Title: đłđđđđđđäđđđđ [6]
Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader
Summary: Your husbandâs twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why.Â
Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!
Word Count:Â 3,776
A/N: whew. okay. weâre back, weâre updating, and weâre getting back on track. i think the motivation behind the madness is becoming a little clearer. or at least, more clear. i hope you all enjoy, and as always, comments and especially reblogs are always appreciated. â¤ď¸ divider by @firefly-graphicsâ
Itâs your wedding day, again.Â
 You remember the soft white satin of your dress like it was yesterdayâonly itâs today, isnât it? How can something happen again if it hasnât happened yet? You look down at your hands, where the lacy sleeves of your wedding dress loop gracefully around your thumbsâyour nails are picked raw and bleeding. You look back up at the mirror, and your own distraught face stares back at you.Â
 I donât want to get married.Â
 No, that isnât rightâthis is a good day, a happy day, why donât you want it anymore? There is knowledge that dances just out of touch as you stare fuzzily at the mirror in your bridal suite. Something is wrong, but you donât remember what it is. The mirror fragments, each component folding away as the world tilts on itâs axis, wood flooring becoming red carpet strewn with rose petals.Â
 You stand at the altar, the priest beaming at you.Â
 You will take him wonât you? As husband, husband and wifeâRansom splits in two like a cell, and both of them hold your hands so tight the bones creak and hurt andâ
 âI love you, Princess, Sweetheart, Darling, Mineââ One voice, two mouths, one person, two bodies. You donât realize theyâre pulling until you tear, splitting right down the middle like youâre made of tissue paper. too. Pulling you to bloody pieces as they repeat oaths of husbandly devotion.Â
 My wife.
 MY WIFE.
 You wake up in darkness, your heart pounding in your chest. It disorients you, and you blink, expecting the cloud to clear from your eyes but it doesnât. Immediately your hand goes to your stomach, and your frantic heartbeat calms just a fraction as you rest a hand on the gentle swell. The thoughts in your head are still an anxious jumble. Ransom, Lloyd, the partyâ
 God, the party.Â
 Your stomach churns as you recall Lloydâs cruel smile.Â
 Tell him. Tell me what he says.Â
 You clap a hand to your mouth as an anguished sob threatens to escape. Ransom, Lloyd⌠where had they taken you? You frantically feel your way to the edge of the bed, your feet slipping a little on the cool tile as you stand.Â
 âH-hello?â You call out into the darkness, but thereâs no response. Trembling, you begin taking short, halting steps forward, your hands outstretched. âP-please, someoneâfuck!â You curse loudly as your foot catches the edge of something, a table, a chair, you canât tell. âAnswer me!âÂ
 No one does.Â
 You wander forward blindly until you reach a wall, and, feeling along it, you feel plaster turn to glass. You gasp, frantically dragging your hands along the surface until feel somethingâa switch. You flick it up, and thereâs a sound like whirring gears. The lights donât come on, but something else happens instead: the blackout shades on the other side of the thick pane of glass begin to lift, light creeping in underneath the edge. Itâs blinding at first, spots dancing in your eyes as you throw a hand up to shield them, but after a moment, they adjust.Â
 You see⌠a beach.Â
 An empty beach.Â
 The clear blue water comes straight up to the window like an aquarium. There are no people on the pristine, white sandâno one to hear you as you frantically beat your palm against the glass. Frantically, you turn around to take stock of the room, grabbing for a nearby chair. You knock over the little coffee table in the sitting area next to you, but you donât care. It takes all your strength to heft it above your head, screaming as you slam it into the glassâ
 But nothing happens. It connects with a dull thud, the treated wood splintering as it cracks. The window is unharmed, barely even scratched. An anguished wail tears from your chest as you throw everything within reach that you can lift, beating everything into splinters until youâre left panting and sobbing in the wreckage.Â
 âSweetheart you know that really isnât good for the baby.â You whirl around frantically, grabbing for the leg of a chair youâd broken into kindling against the indestructible-fucking-window, brandishing it threateningly. You hadnât even heard the sound of a door openingâin fact, as you stare, wide-eyed around the room, trying to pin down his point of entry, you canât seem to find a door at all in the lavishly decorated suite.Â
 âFuck you!â You snarl at him, your lip curling. âLetâlet me out of here!â Ransom clucks his tongue at you like youâre an errant child.
