Like a Gentlevillain

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When you came to, it was to the sound of a loud TV game show.

You furrowed your brow as pain shot up your back and throughout your head -- you thought it was just a bad migraine. You tried to reach for the remote to turn the volume down, but when your right arm met resistance, you made a confused sound.

You tried your left arm, and when you couldn't move that either, you panicked.

You blinked furiously, letting your eyes adjust to the dimly-lit room. You were on a bed, and when you rolled onto your left side, you had a beautiful view of the city skyline at night.

So you were . . . in a penthouse.

You racked your brain, trying to remember what'd happened.

You'd been at a club with a few friends when a stranger had approached you. You'd thought that he was attractive, so you'd danced with him a bit. He'd also offered you drinks, and, sure, you'd taken them -- but you'd been certain that he hadn't drugged them.

Because your head was still foggy, it hurt to think, so you stopped.

You tried to focus on escaping, so you squirmed off the bed until you were on the floor. You were bound pretty well -- basically hogtied -- with your arms behind your back and your ankles together.

Your knees were tied together as well, and you were momentarily grateful for it. You'd decided on a skimpy dress before going out, and you didn't want it riding up anymore than it already was.

You tried not to panic as you focused on the bedside table. It had a phone on it, so you squirmed toward it. When you got on your knees, you realized your dilemma -- you couldn't stand up. You should've stayed on the bed, but you'd been in such a hurry to get out, to get help, that you hadn't thought through your plan.

"Stupid," you seethed, glancing around the sleek room.

Deciding that you could afford to be a little loud, you shouldered the bedside table, hoping to knock over the phone. When it didn't move, you bumped into the table again, a little bit harder this time, but the phone wouldn't budge.

The lamp, however, did.

It tumbled over, and then the lightbulb shattered against the wooden floor.

Your eyes widened, and then you glanced back at the door. There was a sliver of light by the bottom of it, so you figured you'd be able to tell if someone was approaching it.

You waited with bated breath, praying that no one would come in to check up on you.

But, of course, things didn't go your way.

A few seconds later, you heard voices in the hallway. And then footsteps.

You inhaled sharply, your stomach dropping. A shadow appeared under the door, and it opened to reveal the man you'd been dancing with at the club prior to your current . . . dilemma.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said over his shoulder, sneering. "I'll handle her. Don't worry."

You tried not to hyperventilate, but you were terrified. Now that you could get a good look at the man, you realized he was Deku, the infamous leader of the LoV.

The man you'd been grinding on just a few hours ago.

"Ah, (Y/n)," he said, spreading his gloved hands. He was holding a riding crop. "You're awake. And I see you're on the floor. And that the lamp is broken."

Deku tutted sarcastically, approaching the TV. He turned it off, and without the only source of light in the bedroom, things got dark -- and quickly. The only light that illuminated the room came from the city below, casting unusual shadows into the room and across Deku's boyish, freckled face.