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dweemeister · 1 year

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Best Animated Short Film Nominees for the 95th Academy Awards (2023, listed in order of appearance in the shorts package)

This blog, since 2013, has been the site of my write-ups to the Oscar-nominated short film packages – a personal tradition for myself and for this blog. This omnibus write-up goes with my thanks to the Regency South Coast Village in Santa Ana, California for providing all three Oscar-nominated short film packages. Without further ado, here are the nominees for the Best Animated Short Film at this year’s Academy Awards. The write-ups for the Documentary Short and Live Action Short nominees are complete. Films predominantly in a language other than English (or in two cases here, with dialogue) are listed with their nation(s) of origin.

So completes this year’s omnibus write-ups for the Oscar-nominated short films.

An Ostrich Told Me the World is Fake and I Think I Believe It (2021)

In 1953, director Chuck Jones tortured Daffy Duck with the whims of an unseen animator (revealed to be Bugs Bunny) in Duck Amuck. Fast forward almost seventy years and a film of a similar concept comes in Lachlan Pendragon’s An Ostrich Told Me the World is Fake and I Think I Believe It. Pendragon, who directed, wrote, animated, and voiced the main character this film as an undergraduate student at the Griffith Film School in Brisbane (where he is now a PhD candidate), frames hapless toaster telemarketing salesman Neil as under fire from his boss (Michael Richard) due to a lack of sales. As the workday continues, he begins to notice peculiar aspects of his fellow coworkers and the office that make him question what is going on. Accidentally sleeping at work through the night, he encounters an ostrich (John Cavanagh) in the elevator who then claims the world Neil lives in is, “a lie”. What follows is a meta-breaking, existential short film deriving its comedy from the character’s realization of the stop-motion artifice of his life.

A winner of the Student Academy Award from last year and a nominee for Best Graduation Film at Annecy (the premier animation-only film festival), Ostrich uses what I am assuming is Pendragon’s hand in place of Bugs Bunny’s glove and paintbrush. Shot entirely during the COVID-19 lockdown at home in the living room, this is a one-man animation job. For most of its ten-minute runtime, the viewers see the film through an in-film camera monitor – allowing us into Pendragon’s workspace. Meanwhile, in the background that comprises the margins of the frame, we witness the rigging, wiring, and animation handiwork that is occurring at twenty-four frames per second. The impressive character design and the clearly-delineated pop-off faces and jaws provide a remarkable assist to Ostrich’s comic timing and Neil’s acting (which Pendragon admits that Neil’s reactions take inspiration his own behavioral habits). The film’s metaphor is perhaps not as well developed, but one can make the argument that Ostrich is a blistering take on this stifling office environment and champions an exploration and investigation of all possibilities in one’s earthly life and in existence. One imagines we will see more from Pendragon, who is at the very beginning of his career and wishes to make a feature someday.

My rating: 8/10

The Flying Sailor (2022, Canada)

Making its debut last year at Annecy and from National Film Board of Canada (NFB; who, as a studio, are the second-most nominated ever in this category behind Walt Disney Animation), Wendy Tilby and Amanda Forbis’ The Flying Sailor is an experimental take of the story of Charlie Mayers. On December 6, 1917, a French cargo ship and a Norwegian merchant vessel collided in a strait called the Narrows, just off Halifax, Nova Scotia. A fire began on the former ship, which carried with it high explosives. The resulting explosion was the most violent peacetime accidental explosion ever on Earth – killing more than 1,700 and wounding around 9,000 in the immediate area and from the shockwaves. Mayers was actually onboard the deck of one of the ships, but Tilby and Forbis move him to the docks, watching on as an inquisitive spectator instead. As in real life, the blast is enough to quickly tear off all his clothes, and he spirals skyward. It is here that Tilby and Forbis send Mayers flying in slow-motion, almost balletically spinning as the film delves into his unconsciousness.

His life flashing before his eyes, we see hazy glimpses of the sailor’s memories – his childhood self at play, his mother, the rough-and-tumble life of being a sailor. Along with My Year of Dicks, The Flying Sailor is one of the first films in this category to make use of mixed media since Mémorable (2019, France). It opens with juxtaposing our hand-drawn sailor with the ships – as if in the style of the opening of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood – hurtling towards each other. But once the explosion occurs, the film, too, explodes with a clash of styles. Showcasing hand-drawn, computer-generated, and live action footage, Tilby and Forbis’ choices are reflective of the instant disorientation following the blast. The film’s penultimate moments are an orchestral cacophony from composer Luigi Allemano as the sailor returns to our earthly existence. This is perhaps the only film of these five that absolutely needed to be a short film. It presents its direction, completes its business, and concludes.

My rating: 8/10

Ice Merchants (2022, Portugal)

By earning Portugal its first-ever Academy Award nomination, João Gonzalez’s Ice Merchants – a production of the Cola Animation collective – already has a place in Oscars history. In his third film as a director following The Voyager (2017) and Nestor (2019), Gonzalez transports audiences to an impossible, dreamlike place and imbues his film with a metaphor of loss and how family routines can be an extension of grief. In a cliffside house suspended by hooks and ropes live a father and his son. Living thousands of feet above the town below, they jump off their porch daily, parachuting to safety in order to sell the ice. They return home after selling their wares and purchasing whatever they need in town by using a pulley system that probably takes ages to ascend and descend. In the rarified, chilly air, father and son go about their lives peacefully, continuing their lives amid the shadow of loss.

Garnering award wins at Cannes, the Chicago International Film Festival, and the Annies, Ice Merchants is among the most-awarded short films ever prior to an Oscar nomination. According to Gonzalez, the idea of the cliffside house came as he was dreaming or was about to fall asleep – a development that has, thus far, fully informed the visual conceits of his entire filmography. Prior to starting the formal animation for Ice Merchants, Gonzalez himself modeled the entire house (including the swing, interiors, and pulley system) 3D and started composing the score (Gonzalez is a pianist, but required his friend, conductor/orchestrator Nuno Lobo, to transpose for various instruments). Unusual in that the film’s narrative and themes spring from the score rather than the other way around, Ice Merchants adopts an everyday melancholy reflected in its strikingly limited color palette. Those colors include shades of red, orange, a dark blue or green for backgrounds only, and two brief but noteworthy instances of yellow. All these decisions – visually, musically, narratively – combine in a breathtaking conclusion that unleashes a wave of emotions. That mastery of cinematic control leads me to write something longtime readers know I do not say lightly. Ice Merchants is the best nominee in this category since Bear Story (2014, Chile) and World of Tomorrow (2015) were nominated together seven years ago. By extension, it is one of the finest animated short films of the young century.

My rating: 9/10

The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse (2022)

Adapting Charlie Mackesy’s 2019 picture book of the same name, Peter Baynton and Mackesy’s The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse made an enormous splash when it aired on BBC One on Christmas Eve as part of the BBC’s annual slate of Christmas specials. It qualified for an Academy Award nomination by virtue of a nominal one-week theatrical release in Los Angeles County on September 23, 2022. Here, the Boy (Jude Coward Nicoll) has lost his way in a wintry forest when he encounters Mole (Tom Hollander). Mole is a cheerful, friendly sort that enjoys a good cake. But the Boy believes himself to be lost, is searching for a home, and wishes to be a kind person. Along their travels they encounter starving Fox (Idris Elba) and the lonely Horse (Gabriel Byrne). For the duration of this movie, the Boy and his animal friends speak to each other in platitudes of positivity, reassurance, and perseverance for what is most likely chronic depression or seasonal affective disorder.

The Boy might just be the most beautifully drawn of this year’s nominees. Its painterly watercolor backgrounds seem as lifted from a picture book; the residual sketches on each of the characters are a beautiful expressionistic touch (I especially like the ends of the Boy’s hair and Fox’s tale, as well as the curvatures to denote Horse’s leg musculature). My sense of visual wonder lasted all but five or so minutes. Because once the Boy has a few conversations with Mole, the film’s thirty-seven minutes seem all the more interminable. The film’s dialogue – and my goodness, no one speaks like this in real life – is trite, straight from the crowd that might have a “live, laugh, love” embroidery unironically hanging on their wall. Each character appears as if they are trying to one-up the other in their AI-generated speech*, as if each Very Important Line of Dialogue is attempting to be the penultimate or final line in a children’s picture book. I understand how this might be impactful for those with major cases of depression and seasonal affective disorder, but the film’s messaging and horrific script is sheer overkill.

My rating: 6/10

My Year of Dicks (2022)

A winner at Annecy, Chicago International Film Festival, and SXSW, Sara Gunnarsdóttir’s My Year of Dicks adapts Pamela Ribon’s comedic memoir Notes to Boys: And Other Things I Shouldn’t Share in Public (Ribon is the sole screenwriter on this film). This is not about people named Richard. It is 1991 in Houston. In the first of five chapters, we find Pam (Brie Tilton) – a fifteen-year-old who wants desperately to lose her virginity sometimes this year – narrating a diary entry/letter to her first boy, David (Sterling Temple Howard, “Skater Dude” from 2020’s Two Distant Strangers). David is a skater boy who has filed his nails into sharp points and his teeth in a similar way. As one can imagine, this romance does not work out and Pam cycles through the next four chapters awash in heterosexual hijinks (some readers will interpret the use of “heterosexual” here as a pejorative, but I say it as only an observation) with Wally (Mical Trejo), Robert (Sean Stack), best friend Sam (Jackson Kelly), and Joey (Chris Elsenbroek).

Alternatively hilarious and excruciating (see: the scene where Pam’s father gives her The Talk) to watch, one-half of the film’s genius lies in Ribon’s adapted screenplay of her memoir. Ribon (a co-screenwriter on 2016’s Moana and 2018’s Ralph Breaks the Internet), who saved all of the letters she wrote to all her crushes when she was a teenager, adapts that writing to form an honest, secondhand embarrassing story. The central ideas play like a grown-up Helga Pataki from Hey Arnold!, sans used gum bust of her beloved. My Year of Dicks’ resolution is genuine, as is a non-judgmental depiction of teenage female sexuality‡. In a roundabout way, it is a deconstruction of the idea that the only way for girls to achieve full womanhood is through sex and sexual appeal. And like The Flying Sailor, My Year of Dicks employs a litany of styles of mixed media that help it succeed. Though its rough rotoscoping (a time-tested technique in which animators trace over live-action footage) is the dominant style, there are some fascinating breaks here: most interestingly, a scene involving a metaphoric angel and devil over Pam’s shoulders and interludes of shôjo anime (which probably was not on the radar of Houston teenagers in 1991). A sidesplittingly funny film, My Year of Dicks nevertheless retains a sliver of nostalgic poignancy to keep it grounded.

My rating: 8/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

From previous years: 85th Academy Awards (2013), 87th (2015), 88th (2016), 89th (2017), 90th (2018), 91st (2019), 92nd (2020), 93rd (2021), and 94th (2022).