 âYouâre a smart girl, Love. You know Iâm not going to do that.âÂ
 âYou canât fucking keep me in hereââ Ransom shakes his head.Â
 âI can, Sweetheart. And Iâm going to. Weâre going to.â He casts a disparaging look down at the ruined chairs and table by your feet. âLloyd did tell me not to put the good stuff in firstâI underestimated your temper.â The casual remark makes you want to swing your makeshift bat at his head. âHe designed it for you, you know. I thought we could just lock you in the basement, but now that I see it, I think this is better.âÂ
 âYouâre a monster.â Youâre crying, hard, hysterical sobs that leave your throat raw and aching. He actually has the gall to look hurt by your insult, his face crumpling as his mouth presses into a thin, angry line.Â
 âA monster that loves you. That would do anything to protect youâeven from yourself.â Your body seizes with fear as he crosses the room in a few easy strides, gripping your shoulders with furious hands. You whine as he squeezes, pressing harder and harder until you drop the scrap of wood youâre holding. You donât know this Ransom, this maniacal, cruel man wearing your husbandâs face, your husbandâs ring.Â
 âDo you remember what it was like when we got together?â He asks. Ransom shakes you a little, like heâs trying to jog your memory. âLiving at home with your parents, helping them with every single bill because you were terrified your sister was going to graduate high-school on the streetsââ
 âSo what?â You spit back. âWhat the fuck does that have to do with anything?âÂ
 âI gave you everything.â For the first time you see the same possessive madness in his eyes youâd seen in Lloydâs. âAnd you think you can just walk away? Take from me until youâve gotten your fill? Thatâs not how this works, Sweetheart.â He releases you and you stumble away, clutching yourself. He straightens his shirt, smoothing back the errant hairs that have fallen into his face.Â
 âWeâre going to give you such a good life, Sweetheart. You just have to trust us.âÂ
 âI will never trust you again.â You growl the words at him like a threat. âI hate you.â And then, inexplicably, heâs your Ransom again, his blue eyes soft as he looks at you, like he knows something you havenât yet come to accept. Like an adult admonishing a child for fears theyâll soon leave behind as they grow to accept the way things areâthe way they always will be.Â
 âYou wonât always.â His eyes flick down to the destruction youâve wrought, and he clucks his tongue. âMaybe Iâll talk to Lloyd about bringing in some new furniture for you, if youâre good.â Ransomâs handsome mouth curves up into an amused smile. âMaybe something a little heavier.â He kicks at a piece of the table, before making his way back over to the other side of the room. A door the same color as the wall opens at his touch.Â
âLunch in an hour.âÂ
â
  True to his word Ransom returns with Lloyd in tow, a tray held in his large hands. Youâd waited for this moment with a dark sort of anticipation, and for a brief moment, their stunned, angry expressions as the door panel slides open fill you with a sense of profound pride.
