#literally had to stop myself from writing a blurb of it instead

[velvetcloxds]

hello! :)) I'M LOST - best friends dad! carlisle and reader having to confront their feelings for one another while also understanding the circumstances— your his sons best friend after all.

hopefully i did this right 😩

The vampire thing made age gaps seem all the wilder, in vampire years you were far older than Edward, you'd been friends for decades, and you'd known Carlise even longer than that and heaven knows though you were Edward's best friend first, there was no hiding how either of you felt for each other from him so why you attempted to hide it from each other was beyond him.

"I'm fine," you were, truly, it was quite literally impossible for you not to be so why he was fussing, you had no idea. "He just nipped me," the he in question was one of Jacob's pack members, you were strolling, searching for flowers in the forest and you'd crossed into their territory by accident.

"Edward should've warned you," you were being carefully examined by Carlisle, gentle hands drifting over your cold skin and you couldn't help but smile, leaning back onto his desk to make him stop and catch his eye. "What?" you shrugged, he rolled his eyes, it wasn't convincing at all. "What?"

"Well, out with it, Carlisle, aren't you happy to see me?" he was, he just couldn't admit it out loud.

"We're always happy to have you, Y/n," he paired his words with a gentle cup of your cheek, a far too honorable kiss to your forehead, and a sigh only you could decipher. "Does Edward know you're in town?" you felt his absence almost instantly even if he only moved to the other side of the room, tidying up his desk though only to keep his hands busy, off you.

"I'm not here to see Edward, I miss him dearly though I write him often," you did feel a slight pinch when you stood up, sore, the bitemark to your wrist though far from danger definitely stung. "You, however, haven't written back to me in months, I was scared I'd done something wrong, offended you somehow."

"You could never," honest, he'd become an expert at disguising his feelings for you, but he'd never lie, never deny you the truth of his heart if only you'd asked directly. "I didn't have the words, is all," he paused, you stilled in place in front of his desk. "You were always better with them than I was, you'd described your heart so well yet I couldn't find a more poetic way of saying that I was entirely sure that I missed you infinitely more than you missed me."

"I never was one for poetry, Carlisle," you were the one to touch him this time, how it felt so different he didn't know. "I only wanted to know you felt the same."

"I do," he disregarded his papers and entwined his fingers with yours nearly desperately. "Of course I do."

[moodywyrm]

hi moony! i saw u were feeling sad and insecure and wanted to share a little trick/advice i guess whenever i’m feeling the same way especially bc of pics i’m in. the first thing i do is stop looking at the pics bc the more i look, the more i over analyze, and start criticizing all the flaws i think i see. i give it a couple hours, sometimes a couple days. i remember how much fun i had wherever i was and try to keep myself from thinking about how i looked. after some time has passed i’ll look back at the pics and i usually find that what i thought were really bad pics of me actually end up being really cute pics. granted, they don’t always end up being pics i feel confident enough to post anywhere, but they’re pics i can look back at and smile at instead of pick out whatever flaws i think i see. i know this advice is all about mentality and it’s easier said than done :( but i hope it helps a little bit 💕 remember, we are our biggest critics and the flaws you think you might see aren’t flaws at all in the eyes of friends, family, loved ones, even a random passerby, etc

also just wanted to say i absolutely adore your writing and your account. i always check whatever blurbs or even small life updates you post on here cause you’ve created such a safe space on ur acct and ur such a good writer too (literally obsessed w the way u write abby <3). anyways, hope u have a little bit happier of a night/morning/afternoon (idk time zones haha). lots of love!!

you're gonna make me cry harder baby :( im gonna try and not look at the photos, but honestly it's not even just those </3 I don't know if this sounds bratty or makes me a bad person, but whenever I go out with my friend, she's the only one who gets complimented and it happens All The Time, and it always hurts when im just there like the troll next to her. and I know it's not her fault and I would never blame her, but I also know I will never be perceived as the pretty one no matter who im with and it just kinda .... sucks. a lot. i felt really pretty when we got the renfair and then it just got worse as the day went on bc we only ever got complimented as a group (five of us total) and then it kept happening even after renfair when we were running errands and idk. maybe im just being a brat.

and thank you :( I actually get really anxious about my fic writing style bc I'm 100% an academic writer who wants to do creative writing, but y'all make me feel safe :( I hope you also have a good morning/night/afternoon, it's night for me rn <3 besitos baby

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela​

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, 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 a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela​ for @jtargaryen18 ‘s  Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

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.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide. 

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone. 

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.  

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue. 

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. 

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound 

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood. 

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you. 

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places. 

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the  gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host. 

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream. 

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. 

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall. 

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne. 

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. 

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background.  And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. 

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway. 

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.  

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his. 

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes.  With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!" 

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet. 

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away. 

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask. 

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system. 

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked. 

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow. 

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with  the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission. 

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did. 

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even, 

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his 

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby. 

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. 

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his. 

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought. 

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

[roonilwazlibimagines]

I've read your fics of Ron and loved them so much. Do you know if you can make one with them eating at the Burrow? She gets jealous of Fleur talking to Ron and is feeling insecure about her looks and concerned her ' muggle' status? Ending with smut and comfort.

Sorry if this is long

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Reader Word Count: 3.3k Blurb: Her jealously of Fleur has been building up since their fourth year, even if she knows Fleur doesn’t mean it and Ron reminds her that she is the only one he loves.  Warnings: There is sex but it is just really soft :(. Like Ron just eats her out and keeps praising her. And it is at the end, the first part is mainly fluff and a little bit of angst.  A/N: honestly fuck canon, I just made this my own, oops. Also I literally don’t know how to write a scene where Ron does something to really make her jealous so this is what you get. Flashbacks are in italics. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she hummed in confusion before realising she had been staring at the ceiling, her fists clenched and jaw tense. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she gave him a half-assed reassuring look before turning back to stare at the ceiling. They were laying in their bed, both on their backs with their heads on the pillow, laying next to each other in the dark room which was only slightly illuminated by the weak flame on Ron’s bedside table. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, turning his head to look at her. 

“I don’t forget how brave you were at the second task,” her thick French accent was ringing in her ears as she watched the way she grabbed onto Ron’s arm making his whole face turn red. 

“Oh really,” she glared at him as she watched him tense at her touch, “it was nothing,” Fleur removed her hand from him and she so desperately wanted to ask her if she also remembered the time Ron had made a fool of himself asking her to The Yule Ball. 

“Yes Ron,” she didn’t mean to sound so annoyed and she hoped that it was too dark for him to notice the way she rolled her eyes. 

She didn’t mean to act so harsh, it wasn’t Ron’s fault. It wasn’t Fleur’s either. Ron couldn’t help that he was always so pathetically a victim to her veela charm. She probably shouldn’t feel jealous of this ‘veela charm’ and Ron probably didn’t even realise he was doing it, but she couldn’t help the green tinge which plagued her whenever it happened. 

“Ron,” her fourteen-year-old self was hitting his chest, “Ron!” she repeated after his lack of response, “you’re pathetic,” she slapped his chest one more time before folding her arms across her chest and rolling her eyes. 

“Did you say something?” his body turned towards her but his eyes were still on the veela who were dancing in front of them at The Quidditch World Cup. 

“I guess not,” she had grumbled underneath her breath realising that it wouldn’t have mattered if she said it louder because it would only fall on deaf ears. And busy eyes. 

Her first introduction to veela had left a sour taste in her mouth, even if she knew it was nothing personal and she was just overreacting. And besides, her and Ron weren’t even dating then so she really did have nothing to be jealous over. 

But now they were dating and Fleur still seemed to have an effect on him even after the war and all the times he had spoken to her. She couldn’t help but let her fourteen-year-old self’s words ring in her ears, “you’re pathetic.”

“Sorry,” he turned his head so it was again facing the ceiling, “I didn’t mean-”

“I’m sorry,” she cut him off with a sigh, “I shouldn’t have snapped,” and she turned her head to see him nodding slightly. He had moved his arm so that one was resting behind his head, the other resting at his side.

“Do you think she is upset with me?” Ron had asked Harry the night he had asked Fleur to the Yule Ball. 

“Uhm,” Harry wasn’t sure whether to lie to make him feel better or give him the truth, “I don’t know,” he settled for the safe answer. 

“I mean, we were walking and she was talking about the The Yule Ball,” they were in their respective beds and Harry couldn’t see the way Ron nervously bit his lip as he recalled the events of the evening, “she was really excited.”

“Does she have a date to The Yule Ball?” Harry had asked. They both still needed dates. 

“No, I think that was what she was talking about,” it was what she was talking about, hoping that Ron would get the hint, “and then I think I might have cut her off,” there was an awkward pause. 

“Because you asked out Fleur?” Harry had asked, trying to break the awkward silence. 

“Yeah,” it was silent for a moment again as Ron started to question his actions, “and then I did it and Fleur said ‘no’, obviously,” Harry didn’t say anything as there was another pause, “and then when I turned to her she looked kind of angry,” Ron’s heart leapt as he remembered the way her mouth had turned into a thin straight line and how her gaze hardened, “thought I might of embarrassed her.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I made a fool of myself and she wouldn’t want to be associated with me,” Ron said as if it was the most obvious explanation. 

“Okay,” Harry spoke slowly. 

“And then she dragged me to The Common Room,” he shrugged his shoulders, “and she hasn’t spoken to me since,” he sighed, “and she hasn’t stopped glaring either,” he had mumbled that under his breath. 

Harry didn’t know how to comfort his friend. It was obvious to Harry what both of their actions meant, but apparently neither of them could understand it. 

Ron felt exactly like he had that night. He only had a small bed and with his large frame there was no position where they could lie without touching each other. But he felt very far away from her. 

He would do anything to realise what he had done wrong and to make this all better. He bit his lip as he tried to remember the events which could have caused her to stop clinging to his arm and start glaring at him instead. 

“He is so pathetic,” she had screamed in her dorm, slamming the door behind her before sitting on her bed and facing Hermione opposite her. 

“What do you expect?” she waited for a reaction, “Ron has always been a bit daft hasn’t he?” 

“But I was making it so obvious,” her shoulders deflated, “and then she had to come along and ruin everything,” she sneered at the memory. 

“You know just as well as I do that this isn’t Fleur’s fault,” she let out a mix of a sigh and groan in response knowing that Hermione was right, “besides, you could do a lot better than Ron.”

“But I don’t want to do better than Ron,” she had sulked the rest of the night letting the scene play through her mind over and over again until she felt physically sick and couldn’t sleep. 

“You would tell me if something was wrong, right?” Ron had finally built up the courage to address her again. 

“Yes,” she grumbled.

“So what’s wrong?” he really just wanted her to feel better so he swallowed his pride and moved so he was laying on his side and looking at her properly. 

“Nothing,” she refused to look at him, “it’s dumb.”

“Well it can’t be that dumb if it was making you this upset,” he reached out an arm to hold her hand and she squeezed it to let him know that she was upset, but it was still okay. 

“Could you please pass me the salad, Ron?” Fleur had asked Ron that night and it honestly hadn’t even bothered her. 

“Of course,” Ron had spoken and acted so quickly that he had knocked his glass of water down making his ears turn red as Molly shook her head and stood up to clean it. Fleur had laughed it off and told him that he was cute. 

That didn’t really bother her either. She liked Fleur and it was common for Fleur to talk to people that way. It really didn’t bother her. 

“Ron, could you please pass me the chicken?” he wasn’t as enthusiastic and maybe, as foolish as it was, that was what set her off. Or maybe it was because Fleur was sitting across from her and all she could focus on was how pretty she was. Maybe her eyes were tricking her but she couldn’t help but notice Ron stare at her for a little too long. And maybe these feelings had been building up since they were fourteen, but she didn’t really know why all of a sudden a wave of emotions had washed over her. The rest of the night she couldn’t help but steal glances at Fleur, noticing how effortlessly gorgeous she was compared to how average she was.  

“You’ll laugh,” she knew he wouldn’t laugh. 

“I won’t laugh,” he sounded offended. 

“I’m just,” she tried to find the right words, “not feeling well.”

“That’s a lie,” she couldn’t see the way he raised his eyebrows at her. 

“Fleur,” they had finished dinner and were sitting in the living room. Molly and Arthur, Bill and Fleur, Charlie and George and herself and Ron were the only ones in the house at the moment, “I’m so glad Bill met you,” Molly had gushed as Fleur finished her story about work.. 

She wanted to slap herself in the face when she felt her whole body tense at the words and if she didn’t want Molly’s approval so bad she probably would have done it.

“Me too,” Ron had chimed in making her head snap towards him, “still can’t believe Bill got someone so out of his league,” he smirked as Bill shouted a profanity at him. 

It was harmless, she knew that. It was just to annoy Bill, she knew that. But she couldn’t help the way her teeth began to grind and she instantly let go of Ron. 

“Sometimes I have a lot of emotions,” she began, eyes still on the ceiling. 

“Trust me,” she heard him breath out, “I’ve noticed,” she finally turned to look at him and glare, making his face fall as he mumbled out a few a, ‘sorry, love’.

“And I know I'm being silly,” she turned away again, “but sometimes I get really jealous of Fleur.” 

“Stop looking at her!” she had moved her head so it was in line with Ron’s eyes who were desperately trying to find the Beauxbaton girl who had just stolen their food. 