* This begs a question. Should programmers of AI chatbots receive credit for their work when, inevitably, we have a film written by one?

‡ This line of thinking was certainly more prominent in the 1980s-2000s than it has been over the last decade, as teenage sex in the U.S. is down considerably from those times (the reasons are many).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

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seek--rest · 2 years

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47, 58, 75 👀

47. Is there a trope that you’ve written before but are now sick of?

I wouldn't call it a trope so much as it's the pairing IronDad. I've long since wondered why there was such a mass exodus after Endgame because just because Tony was dead in canon didn't mean that had to matter for fandom (the way that I'm seeing this exact same type of reasoning and explanation for spideychelle post-NWH is hilarious and even less understandable since at least Peter and MJ aren't DEAD but I digress).

The irondad fandom can fuck itself at this point and while I still think the dynamic between Peter and Tony is Neat™ - I'm very disinterested in writing anything close to canon for the two of them. Tony died, he's been dead for two movies, and Peter has consistently shown just how much he does not and has never needed him. The brand of IronDad I always liked was crusty old man and sarcastic adult anyway but even the thought of creating whole AUs at this point is just unappealing to me. I really like where canon is, or at very least the stories that canon has spun off of so bringing in Tony Stark just seems uninspired and derivative.

I've never understood why IronDad focused on Tony rather than on the two of them as Equals but maybe that's on me since the name literally centers Tony Stark.

58. Do you have a favorite piece of figurative language you’ve written?

I don't remember what fic I first put it in now but there was something about how MJ had walls up that only the most determined could climb over once and I've used it endlessly since.

75. Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn’t expect?

Best Kept Secret is a few years old now but completely threw me by surprise when I wrote it. It was done on a whim and written in about twenty minutes and yet has become one of my most popular one-shots.

Fic asks

#seek speaks #spideychelle #petermj #irondad

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mackenzielovee · 3 years

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my girl (part 4) - rafe cameron

a/n: SURPRISE! I wrote a part 4 ;) i had this idea right after i said i was only doing 3 parts - but this really is the final one! I really hope ya'll enjoy. It's a little shorter than the rest! (not my gif)

Summary: Nope sorry you have to read!

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, kissing, and test anxiety

Word Count: 4.4k

series masterlist

my writing

Your phone buzzing on your nightstand distracts you get again from cramming for your Chemistry final. The exam happens in two days, yet you feel like it might as well be in two hours with the amount of anxiety you have. It's your second year of college, and boy, it hasn't gotten any easier. Thankfully, your roommate is out for the night so you have your entire dorm to yourself to study.

You lean over and check your phone. Another missed call from your fiancee, Rafe. Beside your phone on your nightstand sits your engagement ring. You stare at it for a moment and swallow your feelings, then move back over to your chemistry textbook. Your phone buzzes again - a voicemail from Rafe this time, which you don't bother to listen to.

Chemistry is your focus tonight. Chemistry is what you need to be studying for, what you need to know inside and out. You throw yourself back into it, shutting off your phone when it buzzes yet again. You need absolutely zero distractions.

About twenty minutes into it, you hear a loud knock on the door. You sigh, figuring your roommate forgot her ID or keys again. You pull open the door and sigh, fully shocked when you find Rafe standing at your door. He's out of breath from running inside from the parking lot, and he looks pissed off.

"Oh, good, you're alive," he snaps, pushing his way into your room before you can even invite him.

"What are you doing here?" you ask him, closing the door so none of your nosy neighbors can listen to yet another argument between the two of you.

Things haven't been good. You're sick of him calling and texting you all the time, him begging you to come home, and constantly asking who you're with when you go out. On top of all of that, your classes this semester are harder than they've ever been, but Rafe never respects when you say you need space and time to study.

"Checking to see if my fucking fiancee is breathing!" he shouts, throwing his hands up in the air, "I mean, shit, Y/N, I called you, like, twenty times."

You glance over to the nightstand at your phone, realizing your ring was over there, too. You know he won't like that.

"I shut my phone off. I really need to study, Rafe," you tell him, but he's not listening.

Instead, he collapses onto your bed and puts his head in his hands, sitting directly on your Chem textbook and notes.

"Oh, my God, what the hell? Get up," you snap at him, walking over and pushing him off so he doesn't ruin your notes or textbook pages.

"It's fucking fine," he replies as he stands, barely glancing at your papers.

"No, it's not. I need this shit to pass my exam-" you hold the wrinkled papers up.

"They're literally fine, Y/N," his voice raises, "Stop being so dramatic."

You take a deep breath before you speak again, knowing whatever comes out will not be very nice. You've really been trying to be patient with him, but it's getting harder and harder.

"I'm not being dramatic, Rafe," you say calmly, "I just really need to study and I need peace and quiet."

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck as he debates what to say next. Neither of you want to start a fight, but you both have a lot of shit to say. His eye catches the shiny object on the nightstand and he looks over, figuring out it's your engagement ring.

"What the fuck?" he gasps, picking it up and holding it out to you, "Since when do you take this off?"

You put your hands on your forehead and sigh, realizing this is going to take up a lot of time that you don't have. And the fact that Rafe drove eight hours on a whim because you didn't pick up his calls all day has made you crazy.

"I cannot do this with you right now," you tell him, stepping toward your Chemistry stuff.

You'll just have to go to the library and study if he's going to be here. There's no way you can get any of your shit done with him bitching about your ring.

"Oh, my bad, when can you do it, then?" he rolls his eyes, "Huh? Can you give me, like, a window of time where you're actually available to talk?"

"Rafe-" you start, but he holds his hand up.

"No, because, I mean, I don't hear from you all day, and I'm fucking worried about you, so I make the long ass drive to come check on my soon-to-be wife, and now I'm the bad guy? Yeah, no, I get it now!" he exclaims.

"Jesus, okay, I have to go," you say, grabbing your backpack from the floor and sliding some slippers on.

"Right, to study," he grumbles.

"Yeah, to study," you snap back, "Just because you didn't go to school doesn't mean you can't at least try to understand!"

You rarely raise your voice at him, so Rafe knows you're mad. He stares at you for a second, deciding if he should acknowledge your comment about him not attending school.

"It's not about whether or not I understand, it's about time management," he lectures, making you roll your eyes, "Don't roll your fucking eyes at me."

"Don't show up at my dorm unannounced!" you yell back.

"I wouldn't have been unannounced if you would answer your goddamn phone!"

You take a deep breath and exhale loudly, then step closer to the door. Rafe walks over to you and grabs your arm, spinning you around. You stare up at him like he's crazy, he's never laid a hand on you like that before.

"Put your ring back on," he demands, holding it out in his hand.

"What the fuck is your problem, Rafe? You think I'm gonna get hit on walking to the damn library? Get a grip," you mutter, trying to yank your arm from his grasp but failing.

"I'm not playing," he tells you, holding the ring up in his other hand.

"Neither am I," you snap, "Let go of me."

He stares at you for another few seconds and then releases you, groaning loudly when he does. He steps away from you and runs his hand through his hair, then sets your ring back down on the nightstand.

"What's going on with us?" he grumbles, sitting down on your bed again.

You start to feel bad as you look at him, so you step closer and set your books down on you desk. You open your mouth to speak, to apologize and return your ring to your finger, when he speaks out again.

"Why didn't you answer the fucking phone when I called?"

You close your mouth quickly, swallowing the words you were about to say. You stare at him for a moment, then you decide that it's just best to tell him the absolute, stone cold truth.

"Because I have shit going on, Rafe. I have a Chem final in two days and I'm not at all prepared, I have other finals and an entire paper due by the end of the week, and I have you up my ass about everything in between and it's just a little overwhelming right now."

He brings his head out of his hands and looks up at you. His expression changes from hurt to angry in about one second, so you brace yourself.

"So what do you want me to do to help you, then?" he asks, his voice agitated. You can tell he's trying to be patient, but he really wants to yell.

"I just need you to give me some space right now," you state.

He nods his head, moving his eyes away from yours and down to the floor.

"Space," he repeats, "You want space."

You nod your head slowly, afraid now to speak. You can't tell what his reaction is about to be, but obviously it isn't going to be a good one.

"So, you ignore my phone calls," he holds up one finger, "You take off your engagement ring," another finger, "And now you want space. Do you think I'm a fucking moron?"

He stands up off the bed, now towering over you. Your hands come up to your face, rubbing your eyes to try and relieve some form of stress.

"God, Rafe, you're making this out to be something it's not-"

"Am I?" he shouts, "Do you want to marry me or not? I mean, I really think that's what this boils down to. Am I what you want, or not?"

His yelling combined with your stress and confusion makes you yell back at him.

"I don't know!"

He steps back, almost like you've hurt him, and stares at you with a look you've never seen before. It's anger, betrayal, confusion, and sadness all rolled into one, heartbroken expression. It makes your stomach turn thinking about the fact that you're hurting him.

"Well, there it is," he says, his voice cracking, "I'll just get out of your way, then."

He leans down and grabs the ring from your nightstand, wrapping his large hand around it and then stepping toward the door.

"Rafe, wait," you say, "Where are you going to go? You can't drive home in the dark."

He doesn't turn around, he can't look at you. Not when you're not sure what you want.

"I'll sleep in the truck," he says, his voice weak and quiet.

"No," you protest, "Rafe, I'm sorry."

He stands there for a few seconds, then turns, and you see the tears in his eyes. One has fallen, and rests on the bottom of his cheek. He wipes it away, but not quick enough.

"Why are you sorry? I'm not what you want anymore," he laughs, but nothing is funny.

Another tear falls and you step forward quickly, reaching up to wipe it away. He closes his eyes under your touch, always loving feeling your skin on his.

"I didn't say that," you say gently, tears welling in your eyes from seeing him like this.

"Just..." he trails off, finally opening his red eyes, "Go ace your Chem final. I'll see you at home in a few days."

He reaches up and grabs your hand, removing it from his cheek. He lays a quick kiss on your knuckles, then closes his eyes again when he lets go of you. Not sure if it's his last time feeling you.

He turns to leave, opening the door up before he turns back to you.

"I love you. I always will."

He doesn't wait for your response, he just closes the door behind him. You turn and look at the nightstand where your ring once sat, wishing to God that it was still there. You want to tun after him, but you know you can't. You two just need some cooling off time, you tell yourself. You'll come back again atfer finals when you get home for Christmas break. He'll hold onto your ring for you, you convince yourself of that.

You can't focus. The next day, you spend all your time in the library, staring at a page in your Chem textbook, and all you can focus on is your empty finger. No pretty ring that reflects every ounce of Rafe's love for you. You check your phone, but all you see is an empty screen. Your wallpaper is a cheesy picture of Rafe holding a wine glass. You took it on your anniversary last year and love everything about it, especially his cheesy grin.

