situation. Because he had decided you would be. He wanted you, and just like with everything else in his life that Hugh Ransom Drysdale wanted, he simply took. But what worried you the most about all this was whether or not you would be discarded the same way he no doubt discarded the other possessions he lost interest in.

You took a deep, steadying breath as his hands moved from the straps of your bra, long fingers moving to caress the back of your neck, but there was no grabbing, no force. He was being positively gentle.

And it scared the crap out of you.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asked, his breath hot and wet in your ear as you trembled under the further graze of his fingers against the macramé of your set. 

“You know I am," you swallowed nervously. You weren't new to this, this wasn't your first time, but the way he was being soft, a stark character change to his a-typical stance with you was what had you crawling in fear in the inside. Was it a game? Was it some sort of ploy? Was this his idea of foreplay now before he turned it up and went hard enough to bruise but not hard enough to make you cry?

A flat palm ran down your abdomen, already taught in fear. But not before a thumb grazed along the underside of your breast. Agonizingly slow, his hand, still splayed over you, dips into your matching macrame panties, dipping into your wet folds, thumb lightly pressing against your clit. 

“You’re so wet, considering you’re scared.”

You didn't answer, just swallowed hard, the lump stuck in your throat as it fought against a little whimper. 

His mouth once more latched onto your neck, the kisses gentle as opposed to the bruising ones you had become accustomed to. The fingers in your folds matched his slow nature, teasing you in such a way that when you closed your eyes and focussed your mind elsewhere, you could almost believe you were somewhere with a man you’d given permission to touch you in such away. But when his lips moved to your jawline and you took a deep breath, the heady scent of his cologne hit your senses and your eyes flew open as you were reminded just whose lips and hands were violating you in such away.

You swallowed as Ransom pulled away, his hand gently grasping your chin once more as he issued a simple instruction.

“Strip for me, sweetheart.”

You took a deep breath, swallowing down the bile that had once more risen up your throat as he sat down on the edge of the bed, his legs bent, hands resting on his knees as he watched you the way a lion watched its prey. You undid the clasp on your bra, your eyes remaining locked on his as you slid the straps down your shoulders and dropped the garment to the floor. Your captor took a deep breath, his eyes flicking down your body as you moved to shed the bottom half, wondering what on earth had been the point of wearing it in the first place. But even as you asked yourself that, you already knew the answer. It was a bout power, another way for him to remind you just who you belonged to now. How he could strip you bare in more way than one without even lifting a finger.

But lift a finger he did, curling it in mid-air as he beckoned you towards him. You took careful steps over the floor until you were stood in between his legs. His large hands smoothed up the outside of your thighs, before he pulled you towards him, his nose brushing the skin of your abdomen as he took  a deep breath, fingers curling round your thighs.

And then, in a flash he stood, taking you with him, and before you could so much as utter a squeak or noise of surprise he had you naked, laying across the bed, the sheets cold against your skin, a contrast to the heat emanating from the body against yours. The look in his lust blown eyes was overwhelming. You didn't know what you were in for but as his body, still clothed in the frayed maroon sweater and wool slacks sunk into the mattress between your legs, you felt a chill course through your veins, your skin, again, pricking in bumps all over. His hands, with their thick fingers, trailed long lines up and down your thighs, Ransom's full lips kissing at your sensitive inner skin, a nip or two here and there as he went from your knee, upward. 

He could smell your arousal, see it glistening as it dripped from your core. "Someone's ready," he quipped. He watched you swallow hard, a literal lump in your throat bobbing the skin. Your eyes never left him. "No cumming until I tell you. Do you understand?" When you didn't answer immediately, he swiped his tongue over your wet lips, tasting the honey your body gave him, your back arching away from sheets. "Do you understand?" 

And there it was, your punishment finally arriving from your little moment before over dinner. As you still had your wits about you, you uttered a single word response, in the hope that the more submissive you were, the more accepting you were of your chastisement, the less hard on you he was going to be.

"Yes." 

His mouth expertly devoured every inch of you, from your inner and outer pussy lips to the depths of your walls, tongue fucking you like you he was starving, the lavish holiday meal he'd partaken in not filling enough. His thumb pressed against your engorged nub, causing you to writhe but a firm arm over your abdomen kept you in place. The same thick fingers that traced lines up your thighs, two were now buried deep inside you, his tongue working away any juices that seeped out. As he gave you a third, stretching you more, you felt your walls start to tighten, that burning coil in your belly flare and your hands gripped the sheets tighter. 

Ransom could clearly feel you flutter against his fingers as he stopped his assault and looked up at you.

"What did I say?" 

Your chest heaved, your stomach taught and you fought to obey. When you managed to calm yourself, he began again, almost from square one, slowly, tantalizingly slow. 

The action was torture and you were desperately willing yourself to remain grounded as again your body fought to ride over the edge building inside you. When his mouth was over you completely, tongue deep, thumb pressing again into your clit, you felt the urge to cum. But he pulled away, slowly, his thumb stopping the pressure, his tongue slowly dragging out of you. 

"I said no. This is your punishment for your smart mouth over dinner."

"Please, I need to, I'll... I'll make it worth your while, please just let me." Your voice sounded alien as you spoke, the words leaving your mouth in the desperate hope he’d take pity on you but to no avail. Your attempts at bartering served only to frustrate him, anger him even and he Ransom backed away, roughly pulling you to the edge of the bed before stripping out of his sweater and undershirt, the undeniable outline of his hard cock along his thigh strained against his wool slacks. 

Harsh in his grip, he repositioned himself between your legs, your thighs across his shoulders, ass dangling above the floor as a heavy arm kept you still. His flat tongue, hot and full of your sex was eating away at you while his final throws of resolve ate away at him.

“I’m done playing fucking games.” he growled against your aching cunt “I should have gagged you, stuffed my cock deep into the back of your throat, something, anything to shut you up.”

You barely had time to register his words before once more you were flat out against the mattress, trying to regain your breath and calm yourself down when he backed away, tore open his flies and smirked down at you.

"Oh no, Sweetheart, we're not done yet."  He kneeled beside you, his chest heaving, hair completely out of place, anger and wait, was that pain, flickering in his eyes as he stuffed you with a hard thrust of his length. "Now you’re gonna cum on this dick."

He thrusted hard and within a few slams of his hips against yours, he allowed you the release you were begging for, "that's right, Princess, cum on my cock." 

You wept at the feeling finally freeing you, cries of pleasure spilling from your lips as you squeezed around him. Your chest heaving against his, skin to skin. The fabric of his wool pants hot and itchy against your inner thighs. He was still thrusting but now it had slowed to a roll, slow and calculated. Your muddled mind was buzzing and rapidly trying to sort out if he'd cum inside you or if he wasn't finished. His features were softer, but still filled with purpose and his lips latched onto a naked breast causing your body to react, tingles and flames licking at your core again. His eyes looked up at yours as he caged you in, still buried deep inside you, hips rolling. 

"I said we weren't done," he rasped. His thrusts and rolls, the two very different tactics mixing now, made the swell of his cock inside you abhorrently pleasurable. Try as you might, it was impossible to feel otherwise. 

And Ransom was finding it equally as hard to hold on. His weight was evenly distributed over her, his cock swelling inside her heat. It took all he had not to blow his load the first time he made her cum, hearing the sinful sounds of her orgasm that felt like a volcanic eruption around his hard shaft. But now he could feel her again, tiny little pulses around his already overtly sensitive dick. He was sure his precum was leaking out, wanting to paint the way for the rest of him to follow. He rolled and thrust as his lips nipped at her neck. She moaned loudly, her body exuding lust. He could feel her shake beneath him and to his delight and surprise her eyes were no longer screwed shut and turned away. Instead they were locked on his. The moment those deep hued orbs met his, he felt a hitch in his breath and tightness in his chest that travelled through his belly and into his cock, causing the thick member to throb inside her. Tiny, soft hands gripped at his biceps, her touch a fiery scald against his skin, almost as if it were frost bite. Her touch equally shocking as her stare and he gave a roll of his hips to hide what he felt. A deep, satiated roll of his hips that sent her over the edge. 

"Hugh!" She came around him, harder than her first, crying out his given name. It snapped him from his moment of revelation, driving him insanely frustrated at the word leaving her lips. He slammed into her as she rode out her orgasm, chasing his own. 

You felt the dismissal of his body as he violently pulled free from your walls, spewing his hot seed over your abdomen, drops claiming your tits too. He nearly collapsed, his dick in hand, the other holding himself up against the mattress between your legs. 

He left you there, dirty, degraded and shut the door with a barked instruction for you to clean yourself up. You no longer cried in front of him, either before, during or after. There was no point. He didn’t care about how you felt, but the thing he DID seem to care about was the fact that you still refused to call him Ransom. 

It was the one thing you held on to, the only thing that gave you an inch of control in this entire fucked up situation. You hadn’t missed the look on his face when you’d cried out 'Hugh' in the throes of your last orgasm. Before that moment there had been a softness in his eyes, one that had unnerved you no end, along with something that had looked suspiciously like hope. But when his given name had tumbled involuntarily from your mouth and not the one he preferred that softness had turned to contempt and you didn't miss the undercurrent of disappointment either.

And seeing that, knowing that it pissed him off and dare you say it, upset him so much was your single, albeit feeble, act of rebellion that served as a desperate boost to your ever waning inner strength. *****

Ransom laid in his large, plush bed, hands behind his head as the silk sheets pooled at his waist as morning was in full swing outside. His thoughts strayed to his girl in the basement and he took a deep breath, shifting slightly as he remembered the way her fingers had felt as they’d curled around his biceps, her touch firey but cold. That had been the first time she’d touched him when she wasn’t trying to push him away, it had been involuntary, he knew that, a reaction to the way she’d been feeling, the way he had made her feel. 

A twitch resounded deep in his belly....the way he made her feel.

He realised now that he’d been going about this the entirely wrong way. The force had been necessary to make her comply at first, but last night she hadn’t just complied she’d participated, just what he had wanted all along. And all after he’d shown her a little leeway, brought her dinner, entertained her talk. He understood now that he needed to play a different card from his hand. She responded better to conversation, talking. Ransom hated fucking talking, he was more cerebral, calculating. Conversation means connecting, and connecting was something he wasn’t particularly interested in normally. He needed to lead, to be in charge, but it was clearly what she knew and thrived on, so he had to swallow his apprehension down to play the long game, to get what he wanted. 

Now he understood that, it was going to be so fucking easy. All he had to do was to seemingly show her compassion, a little give so he could take so to speak. He rolled his head, cracking his neck as he remembered what she said about cooking with her mom so he decided that after her stellar performance last night, today she’d earned a bigger reward than a book or some journal. He was going to show her what she could have if she just gave in and admitted what he knew she truly wanted. A large house, a garden, a pool, a hot tub, silk sheets, a large bed, and a man to fuck her every way to heaven and back. He could give her everything that any woman could possibly desire, and then some.

With a twitch of a smirk across his lips, Ransom pulled his naked frame out of bed and slipped into joggers, a soft waffle knit thermal long sleeve pulled over his tousled hair. He felt like company for breakfast and he knew exactly to invite up. 

His bare feet padded with purpose over the plush carpet of his room, down the stairs and onto the first floor, over the hard wood and marble tile of the halls and entry, down the plush carpeted spiral staircase down to the basement.

He reached the door and gently turned the locks, quietly pushing the door open as he turned the knob. It opened quietly and his eyes fell upon the empty bed. He frowned slightly, wondering where she was. Then his eyes found her, sitting curled up with her eyes cast upward, that little tease of a porthole window in her focus. She'd turned her chair around so she could see it more clearly, the throw blanket he'd tossed at her the week before was wrapped around her body. He didn't know the time, but it wasn't early nor was it afternoon. Not that it mattered, neither had anywhere else to be.

"Good morning," he said lowly. He watched as her eyes slowly moved away from the only bit of outside world she'd seen for weeks now.

"Morning," she replied quietly, her eyes locking onto his. "I err, I was just..." she trailed off. "Actually, I don't know what I was doing to be honest."

He stalked up to the chair, kneeling in front her. His hand reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb running over her cheek bone. "You were such a good girl last night. Took me so well, teased me with that little number you had on. I've thought about you all morning."

Ransom watched her throat bob as she swallowed before licking her lips and biting the inside corner of her lip. Such an innocent gesture that had him half hard straight away.

"I want to give you something. But you have to be good, or it goes away," he started. "Can you be good, Sweetheart?"

She nodded, slightly. "Okay," he smirked. "Now, fix the chair and come up to make us breakfast."

Ransom stood back, allowing you some space to accommodate his request. You slipped the throw blanket from your shoulders and left it in the chair as you rearranged the piece back to its normal state. You met him at the doorway. You didn't miss the way his eyes moved over you, the way they lit up in a way at as he looked at the silken material covering your body. The dark teal silk and lace cami set was just one of a handful of options he'd provided for you. All the same, different colors, all in your size. 

You hesitated for a second, not sure if this was another one of his little games but he simply met your eyes with his own and nodded up the stairs. With tentative, shaky steps you climbed them, sensing him close behind you as for the first time in weeks you left your prison.  You felt anxious, highly on edge and nervous. What was awaiting you? There was the sickening feeling in your stomach of excitement too, you hadn’t seen the outside since Halloween. You paused at the top of the stairs in the hall. The kitchen was directly across from you, the entry to your right. The door to the basement clicked shut and you felt Ransom’s firm chest behind your back as his form invaded your space. He dragged a finger down your arm causing the strap of your top to fall away, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Straight ahead, Sweetheart."

“Okay,” you whispered before you slowly made your way through to the large, airy kitchen. You stood looking around, taking in the fancy appliances before you turned back to Ransom. "Did you have something in mind?”

"Well..." Ransom leaned in the doorway, watching you as you stood in the middle of the tiled floor "Yesterday wasn't the first time you said you enjoyed to cook so I thought you might like to." His eyes flicked once more down your frame and back up again before he nodded his head towards the rear of the room. “Anything you need is in the pantry and fridge.”

“And I can make anything I want?” You blinked, not quite able to believe what he was allowing you to do. It was fucked up that you were even considering this as a reward but, you’d take it. Boy would you take it, anything to grasp some sense of normality in this day-by-day hell you were living.

“Sure.” Ransom popped a shoulder again and you took a deep breath before you turned and headed to the sink to wash your hands before sorting out your menu and you froze. The outside landscape had stopped you cold. From what you could see of the back garden the property was secluded, not over looked. A lawn extended a fair distance back from the rear of the house, a neat decking area stood to the right which sported a hot tub and a little further down there looked to be a pool of some kind which was covered over for the season. Trees hung over the bottom of the garden lining the high wooden fence, what few leaves they still sported were shades of crimson, gold and brown and the river traced it’s banks as it curved around the side and back of the house, the sun shining off the surface, giving it the impression it was made of sapphires. It was breathtakingly beautiful and you felt your heart shatter, your eyes well and you couldn't help but hold back the urge to weep as your chest contracted painfully. You were so close to the outside, separated only by a pane of glass, yet it had never felt further away.

His voice broke you from your despair and you swallowed back the sob that choked your throat as you flicked your attention to the left, Ransom's reflection drawing closer towards you as he crossed the terracotta tiled floor.

"Everything alright?"

You cleared your throat and gave a quick shake of your head, "Fine."

Again you felt him in your space. His presence consuming. “You sure?”

Sure? No you weren’t sure. Because none of this was fine, in fact it was as far from fine as it could possibly get. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to spin round and hammer your fists into any part of his body you could hit but you knew that it wouldn't get you anywhere, bar back in the basement likely shackled naked to the bed so you instead turned slowly to find yourself caged in by his broad frame so close to yours. You cast your eyes downward, uncomfortable at his searching stare, "Yeah, I’m sure.”

Your tongue flicked nervously over your lips as you continued to avoid his gaze before you cleared your throat “How do you like your eggs? Or would you prefer an omelette? Pancakes even?" The urge to move away from him pulled you away from your idea of a menu. Brunch basics were flooding your brain and you rattled off a few nervously. He may have said you could make whatever you wanted, but right now, you had no clue. Seeing a different space, the outside world and breathing new air had rattled you.

“You choose.” Ransom spoke softly, his hand reaching up to brush your hair off your face before he tipped your chin up so your eyes met his. He looked at you, and you swallowed as for the first time there was something unreadable on his face. His eyes were looking at you in a way they’d never looked at you before, with a softness you’d never have anticipated he could possess.

"Waffles." You suddenly blurted out, desperate to escape his gaze "I err, do you have a waffle iron?”

“No.” He deadpanned.

"Oh," you swallowed "Erm, then in that case French toast...maybe? Is that ok?"

“Sounds delicious.” He said, his hand dropping from your face, “Sure it’ll taste almost as good as you.”

“Great. How about with fresh Chantilly cream and berries if you have them?” You asked, completely ignoring his blatant back handed compliment and you started familiarizing yourself with the space as you glanced around.

“Like I said, whatever you want, Sweetheart.” He shrugged, and with that he stepped back to allow you to move away.

Ransom watched her move around the luxurious kitchen, looking through the pantry and cabinet near the stove taking out cinnamon and vanilla, plucking items like bread, butter, eggs, berries and cream from the fridge. Searching drawers for utensils and measuring cups and spoons. Finding a pan and bowl from a bottom cabinet. Measuring sugar from the glass jar on the counter. He hoped the ingredients were still fresh, he wasn't exactly sure how long they'd been stored. She moved like she belonged there, he thought to himself. So sexy looking in her nightwear, bare feet on the tile, her ass and breasts moving underneath the silk as she stretched and worked. 

"Coffee?" He offered, as he moved from one side to the other. He made sure his exquisite espresso machine was ready as it sat in all its glory on its own portion of the counter like a batista station inside Starbucks. 

He didn't miss the way she watched him move around her, preparing the coffee and grabbing the orange juice from the fridge. He reached over her shoulder, his body brushing against hers as he opened the cupboard where he kept the glasses and mugs. He peered down at her, giving a twitch to the corner of his mouth. A smirk indeed. He noted the way her eyes followed him as he poured the juice, like he was going to poison her or something. 

"It's just juice, Sweetheart," he said nonchalantly and put the juice back in the fridge. He set the breakfast table for them and took a seat in his place, a now hot cup of coffee in his hand, hers sitting on the counter next to her. 

It wasn’t long before she had finished and brought the plates to the table, sitting down timidly in the seat to his right as he gestured to it, stopping her dead as she was about to make her way around to the opposite side.

It was quiet, the only sounds heard for a while were the click and scrape of forks and knives cutting away at the plates of food. Ransom wouldn't admit it out loud, but this was the best French toast he'd ever had in his life. Something about it, the way it was not soggy, but perfectly moist, the edges just crispy. The way the cream made for no syrup and the sweet berries added the final element. He watched her pick at the food for a moment or two as he glanced over at her and saw a small bit of Chantilly in the corner of her mouth.

A long arm reached across the table and automatically she flinched a little, as if she was going to pull away but one firm stare stopped her in her tracks. His thick thumb padded away the white, sweet cream and he brought the same thumb to his lips, sucking the cream away. He lifted his brows in a teasing manner and twitched up his lips, "Delicious. Like I said, almost as good as you, Sweetheart."

"Thanks, I think," she paused. 

"Trust me, I know."

The comment seemingly threw her off her meal and it didn't get past Ransom. She had started picking at it, moving it around the plate like she had done with her dinner the night before. He, on the other hand, was near finished. 

"Are you still not hungry?" He inquired. 

She shook her head, "I just made my portion too big. I overestimated my appetite, I guess."

"Huh," he placated her reply. He knew she was lying but he let it slide, realizing that seeing a new space, the window to the outside was overwhelming. So, he thought he'd sweeten the deal. "I thought maybe you'd like to see the house," he offered, watching as her big eyes locked onto his and she took a deep breath.

"That sounds nice, thank you."

"Good, after breakfast then." He nodded affirmingly, as if it were drying ink in his mind. He picked up his coffee and finished it off, his plate already clear. 

She stood from the table, collecting his plate with her own and headed for the sink. He turned in his chair, stalking her, watching her every move. The way she pitched over the sink, bending her frame over the dishwasher to load it as she cleaned up the kitchen. 

With each bend and snap of her hips, he felt his mouth water more. Her little silk cami riding up as she moved, her breasts falling in and out of a fuller view. When she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, he was on her. He moved behind her, his hands grabbed her hips as she spun around completely startled giving a gasp and a quick yelp. 

"Easy, Sweetheart," he chuckled as she looked at him, her eyes wide.

"Sorry... you, err...you startled me." She whispered as he moved his hands so they gripped at the side of the kitchen counter on either side of her, caging her in with his body.

"Some women would like that," he quipped, arching an eyebrow a little and watched as she swallowed hard and cast her eyes downward. Moving one hand slowly up her arm, over her shoulder and around her neck, he tipped her head back up so those large, Bambi eyes locked onto his.

His hand adjusted, gripping her chin softly as he moved closer still, dipping his head he pressed a firm kiss to her lips. He felt her go rigid, her chest spiking as she drew in a sharp breath, her body shaking slightly in his hold. "Stop fighting it..." he whispered against her mouth before he kissed her again. This time, his tongue traced the line of her upper lip, the feel of it soft and soothing.

You felt his tongue line your lip and you couldn't hold the whimper of fear that passed through you. He’d never kissed you before, not on the mouth anyway. You felt him deepen his kiss, his big hand cupping your face, pulling you into it more. Your mind went elsewhere, imagining anyone but him kissing you like this. You couldn't deny it, this intimate moment, completely lost on both of you for different reasons, felt good and he was good at it. He was damn good at it in fact, and that alone made you want to vomit your breakfast into his throat. At that, you jerked back, panting a little, feeling your lips swollen from the way he'd sucked your bottom one between his, pulling at it just the right way. You hated the feeling between your legs that it had evoked, your body betraying you just like it always did.

In an attempt to stave off the conflicting emotions spiking within you, you focussed on his face, the face you hated and to your surprise he looked dazed. The usual stoic expression that clouded his features had been replaced with something akin to surprise but no sooner had you noticed it, it was gone.

"Clean up and I'll meet you in the study." He told you, his voice a deep almost pained whisper. 

"But I don't..." you started but were quickly cut off. 

"You're a smart girl, figure it out," he smirked and slipped away. 

You were tempted to follow, just so you'd see where he was going but you knew not to defy a command. The feeling of unease seemed to disappear as you slumped your shoulders and instead defeat filled your frame. A trembling hand came to your lips as jittery fingertips touched your swollen skin. Your bottom lip quivered like a ripple in a river and you quickly covered your mouth, turning on a dime as your French toast littered the sink. If the water hadn't been running already, Ransom would no doubt have heard you retching. You rinsed your mouth out to attempt at hiding that vomit taste from your tongue and quickly finished your task of cleaning up the kitchen, salty tears dripping from your chin, mixing with the soapy water. 

When you could stall no longer, you sighed and headed out into the large hallway, taking a quick look around. It was light, airy, the grand staircase swept in and curved round to the next floor and your eyes lingered on the heavy wooden door just beyond it. You hesitated, and then with a dejected sigh realised there was no point even trying to escape. Even if it was unlocked, which you doubted, the threat to your family was just too much for you to risk. Instead, you decided to head down the corridor to your right and found yourself in a large open plan living room of sorts. It was decorated in clean whites and crisp greys with a huge feature stone open fireplace and sported a bar at the back. A brown leather sofa and two matching arm chairs were strategically placed around an expensive looking coffee table but you didn’t bother to look at the rest, this wasn’t the room you needed so you turned back on yourself, walked back into the hall and took the turning to your left.

This time you found yourself walking into what you could only assume was his study-come-den of sorts. It was huge, and once again sported a sofa pushed up against the wall, looking out over the spectacular view of not only the garden but the river too. But that wasn’t what caught your attention, nor was it the walnut desk and laptop that sat upon it. It was the floor to ceiling bookshelf behind it. Your mouth dropped open as you made your way towards it but then you stopped, biting your lip. Were you supposed to be looking at them? But, he had said to meet you in here. And left you to find your own way.  Surely, if he didn’t want you looking around he wouldn’t have left you to it.

Throwing caution to the wind you strode forward, your pace hurried this time and your eyes quickly scanned across some of the books. You couldn’t help but feel shocked. Whilst there was a huge collection of his Grandfather’s books, and a number of other crime novels of types, it was the colourful spines to your right that made your chest heave in delight. The entire Harry Potter collection. With a shaky hand you reached for The Philosopher’s Stone, noting the British version of the title, and opened the front page giving another gasp as you read the publishing details.

This was a first edition.  And from the date you also knew it would be one that contained the misprint errors. And as such, would be worth a small fortune.

“See something you like?” that familiar voice hit your ears and you gave a little shriek, jumping around, clutching the book to your chest to avoid dropping it.

“I’m sorry.” You hastily began to apologise “I was just…erm…”

“It’s ok.” He assured you, crossing towards you. Once more he encroached into your personal space and you felt the blades of your shoulders press into the shelf behind you. “Harry Potter fan?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “Didn’t think they’d be your type of thing.

“They’re not really.” He shrugged “I’m a collector. Everything on the shelves, well they’re all first or limited editions, so worth a lot.”

“Figures.” You mumbled, turning round and slotting the book back into the space it had come from. As you did you felt him push up behind you, his hands on your hips, the unmistakable feel of his hard on dug into the lower part of your back and you fought to stop yourself shuddering. He was after pay-back for allowing you to leave your prison.

“Did you like the house?” he asked, brushing your hair off your neck.

“Yes.” You answered politely, your voice catching a little as he placed a kiss to the crook of your shoulder.

“You know, it could all be yours sweetheart if you just stopped fighting what you know you want” His kisses continued up your neck as his words whirled around your brain and you were back to where you had been in the kitchen. It felt good. And that disgusted you.

“Did you enjoy making breakfast?” he whispered, his lips by your ear.

“Yeah.” You nodded, your voice barely there.

“Show me how much.” His teeth nipped at your lobe, his hips grinding forward and you swallowed and closed your eyes. You knew what he wanted but as you turned to face him you had an idea. One which would save you being fucked no doubt over the desk or on the hard looking couch.

With a lick of your lips you looked at him and sank slowly to your knees, taking his sweats with you. His hard cock sprang free, slapping his lower abs and you reached out, grasping it in your hand.

“Fuck, yeah baby…” Ransom hissed as you moved your head forwards and took him in your mouth.

You pulled out all the moves, you took him as deep as you could, gagging a little as he wasn’t a small man. You kept your hand firmly on the base of his cock, you hollowed your lips, you swirled your tongue around his shaft and he let out a little groan his hand fisting in your hair as his hips bucked forwards.

“Jesus, I knew your mouth was smart but…” he panted, looking down at you. You raised your eyes to look at his as he bit his lip, his entire face contorted in pleasure…

Pleasure that was ruined by the sound of the doorbell.

 “What the fuck…” Ransom growled out, un-fisting his hand from her hair. “Who the fuck is that?”

He glanced down at her and she looked up at him, wide eyed. She was a mess, swollen lips, wet chin and dressed in nothing but her skimpy tank and shorts. With a frustrated growl, Ransom pulled his dick out of her mouth and grabbed his phone from the table to check the doorbell camera. His face blanched as he saw who it was.

“I don’t fucking believe it…” he mumbled, as she looked up at him.

“Who is it?” She asked, wiping her face, “I’m not exactly dressed for visitors, Hugh.”

Ransom might have been pre-occupied with the familiar face staring at him from his phone, but he still picked up on that 'Hugh' and he glared down at her. “No shit, and because we have a visitor, I'm gonna let that one slide. Get up.” She rose to her feet, blinking a little as he pulled off the thermal he was wearing and tossed it to her. “Put that on. No one gets to see you in silk but me.”

She blinked as she caught it, confusion spreading across her face. “Don’t you just want me to go-“

In a flash, he grabbed her chin between his thumb and finger and she winced, “If I wanted you downstairs I’d have said. So put the damn shirt on, and when he starts asking questions just remember what I said I could do to your family and friends.”

In complete complacency, he watched her slip his thermal over her head, her fingers barely peeking through the sleeves to fix her dishevelled hair. The material hit her mid-thigh and his eyes brows gave a flicker of approval before he walked to the entry and opened the door. "What do you want?"

"Pleasure to see you too, Mr. Drysdale..." that infuriating Southern drawl hit Ransom's ears with all the finesse of a cheese-grater. Benoit Blanc, without so much as a gesture of request, pushed past Ransom as he strode inside, stopping in the tiled entry, looking around.

"Do you have a warrant?" The man of the house snipped in his usual spiteful tone.

Blanc still didn’t reply, and Ransom rolled his eyes following him as he wandered down the hallway, stopping at the open door to the study. "Well, if it isn't the lady of the hour."

Ransom stood behind Blanc, an infuriatingly warning glare sent his girl's way. He noted the way she was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, lips still swollen, cheeks flushed, hair tousled. She looked like a sex kitten, and maybe that was the idea. He warned her to sell it after all…

"Excuse me?” Y/N looked up at the two men in the doorway. 

Blanc stepped inside the room, taking a seat on the edge of the same couch where she sat. "I've been looking for you, young lady. A lot of people are looking for you, you know Miss Y/L/N.”

“I errr…” she swallowed a little as she slowly got to her feet, her hands pulling the hem of the thermal down before she folded her arms across her chest, not in a defiant manner, but almost as if she was hugging herself “Did someone send you or…”

“No, nothing like that. You see, I heard you'd gone missing, and I knew you had a work connection to Mr. Drysdale, that, shall we say didn't go quite as planned. So when things started adding up, I thought to ask the man himself."

“Well, congratulations, this is one mystery you actually solved correctly, Sherlock. As you can see she’s here and she’s fine, and we were in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind….” Ransom folded his arms, his eyes moving from hers to Blanc, who was irritatingly completely ignoring him, his gaze focussed intently on the woman who stood in front of him.

Ransom could see him take her in fully, now seeing the situation he may have just walked in on. She looked dishevelled and was missing crucial parts of her clothing, but she had no tears in her eyes, no markings looking to be of abuse or out of the ordinary. None that were visible anyway. Blanc’s gaze then dragged over to Ransom who was bare foot in joggers and still half aroused, which he did nothing to hide as he folded his arms over his naked chest.

Ransom held Blanc’s gaze, his chin jutting out defiantly, the detective only looking away when the lady of the hour spoke, her voice quiet, as she gave a small nod. "He’s right, I’m fine."

"Then why not tell your family where you are?”

“I err…” Y/N’s right hand gripped he cuff of the sweater sleeve tightly, “I just, well, I…”

Ransom could see that she was losing it and he knew he had to intervene. He walked over to her and placed an arm around her, kissing the top of her head lightly, "It's alright, Sweetheart. I know how he can be frustrating. We're doing nothing wrong."

With that he turned his gaze to the man in front of him, not even trying to hide the sneer of contempt that was crossing his face “I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you Blanc.”

“Well, maybe Miss Y/L/N has some crayons hidden up her sleeve so to speak.” Blanc smiled innocently and Ransom felt the anger floor his system.

“You’re starting to really piss me off.” he snarled, “You barge into my home, without so much of an explanation…” his rant was stopped dead as Y/N placed her hand on his chest, palm splaying over his bare skin. Ransom swallowed at the touch of her fingers against his skin, firey hot just as they had been last night when they curled around his arms.

"Hey," she spoke and he looked down to see her giving him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes but one that should be enough to convince the dumbass detective who was watching them. "It's okay." She then turned to Blanc as he held his hand up, palm open, speaking to Ransom.

“I’m not trying to be frustrating Mr. Drysdale, I'm merely enquiring after Miss Y/L/N’s wellbeing."

"I'm not here under duress if that's what you're thinking.” She spoke, clearing her throat. “Hu… Ra, we have had to keep our relationship private,” she stumbled on the right identity, settling for 'we'. Clearing her throat again and settling her nerves, she continued, "Mr. Blanc, as you well know, I'm reporter and his background has been less than stellar as of late. It no doubt would not look good for either of us if it had come to light. My reputation as a journalist would have been in tatters.”

“Well, lies and deception certainly go hand in hand when it comes to Mr. Drysdale...”

Ransom rolled his eyes dramatically “Change the record, Blanc. The static is a little loud.”

Blanc completely ignored him, his attention still on her. “So you caused all this worry, because of some…” he waved his hand in front of him, gesturing between the pair of them. 

Ransom’s arm curled round her even tighter, his fingers pressing into her hip and he felt her stiffen a little before she relaxed into his side and gave a small nod.

"Like I said, it wouldn’t have gone down well with my family, or my career.”

“Ahh, yes, your job, which you quit.” Blanc looked at her. “Yes, I spoke to your boss.” He answered her unasked question. “Why would you be so worried for your reputation as a journalist, if you’re not actually a journalist anymore?”

At that she took a deep breath “I quit the paper because my boss is an asshole. His antics on Halloween were a step too far. But that doesn’t mean I have no intentions of working ever again. I'm currently taking a long overdue sabbatical.”

Blanc studied her again, almost as if he was weighing something up and she once more began to fidget and Ransom decided he’d had enough.

"Okay, I’m done being polite,” Ransom moved his arm from around his girl and stepped towards Blanc, placing himself directly between the detective and the woman. “You've interrupted out little post brunch love affair and I’m horny, so…do you need help finding the door, or can your super sleuth skills figure the way back out of it on their own?”

“Miss Y/L/N?” Blanc spoke, his eyes locked onto Ransom’s. Ransom felt the nerve in his jaw twitch, the fact that Blanc wasn’t scared of him irritated him no end.

There was a pause and then her voice came clearly from behind him as she spoke, “If you'd be so kind as to not tell my family where I am, I'd appreciate it. I prefer this time without their unwanted opinion.”  Her voice was steady, measured almost. “You can tell them that you've found me, alive and well."

Blanc knew he wasn't welcome, he had proof of life and no reason to suspect foul play. He stood, his long wool coat falling into place around him. "Well, then I guess my work is done." He brushed passed Ransom and gave a quick quip, "I'm warning you...." 

"What was that?" His girl wondered. She'd heard him. 

"Have a nice day," Blanc nodded curtly “I’ll see myself out.”  

You watched the back of the detective as he left the large living room, Ransom following him to the doorway where he stood, arms folded, watching. The sound of Blanc’s feet on the tiles of the hallway grew fainter and fainter until eventually they stopped completely.  The latch of the door sounded and you fell to the closest thing you could sit on. Your while body shook with a chill that crept into your bones but not from the cold. No, you were sick to your stomach in fear and worry. The bile of deceit rose to your throat and had you not already spewed up your breakfast it would have most likely decorated the carpet of the study.  Instead, you swallowed down the sour bile as Drysdale approached you and you glanced up at him, blinking whilst he studied you for a second, his face passive. As you held his gaze, something akin to amusement flashed in his cold blue eyes and a twisted smirk spread across his face.

“Your acting skills certainly improved there along the way, at the end you were almost award worthy.” He drawled, his hands falling to his hips. “Even Meryl Streep would be jealous.”

"Fuck you," your voice quivered.