“I’m not looking at her,” he had tried to defend himself, “I’m trying to find her so I can look at her,” he mumbled it under his breath and into his food but she still heard him and sent a filthy look. 

“You’re pathetic,” she rolled her eyes at him making him sit up again. She didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered behind her. 

“Why do you care so much?” his ears were turning red and she blinked at him a few times realising that she didn’t have an answer.  

“You’re probably making her feel uncomfortable,” she sat up straighter and pushed her shoulders back.

She returned her focus to her food, feeling a little embarrassed and missing the way that Ron’s eyes were now flickering onto her. 

“Why?” she turned to see his reaction. His eyebrows were furrowed and he had a look of utter confusion etched on his face. 

“Because she is really pretty,” she mumbled, “and a veela,” she said that more clearly. 

“And?” 

“And you’ve never been shy of showing off in front of her,” she raised an eyebrow at him and the flame - which had suddenly become stronger - allowed her to see the red tinge which spread upon Ron’s face. 

“It’s her veela charm,” he said quietly, not entirely sounding convinced. She didn’t say anything prompting him to tease, “or maybe I’m just pathetic,” there was a slight grin forming on his face and she couldn’t stop the one forming on hers. 

“I think that’s a better explanation,” she giggled as he let his grin grow wide as well. She moved so that she was on her side as well and Ron reached out his arm so that he could rest it on her hip and bring her closer to him. 

“Get a hold of yourself, Ron,” she rolled her eyes at the red-faced boy standing in front of her, “it was just a peck on the cheek,” he had a blanket around him and he was slightly shivering. 

“That’s not fair,” he gave her an annoyed look, “I just came out of the bloody lake,” he pointed to the lake next to them and glared at her.

“Sure,” she gave him a sarcastic look before mumbling, “he is so pathetic,” under her breath. She crossed her arms over her chest missing the way that Ron’s ears perked up and went a deeper shade of red as he heard the words muttered from her mouth. 

“You have nothing to be jealous about,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead and she let herself relax under his touch. 

“I know,” she looked up at him innocently making him chuckle, “but, I don’t know,” she looked back down, “I think this has just built up since our fourth year and I think something set it off tonight.”

“You’re so stunning,” he pressed another kiss to her nose, “have nothing to be insecure about, yeah?” she looked up at him to be met with a soft gaze which pulled at her heart. 

He pressed another soft kiss to her lips and he pushed himself up so he could continue kissing all over her face. 

“I love you so much,” he had murmured in between kisses, “so beautiful,” he moved so that he was kissing her jawline, “can I show you how much I love you?” he pulled away so he could look at her face and she nodded eagerly making him smile before he continued kissing her. 

Her hands found his hair as he kissed around the sensitive area under her jaw and she tugged at it when he bit down. 

“So everyone knows you’re the only one I love,” she rolled her eyes at his comment but still pulled him closer by his hair so that she could press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“Thank you,” she murmured as he continued kissing around the now red area, “I love you so much.”

“Let me see that beautiful body, yeah?” he pushed himself up again so that he could lift her shirt up, pressing another kiss to her lips as soon as it went over her head. He moved down to her pants and pulled them off as well as her underwear. Her body shivered at the cool breeze which hit her hot skin but she hummed in content as Ron started kissing her chest and continued murmuring about how beautiful she was. 

“You’re a goddess,” he commented as he started kissing around her nipple, while one of his hands reached to grab the other. She giggled and he smiled up at her, glad to hear the beautiful noise again. 

“You’re doing a good job at making me feel better,” she sighed in content as he started leaving a trail of kisses on her tummy, pressing soft kisses along her hips before placing a soft kiss on her clit which made her gasp. 

“Gonna make you feel even better,” he smirked up at her before he let his tongue touch her heat. 

“Yes,” she moaned out, “Ron,” her hands reached out to grab onto his hair. She arched her back and Ron moved his arm so that it was over her hips and holding her down. She moved one hand from his hair and put it over the one on her hips. He turned it around and she held onto it, giving it a small squeeze. 

With his other hand he pressed his thumb to her clit, placing pressure on it and making her cry out his name. 

“Better be quiet love, don’t want anyone to hear us,” he pulled himself away and gave her a cheeky grin before going back to devour her again. She felt a heat rise to her cheeks as she remembered where she was. 

“Sorry,” she moaned, “can’t help it when - ah,” she squeezed his hand as he started rubbing her clit and she let out a big breath, “when you make me feel so good,” her breathing was uneven and soon she was trying to whisper to let Ron know that she was going to cum. 

His fingers moved faster and his tongue was going deeper and soon her back was arching and she was trying to squirm under Ron’s grip, but his tongue followed her movements and she let go moaning out his name. 

“Feeling better, sweetheart?” he asked as he pushed himself up and started taking his pants off. 

“Yes,” her eyes were still shut in her post-orgasm bliss and Ron pressed a soft kiss to her nose, once again reminding her how beautiful she was. 

“So wet for me,” he commented as he let his fingers move between her folds. 

“Hurry up,” she bucked her hips towards him, making him tsk. 

“Be patient, sweetheart,” usually she would never get away with such a demand but she only smirked at him before replying, “I thought you were trying to make me feel better?” she pouted and he shook his head before aligning his cock at her entrance. 

“Going to be the death of me, love,” he thrusted his hips into her making her gasp, “be quiet,” he grabbed onto her thighs and pulled her legs up so that they were resting on his shoulders. 

“Ron,” she moaned out as he started thrusting at a much quicker pace, “ah-” she had cried out when he found the spongy spot which made her scrunch her eyes up and receive a shushing from Ron.

“I told you to be quiet,” but he thrusted harshly between each word making her mouth fall open as she reached her hand down to rub at her clit. Normally he would have smacked her hand away, but instead he took the opportunity to put his fingers in her mouth. 

“Since your fingers are doing my job,” he grunted, “and because you can’t keep quiet,” he smirked as she instantly began sucking on his fingers, “good girl.”

Her other hand went to grab onto the one in her mouth when she was about to cum and Ron told her to cum on his cock, coaxing her and praising her, telling her he wanted to see her pretty body come undone on his cock. Her legs were shaking and she was lazily sucking on Ron’s fingers now as her breath got caught in her throat and she thrashed her hips, trying to moan out Ron’s name as his thrusts became sloppier. 

He replaced his cock with his fingers so he could let her ride out her orgasm while he let his cum fall onto her tummy. 

She took a deep breath and smiled in satisfaction as Ron removed his fingers and left to go to the bathroom so he could clean her up. 

“Thank you,” she smiled in content as he started cleaning her up, “I feel much better about myself now,” she sat up as he began to dress her and she started pressing soft kisses on his face. 

He laid onto the mattress, resting on his back as he lifted an arm up so that she could rest her head on his bare chest as he traced patterns on her shoulder. 

“I love you so much, you know?” his voice was soft and she let her eyes begin to close, “so in love with you,” he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “so beautiful,” another kiss, “so good to me,” she hummed. 

“I am,” she felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled. 

“So lucky to have you,” she was starting to get tired now, “don’t ever want you to question that,” he was still kissing her head, “don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he started playing with the ends of her hair, instantly making her body relax. 

“I love you, Ron,” she mumbled sleepily. 

“I love you, sweetheart,” he pressed a long and gentle kiss onto her forehead before blowing out the candle which was now illuminating the whole room. He continued to whisper how much he loved her and what she meant to him as she fell asleep in his arms, the green tinge gone from her face and Ron’s mind happy that he could go to sleep confident she knew how much he loved her. 

[jadelynlace]

When You’re Unmatched Art / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

[you can find the reference for the tattoo Ivar did here. He thought he was being slick, but he most certainly was not. Ivar, your feelings are showing!]

catch up on the porno, I mean series, here.

requested by: @quantumlocked310 ♡ 

author’s note: thanks to this post, you’ll all be subjected to the written requests. brief mentions of smut under the cut, and love sick Ivar.

synopsis: Ivar finally figures out how to design your first tattoo.

✎

For this to be Ivar’s passion—his mortal life’s calling—he could not, for all of the seconds in the year, figure out how to design your tattoo. There had never, in his professional life, been a client that had given him complete and utter reign. No simple idea, no nudge in a specific direction, hint of any realm no where on the forefront. You told him to design you a tattoo to take up space on your thigh. And that was it. Even after he declined, saying there must be some idea you had, you shook your head and give him control. Total, and utter control. And it was almost too good to be true.

Ivar knew he was screwed, when an entire sketchbook’s worth of pages went torn, crumpled and tossed into the garbage can with failed ideas. Even Sigurd offered no help—not that he was the artistic hand Ivar needed, he was the needle pusher and piercer. Music selector and unruly greeter. Floki only offered his normal words of wisdom, a way of not answering the question but instead making Ivar look deep within himself. “Don’t think about it much, Ivar. Just let your heart and your mind run freely together.” Great. No help. Both of them were caged in a muddled pile of muck and mud and dead leaves and Ivar couldn’t pull them out.

Through every outing the band of brothers went on, you in tow more often than not, Ivar would be at the receiving end of your questions—how he was coming along with it. You had no deadline, you understood his craft took time, but you were far too excited to see. Then came the first hook up—Ivar driving you home because you were too many martinis in, you inviting him up but he declined because it “wasn’t a good idea, princess” and you told him you “weren’t his fucking princess” and he drove around the block twice before finally knocking on your door. Weight against the frame with his temple kissing it, apologizing playfully for his nickname and you invited him in. A game of truth or dare later, Ivar asked you how drunk you were when it was his turn. And you told him you were sober enough to make decisions, clear ones, and then he dared you to kiss him. You felt like a high schooler again. When it was your turn to ask him and he had picked truth, your one question was the end of the game: 

“If I asked you to fuck me right now, would you?”

“In a god damn heart beat.”

He was more than screwed when you wouldn’t leave his mind, after you rocked his world and he used your name on his tongue to get himself off the next time his left hand was needed. And then he texted you, asking how your day was, that was it. And after a conversation, playful but real, he was over at your apartment with take out and beer and you two watched true crime and Ivar told you he had seen this one and tried to have you guess before the show told you. When you were right he said you were smart, when he silently figured out an equation in his head, how many liters to grams to degrees, or whatever the hell it was, you almost dropped your beer. He wrote it out for you to show you, a near different language across the page through algebra, and you told him he was smart. The tattoo idea clicked then. The minute Ivar realized he caught feelings, the tattoo idea became so visible he drew it in almost an hour.

There was never a nervousness with him when it came to the day of appointments, even with the most picky of his clientele, Ivar took it as it was gifted because he loved his craft too much to have these types of petty things take up hatred in his heart. But you walked through the shop, shortest of shorts on, a pair of flowing pants in your bag for the event that session went longer and nipped off into the chilling night time air, and both a coffee for yourself and a Red Bull for Ivar. He nearly wanted to throw the ink onto the floor because he was scared that once you saw the design, you’d laugh, you’d call him something pathetic and walk out, and it would be the last he’d see of you. Instead he handed you the artwork, and your eyes scanned the image for almost five minutes, mouth agape and holding it as if it were a map to the unknown, hiding gold and jewels and you asked him if you could keep the sketch. Even with it forever on your skin you nearly begged him for the original artwork, saying something about how you wanted to frame it. You’d never seen Ivar blush before, but you were sure he did when you said that.

The session wasn’t short—it was almost his full day’s work of hourly long needle dabs, buzzing and brotherly bickering between him and Sigurd. Intensive talks between you and him, explain to him the less than glamorous parts of your job, the funnier parts and the teenage humor of the men you worked with. Hvitserk’s track record for receiving the majority of patient vomit on every call and you watched Ivar laugh, smile more than you had known him too and you wondered if it was because of the machine in his gloved hand or if it was you. 

Sigurd ducked out right before lunch, picking up with the three of you had ordered and your skin received the welcome break from the on-going buzz. You were quick to kiss Ivar once, lingering lips on his to thank him and he looked shocked for a moment, worrisome that his brother would see before he tossed the fear aside, shoving his tongue down your throat. When it was all said and done, dawned with the artwork on your flesh you couldn’t stop the smile. Neither could Ivar. He’d promised the sketch after he photocopied it for his portfolio and you went home with the sore leg but a full heart. He showed up late, just shy of midnight after cleaning up the day’s worth of work, buying a frame and bringing dinner for the two of you to eat. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of it, even in its red and swollen, tender state, you loved this tattoo, and Ivar took his time treating it for you. Even after his head spent time between your thighs, one hand plastered on the bare skin and the other holding yours. Even after you rode him, artwork in his line of sight and it made him finish quickly; watching the piece on your skin, your palms on his chest as he moved your hips for you. Your head tossed back as you moaned his name when you came, the heavenly sight and you were forever marked with his skill. The after care from the sex went beyond the closeness, holding you as the television played in the background; he spread the lotion over it, his entire hand nearly able to cup your thigh as he made sure to leave no line un-slathered.

“You know I’m going to want another one before this one even heals,” You said to him, craning your neck up to look at him.

“Yeah?” Ivar asked, his hand in your hair. “Where do you think you want your next one to go?”

“On my arm, so I can see it all the time,” You replied, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Who knows, maybe I’ll just cover myself like you do,” You giggled.