Tears start to form in your eyes, so you do what you have to do. You call him. It rings and rings and rings, then you hear his familiar, raspy voice on his voicemail.

Yo, it's Rafe. Leave a message and I might hit you back.

You close your eyes, those two sentences being the most you've heard from him in almost twenty-four hours.

"Hey," you start your message, "Look, I'm sorry about last night. I really want to talk. Please call me back. Love you, bye."

You sigh and hang up the phone, then look down to your book again. You try and try to focus, but you can't. It just is impossible with everything spinning around your brain. You can still see the look on his face when you said you weren't sure, you can still hear him say 'I love you' right before he left.

And it's all you want to hear again.

You slam your book shut and grab your stuff, then make your way out of the library. Once you get outside, you call Rafe again. You hear the same ringing and the same message from his voicemail, so you leave another.

"Baby, please call me. I'm worried about you. I just want us to talk. Please call. I love you."

You hang up and walk back to your dorm, checking every five seconds to see if he's called you back. You really just want to hear his voice, to apologize, and to be able to focus on Chemistry again. Knowing that Rafe is out there hurting is just too distracting.

You call hm again after you get back to your dorm, giving him about thirty minutes to call back before you try him again. When he doesn't answer, you leave another message.

"Hey," you say, your voice sounding more desperate, "I'm going to call Dad and have him come get me. I'm skipping out on my Chem final. I just want to come home and work things out with you. Call me, please. Love you."

And you mean every word. You sit down on your bed and you remember how Rafe had helped you move in on your first day of freshman year. You remember how he made love to you and how he proposed to you in the parking lot before he left. And you remember all the times he came to visit and you two laid in bed and planned out your whole wedding reception together, laughing and joking about who to invite and who to sit together.

As you sit there and remember it all, remember the kisses and the laughs and the feelings you have when you're with him, you've never been more sure in your life. It's Rafe. It will always be Rafe.

You hear a knock on your dorm room door and hop out of bed, rushing over to it. It's him, you hope. Coming to rescue you, coming to hold you, coming to give you your ring back. You pull open the door with a big smile, only to find your roommate, Alex, standing on the other side.

"Hey," she says, looking confused at why you opened the door like that, "Sorry. I forgot my keys."

You drop your shoulders and nod, moving her out of the way. She leaves the door open as she moves over to her side of the room to search for them. You sit back down on your bed, checking your phone once again. He has to call back eventually.

"You're not ditching your Chemistry final."

You look up and see him, standing in the doorway, staring at you. His eyes are tired, his hair is a mess, and he looks like he's hung over. You don't even want to know where the hell he's been for the past day.

"Rafe," you breathe, hopping up from your bed.

You want to throw your arms around him, hug him, and have you hold him. He stops you when you get close to him, holding out his hand to keep distance between the two of you, which practically breaks your heart in two.

"You're not coming home until you take that test," he repeats, "You've been studying for it and if you don't take it, you fail. So, you're staying. I called your dad."

You frown. This is not how you imagined it. He seems colder somehow.

"Okay," you say, "Fine. But I want us to talk."

Rafe shakes his head, leaning against the doorframe. Alex walks up behind you, whispering she will be back later, and leaves with a quick smile to Rafe.

"I'm giving you your space so you can focus. We'll work on us when you're done with the semester."

He sounds firm, but you know you can win this one. You step forward, so close that he can almost feel your skin on his. Your scent fills the air, and you watch as he swallows his feelings.

"Rafe," you say, your voice soft, "I can't focus on anything knowing that I hurt you. I need to talk about us and figure things out. Please."

"Baby," he sighs, and you know you've won just by the return of your nickname. It's your favorite, which is why he calls you it so often.

"Please," you say, taking his hand. Your fingers wrap through his, pulling him inside.

He groans but enters anyway, both of you knowing that he would do anything for you. The door closes behind him, which you're thankful for. You sit him down on your bed and instantly crawl onto his lap, not caring if that's what he wants or not. That's what you need. Your head buries into his chest and your arms wrap around his neck.

"Baby," he says again, this time with more authority.

You bring your lips up to his neck to soften him up, listening to the small moans that come out of his mouth as you work.

"Rafe," you say against his skin, "I'm so sorry for what I said yesterday."

He hums, so you give him a few more kisses on his neck before you pull back to look at him. He stares at you with soft eyes, and you know you've already won him over. But you still need to say what you need to say.

"Truly, baby. I was wrong. I was angry. You are all I want in this world and I couldn't handle any of this without you. I was acting extremely ungrateful and I'm really, really sorry," you continue, watching him smile sadly at you.

"Well," he smirks, moving his hands from your back down to your butt, "I've always known you're a brat, so."

"Hey," you pretend to pout, but really, you just want a kiss. He gives you a slow, gentle one, one that makes you want to melt into him.

"You are the love of my life," he says, "You could never say anything to make me walk. And I'm sorry for being such a dick yesterday and for not respecting your school. I'm gonna get better. This shit is just hard for me, having you all the way here. I just miss you when I'm home."

You nod, reaching up and brushing his hair away from his eyes with your fingers. Even when he hasn't showered, is in the same clothes as yesterday, hasn't styled his hair or even slept well, he still is the most handsome to you.

"I understand. I'm sorry for being so hard on you," you say, kissing him on the cheek.

He smiles against your lips, bringing his hands up to your face to move you down to his lips.

"Are we okay?" he asks you in between kisses.

You hum against his lips, and he takes that as a yes, so he flips you over and lays down on top of you, kissing you like his life depends on it. He quickly moves down to your neck, his hands going underneath your shirt.

"Oh, my God, I missed you, baby," he tells you as you feel him leaving a hickey on your neck.

"Always marking me up," you laugh at him, feeling him smirk against you, "I missed you, too."

"It killed me not calling you back," he continues against your neck, "But I wanted to do right by you, you know?"

You gasp when he bites you slightly, then laugh when you feel his big grin on your neck.

"That's why I love you the way I do," you say sweetly.

He sits up and looks down at you, smirking widely, "Can you love me like you do right now and then get back to your studying?"

You bite your lip and nod, pulling him back down on top of you.

A little while later, you and Rafe lay naked in your bed, just breathing in the other. Rafe is drawing hearts into the skin on your stomach, leaving little kisses every so often on any inch of skin he could reach with his mouth.

"You need to get back to studying," he says, but doesn't stop with his kisses.

"Can I have my ring back first?"

He looks up at you with wide eyes, wondering if you really mean it. He didn't want to bring up the ring, just in case you had changed your mind about the engagement.

"You sure?" he asks quietly.

You grab his chin and pull him up to you, stroking his hair as you give him a couple quick kisses.

"I've never been more sure of anything," you tell him.

He nods and kisses you again, then hops off the bed and pulls the ring out of the zipped up pocket of his shorts. He grins at you and then jumps back in bed, of course landing on you when he does.

"This is a twin bed, you ogre. You can't be jumping and shit, there's not enough room for you!" you say as you try to free your left side from underneath him.

He moves and lets you get situated, then holds out the ring. You hold up your left hand for him ti put it on you once again.

"Will you marry me?" he asks, and you would've laughed at him if his voice wasn't so gentle and nervous.

"Of course I will, Rafe Cameron," you tell him, smiling.

He slides your ring back on your finger and you somehow feel more complete, more whole, knowing it's there.

"It's never coming off again," you tell him, meaning it.

He kisses you softly, "No, it's not."

Rafe takes a shower and then hangs out on your bed on his phone later on to keep himself occupied while you study for Chem at your desk. You ask him to quiz you and he does, even though he knows nothing about Chemistry.

It gets late, so you tell him you'll study the rest tomorrow and hope to be prepared the following day for the exam. You put your book and notes on your desk, then slide into bed with Rafe, who you made stay with you tonight. Although it didn't take much convincing.

"I can't believe your dad is just letting you take all this time off," you mumble against his chest.

"Hmm," Rafe hums, so you know you're wrong, "I've kinda been dodging his calls."

"He'll be mad," you tell him, and he nods.

"I don't care, though. I got what I came here for."

You spend all day the next day studying in the library for Chem and writing your paper, while Rafe packs your things for you. He figures it's one less thing for you to worry about, and then you can just come with him after you finish your exam. He had told you he wanted to be the one to bring you, his soon-to-be wife, home.

Rafe waits for you outside your building on exam day. One by one, students file out of the building, and he gets even more anxious every time you aren't one of them. Eventually, he stops pacing and sits down on a bench, praying that you do well.

He sees you emerge from the building with only ten minutes to spare, and jumps up to greet you.

"So?" he asks, his voice hopeful.

"I won't know for a few days," you tell him, "But I'm confident. I felt like I had most of it under control."

He smiles, taking your hand in his and kissing it, "I'm so proud of you, baby."

You smile and thank him, then put your head on his chest in hopes that he'll wrap his arms around you. With the amount of stress you've been under the past few days, all you want is just for him to hold you right now.

"I'm so proud of you," he repeats, swallowing you up in his arms.

You breathe in his scent and relax, knowing that even if you fail every class you ever take for the rest of your life, you will always have a place in the arms of this boy.

After a few minutes, you move to look up at him by resting your chin on his sternum, staring up at him. He smiles down at you, running a hand through your hair as an attempt to calm you down.

"Take me home, Rafe," you tell him quietly, and he nods.

He reaches down and takes your hand, leading you away from the building. You two go back and grab the remaining items you need to bring home, the rest Rafe already packed in the truck, and then go out to the parking lot to head home.

You feel relieved, ready to spend some quality time with Rafe and really make sure to work on things so that nothing ever gets bad between the two of you again.

He puts you into the truck and closes your door, then hops into the driver's side. He reaches over and takes your hand, staring at the ring on your finger and smiling softly.

"Let's just elope and get it over with," he looks up at you, already laughing because he knows you'll never agree.

"Yeah, I'm glad our wedding is something you just wanna get over with," you roll your eyes, but can't help your smile.

"You know what I mean," Rafe groans, "We don't need all the bullshit and the drama. I just need you. And a minister."

You laugh at him and nod, understanding what he means. He looks down at your hand in his, at the diamond on your finger, and so do you. You honestly can't remember why you took it off, you just know you never will again.

"A small wedding it is," you whisper.

He leans over and gives you a kiss. Then another. Then another. He pulls away and starts the truck, then looks back over a you.

"Baby, I'll do whatever you want."

That sentence combined with the cheesy smile he gives you afterward is what convinces you that, no matter what, Rafe will always be yours, and you will always be his.

Tags: @cmrxac

#drew starkey #rafe fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe #rafe imagine #rafe x y/n #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #outer banks netflix #obx fic #obx fanfiction #obx netflix #outerbanks netflix

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spideyharrington · 2 years

Text

His Favorite Song

Summary: Peter tries so hard to balance Peter Parker’s life with Spider-Man’s. But even superheroes can’t carry that much weight on their own. Good thing Y/N is there to catch him when he inevitably falls.