He arched an eyebrow, an amused expression on his features “Already played that game Sweetheart, and carry on back-chatting me and you’ll be back in the basement.”

"Wh... What?"

"You pulled through in the end there. It was a rough start, but you convinced Colonel Sanders that you were here on your own."

“Colonel Sanders?” You blinked, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Blanc. CSI KFC.” He replied. You were none the wiser as to what he was going on about and it must have shown on your face as he simply rolled his eyes. "Never mind...the point is, sweetheart, I'm in a good mood. And seeing as you behaved...”

"What?" Your voice was quiet, meek.

"If you shut that pretty little mouth for longer than a second, I'll explain." His tone was measured but you didn’t miss the underlying threat.

“Sorry.” Your eyes fell to the floor, your left hand worrying at your right.

“Eyes on me.” He barked and your head whipped up automatically and he smirked at you as you took a deep breath. “As I was saying, seeing as you were such a good girl, I thought I’d reward you, let you stay up here with me for the day.”

The notion shocked you. Your mouth went dry and you couldn't make sense of it. But then, the more you thought about it, the more his audacity irked you. He’d imprisoned you, used you, abused you…and now he was implying that staying in his company was a fucking reward.

“Wow, thanks…” you blurted before you could stop yourself, sarcasm lacing your tone. As soon as the words had slipped from your mouth you felt panic flood your system as he stepped towards you and reached out, his right hand curling around your throat.

"Don’t push me sweetheart.” His voice was low as his fingers squeezed the column of your neck, a reminder of how easily he could simply end it all whenever he chose. 

And just like that the softness that he had displayed with you earlier that morning was gone, and the shutters were back up. You swallowed hard, feeling the strain of your throat against his touch, his eyes now dark and full of that familiar angry lust and desire that chilled you from head to toe. Blanc had riled him, gotten underneath his skin, that was easy to see while your mouthy comments fuelled that ire. And as such, he needed an escape, an outlet.

And he was going to get it from you.

“Now on your knees and finish what you started."

**** Part 4

#murder he wrote #dark ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

[casxmorgan]

Books Books Books

100 Years of Solitude

11.22.63

120 Days of Sodom

1491

1984

A Brief History of Time

A Canticle for Leibowitz

A Child Called It

A Clockwork Orange

A Confederacy of Dunces

A History of the World in Ten and a Half Chapters

A Land Fit for Heroes Trilogy

A Little Life

A Naked Singularity

A People's History of the United States

A Scanner Darkly

A Series of Unfortunate Events

A Short History of Nearly Everything

A Song of Ice and Fire

A Storm of Swords

A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again: Essays and Arguments

A Thousand Splendid Suns

A Walk in the Woods

A World Lit Only by Fire

Accursed Kings

Alice in Wonderland

All Quiet on the Western Front

All the Light We Cannot See

All the Pretty Horses

America, the Book

American Gods

American Psycho

And then There Were None

Angela’s Ashes

Animal Farm

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Anna Karenina

Anything Terry Pratchett, But, Mort is My Favorite

Anything Written by Robin Hobb

Apt Pupil

Artemis Fowl

Asimov's Guide to the Bible

Asoiaf

Atlas Shrugged

Bartimeaus

Batman: the Long Halloween

Battle Royale

Beat the Turtle Drum

Behind the Beautiful Forevers

Belgariad Series

Beloved

Berserk

Bestiario

Black Company

Blankets/habibi

Blind Faith

Blindness

Blood Meridian

Blood and Guts: a History of Surgery

Bluest Eye

Brandon Sanderson

Brave New World

Breakfast of Champions

Bridge to Terabithia

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: an Indian History of the American West

Calvin and Hobbs

Candide

Carrie

Cat's Cradle

Catch 22

Cats Cradle

Chaos

Child of God

Choke

Chuck Palahniuk

City of Ember

City of Thieves

Cloud

Collapse

Come Closer

Complaint

Confessions of a Mask

Contact

Conversation in the Cathedral

Cosmos

Crime and Punishment

Dan Brown

David

Dead Birds Singing

Dead Mountain: the Untold True Story of the Dyatlov Pass Incident

Delta Venus

Die Räuber (the Robbers)

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep

Don Quixote

Dragonlance

Dune

Dying of the Light

East of Eden

Educated

Empire of Sin: a Story of Sex, Jazz, Murder, and the Battle for Modern New Orleans

Enders Game

Enders Shadow

Escape from Camp 14

Ever Since Darwin

Every Man Dies Alone

Everybody Poops

Everything is Illuminated

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Fahrenheit 451

Far from the Madding Crowd

Faust

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S Thompson

Feet of Clay

Fight Club

First Law

Flowers for Algernon

Flowers in the Attic

Foundation

Foundation Series

Foundation Trilogy

Frankenstein

Freakonomics

Fun Home

Galapagos

Geek Love

Gerald’s Game

Ghost Story

Go Ask Alice

Go Dog Go

Godel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid

Goldfinch

Gone Girl

Gone with the Wind

Good Omens

Grapes of Wrath

Great Expectations

Greg Egan

Guards! Guards!

Guns Germs and Steel

Guts (short Story)

Half a World

Ham on Rye

Hannibal Rising

Hard Boiled Wonderland

Hatchet

Haunted

Hawaii

Heart Shaped Box

Heart of Darkness

Hellbound Heart

Hellraiser

Hell’s Angels

Helter Skelter

His Dark Materials

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Hogg

Holocaust by Bullets

House of Leaves

How to Cook for Fourty Humans

How to Win Friends and Influence People

Huckleberry Finn

Hyperion

I Am America, and So Can You

I Am the Messenger

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream

I Was Dr. Mengele’s Assistant

In Cold Blood

In Search of Our Mother's Gardens

Independent People

Infinite Jest

Into Thin Air

Into the Wild

Introduction to Linear Algebra

Invisible Monsters

Ishmael

It

Jacques Le Fataliste

Jane Eyre

Jaunt

Job: a Comedy of Justice

John Dies at the End

John Grisham

Johnathan Livingston Seagull

Johnny Got His Gun

Jon Ronson

Journal of a Novel

Jurassic Park

Justine

L'histoire D'o

Lamb

Last Exit to Brooklyn

Les Miserables

Lies My Teacher Told Me

Life of Pi

Limits and Renewals

Little House in the Big Woods

Lockwood & Co.

Lolita

Looking for Trouble

Lord Foul’s Bane

Lord of the Flies

Lyddie

Malazan Book of the Fallen

Maldoror

Manufacturing Consent: the Political Economy of the Mass Media

Man’s Search for Meaning

Mark Twain’s Autobiography

Maus

Meditations

Megamorphs (series)

Mein Kampf

Memnooch the Devil

Metro 2033

Michael Crichton

Middlesex

Mindhunter

Misery

Mistborn

Moby Dick

Mrs. Dalloway

My Side of the Mountain

My Sweet Audrina

Nacht über Der Prärie (night over the Prairie)

Naked Lunch

Name of the Wind

Neuromancer

Never Let Me Go

Neverwhere

New York

Next

Night

Night Shift

Norwegian Wood

Notes from Underground

Nothing to Envy: Real Lives in North Korea

Of Mice and Men

Of Nightingales That Weep

Ohio

Old Mans War

Old Mother West Wind

On Heroes and Tombs

On Laughter and Forgetting

On the Road

One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest

One Hundred Years of Solitude

One of Us

Painted Bird

Patrick Rothfuss

Perfume: the Story of a Murderer

Persepolis

Pet Sematary

Peter Pan

Pillars of the Earth

Poisonwood Bible

Pride and Predjudice

Ready Player One

Rebecca

Red Mars

Red Night (series)

Red Shirts

Red Storm Rising

Redwall

Replay

Requiem for a Dream

Revenge

Riftwar Saga

Ringworld

Roald Dahl

Rolls of Thunder, Hear My Cry

Round Ireland with a Fridge

Running with Scissors

Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes

Sapiens, a Brief History of Humankind

Scary Stories to Read in the Dark

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

Schindler’s List

Sein Und Zeit

Shades of Grey

Sharp Objects

Shattered Dreams

Sherlock Holmes

Sho-gun

Siddhartha

Sisypho

Skin and Other Stories

Slaughterhouse Five

Smoke & Mirrors

Snow Crash

Soldier Son

Sometimes a Great Notion

Sphere

Starship Troopers

Stiff, the Curious Lives of Human Cadavers

Storied Life of A.j. Fikry

Stormlight Archives

Story of the Eye

Stranger in a Strange Land

Surely, You're Joking

Survivor Type (short Story)

Suttree

Swan Song

Tale of Two Cities

Tales of the South Pacific

The Alchemist

The Altered Carbon Trilogy

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

The Art of Deception

The Art of Fielding

The Art of War

The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation

The Autobiography of Henry Viii

The Autobiography of Malcolm X

The Beach

The Bell Jar

The Bible

The Bloody Chamber

The Book Thief

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

The Brothers Karamazov

The Call of Cthulu and Other Weird Stories

The Cask of Amontillado (short Story)

The Catcher in the Rye

The Chronicles of Narnia

The Clown

The Color out of Space

The Communist Manifesto

The Complete Fiction of H.p. Lovecraft

The Count of Monte Cristo

The Curious Case of the Dog in the Night Time

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime

The Dagger and the Coin

The Damage Done

The Dark Tower

The Declaration of Independence, the Us Constitution, and the Bill of Rights

The Devil in the White City

The Dharma Bums

The Diamond Age

The Dice Man

The Discworld Series

The Dresden Files

The Elegant Universe

The First Law Trilogy

The Forever War

The Foundation Trilogy

The Gentleman Bastard Sequence

The Geography of Nowhere

The Girl Next Door

The Girl on the Milk Carton

The Giver

The Giving Tree

The God of Small Things

The Grapes of Wrath

The Great Gatsby

The Great Gilly Hopkins

The Hagakure

The Half a World Trilogy

The Handmaid’s Tale

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

The Hiding Place

The History of Love

The Hobbit

The Hot Zone

The Hunchback of Notre Dame

The Hyperion Cantos

The Jaunt

The Jungle

The Key to Midnight

The Killing Star

The Kingkiller Chronicles

The Kite Runner

The Last Question (short Story)

The Lies of Lock Lamora

The Little Prince

The Long Walk

The Lord of the Rings

The Lottery (short Story)

The Lovely Bones

The Magicians

The Magus

The Martian

The Master and Margarita

The Metamorphosis of Prime Intellect

The Monster at the End of This Book

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress

The Music of Eric Zahn (short Story)

The Name of the Wind & the Wise Man's Fear

The Necronomicon

The New Age of Adventure: Ten Years of Great Writing

The Night Circus

The Nightmare Box

The Odyssey

The Omnivore's Dilemma

The Orphan Master’s Son

The Outsiders

The Painted Bird

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

The Phantom Tollbooth

The Picture of Dorian Gray

The Pit and the Pendulum

The Plague

The Prince

The Prince of Tides

The Princess Bride

The Prophet

The Queen’s Gambit

The Rape of Nanking

The Red Dwarf

The Republic

The Rifter Saga

The Road

The Satanic Verses

The Screwtape Letters

The Secret History

The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel

The Selfish Gene

The Shining

The Shrine of Jeffrey Dahmer

The Silmarillion

The Sirens of Titan

The Six Wives of Henry the 8th

The Solitude of Prime Numbers

The Speaker of the Dead

The Stars My Destination

The Stormlight Archive

The Story of My Tits

The Stranger

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck

The Suspicions of Mr. Witcher

The Tao of Pooh

The Things They Carried

The Time Machine

The Time Traveller’s Wife

The Tin Drum

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green

The Wasp Factory

The Wind Up Bird Chronicle

The Wind-up Bird Chronicle

The World According to Garp

The Yellow Wallpaper

Their Eyes Were Watching God

Things Fall Apart

Thirsty

This Blinding Absence of Light

Tiger!

Time Enough for Love

To Kill a Mockingbird

To Say Nothing of the Dog

Toni Morrison

Too Many Magicians

Traumnovelle

Tuesdays with Morrie

Tuf Voyaging

Undeniable

Under Plum Lake

Universe in a Nutshell

Unwind

Uzumaki

Various

Village Life in Late Tsarist Russia

Walden

War & Peace

War and Peace

Warriors: Bluestar’s Prophecy

Watchers

Water for Elephants

Watership Down

We Have Always Lived in the Castle

We Need to Talk About Kevin

Wheel of Time

When Rabbit Howls

Where the Red Fern Grows

Where the Sidewalk Ends

Why I Am Not a Christian

Why People Believe Weird Things

Wizards First Rule

Wool

World War Z

Worm

Wuthering Heights

You Can Choose to Be Happy

Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

#some of these are fucked up #but #all the better

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 3 Co-Written with @southerngracela​

Summary: It’s Thanksgiving, but when you’re being held hostage by Hugh Ransom Drysdale there’s really not a lot to be thankful for, is there?

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. 

You could feel the chill of the outside seeping into your space, your bones, through the vented window following your shower. The way it crept in made you realize just how far along through fall you were, maybe it was even approaching the onset of the holiday weather. Either way, a storm seemed to be outside. At least it felt like it. Once dried, you found yourself wrapping up tighter in the thick cardigan you’d chosen before you dried your hair, and allowed yourself a quick squirt of perfume before settled into the reading chair in the corner of your room, your journal on your lap.

The little, leather bound book had been in your handbag which had been given back to you earlier that morning as the latest reward for behaving and as you ran your hand over the deep brown cover, you couldn’t help the air of excitement you felt at having been given your treasured little note book, despite the dreary sky you could see from the porthole above your chair.

It had actually surprised you that Drysdale had kept it and not disposed of it the same way he had your phone and your car. But for whatever reason, he’d held onto it, and for that you were grateful. Grateful that you had something of your own from before this imprisonment to anchor too. You’d expected him to want some kind of favour in return but he hadn’t demanded any sort of sexual gratification, simply informed you he would be out most of the morning and would be back mid to late afternoon. As soon as he had gone you had eagerly tipped the contents of your bag onto the bed, almost crying at the sight of your half empty bottle of Coco-Mademoiselle, the Mac Lip-gloss, NYX Eyebrow pencil, Mont Blanc fountain pen, a full tube of mints and your treasured journal. With teary eyes you’d put everything away in its new place, apart from the book and pen before padding into the bathroom for a shower, deliberately sorting yourself out for the day. All you could think of was taking the time so you could savour the moment when you could hopefully make some sense of the jumble in your head by spilling it onto a page.

You opened the cover and flicked to your last entry, the morning of Halloween. A rambling rant about Mick-The-Prick filled the page and you paused, tears in your eyes, as you’d give anything to be stood in his office thinking about ingenious ways to kill him and get away with it. Ironic, really considering that was exactly what your captor had done; committed murder and gotten away with it.

You went to jot the date down in the corner of the page and realised that actually, you didn’t have a clue what it was. Down here, night bled into day, day bled into night…and soon it all bled into weeks. However, given the fact your cycle had been and gone a week ago you figured that it was maybe four weeks since Halloween. Of course, you could ask Hugh, but the less you had to ask him the better as far as you were concerned. You hate the fact that he had this hold on you, that you had to ask for and ‘earn’ things by being ‘good’. And whilst it made you sick to your stomach, you’d fast learnt it was easier to comply than rebel. The night he had left you tangled in your sweater had hurt. It had taken you a good twenty minutes to muster the strength to work your way out and drag yourself into a bath, your body shaking with the trauma, sobs wracking your frame. Your body ached for days, your mind in a post-traumatic cloud of despair. And whilst it hadn’t broken you per-say, it had certainly made you realise exactly what the bastard was capable of, and you had no intention of finding out just how much further he was willing to go.

So, in summary, it had taken Ransom Drysdale two days to break you into compliance.

You’d become passive, so to speak. You gave into his whims, let him use you as he saw fit, did as he told… for the most part anyway. There had been a few other incidents post the sweater one where you’d forgotten yourself and protested, fought a little and he’d gone hard on you, but nothing like that second night. Your passive behaviour was mistaken by him for compliance, and as such you had earned a number of rewards. The bistro table where you took your meals, a book or two which just so happened to be by his grandfather, a gesture you weren't sure was him purging or pressing an agenda onto you. And more recently and most preciously, your bag. But, the strange thing was, that whilst he wanted you to give into him physically, he seemed to enjoy the fact that you were in no way, shape or form compliant to him in others. You openly sassed him, bit back, called him out and he actively encouraged it. He’d started spending a little more time with you in the mornings and afternoons, not just visiting you to toy with you or fuck, but to engage in these little tete-a-tete’s, and the sickest, most perverted thing about it was that you were almost glad. The loneliness was crippling, and you craved company. Even if it was his.  

All things considered, you’d rather ask him for as little as possible so instead, you flicked to the front of the book and crossed off the days on the small calendar inside the cover. Deciding that the date it led you to was as accurate as it was going to get, you turned back, jotted it down in the top right of your page and stared at the blank lines, looking to sort your thoughts for your next entry.

The saying used to go, what's in a name, however as I sit here thinking back on the last few weeks I wonder now what's in a day. My days consist of imprisonment. Held by a captor I have met once before. He's smart, almost too smart. Displaying forms of abuse and aggressive behaviors any FBI analyst would love to dive deep into. But that's not my job, no, my job is to please and satisfy him. Answer to his whims of gratification at any call of the day. I have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. But if I behave, he lets few things get by. I miss home, my bed, my life. I miss Mick, which is saying a lot all things considered. I don't know still what he wants from me, other than the obvious sexual gratification with little to no room for anything else. I'm a toy, a means to an itch. I don't know how long exactly I've been here, I can only guess it's been about a month. Nor do I know how long I'll have to stay. The answers are blurred like my vision, marred by tears and the low light inside. I haven't seen outside since the day he took me. I haven't been anywhere outside this room. I can see from the small porthole window above this stupidly soft leather chair the season has changed. It feels like deep fall, and as a storm comes outside, what little sky I see is bleak and dark, clouds covering the bluest of skies, angry and ready to open up, raining down water to wash away the sins of the day. I wish I could do the same. 

Before you realized, time had obviously passed, for the sound of the door bolts unlocking had you guessing it was late afternoon or early evening. A glance up at the porthole behind you confirmed as much. The sky was dark and rain had been beating on the window for a little while. 

In came Drysdale, hair a bit wet, a strand slightly out of place, wool pants and maroon sweater. He carried a plate of food in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He looked irked, like he'd wasted time on something, a look you were now able to decipher after weeks of seeing it. 

"Happy Thanksgiving," he said, setting the plate down on the bistro table with its two accompanying chairs, waiting for you to join him. 

Instead of biting back, you simply whispered, "it’s Thanksgiving?" You checked the inside cover of your journal and see the date again. You were a day off and it now dawned on you. It was the fourth Thursday of the month and indeed, Thanksgiving. You glanced back up at Ransom and a deep sadness washed over you. Closing your journal and setting it on the table by your chair, you stood, moving towards him and the plate of food. You took a seat and looked down at the plate, full of the holiday dish basics; turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffing, diced not candied yams and roasted green beans. It was gourmet and nothing near what he'd been serving you or managing to try. "Thank you," you said softly, rolling your fork through the potatoes. You take a bite but it's about as bland and tasteless as your despair. 

"I brought it back from the country club, I met my father there," he looked under your gaze again, as if willing your eyes to his. "Do you not like it?" 

Finally, your gaze met those cold cerulean orbs, setting your fork down and you took a drink of water, "No, it's fine." Then you picked up your fork again and took another bite, this time of the turkey and gravy. You didn't have it in you for an argument or it's physical ramifications. 

"Are you not hungry?" Ransom pressed. 

"I guess not as much as I thought," you repled further poking at your food, your voice cracking a little as you try to keep your composure. The sting of the holiday has you broken, far more than you'd expected. Normally, today you'd be helping your mother in the kitchen, settling the final touches on the side dishes and listening to your father tell your uncle about some a-typical dad joke he'd heard. Your sister would be giddy over the wine while her boyfriend of the month received death glares from said uncle and your father. 

Ransom outwardly sighed and you wait for what you were trying to avoid. "Are you alright?" 

The question threw you off guard completely and you struggled to hide the shock from your expression. He never cared about your feelings before. Maybe he thought you were coming down with something. You braced yourself to answer honestly. There was no point in lying, he'd see through it. 

"I'm fine, I'm not sick if that's what you're thinking," you answered, a deep restraint on your tone to keep yourself in check. "I hadn't realized what day it was. I didn't know it was Thanksgiving." You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked hard. "My mom, my sister and I, we used to all help make dinner as a family. My dad and uncle would talk a bunch of shit around the fireplace while shooting death glares at my sister's flavor of the month."

He looked at you like he was confused. You scoff, "Of course you wouldn't understand."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He squint his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek. His body language completely changed as he leaned forward on his forearms, popping one shoulder up higher than the other. 

"Nothing," you backed down immediately. 

"Tell me," he pressed. 

God, he was relentless. You pushed your plate forward and leaned on your own elbows. You looked at him with a raised brow, "am I going to be in trouble if you don't like what I have to say?" 

"Depends," he popped a shoulder smugly. 

You matched his expression and his demeanour falters just a fraction. You saw it, but you didn't hold back. "Then I'd rather keep it to myself. That's what you want isnt it? Me to comply, be obedient? Frankly, I'm not in the mood." 

He failed to hide his smirk and you noticed that too, "Sweetheart." It wasn't laced with teasing, rather his pet name for you on his tongue held a cautious venom. 

"You hate your family. You know nothing about love and what it takes to give love. Hell, I don't doubt that for a minute you've ever felt loved. It's all an act. Self-preservation even. I don't know you or your family outside of the hours of research I did and the mere forty five minutes I listened to you drone on about your 'predicament'. But, the cold hearted truth of it is, you don't know how to love." You watched him run his tongue along his teeth as he continued to glare at you, but you weren't finished. "And that's what family is, it's what they do. They love, they are the embodiment of love at its deepest root. Maybe, just maybe somewhere along your life, your parents loved you, but judging by the Thrombey-Drysdale standards, none of you know what love is outside your selfish tithings and flashy cars. It got lost along the way, more than likely long before you ever were born."

"Wow," he raised his brows and clicked his tongue against his teeth, "That's good, that's really good."

You're fear receptors suddenly spiked as recognizable flash of anger in his eyes flashed through his irises. But there was something else there that you couldn't put your finger on it. Your breathing quickly up-ticked as you felt your palms begin to sweat.

He inhaled a deep, almost centering breath, "that perfume in your bag, I like it."

As if he'd grown a second head, you blinked hard refocusing on him. Had you heard him right? You'd just broken a rule, laid out an unspeakable truth for him and now in a blink he's, God forbid, complimenting your scent? Who the fuck was this guy? Was he on meds? Because he should be or he should at least probably share. It might make life here more bearable. "What?" 

"The perfume from your bag, you're wearing it. It smells good," he lamented. 

Alright, now the 'of sound mind' argument might be worth something because he sure as shit wasn't now. You swallowed and picked up your fork, taking a bite of the cold food just to buy yourself some time as you tried to process the scene before you. You had no remark to make. Confusing jumbled any thought of a coherent word you could utter. 

"Maybe if I'm out, I can pick you up a new bottle. I noticed you were near empty," Ransom offered. 

This was starting to make your stomach turn. If he'd gone through your bag, because why wouldn't he at this point, smelled your perfume, had he read your journal? You made a mental note to go back through and see if there was anything he'd read that he had used against you thus far or could use to corner you in the future. You looked around the room, waiting to see if you were being Punk'd. Just who the fuck is this guy? Without your expression giving too much of your confusion away, you nod at him in reply. "Thank you, I'd like that."

"Hmph," he paused, a dramatic effect he seemed to know that your heart rate up in anxiety. "Well, then why are you looking at me like I have two heads, Y/N?" 

Tread lightly, you thought to yourself. He didn't call you by your first name often, in fact, the last time he had, you were very much smarting back and it resulted in a forceful situation that left you raw and sore for a few days. It was always 'Sweetheart'. 

He baited you, you knew it, but you couldn't back out now. So you sighed, "I know I'm not supposed to ask questions, but, I don't even know who you are right now. Do you? One minute you're giving me food and being gentle, the next you're allowing my opinion, and now you're ready to flip this table. That's as close as two heads as it gets." 

"Careful, Sweetheart," he now glared at you. There it was, you were in for it. The approach of choice, you weren't sure of, but he was done. You'd learned the different tones in his voice by now, the cues he gave. You were definitely in trouble. You dropped your eyes to your plate. The food stone cold and no longer even appealing in its slightest measure, a wave of nausea washing over you. You further pushed your plate away, "I don't think I'm hungry anymore."

His broad frame rose from the chair, "you weren't to begin with," his left hand reaching for the plate and holds it in his hand, "Third drawer down in the armoire. Pick something, I'll be back."

You watched him leave, the familiar click of the door shutting and snap of the lock sounded around the small apartment and you exhaled loudly, your head dropping into your hands. This wasn’t the first time he’d requested that you ‘dress for the occasion’ so to speak. With a deep breath you stood up and crossed the room, opening the drawer of requirements, seeking out a negligee for him to no doubt remove. Your fingers roamed over the fabrics and selection. La Perla, Agent Provocateur, Carine Gilson, Coco de Mer and Fleur of England were just a handful of the expensive, high-end brands that filled the space. Your fingers smoothed over a black macrame and tule underwired long line bra and the matching thong that was folded neatly under it. Plucking it from the drawer, you headed for the bathroom. You slipped out of your casual tee, duster cardigan and leggings, the bra and panties you'd had on. You sighed as you took a good look at yourself in your naked form. 

While you hadn't lost a ton of weight over the last month, you could tell you'd grown thinner. You weren't gaunt but your lack of a daily Dunkin' Donuts macchiato had seemed to thin you out. Your captor made sure you were fed, but you didn't always eat. The plump of your cheeks had receded and your little pooch brought on by happy carbs was sucked into your frame. There were a few bruises still seen, near green, an indication of their final healing stage. The pock mark from a hickey he'd given you still a bit scaby as he'd broken the skin just barely. This was your life now and it made what few bites of Thanksgiving dinner in your stomach nearly lurch forward back up your throat.

You swallowed it down, pulling the long line bra straps up your arms and clasping it behind your back. Your legs slipped into the thong panties and you pulled the material up your freshly smooth legs. Your shaky fingers plucked at the hair tie that fastened the end of your brain closed, nails raking through your hair to loosen your tendrils. He always wanted your hair loose. You looked at yourself in the mirror, you were ready. 

***** Ransom tossed the un-eaten food into the garbage and dumped the plate into the sink to be dealt with later. Turning so that his lower back was leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter he ran a hand over his clean shaven jaw, his mind ticking over the events of the day so far. A pain-in-the-ass Thanksgiving meal with his father had been made bearable by the fact he knew he was coming back to her, and because he hadn’t wanted to be a complete monster he’d made the effort of bringing her a nice dinner back too. But she’d hardly touched any of it.

And what disturbed him most about it, was the fact that instead of wanting to punish her for being an ungrateful bitch, he instead felt a deep rooted sense of concern. She’d lost weight, her face was pale, her hip bones more pronounced, and frankly the last thing he wanted was her passing out on him. Whilst he wanted her compliant, necrophilia really wasn’t his bag.

He had thought by giving her back the bag she’d had on her the night he took her he might have seen a lift in her spirits so to speak, a little gratitude, but instead she’d been meek and reserved until he’d coaxed that familiar sass out of her. And even then she’d been reticent.

It should have pleased him that she was learning her place and becoming more subservient. But if he was being honest with himself, he almost missed her fighting and arguing back. It had been exciting in a way, and he had thought it would have taken longer than it had to break her so to speak. Maybe he had overestimated exactly what a fighter she was, maybe she wasn’t the right muse for his writing after all. Because, let’s face it, writing a tale about a woman who was captured and broken into submission within two days, merely becoming a puppet for her captor’s whims was hardly going to win him any accolades was it? He needed more, needed something that he could spin a good story from. He knew now that when he went back down to her he had to try a different tact so to speak, he needed to coax her mind into reacting not merely her body.

Because if he couldn’t do that, there was no point in keeping her.

He allowed her half an hour or so before he headed back down the stairs and found her sat on the bed, dressed in one of the sets he’d purchased, her hair loose round her face and shoulders the way he liked. She jumped to her feet and he had to actively supress the groan that was rolling in his throat as his eyes scanned her up and down, and he didn’t miss the slight bruises that dotted her skin in various places where he’d marked her as his own. She’d long since stopped trying to cover herself up. Instead she stood stock still, her eyes focussed on the floor.

With long strides he walked into the room and stopped in front of her, tipping her chin up with his finger so she was looking at him, her eyes wide with trepidation and he gave a smirk as he reached up, brushing her hair off the side of her face and neck, dropping his head as he did so.

“You smell so good, Sweetheart.” He inhaled against her pulse point, lips pressing into her there. He felt the gasp of her breath, the way her skin pricked with chill bumps. He smirked to himself, he’s found her spot. And he filed that away, committing it to memory. 

“I like this…” he practically purred as he toyed with the straps to the bra, a long, thick middle finger outlining the strap against her skin, lips following pursuit.

“You should, you chose it.”

He chuckled, ignoring the snark behind her words. “Like I chose you, huh?”

Like I chose you.

His words echoed around your head, reminding you exactly why you were in this fucking situation. Because he had decided you would be. He wanted you, and just like with everything else in his life that Hugh Ransom Drysdale wanted, he simply took. But what worried you the most about all this was whether or not you would be discarded the same way he no doubt discarded the other possessions he lost interest in.

You took a deep, steadying breath as his hands moved from the straps of your bra, long fingers moving to caress the back of your neck, but there was no grabbing, no force. He was being positively gentle.

And it scared the crap out of you.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asked, his breath hot and wet in your ear as you trembled under the further graze of his fingers against the macramé of your set. 

“You know I am," you swallowed nervously. You weren't new to this, this wasn't your first time, but the way he was being soft, a stark character change to his a-typical stance with you was what had you crawling in fear in the inside. Was it a game? Was it some sort of ploy? Was this his idea of foreplay now before he turned it up and went hard enough to bruise but not hard enough to make you cry?

A flat palm ran down your abdomen, already taught in fear. But not before a thumb grazed along the underside of your breast. Agonizingly slow, his hand, still splayed over you, dips into your matching macrame panties, dipping into your wet folds, thumb lightly pressing against your clit. 

“You’re so wet, considering you’re scared.”

You didn't answer, just swallowed hard, the lump stuck in your throat as it fought against a little whimper. 

His mouth once more latched onto your neck, the kisses gentle as opposed to the bruising ones you had become accustomed to. The fingers in your folds matched his slow nature, teasing you in such a way that when you closed your eyes and focussed your mind elsewhere, you could almost believe you were somewhere with a man you’d given permission to touch you in such away. But when his lips moved to your jawline and you took a deep breath, the heady scent of his cologne hit your senses and your eyes flew open as you were reminded just whose lips and hands were violating you in such away.

You swallowed as Ransom pulled away, his hand gently grasping your chin once more as he issued a simple instruction.

“Strip for me, sweetheart.”

You took a deep breath, swallowing down the bile that had once more risen up your throat as he sat down on the edge of the bed, his legs bent, hands resting on his knees as he watched you the way a lion watched its prey. You undid the clasp on your bra, your eyes remaining locked on his as you slid the straps down your shoulders and dropped the garment to the floor. Your captor took a deep breath, his eyes flicking down your body as you moved to shed the bottom half, wondering what on earth had been the point of wearing it in the first place. But even as you asked yourself that, you already knew the answer. It was a bout power, another way for him to remind you just who you belonged to now. How he could strip you bare in more way than one without even lifting a finger.

But lift a finger he did, curling it in mid-air as he beckoned you towards him. You took careful steps over the floor until you were stood in between his legs. His large hands smoothed up the outside of your thighs, before he pulled you towards him, his nose brushing the skin of your abdomen as he took  a deep breath, fingers curling round your thighs.

And then, in a flash he stood, taking you with him, and before you could so much as utter a squeak or noise of surprise he had you naked, laying across the bed, the sheets cold against your skin, a contrast to the heat emanating from the body against yours. The look in his lust blown eyes was overwhelming. You didn't know what you were in for but as his body, still clothed in the frayed maroon sweater and wool slacks sunk into the mattress between your legs, you felt a chill course through your veins, your skin, again, pricking in bumps all over. His hands, with their thick fingers, trailed long lines up and down your thighs, Ransom's full lips kissing at your sensitive inner skin, a nip or two here and there as he went from your knee, upward. 

He could smell your arousal, see it glistening as it dripped from your core. "Someone's ready," he quipped. He watched you swallow hard, a literal lump in your throat bobbing the skin. Your eyes never left him. "No cumming until I tell you. Do you understand?" When you didn't answer immediately, he swiped his tongue over your wet lips, tasting the honey your body gave him, your back arching away from sheets. "Do you understand?" 

And there it was, your punishment finally arriving from your little moment before over dinner. As you still had your wits about you, you uttered a single word response, in the hope that the more submissive you were, the more accepting you were of your chastisement, the less hard on you he was going to be.

"Yes." 

His mouth expertly devoured every inch of you, from your inner and outer pussy lips to the depths of your walls, tongue fucking you like you he was starving, the lavish holiday meal he'd partaken in not filling enough. His thumb pressed against your engorged nub, causing you to writhe but a firm arm over your abdomen kept you in place. The same thick fingers that traced lines up your thighs, two were now buried deep inside you, his tongue working away any juices that seeped out. As he gave you a third, stretching you more, you felt your walls start to tighten, that burning coil in your belly flare and your hands gripped the sheets tighter. 

Ransom could clearly feel you flutter against his fingers as he stopped his assault and looked up at you.

"What did I say?" 

Your chest heaved, your stomach taught and you fought to obey. When you managed to calm yourself, he began again, almost from square one, slowly, tantalizingly slow. 

The action was torture and you were desperately willing yourself to remain grounded as again your body fought to ride over the edge building inside you. When his mouth was over you completely, tongue deep, thumb pressing again into your clit, you felt the urge to cum. But he pulled away, slowly, his thumb stopping the pressure, his tongue slowly dragging out of you. 

"I said no. This is your punishment for your smart mouth over dinner."

"Please, I need to, I'll... I'll make it worth your while, please just let me." Your voice sounded alien as you spoke, the words leaving your mouth in the desperate hope he’d take pity on you but to no avail. Your attempts at bartering served only to frustrate him, anger him even and he Ransom backed away, roughly pulling you to the edge of the bed before stripping out of his sweater and undershirt, the undeniable outline of his hard cock along his thigh strained against his wool slacks. 

Harsh in his grip, he repositioned himself between your legs, your thighs across his shoulders, ass dangling above the floor as a heavy arm kept you still. His flat tongue, hot and full of your sex was eating away at you while his final throws of resolve ate away at him.

“I’m done playing fucking games.” he growled against your aching cunt “I should have gagged you, stuffed my cock deep into the back of your throat, something, anything to shut you up.”

You barely had time to register his words before once more you were flat out against the mattress, trying to regain your breath and calm yourself down when he backed away, tore open his flies and smirked down at you.

