#no calls or emails just a little to do list with enough money to cover everything plus another $20000

[silverpolish]

i love running errands why is that not a viable career path

[souliebird]

[[addict]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating Explicit

summary: Your life revolves around Matt. His does not revolve around you

Or: depression skews reality

wordcount: 5k

tags: depression, explicit sexual content, blood, angst, p in v sex, oral (male receiving)

---

Monday

You wake up alone. 

This is of no surprise to you, and you force yourself out of bed despite your desire to bury yourself into your covers and stay there. 

You stumble into the kitchen, feeling bleary and still half-asleep, and start the process of making coffee. You dump still warm grounds into the trash before filling the basket with your preferred blend and starting the little machine. You wash the mug lingering in the sink, then start making your breakfast. 

You don't need to think about your routine as you do it - you've done it hundreds and hundreds of times. You just do it. 

Coffee. Bagel. Orange. 

You watch the morning news highlights, listening but not taking in the various stories that flash on your screen. Fighting in Paris, all sorts of elections, Hollywood, and political scandals - it all washes over you without leaving an impression. None of it matters to you. None of it concerns anything Matt would be involved in.

Once you finish your small meal, you clean it up and switch your laptop over to your work VPN. 

It is nothing glorious. You translate legal documents from English into Spanish as a contractor for a handful of firms around the city. Very rarely is it anything of interest - a majority of it is human resources based - but it makes good money, and you don't need to commute. You stay in the apartment most of the day, trying your best to make it into a home.

As you think over word choice, you do chores. Laundry gets hauled down to the basement, the sink and shower get a deep clean to wash away any trace of blood, and you write out a grocery list. You dust and air out the apartment between paragraphs. You don't exchange many emails. You don't get any calls.

The hours pass in silence until your phone alerts you it is a quarter after five. You shut down your VPN and return to the kitchen. Chicken, rice, and vegetables will be tonight's dinner - you know it is a favorite and you've worked out the unspoken schedule to know this is the ideal day to serve it. You work quietly, half focusing on your knife work and half zoning out. 

Five minutes to the hour, the door to the apartment opens and Matt is home. 

“That smells wonderful, sweetheart,” he says as a greeting, dropping his things off at the front door. You can hear his practical movements as he puts everything in its right spot. 

“It should be done in ten minutes,” is your soft reply. That is just enough time for him to get settled in and drink about one third of a beer. It took you a few weeks to get the scheduling down right, but now you have it down to an art for various recipes. “How was your day?”

Without completely breaking attorney-client privilege, he tells you about the ongoings at the office and catches you up on whatever happened with Foggy and Karen over the weekend. As he does, he loosens his tie and takes a seat at the table. You place an ice-cold open bottle in front of him without fanfare, then flit back to the kitchen. 

Dinner switches the conversation to Daredevil. Matt tells you his plan for the night and you silently convert his words into future actions for yourself. He's going out with Jessica, which means more surveillance than fighting. You'll need to have ibuprofen ready, as spying tends to stress his senses rather than his body. 

You get a kiss before he goes to do his pre-Devil work out and another before he ascends the stairs to go into the night. He tells you not to stay up, but it's part of the script and you both know you'll be waiting for him right where he left you. 

Tuesday

“Foggy isn't going to believe me,” Matt grumbles as you gently pat concealer around his eye, covering the blooming bruise.  

“It's just absurd enough to be believable.”

“But it's the truth,” he huffs before his lips turn into a pout, “How does it look?”

You step back and examine the man in front of you. He has the start of a massive black eye and you can't help but feel bad for him. For once, this is not a Devil related injury - there was a freak accident with the shower. The water pressure in the building has somehow been cranked to maximum and your poor pipes are not equipped for that - the threads holding them together are barely there. They had no chance against suddenly being slammed into and there was no way Matt could have been prepared for the shower head to shoot off the wall and right into his face. 

You frown and your mood must shift because he deflates, “Foggy is not going to believe you.”

You set the makeup you specifically got to cover up his nightly hobby aside and push Matt's coffee towards him. He takes a long sip from it before throwing his head back with a groan.

“I've been doing so well,” he complains. There is some sort of swear jar-esque deal the two of them have going on about Matt's bruises, but you don't know all of the details. You do know Matt's lost a fair bit of money from it, though.

You pat his shoulder sympathetically before getting up and heading towards the kitchen to finish packing up his meals for the day, “This doesn't count.” 

“Will you tell that to Foggy?”

“I'll tell that to Foggy,” you promise.

You see him get up in the corner of your eye and disappear back into the bedroom to get dressed for work and you can't help but sigh. You'll give Matt's friends a heads up text so they don't freak out on him. Misunderstandings are bound to happen otherwise and they'll probably all have a laugh about it once the Devil's Pride is soothed.

You finish up packing lunch, a midday snack, and the ingredients for a hearty protein shake. Matt will be going to the gym right after work today, then from there will go out as the Devil. You aren't keen on him carrying his black suit around in his gym bag, but it's not something you're going to argue with him about. 

With how busy the office has been lately; he's been a bit scatterbrained about the smaller things. 

You've convinced him to at least drop off his bag on the roof as he starts his patrol, so he doesn't leave his day clothes at Fogwell’s overnight. You'll go up and collect them at some point, so they don't end up staying up there and getting forgotten about. 

You won't see Matt again until he comes home to sleep. 

You hope you'll be able to figure out how to fix the shower by then.

Wednesday

You put away the last of the clean dishes, then turn to face the apartment in front of you.

It's a beautiful day and light is streaming in through the windows, highlighting how stark everything is. Your laptop is waiting for you on the table, along with a mental list of things you need to get done today. 

But you don't want to. 

You don't want to do any of it. You don't want to do anything. You don't want to think. You don't want to feel. 

You just don't want to. 

So you wipe your hands on a dish towel, then make a bee line right back to bed and crawl in. You curl on your side, place your phone on Matt's pillow, close your eyes, and just Don't. 

You drift in and out until your bladder starts to demand you get up, so you do. You use the restroom then return to bed, checking your messages as you settle back in. 

There's one from Matt, asking if you would like Thai for dinner. You have no will to think about what you'd like to eat - honestly you don't want anything - so you tell him that Thai sounds great. You double check your alarm is set, then return to your nothingness. 

It's easy to get lost in Blankness. It's nice to not feel anything. The crushing negativity you are so used to is gone and all your disgusting thoughts are silent. 

You don't simmer in doubt that every action is wrong. 

You don't question why your life revolves around Matt. You don't think about how you would crumble without him or how he'd be fine without you. 

You don't consider what love is to him and how deeply rooted it is in just staying. You don't wonder if he just doesn't want to be alone again. 

You don't feel completely consumed in your feelings. 

You just are. 

Sometimes, you wish you could stay like this forever - suspended in emptiness. 

But then your alarm goes off and you have to be human again. 

You check your messages to make sure you really did get a text about dinner, then finally drag yourself to go shower.

You have to be presentable before Matt returns. 

He doesn't comment on your still wet hair or lack of conversation. You eat in mostly silence, occasionally commenting about the food. 

Karen calls as you're gathering up leftovers to go into the fridge. Whatever she has to say to Matt has him swearing and going to the wardrobe to start getting his suit out. You don't ask what is wrong, you simply gather up the dress shirt he tosses towards the couch as he begins to change. 

He doesn't kiss you as he rushes up the stairs.

He doesn't tell you to not wait up. 

The door slams shut as he disappears into his own Darkness, and you sit on the couch to await his return.

There is no silence. The city mocks you with each siren, scream, and honk. 

Thursday

You're putting away groceries when your phone alerts you to a text. 

It's from Matt and simply states, “I hate baseball bats.”

A small noise of sympathy comes up from your chest. He had gotten a few good whacks with one last night to the point he let you wrap his chest. Luckily, nothing had been broken, but it had not been a pretty sight. 

You've already put the ice packs in the freezer for when he gets home. You don't think he'll be going out tonight if he's actually admitting he is in pain. 

Maybe you can listen to the next few chapters of the audio book you've started together instead. The thought makes your stomach turn in a nervous hopeful way. 

You return his message with an inside joke of sorts, typing out the words, “Baseball bat emoji. Heart break emoji.”

He replies back seconds later with, “Sad face emoji.” 

It pulls a little smile to your lips, and you think about Matt dictating the text to his phone for the next hour. 

Friday

“You smell so good,” he purrs as he nuzzles against your neck, his scruff scratching you just lightly. 

You tilt your head to the side to give him better access and you can practically feel his pleased hum in your chest. His fingers dance at the hem of your shirt, pushing under to barely just feel your skin. He's got you crowded against the front door, so all of him overwhelms you while he teases.

He's been like this all night. As soon as you stepped into Josie's, he had his hands all over you - your thigh, your lower back, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He's only had two beers, but they have loosened up his tense shoulders quite a bit. 

You know what he wants and you're more than happy to indulge. You've been craving his touch. His attention. 

You don't care if it's a quickie before he leaves you to belong to Hell's Kitchen again, you just need something from him.

Anything. 

You dig your nails into the shoulder of his suit jacket and whine out your inner desires, knowing he'll give in when he's like this, “want to get on my knees for you.”

He moans in response, grinding against you to let you know how much he also wants that, and you lower yourself down to be trapped between him and the door. Skilled hands make quick work of his belt, and you don't bother to push his pants and briefs down. You get his half hard cock free of its confines only to swallow it.

Above you, Matt throws his head back his head, gritting out a long low, “Fuck.” 

You give him no time to adjust, knowing exactly what he likes in these moments, and begin to work him over. One hand grips his tree trunk of a thigh and the other loosely circles around the base of his cock - the first keeps you steady and the second from him slipping out of you. 

You focus on his head, pushing your tongue up as he slides out of the depths of your throat, then swirling it before you begin to suckle. He buries his fingers into your hair, swearing more, as you do so. That only encourages you and you begin to pump him as you work to get him to full hardness.

His musk is dotted with the saltines of precum, and your mouth begins to water. You do nothing to stop the drool gathering in the corners of your mouth and let it spill out as you enjoy yourself. 

Self-control is out of the question - the moment Matt’s hips begin to twitch, you encourage it, tugging at his thigh. He doesn't need to be told twice. 

You close your eyes and relax your jaw as he starts to fuck your throat. 

All of you becomes encompassed in him. He's all you feel, all you smell, all you taste, all you hear. 

He grunts and groans as he thrusts in and out of your mouth, holding your head steady so you can't chase him as you want to. You want to be held down; his cock buried deep in your throat until the heaviness of him is imprinted on your tongue. You want him to coat your insides with him, so you never forget his taste. 

You want him to use you and that's exactly what he does.

“Fuck, sweetheart, fuck,” he chants, and you don't want him to stop. He's not ruthless, but he isn't kind with it, barely giving you a chance to breathe between each movement, and making your brain start to blink in and out of awareness.

You feel him start to twitch and pulse along your tongue and you whine in distress around him. 

You don't want this to end so soon. You need him. You need this. 

Before you can process what is happening, Matt is pulling you back up into standing and directly turning you to face the door. Your brain automatically clicks with what he is doing, and you scramble to undo your pants. You barely get them unbuttoned before he is yanking them and your panties down your thighs. 

You arch your back with anticipation as he lines himself up. You expect him to tease you, to rub the head of his cock over you to spread around the juices you've soaked your panties with, but he doesn't. He pushes into you in one smooth motion and your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

He grabs you by the throat from behind, just under your chin, and turns his hand so he can also stick two of his fingers into your mouth and continue to make you drool. You're practically pinned to the door as he slams into you over and over, hitting that sweet spot each time. 

“So fucking wet,” he growls into your ear, squeezing your throat just enough to make your vision go spotty. “About to cum from just sucking on my cock. Don't even need to touch you, do I? You'd be happy being my little cock warmer.”

You would. You yearn for it - sitting under his desk while he works, keeping him happy. You just want to be with him. You need him. 

You need him. 

He breathes your name, then demands, “Cum on my cock.” 

Saturday

Matt has taken the spot at the dining table while you've curled up on the couch. You both have your respective workstations set up and have been buried in reading for hours. 

A strange, pleasant calm has washed over you and wrapped you up in a lightness.

These are the days you dream of.

Soft, quiet mornings where you can just be with Matt - there's no distractions or chaos or vigilantism. It is just the two of you, together. 

Whenever he has gotten up to get something, on his way back to his seat - he always makes sure to check in on you all and it sends your brain into an absolute tizzy. Acknowledgement from him makes you feel warm in so many ways. You don't think you could ever get enough of the way he says your name when he wants your attention. It's like an angel’s song - or the Devil's. 

You know it won't last long - he has a meeting with Foggy after lunch to meet some people who can't meet during the week - so you bask in what you have. You've been stealing glances all morning because you love to watch him work. He gets this little crease between his brow when he's listening to a transcript, and it really is the cutest thing. You just want to go over and kiss it and remind him to relax his forehead. 

But you know he's so very busy and you don't want to distract him with something so silly. He barely has enough time in the day as it is, between all the ways he helps the people of Hell's Kitchen, and lately he's just been adding more and more to his plate - more clients, more patrols, more everything except you. 

You aren't jealous. You know how needed he is and you are grateful to be in his life at all. You get to be the one to take care of him and be in his bed at the end of the night, even if you spend many of those nights alone. 

It just makes moments like these so much sweeter. 

So, when he gets up again and heads to the kitchen, you can't help but turn and watch him. He starts another pot of coffee, and your eyes just go heart shaped as you admire how his shoulders move under his shirt. 

“Anything interesting?” He asks with a bit of cockiness, and you know he's aware you aren't focused on your work.

You place your chin on the back of the couch and hum, “This company has one of the best sick leave policies I've ever seen. Think I might quit my job and go raise plants in Arizona.” 

Matt snorts at your answer and teases, “Do you know anything about raising plants?”

“For three weeks guaranteed paid vacation and two paid sick days a month, I'll learn.” 

He turns to face you, tilting his head to one side in disbelief, “Two paid sick days a month? What is the catch?”

You nod, then pretend to huff, “You have to live in the middle of nowhere Arizona.” Matt makes a face of disgust, and you laugh into your hand, a smile blooming across your face, “That's why I'm only considering.”

“I'm glad, I'd prefer it if you stay here. I'd miss you too much if you were in the middle of nowhere Arizona.” 

You spend the rest of the day practically glowing over Matt admitting he'd miss you. The words will live in your heart and head forever.

Sunday

You've never been stalked and hunted by a wild animal, but this is what you imagine it would feel like. 

The Devil has come home earlier than expected and it looks like he crawled his way out of Hell. He's in his black suit, or what's left of it, and is covered in his own blood. His nose is dripping, probably broken, staining his mouth red. His shirt is barely hanging together and various fresh shallow cuts litter his torso. His Muay Thai ropes are dirty with grime and what you expect to be others’ blood.

He slowly came down the stairs from the roof then began to circle around the couch, each step deliberate and calculating, and he has not let up. 

The air in the room is so heavy. You can't breathe because you don't have a protocol for this. You can't tell if he's angry or upset - he hasn't said a word and he's not expressing himself in any way, but Danger is exuding from him. 

You sit straight backed on the couch as the Devil continues his path around you, his head tilting in different directions ever so slightly. You don't know if he's tracking something or waiting for some sign. You can't tell when he's like this. 

Finally, he stops in the spot halfway between the couch and the bedroom, only partially angled towards you. He begins to undo the ropes stabilizing his wrists, letting them drop to the ground without acknowledgment. You watch them like they are snakes, ready to slither at you with an attack. His gloves quickly join the pile, but then he raises a hand towards you, palm up like he wants you to take it.

He confirms his intentions with a low, “Come here.”

You're worried and confused with how he is behaving, but you don't dare disobey the Devil. 

You slip out of your seat and make your way to him in silence, reaching to take his hand when you get close enough. To your surprise, he brings it up to his face and places a light kiss to your wrist, over your pulse point. 

“Do you know who I am?” He asks, voice low and laced with an unsaid promise. 

A shiver runs up your spine and you manage to answer, breathing out, “Matt Murdock. Daredevil.” 

He pulls his lips back into a snarl and you fear you've got the question wrong somehow. 

Keeping your hand in his, he steps towards you, one achingly slow step at a time, until you are practically chest to chest. He dips his head and brushes the tip of his nose against your neck. You can hear him inhale. 

“I hear their frightened little whispers. I hear what they call me - not just the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. King of Hell - this is my territory and I protect it with a ferocity,” he whispers into your skin. You close your eyes and try to keep your breathing from going shaky. 

It is not just fear and confusion coursing through you now. His words, his rasping, is going straight to your cunt. You haven't encountered The Devil in so long you've forgotten what it does to you.

He presses his free hand against your lower back, moving you so you are flush against him. Your hand goes to his chest, just under his shoulder where his shirt is still intact and not sticky with who knows what. 

“Do you know what that makes you?” he growls against you and all you can do is shake your head.

You don't interact with many people, and you doubt anyone in Hell's Kitchen is talking about you. 

You are of no interest to anyone. 

The Devil bumps his nose against your earlobe before giving it a light nibble and telling you, “My Queen of Hell.”

Air catches in your throat and it feels like your entire being short circuits. What does he mean, you're his Queen? 

You've never done anything to deserve such a title, but you aren't going to disagree with him. If he wants to call you this, you will relish in it. 

As you are still trying to process things, you are suddenly lifted into the air by your thighs, and you have to quickly wrap your legs around the Devil so you don't start flailing. Like you weigh absolutely nothing, you are carried to the bedroom and with care you do not expect, laid out on the bed. 

The Devil, mask, boots, batons, and all, crawls over you, going straight for your throat. He starts with his lips but quickly dissolves into dragging his tongue and teeth wherever he can get. It's slow, methodical, like he has a goal with his lavishing. 

You don't care about his intention - you are melting into the bed under him, desperate for him to not stop. Whatever he is doing, whatever has got him in this mood, you want more of it. 

Hesitantly, fearing you might disrupt the atmosphere, you wrap your arms around the body above you, one hand going to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to silently encourage more attention to your neck. He obliges and teeth scraping against you turns into biting. He wastes no time in leaving his first mark on you, then another, and another. 

“You're mine,” he tells you as he starts on the other side of your throat, “Belong to me. You're mine.” 

You arch at the words, cunt clenching around nothing. He is correct. You are his - you've belonged to him the moment you met, and you will until the day you die. 

He is your everything.

“I'm yours,” you agree, barely above a whisper. 

The Devil drags his lips from your neck only to crash them into yours. It's like being pulled under by a wave - a force you can only just accept and go with. He tastes like smoke and copper, but you don't care. You only want more.

You want to be consumed. 

And it feels like that is what he does. You kiss until you feel like you can't possibly breathe any longer, then he is pulling away to start moving down your body. He pushes your shirt up to start a trail of kisses and bites towards your stomach.

“My Queen,” he growls, and you can only throw your head back with pleasure at his words, his actions, “My Persephone. Mine. Whatever you want, it's yours. Anything. Give you Fisk's head on a platter. Or do you want his heart? I'll rip out his throat with my teeth for you.”

