#Ransom x female reader

[buck-star]

Unspoken desires

You never thought the deep sparkle in your best friend’s eyes could be something you will enjoy just as much as he does. But somehow it does and it causes a deeper relationship between the two of you.

Pairing: BestFriend!Dom!Ransom Drysdale x BestFriend!Sub!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.362 Words

Warnings/Tags: Best Friends to lovers, dom/sub dynamics, teasing talking about spanking, petnames [sweet pie, baby girl], fluff

Authors Note: @holylulusworld here it is. Dividers made by me.

Masterlist | Ransom Drysdale Masterlist

Warm sunbeams warm up the cool air, brightening the day and flooding everything in a wonderful yellow-orange color. The perfect, romantic atmosphere - perfectly fitting your mood when you're with your best friend.

You're seated on the comfortable mattress of Ransom's bed, your back resting against the headboard while your legs are stretched out. In one of your hands, you hold the remote to switch through the channels while you use the other to pick at your lip, getting rid of the dry skin.

“Stop that,” the low voice of your best friend suddenly echoes through the room. His usual soft tone now demanding and leaving no room for arguments. He leans with his broad, muscular body in the door frame to his bedroom, his ocean blue eyes darkening slightly and his lips in a thin line. “Not gonna ask you again. Stop that.”

You look at Ransom with big eyes, your fingers glued to your lips. Your mind isn’t as fast as he wants it to be. He just appears with such a dominance in front of you, you need a moment to collect yourself. You swallow thickly, letting your hand fall into your lap. Your tongue instinctively swipes over your lips, wetting them, and you feel another bit of old skin that annoys you. But for some reason you don't dare to bring your hand back up, to do anything else than what he's saying.

Ransom smiles softly, pushing himself off the door frame. His muscles flex when he does so, and you swallow down the whimper that threatens to escape your mouth. Your best friend stands straight before he walks - with those damn elegant and slow movements - to the drawer where the television is placed on. “If you have dry lips, drink and use some balm for them.”

He takes out a little thing from the drawer, closing it before he walks around the bed and sits down on the edge, next to you. Ransom opens the little bottle - probably some balm he was talking about - and squirts some of it on his pointer finger. You watch him intensely; something changed in his behavior around you, and you wonder what it is.

Of course, Ran always cares about you, his best friend. And maybe those butterflies you always feel in your stomach when you're around him are the reason that you think his behavior changed. Maybe he didn't change it at all, but you only imagine it and wish for it to be anything more than friends.

“Open up, sweetie pie,” he mumbles, using your usual pet name. Your eyes move from his finger to his face, taking in his soft smile and the softness in his blue eyes, but somehow there was more. Something you're sure you never saw before, a sparkle that shows a deeper desire that he doesn't speak out loud. His voice is suddenly an octave deeper when he speaks up again. “Open up.”

You slowly part your lips, eyes looking directly into his. Ransom smirks at you, bringing his finger, covered in the balm, to your lips, slowly moving it over them. He frowns, one of his eyebrows raising as he keeps the soft stroking over your dry lips.

“How much did you drink already?” He questions, keeping his thumb on your lower lip but stopping the soft motion of rubbing the balm into them. You look down, swallowing before you look at him again. His intense gaze feels like he could watch into your soul with ease, and it causes another whimper to roll up your throat.

“M-Maybe a glass…” you mumble, cheeks heating up when you drop your gaze once more. Ransom shakes his head, a soft sigh escaping his plump lips. He doesn't like the lack of self care - knowing it will affect you at one point. “But- But it's only, uh, early afternoon.”

“I don't like that,'“ he whispers, leaning closer. Ransom swipes his fingers under your chin, lifting it up so you have to face him. His blue orbs holding softness, concern, but also a hint of dominance. The hint deep down, captured in a capture you want to open to get to know more of that side. “I don't like when you have such a lack of self-care, baby girl.”

This time you can’t swallow down the whimper that escapes your lips. Your eyes widen when you hear the needy sound coming from you. Ransom smirks, noticing the way you try to turn away from him to hide yourself in his pillow. He immediately reaches out to wrap his calloused hand around your throat and pull you back to him.

“Where are you going, baby girl?” He asks, grinning when he feels the way you swallow thickly. His hand is only loosely wrapped around your throat, not adding pressure but showing who’s in control. And this damn nickname, it's like he loves it to tease you with it now. Another whimper escapes you, and you feel the heat rising into your face further. “That's what you like, naughty girl.”

“R-Ran,” you gasp, grabbing his arm, Your nails sink into his skin, but he keeps smiling at you with that soft expression. And, damn, he knows what he’s doing to you, the softness turning into a more cocky expression. If you wouldn't be so speechless, you would smack him, but something tells you to not do that right now, not when he's the one in control.

You press your thighs together, feeling the fabric of your panties being soaked from the dominance he's showing toward you. Ransom looks down your body, noticing the movement of your legs, the way you press them together. He raises a brow when his eyes settle back on your face.

“Not only liking it, baby girl, loving it, huh?” He chuckles. Ransom's hand still around your throat, adding a bit of pressure to push you back into the pillows behind you. He leans down with you a bit before he lets go of your throat and sits back up. “Lost your big girl words, baby? You need me to tell you what you think, or else I have to assume that you don't like it.”

You want to roll your eyes, to sit up to punch his shoulder slightly, but somehow you stay where you are. Your mind clouded with need, a need you never thought you would ever feel, but here it is. Ransom keeps looking at you, closing the little bottle of balm and placing it on the nightstand. Your lips form into a soft pout when your eyes roam over his face and down to his muscular shoulders, further down to his hands in his lap. The hand that was just brushing your lips and wrapped around your throat. How is it possible for him to be so calm and smiling while you're feeling like a puddle in his hands.

Ransom's expression suddenly changes when you don't answer him. Concern is written all over his face when he shifts. He grasps your waist and pulls you onto his lap. One of his big hands finds its way to your thighs, while the other settles on your lower back, rubbing soft circles into your skin.

“Are you okay? Was it too much? I'm sorry if it was,” Ransom mumbles, watching your expression and body language intensely. He keeps the soft motion of his hand on your back while he waits patiently for you to answer him.

“R-Ran, what was that?” You whisper, leaning your head against his broad chest. He assumed punches, screaming for being so weird, but the first thing you asked was what that was. Wasn't it obvious?

“I-I dominated you; I had the control,” he explains. Searching for a more detailed explanation since you look still a bit in a haze. “You picked your lips; I don't like when you do it. I neither do like it when you drink too little for your own good. I'm sorry, I should have asked and… I fuck—”

You bring one of your hands to his muscular chest, stroking it softly over his shirt. Ransom looks down at your smaller hand, smiling softly.

“I couldn't help myself. You… I-I’m more of the dominant one, and my first ex, she’s a sub; we discovered a lot together, and after…” Ransom stops, running his hand that was placed on your thighs through his soft locks before placing it back on your thighs, filling your stomach with the familiar warmth you always feel around him. “After I wasn't in a relationship most people consider as normal. Of course, there are times when it's less of the dom and sub dynamic, but it’s still mostly a d/s relationship. And with you… honey pie.”

Ransom inhales deeply, pulling you closer like he fears that you could jump off his lap and run away. You wrap one of your arms around his neck, leaning further into him as you press your other palm against his chest, feeling his racing heart. Ransom is barely nervous; he's always so calm and grounded with everything he's doing.

“I love you,” he breathes out. You blink, forcing yourself to push back slightly and look at him. Does the guy in the movie have the same soft voice Ransom has, or did he really just confess his feelings to you? “I love you; I'm so in love with you, honey pie. But I'm afraid… afraid that you don’t like that side of me but also th-that I can't give you what a ‘normal' relationship would offer you. The dominance took over when I saw you picking your lips again. I'm sorry.”

“Are you stupid?” You blurt out, clamping a hand down on your mouth immediately. Ransom chuckles softly, shrugging. He might be a bit stupid, at least stupid in love. “I-I it was intense to give up control like that. But in a good way, I-I… I never thought it would feel that good to let someone take control.”