“You’re perfect already,” Ivar said through a yawn, his eyes closing, head drooping against yours. “You tell me where you want ‘em, and I’ll do it—but you’re perfect already,”

Ink Drinker Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang  @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @victoria-styles @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa  @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/ones-shots/blurbs/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Murder, He Wrote

Co-written with @southerngracela

Part 1 

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, 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 a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s  Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist. 

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide. 

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone. 

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.  

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue. 

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound 

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood. 

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you. 

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places.  Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room. The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the  gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host. 

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone. With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream. 

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. “Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat “Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall. 

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne. 

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize”  you bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Aalongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background.  And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway. 

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. 

And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.  

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his. 

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes.  With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!" 

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet. 

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away. 

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask. 

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system. 

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked. 

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow. 

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness. 

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. 

His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with  the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission. 

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you Princess? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did. 

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even, 

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat. 

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his 

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out 3 vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby. 

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his. 

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought. 

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** WIYPT Tag List:

Everything

@momobaby227 @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @nerdofthefandoms @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @what-just-happened-bro @jennmurawski13 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jtargaryen18 @redhairedfeistynerd @charmed-asylum @saiyanprincessswanie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @jhayes6984 @anika-ann @icanfeelastormbrewing @gigglegirl77 @princess-evans-addict @mes-2016 @theladybiers @void-hoechlin 

Ransom Drysdale

@patzammit @icandothisallday @capsiclewinter​ @this-is-serenaa​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @perplexed3001​ @twittytelly​ @kelbabyblue​ @maan24​

If your name appears above but the tag isn’t live please let me know.

[jpegjade]

I’m not a cynic - Spencer

so i finally finished this one. it was supposed to just be a song blurb but i got a longer idea for it and ended up writing it over a period of a few days. so yeah! here’s the song it’s based on: 

i’m not a cynic - Alec Benjamin

warnings: none just angsty fluff. (not really angst, just upset spencer for a sec)

__________________

“Oh my god.” Spencer groaned, dropping his keys on the floor of the hallway.

Spencer Reid was having a bad day. It started when he woke up on the wrong side of the floor, literally. He turned over one too many times and fell out of bed, directly onto the floor. You had left to go to work early so he had no body compass in relation to where you were in the bed. He wasn’t used to you leaving early so this threw him off quite a bit. 

Despite being abruptly woken up on time, he was late to work. The 10 am briefing hadn’t started when he got to the office but he was too late for coffee. There was no time to make more so he was grumpy in the briefing, hardly saying a word. 

Spencer had a ton of case files to look over, in addition to their current case, so he already felt overwhelmed. Morgan wouldn’t stop talking about how quiet he was and when Spencer snapped at him, Hotch gave him a stern talking to about his attitude over the past few days. The result was pairing Reid with Garcia, meaning he didn’t go into the field. He didn’t mind working with Garcia but he wanted to be out with the rest of the team. He always felt like he was missing out when he wasn’t there with everyone else. He felt like that for most of his life, he didn’t want to feel like he was missing out at his job too. 

Spencer pushed the door to the apartment open and found you dancing in the living room with your headphones in. 

“Hey love!” You said, loudly. 

You took out one headphone to hear Spencer but he didn’t look at you. He was looking down at his Converse as he unlaced them. Pulling off his satchel, he put it on the table and walked past you without saying anything, sitting on the couch. He put his hands in his hair and let out a deep sigh he had been holding in for a while. 

You could tell by the way his shoulders slumped and the curve of his back that something was wrong. When Spencer got quiet, something was always wrong. And when he didn’t immediately smile at you when he got home, it had been a hard day. A hard day and something bothering him meant you probably should start running a bath and the two of you could just talk it out. 

Turning down your music, you began running the bath water so it could warm up as it filled the tub. From there, you grabbed your matching comfy robes and his favorite face masks, laying everything out with your matching pajamas. You weren’t going to shower until after dinner but you figured that you could change your schedule a little bit tonight. 

Turning off the water, you walked back into the living room to find Spencer with his hands still propping up his head. He was muttering something but you couldn’t hear it. You gently sat down next to him and softly called his name. 

“Spencer?” It was barely audible but he heard it. 

“What?” He snapped. 

“Do you want to take a bath with me?” You said, trying not to be defensive. 

“No.” He said, shaking his head. 

“Oh, well. I ran the water if you change your mind.” You said, leaning back on your heels. He wasn’t normally like this. Usually, he was more reserved and stoic when he was thinking but now he seemed… Angry.

“I didn’t ask for you to run the water.” Spencer let out a large sigh of frustration. He had been building up all of this energy all day and he couldn’t take holding it in anymore. 

“I know you didn’t ask but you always want a warm bath and to relax when you have a bad day.” You said, trying to keep your own frustration with him at bay. 

“Does anyone ever think that they don't really know me or what I’m going through?” Spencer snapped. 

You paused for a moment, unsure what to really say so you just let him continue. 

“I’m not a cynic but it’s beyond not my day. This isn't my life. And it’s hard to process that no one even seems to acknowledge that I’m struggling.” Spencer said. “You all seem to think that just because I’m smart, life just goes my way. Well, newsflash, it doesn't. I can’t fix anything by being smart. I can’t fix anything by being smart and none of you get that.” 

You watched in shock as Spencer looked up at you with tears rolling down his face. It wasn’t often that Spencer snapped at you. It always had the initial stinging effect that he intended but not too long after he snapped, he always softened up because you weren’t trying to hurt him and he knew that. It was just the stress from the day getting to him. The stress from everything was getting to him. 

“Come on.” You said, holding out your hand. 

Spencer took it and you led him to the bathroom with the now warm bathwater. Spencer got undressed while you mixed more hot water and a bath bomb in the water. Once Spencer got in, you got the shampoo out of the cabinet and sat on the edge while he got comfortable in the colorful bath water and bubbles. 

“Is this okay?” You said, massaging his shoulders. He was a bit tense to the touch but he slowly loosened up the more you worked on his shoulders. 

“Yeah.” He said, nodding. “I’m sorry I snapped.”

“I forgive you. Was it a hard day?” You asked, trying to open the door for a more gentle conversation. 

“Yeah…” Spencer began detailing his day to you, piece by piece. Every frustration, every nuance, everything that made him pent up and slowly, his shoulders started to lose tension. You could feel it under your hands. 

“Have you talked to your mom today?” You asked, knowing that seemed to cheer him up. 

Instead of the reaction you hoped for, his shoulders completely slumped. You heard a couple water drops hit the bath water before Spencer’s body started shaking. 

“Y/n, she forgot who I was for half of the call.” Spencer sounded so broken. 

You rubbed his back as he cried. It was a wonder how he held that in for so long today, that pain. You didn’t say anything as a tear rolled down your cheek. Seeing him in pain always managed to hurt you more than anything else. A few more sobs and some sniffles later, Spencer was calm again. You got out the shampoo and started washing his hair in silence. You wanted to give him room to express himself in any way he felt was helpful so you figured being silent was the best thing. 

Spencer closed his eyes as your hands worked through his hair. It was one thing for him to wash it. It was another for your magical fingers to move through it. You just had a calming effect he didn’t have on his own. But that could be said about most things. You were his better half, his support system. He was a different person with you and you both knew it. He was a better person with you in his life. 

“Do you know why I married you, Spencer?” You asked, washing the shampoo out of his hair. 

“Was it for my stunning good looks?” Spencer sadly chuckled. 

“Yes. But also for your heart. Mainly for your heart. You’re smarter than I’ll ever be. You’re more beautiful than an angel. But your heart is made of gold and that’s why I fell in love with you.” You started the conditioner, the true secret to his silky soft hair. 

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Spencer chuckled again. 

“Wait, you potato brain.” You said, smiling. It was nice to hear him chuckle. “Your mom raised you with a pure heart. A heart so pure and a brain so intricate that no one will understand. Baby, no one will ever understand you. I married you and I don’t understand you. But you can’t hold that against us because we’re trying our best.” 

“I know…” Spencer sighed. 

“But at the same time, you have a right to be frustrated because you can’t help or fix the person that matters to you most. It’s hard to lose someone to something so misunderstood right now and incurable. It’s hard to watch that transition. I know. But you’re not alone, okay? It hurts me that Diana is going through this but you have to trust that she’s getting the best care to make her life easier and so are you.” You said, washing out the conditioner. 

“So if you need to cry,” you continued, grabbing him a big towel for his hair. “Then you go ahead and cry. If you need to throw things, I’ve got starburst you can fling at the wall. If you need a hug or a cuddle, you married an amazing cuddler, if I do say so myself. But please don't hold it in and blow up on me, okay?” You said, drying his hair before wrapping it.

“I think I’ll take you up on that cuddle and a good cry.” Spencer said. 

“Okay, Mr. Reid, I will see you in the bedroom, then.” You repositioned to stand up but Spencer gently grabbed your hand. 

“Can we stay here a little longer? There’s something soothing about the water.” He said, looking up at you with those big puppy eyes. 

“Sure, Spence. Whatever makes you happiest.” You smiled, sitting back down on your little bathroom stool. 

“You make me happiest, y/n.” Spencer smiled. 

[luvlyrv]

Our Songs | pt. 3 | Wendy x f!Reader sm!au

Summary: You and Wendy are rising musicians who are garnering attention. As the both of you decide to begin working on writing songs together, will you catch each other’s attention too?

Series Masterlist

You perk up at the sound of a knock at your door. You leave behind your notebook where you had been scribbling notes and song lyrics as you get up to answer the door. You open your door to Wendy in a cute simple dress.

"Oh hey Wendy!" You said with a smile growing on your face.

Wendy eyes you up and down and laughs a little bit. "I feel like I'm a bit dressed up compared to you." You look down and are reminded of the fact that you were wearing a loose t-shirt and your favorite sweatpants.

"Oh I'm sorry! I forgot to dress up. I just find it easier to work when I'm in really comfortable clothes. I hope you don't mind?" You say in an apologetic tone, feeling a bit embarrassed that you looked so… musty compared to Wendy.

"No, no! Don't worry about it. I think you pull it off. You could probably pull off wearing a literal garbage bag if you wanted to."

"Hey, don't start putting ideas in my head." You joke with her, feeling a bud of happiness when you hear a sweet and soft laugh come out of her. You step to the side and allow Wendy to come into your small and admittedly a bit cluttered apartment.

"Sorry, my apartment is like, 90% studio."

"Well, I can admire your dedication to your work." Wendy begins to walk around, inspecting all the instruments being held in racks around your home. She stops for a second.

"Hey, isn't this the new guitar you got recently?"

You nod a bit in surprise, it was kind of unbelievable that Wendy watched your channel the way you watched hers.

"I really like the tone of it. Your hands are really mesmerizing when you play guitar, Y/N." Wendy is inspecting your guitar with a gentle look. You can't help but to feel a bit bashful with her compliment as you admire her side profile.

You shake your head out of the thought. "Ah, anyways, how about we go inside my room? That's where all the real fun is at." Wendy quirks an eyebrow up.

"Where the equipment is, I mean."

She follows you into your room, with one small bed squished up into a corner with the rest of the space being taken up by your equipment. You sat at your chair at your desk, being greeted once again by your notebook. You point at a small squishy stool nearby for Wendy to sit on. At the very least, you had some extra seating for your guest today.

"So," you begin asking, "what have you come up with so far?"

"Ah, it's a bit embarrassing to share lyrics with other people. No matter how many times I've done it before."

You try to shoot her a reassuring look. "Hey, I understand the feeling, I just want you to know I won't judge. I mean after all, I have to share my lyrics too you know? Which by the way, sorry in advance for them being half-baked."

Once again you feel a little tinge of happiness as you see some tension leaving your partner's body. She pulls out her phone and begins scrolling. She scoots closer to you so you can both look at her phone together as she begins describing some of her song ideas.

"This one is called Stopwatch. I wanted to capture the idea of living your life through the motions, you know? Everything goes by so fast until you find someone who makes you think for a second and stop time. You slow down for them so you can learn about them and spend time with them."

Wendy nervously glances from her phone to you. She watches as you read through the lyrics intently, feeling relieved when she watches a small smile building on your face.

"Out of all your ideas, all of them are great by the way, this is my favorite." You half whisper while still scrolling through and reading through the rest of her lyrics. Hearing your praise made Wendy let out her own smile.

"Now can I see yours?"

You look away from her phone, with your face contorted into an anxious looking mess. You begin rubbing at the back of your neck.

"I mean, yeah. I just don't know how well they'd hold up against yours." You say with nervous laughter.

"Don't worry about it Y/N! I've heard your lyrics before. I'm sure these will be just as great as those." Wendy places a hand on your arm, making you release a sigh. You look back at her before swiveling to grab your notebook and showing it to her.

Just like Wendy did for you, you walked her through the concepts and ideas you were trying to work with, You described the kinds of emotion you wanted to convey. Unlike what Wendy showed you though, you had less complete songs and more blurbs.

"I don't know why I couldn't piece a full song together. I guess I'm getting a bit of a block at a very inconvenient time. Sorry about that."

Wendy just shakes her head at your statement. "No, don't worry about it. I get it. I think even if they're not completed, all the lines you did write down really resonate with me and do their job well. I'm sure we can find a way to piece most of them together and combine them with mine to create something really emotional."

