#I hesitate to post this because I don't want anyone ever thinking I'm a Meg stan

[provincial-girl]

So, when I get really into a new show, I like to go ahead and look up the meaning of character’s names. Often there’s not much of interest there, or the name doesn’t say a whole lot. Then, every once in a while, I come across some neat stuff, which is what happens when you look into the meaning of names for A League of Their Own characters, particularly Greta and Meg's names. 

The first very first thing I found when I started down this specific rabbit hole is that Greta means “pearl,” which honestly makes so much sense for her. A pearl is this pretty, shiny object,  but it's created when a grain of sand or food particle gets stuck inside the shell of the oyster. To protect itself from the irritant, the oyster secretes a substance that will harden around the grain of sand and eventually become the pearl. Greta is exactly like the pearl in a lot of ways, because she’s shiny and charming, but her outward appearance is very much a product of all the things she does to protect herself from getting hurt. She has this secret that she knows is dangerous, and she constantly cloaks herself in this protective layer, putting on a performance to keep herself and those around her safe. The product is pretty to look at, made to be looked at even, but it is a hard outer shell meant to protect Greta from suffering any more pain than she already has.   

In an interesting twist, Meg means “pearl” as well, because both names appear to have roots that can be linked back to the name Margaret. We know so little about Meg, Carson’s sister,  that any attempt to draw parallels requires a certain amount of speculation. If the parallel is meant to be intentional though, it would suggest that there’s something similar about Carson’s sister and Greta that we don’t explicitly see.

 One possibility is that perhaps Meg’s fixation on behaving acceptably in the eyes of those around her comes from the fact that she thinks it will offer a layer of protection from censure. That’s why she marries and has kids right away, and bakes the pie that Carson promises the woman at the train station to save face (Greta’s end of the phone conversation with Meg suggests as much). That behavior and her insistence that Carson conform is a defense mechanism, a hurtful, damaging, deeply misguided attempt to protect herself and her family from the same sort of pain that comes from their mother failing to conform when she leaves them behind. She might actually be more concerned about protecting the family than herself, as she specifically mentions their father having to answer questions, as he probably had to when their mother left. She even says she wishes their mother was around so Carson wasn’t her problem, which suggests that Meg wouldn’t be reacting in this way if their mother had never left. Is Meg simply suggesting that their mother might’ve made this call instead? Maybe, but the fact remains that Meg behaves in the way she does, calls and yells at Carson for running away because their mother isn’t around, and she feels it’s her duty to do it to maintain an acceptable image of their family. It's a misguided attempt to protect them from censure and the same pain that comes from their mother leaving. 

The natural reaction may be to say, well, Greta and Meg are nothing alike, because there are a lot of ways in which they’re not alike at all. To start, the repercussions of not performing properly are so much higher for Greta than Meg. Meg doesn’t face the threat of physical harm that Greta does, and the censure she faces is much less intense than what Greta faces if she’s discovered. The fact, however, remains that a lot of their behavior is a reaction to societal pressures to conform and an instinct to avoid pain. None of this is to say that Meg’s behavior is remotely acceptable, or that Meg could ever be as compelling and well-rounded as Greta. What we know of Meg isn’t even a little bit flattering, but I don’t think Meg has to be likable to be understood. This potential parallel  simply gives a bit more depth to Meg, makes the story as a whole a bit more interesting. It suggests that every female character, even the ones as minor and unlikeable as Meg, face some kind of societal pressure to perform in a certain way or face repercussions, and their behavior and treatment of others is often shaped by that pressure.

Again, this all involves a certain amount of conjecture, and may very well be a coincidence, but ALOTO is such a thoughtful show that I just can’t help thinking there’s a real possibility this was an entirely intentional choice. Greta’s name meaning and the Meg parallel were the most compelling ones I found, but there’s also a whole bunch of other name meanings that I’ve found that are actually perfect for the characters, which suggests to me that at least some of these character names are very intentionally chosen for their meaning, and I could definitely see more meta potential in that list. Whether the name choices are fully intentional or not, I enjoy thinking about the way that small details contribute to a story’s larger, overarching themes, and love that this show continues to offer up opportunities to do just that. 