Warnings: mild anxiety attack; peter being overwhelmed; little angst before fluff but i cant rly do angst so it pretty much skips to fluff lol

A/N: wrote this very late on a whim while listening to sad songs sooooo it’s short and messy but 🤷‍♀️ maybe i’ll try some angst tomorrow or tuesday if i’m still feeling kinda angsty 🤭 i’ll probably cry writing it because sad peter is the worst thing to imagine but who doesn’t enjoy causing themselves emotional pain every now and then 🤩

word count: 1.6k

It was your typical sunday afternoon; Peter out patrolling for awhile while you do your weekly grocery shopping. As you walk through the store heading to grab bananas, there’s this strange feeling in your gut. A feeling you get so rarely, but when you do it never means anything good. You tried to joke with yourself that it was your own spidey-sense but it only made you think of Peter and it made the feeling that much worse. You tried focusing on the music playing in your earbuds to distract yourself, trying to convince yourself it was just your silly anxiety at it again, but not even your favorite 80s songs would make the feeling go away. That’s when you knew oh fuck. something is very very wrong.

You quickly grabbed the last few important groceries and rushed out of the store. In the car you tried calling Peter, twenty-two times within five minutes to be exact, but it was no use. The phone just rang and rang. You had gotten so anxious in the ten minute drive to Peter’s that you hadn’t played any music in the car, palms sweating as you drove as fast as you could without getting in an accident.

You finally arrived at Peter’s hoping, no, praying, he was home. You lost count of how many times you knocked on his door. No one was answering. The gut feeling grew much more intense. You thought maybe you were gonna be sick, but you forced yourself to get back in the car and go home. Maybe Peter was there. You recall what he had told you the last time you were scared he wasn’t coming back from patrol.

“Y/N, no matter how broken i get out there, i will always come home to you. If I can’t swing, I’ll run. If I can’t run, I’ll walk. If I can’t walk I’ll fucking crawl home to you. I promise I could never ever leave you behind.”

God, of course if something was wrong he would be at your home and not his own. If he made it away from whatever psycho he was fighting that day… You gripped your steering wheel tight. Knuckles going white.

You finally pull up to your apartment, half-assing your park job. Your car was kinda the least of your worries right now. You run inside and fumble with your keys, getting frustrated when you drop them from shaking too hard. You take a deep breathe and finally unlock the door. You immediately check the couch in the main room, no one. You check your room, no one. You even check the bathroom to see if maybe he took a shower, no one. You almost start panicking even more, somehow, but then you heard something. “The fire escape! Fuck I didn’t check the fire escape!” You basically yell to yourself.

You open your window and sure enough there’s Spider-Man. You would be relieved if he wasn’t leaning on the rusty metal breathing heavily.

“Peter?” You whisper, kneeling next to him. He just turns his head over to look at you, and you start panicking but you manage to help him get inside, taking off his mask once you closed the window. You sat him so he was leaning up against the wall.

“Peter? Peter! Pete, can you hear me?” You saw him look at you but it was more like he was looking through you. It was that moment you were able to calm down. You knew that look all too well. You were still worried about him, but at least you knew he wasn’t hurt. Not physically at least.

“Pete. Hey, it’s ok. I’m here I’ve got you,” you instantly sit on the floor next to him, putting his head in your lap as you run your fingers through his unruly hair with one hand while you hold tightly onto his hand with your free one. You sit like that for a good few minutes until his breathing finally steadies itself.

“Pete, what happened?” You asked in the softest voice you possibly could. To your surprise, you feel him start to shake slightly as he holds onto your waist with almost a painful grip.

“That bad?” You frown deeply, “Do you wanna try to get out of that suit? Maybe it’ll help you feel a little better sweets. Then you can talk about whatever happened if you want to,” He lazily nods and lifts up his head. You wipe his tears away with your sleeve and give him a small smile.

After he was able to successfully change out of the suit and into sweatpants and an oversized Beastie Boys shirt, which you had found at a thrift store months ago and it became his favorite shirt of yours to steal to sleep in, he climbed onto your bed to you. He laid his head on your chest holding onto you tightly, but not as tightly as before. You resume playing with his hair and you see him close his eyes as he listens to the steady beating of your heart for a moment.

“Pete do you wanna talk about it?” He was silent for a moment before answering, “I thought I could handle this. I thought I could handle having Peter stuff while doing Spider-Man stuff. But I can’t. Y/N I cant handle this shit anymore,” you heard his voice break and it broke your heart.

“Sweetie, listen to me. It would be hard for anyone to balance two life’s like that at once. You can’t expect yourself to be able to just because you’re Spider-Man. You may be a hero, but you’re also just a man. You have super strength physically, not mentally,” Peter laughed very lightly at the end, “Ok I know I worded that weird, but you get my point Pete. Believe it or not you’re not invincible.”

“I know I know. It’s just… I feel like it’s my responsibility to be out there keeping people safe twenty-four/seven, but it also feels so unfair to you. When I’m here with you I feel safe and warm, but there’s this guilt I feel. I feel selfish for indulging in something so nice when I could be using this time to help people. But, when I’m out there fighting crime, I feel good for helping so many people and using my powers for good, but on the other hand I feel awful for leaving you alone for so long. I know you don’t need me to be around every second of every day but I also know you need me for more than just a few hours a day. Some days you don’t even see me at all until some ungodly hour in the middle of the night, or early morning for that matter-“ you cut off his rant.

“Peter. stop it,” he looks up at you with furrowed brows, “You keep doing this. You keep blaming yourself for every tiny little microscopic thing you can find. Yes, with your abilities you have some intense responsibilities. Yes, you have responsibilities in a relationship. But you cannot beat yourself up every time your responsibilities clash. It’s out of your control Peter. And I never blame you for any of it, ok? I need you to know that. I never get mad because I understand it isn’t your fault. But I need you to understand that too Pete. ‘Cause I cant handle seeing you like this. I know that’s selfish to say, but it absolutely shatters my heart to see you in so much pain. Pain that you cause by being too harsh on yourself.”

Peter stays quiet, just staring into your eyes. He can see you trying to hold back your own tears. He sits up and puts a hand on your cheek, rubbing it gently back and forth. He then puts his forehead to yours and you both close your eyes as your breathing syncs with his. He tangles his free hand in your hair and kisses you so softly that you wonder for a moment if he even actually kissed you. He pulls back before you bring him in to kiss him again. You still kiss him softly, but more passionately this time. When you both pull away, you just smile at him which of course makes him smile back and his eyes light up.

“Call off work tomorrow, yeah? We’ll have a John Hughes marathon as a little reset. I think we both deserve it,” as you look into those deep brown eyes, you know there’s no telling him no, so you nod and smile at him.

After you both talk for another hour, or maybe two, you finally settle in your bed, both feeling incredibly tired. Peter puts his head on your chest again as he wraps his arms around you and tangles his legs in yours, a thing you’ve found that he does when he wants to make sure you don’t go anywhere.

“I think this is my favorite song,” Peter randomly stated and you looked at him confused, “Pete, there’s no music. Are you ok? I mean, you don’t have a concussion do you?” To that, Peter chuckled.

“I don’t have a concussion ladybug. I meant the sound of your heart,” It was your turn to let out a little laugh, “I’m serious Y/N! We should take a microphone to your chest and broadcast the boom boom boom boom and make ‘em all dance to it!”

“Did you just… Did you just say that to quote Lorde?”

“I did really want to quote that song. But I bet if everyone could listen to your heartbeat they’d have no choice but to be completely and totally ok. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

“There’s my Peter Parker,” you smile, kissing him on the head.

#peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter x you #peter parker oneshot #tasm!peter parker oneshot

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0risha · 3 years

Text

PARENTS.

— jjk men as parents

➵ includes. gojo, nanami, toji, getou and choso

➵ content/warning. fluff, mentions of children (obvi🤭) not proofread so don't make fun of me. c/n means child's name!

➵ a/n. I wrote this in like twenty minutes even though I should probably be asleep lol 🤭

G O J O

irresponsible as hell.

will leave your baby in the car and have an hour conversation in walmart

loves his child, but his mind is too jumbled to put complete focus on them.

though, he will protect his child with his every whim

"Well, get your child before I do." Your eyes widen in shock as you turn to the culprit of his threats with an apologetic plea. "Satoru!" His cerulean gaze shifts to you, and with a sigh, he takes c/n and hoists them up in his arms. As he walks away he takes your hand in his. "I'm not going to say sorry."

"I know that." You sigh. But eventually, your expression grows serene when you turn to see him nuzzling his cheek with c/n's.

He, at least, was a good father when it counted.

N A N A M I

best baby daddy ever 🤭

buys everything the baby needs

buys everything you need

checks up on his baby whenever he can

"Sorry love, I'm working overtime tonight, tell c/n I apologize." Your brow furrows as his timbre voice flits through your occupied bedroom, his eye bags more apparent than before. "I'll make it up to you both, I promise."

refuses to let gojo near his child.

doesn't really like taking his baby to Jujutsu tech, doesn't think there's any need

in fact, the students don't know he has a child until Gojo blurts it out one day.

"Nanamin! You have a child?" Itadori stares in wonder. Megumi rolls his eyes at his loud voice, seemingly unbothered. Nobara hesitantly flits her eyes to Nanami, trying her best to conceal her interest.

"Here," Nanami grunts, raising his phone to show his lock screen. When the first-years huddle closely to observe, a ghost of a smile takes place on his face when he hears their awes.

T O J I

......... ┐( ˘_˘)┌

G E T O U

on and off

doesn't put much effort

intrigued by the form of life he made but that's about it

"Can I hold it?" You give him a glare at his use of words but it disappears once you catch his warm gaze. "Yeah, here. Hold them gently," you coax, body going lax once he does. "It's cute." He throws a glance your way, his expression no longer conveying much emotion. A thrum of sadness echoes in your chest as you hum in affirmation. "Yeah, c/n's really cute."

C H O S O

depends on if it's your daughter or your son

if it's his daughter he'll still love her but she'll probably be a momma's girl

now, if it's a son, he's coddling him 24/7. will show him off to his brothers

"Can I at least hold my baby?" You cross your arms at the scene before you. He's splayed on the living room floor with c/n on his chest, his arms cradling him with utmost care. "Later." With a sigh, you plop down on your couch, your anger squanders once you see how cute they actually are.

Choso's attention is planted on a random show on TV, whilst c/n claws at his chest while emitting random garbles. You nearly burst into tears when c/n gives you a gummy smile. With a small smile in return, you decide that everything's fine, just like this.