You want to comment it looks like he already has, with the state he came in in, but all you can manage to say is the truth.

“I just want you.” 

Your shirt is pulled off and tossed to the side before he is on you again, biting at your lips as he does what you want. He grinds his cock into you, and you can feel just how hard he is. You tug at the remains of his shirt, and it is also quickly discarded. 

You can feel him moving over you, probably trying to get out of the rest of his armor, but you don't pay attention. All your focus is on the way his mouth is moving with yours - dominating and controlling and firm but in no way actually hurting you. 

Nothing to ever hurt you. 

When he pulls back, he does so enough to sit up. 

You whine at the loss of his touch, but it is balanced when he finally removes his mask, and you can see his beautiful face again. 

It's a little sick, but you like him like this - bruised and battered and bloody. You like the physical reminders of who he is and what he is capable of. 

You reach up to press your hands to the mottled skin around his ribs, still healing from the baseball bat. He hisses at the contact, but his now free cock gives a violent twitch. You know which reaction to trust. 

Your sleep shorts and panties are unceremoniously removed, and you and the Devil are left nude. You are hauled up to be on your knees with him and once again you are held against his chest. He cups your jaw with both hands and kisses you firmly.

“Take such good care of me,” he mumbles between nips and bites, “Let me take care of you, my Queen.”

You want that. 

You want that.

 You want him to take care of you - to focus on you - to be his everything. You desperately nod against him, shaky whispers of “please” coming from you. 

He lays you back down and guides himself into you with far more care than you'd expect in the moment. It's steady until he's fully sheathed in you, then he is over you again, burying his face into your neck. 

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

He starts moving then, slow, steady, and deep, like he's trying to savor every roll of his hips. 

It's heady and with the way he's back to worshiping your neck, you're quick to sink into a place of pure bliss only he can send you. 

He starts to mumble against you as he devours you. You hear catches of your name and ‘my Queen’ and ‘mine’, but you hear something about Sin and love and need. Your brain refuses to link the words together and you don't need it to understand them right now. 

You just need Him. 

You roll your head to the side so he can dig his teeth into a new spot and through half lidded eyes, you spot the mirror you've added into the room. Using it, you watch the Devil make love to you, his body half shrouded by shadows. 

He's so fucking beautiful.

As your thighs begin to tremble and pressure builds up in your core, you notice smears of darkness on your face, your neck, and your arms.

It is the same darkness that the Devil is drenched in. 

He's covered you in his blood. 

You're coated with him. 

Inside and out.

The realization sends you over the edge and you scream his name for all your subjects to hear.

Monday

You wake up alone.

This is of no surprise to you.

a/n:

I see this with multiple interpretations ;)

a/n2: theres not a baseball bat emoji

[moonzyshoes]

Cute things for you and your friends to do! Prt 2.

4. Make a YT channel 2gether! 📺

Making a YT channel together is a fun and easy way to capture your day to day lives together or fun occasions and activities you guys do together.

You don’t have to try to make it big, although I won’t tell you what you can or can’t do, just making videos for fun is enough to make some memories that you and your friends can look back on in the future.

Record you guys going to school, or work. Record your sleepovers and just have fun with it.

!!NOTE!!- If it was me, I’d make a google email with your friends so you aren’t using one of your personal emails, so if someone was to be rude/mean and try to access your personal info or delete the channel as revenge or something else equally childish… They wouldn’t do AS MUCH damage. Now if you all make a new one and you ALL have access to it, then one of the people who knows the passwords could still use it and do something similar or worse with the email. Another thing I would suggest is vote for someone in your friend group that everyone trusts to run the account and email. Please don’t try to use this email/channel against anyone. I warned you.

5. Pics or it didn’t happen booklet 📸

The pics or it didn’t happen game is a fun way to make goals for yourself to do the things you’ve always wanted to do and a great way to have fun with buddies or by yourself! And this activity isn’t as, ‘girly’ as the others… Might be…?

This game includes you and your other participants making a list of items to achieve/accomplish before a specific time.

A lot of people do this activity during summer break, so for this explanatory example let’s say we’re going for the end of summer as our goal. Your goal is to earn a certain amount of points. The activities include silly things like prank calls, picnics, dying your hair, making a pizza, etc. Small little fun activities. The ‘smaller’ the activity, the less amount of points you get. The ‘bigger’ an activity is you get more points. You and your friends may decide what activities dictate how many points the activities are worth.

As the name of the game implies, you must have pics of you doing said activity/pic of activity as proof, or it didn’t happen/doesn’t count.

This I think would be a great way to have fun with close distance friends and long distance friends as you can do the checklist by yourself and then show and compare results later.

Making/agreeing upon the activities and the books could also be a separate activity in itself, and a fun DIY, which doesn’t take much money. You could just go to your local dollar tree and get booklets/binders and make these books’ covers to match or be unique to yourself.

6. Book Clubs 📖

Book clubs can be an amazing way to boost the amount of books you and your friends read and it can go beyond your school’s allowed books if your school has book restrictions.

It doesn’t have to be some, ‘boring,’ book that doesn’t capture your attention. You and your club can pick out books that ya’ll actually like or sound cool to you guys.

Reading is great on its own but for some people, like people who have difficulty sticking with one thing at a time, it can be hard to read alone. Getting together and reading a few chapters of a good book with friends is a nice way to keep yourself reading and you’re accompanied by some of your favorite people while doing it.

Getting some tea and coffee, meeting up at someone’s house or the park, and talking about what you’re reading about could be good for you too. Practicing reading will help you with anything you may have difficulties with when reading alone. Like if you loose focus, have problems with coherent sentences while reading aloud, and just lack of interest.

Doing this may also make book essays a hell of a lot easier now that you’re reading on your own time with friends.

I’m out of ideas for now, but I’ll be looking for more online to add to this series and ask my friends! I had some but… I forgot them ( • ̀ω•́ )✧

Thanks 4 reading :>

[violetsystems]

#personal

Been a little happier lately despite all the gloom, doom and fuckery. I can't say anything has been getting any better in my normal life. I fear that sooner or later everything is going to implode around me. I received an email back from a recruiter Friday night. I don't really get much contact from anything in the job market at all. I send about three or four resumes a week depending on the listings. The recruiter admitted that the hourly pay rate and role probably wasn't of interest for a person at this stage of my career. That's interesting poker call in the game of job hunting. Some of the jobs I've applied for customer service in certain fringe industries only offer barely above minimum wage. This opportunity would have been fixing computers. So it kind of told me how low in my field I shouldn't go salary wise. I've applied for three or four jobs in the Marijuana industry here in Illinois. Those are a little easier to present yourself professionally to ironically. But everything out there for me is a mixture of closed doors, reluctance to interact, and some grand cult like civic agenda I'm supposed to already know. For the record, finances are my own problem. This is what has stressed me out so much about being retired early. It isn't so much about the money. It's that everybody just assumes I don't have to work. The pension payout I got wasn't exactly enough to live on for the rest of my life. Not that anyone around Chicago appreciated my birthday even happened let alone admit I"m alive and still sell music. I keep thinking of myself as a test subject. That Generation Z and Millennials are going to be hit worse when their time comes. Imagine hitting your ten year mark in a career you went to college for at thirty three or something. Then being forcibly retired and having to plan out the next fifty or so years of your life. I've spent almost three years doing that. And all I ever get is recruiters asking me if I can refer them to someone more fit for the roles they offer. Why blog about it when I can just worship a woman I'm in love with at her feet? Because I'm kind of fearful the things we both love about this country are going into a financial tailspin. I just read that a population of gen z was polled as thinking women's rights have "gone too far." That shit scares me. That the children of generation x are complete fuck ups in so far that they've erased any culture we brought to the table. I'm completely invisible these days. I tend to use it to my advantage to stay alive and protect the things nobody really needs to know about.

I've always thought the thing about me that probably is the most attractive is that I try to deal with the present in a creative way. Even if dumb people don't understand it. I don't care. I know I'm in a completely losing situation. And I know people are just always trying to trap you into some petty shit to make you trip. My immediate neighbors fucking unplug the laundry when they see me get quarters so I lose them when I try to do my wash. They've stolen my 5g phone after being delivered by fed ex by asking me to unlock the laundry room while someone else lifts the package. They've set up makeshift shit traps on the fence so that I'll be covered in feces when I take out the trash. They work with my old job to intimidate me at the mailbox when my COBRA extension gets delivered. All of this is true. Nobody wants me to prove it. And has happened over a two or three year period. I've been trapped here writing about it. I've been applying for jobs overseas, in la and New York to get away from it. And I just sit here day after day watching nothing happen. I get that ultimate the joke is on other people. But some of the things I've had to do recently just fucking piss me off. I was expected to literally spend down my whole retirement and wait for another offer. I haven't done that yet. But the way the stock market has behaved the last two years, I've been left holding the bag on a lot of shit. I don't really understand how anyone in the future is supposed to retire with things behaving this fucked up. The value of Tesla as a company is ten times it's future revenue. That's like ten credit cards stacked on top of each other with Jerome Powell tap dancing at the top with a cane that twirls the interest rates around like a magic show. This recent bank failure is the result of nobody having enough liquid cash on hand to cover their ass. And yet everyone listens to whatever the fuck some twit whole stole an entire free speech platform to bankrupt it has to say.

And the FDIC bails out exactly 250k max for each "victim" at Silicon Valley Bank they protect. Around the same time they cut pandemic food benefits for poor people. I tried a number of things over these years to buffer myself. I didn't just lose my job yesterday. But even the two universal basic income programs I applied for in my country and city I was denied. I didn't qualify for unemployment because my pension payout was too much income. I basically got fucked. Now Monday morning an entire mess of startups will implode because there is no way to payroll with two hundred and fifty dollars thousand dollars unless you are paying minimum wage. Maybe that was intentional? That's one way to sabotage the employment of America. I still invest just the same. I was taught by America that this is the only way to stay alive. But my perception of money, capitalism and rich people is that of a gluttonous demon who plays tricks on the townsfolk like the idiots fucking with my laundry. If you've read this far, you understand that I don't think there's a solution in complaining. I'm not even on health insurance anymore. Not like COBRA payments weren't as much as my rent. I've been literally left to die by most of the people who say they knew so much about me from my past. I've been on LinkedIn the entire time professionally. If people wanted to find me for a real opportunity it's right there. I cut off my Facebook. I cut off my instagram. I block people on Tumblr that I think are too locally nosy about what I'm doing. I have to ignore entire friend groups now out of proactivity simply because they're not worth the liability of gossiping about my personal life. I know the way forward in the future is to leave it all behind. I just am a person who thinks deeply a lot. I am hurt that people don't want to fix things. I am hurt that when I get given a new shovel by my building maintenance the rest of the neighborhood treats this shit like a school yard bully and thinks I'm the teacher's pet. This isn't fucking high school. And yet with child labor and child marriage, maybe it's not far off. People out here have turned severely populist, encumbered by their own financial decisions that seem to be blowing up left and right. I think we're all a little more aware of the dangers of being blindsided by absolute failure here in this country. But it's getting beyond scary that you can communicate so well but the people around you will actively collude to fuck up your only line of communication to people who care about you. That's fucking terrorism. And these people out here are motivated by it for the dumbest fucking reasons. They aren't smart and they don't appreciate smart people or talent. Mainly because everyone would rather hoodwink, trick and grease people than work together. The more people get tricked? The more people get angry and the more society here in America starts to turn worse than it already is for me. I know my future is a lot brighter especially when I think about things that inspire me. And I am still inspired don't get me wrong. But I'm fucking dying out here in a literal ghetto prison of bullshit that I don't think anyone hasn't observed being fishy at least once. I just live every day like people are camping out waiting to surveil me on every corner. They literally take my garbage out of the trash and leave it on my porch facing back at me. Like we know what you spend your money on. I know what you did a couple summers ago too. And if the tips I sent in the government are any indication. Everybody gonna lose their fucking jobs sooner or later. I'm not hiring. <3 Tim

[poptod]

Cyber Security (Elliot Alderson)

Description: An online ad leads him to you, though in reality he has little interest in your ad. What interests him is how you accidentally doxxed yourself and how oblivious you are to that fact.

Notes: idrk what to say about this one its one of those things that i wrote at midnight after almost falling asleep to a fantasy and then realizing it could work as a fic. like i did this same thing with ‘close your eyes’ that one was also a before-bed-to-get-to-sleep fantasy. this is also not a particularly romantic interaction, though it can be read as such WC: 2.2k

+

Sweat drenched his sheets, bathing him in the cold wind that breezed past his only air conditioner lodged in a nearby window. He stared blankly upwards, half shivering and half overheated, as he once again found himself in a familiar predicament—the practice of sleep.

It was no secret he had trouble calming himself down, and that aspect of himself reached into the evening, as well. He already downed three melatonin pills hours earlier, along with smoking a joint that should’ve put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, that did not work.

“Xanax,” he mumbled to himself, hearing it bounce back from empty walls. “Need to get xanax.”

In the meantime he raised himself to his feet, padding across freezing floors to his computer. With a click of a button the white screen buzzed to life, shining bright onto his sleep-heavy eyes, that did their best to acclimatize to the sudden change.

Hypnotization—strange as it might’ve been—had worked a couple times before. Not all the time, but decently enough to give it a try. He had work in the morning and he didn’t need to be more miserable than usual, especially since he hadn’t slept almost the entire weekend.

sleep hypnosis

The blinker flickered for a moment before his fourth finger slammed down on enter, the last step in calculated movements. What popped up first was a video titled [ SLEEP HYPNOSIS ] 8 Hour Loop with a screencap of a spinning black and white screen. Below that, however, was something he hadn’t seen before—a YouTube video titled exactly what he’d typed, lacking the caps just as he had. The title screen appeared to be some sort of poorly-drawn painting.

Curiosity overcame his hazy, aching head, and he clicked, finding a playlist of videos containing what could be the titles of songs, along with several different poorly-drawn title screens.

The first video began to play before he could realize it. What he first noticed was it was bereft of ads—that meant the publisher made no money off the album.

Sat in the presence of God

whose name means filthy old fraud

Captions had been manually added by, he assumed, you. The author. There were three views on the video, no comments, and no likes, leaving few other options.

Maybe it was the melody—maybe the lyrics, who talked of a world plagued by aristocrats. But he found his eyelids heavy, dropping dark eyelashes in his vision that blurred the screen. By the third song, reciting verses of an Islamic poem, he was slouched in his seat.

He slid down to the floor, crawling his way back to flop onto his bed. The music continued to play till the first ad popped up, at which time he opened his eyes, seeing a music video from Katy Perry, at which time he promptly reached over and unplugged his computer. He wasn’t sure which cord he pulled out, but the screen still went black. With that, he just barely sneaked into his covers, dozing until the morning.

It was far too easy to get information on you. Your full name was stated clearly in your youtube bio, alongside several different social media tags leading to instagram, tumblr, and facebook.

Facebook alone provided him the means to your address, and he didn’t even have to go looking for it. Your most recent post was an ad, searching for someone good with computers to aid you in your recording process, which you noted as ‘dismal’.

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought to himself, reading the ad once more.

Your address, your real, physical address was stated as the place you wanted to meet those interested in helping you. On the internet. You had doxxed yourself after less than a year of being online.

Okay, he thought, clicking on your listed email. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.

Three days later—after about two weeks of listening to your echoing voice every night—you replied, sending a cheerful email detailing when you would be available to meet him. After shooting a short message back, the date was organized.

Two more days and he was standing at your doorstep, his neck craned upwards as he scanned your tall, narrow home squished between two other apartments. He just barely knocked before the black door swung open, revealing a familiar face belonging to a stranger. Elliot was dressed in his black hoodie and jeans, a stark difference to your long, colorful robes, coming out of a sort of fantasy world.

“Hi,” he said, his voice grating with how low and quiet he kept it.

“Hello,” you said with a smile that did not match his hunched posture. “Are you Mr. Alderson?”

“Elliot,” he corrected, his chin just barely raising to meet you. “Elliot Alderson. Elliot works.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Come inside? I was just making tea. Do you like tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” he said softly, scooting past you when you opened the door wide enough for him to enter. He sucked in a breath as his chest brushed yours.

Your home was modern—far fancier than Elliot’s own apartment, with large windows flanked by soft grey curtains. A small, upright piano was in the corner of the living room, set upon a reed mat lined with Korean symbols. The couch was clinical, made of a sort of black plastic leather that matched the grey skies beyond the window panes.

He sat down, shifting his feet closer together as his fingers dug into his palms, continuing to scan the room in its’ entirety until you returned with your own tea.

“What kind of experience do you have? School counts,” you said, setting your cup down on a tiny plate whose decorations matched your teacup.

“I’ve been... experimenting, with computers, since I was around 9,” he said, mumbling the words out as his shoulders hunched awkwardly down. “Have a job at a cyber security firm. Started a while back.”

“You still have that job?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “Jus’ thought this would be... fun.”

The dead look on his face indicated no humor whatsoever, but you took his word as it was.

“How’d you find the ad I put out?”

“I... I listened to your music,” he answered honestly for once. “Helps me fall asleep.”

“Oh,” you said, clearly taken aback. Your face grew warm as you glanced away with wide eyes. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re not very good with technology, though,” he said in his usual low, grating voice.

“Not really,” you chuckled sheepishly. “That’s why I put out the ad -“

“No, not that,” he interrupted you. “You put your physical address on the internet. You doxxed yourself. Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

The lyrics of your songs pointed towards a kind of brilliance, balanced against emotions felt thoroughly on pages and screens. It didn’t match your actions at all.

“What’s doxxing?” You asked.

Elliot had to physically stop himself from sighing and leaving.

“You want everyone to know where you, a minor celebrity, live?”

“I’d hardly call myself a -“

“I could’ve been a murderer,” he said, reaching into his bag.

He looked you in the eye as he pulled out a gun, clicking on the safety before he pointed it at you.

“This is how easy it would be to kill you.”

As expected, you stiffened at the sight of the iron barrel, your fingers withdrawing to your chest. Your lips pursed as you met his gaze once more.

“Please put the gun down,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He did as you said, resting the gun on the table.

“That’s a hell of a way to start an interview, Mr. Alderson,” you said quietly. “Please get out of my house.”

His heart sank. What had he expected? For you to fall to your knees and sing to him as he desired you to do? He threatened you with a gun to teach you a lesson, and you reacted accordingly. Calmer than others would.

Elliot stood on shaky legs, sliding the pistol into his backpack before he zipped it up. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he swallowed through a tight throat, shuffling as he delayed his departure.

“Keep safe from people like me,” he said in a strained mumble. “Take that ad down. Meet people from the internet only in inhabited, public areas.”

You tapped your fingernails on the table for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly you stood, tugging on his sweatshirt sleeve to get him to face you, instead of staring at his feet.

“Alright. If you’re really so good at the internet -“

He ignored your incorrect grammar.