Your admission surprises Ransom slightly. Of course, he has seen your widened eyes, your parted lips, and your clenched thighs, but your reaction afterwards made him unsure about seeing your reaction right. He moves his hand from your thighs up to your chin, turning your face softly until your eyes are locked with his.

“You should freak out,” he mumbles with a soft laugh. “Not just because I confessed the kind of relationships I like but also because of the love confession.”

The soft giggle coming from you makes his heart beat faster and his grip around your waist tightens slightly. “Mhm, no, nothing to freak out. But… I love you too,” you admit with a soft giggle, hiding your face in his broad chest. “And this whole dominance, it suits you; it makes you even hotter, and so mhmmmm.”

“So what?” Ransom laughs, mimicking the tone you made with a low chuckle, his chest vibrating. “So, you liked it, and you love me… then-” he interrupts himself, his heartbeat increasing, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

You rub your hand up and down his chest, trying to soothe him. You lean closer, grinning when you kiss him softly. Ransom gasps, immediately trying to catch up to kiss you back. Your teeth graze his lips, and he shudders until you tip down slowly and earn a growl from your best friend.

“You earn yourself a spanking if you keep teasing me, baby girl,” he growls, his voice in that low, dominant tone. You shiver in his lap, pulling back only slightly, your breath hitching in excitement; you bite your lip, keeping the soft grin on your lips. “Let go of your lip, or you will count the spanks.”

You whimper, pressing your thighs together - and fuck, this shouldn't be that hot, but it is. He clears his throat, leaning closer until his lips are firmly pressed against your forehead. His voice once again soft and tender when he speaks up. “Do you want to be mine?”

“Sub or girlfriend?” You wonder, tracing your fingers over his chest to his abs. His breath quickens the lower your hand moves, and you giggle when you feel him shifting underneath you. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his chest and leaving his on top of your smaller hand.

“Both. I mean… if you want. I want you, and if you say you don't… don't like the whole d/s relationship stuff, then I will try to give you the best of me without these aspects,” he murmurs, inhaling deeply. His heart is racing; of course, he loves you anyway, but a part of him hopes that you will agree to the whole him, to his desires that make the bond between people stronger than just a normal relationship. “If you want to. D/s relationships are built on trust and love, way more than a ‘normal' one; sometimes, they connect you in more ways. But if you say no, we will make it the deepest love relationship without those things.”

It’s not Ransom trying to convince you to agree to him. It was your best friend who’s deeply in love with you, promising you everything you ask for.

“You already gave me a taste of your dominance, and you think someone can say no to that then?” You giggle, shaking your head. “I would love to be yours, your girlfriend, but also your sub.”

Ransom nods, letting himself fall backwards on his bed, pulling you with him. His strong arms snake around you, and he grips you even tighter, purring low in his chest. “Decide on a movie so you can calm down a bit before we have to go over some basics, rules, limits, you know. And then we will get you something to drink. Damn, finally you're all mine, baby girl.”

With a chuckle, you adjust yourself on top of him and look for something you want to watch with him. Ransom presses his lips softly on your hair. Your heart flutters at the thought of belonging to him but also knowing that he belongs to you - that he loves you, too.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @blackhawkfanatic @hisredheadedgoddess28 @armystay89 [add yoruself]

[joannaliceevans-fanficblog]

It was three am and you were asleep. Little droplets of rain can be heard, from the storm that was forming. As you slept, you felt a pair of warm large hands roaming around your hips.

You felt his beard against your neck and his soft lips against your earlobe. His rich, buttery baritone voice vibrated against you, and you moaned.

You tried to speak, but nothing came out, but moans. It was always his voice, that got you weak.

His hands found its way between your legs, and the tip of his fingers circled your hidden gem. You bit your bottom lip as he adds more friction, sending fire to your whole body.

"Oh-fuck-" You muttered. You then felt his cock against your backside. He rubbed against you, feeling him get harder.

You felt your panties slide down and was flipped on your stomach. He spread your legs, and your sweet juices flowed down. A moan slipped out of his mouth.

"Such a pretty pussy sweetheart." He said, as he whipped out his cock. He stroked himself, while looking at your glistening pussy.

**

You moaned loudly, not caring any could hear you. The burn and stretch from his length, hurt. But you didn't mind it one bit.

"Look at you, taking daddy's cock so well. This tight little pussy, so good." He said, pausing as he reached your womb.

"Daddy-" You say, as he began to thrust into you.

His hands gripped your ass, and he began to pick up his pace.

"Daddy's going to fuck you nice and good tonight. You're not leaving, util I see this belly nice and round with my baby." You heard him say.

All the blood drained from your body. And that's when reality hit you. You realized you weren't dreaming. And you were here, sleeping next to the man that took you from your home. You tried to wiggle your way out, but it didn't work. Because he's stronger than you.

"No-"

A slap on your ass was given and it burned.

"Don't try to escape now. You promised me a life together. And I'm going to have it."

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Wrong Turn ||

Pairing: Mountain Man Silver Fox Nomad!Steve Rogers | You. 

Trope: Neat and clean ‘civilized’ Princess-like young trophy wife X Filthy beast of a wild and scary man who only got her because he has the power. 

Description: In a desperate attempt to save your life from the wrath of the mountain people that your friends and you stumbled upon and accidentally killed on a hike gone wrong, you had to offer yourself up to their Leader to use as a ‘resource’. But little did your ‘husband’ know, you had been actively getting rid of his seed to avoid actually getting pregnant. Naturally, when he does find out, he is very unhappy… And also very determined to make sure you don't make it out of your punishment without a child, or two.

Warning(s): Dubcon, barbaric!Steve, breeding kink (gone wild), unprotected p-in-v, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, missionary, he has a wife bod kink (but it is inclusive), misogyny, smut with perhaps too much plot, fear kink, size kink, exhibitionism, possessiveness, jealousy, age gap, hair pulling, spanking, biting, allusions to painal and Steve being a teasing sicko about it but he doesn't actually penetrate, overstimulation, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, boob play, squirting, Lloyd makes an appearance with his own young bride, dacryphilia (it's me), self degradation, Stevie is a perverted old meanie, infantilization, mind break.

Disclaimer: Very loosely based off of the movie that I do not own. You don't need to know it to read this piece but do note that it takes place in a fictional setting. Minors do not interact. 

Inspo-ish: This post.

Note: For someone who was on their period, I should not have been this horny. But I need this marriage, now. Ps, though this rotted in my drafts for a long time… in honor of Chris growing out his beard again, ig.

MASTERLIST

. . .

You have no idea how long it has been since that fateful twilight when everything changed in your life, leaving you to a lifestyle you could never have even imagined for yourself.  

“Eat up, woman” but as your barbarian of a husband commands you in his rough and animalistically deep voice, you cannot help but break out of your reverie and shudder at the sight of the barely cooked meat piled high on the platter in front of the two of you. “So you can bear me healthy children” although you're the one who was made to prepare his beastly dinner -that never fails to leave you aghast when it's gorged down- as you're his wife, you cannot help but gag under your breath and feel disgust for the loaves that sit before you in the company of a tall stone carved jug that brims full of the foul smelling mead that your husband is ardently fond of. 

You muster up your best coy smile. Keeping up the appearance of a happily mated pair is important. Or people stare. And then the old man becomes unpleasant. “I had quite a lot while I was cooking, dear” your lies sting your tongue out of the fear you feel of getting caught, but the mere hope of not doing so is better than eating this. “Y- You go ahead” you slowly turn in his muscle hardened lap, that you are always to sit on, to give him a small smile but your expression almost transforms into one of horror because of how wildly your heart jumps at the sight of his stern, predator-like face. You are quick to recover though, as it is a usual occurrence. 

“You need it. You work so hard—” there is just something about his rough looks that never fails to send a chill down your spine. You have never seen anything, let alone an actual human man like him before. 

A beard as thick as the very forest his people populate and as dark as the nights can get here in the absence of lanterns due to the heavy trees, age that streaks some of his gold locks with its silver has not marred the sternness of his jaw that remains firmly set under the heavy mane of his facial hair. His shoulders seem akin to the mountains that surround his village and his piercing dark eyes the mysterious waterfall that flows some way down south from the entrance of the settlement. The frightening mass of his shoulders is so toned that if the barely noticeable wrinkles that sometimes appear under the dark of his eyebrows and next to the crow-feather like lashes that frame his eyes, he can easily be mistaken for a man in his primeful late twenties and no older. His unrelenting strength and wolfish stamina would only further serve to bear testament to the misconception. 