"Oh no, Sweetheart, we're not done yet."  He kneeled beside you, his chest heaving, hair completely out of place, anger and wait, was that pain, flickering in his eyes as he stuffed you with a hard thrust of his length. "Now you’re gonna cum on this dick."

He thrusted hard and within a few slams of his hips against yours, he allowed you the release you were begging for, "that's right, Princess, cum on my cock." 

You wept at the feeling finally freeing you, cries of pleasure spilling from your lips as you squeezed around him. Your chest heaving against his, skin to skin. The fabric of his wool pants hot and itchy against your inner thighs. He was still thrusting but now it had slowed to a roll, slow and calculated. Your muddled mind was buzzing and rapidly trying to sort out if he'd cum inside you or if he wasn't finished. His features were softer, but still filled with purpose and his lips latched onto a naked breast causing your body to react, tingles and flames licking at your core again. His eyes looked up at yours as he caged you in, still buried deep inside you, hips rolling. 

"I said we weren't done," he rasped. His thrusts and rolls, the two very different tactics mixing now, made the swell of his cock inside you abhorrently pleasurable. Try as you might, it was impossible to feel otherwise. 

And Ransom was finding it equally as hard to hold on. His weight was evenly distributed over her, his cock swelling inside her heat. It took all he had not to blow his load the first time he made her cum, hearing the sinful sounds of her orgasm that felt like a volcanic eruption around his hard shaft. But now he could feel her again, tiny little pulses around his already overtly sensitive dick. He was sure his precum was leaking out, wanting to paint the way for the rest of him to follow. He rolled and thrust as his lips nipped at her neck. She moaned loudly, her body exuding lust. He could feel her shake beneath him and to his delight and surprise her eyes were no longer screwed shut and turned away. Instead they were locked on his. The moment those deep hued orbs met his, he felt a hitch in his breath and tightness in his chest that travelled through his belly and into his cock, causing the thick member to throb inside her. Tiny, soft hands gripped at his biceps, her touch a fiery scald against his skin, almost as if it were frost bite. Her touch equally shocking as her stare and he gave a roll of his hips to hide what he felt. A deep, satiated roll of his hips that sent her over the edge. 

"Hugh!" She came around him, harder than her first, crying out his given name. It snapped him from his moment of revelation, driving him insanely frustrated at the word leaving her lips. He slammed into her as she rode out her orgasm, chasing his own. 

You felt the dismissal of his body as he violently pulled free from your walls, spewing his hot seed over your abdomen, drops claiming your tits too. He nearly collapsed, his dick in hand, the other holding himself up against the mattress between your legs. 

He left you there, dirty, degraded and shut the door with a barked instruction for you to clean yourself up. You no longer cried in front of him, either before, during or after. There was no point. He didn’t care about how you felt, but the thing he DID seem to care about was the fact that you still refused to call him Ransom. 

It was the one thing you held on to, the only thing that gave you an inch of control in this entire fucked up situation. You hadn’t missed the look on his face when you’d cried out 'Hugh' in the throes of your last orgasm. Before that moment there had been a softness in his eyes, one that had unnerved you no end, along with something that had looked suspiciously like hope. But when his given name had tumbled involuntarily from your mouth and not the one he preferred that softness had turned to contempt and you didn't miss the undercurrent of disappointment either.

And seeing that, knowing that it pissed him off and dare you say it, upset him so much was your single, albeit feeble, act of rebellion that served as a desperate boost to your ever waning inner strength. *****

Ransom laid in his large, plush bed, hands behind his head as the silk sheets pooled at his waist as morning was in full swing outside. His thoughts strayed to his girl in the basement and he took a deep breath, shifting slightly as he remembered the way her fingers had felt as they’d curled around his biceps, her touch firey but cold. That had been the first time she’d touched him when she wasn’t trying to push him away, it had been involuntary, he knew that, a reaction to the way she’d been feeling, the way he had made her feel. 

A twitch resounded deep in his belly....the way he made her feel.

He realised now that he’d been going about this the entirely wrong way. The force had been necessary to make her comply at first, but last night she hadn’t just complied she’d participated, just what he had wanted all along. And all after he’d shown her a little leeway, brought her dinner, entertained her talk. He understood now that he needed to play a different card from his hand. She responded better to conversation, talking. Ransom hated fucking talking, he was more cerebral, calculating. Conversation means connecting, and connecting was something he wasn’t particularly interested in normally. He needed to lead, to be in charge, but it was clearly what she knew and thrived on, so he had to swallow his apprehension down to play the long game, to get what he wanted. 

Now he understood that, it was going to be so fucking easy. All he had to do was to seemingly show her compassion, a little give so he could take so to speak. He rolled his head, cracking his neck as he remembered what she said about cooking with her mom so he decided that after her stellar performance last night, today she’d earned a bigger reward than a book or some journal. He was going to show her what she could have if she just gave in and admitted what he knew she truly wanted. A large house, a garden, a pool, a hot tub, silk sheets, a large bed, and a man to fuck her every way to heaven and back. He could give her everything that any woman could possibly desire, and then some.

With a twitch of a smirk across his lips, Ransom pulled his naked frame out of bed and slipped into joggers, a soft waffle knit thermal long sleeve pulled over his tousled hair. He felt like company for breakfast and he knew exactly to invite up. 

His bare feet padded with purpose over the plush carpet of his room, down the stairs and onto the first floor, over the hard wood and marble tile of the halls and entry, down the plush carpeted spiral staircase down to the basement.

He reached the door and gently turned the locks, quietly pushing the door open as he turned the knob. It opened quietly and his eyes fell upon the empty bed. He frowned slightly, wondering where she was. Then his eyes found her, sitting curled up with her eyes cast upward, that little tease of a porthole window in her focus. She'd turned her chair around so she could see it more clearly, the throw blanket he'd tossed at her the week before was wrapped around her body. He didn't know the time, but it wasn't early nor was it afternoon. Not that it mattered, neither had anywhere else to be.

"Good morning," he said lowly. He watched as her eyes slowly moved away from the only bit of outside world she'd seen for weeks now.

"Morning," she replied quietly, her eyes locking onto his. "I err, I was just..." she trailed off. "Actually, I don't know what I was doing to be honest."

He stalked up to the chair, kneeling in front her. His hand reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb running over her cheek bone. "You were such a good girl last night. Took me so well, teased me with that little number you had on. I've thought about you all morning."

Ransom watched her throat bob as she swallowed before licking her lips and biting the inside corner of her lip. Such an innocent gesture that had him half hard straight away.

"I want to give you something. But you have to be good, or it goes away," he started. "Can you be good, Sweetheart?"

She nodded, slightly. "Okay," he smirked. "Now, fix the chair and come up to make us breakfast."

Ransom stood back, allowing you some space to accommodate his request. You slipped the throw blanket from your shoulders and left it in the chair as you rearranged the piece back to its normal state. You met him at the doorway. You didn't miss the way his eyes moved over you, the way they lit up in a way at as he looked at the silken material covering your body. The dark teal silk and lace cami set was just one of a handful of options he'd provided for you. All the same, different colors, all in your size. 

You hesitated for a second, not sure if this was another one of his little games but he simply met your eyes with his own and nodded up the stairs. With tentative, shaky steps you climbed them, sensing him close behind you as for the first time in weeks you left your prison.  You felt anxious, highly on edge and nervous. What was awaiting you? There was the sickening feeling in your stomach of excitement too, you hadn’t seen the outside since Halloween. You paused at the top of the stairs in the hall. The kitchen was directly across from you, the entry to your right. The door to the basement clicked shut and you felt Ransom’s firm chest behind your back as his form invaded your space. He dragged a finger down your arm causing the strap of your top to fall away, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Straight ahead, Sweetheart."

“Okay,” you whispered before you slowly made your way through to the large, airy kitchen. You stood looking around, taking in the fancy appliances before you turned back to Ransom. "Did you have something in mind?”

"Well..." Ransom leaned in the doorway, watching you as you stood in the middle of the tiled floor "Yesterday wasn't the first time you said you enjoyed to cook so I thought you might like to." His eyes flicked once more down your frame and back up again before he nodded his head towards the rear of the room. “Anything you need is in the pantry and fridge.”

“And I can make anything I want?” You blinked, not quite able to believe what he was allowing you to do. It was fucked up that you were even considering this as a reward but, you’d take it. Boy would you take it, anything to grasp some sense of normality in this day-by-day hell you were living.

“Sure.” Ransom popped a shoulder again and you took a deep breath before you turned and headed to the sink to wash your hands before sorting out your menu and you froze. The outside landscape had stopped you cold. From what you could see of the back garden the property was secluded, not over looked. A lawn extended a fair distance back from the rear of the house, a neat decking area stood to the right which sported a hot tub and a little further down there looked to be a pool of some kind which was covered over for the season. Trees hung over the bottom of the garden lining the high wooden fence, what few leaves they still sported were shades of crimson, gold and brown and the river traced it’s banks as it curved around the side and back of the house, the sun shining off the surface, giving it the impression it was made of sapphires. It was breathtakingly beautiful and you felt your heart shatter, your eyes well and you couldn't help but hold back the urge to weep as your chest contracted painfully. You were so close to the outside, separated only by a pane of glass, yet it had never felt further away.

His voice broke you from your despair and you swallowed back the sob that choked your throat as you flicked your attention to the left, Ransom's reflection drawing closer towards you as he crossed the terracotta tiled floor.

"Everything alright?"

You cleared your throat and gave a quick shake of your head, "Fine."

Again you felt him in your space. His presence consuming. “You sure?”

Sure? No you weren’t sure. Because none of this was fine, in fact it was as far from fine as it could possibly get. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to spin round and hammer your fists into any part of his body you could hit but you knew that it wouldn't get you anywhere, bar back in the basement likely shackled naked to the bed so you instead turned slowly to find yourself caged in by his broad frame so close to yours. You cast your eyes downward, uncomfortable at his searching stare, "Yeah, I’m sure.”

Your tongue flicked nervously over your lips as you continued to avoid his gaze before you cleared your throat “How do you like your eggs? Or would you prefer an omelette? Pancakes even?" The urge to move away from him pulled you away from your idea of a menu. Brunch basics were flooding your brain and you rattled off a few nervously. He may have said you could make whatever you wanted, but right now, you had no clue. Seeing a different space, the outside world and breathing new air had rattled you.

“You choose.” Ransom spoke softly, his hand reaching up to brush your hair off your face before he tipped your chin up so your eyes met his. He looked at you, and you swallowed as for the first time there was something unreadable on his face. His eyes were looking at you in a way they’d never looked at you before, with a softness you’d never have anticipated he could possess.

"Waffles." You suddenly blurted out, desperate to escape his gaze "I err, do you have a waffle iron?”

“No.” He deadpanned.

"Oh," you swallowed "Erm, then in that case French toast...maybe? Is that ok?"

“Sounds delicious.” He said, his hand dropping from your face, “Sure it’ll taste almost as good as you.”

“Great. How about with fresh Chantilly cream and berries if you have them?” You asked, completely ignoring his blatant back handed compliment and you started familiarizing yourself with the space as you glanced around.

“Like I said, whatever you want, Sweetheart.” He shrugged, and with that he stepped back to allow you to move away.

Ransom watched her move around the luxurious kitchen, looking through the pantry and cabinet near the stove taking out cinnamon and vanilla, plucking items like bread, butter, eggs, berries and cream from the fridge. Searching drawers for utensils and measuring cups and spoons. Finding a pan and bowl from a bottom cabinet. Measuring sugar from the glass jar on the counter. He hoped the ingredients were still fresh, he wasn't exactly sure how long they'd been stored. She moved like she belonged there, he thought to himself. So sexy looking in her nightwear, bare feet on the tile, her ass and breasts moving underneath the silk as she stretched and worked. 

"Coffee?" He offered, as he moved from one side to the other. He made sure his exquisite espresso machine was ready as it sat in all its glory on its own portion of the counter like a batista station inside Starbucks. 

He didn't miss the way she watched him move around her, preparing the coffee and grabbing the orange juice from the fridge. He reached over her shoulder, his body brushing against hers as he opened the cupboard where he kept the glasses and mugs. He peered down at her, giving a twitch to the corner of his mouth. A smirk indeed. He noted the way her eyes followed him as he poured the juice, like he was going to poison her or something. 

"It's just juice, Sweetheart," he said nonchalantly and put the juice back in the fridge. He set the breakfast table for them and took a seat in his place, a now hot cup of coffee in his hand, hers sitting on the counter next to her. 

It wasn’t long before she had finished and brought the plates to the table, sitting down timidly in the seat to his right as he gestured to it, stopping her dead as she was about to make her way around to the opposite side.

It was quiet, the only sounds heard for a while were the click and scrape of forks and knives cutting away at the plates of food. Ransom wouldn't admit it out loud, but this was the best French toast he'd ever had in his life. Something about it, the way it was not soggy, but perfectly moist, the edges just crispy. The way the cream made for no syrup and the sweet berries added the final element. He watched her pick at the food for a moment or two as he glanced over at her and saw a small bit of Chantilly in the corner of her mouth.

A long arm reached across the table and automatically she flinched a little, as if she was going to pull away but one firm stare stopped her in her tracks. His thick thumb padded away the white, sweet cream and he brought the same thumb to his lips, sucking the cream away. He lifted his brows in a teasing manner and twitched up his lips, "Delicious. Like I said, almost as good as you, Sweetheart."

"Thanks, I think," she paused. 

"Trust me, I know."

The comment seemingly threw her off her meal and it didn't get past Ransom. She had started picking at it, moving it around the plate like she had done with her dinner the night before. He, on the other hand, was near finished. 

"Are you still not hungry?" He inquired. 

She shook her head, "I just made my portion too big. I overestimated my appetite, I guess."

"Huh," he placated her reply. He knew she was lying but he let it slide, realizing that seeing a new space, the window to the outside was overwhelming. So, he thought he'd sweeten the deal. "I thought maybe you'd like to see the house," he offered, watching as her big eyes locked onto his and she took a deep breath.

"That sounds nice, thank you."

"Good, after breakfast then." He nodded affirmingly, as if it were drying ink in his mind. He picked up his coffee and finished it off, his plate already clear. 

She stood from the table, collecting his plate with her own and headed for the sink. He turned in his chair, stalking her, watching her every move. The way she pitched over the sink, bending her frame over the dishwasher to load it as she cleaned up the kitchen. 

With each bend and snap of her hips, he felt his mouth water more. Her little silk cami riding up as she moved, her breasts falling in and out of a fuller view. When she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, he was on her. He moved behind her, his hands grabbed her hips as she spun around completely startled giving a gasp and a quick yelp. 

"Easy, Sweetheart," he chuckled as she looked at him, her eyes wide.

"Sorry... you, err...you startled me." She whispered as he moved his hands so they gripped at the side of the kitchen counter on either side of her, caging her in with his body.

"Some women would like that," he quipped, arching an eyebrow a little and watched as she swallowed hard and cast her eyes downward. Moving one hand slowly up her arm, over her shoulder and around her neck, he tipped her head back up so those large, Bambi eyes locked onto his.

His hand adjusted, gripping her chin softly as he moved closer still, dipping his head he pressed a firm kiss to her lips. He felt her go rigid, her chest spiking as she drew in a sharp breath, her body shaking slightly in his hold. "Stop fighting it..." he whispered against her mouth before he kissed her again. This time, his tongue traced the line of her upper lip, the feel of it soft and soothing.

You felt his tongue line your lip and you couldn't hold the whimper of fear that passed through you. He’d never kissed you before, not on the mouth anyway. You felt him deepen his kiss, his big hand cupping your face, pulling you into it more. Your mind went elsewhere, imagining anyone but him kissing you like this. You couldn't deny it, this intimate moment, completely lost on both of you for different reasons, felt good and he was good at it. He was damn good at it in fact, and that alone made you want to vomit your breakfast into his throat. At that, you jerked back, panting a little, feeling your lips swollen from the way he'd sucked your bottom one between his, pulling at it just the right way. You hated the feeling between your legs that it had evoked, your body betraying you just like it always did.

In an attempt to stave off the conflicting emotions spiking within you, you focussed on his face, the face you hated and to your surprise he looked dazed. The usual stoic expression that clouded his features had been replaced with something akin to surprise but no sooner had you noticed it, it was gone.

"Clean up and I'll meet you in the study." He told you, his voice a deep almost pained whisper. 

"But I don't..." you started but were quickly cut off. 

"You're a smart girl, figure it out," he smirked and slipped away. 

You were tempted to follow, just so you'd see where he was going but you knew not to defy a command. The feeling of unease seemed to disappear as you slumped your shoulders and instead defeat filled your frame. A trembling hand came to your lips as jittery fingertips touched your swollen skin. Your bottom lip quivered like a ripple in a river and you quickly covered your mouth, turning on a dime as your French toast littered the sink. If the water hadn't been running already, Ransom would no doubt have heard you retching. You rinsed your mouth out to attempt at hiding that vomit taste from your tongue and quickly finished your task of cleaning up the kitchen, salty tears dripping from your chin, mixing with the soapy water. 

When you could stall no longer, you sighed and headed out into the large hallway, taking a quick look around. It was light, airy, the grand staircase swept in and curved round to the next floor and your eyes lingered on the heavy wooden door just beyond it. You hesitated, and then with a dejected sigh realised there was no point even trying to escape. Even if it was unlocked, which you doubted, the threat to your family was just too much for you to risk. Instead, you decided to head down the corridor to your right and found yourself in a large open plan living room of sorts. It was decorated in clean whites and crisp greys with a huge feature stone open fireplace and sported a bar at the back. A brown leather sofa and two matching arm chairs were strategically placed around an expensive looking coffee table but you didn’t bother to look at the rest, this wasn’t the room you needed so you turned back on yourself, walked back into the hall and took the turning to your left.

This time you found yourself walking into what you could only assume was his study-come-den of sorts. It was huge, and once again sported a sofa pushed up against the wall, looking out over the spectacular view of not only the garden but the river too. But that wasn’t what caught your attention, nor was it the walnut desk and laptop that sat upon it. It was the floor to ceiling bookshelf behind it. Your mouth dropped open as you made your way towards it but then you stopped, biting your lip. Were you supposed to be looking at them? But, he had said to meet you in here. And left you to find your own way.  Surely, if he didn’t want you looking around he wouldn’t have left you to it.

Throwing caution to the wind you strode forward, your pace hurried this time and your eyes quickly scanned across some of the books. You couldn’t help but feel shocked. Whilst there was a huge collection of his Grandfather’s books, and a number of other crime novels of types, it was the colourful spines to your right that made your chest heave in delight. The entire Harry Potter collection. With a shaky hand you reached for The Philosopher’s Stone, noting the British version of the title, and opened the front page giving another gasp as you read the publishing details.

This was a first edition.  And from the date you also knew it would be one that contained the misprint errors. And as such, would be worth a small fortune.

“See something you like?” that familiar voice hit your ears and you gave a little shriek, jumping around, clutching the book to your chest to avoid dropping it.

“I’m sorry.” You hastily began to apologise “I was just…erm…”

“It’s ok.” He assured you, crossing towards you. Once more he encroached into your personal space and you felt the blades of your shoulders press into the shelf behind you. “Harry Potter fan?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “Didn’t think they’d be your type of thing.

“They’re not really.” He shrugged “I’m a collector. Everything on the shelves, well they’re all first or limited editions, so worth a lot.”

“Figures.” You mumbled, turning round and slotting the book back into the space it had come from. As you did you felt him push up behind you, his hands on your hips, the unmistakable feel of his hard on dug into the lower part of your back and you fought to stop yourself shuddering. He was after pay-back for allowing you to leave your prison.

“Did you like the house?” he asked, brushing your hair off your neck.

“Yes.” You answered politely, your voice catching a little as he placed a kiss to the crook of your shoulder.

“You know, it could all be yours sweetheart if you just stopped fighting what you know you want” His kisses continued up your neck as his words whirled around your brain and you were back to where you had been in the kitchen. It felt good. And that disgusted you.

“Did you enjoy making breakfast?” he whispered, his lips by your ear.

“Yeah.” You nodded, your voice barely there.

“Show me how much.” His teeth nipped at your lobe, his hips grinding forward and you swallowed and closed your eyes. You knew what he wanted but as you turned to face him you had an idea. One which would save you being fucked no doubt over the desk or on the hard looking couch.

With a lick of your lips you looked at him and sank slowly to your knees, taking his sweats with you. His hard cock sprang free, slapping his lower abs and you reached out, grasping it in your hand.

“Fuck, yeah baby…” Ransom hissed as you moved your head forwards and took him in your mouth.

You pulled out all the moves, you took him as deep as you could, gagging a little as he wasn’t a small man. You kept your hand firmly on the base of his cock, you hollowed your lips, you swirled your tongue around his shaft and he let out a little groan his hand fisting in your hair as his hips bucked forwards.

“Jesus, I knew your mouth was smart but…” he panted, looking down at you. You raised your eyes to look at his as he bit his lip, his entire face contorted in pleasure…

Pleasure that was ruined by the sound of the doorbell.

 “What the fuck…” Ransom growled out, un-fisting his hand from her hair. “Who the fuck is that?”

He glanced down at her and she looked up at him, wide eyed. She was a mess, swollen lips, wet chin and dressed in nothing but her skimpy tank and shorts. With a frustrated growl, Ransom pulled his dick out of her mouth and grabbed his phone from the table to check the doorbell camera. His face blanched as he saw who it was.

“I don’t fucking believe it…” he mumbled, as she looked up at him.

“Who is it?” She asked, wiping her face, “I’m not exactly dressed for visitors, Hugh.”

Ransom might have been pre-occupied with the familiar face staring at him from his phone, but he still picked up on that 'Hugh' and he glared down at her. “No shit, and because we have a visitor, I'm gonna let that one slide. Get up.” She rose to her feet, blinking a little as he pulled off the thermal he was wearing and tossed it to her. “Put that on. No one gets to see you in silk but me.”

She blinked as she caught it, confusion spreading across her face. “Don’t you just want me to go-“

In a flash, he grabbed her chin between his thumb and finger and she winced, “If I wanted you downstairs I’d have said. So put the damn shirt on, and when he starts asking questions just remember what I said I could do to your family and friends.”

In complete complacency, he watched her slip his thermal over her head, her fingers barely peeking through the sleeves to fix her dishevelled hair. The material hit her mid-thigh and his eyes brows gave a flicker of approval before he walked to the entry and opened the door. "What do you want?"

"Pleasure to see you too, Mr. Drysdale..." that infuriating Southern drawl hit Ransom's ears with all the finesse of a cheese-grater. Benoit Blanc, without so much as a gesture of request, pushed past Ransom as he strode inside, stopping in the tiled entry, looking around.

"Do you have a warrant?" The man of the house snipped in his usual spiteful tone.

Blanc still didn’t reply, and Ransom rolled his eyes following him as he wandered down the hallway, stopping at the open door to the study. "Well, if it isn't the lady of the hour."

Ransom stood behind Blanc, an infuriatingly warning glare sent his girl's way. He noted the way she was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, lips still swollen, cheeks flushed, hair tousled. She looked like a sex kitten, and maybe that was the idea. He warned her to sell it after all…

"Excuse me?” Y/N looked up at the two men in the doorway. 

Blanc stepped inside the room, taking a seat on the edge of the same couch where she sat. "I've been looking for you, young lady. A lot of people are looking for you, you know Miss Y/L/N.”

“I errr…” she swallowed a little as she slowly got to her feet, her hands pulling the hem of the thermal down before she folded her arms across her chest, not in a defiant manner, but almost as if she was hugging herself “Did someone send you or…”

“No, nothing like that. You see, I heard you'd gone missing, and I knew you had a work connection to Mr. Drysdale, that, shall we say didn't go quite as planned. So when things started adding up, I thought to ask the man himself."

“Well, congratulations, this is one mystery you actually solved correctly, Sherlock. As you can see she’s here and she’s fine, and we were in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind….” Ransom folded his arms, his eyes moving from hers to Blanc, who was irritatingly completely ignoring him, his gaze focussed intently on the woman who stood in front of him.

Ransom could see him take her in fully, now seeing the situation he may have just walked in on. She looked dishevelled and was missing crucial parts of her clothing, but she had no tears in her eyes, no markings looking to be of abuse or out of the ordinary. None that were visible anyway. Blanc’s gaze then dragged over to Ransom who was bare foot in joggers and still half aroused, which he did nothing to hide as he folded his arms over his naked chest.

Ransom held Blanc’s gaze, his chin jutting out defiantly, the detective only looking away when the lady of the hour spoke, her voice quiet, as she gave a small nod. "He’s right, I’m fine."

"Then why not tell your family where you are?”

“I err…” Y/N’s right hand gripped he cuff of the sweater sleeve tightly, “I just, well, I…”

Ransom could see that she was losing it and he knew he had to intervene. He walked over to her and placed an arm around her, kissing the top of her head lightly, "It's alright, Sweetheart. I know how he can be frustrating. We're doing nothing wrong."

With that he turned his gaze to the man in front of him, not even trying to hide the sneer of contempt that was crossing his face “I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you Blanc.”

“Well, maybe Miss Y/L/N has some crayons hidden up her sleeve so to speak.” Blanc smiled innocently and Ransom felt the anger floor his system.

“You’re starting to really piss me off.” he snarled, “You barge into my home, without so much of an explanation…” his rant was stopped dead as Y/N placed her hand on his chest, palm splaying over his bare skin. Ransom swallowed at the touch of her fingers against his skin, firey hot just as they had been last night when they curled around his arms.

"Hey," she spoke and he looked down to see her giving him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes but one that should be enough to convince the dumbass detective who was watching them. "It's okay." She then turned to Blanc as he held his hand up, palm open, speaking to Ransom.

“I’m not trying to be frustrating Mr. Drysdale, I'm merely enquiring after Miss Y/L/N’s wellbeing."

"I'm not here under duress if that's what you're thinking.” She spoke, clearing her throat. “Hu… Ra, we have had to keep our relationship private,” she stumbled on the right identity, settling for 'we'. Clearing her throat again and settling her nerves, she continued, "Mr. Blanc, as you well know, I'm reporter and his background has been less than stellar as of late. It no doubt would not look good for either of us if it had come to light. My reputation as a journalist would have been in tatters.”

“Well, lies and deception certainly go hand in hand when it comes to Mr. Drysdale...”

Ransom rolled his eyes dramatically “Change the record, Blanc. The static is a little loud.”

Blanc completely ignored him, his attention still on her. “So you caused all this worry, because of some…” he waved his hand in front of him, gesturing between the pair of them. 

Ransom’s arm curled round her even tighter, his fingers pressing into her hip and he felt her stiffen a little before she relaxed into his side and gave a small nod.

"Like I said, it wouldn’t have gone down well with my family, or my career.”

“Ahh, yes, your job, which you quit.” Blanc looked at her. “Yes, I spoke to your boss.” He answered her unasked question. “Why would you be so worried for your reputation as a journalist, if you’re not actually a journalist anymore?”

At that she took a deep breath “I quit the paper because my boss is an asshole. His antics on Halloween were a step too far. But that doesn’t mean I have no intentions of working ever again. I'm currently taking a long overdue sabbatical.”

Blanc studied her again, almost as if he was weighing something up and she once more began to fidget and Ransom decided he’d had enough.

"Okay, I’m done being polite,” Ransom moved his arm from around his girl and stepped towards Blanc, placing himself directly between the detective and the woman. “You've interrupted out little post brunch love affair and I’m horny, so…do you need help finding the door, or can your super sleuth skills figure the way back out of it on their own?”

“Miss Y/L/N?” Blanc spoke, his eyes locked onto Ransom’s. Ransom felt the nerve in his jaw twitch, the fact that Blanc wasn’t scared of him irritated him no end.

There was a pause and then her voice came clearly from behind him as she spoke, “If you'd be so kind as to not tell my family where I am, I'd appreciate it. I prefer this time without their unwanted opinion.”  Her voice was steady, measured almost. “You can tell them that you've found me, alive and well."

Blanc knew he wasn't welcome, he had proof of life and no reason to suspect foul play. He stood, his long wool coat falling into place around him. "Well, then I guess my work is done." He brushed passed Ransom and gave a quick quip, "I'm warning you...." 

"What was that?" His girl wondered. She'd heard him. 

"Have a nice day," Blanc nodded curtly “I’ll see myself out.”  

You watched the back of the detective as he left the large living room, Ransom following him to the doorway where he stood, arms folded, watching. The sound of Blanc’s feet on the tiles of the hallway grew fainter and fainter until eventually they stopped completely.  The latch of the door sounded and you fell to the closest thing you could sit on. Your while body shook with a chill that crept into your bones but not from the cold. No, you were sick to your stomach in fear and worry. The bile of deceit rose to your throat and had you not already spewed up your breakfast it would have most likely decorated the carpet of the study.  Instead, you swallowed down the sour bile as Drysdale approached you and you glanced up at him, blinking whilst he studied you for a second, his face passive. As you held his gaze, something akin to amusement flashed in his cold blue eyes and a twisted smirk spread across his face.

“Your acting skills certainly improved there along the way, at the end you were almost award worthy.” He drawled, his hands falling to his hips. “Even Meryl Streep would be jealous.”

"Fuck you," your voice quivered.

He arched an eyebrow, an amused expression on his features “Already played that game Sweetheart, and carry on back-chatting me and you’ll be back in the basement.”

"Wh... What?"

"You pulled through in the end there. It was a rough start, but you convinced Colonel Sanders that you were here on your own."

“Colonel Sanders?” You blinked, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Blanc. CSI KFC.” He replied. You were none the wiser as to what he was going on about and it must have shown on your face as he simply rolled his eyes. "Never mind...the point is, sweetheart, I'm in a good mood. And seeing as you behaved...”

"What?" Your voice was quiet, meek.

"If you shut that pretty little mouth for longer than a second, I'll explain." His tone was measured but you didn’t miss the underlying threat.

“Sorry.” Your eyes fell to the floor, your left hand worrying at your right.

“Eyes on me.” He barked and your head whipped up automatically and he smirked at you as you took a deep breath. “As I was saying, seeing as you were such a good girl, I thought I’d reward you, let you stay up here with me for the day.”

The notion shocked you. Your mouth went dry and you couldn't make sense of it. But then, the more you thought about it, the more his audacity irked you. He’d imprisoned you, used you, abused you…and now he was implying that staying in his company was a fucking reward.

“Wow, thanks…” you blurted before you could stop yourself, sarcasm lacing your tone. As soon as the words had slipped from your mouth you felt panic flood your system as he stepped towards you and reached out, his right hand curling around your throat.

"Don’t push me sweetheart.” His voice was low as his fingers squeezed the column of your neck, a reminder of how easily he could simply end it all whenever he chose. 

And just like that the softness that he had displayed with you earlier that morning was gone, and the shutters were back up. You swallowed hard, feeling the strain of your throat against his touch, his eyes now dark and full of that familiar angry lust and desire that chilled you from head to toe. Blanc had riled him, gotten underneath his skin, that was easy to see while your mouthy comments fuelled that ire. And as such, he needed an escape, an outlet.

And he was going to get it from you.

“Now on your knees and finish what you started."

#murder he wrote #ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale #chris evans #chris evans characters #reader insert #ransom drysdale smut

[james-joyces-right-eyeball]

Absolute Favorite Books I’d Recommend to Anyone

This is a list of my top-tier favorite books that I would recommend/talk about endlessly to pretty much anyone (in no particular order). I know people probably don’t care but I just like talking about books I love so here we are.

Beloved - Toni Morrison

~ Based off the real story of Margaret Garner, a slave woman who escaped slavery and when captured killed her child in order to prevent them from ever being enslaved again, Beloved tells the story of a mother named Sethe, born in slavery who eventually escaped and is haunted by the figurative demons of her trauma and the literal (arguably) ghost of her dead daughter, who she herself killed. It is an excellent exploration of the horrors of slavery and of the haunting legacy of the institution for those who were subjected to it.

Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

~ If you’ve been on Tumblr for a while, you probably know what Lolita is. The story of the predatory Humbert Humbert who lusts after, rapes, and kidnaps the “nymphet” Dolores Haze. An excellent construction of how predators, unreliable narrators in their own right, hide behind fabrications, almost-believable excuses, and pretty words to make their actions seem maybe not so bad. In the words of the book itself, “You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.”

Ulysses - James Joyce

~ Notoriously one of the most difficult books in the English language, Ulysses lifts its structure from Homer’s Odyssey to tell the story of a common man, Leopold Bloom, as he goes about his day. Yes, this book takes place over the course of only one day. We follow Bloom as well as Joyce’s literary counterpart Stephen Daedalus through their thoughts and actions, gathering details of their lives previous throughout. It’s a book that, in my own words, “is life”. It is sad, funny, strange, vulgar, disgusting, beautiful, revelatory, sensual, and nonsensical all at once. Joyce aimed to create a reflection of life through his stream-of-consciousness style which some people might find confusing, but I personally find absolutely beautiful and honest and realistic. The prose is also gorgeous, but that could be applied to everything Joyce wrote. 

Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

~ The classic gothic book that tells the tale of Heathcliff and his ultimately destructive love of Catherine Earnshaw, whose eventual marriage to someone else and the general mistreatment of him by her family drives Heathcliff insane and he spends the rest of his life trying to take revenge by abusing and torturing the next Earnshaw and Linton (the family into which Catherine marries) generations. If I’m being honest, I like this book mostly because of how wild and dark it is, but the writing is also genius and beautiful. I think the book also carries an interesting view of the destructive nature of revenge, overzealous love, and othering.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith

~ A coming-of-age story at the turn of the century that tells the story of Francie Nolan, a young bookish girl growing up in a lower class family in New York City. It tells about her father’s struggles with alcoholism as well as her mother’s struggles to deal with that and at the same time raise Francie and her brother. Francie is confronted with a strange, uncertain world as a young girl, but tries to face it with bravery throughout childhood

Little Women - Louisa May Alcott

~ Another coming-of-age story, this time about four young sisters: Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy March. You are probably familiar with this book already; it’s had more movie adaptations then I can possibly remember off the top of my head. It’s the story of four sisters as they try to navigate growing up, love, and loss during the mid to late 1800s.

The Color Purple - Alice Walker

~ A novel that tells the story of Celie, a young black woman who is raped and then married young to a man who will go on to use and abuse her, through her letters to God. Throughout the novel she meets Shug Avery, a woman with whom she eventually falls in love and begins a relationship with. Through this and her eventual freedom from her abusive husband, she is able to gain at last her own sense of self and take back control over her life, a life no longer ruled by the abusive men around her.

The Bluest Eye - Toni Morrison

~ The tragic story of young black girl Pecola Breedlove, who wants nothing more than to have blonde hair and blue eyes just like the women she sees in the movies. Both a deconstruction of the whiteness of beauty standards as well as how these standards can utterly destroy vulnerable young girls, it is also an exploration of the people who allow these sorts of things to happen, including Pecola’s mother and father. The Bluest Eye, I think, showcases one of the aspects of Toni Morrison that I like the most, that I aspire to the most: her ability to enter the minds of all people, even people who you might despise at first. Her characters, especially Cholly in The Bluest Eye, are ones you might not entirely sympathize with, but they will always be ones you understand.