You feel comforted by her statement and flipped your notebook to a blank page. "Let's start figuring out what we do want to keep then, and the lyrics of the five songs we wanna make."

Hours and hours go by surprisingly quick. The both of you had sang to each other, throwing around different ideas for melodies and beats. By the end of it all, both of your throats were a bit sore, but at the very least you had finished getting a skeleton of an idea of what you wanted for each song.

Wendy glanced at the corner of your monitor to check the time. Her eyes widened as she saw it displaying 10 PM.

"Ah geez, we've worked a lot today, Y/N. I think it's time I should go back home before it gets insanely dark." Wendy rises from her stool, only for her stomach to immediately emit a loud growl. You look up at her.

"S-sorry."

You just laugh at the situation, it was a laugh that didn't feel mean but rather welcoming to Wendy. "Don't worry, that's what happens when you work for like, 6 hours straight. How about you stay for dinner? I'm hungry myself and don't mind cooking you anything."

For some reason, the girl's heart began to beat just a little bit faster. She felt like she couldn't say no to the kindness in your eyes, so after a couple seconds of deliberation she gave you her answer. "Sure, that would be nice."

To be brutally honest, Wendy did not expect much. She half-expected you to microwave some ramen for the both of you or something, but instead she was pleasantly surprised by the delicious looking meal you had laid before her.

She couldn't help but stare at the food you made. She thought that maybe it would be a sin to eat something so beautiful looking. You're already beginning to eat from your plate when you realize Wendy hadn't touched her food at all. You began to worry.

"Is there something wrong? Should I make something else?"

Wendy left her trance and looked up from her plate to your worried eyes. "Oh, no, no, I just… I'm just impressed Y/N. Thank you for this meal. Really!"

You focus back on your plate, and luckily for Wendy the food tasted just as good as it looked. She savored every bite up until she was finished. At the point, the both of you were full, and Wendy's eyes began to feel heavy as the food coma began to kick in. Her body was just begging to get all comfortable and warm to fall asleep.

With a bit of shame Wendy decided to ask, "Is it okay if I spend the night here…? Sorry, I'm just… so tired now."

"Hm? Of course you can. Do you want to shower? I think we're both kinda gross right now."

"I didn't really intend to stay the night. I don't have any clothes to change into."

You get up and go into your room, only to quickly go back to Wendy with a pair of pajamas in hand.

"Well you do now."

"But it's-"

You just push her towards the bathroom and gave her a towel to dry herself off with. "See you later, stinky."

As Wendy showers, you pick out your clothes and your own towel. Then you get to making your bed in preparation of having Wendy sleep there tonight.

When the sound of rushing water stopped, Wendy came out wearing your large dog-patterned pajamas. You point her towards your bed. "Feel free to go ahead and sleep."

She shakes her head at you. "Hey, I'm the guest here, I'm gonna go sleep on the couch."

You stop her from leaving your room and just stare at her. "That's exactly why I want you sleeping on a comfortable bed rather than my shitty couch."

"I'm sure the couch is fine. It's your bed, Y/N."

You just stare.

And stare.

And-

"Okay fine." Wendy grumbles and makes her way towards the corner of your room. Once again she felt like she couldn't refuse you.

You go ahead and shower, and by the time you're finished Wendy is passed out cold on the bed. You can't help but to smile a little. You go outside to sleep on the couch, not before setting an alarm for early in the morning though.

[myjjbaby]

Can I get one where y/n is kie’s adopted sister&hangs around the pogues?She takes a liking to jj.One day,when they’re swimming at John b’s,she watches jj get out of the water from afar.Kie tells her that she’s not being discreet.He catches her looking.Later that night,she goes down to the dock&helps him clean up.He says that he saw her watching him&asks why.She says that she likes him&he says he likes her too.They kiss&become a couple.Then it gets a little smuttyish.

googly eyes

author’s note - sorry i’ve been a bit awol but i needed a little time to myself but i am trying to come back. wanted to use this new post as an opportunity to thank each and every one of you for 1.5k followers because that still blows my mind. Your kindness and welcoming personalities makes me all the more excited to continue writing for you so i really cannot thank you enough. keep your eye out for a celebratory blurb night to celebrate!! and yes i will respond to my messages sorry about that :)) i didnt go v smuttyish im sorry.

synopsis - requested by @bearr12! Kie’s sister is JJ’s not so secretive secret admirer.

warnings - 1.2k of fluff and terrible writing lol also poc!reader because my masterlist is really whitewashed as i hope to continue writing more diverse posts in the future lovies

“Admiring the view, are we?”

You whipped your head to stare down Kie, your sister, sending a shock of whiplash down your spine. It was no surprise that you were staring at your blonde friend, ogling JJ’s toned arms as he pulled himself up onto the boat with marsh water dripping along his perfect golden skin. He was literally too pretty not to admire.

“Kie, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, okay,” you glared her down, “m ‘just saying you aren’t exactly discreet, babe.”

Rolling your eyes at the girl, you turned back to the view and like magnets your gaze zeroed in on JJ’s beautiful self. You swore he did it on purpose, large, ring-clad fingers running through his hair as his stomach became taut with muscle from his movements.

You knew he could catch your eye at any moment but, in all honesty, that would not be the worst thing to happen in your friendship. You had been admiring the handsome boy for a while now. JJ was aware of the looks, you were sure, sending a playful wink as your cheeks flushed red. It was hard to be quiet about the literal angel that Maybank was.

Time was good on him, anyone could see that. The blonde had gone from a short, scrawny fifth grader to a well filled out, grown guy. You let yourself look over at him again, eyes hungrily taking in every section of his defined form.

“Everyone okay to head back?”

Lowering your eyes to your lap, you try ignoring the heat rising to your face and the goosebumps as JJ approached you.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Yeah, Pops needs me home.”

“When does Heyward not need you home, Pope?”

You slapped his thigh lightly for that comment which, of course, JJ just pecked your cheek and you forgot about the whole thing.

“Shut it, JJ.”

You smirked, high fiving John B as the sky blue eyed boy pouted at you. You giggled before pinching his cheeks and laying a head on his shoulder. Kiara was sending you a raised eyebrow that was joyfully ignored as JJ’s sunkissed arms wrapped around you tightly. The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the boat ride, cuddled into each other, chuckling as the older boy whispered pickup lines in your ear.

“Hey babe, if I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put ‘u’ and ‘i’ together.”

“Oh my god JJ, will it ever end?”

“Here’s the finale,” he pulled you back into his chest as your friends unloaded the old motorboat, “do you believe in love at first sight — or do you need me to walk by again?”

“J, that one was-”

“A masterpiece?”

“The worst one yet, to be honest.”

Shaking your head at his idiocy, you climbed out of the boat and started walking towards the chateau, a slightly high, blonde on your tail.

“Wait.”

You turned back to John B who had an unamused look on his face but a teasing glint in his eye. The brunette always had something up his sleeve, especially to torture you and your love for the boy currently wrapped around you.

“Y/N, can you and JJ clean up the dock? Payback for slacking when we were packing up earlier?”

“Um, yeah, sure.”

You didn’t know whether to curse his name or send him a gift basket as the brunette walked up the lawn, leaving you and your infatuation alone, together. JJ seemed to not care about the extra labor as he approached you, wrapping a warm arm around you and walking back towards the dock. You played with his long, ring-clad fingers, the ones pressed into your tummy, admiring the contrast between his golden skin and your mahogany tones.

“Whatcha’ thinking about?”

Your eyes snapped up to find his back to you as he collected the trash strewn around the ‘HMS Pogue.’ You had settled on the little bench JJ had made a few years back.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

You hummed, looking up to catch his gaze aimed at you. His familiar playful smirk was now substituted for a soft, endearing look. This one was reserved for you, you were sure, JJ always wanted to know everything about and he knew most things, but not this.

“J…”

“Baby,” he was now kneeling between your thighs, strong thumb holding your chin so you’d have to look at him, “I hate it when you keep something from me.”

“It’s nothing, I swear.”

“Baby-”

“Drop it.”

JJ stared up at you with earnest blue eyes. You were so close to cracking and telling him how you couldn’t help but fall for him, it’s not like he made it easy to not. His grip dropped from your face, palming your dark-skinned hand in his instead.

“Shouldn’t we get back to cleaning?”

Your voice was light, cautious as you tried to control your racing heartbeat, smiling down at him and trying to lift some of the tension. He shrugged it off before gazing back at you.

“I want to talk to you, actually.”

Your heart stopped.

“About what?”

“Me and you.”

“What about us?”

He smiled cheekily before leaning up towards you, hands settling on either side of your body. The tip of his nose almost brushing yours and his familiar minty gum breath caressing against your toned, brown skin.

“I see your staring, doll.”

You dropped your eyes, heat flushing under the apples of your cheeks. Just like Kiara said, you weren’t subtle and now it’s nipping you in the ass. You could hear JJ chuckle next to your ear.

“I like making you blush up close.”

“Something wrong with seeing me flustered from far away?”

“Want to admire you, baby.”

Your eyes traveled up the spanse of his body, holding back a soft whimper when you noticed how close he was. Lips brushing against yours as he smiled. He took your breath away, like always.

“JJ? What’re you doing?”

“Kissing the girl I like.”

You didn’t have the chance to process his words before his lips were clasped to yours. His rough fingertips pressed into your cheeks as he held your face close to his. Your eyes fluttered shut and your noses bumped together when you tugged his closer by his broad shoulders.

Tracing shapes along the dark, smooth skin across your waist, JJ slipped down to the underside of your legs. A giggle escaped your lips amidst a sigh that he pulled from your throat. He lifted you up into his arms like a feather while you gripped at his soft, blonde waves, unable to get close enough to him. He pulled away slightly and chuckled as you careened closer to his touch. Pecking your lips slightly, his flushed face pressed against yours.

“Took you long enough.”

“Don’t lie, you liked my little show.”

“‘Mmm,” you hummed before pressing a chaste kiss to his pink pout, “like this more though.”

taglist: @adoreyoudrews @outerbxmalia @baby-bearie @rafestarkeyy @koufaxx @rudethchalamet @nivky0-0 @ilovejjmaybank @angellissy @iwriteimagines @fanficscuziranout @bxbyyyjocelyn @dpaccione @miawantsapuppy @ceruleanjj @mybnkjj @renicole11 @jjtheangel @jayjaymaebank @beth-winchester21 @write-from-the-heart @yeehaw87 @teenwaywardasgardian

[generallybarzy]

1 Year

January 22nd, 2020. That was the date it all started.

Now, it’s been a year. 

(Sorry, you don't get a read more, this is too important)

I started this blog last year, after attending a local hockey game that we get to see every year and realizing how much more I was into it than my other friends there. I went home, logged onto my other tumblr account, and started looking through random hockey tags from my [redacted] blog (y'all don't gotta know the fandoms I was into haha). For a week or so, I lurked. I saw bits and pieces of the all star game, of some of the games that were being played, but I was too scared to interact with anyone because I was joining the community so "late". I wasn't late to anything, its not like hockey is a new thing or something with a time limit, but it felt like I was behind. I wasn't a lifelong fan like some people I saw post about it, I didn't even understand what people were talking about. But I saw the game, eventually saw the cute players everyone loves, and got excited. I finally decided to make this blog, wanting to make some new friends in the hockey community. I kinda floated around hockeyblr for a while, rebloggong a few things quietly but not interacting too much because i didn't feel like i could, until my school closed down in March. After that, I turned to writing- specifically for barzy, who I had just learned about on this site. And with that writing, that very first fic that I tagged bigger writers in, trying to get some recognition, I started to gain followers. And friends.

Since i started, my followers on here have traveled with me through life. Literally. I got my drivers license, i embarrassed myself with that guy at the beach, got my first job, started (and hopefully soon finished) my senior year of highschool, and got accepted into my dream college. I didn't have online friends before this, so when I stopped be able to see my irl friends irl, you guys became just as necessary as them. We've been through highs and lows together, both irl, personally, and in this community, but honestly, i still love it here. I couldn’t be more thankful for all of you, the old and the new.  I genuinely wouldn’t have been able to get through the past year if it weren’t for this place. 

I have a whole appreciation post but some of the people who either ARE constantly in my messages or had been in the past but we haven't talked in a bit, all of these people helped me along the way. @matbaerzal (one of the very first writers who followed me on here, wow. The 10th person out of 1000 to follow me. I adore all of your stuff and look up to you so much) , @mbarzals (I think I convinced you to post your first fic, and I wrote all of Opportunities just for you, but we haven't really talked a lot in a while), @thirteenisles (mom! Helping me out a bunch, especially when I was way smaller on here and didn't have many friends, and we haven't talked in a bit and I'm so sorry), @d-cozens (has always been a solid reader, I remember you under a different user haha I've been seeing you in my notifications for the longest time), @fallinallincurls (we always talk the best concepts!!!!! I always come to you about fics!!!! In the long run, we just started talking a bit ago but you're like the sweetest person ever and I'm so happy we're moots), @softboybarzal (I can't even begin to describe how much you've helped. I'm serious. Thank you so much. Not to mention the amazing things we talk about, always making me so soft), @folkloreflyers (tk and nolan, we have the matching jerseys what can I say. We also come up with some of the best ideas), @barzzal (I deadass look up to you so much, your theme and content is god tier thank you for helping me with my header. I hope we can talk more smt), @dembenchboys (omg baby. Baby. Your messages mean so much to me and I literally light up whenever I see them. We literally don't deserve you. You're too pure and amazing for this world. An angel. I think I've forget to respond to you a few times and I feel so bad but I love you so much don't forget it!!!!!!), @canadianheaters (why do we always have the strangest conversations like idk what here but there's some cursed energy baaagghschhd anyway we come up with the best shit together like monkey suit mat), 🥔 anon, 💙 anon, 😌 anon, 🖤 anon, BLUE SHORTS ANON (I REMEMBER YOU WHERE ARE YOU) and all you other lovely followers i have who have been so supportive over the past year 💕💕💕

Now that all that sappy stuff is out of the way, here's what we'll be doing today to celebrate!