Your strict husband bluntly catches your shaky hand that you extend in his direction to feed him some of the meat, the force that he uses coupled with the coarseness of his skin making you jump. You bite back a yelp and whimper when you look up at his dark blue eyes from where you were watching his bearded mouth to carefully place the food in.

“I don't care” Steve does not care much for being polite -unless it is you who disregards it in your behavior-, especially when it comes to you denying or diverting his ‘care’ for you. “You eat more” you bite back the scowl that threatens to break onto your face from how he turns your hand around in your direction instead. “Wives always need to eat more. They do so much at home for husband and children” he probably feels proud of these ‘values’ that have been transmitted to him by his elders. But all they make you want to do is to crack him across the jaw for being a misogynistic and backward shithead. Especially with you. 

Your ‘husband’ believes that everyone has a role to play; a contribution to make to their people and home. That is how this archaic village of theirs has survived in these mountains hidden away from the rest of the world for so long. 

The greasy piece of a disturbing excuse of a rare steak touches your lips and you've been here long enough to know better than to argue or worse yet, fight. So you smile and lean into his arm that cases your form against his through the embrace he holds you in from behind, his fingers playing with one of the many flowered braids your attending ladies had put in your hair a bit before his arrival at ‘home’. 

“O- Of course” you reluctantly open your open and grip your flowy dressing gown for a semblance of support for your sanity, taking the smallest bite you can -which is still a lot as the man pushes nearly the whole piece into your mouth the moment you open up- as you keep your eyes trained on his to avoid looking down. Your mind always becomes more aware of the taste when you look. “Thank you, dear” you focus on swallowing it without gagging and feel your smile split in places because of how uncomfortable you are.

He probably notices it because he slightly raises one eyebrow and snorts before hugging your smaller form -that is tiny compared to his- closer and puts the rest of the piece in his own mouth. If there is one thing you have learnt in your time with him, it's that you can never fool him. Not really. No matter how well you may think you have lied or pretended, he always sees through it. 

Sometimes you suspect he even enjoys it.

Steve finally begins to eat himself, silently offering you another piece that you politely reject by shaking your head and then quickly pressing an apologetic kiss to his scruffy cheek to lighten the blow. Apparently, a wife can never be polite enough to her husband. And though the change in his expression begins with an unhappy frown, your show of ‘affection’ seems to suffice him and he relaxes in satisfaction, now looking down the long table and at his clansmen and maidens that sit enjoying their dinner, their chatter and laughter a dull roar in the large eating hall of the Leader's dwelling. You pick up the heavy jug of mead with both your hands and obediently hold it to his lips to sip from. Steve looks away from what one of his main men are saying and gulps down a mouthful, rubbing your back as a gesture for thanks before moving his hand quickly down to squeeze your ass to heighten the effect of his expression of gratitude. 

His form shakes in mirth when you yelp and blush. He knows how embarrassing you find being openly ‘affectionate’ in front of people and that is one of the reasons why he enjoys it so much besides showing off that a thing of such beauty and youth like you is all his. You rest the jug between your boobs that he has fucked and squeezed into increasing in size and use your other hand to gently finger and stroke his golden locks that he keeps pushed away from his face outside the bedroom. Though he says nothing, you feel his usually vigilant and always firm stature slowly soften and you cannot help but smile, though what he says next quickly deflates it.

“Do you feel any change in you, wife?” You know what it means and now it's you who becomes tense. He only uses that name for you when he speaks to you as a husband inquiring about your marital matters. “Has my seed attached to your womb yet? Does it grow there?” You gulp and feign shyness, moving closer to his hair and nuzzling yourself in him. “Hm?” He closes his hugging arm around you and reaches for your stomach, fingers groping your covered skin as gently as he can -which isn't much- to feel it. “Answer me” he demands when you refuse to speak. 

“I… I don't know, husband” you always promise yourself that you'll demand more rights for yourself; ask him to treat you like the other husbands treat their wives, only to fail the minute he enters your vicinity. 

“What does that mean?” His tone turns blunt and you whimper at the tightness that snaps back in place between his shoulders. 

You get it.

That was the deal, after all. 

Healthy children in exchange for your life that was required by their judicial laws for bearing false witness to your friend accidentally killing one of their people in mistaken defense. Steve had promised you before accepting you as a citizen that if you failed to fulfill your task you'd walk the darkness in the dungeons. He had shown you how it would be before declaring you a member of their tribe and the sight you had seen was something that had given you nightmares for days. 

But that did not mean you actually wanted to have your old captor's children.

You doubted it would ever be something you'd look forward to.

“I- I mean” regret shoots up your spine in the form of fear and you lose your speech to it momentarily. But then two of your main attending ladies -by that you mean Steve's top agents when it comes to you- enter the horizon of your sight and you hurriedly blubber out the first thing that comes to your mind. “I've n- never been pregnant before, s-o I d- don't know how to…” Your husband turns to look at you, his handsome features twisting into a rogue scowl but before he can scold you, one of the two ladies, Kaira, speaks in their language to Steve. 

Not everyone here can speak English and those who do speak it do so a rather odd version of it. Naturally, you don't speak their language and so they give you the full experience of an outsider when they need to discuss the business they want to keep private from you. The thought makes you want to laugh, like you'd be able to do something with whatever informations they withhold.

But it doesn't really bother you, because you don't care.

You've also learnt that ignorance is bliss here. 

Especially for someone like you.

Better to be the doe eyed trophy wife of an angel who can't tell her head from her ass.

“Is that so?” Your heart jumps when Steve chooses to speak English. That means that this definitely concerns you. You place the mead down and wrap one arm around his broad shoulders before nervously combing his thick beard with your other hand. Since you have no interest in or desire to learn their language, the only word you manage to pick up on when you focus really hard is ‘baby’ and that is solely because of the annoying amount of times it comes up for you. 

“Is not this strange?” He speaks once the women step back after finally ending the nerve wracking conversation that seems to go on forever. “Do you hear what they say about you, little one?” Fuck, you're definitely in trouble. 

He is reminding you of your place. 

You put on your best charming smile but you're painfully aware that your nervousness gives it away. You can feel it. “W- What do they say, dear?” They were such bitches. They knew how to speak English, that's why they were your attendants, but yet they chose not to. And now they were glaring at you like you weren't above them— oh no, not these thoughts again. You will never become like them! No, no! 

Steve pushes his plate away now. Your head spins from the realization. It's only half finished. Your husband never wastes his food. It is a near sin for them to do so. “They tell me the most odd things” oh just fucking tell me! You mentally scream but outwardly tilt your head to the side in confusion, your chest vibrating with the rising beats of your heart. “And now that I think about it myself…” His fingers wrap around the mead before he raises it to his lips. “I see the—”

“What did they say, Steve?” Your mouth works faster than your better sense and he pauses mid sip, dark blue eyes flickering up from the stone jug to look at you. Your face flushes a noticeable hot and your ears get sweaty from the awareness. 

Fuck. 

“They say you've been getting rid of my seed” he feels played and thus angry at the both of you. Perhaps more so towards himself than you; his silly little child-wife. How could he let a thing as tender and small as you fool him so? “... Do you?” It is obvious you are guilty. Besides, he is confident that his people would never lie to him unlike one young and beautiful girl that he had found kneeling in front of him in his court while bawling her eyes out one fateful night, fear stricken as his people surrounded him like a doe trapped. 

And of course, your expressions and reactions don't help your case, as always. “W- What? No…” Your mind becomes erratic.

“No?” He himself knows not what kind of a chance he offers you with that. But typical to your nature, you make it easy for him by refusing it.

“N- No! Of course not! W- Why would I ever do such a thing to m- my husb- hubby and my b- babies?!” Steve has to clench down his scoff. 

“You wouldn't, would you?” Your naivete never fails to amuse him.