“- and... if you actually do want to help me with my songs,” your tone softened, “then you’ll be able to find my real name, not my stage name. If you do.. I’ll hire you.”

“Alright,” he said monotone, knowing the battle was already won.

Even though he knew your name already, he turned away and left to his apartment, immediately going to work on figuring out everything he could about you. If you willingly still offered him the job after that, he knew it would take a lot to scare you off. He could impress you.

It was, after all, the only thing he was good at.

Two days later he showed up at your apartment again, quietly thanking you when you let him in. The clean floors and walls remained unchanged since his last visit, and you led him to the same table, sitting him down on the same seat.

“Your name is (Y/N) (L/N),” he started with. You already appeared to be surprise. “You grew up near LA and you’ve had a chronic illness all your life. At eleven you saw your first therapist.. that must’ve been when you first got diagnosed with depression... and anxiety.”

“Killer duo,” you muttered.

“Your parents split when you were thirteen, which came at the same time as your dog, Penelope, died. Or... sometime that year. When was that... 1997?”

“1999,” you said quietly.

“Your mom homeschooled you,” he continued. “That’s probably why you don’t know how computers work. Rather eclectic, in a.. boring way... an ex-Amish, right?”

You nodded and his heartbeat tripled. Everything was right thus far despite a two year difference in his guesstimate of your life’s timeline.

“Then there was your dad... logger in the Redwood forests. Burly guy. Not a great man, from what I saw,” he said.

“He was fine,” you said with a small shrug as you looked away. “Didn’t ever hurt me, or anything.”

“Abuse isn’t always physical,” he said faster than he could think, dizzied by his own memories playing behind his eyes.

“I know,” you murmured.

You went silent, so he continued, hoping to pry more precious words from you.

“Your favorite color is yellow,” he said, leaning closer to you. “On Valentine’s you get chocolate strawberries, and on easter you get kinder eggs.”

Nothing.

“You studied mythology as a kid, and you made paintings of the forest you lived in with your mom. Santa Cruz mountains, I think.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I miss the forests.”

“I know. You want to visit Ireland again because it’s a land of faeries and moss, it’s a breeding ground for your song lyrics.”

“How did you find all this out?” You finally asked.

“You use the same password on everything,” he said, though that was far from the actual answer. “Your web browser tracks all your movements and you don’t try to stop it, or hide ads, or stay away from sketchy websites. Your parents aren’t much better, either.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought your hand to massage your brow.

“You’re way too smart to be helping me,” you said with soft laughter, blushing with your smile.

“It’s better than working for E Corp,” he said, huffing out a laugh that was hardly humored.

“E corp?”

“My.. uh, place of work,” he brushed off his slip. “My point is... I’d rather work with you and do easy work than work with my current fucking coworkers.”

You laughed, truly and fully this time, curling into a little ball that shook with the force of it. Your feet tucked into your tiny chair, making you even smaller.

“Bad people or just annoying?”

“Stupid,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me wear my sweatshirt.”

“Ooh, now it’s my turn,” you suddenly interrupted him, earning a strange look. “I’ve noticed things about you, too. I couldn’t learn anything off the computer, but you, you have anxiety too. Probably some childhood trauma.. maybe a dissociative disorder of sorts or a form of PTSD. Your jacket is like your home, and... you have sensory issues. Few types of fabric, don’t like to be touched, if I had to guess I’d say you might be autistic.”

“Blunt,” he said after a full minute’s silence.

“Do you mind?” You asked.

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then you’re hired,” you said with a smile, extending your hand for him to shake. “If you still want the job, of course.”

He watched you with evident apprehension, but took your hand after much thought, shaking with a firm grip.

“When do I start?”

[twilightdruig]

sleeping with the ceo

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

summary: one night stand before the first day of his new job and oops that was his new boss he was sleeping with.

warnings: ceo!reader , assistant!george , muggle!au , mentions of sex , one night stand , awkwardness , fwb

words: 1.8k

a/n: unedited!! i have a love hate relationship with this and i just wanted to say @wandsandwheezes , @chokemepansy , @rcwenaclaw , and @nancybycrs are such huge inspirations to me like their writing is amazing <33

y/n didn’t know how she got here. she remembers going out with her friends, having a few drinks and partying a bit.

now, she was tangled in unfamiliar sheets with an attractive man next to her. she examined him, he was lanky, had ginger hair and freckles littered his body.

she vaguely remembers him buying her a drink. she had this fuzzy memory of his hands roaming her body. she slightly remembered his name starting with a ‘g’.

he started fussing and moving around in his sleep. he slipped his hand back to her waist so she couldn’t try to escape. he let out a groan in her ear and tightened his arms around her.

she didn’t want to wake him up so she subtly tried to nudge his chest. they were both still very naked. none of them bothered to put anything on after last night.

she raked her brain to remember what his name was. was it glen? gabriel? george? george. it sounded familiar. george. george! that was his name. he looked like a george too.

“george” she whispered slowly “george!” she whispered again a little louder. “george” she said one last time with a nudge.

he jumped a little. his eyes were now open but still droopy. he attempted to go back to sleep but awoke once again when he realized there was a beautiful girl in his arms. a beautiful naked girl. that was also when he remembered he had a job interview today.

he shot up and quickly covered himself when he realized he was undressed. she quickly turned the other way as well.

“hey there! uh… y/n right?” he exclaimed frantically, panic evident in his eyes. fred and lee somehow convinced him to come with them and celebrate fred’s job offer. the three always celebrated together. when lee finished his internship, when they graduated, when they bought their first cars, etc.

“yeah, hi!” she greeted. this was the most awkward thing she’s ever experienced. she’s a ceo! she’s fired people, yelled at people and have been in way more embarrassing moments. this is gonna be fine.

“well — uhm, it’s the first day of my job and it’s kind of really important. you can stay if you want to, my brother can take care of it” he offered.

“oh! i also have work to attend to, actually” she declined.

“oh… well then. this,” he gestured in between them, “was great. really! i wish i could spend more time but this is huge”

“no, i totally understand” she smiled.

when he left to the bathroom, she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. she walked around the spacious bedroom and picked up her scattered clothes. she just had to get picked up and change in the office. she held her shoes by the heals, got dressed up in wrinkly, used clothes and exited the room to leave for work.

she squeaked when she found george (or who she thought it was) standing shirtless, and hair dripping in the kitchen. “hi darling, i’m fred” he winked.

“yes… hi, fred. george didn’t mention a twin, only a brother” she pursed her lips feeling slightly embarrassed.

“explains the frightened and confused look”

“yeah… is it alright if i leave? tell george i had a great time last night,” she said “even if i didn’t remember most of it” she whispered to herself.

“yeah, sure!” he took a sip of his beverage “should i tell the doorman to call a taxi for you?”

“that would be really great. thank you so much”

“it’s certainly no problem” he dialed the doorman and requested a taxi.

she ran out the door, catching a glimpse of fred smirking to himself.

george walked out his room all dressed up for work and very nervous.

“missed her mate”

“oh… well i might see her again who knows” ‘oh you certainly will’ fred thought

“tell me, was she a good shag?” fred teased

“yes, actually” george laughed

“reckon she looked quite familiar?” fred asked. he knew who she was and what george was getting himself into but decided to just leave it until george figured it out by himself.

“no. you know her?”

“not really, no. familiar though”

—

she waited outside for a taxi which brought her straight to her office building.

“y/n! where the hell have you been?!” liv, your stand in assistant whisper-yelled to y/n.

“i was out with friends late last night, okay? no big deal”

“it is a big deal! there are a few workers starting her today! including your assistant because i have another job and kids to also attend to.” she handed her a white folder with the logo on the front “this is the list of all the new employees who will visit your office for first day evaluation”

“… except your assistant who will be here shortly”

“i’m gonna need to get changed.” she muttered. boy was today gonna be busy.

she boarded the elevator which took her to the highest floor; her office.

when she arrived, she ran to her personal space, past her assistant desk and into the small walk-in closet. she looked like a downright mess and it wasn’t appropriate to see new employees looking like a slob.

she tried her best looking professional and clean. she didn’t want her employees to know she was out sleeping with a stranger the night before. she did not know what she was getting herself into.

a few minutes passed, she was seated in her desk going through emails and actual mail, checking her calendar and whatnot when she heard the elevator door open.

she looked up and was met with familiar ginger hair, brown eyes and freckles. “george?” “y/n!?” they yelled at the same time.

they saw each other this morning, naked, and tangled in each other’s arms. george didn’t know why he didn’t recognize her, and y/n didn’t know how this was possible ‘who goes out the night before their first day at their job?’.

“heyy,” y/n greeted awkwardly slow “george.”

she could hear a faint and unclear “i slept with my new boss last night” from george.

“and i slept with my new assistant last night as well” she continued, testing the waters. in the amount of times y/n has hired people, this has never happened.

george gave her a tight-lipped smile. now it made sense what fred said this morning. she was of course familiar. the oh so rich ceo of the company he now works at. y/n l/n, multi-millionaire.

“listen, george. if you don’t want to work as my assistant, i can transfer you to one of my managers” she offered. she took his feelings into account, maybe he regret last night, he might be the office slut or whatever was going through his head.

“no! no, y/n. that’s ridiculous. i would love to work for you”

—

weeks turned into months and the two working together went smoothly. he answered her calls, made reservations and bought coffee. they worked like friends, equals. not like one was working for the other.

george especially appreciated the scented candle y/n got him the very next day after the awkward exchange.

y/n would even call him into her office for a quickie almost a year into him working there. it became a regular thing. either her hands down his trousers or her bent over her own desk.

today was different though. george was jittery and nervous. y/n was the least busy she’s ever been. she’d ask what her schedule was every half hour.

he slipped a little something in her calendar tonight, though. 8pm dinner at italiano’s with george. it was kind of a way of asking her out? he thought it was smart.

“georgie, what else is on my schedule today?” she called from her desk while playing with her pen.

“well, sweetheart,” they called each other nicknames and petnames when no one was around “you have a meeting with alicia by 4:30, selene is stopping by for drinks by 5:15 and you have dinner with me at 8”

she registered the meetings into her mind then along came dinner with her assistant with benefits.

“is this your way of asking me out, georgie?” she teased.

“oh, you see right through me huh”

“of course i do,” she poked his sides “literally an hour before your first day i was tangled in your sheets. i think we’ve got quite the bond”

—

after all her meetings and meet ups, it was finally the time for her to go home, or in today’s case, have dinner with george.

they went to a dainty little italian restaurant who served the best pasta she’s ever had (well that’s what she told george). it was quiet especially for a sunday night.

george was sitting across from her as they waited for the food. he started with a little small talk like the weather and the environment. he then talked about the situations at work and other people who worked with them. this felt natural to them. just two friends (or more) talking comfortably in a romantic italian restaurant.

“we had sex the first time today, a year ago” george interjected.

“you really have a way with words, weasley. but really?” y/n asked with wide, surprised eyes. george nodded. “wow! a year ago. that seems like so long”

“it does”

their food was served and they went back to office talk. they also reminisced on how awkward they were. my, my. how much they’ve grown.

“you know, y/n.” he reached to hold her hand “me and fred had this huge idea” he started.

“you know how i told you about those times in high school and college where me, fred and our best friend lee would prank people and joke around?”

“of course”

“we’re opening a shop! we have enough money for it now!” he exclaimed.

“george!” she arose from her seat and gave him a big hug “i am so extremely proud of you”. she knew he was passionate about that. she knew about his mom not supporting him and his brother snd wanting them to take a political or medical job.

george felt like he was gonna tear up. this woman us amazing. she supports him about everything he’s passionate about, she makes sure he’s comfortable and she makes him happy. y/n was all he could ever ask for.

“y/n.” george uttered in her ear, finally gaining the confidence to tell her “i have another thing to tell you.”

“yeah, go ahead georgie” she held his face with her hands.

“i — i am so completely utterly drop dead in love with you” he whispered with a small smile “and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, i just wan-“

she cut him off short by pressing her lips against his, forcefully. it took george a few milliseconds to register what was happening until her kissed her back.

she moved her hands to get tangled with the hair on the nape of his neck while his hands were on her waist. they were smiling in their kiss.

when they pulled back they pushed their heads together. “so… did that mean you love me back or..?”

she kissed him again and again on his cheeks and nose. “yes. it means i love you back. and i don’t care what anyone says.”

george paid for tonight’s dinner for a change and they went back to y/n’s enormous flat and one thing lead to another…

[dameronology]

love in the time of PTA meetings {marcus moreno} - 1/5

summary: despite what pinterest shows, being in a parent in the twenty first century is hard; especially a single parent. your kid takes up your entire life and the idea of finding a fairy tale is laughable - that is until you finally attend a p.t.a meeting and cross paths with a certain marcus moreno.  {series masterlist}

warnings: i do not have children. i don’t know children work. this written entirely what i have seen them do in the sims 4. also, swearing. 

- jazz

Leaving work early was never a good look.

Leaving work early because your child had managed to set fire to a trash can was...well, it was something else entirely.

After rushing out of a very important meeting and parking your car in a did-you-park-it-or-crash-it manner, you were sprinting across the play ground and towards the front entrance. Having given up half way through, you’d kicked your stupidly high heels off and held them in one hand, trying to organise your slightly disheveled hair as you entered the building. Most parents might have been nervous to collect their kid after a call from the principle, but this was a regular Tuesday for you. Jack was a good kid, perhaps just a little...misguided. In your books, it was impressive that a five year old had managed to discover pyrotechnics, though you sensed the school might have been a little less lenient about it. 

‘Hey!’ You greeted the principle with a smile as you breezed through the doors. 

Jack was in a chair by the front desk, a gleeful look on his face when he saw you. As far as he knew or cared, he got to go home early and watch Paw Patrol for the rest of the day. 

‘Afternoon.’ He replied. ‘You’re lucky it was only a phone call.’

‘I know, I know.’ You grumbled. ‘I’m sorry. He’s...adventurous-’

‘ - he singed off his class mate’s eyebrows!’ The principle cut you off. ‘Given Monday’s biting incident, I see it fit that Jack take the rest of the week off.’

‘Right.’ You sighed. ‘Thank you. And sorry again.’

‘I’ll email you a list of...behavioural specialists.’ He muttered.

‘There’s nothing wrong with my kid. He’s just...curious.’ You insisted. ‘C’mon, buddy. Let’s go home.’

Jack sprung up from the chair, taking your hand in his and skipping out the door beside you. Parenting had been hard enough when you’d been married, and even harder now that his dad was out of the picture. It meant that everything fell on your shoulders; school runs, packed lunches, earning money, staying sane. You barely found the time to sleep, let alone go to soccer matches or take him to extra curricular activities. It meant that the stay-at-home mums - the ones who drove minivans and had specified walking shoes and shared memes about parenting on Facebook - muttered about you. 

I heard Jack’s mum couldn’t make it to the parent-teacher association meeting because there was a divorce hearing. 

Look at the kid’s lunch! Oh the saturated fat, the horror!

What do you MEAN your five year old isn’t vegan?!

Frankly, you wanted to whack them over the head with their own damn vision boards. So what if your kid was a little rough around the edges? He’d discovered fire today! If it had been in the stone ages, that would have been impressive. The kind of thing that would have earned him a McDonald’s, had the fast food chain been around at the dawn of time. With the way things were going, paired with the fact you knew your fridge was empty, it looked like you were heading for a Happy Meal anyway. 

‘So do I get all week off?’ Jack peered up at you, tugging on your arm.

‘Yup, all week.’ You sighed. ‘But it’s not a reward, okay? It’s...’

You stopped in your tracks when you saw Marcus Moreno’s car pull up in the lot. Naturally, it was expensive and electric and perfectly between the white lines. He gave your less-than-stellar parking a frown as he breezed by - not that you noticed. Frankly, you were too busy admiring him. You saw his face more on the news than you did in person, but he was beautiful. Talk, dark, handsome and mysterious, but also...friendly and approachable. He’d held the door open for you once two years ago and that had been it for you. There had been whispers about the fact he was a widow, though you’d tried not to pay attention to them. It wasn’t anyone’s damn business. You knew he was a good dad; you’d had the chance to meet Missy when Jack had got his head stuck between the playground fence and she’d helped pull him out. She was sweet and well-behaved and clearly well brought up. Could you say the same for your own kid? Eh, parenting was all trial and error. 

‘It’s what?’ Your son’s voice dragged you back to reality. ‘Am in trouble?’

‘What?!’ You jumped at the question. ‘No, I just...’

‘Because Principle Eikner said I’d done something bad.’

A small sigh escaped your mouth; placing his backpack on the ground, you knelt down to his height, gently placing your hands on his shoulder. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong, little man. We're just gonna take a few days out to talk about the rules and what it means to do the right thing, okay?’

‘Dad always said not to listen to the rules.’

‘Your dad said a lot of things.’ You reminded him. You stood back up, offering your hand to him. ‘Let’s go home.’

After a few minutes of bartering and the promise of a McDonald’s, you finally made your way back to the car, now with Jack attached to your back. If giving him a piggy back ride meant getting home quicker, it was a price you were willing to pay, especially since the other mums were starting to arrive to pick up their kids. The parking lot was slowly filling up with minivans - compared to your decade-old Honda Civic. It had seen better days, and one too many run ins with other cars and parking lot bollards. Still, it got the job done. 

‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you!’ You froze in your tracks again. This time, it wasn’t because of Marcus Moreno’s otherworldly presence, but rather due to the sound of the resident soccer mum. 

‘Carol.’ You turned around to face her (slowly, given the five year old on your back) with a forced smile on your face. ‘Hi.’

‘I take it you’re here for the parent-teacher’s association meeting?’ She gave you a phoney grin, handing you a leaflet. ‘I know you couldn’t make the last one, because of your...d-i-v-o-r-c-e hearings.’ 

‘I can spell!’ Jack chirped from behind you.

‘It’s okay, buddy.’ You reached up to ruffle his hair, smile not faltering. ‘But yeah, you’re right. And what about it?’

‘Nothing.’ Carol quickly shook her head. ‘So you are coming to this one? It starts in ten minutes.’

Truth be told, you’d no idea there was even a meeting tonight. You usually ignored the damn things until the news letter came out, and then you could read it from the comfort of your sofa with a glass of wine. There was nothing you stopping going tonight, aside from your intense hatred for them. 

‘I wanna get home and watch South Park!’ Jack chirped from behind you.

‘I don’t - I mean...I don’t let my five year old watch South Park.’ You said. ‘He walked in on me watching it one time and...point is, yes, I’m here for the meeting!’

‘No, you’re not-’

‘- Jack, just sssh!’ 

Carol blinked in surprise, but her phoney smile returned a moment later. ‘Excellent! I’ll see you inside.’