#jjkmag #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami x you #toji x reader #toji x you #getou x reader #getou x you #choso x reader #choso x you #Jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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romirola · 2 years

Note

woah- those prompts hurt! may we please get “what are you talking about— of course i love you?” with Cutie and Geordi? thank you!

Hi, Anon! Yeah, that was a moving list, wasn’t it? I’m so glad you plucked some dialogue from it to give me the chance to try it out. Thanks for your request! This is also my first time writing for Geordi and basically the first time I’m writing for Cutie! (And although I technically wrote for Cutie before, I didn’t exactly advertise that it was Cutie, unless you read the tags.) Hope you enjoy.

Rating: G, WC: ~2K, Prompts, “what are you talking about— of course i love you” and Geordi/Cutie

Come on, come on. I feel so useless sitting here waiting for the computer. It’s not like I can do anything to make it go any faster. I don’t even really know what it’s doing or how it does it. I just wait for it to tell me it’s done and hope nothing goes wrong. What if something does go wrong? How am I supposed to know how to fix it? Is that noise the fan? Is it supposed to be so loud? I, ohh, looks like it’s done.

Geordi blinked as the laptop returned to the lock screen he had set. It was a picture of him and his partner on vacation together. On a whim, they had decided to sign up for a beginning falconry course. Geordi had tried to snap a selfie of himself standing next to his telepath partner with a falcon standing on their shoulder, but that wasn’t exactly what happened. Just as he had snapped the picture, the falcon decided to peck at Cutie’s ear, causing them to scream, causing the falcon to freak out, causing the picture to be Geordi, smiling calmly for the camera and Cutie absolutely terrified and cowering from a falcon mid-flight. It was rare for Geordi to have the opportunity to see Cutie so genuinely surprised. As a telepath, they often were able to anticipate everyone else’s next step as they flitted in and out of people’s minds, just observing, never judging. They amazed Geordi with the sheer control they held over their powers, but sometimes, he did really like to see them as shocked as everyone else when something unexpected happened.

Love that picture. It was so much fun. They’re so funny. I love them.

Geordi made a move to type in his pin code.

Where did that bruise come from on my palm? Looks gross. When’s the last time I cleaned this screen? Can you put Lysol on a touchscreen? I bet it’d ruin the sensitivity.

“Hey, are you done yet?” Cutie asked from the kitchen. Geordi heard them turn off the water, signalling that they had finished washing the dishes from dinner. “You closed two hours ago. Make like your cupcake dough and rest overnight.”

“That’s for bread,” Geordi corrected lightly. “Cupcake batter doesn’t need to rest. And besides, the café is closed, but as the owner, I’m never done,” Geordi laughed. “I just have one email to send to a potential catering client. I’m giving a quote for what I hope is going to be the biggest event I’ve ever booked. Let’s see…” He furrowed his brow as he looked over the types of desserts the client requested and did the math in his head to figure out an estimated price. “Six dozen donuts, five trays of mini-cupcakes, a full sheet cake and little bags of macaroons to give each guest as a favor…” He whistled. “This corporation is going all out for its employee appreciation day. I really want to land this gig. It’d be great publicity for us.”

“If they are smart, they’ll accept your offer. What better way to show appreciation than provide the most delicious desserts I have ever tasted?” Cutie said, drying their hands on their flannel shirt. “But I thought you were going to send that email twenty minutes ago?”

“I’ve been waiting for this dinosaur of a computer to update.” Geordi nodded and patted the empty space on the loveseat next to himself. “Plenty of space for two here, Cutie,” he winked.

“Oh, is that so?” Cutie asked coyly, sliding next to Geordi and letting their chin rest in the crook of Geordi’s shoulder as they kissed his cheek. “And how about it there?” They tapped lightly on his temple, leaving a spark with every touch. “Any room in there for me?”

Geordi gave them a quick kiss on the cheek. “Always,” he hummed, returning back to the email. “Thanks for checking first.”

Thanks for saying ‘yes,’ Cutie spoke into Geordi’s head. They wrapped their arms around his torso. You always work so hard. I want home to be a place you can relax and unwind.

Even without powers, Geordi felt like he was developing the abilities to keep more focused in his own mind when Cutie You make me so relaxed and happy. Geordi turned the laptop so that Cutie had a better angle to see the screen. Will you just reread that and make sure there are no typos? Please?

Of course. Cutie adjusted the screen a little bit more so they could see the draft Geordi typed up. As they read, they whispered the email aloud to themselves. Cutie never seemed to be able to catch their own typos unless they spoke out loud. “Hello, Thank you for contacting…”

As Cutie read through the email, Geordi felt his mind begin to wander again. If I land that job, maybe I should hire another employee. We might need the help. Although, it’d have to be a part-time position. No. I should wait until I can afford a full-time position. I want to make sure anyone who works for me has good benefits, stability. All that jazz. Well then, what should I get? A new oven? No, my oven works well. Hmm. I could give everyone a bonus, since the prep for this event will be torture. But then what would I use my bonus on? I could invest it. Or… we could take another vacation? That’d be fun. I loved our trip earlier this year. I love them so much. I hope they love me, too. Sometimes, I’m not sure. I wonder if—

“What are you talking about—” Cutie gasped as they exited his mind. “Of course I love you!”

Their voice startled Geordi out of his half-daydream, half-stream-of-consciousness-monologue. Geordi was always a little surprised how much louder speech sounded in comparison to thoughts. “I… Um… What?” he sputtered, coming back to reality and realizing what his partner had just heard.

“You just thought, ‘I hope they love me, too. Sometimes, I’m not sure.’ Why?” they asked, hurt practically dripping from their words. “Why don’t you know it? What do I do that makes you doubt it?” Cutie shook their head. “What do I do that makes you doubt me?”

Geordi’s eyes widened when he noticed how Cutie pulled away from him. “What?” he said. “No, no. I didn’t…” He stopped himself from saying that. After all, how could he lie after they had heard him think exactly that? Geordi abandoned that train of thought. “It’s just…” He hesitated, but forced himself to look Cutie in their eyes. “It’s just that, you never say it.”

Cutie tensed. “I say it!” they retorted indignantly. “I say it all the time!”

“No,” Geordi gently corrected. “You don’t. You say, ‘Me, too,’ after I say it or ‘Same here’ or whatever.” He shrugged. “It’s not the same, you know? I know you mean it,” he assured them. “And I know with how you were brought up, ‘I love you’ is a phrase that’s not exactly on the tip of your tongue. And that’s okay.” He let a comforting hand rest on their thigh. “Really. But sometimes, I do wonder, okay? I mean, I don’t think it’s ridiculous of me to want that, you know? I want to hear it. I… I need to hear it.” Geordi swallowed, wholly uncomfortable with articulating what he needed. It was something he struggled with throughout his life, though Cutie was helping him to be more assertive in his life. He figured he owed it to them to be as honest as he wanted them to be with him. Not every second. But…” He shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder if the reason you can’t say it is because you don’t feel it.”

Cutie stayed silent for a moment, thinking back on their time with Geordi. They’d never been so happy before. They had no doubt in their mind that they loved him with every fiber of their being.

So why is it so hard to say?

“Geordi, I’m so sorry,” they whispered, bringing their palm over Geordi’s hand. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I…”

They felt a frown coming on, so they instinctively covered their face with their other hand. It was so hard for them to show any bit of themselves that wasn’t filtered through some mask or persona that they wanted to show the world. As a telepath, they had been instructed on the importance of keeping in control of their thoughts and emotions since their powers developed. Between that cultural expectation and the fact that their parents were less than forthcoming with their own emotions, Cutie had learned from an early age to associate any display of emotions with weakness. Over time, that association had manifested as a complete avoidance of anything even remotely related to romantic expression. It wasn’t as if they didn’t want to tell him. They wanted to be brave and strong. If they weren’t, they rationalized, Geordi might get sick of them and leave.

When they met Geordi, the unempowered human who lived his whole life like he was the main character in a big, bright musical that would somehow find a way to a happy ending, they realized that it was he who was truly brave and strong. They admired Geordi so much. His tenacity, his fierce, relentless optimism. His ability to presume good existed in everyone. Cutie might have claimed that hearing others’ thoughts was the quickest way to become jaded, but they had a feeling if even Geordi possessed such power, he’d somehow manage to stay his cheery self.

They loved him.

He had a right to know that. And, they surmised, maybe they could take some inspiration from Geordi and hope that expressing themselves openly and completely wouldn’t have the disastrous result they’d convinced themselves was inevitable.

“Cutie?” Geordi asked, bringing them back to the present. His voice made them realize they had retreated into their own overly analytical mind yet again. A habit they used to cope in a world sometimes too full of dizzying thoughts and feelings.

“Geordi,” they responded. “I love you.”

At first, Cutie had thought maybe their indulgence in optimism was foolish because Geordi looked distressed. “I didn’t want to force it out of you or anything,” he stammered. “I don’t know exactly what my aim was when I brought it up, but I…”

“You didn’t force me,” Cutie interrupted briskly. “At all. I wanted to tell you, because it’s what I feel. I’ve felt it for a long time.” They slowly slipped their fingers in between his, feeling quite a bit lighter than when they had sat down. “I was just afraid. You gave me the strength to say it. I love you. And…” They pointed to Geordi’s head, offering a half-smile as a question. At his nod, they entered his mind. I love you, Geordi.

Cutie was glad to see Geordi visibly relax. “Oh, wow,” he marvelled, not expecting how meaningful the statement would be when it resounded in his head. It was like his own private space that he shared with Cutie, and for the first time, it was filled with their love for each other. I love you, too, he couldn’t help thinking, not that he wanted to think about anything else.

Thank you for being as patient with me as you were, they thought. Thanks for being someone I can love. Who loves me. Cutie felt a rush of relief flow into their body, like they were levitating despite never having learned much graviton magic.

Same here, Geordi thought, purposefully teasing them by echoing their standard responses.

They loved that even when they fought, he never held anything back. It made for even their rare fights to be productive. They loved that they could trust him to always say what he meant and to mean whatever he said. It was more comforting than they ever thought possible. Geordi was the rare type of person who you didn’t need access into his head to know what was in his heart.

Can I kiss you? He winked.

Instead of answering, Cutie kissed him.

I love you, they both thought simultaneously.

Geordi sent the email, typo-free and two hours later.

#redacted asmr #redacted fanfiction #redacted geordi #redacted cutie #thank you!#Requests are still open

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story-courty · 2 years

Note

For wrapped fics…. 61

Mmkay, this one should be fun!

Number 61 on my Wrapped list is "Lately" by Dan + Shay, a darling little song about a couple who have been so busy they haven't had a minute of time to truly appreciate each other.

And we're back on the Juke train since I'm fairly sure this song is safe!

(the guys are alive for this because writing in canon is hard).

Life. Was. Psychotic.

Between tours, press releases, deadlines, talk shows, and fan experiences, Julie and the Phantoms had taken the world completely by storm.