“No! I- I don't know why they accuse me so—” you mend your speech from the archaic form that tries to leech to it everyday. “I don't know why they would accuse me of that but they must be mistaken! This is a misunderstanding!” 

He hums. “I see…” His scarred fingers begin to toy with your braids again. “So you remain devoted to me and faithful to our family, don't you?”

“Of course!” You nuzzle closer to him, your heart thundering into his chest. “I don't know why they still treat me like an outsider” you purr as you nervously stroke his hair, playing a card of your own and making an absolute fool of yourself by doing so. “I try my best… like I promised.” 

“Yes, your promise” his distant eyes -they get like that when you disappoint him and you hate the sight because it never fares well for you- travel down to your empty stomach. His gaze makes it wrench. Your fear skyrockets at the same rate as your anger. If only there was a way for you to get back at those bitches without having to give birth!

“I- It takes time sometimes, dear…” You hug his shoulders with one arm. “But it will happen. I know it…” Your other hand reaches for his fingers that rest on your abdomen now. 

“Oh?” Steve raises one dark eyebrow at you. His hair is the most fascinating combination of blonde and dark brown. “Is that what your modern day sciences say?” His people were not always like this, he had told you. They did not originate from here. Rather, some families had abandoned ‘civilization’ when it was going to hell -in his words- by killing each other for meaningless constructs such as caste, creed and color differences and migrated up here to establish a system of their own; one free from such nonsense. 

Apparently.

You take a deep breath. “Stevie—” you only call him that when you find yourself dangerously close to the dungeons.

“If that is what you believe in, wife,” he never cuts you off. Usually, that is. His age that streaks his blonde strands with its silver ones has granted him enough patience. Normally, he waits for the other person -who is most often you- to mess up themselves. But whatever the ladies have told him seems to agitate him into rebelling against his own nature today. “I'll do it your way. After all, happy wife happy life, is that not what you tell me often?” Okay, you might have said that during a particularly cocky moment in bed once. 

But the intention behind that had not been nearly whatever he is moving towards now. 

“Y- You don't have to, l- love…” You nervously giggle. “You're perfect the way you are” you run your nails that he insists you keep trimmed for hygienic -as if- and practical purposes through his silver-blonde hair.

“Oh no…” Now he pushes his food farther away. “I will indulge you, little one” he moves your other leg over his laps so now you face the people down the table with both of your legs on either sides of his, ass to his… fuck. “Time conspires against us, and so we must make haste.”

Your eyes widen and your heart leaps up in your throat. “M- My love?!” 

Steve moves your flowy gown out of his way, keeping a firm hold on one of your thighs even though he doesn't really have to. Your fear of him would never let you attempt an escape. “Yes, my stars” the name is so full of sarcasm it nearly pierces you open. “Let us leave time to its devices, and us ours” your husband is usually a very possessive and private man when it comes to you, but his ire seems to get the better of him today. You hear the buckle of his own clothes come undone. The table goes silent and heads turn in your direction once they realize what's going on. Oh no… Your stomach drops. Not in front of everyone. Not when Steve makes you so vulnerable in that condition. Not in front of these lowlifes!

“Husb—” blood bubbles hot under your cheeks as you feel him align himself against you. 

Holy shit.

You feel one of his coarse hands wrap around your throat and he pulls you closer to his mouth so he can whisper in your ear. “You will contribute, my stubborn little wife,” you whimper from the menace his words hold, your well trained cunt obediently squelching open against his thick hard tip as he lowers you on his cock with the hold he has on your thigh. “Whether you like it, or not” sometimes, deep down, you fear that the dungeons are not an option anymore. 

He keeps you in the horizons of his sight too much for them to be. 

It appears as though the sentence has changed. 

It is now Steve, or Steve.

You cry out from the strain his log-like girth puts on the narrow band of your entrance. God. You will never get used to his size regardless of how many times and ways he tames your pussy in. Yes, it does not refuse him or rip around him now as it used to in the beginning -and it did that for a long time- but the size to which his cock makes it expand is like a mini-birth. Feels like it, looks like it. Only, it feels way too good. And that's why you don't mind it—

No. You don't know what that was or meant. But you don't take responsibility for that thought!

“Oh!” The balmy velvet of your cavern grazes down the bulging veins and hard skin of the brute's cock until your petals squish against his heavy and very eager balls. Your head spins when you feel his tip tickle your cervix. It never takes his dick long to find it.  

His hands are pushing you back up almost instantly so he can slide you back down. You look anywhere but at the tens of faces in front of you, instead choosing to look at the wall on the opposite side of the table. You never thought these people were capable of being this quiet until now when your pussy makes an embarrassingly loud squelching noise as Steve tugs you back to his leaking tip and then allows gravity to suck you back down. You desperately bite your lips and try to focus on ignoring the way your insides are beginning to thrum with the excitement and stimulation; to show these brutes that you're better than them and aren't some animal of nature. But to no avail. His slimy precum mixes too well with yours, the rough skin of his hands digs into your thighs too well and the manner in which your petals rub against his cock when he lifts you yet again -now forming a momentum- before letting you slide in again is too much for you mask with nonchalance. 

Indifference has never been among your strong suits.

“Tell me, my pretty” Steve begins again, his dark eyes now finding the young and hormonal pack of unsuspecting boys who clearly do not know better. “Have you ever had a cock like mine?” He says it in their own language so the foolish miscreants see, understand and learn the fact that you’re only his. You belong to him and he will go to war for you, not that a pack of rug rats will ever be a cause of worry for him. “Has anyone ever fucked you as good as I do?” He switches back to the language you understand, roughly fumbling for your jaw before he grabs it and bounces his hips into yours at the same time. 

Your traitorous legs have begun to do what they always do; fuck yourself against him -if he hasn’t bound you, which he hasn’t- in whatever position he has you. You only realize that your breathing has become heavier when you open your mouth to answer. “Only you, my husband! Only you!” Your brain is running too fast for reason or reflection to catch up so you leave wondering why you answer him with the only words he has been able to teach you in his language to later. Your words are muffled as his fingers that grip the lower half of your face nearly slip in your mouth from the disordered urgency of the both of your actions. 

“That's right” your mouth falls open and you begin to softly pant in that animalistic way that you detest when he makes you watch yourself in a mirror while fucking you sometimes. In your defense, it is always unintentional on your part; you barely even notice it while taking his fucking. And yet, it is inevitable due to the force he does it with. “Look at you; dutifully fucking yourself up and down your husband's cock like a bitch in heat” a twinge forms in your knuckles from how your fingers hold the edges of the table to aid the gliding of your fuck hole that now slams up and down his cock in a rhythm you're all too familiar with, the smacks of your bare ass slapping against his naked abdomen making appalling noises that you're too worked up to dread over right now. “And you're a bitch in heat for me, aren't you?” His fingers move down from your jaw to your throat. “Wanting to be bred over and over again until you're so full of my children that your little belly is round and heavy to the brim, hm?” In these moments, you tell him anything and everything that he wants to hear.

Steve knows it all too well.

And he loves it.

“Yes!” Your voice disappears midway from how he squeezes your windpipe. His hips meet yours midway now, the wetness of your cunt and the force of his thrusts causing for his balls to try and push past the tight boundary of your sexual cavern. “Yes! Yes! I am! Please!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when his free hand finds your petals to play with. “Ohhh!”

“You want to be bred, don't you?” He rubs your drenched pussy lips while his hard cock pistons in and out of your sopping cunt. “Want to contribute…?” He chokes you once more and this time his fingers pinch one of your pussy lips punishingly at the same time and you cry out. “Provide your husband with a house full of heirs?” The oxygen in your mind depletes and your eyes flutter as a result, cheeks turning red and nerves becoming prominent on your glistening temples. Your horny yet defensive pussy finally relaxes around him a bit so it doesn't hurt his dick and he savours the moment by holding you by the curve between your legs and fucking into your form that gets limp by the moment to push you towards your first orgasm. 

It always gets better after that. 

For him, at least. 

You don't choke him out so much then.

“Y- Yes!” When Steve finally lets go of your throat to let you breathe, you blubber out an an answer obediently once the light returns to your eyes. Your walls stiffen around him once more. But by then he has already worked himself closer to your womb. “Yes! Yes!” It is all your mind can muster.