  Youâd done your level best to destroy everything that wasnât nailed down, methodically and systematically taking apart everything you could get your hand on. Even the mattress lies ruined, feathers and wood splinters littering the torn cover. Though the mirror had refused to breakâand indeed proved too heavy for you to liftâyou feel a smug satisfaction in seeing what you had been able to accomplish with jagged pieces of plywood. Â
 Fuck you.Â
 Lloyd steps in first, squatting down to inspect a piece of the smashed coffee table.Â
 âI told you we shouldnât have put this stuff in here first. Empty room, Ransom. You always have to start with an empty room.â His eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles softlyâaffectionately. âHi, Princess.â
 âGo to hell, Lloyd.â Ransom steps fully into your room then, shutting the door gently behind him before setting the tray on the windowsill. He sighs.Â
 âI know it was stupid to hope your attitude had improved in an hour, but stranger things have happened.â He glances back at the tray. âYou should eat something, Love. Itâs been four days ofââ His words become a static drone as the panic begins to set in. Four days? Iâve been out for four days? The questions fill your head almost faster than you can process them. Where are you? Your parents, your sister? What happened?Â
 âWhat is this? What is this fucking place?âÂ
 The pride in Ransomâs eyes makes you want to vomit. âWe made it for you. Just for you. It tookâhow long, Lloyd?âÂ
 âA year, give or take.â He rubs his fingers along the growing stubble on his upper lip. âAnd then finding staffâŚâ He pauses. âThe hotel, or just the Room?â The way Lloyd says room makes it sound singular, important. You cannot help but gape at them
 âYouâre sickâboth of you. Y-youâwhat you did to meââ You shake your head. âA-all of this.â You gesture at the room around you. âFor what?â Lloyd threads his fingers together, and you can hear the soft metal click of his rings tapping against each other as he does.Â
 âI know youâre not deaf, Princess. Itâs for you.âÂ
 Cold trickles down your spine. Youâve been doing it ever since you woke up, running through each moment in the past four, five and cataloguing each one you couldnât make make sense. Youâre doing it again now, thumbing back through the index cards of your memories and finding empty slots. Thanksgivings, Christmases, EastersâRansom had told you it had been a year, but you canât trust that, you canât believe him, not after everything.
 âMy family wonât let you do this sick fucking shit, you know that.â You spit. âTheyâre not going to let you kidnap meââ
 âHow much is Nathalieâs school, Sweetheart?â Ransom asks, cocking his head. âPer year.â
 âWhat?â The question throws you off, the freight train of words in your throat piling up messily on your tongue. âWhat are youââ
 âHow much is her tuition?â He repeats it slowly like youâre having trouble understanding him. You bare your teeth at Ransom as you grimace.Â
 âI donât know. She has a scholarship. What the fuck does that have to do with anything?â
 âItâs $63,000.â Ransom gives you the figure so matter-of-factly itâs like he rehearsed it. âPer year.â Your stomach sinks, like your body knows before your head. âWhat, you didnât know? No one ever reads the paperwork, do they, Lloyd?â He glances at his brother over his shoulder. âWhatâs it say on the checks? T. H. B. Inc., doesnât it?â He licks his lips. âThe T stands for Thrombey, Sweetheart.âÂ
 You almost want to laugh for the insanity of it allâyou even try, but no sound escapes your tight, dry throat. Lloyd nods.Â
 âSame as the ones your father gets. Funny how his companyâs picked up these last few years, isnât it?âÂ
 Your fists clench and unclench as you sit there on the floor, staring up at them. Thereâs nothing left to destroy, nothing left to break except the two of themâand you already know how that ends. Instead, youâre forced to sit there, hot rage coiling in your chest as the realization dawns cold and cuttingâ
 Your family is already bought and paid for, even if they donât know it.Â
 âI never asked you for this.â You spit, nails biting into the meat of your palms as you press angry fists against the cool tile. âI didnât ask you for fucking any of this!âÂ
 âI promised to make a home for you, didnât I, Sweetheart?â He squats down in front of you, his hand out like he wants you to take it. âA good husband provides.â It isnât supposed to feel like being cut into a thousand pieces to hear his wedding vows regurgitated like this. His gaze drops to the ring still on your finger. You hadnât noticed it until he did, and as he watches, you rip it from your finger with a violent twist, and throw it at him. He actually looks upset at this, a hint of his earlier rage passing over his features like a cloud.Â
 You hate the way it makes your gut wrench because you want him to fucking hurt. Itâs like your body hasnât realized yet just who he isâwho they are, and it makes you even angrier. You turn away, loose nightgown bunching under your thighs as you turn to face the wall instead.Â
 âLeave me alone.â
 âNot until you eat something.â You arenât sure if itâs Ransom that speaks, or Lloyd. You press your eyes shut and bite your lips to shutter the angry, frustrated wail that threatens to leap from your throat. âThatâs not good for the baby.âÂ
 Good for the baby.