The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath

~ Based off of the author’s own experiences as a young college student, The Bell Jar tells the story of Esther Greenwood, whose depression over her place as a woman in a patriarchal society as well as her inability to choose a life path for herself leads to a suicide attempt and a subsequent stay in a mental hospital. A very nuanced portrayal of mental illness, especially anxiety and depression, The Bell Jar is an extremely moving and relatable story for me and clearly is as well for others. It is a classic for a reason.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings - Maya Angelou

~ A memoir of Angelou’s childhood, this book tells the story of her experiences living as a black girl in the south with her grandmother and brother as well as her later years living with her mother. It also tells of how she was raped by her mother’s boyfriend when she was around eight or nine, and how she struggled to live with that and find her voice, both literally and figuratively. A wonderful book about overcoming struggles and the power of words and literature in such times.

Invisible Man - Ralph Ellison

~ Ellison’s novel tells the story of a young black man, never getting a name in the text, and his feelings of invisibility and his struggles to find a place in society to belong. His struggles only lead him further into despair, until he decides to “become invisible” as people seem not to see him as a person anyway. Invisible Man is an exploration of American mid-century racism and the isolation it causes to those subjected to it. Not only that, but it is surprisingly relevant to our times now, especially on the subject of police violence. (Personal anecdote: When I first read this book, when I got to the aforementioned police violence part it was right in the middle of the BLM resurgence last summer and I cried for a good twenty minutes while reading that chapter over how nothing had changed and it still hurts me to think about it. Embarrassingly, my dad walked in on me while I was crying, and I had to quickly explain it away.)

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man - James Joyce

~ The title basically says it all lol. This book tells of the coming-of-age of Stephen Daedalus (the same one from the later-written Ulysses). His sensitive childhood, his awkward and lustful adolescence, his feelings of Irish nationality and Catholic guilt, and his struggles to fully realize himself, both as an artist and a human being. It is a very hopeful story, and one that I love mostly because I relate so much to Stephen Daedalus as an artist and as a person.

One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

~ A magical-realist intergenerational family drama, Marquez’s book traces the various lives and loves of the Buendia family over the course of (you guessed it!) one hundred years. A beautifully written, at times extremely emotionally moving and chilling masterpiece, Marquez in a way retells the history of Colombia, of its colonization and exploitation.  

Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

~ A classic Russian novel of society and love, Tolstoy tells the story of Anna Karenina, married, wealthy woman with a child she adores. However, she falls in love with another man, Count Vronsky, and comes to a tragic end for her love. The parallel story of the novel is that of Konstantin Levin, a wealthy landowner who also struggles to find fulfillment in his life and understand his place in society.

The Sound and the Fury - William Faulkner

~ A novel that features an entire family of unreliable narrators, The Sound and the Fury details the fall of a once-prominent southern Compson family and always-present place of the past. There are four different narratives: Benjy Compson, a mentally disabled man who is unsure of his surroundings and of time and only knows that he misses his older sister Caddy; Quintin Compson, the eldest son and a Harvard man both obsessed with his sister retaining her “purity” and the fact that she failed to do so and had a baby out of wedlock, going as far to claim it is his baby in an attempt to preserve something of the family reputation; Jason Compson, who is the caretaker of Caddy’s daughter and believes her to be going down her mother’s “sinful” path; and Dilsey, the black maid of the Compson’s who unlike the people she cares for is not weighed down by their history. The narratives take place in different time periods and is in a stream-of-consciousness style. It’s a deeply dark and disturbing novel about the haunting nature of the past, a common theme in Faulkner’s work (see Absalom, Absalom! for more of this).

Song of Solomon - Toni Morrison

~ It is the story of Milkman Dead, a young black man growing up in the south and his relationship with his very complicated family. To say anymore would be to spoil the novel, but I will say that it is an excellent book about family, self-fulfillment in a world that tries to deny you that, and, like The Bluest Eye, exhibits Morrison’s excellent character work.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof - Tennessee Williams

~ A play which takes place on the patriarch of a family’s birthday in the oppressive heat of the midsummer south, Williams’ play explores lies, secrets, and how repression only results in anger, frustration, and sadness. It’s a tragic but brilliant play that I think was very ahead of its time. If you’ve read it (or do read it) then you know what I mean.

Giovanni’s Room - James Baldwin

~ This book tells the story of a young man and his love of another man named Giovanni while he is in Paris. It is a book about love, queer guilt, and has what I would call an ambiguous ending. There is uncertainty at the end, but there does seem to be some kind of acceptance. It is a bit of a coming-out story, but more than that it is a story of personal acceptance and at the same time a sad, tragic love story.

HERmione - H.D.

~ An underrated modernist masterpiece, HERmione is a somewhat fictionalized account of the author, Hilda Doolittle’s, experience as a young aspiring poet dating another poet (in real life Ezra Pound in this book named George Lowndes) who is a threat to her both physically and emotionally. It explores her own mental state, as she considers herself a failure and falls in love with a woman for the first time (Fayne Rabb in the book, Frances Gregg in real life). 

To the Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf

~ People think about going to a lighthouse. They do not. A couple years and a war passes then they do. That may seem like a boring plot, and you may be right. However, To the Lighthouse is not much about plot. It is more about the inner lives of its characters, a family and their friends, on two different occasions of their lives: one before WWI and one after WWI. Woolf explores in this novel the trauma that results from such a massive loss of life and security. Not only that, she also explores the nature of art (especially in female artists) in the character of Lily Briscoe and her struggles to complete a painting. It’s a short novel, but it contains so much about life, love, and loss within these few pages.

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers

~ A southern gothic novel about isolation and loneliness in a small town. Every character has something to separate them from wider society, and often find solace and companionship in a deaf man, John Singer, who himself experiences a loneliness that they cannot understand. There are various forms of social isolation explored in this novel: by race, disability, age, gender, etc. A wonderful, heart-wrenching book about loneliness and the depths it can potentially drag people to.

The Waste Land - T.S. Eliot

~ A modernist masterpiece of a poem, Eliot describes feeling emptiness and isolation. The brilliance of it can only be shown by an excerpt:

“Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence.”

“The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; Departed, have left no addresses. By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . . Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. “

(My personal favorite line from this poem is, “I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”)

The Trial - Franz Kafka

~ The protagonist of the novel, Josef K., wakes up one morning to find that he has been placed under arrest for reasons that are kept from him. Kafka creates throughout the novel a scathing satire of bureaucracy, as K. tries to find out more about his case, more about his trial, but only becomes more confused as he digs deeper. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the world he lives in, and the more tries to explain it the further the more that proves to be the case. An excellently constructed novel and a great one to read if you would like to be depressed about the state of the world because, though Kafka’s work is a satire, like a lot of his other work, it manages to strike a strangely real note.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead - Tom Stoppard

~ An absurdist play that is a retelling of Shakespeare’s Hamlet from the perspective of minor characters, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who in the broad overview of the original play, do not matter. Throughout the play, they question their existence and the purpose of it and through that Stoppard dissects not only the absurdity of life, but how fiction and theater reflect that absurdity inadvertently.

As I Lay Dying - William Faulkner

~ The novel details the journey the Bundren family makes after the death of the family matriarch, Addie, to bury her. Each chapter offers a different narrative from the family members and those who surround them, revealing some ulterior motives to them “going to town” to bury Addie. The patriarch Anse desires a pair of false teeth, and the daughter Dewey Dell is pregnant and needs an abortion, as there is no way for her or her family to support it. It’s about the powerlessness of people in the impoverished south. The Bundrens are constantly subject to forces beyond their control, struggles which would be easily solved if they had the money to spare for it. There is more to the book, but that is my favorite reading of it, that of class. Faulkner’s ability to create distinct voices for every one of his characters shines through here.

And, last but not least:

The Collected Poems - Sylvia Plath

~ All the poems Plath wrote during her tragically short lifetime. The best way to demonstrate or summarize the book’s brilliance is just to show you. This is her poem “Edge”, which appears in the book:

“The woman is perfected.   Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment,   The illusion of a Greek necessity Flows in the scrolls of her toga,   Her bare Feet seem to be saying: We have come so far, it is over. Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,   One at each little Pitcher of milk, now empty.   She has folded Them back into her body as petals   Of a rose close when the garden Stiffens and odors bleed From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower. The moon has nothing to be sad about,   Staring from her hood of bone. She is used to this sort of thing. Her blacks crackle and drag.”

HOPE YOU ENJOYED! HAPPY READING TO ALL!

#dark academia #books and literature #toni morrison #james joyce #tennessee williams #virginia woolf #william faulkner #sylvia plath #plays #poetry #can you tell i like southern and modernist lit lol?

[bowieexaminprogress]

Hey Bowie🧡 what are your favorite books? Would love to get some recs :)

Oh nonnie what a question! There are so so many. I read A LOT and literature from different countries (not so much last year and the beginning of this year funny enough because for me it was actually the busiest year comparing to the majority of the world where people were forced to stand still) but here is a selection of books that I love from many different genres of literature (fiction, non fiction, historical, political, scientific, poetry etc). Some are classics, some I read recently and enjoyed. Some are complicated reads and some are simple. I have read some of them in their original language so I am not quite sure if the translation will do them justice but here you go.

Homer- The odyssey (I read it when I was about 10, loved it but never came back to it and then in my early 20s read a psychology PhD work about how the odyssey is an allegory of the human personality and how the characters are a symbol of our intellectual, emotional, spiritual side and the fears we all face, decided to re read it in Greek this time around from a totally new perspective and maturity and absolutely adored it. It is a multilayered, amazing piece of literature)

Plato- Symposium

Fyodor Dostoevsky- Crime and Punishment, The Brothers Karamazov (this man’s ability to dive into his extremely fucked up characters’ psychosynthesis is unparalleled) 

Leo Tolstoy- War and Peace

Mikhail Bulgakov- The Master and Margarita

Jane Austen- Emma, Pride and Prejudice

Virginia Woolf- The waves, To the lighthouse

Gabriel García Márquez- One hundred years of solitude

George Orwell- Animal Farm, 1984

Sylvia Plath- The bell Jar

Oscar Wilde- The picture of Dorian Gray 

Chinua Achebe- Things fall apart

Paulo Coelho- The alchemist

Victor E. Frankl- Man's search for meaning

Antoine de Saint- Exupéry- The little prince (read it for the first time as a child and have read it multiple times since then at different stages of life and every time I find something new about it)

Charlie Mackesy- The boy, the mole, the fox and the horse

Haruki Murakami- Norwegian wood, Kafka on the shore, After Dark

Atul Gawande- Being mortal (was given to me by my mother before I started studying medicine and I will cherish that book for life)

Toni Morrison- Beloved, The Bluest Eye

Amitav Ghosh- The hungry tide

James Baldwin- Giovanni’s Room, The fire next time

Chelsea Kwakye and Ore Ogunbiyi- Taking up Space

Elie Wiesel- Night

Kahlil Gibran- The broken wings

Mahmoud Darwish- A river dies of thirst

Odysseas Elytis- The monogram 

Fernando Pessoa- The book of disquiet

Rainer Maria Rilke- Letters to a young poet (if you are a creative you need to read this), Dark Interval, Book of hours 

Anne Carson- Autobiography of Red

Qiu Miaojin- Notes of a Crocodile

Cho Nam-joo-  Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 

Yukio Mishima- Confessions of a mask 

Brit Bennett- The vanishing half

Bethan Roberts- My policeman

Dean Atta- The Black Flamingo

Ocean Vuong- On earth we’re briefly gorgeous

Stephen Hawking- The theory of everything, A brief history of time

Those are just a few that I liked for very different reasons. I am writing it while commuting so it is what comes to mind first.

There is so much incredible work from many writers that haven’t been translated in English yet or are extremely difficult to find translated but I tried to include well known easily found pieces of work that are a good starter in different genres. Hope that helps.

[thejusticewarrior]

The Book Club - Fiction

The Fiction Book Club TBR list:

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

Anna And The French Kill by Stephanie Perkins

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

Crime And Punishment by Fyodor Dosteovsky

Deacon King Kong by James McBride

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

Everything Inside by Edwidge Danticat

Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk

Flowers In The Attic by VC Andrews

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evanisto

It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover

Last Night At The Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

Luster by Raven Leilani

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro

Nightwood by Djuna Barnes

Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell

One Day In The Life Of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn

Queenie by Cnadice Carty-Williams

Red, White And Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts

The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

The Driver's Seat by Muriel Spark

The First Phone Call From Heaven by Mitch Albom

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

The Hating Game by Sally Thorne

The Iliad by Homer

The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tann

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

The Next Person You Meet In Heaven by Mitch Albom

The Odyssey by Homer

The Overstory by Richard Powers

The Picture Of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde

The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

The Seven Husbands Of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

The Three Musketeers by Alexandra Dumas

The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett

They Both Die At The End by Adam Silvera

Today Tonight Tomorrow by Rachel Lynn Solomon

Tuesdays With Morrie by Mitch Albom

We Are Okay by Nina LaCour

Where Are You Coming, Where Have You Been? by Joyce Carol Oates

Must I Go by Yiyun Li

Everyone Dies Famous In A Small Town by Bonnie-Sue Hitchcock

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

War And Peace by Leo Tolstoy

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse

A Tale Of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

The Unhoneymooners by Christina Lauren

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

#reading #reading list #tbrbooks #my tbr #fiction #classic books

[rome5683]

A ‘Sociopath’s Touch

Chapter Two: A Re-Awakening

Kai x FemReader

Rated M for Mature and E for everyone- or explicit

Words: 7602

Summary: “You are fascinating. At this point, the only thing stopping me from opening your hot bod up with a knife is, well, you.” He pulled his hand away, cocking his head to the side as you started to register what he said. You swallowed, suddenly feeling small and moist at the same time.

“What makes you think I won’t open you up?” Your voice rang out with an edge, defensively. You were a little scared. Scared you were hallucinating, scared of your own mind, of your own body betraying you. “I have a couple tricks up my sleeve too, you know.”

Kai smirked, seemingly amused by your defensiveness. “No doubt, princess.” His hands enveloped your face, getting too close which took your breath away. “But daddy is the one in charge, remember?”

***

You start to get wind of the real world. Kai helps you.

——————-

Your body shifted, trying to get more comfortable as your face rested on something tense. You murmured as you started to wake, confused about why your pillow was so tough. Your eyes widened and sat up suddenly as you realized you weren’t resting on a pillow, but someone’s chest. “Kai?”

He chuckled, sitting up with his arms crossed behind his head. “The one and only.”

You furrowed your brows, concerned of how he knew where you lived. “How did you-”

“Just a couple spells here and there, wasn’t that hard when you have the person stuck in your head. Not to mention, I still have your panties.” You flustered, both embarrassed and confused at what he said. You looked around, and it was your bed, with your dorm. You couldn’t get a grasp on what was going on, so you decided it was just a dream. You looked back to Kai, apprehensive yet intrigued.

“I’m dreaming of you.” You looked at him with a small smile, almost not believing it. “You’re cuter than I remember.”

He placed a hand on his chest, feigning pain. “I’m hurt. And no, it’s just astral projection. A ten year old could do it.”

You chuckled, not really taking him seriously, “Okay. Sure. So what does that mean?” You rested your head on the palm of your hand as you laid on your side, lifting your leg up slightly. In a way, you were trying to be seductive. “Can we-”

“Touch? Yes, very much so.” Kai grinned, laying on his side as well. “But it wouldn’t be as good as the real thing.”

You shook your head smiling, “None of this is real, if we’re being technical.” Your hand grazed upon his chest. It felt so life-like. Kai’s blue eyes examined you as your hands grazed his toned chest. He licked his lips while looking you up and down, and you felt hot all of a sudden. His appearance disappeared, and you froze. What the fuck?

Kai reappeared not a second later, and you shrieked, falling off the bed. He stood up, chuckling at your surprised and fallen state. “Heh. Lost focus for a second there. Wonder why…” You sat up, feeling so lost. One one hand, maybe you were hallucinating. Maybe you were just hoping he was here, hoping he’d look at you the way he did yesterday. He crouched down, and his fingertips went to caress your face, tracing the curves and edges. “You are fascinating. At this point, the only thing stopping me from opening your hot bod up with a knife is, well, you.” He pulled his hand away, cocking his head to the side as you started to register what he said. You swallowed, suddenly feeling small and moist at the same time.

“What makes you think I won’t open you up?” Your voice rang out with an edge, defensively. You were a little scared. Scared you were hallucinating, scared of your own mind, of your own body betraying you. “I have a couple tricks up my sleeve too, you know.”

Kai smirked, seemingly amused by your defensiveness. “No doubt, princess.” His hands enveloped your face, getting too close which took your breath away. “But daddy is the one in charge, remember?”

Your panties practically melted off from the heat that overcame your body. You bit your lip, transfixed on his. You came closer, your arms coming around his neck to delve into the kiss. You heard a knock on your door. Kai looked up, grinning at you, “503, 615, 7140. Call me.” He disappeared. You recoiled, perplexed. The knock on your door brought you back to reality, and you opened it, concerned.

“Hey, did I interrupt something?”

“No, nothing.” You swallowed, not wanting to freak her out about what just happened.

“But I thought I, um, well nevermind.” Caroline chuckled, shaking her head with a smile. “Elena and I thought it’d be cool to have brunch together, plus our friend Bonnie is back and, well, after yesterday, I thought it’d be cool for all of us to talk.” You were somewhat speechless, realizing this wasn’t a dream at all seeing as Caroline was just smiling there at the doorway. After a moment of quiet, you nodded.

“Yeah. Sorry, I just woke up. Um, I’m gonna change real quick then.” You closed the door with a fake smile, and sighed. You felt so conflicted, embarrassed even. Why did you get so hung up on some random guy and hallucinate?

You opened your drawers, changing into a garnet v-neck and some sky blue shorts. You looked through your closet, and put on some sandals. Looking in the mirror, you put your (H/C) hair in a loose bun and smiled. Your skin seemed kind of clear today too. You were such a cutie.

You opened the door to see the three best friends chatting casually. “Hey.” They smiled at you, and who you presumed to be Bonnie, held her hand out to you. “Nice to meet you...Bonnie?”

“Nice to meet you too.” Bonnie smiled politely, seeming tense.

“Okay, so where are we eating?”

Caroline sparked up, “Oh! I forgot to mention, before we go, can you get your textbooks? We were looking to catch Bonnie up since she’s been gone for so long.”

Your muscles tensed, and you cursed inside your head. They just wanted to study with you, or use your notes, not really much for your company. “Yeah, I’ll grab my books real quick.” You opened the door to your room again, unconsciously biting your lip. It was a nervous habit you just couldn’t stop, sometimes even making yourself bleed. You grabbed your bag, and shook your head at how you could forget your phone. You stiffened, remembering your vision, or whatever it was, from earlier. You dialed the number as fast as you could, and felt your heart beat fast as it rang.

“Let me guess who.” Your blood ran cold as Kai’s voice registered in your mind. You couldn’t think of anything to say, and hung up in shock. You cursed aloud, looking at your phone in terror.

“This is fucking crazy. I’m fucking crazy…” You saved his number.

* * * * * * * *

You stared at your phone on the coffee table as the others talked about what they were going to do for the holidays. This new cafe was definitely a low blow as you realized why Caroline picked this place instead of the Whitmore Bar.

You guys sat in the lobby area, on red chairs with notebooks out, occasionally chatting as Bonnie asked questions about what classes she took and what she missed. You had decided to lend Bonnie your notebook in an effort to become friends, but still felt annoyed about being their answer sheet.

“Oh my god, I totally forgot to mention! A certain virgin got some action yesterday!” They looked to you, and you felt yourself redden at the thought of you and Kai.

Elena opened her mouth in disbelief, and feigned offense. “I can’t believe you told Caroline before me!”

You giggled, “In my defense, she only knew first because she caught us.”

Caroline smiled, “Oh my god, he had the bluest eyes ever. He was so cute. They were so cute together!”

Bonnie's smile tightened, but you didn’t think too much of it.

“Oh, and I got his number too.” Caroline squealed, Elena grinned in approval, and Bonnie smiled politely. “It turns out that he sneaked a note with it in my pocket while I was…” Elena raised an eyebrow, “...distracted.”

Elena shook her head, “Okay, no. I need details. Now.”

You looked down, smiling while you reminisced about him. “He had this punkish vibe. When he walked in the bar, it was like he demanded attention. He seemed a little narcissistic, and a-know-it-all, but it was cute. And his hair, he was just so freaking cute. When he talked to me, he didn’t seem interested, but then it was like he suddenly thought I was worth it or something, and-”

“What’s his name?” Bonnie interceded, raising an eyebrow. You looked at her, confused as to why she would interrupt so suddenly. You were about to answer when something appeared to your left, sitting next to you.

“Don’t answer her.” You tensed up, recognizing his voice. Nobody else seemed to notice him, and you sighed.

“Why?” You had directed it at him, but Bonnie thought it was for her.

“I don’t know, just curious.” She looked at you, challenging you. His voice whispered in your ear, and you felt goosebumps.

“She has a thing for me. Don’t worry about it, just tell her you forgot.” You wanted to look at him, at his eyes, but you didn’t. You square your shoulders, and sheepishly smile. Thank God you took drama last semester.

“This is embarrassing, but I kind of forgot. It was a heat of the moment kind of thing, and I never really got it.” Bonnie didn’t seem to like your answer.

“What did the note say?” Elena looked at her confused, and Caroline tensed up. It was starting to get awkward.

You scoffed, feeling agitated. “His number, and to call him. Obviously.”

Elena spoke, confused, “It doesn’t really matter that much, Bonnie.”

Bonnie shook her head, “Who practically sleeps with someone, but doesn’t even know their name?”

Kai bursted out laughing while you fumed, “She has a point there, (Y/N). If only she knew how wrong she was.”

Caroline shook her head, “Why are you being so judgy, Bonnie? I mean, that’s supposed to be my job, remember?”

“Because it could be Kai!” The whole restaurant seemed to look at your group, and you scratched your head, feigning disinterest. You didn’t want them to see that you did know his name, that he knows Bonnie. “I mean, the fact that she coincidentally meets someone the day after he abandoned me? Not to mention, he is punk-ish, blue-eyed, and narcissistic? It has to be Kai.”

Elena nodded at her worried best friend, then looked at you, “We need to meet him, (Y/N). The person you’re with could very well be Kai, and that’s dangerous.”

You raised an eyebrow, almost offended. “Okay, well, first of all, I can’t even get him to respond to my texts. Second, how are you so sure? I mean, tell me about this dude named… Kay?”

Bonnie frowned, “It’s Kai. And his eyes, what kind of blue were they? And his hair, it was spiky and brown, right?” You looked to Caroline as she nodded, and you bit your lip.

Kai’s hand went to rest on your thigh, and you placed your hand on the same thigh as well. It was like it went through him. Your head felt like it was spinning from all these strange occurrences. “I’m supposed to be looking for bandages, you know. But here I am, talking to someone so insignificant to me. Life is weird.”

You shook your head, cursing under your breath as you chuckled. Kai was really getting under your skin, and you almost wanted to laugh.

“What’s so funny, (Y/N)?” Caroline looked at you, seeming annoyed at your humour.

“I just think it’s so dumb. I mean, all this trouble over a boy?” You shrugged it off, downplaying the whole situation. “I mean, what is he that’s so troubling? A warlock?” They looked at each other as Kai laughed again.

“You’re actually spot on. Do you feel freaked out? I mean, I kind of would.” You purse your lips, wanting to respond, but couldn’t look crazy. Elena suddenly walked up to you, and you froze as she grabbed hold of your shoulders. You tried to pull away, but her eyes drew you.

“What’s the name of the guy that you met yesterday?” You zoned out, and were going to answer when you felt Kai squeeze your thigh, and you blinked, confused.

“Say it’s Mike.”

“Michael.” You blinked, and felt confused. Bonnie sighed, shaking her head as Elena and Caroline nodded to each other. What was that? You got up, side-stepping Elena so you could get your books.

Caroline got up, “Why are you going? Are you upset?”

You put your books in your bag, and grabbed your phone. You glanced at her, clutching your bag. “No, just tired out if I’m honest. Not to mention you guys are kind of prying, so I think I’ll just go.”

You walked out, feeling weird as you could hear Kai walk with you, but nobody else reacted to him. You hated it. “How does all of this work? I mean, am I hallucinating? What are you? Why do they hate you so much?”

“Some friends they are. They tried to compel you, you realize that, right?”

You scowled as he dodged your questions, “What does that even mean?”

He grinned, “They’re vampires. You know, blood consuming, ‘rawr’, vampires.”

You raised an eyebrow, “What? I don’t get it. Like Dracula?”

“Nah. More modern. Basically just what I said, they’re vampires and can have mind-control over you. Make you do things, forget things even.”

You clutched your purse, wondering how many times you might have walked in on something that you weren’t supposed to see. Maybe even attacked, near death. Who’s right is it to withhold information like that? You understood you weren’t extremely close, but you didn’t know exactly how to feel. “Could you take stuff like that away? I mean, you didn’t let them compel me just now?”

“Because it was in the moment. The longer it has been compelled into you, the harder it would be to take away. Painful, at least.” He rolled his eyes at me, almost as if saying I was dumb to not know that.

“Why do they hate you?” You stood your ground, scrutinizing his stance. I mean, they seemed like good-hearted people, and you’re pretty sure vampires didn’t always turn by choice. Witches were born, at least, that’s what you thought. You didn’t know anymore. All you knew is that they hated him, and you needed to find out why.

“They hate me because I kind of broke little Bon-Bon’s trust the other day.” He shrugged, crossing his hands behind his back. You scoffed, annoyed at the dismissal. You didn’t care how dangerous he was, or seemed. You had gotten under his skin once, and he’s been truthful with you so far. You were determined to know everything about everything.

“Okay, well can we just talk about how I’m seeing you right now? I mean, you said I was right about you being a warlock? I mean, we’re talking, and one minute we can touch but the next we can’t. I want real answers now. The whole truth.” You stopped, not caring what people thought anymore as you talked to him openly.

“Listen, I have some stuff to do. But how about tonight at six?” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. Reluctantly, you nodded as he disappeared. You felt as if you were going insane, not being able to wrap your head around anything. You checked the time on your phone, it was early still, eleven in the morning to be exact.

You started to walk back to your dorm, feeling annoyed at everything. A warlock? Vampires? This was so much to take in. You bumped into something and fell, “Hey! Watch where you’re going!” You saw Professor Saltzman being helped up by another guy, who had blue, almost teal eyes and the most broad shoulders. You got up, quickly realizing how rude you were. “Hey, I’m so sorry, Mr. Saltzman. I didn’t mean to be so rude, it’s just that some people on campus can walk all over you if you let them.”

He gave you a brief smile, “No worries.” He walked past you, and you had a small epiphany. You walked up to the occult professor, trying to keep up with their pace.

“Wait, I wanted to talk to you about something really quick.” The guy with blue eyes turned to you, annoyed.

“Buzz off, kid. We have real problems, unlike you.” They continued to walk away. You got annoyed.

“So do I! My friends might be vampires! And you’re an occult studies professor, so I thought you could help with resisting mind control, or… I don’t know who else to go to. Please.” They stopped in their tracks, and the guy who was with the professor just rolled his eyes. You scowled and tried to back away from him as he walked up to you, and squeezed your shoulders harshly.

“Damon, don’t!” You heard professor Saltzman call out, but your attention went to the man’s teal eyes as he looked into yours, and you began to zone out.

“Forget anything you know about vampires, and just go live your boring college life.” You blinked. You looked around, alone. You sighed, thinking about Kai, his secrets, and his witchiness. You had to go get some study time before you could go anywhere, so you went to your dorm.

* * * * * * * *

Damon opened the door for Alaric, as his best friend just ignored him. He was mad, rightfully since Kai stole Jo and was trying to kill her. Not to mention stealing the ascendant, but it was for Bonnie. It was worth it. Even Elena was okay with it, even if it was rude to Jo and Alaric, Bonnie was home now. Besides, Kai had gotten out regardless of whether or not they had the ascendant.They sauntered in, finding Elena and her two best friends chatting.

They looked at the pair of men confused. “What’s going on?”

Damon smirked, “Ready to get some revenge, Bennett?”

Elena and Bonnie looked at him skeptically, and Caroline crowned. “What does that even mean?”

Alaric sighed, “Kai has Jo and Liv.”

“What? I’m coming with you.” Elena stood, and so did the other girl.

Damon and Alaric looked at each other. Damon shrugged as Alaric grasped at his forehead. “We just need to get Jo back.” Alaric muttered, leaving the cafe abruptly as Caroline and Elena followed suit. Damon and Bonnie hung back.

The oldest vampire there looked to the witch, “Excited, Bon-Bon?”

Bonnie smirked at him, “Kai’s back. And I’m going to kill him.”

* * * * * * * *

Kai rested against the gravestone, his chained hands feeling the dirt underneath him. He smirked as the others argued about killing him, about their morals. How Alaric, Elena and Caroline wanted to keep him alive, but Bonnie and Damon wanted him dead understandably. He raised an eyebrow, realizing the magic that lies in the town and started to concentrate on siphoning it into him. He grinned, feeling it consume him.

Damon raised an eyebrow, “Wait. Why isn’t he talking?”

Bonnie scowled, “He never stops talking.”

Caroline let out a small gasp, “His chains are melting.”

Alaric yelled over the loud wind as it started to really pick up, “Is he chanting?”

Kai stood, feeling seriously pissed off. He looked over, not even smirking as he took in their shocked expressions.

Damon squinted, “You little magic sucker.”

Bonnie took a step back, “He took the magic from the traveler’s spell. All that power…”

Elena looked to Bonnie, “But you could still take him, right Bonnie?” The witch looked to the ground, “Bonnie?”

“I can try but-“ Alaric started to run for him when Kai picked him up with a wave of his hand and slammed him against a tree.

“Ric!” Elena rushed to his side as Caroline and Damon rushed to Kai. Bonnie started to chant something and Kai was pushed against a tree, groaning. Caroline held one arm as Damon was about to swing, when Kai disappeared.

Bonnie grunted, “You coward! Come back here!”

Damon groaned, “I really hate that move.”

Elena helped Alaric up, and Caroline went over to Bonnie. “Bonnie, it’ll be okay. You’ll have your chance-“

“It’s not okay, Caroline! He tortured me. He gained my trust, then stabbed me! None of this is okay.” She turned away from the blonde, walking towards their car. Damon sighed, looking at the witch’s retreating figure.

Caroline held the back of her neck, feeling guilty. Elena smiled politely, “Don’t worry, Caroline. It’ll be okay.”

Alaric grunted, “I can't believe he really took all the magic out of Mystic Falls.”

Caroline looked at Elena and Damon with a small smile, “We can go home.”

Damon pulled his phone out, “Yeah. I’ll call Stefan.”

Alaric raised an eyebrow, “What about Kai? What are we going to do about him? What if he comes after Jo?”

Elena placed a hand on Ric’s shoulder, “Bonnie and I can help protect her. If he shows himself, we’ll be ready.”

Caroline looked to the floor, thinking for a moment. Elena noticed as the others left for their cars and spoke, “Care? What’s wrong?”

The blonde looked up with a worried expression, “That was the guy from the bar. He was with (Y/N).”

Elena opened her mouth in shock, “Are you sure? What do you want to do?”

Caroline sighed, “Well we have two more problems. One, did she lie about knowing his name and is she on vervain? Because if she’s on vervain-“

“Then she knows we’re vampires.”

“That or he lied to her but…”

The brunette shrugged, “So she was lied to. (Y/N) was compelled. I compelled her..”

“No. You could tell too, right? She was trying to hide his name, and she was acting so strange. Then to suddenly leave? No, Elena. She knows about us.”

“We need to get to her before Kai does.”

* * * * * * * *

You awoke with a nudge to your face, and you groaned as you opened your eyes. It was Caroline and Elena. You raised an eyebrow, starting to get up, “How did you get into my room?”

Caroline leaned forward, “Don’t be alarmed, we’re just here to ask you a couple questions. We just want the truth.”

You immediately calmed down, smiling. “What do you want to know?”

Elena interceded, almost anxious, “What do you know about us?”

You shrugged, “You use me to help you guys study. We’re friends, but I question our relationship a lot. That’s basically it. Why?”

Caroline rolled her eyes, impatient, “How come we couldn’t compel you earlier?”

You blushed, “Kai was there. He touched my leg and told me to say another name. I didn’t understand what was happening, to be honest.”

Elena raised an eyebrow, “He sucked the magic out of you. How was he there?”

You looked down, thinking for a moment, then suddenly remembering. “Something about astral projection. I think he’s a witch, but beyond that I don’t know much about him.”

Caroline crossed her arms, “What else did he tell you? Did he mention anything about us?”

You furrowed your brows, trying to remember everything, but couldn’t. “I don’t remember.”

The blonde scoffed, “Why not?”

You frowned, “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

The brunette made a small gasp, “She’s been compelled already.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, by who? I mean… who would’ve just brainwashed this random student to forget about vampires?”

You had a small epiphany, “He had teal eyes. He was with professor Saltzman, walking towards the cafe. I… asked them something and he…” You groaned, clutching your forehead. The pain went away and you smiled at the young vampires. “I don’t remember, sorry.”

“Damon. It had to be. She probably asked the wrong thing to Ric, and Damon erased her memory.”

Caroline smiles, “Huh. Well, that was nice of him.”

You nodded, rubbing your eyes and yawning. You were still tired. Elena looked to the blonde suddenly, “We need to make her forget about Kai.”

You frowned, “What? No!” You backed away, standing up from the bed. “I’m not letting you do that.”

Caroline rolled her eyes again, “Trust me, we’re doing you a favor.” Elena went up to you as you backed away.

“Stop, I don’t want this.” You kept backing away, scared. You didn’t know what was going on exactly, but you didn’t want her to do this to you. You wanted him. You craved him. “Please don’t do this.”

You felt her hands on your shoulders and you squeezed your eyes shut. Elena sighed in defeat, and Caroline groaned. “Oh, for christ's sake!”

The older vampire softly shoved the brunette out of the way and painfully gripped your shoulder. You groaned in pain, the hurt making you open your eyes and be drawn into her blue ones. “Please-“

“You’re going to forget about Kai. You’re going to delete his contact info, and you’re going to find someone not so sociopathic, okay?” She let go of you as your whole demeanor changed. They walked out the door quietly as tears welled in your eyes from the fear. But you were numb, you didn’t even know why you were crying so you wiped your eyes until it went away. You went to your phone, deleting his contact and closing your eyes. You breathed in deeply, and out slowly. Your eyes opened, blinking once. You grasped your head, suddenly getting a headache but you shook your head, withstanding the pain. You went to change into only a hoodie, leaving your pants off and just wearing some panties, suddenly feeling lonely when you heard a knock. You weren’t expecting anyone?