“Good” he makes a point of taking both of your boobs in his hands and thoroughly massaging them to show off his ownership over you. “Now ask me to breed you” the fence of heat that has formed around your loins becomes tighter when his hands that previously fondled your clothed breasts slip under your gown -for Steve is too possessive to actually expose you to the eyes of others- and he softly rubs your tense sides a couple times before his fingers form pinches around your hard nubs. 

“Please breed me!” Your voice is so loud and strained that its quality is nearly blood curdling. “Please breed me and s- stuff me full your children!” Your hands fly to grip his from over the dress as you throw your head back and slip from the edge of your anticipation, parrotting all the words he has taught you over the course of your marriage. “Oh GOD! Please!” Your back arches from the coming undone of the hot belt of expectation and scorching gratification spills from it, seeping down your legs in the form of a nearly unbearable electric feeling that transforms into a subzero energy when it reaches your toes that curl, causing them to feel as though they are freezing. “I need your b- babies so bad, hubby!” 

Steve's own ears blush from the heat that courses through them in the form of adrenaline as he snorts, some of his blonde strands coming loose from the push and tug that he plays with your cunt. “Tell them” his balls ache from the strength it takes him not to fill you up right then. “Tell everyone that you want me to fill you up with my babies” since your sensitive body tries to curl and move away from the overstimulation, the older man wraps both of his hands around your thighs to keep you going. “Say it!” And he makes you say the words that he desires in the language of your spectators that look embarrassed for the first time since you got here. 

Save for your husband's best men who look equal parts aroused and proud. 

You want to cringe and be disgusted but your sensitive pussy is being pounded too hard for you to attempt a conjuring up of any dignity. 

“Need hubby babies bad!” You cry out again from memory when Steve's thick seed begins to fill you up at last. “Oh, my God!” The feeling of his hot cum filling you up and painting every inch of your sensitive walls penetrates your already hazy mind and the warmth that steams out of the pearly liquid steams its way up to your womb, making you shudder at the feeling. Your opening tightens around him in protest of the overstimulation and it instead causes for a barrage of bitter-sweet electric sparks to explode through your abdomen in the form of a half post-climax orgasm. Your body grows tired.

But your insatiable is far from done.

“Flattering, but no” Steve pushes you against the table before standing up when he is done fucking his orgasm as deep as he can reach into you. “The father of your children will suffice” your eyebrows furrow at his words but the older man does not give you a chance to ponder over them because now he is hooking his hands under your thighs that your rapid and messy fucking has covered in both of your juices. 

“W- What?!” Your vision is hazy and your mind dazed as you incoherently tap about. “What's— oh!” You wince from how much easier it is for him to move inside your worked open and much lubricated but torturously overstimulated walls now. “Oh! Oh…” Your hands blindly feel behind you to try and get him to stop. “Oh, no! No, please!” You cry out weakly, your upper body hanging low in the opposite direction from the exhaustion. 

“No?” The older man darkly chuckles, paying no mind to your flailing. “You think you can say that to me?” One of his hands desert their post on your thighs to roughly grab at your hair. He hasn't forgotten what started all this. “You think you have the same rights as everyone else around here, wife?”

But you're scowling from the burning pain in your walls, mind hazy and unwise. “Stop! Stop!” Your puffy folds ache from how his stiff skin rubs against them as he moves in and out of you at a normal pace… for now. “It hurts, stop!” 

“That is the part and parcel of having children” your body curves outwards as he pulls you further back and closer to himself by your hair. “And is that not why you're here?” His cocky tone along with the hungry and wondering eyes of the wildlings make you angry. “What you were spared for in the first place?” A twinkle in the eye of a man pisses you off and…

“It hurts, you old bastard!” Your young blood gets the better of you and your mouth runs before sense can catch up. “Stop, stop, stop it!” Since your hair holds you closer to him you manage to land a few smacks to his rock hard arms before you try to snake your fingers under his to pry off the hand that he coils around your thigh in a weak attempt to move away. 

Steve only chuckles, clearly unfazed by your fighting as he bounces your smaller form up in the air with each thrust. “Did your mother not teach you anything, wife?” He lets go of your hair only to restrain both your arms on the small of your back. “Good girls never tell their husbands no” your body flops forward again and you've no choice but to face the long table full of people. “They lay down pretty with their legs spread and let their husbands fill them with their children and then they express their gratitude for being granted a family.” Though your mind is confused and rather disoriented from the influx of sensation, you can make out new additions to the crowd of your humiliation from the corners of your vision. 

“Ugh!” You grunt from the rapid jabs he gives to your sore pussy, his firm hold nearly searing into your wrists. “I don't wanna have your stupid blonde babies!” Steve breathlessly lets out a real laugh at that. “Let go!” 

“There” he can swear he will never tired of you breaking the little character of the obedient wife that you so naively think you have mastered only to break it when he has you all riled up like this. “Right there, easy now” his other hand leaves your lap and he pushes your head down and against the table in the most condescending manner imaginable. Steve has got you to expose yourself for the brat you are, no need for play anymore. “Now I make a bunny out of you” his dark eyes now meet with those of the boys sitting at the other end of the table and his use of their language is a silent message. The Leader knows how his wife is desired. And he doesn't appreciate it in the least. The young males all panic and look away, gulping to themselves and praying for their lives. 

You try to struggle again, your lip curling in disdain and protest as you feel him fuck his cum right up your cervix. The bitter pleasure you get from it makes your head spin and your fingers and toes flex defensively. “Ooof!” Your cheek rubs against the table and you puff out your face to express how tense you feel down there. 

“Brat” Steve shakes in silent mirth as he reaches for your ass with the hand that he was holding your face down with. “Don't you move a muscle.” You're too busy rocking over the table and being held down to try. 

“Hubby, please!” You whine when one of his veins twitch deep up your walls and your knees shiver from the sensation. “Please!” Maybe if his cock wasn't so comically huge, it would have been easier to move past the rough friction of your raw, orgasm worn skins. But it is and so you are ready to abandon the dam that begins to form in your abdomen again if it means to avoid this pain. “Owwwiee!”

“Aw” Steve cooes as he now moves to a pace that falters your vision and causes for the great table to shake with each thrust that he gives you. “So small and sore, aren't we?” The spank he lands on your unsuspecting ass right after is the stark opposite of his tone. “Maybe we shouldn't act out so much when we are so weak and pathetic, huh, wife?”

“Oooof!” One of the shyer ladies get up before she carries her young son who stood next to the group of the young ones away and the realization of the fact that your spectators are all real people who see you everyday and will continue to do after this drips down your limbs like ice cold water. Your hips cannot help but clench from the embarrassment that you dully feel in some part of your mind way far at the back. “Hubby, please!” The spanks increase with each snap of his hips and though the turmoil between your legs takes up most of your sensory powers, your cheeks now begin to noticeably sting from the pain that builds from how the swings of his hand against your poor ass increase with each thrust. 

“Please?” Steve muses like he isn't balls deep into you and fucking the literal daylights out of you like a crazed heathen. “Oh, but I thought I was a mean old bastard” of course, your pleas always only mean that you want more, according to the brute you are married to. They cannot mean anything else, apparently. “And you didn't want my stupid blonde babies” you grunt from the frustration and land a helpless fist on the table. You are in an uncomfortable tug of war between the mutilation of your sensory glands and the tall barrage of tight hot anticipation that cannot help but form in the base of your stomach again because of how hard and rough he fucks you. 

Your husband's main man, Lloyd, laughs in a comically daft voice to tease you and be the insufferable asshole that he is. “You've got yourself a feisty little pup there, Steve” he is the only one who can refer to the blonde haired man by his name. Or maybe, he doesn't care to use the honorific and his usefulness backs him up. You wouldn't be surprised if the latter really is the case. “Don't you agree, my sweet?” He side hugs his own young bride who ironically is one of the sweetest and perhaps the only nice person in this entire village and Lloyd grins down at the girl whom you now notice is blushing furiously. 