You inwardly groaned. Why had you just done that? You fucking despised sitting in a stuffy gym for the better part of an hour, listening to the perfect mums bang on about healthy eating and limiting their kids’ internet time. You already questioned your parenting skills as it was - the meetings only made it worst. You didn’t assimilate into that crowd; they were all married, with big houses out in the ‘burbs and bank accounts that could cover their kids ever-expanding interests and activities. Meanwhile, you were living on one wage and your two-bedroom apartment had a balcony, not a back garden. If Jack wanted to go on a field trip, you usually had to save up for months. You didn’t know if you envied the other mums’ lives, but you certainly weren’t jealous of how they viewed working mums and single parents. 

‘That lady is mean.’ Jack murmured from your shoulders.

‘Yeah buddy, I know.’ You nodded. ‘Guess we’re going back to school.’

--

Lugging the kid and his bag back up the school yard and towards the building was exhausting - at least it was your work out for the week done. By the time you’d reached the gym and placed Jack back on the ground, your shoulders were aching and you were disappointed to see that the refreshments didn’t have any alcohol. Was it too late to sneak out? The fire exit was right there and-

‘- shame this thing doesn’t have any wine, huh?’ A man was stood next to you, arms folded across his chest as he stared at the luke-warm jug of coffee on the table ahead. 

Tall, dark hair, stubble and with a faint hint of expensive aftershave you pretended not to notice? Hello, Marcus Moreno. Goodbye, ability to form coherent sentences.

You blinked in surprise. ‘Yeah. I could do with a glass. Or ten.’

‘So you hate these things too, huh?’ He smiled. 

‘With a passion.’ You returned the gesture. ‘I’m only here because Carol and her Karen Committee kept muttering about me not being at the last one.’

‘Yeah, same here. I was attending an emergency meeting about nuclear arms in Vienna, but I guess this is more important.’

‘I was...’ in court, signing documents to end my marriage, ‘otherwise occupied too.’

Marcus nodded in understanding. ‘Kids alone are a full time job, huh? ‘Specially when you’re the only one who’s running around after them.’

He knew about your situation and in return, figured that you knew about his. He’d heard the whispers about the divorce and presumed that the loss of his wife had been subject to similar gossip. The environment amongst the parents was shockingly similar to high school and things got around pretty quickly. You both hated it, especially given the nature of both your circumstances; death and separation was not something other people should have been talking about. Especially when you all you wanted to do was mind your own business and raise your damn (chaotic) kid.

‘Yeah, tell me about it.’ You replied. ‘My kid is like...a baby crackhead, as well. He’s been sent home twice this week and it’s only Wednesday.’

‘Oh, Jack’s your kid?’

You let out a groan, holding your face in your hands. ‘Yeah. Famously so, apparently.’

‘No, it’s not a bad thing!’ Marcus chuckled, pulling your hands away. ‘He played a brilliant baby Jesus in the Nativity last year.’

‘Aside from when he bit one of the three wise men, yeah.’ You could feel your cheeks heating up. ‘Missy actually helped him once. She seems really...not at all like my child. Which is good.’

‘She told me about the fence incident.’ He nodded. ‘May I ask why he was shoving his head out of the school gates?’

‘He saw an interesting looking slug.’ You replied.

Your conversation was interrupted by Carol, who had now climbed up on stage. She tapped the microphone and cleared her throat, gesturing to everyone to sit down so that the meeting could start. You wanted to curse her. Whatever giddy conversation you were having with Marcus was a thousand times more interesting than the PTA. At least you could revel in the fact he didn’t want to be here either.

‘Shall we?’ Marcus gestured to two empty seats a few rows back.

‘I mean, it’s an aisle seat, which is good for a quick escape if Jack decides to be Jack,’ you nodded in agreement. ‘Hey kid, c’mon!’

Turning away from the other kids, Jack sprinted towards you, hurling himself into your lap as he sat down. You let out an oof! and a groan. He wasn’t as light as he used to be a toddler. He stayed still for a moment, tiny hands clasping yours, before he realised who you were sat next to. The kids’ impression of Marcus was not quite the same as yours - he’d only seen him on TV, with the likes of all the heroes. You couldn’t remember their names (but in your defence, they were kind of ridiculous). 

‘Are you a superhero?’ He reached up, poking Marcus in the cheek. 

‘Jack!’ You hissed. ‘You can’t-’

‘- yeah, buddy.’ Marcus ruffled his hair. ‘But it’s my day off today, so I’m doing all this boring stuff instead.’

‘Can you fly? Do you know Miracle Guy? Have you fought aliens? Do you have a super suit? Do you know Iron Man? Wait! Can I be a superhero?!’

‘No, yes, yes, no, no and maybe when you’re older.’ He counted the questions off on his fingers. ‘But for now we have to keep quiet for the meeting. That would make you a superhero.’

--

You wanted to marry Marcus Moreno.

Seriously, you wanted to marry him.

His little comment had kept Jack quiet the entire meeting. And it was a long fucking meeting indeed. The last time he’d shut up for that long was...probably before he learnt to talk. You loved he was full of curiosity and questions, but he didn’t always understand that there was a time and a place. At least now you knew what would shut him up. 

‘How does Miracle Guy fly? Is Batman real? Are you rich? Do you know Wonder Woman? How does her lasso of truth work?’

‘Jack.’ You groaned. 

You were walking out of the school now and down towards the car park. Missy was in tow, tapping away on her phone, whilst Jack trotted alongside you and Marcus. He’d been spewing questions at the poor man pretty much since the meeting had ended - and yet, he seemed happy to answer them. Excited, even. It was clear that he loved his job.

‘You gotta give Mr Moreno a break, little man.’ You said.

‘Hey, just Marcus is fine.’ He replied. 

‘Hey Just Marcus, I’m dad.’ Missy chimed from beside you, not even looking up from her phone. It was...impressive, actually.

‘I already regret buying her that.’ Marcus murmured. 

The two of you eventually reached your cars. The Civic was still terribly parked across two spaces - you were a good driver, you’d just been in a rush. The dents and scrapes all over the doors and bumper implied other wise but hey, we move. You had a thousand and one other things to save up before a new car. Putting down the deposit on a house - one you could actually own, maybe a little further out from the city - was your number one concern. Paying off your divorce attorney came after that. 

‘It was nice to meet you properly.’ You pulled your keys out your back, tugging four empty packets of crisps and three bags of gummy worms with it. 

‘I’m not done asking questions-’

‘- you gotta let Marcus go, JJ.’ You peered down at Jack. ‘Sorry. He’s a little obsessed with the Heroics, but I guess you’ve worked that one out.’

‘Can I visit your base?’ He continued, ignoring you. 

Marcus knelt down to his height, a grin on his face. ‘I’ve got a free window tomorrow afternoon. You wanna come by? Your mum tells me you’re off school for the rest of the week.’ 

‘Really?’ You blinked in surprise. ‘I mean, I’m sure he would love that but I’m at work and he’s gotta go to my mum’s.’

Your mother also doubled up as your baby-sitter. In an ideal world, you would have been able to afford a professional, but this was very much the opposite of an ideal world. It was the real world, and you were constantly juggling a thousand things at once. Never in a million years would you have changed it but there were days when you wanted to cry. When it was 9PM and Jack suddenly chimed in that he had a science project due the next day, or when he refused to eat his dinner because his chicken nuggets weren’t shaped like dinosaurs and fed them to the dog. 

Marcus looked, on the surface at least, like he had his shit together. He worked in a public facing job and he always looked put together. His car wasn’t covered in bumps and bruises and the inside probably wasn’t covered in yoghurt like yours. He seemed as though he got more than five hours sleep a night and his child was well-behaved. 

‘I’m sure we can work something out.’ He said. ‘If you give me your number, I’ll give you a call.’

‘Uh, yeah! Of course.’ He’d asked for your number. No big deal. 

You switched phones - naturally, his was much more high-tech than yours - and entered in your respective numbers. The whole thing made you admire Marcus even more; he didn’t have to have your tyrannical son over to his office, yet he offered to. He’d clearly seen how excited he’d gotten and it seemed like he’d found it endearing. 

‘Are you okay?’ Marcus asked quietly, suddenly putting his hand on your shoulder. ‘You suddenly zoned out.’

‘Yeah, sorry.’ You rubbed your eyes. ‘I got about three hours sleep last night. I would blame it on the terrible twos but I guess it’s the...fucking awful fives?’

He quickly turned his attention to Jack, opening the car door for him. ‘You wanna hop in? I’m just gonna talk to your mom about you visiting, yeah?’

'There’s Cheetos in the centre console!’ You called after him.

Once Marcus had shut the door, he turned around to face you. There was silence for a minute, and he just kind of...stared at you. You couldn’t read his expression or quite figure it out, but he had an eyebrow quirked and a look of...concern? Sympathy?

‘I recognise that look. It’s the help! I’m suddenly a single parent to a five year old and it feels like the world is eating me alive look.’ He said. ‘It’s the exact same one I had six years ago. Missy was about Jack’s age when...when it became just me and her.’

You softly smiled. ‘It’s not been easy.’

‘You’re doing a good job, okay?’ He gave your shoulder a light squeeze. ‘And if you ever need him off your hands for a few hours, I’ll gladly give him a tour of our headquarters.’

‘Thank you. So much, for both of those things.’ Your eyes fell to the ground. ‘It’s a refreshing change from Carol and her Pinterest boards and half-assed invitations to potlucks.’

‘God, I can’t stand all that.’ Marcus chuckled. 

‘I gotta get back now because I can see that Jack is about smush Cheetos over my break pedals but I’ll...’ you trailed off, forcing yourself to look at him and smile. ‘I’ll call you.’

‘I look forward to it.’ 

[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

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Cat Got Your Tongue

Chapter One

Master List /  Series Master List

A/N: This series is set in the same world as Bare In The Woods (a one-shot were-bear Henry Cavill story). This series will be cross posted between Tumblr and AO3. As Tumblr has no way of preventing minors from reading the smutty bits (and there will be smutty bits) those chapters will only be available on AO3.

My archive work is available to Register Users Only. This means Yes, You Must Have An Account with Archive to read my work. If you'd like more information on how to acquire your Free archive account, please see this post. All you need is an email address to sign up. That's it. Just do it people.

Read on AO3 here!

Summary: The community of Salvation holds many secrets, not the least of which is the diversity of were-folk who call it home. Ember Porosha is one resident for who Salvation isn't just the town's name but her saving grace. After outrunning her past, she's resigned herself to playing surrogate to everyone else's children and never having her own. A mate was not in her future, and she was learning to live with that. Until he walked through the door of The Last Book and Brew.

Thomas Loki Hiddleston wasn't going to be in town long. Here for the naming of Henry and his wife's baby girl and presentation to the weres of Salvation, he planned only to stay a few days. A small town like this could never offer him the outlet he needed for his cat's dark desires, nor could he hide what he was for long. His nature would eventually need an outlet and Salvation held nothing for him. Or so he thought. One wiff of Ember's unique scent and he knew he'd found a long thought lost to him future.

But when she doesn't fall at his feet, and proves more stubborn than a mule, can he resit taking her in hand long enough to win her heart? Or will the bond between true mates not be enough to tame this wild hellcat.

Series warnings: Were-Creatures, Cats, Bears, Smut, Shameless Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Dom/sub, Blood, Blood Kink, this one could (will) get kinky

***

When the sleek black car drove through town, Ember gave it only a passing glance. It was odd, sure, but anyone who drove a Jag was so far out of her league they were playing on a different ball diamond altogether. The car screamed money, something she cared little about.

Sure she needed it, everyone did, but Ember was content with what she had, and in this sleepy town cradled lovingly between the mountains, she didn't need much. She had her sweet yellow cottage, her bookstore, and a community of friends when she desired company. And now, with the snow falling thick on the ground, she would have another singular pleasure. 

Ember's little snow leopard heart leapt at the thought of running through the high passes and sliding down the long slopes, her wide paws keeping her above the snowpack instead of sinking in while her thick coat kept out the cold. It had been too long since she'd last played in her were form, and was looking forward to going out to the ranger station in a few days to visit with Henry, his wife, and their little cub. 

The sweet baby girl already had Henry wrapped firmly around her finger, and Ember couldn't help but laugh at the goofy smile that perpetually graced his face when he looked at his family. 

If a pang of jealousy jabbed her heart, Ember didn't let it show. She'd resigned herself to a lonely life a long time ago. 

The bell over the door of her little shop gave a merry jingle, and she placed the last of the new James Patterson novels on the shelf before dusting off her hands and stepping out from behind the bookshelves to smile at Lorraine, the town's most gossipy raven.

If she was fluttering into The Last Book and Brew, then Ember was about to hear an earful.

***

Tom swept into the charming inn and forced himself to smile at the woman behind the desk. He'd spent a miserable six hours on the road, driven through a blizzard, and killed his cellphone when he'd dropped it in an icy puddle two hours prior as he'd filled the car with petrol. But there was no alternate way to get to Salvation, buried deep in the mountains, except to drive. 

And Salvation was where he needed to be. 

His old friend, Henry, was celebrating the birth of his first cub, and Tom dropped everything to come and see the little darling Henry was blessed with. And to meet the woman who'd tamed the giant bear after all this time. Sadly, he'd been unable to attend their wedding, but he refused to miss the welcoming of a new were into the community, whether he belonged to the Salvation clan or not.

That didn't mean he wouldn't give Hen the gears for choosing to live in some backwater nowhere even if it was beautiful here. 

Still, Tom preferred the city for its indulgences and entertainments. No, he couldn't fall on all fours and run through the concrete jungle he called home, but he'd long come to terms with his destiny. It wasn't as if there was a panther out there waiting to run under the moonlight with him. 

He was going to be a lone cat, a bachelor. He'd resigned himself to it, for no matter what anyone said, no one - were or human - had ever submitted wholly to his dark desires and chosen to stay in his possession afterward. They were all far too soft for his liking, ending in no more than a one-and-done.

At least, he could stalk the clubs and play with those unaware of his darkest needs and wants in the city. Tom was not a Dom to be denied, and those who gave in to the allure of his pretty face soon learned all about the devil underneath his Gucci suit.

"Hello, darling," he purred to the desk clerk. "Thomas Loki Hiddleston, checking in. I believe I have a reservation."

She blushed to the roots of her hair, sputtered, and nodded. "Of-of course, sir. If-if you'll sign a few things and put your card on file, I can get you situated on your back- In your room!" she corrected, staring at her hands. 

Tom couldn't hide his smile, but he swallowed his laughter. It was always the same. The sweet little birds flocked to him, but they had no idea a predator was stalking them.

He went through the incidentals, signed her documents, collected his key and listened intently when she told him about the room, breakfast, the restaurant, spa, and pool. His ears perked up at the last. He did enjoy a refreshing swim. 

"And if you fancy something other than regular coffee or black tea, there is The Last Book and Brew just down the street. Ember makes the best scones and tea."

"Does she now?" he murmured, eyeing Irene - her name on a little plaque pinned to her chest - as she handed him back his credit card. "Perhaps I'll check in on it. A cuppa does sound delightful." The drive had been long, and tea might be just the pick-up he needed before calling round to Henry's. 

He nodded to Irene and headed for the stairs instead of the elevator. Three floors were nothing for his long legs, the exertion minimal, as he hiked to the third floor and down to the end where he fit the old-fashioned key into the antique lock and pushed open the door. 

Tom was pleasantly surprised to find a mixture of well-kept antiques and modern furnishings decorating the space. While the bed and mattress were new and covered with clean, white duvet and sheets, the dresser - upon which sat a television - was a heavy mahogany buffet with curved Queen Anne legs. The bathroom was a revolution of modern plumbing though a cast iron tub stood on clawed feet beside a glass shower big enough for two. Gilt framed mirrors hung above dual vanities into which water poured from brushed gold fixtures. 

It was all very romantic with its old-world charm though the inn was showing its age. Wallpaper lifted at the edges, millwork was chipped and rubbed in places, and a few of the lovely old tiles on the floor in the bathroom were cracked. But with the likely age of the building, it wasn't so surprising. If the gorgeous stone building weren't at minimum a century, he would eat his scarf. 

She could be an absolute beauty with effort and enough money. Yes, he would be comfortable here for a time. The Salvation Inn would suit him.

Tom made his way to the windows that looked out on Salvation's main street. The road was a mess of dirty snow, sanded and salted for ease of travel, but the thick white flakes floating down turned the quaint replica gas street lights into white-topped monuments of winter. Storefronts glowed with welcoming light, still running their Autumn displays, creeping toward American Thanksgiving. The commercialization of Christmas had yet to appear, giving everything a cheerful, colourful cast he found pleasing to his senses. 

Cars moved without hurry, mimicking the people coming and going about their business. Everyone was bundled up, but no one seemed to mind the cold and the snow. To be expected, he supposed. They lived in the mountains where snow fell early and lasted late. 

As his gaze traversed the lane, his attention landed on The Last Book and Brew and caused him to tilt his head, intrigued. Unlike the other traditional storefronts with their brick faces and colourful awnings, gold filigree writing on wooden signs, the little bookstore had a distinctly different feel to it. 

The door, window frames, and brickwork that accented the front of the building were painted a shiny, deep black. There was no awning but three stunning lanterns hung above the windows on wrought iron arms, beautifully curved like the elegant lines of a woman's body. A sign in the same black iron hung perpendicular to the door. Shaped like a shield or some family crest, the words The Last Book and Brew glowed crimson outlined in gold, while a raven of the same black iron sat guard, casting judgement on all who entered. Red velvet mounded in the windows, lovingly cradling the displayed books like sacrificial offerings. 

Someone knew what they were doing, for that was the sexiest storefront Tom had ever seen.

Utterly enchanted and desperate to see if the interior matched the exterior, he left his leather valise unpacked on the bed, pocketed his key, and headed for the door.

Irene looked up as he passed her, but Tom paid the clerk little mind. He was on a mission, a hunt now, needing to discover the answer to the mystery of just who this Ember of Last Book and Brew was that she could create with such aplomb a store so alluring. 

There was no wind when he trotted down the inn's exterior stairs and out into the snowfall. Traffic was light, so he crossed mid-street, avoiding puddles and snowbanks in an attempt to keep the Italian leather of his shoes dry while large flakes of falling snow collected in his dark ginger locks. He reached the door and admired the ornate handle before opening the door into another world. 

Tom stepped inside and stared in amazement. He'd never thought a bookstore could be moody, but this one certainly was. The floors were highly polished ebony wood that led into dark railings which spiralled past the sunken first-floor cafe up a short flight of stairs toward the bookstore beyond. 

He admired the cobblestone floor in the cafe, again shiny with polish, sealed he suspected to make cleanup easier. Upon them sat a virtual Mad Hatter's Tea Party of chairs, all shapes and sizes separated by wrought iron tables topped with glass. And though the chairs were unique in shape, they matched for colour, upholstered as they were in the blood-red and black brocade that turned them into a sexy indulgence he prayed were as comfortable as they looked. 

And hung above it all, like a lady's magnificent fascinator, was a chandelier worthy of the name. Clearly electric, it appeared to drip ropes of black jewels and crystals as long as his palm, lit by three dozen candles that flickered with faux flames. It was spectacular.