But even as they brought the world together, their own worlds were slowly falling to the side.

Especially Luke and Julie. They'd eloped on a whim after Julie's twenty-first birthday, right before the world completely exploded, and ever since it felt like they got to see each other maybe once a month. And not just "official band business see each other," because, come on, they and the boys were together all. the. time.

No, it was "married see each other" they were missing, those quiet moments where it was just the two of them. They missed eating cold takeout for breakfast, and making cookies in their underwear, and spending an entire day in bed reading a book together. Luke couldn't remember the last time they did any of that.

One night he came to bed and saw Julie had gone to sleep with her phone open. An article titled, "Julie Molina: Preggo or Fatso?" in blazing red letters over a very unflattering (and likely doctored) picture of Julie walking out of their favorite restaurant was open, and it only took one look for Luke to see that, even in sleep, tears trailed down Julie's face.

Oh. Hell. No.

Normally she let those things roll off and whispered to him that he thought she was beautiful and that was enough.

But when was the last time he'd told her she was beautiful? Or told her that everything about her still drove him completely crazy? Or that he still had a hard time focusing during performances, even after all these years performing together, because Julie distracted him?

He knew there wasn't much he could do about the article; public figures didn't have the same protection against libel and slander as private citizens. But there was something he could do for Julie.

So he made a plan.

He secretly cancelled everything the band had planned for an entire week (Andi would have a fit, but Luke was about ten miles past caring), let the guys know they could spend some time with Flynn and Willie, and turned off all of his and Julie's alarm clocks after Julie had gone to bed.

For the first time in months, Julie woke up slowly, wrapped in Luke's arms, completely and totally relaxed.

Until she saw the clock.

"Luke! We're late!"

He groaned and pulled her closer. "For what?"

"Everything!"

He shook his head and refused to let her get up. "We're not late for anything, I promise."

"How?"

Luke took a deep breath and rubbed at his eyes. "We have the week off."

"Again, how?"

He grinned. "Me. I cancelled everything, and for the next seven days, it's just you and me. And we're going to do this every month from now on, okay?"

Julie rolled over in his arms and settled back into her pillow. "What made you pull a stunt like that?"

He reached up and ran a finger down her cheek. "I saw the article last night."

Horror widened Julie's eyes. "Luke, don't-"

He shook his head. "Nope, none of that. Whoever wrote that sucks as a human being, and I'm not about to let them have the last word." He leaned forward and caught her lips in a long, lingering kiss. "I don't care what that article says, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And I'll be damned if I let you believe anything less. I'm just sorry I haven't told you in such a long time. But I'm going to love you exactly as you deserve for the next week. And for forever after, too."

He kissed her again, and Julie pulled him closer, rolling until he hovered over her. "Well," she whispered, breaking away for a breath, "I suppose I could use a few showers of affection..."

Luke smiled and pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat. "Mmhm."

"And you could, too."

He lifted his head. "Definitely, but why do you say that?"

She nodded toward her phone. "That article? It was only half wrong."

"I... I don't..."

"I have gained a little weight lately... But it's not from a sudden love of fried food..." She shot him a crooked smile and shrugged a shoulder.

Luke's eyes widened. "No..."

She nodded and moved his hand to her stomach. "Yep."

Luke grinned and nuzzled into her cheek. "Best. Vacation. Ever."

send me a number, I'll send you a fic idea from my wrapped list!

#Yeah still not doing this right.#oh well #no regrets #riderunlove #jatp #julie and the phantoms #juke

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burberryharold · 3 years

Text

Our Little Miracle

Hello, lovely people! This is a little piece that I just wrote on a whim for @tbslenthusiast‘s dadathon! (I’m a little late forgive me) I was feeling really soft and thinking about dad!h and inspiration hit, so here are 3k words of baby Mila and dad!h stealing our hearts. I still have one more dad!h piece in the works but that will be up later on (uni is currently killing me)

Warnings: allusions to infertility

“Oh where is my sweet Mila?”

“Mumma! Mumma!”

With your hands covering your eyes, you move your head around pretending to look for her. You can see her toothy smile through the small gaps between your fingers, her eyes shining brightly under the kitchen lights.

You’ve just fed your daughter her dinner and now you were playing with her, never getting enough of her sweet giggles and pretty smile. After trying for so long, you and Harry were finally blessed with your angel’s arrival almost a year ago. Despite all of the pain and heartbreak you and your husband went through after many failed attempts, it was all worth it when you saw those two pink lines. It was a day you would never forget; the day everything changed.

Your eyes were fixated on the item that has mocked you many times before, making you wait for it on your lowest days before it shattered your hopes bit by bit every time until you had almost given up. You couldn’t count the times you’ve spent silently crying and shaking in your husband’s arms while he held you, whispering comforting words in your ears with a wavering voice. “We’ll be alright. One day we’ll get our little miracle.”

As you stood in the bathroom, your arms wrapped around yourself, you prayed and prayed that this time was it, because you weren’t sure you could handle anymore heartache.

Growing anxious, you glanced at your phone and saw there was a minute and a half left and you decided you couldn’t bear waiting in the bathroom like this. “I need water,” you whisper to yourself, willing your body to move out of the bathroom and down to the kitchen. Your legs moved in a slow manner to the kitchen island where a pitcher of water was sitting. A small smile tugged at your lips as you remembered your husband.

“I don’t understand how you prefer warm water,” he would always tease you, scrunching his face at you as you drank your water, “cold water tastes much better.”

“You know it runs in the family,” you would always say after rolling your eyes at him. Then he would tug you closer and peck your nose, whispering “Just teasin’” with a soft smile.

As you drank, the water soothed your dry throat and you momentarily forgot about what was waiting for you upstairs. You sat the empty glass down and breathed out a deep sigh, shutting your eyes and praying again. All you wanted was to be a mother and give Harry the kids you’ve always dreamed of having, and you were frustrated at your body for constantly disappointing you.

“Not this time, this is it,” you whispered to yourself as you made your way back up, feeling strangely optimistic. Something was telling you this time would be different.

The bathroom seemed daunting and scary as you stepped in, your eyes not daring yet to glance at the counter. The sound of your heartbeat was ringing in your ears, it was all you could hear, and your hands were shaking.

Taking in another deep breath, you finally grabbed one of the blue sticks and willed yourself to look at the results.

Suddenly the world was silent.

Tears quickly welled up in your eyes as you blinked multiple times, trying to figure out if your mind was playing tricks on you or if this was reality.

You quickly grabbed another stick and felt a sob burst out of you, your body sliding down and setting on the cool bathroom tiles.

Two lines.

You couldn’t believe it. This was everything you wanted.

Letting out a relieved breath, you reached up to the counter and frantically looked for your phone, knowing that you had to call him.

“Hey, my love-”

You quickly interrupt your husband, too impatient to let him finish speaking. “H, you need to come home.”

Mistaking the quiver in your voice for distress, your husband’s tone immediately changed into a worried one, “Love, are you okay? What’s happening?”. You could hear some shuffling and whispers in the background, indicating that he was already on the move.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you tried to reassure him, but you couldn’t stop your body from shaking, this time for a completely different reason. “Just please come home.”

A sigh of relief sounded from the other side of the line. “Thank God. I’m already in the car, hold on for me, okay, darling?”

In the twenty minutes you waited for him, your mind was racing with the thoughts of your baby. You thought about your bump growing bigger and bigger as the months go by. You thought of how Harry would definitely sing your baby to sleep every single night, even if they couldn’t hear him. You thought of how you and Harry would fiercely love and protect this little angel till the day you die.

Your ears suddenly perked up at the sound of the door opening. You hadn’t moved from your position on the bathroom floor, your back leaning against the wall when you heard him call out your name from downstairs.

It didn’t take him long to find you in the bathroom and you were immediately engulfed in his embrace. The familiar scent of his perfume comforted you as his arms tightened around you and you breathed him in, more tears rushing down your cheeks.

After placing a kiss to the side of your head, Harry pulled back to get a clear look at your face. “What’s going on, lovie?” he whispered, thumps gently caressing your tear-stained cheeks.

It was only when you glanced down at your hands that he noticed what you were holding. You felt him stiffen for a second before his gaze shifted back to you, then down to your hands again.

His eyes widen when he sees the two pink lines.

“You… A-are we…”

Harry couldn’t seem to get the words out as he continued looking at you, waiting for a response that would confirm that he wasn’t imagining this.

A smile made its way onto your lips and you merely nodded before you felt his warm hands grab your face and pull you closer, whispering against your lips in disbelief. “We’re gonna be parents.”

Your hands reached up to hold his wrists, reassuringly squeezing him, “We’re gonna be parents, H,” you managed to choke out, “we still need to do a blood test to be sure but they’re all positive.”

Salty kisses were shared as you two held each tightly in the bathroom crying tears of happiness.

“We’re having a baby.”

You heard her giggle once again as you turned your head around again. “Oh where are you, Mila?”

“Mumma!” her tiny hands grabbed at you and you finally dropped your hands down, looking at her with wide eyes.

“There she is! My sweet angel Mila!”

She squealed in delight as you pulled her out of her high chair and closer to you, arms flapping around as she tried to escape your tickles. You pulled her back to look at her and a wide dimpled smile adorned her cheeks. You were so happy that she got Harry’s dimples and you almost cried when she laughed for the first time.

Mila was the perfect mixture of you and Harry. A gorgeous set of chocolate curls rested atop her head matching Harry’s and, while she got his dimples, she got your eyes and nose. As far as you were concerned, she was the most perfect child you’ve ever seen, and your husband agreed.

Her chubby cheeks were tinted pink from laughing so hard and you decided to stop tickling her, opting to give her soft kisses instead.

“Wanna go wait for daddy in the living room?” You ask her as you gently sway her in your arms, despite knowing that she can’t really understand you just yet.

Mila’s eyes lit up at the mention of her father and she instantly yelled “Dada” and thrashed in your arms in excitement. You laughed at her cuteness and tightened your grip, “Okay, baby, let’s go then, Dada should be here any minute now.”

You couldn’t help but remember the first time she called him Dada.

The three of you were in the kitchen. Harry was cooking dinner that night and you were holding Mila in your arms, making silly faces at her to hear her sweet laugh.

The two of you were in your own little world as Harry moved around, the sound of pots clinging sounding like white noise in the background.

“Ahhh boo!”

Mila’s body shook with another laugh, her dimples popping out and you wondered how your heart hasn’t burst from all the love you felt at that moment. Until now, you still couldn’t believe that she really was in your arms and not a figment of your imagination.

“Oi! I’m feeling left out here, stop neglecting me.”

Harry stood with his hands over his hips and a pout on his pink lips. He was wearing a pink apron that said “World’s Best Dad” and you thought he never looked cuter.