You opened the door, seeing a stranger smirk at you. His blue eyes shined beautifully, and his arm rested against the door frame, and his face was smug. He was very handsome, and you flushed up, realizing how exposed you were to this stranger. He walked into your room, and you raised an eyebrow at the audacity of this stranger. “Oh god, you wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. Well, I mean it’s better now. You look so cute in that outfit.”

His gaze wandered down to your legs, and you felt yourself heat up. “No offense, but I don’t really know who you are.” His eyes locked with you, and you could see the anger in them. You embraced yourself, feeling frightened. “If-If you could leave, that would be…”

He walked towards you, making you walk backwards until your body hit the door. You had cornered yourself, and you felt stupid suddenly. His hands went to your shoulders, and you tensed. “Please, I don’t want it to happen like this.” You started to tear up as he snickered sarcastically.

“For what to happen?” You winced at his harsh tone and looked to the floor.

“My first time.” He let go of you, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. His voice seemed soft as he spoke.

“You’ve never..?” You shook your head and shuffled your feet, feeling awkward. He shook his head, and you hesitantly took a step forward.

“Are you upset for some reason? Does it have something to do with me?” He looked up, and you could see the sadness twinge in his eyes. But it was put away quickly as he stood.

“So you really don’t remember?”

You shook your head, “How do I not know you’re some stalker?”

Kai stepped closer, his eyes piercing yours, “Because when we talked, you told me about your family. About how you came here to get away from them, to forget about them and just-“

“Prove them wrong.” Your heart tug at your conscience, and you clutched at the hems of your hoodie. You still felt unsure for some reason. Then, he suddenly closed the distance between you two. You had wanted to push against him at first, but for some reason, his embrace against you felt right. As if it was…

“Familiar.” His hands clutched at your waist as he pulled away, and let out a small laugh.

“What was that, princess?” Your body reacted to his voice quickly. Specifically to that nickname, and you shuffled your legs, feeling frustrated.

Your hands held his face, tracing his features in wonder. His blue eyes, you could see something in them when they looked at you. “You feel familiar. Like there’s something I’m missing, and I can’t describe it…”

“I can help you remember, if you’d like.” His hand played with your hair as the other played with the hem of your sweater, you furrowed your eyebrows. It was hard to concentrate, his rings were so cold against your heated skin.

“Remember what?” He dug his face into the crook of your neck, and you sighed as he planted light kisses. You felt so confused, so scandalous as your body reacted to the stranger so well. Almost like he wasn’t a stranger at all. He sat on the edge of your bed, taking you in his lap with a hint of a smile on his pensive and serious face.

“Our thing, I guess. I don’t really know what to call it, but we have history. Your so-called friends made you forget, but I can help you remember. This might hurt your head a bit, you just have to trust me.” You reluctantly nodded, weirdly trusting the man for some reason. Instinct, you suppose. He cupped your face, and kissed you passionately as a light pain seared in your skull. You groaned into the kiss, your hands clutching at his jacket as you suddenly remembered serving him at the bar.

You pulled away gasping, and he licked his bottom lip as he let go of you. “We met at the bar. You came in…”

His hands grazed your thigh and your hands started to massage his shoulders, “To fully remember everything is gonna hurt really bad. And you can take it, but there’s always a way I can distract you.”

You raised an eyebrow, hesitant to go through the searing pain again, “What are you proposing?”

“Lay down on your back, princess.” He motioned to the bed, and you felt goosebumps rise on your skin as he spoke. You obeyed, laying down and feeling nervous about what he was thinking about doing. As far as you knew, you’ve never done anything with him before. All you knew is that you needed to get these memories back without passing out from the pain. He stood, looking down at your slightly parted legs, and your innocent (E/C) eyes. He started to climb between your legs, and you gasped as he pulled you closer by your thighs. His face went to your collarbone, lightly sucking on it and your breath hitched. He continued to suck and kiss above the hoodie’s neckline. “You don’t remember this, but my name is Kai. I’ve seen your body entirely naked, and I’m really…” His lips nipped at your skin. “Really…” His hips grounded against yours and you whimpered. “Good at loving your body.” You felt as if your skin was on fire as he grinned against you. He clutched at your shoulders, grinding against you while fully clothed. “When I start siphoning, you’re gonna be in a world full of pain. You know that, don’t you, princess?” You writhed against him, nodding.

“Kai, I-“

He shook his finger in your face, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “As I recall, you like to call me daddy.” You reddened immediately, embarrassed of your past self. He nudged at your hoodie, and you sat up to take it off. You didn’t have a bra on underneath, and he smirked as he reached to touch you. You suddenly had gathered some courage and you smirked back, and wagged a finger in his face as well.

“Nuh-uh. You need to take off some clothes too, daddy.” The name rolled off your tongue smoothly, and your center moistened. He raised an eyebrow, somewhat confused but also surprised you were giving instructions. However, he silently sat up and peeled off his jacket and shirt.

“Is that better?” You shook your head and nodded towards his jeans. He shook his head, smiling, “You’re so demanding, princess. Isn’t that supposed to be daddy’s job?” He unbuckled his belt as you traced his toned chest, down to his stomach. He stood, pulling down his jeans. All you could do was stare at his body with hooded eyes, thinking about all the things you could do together. “You should take a picture. It’ll last longer…”

You scoffed, scooting to the edge of the bed on your knees as his eyes were drawn to your chest. You beckoned him forward, his eyes were so dark blue, they were almost black. “I’d rather play with the real thing.” His arms enveloped your waist as he kissed you deeply, and pain mixed with pleasure as the memories started to come back to you. Your chest pressed against his, and you both moaned into the kiss. You tugged at the ends of his hair, and he smiled breathlessly.

“You’re something else.” He kissed you again, harder. You groaned, kissing him back as your body felt on fire with the overwhelming feelings that contrasted each other; pain and pleasure. You could feel his boner through his boxers, and you pulled away as he stopped siphoning for a second.

“I want it.”

He looked at you confused, “What? But it’s your first-“

You grasped his face in your hands, and panted as you spoke. “I want it with you. I know we kind of just met and you probably don’t feel the same way but, if everything you say is true then, you’re the only one I can trust right now. I trust you, and if it’s not now with you, with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life... I’d rather it be never.”

His eyes analyzed your face, his expression indescribable. All he did was nod, pressing his forehead against yours. You looked up at him, and lightly giggled as you tried to ease the tension. “Just be careful, okay?”

He said nothing, but kissed you softly. It was sweet, then when the pain began again, he kissed you harder. You moaned as he gently laid you back, your body shuddering from the overstimulation of pain and teasing pleasure from kissing and grinding.ng against each other. He kissed your jaw, then started planting sloppy kisses against your skin on his way down to your wet core. His hands lightly skimmed the sides of your body, searing your skin as he did so. Your headache grew as he laid between your legs, his hands firm against your thighs as he hooked his arms around them. Your breath hitched as he snuggled his face against your panties, breathing you in. “You smell delicious, princess.”

Kai sits up to pull your panties down, throwing them to the side immediately. “I really missed you for some reason.” He leaned in, his breathing against your wetness making you feel light headed. His hands gripped your thighs, and the pain returned as he made one long lick against your core. You moaned, your legs clutching around his head as he teasingly peppered kisses against your intimate lips. “And being here, against you, really soothes my stressed… thoughts.”

You winced, as both the pain and the pleasure made you feel weak. He started to kiss your lips more openly, making you moan as he licked and nibbled against your inner core. You crooned, “You’re right. You’re really good…”

His tongue suddenly entered your entrance, and you squeaked aloud. “Daddy, that feels so amazing...” Your hips bucked against his mouth, and you felt a memory come back to you. He was kissing against your chest, nibbling against your chest. His voice murmuring against your skin, and you smiled. Your heart to heart conversation at the bar, the way you felt when he looked at you up and down. When he had appeared in your room the morning after, when he had told you the truth about everything, and when he had loved your body expertly. You giggled in the midst of the pain and pleasure at the same time when he nibbled at your clit. “I really missed you, Kai. Funny thing is, the pain only makes it feel better.”

He looked up at you, his eyes dark as he sat up. You smirked, “I remember you.” He gripped your thighs, his siphoning making you grunt as he pulled you pelvis to pelvis, and started to grind against you. “I remember your tongue, I remember your kiss… I remember your hand inside me.” He grinded harder, and you moaned. “I want you. Please.”

Kai shook his head as he grinded more against you, still siphoning the mind compulsion out of you. You were in euphoria as he grinded his boner against you, but you wanted more. “Why not? Please, Kai… Daddy, I really need you inside me.”

He only grinded rougher against you, and leaned closer in to kiss you. “No…” He murmured against your lips, and you moaned as he rubbed in a certain way that hit your clit. Memories rushed back as you started to build towards your climax, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You looked in his eye as you started grinding faster, harder, more sloppy.

“Why not?” He licked his bottom lip as he kept thrusting against you, your breasts slightly bouncing, and the bed starting to creak underneath you. “Daddy, please-” You shrieked as he suddenly bit into your shoulder, practically growling as he murmured against your skin to keep calling him that. You moaned his nickname again, both of you panting against each other. You needed more. Faster. Harder.

“Princess, I’m-”

“Me too, daddy. Baby. Kai. Kai!” His thrusts stopped and he held his pelvis against you as you both climaxed. You grunted, clenching your legs around his waist as he siphoned as much out of you as he thought possible. He let go, gently resting his head against your chest as he panted with you, calming his nerves. He was looking at the floor, humming in his afterglow. A couple minutes passed when he suddenly spoke.

“You deserve better than me for your first. Someone who loves you, at least. You barely even know me.” You looked down at him, and ran your hand through his hair. You felt captivated by him, his actions, his words… Everything about him drew you in, it consumed you. You couldn’t think of anyone that you’d want more to be with you and love your body than Kai. You didn’t know why but, you wanted him.

“There’s no one I want more than you right now.” He lifted his head, looking at you in surprise. You smiled sheepishly, “I don’t know exactly what it is about you, but I just can’t get you out of my head. Even when you walked in here and I didn’t remember you, it was like I was still drawn to you. You’re so-”

He smirked up at you, “Charming?”

“Addicting. It’s like this new flavor I never knew existed and now, it’s the only flavor.” He grinned, almost sadistically, and slapped your thigh as he sat up.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, cutie. Now get dressed, we’re going on a date.” You looked at the time, it was already nine in the evening. It had already been two hours? You thought back, remembering all the compulsion Elena and her friends had done to you.

“Kai?”

“Yeah?” He slipped on his pants, going commando which had distracted you for a second, but you shook your head.

“What you did to me, the magic sucking or whatever-”

“Siphoning.”

“Yeah, that. Everything I remember now is completely true?” Your hand drifted to your neck, feeling slightly nervous about your newfound information. You started to doubt a lot of things, and you didn’t know how to feel. The man with the teal eyes, it hurt to even think about it.

“Unless you were hallucinating, why?” You furrowed your eyebrows, searching through your memories as to be accurate. You looked up at him, anxious.

“Do you know a vampire named Elena?” Kai froze as he put on his jacket, and looked at you quizzically.

“Why?” He sat next to you, a devious glint in his eye. You sighed, the feelings overwhelming you as you recalled your lost memory.

“It was a couple years ago. I was on my way home with my aunt, driving out of Mystic Falls when we stumbled across someone laying on the road. It was a girl, it was Elena. My aunt, being dumb and nice, went out to see if she was okay. My aunt talked to her, then went to the back of the car. I didn’t even see her move, she was there and then she just wasn’t. Next thing I heard is her screaming, and then nothing.” You held your breath, not wanting to cry in front of him. “I tried to be quiet in the car, but this guy with teal eyes, he found me. He made me forget what happened, told me to go to the police station and say my aunt and I had been attacked. She’s been declared missing ever since. But she’s not missing, she’s dead.” You blew out a breath, clutching his hand that was next to yours. “He made me forget my aunt was dead because of her. He buried her up. They buried her. I can’t believe she was my friend.”

Kai squeezed your hand as he knelt in front of you, wiping away the tears you didn’t even notice were there. You sniffled as he smirked up at you, “What?”

He bit his lip, grinning. “Wanna have some revenge?” His thumb caressed against your cheek, and you smiled softly.

“What? Like a prank?” Kai chuckled as he shook his head, standing up and heading over to your dressers. He started going through them, throwing some on the floor that you presumed he thought were dumb or ugly. You rolled your eyes, “I’m sorry, are those your clothes?”

He laughed at your remark, “I just think you look better without them.” You huffed as he threw you a bra, some underwear, and some jeans and a hoodie. “But these will do, I guess.”

You changed into the clothes he gave you, and left your hair down. “Okay, Kai, lay it on me. Where are we going?”

He put an arm around your shoulder as he walked you outside, “I said we’re going to get revenge. But also a date. A davenge. Yeah, that’s solid.” You shook your head as you guys walked out of the dorms. “So you don’t have any dorm mates. What’s up with that?”

You felt sheepish as you recalled how, “Well, I kind of pretended to have this mental illness where I’m a big germaphobe and would freak out about sharing a space with someone.” He burst out laughing.

“Damn. You’re a diabolical girl, (Y/N).” You smiled, kind of feeling appreciated for a change. It was always weird to be seen as the studybook, but you were someone with different sides to them. You made it out to the lot, and Kai gestured to the rest of the cars. “Which one do you like?”

You were confused, but played along. “I actually really like the black mustang over there.” He smirked as he saw your decision, and led you to it. He gestured to it, muttering under his breath. It unlocked easily, and he grinned at you happily.

“Now, it’s ours.” You scoffed, thinking about how unbelievable he was. He opened the passenger door, gesturing for you to get in. There was no alarm, so you held back a smile as you sat and he closed the door. You didn’t want to exactly condone this type of behaviour, but how could you resist his infectious attitude? He sat in the driver’s seat, caressing the car’s dashboard with a small mutter.

You raised an eyebrow, “Have you ever driven?”

The car revved up, and he let out a triumphant laugh. “We won’t die, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling with a shake of your head. “So where are we headed now?”

Kai leaned over, suddenly kissing you roughly with a small groan. You kissed him back, giggling like a schoolgirl. “Answer my question, Kai.”

He pulled away, sitting upright and shifting the gear into drive. “We’re going to Mystic Falls.”

* * * * * * * *

“Okay, heh.” Elena huffed as Damon closed the door on her. She was perplexed, to say the least. Why had he acted like he hadn’t seen her?

“May have put a cloaking spell on us.” Elena turned to see you and Kai behind her. She seemed shocked, to say the least. You were glad she was shocked, scared even. You didn’t know why he had chosen to confront her, but you had wanted some type of revenge so you went along with it all. He held a tire iron on his shoulder while you scrutinized her. “How genius is that?” He chuckled, then swung the tire iron to her face.

You gasped, rushing over to her unconscious body, “You killed her!”

Kai rolled his eyes, “Relax. She can’t actually die, she’s a vampire, remember?”

You huffed, all your worry about her being actually dead gone. “Good.” He looked back at you in confusion, and you smirked up at him as you walked over. “Because that would’ve been some sucky revenge.” He raised an eyebrow with a small smile as you planted a small kiss on his cheek, then sauntered over to the car. The siphon witch put the vampire over his shoulder, then called out to you as he followed.

“How do you like your eggs?”

You smiled back at him, opening the trunk for him. “Sunny side up.”

__________

Tell me what you think!! Thanks for reading!!

Link to next chapter in the series (on tumblr): https://rome5683.tumblr.com/post/643598717629366272/a-sociopaths-touch

#tvd kai #kai x you #kai x reader #kai parker #malachai x reader #malachai parker #tvd fanfiction #kai parker fanfic #tvdversegifs #kai Parker gifs

[fanmoose12]

"Soo," Hange wrapped her arm around her brother Mike, sitting down next to him. "What is awaiting for us this fine evening? What kind of guests do you smell?"

Mike grinned at her, before closing his eyes and taking a deep inhale, his nostrils flaring with the movement.

"I smell..." he did another inhale. "I smell a bunch of rich men, who aren't nearly as rich as they think."

"Typical for such balls," Hange huffed. "What else do you smell?"

"A dozen of girls, who are desperate to find a rich husband."

"What else?"

"A couple of men and women, who genuinely came here to find themselves a true love."

Hange snickered. "…What else?"

“I smell… I smell someone utterly gorgeous. Tall, blond, with one hell of a jawline and a pair of the bluest eyes I've ever seen."

Hange looked up at her brother, his description was way too accurate, even Mike's nose wasn't that sharp. And sure, his eyes weren’t closed anymore and instead focused on the center of the room, where stood a man, who fitted Mike's description perfectly. He was incredibly handsome, there was no denying that, but Hange was more curious about his short, black-haired companion.

She nudged Mike in his side. "What about his friend?"

Mike spared him no more than a single look. "He's arrogant, selfish little man."

"Mm," Hange cocked her head to the side. Mike certainly seemed to be right. The man was scowling so fiercely at every one, who dared to approach him, that Hange began to wonder why did he bother to attend the ball in the first place. She continued to watch him, her sharp eyes boring into him, when suddenly he turned around.

Their eyes met.

Hange's heart skipped a beat. She felt a blush spread across her cheeks. She raised a hand, giving him a little wave. The man narrowed his eyes, his gaze emanating even more annoyance than his face. He plucked his lips in disgust, as he noticed that Hange was wearing a man’s clothes, instead of a dress.

She hastily looked away. If he looked at her for a second longer, she was sure her heart would jump out of her chest.

"Let's go and introduce ourselves," Mike said, getting to his feet.

Hange pulled him back. "Sit down," she hissed. "Moblit is going to be here soon. He'll tell us about those mysterious newcomers, I'm sure."

"Mysterious?" Mike grinned. "So they've managed to grip your interest too?"

"I'm not nearly as interested in them as you seem to be," Hange retorted. "But I haven't seen them around here, and that's certainly... intriguing."

Oh, that man was intriguing alright. But Hange wasn't ready to come face to face with him just yet.

Thankfully, a couple of minutes later, Moblit did enter the huge ballroom. Hange waved at him with a smile, beckoning her friend to come closer.

“We’ve been waiting for you!” she exclaimed, dragging him down to sit next to her. As soon as he did so, Hange wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She sighed in content. Sitting between Mike and Moblit, two men she cared about most in the world, she felt warm and safe. “So!” she clasped her hands. “Tell us all the juicy gossip!”

Moblit chuckled, scratching his neck. “I don’t really know anything worth your interest…”

“C’mon!” Hange urged. “You always know that kind of stuff. So spill it out!”

“Well, Rico Brzenska just returned from her trip to Scotland….”

“Oooh, little adorable Rico?” Hange gave her brother a mischievous look. “You remember her, don’t you, Mike? Remember, when you’ve danced with her during last year’s ball and you stepped on her f—”

“Don’t remind me,” Mike shuddered. “I thought that glare of hers would kill me.”

Hange laughed, throwing her head back. Mike rolled his eyes, playfully smacking her arm.

“I don’t wish to hear about Rico or others boring neighbors,” he said to Moblit. “Better tell us about them,” he pointed at the two mysterious men from before. “Do you know anything about them? Especially the handsome blonde?”

“The angry shorty, too!” Hange added, pointedly ignoring a curious look from Mike.

“Oh, that’s Erwin Smith and Levi Ackerman. I’ve heard that Mr. Smith recently rented Netherfield and Mr. Ackerman came to visit him.”

“Netherfield?” Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “So he���s rich.”

“He is,” Moblit nodded. “And Mr. Ackerman is even richer.”

“That shorty is wealthy?” Hange gasped.

“He may be short,” Moblit agreed. “But the pile of riches he owns is most definitely not.”

Hange whistled lowly, glancing at Mr. Ackerman again. He was still standing next to Mr. Smith, who was talking to some young lady. His stiff posture spoke volumes about his awkwardness. Hange snickered in her sleeve.

“Alright, we’ve heard enough,” Mike announced, grabbing Hange by the hand. “Let’s go and introduce ourselves.”

Whatever protest Hange had was promptly ignored, as her brother started to pull her upwards. Before he dragged her away, though, she reached out and swiftly ruffled Moblit’s hair, promising to get to him later.

 ***

When they came to stand in front of Mr. Ackerman and Mr. Smith, Hange had to admit – up close, Mr. Smith was even more handsome. His blue eyes shined even more brightly and his soft smile would have made even a gal like Hange swoon.

If she managed to look away, of course, from his short companion.

Standing so close to her, Mr. Ackerman looked much more annoyed. However, Hange couldn’t help but notice that he too wasn’t that bad looking. One could even call him handsome, if he would stop scowling so much.

“G-good evening, sirs!” Mike exclaimed way too loudly.

Hange gave her brother a critical look. And as she did so, she barely managed to conceive her laughter. She had never seen Mike so nervous – the poor man was sweating and blushing at the same time! As a good and caring sister, Hange had to step in and save at least some of his dignity.

“We’ve heard you’re our new neighbors!” she smiled brightly. Mr. Smith smiled back. Mr. Ackerman did not. “I’m Hange Zoe and this is my brother, Mike,” she pointed at him and her eyes didn’t miss the way Mr. Smith’s smile widened ever so slightly, as he gazed at Mike.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Mr. Smith took Hange’s palm in his to plant a small kiss there. Then, he grabbed Mike’s large hand and gave it a firm handshake, that lasted only a little too long. “My name is Erwin Smith and this is my friend, Levi Ackerman.”

Mr. Ackerman said nothing for a long moment. Hange started to feel a little awkward, and she was definitely not alone in this, as Mr. Smith discreetly elbowed Mr. Ackerman in the side, mumbling something that sounded a lot like ‘For the love of god, be nice”.

“Why aren’t you wearing a dress?” he asked finally, regarding Hange with cold gaze.

“Oh my, please, forgive him—” Mr. Smith hastily tried to apologize, simultaneously giving Mr. Ackerman a disappointing look.

“I take no offence,” Hange waved him off. “I get that question a lot, actually, and the answer, I’m afraid, is fairly simple – I don’t like them.”

“But everyone else wears them,” Mr. Ackerman crossed hands on his chest.

“I’m not everyone else,” Hange noted with a grin.

Mr. Ackerman didn’t seem satisfied with her answer, as he rolled his eyes, huffing in annoyance.

“I’m afraid, Levi isn’t a very sociable person,” Mr. Smith said with a tight smile. “It’s just a flaw of his character, do not take it personally.”

“You’re staying at Netherfield, right?” Hange swiftly changed the topic. “I’ve heard that it has one of the most extensive libraries in our country.”

“It’s true,” Mr. Smith nodded with a smile that told Hange just how much he was grateful for a change of subject. “The library is simply gorgeous, I honestly can’t stay away from it.”

“Ah, I envy you,” Hange sighed dreamily.

“Hange enjoys reading,” Mike joined the conversation. He didn’t sound as awkward as before. Hange reached to his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “You can’t imagine how hard it is to drag her away from her books.”

“That’s a feeling I’m most familiar with,” Mr. Smith chuckled. “And if you share my passion for knowledge, please feel free to visit my library whenever you wish. Of course,” he looked at Mike. “My invitation extends to you as well.”

“You’re very kind,” Mike answered, his voice sounding higher than usual. Hange hid her grin. Gosh, her brother had it bad.

“Would you like to dance?” Mr. Smith asked, extending his hand to Mike.

“With a pleasure,” he agreed, taking Mr. Smith’s arm in his and leading him to join the crowd of dancers.

And also leaving Hange alone with Mr. Ackerman. He was still staring at her, his glare not lessening.

“So,” she began, feeling more than a little awkward. “Do you dance, Mr. Ackerman?”

“Not if I can help it,” he answered curtly.

Oh Jesus, Hange thought. He really wasn’t going to make it easier for her. For the first time in her life, Hange didn’t know what to retort. She looked around the ballroom, trying to find Moblit’s face in the mass of dancing guests. As soon as she spotted him, she hurried to join his side, feeling immensely relieved that he didn’t find some pretty girl to dance with. Hange was lucky that Nifa was on her trip in London and couldn’t attend the ball. It would be hard to converse with Moblit, if she was there.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” he asked, as Hange approached him.

“I just don’t feel like it,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading Moblit into a more secluded area.

 ***

They were sitting behind the benches, talking about nothing, when Hange saw Mr. Smith and Mr. Ackerman walking side by side.

Against her better judgment, she strained her ears, listening intently.

“It’s a beautiful evening, is it not, Levi?” Mr. Smith asked with a dreamy smile.

“It is not,” came Mr. Ackerman’s reply.

“Ah, Mike is really handsome, is he not?” Mr. Smith continued, evidently used to his friend’s attitude.

“If you say so.”

“His sister is very pretty, as well. You should have asked her to a dance.”

“Pretty?” Mr. Ackerman huffed. “She is barely tolerable. And not handsome enough to tempt me.”

Hange felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. She knew she wasn’t the fairest of the fair and she was more than okay with it her whole life. But for some reason, those words struck some cord inside her.

“Don’t listen to him,” Moblit whispered, squeezing her hand in his. “And count your blessings. If he liked you, you’d have to look at his sour face for the whole evening.”

“Just the thought of it terrifies me!” Hange chuckled, smiling gratefully at Moblit. “I wouldn’t have danced with him, even if he was richer than a king himself!”

After that little accident, Hange and Moblit returned to the ball. They danced and laughed with other guests. Hange was enjoying herself immensely.

However, every time she stopped and looked around, she saw that Mr. Ackerman’s cold eyes were following her every move. She was always quick to look away. His intense and yet unreadable gaze unnerved and confused her.

 ***

“Your dancing skills are very impressive,” Mr. Smith told Mike after their second dance had ended.

“Thank you,” Mike mumbled, hiding his burning face behind his hair.

“If you think his dancing is impressive,” Hange cut in, always ready to tease her dear brother. “Then you should have read his poetry. That is most certainly impressive.”

“Hange,” Mike whispered lowly, both as a warning and a plea.

“You write poetry?” Mr. Smith asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“It happened only once—”

“When we were younger,” Hange grinned crookedly, cutting Mike off. “There was this girl Mike fancied. She seemed to fancy him back, and so he decided to write her a poem, as a way of confessing his feelings.”

“Did it work?”

“Oh, it worked just fine,” Hange couldn’t keep in her giggles. “Mike’s poem was so good, that girl never spoke to him again. I’m afraid that my brother once again proved the power of poetry in driving away love.”

“I thought the poetry is the tool that strengthened one’s love, not destroyed it,” Mr. Ackerman intervened. The bored expression on his face didn’t disappear, yet his eyes looked into Hange’s with utmost graveness.

“If we are talking about powerful, lasting feeling, then you are most certainly right, Mr. Ackerman,” Hange answered, her glasses glittering in a bright candlelight. “But if it is just a poor inclination, then a bad sonnet will most certainly eliminate any affection.”

“And what do you suggest to encourage affection?” He made a face at the last word, showing Hange just how uncomfortable he was with personal feelings. This new knowledge didn’t surprise her in the slightest.

Hange’s grin turned into a smug smirk, as she looked Mr. Ackerman up and down. “Dancing. Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable.”

The way Mr. Ackerman’s eyes slightly widened because of her words was the best thing that happened to Hange this evening. She turned around, feeling giddy and cheerful.

‘Take that, annoying shorty,’ she thought, as she made her way through the crowd.

#yes mike is jane in this au #yes erwin is bingley #no i don't take criticism #ok no i lied i DO take criticism so if there is something you don't like about my story - feel free to point it out!!! #it's just a first part of a series im planning to write #but it probably won't be a real au because that story is too complicated to adapt afkjfgjg #im thinking of writing just my fave scenes :) #soooo tell me if you liked it and if i should continue!!!! #levihan #levihan fanfiction #hange zoe #levi ackerman #erwin smith #moblit berner #mike zacharius #snk fanfiction #snk

[my-emotional-self]

Sinful Love - Chapter 1

Moodboard by the beautiful @princess-evans-addict​

Pairings: Prisoner!Steve Rogers x OFC

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Steve has lots of naughty thoughts, talk of murder, blood

Summary:  Gemma, a quiet and meek crime writer from a small town in Massachusetts, interviews murderer Steve Rogers in prison for a memoir.  Will things go terribly wrong, or beautifully right?

Authors Note: Credit for this fanfic goes 100% to punk-in-docs as this is is based off her Prisoner!Kylo Ren “Sinnerman”.  You can find her on Tumblr at punk-in-docs or on A03 - Punk_in_Docs .  I HIGHLY suggest taking a look at her stories as she is a beautiful writer!!!

P.S.  I am currently NOT doing a tag list at the moment so I am sorry about that. 

 She was cold; that much was for sure.  Gemma bounced her leg up and down as she was sat in the cold metal chair, waiting for her name to be called.  Her emerald green eyes scanned her surroundings as she pulled her ratty old cardigan closer to her body.  

Her eyes landed on the sign in front of her: Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center. Yes, she was sitting in the waiting room of a prison.  

This was her job, as a crime writer with her publishing firm.  She didn’t mind it.  She loved hearing how inmates have turned their lives around for the better and she still even wrote to some of the inmates she had interviewed in the past.

Gemma Peterson was someone that people didn’t really give a second glance to; and she liked it that way. Ever since she was as young as she could remember, she was always told by her mother and grandmother what a dreamer she was; how her creativity would get her somewhere one day.  And yet here she was, sitting in a prison and waiting to interview a murderer.  

She really couldn’t complain however as she loved her job.  She knew she wanted to be a writer her whole life; that’s what she got for growing up in the smaller community a half hour away from Boston, Massachusetts. It was well known for its literary history.  

As she continued to wait, her right hand came up to grip the locket around her neck; closing her eyes and thinking of her grandmother and mother.  She had never known her father as he was never a part of her life. “Wish me luck today,” she spoke under her breath, knowing her grandma and mom were always with her.  Her mother unfortunately passed away before her 17th birthday: a horrible car accident took her away from you.  

Gemma’s mother was her world and was always there for her.  After her untimely death, her grandmother picked up the pieces and helped her get through everything.  

“Peterson!  You’re up!” Her thoughts were pulled from her when she heard her name being called.  Looking up, she saw a short and round man with sweat stains under his armpits waiting for her near a door.  She knew it was the resident Psychiatrist, Dr. Kauffman,  with whom she talked to on the phone earlier in the week.  

Quickly standing up, she gathered her satchel which held her notebook, along with the prison inmate file on Steve Rogers, and briskly walked over to the man.  

He looked her up and down then shook his head.  “They are going to eat you alive kid,” he spoke with a shake of his head before turning away from her and walking down the long and narrow hall.  

Gemma scrunched her brows and looked down at her outfit.  She made sure to dress accordingly with what the psychiatrist said. She was wearing a knee length black dress and a green cardigan to cover her exposed arms; her hair was neatly tucked back into a ponytail and she wasn’t wearing any makeup.  A pair of black converse on her feet.  But her eyes widened when she realized she put perfume on that morning.  Silently, she scolded herself as the man in front of her walked through another set of doors and took a sharp turn to the left.  

Taking deep breaths, Gemma kept up pace with the doctor in front of her as they now reached the official area where the inmates were locked up.  

“Hey sexy bitch!” A man growled from her right.  “Get your sexy ass over her and let me take a good look at you!”  

Glancing to her right, she saw a tall man, at least six foot five with his hands clenched around the steel bars; his smile wide, showing off his yellow teeth.  

There was a guard walking behind you and he took his baton, smacking it against the steel bars, effectively shutting the inmate up.

After a few more twists and turns, Dr. Kauffman leads Gemma into what looks like the visitor room. There are rows of metal tables and chairs; the tables having locks in the middle of them so the prisoners can be chained down with their handcuffs.  

“Take a seat,” Dr. Kauffman states as he points to one of the tables.  The room was large, but there was nobody else there.  It was cold, cooler than the previous room she was waiting in and it smelt musty.  

Dr. Kauffman took a seat at the opposite side of the table as her, clasping his hands together.  “Look, I know you’re here to interview Rogers, but don’t be surprised if you don’t get any information out of him,” he stated. Gemma furrowed her brows in curiosity to what he said.  “There have been dozens of interviewers here over the years and Rogers doesn’t particularly care to give any kind of information to them.”  He got up from his seat, placing his hands on the table and leaning towards her. “And just so you know, this is the first time he has seen a woman in three years.”

Gemma gulped, but her throat was so dry, it didn’t do anything.  Why was she so nervous all of a sudden?  This was her job; she’s interviewed hundreds of people over the last handful of years, but she had never been quite this nervous before.  

“Are you wearing perfume?” Dr. Kauffman asked as he stood away, folding his arms over his chest.

Gemma blushed, nodding her head.  “Sorry. It’s a habit.  I’ll remember for next time.  Promise.”

Dr. Kauffman walked towards the steel beamed doors where there were two prisons guards waiting.  

As Gemma waited for him to grab Steve Rogers, she placed her notebook and inmate file in front of her on the table.  Opening the file, she still couldn’t believe that there was no picture of the inmate. When she had asked her boss about it, he merely shrugged.  She had the file for almost a week and had memorized everything inside of it.  

She read over the questions she had written in front of her as she waiting; her hands palms starting to sweat as her heart began to beat rapidly inside of her chest; anxiety and fear creeping over her.  

“You need to behave yourself and be nice Rogers,” one of the guards spoke.  

Another voice broke through Gemma’s thoughts; one of the sexiest voices she had ever heard. Looking up from her papers in front of her, she saw a tall, well built man, clad in an orange jumpsuit, wrists and ankles locked together with cuffs, entering the expansive room.  

He scoffed at the guard, a sly smile on his face.  “I don’t play well with others and you know that.”

Her heart nearly dropped to her stomach at the sight of him.  He had to be close to six feet tall.  His hair was a dark blonde, almost brunette and was longer at the top of his head while the sides were shorter.  His hair was combed backwards and he had a thick yet trimmed beard resting on his face.

The guard brought him closer to Gemma, stopping just in front of her.  He pulled the chair out for Steve to sit in and cuffed him to the table.  

“We’ll be just outside the door, so no funny business Rogers,” the guard spoke, pulling at his cuffs to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere.  

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve bit back sarcastically.  

It took a moment for Steve to look over at Gemma and when she did, she wanted to simultaneously shrink down in her seat from her glare, yet get lost in his eyes forever.  They were the bluest eyes she had ever seen in her life and she was mesmerized by them.  

Steve cleared his throat, making Gemma startle in her seat.   She tore her gaze from his eyes and noticed he had tattoos peeking out of the neck of his jumpsuit.  As she trailed her view from his neck, she also realized he had more black ink sticking out of sleeves of his orange garb and to his hands; wondering if his entire body was covered in the ink.  

Steve couldn’t help but take notice of the smaller woman sitting in front of him.  She was a mousy little thing, yet he could tell she was curvy underneath that drab old cardigan she was wearing.  Fuck, Steve hadn’t seen a woman in over three years and he wasn’t disappointed in this little Kitten sitting here.  He couldn’t help but notice when he startled her earlier, scaring her; it made his dick throb.

She wet her lips, grasping her notebook in her hands and looking over her questions yet again.  

Steve began to feel his temper rise under his skin, waiting for this little Kitten to speak.  Hell, at this point, he was beginning to think she was a damn mute.  