Send in your stories on how you came to find my blog and what made you stay!! Or just any stories you have about here

Request little hcs not about mat and s/o in scenarios but about small things like "does mat like coffee or tea?" or about what cute habits he might have. I feel like we don't discuss about my hc version of him enough

Also, respond to other anons and send your own hcs!!!!

The final thing is that I will be taking requests for short, personalized blurbs where you send me a prompt, a name, and stuff about yourself and I write YOU and mat instead of reader and mat.. I'll make another post about it when I'm ready to do those, probably around 2pm est.

Once again, lemme just drill it into your heads how happy I am to have all you guys, and how proud I am of where this blog has come to in a year. I couldn't have done it without any of you.💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

[writing-in-april]

Last Name

Vague Poe Dameron x Gender Neutral reader 

Starring- Reader, Hux, Poe (mentioned)

Warnings- Torture, blood, swearing, guns, normal Star Wars content just a little bloodier

A/N- This is a new fandom for me to write for so here’s to branching out! I’ll still post for Spencer Reid hopefully once a week but I have a bunch of other things I’d like to write for as well!! Thank you Discord for helping me with this especially my beta readers @agntprentiss @fanficlibrary82 and @onedirectionfansarelegends​ (This was the only way I could tag her for some reason) This idea literally came to me in a dream and I just had to write it down (it was supposed to be a blurb then came out to be 2k words 🤷‍♀️) Requests are open!! @april-14-blog​ is my main blog where I reblog smut and fluff.

My head felt like it was on fire, that was the first thought that shot through my head as I came to. I struggled to pry open my eyes, it felt as if I had the weight of a starsystem pulling them closed.

Slowly my senses started coming back to me, I could tell I was strapped to a metal chair with binders around both of my wrists. They were bound tight, tight enough that I could feel the harsh metal digging into my flesh. I must’ve been captured from my latest mission for the resistance, though I could barely recall the details. All I could evoke from my memory was landing on the planet Kashyyyk, I was supposed to meet up with a spy who had critical information for new hyperspace lanes.

Suddenly the metal panel slid open snapped me out of my memories. The harsh scraping of metal on metal setting my teeth on edge. The anticipation of who was going to walk through was like sitting on needles and the hairs of my neck where standing straight up. My eyes were still adjusting to the harsh lighting that was casting varied shadows throughout the room. A silhouette came into my view and I could immediately tell who it was even without being able to see the details of his figure.

General Hux, a smarmy high ranking officer of the First Order. Well at least it wasn’t Kylo Ren.

“Y/N Y/L/N data analyst for the resistance.” Hux sneered from the shadows. “We have a whole file on you, you hold key information about resistance tactics and locations. Resistance is futile, just give us the data” he stepped forward which allowed me to take in his slimy appearance. His eyes looked dead, no emotion was given away, I knew there was no weaseling my way out of this. I’d have to fight my way out.

I completely blocked out Hux’s voice, letting it play in the background like a broken audiobulb, which helped me absorb the blows that started coming at my stomach from a stormtrooper. Eventually they moved up to my upper shoulders and face when it was clear they were getting no reaction from me.

My mouth was steadily filling with crimson blood, which gave me an idea to further goad the general. I spit the blood at Hux spraying his face scarlet and delivered a devilish insult.

“Eat my shit, you flaccid son of of a street whore” I said with a bloody smirk, he was going to have to try harder if he wanted to get me to speak.

“You rebel scum” he spat out at me. Then with a raised fist he punched me in the nose with a sickening crack. “You’ll never leave here, you’ll rot in a cell. Even if you do attempt to escape it’s not like you know how to fly. We’re in the middle of deep space and you’re just a simple analyst.” He taunted at me, this was subtle confirmation that the pilot I came with was dead, at least it wasn’t Poe I thought selfishly.

Through the threshold of my cell a probe droid came through, I started to unconsciously squirm, I knew what was coming next. The black floating sphere droid hovered over to me and shot out a syringe which was surely filled with something they were sure would make me talk.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way” Hux sneered out- Kriff I wish he’d just shut his mouth. “What where you doing orbiting Kashyyyk?”

I shook my head in defiance, I didn’t care about pain, I just cared about the survival of the resistance.

“Very well” he grumbled before waving the torture droid towards me. The needle pricked my right forearm giving me a slice of the pain that was to come. It didn’t creep up on me, but hit me with full force, making me feel as if fire was running through my veins. Hux started screaming at me again to try and pry out the information, even though whatever they injected into me didn’t let me form a single thought. My eyes started to give way- I didn’t know if I was going to pass out or die- just that I needed to do something to escape the burning pain. Relief flooded through my veins as the galaxy around me faded to black.

———————

When I came to again my head was pulsing harder then before, plus there was a sharp ringing in my ears. Pushing my pain aside I promptly started to look for an escape route. Then I remembered how Poe and I had gotten out of being captured by Weequans on Felucia. I prepared myself to scream out to the troopers, I’ll fake being sick and hopefully they’ll let their guard down.

“Help please!” I shouted in the most convincing scream I could managet. “I’m going to throw up! You’ll have to clean it up if you don’t give me a bucket or something!!!”

The two stormtroopers stationed outside finally relented and opened the door with another whoosh. They clambered in obviously miffed that they would have to deal with me. One unlocked the binders and forcefully pulled them off me, giving some relief to my already bruised wrists. They shoved me out of the cell out towards the refresher that was reserved for prisoners.

“Hurry up.” The second one snapped at me in a brusque tone while they shoved me through the door.

I assessed my surroundings trying to find anything to gain the upper hand, sadly it seemed as if I would have to use brute force to escape. I hunched over the toilet pretending to make a gagged sound and called for one of them to help me again. Swiftly I kicked the trooper’s legs out from under them and grabbed his blaster, the second immediately put his hands up knowing that I had the upper hand. I decided to spare the two, by knocking them out with the butt of the blaster.

My legs were burning as I ran out of the detention block with black spots dancing around my vision but, I wouldn’t let myself stop for anything, I needed to get home. The Star destroyer I had gotten myself stranded on had an unnecessary amount of seemingly useless hallways. I was certain I had gotten lost in the deep dispensable cesspool, I had barely even run into any troopers, seemingly signaling that I was off course. Finally I saw the light of a hangar bag coming into view, then of course the alarm went off painting the col clinical hallways a deep red. They must’ve realized that I had escaped, my poor legs were close to giving up, the stress of being tortured had nearly beaten me into submission. Yet I willed myself further as I came in through the hangar doors, troopers were running around looking in every nook and cranny trying to find their lost prisoner. I hid my frame behind a stack of crates and peeled my eyes for a ship to pilot.

My pupils fixated on a tie fighter around the bend that luckily had no troopers snooping about. I made a mad dash towards the open hatch of the ship and hopped inside. Buttons and switches adorned the small ship looking slightly foreign to me. Instead of worrying about taking off I tried to apply basic flight knowledge that Poe taught to me and I got the ship hovering off the ground.

The troopers finally realized what was happening and started to fire at the ship, even though the tethering cable was still attached I grabbed the controls to swerve around incoming fire. I swung around until the end of the tethering cable came into my sights, I quickly swiveled over to the blaster controls. Aiming expertly I shot down the only thing holding me back from leaving this Sarlacc pit. I made my way back to the piloting controls and quickly passed through the exit out into deep space. Several tie fighters followed me trying to shoot me down as a crackling came through the comms.

“You’ll never outrun us!” Hux shouted through the comms, they must’ve still been connected through the enemy ships.

“Are you so sure about that Hux?!” My shaky hands were attempting to program the coordinates of the D’Qar base into the navicomputer which was harder without an astromech to aide me.

“Even if you did escape the star destroyer Y/L/N you wouldn’t get very far- you’re no pilot” his voice like steel scraping through the comms.

“ Did you know my name isn’t Y/L/N anymore Hux?” I mocked as I prepared to jump into hyperspace, I had him right where I wanted him.

“The name’s Dameron, Hugs” I slammed down the hyperspace lever and blasted off ready to go back to my husband who taught me how to fly.

[quillsareswords]

Hey, I had another idea for a Damian Wayne x reader blurb if it's alright. Something like the reader is stuck in quarantine in their own apartment so they can't meet up and are only able to interact through video calls. And the reader is really down because of the lack of social interactions so Damian tries to cheer them up... or something like that. #quillswritingweek #quillsmarwritingweek

Thank you for participating in Writing Week!

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

You're trying to focus on what Damian is saying, you really are. It's rude not to. Even more so because you're the one who initiate the video call.

". . . That aside, I've been very bored." He leans back in his desk chair, crossing his arms as he eyes the computer screen that you can't see. You don't know what he's doing, but he's been typing and scrolling an awful lot.

You nod politely, struggling to piece together what you did manage to listen to.

You've been bored, same as him. But that's not the main reason you can't concentrate.

You and Damian, to anyone else, are definitely not considered touchy people. The most you're comfortable with is a handshake you saw coming a mile away, or a high-five. For a select few, a hello or goodbye hug.

To one another, you're the clingiest pieces to trash on the planet.

Dick has made several comments about this, every chance he gets. He compares you to koalas. And lizards. And kittens. And just about every other animal the internet as seen hug another of its kind. He says it's likely because you're both touch starved out of your minds.

You don't know or care why. You just want touch him right this second. Nothing dirty or anything your parents would disapprove of, either. You just want to hold him, be held by him, hold his hand, bury your fingers in his hair, lay on his chest—anything.

"(Y/N)? Hello?" He snaps in front of his camera and his microphone.

You blink a few times and shift around. "Huh? Sorry, I spaced out."

He throws you the eyes of disbelief. They're something you get often. "You could tell me that, or you could tell me what's bothering you." He resumes typing.

You roll back on to your stomach, propping your phone up on your bedside so you can rest your chin on folded arms. "Nothing, nothing. Wondering what mom's gonna make for dinner."

Again, you get the eyes of disbelief.

With a sigh and an eyeroll, you relent. "I'm lonely. I miss you. I want to lay in your bed with you and watch TV."

You don't miss the little smile he tries to bite back. It makes you smile, too. "I think you'll live. Perhaps I'll convince father to let me come by after patrol tonight."

You roll around again to find a different position. "But I'm lonely now."

"Do what I've been doing," he suggests.

You cock an eyebrow.

He narrows his eyes and throws you a suspicious sideways glance. "You didn't hear anything I told you a few minutes ago, did you?"

You give an awkward smile and shrug. "Sorry?"

He shakes his head and sighs, but there's no irritance behind it. In fact, if you aren't mistaken, you think you hear a little amusement. "I was telling you that I've been missing you as well, and that I've been keeping myself distracted instead of moping around like I assume you have."

You roll your eyes and cross your arms. "Rude." Once again, the eyes of disbelief. "Okay, fine, maybe."

He nods. "Thought so." He hits a button, stops typing, and smiles at you. "So, what is something you've wanted to do? A craft project perhaps?"

You think for a long moment. Then you snap your fingers and point at the camera. "Better."

•••

You sit slouched against your bedroom wall, legs spread out in a V shape, a liter bottle of Coke in the middle of the space between your feet. You've been tossing mentos toward the opening for fifteen minutes, without making one.

Damian still watches, from your phone, which is propped up by some books where he can see both your face and the bottle. He's still typing, but it's more rare. He's doing more scrolling.

You suddenly and unexpectedly make a shot. You gasp loudly, which makes him jump, and scramble for the cap before the reaction fully takes.

Unfortunately for you, your father chooses this exact moment to walk in your door.

With soda shooting out the mouth of the bottle as you desperately try to screw the cap on, the sticky liquid soaking into your carpet, and Damian chuckling at you from a few feet away, you smile at him innocently.

"What are you doing, exactly?" he asks. He isn't angry. He is surprised, and very confused.

"Science."

"I am fairly sure that none of what you just did has anything to do with science."

"Shut up!" You scold Damian, giving him a look over your shoulder.

•••

And that concludes March's Writing Week! I hope these fics have helped everybody through all that's going on, even if I'm just taking your mind off things for a few minutes.

Stay healthy, wash your hands, practice social distancing, do your homework and keep up on the news! I'll see you all next time!

[angelicmichael]

8 with Michael pleasee

A/N: Sorry this took me a couple days to write lmao I hope you like this!! Also thank you for being my first anon ♥️ I feel like this blurb is a little long 🤷🏻‍♀️ tbh writing blurbs are kind of challenging for me cause I love to write long ass stories so I have to force myself to make things short and sweet lol. ALSO the main plot of this is HEAVILY inspired by legally blonde, when Elle and her boyfriend go to the restaurant but he dumps her haha. The main quote/dialogue is in bold.