Before you can let the humiliation swallow you whole, Steve spreads your burning cheeks and chuckles at the sight he finds glistening and blinking up at him, the madenned hammering of his cock unceasing. “Look at this adorable little button of yours, darling” you are not personally familiar with any of the faces that witness you trying to pathetically crawl away when your devil of a husband begins to tickle your pucker so you realize it was actually not quite hitting you as bad as it does now when you become hyperaware of Rainie's gaze. If it weren't for how your eyes roll because of Steve's hot seed shooting deep up your cavern again and nearly searing into your very flesh this time around from the brutality of it all, you reckon you would have tried to hide. But now all you do is let out choked blubbers as your wide eyes sting from tears due to the sensory overload. “I think it's time we deflowered it, what do you think?”  

Oh, no. 

His cock is not something that you can handle in your ass without splitting all over the place!

“No answer? No?” It feels as though you are the one who is cumming and not Steve because of how good he is at wearing the mask of nonchalance. “Hm,” he roughly pulls you backwards by your hair before hooking an arm around your waist to keep you from trying to get away from how he toys with your trembling pucker. “Maybe we should let sweet Rainie decide for you, hm—?”

“OH, GOD!” You cannot help but scream over him. 

He is too much.

Steve ignores your exclamation, thrusts delayed -more jab like- but so strong that his tip spears into your cervix with each thrust, thus causing for your head to spin from how he chooses to fuck out his orgasm. “She's your friend, isn't she?” Steve's beard gently stings the sweaty and teary skin of your jaw from how his mouth presses into your ear. “Aren't you, Rainie dear?” 

Yep, you are never looking her in the eye ever again. 

“Answer him, sunshine” Lloyd eggs his wife on and you notice through your cloudy vision that he is making her palm his own bulge. You nearly cringe back into Steve's chest from the obscenity of it all. 

The girl, a new bride herself, is shy and small next to her own flesh boulder of a husband as she meekly peeks up at you through her lashes. “Y- Yes, sir. We are friends” her voice is barely audible and both your husbands chuckle. 

If it weren't from how a dull orgasm rips itself apart somewhere deep between your loins, you would have felt angry.

It is like the assholes know that you're friends, and they're having their fun with it.

No wonder they are best mates.

“Good, good” you can feel Steve's cum splattering your thighs with each brutal jab, the sound and sprays of his shaft making a mess of your juices underneath your dress ample in its audibility. “So, do you think it's time your girlfriend's dirty little button was opened up, hm?” He keeps one hand on your pucker and reaches for your boob to grope with the other.

Rainie blushes again and furiously lowers her head the moment her eyes connect with yours. Though you don't know it, her own has been deflowered not too long ago and she isn't sure what response would be favourable by you, so that and the embarrassment of the Leader questioning her for something like that about his wife when she is on amiable terms with the girl makes her choose silence for as long as allowed. And her own husband cockily leaning into her and mansplaining into her ear how it would work for you by comparing it with what he did to her pretty ass only makes her curl further. 

“Shy little thing, isn't she, my precious?” So your husband turns his unwelcome attention back to you, bending the both of your bodies forwards so he can smack your asshole with the back of his hand easier, the impact making you rock violently forward. “Maybe you should learn some manners from her, huh?” The howls you let out from getting your pucker pinched and hit is something you would rather not narrate. All you choose to disclose of that ordeal is that sobs echo in the hall, another orgasm rips out of you and you are sure your body releases more liquid than normal for an average orgasm. “Look at how polite and nice she is, hm? While all you want to do is to curse your husband and be an ungrateful little sloth” it sounds as though a newfound annoyance causes him to grit his teeth towards the end and the tip of his fingers finds recourse in seeking for itself a passage past the tight barrier of your unwilling button as a result. 

And so your mouth begins to run in the desperate way he loves. “N- No, no, no hubby! No!” You vehemently shake your head as you feel your knees start to buckle from the exhaustion. “I- I didn't mean it!” The bearded corners of his mouth pull into a deep smirk. He knows its coming, and he loves it. 

“You didn't?” How can he not when he is the one who trained you to it and taught you the words to say during. 

“No! No!” Your voice comes out child-like from your mind's succumbing to its defeat. For the day, at least. “I d- didn't!” 

Steve is a jackhammer in how he fucks his children into you and works towards giving you more. “Oh, I see” now he speaks to you like an elder speaking to a young one, like you are no older than five winters. “Then, will you tell me why you said such naughty words to your husband who does so much for you?” He knows you're small now and so he chooses his words accordingly.

After all, it is Steve's meticulous tailoring of your mind and body which brings you to act out this specific sequence. 

Nothing less, nothing more.

Just this. 

A shrew tamed into a compliant wife equipped with the mind of a babe. 

He may never admit it outright simply because it goes against his very code of life but Steve knows in his heart of hearts that it is this very push and pull you put up in your own passive little way that keeps him alert and your marriage interesting. 

Addictive.

“Is ’cause— hnnng, cause—!” He pulls both of your bodies back up with the intention of turning you to face him but he chooses not to do it just yet. He wants you, those silly boys and everyone else who suspects that his judgement grows soft because of his fancy for your youthful beauty and adorable personality, to hear it. Steve can always pull you right back down if wants. Your reins will always be in a hand's reach to him. Just because he lets you sneak in your foolish ways sometimes doesn't mean you've conquered his nature-gifted better sense.

“Because, what?” Everything in life calls for balance and so each time your misbehavior that you think you hide so well from him begins to rise above a level he deems no longer amusing, he is there to hammer it down. 

Quite literally. 

“Because I am j- just an i- impudent,” Steve grunts and moans, feeling his cock twitch from how you always mispronounce imprudent when you are in this state. He taught you that word and true to your little baby self and mind, you can never get yourself to say it right. “Little wife and I am a d- dumby—”

“Fuck…” Steve feels a drop of cold sweat trickle down his back from your little vocabulary. He feels himself pant from how hard he fucks you, his windpipe alight from the friction caused by the air he heaves in with each desperate inhale.

You are a proper trouble; something he has never had before, and he loves it.

“— D- Dumby sloth who dunno any real worries besides e- eating and b- being spoilt b- by my lovu hubbsy—” your tongue is kinetic jelly between your teeth and Steve has begun to moan from how fucked stupid you sound. “So I get shtoopid and u- ungateful” Steve cannot contain it anymore. In a fevered and desperate confusion of how to express the thunderstorm you cause in his head, he slaps your hair away, causing for some of the flowers to go flying about, and sinks his teeth into your flesh, growling so deep into your skin that you feel the vibrations cause ripples in your blood. Perhaps that is what Steve yearns to taste. “B- But husby always fixes” your head goes limp against his as he sucks your skin like a crazed animal for you lose a track of how long. Your vision and hearing bolts away from your comprehensive faculties like a bullet train and your body gets sucked into the vacuum of your husband's beastly grip. You are just a lifeless doll rocking in whichever direction and manner he pleases.

Next time your brain catches on with your reality, your body has been placed under his with your back against the table. You faintly notice when your dress begins to get wet that splashes of mead cover it due to your brutish husband's depraved madness. 

“Look at me, hey” he pats your incoherent face until your wandering gaze settles on him, teary eyes distant. “This is the face that you will see in those of your children, and children you shall have until this residence cannot contain any more” his promise echoes in your buzzing ears like the bestowing of an ultimate truth upon you by some powerful deity. “This is the face you will look up at as you spread your legs,” his tip is so swollen, raw and hot against your worn skin that you can feel it even in this state. Your features scrunch from the discomfort. “This is the face you will kiss and cherish” his fingers find your throat again and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he puts pressure on your windpipe. “And this is the face that you will look at until you breathe your last” he holds you until you are on the verge of losing consciousness, though letting go only to stifle the gasp you let out to resume your breathing with a hot sealing kiss.

Your muscles twitch and your body spasms in the position he has you in. Laxness washes over your limbs and you begin to violently shake from the dull and yet stinging quakes of sensation that bloom through your whole form. 

For some dark, twisted and depraved reason, you cum from the helplessness of your situation and it is present in Steve's amused and proud smirk that the knowledge is not lost on him. Swiping an arm around you from behind with an air of satisfaction, he collects your limp body closer to his and walks off to your chambers with your drenched sexes still connected, leaving a crowd of embarrassed, curious, satisfied as well as tamed spectators in his wake. 