[sleepy-lil-kit-kat]

your fic with hades was SO CUTE!!! i loved it! :D i was wondering if you could do something else with him? it can be anything!!! i think he would be super protective as a cg!!! maybe meg and hercules question his ability to watch over a regressor, thinking their not safe with him. i dunno just a thought!! thank you!!

skies will be gray

~600 words, not on ao3

same as before, disney's hercules and some Greek mythology. set ambiguously post-canon

cg!hades, regressor!reader, ascended-to-godhood!reader. due to being from a pov that is very attached to hades, not wholly sympathetic to meg and hercules. hurt/comfort

i ought to admit, this... isn't my best work, lol. i rewatched hercules and it still didn't feel right, but i felt bad letting the request sit too long in my inbox. Meg and Hercules are... sorta the villains here? they're doing it from a place of caring, and Meg has a lotta issues with Hades... they're not bad guys really, but they are making a mistake (maybe one i might write them fixing later. who knows!)

- k!nk/nsfw please dni! this is a sfw age regression post! -

requests are open! see my pinned <3

"Lord Hercules, Lady Megara. My Lord speaks of you both." You clutch your chiton tightly as you look at the two heroes, trying not to betray your nerves too strongly. Or betray the fact that you really, truly, do not want to speak.

"My father's mentioned you as well." You stiffen up at that, even though it's probably just the usual gossip that goes around when a mortal ascends. Probably, most likely, flavoured with that disdain for Hades and those that live with the dead that all the gods above have.

"I see. Well, please excuse me, but I must be getting on with my duties." The formal mask serves you well, here.

"What exactly is your domain? Hades is as close-lipped as ever on the matter."

"Well, Lady Megara, I don't–see how it is of any concern to you. Please excuse me." You bow shortly, then step back and let your form dissolve into smoke, so that you can be on your way. So that you can escape.

(It's quite likely, you think, that you'll need to sit with Hades for a while when you get back. And he'll rant about how the gods favour the heroes born to them, but you don't mind that.)

-

"You manage to get that stubborn ghost back down here?" Hades is as ever, and that in itself is enough to calm you just a little.

Mechanically, you nod, then sit yourself down on your cushion, letting yourself go sort of limp.

"Stressful time up there, huh? You ran into someone?"

For a second time, you nod, and hold up two fingers so that he can see.

"Two someones, huh? Don't worry, kid, barely anyone's likely to come down here after you."

You flinch.

"Ran into someones who... might?" He himself sounds hesitant now, though he hides it well. "It wasn't Hercules and Megara, though, right?"

Though you don't say anything, your stillness is answer enough.

"Oh, mercy," he says, and then you spy, at a distance, the two heroes. Hades rises to his feet, and so do you, clinging to the fabric of his robes as though it's anchoring you to reality. "So nice to meet again, heroes," he drawls."

"You've been hurting the godling."

Rapidly, you shake your head, but you don't think they see it.

"Hades, we spoke to them earlier, and they said–"

"They spoke? That's strike one, then, because if they can help it, they don't." Hades's firey hair turns red as he interrupts Hercules. "Go on, why do you think I'm hurting the kid."

"You're hardly the best candidate to care for anyone!" Megara's eyes are practically burning as she says it. You know of their history, you know that she has every reason to think this, but–

You tremble slightly, clinging tighter to Hades.

"Get out."

"But-"

"Get. Out."

Even faced with the god's wrath, his form covered in ruby-red flame, they don't back down. Hercules puffs up more "Not unless-"

"Stop it," you whisper, unable to take much more of this.

Improbably, the two heroes hear you. Hercules pales, and they both–

–they say something to each other, and then they leave.

There's a beat. Hades turns, crouches down. "Hey, hey kid," he says, tone oh so gentle, gentler than you think you've ever heard it before, despite the rage that he'd been in just a minute ago. (He'd... he'd calmed himself, for you.) "Those idiots are gone now, yeah?"

You nod, slowly.

He sighs slightly, though it's not you he seems aggravated at, and lifts you up. Unlike what usually happens though, he just holds you there. Like a moth to a flame, you press yourself closer to him, soaking up his shadowy-safe presence. In his arms, you're so small, so protected. Nothing could ever hurt you.

All is right with the world.

[xneens]

love me, hate me - part one

Warnings: swearing, angst if you squint, mild violence

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: Who knew Ransom would get so worked up about a few stolen beers?

Or: In which he's a sucker for you but those were his favorite beers.