You and Michael had been best friends for a while; and you were honestly okay with that.

When you first met him about a year ago you had high hopes of being his girlfriend; and how could you not? Even on his worst days Michael looked like a fucking god. It wasn’t just his looks though; he always made it a point to be sweet to you. Even when you found out he had crazy ass powers you weren’t scared of him. He was harmless. Even when he confined in you that he was the antichrist you weren’t scared; Michael would never hurt you.

So you met the sweetest boy; but sadly, it was obvious he wasn’t interested in you like how you were in him. Or that’s what you thought at first anyway.

It was only about a week ago when he started to flirt with you. You brushed it off; knowing Michael it was probably just harmless flirting. When you really thought about it, he basically flirted with everyone.

However, you stopped brushing it off when Michael asked you out. Like on a real fucking date. It was to one of the most exclusive, expensive restaurants in Los Angeles.. and it got you thinking.

No one went to these kind of restaurants just to fuck around on a Tuesday night and get a bite to eat, these were the kind of restaurants where people got proposed to.. or.. dare you even suggest; be asked out at.

So that’s why you were dressed to the nines. You wore a pearl necklace with matching earrings, and a dress that easily cost you over a grand. Michael told you that you looked beautiful; radiant even but that was pretty much the spiciest comment he had made so far, and you two had already passed dessert.. there wasn’t too much time left.

Most of dinner was spent making fun of the elites and the filthy rich that sat among you, and talking. It was strange, it was almost as if he was reminiscing over the great times you two have had but why would he have to reminisce? Unless.. the end times were coming. It was easy to forget he was the antichrist sometimes.

However, The check had come and gone and Michael was just standing up when you indicated that you wanted him to sit back down again.

“Michael.. Aren’t you forgetting something”?

You asked, making sure to bat your eyes as you looked at him. You tried your best to immortalize this moment as you anticipated what he would say. This would be the moment he would ask you out, you just knew it!

You wanted to remember this forever. This would be the moment you would tell your future kids how their father finally got the guts to ask you out.

“Forgetting something”? Michael retorted. You could almost feel the glimmer of hope you once felt before started to waiver.

“Yeah.. I mean, I thought there was a special reason why you took me here”. You admitted sorely.

Michael grinned sadisticly for a second, he was about to talk but you cut him off first.

“I-I thought you were going to ask me out”. You blurted out, kind of loudly. You noticed people who happened to be sitting by you and Michael were starting to stare but you brushed it off.

All you really cared about was Michaels reply. This was it. You were waiting for Michael to laugh and maybe even stand up and push his chair away and say how much he’s been wanting to make you his girlfriend and how it’s been killing him to wait this long... but that’s not what happened.

The words that came out of his mouth instead of the ones you dreamed of felt like a fucking punch to the face; to put it lightly.

“Why would I ever want to be with you”? He scoffed.

He looked simultaneously confused and amused but meanwhile, you felt in pure shock. And fucking humiliated.

“What”? You asked, partially in disbelief. You felt frozen as you sat at the table; and yet you could feel the need to cry grow stronger and stronger. It got to the point where you were literally holding back your tears with every fiber of your being.

What were you even doing here then if he wasn’t going to ask you out? What was the fucking point?

“(y/n), I’m sorry but my intention to bring you here was not to ask you out at all”. He said, you could tell he meant to keep talking but he instead cut himself off by laughing. It was a genuine, deep laugh.

The tears were fully streaming down your cheeks now, and by the way your eyes were stinging you knew your mascara was running down as well. Michael didn’t seem fazed that you were crying and that honestly made you even more furious and upset.

“I took you here to bear other news but judging by your emotional state, I don’t think you’ll be able to handle it”. Michael said, with a sweet smile.

“You see, I was going to offer you a chance of salvation. You were going to get a guaranteed spot at the sanuctuary; you would’ve been safe from the nuclear bombs-“

“I don’t give a fuck about any of that Michael! Why does it even matter if I’m not by your side. I just wanted to be with you”.

You said, standing up by the table. You were getting ready to run and ditch him - you knew now that’s where the conversation was headed. Michael took a deep breath and he started to look more serious, maybe even disgruntled.

“I could never be with you like that, your like my sister. Plus I already have a partner-“

That’s all it took. You could hear him continue to keep rambling on, and even start to call after you but you kept walking until you could feel the cool outside air on your skin.

He really was the antichrist; wasn’t he?

Taglist: @michaellangdonstanaccount @mina672 @9layerdevilsfoodcake @guiltyfiend

[faejilly]

I was tagged by @la-muerta​ & @facialteeth​ & @thedivinemissema​ for the WIP/Title Game

rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and interests you and i’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!

AND THEN  by @shadoedseptmbr​ @msviolacea​ & @ravenclawnerd​ for the “stories you want to write... but for some reason haven’t yet”

so this will be a mish-mash of both? The WIPs will mostly have blurbs in this case (to fit the second meme) but you are still welcome to ask follow-up questions, if you’d like ;) Assuming you make it through the list, it is uh. Not Short.

Anyone who would like to play with their WIPs, please consider yourself tagged in either or both of these. :D

Misc Fic Folder:

“untitled document” - where I’m working on fictober fills so I have word-counts for my GYWO tracker. I am not working on these because Brains Are Dumb and also Going Back To Work Is Exhausting

I made a file called “YULETIDE!” which has nothing in it but I’m determined to finish this year so that is definitely technically a thing in the Unending WIP List of Doom worth mentioning. (Tho obviously that’s all I could say even if I had started, because anonymous.)

“coda-fics, rewatch!” -yes, that exclamation mark is important! it’s to keep me motivated! (it didn’t work). Much like untitled, this is for putting stuff so I can do word count tracking even if I don’t know what I’m doing. Currently I think it just says “MARYSE” because I was working on my SH 1x6 coda-fic and then got distracted and haven’t typed anything up yet. (Yay notebooks? Boo notebooks? Not even sure at this point.)

WNIP (works not in progress) Folder:

“TOG” - I had one vivid mental image of how Nicky & Joe met (blood-stained evil smiles?) but then no idea for a follow-up story and also the fandom is insane and I’m not sure I want to deal with all of *gestures vaguely* all that

“Shan Xia Notes” -for a TTRPG that never quite got off the ground; she was a semi-tragic selkie who was still in love with the evil queen/lady who stole her skin and I got to play her for like one session and she was surprisingly chaotic neutral, which wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting. But the game never really got off the ground, so I never had enough info to really delve into writing backstory fic

“post-Kruschev” -Kruschev’s List was the last episode of Scarecrow & Mrs King, and I was debating writing an epilogue in place of the s5 we never got, to try and tie up some loose ends, but the fandom’s three old-ladies in trench coats and I never quite worked up the gumption to get it anywhere

“Code Realize warm as silk sequel” -there is literally nothing in this file except “SEX! Only a little angst” because I wanted to write some “we can’t actually touch each other” smut but never actually did. 🤷‍♀️

BioWare (also all Not-In-Progress Anymore)

“seb/adelaide”, “Theia” & “DAI Erana” -these WIP folders were cannibalized for ficlets for the last few times I did fictober, and while originally I had ideas for longer epilogues for all three of them, at this point I don’t think any of the remaining bits could support a story any longer.

”whispers in the dark” -Maia Ryder never really got much fic at all; the cancellation of any further Andromeda stuff was really disheartening, and at this point I’d have to play the game again, and I don’t think I’m gonna manage that any time soon

”TSP” -a Mass Effect 3 Shepard AU collab project that kind of went off the rails, and our mutual brains/lives never quite seem to line up so we can try and rebuild it ”Ngaio & Tane” -my one truly ruthless Shepard (Alliance background, who romanced Traynor) whose father Tane Shepard was, I think, in PsyOps, and I wanted to figure out their complicated relationship but never really did know where I was going with it

”JE Zu & Yaling” -so I’ve rambled about my Tragic Sagacious Zu Romance Thoughts regarding Jade Empire more than once (#Icy Yaling should have most of it) but apparently I want to yell about it more than I want to actually write it? Whoops.

”CI sequel: 5 times fic?” -Cruel Intentions is a kinkmeme fill that I started and then it sat for like five years before I actually finished it, and I liked the ending, but it does leave a giant fucking question mark in terms of how those people got from there to where they are after the game, and I kind of wanted to write a proper h/c fic rather than just... leaving them wallowing in all that trauma?

But I didn’t. I don’t even remember for sure how I wanted to frame the 5/1 of it all, besides it being something sad about allowing people to see you or touch you in some way. (Prayers maybe, since I think there was definitely some Sebastian & Fenris & faith stuff going on in there.)

“candles” -Merribela prompt fill that I never was happy with? Not sure what I might do with it at this point, so it’s just sitting there all sad and lonely and neglected-like.

Shadowhunters

pt1: WIP LIST ONLY

“Persuasion” -so I keep trying to write Persuasion AUs in many fandoms because it’s my favorite Austen, but I think I like it too much, I have no real solid concept of how I’d transform it, and if I don’t have anything else to say about different characters within that framework, I have no push to actually write anything? Also this SH version of it suffered from MASSIVE scope creep when I started outlining and it got too big for me to handle so I like, killed it twice? Whoops. This one is really probably never gonna happen.

“oosdt sequel” -I wanted to write more about the Forest That Eats People and Magnus & Alec as Guardians Between Worlds, and also some background Magnus’ Found Family & Lightwood Family Feels (maybe some clizzy?) and I left a Madzie plot-thread dangling from the first one on purpose even but I think this one had too many ideas and not enough focus so it’s sort of sprawling all over a doc with a lot of “???” in it

“procedural-ish” -this was originally going to be a sex-farce. and then it turned more serious. and then maybe kind of copaganda which was uncomfortable in terms of the Everything That Is The News in 2020, and then maybe it was more a Mafia AU and at that point I had self-inflicted tone whiplash and I wished the voices in my head were a little more forthcoming about their plans so I stopped before I brained myself on my computer monitor in frustration.

“I had rather a rose than live forever” -I started a reverse!verse Malec (Shadowhunter!Magnus, High Warlock!Alec) for bingo last year, and I couldn’t quite get it together in time, so I made a moodboard inspired by the bits I’d started instead. I may see if one of my prompts from Bingo this year help me finish it?

“fall fright fest (practical magic  au)” -exactly what it says on the tin! almost exactly a year old & neglected! IDEK ANYMORE (I talked about this one with the WIP meme last time tho: here)

“priest!kink theology?” -I thought it was gonna be smut? I like priest!kink. I have made other people like it and yell at me even! But then I kept diverging into demon!Magnus thinking about Priest!Alec’s faith and as usual, IDEK ANYMORE *laughs*

(If they’re remotely canon-adjacent or divergent, a bunch of these are in here because I need to rewatch the show to get the pacing/timing/tone right and I haven’t, and I don’t know why, because I enjoy the show, but BRAINS! Are Dumb! So I guess that’s it?)

“I do” -I have tried to write this damnable Malec arranged marriage fic like six different times. I have signed up for fic exchanges and bangs with it, I have rewritten massive sections, trying to change tone or structure or POV or whatever, and it basically comes down to they like each other too fast and I keep not gutting it enough to get back to a useful pace, but by the time I realized that I was on take six and kind of sick of it. I may get back to it eventually

“wing!fic” -canon divergent in early s1, trying to deal with the consequences of Simon’s kidnapping as the Truly Serious Event that it should have been. It uh. Got heavier than I expected with those consequences (considering it was originally just supposed to be Alec’s wings flirting with Magnus) and also see above re: rewatching for pacing.

“2x20 aftermath/date night/pandemonium porn“ -yes that is the actual wip title. It used to be “spite fic” because I was originally inspired by fighting against a lot of fic!Alec characterization that was clearly based more on the books and ATG syndrome than the Alec in the show, which is the Alec I know and like and want to read about. BUT, pacing and etc. again, I think. Also I have somehow entirely lost my knack for writing porn, which makes it difficult to finish something originally intended to be smut!fic. Or even teasing almost!smut.

“rubbish heap” -so this is about three different fics that I realized complemented each other really well so they’re now all in the same file as I try to turn them into the sequel of “with an if in its soul”. It includes amnesia, parabatai lore shenanigans, a s3 rewrite, and some truly awful Owl adjustments that make me wince in horrified authorly delight and pain. BUT, as with the other ones in this file, the scope is large and I normally write short-fic and I kind of just threw up my hands in exasperation. I may have to break it back up into the three different fics instead, if I ever actually want to write it. Them? But also I need to take better notes on s3 to make sure I have what I need in here.

SH Pt 2: Started posting or not yet in hiatus because it’s actually almost ready to be a thing in the real world! maybe!?

“kisses (firsts)” -I actually started publishing this one, a “series of firsts” that was supposed to be kind of relationship milestones and kind of an excuse for smut, and then there wasn’t that much smut and I lost momentum and also dear lords & ladies the timeline is stupid, wtf. I may not ever add to this one, tbqh. It doesn’t stop in a terrible place, and they’re all ficlets so they stand alone all right.