You surrender yourself to him and close your eyes as your body collapses on top of his. Your mind barely works but you know one thing— fact as clear as day; you are not making it out of this without at least one child on the way. 

And there isn't a single thing you can do about it.

. . .

[buckets-and-trees]

Between the Lines

Characters/Pairings: Ransom Drysdale x curvy female!Reader Word Count: 4.4k Summary: When presented with a deal you can't resist, you agree to to create an illusion so you can achieve your actual dreams.

Content/Warnings: masturbation, slow burn, forced proximity, fake engagement, annoyed/disgusted to lovers

Notes: This takes place after the events of Knives Out. Yes, all of the movie. No exclusions. Dividers by @vesearartistry and @saradika. My humble offering for week seven of my Countdown to Chris-mas. Thank you @stargazingfangirl18 and @biteofcherry for both indulging some of my plot-talking for this fic!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You sat nervously in the lobby of Blood Like Wine Publishing watching the gears behind the glass display on the elegant clock above the reception desk.

Up until the death of Harlan Thrombey, the publishing house had published his works exclusively with a new murder mystery being produced and translated into dozens of languages each year like clockwork, the gears and cogs a well-tested as the antique clock on display.

With no Harlan, the publishing house had opened to submissions and you and your agent had made it through the initial rounds of querying and contract negotiations.

But now, only a year and a half after the prolific genius’s death and transfer of ownership to his nurse and friend Marta Cabrera, Marta had sold to a new owner - yet to go public in name, and they had asked for a meeting before finalizing the contract.

You tried not to fidget as you gripped the leather armrests of the chair, willing the minutes to pass faster. The lobby was eerily quiet, save for the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of papers and the soft clacking of the keyboard from the receptionist's desk. The walls were adorned with framed book covers, each one a testament to Harlan Thrombey's literary legacy. You couldn't help but wonder if your own work would ever grace these halls.

As you waited, your mind raced with possibilities. Who was this mysterious new owner? What did they want? Your agent had assured you that this was just a formality, but the knot in your stomach suggested otherwise. You found yourself studying the intricate patterns in the marble floor, tracing the veins of gold and silver that snaked through the stone like the plot twists in one of Thrombey's novels.

Just as the clock struck ten, the elevator dinged, and a tall woman with perfectly coiffed short white hair strode out, her heels clicking authoritatively on the polished marble floor. She paused at the receptionist's desk, speaking in hushed tones before turning her piercing gaze towards you.

"I assume you’re my ten o’clock?" she questioned, her voice sharp and commanding.

You suppressed a gasp and abruptly stood, smoothing your clothes nervously as you approached none other than Linda Drysdale - the legendary daughter of Harlan.

"Yes, that's me.”

She gave you a once-over, then nodded. “Come with me.”

You followed Linda into the elevator, your heart pounding in your chest. The mirrored walls reflected your nervous expression back at you, and you tried to school your features into something more confident. Linda stood beside you, her posture perfect. In contrast to you, she seemed entirely at ease, tapping away at her phone with manicured nails.

When the doors opened, you stepped out into a hallway lined with dark wood paneling and more framed book covers. Linda's office was at the end, a massive space with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The room was dominated by an imposing desk made of rich mahogany, its surface neat and organized.

"Please, sit," Linda said, gesturing to one of the leather chairs in front of her desk. As you settled in, she moved to a small bar cart in the corner. "Can I offer you a drink? Perhaps some whiskey? A gin and tonic? Coffee? Tea?"

You shook your head, politely declining. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

Linda shrugged, pouring herself a generous measure of amber liquid into a crystal tumbler. "Suit yourself," she said, returning to her desk and settling into her high-backed leather chair. She took a sip, savoring the whiskey before fixing you with her piercing gaze once more.

"I've read your manuscript," she began, her fingers drumming lightly on the desk's polished surface. "It's intriguing. You have potential, there's no denying that."

Your heart swelled with pride at her words, but you remained silent, sensing there was more to come.

Linda leaned forward, her eyes never leaving yours. "I'm prepared to offer you a book deal. A three-book contract, to be precise. The advance is generous, and the royalties - well, let's just say they're enough to make even my father's ghost smile."

You felt a surge of excitement, but something in Linda's tone made you hesitate. There was a glint in her eye, a slight curl to her lip that suggested there was more to this offer than met the eye.

"However," she continued, swirling the whiskey in her glass, "there is one small condition."

The word hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "What kind of condition?" you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Linda smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You see, my father liked to play games. In his will, he left us with one final trick. I don’t know how much of this you heard or followed in the news, but he left us nothing - his cash and assets, our home, and this publishing house all went to Marta Cabrera, his nurse at the time of his death.”

You would have been hard-pressed to have missed the news because it had spilled over into scandal.

“I don’t expect to see the sixty million, and that’s tough, but I can live with that - I’ve made my own fortune, and neither Walt and his family nor my sister-in-law and her daughter need to continue suckling off the teat of dad’s treasury. The house still hurts, but I’ll get it back - I can bide my time. But this? It only took me eighteen months of patience and strategy, working through subsidiaries and intermediaries, to close the deal on getting Blood Like Wine back in the family where it belongs.”

“I will go public with my ownership by the end of the week,” she continued, “but for better and for worse, the acquisition has ended up coinciding with my son’s pending release from prison.”

“Ransom?”

Linda nodded, a flicker of emotion crossing her face before disappearing behind her composed facade. "Yes, Ransom. As you can imagine, his... indiscretions have caused quite a stir in our family and social circles."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure where this was leading.

"My son made mistakes, grievous ones. But he's served enough time, and now he needs a chance to redeem himself. That's where you come in."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm not sure I understand, Mrs. Drysdale. What does this have to do with my book deal?"

"The condition," she explained, her voice taking on a steely edge, "is that you convincingly pose as his sweet-as-a-peach fiancé for two years.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. Ransom Drysdale, the man who had attempted to murder Marta Cabrera and frame her for Harlan's death, and she expected you to agree to this? You stared at Linda in disbelief, and the silence stretched between you, broken only by the soft ticking of an antique clock on the bookshelf behind her.

"I... I don't know what to say," you finally managed, voice a little weak in your shock.

Linda leaned back in her chair, taking another sip of whiskey. "It's quite simple, really. You play the role of Ransom's devoted fiancée, help rehabilitate his image, and in return, you get your book deal. Three books, a substantial advance, and the backing of one of the most prestigious publishing houses in the industry.”

"But... Ransom... he tried to kill someone. He went to prison. How could I possibly-"

"Details," Linda waved her hand dismissively. "The public has a short memory. With the right narrative, we can reshape Ransom's image. A reformed bad boy, humbled by his time in prison, now devoted to his charming fiancée and ready to contribute positively to society. We both know the power of a well-crafted story. People will believe anything."

You felt your head spinning. This was so far beyond what you had expected when you'd nervously entered the building this morning. "And what does Ransom think about this plan?" you asked, grasping for any semblance of normalcy in this surreal situation.

Linda's lips curved into a tight smile. "Ransom will do as he's told if he wants to maintain his lifestyle and eventually inherit his share of the family fortune. He knows the stakes."

You sat there, stunned. The offer was tempting - a three-book deal with Blood Like Wine Publishing was beyond your wildest dreams. But to fake an engagement with a convicted criminal? It seemed insane.

"I understand your hesitation," Linda said, her voice softening slightly. "But consider this: you'd have unprecedented access to our family. Think of the material for your future novels. The inside scoop on one of America's most infamous families. Isn't that what every mystery writer dreams of?"

You had to admit, she had a point. The Thrombey-Drysdale saga was the stuff of legend in literary circles. To be on the inside, to see how they really lived and interacted? That alone could draw readers in if they thought there was any chance you’d pull threads and weave it into your future novels.

And besides, this was your dream: a multi-book deal with a prestigious publisher, the chance to see your work in print, and to potentially become not only a published author but one who with Blood Like Wine’s name and marketing department could be a truly successful author. How could you pass it all up?