 Good for the baby.
 Good for the fucking baby.
 You want to hate it now; the child growing inside of you, even if only to spite the men standing behind you. But you cannot bring yourself toâand you hate that too.Â
 Shame is not a new feeling, not for you, but it feels new today as you pick apart the plain chicken salad sandwich they had brought for you. Assume itâs drugged. You hate yourself as you tear off chunks with stiff fingers, forcing your mouth open and swallowing it down with a grimace. Assume everything is drugged. When youâre finished, you drag the back of your hand across your mouth roughly, tossing the tray at Lloydâs feet.Â
 He doesnât pick it up.Â
 âGood girl.â You shiver. Itâs involuntary, and you know he sees it, the way his mouth twitches with the urge to lift into the smug smile you know so well. âYour wish is our command, Princess.â
 Ransom bends to pick up the ring wordlessly, and follows his brother out of your room.Â
 â
 They donât come back that night.
 You watch the sky outside the glass wall of your prison turn dark, and then brighten again with stars as you sit huddled against it, hugging your knees to your chest. Youâre exhausted, but you canât sleep. Your body wonât let you, jerking you back to wakefulness as soon as your eyelids start to droop. The thoughts wonât stop coming either, cycling through on a loop you canât seem to stop.Â
 I wonder what Natâs doing.Â
 I wonder if theyâre worried about me.
 I wonder what Ransom told them.
 You want to pinpoint the time your life went off the rails but you canât, you donât know it. College, perhaps?Â
 When youâd met Ransom? Lloyd?
 You drag yourself away from the window after a few hours of staring bleakly out at the empty beach. It feels like too much to hope for that someone would happen by, not with the lengths they had clearly taken to secure you. The comforter bleeds feathers as you drag it to the floor beside the bed, wedging yourself between it and the wall. You know you arenât safeâyouâve little control over thatâbut the solid press of concrete behind you makes you feel more secure.Â
 Itâs what allows you to finally fall asleep, though it is not restful. It feels like you wake every few minutes at every imagined sound, jolting back to consciousness and scanning the still empty room before quickly passing out again. You half expect Lloyd and Ransom to be back, waiting for you to open your eyes but when you finally do, you are still blessedly alone, but for the fresh tray in front of the door.Â
 You wait for a few minutes, just to see if they emerge from your peripheral vision, the places in the room you canât see from your vantage pointâbut they donât. Everything is as it was before, the destruction from your earlier rampage still strewn across the floor. It feels surreal. Slowly, you pick your way across the debris and grasp the tray in your trembling hands. You donât want to eat it, not really, but your stomach clenches and rumbles at the sight of food as you peek beneath the tray cover.Â
 It isnât anything specialâanother sandwich, a bag of chips, and a bottle of water. You check beneath the styrofoam plate just to be sure, thereâs no note, no nothing, and you cannot help but wonder when theyâll be back. Theyâre messing with your head, you know they areâand you hate that itâs working. Youâre rattled, upset, anxiousâjust how they want you.Â
 The urge comes again to pick up the largest piece of anything you can find and smash it against the window until it breaks.Â
 We made it for you.
 Your stomach churns with disgust even as you take a greedy bite out of your sandwich. How hadnât you seen yourself and your family waltzing right into the palms of their hands? How hadnât you noticed? Lloyd had always been overly interested, overly gracious, even after youâd rejected him, and started dating his brother. Youâre reminded of Lindaâs curt smile and her slickly delivered barb. You tore them apart without even thinking about it. And Lloydâs admissionâŚ
 It was more than a little crush.