He didn't know why he put up with your shit. If you had been anyone else, you'd be working at a dead end job that barely covered your bills instead of walking around the mansion in your brand new Lois Vuitton purse, Jimmy Choo heels that screamed for him to fuck you, and a tight dress he wanted to tear off.

You even had the balls to call him Hugh, a name he specifically reserved for the help. When he informed you, you had rolled your pretty powdered eyes, sneering at him for being an inconsiderate asshole before asking why he wasn't calling himself Hugh due to the massive help sign that was disguised as his cashmere sweater.

Ransom didn't know if he wanted to hurt you or make you his. He preferred the latter but with the way you were pushing him, he wouldn't be surprised with himself if you somehow found yourself in the backseat of his car, tied up and awaiting for him to fuck you senseless. If you had been anyone else, he would ruin your life without hesitation.

He tried to hate you, he really did and usually, it wouldn't be hard for him to hate someone. Most of the time it barely took him a glance for him to decide to loathe the person. But as he tried harder to hate you, forget you, and ignore you, the more you wiggled your way into his every thought. Even then he couldn't hate you. It made part of him want to ditch family gatherings where he knew you would show, being Meg's best friend, and another part of him was exhilarated.

You on the other hand dreaded being dragged into another Thrombey's family gathering where it all ended in arguments and racists comments. The only people you were able to stomach were Harlan, his adorable nurse, Martha, and of course, your best friend Meg. Whenever the conversation began to look like a shouting match, the two of you would sneak away to get high with the maid, Fran.

Ransom was an asshole, a hot, smoldering asshole with enough snarky remarks that would make any sane person hang themselves. You knew he wasn't a fan of yours, which was only good news for you; you hated him, too. The expression "there's a little bit of good in everyone." applied to everyone except him, not that you weren't surprised. Truth to be told, you wouldn't put it past him to kill a family member if they pissed him off enough.

With the number of jabs you made at his expense, you were shocked he hadn't ruined your life yet. Maybe you had a death wish dangling over you, or maybe you just liked pushing him but you made it your little mission to ruin his evening since yours would be the second he stepped in the room.

Meg nudged you with her elbow, leaving a sore spot on your ribs. You gave her a dirty glare, looking up from your Instagram feed. She motioned to the large mansion ahead, the car slowing. "Okay, the plan is to get drunk, but not enough for my drunk relatives to notice and once they're having one of their dumb-ass debates, we sneak off to Fran's room and smoke a few. That sound good?"

Stretching, you nodded, tucking your phone away. "Yeah, that's fine. Remind me how I ended up spending Thanksgiving break with you, again? What did I ever do to deserve such a punishment?"

"You crushed your parent's wishes on becoming a lawyer, instead became an Instagram model, and the holidays with them are too long for you to hear how their daughter could've convicted criminals instead of posting bikini pics," Meg replied, grinning at your sarcastic pout. She stopped the car right beside her mom's. "Come on, it won't be that bad."

"That's what you said last time. Do you not remember how that little reunion ended?" you asked, opening the car door and getting out. The little gravel on the cemented driveway crunched under your new heels, making you grimace.

Meg shut her door, grabbing her purse. She waited at her side of the car and you both walked up to the door. "Actually, I don't. I'm surprised you can especially with all the weed you smoked."

Rolling your eyes, your mind wandered to the man who had killed your buzz. "Your asshole of a cousin ruined my buzz just by opening his mouth. He could be so much hotter if he never utters a single word ever again."

"Please stop talking about Ransom, it's making my lunch come back up." Meg whined, her feet trudging up the steps. Your heels clicked on the wooden porch. "Which reminds me, he kept asking if you were going to be here. Be careful, he might have a little trap to humiliate you in front of my family. If that happens, just knee him in the balls, and we can go to Cabo or something."

You made a face, cringing just thinking of Ransom asking about you, let alone imagining some kind of plan to embarrass you. "Ugh, what a dick. It's time like this that I regret not going back to my crazy family for holidays."

"You'll be fine. Hopefully. Let's go see Harlan." she opened the door, taking off the lush coat draped over her shoulders before placing it on the spacious coat closet by the entrance. She held her hand out for yours and you slid it off handing it over for her to hang up.

Martha greeted you before you could take another step, the Latina smiling at both of you. "I'm so glad both of you are here. The rest came in before you and they've been bickering since."