Beyond, the cafe counter, like a walnut dream, appeared to be a repurposed and rehabbed saloon bar where elegant scrollwork on a pristine chalkboard announced the daily specials. He could see the cakes and pastries in their glass case, and while his stomach rumbled to remind him of the last meal he'd eaten, Tom was too enthralled with the decadence of the store to allow himself to be led by his nose when a small sign at the foot of the stairs requested no food past that point. 

Another small sign asked him to wipe his feet, which he did without thought, before heading up the short but wide curved stairwell to the second floor into the fantasy world of someone's most magnificent mind. 

He felt guided by the hand of a fae as he wound his way through ebony bookcases over hardwood floors, beneath more hanging lanterns and delicate chandeliers. The soft white of all the lights allowed him to read titles and leaf through pages without feeling as if the overhead lights would eventually dry out his eyes or buzz their annoyance through his brain. Every so often, he came upon stands of lightly scented candles, or soaps, or lotions made with all-natural products and tingling with the lightest touch of were-magic, causing Tom to look at the store with deeper senses. 

The corners and cardinal points of the space had crystal wards, he realized, and the soft pulse of benevolent magic left him at ease. Whoever this Ember was, she bid all who came to her sanctuary welcome. 

Even more intrigued than before, Tom found his way toward the counter where voices spoke in hushed tones, intent on finding the owner and congratulating her on the sensual, slightly erotic nature of her store. It left him breathless in a way that was hard for him to come by, and yet even as it pulled at his dark, seductive nature, he knew a family could come into such a place and find it magical, like falling into the rabbit hole of a dark Alice fantasy.

"That's nice, Lorraine, but I don't think Henry would approve of you gossiping about his friend."

Tom stopped in his tracks. Warm brandy and velvet bled over his senses, stroking straight through him to the soul of his cat. The panther purred and preened, wanting the owner of that voice to pet him and whisper words of seduction in his ear. 

"Poppycock! Some big-city fella isn't going to care if we mountain folk talk about him."

Ugh, raven. He'd know that grating tone anywhere.

"Besides, he's some fancy lawyer or something," the raven, Lorraine, continued. "I'm sure he's used to people talking about him."

"It is still impolite."

Tom shivered, eyes half-lidding. He had to roll his head, stretching his neck to keep from sprouting fur. What he wouldn't give for one night with the owner of that voice. 

Never one to hide in the face of scrutiny, Tom glided out from behind the bookshelf and smiled at the two women. "Actually, I run hotels."

The raven eeped and jumped, spinning to face him. She was older than he'd suspected, her dark hair thoroughly saturated with grey though her eyes remained clear brown orbs. The other, oh, the other, he could not help but stare.

Her face was the kind that would make angels weep with sharp, classic features, high cheekbones and a pointed chin like a sweet little fox. Her big eyes widened in surprise, showing off the shocking green, so pale and light they were almost neon when the light caught them. The heavy fall of thick curls that slipped from her shoulder left his mouth dry with the desire to sink his fingers into the mass that started black at the root and faded into tones of silver and dark grey, hinting at patterns like small rosettes. 

A sleek, lithe body lovingly caressed by a sweater of raspberry wool and leggings of black knit glided out from behind the cash desk, her steps silent in small silver ballet flats. "Mr. Hiddleston?"

"Indeed," he purred, accepting her hand when she offered it. He captured it between both of his rather than shaking it as presented and held it lightly. "Thomas Loki Hiddleston, at your service, love. My friends call me Tom."

"Ember Porosha. Welcome to Salvation and The Last Book and Brew." She tilted her head, causing all that lovely hair to slide to the opposite shoulder. "Henry speaks highly of you."

"Mm," he chuckled, adjusting his grip to lightly press his thumb into the palm of her hand as he brought her knuckles to his lips. "Brags, does he?"

"Terribly," she agreed with a smile.

Tom smirked and pressed his lips to her skin. He inhaled and went rigid. That scent, the sweet smell of pine and snow somehow laced with the delicate notes of summer dreams, drowned him, flooding his lungs until he was sure he would never be able to breathe again without breathing in Ember's delectable fragrance. 

She tried to retrieve her hand. Tom growled, low and deep, more a purr than a reprimand, and opened eyes he knew would glow green with his cat. 

"Well, hello, pet," he smiled. "It seems I was wrong." He wasn't destined to be alone after all.

Sharp claws latched into his hands. "I've no desire to start anything with you, true mate or not."

He dropped her hands and brought his to his mouth to catch the blood seeping from the minor wounds. "We will see about that."

She hissed at him. 

Tom threw his head back and laughed before gliding into her personal space and threading his fingers into her hair. "Spit all you like, little kitten. I always get what I want."

"I think it's time you left, Mr. Hiddleston," Ember growled, her hand on his chest to keep him at bay. 

"Tea first," he smirked. "I'm gagging for a cuppa. Haven't had a decent one all day!" He stroked the silvery strands before letting them fall through his fingers. "Is your coat just as soft, Kitten?"

She glared daggers at him. "Leave."

He chuckled but stepped back, practically able to see her tail flick in anger. "Until later then, Ember."

***

He turned on his heels and sauntered away, leaving her seething behind him. How dare he. How dare he! How dare he assume such liberties when they'd only just met. When it was clear he was only passing through and would leave nothing but devastation in his wake.

"How dare he!" she hissed and stormed toward the back of the store to her office to calm down, forgetting Lorraine was still there.

Ember didn't slam the door, knowing he was still in the store, and she'd be damned before she gave him that much power over her. She would not be brought to heel like some… some… Kitten!

She growled a low sound and clenched her fists, determined to get control of herself and that snow leopard rolling like a damn hussy inside her.

She'd smelt him the moment he'd stepped beyond the books—dark spice and leather, mandarin and rosewood, with notes of cinnamon and vanilla. Ember's mouth watered with the desire to taste his skin and see if he tasted as good as he smelled.

"No," she said firmly. Her cat scoffed. "He won't stay here. He's a big city panther, and we will never go back." She was determined to live alone, be alone because she was safer that way.

Salvation was, well, their salvation. When she was most desperate for a new start and a place to hide from her past, Salvation was there with open arms, and an established were community.

Her cat settled down with the reminder and left her alone to pick up the phone.

Ember dialed the number by heart and waited for them to answer. "Hey, Henry, it's Ember. About tonight. Something has come up… I'm… not going to make it."

Next Chapter

[wtf-yoongi]

Softie. / MYG

pairing | yoongi x reader

summary | just a morning with min yoongi 🥺

prompts | “i love you more than coffee.” *distant gasps* + “every morning you kiss my forehead before i leave for work, why was it my lips today?” from this prompt list.

genre/warnings | disgustingly fluffy + very domestic

words | 1,990

note | i wanted to write something like this and then it fitted the prompt someone requested two ages ago and it became way too long for a timestamp and here we are

Very rarely does something beat the smell of black tea in the morning. Not any black tea, but this one in particular.

Forget it, nothing beats it.

The earthy tones coming from the leaves are enough to get you excited about your day and you’re careful not to scoop too much from the fancy, squared, tin box. It is, after all, precious and expensive — it seems like it gets pricier and pricier every time you restock it, almost to the point you’re begging the clerk for a discount.

You know it’s too much and you should stop spending money with that, the same money that could buy you enough tea for a whole year, but this is exactly the way luxury items go. Just above average, pretty packaging, minimalistic logo and a warm feeling in your heart from doing something special for yourself.

Like a ritual, you twirl the spoon and breathe in the steam coming from the pot before closing the lid. The instructions say you should brew it for three minutes and you’re proud to say you haven’t got that wrong once — not even on the day of your sister’s wedding, when she called saying she burned her ring finger, accidentally saw her fiancée and there was a real possibility of them not moving forward with the ceremony that day.

Even though she married with the ring on her middle finger, since the other one was bandaged, everything worked out. A little bit like a sitcom from the 90’s, but it did — in the end, it always did. That’s why you spend way too much money on that tea, because something about it makes things just work somehow. It’s unexplainable, quite magical and, to be honest, a little childish, but you love it.

Naturally, your hands start moving while the three minutes pass, refilling the kettle with water when you hear the shower stop running like you do every single day. In between the tea being served on a mug and his lazy morning footsteps, there’s only enough time for you to eat your peach yogurt.

“Hmm,” he hums and you can hear him getting closer as he speaks. “Treating yourself today, huh?”

You guess Yoongi can smell the black tea as well.

As you’re focused on adding the perfect amount of honey to your mug, there’s no time to turn or even look up at him coming into the kitchen with a sleepy and sweet look on his face. In such a small room, it only takes a heartbeat for him to stand next to you, leaving a quick kiss on your temple and short squeeze on the curve of your hips.

“Any special occasion I should know of?”

“Not really.” You shrug and, for a moment, Yoongi’s aftershave replaces the smell of tea completely. It’s fresh, clean and light, like most things he enjoys without noticing. “I just wanted something different.”

“I’m jealous, I want something fancy too,” he says without any weight to his voice, reaching for the coffee beans placed at the farthest corner of the pantry — the ones he also saves for very few mornings. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod quickly and excitedly, turning ninety degrees to open the refrigerator in search of milk. “I had to. There’s this big presentation today I’ve been preparing for five…”

“So there is something special going on.”

You stop in your tracks to look at Yoongi’s knowing smile, coffee grinder in front of him rumbling and doing its job while he waits.

“You’re a creature of habit, you know that, right? You wouldn’t drink this specific tea if something wasn’t going on.”

You smile at him, finally moving again to add a dash of milk to the mug and mixing it to check if it was enough. “If you weren’t so emotionless, I’d say that’s romantic.”

“Oh, you want romantic?” Yoongi’s tone goes up an octave, mocking you a little. “Fine. How about I love you more than coffee. In fact, I love you more than the smell of freshly ground beans in the morning and you know I love that very much. How about that, huh?”

It’s your turn to mock his words. “Oh, wow,” you gasp, raising a hand to the center of your chest. “How am I going to move on from this? I better email them saying I won’t be able to make it today. After this? Woof! No way I’ll be presenting anything but fifty slides of my favorite Yoongi pick-up lines.”

“That would be a satisfied client, don’t you think?” He plays along, adding the coffee to a French press and topping it with the water you just boiled. “Oh, do you want some toast? I feel like eating toast for some reason.”

And just like that, with Yoongi reaching for the toaster above your head, you’re both interested in something else. He pinches your side with his free hand and you take a step to your left, giving him enough space to place the appliance on top of the marble counter.

“You do have time for toast, right?” Yoongi asks as he turns it on and starts looking for bread. “I don’t want to make you late, the first two can be yours.”

“The tea is still a little too hot, I have time.”

“Good.” He nods shortly. “Sit down. These will be done in no time.”

You watch as Yoongi reaches for plates, knives, butter, strawberry jam and places all of them on the small kitchen table. Meanwhile, you sip the tea slowly, quietly enjoying it and, deep down, wishing for it to work its magic once again.

“Are you nervous about the presentation?” Yoongi asks just as he places two perfectly toasted slices of bread in front of you. He soon moves back to set two more on the toaster and turns to you again, waiting for an answer.

“I’m okay. It’s been worse.” You shrug, focusing on the butter as it melts when it meets the warm toast. “This client is nice. Even if they don’t agree with something, it’s not like…”

“Don’t bring Mr. Moon up again,” Yoongi warns you, slightly uncomfortable and somewhat ready to politely offend Mr. Moon if he ever showed up in front of him. “I’m still not over that. Who does he think he is to mistreat everyone because of a grammar mistake?”

You laugh at the way he seems so bothered by that. “It was a good thing, though, don’t you think? We kicked him out because we didn’t need his business if it meant we had to deal with that.”

“Serves him right,” he huffs. “He was being an ass for a long time, the grammar incident was just the tipping point.”

“And you don’t even know about the emails he sent to the junior analysts. He would literally…”

“Please,” Yoongi interrupts with a tight smile and warm eyes, nothing but light humor in his words. “Don’t make me hate him more. This is bad for myself, I have to be the better person.”

“You’re right,” you agree with a smile, taking a bite and adding a few words in a muffled voice. “He’s a problem of the past. And a solved one, thank God.”

You swallow just as Yoongi sits in front of you with perfectly done toasts for himself. He adds butter and strawberry jam to both of them before speaking again. “I’m glad you’re not nervous about this stuff anymore.”

“I’m glad too,” you admit and take a sip of the magical tea before continuing. “Shaky hands are also a problem of the past.”

“I want you to know I’m very proud of you. This sort of thing is not easy to overcome.” 

You giggle. “Yoon, you’re getting soft again.”

“When am I not?” He takes a bite and soon covers his mouth, not being able to stop a smile from forming. “I am a softie, this is who I am.”

“No, but you’re particularly soft today, I think. It all started when you were whining about me leaving the bed,” you say while getting up to place your plate in the sink. When you turn around, Yoongi is looking at you with what you can only describe as adoring eyes. “See? This is what I mean. Do you have a mirror? Look at yourself, there’s nothing not soft about you today.”

He’s the one giggling now, motioning for you to move with the hand that’s not busy with a toast. “Go finish getting ready, you’re going to be late!”

You hurry out of the kitchen with a smile, soon entering the bathroom to brush your teeth. It’s still kind of foggy, nothing but the perfume of Yoongi’s shower gel everywhere, and you have to wipe the mirror with a towel to see yourself properly.

The nervousness could be worse, yes, but it’s still there a little — well, today is the day you’ve been preparing for the last five weeks and there’s a lot at stake. You inhale and exhale deeply, concentrating on the goal rather than the challenge. What happens, happens, but you’re pretty sure you’ve done everything you could and that’s enough to leave you satisfied no matter the outcome.

“Yoongi, I’m leaving!” You call out, fixing a strap on your shoulder and immediately feeling the weight of the laptop and the heavy (but pretty) leather notebook you bought last fall — another one of the luxury items you treated yourself with. When you look up, the man is standing with another one of his knowing smiles and a thermos in hand.

“Were you really not going to drink every single drop of the tea you spend way too much money on?” He raises an eyebrow, extending his arm so you can take the travel mug from him. “I know you’re good and don’t need the magic from the tea, but…”

“Shut up,” you say jokingly, slapping his hand in the process. “And thank you.”

“Come here.”

Yoongi slowly takes a step to meet you halfway, hug awkward given the weight on your shoulder, but you couldn’t care less. He’s warm, inviting and has a comforting hand on your back while the other moves to cradle your jaw.

“I told you you’re particularly soft today,” you say just as he creates enough space to look into your eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Yoongi mumbles before pressing a kiss on your lips. You barely have time to register what is going on or close your eyes and it’s already over.

“Are you sure? Because every morning you kiss my forehead before I leave for work,” you point out, one eyebrow raised in doubt, but eyes as soft as his. “Why was it my lips today?”

“You may not notice, but the taste of black tea and honey on your lips…” He hums, closing his eyes to show just how much he likes it. “So good.”

“But I brushed my teeth.”

He leans in again and, this time, stays for a while longer — not barely enough for you, but you’d take anything with a smile.

Yoongi shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Still there.” He turns both your bodies, getting them closer and closer to the door. “Do you think this happens because the tea is that good and strong? Or maybe it’s because you don’t really do a good job brushing your teeth…”

“Ah, Yoongi!"

Before you know it, Yoongi is simultaneously opening the door, leaving another kiss on the corner of your mouth and pushing your body out. It seems like only a second has passed, but you find yourself right in front of the door when Yoongi is inside with only his head peeking through. 

“Don’t just stand there, you’re going to be late! Call me when the presentation is over and you have a yes, okay?”

He closes the door, but you can still hear him giggle on the inside.

Read more ›› masterlist

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

Texts from the Lost Tomb part 6.1

🎶 Back on the bullshit I never got off🎶

Is this another unnecessary story arc?? With three sections??

Yes.

Wushanju Crew Chat

Wang Meng: You know, I’m someone who appreciates consistency in my day. My life is pleasant, very few issues indeed if you ignore the big ones. And yet. Yet here we are. With unresolved messes at the end of a day.

Wang Pangzi: SOMETHIN YOU NEED TO SAY MARY POPPINS

Wang Meng: We need to talk about Huo Daofu and the glittery bead curtain.

Wang Pangzi: MY FAVE TEEN WIZARD SERIES

Wu Xie: did you turn on that suggested word thingy lol

What glittery bead curtain

Wang Meng: I closed the shop at 6:00pm this evening on the dot. I locked all of the doors in and out of the shop very carefully, especially in light of recent events. The hall leading to the back office was empty. I filed the day’s paperwork, updated and sent emails, and then spent an extra hour organizing receipts and dusting. When I came back out, there were glittery iridescent bead curtains over the front entrance to the shop.

What could this mean?

Wu Xie: uh that you need to spend less time at work?

Wang Pangzi: LOOKS LIKE WE GOT ONE FOR THE DETECTIVES. THE MYSTERY OF THE BEDAZZLED THRESHOLD COMMENCES

Wu Xie: I think we can be relatively secure in thinking a glittery bead curtain isn’t a hostile threat

Wang Pangzi: SAYS YOU

I REMEMBER YE OLDE EXPLORATION TIMES HOW FAST THINGS GOT FURIOUS

BEANBAG CHAIRS SET AFLAME AND LEFT ON DOORSTEPS AS A WARNING

GLITTERBOMBS FOR DAYS

PANIC AT THE DISCO

Wang Meng: Ugh, forget it. I should have just taken them down, regardless of who they belong to.

Zhang Qiling: They are not mine.

Wang Pangzi: A BOLD STATEMENT COMING FROM OUR PRIME SUSPECT

SOMEONE QUICK GO DRAW CHALK AROUND THE DOORWAY TO MARK THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

Wang Meng: Do we know anyone who *would* sneak in and put those up? For whatever reason, legal or not? Even as a joke?

Wang Pangzi: ARE YOU SERIOUSLY ASKING WHETHER WE KNOW ANYONE WHO IS CHAOTIC, AN OUTLAW, A PRANKSTER AND/OR SNEAKS INTO PLACES

BECAUSE THAT WOULD MEAN OUR SUSPECT LIST IS LITERALLY EVERYONE WE KNOW EXCEPT FOR YOU.

Wu Xie: okay let’s think about this; for starters, I didn’t break into my own shop

Wang Meng: You would be in danger of doing some work in the process, that’s true.

Wang Pangzi: LOL

Wu Xie: ANYWAY let’s keep going. For example, Xiao Ge would only break in somewhere for a good reason. Xiao Ge, did you do this?

Zhang Qiling: No.

Wu Xie: okay who’s next

Wang Pangzi: YOU REALLY MISSED YOUR CALLING IN INTERROGATION TIANZHEN

REALLY PUT THE SCREWS TO HIM

IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE;)

Zhang Qiling: How can we be certain *you* didn’t do it?

Wang Meng: Admittedly that was my guess, too.

Wang Pangzi: WOW I SEE HOW IT IS

BLAME PANGZI AS USUAL

ANYWAY HOW DOES HUO DAOFU FIT INTO THIS

Wu Xie: Oh yeah him! Oops I got distracted

Wang Pangzi: UR ENTIRE HISTORY IN A NUTSHELL

Wu Xie: Ugh fuck off

Wang Meng what abt Huo Daofu??