 You donât know how to reconcile the madness simmering behind your husbands eyes with the man whoâd held your hands and said his vows. As heâd griped your wrists, staring into your eyes with his own fever-bright, you could barely recognize him.Â
 You clean your plate, washing it down with the water before casting another look around the room. Itâs blank, empty beyond the few pieces of furniture you hadnât been able to destroy. No books, no televisionânothing. You search the walls near the door panel, looking for something, anything that might make it open, but you find little. The smooth white keyboard does not respond when you push your thumb against the rubbery buttons, and the seam is so narrow you can barely wedge your fingernails into it to try and pry it open.Â
 For hours you walk the perimeter of the room, running your hands along the walls, feeling no breaks in the smooth, cool surface. You have to get out of hereâbut you donât even know where here is. How far you are from the resort, if youâre even on the same island. As the room darkens, you realize youâve been pacing for hours like a caged animal, and neither Ransom nor Lloyd has come to check on you all day. Somehow, the thought fill you with apprehension. Not knowing when they might appear is unnerving, and you suspect they mean it to be.Â
 You thread your fingers through your hair, tugging on it as you watch the sun sink into the sea, a panicked, claustrophobic feeling rising in your chest until you realize you arenât breathing. You canât stay here like this, you canâtâ
 Before you realize it youâre running for the door, beating your fists wildly against the panel.Â
 âLet me out! Let me the fuck out of here!â Your frenzied wailing rings in your own ears. Itâs like youâre numb to the pain as you swing with all your might. Youâre aware-even if only dimlyâof the fact that your fists will be sore and aching later, bruised and beat to a pulp but you donât care. Not if it gets you outânot if it gets you away from them.Â
 âRansom! Ransom let me out! You canât fucking keep me here! You canât!âÂ
 Nothing happens. The door doesnât budge, and there is no answer to your increasingly panicked demands. You scream for hours. Until youâre hoarse, and your trembling fists ache to raise above your shoulders. Still, you bang your open palms against the panel as your firm insistence becomes a stream of nonsense pleas.Â
 âPlease, please donât do this, if you l-loved me y-you wouldnât do this!â Tears and snot run down your face as you collapse to your knees, exhausted. âPlease.â You mumble, curling in on yourself in front of the door. The tears come again, and you donât even try to stop them, sobbing open-mouthed on the cold tile, your hands fisting in your nightgown.Â
 âPlease.âÂ
 You lay there until the room goes dark.Â
 â
 âI hate seeing her like this.â The cameras are goodâtoo good. He can see the pain on your face too clearly, hear the betrayal in your voice just a bit too well through the speakers.Â
 âYou think I like it?â Lloyd asks irritatedly, and Ransom sighs. âSheâll even out soon. If not, you can up the mood stabilizer. Sheâs cleared for it until the second trimester.â Ransom knows his brother, knows thatâs his version of comforting reassurance. âBesides, youâre the one that decided to play keep-away.âÂ
 Ransom looks at the camera again, at your softly moving shoulders. Heâs both thankful and irritated at the hair covering your pretty faceâbut at least it blocks the sight of your tears. As he watches, you shudderâlike youâre still crying, even in your sleep.Â
 âI know. We have to make her grateful. For us.â He says, still looking at the screen. And he does. He understands the necessity of itâit was his plan, almost more than Lloydâs. âI still hate it.âÂ
 âI donât anticipate sheâll keep it up more than a week. Two, tops.â For the most part, Ransom has seldom ever found himself envious of his twin, but now he felt his lip curl with irritated jealousy at Lloydâs confidence. âDonât worry little brother,â he grins. âOur Princess will love us again.â He turns back to the cameras. âIâm sure of it.âÂ
To be continuedâŚ
next chapter
Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. â¤ď¸
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