“clizzy epilogue” -this is blank atm, it’s more a reminder for me to keep poking away at my “girls who can’t breathe air, only fire” collection BECAUSE I WOULD LIKE TO ACTUALLY GET TO THE CLIZZY AT SOME POINT

"mer!alec" -pts 2-4 of a series, but apparently having an actual plan gets in the way of me *writing* the thing, and I haven't managed to throw the half an outline far enough away from my brain to be able to write again. Or something like that.

"ibhww" -if broken hearts were whole is a soulmate fic I started a million years ago, and purposefully set aside to finish some other WIPs because I thought they'd be quick, and now it's just buried under two and a half years of regret and shame so it's hard to get back to it

"iafy" -i am for you is a delightful & frothy semi-epistolary fluff piece that also just lost momentum because Life & 2020 & etc. It's far and away the most popular thing I've ever posted on AO3, which also makes me feel weird sometimes, and I feel like the fact that there's no grand conclusion planned, just a bit more fluff and settling in, might end up being disappointing? Basically, it's the first time I think I've psyched myself out about reader expectations, and until I get over that I'm going to have trouble finishing the last couple chapters. (There really are probably only two more chapters though. IT’S SO CLOSE, I wish I could just... write it. And yet?)

“fake-hating” -I do not like fake dating as a trope that much, I just do not get it, but I love outside POVs and arranged marriages and there’s this delighful tumblr post about how they wished there was more fic about people who were together but had to pretend they werent’, and uh. This may be that? Eventually? I’m not exhausted by my failure to finish it yet, so it’s still in the regular folder rather than the hiatus folder, even though nothing’s been posted for it.

AND I THINK THAT’S IT?

Not as terrible as it could be, but still. MANY WORDS THAT MAY NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. Posting the equivalent of one’s old ratty sketchbook is always a weird feeling. :D

[mikkomacko]

OK SO I HAD THIS SAH THOUGHT TODAY AND LORDY I NEEDED TO SHARE IT IF YOU WANTED TO WRITE A BLURB FOR IT CAUSE WOWZA - so maybe after a big win or something h and wifey and friends all decide to celebrate and when they’re about to leave h sees her in a short dress (or whatever, he’s just feeling really cocky so literally anything she wore would turn him on) and try’s to convince her to stay home but she’s like no all your friends are expecting us so they go but he’s attached to her hip (1/2)

(2/2) the entire time and keeps whispering things about what he’s going to do when they get home and at one point he just whispers “daddy needs mommy” or somethiNG LIKE THAT AND WHY DO I PUT MYSELF IN THESE SITUATIONS WOW

(SAH Harry and y/n smutty)

~

"S'not a big big deal darling."

The snort that leaves y/n's throat makes Harry sigh, and the roll of her eyes has him pouting. "You just won district finals Harry, it's a huge deal."

She turns away from the mirror, the skirt of her dress blowing up around her thighs from spinning on her heel, and Harry groans at the sight of her, his bones seeming to ache for her. She's beautiful. She's so beautiful and tonight she'll be with him, she'll be on his arm. She could be on something else of mine, thinks Harry and a little smirk tugs at his lips. He fights it, exaggerating his pout and hunching his shoulders forward as she tip toes towards him.

"I've got something else that's a huge deal right now too."

She giggles at the whine in his voice, eyes twinkling with amusement and Harry knows she sees right through his boyish act. Still, he lets her stand between his thighs in her pretty pink dress, and brush her fingers over his stubbley cheeks. "Yeah, and what's that?"

Harry blinks up at her, letting out a little huff of air that might hint at him being upset. "My cock," he mururms innocently.

Y/n laughs, that cute laugh that shakes her shoulders and scrunches her nose. The laugh that she passed on to Arlo.

"Harry we don't have time for you to be getting boners."

He quickly wraps his arms around her waist before she can tug away, whining loudly as he presses his face into her soft tummy.

"Please?" He presses a hot kiss over the fabric of her dress. "Want to feel it. Want you to feel me all the way in your belly," His hands squeeze her hips tightly. "stretch ya so deep you can't even walk tomorrow. Fuck your-"

"Harry stop!"

He frowns at her decline, tilting his chin up to meet her amused gaze. "Don't wanna stop."

"All of your friends and colleagues are waiting for you at the restaurant and we are not keeping them waiting because you're so full of yourself."

He grunts like a child, huffing and puffing to calm his racing heart and tingling veins as y/n tugs him to his feet. She straightens out his coat and combs his hair out of his face, ignoring his pleading face as she kisses the corner of his mouth. "Don't pout," she instructs, poking her finger into his cheeks and pulling them into a grin. "we'll just eat dinner and thank everyone, and then I promise you can fuck me as deep and as long as you want."

~

Nick and Liam picked the fanciest fucking restaurant in the whole city. Normally, Harry would appreciate that they cared enough about him to pick this place. But he's been hiding his stiffy with his napkin for over an hour and this restaurant is too nice for that. It's also too nice (and too packed) for Harry to have his left hand up his wife's dress but he doesn't stop. Because he can't stop thinking of the way his dick had pulsed at the house when she promised him a good fuck. And technically they've eaten dinner already, and he has thanked the whole group of people that came to celebrate. So he isn't doing anything wrong, even if y/n's nails are digging into his arm warningly. He's just trying to take care of her.

"From the first time I saw Harry, I knew that fucker could fight. Quick and tough you are." Nick smiles proudly at Harry from across the table, sipping his wine. Harry shrugs, wishing he could remember what they were discussing that prompted a compliment but his brain is mushy with the softness of y/n's thigh on his fingertips.

Liam picks up the conversation, him and Nick launching into a story of one of Harry's first training sessions, and Harry's grateful because it gives him the chance to lean into y/n. His knee pushes into hers, pining her thighs shut around his hand as he presses a wet kiss under her ear.

"M'ready to go home darling."

Her nails dig a little further into his skin, enough to make little stings run up his veins. He pinches her thigh in retaliation, smirking when her fingers immediately loosen.

"Don't play games with me, s'my night after all."

She turns him, lips brushing and bats her eyelashes. To any outsider, it'd appear they're just happily fawning over each other. His smirk grows, pushing his fingers higher so he can feel the edge of cotton panties.

"I'm not playing games, I'm just trying to be decent, ya animal."

Harry presses his lips to hers, swallowing the squeak she lets out when he slips two fingers under her underwear and attaches the pads of them to her clit.

"Harry-"

"Let's go home darling." He circles his fingers, dick twitching pathetically when her thighs clench. "Please? Just let me make us feel good."

She's brought her hands up to his neck, fingers burying in his hair and taking out her frustration there by discretely tugging.

"Need to feel ya," he pries one of her hands free, stroking his thumb over the back before bringing it down to his lap under the table. "Daddy needs mumma, please darling."

She strokes her thumb over his hardness, tracing the outline of him and paying extra attention to the head of him. His toes curl in his shoes, fingers momentarily pausing as he soaks in the feeling of her rubbing his tip so tenderly.

Knowing they've been pressed together for too long, y/n pecks his mouth once more and untangles her hands from his hair. Harry grins as she fakes a yawn, nestling her cheek against the bicep that's still subtly flexing under his button-up with the movement of his fingers. She wraps a hand around his forearm, adjusting the other so it appears she's still just holding his hand and not cupping the tent in his trousers.

"Getting tired darling?" Harry asks innocently, loud enough for the group to hear. At his words Nick, Liam, and the two trainers Harry works with all turn to them. Her fingers squeeze his arm as she realizes Harry's getting her off with all of them watching.

"Too much excitement tonight, eh?" Liam grins softly at y/n. Harry feels her nod against his arm. "Cheered ya head off for this one."

Nick laughs in agreement as Liam gestures to Harry, and Harry's insides seem to inflate. Y/n cheering for him, being proud of him, celebrating him, taking his fingers so fucking good under the table all his friends are eating dessert at. God he loves her.

"Maybe I should take ya home then?" Harry murmurs sweetly, kissing the top of her head and slowing his fingers to soft strokes around her sensitive button. "Pamper ya after all this rooting ya did instead of making ya sit here with this lot, huh?"

She nods, humming her agreement. The lads all chuckle fondly at how placid she's gotten, thinking it's sleepiness and not the wetness between her legs.

"Alright then," Harry swiftly removes his hand from her panties, squeezing her knee softly. She does the same to him, giving him a chance to secretly rearrange the bulge in his pants. "better get going 'fore I'm carrying this one home."

He pushes his chair back, rising from the seat and turning to help y/n up. She takes his free hand, meeting his gaze just as he rubs the two fingers that had been between her legs over his lips. She falters, stumbling into Harry with dark, glossy eyes on his lips as his tongue darts out to lick over them.

"Ready darling?" He asks, lifting his eyebrows suggestively and he knows by the tint in her cheeks that she's remembering the words she'd said to him before they left the house. Almost challengingly, he cups her chin in that same hand, two fingers dangerously close to her pink lips. He feels her throat bob as she swallows, and then she's nodding once, softly kissing the fingers next to her lips. Harry's cock throbs, chest shuddering because she's giving him permission to do whatever he wants. By the pout of her lips, it looks like she's even begging for it, begging for him to fuck her like he wanted to earlier, and Harry might forget to say good-bye to everyone before he's ushering her out of the restaurant and into the car.

~

His whole body is hot, heart thumping loudly in his naked chest. Y/n is combing her fingers through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp and thighs clenching under his strong hold. Though she's only covering about a fourth of his body, she's everywhere. Her skin under his fingers, her scent lodged in his nose, her body arched above him, her juices on his tongue, and the soft pants of his name reaching his ears despite her legs straddling his head.

He slips his hand further down her thigh, fingers stroking over the swollen bud his nose had previously been bumping. Y/n gasps, hips rolling over his chin and lips, sinking his tongue deeper into her wet heat. His eyes flash open, grunting gruffly at the sight of her.

The hand tangled in his hair blocks his view a bit, but not enough to stop him from seeing her naked chest heavy with gasps or her lips forming his name or the way her eyes keep fluttering. He can't bring himself to remove his mouth from between her thighs so he drops his other hand to her bum, urging her to keep rolling her hips over his tongue like that. She meets his gaze, eyes wet and needy as she gets the message and follows his guidance. Harry, overwhelmed with ecstacy for her, can't stop his hips from jutting up into nothing. A moan catches in his throat, hard cock bouncing on his abdomen. A choked gasps leaves her mouth and before Harry can stop her, she's releasing his hair and reaching behind her for his dick.

Harry whimpers at the feeling of her warm digits wrapping around the head of him. She rolls her hips back, ghosting her hand to the base him and bringing it back up with her hips. Desperately, Harry swaps his tongue and fingers. His ring and middle finger fit between her soaked lips easily, sinking nuckle deep before stopping to stroke the sensitive walls. Tongue first, his mouth latches over her clit with soft suckles and furious flicks of his tongue.

Y/n seems to go hazy above him, shoulders slumping as she moans into the sticky air. Her hand falters on his cock but he doesn't care. He just wants her to come on his tongue, just once, before he fucks her.

Harry pumps his fingers in and out, sinking in a little deeper each time until she's riding his face and twitching on top of him. Her walls tremble around his finger and he knows she's going to come so he forces his eyes open to watch her. He nibbles on her clit, just enough to get a breathy "Harry!" out of her lips as she pulses around his fingers and soaks his chin. Almost animalistic Harry grunts, cock twitching for attention next to her hand that's digging into his thigh.

"O-ok Harry," y/n whimpers, dropping her hand from the headboard to his hair. Harry slips his fingers out of her, immediately catching them in his mouth for a quick cleaning. Y/n squeaks when he pushes his tongue into her pussy, licking up the remainder of her orgasm.

"Harry, please."

He wants to stay between her thighs, tongue making her come over and over again but his dick is painfully hard. Reluctantly, Harry delivers one more peck to her clit and pats her thigh, sucking in a disgustingly fresh breath of air when she falls onto the bed next to him.

"You're a fucking fever dream."

Lazily, Harry lulls his head in reaction to her words. She's laying on her side, watching him with dreamy eyes and flushed cheeks.

"You're one to talk." Harry rolls towards her, moving her with him until her back meets the mattress and he's got her caged under his body. She giggles, left arm coming to rest on his shoulder.

"You're a mess," she wipes at his chin with her other hand, holding her palm in front of his face. "a beautiful mess." Harry smirks, eyes flickering over the slick she'd wiped off his face. He drags the thick of his tongue over her palm, chuckling when she immediately shakes her hand and slaps it to the rumpled sheets beneath them.

"You made a mess," Harry retorts, leaning down to catch her lips. "a beautiful, delicious mess darling." She chuckles bashfully, this time leaning up to kiss him. The fingers that had previously been lying on the sheets come up to his side, ghosting over his hip and the small of his back. He dips his tongue between her lips, grinding his cock over her lower tummy. She gives his tongue a gentle prodding before pulling back with a small smacking noise.

"Condom?" She rubs his side affectionately. "Before you go making a mess all over my belly?"

Harry chuckles, kissing her lips and then her cheek and then her jaw. "Mm the belly I put a baby in?" He reaches over to the nightstand, face still tucked into her neck. "The belly I'm gonna stuff full with my cock again?"