Zhang Qiling: ?

Wu Xie: oh sorry xiaoge I didn’t realize you wouldn’t have spent much time around him last year

He and I go way back

Zhang Qiling: Way back where?

Babysitters Club Chat

Wang Pangzi: I CANNOT BELIEVE HE IS BUYING YOUR INNOCENT ACT

IF YOU EVER TURN TO EVIL WE ARE FUCKED

Zhang Qiling: ?

Wang Pangzi: YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHO HUO DAOFU IS

YOU WERE EXTREMELY POLITE AND BORDERLINE FRIENDLY TOWARDS HIM

Zhang Qiling: I wanted him to feel welcome. I wanted to be sure he understands he has a place here. A specific place.

Wang Pangzi: FOR A SILENT GUY YOU ARE A MASTER AT SUBTLE POWER PLAYS IM ALL TINGLY

LMAO THE IDEA OF WU XIE LEAVING YOU FOR HUO DAOFU IS HILARIOUS AND ALSO NOPE

Zhang Qiling: Rationally, I understand that.

Main Chat

Wang Meng: Huo Daofu is coming for the weekend—didn’t Wu Xie tell you? Wu Xie asked me to check in a week ahead so we could start getting ready for his arrival

Wu Xie: oh yeah I did do that

Wang Meng: Fortunately I know you and so I already went ahead and took care of everything.

Re: the trip

He made a deal with Wu Xie’s doctor that he would do periodic checkups on him here at Wushanju

Bc Wu Xie hates being in the hospital

And frankly the hospital hates him too

Wang Pangzi: FAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTEMPT LOL

I FORGOT HUO DAOFU WAS DOING THAT

A VERY CHIVALROUS GESTURE

WOULDNT YOU SAY

XIOAGE

Zhang Qiling: Is it safe for him to be here with a criminal loose on the premises?

Wu Xie: Right, back to the curtain! Let’s focus on the curtain, hmm?

Wang Pangzi: I AM SO LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS WEEKEND.

ALSO WE CAN RULE OUT XIAO BAI FOR THE CURTAIN SHE JUST SENT A SELFIE FROM NORWAY COVERED IN GREEN SLIME WITH ZERO CONTEXT, UR PROTEGE INDEED

Wu Xie: okay but who else would do something so oddly charming yet illegal and—wait.

Snake Eyes Chat

Wu Xie: hey, Glasses hasn’t been in touch lately right?

Li Cu: uh nope

Unless u count the outdated memes

Why, is money or Xie Yuchen missing

Or is this curtain related, I saw Wang Meng’s tweet

Wu Xie: haha no nothing to worry about really

(I mean maybe? but who knows)

Wang Meng is probably just getting a little paranoid in his old age

Li Cu: better than getting reckless and stupid as hell in ur old age

Wu Xie: …hey:(

Unknown Number: Li Cu, we discussed this.

Wu Xie: ????????

Li Cu: *sigh* fine, reckless and stupid as heck

Unknown Number: …close enough.

Wu Xie: EXCUSE who is that

Madame, Sir, Non-Binary Tree Spirit, etc—whomst the fuck

Are you

Li Cu is underage FYI

So Im staying on this chat

Li Cu: okay first of all, it’s not like that

Second of all I’m literally not underage I s2g

u threw the embarrassing surprise bday party, okay so u should remember

And C, that’s my counselor and I invited her. She wanted to meet u and I knew u wouldn’t agree to a visit so I added her to our chat

we have been discussing u

Wu Xie: Oh wow!!!!!!!

What a surprise:)

hi so nice to meet you:)

Main Chat:

Wu Xie: RED FUCKING ALERT

FUCK THE CURTAIN FUCK THE VISIT

IVE BEEN TRICKED INTO FAMILY THERAPY BY A SMUG TEENAGER WHO TEXTS UNKNOWN NUMBERS

Wang Meng: I assume that means something to someone here?

Not my problem? Good.

Wang Pangzi: AHAHAHA GOD I LOVE LI CU

HES LIKE ADORABLE KARMA FOR ALL THE SHIT YOUVE PUT ME THROUGH

IM RAISING HIS ALLOWANCE

Wu Xie: wait i give him an allowance

has he been collecting on two allowances??

Zhang Qiling: Three. I knew about both of yours.

Snake Eyes Chat

Wu Xie: so uh may I ask your name?

Unknown Number: you can call me Ms. Lee.

Now, if you’re comfortable talking in this format, why don’t you tell me how things have been going?

Wu Xie: oh everything is normal and fine and safe as usual, why do you ask:)

Li Cu: I heard about ur necklace thing. nice of you to NOT mention it.

another dangerous adventure. again. prick.

Ur lucky your cool boyfriend cares about you so much or you’d have already died like ten years ago

Wu Xie: lol try twenty years ago

Li Cu: That isn’t funny.

Unknown Number: …What?

Wu Xie: shit ur right, okay that was a bit glib, my apologies.

…I use humor as a coping mechanism?

Unknown Number: and Li Cu, how do you feel about that?

Li Cu: he doesn’t even know what that phrase means

He doesn’t cope, like ever

In fact

It’s kind of why we met

Which is a funny story in retrospect tbh

Wu Xie: haha what are you talking about sweetie hahaha need I remind you of certain anecdotes that could idk send me to jail maybe lmao

Unknown Number: …You know, perhaps an in-person meeting might be more effective?

Wu Xie: haha such a nice idea but why

Main Chat

Wu Xie: If I go to jail, I’ll have to create alliances for protection, right, that’s how it works on tv

Who do we know who spends time in jail

Other than Hei Yangjing, he’s only ever there for like 12 hours and i suspect he just gets himself arrested bc he enjoys the breaking out process

Also how’s the curtain case coming along

Zhang Qiling: Has someone threatened you?

Wu Xie: well not yet but soon I’m sure

Wang Pangzi: WHERE WAS THIS PARANOIA WHEN WE GOT TAKEN TO THE TEA HOUSE HUH

Snake Eyes Minus Your Fucking Therapist Chat

Li Cu: okay how tf did u pull off spy and undercover shit

u are sus as hell

Wu Xie: damn son is it pick on Wu Xie night

I missed the flyers or I would’ve invited my uncles

Also re: the curtain it’s been mostly solved

Li Cu: I’m not your son, idiot.

Wu Xie: …oh. Sorry, sorry, you’re right, bad choice of words, haha

Forget i said anything

Delete this chat even

Li Cu: shit I meant

Legally, biologically, I meant—

shit

…I turn into an asshole as a coping mechanism?

Wu Xie: oh that’s all okay! I have to go do something else now let me know if you need anything okay kid thanks!

Li Cu: goddamn it calm down who’s the kid here

lemme organize my thoughts so I can articulate my emotions fuckin healthily or w/e

Ugh maybe for like one afternoon we could go to Ms. Lee together? She knows how to word stuff

Wu Xie: uh…okay.

Li Cu: Anyway you don’t need to worry abt jail

As if you would survive prison for one day you’d piss off half the place in like an hour or less

I gave Ms. Lee the heavily edited version of the desert highway to hell roadtrip and i discussed it more in terms of like “nightmarish but still wouldn’t take any of it back”

Well maybe the sand

that shit was everywhere

Wu Xie: oh kiddo. It’s fine, really…You don’t have to explain yourself to me.

Li Cu: no, no it’s just

I do technically have a dad

who is an asshole. Being a son doesn’t really mean shit to me bc it sucked.

So you need to stop backing down just cuz ur guilty abt stuff. I’m really really glad ur not my dad in a good way. Do u get what I mean there

Where’s the mafia widower I followed into hell, huh

Wu Xie: Ur a good kid, despite my influence. I’m really glad you have someone to talk to after everything I…after everything. Wow this talking through feelings thing is kind of weird but nice ur right

Jfc no wonder it took me and xiaoge so long to—you know what, we won’t get into that

Li Cu: ew tmi

Also re: this week’s recent necklace fuckery

I moved my stuff here, I live here now

So you can’t die anymore

Or else…Idk I don’t have a threat planned

anyways abt the curtain

Wu Xie: oh my god, kid…kid you have no idea

I am in tears.

Li Cu: see this is why I can’t be nice to you I can sense the hallmark channel from here

Ugh don’t be sad in ur room that’s dumb

Go hug Pangzi or something

Maybe delete this chat

Or the curtain thing

Focus on the curtain thing

Just stfu and go away

Wu Xie: <3 screenshotting this <3

Li Cu: I take back everything I said. This is why Xiao Ge sleeps on the roof. I hope the ghosts of the Wangs put up that curtain to strangle you somehow. Go die in a stupid way, it’ll suit you.

Wu Xie: lol don’t worry I’m not gonna embarrass you with it or anything

Main Chat

Wu Xie: omg guys look how cute my kid is *sending screenshot*

Wang Pangzi: I MEAN

HE IS WISHING YOU DEATH

BUT SURE

CUTE I GUESS

Wu Xie: no but read the whole thing:):):)

Zhang Qiling: It is indeed very hard to remain angry with you. And you are welcome to join me on the roof.

Wang Pangzi: UH NOPE

NOT WHENI HAD TO BLEACH THE COUNTER IN THE KITCHEN

DONT TRAUMATIZE THE EARLY BIRDS THEYRE ALREADY FREAKED OUT BY U YA HOODIE CRYPTID

Wu Xie: ok true but babe ur like a sexy cryptid

Wang Meng: so, are we just accepting that there is a glittery curtain of unknown origin, and Huo Daofu is going to have to see it while he’s waiting for you at Wushanju bc you’re going to family therapy?

Wu Xie: right

Wang Pangzi: SHOULDA TAKEN EARLY RETIREMENT HUH

Wang Meng: I’m going to go dust something.

Unnamed Chat:

Unknown number: so the curtain…

Unknown number 2: yep, not my best work but I kinda panicked last minute u know

Unknown number: what is in the water at Wushanju that makes everyone dumb and attractive

Unknown number 2: relax they’ll figure it out

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 13)

<<Previous part Masterlist   Next part>>

(Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman, @idontknow296, @beksib, @spythoschei, @geekwritersworld, @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 @toe-vind-ek-jou @joscelyn02, @t00-pi, @irwxnhugsx )

Warnings: creepy man, hungover (alcohol mentions), abduction mentions.

Chirping birds woke you up as the light hit your face. It was a slightly sunny morning, you could see. A cold one, too. Your head ached; yesterday’s wine was stronger than you’d think. You remembered very little, and the hangover weighed on your feet as you tried to stand up. Soon, that weight redistributed up to your head, dizziness almost throwing you back in bed.

With much more effort than before, you got up and walked slowly to the kitchen, glancing around. Last night, a sticky kid fell asleep on the doorframe. You chuckled and decided to not wake him up. Loki was nowhere to be found; must be sleeping in his own room, if he had one by then.

An ibuprofen and some cold water later, you checked the time. It was so early; six in the morning. You decided to get working already; maybe someone on the team was awake. If not, you could at least take things off your to-do list for the day and get time free at noon to play videogames with Peter, or help him with that Lego Stark Tower he has been trying to build for almost two weeks now. A nice walk in the park to get some fresh air until some coffee shop opened; that’s what you needed.

The streets were emptier than you’d imagine, and then you realized it was saturday. Peeping in, a coffee shop next block was already opening, and people were lining up to get in. You made sure to have brought money and a laptop with you, and as you reached your pockets you realized you had your suit on, under normal clothes. Well, at least I’m prepared for anything now. Even a sunday morning in a lovely coffee shop, you thought, laughing to yourself. If Tony saw you like this, he’d recall that word he says you inherited from him. Paranoid. But no, Stark, I’m just hungover. Good to know your first instinct once you get up off bed is to suit up. Tony'd be proud. And a little disappointed, too.

You got a table far from the window, wall behind your back making sure nobody could eye your laptop. Once you were settled in and your coffee was getting cold, you started working. You were so glad you were out of the public eye, so you could afford yourself all of these outside activities. Sounded stupid, but if you were to have dinner with Sam, or Steve, or Thor, you’d have to also deal with paparazzis all night long. Actually, in dining out with Thor, paparazzis would be the least of your problems.

“Hey”, greeted Bucky from the other line. “It’s so early, what are you doing up?”.

“Buck, it’s already ten”.

“Oh”, he said, and you heard a sliding curtain by his side. “Oh, there it is. Sunlight”.

“Why are your times all twisted?”.

“We stayed up until five”.

“Doing what?”.

“Let’s say the mini bar was not so mini”.

“Oh my God”, you laughed, and checked for your work on the laptop. “At this point, I think the only one who didn’t get drunk last night is Spidey. Ah. Listen, I’ve arranged today’s plan, and it has to go right or else you can get abducted again. And we don’t want that, okay?”.

“I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do now. Didn’t we already get the stick?”.

“That’s the point, there’s more… you know, bottles hanging around” you lowered your voice. The coffee shop was almost empty, but just in case, you kept it under your breath. “That’s why you gotta get into Hydra’s last base again. Do not go alone”.

You instructed Bucky and then he tried his best to put you on speaker to the rest of the team, but failed. None of them could actually figure out how to do it; Steve was even less familiar with cell phones, and Thor… well, not even elaborating on him. The only Asgardian who seemed familiar enough with Midgard’s technologies was sleeping soundly on the compound. You had to explain the plan thoroughly another two times individually, and then finally hung up and got to work, sending them coordinates and turning off Hydra’s hacked security cameras.

Once they were already in, you had not much more to do. At least for a few hours, they’d be completely submerged in there, and your help wasn’t needed anymore. You still planned for some outcomes and didn’t even notice the man standing in front of you.

“Excus…”.

“OH... my God”, you gasped, taking yourself off your hyper focused state. The man chuckled. His teeth, yellow, seemed like he didn’t know anything about dental hygiene. His clothes were perfectly cleaned, though, in a tidy office-type suit; but his hair was hidden by a peaked cap that barely let you see his eye expressions. Very weird looking. Hard to read. Just now unemployed? Dressed like that to get attention? You frowned and closed all tabs, opening a fake account of email and some cheap online magazine. “What do you need?”.

“Can I sit here?”.

“No”.

He smiled weirdly and manspreaded in the chair you told him not to sit in. You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“What are you doing?”, he asked.

You ignore him and keep pretending to read your mails, eyeing how many people were in there too. It was getting fuller than before. If he wanted to steal your laptop he’d have to do it in front of all of these people, and cross the whole coffee shop. He wasn’t planning on stealing. You made a security copy of all the files anyways.

“You have pretty eyes”.

You ignored him again, but now understood his intentions. God, people could be so shameless sometimes. You literally told him to go away. You’ll repeat it, just in case he would actually listen this time.

“Go away”.

He chuckled and stayed in place.

“I just want to talk, sweetie”.

“Sure. I’m not interested”.

“You have a boyfriend?”.

“I have a very strong fist”.

He got closer, leaning on the table, and lowering his voice said “You’re working on the supersoldiers mission, yes?”.

You froze. Suddenly, the creepy man was a bigger threat than you’d anticipated. Your hand hovered over the gun in your pocket, holding strong eye contact with him.

“Who are you?”.

“What do you have in your pocket?”, he teased.

“Wanna find out?”, you threatened.

Looking over his shoulder, an all-too-familiar fifteen year old hid behind a pile of coffee cups from the bar counter, holding his breath to not laugh. You sighed and broke the tension.

“Funny. Very funny. I almost shoot you, you know”.

“That’s not a very good instinct”.

“Not an instinct, I truly wanted to shoot you”.

“You sure were, pancake”, he said as he transformed back into himself, still in those ugly clothes covering half his face. As he looked down to himself, he frowned and changed his clothes to an Asgardian armor. “But your mortal bullets would be no more than a caress to my skin”.

“Let’s give it a try, shall we?”, you cocked your gun, joking. He laughed, and Peter got increasingly nervous as you played with your toys in a public and safe place, surrounded by civilians. “Don’t worry, Pete, it’s fake”.

Peter sighed in relief as you clarified and put it back in your pocket, and Loki smirked, knowing perfectly well you just lied.

“Why don’t we get something to drink, too, mr. Loki?”.

“Yeah, whatever you want, kid”.

“Not a kid”.

“Apologies. Actually, can you order it? I’m afraid Midgardians don’t usually take kindly to my presence”, he asked. Peter nodded.

“I do, mr. Loki”.

"What?".

"Take it kindky".

Loki smiled and raised his eyebrows, a bit confused. Muttered an “I’m glad” and instructed him to get an americano, while you packed your laptop in the backpack.

"How's the incognito working out for you in your shiny armor?"

"Better than before. At least now I'm comfortable while getting the same bad looks I always get anyways".

"Shapeshifter can't manage to hide, how ironic", you said, giving him one of the new earbuds, with an attachable mic. "Since you have good strategy plans and you sort of know what you're doing, work with me".

"I thought we were already working together. You know, in this stupid thing called The Dark...".

"Yeah", you interrupted him, rolling your eyes once again. "From behind the scenes, I mean. This is so you can listen to whatever my earbud hears. Don't bite your tongue if you have any inputs, I'm running out of solutions".

Your phone rang again as you were getting up.

“Yes?”.

“It’s all gone to trash, y/n. We need a new plan, I can’t find Buck anywhere. What’s your backup?”, rushed Steve’s voice. It sounded like it was from a public service phone, and the static didn’t let you hear Steve’s surroundings. Loki looked at the floor, concentrating. He didn't find anything either, and was too far away to read his mind.

“Wait. What do you mean you can’t find him? You were supposed to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t get kidnapped again”, you said, opening your laptop again and looking for Bucky’s location. He didn’t have it on him.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant with ‘it’s all gone to trash’”.

“Okay, don’t freak out. Where are you?”.

“Hydra’s last base, top of the buil…”.

“Hold up, I have another incoming call”. You put him on hold and see who’s calling. It was Bucky, this time. You sigh out of relief. Peter watched you two concerned while approaching you with two coffee cups. You gestured to him to not talk, and Loki had started to type things in your computer. “Buck, where are you? What happened?”.

On the other side of the line, you didn’t get a specific answer. You heard muffled noises that you still couldn’t quite figure out what they meant, and more than one person behind the phone.

“Buck, you there?”, you asked once again. Bucky’s voice filled the silence with a heartrending scream of agony. You almost dropped your phone, and your heart beated to the speed of light. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. They have him. “Buck!”.

“Three hours”, called someone, probably one of the Hydra butchers. “You have three hours”.

“Three hours for what?!”, you tried to hold them on the line while tracing the call. It was from a specific coordinate, nobody could get there unless they teleported. Luckily, you had the perfect person for the job. Loki looked at you quizzically.

"Do we not have better people on it? Can't Stark go?".

You returned to Steve’s call, while thinking about some other alternative than taking you three there (including Peter). “They have Bucky. Location’s very far away from where we all are, so you try to get out of there and go to Asgard with Thor; they’ll try to kidnap you too, and Hydra’s resources are global. No, don’t argue, you screw up, now you do exactly as I say”.