You both gave her knowing smiles, the loud discussion so heated you could hear it from all the way across the house. Meg sighed, snaking an arm around yours and Martha, pulling you towards Fran's quarters. "Looks like Harlan will have to wait. I'm not going in there sober."

Martha shook her head, slipping her arm out from Meg's grasp. "Sorry, I don't drink and I have to serve them before they get any rowdier. Between the three of us, I'd rather not see another fist brawl this holiday."

You let out a dry chuckle, fixing the hem of your dress. What were you thinking wearing such a tight dress to a party where Richard Drysdale would mentally undress you with his beady eyes. "We'll come with you, now won't we, Meg?"

She groaned, getting pulled by you, her feet dragging on the hard floor. "We're spending Christmas at your parents' house. You can suffer the family drama because I've had it up to here with mine."

"Oh, you big baby." you teased, following Martha to the living room with Meg in tow. You'd think with all the drama she endured from her crazy mother she'd be able to handle a little more from her crazy relatives. "Wanna mess with that racist, whiney troll?"

Meg's lips lifted into a smile. "That's why you're my best friend."

Martha took a turn towards the kitchen instead of the living room, leaving you and Meg to enter the roomful of crazies alone. Some heads turned but not enough to stop the little debate happening.

Jacob sat at the uncomfortable seat in the corner of the room, watching and tapping the screen in front of him, his eyes never tearing from the device. Linda and Donna sat side by side while their husbands had a screaming match with the other. Joni stood by the fireplace, sipping her wine, and occasionally input some random Pinterest inspirational shit. Your eyes landed on the man you thought would take his sweet time arriving.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale sat at his self-proclaimed seat, eating his Biscoff butter cookies, a smirk evident on his face as he watched you walk into the room. He tried to ignore the way his heart raced, blaming it on the cookies and his seven-month dry spell.

You broke free from Meg's arm, pouring yourself a flute full of champagne, swallowing every last drop before making your way to the plush couch, sitting beside your best friend. Your perfume whiffed in the air as you passed Ransom, making him sit up in his chair. You sat close enough for him to reach over and touch you, but he didn't.

Linda gave you the warmest smile she could muster, interrupting the men's argument to greet you. "Hello, darling. Glad you could make it. At least now there's someone in the room with half a brain."

Walt sneered at his sister before giving you a half-hearted smile. "Hey, kid. Your dad still adamant you become a lawyer?"

"Yup," you answered, pulling out your phone, seeing a bunch of notifications from said person. "Why else do you think I let Meg kidnap me, Walt? No offense, but Thanksgiving at the Thrombey's doesn't classify as peaceful or relaxing."

Ransom guffawed, earning glares from his family members. He smirked at you, biting off a piece from his cookies. "Finally, someone who speaks the truth. No wonder she's his favorite."

That subject launched another debate: deciding who was Harlan's favorite. It was no doubt, Martha was but you did come at a close second. Ransom knew, and he didn't want to miss an opportunity to watch his relatives fight. He was a dick that way. He glanced at you, seeing your phone light up as you whispered a secret to Meg. You ignored the phone call, turning over the phone.

While the rest of the family argued, you left Meg's side, getting up from the uncomfortable couch, and walked out of the room. Ransom watched you, licking his lips at the sight of sashaying, hips swaying, and heels clicking. The crotch of his pants grew uncomfortably tight.

Meg watched him watch you with narrowed eyes, suspicious by her cousin's behavior. He may be 33 but he still acted like a teen, and with her best friend pushing him, there was no telling what he'd do. "If you do anything stupid or remotely offensive to her, I'll make sure to send her your head for her next birthday. Maybe she'll have it taxidermied, and hang it up."

Ransom smirked, tossing the last of his cookie in his mouth, chewing as he looked down at his cousin. "That'll only give me a view of a lifetime. My, this college you go to doesn't seem to teach manners does it? Charming as ever, Meg."

She scowled at him, getting up in the middle of the argument. She couldn't stop whatever he was planning if she didn't know what he had in mind but she wasn't going to ruin this holiday for her best friend. Meg followed you to the kitchen, seeing you take a shot glass from Martha. "Drinking already?"