Gemma took a sip of water from her water bottle that was stashed away in her satchel; getting comfortable in her chair.  “Umm, I just wanted to say thank you for agreeing to meet and speak with me Mr. Rogers,” she spoke, her voice awfully quiet.  

His eyes narrowed at her as he leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest.  “Yeah yeah.  Let’s just get this over with.  I’m missing my yard time today for some journalist here.”

Gemma shuffles anxiously in her chair.  “Well, I’m not a journalist Mr. Rogers.  My name is Gemma Peterson and I’m a writer actually.  I work for a small publishing firm and they are interested in your story as a lifer in this prison.  They are actually doing a series on inmates and their personal memoirs and it will be published into a book of….”

Steve scoffed, cutting you off.  “Writer or journalist, you’re all the same. There’s no difference,” he mutters under his breath.  His eyes glance down to the manila folder that held his inmate information.  “From the looks of it, you’ve already read everything about me so you should know how I feel about journalists hounding me for questions about my life before prison and now.”  His voice was warning, yet a deep purr.  He leaned against the table, closer to Gemma, eyes pinning under his dark gaze.  

There was something about the fear that was ignited in Gemma, which also turned her on.  His eyes were piercing deep into her soul, mesmerized, yet terrified at the same time.  

Steve fought the urge to moan at the way she bit her lower lip, as if to stop herself from trembling; his cock jumping for attention under his orange jumpsuit.  She was modest, submissive even and he had to stop thinking dark thoughts about his hand around her throat as he fucked her raw.  When he was told about this interview, he assumed it would have been a balding fat man, not a shapely appetizing young woman.  

He was leaned over the table, as close as he could possible lean and inhaled deeply.  His nostrils were met with the most wondrous smell; some sort of flower he couldn’t quite figure out, but he wanted more of it.  He thanked whatever higher power out there for her perfume, her scent; it was a good distraction for his shitty fucking life in prison.  

Gemma took a shuddering breath as Steve leaned closer to her over the table; her eyes on his large hands clasped together.  

“Well go on then.  Ask your damn questions,” Steve urged, a hint of playfulness in his warning tone, making Gemma’s mind swirl with confusion.

“Umm, what..what more can you tell me about your conviction and what was it like?” She slowly glances back up at Steve, immediately regretting it.  His jaw was tight, tense.  

“Lengthy and tedious,” came Steve’s stiff answer.  

“And what about the trial?” she asks softly.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he glances down at his file and back up to her.  “Read the damn file.  It’s all in there.”

Usually she is poised during interviews, but Steve is throwing her off track with his demeanor. “Alright then,” she speaks, shifting in her chair.  “How has it been adjusting to life here in prison?”

“Agonizing,” he replies; his face deadpanned.  

“Umm,” she stumbled as she fumbled through her notes.  She could feel her cheeks begin to redden with mortification at her loss of thought. This was definitely not going the way she imagined.  Sure, she had never interviewed a prisoner before, but she had seen numerous crime shows and interviews online with prisoners and they acted anything but like Steve.  Her throat was beginning to dry up and reached for her bottle of water, taking a quick swig.  Not only was his behavior throwing her off, but he stature in general was terrifying. Here she was, sitting not only in front of a murderer, but a big man in and of itself.  His biceps were trying to break free from his jumpsuit and she could tell he was ripped and muscular underneath.  

Her eyes trailed up to his face; the veins in his neck starting to pop out.  “What do you want me to say huh?” he growled through his teeth. “You want me to sit here and talk about and describe in detail what killing and hurting those men felt like huh? How good it felt when I plunged the knife into their stomachs and slashed their throats?  Or how I watched one of them die a slow and painful death after cutting his femoral artery?  People don’t realize just how much blood the human body can hold, but I sure do Kitten and it’s quite a fucking lot of blood,” he explained.  

Gemma wanted to flinch at the pet name he gave her, but she kept her cool as best she could. Instead, she looked at him with her big emerald green innocent and scared eyes.  

Steve nearly came in his jumpsuit at the terrified way she was looking at him.  Fuck he would give anything to snap these chains off him, bend her over the table and slam his dick into her pussy.  He knew, just by looking at her, what a tight little cunt she had; and he wanted it.  

“Is that what you want to hear Kitten?  I think deep down you want to hear that I enjoyed killing those men.  Fuck, I’m glad I did it.  And no, I wouldn’t take it back if I had the chance to.  Sure, I’m fucking pissed to be locked in this miserable God forsaken place like a caged animal.  Having to be told when I can eat, sleep and taking a goddamn piss. But it is what it is,” he stated, shrugging  as if it was nothing.  

Gemma could do nothing but stare back at him.  Steve studied her, knowing he was wrong.  No, she was too sweet, too pure.  She wasn’t hard hearted like him.  He watches as she nervously chews on her lower lip.  

“What do you miss most from outside of this place?”

The question made him cock his head to the side in curiosity.  This petite, shapely five foot four librarian looking woman just astonished the five foot eleven murderer.  

“What?” Steve asked.  

“What do you miss about-“

“I heard the fucking question Kitten,” he growled.  

This time when he called her Kitten, she didn’t want to flinch.  Instead, she felt an oddly exciting tingle go down her spine; her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink.  Steve knew exactly what his pet name did to her as he slyly smirked.  

Steve stayed silent, not knowing how to answer that question.  Nobody ever asked him that question before in interviews.  

She remained quiet as well, her eyes fidgeting with her pen.  She had been told time and time again to not give any personal information about herself, but she couldn’t help just speaking up.  “I’d miss baking.”  Her voice was the softest she had ever spoken; Steve barely heard her.  

Her eyes flick back up to Steve as he sits back in his chair, getting comfortable.  His slicked back hair was now in the light of one of the few windows in the room and even though he used only prison shampoo, it looked so soft; she wanted to run her fingers through it.  

Since Steve wasn’t saying anything, she figured she would continue speaking.  “My grandma left me her house in her will when she passed. It’s quite small.  Just a two bedroom two bathroom house.  But it has a porch with a porch swing in the front and is full of hand me downs and small knick-knacks.  It’s warm and cozy and clean, and all mine,” she speaks.  “It’s all I have.  I don’t have any family left.  My entire life exists in that small house.   I grew up there my entire life.  I remember planting some lilac bushes when I was younger.  I love it every spring when they bloom, even if it’s not for very long.  My grandma and I planted a garden in the front of the house.  I try to keep up with the garden, but that was my grandma’s thing.  Plants and flowers.  Luckily the garden we planted when I was younger, doesn’t take much to upkeep. But baking is my passion. Cookies, brownies, pies and cakes. I make a lot of cakes for special events in my town.”

She couldn’t help but glance up at Steve and she couldn’t tell if her mind was playing tricks on her or not, but it looked like he was smirking.  

“Coffee,” was all he said, making Gemma nod her head.  But then he continued.  “Italian coffee to be exact.  Nothing added to it, dark as the ink on my skin.  The shit coffee they serve in here tastes like dirt.”  Gemma couldn’t help but let out a small giggle, the sound going straight to Steve’s dick, making him inwardly groan.  

The two of them sat there quietly, staring at one another.  

“Time’s up,” came the voice of one of the guards.  Gemma turned and saw two guards entering the room.  They stopped in front of Steve and unshackled him from the table.  Roughly, they jerked his hands away from the table and she wondered if his wrists were sore or hurt as she noticed how his skin was raised and red near the cuffs.  

“Come and see me again Kitten,” Steve spoke with a slight upturned grin to his lips.  

Gemma watched as the guards took him from the room.  She had never felt this way before she did today; terrified and fearful, yet oddly excited to see him again.  She had not planned on coming back here again, but when he called her that pet name yet again, she had made up her mind to visit him next week.  

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #prisoner!steve #au avengers #au steve rogers #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #avengers smut #avengers fanfiction #bucky barnes

[cchellacat]

I Will Be Waiting

Darcy Lewis Bingo

Y1: Soulmate AU

Bucky/Darcy

18+ for some smutterfluff

Darcy never wanted to meet her soulmate, fate has other plans.

Thank you @hawksmagnolia​ for all your support and help and for the absolutely beautiful cover art/mood board! 

Darcy had been coming to New York since she was a kid. She loved the hustle and bustle, the people, the sounds, and the vibrance of the city. When Jane had taken up a teaching position at Columbia she’d been excited, with Jane as a guaranteed roommate she could finally afford to live in the city of her dreams.

It took her a month, applying for jobs to find one but she lucked out and got a great foot in the door at Stark Industries. It only took a year before some wise guy sent her up to act as Stark's assistant for the day; no doubt thinking she’d crash and burn or walk out as every other person had for the last ten years. Not Darcy Lewis, no siree, Darcy Lewis was not a quitter and Tony Stark was an overgrown man child, accustomed to pushing people's buttons till they cracked. Darcy didn’t crack. She pushed back. In less than a month she had Stark’s schedule running like clockwork and Pepper had given her the stamp of approval, promising that she’d be canonised as a saint when she died. Darcy had been walking on cloud nine ever since. Her job was a bit of everything, but surprisingly similar to a lot of what she'd done for Jane, everything from paperwork and coffee to experimental engineering. Her salary rivaled most department heads and she had been able to move into an apartment in the Tower. When Jane had visited Darcy she’d crossed paths with Tony and the two had hit it off. Jane’s funding went from meager to unlimited and she was offered science space at the Tower. All in all, life was good.  

One of Darcy’s favourite places in New York was in Central Park. There was a small plaza, in a quiet area of the park, perfect for some sun and picnicking at lunchtime. On a plinth at the far end was a statue. The real mystery though was that no one knew where it had come from. The statue of the man was just over six feet, he appeared to be a soldier, in full uniform from around the second World War. He stood, with one arm reaching out, as though waiting for someone to take his hand. There was no record of it being commissioned, no artist had claimed it. Eventually, the city had simply installed the wide plinth with room for the invisible stranger to stand on and constructed the small plaza since it had become somewhat of a tourist attraction. Many people visited just to get a photograph with the handsome soldier.

As with any good urban legend, a fairly ridiculous story built up around the statue. The most prevalent story was that he’d been a real man, frozen in time and only his soulmate could break the curse and bring him back to life. This was completely absurd, but romance sells and so it was in every tourist book and even had its own following on social media.

Touching the soldier was seen as good luck; people said if you did you’d meet your soulmate within a year. It had such cultural belief that many people ended up saying their first words to each other in this very spot. It was rumoured that Pepper Pots had met Tony Stark here ten years ago while she was on her lunch break and the man had spoken to her for the first time when he was passing through on a date with another woman. Darcy doesn't know if that's true, but she's about ninety-nine percent convinced it’s pretty damn accurate. Her boss has a picture of himself and Pepper in front of the soldier on his desk that he often looked at smugly.  

The Searching Soldier was deemed as the perfect place for romantic proposals, first dates, and even the occasional wedding. Darcy had seen her fair share of men and women getting on one knee and popping the question in the last two years since she’d made it her regular lunch spot and she couldn’t help but love this place for that alone. The Searching Soldier had become an icon and a symbol of true love and Darcy’s escape from the constant buzz of the building she worked and lived in.  

She crumples up her napkin and grabs her coffee cup and ambles over, throwing the waste in the bin before coming to a stop in front of the statue. She’s been inclined more than once to just climb up the steps and touch him, but she’d never been particularly superstitious or even very desperate to meet the man who will give her his first words. In spite of that, every time she stands here, part of her is really tempted to do it anyway. She’s looked at his face every day for two years, trying to figure out the expression. It doesn’t look hopeful or happy. His eyes are slightly wide, his mouth caught mid-smile, or perhaps on the cusp of speaking a name. He looks, Darcy thinks, both resigned and startled. Some days she thinks he’s saying goodbye instead of hello. Her phone beeps, disturbing her a little from her contemplation and she realises she's going to be late back to work if she doesn't hustle. Throwing one last look at the soldier and his out-stretched hand she hurried off.

      Stark’s experimental lab was a perfect example of finely organised chaos. Darcy both hated and loved it. There was certainly never a dull moment with Tony as her boss, but the number of clean up requirements every time an experiment went wrong meant overtime as well as exacting and specially vetted clean up crews to ensure no proprietary research left the building.

It’s getting late but Tony is in the final stages of construction of what he says will be a time machine. Darcy doesn’t want to think about the possible ramifications of such a breakthrough and has already discreetly informed Pepper and the Legal department.  

“Hey, pass me the sonic wrench will you?”

Darcy glares at the tools in front of her. She’s half-convinced he makes this stuff up just to mess with her. She randomly grabs an oddly shaped tool and passes it over.

When it happens, Darcy is caught off guard. The machine hums to life in almost the same second that the lab doors are forced open. Tony grabs her and hauls her up onto the pad behind him, his watch enveloping his hand as the repulsor glove activates. There is shouting going on and a gun fires. She’s not afraid to admit that at the moment, panic sets in and she’s hardly coherent of anything other than the feel of Tony's hand in hers before he wrenches it free and then slides something onto her wrist. The next thing she knows, the machine whirs to life, there's a sharp noise like metal on glass and then she's falling.

Silence envelopes her as she hits the ground. The bright light of the lab was gone, replaced with almost total darkness and the scent of damp. She groans, pushing herself up and is thankful when Tony’s twin moan of pain reaches her ears through the dark.  

“Tony?”

“You ok, Short Stack?”

“I’m fine, what the hell was that?”

“Time travel without a capsule. A little bumpy, but we managed.”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

“No, why would I?”

“Are you insane? We can’t go experimenting on ourselves.”

“Would you rather we stayed where we were and got shot or kidnapped?”

Darcy glares as Tony’s suit deploys and an ethereal glow emanates from the nanotech.

“How are we meant to get back?”

Tony grins.

“I’m glad you asked. I put a recall device on us both before I launched us out of time.”

“The wristband?”  

He nods and moves to check her over.

“You seem alright. How are you feeling? Dizzy?, headache?... how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Ugh, you are not a doctor, Tony. I’m fine. Just jittery.”

“Hmmm, shock, probably. Good, that means they work.”

“Means what works?”

“The wristband isn’t just a tracker, it’s like a bubble of real-time from our timeline, one that travels with us and keeps us from what I theorised could be temporal sickness caused by the jump.”

“So what now?”

“We lay low for a few days, in forty-eight to ninety-six hours the tracker engages and we’re pulled back to our own time. Easy.”

“Sure it is, but what are we meant to do while we wait? Do you know when we are? We don’t have any money and I refuse to stay trapped in this mouldy basement for the next two days.”

Tony looks mildly chagrined before shrugging a little and muttering about him figuring it out. Darcy sighs and follows him. She was putting in for danger pay when she got back. This was above and beyond.

They make their way up through some abandoned tunnels, the air turning colder and colder the higher they climb. When they finally make it to the top Darcy realises they are in a railway tunnel and there is a train coming straight at them. Tony manhandles her for the second time that day and pulls her out of the way. Only his suit saved them from a steep snowy drop into the ravine below.  

They’re barely back on their feet when an explosion rips through the air and the side of the train car that almost hit them rips open.  Even with the speed it’s going, the unmistakable form of a man falling has Darcy crying in horror. Tony doesn’t hesitate. At that moment he forgets where he is, all that matters is saving a life. He takes off, leaving Darcy safely on the embankment, and flies after the man as the train speeds out of sight.

A shaking and cursing soldier drops in front of her as Tony lands and his suit retracts back into its casing. Darcy is barely processing it all as she stares at the stranger, he looks so familiar. He’s tall, dark-haired with the bluest eyes she’s ever seen. He shouts angrily, accusations flying back and forth as Tony explains who they are. Darcy doesn’t blame him, she wouldn’t believe them either. He does tell them the date though, 1945. She has traveled back in time seventy-five years, they are apparently somewhere in Austria. When he finally gives them a name, Tony winces and Darcy’s ears perk up. She knows that name. She knows it because the man in front of her died a hero, falling to his death from a train just before the end of the war. If they weren’t already white with the cold she’s pretty sure Tony would be turning transparent. How the hell do you tell someone they’re dead and have been for seventy-five years? Yeah, it goes down about as well as you’d think. Darcy suddenly sneezes and the sound of her teeth chattering stops both of the men mid-argument. It’s the first time the guy finally looks at her, his eyes seem to widen and then he’s whipped off his coat and swept it around her.

“We can’t stay out here, we have to get off this mountain and back to base.” He addresses Tony. Darcy almost wants to punch him for the rudeness of ignoring her even as she pulls the warm coat around her tightly, savouring the comforting warmth.  

“What do you not get about you’re dead? You can’t go back, you can never go back!” Tony punctuates each point with a finger jab at Sergeant Barnes, she grabs his hand to stop him. Barnes looks about one more jab away from knocking Tony out.  

“Tony, we still have to get out of here and somewhere sheltered. We don’t know how long we have before we go back and we can’t just leave the Sergeant without any help either. Maybe he can’t go back, but there must be something we can do to help him, right?”

Tony looks at her grudgingly and nods.  

“Okay, I’ve got a plan. We get back to the base, I go in alone and talk to Howard. We fly to New York and I’ll make sure Barnes here gets set up with a new identity and a job.”

Darcy smiles as brightly as possible at Barnes.

“See? A whole new start, it’ll be great!”

Barnes's eyes widen for a moment before he bites out the words she had been dreading to hear her whole life.

“I won’t leave Steve!”

To be fair, he looks almost apologetic the second after they came out of his mouth but Darcy closes up and Tony growls.

“What did you just say?”

Barnes raises his hands shaking his head, looking beseechingly at Darcy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I just-”

“Have you got any idea the damage those words have done to her you selfish neanderthal?”

Tony had seen her words once, completely by accident. They’d had to go through decontamination after a spill in the lab, the showers hadn’t left much room for modesty. Her words crawled up the small of her back, just below the rise of her jeans. After that, the older man had been stupidly attentive and protective of her. She’d honestly never expected to encounter her soulmate like this, and especially not with Tony in tow. Tony who knew more of her secrets than anyone other than Jane.  

Barnes' face at Tony’s accusation was bitterly remorseful. His eyes flashed to Darcy, boring into her own deeply, seeing the hurt and rejection she’d lived with her whole life. He stepped towards her, his lips parted, she wanted to say something, but any words she could have said were swiftly cut as Tony pushed him back and away from Darcy.

“I said I’m sorry!” his voice is harsh and Darcy thinks she can almost see the threads as he unravels. “But I can’t leave Steve, he needs my help, he’ll get himself killed if I’m not there-”

Tony gabs Barnes and shakes him.

“Rogers lives. You died and Captain America carried on, did just fine without you. You going back, being alive? That could change all of history and just might get your friend killed. Do you want to do that? Risk the future just to butt in where you’re no longer needed?”

Tony’s words were scathing and sharp but no less true for the content.  

“Tony! That’s enough….” she turns to Barnes. “Look, I’m sorry this happened, but you were meant to die, it must feel like your life has been turned upside down, I know. But it’s better than actually being dead, right?”

His eyes settle on her and he shakes his head, she suddenly wants to be anywhere but here. He looks lost and afraid and she can’t help but feel this is her fault.

“Better than being dead? I can’t see my best friend ever again and my soul mate is going back to the future. I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life, I’m over the fuckin moon.”

She recoils like a blow has been struck. He’s angry, of course, he is. She is too. This should never have happened. It’s not fair, but if there is one thing she’d learned in life it’s that it is never fair. She’s toe to toe with him, shaking from anger or cold, she’s not sure which.  

“How do you think I feel? I’ve been shot at, fell through time, nearly got hit by a train and now my soulmate wants nothing to do with me and even if he did I’m never going to see him again! You’re not the only one with a sucky life Barnes but I’m not having a tantrum over it. Suck it up soldier and deal with it. This is life.”

Twin blue eyes blaze at each other before Tony comes between them again and then she ignores Barnes, letting Tony guide her as they get off the mountainside.

It takes six hours to get back to the base. Tony somehow manages to carry them both, flying low and slow until the dark green tents and the wooden barracks appear. They drop down a few miles out, Tony leaving them both sneak in and find Howard. He doesn’t think it will take much to convince his dad of who he is and tells them to stay safe until he gets back.

Barnes stalkes about the clearing they’re in like an angry bear while Darcy does her best to push away the strange grief she feels welling up in her heart. It doesn’t make much sense, really, it’s not like she knows him or is going to get the chance. The wristbands are their only way home, not equipped to carry an extra passenger. Tony had already put the full stop in her unspoken question about her staying. It was a huge no-no, she didn’t belong in this time, he was almost certain the time-stream would rearrange itself around her if she stayed but that it would most likely try to erase her the longer she stayed. He’d made too good an argument for the universe trying to Final Destination her ass to be comfortable with taking the risk.  

“I don't even know your name”  She jerks a little at the abrupt statement, suddenly aware of how close he'd come to her.

    Bucky feels like his world just ended and nothing is ever going to feel right again. When he’d fallen from the train he was certain he was going to die. It was a long way down and in those few moments where he fell he’d almost made peace with his end. The words inked on his arm the only regret he had. He’d wondered his whole life about the girl that would one day try to reasure him.

  See? A whole new start, it’ll be great!

Wondered what he’d say to her, how he’d greet her. Instead of one of the many things he’d hoped he might say he’d pretty much rejected her for someone else. He cringes at the thought that she had spent her life wondering who Steve was to him that he’d refuse her. Now here he was, with the one girl he was made for, who was made for him and he was furious at himself for the cock-up he’d made of it. He runs a shaking hand through his hair, feeling the small ice crystals melt when they come in contact with his hand. It’s freezing out here but he hardly feels the cold. It’s been that way for a while now, not just the immunity to the cold, but the strength and the speed and his senses all sharper and better than they’d ever been. He can see her shivering, even with the long blue coat of his wrapped around her tiny frame.  

God, they haven’t even been introduced properly. He feels like a fool.

“I don’t even know your name.”

She looks up at him, seeming surprised at his closeness.  

“Darcy Lewis.” she doesn’t give him more than that, a brief snippet of knowledge.

“James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky.” she raises a brow, “I’m sorry for how I reacted back there, for what I said. You didn’t deserve those words. I was just worried about my friend. You gotta understand, I’ve known him since we were kids, he’s like family to me.”  

Darcy sighs. “I get it, I do. Consider it forgiven.” she shivers again and hugs herself tighter.

Bucky feels a twinge of guilt.

“Don’t know how long your friend’s going to be, we could..” he trails off, his hand, held towards her hesitantly, gesturing for something.

Darcy looks at the outstretched hand, it's like a bell in the back of her mind, like deja vu.  

“Look, you’re obviously freezing, come here and we can huddle, share warmth. I know it's a little unconventional, but I promise I’m not trying to make a move.”

Darcy snorted.

“Like I couldn’t take you if I needed to.”

The way she side-eyes him and the little twist of her lips as she delivers the words induce a sudden chuckle. It’s been a while since a dame smacked him down so dismissively. Part of him admires her moxie while a deeper part finds a bittersweet understanding of why the universe paired them. He could see it. How they could be. If life had given them a different path.  

Darcy throws a half-hearted glare his way.

“What, you don’t think I could?”

“Oh, I’m certain you would if I got fresh, Doll. Come here, you’re freezing, no use refusing just to make a point.”

“And if I said no?”

“You could, '' he nods his head. “ But you won’t, you’re too practical and smart to be the kinda girl that’d cut her own nose off just to spite her face.”

“James Barnes, is that a compliment for little old me?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. Of course, she would be full of sass to match his.

“Tellin’ you you’re beautiful would be a compliment. I’m just calling a spade a spade.”

Darcy presses her lips together, refusing to smile and lets him take her hand, he pulls her in close and wraps his arms around her as she tucks her head into his chest. When she realises he really is like her own personal space heater she unashamedly clings to him like a limpet.  

“Getting comfortable, Doll?”

“Digging in, like the spade I am.”

She replies dryly then lets out a tiny giggle and feels an answering rumble of amusement from his chest. His arms tighten around her a little and she sighs, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she tells him quietly.  

“Least I could do.” He responds equally quiet. A silence lapses between them but it lacks the jagged edges that it had held before. Darcy breathes him in. It would be so easy, she thinks a little sadly, to get used to this.  

        It’s dawn when Tony gets back to them, Howard in tow. In less time than she’d expected they were in the air and flying over the Atlantic. Tony and Howard are upfront, conspiring away while she’s stuck in the cabin with Bucky. It’s strange watching the man, her soulmate, the little voice in her head whispers, as he sleeps.  

Out there in the snow and ice, he’d been all hard edges and furrowed lines. In sleep the angles of his face softened, he looked younger. She’s not blind, the man has the sort of face you’d expect to see in some lookbook for a model agency. Maybe if he’d been born in her time he’d have found himself doing exactly that or perhaps acting on some cable tv show. He was almost pretty but with just enough dangerous charm to describe him as strikingly handsome. More man than boy, despite the big blue eyes and soft lips. If she had to admit to a type, he was exactly hers. Not surprising considering the words curling up her spine. It doesn’t seem to be something she can entirely dismiss, even when she knows there's no future here for them. Her heart sees him and she feels like the breath is knocked out of her. But even the knowledge that he hadn’t been rejecting her is now more of a burden than a relief. A burden because she can’t help but wonder what could have been. It’s like being given water in a desert and then having someone take it away to pour into the sand. In his sleep, he curls an arm around her and pulls her in close. Darcy lets him, selfishly allowing herself to pretend that this isn’t just a temporary stop along the road. She closes her eyes and rests her head against his chest and cuddles in. Deep inside she thinks they really could have been something.  

The change in air pressure, subtle though it is, is what wakes him. He finds Darcy wedged into his side, fast asleep. He can feel the plane descending. She’s a soft warm, sweet-smelling refuge of hope amidst the raging storm of his emotions. He’s torn. He thinks he should be pushing her away, this is just prolonging and making matters worse. He doesn’t want to get attached. She's going to leave and he’s never going to see her again. His heart, soul? Whatever they want to call it, this connection the universe gave them is pushing him to keep her close and never let her go. It seems the longer they spend in close proximity the stronger the pull is between them. He has no idea where he’s going to go from here. What sort of future he’s going to have, but the unsettling feeling that there isn’t one without her leaves him numb.

“Hey…”

His eyes flick down to meet hers, gazing up at him, sleep heavy and soft. This is what he was meant to wake up to every morning, he thinks, somewhat bitterly before a fond smile, curls around his lips at the cute scrunch of her nose.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Darcy huffs and reluctantly pushes away from him.  

“Please don’t…” she trails off. The way he was looking at her made her heart swell, she could feel herself softening to him with every second. “This wasn’t what I expected…” she pauses and shakes her head. God that was a stupid thing to say, neither of them could have predicted anything like this.

Bucky purses his lips but keeps quiet. He can see her struggle to put her thoughts in order and his Ma raised him to be polite. He let her gather them, seeing the little wheels turning behind her eyes.

“When I was a kid I used to pretend I didn’t have words. I figured it was easier to say I was blank than admit my soulmate didn’t want me… wouldn’t want me. I told it to myself so much it felt true.” It had felt like that. She had cut herself off from any sort of longing to protect herself from the pain of being rejected. It wasn’t something that happened very often, but it did happen. People refused their soulmate, denied the bond and it would fade into nothing, Meeting your soulmate wasn’t a guarantee of happiness, it was just a chance, an opportunity to find the person best suited to you, but it didn’t guarantee love. “I thought if we ever crossed paths we’d both walk away content with the decision. Me happy to let you have what you wanted, you happy not to have some overly emotional drama queen stalking you.”

He could feel her sadness, her eyes were wet and her voice wavered. He gently cupped her face and caught the tear as it trailed over her pale skin.

“But now…. Now it feels like, -”

“Like we’ve been cheated. Like you were given a chance but the choice has been taken away. It was your choice before, to walk away from me when you thought I wouldn't want you.”

“But I didn’t have all the facts. If we’d met in my time… God, everything would be different, we’d still have a choice, an opportunity to ... I can feel it, you know? You feel it too right?”

His thumb stroked over her lip.

“Yeah, I feel it too, s’like magnets pulling together. Never wanted to know someone the way I want to know you.”

The sincerity in his voice struck a chord deep in her soul. She felt the same echo in her own.

“But we can’t. And this… the way you’re looking at me and touching me… I want it so badly but it’s just going to hurt so much more when I leave... if we keep doing this. I can’t afford to get this comfortable with you, I don’t want to... I’ve been hurting my whole life but now it's real and in front of me and I…” Darcy crumples. Maybe she’d convinced herself she’d never have a great love, but it didn't mean she’d ever really stopped wanting it. She feels like every moment in her life leads here, an inexorable inevitable point, fixed and immovable and she doesn’t want it to end.

He gathers her close, feels her tears soaking into his shirt as she cries. She’s breaking his heart. Every bit of him wants to protect her, comfort her; seeing her like this and knowing there is nothing he can do makes him furious at the world, at whatever god consigned them to this tragedy.  

“It’s not fair...it’s not.”  

“I know it’s not, princess. But we’re going to hurt either way. Why not make a few memories to hold onto?”  The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, his mind changed.  Maybe this wasn't going to be a forever, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least hold onto whatever he could get.

Darcy breathes and considers his idea. Maybe he’s right, isn’t this going to hurt no matter what?  

“We might only get hours, a few days at most.” she’s not sure if she's trying to discourage him or begging him to tell her it doesn’t matter, that he’ll take whatever he can get. He doesn’t disappoint her.

“Then we make them count. Enough for the life-time, we could have had.”

Bucky places two fingers under her chin, bringing her gaze to his. Darcy blinks then lets it all go, lets her guard down, and sinks into his eyes. She thinks for a moment she forgets to breathe. His eyes are soft, a warmth in the deep blue. He smiles gently, encouraging an answering smile from her lips.

“Okay.” She finally lets go of the fear, embraces the chance to snatch a few small moments of beauty amid the chaos of their inevitable defeat. How, after all, could you win against time?

“Okay?”

Her smile grows wider at the happiness in his eyes and he hums a little tune. It’s a small thing but it brings a tiny snort of laughter from her, an old song so ironically apt.

“They can’t take that away from me.”

“What?” Her brows rise, was he serenading her?

“The way your smile just beams.” He sang softly, grinning down at her. She giggles.

“The way I sing off-key?” She answers back in kind.

“The way you’ll haunt my dreams… no no they can’t take that away from me.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Seventy-five years and people still know that song?”

“I like the Fred and Ginger movies, that one was a favourite.”

“I’d have liked that, taking you to a movie, on a date. Take you dancing somewhere so I could hold you close.”

“You don’t have to dance with me to do that” Darcy wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and Bucky thinks he’s never felt so charmed in his life.

When they finally get off the plane Darcy pulls Tony off to one side.

“I need time,” she tells him.

“Lewis, I swear if I could fix this…” He looks pained, but Darcy just shakes her head.

“No, that's not what I meant. I need time on my own with him, it’s the only chance we’ll ever have and I want to make the most of it, you understand, right?”

Tony sighs. She’s stubborn and fierce and he’s done his best to ignore the way the two had gravitated towards each other once their words were spoken. He knew from his own match that trying to keep them apart would have been pointless so he hadn’t tried, maybe even encouraged it by staying with Howard and letting the man talk his ear off. He gets it, he really does and just once, he can give her this.  

“Think you can keep out of trouble till we get pulled back?” at her nod he continues. “Fine. When the recall alert goes off make your way to Central Park. We’ll meet at the little plaza, it should be deserted enough and open enough for our return back. You’ll have about half an hour to get there so don’t stray too far.”

She surprises him with a quick hug and a whispered thanks in his ear and then he watches as she drags Barnes off by the hand.

    Forty-three hours later her wrist device beeps. Darcy looks at it mournfully and cuddles into Bucky’s arms. He’s spooning her, her body snugly tucked against his. It all feels so monumentally right, the feel of his skin against her, the rhythm of his heartbeat in time with hers, the way each breath between them works in harmony. His arms are wrapped tightly around, holding her fast, she wishes she could stay here forever, in this one perfect moment, suspended like a dragonfly in amber.

“Bucky, baby, we’ve got to go.” His body tenses and he mutters into her shoulder.

“It’s not fair Darcy… it’s not right.”

“I know. But we’ve had this.”

“S’not enough, doll. It could never be enough.”

He growled, tugging her under him as he rolled on top of her. His mouth met hers swiftly, kissing her till she was breathless and clutching him to her as her body sang for his.  

It’s quick and desperate. Two bodies trying to merge deeper than imaginable, both of them attempting to leave their mark on the other. When they peak she cries, even as her body shudders in pleasure. It’s the sweetest torture. To have this and know it will soon be over. She feels his tears on her skin, falling to mingle with her own against her cheeks as he kisses her deeply. She never thought a kiss could feel like this, like hello and goodbye and forever.  

They make their way to the park with a few minutes to spare.  

When she enters the clearing where the little plaza is usually found, all that's there is a wide grassy space with a few benches and a path. It’s a little jarring to see it like this, without the presence of the Searching Soldier the place felt empty, haunted. Before she can think about it anymore there’s the sound of shouting and the retort of a gun. It’s like the lab all over again, only this time it’s Bucky that grabs her and forces her behind him.

“Put the fucking gun away Howard, it’s not going to help!”  That's Tony's voice carrying through the trees.

Tony and Howard burst into the clearing, running, and made a beeline for Darcy and Bucky.  

“Three minutes till we get delorean’d back to the future, Lewis and we’ve got a sorcerer on our ass.”

“What? Like Strange?” A blast of golden light cuts through the trees and they’re thrown off their feet.

“More Voldemort than Dumbledore, but sure.”

“What the hell do they want?” Bucky hisses at Tony.

Tony shoots him his patented “Am I the only smart person in the room” expression and Darcy elbows him in the ribs.

“What do you think? They want to know the future!”

“You’re telling me you managed to get Nazi wizards on our asses in less than two days?”

“Like it’s my fault!”

Darcy glares like she could set him on fire.

“Fine, it’s about 12% my fault, the rest is his,” he tells her, nodding at his shamefaced father.

“Oh god, there’s two of you. Now I can tell Pepper where you get it from!”

Tony scowls as they dodge another blast, running and throwing themselves behind a low wall beside the path.

“What are we meant to do?”

“We just need to stay in one piece till we get yanked back.”

“What about Bucky, and Howard?”

A sudden flash of light behind them as a portal opens sends them scrambling, but instead of danger, the serene face of a woman looks down on them as she emerges from the rip in reality. Her head is bald, her porcelain skin seems to shimmer, and about her neck is the faint green glow of the eye. Darcy recognises it as the Time Stone.  

“Dr. Stark.” she nods.

“Ancient One.”  

Darcy is taken aback at the seriousness of his tone and the respect he gives the woman without question. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.  

Four sorcerers follow behind her and scatter quickly, facing off against the enemy as spellfire bathes the clearing in an eerie light.  

The Ancient One moves her hands in a complicated pattern, a golden dome engulfs them in a protective bubble.

“You are safe now and there is not much time.” She regards Bucky with a sharp eye and traces some unseen line back to Darcy. Her gaze softens as he takes Darcy’s hand in his, moving protectively in front of her.