“Do you think they’re the same that hijacked the ship on the first part of the mission?”, asked Loki once you cut the call.

“They might. We have to go get him, there's no other way. The rest of the team comes back tomorrow and they can't leave”.

“No, I have to go”, said Loki. “But I’m supposed to stay with you two and make sure you’re not endangered, and I’m sure if I leave you here all alone, you’ll try to come by your own means”.

“Which means”, you added, “if you take us with you, you can make sure we don’t endanger ourselves”.

“This is a terrible idea”.

“But the only one so far”, you convinced him. “Pete, feeling like going on a dangerous mission?”.

“Hell yeah!”, he said eagerly. Loki was not very fond of his enthusiasm.

“I can do this”, you assured him. “Do you trust me?”.

“Yes”. He didn’t hesitate. “But I don’t trust them. You two will stay behind me facing the danger, alright? Nothing of wanting to play heroes”.

“Got it. Let’s suit up, fellas. Bucky’s waiting”.

[animeheadcannoncentral]

NSFW ENJI (Endeavor) X READER ONESHOT

Business/CEO A/B/O AU - this just popped into my head and turned into a 10 Chapter fic you can read on Ao3: “Hidden Flowers”

Warnings: smut, Dom Enji, sub reader, rough sex, A/B/O dynamics, alpha Enji, omgega reader, alpha Toshinori, heat cycles, dirty talk

Words: 5k

(Y/N) checked her emails one final time, ensuring nothing new had come through in the last three minutes that needed her boss’s attention. She picked up the file she had organised for the day, shuffling the papers into a neat stack before rising to her feet, straightening out her clothes and marching towards the CEO’s office. She opened the door without knocking, an action that he had told her to forego many years ago, she was his secretary after all, if she had something urgent to tell him, there was no point in wasting time knocking on the door. And he also didn’t need to burden of someone knocking on his door fifty times a day. The red head was on the phone when she entered, this scene wasn’t uncommon, some days he scarcely got away from the damn thing.

Closing the door behind her, she walked up to his desk and placed the pile of papers down on his right before walking to a white board and started neatly writing out the day’s major meetings.

“I don’t care about the cost, how long will it take to get it up and running again?” Enji sighed into the phone as he noted down the time frame.

“Is there another company that can fix it faster?” she turned back and saw he was looking at her. He’d asked both her and the person on the other end of the call, he just knew she’d come up with a solution faster.

“Mack Plus have the best engineers, Trencher Co. will be quickest but they fixed that unit previously and it’s broken again, I would suggest Wheels Down Inc as nothing they’ve fixed has broken again and it will be fixed within the week” she spilled out, she’d read the email about the mining vehicle break down this morning and immediately looked at the data for previous break downs. The man nodded and wrote it down, whilst also rolling his eyes at whoever was on the other end of the call.

“(Y/N) will send through contact details for further correspondence with Wheels Down Inc, let me know once the machine’s operating again” and the CEO hung up.

“Fucking useless” Enji muttered as he started going through his emails, “got any good news?” he asked.

“Stocks are up again today?” she tried which resulted in a small smirk from him.

“And you only have one meeting currently locked in today as well, however it is with a major shipping company that we’ve been trying to create a deal with for the past five years” she frowned a little at the last part.

“I said good new (Y/N), not mediocre news” he sighed.

“It’s their new CEO, so I guess a new chance to make good impressions” she tried again.

“That’s why I’m putting you on the front line”

“I’ll do my best Sir” putting the whiteboard marker down and turning back to him.

“Have you found anything of use in Yagi’s background?” he asked as he started going through the files she had left on his desk.

“Nothing of particular use. The problem is he seems completely different to his father, since he’s taken leadership, the company has become heavily involved in charity work. Regardless of whether it was his intention or not, the shipping company has gained a huge amount of positive press. I found nothing on Yagi himself, the only thing you can really play into in this deal is the ‘make the world a better place’ because even after a deep dive on his history, I couldn’t find anything to suggest he wants anything else” she explained with a shrug.

“How do our eco stats look?” he questioned.

“Favourable, we’ve cut emissions by seventy-five percent with the new machine’s we’re using, and with the new sonar tech that’s been implemented we’ve reduced habitat loss due to our companies’ procedures by nearly ninety percent. The rest of the report is on page five” she was confident as he went through the papers and pulled out the report.

“Increase public profile” the red head raised an eyebrow at the short list of suggestions she had made.

“It can’t hurt Sir, becoming more involved with the local community could see a potential increase of upwards of twenty percent in sales”.

“At what cost?” he put the paper aside, knowing she would be able to give him a clearer answer than the document.

“Time, funding, man power” she was curt, the CEO didn’t like wishy washy explanations.

“The board won’t like that” it was a statement.

“Can’t make an omelette and all that” she shrugged and he eyed her. She had never been wrong when it came to giving suggestions or advice on what was best for the company. She would voice her opinion on occasion, when she knew she was completely in the right. It was one of the many reasons Enji kept her as his secretary and refused to promote her to a section manager, not to mention the ridiculous bonuses that he forked out to her at the end of each year for her work. She were too goddamn valuable, and unlike many of his employees, she wasn’t afraid of him. The alpha was used to people grovelling at his feet, begging and pleading for whatever it was that they wanted at the time, usually sex or money, even employment. Enji Todoroki was one of the strongest alpha’s out there, hell, he was so intoxicating some alphas had even begged him to use them. But she wasn’t like them, it was almost as if she couldn’t smell pheromones, he was almost convinced that she in fact couldn’t, going by the amount that he had released around her in the beginning to test her.

When he’d first met her, he was shocked by her professionalism, she didn’t seem to care that he was an alpha and she wasn’t deterred when he borderline threatened her during the job interview. Hell, he didn’t even know what her secondary gender was, her CV states that she’s a beta, but the way she acted sometimes, she could convince anyone she was born an alpha. She wouldn’t take shit from anyone, and she certainly wouldn’t let him dish it out to her either, or if he did, she’d give it straight back and usually be right, and always got away with it. It’s why he respected her so much and hadn’t tried to come onto her once, also because he was more attracted to submissives, and she were far from it. She took suppressants, that much he was sure off, she never smelled like anything, and she didn’t give off any scent at all, ever.

“When’s the meeting?” he asked.

“In thirty minutes” she said as she turned to leave.

“You better get to it then” he mused.

“You don’t have to tell me twice” she gave a small smile and then exited the room. She made her way down to the lobby of the building to greet Mr Yagi on his arrival, just in case he was early. And wouldn’t you know it, this ball of sunshine was always early. He walked through the front doors to the building not two minutes after she had walked out of the elevator. She lifted her shoulders, stood up straight and approached the man with confidence.

“Mr Yagi, I’m (Y/N), Mr Todoroki’s secretary, it’s an honour to meet you” she put on a bright smile upon reaching him and what must have been his secretary. It wasn’t until she reached them that she realised how god damn tall the man was in person. Sure, Enji was tall, but for some reason, this man’s height stuck out to her. And they were both businessmen, so how the fuck did they both luck out in the looks, smarts, height and muscles departments?! It just wasn’t fair. Forget about triple threat, these men were quadruple threats. They covered all fronts.

Then to her surprise, he actually offered her a hand to shake with a genuine smile.

“Thank you for greeting us, this is my secretary Izuku, we’re so glad Enji was kind enough to host this meeting” his voice was deep, but kind and polite as she shook his hand, referring to the greenette beside him. She glanced at the young man before returning her attention back to the alpha in front of her.

She had never met a business partner this kind-hearted before, the business world didn’t usually allow his kind to thrive, but here he was, the CEO of the world leading shipping company. Without even realising it her cheeks flushed a light shade of red and she felt her heart rate increase, and of course, her scent glands started aching as they tried to release pheromones. Luckily, her suppressants were working for now, but it was then that she caught his scent, everything went blurry for a second and she lost focus.

“Are you alright Ms (Y/N)?” he asked, gently stabilizing her by her shoulders. She cursed herself, why did her body have to react to an alpha now of all times?

“I’m so sorry, Mr Yagi, and (Y/N) is just fine” she smiled up at him, puffing out her chest a bit and stabilising her footing.

“Please, call me Toshinori” he corrected her and she was slightly stunned for a moment. Every single business partner she’d ever introduced had always treated her like trash on the side walk, scarcely giving her the time of day. She’d be lucky if she even got a grunt of acknowledgment from them.

“If you’d kindly follow me” she said and turned to lead the way. Taking the chance to scoff at herself and attempt to pull herself together, an attempt that miserably failed when Mr Yagi insisted on maintaining small talk then entire elevator ride. He was just being a human being, asking how her day was going, how long she’s been working at the company, if she enjoyed working here. She could feel her temperature rising with each question he asked, and pain started erupting in her abdomen.

“Please follow me” she said politely, stepping out of the elevator cursing herself, she was going into her heat early, and she was pretty damn sure it was because of the presence of this alpha. She guided the CEO and his secretary to an empty meeting room.

“Please wait in here for just a moment, Mr Todoroki will join you shortly” she said before closing the door. Her head was starting to spin and the pain was growing from annoying to uncomfortable ridiculously fast. She maintained her composure as she walked into her small office, quickly taking some pain killers with half a litre of water. She ruffled through her draws as she looked for her EpiPen, her heart skipping a beat when she couldn’t find it. She knew she had one here for emergencies. The omega let out a sigh of relief when her hand glided over it. Quickly removing the cap and injecting herself with more suppressors that would hopefully stop the effects of her early oncoming heat for at least the next few hours. She took three deep breaths before exiting her office and entering Enji’s.

As soon as the door opened, a wave of pheromones hit the CEO. His brow furrowed in anger. His employees knew better than to come to work during rutting or heat cycles, it decreased everyone’s productivity.

“Get the fuck out of…” his eyes had been fixed on the computer when he glanced at the intruder. “…(Y/N)?” he looked taken aback. There was no way she was an omega. She always held herself like an alpha, how the hell was this strong, independent woman a fucking omega? However, he couldn’t deny that her scent was causing blood to flow straight to his cock.

“But you’re not supposed to be off til next week” he went to check his calendar.

“I know, it’s come on early” she let out a stuttered sigh as the drugs finally started to set in.

“I’ve taken some emergency suppressors, my hormones should level out in the next minute or so. I um, Toshi… I mean, Mr Yagi and his secretary are in the meeting room” she shook her head at herself. It was then that everything clicked for Enji and a smile crossed his face as he rose from his seat.

“He’s sent you into an early heat, hasn’t he?” the alpha’s voice was low, but there was a hint of playfulness behind it. She ground her teeth, refusing to answer the question, instead choosing to look away. He approached her, a smirk still playing on his lips, instead of walking through the door, he shut it, as he caged her between his arms.

“You know better than to not respond when I ask you a question, omega” he let the work hang in the air, testing her boundaries. Her brow furrowed and she glared up at him.

“You don’t get to call me that” she growled at him, then noticing that he was purposely releasing pheromones to try and rile her up. If she hadn’t just shot herself up with enough suppressants for a week, she would probably have slick running down to her ankles by now. Her boss was unfairly attractive.

“Answer the question (Y/N)” he leaned close to whisper into her ear.

“So, what if he has?” she burst out, ducking out from under his arms and walking across the room, folding her arms, “All he did was smile at me and I lose control, what the fuck is wrong with me?” she sighed angrily rubbing her temples.

“When was the last time you properly went through a heat?” Enji asked her, she looked back at him to see a genuinely concerned face. When she had taken her mandatory time off for her mating cycle she never stopped responding to emails, most people wouldn’t touch their computers during the height of a mating cycle, it all became too much, but she was always online, which told him that she probably hadn’t let her body go through a normal cycle in a while.

“I don’t know, during high school, like eight or nine years ago” she shrugged and the CEO just blinked at her in shock.

“I had more important things on my mind” she shied away from his judging look.

“That’s still a long time” he pushed.

“It’s not like I had an alpha to help me through one!” she suddenly shouted at him, she stared him down for a moment before realising what she’d just said and who she had just said it to.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, that’s not your fault, nor something you should worry about, fuck I hate this” she muttered.

“(Y/N), be honest with me, have you ever been through a proper heat?” he asked, when she turned to him this time, there was nothing but concern in his face.

“No” she didn’t make eye contact with him, but she had no reason to lie to him. Enji hated how submissive she was being, this wasn’t her at all, while a dark part of him did want her begging for his cock, he hated seeing her looking so vulnerable, he wanted to protect her, to make her feel safe.

“Look, I’m going to be really selfish now, but if you think you can handle staying for the meeting then I could really use your help. If not, I’m also more than happy for you to go home. But you’re going home before lunch today either way and I strongly advise you don’t take any more suppressants” he paused for a moment, as if trying to word something correctly, “What I’m about to say, I’m saying as a friend, not your boss, if you need help getting through it, i can help you. But who knows, maybe you might actually be able to get his number and he can help you” the alpha growled slightly at that last part, admitting and acknowledging that he wasn’t the one to set off your heat. Although to be fair, he hadn’t purposefully released any pheromones around you since you had your job interview with him. The girl let out a sigh and composed herself, straightening out her shoulders.

“I’m staying for the meeting” he knew she would, “but I am not going through a full heat” she said firmly, walking past him.

“(Y/N)!” he was about to say more, but she had already walked out the door, heading towards the meeting room. She opened the door and put a smile on.

“So sorry to keep you waiting” she apologised.

“That’s quite alright” Toshinori smiled back at her, however he noticed that she was no longer producing the lovely pheromones that he knew he had set off. Was the girl taking suppressors? He was certain he had set off an early heat, that fact that she was supressing it frustrated him. He loved seeing a flustered omega, especially one who was normally kept together as this one appeared to be. She was going to pose a challenge, and Toshinori was going to have fun pulling her apart and turning her into his little slut. The thought had him half hard in his pants. This omega was going to belong to him, one way or another.

Enji followed her into the room. The two CEO’s shook hands and introduced themselves to each other before commencing the meeting. (Y/N) was a sharp as ever, handing Enji the correct documents when they came up in conversation and was able to provide any information when called upon. Izuku wasn’t as sharp as she was, but still maintained a professional standard and look about him, the boy certainly didn’t let the woman’s sheer dominance fluster him. The meeting went as well as it could have, they both signed a contract of partnership, so it went better than both parties were expecting. Seeing her in action just made Toshinori want her more. She was professional, sharp and confident, and he wanted to be the one to own her, to see her trembling underneath him, begging for his cock. Somehow, all four of them managed to remain professional throughout the entire meeting, there were no sly words with hidden meaning, and (Y/N) was thankful for that.

Enji Todoroki was never one to escort his guests out himself, it just wasn’t a thing that he did. So, he left the meeting as he usually would with a ‘pleasure doing business with you’, but he purposefully changed the wording on the following sentence ‘my secretary will get you anything you need before you go’. She burned holes into his back as he exited the room. She was going to kill him. The next morning’s headlines would read, ‘Secretary jailed for attempted murder of her boss’. She sighed, shaking her head slightly.

“Midoriya, go wait outside, I’ll be down shortly, I just need to go over a few things with (Y/N) before we leave” the tall blonde uttered to his secretary.

“Of course Sir” the boy said before he exited the room. Toshinori’s eyes didn’t leave (Y/N)’s, who still had her business face on. He couldn’t read her. This was going to make things more difficult. After seeing her in action, he wanted her even more, and without even realising it, his pheromones radiated off him. But she was acting as if she couldn’t sense them, which pissed him off.

“What can I help you with, Sir?” she asked, her tonne polite, but holding no emotion behind it. Unlike their first interaction where she put on a sweet, warm smile for him, she was bitterly cold now, purposely trying to shut him out.

“I don’t like corporate titles, I told you to call me by my first name” he sighed, rising form where he was sitting, she was going to be more of a challenge then he originally thought. That was fine, he was actually excited.

“Is there anything I can get you, Toshinori” she said softly, not removing herself from her seat as the man walked around the table removing something from his pocket. He handed the small piece of paper to her.

“You seem like a very professional woman, so I hope you don’t take offense to this, but here’s my number, I’d love to catch up for a coffee sometime” he said with a smile and she took the paper from him carefully, the man was letting off an absurd amount of pheromones which were causing her to literally burn off the suppressants she’d taken no more than two hours ago.

“I…uh…” she tried to respond, but the alpha gripped onto the side of her chair, leaning over her to whisper in her ear.

“Let me know if you need any help with your heat, something tells me you’ve never had an alpha look after you properly before” he growled lowly in his chest before pulling away and walking out of the room with a smirk on his face.

Once she finally recovered, she heaved herself out of the chair and found that her panties were completed soaked through, luckily it hadn’t yet soaked through to her actual pants yet. She made a quick dash to her office before closing the door behind her. She turned the internal heater on and grabbed the emergency blanket from the bottom draw, wrapping it around herself and hiding in a bundle under the desk with her laptop as she continued to work, hoping it would distract her from the slick pool that was growing around her cunt and the immense pain growing in her lower abdomen. At about three in the afternoon an email came into the inbox that needed the CEO’s immediate attention. She was too worn out by that stage to register that he had told her to go home and she probably shouldn’t be working at all. She flicked the email to him without a second thought.

Upon receiving said email, Enji’s brow furrowed, she should have been home by now. He quickly opened the door to his office just to check she had in fact gone home, letting out a low growl when he noticed her light was still on. He stormed across the corridor and opened the door, a wave of sickly sweet pheromones hitting him all at once. He was confused when he didn’t see her sitting at the desk, she had to be in the room, there was no way the place smelled this sweet without her being in there. He closed the door behind him and walked around the desk to find her nesting. His first thought was to yell at her for not listening to him and also for using the goddamn office to nest. But then he saw she was shaking as she tried to type out an email, it took a moment for her to noticed him crouching there looking at her incredulously.

“I told you to go home” he rumbled deeply, and she winced.

“I… I can’t walk” she admitted, refusing to make eye contact with him. Something burned inside him, obviously that alpha had said something to her to set her off again, and then just goddamn left her. It infuriated him, sure he’d done the same thing to plenty of omega’s before, but this was his…, no not his, this was (Y/N).

“I want you to send a message out to all staff working today and inform them that they can knock off” he said calmly. She was confused by the instruction, but took a minute to type out the message and sent it on his behalf.

“Now close the laptop and give it to me” he said gently, and she cautiously complied, handing him the laptop before he placed it on the desk over her.

“Come here” he motioned towards himself, and she went to move, but her eyes widened in panic and she returned to the way she was sitting, confusing the alpha who was doing everything in his power not to just grab her and knot her right there.

“If I move, it’s gonna run” she whispered, his face scrunched up in confusion for a second.

“What’s gonna…” he stopped short, she was worried about her slick. She really had never gone through her heat’s properly before, she was embarrassed by something that was normal, something that made him almost lose control and show her just how normal it was.