Shaking your head at your husband, you turned to Mila and talked in your baby voice. “Oh we’re so sorry, dada, we were just having fun.”

You and Harry were not prepared for what happened next.

“Dada! Dada!”

Mila smiled and looked at them, not realising the impact of her words.

“Did she just call me dada?”

You turned to Harry with wide eyes and you laughed. “She did. Oh my God, she did!”

Harry abandoned whatever he was doing and stood beside you, one of his arms wrapping around Mila. “Say it again, Mils. Say dada.”

You didn’t need to look into Harry’s eyes to know that he was tearing up, his shaky voice giving him away. Mila had only been able to say “Mumma”, which bummed Harry because he wanted to hear his angel call on him.

Mila did not disappoint her father, yelling out “Dada!” and giggling, making Harry hold her close to his chest and smother her with kisses.

Smiling at the memory, you made your way to the living room. You spot Mila’s favourite toy on the floor and bend down to pick it before you settle on the couch, with Mila sitting beside you. She blabbers on as she plays with her toy and you nod your head with a smile, pretending that you perfectly understand what she’s saying.

Mila’s head suddenly turned at the sound of keys jingling, a tell-tale sign that her father was home. You watched as she squealed and loudly repeated “Dada”, your heart warming at the scene and you knew Harry was standing behind the door with a wide smile on his face upon hearing his little angel’s voice.

“Oh, careful there, lovie,” you laugh and reach out to hold her when she started to bounce in excitement, edging closer to the edge of the couch. “Dada’s coming.”

Second later and you were faced with your husband’s bright grin as he closed the door behind him. He was dressed in a pair of light wash jeans and a black hoodie, his feet clad in the same pair of white, now darker, Vans that he insists on wearing all of the time. You can tell he had a long day from how dishevelled his hair was, loose curls dancing around his forehead, but his eyes were still as bright as ever.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach. Even after years of being together, your heart still soars at the sight of him and love rushes through your veins, taking you back to the time when you first started dating and you realised quickly that he was the only one you could ever be with.

Your love for each other never dwindled, only growing stronger as time goes by and you constantly thank your lucky stars for the life you have. A life full of love.

Standing up with Mila in your arms, you move closer to Harry and he greets you by wrapping his arms around the both of you, just like he does every time he gets home.

“How are my favourite girls doing?” Harry asks in a gentle tone, his eyes full of love at the sight of you two.

“Dada!” Mila grabbed and pulled at his hair, causing Harry to wince for a second before he laughed and took her into his arms. “Missed me then, huh?” He peppers multiple kisses around her face, causing Mila to giggle once more and you can’t help but smile at the two loves of your life.

Placing a final kiss on her forehead, Harry turned to you with a teasing smile, Mila still pulling at his hair. “And you? Have you missed me too?”

I always miss you when you’re not around, you thought to yourself, but instead you jokingly shrug, letting out a “Meh, I guess.”

His jaw dropped in mock offense, but you can see the playful glint in his eyes. “Did you hear that, Mils? Mummy won’t get kisses today because of what she said, you’re the only one that loves me in this house.”

You rolled your eyes at your husband’s theatrics. “Shut up and kiss me, you oof.”

A laugh sounded out of Harry before he wrapped his arm around your waist and tugged you closer to him, “C’mere.”

You smiled against his soft lips, feeling warmth wash over you from his touch. “I really missed you,” you whispered against his lips, “I always do when you’re not beside me.”

His arm tightens its hold around your body, squeezing you closer. “I know, I don’t like being away from you, either.”

Due to the nature of his job, you and Harry had to deal with being apart as he travelled the world, experiencing numerous tearful goodbyes at airports. But since you became pregnant with Mila, Harry decided that he could not stay away for long periods of time and made sure his schedule always allowed him to be with his family as much as he could. He wouldn’t spend more than two weeks away from you and Mila.

Now he was on a month-long break from his tour because he wanted to spend time with you as Mila’s first birthday was approaching.

“How were your meetings then?” you asked, hand caressing his cheek as you stared into his green eyes that you love so much.

“They went well, just some more details we needed to go over for the tour and some upcoming interviews.” Harry sighed but a small smile remained on his face. “But I’m home now, no one’s gonna bother us for three more weeks and I get to spend all of my time with my lovies.”

You smiled and stood on your tiptoes to peck his lips, feeling him smile. “Good.”

“Oh” The two of you laugh when Mila pushed your face away and wrapped her tiny arms around Harry’s neck (as much as she could).

“Don’t worry, Mils, I’m all yours.”

“Sweet creature, sweet creature, wherever I go, you bring me home.”

You watched as Harry sweetly sang to your baby, who was looking up at him with wide eyes and a precious smile.

The three of you were on your bed, Mila laying on Harry’s chest as he sang to her before sleep, something Harry always did when he was home. It was not surprising that Mila loved her daddy’s voice; Harry never stopped singing to your belly every night when you were pregnant. He would often have conversations with your belly as he laid on his side, caressing the soft skin and placing kisses every now and then.

“Harry, what are you doing?”

He looked at you as if you were being ridiculous. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m talking to our baby.”

You chuckled at his words. You were only two months pregnant and you barely had a bump. “Darling, they’re still very tiny, they can’t hear you.”

“I don’t care,” Harry frowned and laid his head beside your belly. “I’m gonna talk to our baby every day so they would recognise my voice.”

“Hey there, little angel,” he whispered with a smile, causing your heart to melt. “It’s your daddy. Your mummy and I are so excited to meet you, we’ve waited for you for so long.”

Ever since Mila was born, Harry sang to her when she cried and it instantly calmed her down. Your heart swelled at the bond they have. It was very obvious that Mila was a daddy’s girl at heart, and you had absolutely no problem with that.

You simply watched the interaction in front of you, not daring to interrupt their moment as you could see Mila’s eyes slowly fluttering shut.

“You bring me home.”

By the time Harry dragged out the last note, Mila was sound asleep on his chest, her thumb tucked into her mouth. You gently smooth down her curls and rub her back, her sleeping figure warming your heart.

“Isn’t she just perfect?” you whisper, your eyes shifting to meet Harry’s, only to find him already staring at you.

“Just like her mother.” Harry instantly responded, making you blush as he delicately pushed a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “You’ve given me a miracle and I could never thank you enough for it.”

Months and months of trying. One failed attempt after the other. Long hours of labour. It all led to the moment you finally held your baby girl, and you would not change a second of it.

“She is our little miracle, isn’t she?”

Hope you guys enjoyed this quick piece, Harry as a dad always melts my heart and I can’t get enough of him!

Also, this is my first time writing in second person so I sincerely apologise if it’s not that good, I’ve always preferred third person but I wanted to give it a try.

Don’t forget to reblog and tell me what you think! Let’s freak out about dad!h together!

Till next time, Nora

#dadathon #harry styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #dad!h #our little miracle

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thequibblah · 2 years

Note

17 and 25 for the asks!

17. did you make any new writing friends?

well,

a ~~~very insufferable trio~~~ made a gc this year after (i was) #lurking too long, and yes i scrolled for actually twenty three minutes to get to the top of the chat cc @clare-with-no-i @keepingupwithpotters lov u

but i made a ton of writing friends this year! including but not limited to @theesteemedladydebourgh @jilyism @dear-anathema @letthebookbegin @oyprongs @cesays @alittlebitofeverything23 @sicklesandgalleons LOVE TO U ALL xo

25. favorite fic you wrote

JUST ONE???

oh my god . well . i love all my fic for very different reasons but on a whim i'll say wtrf this year for all the worldbuilding!

❣️ask me about fic accomplishments ❣️

#ask me #anon #2021 wrapped #music whores united

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

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

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blazedgraysons · 4 years

Text

Love Don’t Cost A Thing

Grayson buys you a car, Twitter stans are mean, and Grayson’s really good at making you feel better.

A/N: this is part 1 of fics I wrote a month ago, forgot about and finally finished. this started out as a simple fluff and idk what happened. also let’s pretend that Grayson still has a wrapped porsche because I could totally see him wanting to match.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: horribly written smut and a lot ofme pretending I know about nice cars

God, some bitches will do anything for clout nowadays.

Honestly, when will Gray wake up and realize she’s just with him for his money?

What a fucking gold-digger.

Gold-digger.

That word rings around your head as you continue to scroll through the replies from Grayson’s latest tweet, each one nastier than the last. You sniffle, wiping your tears and locking your phone, before turning to look at your boyfriend through the bedroom window. He’s outside talking to Ethan excitedly over a car, not just any car but a 2021 Porsche 911. A car he bought just for you.

He had approached you earlier this afternoon with a broad grin. As easily excitable as he is, this didn’t feel out of the ordinary to you, so you simply raise an eyebrow while continuing to sip your coffee.

“Are you finished with your final yet, Y/N ?” He whispers out of caution that you might still be testing.

“Two more questions, then I’m all yours baby. What’s wrong?” A sense of worry washes over you since you know he wouldn’t interrupt you unless it’s crucial. He’d grown accustomed to your new routine since the pandemic began. After asking (begging) for you to quarantine with him, he soon realized that the time he thought you two would spend together was taken up by quizzes, essays, and exams as you finished up your senior year of college. While he was more than willing to take second-place to your studies, he was a little antsy for you to be finished.

“Nothing. I just wanted to show you something out in the shed.” Now, this you do roll your eyes at. While you were occupied with studies, he was out in that godforsaken tiny shed almost every day. Secretly, you were glad Ethan had foregone the bed idea because that was the only thing getting him to come to bed to you every night. You assure you’ll be out in a few minutes and shoo him away to finish the test that will ensure your bachelors.

Only twenty minutes later, you feel as if a crushing weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. You crack your neck before sighing and closing your laptop, elated that the four years of your undergrad were finally behind you. You pull out your phone before remembering your promise to Grayson. You walk out the back kitchen doors and turn the corner, not expecting what was behind it.

Your mouth drops. Sitting in front of you is a shiny, white Porsche complete with a giant red bow on the hood. Your boyfriend sits on top of the back seats, dressed in a blue button-down and black slacks. Grayson’s beaming as he holds a bouquet of roses out towards you. You try to think of something, willing anything to come to your brain, but shock leaves you speechless so you start tearing up instead.

Grayson, mistaking your tears for anger or sadness, is by your side in a minute.

“Angel, what’s wrong? Do you not like it? I wanted to wrap it to match mine, but Ethan said it was a bad idea. But- but we can always go to the dealer and switch it out if you don’t like it or I can -“ He stammers, immediately worried that he had disappointed you. You cut him off with a deep kiss, relieving any worry that was flying through his brain as he grabs your waist to hold you closer.

“No, it’s perfect. You’re perfect. Everything’s perfect. But why?” You question.