Y/n shivers, hands tensing around his skin. He offers a few more sensual pecks to her sweaty neck, managing to dig out a condom. He pulls back just enough to get the condom open and over his cock, goosebumps rising on his flesh when he drags his hand over himself.

"Hate using a rubber," Harry mutters mostly to himself. "s'not right, letting me feel ya bare and then shoving me back into a bloody condom."

Y/n chuckles, slinging a leg over his hip as he guides himself to her entrance. "Unless you feel like being the real life Cheaper By The Dozen we're keeping the condoms bub."

Harry shrugs, pushing just the head of him beween her legs. "Wouldn't mind baby, 'specially with how fucking horny you get when you're pregnant."

Something like a scoffs sounds in her throat but it's cut off with a deep groan when Harry thrusts all the way into her heat. His toes curl, chest shuddering from the way she squeezes him. As if it were instinct her other leg finds it's way around his hip, pulling him even deeper.

"Fuckin' shit-" Harry grunts, pulling back and ramming forward again. Y/n whines, hands gaining purchase on his shoulders. He presses himself tighter to her, lips attaching to her neck. His hips are relentless, not giving her even a breath of air before they're fucking into her over and over.

"Oh," she strokes over his shoulder lovingly. "fuck Harry."

He groans into her hot skin, using her encouragements as leverage to rut into her harder. The headboard above them thumps into the wall but they ignore it. There's no one here to be considerate of besides them.

Harry lifts his torso enough to slip a hand between them, pressing his palm into her tummy. He rams his cock into her dripping walls, whining pathetically when he feels the head of him under his hand.

"Tha's it, got it right where we want it yeah?" Y/n nods at his words, biting her lip to try and keep her moans at bay. "Nice and deep in your belly."

"So deep Harry,"

Her voice is tight and wrecked, shivering through his body and making him jump forward harder. She gasps, back arching, and Harry can't help but continue that rough thrust.

"Doing so good for daddy," he praises her, pecking her cheek. "just need ya to come on me. Show me how good you are for me darling."

Her limbs tighten around him, swollen lips latching onto his with such fever and need Harry's bones feel like jelly. He meets her kiss with matched urgency, body thrumming as her hot walls clamp around his cock. Y/n trembles and shakes around him, lips falling slack with moans that Harry swallows eagerly.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..."

Y/n pets at his hair, and rubs her hand up and down his back as he comes heavily. She mururms praises into the shell of his ear, clinging to him as she shakes and heaves above her.

"You're so good Harry."

He chuckles tiredly, pecking her cheek. "Hafta be good for ya. How else would I keep such a sweet little thing?"

She giggles, flattered yet shy, and continues to rub over his muscles tenderly. Harry settles himself on top of her, head resting on her shoulder.

"Harry?"

He let's out a questioning grunt.

"You gonna fall asleep with your cock in me?"

"I could if ya hadn't made me wear a fucking condom."

She tugs on his hair. "I'm not having the condom fight with you again Harry."

"M'still gonna cry about it and you're still gonna listen because you love me and I won district finals."

"I do love you."

"I know."

[lihikainanea]

Could you write about BFF!Bill finding out about Tiger being insecure about her stretch marks and/or scars? This may be a bit of a self-insert but holy fuCK I'm in love with BFF!Bill and I need more of him 🥺 I just recently started getting into the fandom and I honestly??? Could not have fallen harder for him than I did reading about BFF!Bill, so thank you, amazing author, thank you

Baby thank you so much for the kind words

Look man, tiger is like all of us and she definitely gets insecure about her body. But I feel like there’s this whole other layer here too, because she’d be a little insecure regardless, but she’s literally hooking up with a dude who makes a living off of his looks. Yes, Bill is talented. But there’s no way he’d be a Hollywood actor if he wasn’t ridiculously attractive. And his costars are ridiculously attractive--women who literally just look perfect in every way--and he has to do all these lovey, sexy scenes with them and seriously sometimes it just gives tiger such a complex.

And maybe she always had stretch marks on her thighs or her breasts or her stomach, maybe she’s always been a little uneasy about them. Or maybe it’s after that wonderful sun-filled vacation they took (check the extensive blurbs in my Masterlist :-P) and it was full of rum cocktails and too much food. And I don’t know about you guys, but I always gain a shit ton of weight on vacation. I don’t work out as much or as intensely (or uh, even at all) when I’m away and I literally just eat whatever I want so like, when I came back from New Orleans I legit am still carrying around a little buddha belly filled with crawfish boils, beignets, and hurricane dranks.

But like, look. Tiger’s got some extra cushion for the pushin’ that really only she’s noticing, but she’s poking around a lot and kind of cringing whenever she gets a glimpse in the mirror before a shower or something. And it’s a little easier to ignore on vacation because as soon as she starts to get a little down about it, somebody (Bill) is shoving another rum cocktail in her hands. But it’s a bit of a different story when thy get back home and all the magic of vacation is just...gone.

And it doesn’t take long for Bill to be shootin’ his shot. It never takes long. But the plane ride back was torture because she was cold so he bundled her in his sweater, but there she was looking all cute and cuddly in his gigantic pullover and she curled up into him and put her head on his shoulder but they were on a plane surrounded by their friends, and all he wanted to do was snuggle her and kiss her but he couldn’t do shit. So they get home and haul their suitcases up, and tiger’s probably all bloated from the plane and not really feeling her best self. It’s stupid, right, but it happens--hell something so insignificant as just my yoga pants rolling down a tad and giving me a muffin top is enough to really put me in a bad mood.

Anyway, Bill asks her if she’s hungry and it’s an immediate, pretty grumpy no. And that’s fine, but when she mentions she’s going to take a shower he smirks, hugs her from behind, starts walking with her to the bathroom--she tries to smile and shove him away playfully, but there’s an ounce of worry and seriousness to it. She was around a shit ton of people today, she says, and kinda just wants to be alone for a few minutes. Bill’s not hurt by it, he knows she likes her space so with a final peck to her lips, he pats her butt as she closes the door behind her.

And he’s not worried until she emerges from the bathroom in a towel, and when he playfully goes to grab it and pull it from her, she legitimately panics a little--he doesn’t like the fear he saw on her face, the way she desperately grabbed it and held it to her. He offers her food again because she really didn’t each much today but she quietly refuses, so he fixes a snack and plops it on his lap, pulling her to the couch to cuddle. She doesn’t nibble on it despite him handing it over to her every now and then. When he’s done he puts the plate on the floor, pulling her over and plunking her in his lap, her back to his chest. He loops his arms around her and lifts her shirt a tad to rub her tummy, but she immediately grabs his hand and loops hers through it, keeping it to the side instead. Bill frowns.

“Everything okay, kid?” he murmurs in her ear. She nods, turns her head a bit to kiss him.

“Just tired bud,” she says, “Tired and a little grumpy.”

“Do you want to go to bed?” he asks, and she nods. And listen, Bill really wants that closeness with her, just wants it to be all soft and slow and needy because god he’s feeling a little possessive and protective over her, but it’s not going anywhere tonight and he knows it. So instead when he lies down he just tucks around her, and he frowns when she keeps her (his) shirt on.

“Off with it tiger,” he mumbles, tugging at it, “Skin, please.”

But tiger is feeling way too self-conscious to be topless.

“I’m cold,” she says as an excuse. He tugs at her shirt again.

“I’ll keep you warm,” he says.

“Bill...” she growls in warning, and he sighs.

“Fine, grumpypants,” he mutters. And he curls around her more, but when he lifts the shirt just a tad to trail his fingers along her bare stomach, she grabs his hand again and moves it away. He doesn’t like it, but trying to talk to her about it when she’s grumpy and snappy will likely get him dead--so he lets it go.

But listen, the next morning? We all have those few seconds--moments, if we’re lucky--of sleepy bliss. The first 2 minutes when you wake up are the most glorious of the day because you literally can’t remember a single thing that would make you stressed. So maybe when Bill hugs her a little closer, nibbles on her neck, maybe tiger stirs awake and pushes back a little into him. He groans softly, rolling his hips into hers and when she whimpers a little, reaches her hand back to run through his hair, he turns her over onto her back and eases on top of her. She pulls him down for a kiss and tilts her hips up into his again, so he reaches for her shirt--this stupid fucking shirt that stopped him from feeling her soft skin pressed to his last night--and pulls it up over her breasts.

But it’s like the alarm button, and suddenly she remembered all the stupid issues she’s having lately. So she grabs it and pulls it down, sitting up and pushing him away. And that’s quite enough, for Bill. He’ll let her stew all she wants if that’s what she needs, but she got herself into a bad place and she’s just staying there...which is a no-go in his books.

“Tiger, what’s going on?” he asks softly.

“Nothing,” she tries, “I just don’t want to.”

“You wanted to a second ago,” he says, as he reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear. Her eyes go hard.

“What, I’m not allowed to change my mind?” she challenges. Bill’s jaw ticks, because he knows what she’s trying to do. But her eyes flit down to her lap and she pulls her knees up to her chest, curling in on herself.

“Tiger, look at me,” he commands, but she just keeps her gaze averted and she bites her lip.

“Now, tiger,” he says more sternly and she sighs, closing her eyes for a brief second before she looks up at him. He puts his hands on her knees, pushing them down so she’s cross-legged and he can lean in closer.

“You can change your mind at any time and you know that,” he says softly, “But that’s not what this is.”

She goes to look down again but he tucks a knuckle under her chin, keeping it up.

“What’s going on?” he tries again. She huffs, but he keeps a hold of her chin.

“It’s stupid,” she mutters.

“If it’s bugging you, it’s not stupid,” he murmurs, “Please, kid. Is it...us? This? Do you not want to anymore?”

And you know, tiger has her faults, but Bill does too. And whenever she pulls away a tad or shirks his affections, his mind immediately goes to the fact that maybe she doesn’t want him anymore. And it breaks her heart. So she closes her eyes, cups his face gently in her hands and kisses him.

“No bud, it’s not this. I still want...us. It’s just that I..” she trails off, swallowing hard, “I gained a lot of weight vacation.”

“Tiger, it--” but she puts two fingers gently on his lips, silencing him.

“No. Don’t do that thing where you say it doesn’t matter, or that you didn’t notice, or that you don’t care,” she says but it’s not unkind, it’s just honest, “Because I notice, and I care, and I’m really uncomfortable about it.”

She lowers her fingers from his lips but he’s just watching her, taking it all in and trying to read her.

“I want...you. I want--shit, I need--that closeness with you. But I’m just really, really self-conscious right now and I don’t want to be naked,” she says, “I just have all these new soft bits and these marks that weren’t there before and--”

Tiger still has a lot of issues she needs to work out for sure, but sometimes her honesty and candidness still completely fucking flattens him and god he loves her for it. There’s a fine line, though, between honesty and self-deprecation, and she’s crossed to the other side when she starts listing off what she hates. So he gently puts a hand over her mouth, silencing her.

“Can I say something now?” he asks, raising his brows. She kisses his hand, pulling it from her mouth to thread with hers as she nods.

“As long as it’s not--”

“It’s not,” he cuts her off. He goes silent for a minute, waiting for her to meet his gaze and when she does and holds it, he speaks.

“I’m only going to say one thing,” he murmurs lowly but sternly, “I love you, tiger. You. Got it?”

She bites her lip, doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, am I talking to myself kid?” he flicks her nose,”Got it?”

“Yeah bud,” she says, “I got it.”

“Good,” he says and pecks her lips, “Do you want to continue?”

And she does, god she does, but shit she’s overthinking it all.

“Yes,” she admits, “But Bill I--”

“Hush,” he cups her cheeks with his hands, “Are you more comfortable with your shirt on?”

“Yes,” she mumbles, and he could tell there’s more but she goes quiet again.

“And?” he prompts.

“And,” she sighs, “Can you just....keep your hands up here? Hold mine or something. I’m not ready for you to be grabbing...stuff.”

“Sure, kid,” he says. And he wants to tell her that he hates it, that it’s the worst idea ever, that all he wants to do is run his hands all over her body and make her feel good. Wants to shake her and tell her that he doesn’t give a shit if she’s skinnier or thicker or softer or harder or any of that. But he knows it’s not the time, and that it won’t help. So instead he weaves his hands through her hair, pulls her head up for a kiss.

“And if you change your mind? At any point?” he asks.

“I’ll tell you,” she promises.

“Good,” he pushes her back down on the bed and juts his chin at her waist, “Take your panties off for me, kid. My hands will stay right here.”

“Oh,” she mumbles and blushes a little, “Uh, you can do that.”

He quirks a questioning brow at her, and she blushes deeper.

“I like it when you do that,” she admits, embarrassed. And she squeals when he grabs the waistband in one hand and all but RIPS them off her in one fluid motion.

And you know what? I’ll bet there’s no immediate fix to this, because it’s so deep in her head. And Bill hates it, hates that she’s so self conscious, but the only thing he can do that will help is to just...not push her limits. To give her all the affection she needs and wants but in the way that she wants it. If that means sex with a shirt on for like a month, then that’s what he’ll give her. If it means no soothing tummy pats or rubs, no hands running over her glorious body--it’s fucking torture for him, but that’s what he’ll give her. And he’ll go heavy on the praise, he’ll be really loud and enthusiastic about how good she makes him feel whenever she does want him a little closer, and it’s a slow process but eventually it’ll just help get her feeling a little more comfortable and safe again.