"Don't judge me. Lemme wallow in the warmth and love of the alcohol that your family isn't capable of," you replied, drinking the clear liquid, grimacing as it burned your throat. Martha handed you the chaser, her timid personality making her put a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Thanks, Martha."

Meg took the bottle of vodka, pouring herself a shot before offering it to Martha who had shaken her head. "You sure?"

She nodded, placing the bottle back in its place. "Yeah, I don't need to be drunk when serving those people. It seems like it's even worse out there than before."

"Thank Ransom. That bastard decided to start another fight just by opening his mouth," you said, sipping on a glass of water. Sniffing the room, you smelt the Thanksgiving dinner Martha had to cook by herself. You knew she had to make a special meal for Ransom since he wouldn't dare put the traditional food in his mouth. Too bad, it'd shut him up. "Why is he here, anyway? Isn't he usually the last one to get here?"

"Usually, but he came with Linda and Richard. Don't worry, you're not the only confused." Martha answered. The oven timer beeped and she opened it, taking out the pumpkin pie. She held it out. "What do you guys think?"

"Looks delicious," Meg replied, looking around the room. The sun was setting and soon you would have to face Ransom again, for dinner. "Do you need any help, Martha? We could help you set up the table or something."

"No, it's fine. I have everything taken care of," she said, nearly dropping the big turkey. Meg helped her, carrying it to the counter. Martha smiled sheepishly. "I guess I could use some help. Meg, do you mind stirring the gravy? And [Y/N], would you please place some knives at the table?"

Both you and Meg nodded, helping the poor nurse. Harlan must've let Fran have the day off or else she'd be all over this. Meg grabbed a plastic ladle from the drawers while you took a handful of knives, leaving the kitchen and walking to the dining room. The long table had been filled with plates, glasses, and napkins, the only thing missing was silverwares. Harlan would have to give Martha a raise.

You had just placed the first knife down when Ransom came in the room, leaning against the arch, arms crossed as he took you in. Watching you, he realized he might have a knife kink, only when it comes to you. You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to make some kind of remark.

When he didn't, you sighed, tossing a knife onto a clothed napkin. "Yes, you pretentious asshole?"

He chuckled, pushing himself off the wood and walking towards you. "Hello to you, too. Why exactly are you doing that? Shouldn't that Mary girl be taking care of everything?"

Oh, the urge to stab a knife in his face--it was almost too much to resist. "It's Martha and unlike you, I'm nice enough to offer help rather than be a lazy prick who no one loves. Karma's gonna bite you in the ass one day, baby."

Ransom snorts, walking up next to you, so close you could feel the heat coming off of him. "You know, my dear cousin mentioned something about some prank she thinks I'm going to pull on you. Do you know what's going on in that stoned brain of hers?"

"Ransom?" you asked, making your way around the large table, placing knives where they belonged. Gritting your teeth into a smile, you turned to him. "I mean this in the best way possible: fuck off."

He would never dare admit it, to himself even, but that hurt him a little. Not enough to break his smug exterior. "Aw, I like you, too, sweetheart. Hurts when you don't admit you do, too. Want some help on the other silverware?"

Your jaw dropped, the knife slipping through your fingers and Ransom caught it quickly. He placed the knife on the empty, designated napkin. "You're fucking with me."

"No, but I sure would like to fuck you." he grinned, the hidden objective twinkling in his eyes. You rolled your eyes, returning back to the kitchen with Ransom following. "Can't a guy help out around here?"

Ransom grabbed your hand before you could push the kitchen door open. He gently led you to the dark, almost hidden hallway beside the dining room. You snatched your hand back, your elbow grazing the wall behind you. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Spending time with my favorite person," Ransom answered, the smirk gone as he backed you to the wall behind you, leaving you no room to escape. Not that you wanted to. His eyes dropped to your lips, only to darken when yours flashed to his. "Why're you so special? Why do you keep invading my thoughts, my dreams, huh? What're you doing to me?"

That made you smile, amused he couldn't stop thinking about your body. You drag your manicured finger down his blue sweater, earning a shaky breath from him. "Glad to know you have wet dreams about me, Hugh. Hmm, what do you get off to, anyway? Degradation? BDSM? Or are you vanilla in bed? With the way you act, it makes me wonder if you even have a dick."

He growled, slamming you into the wall so hard your head made a loud thud. You'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on a bit. You did like it rough. "Your a guest here, act with respect, [Y/N]. Close that mouth before you say something you'll regret."