“You have nothing to fear for your soulmate, Sergeant Barnes, I mean neither her nor yourself any harm.”

“All due respect Ma'am, but I don’t know you and I don’t trust you.”

She nods to him and returns her gaze to Darcy.

“The timeline of this universe has been irreparably altered. I can see why now and perhaps this way is better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your Sergeant had another path he should have followed, one that still would have ensured you crossed paths here in your future. That way is now lost, since it cannot be recovered, perhaps there is a way to resolve your current predicament.”

“Can you send Bucky back to the future with us?” she asks her hopefully.

The Ancient One smiles mysteriously.  

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But I am afraid your soulmate will have to take the slow path.”

Darcy’s face fell. She had hoped… The watch beeped again, Tony gave her an apologetic look as he held his hand out to her.

“It’s time, Short Stack.”

She doesn’t let Bucky's hand go even as she is reluctantly pulled away by Tony. Bucky seems about to speak, the smallest regretful smile turning his lips and then the Ancient one taps his shoulder just as Darcy's hand leaves his. Bucky freezes, caught in a moment, utterly still as his whole body seemingly turns to stone. Darcy tries to lunge back, a cry of horror ringing out.  

“He will be here, waiting, Miss Lewis. And like any good fairy tale, true love's kiss will break the spell.”  The Ancient One imparts softly.

Darcy doesn’t have time to react to the words before she feels caught up in a whirlwind of motion and the world jerks sharply to the left.

    They come awake together in the lab they left from. Tony tripping over himself to check the machine. The place looks fine, nothing seems out of the ordinary. It’s like the firefight in here never happened.  

“Tony?”

He sweeps his desk for his phone and checks the date.  

“Just as I thought. The same day we left from, it’s lunchtime. We’ve come back before we left. Come on, we better get out of here before we run into ourselves.”

They take the secret elevator out and Darcy follows Tony without question, still half in shock and trying to wrap her mind around the events she’d just experienced.

Before she knows it, they’re back at Central Park. Tony shepherding her along in a daze.  

“It all makes sense now, this is crazy. I mean, you’ve spent every lunchtime here for the last two years... Darcy..., Double D! Snap out of it.”

“He’s been there, all that time?” she finally says, shock and disbelief colouring her tone.

“From the moment we left. He’s been there. Waiting for you.” Tony puts his hands on her shoulders and she doesn’t know whether to sob or laugh.  

“I didn’t lose him?”

“Look, “ he tells her, nodding over her shoulder. She turns her head, as though seeing the statue for the first time. It’s him, it’s really, him.

She looks back at Tony, shaking her head.

“What do I do? What if it doesn’t work… what if-”

“Lewis! Breathe.”  

Darcy curls her hands into fists and sucks in a deep lungful of New York air. She is a well of mixed emotion, confused and hopeful and terrified. It’s almost too painful to believe this is real. That he’s been here, all this time, trapped in a single moment, waiting for her to free him.

    “This is unbelievable.”

“I know.” he agrees soothingly.

“He’s the Searching Soldier”

“Patron Saint of true love and all-around good luck charm. New York may never recover the loss. Pretty sure, lover boy over there accounts for about a quarter of tourist revenue.”

Darcy snorts, a hysterical giggle forcing its way out. Tony only manages to keep a straight face for about a half-second longer than her before they're both howling with laughter. Passers-by stare at them as they walk past. Eventually, breathless and shaking but far calmer, Darcy stops.

An exasperated cough to their right has both turning sharply.

Stephen Strange is dressed casually, a grey jacket with a matching scarf wrapped around his neck, hands stuffed in the pockets.

“I don’t have all day you know.”

“Strange.” Tony gives the wizard a distrustful frown. He dislikes Strange on principle. The man tacks an inordinate amount of pleasure in needling him.

“Stark, Miss Lewis.”

“What are you doing here?”

Strange rolls his eyes, a look eerily similar to Tony’s own” How do I deal with these idiots” sneer crossing his face before he dispels it at the look Darcy throws at him. She is so clearly done with all the shit today.  

“Well, we can’t just let the rest of New York know that a man has been trapped in stone for seventy-five years, can we? Besides, the sudden disappearance of a national treasure would be impossible to hide and the economic impact… what, what? Stop laughing, honestly, Stark, can’t you take this seriously for five minutes?”

“So, you’re here to cover it up.”

“Indeed. Miss Lewis will break the spell, I’ll cast an illusion and Wong will bring the duplicate statue through from the Sanctum.”

“How…”

“Did I know? Well, the Ancient One left a reminder on Wong’s phone. Got the alert this morning and crafted a replacement...”

Darcy shakes her head, tuning Strange out, and faces the statue. She’s put it off long enough. She takes off, leaving Strange and Tony bickering behind her, and crosses the plaza. She only pauses for a moment at the bottom of the plinth before determinedly taking the steps and standing beside him.  

She knows the answer to the question now. The expression on his face had been both I love you and goodbye. She takes his hand in hers and steps closer before pressing her lips to cold stone. For the tiniest instant, she thinks it didn’t work, but then it’s like the world suddenly found its breath and cold marble becomes warm flesh, unyielding stone transmutes to living motion and she faintly hears a gasp before strong arms crush her close. Bucky’s voice, whispering her name, fills her ears and then he’s kissing her as if he’ll never stop and she revels in every second of it.  A Million possibilities open before them. Infinity beckons.

#wintershock #darcy/bucky #dlbingo2020 #dlbingo #my writing

[artificialqueens]

Gimme Love, 4/9 (Miz Cracker/Blair St Clair) - Grinder

AN: Hey, guys! So I realised I forgot to explain the idea behind this story. This is part of a series I'm working on called 'Head in the Clouds' - stories that are inspired by the music of Joji. This story is loosely based off the music video for 'Gimme Love'. I couldn't make sense of the actual video cause it goes by so fast (if you watch it you'll see what I mean), but I kind of have an idea.

Thanks for listening to my TEDtalk.

Major Trigger warnings: Dementia, death, grief, homophobic slurs

-_-_-_-

2003

"Brianna, could you come here?"

I put my pen down on the kitchen table, not really minding that Grandpa was interrupting me. The studying was tiring, if anything.

Walking into his room, I found him getting up from his desk.

"Hey, Grandpa," I said.

"Brianna, do me a favour, baby. Could you read me this one chapter?" He asked, retreating to his bed.

Bit of an odd request for him. "Why? What's up?"

I picked it up, one of the many books that delved into the science and possibility of the existence of parallel universes.

"I'm just...finding it kind of hard to concentrate." He laughed to himself. He made a groaning sound as his back hit the bed.

I sat by him and read about 3 chapters before he said, "that'll do. Thanks, honey."

I got up and moved to the desk, briefly glancing at the front cover, at the main character with his telescope. Far off memories flashed in my brain. I put the book down, turning to face him.

"What are you smiling at, honey?" Grandpa asked, a smile appearing on his own face.

"I just...remember the night you told Jujubee and me about 'the other world'. We haven't stopped talking about it since." I admitted, putting the book back on his desk. "And we'd always play these games like we were there. Our lives would be so different. And just a little bit better."

"And then you found yourself wanting that in reality." Grandpa finished for me.

I was silent, but he knew he was right. "It's not that I didn't appreciate what I already had. It's just...whenever my anxiety was surfacing, or whenever someone was mean in school, or whenever I thought of my parents, I'd just...want to escape." I sat down in the chair next to his bed again, taking his hand in mine and squeezing it reassuringly. "Didn't you ever feel the same?"

Grandpa breathed out a sigh through his nose, his smiling widening. "Brie, of course, I have. All the games you and Juju played, it's called escapism. And it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Wouldn't you ever try to find one?"

"Find what?"

"I don't know. A door? A gateway to the other world?"

He didn't even need to tell me 'yes.' He had spent many years reading the books, sometimes reading them more than once, making notes and coming up with his own theories. He probably felt the same way I did. In darker times, when things didn't feel like they'd get any better, he was curious about his other-self.

I knew the answer was yes. But I liked hearing him talk about these things.

"Baby, it's something I've always wanted to do. I always...wanted to know if it was possible...to slip into that other world, find this house, and just hope and pray my wife would still be on the other side of that door. I'd kiss her hand and bring her back here. And, life would be complete." He confessed. His smile was sweet but also sad, "But you know, with old age comes difficulties. My brain ain't what it used to be. Just all these words. Sometimes, they're...foreign to me."

This was the beginning of a long year. All the signs started out small, usually, Grandpa looking out the window wondering when his wife would come back from the store and losing the ability to read.

And over time, it slowly began to escalate, getting worse with each month. So bad to the point he'd take his seat belt off at a red light and try to get out. Or he'd shout at Mom, saying she's going the wrong way. Every piece of my Grandpa was slipping away.

And it was all taking a toll on my own happiness.

"You look pretty today." Jujubee commented as we walked through the hallway.

"If you say so." That was all I could reply with.

"No, really. Your hair looks really cute like that." She tried again.

I had no idea what she was talking about. I literally pinned two pieces from the front to the back of my head. It was a half-assed attempt of trying to convince everyone I gave a fuck anymore.

"Yeah, right, Juju. I look no better than I did yesterday. Or the day before. And the day before that.

Jujubee paused for a moment, whereas I continued on. "Are you OK?"

I turned to look at her. "Yeah." I lied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I wasn't ready for this, Jujubee concerns. The truth was I never told her about my Grandpa because then she'd want to talk about it, then I'd cry, then I'd probably go home and have a breakdown, then I'd give Mom more shit to worry about.

Judging from her knit brows, she wasn't buying it. Before she could even ask anything else, I turned back around, just wanting to get on with things and get to my next class on time. But Trevor just had to be there. He knocked me hard on the shoulder, making me drop my books and almost fall to the ground.

He quickly spun around, watching me collect my books. "Man, who put that trash there?"

I glanced at him with a scorn.

"Hey, douchebag," Jujubee stepped in front of Trevor, "I can see you're a little butt-hurt now that your sex life is dryer than a nuns vagina."

My eyes were wide now, knowing that wouldn't sit well.

"What did you fucking say to me?" Trevor raised a brow.

"You heard." Jujubee said with such spite. "Why don't you go rub one out to your Mom or something? Stop projecting all your problems onto my girl?"

Trevor scoffed a laugh. "Your girl? What are you, a couple of dykes?"

My jaw was almost on the ground. I looked around, noting the students observing as they passed by. I couldn't let them know my secret. I couldn't.

"Why? Does that make us all the more interesting?" Jujubee squinted her eyes. "Honey, don't pretend the thought of us 'dykes’ making out doesn't make an insecure guy like you hard."

A sound emitted from my throat - A panicked sound. Like a yell, one that was dragging its way up my throat, fighting to get out. The attention of everyone around was on the situation, since when? I had only become aware now of the sounds of thrill and excitement. I was internally panicking. How many people were there? Were they even looking at me?

"Not in your wildest dreams, honey." Trevor practically spat the last word before deciding he was finished. He turned and walked away.

Jujubee approached me, rolling her eyes. "God, does he know when to quit?"

But I just stared at her, pretty sure I was trembling. My eyes were still wide, and my jaw stiff.

"Brie?" She blinked.

I could feel it, the lump in my throat beginning to form, like a hard stone that was lodged in place. Blinking a few times, I held the books tighter to my chest and turned to walk away.

"Brianna, what the fuck?" Jujubee came after me.

"Juju, just...leave me the fuck alone." My voice cracked as I quickened my pace.

She didn't follow me anymore. Thank fuck. Because next thing I knew, I was in a bathroom cubicle, quietly crying. I stupidly decided to not go to class. I say stupidly because, during the last period, Denali leaned over and told me she thought they suspended me. When I asked why she would even think that, she said the rumours spread fast, that I had punched Jujubee.

Oh, high school drama.

Of course, Jujubee didn't deserve this. She was only doing her friendly duty and looking out for me. But I didn't need any more shit from Trevor. I didn't want all those eyes on me as I walked the corridors. My home life was already too much.

I wanted to hold on to my Grandpa for as long as I could. But seeing his health dwindle, it felt like someone was coming to get him. And no matter how much I wanted to hold on, they were going to take him away no matter what.

Around 7 months in, his immune system was beginning to fail. He was bedridden.

I'd sit with him for at least an hour every day, either reading to him, feeding him, or just having a long talk. I had a tendency to write down at least one sentence from each conversation like it would provide me with some comfort, like he was still there. When in reality he was...he was...

"Why the sad face, baby?"

I snapped out of my trance, blinking a few times as I looked at him. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"What happened? Did someone break your heart?" He asked, following it up with a laugh.

I let myself smile. "No, thank God. I'm just sleepy. I had a long day at school."

"That's a shame. I was gonna suggest we break out the old telescope. I bet we'd find Cassiopeia if we tried hard enough."

My mouth formed a hard line, unsure of how to respond. As much as I wanted so badly to sit out in the garden with him, he wouldn't even be able to make it there.

"You sure you're OK, Brianna?" Grandpa asked.

"Yeah, I'm just thinking." I looked away, studying my nails instead.

"Well, if it's not a heartache, I bet someones caught your eye?" He asked with a smirk.

I couldn't help but allow the corners of my lips to curve up. "Yeah, actually."

"Oooh." He cooed. "And what are they like?"

I thought for a second, debating how I should answer. To be honest or not. If I lied, would it even make a difference?

Looking at his innocent face, I decided fuck it.

"Sweet. Beautiful. The bluest eyes I've ever seen." I paused. "She's an absolute angel."

Grandpa was silent momentarily. But just as the nerves were beginning to surface, he replied, "and does she know how you feel?"

"No."

"Well, why don't you let her know?"

I took a deep breath in. "Because...I don't know if she likes me back. I don't know if she even likes girls."

"All you can do is try."

"It's not that simple," I spoke quietly. "She's...popular. She's beautiful. She's...everything that I'm not."

My eyes drifted to my hands once again. If I cried, would it even matter? Wouldn't he forget?

"Don't say that about yourself, honey." He reached a hand out and put it on mine. "You don't actually believe that, do you?"

I lifted my gaze again, looking at him with glossy eyes. My silence spoke volumes.

"Oh, no, Brianna." He said with such disappointment. "I can't believe you feel that way. Ain't you ever stopped to look at yourself?"

"No," I whispered. "I can't stand it."

"You need to. Because you are prettier than you know." His own eyes were glistening now. "You may not believe me, but someday you're gonna meet someone who will show you."

I dabbed the inner corner of my eye, "You really think that?"

"I know."

"That means a lot." I smiled.

He gave one final pat to my hand and pulled it away. "Do me a favour, honey. Could you get me some juice?"

"Sure."

I stood up and left for the kitchen.

On my way, I passed through the hall, catching a glance at my reflection. Naturally, I would have disregarded it. But I stopped and stood in front of it. And I just looked.

I wasn't immediately satisfied. But upon taking my glasses off, my opinion changed. I learned pretty quickly my eyes were the best from my facial features.

I smiled. Best not. My frown was oddly alluring. I tried smiling again, this time with teeth. But the braces just ruined the mood.

Putting my glasses on again, I almost jumped out of my skin when I felt tiny paws tap my feet. Of course, it was just Piggie. I scooped him up and looked at both of us together.

"God has favourites, Piggie. Take a wild guess out of us two who it is." I looked at his face in the mirror.

He cocked his head, looking at his own reflection like he couldn't figure out what was going on.

I carried on to the kitchen with Piggie still in my arms, poured the juice and made my way back to Grandpa's room.

I pushed open the door with my foot.

Grandpa's head quickly shot up as I walked in.

"Sorry it took so long. I - -"

"Who are you??"

I froze on the spot. "It's me."

"Roberta! Roberta, there's somebody in the fucking house!!"

My brain went into panic mode. I set the juice to the side, put Piggie out into the hall and approached the bed.

He was continuously shouting, thrashing around in the bed as if to escape. I tried grabbing his hands, reassuring him it was me, his Grandchild. We had literally just been talking.

But he only roared over the sound of my voice, trying to fight my hands off him.

"Pop! It's OK!" Mom rushed into the room. "It's just Brianna!"

I took a step back, letting her take control. He stared at me with an intense level of fear. What did he think I was going to do? Who did he think I was?

"Brie, go to your room or something. I'll calm him down." Mom commanded with a crack in her voice.

With a wavered breath, I left. The sounds of his shouts, I couldn't bear it. I had to get away, even for a little bit. I needed out.

I hurried out the front door, stuffing my arms inside my jacket sleeves, and marched down the path. I didn't even look back at the colourful house. I just wandered. Wherever my feet were going to take me, I'd be fine.

In a sense, I felt cruel, like I was selfish. Despite wanting to be around my Grandpa for as long as possible, I couldn't stand moments like these. But you'd think dealing with this for so long would have toughened me up a bit.

Not even in the slightest.

There I was, marching down the street, trying hard not to have an episode. I tried to maintain my breathing, but the fast pace in my step didn't help. My hands were clammy, not that having them in my pockets helped.

Again, I had no idea where I was going. My eyes remained fixated on the ground. Therefore I was oblivious to the person hastily approaching.

"Brianna, Jesus!"

Jujubee now stood in front of me with her hand on my shoulder. I opened my mouth to speak, but she beat me to it.

"I said your name like 5 times, girl." Jujubee dropped her hand. Her eyes looked me up and down, "What happened? You're shaking."

I was?

"I…" I tucked a strand of hair behind my hair, "I need a cigarette or something."

Jujubee dragged me to the bus shelter, sat me down on the ground like we were still children, parking our behinds wherever the fuck we wanted.

Despite the feeling of anxiety burning my insides, I did spark up a cigarette, anything to shift my thoughts from the current state of my family. Just something normal.

"Girl, are you sure that's a good idea right now?" Jujubee was itching to snatch it from my hand and toss it.

Instead, I said, "Jujubee?"

"Yeah?"

Eyes still glued to the ground, I blinked, "This is it. He's dying."

Jujubee didn't even need to ask. She knew about his dementia for months now. I had no choice but to tell her. The stress from it all got too much, and I was becoming more and more irritable. It was unfair to put her through that. I had to tell her everything.

Jujubee shuffled closer, "What happened?"

I couldn't bring myself to even tell her. Words couldn't even begin to describe the feeling. That feeling of just grabbing him by the hand, and running away as far as possible, so this sickness would just leave us alone.

I blew out a long cloud of smoke, closing my eyes as I let my chest deflate.

There was something about this moment in time. 9PM, at the bus shelter, sitting on the cold ground, smoking a cigarette, Jujubee by my side, her hand now in mine. It didn't feel real. None of it did.

Yet this wasn't foreign to me - This bus stop was the same one from my childhood, that day when baby Blair and I hid from the rain. Funny how the younger version of myself thought I was protecting her from her abusive father.

As bad of a time it was, the thought was comforting in the current moment, sitting there with Blair. The only problem I faced those days was my emotional outbursts and the emotional toll they took on my Mom. Oh, how naive I was, completely unaware of how life could get any harder.

Only 3 weeks later, Grandpa was hospitalised, his immune system reaching its lowest point. I visited him every day after school. There were more moments of forgotten memory, but it made it less frightening with Mom by my side.

One day in particular, however, he seemed in better spirits. It was as if the old him was back, just for a few hours.

"I'm going to the soda machine. You want anything, baby?" Mom stood up from her chair, pulling her purse from her bag.

"I'm good." I gave her a gracious smile.

She nodded, taking another look at my Grandpa before she even moved to the door. I could see the reluctance behind her eyes. She did this every time she left the room, no matter where she was going.

My eyes followed her as she left. Grandpa spoke, "Now that she's gone, any update on that girl?" He asked. I looked back in surprise. How he had remembered that was mind-blowing. He continued, "we haven't had a one-to-one conversation in a long time, honey. Give me an update."

I breathed a sigh out, lifting my brows briefly. "Nothing has become of it, no."

"Go get her, kiddo. You've got nothing to lose."

I smiled sadly. Easier said than done, Grandpa.

He coughed. "Lord, I'd love a cigarette right about now. Do me a favour, though; please stop smoking."

I wasn't completely shocked. He had noticed on a few occasions that he was down a cigarette. "I will." I wasn't lying. But I wasn't making any promises either.

"Brianna?" Grandpa looked at me now.

"Yeah?" I put my feet up on his bed, leaning back in my chair.

"Promise me one thing?"

"Of course."

His eyes remained on me, and he smiled briefly. "Promise me that you'll find a way to the other world. Could you do that for me?"

I had to admit, It was a huge thing to ask of someone like me. It was terrible to say, but I couldn't help but feel this was sort of selfish. Yes, he was on the brink of death, but how could he expect me to be such a miracle worker.

Instead of protesting, however, I just said, "Sure."

Two days later, he passed away.

I didn't cry at all, vowing that I would remain strong for Mom. I had already had my turn at grieving my own parents. And she was by my side for all of that.

Now it was my turn to be there for her. Throughout the whole funeral, I had my arms wrapped around her shoulders, like she had done for me throughout the years. It was a strange feeling - being the one to take care of her for a change. Her head on my chest, hand squeezing mine, it was just so hard to accept.

I almost thought she was going to crumble when they lowered his casket into the ground.

As I said before, there are two types of people in this world; those who hate the sight of their Mother crying and fucking liars.

Because, even though she was my Mother, she was his little girl. And losing a parent is losing a huge part of your life.

Everyone was invited back to the house after the funeral in the hopes the togetherness would lighten the mood.

Of course, it didn't fix everything, but it did allow us some time to breathe.

"You OK, Brianna?" Aunt Monét asked as I handed her some tea.

"I'm fine." Obviously, that was a lie.

I really did think I was doing everyone a favour by putting up the strong front. Little did I know the toll this would take on my own emotional well being. That whenever Grandpa came up in conversation, I'd run. If only I had realised that sooner.

I was afraid of questions like Monét had asked. So school would be a nightmare. Thankfully I was granted 2 weeks off.

The first week I lay in bed, watching box sets of The X Files. Pretty sure I almost gave myself a bladder infection from just laying there too long.

The second week, I finally decided to stop lying around and be useful. Mom recommended I break out the telescope one night. So I invited Jujubee over. I warned her beforehand that she was not to ask me any concerning questions or treat me any different. Of course, she was different with me. But she didn't ask any questions. We just carried on, looking up at the stars through the telescope.

The same week, I also found myself sitting in his room, feeling his presence very much there with me. So I took to reading his books out loud in the hopes I could keep his spirit entertained.

However, I only became interested in the books myself. I read one book. Then another. And another. And another. Fiction and non-fiction. All based on parallel universes. I couldn't get enough of it.

And reading turned into studying - taking notes, hypothesising, questioning.

And then I got Jujubee interested. Just 4 weeks after beginning, it was more than just a hobby. It was a prospect.

-_-_-_-

2020

"Miss. Caldwell. Miss Caldwell, ma'am."

I snapped back to reality, embarrassed that I had even blacked out at all. You'd think I'd know there were more important things at stake, now that I was in the presence of the Secretary of Defence, at a meeting in the middle of an almost empty hangar. Everyone around me, my team included, were important people. I needed them to believe I was on the same level as they were.

"Yes, the atmosphere of the other world," I said, hoping he would think I was listening.

"We're beyond that point now, actually." The General pointed out, standing with his hands behind his back. I couldn't lie. I felt intimidated by him, what with the uniform and all.

I glanced at his black badge, which matched mine. Did that mean I was a general like him now? Were we even on the same level? 'Cause when I woke up that morning, I tripped over my own feet and almost hit my head off the ground. I couldn't be on this guy's level.

"I asked if this place would be big enough for the construction of the rocket." He asked.

I looked around at the wide space. Yeah, it was huge, but when it came to constructing a rocket, that was all beyond me. Sure, it would probably take a good 3 minutes to walk from one end to the other. But was it high enough? I had no idea what I could even say to this guy. "Yeah, it's good."

I hoped it would be good.

"Then it's yours." He gave a quick smile. It didn't make me feel any less intimidated. He began pointing out different sections of the place, a small lab in one corner, offices in another, along the left wall was a cafeteria, and 4 sets of surprisingly clean bathrooms.

All this space, it was mine. And only an hour after the meeting with the General, we were already shipping equipment over.

"This is wild. You could fit two concert halls in here." Jujubee slipped an arm around my shoulders, the pair of us watching as a truck pulled into the hangar, carrying more gear.

I blew a sigh of relief out through my mouth. "I just can't believe this is happening. Like, why me, of all people? When do good things ever happen like this? Like, didn't I always say 'why do bad things happen to good people?'"

Jujubee laughed, "girl, good things DO happen to you. You have a luxury apartment in New York, you're filthy rich, you're a celebrity." She playfully punched me in the arm.

"Well, you're not wrong." I shrugged.

"You deserve every bit of this." She turned to get a better look at me. "You fought for so long to get people on board with this project. You continued on when people doubted you when they laughed. I think you deserve good things to happen to you."

I smiled bashfully, looking to the ground for a brief moment, "Aw, Juju," looking back to her, she lifted a hand and held my cheek. Naturally, I would have shied away, but not now. At this moment, I absolutely adored this bitch. "I couldn't have done this without you."

"I know. You've told me." She pinched my cheek before looking away.

Her hand fell by her side, so I took it in mine. "No, really. You think I would have continued without you here? You remember all those times I wanted to give up? All the times you called me out on my bullshit?"

"Hey, somebody had to do it." She shrugged in return yet swung my hand.

"That's very true." I looked at her for a moment longer. Only now did I notice the way her lashes fluttered when she blinked, how cute that was.

Her eyes moved around the large space again. "Think we could fit a Starbucks in here?"

I pulled my gaze away from her, also having another look around. "Girl, you could fit fucking 10 Starbucks in here." I raised a brow in her direction then. "Should I?"

She laughed as she continued to swing my hand like we were just children again. Honestly, that's what I felt like; A small child in her own Kingdom.

#rpdr fanfiction #s10 #as5 #miz cracker #jujubee #blair st clair #blair x cracker #hurt/comfort #lesbian au #high school au #angst #gimme love #grinder #tw dementia #tw death #tw grief #tw homophobic slurs

[notfunnydean]

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel Rating: Explicit Warnings: meet-cute, Omegaverse, Alpha!Dean, shy!Dean, Omega!Cas, sassy!Omega, true mates , John is an Asshole, topping from the bottom, top!Dean, Bottom!Cas, sub!Dean, dom!Cas, knotting, heat/rut, mpreg (only mentioned at the end) Word Count: 4.602 Challenge: Classic Bingo Summary: Castiel had just moved into his new shitty apartment when, to top it all, someone crashes through his ceiling right into his living room. Castiel is not amused and angry at the Alpha, but it turns out first impressions can be very wrong and the shy Alpha does seem cute. Prompt: crashing through a ceiling For: @hectatess​  Link (if posted on AO3):  https://archiveofourown.org/works/25915297

Castiel sighs loudly.

He wanted a new start in his life and this is what he gets. He carefully puts down another cardboard and looks around. He’s living here for almost a month by now but it doesn’t get better.

The apartment is just horrible.

But that is what you get as a single Omega. Castiel had called so many landlords the last months and he always got declined. Nobody wants a single male Omega in their houses, because apparently they are too much trouble.

“Trouble.” Castiel growls. He is annoyed. He would’ve had enough money for a cute little apartment in the city. Hell maybe he could even rent something bigger for himself. But no. Instead he has this hell hole.

“I hate it here.” Castiel mumbles as he opens the cardboard. He didn’t get to unpack everything yet, to be honest, mostly because he had hoped that he would find something different.

He knows exactly why he pretends to be an Alpha in his work life at least. Castiel loves to write books, but as an Omega nobody would buy his book so soon enough he had worked out a deal with his publisher that they sell his books as an Alpha.

Castiel publishes his books as Jimmy Novak the Alpha and they sell well. He mostly writes love stories and if people knew that he’s an Omega, then people would just pity the poor little Omega who dreams of love.

Since people think he’s an Alpha, lots of Omegas buy his books and swoon over him. Castiel sighs loudly. He’d never really believed in love stories in real life, but sometimes in his quiet moments alone he dreams about his own.

Castiel shakes his head at his thoughts and wanders off to his bathroom to look after his laundry. Here the tiles already come off and just as Castiel opens his washing machine, a loud crash comes from his living room.

Castiel’s heart almost stops.

He needs a moment, before he gets up on shaky legs and walks back to his living room, scared of what he might see there. At first he only sees all the dust and he gets angry at his damn landlord again.

But then he sees there is someone in his apartment, awkwardly sitting on his butt in his living room and then he sees the huge hole in his ceiling. Castiel gasps loudly and then looks back to the man.

An Alpha clearly, maybe a bit too ‘pretty’, but just as he wants to try to smell him, all the dust settles in his nose and he sneezes loudly. The Alpha looks up at him and Castiel growls when he sees his new shelf with all his books is broken too.

*

Dean groans and for a moment he doesn’t even know what happened. He had put the dumbbell down his father had given him and in the next moment, he was sitting one floor lower. 

It looks like a living room and Dean blushes already at the thought that he just crashed in someone’s apartment. He had told his landlord more than once, that the apartment was getting too old, but Zachariah had never really cared.

Just as Dean wants to get up, he realizes that his ankle throbs badly. Fuck. Okay at least the dumbbell had fallen down next to him and… directly on a bookshelf. Dean gasps at all the broken wood at him.

Just as he looks up, he hears a deep growl. Dean swallows and looks into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Dean’s face gets even a deeper shade of red and he opens his mouth to just say something.

“Thank you, for destroying all my work.” The man growls even louder now and Dean wishes he could hide somewhere. He’s clearly an Omega, but Dean had never in his life heard an Omega growl.

“Uh I’m s-sorry. I just uhm… I’m Dean and I live uh… there.” Dean points stupidly at the ceiling and the blue eyes squint with so much anger at him.

“Do I look like I care? You destroyed my books! Those are the first printings.” The Omega says and points at the books around him. Most are just a bit wrinkled but not completely destroyed, Dean feels ashamed anyway.

“Oh I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to put down my… wait you are Jimmy?” Dean asks, surprised when he takes one of the books. Jimmy Novak, his favorite author. Sometimes Dean really hates his life.

“No. I mean yes, I write them but my name is Castiel.” The omega says and Dean doesn't look up. Still focused on the book in his hands and he carefully strokes over the thick green binding.

“You’re my favorite author.” Dean whispers, mostly to himself but then he hears the deep inhale from Castiel.

“You’re an Alpha.” Castiel says and Dean shrugs awkwardly. His father would probably kill Dean if he would know that Dean reads love stories alone at night. Castiel seems not disgusted but shocked at least.

“I know.” Dean answers quietly and Castiel sneezes loudly again. Dean looks up when he smells something else than an angry Omega. It smells like dark and rich coffee with honey and Dean’s body reacts badly.

This is his true mate. Castiel smells like his true mate. Sure the smell is still mostly sour but Dean just knows it.

Since his mother had told him about true mates as a pup, Dean had always dreamed about his Omega. He couldn’t wait and now he finally sits in front of him. Dean’s inner Alpha winces at the situation.

He made a fool of himself in front of his true mate, but his heart still swells two sizes.

“You’re my true mate.” Dean blurts out.

“What?”

“I… I think you’re my true mate.” Dean says again, but Castiel doesn’t look happy. He looks even more angry and Dean curls almost more into himself. Castiel huffs and Dean’s stutters even before he says more.

“Listen, I don’t care. I would never date some stupid Alpha and unlike in my books I don’t believe in true mates either, so how about you finally leave my apartment?” Castiel growls out.

Dean’s Alpha whimpers.

Rejected. He has been rejected.

From his true mate.

Dean is sure that his blood freezes and carefully gets up. He really should leave now before he embarrasses himself even more. His ankle throbs again, but Dean ignores it, he doesn’t want any pity.

“I’m sorry.” Dean says and means both that he destroyed Castiel’s books but also that fate gave Castiel an Alpha like Dean.

“Whatever.” Castiel says and he picks up some of the books. Dean hastily puts the one he is still holding on the small coffee table.

“Do you… I mean I could help with your ceiling.” Dean offers at least, because he is the one who broke it. As a kid he often helped his father with tasks like that, so he could probably really help.

“No thanks. I think you did enough.” Castiel says, sneezing again and Dean swallows. God his true mate even hates his smell. Dean can smell himself, feeling so embarrassed that his smell turned extremely sour.

“But I’ll send you the bill.” Castiel says and Dean nods in agreement. Seems fair enough. Dean takes his dumbbell and hastily leaves. Well as soon as his ankle lets him. 

Castiel stays quiet and Dean never felt more humiliated in his life.

*

“Thank you really.” Castiel says and he waves towards the guys who fixed his ceiling. He hadn’t heard the Alpha all day, even though Castiel had been in his living room the whole time.

Then again the repair work was pretty loud.

Castiel hadn’t slept well. True mates. Dean had said that they were true mates. Castiel really had never believed in that, but Dean had looked so crushed and something inside Castiel had hated that sight.

“Okay.” Castiel says to himself and he takes the bill. He would give it to Dean anyway, because it was the Alpha’s fault in the end. Castiel’s stomach protests loudly and Castiel sighs.

Maybe he did want to see the Alpha again? He wasn’t sure.

Castiel takes his time and uses the stairs to get upstairs. Dean’s door is painted in a lot of colours and there are stickers on it as well. It looks adorable and for a second Castiel isn’t sure if it’s the right door.

Then he hears some yelling coming outside the apartment.

Just as Castiel wants to turn around the door opens loudly and there is another Alpha standing in the door. He looks incredibly angry and intimidating, but luckily he hadn’t seen Castiel so far.

“But Dad…” 

Castiel sees Dean now behind the huge Alpha, who seems to be his father. Dean is pretty tall himself, he has a few inches on Castiel, but he looks small like this. Looking down. Castiel sees that his ankle has a splint.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses Dean. You got rejected from your true mate and everyone can smell it. You are nothing but a disappointment. No Alpha would let himself be treated like this and you are embarrassing our whole family!” Dean’s father yells through the whole corridor. 

Dean stays quiet, nodding in obedience. 

The big Alpha turns around, ignoring Castiel completely as he storms past him. Dean’s father smells disgusting, but Castiel can smell something else. Dean. His rejection is heavy in the air and Castiel frowns at himself.

“Dean.”

Dean seems surprised to see him standing there on the floor and Castiel hopes they can both ignore the scene Dean’s father had just caused.

Castiel had thought Dean had lied about the true mates thing. So many Alphas tried that trick on him before to get him in their bed. Maybe Dean meant it. Too bad he can’t smell him like this, the rejection too strong.

But that could just be because Castiel rejected him without them being true mates. Maybe Dean took things like that to his heart.

“I have your bill.” Castiel says and Dean’s eyes widen for a tiny moment. He really has pretty green eyes and Castiel even takes his time to look at Dean’s freckles. It’s unfair for an Alpha to be that gorgeous.

“O-oh yeah. Uhm thank you.” Dean says and he takes the bill. Castiel ignores how his fingers shake. 

Dean looks at the bill and Castiel feels almost bad, because he knows how expensive it is. Maybe he should have given it to his landlord instead, but he knows the asshole would never pay that.