“Well, I wanted to do something special for you since you finished school today. And since we can’t travel anywhere, I figured this was the next best thing. You’ve worked so hard these past four years, Angel; I just wanted to show you how proud I am of you and how much I love you.” He explains, scratching the back of his neck nervously. Your heart melts at this. While you had expected maybe a five-star dinner and hopefully some marathon sex, you had no idea your boyfriend would do something so extravagant for you. Never in your wildest dreams did you believe someone would care for you like this, and adoration begins to fill your entire being.

“Grayson, I- I don’t know what to say.” You’re astounded, and every time you look at the car, you’re speechless again.

“Hopefully that you like it. It was kind of expensive.” He jokes, now reassured that your silence is a good thing and not out of anger. You swat his chest before wrapping your hands around his neck and pulling him in for another kiss. Just as his hands start to slip towards your ass, you pull away from him.

“Thank you, Grayson. For the car, for letting me stay here, for everything. I don’t deserve you-“

“Don’t start with that.” He cuts you off, leaning in so your foreheads are touching, “You do plenty for me, and if we’re honest, I don’t deserve you. You’re beautiful, intelligent, funny. There’s nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for you, and you can’t change that.” Before you can even respond, you notice Ethan making his way out through the back door.

“Yo, what are you two still doing out here? Don’t you have reservations at six?” He yells out, towel over his shoulder and obviously not expecting the two of you to be interrupting his future tanning session. You turn back to your boyfriend, confused as Grayson sighs exasperatedly and looks up to the sky.

“I haven’t told her about that yet, dickhead.” Grayson yells back to his brother.

“Well, can you hurry up? I want to lay out for a bit, and the weather app says it’s supposed to rain at four.” Ethan asks. You can’t help but giggle, knowing Ethan’s just oblivious to the very intimate moment you and Grayson were having. Grayson huffs, annoyed that his brother is ruining his plan before turning to you.

“I booked us reservations at Il Cielo.” Your eyes widen at the mention of your favorite restaurant.

“But how? It’s been booked for weeks. We couldn’t even get in for my birthday.” You question.

“The owner’s daughters are fans, so I promised a couple pictures tonight in order to get a table. Now go get dressed, we can take your car if you want.” He explains. Images of you two dressed up while Grayson drives the new Porsche fills your mind and you slightly shiver. Grayson, raising an eyebrow to your reaction, leans down for another kiss with you. Right when Grayson’s tongue enters your mouth is when you hear the fake-retching coming from the other twin.

“Bro, go away!” Grayson groans, holding you closer to him. You’re both leaned up against the car as you turn to watch the interaction between the two siblings.

“Fine. But first, let me get a picture of the happy couple. You’d kill me if you didn’t get to flex how good of a boyfriend you are.” He says, grabbing his phone. Grayson moves to argue, but you silence him, posing for the camera instead. You both smile, looking happier and more in love with each other then you’ve ever been. And you can’t help smiling wider when you see the tag and pictures on Twitter.

It only took a few minutes before the hate comments started flooding in. You had set your phone down for a quick shower but returned to notification after notification. It was non-stop dm’s, tweets, and even responses to IG photos from 2016 about how you weren’t good enough for Grayson, how you were just using him, and how he would eventually find someone better.

Usually, you could just ignore it, turn your phone off and turn a blind eye to the negativity spewed at you. But you were already emotionally overwhelmed, and you couldn’t help the small part of you that agreed. What had you done to deserve a man who could drop thousands of dollars on you at a whim? You weren’t impressive, weren’t an influencer or a model, just an average girl who managed to catch his eye.

Your phone screen starts to blur as tears form in your eyes. You try to stop the burning feeling in your throat. Still, fat tears begin to roll down your cheeks onto the screen as you start sniffling, falling victim to your deepest insecurities. You were so caught up in yourself that you hadn’t even noticed Grayson making his way down the hall.

“Y/N, are you almost ready? We have to leave for the restaurant soon.” He yells towards his room, making his way to you before noticing your sobs. You look up at him before sniffling again, feeling sorry that he had to see you like this.

“What's wrong, Angel?” He asks gently, moving to sit next to you on the edge of the bed. He wraps an arm around your bare shoulder, careful not to move the towel you had wrapped around you from your shower.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be ready.” You attempt to reassure, moving to wipe the tears from your eye. You wince, noticing how unbelievable you sound even to yourself, and you can already tell Grayson is unconvinced.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He asks. You nod, not meeting his eyes, looking down at your lap instead. He softly grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his intense stare. “So, what’s wrong?”

“God, it’s really nothing. Some fans on Twitter had just tweeted me some stuff and -“ Before you could even finish, he’s grabbing his phone to look at the replies, nostrils flaring as he reads what fans had mentioned you in.

“It’s honestly nothing, G. I was just being overdramatic.” You promise, wanting to drop it at this point and continue with the perfect day you two were having.

He’s silent for a second, which worries you more than anything since he always has something to say. You rub his thigh, trying to comfort him before he grabs your hand.

“You know none of that is true. There is no one better, never will be. My future begins and ends with you.” He whispers, sounding even more hurt than you. You stare at him widely, dumbfounded at the bold confession Grayson just dropped on you. Taking your silence as disbelief, he moves your hand towards his mouth so he can start kissing your wrist.

“Believe me when I say, Y/N, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. “ He growls, dropping your wrist to move in front of you. “What can I do to get that through your head?”

With that, he grabs your head roughly, bringing you into a hot kiss. You immediately whimper, wrapping your hands around his neck to pull him closer to you. His tongue slides against yours desperately as he rips your towel off you, tossing it carelessly over his shoulder.

You pull away from each other, panting with desire and trying to catch your breath as Grayson goes down to suck warm, wet kisses onto your neck.

Moaning his name, you move to unbutton his shirt shakily while he continues to move down your neck to your chest. You shrug his shirt off before scratching your nails down his chest as he takes one nipple into his mouth.

Twirling the other nipple in his fingers, you arch into him before he’s switching to the other one and repeating this process. He continues like that for a while until you moan and whimper underneath him, trying to grind up into his lap.

“Grayson, please. Touch me.” You mewl, hips bucking when he drags a finger through your slit. Grayson sucks the mess off his finger before looking down at you darkly, hazel eyes turning a deep brown. He kneels down, spreading your legs and placing his large hands on your hips to hold you down. He places soft, open mouth kisses on the apex of your thighs and meets your gaze before speaking again -

“Mine. You’ll always be mine. Nothing can change that.” He promises. You clench around nothing, feeling like you could cum just from his words of reassurance. He notices how you react and sharply inhales.

“Fuck, so pretty.” He breaths out, and you’re not even sure you’re supposed to hear that, watching Grayson lose himself in the desire to express how deep his love runs for you.

He spreads your lips apart with two fingers before licking at your clit softly. He licks it again before pulling you towards him with a long, slow lick watching as you fall apart.

You already knew this was going to take no time on your end, but watching his intense gaze on you causes you to produce more and more wetness, to the point where you feel like you’re leaking onto the mattress.

He stops at your clit, circling it a few times with his tongue before taking it into his mouth. He suckles on it, watching as you fall back onto the mattress with a high pitch whine.

“Grayson.” You moan shakily, moving to get closer to his mouth.

You start rolling your hips onto his face, grabbing your tits to ground yourself somehow. Your moaning consistently now, not knowing how else to convey how good he’s making you feel other than with high-pitched sounds.

He places his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer to him, and starts making out with your pussy, savoring every sweet drop that comes out of you. He sucks harder before pulling back and rubbing at your clit with two fingers.

“So good, Angel. Perfect for me.” He gasps, lips swollen and red. His mouth is dripping, and he shakily runs a hand through his hair before diving back in.

He focuses on your clit this time, sucking hard while reaching to slide two fingers inside of you. He drags them back and forth, feeling you clenching down hard on him.

“Grayson, I’m so close.” You moan, getting louder and louder as he continues to flood your body with pleasure. He sucks on your clit even harder before dragging his fingers against a specific spot, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed with white-hot pleasure. You scream as your orgasm rolls through you in shockwaves, simultaneously pulling away and trying to get closer to him.

He doesn’t take his mouth off you and groans loudly at how your pussy pulsates in his mouth. He notices he’s grinding in the air and presses a palm down to relieve some of the pressure in his pants.

You lay there with an arm over your eyes, taking ragged breaths trying to calm yourself down. Grayson finally removes himself from you and goes up to lay next to you, stroking your hair and moving your arm so you can look at him.

“Never has a man ever made me cum that hard.” You mutter. He laughs at that before he turns to kiss you softly, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips and tongue. His kissing grows sloppier and sloppier until he’s slotting himself in between your thighs.

You reach down to unbutton his pants and pull them and his briefs down as far as you can until he leans back to remove them altogether.

He gets back in position, kissing you some more while his rock-hard cock brushes up against your thigh. He grinds into you as you pull away from him.

“Gray?”

“Yeah.” he murmurs hotly, continuing to grind into you.

“Fuck me, please.” You purr.

He breathes shakily and lines up with you, rolling his hips into you slowly. You both moan at the first thrust, his guttural and deep and yours high-pitched and whiny. He slowly grinds into you one, two, three times before picking up and thrusting into you properly.

He grabs one of your legs, placing it over his shoulder, allowing him to reach inside you deeper. He speeds up, overwhelming you with the relentless snap of his hips.

“Grayson.” you cry as he reaches down to rub your clit. He groans, unsure whether to look at your aroused eyes, your bouncing tits, or how effortlessly his dick enters and leaves your pussy. He tries to look at all three before groaning, “So fucking hot, Y/N.” He leans down to kiss and suck at your neck before growling in your ear, “Don’t give a fuck what anyone says. You’re so perfect for me. So wet and tight.”

At this point, he’s speaking incoherently. So overwhelmed by how well you’re taking him that he’s saying anything and everything that comes to his brain. That doesn’t stop his words from going directly to your clit, and you moan loudly at his words, begging for him to fuck you harder.

He does as asked, and it isn't until he leans down to kiss you again that you feel your second orgasm hit you like a freight train. You cry out while you dig sharp nails into his back, riding out your orgasm as he continues to pound into you. His thrusts stutter as you clamp down on him like a vice. He continues to roll his hips while cursing lowly into your ear.

“Cum for me, G. Please. I need it.” You whisper while scratching lightly up his back, hoping this will edge him on to finish. Sure enough, his hips stutter as his dick swells before hotly cumming inside you. He groans out loudly, rocking his hips slowly into you before coming to a complete stop. He lays down on top of you, grabbing a blanket to cover the two of you.

You run your hands through his hair as he softly kisses your forehead.

“I love you, no matter what. Don’t listen to Twitter.” He confirms, sleepily. You hum in agreement, kissing his neck as a response.

“I love you more.”

You both are quiet, the silence lulling you to sleep before Grayson is rapidly jerking himself out of you. You look at his wild expression, concerned.

“Fuck, I forgot about our reservations.”

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