"Wouldn't you like it if I used my mouth for something useful?" you breathed, hands resting on his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. His eyes drifted to your lips, tongue darting out to moisten his own. "Yeah, you would."

"What that mouth do, sweetheart?"

You heard the oven timer ding and you smiled, moving your lips to his ear. "Eat."

—

His thigh brushed against yours, a hand "accidentally" landing on your bare thigh, his fingers wrapping around the leg. You flashed him a hard smile before moving your thigh away, almost kicking his wife across the table. You scooted closer to Ransom, hoping to avoid his father's uncomfortable advances. If it wasn't for Linda, you would've stabbed the knife you were holding in his hand.

Apparently, you scooted a bit too close to Ransom for him to raise an eyebrow at you, the hint of a soft grin appearing. You glared at him. "Don't."

Ransom chuckled softly, moving closer, close enough for your shoulders to touch. "Now who likes my company?"

"I do like your company... said no one ever." you snapped, keeping enough distance from Richard's wandering hands. If you could, you would've rip his fingers off, but the Thrombey's were too powerful. Ransom threw you a glance, looking between you and the gap between your chairs. You grit your teeth. "What?"

"I didn't say anything."

You pushed away from the table, frustrated with everything about your situation. Tossing your napkin on your plate, you stood up, catching everyone's eye. "Excuse me."

Meg was in the middle of eating her share of the turkey, looking up with a piece of the skin hanging from her mouth. If you hadn't felt so uncomfortable, you would've laughed. She sat up, tilting her head in question as she covered her mouth. You shook you head, assuring her you'd be fine.

Ransom's eyes followed you as you walked by Harlan, giving him a gentle peck on the cheek and a hug before walking out of the dining room. He didn't think he'd ever be jealous of his grandfather. He waited a few seconds before following you, Meg's narrowed eyes watching him as he walked with purpose—he just didn't know what that was yet.

He heard your door slam before he could take a step up the stairs, leaving him confused on what to do. Ransom knew you would reject his company, not that he would blame you. Yet, he felt a little pang in his chest that he ignored, blaming it on the salty turkey. He'd have to go to the doctor soon, check out what was going on with his heart. It might be something serious like palpitations.

Sighing, he went to the kitchen, grabbing a beer and dragged his feet back to his room, trying to forget about the effect you had on him.

It didn't work.

—

Crawling out of bed, you tiptoed down the hall, careful not make a sound as you made your way downstairs. The stairs were loud and you cringed, hoping everyone was deep asleep. Meg had passed out after smoking Fran's stash, plopping down on her bed in your shared bedroom. She reeked of weed and that hadn't help you sleep at all.

You snuck into the kitchen, the soft counter lights bright in the dark room. Walking over to the fridge, you pulled it open, seeing Ransom's alleged "best" beer right at the front. Rolling your eyes, you grab one, popping the cap off. You took a sip, agreeing with the asshole; it was great beer.

Unfortunately, he chose that right moment to have a midnight snack. The kitchen door opened and Ransom was greeted by the sight of you drinking his beer in your tight tank top and booty shorts. It was enough for him to lose it.

Angrily, he walked up to you, snatching the beer from your hand, some of it dripping on the floor. He held it up in front of you with a sneer on his face. "What the hell do you think you're doing with my beer?"

You flinched when he threw it across the room, the shards sprinkling out on the floor. If his yelling hadn't woken up anyone, that certainly would've. Rolling your eyes, you sighed, crossing your arms. "Don't you mean Harlan's beer? It's not like you bought that beer from your own pocket since you don't do shit."

"Oh, I don't do shit? Unlike you I don't depend on horny men and lesbians for likes in order to keep a roof over my head." he spits, pushing you back against the counter.

"No, you just take money from mommy and daddy." you fired back, amused by his anger. You decided then you had a death wish. Or maybe it was just hot seeing Ransom so riled up. Either way, you weren't complaining.

Ransom growled, hands gripping your waist so tightly you were sure it would leave bruises. "Shut up."

Smirking, you lean towards him, lips hovering his. "Make me."

Before he could kiss you, you shoved him away, took another beer from the fridge and walked away without giving him a second look. Ransom stared after you, gripping the kitchen counter.

This wasn't over.

part two