“Can I… I mean. It will probably take me a bit to pay for this.” Dean says softly and Castiel is really surprised at that. He can’t even be mad.

“Are you jobless?” Castiel blurts out and Dean shakes his head. He’s smiling a bit and Castiel has to say he really likes that smile. He looks adorable.

“No but I’m a kindergarten teacher and I don’t make so much money.” Dean admits and Castiel’s eyes widen. An Alpha as a kindergarten teacher. That is pretty rare but it also means that Dean has to be really sweet.

And Castiel had yelled at him.

Dean seems to take his silence the wrong way and hastily says goodbye before closing the door. 

But Castiel had seen his wet eyes.

*

It takes Castiel two weeks of constant stomach aches and a lot of time to think, before he decides he really needs to talk to Dean again. But apparently Dean is pretty good at hiding and Castiel never sees him.

Until one day just as Castiel wants to buy groceries and he uses the elevator, the doors open to reveal Dean inside it already.

Dean promptly looks to the ground after mumbling a soft greeting. Castiel takes a deep breath through his mouth and then opens the bag he always takes with him lately. He pulls out the pages and has to admit to himself, he’s nervous.

“Dean, I uh got something for you.” Castiel says and Dean finally looks at him. Castiel smiles at him and he sees that Dean’s shoulders relax a bit. 

“What’s this?” Dean asks and Castiel holds his newest manuscript out to Dean, who takes it. 

“I wanted to apologize for my behaviour the last two times we met. This is my newest book, I finished it the last few days and I want you… I want you to be the first who reads it.” Castiel says and Dean slowly starts to smile. 

“Really?” Dean sounds adorable like this and he opens the manuscript immediately.

“Sure you said you’re a fan.” Castiel says and Dean nods hastily. There is a new smell around them and Castiel really likes this smell.

“I am. I love your work, your stories are just so well written and I fall in love with each story.” Dean says in awe and he strokes carefully over the pages. Castiel has to say this sight makes him really happy.

And then he takes a deep breath again.

Dean smells happy. Dean smells like his true mate. Not as dark or heavy as all the other Alpha’s. He smells rich and deep, but also sweet like honey. Maybe with apple pie? 

“You really are my true mate.” Castiel blurts out, surprised at himself. Dean looks up again, the happy smell vanishes into thin air.

“Yeah, uhm sorry.” Dean offers, feeling clearly uncomfortable again. The elevator stops and Dean hastily gets out. Castiel follows him before Dean could really flee.

“No! Dean wait. I mean I didn’t smell you when you fell into my apartment. There was so much dust and then I could only smell your rejection but… fuck. Sorry, so many Alphas hit on me like that and I was so angry.” Castiel tries to explain himself.

Dean seems to think about that for a moment, but then nods.

“It’s fine.”

“So will you go out on a date with me?” Castiel asks and he feels already better. Even before he had known that Dean was his true mate, he had thought a lot about this the last few days. 

Dean just seems really nice and Castiel hates how he mistreated him.

“Oh I don’t know….” Dean says and he blushes so beautifully again. Castiel would make it his life mission to make him blush as often as he could.

“Please.” Castiel says and it’s an honest one.

“Okay uhm, yeah. I’d like that. But I have work now, the pups are probably waiting.” Dean says and he gives another awkward wave. Castiel’s heart flutters. 

Castiel whistles happily when he buys his groceries. He would court Dean like he deserves and he doesn’t care that normally it’s the Alpha’s job to do that. So he buys some beautiful flowers too.

At home he gets back to Dean’s floor and puts the flowers in front of the door, along with a cute little heart sticker that has his number on it.

Perfect.

*

Dean is incredibly nervous.

He had left early and is now standing in front of the small restaurant Castiel had picked out. He really hopes the Omega wouldn’t stand him up.

Just as it turns six, Dean can see Castiel. He looks good in his suit and trench coat, his hair is a mess and Dean feels himself smiling. His true mate is truly stunning.

“Hello Dean.” Castiel kisses both his cheeks in greeting and Dean feels himself blushing again. Castiel holds out some flowers and Dean takes them a bit surprised. It’s not normal for the Omega to bring the Alpha flowers.

But Dean already has the feeling they aren’t exactly normal.

“For you.” Castiel says and Dean smiles.

“I love flowers.” Dean whispers, normally he doesn’t say things like that, only to his brother maybe, because Sam is just as soft as he is. But his father would strangle him.

“Good.” Castiel says easily and he holds out his arm. Dean takes it and they walk inside together. Dean loves being so close, because Castiel really smells good. 

The waiter brings them towards their table and Dean already likes this small restaurant, he can even see some pie there, but for now he could go for some burger. His stomach rumbles in agreement.

At their table, Castiel even helps him out of his jacket and then pulls the chair back, so Dean can sit down. Dean had never been treated like this before and he tells Castiel that, when the Omega sits down.

“I promise I will always treat you like this if you want.” Castiel says and Dean blushes again. He would enjoy that a lot.

“But isn’t that my job as Alpha?” Dean asks later when they already got their food. Dean is happy to see that Castiel has a very similar taste. They both are enjoying their hamburgers and Castiel even strokes over Dean’s hand sometimes.

“No. I don’t really like the traditional relationships between Alpha and Omega. I see myself as the dominant part and like to treat my partner well. I love my work and I don’t see myself taking care of pups all day, even though I’d like to have some one day.” Castiel explains and Dean nods.

“That’s why you don’t like Alphas?” Dean says but he smiles.

“Yeah most of them try to go all macho on me and I do not enjoy that. But you seem so different and I really like that. I’m sorry I didn’t see that at first.” Castiel says and this time he even touches Dean’s foot under the table with his own.

“I’m glad you are the way you are. I… I always wanted to be an Omega as a kid, because I never wanted to be the dominant part as you say.” Dean admits and he is glad to see Castiel smile.

No Alpha he ever met would admit to prefer being an Omega.

“So did you already read my manuscript?” Castiel wants to know and Dean spends the next minutes gushing about his favorite parts. He had read it the same night Castiel had given it to him and not put it down, until he had read it all.

“And… you have to use a different name and pretend to be an Alpha for the books?” Dean asks and he frowns at that. It sounds stupid.

“Sadly yeah. People think an Alpha who writes love stories is wonderful, but an Omega? Just embarrassing and pitiful.” Castiel says and Dean growls quietly.

“Yeah I know what you mean. People laugh a lot that I’m a kindergarten teacher, but it’s my dream. There are so many cute pups and I’m super lucky my boss Jody loves me.” Dean says and the next minutes they spend talking about their work.

Dean feels himself falling even harder for Castiel. Soon enough they are finished and Castiel even pays for them. The waiter is surprised, but Dean doesn’t care anymore.

“So I would love to walk you home.” Castiel says, when they go outside and he winks badly. Dean laughs, because they both have the same way home anyway. Outside it’s a bit cold and Dean cuddles into his jacket.

They don’t even round the first corner before Castiel takes his hand. Dean squeezes back, feeling so good. He had never imagined this.

At Dean’s door, Dean gets nervous again. Maybe Castiel would want to come inside? Dean hadn’t cleaned today and his apartment surely looks messy.

“Can I kiss you?” Castiel whispers and Dean feels himself nodding, before he can think more about it. 

He almost squeaks when Castiel presses him against his door. Fuck, he really likes that. Castiel smiles and then leans even closer. Dean closes his eyes first and then Castiel finally kisses him.

Dean whines quietly. 

Castiel kisses him deep and breathless. Dean had never met someone as fierce as Castiel, but he really likes this. Really likes him. Dean opens his mouth easily and lets Castiel completely take over.

“Okay.” Castiel whispers and now he doesn’t seem so collected himself.

“Wow.” Dean whispers back and he hastily steals another short kiss. Castiel is everything he had ever wanted.

“Now be good.” Castiel scolds but he laughs too. Dean feels so happy, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Castiel shakes his head, grinning and then he takes a step back.

“Sleep well Alpha.” Castiel says and he blows Dean another kiss, before happily running down the stairs. Dean looks after him.

Just as he goes inside, he stops. There is another smell on him and Dean laughs.

The fucker had scentbonded him.

Fuck he might be really in love.

*

The next morning Dean wakes up happy but also incredibly sweaty. Fuck. He lifts his blanket a bit and that glance tells him everything. Castiel’s scent bonding had triggered his rut.

Just as Dean sits up, it knocks loudly on his door. Dean groans and wants to ignore it, but then he hears Castiel outside.

He hastily gets to his front door and opens it, Castiel looks like a mess and Dean isn’t even embarrassed that they both are only wearing their underwear.

“Dean. I’m in heat.” Castiel says and Dean nods. 

“How can I help?” Dean whispers and he still feels calm. His rut is just beginning.

“I want to fuck you. Please. I’m still thinking clearly, but it will probably get bad in a few minutes. I need you to say you want this, if not. I’ll go.” Castiel says and Dean takes a step closer.

This time he kisses Castiel.

“Of course. I’d love to.” Dean says shyly and then Castiel takes over again. Dean happily gives him the lead. Fuck he had dreamed about this.

Dean takes Castiel’s hand and takes him to his bedroom. Castiel hadn’t seen anything in his apartment, but right now Dean doesn’t care. They are true mates, of course it all goes fast and overwhelming.

“Lay down for me.” Castiel says and Dean obeys almost a bit too hastily. Castiel smiles and he smells so sweetly now. Dean is sure his own smell changed too. They share the same one now.

“Please.” Dean says, when he sees how nicely Castiel fills out his underwear. He can smell Castiel’s slick.

“In a minute. Be a good Alpha for me.” Castiel says and then he finally gets on the bed too. He leans over Dean and they kiss for a moment again. 

Dean gets impatient after a few minutes, no matter how much he enjoys the kisses. Castiel sits back and helps Dean out of his underwear. Dean’s cock is rock hard and Castiel grins when he sees his dick.

“Very nice. Bet it will fill me so good.” Castiel says and fuck Dean really hopes so. Castiel stands up and throws his own underwear away. Dean licks his lips and he wants to get his mouth around Castiel’s cock

Right now they are both too impatient. 

“Kiss me Alpha.” Castiel says and Dean does so, Castiel still above him. Only when Castiel moans loudly he understands that Castiel is opening himself up. Dean groans.

“Please let me.” Dean whispers and Castiel nods, he is already out of breath. 

“But make it good, you hear me?” Castiel says and Dean promises. He uses Castiel’s slick to get his own fingers wet and then finally presses one inside Castiel. They both groan at the sensation.

“So hot, fuck.” Dean says and Castiel slaps his thigh for swearing. Dean presses two fingers in, thanks to Castiel’s heat they go in easily and soon enough Dean adds another finger.

Castiel sets the pace though, Dean holds his fingers still and lets Castiel move on his own. He looks so hot.

“Okay enough. Need your cock.” Castiel says and Dean pulls his fingers out. Castiel straddles him for real now and before Dean can even think about it, Castiel already sinks down on his cock.

“Holy shit, Cas.” Dean mutters quietly and he is for sure dying. Castiel doesn’t waste a second and takes Dean’s dick in one go. Dean takes a deep breath and tries not to thrust up, since he doesn’t want to hurt him.

“You feel so good Alpha. Fill me up all the way.” Castiel say and he is the one who is fucking himself with Dean’s cock. Dean growls, because this feels so good. Castiel throws his head back. 

“Ah Cas.” Dean says, taking everything Castiel gives him.

“Gonna knot me Dean? Will you come inside your Omega? Mark me as yours.” Castiel babbles and Dean is so turned on. He can already feel his knot swelling. He would be embarrassed but it feels so good.

“Please let me come.” Dean whispers and Castiel rides him even harder. When he pulls on Dean’s nipple, Dean comes loudly. His knot pops and Castiel moans loudly, but he takes it so well and bites down on Dean’s mating gland. 

It takes Dean a moment to understand what happened, but it hurts just a second before he feels incredible. Happy and sated.

Dean groans himself and only then does he bite Castiel, when he sees that Castiel comes all over Dean’s chest. They are tied together and Castiel smiles down at him, when they both can breathe again.

Dean had never heard about an Omega that knotted himself, but that was basically what Castiel had just done and he had even bit him. Dean loves it.

“Fuck.” Castiel says and Dean kisses him. They will be knotted together for some time and Dean carefully arranges them so that they are lying on their sides. Castiel being the little spoon for now.

(Dean has a feeling that would change as soon as he got free.)

“That was amazing.” Dean whispers happily and Castiel turns his head so he can kiss Dean. Dean closes his eyes then, feeling content for now. He really had an amazing mate now.

“Did it hurt?” Castiel whispers then.

“What?”

“When you basically fell into my apartment and into life.” Castiel laughs and Dean smacks him with a pillow.

Fuck he loves him.

*

“Baby?”

“Here, Cas.” Dean says from the living room and Castiel walks over there as fast as he can. He mostly waddles. 

“Are you almost done?” Castiel asks when he looks up to Dean who is standing on the ladder. Dean nods.

There is another hole in the ceiling in Castiel’s apartment, but this time on purpose. With Dean as his Alpha, Castiel had finally been able to use his money. And he bought them both apartments.

Dean had the idea to build stairs there and connect both apartments and this time Castiel had even let him build this alone. His Alpha is really good at a lot of things. Castiel is proud of him.

“Yeah should be good for today.” Dean says and then gets down the ladder so he can kiss Castiel. They both smile when they break the kiss.

“Remember how we first met?” Castiel asks grinning and Dean groans in embarrassment. Castiel snickers but kisses Dean again.

“It looks really good.” Castiel says then and points at Dean’s work.

“Lets just hope Jack and Belphegor like it too.” Dean mumbles and Castiel’s cheek hurt from all the smiling when Dean carefully puts his hands on Castiel’s huge stomach. 

He really hopes the twins would arrive soon. They have a really special Daddy to meet and Castiel can’t wait for it.

#destiel #destiel fanart #destiel writing #destiel fic #my writing

[let-it-raines]

another kind of green (1/?)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

Rating: Mature

a/n: Everybody remember that Accidentally Married + Forgotten First Meeting prompt @mayquita​ gave me? Well, @xemmaloveskillianx​ requested it as part of my Fic Giveaway, and here we are! I hope that you enjoy this, lovely! I promised myself I’d get the first part up in February because I’ve been promising you this forever. Hopefully the next parts will come soon💚

Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for reading over this for me!

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed, no biggie either way) @xemmaloveskillianx​ @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells

-/- 

“So, what am I doing?”

“It’s a wedding convention,” Mary Margaret explains as she pulls the threads to button Emma into her dress, “and part of it is having wedding vendors watch a fake wedding so they can see what to do and what not to do and how a wedding should flow.”

“That’s a real thing? And you signed me up to work it?”

“It’s a real thing. Did you not read the package I sent you when I emailed you your contract?”

“Marg, you’ve been my agent for five years. I usually just trust what you say.” The dress squeezes Emma, and her breath stutters. Damn this dress is tight. How is she supposed to stay in this all day? How do actual women do this? And pay money to do this? The whole wedding industry is some kind of hoax. “Plus, this pays, like, three thousand dollars with a free trip to Vegas. I saw that and didn’t really care what exactly I had to do for it.”

Emma knows that Mary Margaret it probably rolling her eyes and that she has a lecture on the tip of her tongue about Emma reading her contracts, but it’s nothing Emma hasn’t heard before. It’s the former teacher in Mary Margaret, but this is why Emma has her in the first place. She takes care of all things business, and all Emma does is show up for fittings – usually wedding dresses but occasionally regular clothes for boutiques to put on their websites or Instagram pages – and photoshoots. It’s a good arrangement that Emma doesn’t plan on changing until she has to, but that’s not going to be anytime soon. This is good money, and she’s not stupid enough to pass up on a good thing when those have been all too rare in her life.

“We’ve got an hour until you have to be in the ballroom downstairs. I’ll read the guidelines to you as you get your hair pinned back because you’re going to need to know the flow of the wedding since you’re supposed to stay in character as a loving bride for the entire day. I do mean loving, Emma. You have to smile nearly the entire time. You’re going to have to kiss this man too, okay?”

“Wait, what?”

Mary Margaret’s sigh is the loudest Emma has ever heard it.

-/-

It turns out that Emma definitely needed to read the packet (at least more than an hour before the job) detailing what exactly her job today was going to be, and she swears to herself that she’ll do it next time she’s not doing a simple photoshoot.

(She won’t, but she really should.)

There are lines that Emma has to say, and there’s a minute-by-minute schedule of where she’s supposed to be standing and what she’s supposed to be doing. It’s basically an acting job, and while that isn’t really Emma’s thing, she can do it. She’s always been able to easily memorize things, a habit she picked up growing up not knowing how long she’d be allowed to use the computer or have a book in whatever shitty foster home she was in, and she’s almost got this fake wedding thing down.

Fake pictures with bridesmaids.

Fake wedding ceremony.

Fake pictures with her fake husband.

Fake reception.

Fake everything.

She doesn’t have enough friends to be going to actual weddings every other weekend, which is good for her bank account, but she’s been working in the wedding industry for long enough and seen one too many romantic comedies to know how most of this works. Pretending to be a bride for more than an hour or two might be a different story since she apparently has to keep her smile the entire time.

God, her jaw hurts just thinking about it.  

Mary Margaret hands her off to the director for the day, some peppy woman with red hair and the brightest smile she’s ever seen, and Emma is quickly shuffled to a back room where she’s given directions that should take an hour to give in under a minute. Damn that woman can talk.

She’s also introduced to her husband for the day.

He’s standing in the opposite corner of the room, dressed in a perfectly fitted blue tuxedo with a matching bowtie, and she sees his biceps flex when he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s got a sharp jawline that’s covered in black scruff that’s a lighter shade than the hair on his head that’s swooped to the side, and he’s got the bluest eyes Emma has ever seen.

Damn.

Basically, he’s a model like all of the other models she works with on a regular basis, and as attractive as he is, she’s used to it. She’s definitely never going to see the guy again because while they’re in Vegas for the convention, she lives in Boston, and from the deep timber of his possibly British accent, she imagines he is based out of London or New York or something.

Killian is his name. He mentions his last name, but then the director, Anna, Emma thinks, is tugging them away to different places to start the wedding so that she doesn’t hear it well enough to remember it.

Oh, well, she’s got a fake wedding to attend.

-/-

Being a fake bride is a damn good time.

Remembering her lines and her cues is more difficult than she thought it would be, if only because she learned it all at the last minute, but once the actual ceremony is finished and they get to move onto the reception, everything is great. There’s drinking and dancing (her fake groom is a damn good dancer, and while she expected them to sway back and forth for the first dance, she thinks it might have been an actual dance like the waltz or something) and more drinking. Emma doesn’t even really like champagne, but when she’s given free champagne on the job, she’s going to take it.

She’d be dumb to pass that up, right?

Right.

“Swan,” Killian calls out, walking up to her at their head table where she’s snagging one of the appetizers off the plate, “they want us back out dancing.”

“Are you serious?” she mumbles, mouth full of a crab cake.

“Apparently none of these vendors have seen a couple dancing at a wedding.”

Emma huffs and grabs another crab cake. “Well, take me away sailor.”

Killian grabs her hand, warm and rough fingers so unlike most guys in the industry pressing into her skin, and tugs her along into the small group of people who are moving to the music. Emma’s not sure if they’re also models or actors or whatever or if they’re legitimately just the wedding vendors attending the event, but she doesn’t really care. So she wraps her arms around Killian’s neck as he puts his hands on her hips and tugs her closer until their bodies are completely pressed together as the music continues to play over the speakers.

But then the music is changing to something a bit faster, and Emma is pulling back from him while still staying close, making sure that their bodies are continuously pressed together. She’s not in a club or a bar, and she’s not nearly drunk enough to be grinding down on someone she doesn’t know, but she’s in a wedding dress at her fake wedding. When else is she going to get a chance to do this?

(Almost every other day at her job, but that’s decidedly beside the point.)

(And she’s usually not dancing. Just wearing a wedding dress.)

(Her life is too much and too strange if she takes the time to think about it.)

Besides, Killian is hot. In her mind, she can’t think of any other way to describe him, especially when his hands are pressing against her waist and he’s rolling his hips into her ass and his breath is hot in her ear as he laughs and keeps speaking words that seem to roll into each other as the conversation keeps flowing. She could listen to his accent forever.

It’s not going to be forever, though, because when they’re told that they’re finished with their job and stripped out of the expensive dress and tailored tux and put back into the clothes they showed up in this morning, the night seems to be winding down to its natural end.

Until, that is, Killian takes her hand once more, asks her if she’d like to go up to his room for another drink, and Emma says yes, thinking to herself that it’s definitely going to be a one-time thing. She’ll never see him again, never have to look into his eyes or hear his voice, and nothing is going to keep her from sleeping with the hot guy she’s spent all day pretending to be in love with.

She’s not in love, though, but that doesn’t keep her from hotly pressing her mouth to his as they walk through the hotel’s hallway, the both of them stopping in their tracks to take a few moments to press each other up against a wall on the way to his hotel room. She doesn’t know how long it takes to get there, especially since they seem to keep getting distracted and wander into new places, but Emma doesn’t care. She doesn’t care because his scruff feels deliciously perfect brushing up against her thigh, and she doesn’t care because he’s warm and thick, stretching her and filling her, when he slides in and presses down on top of her. She doesn’t care because even though she knows they’re both only doing this as a way to scratch an itch, this is a damn good night.

Her fake husband is going to make some other woman very lucky on their real wedding night, but for now, that’s not something she’s going to think about.

For now, this pleasure is all hers.

His too, if his words are any real indication.

(They definitely are.)

-/-

“What am I doing today?”

“You have dress fittings for the summer catalog of dresses.”

“How? It’s literally August. How can it be time for the summer catalog of dresses again?”

Mary Margaret sighs on the other end of the phone. One day she’s most definitely going to drop Emma as a client and a friend and return to teaching because Emma can never quite seem to get her shit together on how the wedding industry works. She’s already prepping herself for the same lecture that she’s heard at least twenty times by now.

“People plan their weddings months to years in advance, Emma. This is actually a late photoshoot. I think they want the pictures up on the website by next month, so you cannot miss this appointment.”

“Have I ever missed an appointment, Marg?”

“Yes, remember when – ”

“That was one time,” Emma interrupts, rolling over on her mattress and getting out of bed. If she doesn’t do it now, she never will. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s at ten, okay? Ask for Ashely.”

“Are you not coming?”

“I’ve got a shoot with Ruby. I figured you can handle a fitting by yourself.” There’s a short pause. “You can handle a fitting by yourself, can’t you?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“I hate it when you call me that.”

“Then stop acting like such a mom.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Yeah, well, when you don’t have a mom…”

“Emma.”

“Sorry,” Emma spits out, wanting to change the conversation as quickly as possible. “So ask for Ashley?”

“Ask for Ashley, and don’t drink all of the complimentary champagne.”

Emma groans. “I can’t even think about champagne. I think I’m still recovering from that hangover from two weeks ago. I mean, who goes to Vegas and gets drunk on champagne?”

“People who work in the wedding industry. It’s basically our water. Bye, Emma. I’ve got to go.”

“Bye, Marg. Tell David he still owes me from losing that poker game.”

“I’m sure he’ll love to hear that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” After Mary Margaret hangs up the phone, Emma quickly walks into her bathroom, brushing her hair out and pulling it up into a ponytail before washing her face and rubbing moisturizer into her skin. She used to curl her hair and do a full face of makeup every time she had a fitting, but she doesn’t do that anymore. There’s no point. They’ll put makeup on her when they need it.

Fifteen minutes later she’s drinking her second cup of coffee for the day, lacing up her sneakers so she can go to the gym after the fitting, and then she’s grabbing her phone and her keys only for there to be a knock at the door. She almost ignores it, figuring it’s someone trying to sell her a new knife set or something else ridiculous like that, but when she looks through her peephole, there’s something oddly familiar about the guy. But she meets a lot of people, so that’s not all that uncommon.

Sighing, she undoes the chain on her door and opens it the slightest bit so she can talk to the guy and see what he wants.

“Who are you?”

He smiles, lips curling up into a smirk while his blue eyes glint under the florescent lights. “Your husband, love.”

#another kind of green #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan

[missytearex]

Hi! So I’ve decided to do monthly recs instead of weekly recs from now on, which mean this list is kinda long, so I put all the under 10k fics under the cut, but be sure to check them out too! And remember to leave kudos and comments when you do ❤

Tired Tired Sea by @mediawhorefics — [fic post]

larry | 113k | mature

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

Not That Gone by @a-brighter-yellow --- [fic post]

larry | 61k | explicit

A few weeks after Louis and Harry, *ahem*, reconnect at their high school reunion, Harry temporarily moves back home. Louis isn't sure he has the emotional fortitude for a prolonged fling with the man of the dreams.

Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by @angelichl — [fic post]

larry | 40k | explicit

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

INSPIRED BY CLOUDS.

I Just Want You to Stay by @sadaveniren --- [fic post]

larry | 34k | explicit

Louis and Harry have been roommates for four years, comfortable in their routine and their relationship. But all of that is about to change.

The Spaces Between Us by @justalittlelouislove — [fic post]

ziam | 33k | explicit

Liam is a ghost bound to nothing, feeling nothing. Until he finds Zayn and learns what it means to feel everything.

Give A Little Sing To The Singles by @londonfoginacup --- [fic post]

larry | 31k | teen and up

Harry Styles is an adult now, with a real adult job (and benefits! Whatever those are!). He spends his days at the copier. Copying things.

That being said, no one told Harry that being an adult came with a confusingly chaotic boss, a copier machine that would be hell-bent on ruining his life, and a coworker so good looking that Harry might just have to quit. After all, Christmas is coming and if their office doesn’t win the decorating contest, Louis has threatened to break several laws and kneecaps in retaliation.

Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.

The Goat Guy of Bethlehem by @lululawrence --- [fic post]

larry | 25k | not rated

every year, Harry and his family attend a church festival called Bethlehem. Harry's freshman year of high school Bethlehem expands, bringing in new vendors, including one that just might change everything for Harry. But first, he has to see if Anne and Robin are willing to part with him for the price of a few goats.

reach the stars by @disgruntledkittenface — [fic post]

horshaw | 19k | mature

Spring 2021. Four years after breaking up with Louis and moving to New York with his best friend Aimee, Nick runs into Niall and they start dating. When their relationship gets serious, Nick struggles to tell Niall how much he means to him.

Everything I Do by Anonymous — [fic post]

larry | 16k | explicit

the one where Harry finds a book of Elizabethan courtship rituals which sets in motion a series of events that can lead to only one conclusion.

High Heels, Red Dress by Anonymous --- [fic post]

larry | 15k | explicit

Louis answers the call when Pearl Harbor is attacked and there is no way around it. The United States is at war. Hiding his queer identity isn't so hard until he attracts the attention of a particular soldier. It's all lies and secrets until the war is finally over. Maybe then Louis can finally have his happy ending. It's up to fate to decide.

when half spent was the night by @juliusschmidt --- [fic post]

larry | 14k | mature

Hi Harry,

I’ve skimmed your website and am interested in hiring you to be my doula. I’m 7 ½ months pregnant and not keen to do this whole labor and birth thing alone. After looking around, I thought you might be a good fit because you mention enjoying unusual people with unusual birth requests. I can meet up any day this week.

Lou

You are the feeling of drugs, pulling the chain of my love by @peujeune — [fic post]

tomlinshaw | 10k | explicit

Louis gets bored with all the questions by the next week and tells everyone, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off, in a Facebook post he subsequently deletes the next day. Instead, he chooses to ignore all his friends.

And text Nick.

you’ve set my soul to dreaming by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed — [fic post]

larry | 9k | teen and up

Thirty year old Harry Styles goes to bed single on Christmas Eve, only to wake up on Christmas morning with a husband in his bed and a son down the hall.

The Truth I Can’t Explain (Smoke and Mirrors) by @fallinglikethis — [fic post]

larry | 9k | mature

Louis Tomlinson scans the horizon. It’s dark, but his werewolf eyes are equipped for that. He sees clearly in the inky black of the forest around them. He and every other wolf can see the moment the first blood mage crosses the boundary into their compound. The mages must think they’ve disabled the wards on the edges of the boundary but the wolves did that themselves when they found out the mages were coming. Louis’ pack has opened the door and put down the welcome mat. It’s up to the mages whether that mat becomes stained in blood.

on the same page by Anonymous — [fic post]

larry | 8k | mature

The one where Louis doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

You’re a Nightmare, I’m a Disaster by @lululawrence --- [fic post]

tomlinshaw | 7k | not rated

the one where Nick is a writer, Louis works in a bookshop, and things don’t exactly start off on the right foot, but they might just end on it.

The Gingerbread Show Off by @homosociallyyours --- [fic post]

larry | 6k | general audiences

The Gingerbread Show Off is the biggest event of the year at Harry's still sort of new to him job, and when he's given a spot to compete in it he's beyond excited. When he realizes that he's going to be paired up with Louis, the man who's been sneakily stealing his ideas since almost their first day of working together, he's understandably frustrated.

He still wants to win, though, and he's not going to let his office enemy bring him down.

The Circle of Life is Not a Circle, it’s a Stick by @lounonymouse --- [fic post]

tomlinshaw | 5k | teen and up

This is a story about Louis, his husband Nick, their daughter Ella, and her pet stick insect Mr Sticky McStick-Face.

B-Sides & C-Cuts by @bitter-leaf — [fic post]

shiall | 5k | teen and up

Niall’s stuck in Toronto the day before Christmas Eve. Shawn plans to make the most of it.

A Not So Silent Night by @lightwoodsmagic --- [fic post]

ziam | 5k | teen and up

Liam's had a crush on Zayn for months, every time they talk on the phone just making him grow fonder. He's just never met him in real life. When he finally gets to meet him, it turns out that he can't take his eyes off him dancing on the table at the bank's Christmas party. Especially when he starts taking off his sweater.

Summer Love by Anonymous — [fic post]

larry | 5k | teen and up

Summers at his lake house are Harry’s favorite time of the year. They’re treasured moments in time spent with Louis, his favorite person. The boy with the bluest eyes, the brightest smile and loudest laugh. Harry’s best friend for all of his summers. He’s gonna marry him someday. All that Louis needs to do is ask him - again.

my heart got caught on your sleeve by @foliealou  — [fic post]

tomlinshaw | 5k | general audiences

Louis Tomlinson decides to come out: a story in three acts.

it's getting bluer (and you can't keep faking) by @dinoflangellate --- [fic post]

nessie | 4k | explicit

For a second, Niall can’t move, pinned in place by Bressie’s casual words. Get you sorted could mean so many things, things he wants, and his brain almost explodes.

I Knew From The First Time by Anonymous --- [fic post]

larry | 4k | teen and up

Harry spent weeks picking out a gorgeous ring, and months planning every little detail of the perfect anniversary trip to propose to Louis. Except it doesn't go as planned and the ring disappears.

Harry Styles Plays with Kittens While Answering Questions by @sadaveniren — [fic post]

larry | 4k | teen and up

Louis runs a Youtube channel and Harry is his celebrity guest

to love you in word and deed by Anonymous — [fic post]

larry | 4k | general audiences

Louis loves everything about living with Harry. Except for Harry’s effusive proposals. Because the problem is, it’s getting harder and harder for Louis to keep reacting like they’re jokes.

Roll the Dice by @allwaswell16 — [fic post]

larry | 3k | explicit

Louis has been in love with Harry since they were eighteen. It isn’t until Harry’s thirtieth birthday in Las Vegas that Louis must finally decide to either tell Harry how he feels or let him marry someone else.

molecular by @dinoflangellate — [fic post]

zouis | 3k | teen and up

The team pushes into the lab, jostling each other through the sliding glass doors. Eenie, meenie, miney, mo. There they are, the four of them, present and accounted for. Louis shoves his way in last, looking sweaty and triumphant, and the hand around Zayn’s heart finally unclenches.

Unto You by @londonfoginacup — [fic post]

larry | 3k | teen and up

Louis is a lamplighter celebrating the saturnalia season in his own way.

Harry is heavily pregnant and new in the city.

The holiday of Christmas is yet to be created.

Brring Brring (that’s the land line) by Anonymous — [fic post]

larry | 3k | general audiences

Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles have been dating for six months and two weeks.

It’s one in the morning, and the phone rings.

Snowdrops and Mice Pops by @ohharold --- [fic post]

larry | 3k | teen and up

The boys are stuck at Hogwarts over Christmas incapable of taking the Hogwarts Express back to London. A botched together friends Christmas would have to do.

step into christmas by leighbot

zarry | 2k | general audiences

the one where Zayn's written a Christmas book for children and Harry brings his son to a local reading.

Oh Valley Girl by @londonfoginacup — [fic post]

larry | 2k | general audiences

Out past the rolling hills and the churning sea sits a little fishing village, nestled in a valley where its residents are protected from the elements, as well as from the outside world as a whole.

Harry lives in this little fishing village, and she loves nothing more than feeling the earth beneath her and seeing the sky above her and sometimes dreaming of adventure.

Then one day a ship arrives.

Tricks and Treats by @homosociallyyours --- [fic post]

larry | 1k | general audiences

wherein Louis receives a package not intended for him, Harry has a brilliant idea, and the two of them meet properly at a Halloween party.

Gratuitous puns, bone® jokes, and creepy neighbors abound!

This Is Halloween by @hadtobelou --- [fic post]

larry | 1k | explicit

Louis' Halloween doesn't go as planned.

Scarily Incompatible by soidiallednine 

larry | 666 | general audiences

Harry seems perfect for Louis. Lottie certainly thinks so. But one really scary choice by Harry will doom them before they start.

something weird (but it do look good) by @uhohmorshedios — [fic post]

larry | 666 | teen and up

Harry’s upset that Louis didn’t appreciate his attempt to put a very-Harry twist on a Halloween meme and Louis tries his best to make it up to him.

take my hand (i won’t let go) by @tempolarriefix — [fic post]

larry | 666 | general audiences

in which zayn and liam are in love, niall doesn’t want to third wheel, louis hates scary things, and harry works in a haunted house.

aka the ficlet haunted house meet-cute that you never knew you needed.

The Devil Went Down to Georgia by @kingsofeverything — [fic post]

larry | 666 | general audiences

Louis just wants to fall in love for eternity.

the future reflected by @louandhazaf — [fic post]

larry | 666 | not rated

Louis didn’t take the stupid game seriously. Maybe he should’ve.

The Literal Gates of Hell by @evilovesyou — [fic post]

larry | 666 | general audiences

Louis has a passion for the supernatural and tends to drag his friends into his ghost and demon hunting adventures. His guardian angel isn’t too pleased when they set out to find one of the actual gates of hell.

You Win by @ziamhaze --- [fic post]

ziam | 666 | general audiences

Based off this AU: A werewolf finds a human who is strolling in the woods late at night, and just before the werewolf goes to attack the human, the human then starts to beat box and the werewolf is too intrigued to attack them.

I Still Follow by @smoke-flowers — [fic post]

zarry | 606 | general audiences

The sky is cloaked in black velvet, but he swears he sees stars.

#fic rec #my recs #my lists #december 2019 #28th appreciation