“That’s okay, it’s normal” he said, still offering his hand to her, she looked at him then, searching his eyes that were looking at her with kindness. There was no malicious intent behind them. She slowly reached for his hand and crawled out of her makeshift nest, pausing for a moment when slick gushed down her thigh, before continuing to crawl out from under the desk. Enji noticed she was clutching her stomach the entire time. She lifted her face up to look at him, she had tears in her eyes.

“Enji, can you please…” she paused trying to think things through, “can you please fuck me?” a tear rolled down her cheek when she said that and the alpha wasn’t’ sure if she was crying from the pain or from giving in. He unintentionally started releasing pheromones, having an omega so close to him, and especially considering that omega was clearly under a lot of stress, his instincts were taking over.

The omega couldn’t help herself when she caught his scent, she latched onto him, rubbing her face into his chest, taking in as much of it as possible. Seeing how well she responded to his pheromones, Enji started released them in waves and the little omega in his arms sighed and then started doing something he thought she’d ever do. She had split her legs over one of his muscled thighs and was rubbing herself on it. If he hadn’t been stiff before, he was definitely rock hard now. The omega was whimpering with each thrust of her hips, and soon enough, Enji could feel his pants becoming covered in her slick. He would never allow an omega to dry hump him like this, but she looked so goddamn perfect as she chased her orgasm on his thigh. He ran a hand through her hair, gently tilting her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

“Are you enjoying yourself? Little omega?” he asked lowly, she let out a moan then made eye contact with his stone-cold eyes, that screamed indifference.

“Please…” she whimpered, by the way she was shaking, he could tell she was close.

“Please what?” his eyes narrowed as he looked down at her.

“Can I p-please c-cum, alpha?” she begged, and something stirred in him, maybe she was a submissive after all. And as much as that excited him, he wasn’t going to be cruel to her right now, he had promised to help her after all. So many dirty things flooded into his head to respond with, but he wasn’t sure if they’d scare her off or turn her on. He decided teasing her was the best way to go.

“You’re so close already, and I haven’t even touched you” he mused, easily picking her up off his thigh and placing her in his lap, she let out a moan as she rubbed herself against his clothed erection.

“Good omegas look at their alphas when they cum” he whispered in her ear and then leant back into the chair, to watch her as she came undone. The girl did her best to look at the alpha as she rode out her orgasm, but her head titled back in euphoria at the height of her orgasm causing Enji to bite his lip to try and control himself. She was going to send him into an early rutt if he wasn’t careful. The girl was shaking as she came down from her high, however, her eyes widened slightly when she comprehended what she’d just done and she quickly looked away, causing Enji to smirk at her expression.

“Come now, you enjoyed yourself, didn’t you, (Y/N)?” he asked, gently grasping her chin and guiding her head to look at him.

“Yes, but…” she trailed off.

“But what?” he asked curious, although, the alpha was well aware of the answer, he just wanted to hear her say it.

“You’re my boss and I just, oh my god” she hid her face in his chest and he chuckled deeply.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m thoroughly enjoying this” he looked down at her to see her flash dagger eyes at him before she doubled over, whimpering in pain as she clutched her stomach.

“I can make the pain go away, you just have to ask” he whispered into her ear. She lost all normal sense as her instincts took over.

“Please fuck me, please alpha, I need your cock, use my cunt, please” she begged and a thrill rushed through Enji’s body.

“You’re so pretty when you beg” he trailed his hands down her body, hooking them under her thighs and lifting her up before easily manoeuvring her onto the desk. He rolled her pants and panties down to her ankles in one go, and was pleased to see that she had removed her shirt when he looked back up and was in the process of removing her bra, before laying down and displaying herself to him.

“Sir, please, I need your thick cock inside me, please fuck me” she begged again, looking him the eyes, on the verge on tears. The alpha released his hard cock from his restrictive clothing, stroking himself as he watched the omega writhe below him. It was a dream come true, seeing her beg for him like that, and it was taking his last piece of self-control not to dive in and fuck her immediately. He leant down over her, slapping his cock against her cunt, teasingly as he gently moved his hand to stroke her face, she nuzzled into his palm.

“Alpha, please, use me for your pleasure, I’m yours, please alpha, please” she begged again, attempting to thrust her hips upwards to gain any form of friction. Enji’s last fibre of constraint snapped, and with no warning, he thrust into the hilt and his omega let out a scream a pleasure. Even though this was her first time, there was enough slick pouring out of her cunt that his massive tool didn’t hurt her, it stretched her perfectly and hit all the right places as Enji started to thrust in and out of her cunt.

“Fuck… your cock… mhmm, feels so good, alpha, do whatever you want with me” she panted as he rammed into her. It was invitation Enji realised. He smirked as he gripped her throat with his free hand, and she let out a whine. Gently running her hand up and down his arm, encouraging to grip her neck tighter.

“Do you like that, little slut?” he whispered into her ear, and she nodded, her hips thrusting up to meet his.

“Good pets reply when they’re asked a question” he sneered, gripping her neck like a vice.

“Yes daddy… I love it when you choke me” she managed to wheeze out using the little oxygen that she had left in her lungs. Her words were nearly enough to send him over the edge.

“You’re such a filthy omega, I bet you’d do anything to please your alpha” he growled as he pulled his hand away from her throat, hooking one arm behind her back, the other under her thighs so he could lift her up. Her legs wound around his waist, arms hooking around his neck as he fucked up into her cunt, using gravity to enhance the angle.

“Mhm… anything to please you, anything, use me as your cock sleeve, I’ll be your cum dump, I want to satisfy you, please Enji” she moaned into his chest. This omega was going to be the death of him. She’d used his name, which meant that there was truth behind what she was saying. He could feel his knot starting to swell up.

“Fuck, you dirty whore, if you don’t stop talking like that, I’m going to knot you” he growled.

“But I mean it Sir, i need you to use me, I could keep your cock warm during long phone calls, mhmmm, you could come in here and fuck me whenever you wanted to, I need to pleasure you, please alpha” she whined.

“I bet you’d even let me fuck you in the middle of a meeting, wouldn’t you? Fuck. You’re mine. You’re my pretty little cum dump. You are mine, all mine” he growled possessively, thrusting deeply into her. It was enough to send her over the edge into an earth shattering orgasm, screaming his name as she clenched around his cock. He was patient and waited until she came down from her high.

“Alpha” she whispered in a sighed, he grunted, informed he was listening.

“Do you want to cum in my mouth or my ass?” she asked with a sly grin and he smirked, this omega had stamina, and the fact that she could keep up with him just made her that more attractive.

“All fours, face down, ass up” he ordered as he placed her on the ground. Oh and did she move quick for him.

“You’re such a perfect little omega for me” he cooed to her as he knelt down behind her, hotdogging her ass with his slick covered dick, using the slick build up to cover his knot.

“Please, use me alpha, I’m all yours” she begged.

“You’ve cum twice now, and you still want my cock. You greedy bitch” he growled, thrusting inside her back entrance, forcing his knot inside, scraping against her walls. The omega beneath him let out a muffled scream of pain.

“If it’s too much for you, I can take it out” he wasn’t being kind, he was teasing her as he fucked her ass. (Y/N) pulled her teeth from her arm and panted before responding.

“I’ll take your cock whenever you give it to me alpha. My perfect, handsome, strong alpha. I’ll give you anything, I’d do anything to please you. I belong to you” she moaned, it was enough to send him over the edge.

“Fuck (Y/N)” he muttered, with one deep thrust, he poured his seed into her ass with a guttural moan.

“Thank you alpha” the omega whispered as he slowly rotated her on his cock so she was facing him before picking her up and sitting down in the chair as they waited for his knot to shrink.

“You were so good for me” he cooed, continuing to whisper soft nothings into her ear as she leant against his chest.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar Of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby

Day 20: New Fashion Trend Ransom? 

Warnings: Bad Language Words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: Everything is Ransoms enemy. @what-is-your-plan-today​, @jennmurawski13​ and I have proved that. No matter how hard he tries. 

Series Masterlist

Ransom had just poured himself a scotch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table while he used the remote control to flick through the thousand stations on the TV. Of course it seemed like every single one was blasted with commercials of some kind, making him scowl at the predicament. “Fucking 200 stations and not a god damn thing on.” He sputtered till he hit a game, which made him pause. 

Lakers vs Celtics, he had money on this game so he decided he might as well see how it played out. Of course the money he put on the Celtics would be going straight into the kids college fund, he already promised that any gaming money was going to college funds, private school funds, that whatever his kid needed funds. Didn’t bother him any, it made you happy and he still got that gambling thrill that he sought from his old lifestyle he mostly had given up. 

Sure it mellowed out, his playboy lifestyle since he met you. But would he give it up? Fuck no, you were probably the only person who ever gave a actual damn about him and once he accepted it, well he found he really liked it. Liked mattering to someone, and not just be some asshole prick people tolerated. 

Plus now you were pregnant, which he couldn't get enough of honestly when you were feeling good. To watch the little changes happening, knowing you were growing his son, well at first it scared the shit out of him, not going to lie. Ransom Drysdale a father? His own had been a disaster, he was just striving to be better than any of his family. To actually give a shit. 

That's why he tried to do as much as he could for you, attend all the appointments, make sure you wrote down the chores you needed taken cared of. He even attempted cooking for you, but that was proving a challenge. He would get it though, cause fuck it he wanted to spoil you. Another first for him, wanting to make someone happy before he was.

Soon he was engrossed in the game, sitting on the edge of the seat while waving his hands. “Come on, down the court! Down the court!” He yelled and you crossed through the room, slipping on your coat. 

“Hey Ransom, whoo hoo, Ran.” You called to get his attention, and he sprang up, hitting the off button quickly almost like he got caught watching something he shouldn't have been. 

“What's up… where the hell are you going?” He asked once he faced you, taking in your appearance. 

“I got a check up Ransom.” You say as you double check your purse for the things you needed, one hand resting against the over sized bump stretching before you now. 

“Oh, I can drive, let me just get some shoes on and a coat.” He started and you shook your head before he could walk away. 

“Oh you don't have to go to this one Ransom. Dr.Sitwell is just giving me some information and diet restrictions for the pregnancy.” 

Ransom seemed to stall, unsure about letting you go alone. “You sure? Cause I promised you Princess I would go to all the appointments and such. Plus you are huge now and what if something happened?” 

You scowled at his comment, flipping him the bird. “Don’t forget who did this to me. Fucking huge?” 

Ransom rolled his eyes, hands falling to his hips. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. You are so far along now, I don’t want anything happening to you.” 

You shook your head at your idiot husband, knowing his mouth spoke typically before his brain had the sense to process his words. “Remind me why I married you again Ransom? I appreciate the offer, but I have a small honey-do list I really need help with instead. And besides, I promised to go out to lunch with Meg afterwards.” 

“What does the little liberal bitch want to complain about now?” he said with zero affection in his voice towards his cousin. 

You scoffed and smacked his chest slightly. “Ransom that is your cousin, be nice.” 

“What? I was being nice Y/N.” he rubbed at his tee shirt he was wearing, scowling at you. 

“She invited me, and I said that I would love that. If you're lucky, maybe I will bring you back something.” You walked away towards the door to slip on your shoes, Ransom following right behind. 

“You don’t have to.” He started and you gave him a look while shouldering your purse and slipping your feet into your sneakers. Ransom immediately went to a knee to tie them for you, knowing bending down was almost impossible for you now. The move itself made you smile softly, carding your fingers through his hair. He really was trying, more then you had thought he would. 

“I will surprise you Ransom. And I already sent an email on what I need done.” You said as he moved back to a stand, going to tiptoes to peck him on the lips. “Love you, don't destroy the house while i'm gone.” 

“You know… this place was just fine even before you lived here.” Ransom scoffed at the insinuation, and you were out the door laughing and cringing at the same time. 

“I don't even want to know what went on here before I lived here with you.” You climbed into your car and Ransom watched while leaning in the doorway, recalling a time before you. 

“Yea, you really don't wanna know Sweetheart.” He said to himself while going back inside while pulling out his phone to check on this list you emailed him.

1.Bleach the bathroom

2.Wipe down counters and stove

3.Take out garbage

The list went on from there, all easy tasks except for one. The bleaching the bathroom he cringed at. That was work you hired someone to do, not get on your hands and knees to do it yourself. He contemplated seeing if he couldn't get Harlan’s housekeeper over, he was sure a hundred bucks she would do it. But that would almost be more of a hassle in case she mentioned anything to someone like Meg who would just LOVE being a snitch and ratting him out to you. No, might as well just do it himself. First the easy stuff though, get it out of the way. 

It was an hour later and Ransom was actually feeling pretty good about it all. No major mishaps happened, and the house actually did look a lot better then when he started. But the bathroom loomed on his mind, and even after a break to check the games scores could he not put it off any longer. 

“Fuck my life…” He muttered to himself while stepping in the bathroom with his hands to his hips, looking it over. The downstairs bathroom wasn't huge or fancy, but in this moment one of the smallest rooms in the house seemed huge, daunting, like it was laughing at him. 

This just set his resolve more, as he stepped into the bathroom. “Pay people to do this? Fuck they are ripping us off.” He muttered while digging out some bleach and bucket from under the bathroom sink. “Y/N is right, waste of money when we can just do it ourselves.” He ran the tap in the tub and filled the bucket, sure to add way to much bleach to the solution. Lifting it out, he grabbed your yellow elbow high gloves and a folded up hand towel (one of your good hand towels) and knelt on the floor to start washing the floor. It went smoothly at first, shuffling back and bringing the bucket with him, he didn't notice the little splashes from when he was plunging the towel into the bucket and wringing it out. It wasn't till he happened to jump hearing the door slam shut, and unknowingly he smacked his hand into the bucket, the water sloshing over the edge of it and landing in his lap that he cursed out.

“Fucking Christ!” He sprang up the water running down his leg, and almost immediately the dark blue of his jeans started to turn bleached white almost, all up and down his legs the spots kept appearing. 

“Ransom?” You had wandered through the living room and was staring down the hallway towards the bathroom where you saw the light on, and there you saw him. His yellowed gloved hands were on held out to his sides, his head dipped down as if in utter disgust, looking at himself. You couldn't help the giggle that escaped you, which you covered your mouth to try to stifle it when his head tilted up enough to see you standing in the doorway. 

“These were brand fucking new jeans.” He said hostilely, and that just made you bust out in a laugh, wrapping an arm around your side and gripping the door frame to keep from doubling over at how ridiculous he looked. “What's so funny.” 

“You, you wore high end jeans to bleach the fucking bathroom. Ransom, why would you wear nice clothes?” 

“I only have nice clothes Y/N! Why would I keep shitty old clothes?” He said while peeling off the gloves and tossing them in the sink, thoroughly done with his ‘Honey Do List’ now. 

“For moments like these Ransom, when we have to do the messy shit.” You looked him up and down once more, a giggle escaping you again. “I mean, maybe you will be the one to bring back acid wash jeans?” 

“Right in the fucking garbage is where these are going. Who in their right mind would wear shit like this.” 

“Your parents probably did?” 

“Just give me another reason Y/N to hate this all that much more.” He glared at you while brushing past you to go change. “I told you we should just hire someone.” 

“We are not hiring a maid for the thousandth time Ransom.”

[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.

[runessystem]

It took me four days to process and actually remember how horrible and traumatic my last ever appointment with my therapist was. (Like literally the last four days I had been feeling hyper vigilant and was unable to go to sleep and I literally didn't even realise why).

Anyway here's a list of fucked up shit my (ex) therapist of three years did, during our last appointment:

It turned out she hadn't even put my recent (of three months ago) treatment plan in the system yet, we literally had to do that together during out last appointment

I asked to see my diagnoses, there were only two old ones (I got three years ago at the start of treatment to get the gov money), and none of them described my symptoms accurately

She told me I didn't have PTSD when I asked her why it wasn't in my files. I've literally been diagnosed with PTSD since I was 15, even before getting therapy at the institute she works for. This woman literally tried to gaslit me into thinking all of my symptoms are from autism, the one and only diagnosis she initiated.

She tried to gaslit me into thinking we had discussed topics of getting treatment at a different institute, or the topic of her leaving (both never happened), to try to cover her ass, because she had announced her leave and her planning to stop all treatment (even the treatment I get from other therapists) in an email, a fucking reply to me canceling the session two weeks earlier.

Did I mention that she replied to my 5(!) Reply emails, asking for a replacement therapist, very distraught, with basically the same very cold and professional email of her telling me she's going to stop all treatment with vague reasons. But when I actually saw her in person for the last time she acted as if it was already clear that she was getting me a replacement therapist.

During the session she acted very cold and distant and interpretted my frustration as agression

She literally told me that she "already does too much for me, she already gives too much" (triggering) when she literally didn't even put my stuff in my files

I tried to tell her that I felt misunderstood, I felt like she didn't really listen and that she misinterprets my symptoms. Like I felt like there was a communication problem. She interpreted this as an attack. Told me so much about her "expertise as a therapist". She said she did so much for me outside out appointments, like discussing me with her colleagues. ALL THE WHILE she continued to discredit my experiences and blatantly belittle and misunderstand my symptoms. she made me re-tell all of the dissociative and traumatic symptoms I experience. When I got desperate and told her I "literally hear voices and they take over and do things on their own with my body" she said "that's a little much, but I guess that's just part of life, and you're the only one that can make it better, have you tried ignoring them?" HELLO???

She triggered two really scary, bad, flashbacks.

She kept telling me things about psychology that I thought were wrong, to discredit my knowledge and paint herself as the only smart one. She said that dissociative disorders are personality disorders (I'm not sure if this is true or not) and she also kept saying I'm not crazy enough to have a personality disorder.

She kept interpreting me setting boundaries within the conversation as attacks and pushed right through them.

At the end of the conversation when I was already tired from crying and having flashbacks I asked her to please stop. I asked her to stop the conversation, I didn't feel like we would get any further with it. She saw this as an attack (which made me reengage because I'm stupid) and then two sentences later she angrily stated that she didn't want to talk anymore and went to her desk to do the rest of the paper work. This triggered me even more because she said it quite loud and angrily and made me completely disengage even though she JUST made me reengage. I tried to explain this to her, in the most kind quiet way I could muster, and then she told me: that she got called during our appointment by her colleague, who asked if she needed assistance. Saying I was the loud one, implying that I was crazy, dangerous, that I was the bad guy and she was the one being attacked by me. And honestly that was really the cherry on top. I hope the reason she left the institute is because she got fired.

TL; DR

Didn't put my stuff in the system nor my files

Didn't put my diagnoses in the system not my files, now I need to do another diagnostic assessment

Gaslit the absolute hell out of me

Triggered me to have two violent flashbacks during the session

Told me wrong facts about my diagnoses in order to sound like the professional and make me question myself

Ignored and pushed away my boundaries

Set up boundaries in order to jab back at my recently ignored boundary.

Told me I was loud, voilent, crazy (but not crazy enough apparently), and that she was the one being attacked by me. I was literally just crying in a chair and having flashbacks while just sitting in a chair.