“What would you say to four books?”

You blinked, taken aback by Linda's sudden offer. "Four books?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

Linda nodded, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Four books. And we'll double the advance. Consider it... hazard pay." She chuckled softly at her own joke.

Your breath caught in your throat. Four books? The offer was even more tempting now, dangling before you like a golden carrot. You found yourself leaning in, drawn into Linda's web despite your better judgment.

"I... I don't know," you stammered, your mind racing. "This is all so sudden. What exactly would be expected of me?"

Linda's smile widened, sensing your wavering resolve. "Nothing too taxing, I assure you. Attend some charity galas, be seen at upscale restaurants, perhaps a carefully orchestrated paparazzi shot or two. We'll craft a beautiful love story for the press - how Ransom found redemption through your unwavering support and love."

You nodded slowly, uncertainty swirling more strongly, gut churning because you were actually considering this. You could do public appearances…

“A year and a half,” you countered.

Linda shook her head firmly. “No, I won’t budge on the time commitment. Two years is a bankable amount of time to make sure we turn enough pages to fully close this chapter. But I’ll give you six books.”

Your heart leapt at that, and even though your gut was uneasy, your brain was shouting that this kind of deal was something you could not refuse. “Six books, and the first two released before the engagement period is over.”

“Deal,” Linda agreed.

You took a deep breath, your mind reeling from the enormity of what you had just agreed to. Six books. A multi-million dollar deal. And all you had to do was pretend to be engaged to a convicted criminal for two years. It seemed surreal, like something out of one of - well not one of Harlan's novels, but whatever romance author was currently trending.

"I think I will have that drink now," you said, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.

Linda's smile widened, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "I find a good whiskey helps smooth over even the most unusual of business deals."

You nodded, watching as she selected a crystal decanter filled with amber liquid. The soft clink of glass on glass filled the room as she poured a generous measure into a tumbler. The rich, peaty aroma of the whiskey wafted towards you, promising warmth and liquid courage.

Linda returned, extending the glass to you. Your fingers wrapped around the cool crystal and your eyes met Linda's. There was a moment of silent understanding between you - a recognition of the Faustian bargain you had just crafted and agreed to.

As you raised the glass to your lips, Linda's voice cut through the silence. "One more thing," she said, her tone casual but her gaze intense. "I'll up the advance to five million if you agree to move in with Ransom."

Your GPS led you to the top of a cul-de-sac in the Brown’s Wood neighborhood of Lincoln, Massachusetts. Beautiful trees and a typical New England landscape ushered you up the drive to the midcentury modern home owned by Hugh Ransom Drysdale. It didn’t scream home, but there was no denying it was a stunning feat of architecture - white walls and black roofing framing a structure of mostly floor-to-ceiling windows.

You sat in your car for a moment, gathering your courage. The enormity of what you had agreed to in Linda’s office had been sinking in all week, but this was it. Five million dollars. Six books. And two years of your life pretending to be engaged to - and now living with - a man who had attempted murder.

Maybe approaching all of this as if it was one big plot so of course it had to all work out was a ridiculous coping strategy, but it’s the one you had adopted.

But when the seven-figure advance had appeared in your bank account, giving you more money than you had earned in your entire life, you didn’t have it in you to back out.

If he murdered you, at least you would have paid off your student loans, credit card debts, provided for your parents’ retirement, and put away enough money in a trust for your nephew’s college fund.

The house loomed before you, a monument to wealth and taste that felt utterly alien. With a deep breath, you grabbed your bags from the passenger seat and made your way to the front door.

Before you could even ring the bell, the door swung open, revealing Ransom Drysdale himself.

He was taller than you expected, his presence filling the doorway. His piercing blue eyes scanned you from head to toe, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "So, you're the lucky lady my mother's picked out for me," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You bristled at his tone but forced a smile. "And you must be the charming ex-convict I've agreed to shackle myself to," you replied, matching his sarcasm with your own. "Can we consider the awkward introductions done now?"

Ransom's smirk widened into a grin, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Oh, I like you already. Come on in, darling," he said, stepping aside to let you in. "Welcome to Hill House Drysdale. Try not to get too attached - I hear it's only a two-year lease."

You stepped into the house, immediately struck by the minimalist decor and open floor plan. The entire back wall was glass, offering a stunning view of the surrounding woods. It was beautiful, but cold - much like its owner, you mused.

The house was a stark contrast to the warmth of the Thrombey mansion you'd seen in news reports. This place was all clean lines, minimalist furniture, and an abundance of glass and steel.

"Nice place," you commented, setting your bags down. "I half expected to see crime scene tape and chalk outlines."

Ransom's laugh was sharp and humorless. "Sorry to disappoint. I save all my murdering for the family estate. This is my sanctuary."

You couldn't help but chuckle bitterly at his dark humor. At least he wasn't trying to pretend this was anything other than what it was - a business arrangement.

"So, where should I put my things?" you asked, gesturing to your bags. Some of your things had been sent off to a storage unit, but the things a moving consultant had determined would come here with you had been packed up and moved earlier in the day.

"The master suite is upstairs," Ransom said, closing the door behind you. "Stay out unless you’re embarking on a conjugal visit.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

He winked at you, then began to take you through the house. “Other than that, you’re free to roam the house, and I’ll stay out of your space. Living room here,” he gestured around, then walked to the right, and you followed him into a sleek, modern kitchen. “Two Bosch ovens, a six-burner range, your choice of pretty much any appliance in one of these cupboards.”

“You cook?”

It was his turn to scoff. “God, no.”

He walked you through the length of it, coming out on the other end of the living room, and then walking through a dining room with a long black table and another two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows.

Ransom didn’t strike you as one for entertaining dinner parties, making this more of a feature room than anything else.

At the other end, you came to a new wing of the house.

“This is you,” he said simply. “First door office, second is your bedroom and bathroom.”

You hesitated at the transition point from the dining room to the other side of the house.

“What is it?” Ransom asked, turning and putting his hands on his hips impatiently.

“Linda said a contractor would be brought in to install a door and security system.”

“She said could, and you’ve got locks installed, but I own this house, installing a wall and door here is more invasive than I was willing to agree to, and since she’s a real estate mogul she conceded it would altar the property value.”

“I…”

“You can relax. I’m not likely to try to murder you - the memory of the inconvenience of being incarcerated will probably last for twenty-four to thirty-six months, putting you in the clear.”

You frowned.

“They’re nice rooms, state of the art locks, you’ll be fine,” he reiterated, rolling his eyes. “Digital reinforced with an analog component that you’ll have the only keys to.”

He tossed you a keychain with three keys, which you were quick to catch.

“Downstairs there’s another living room that’ll be for you exclusively and a laundry room.”

“So, you’ll be coming through here to do laundry then?” you asked.

“Cute of you to think I do my own laundry.”

Now it was you who had an eye roll to give.

"Speaking of, all your stuff was delivered safe and sound, but I took the liberty of having some clothes delivered for you. Can't have my fiancée looking like a struggling writer when we're out in public."

You bristled at his comment. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Ransom's eyes raked over you, his gaze lingering a bit too long for comfort. "Let's just say they don't exactly scream 'trophy wife of a reformed bad boy billionaire.'"

You gritted your teeth, reminding yourself of the substantial paycheck waiting for you at the end of this charade. "Fine. When is the first public outing?"

Ransom checked his watch, a sleek, expensive-looking timepiece that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. "We have a charity gala tomorrow night. My dear mother thought it would be the perfect opportunity to debut our 'relationship' to society."

Your stomach twisted with anxiety. Tomorrow night? That was so soon. You weren't prepared for this.

“Last thing,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s your ring.”

Ransom reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. As he opened it, your breath caught in your throat. Nestled inside was a ring that could only be described as breathtaking.

The center stone was a flawless oval-cut diamond, easily 3 carats, that seemed to capture and refract every bit of light in the room. It was held in place by a delicate setting adorned with two smaller diamonds on either side. Each facet of the ring sparkled with an intensity that was almost hypnotic.

"This," Ransom said, his voice uncharacteristically warm, "is a family heirloom. It belonged to my great-grandmother, passed down through the generations. My mother insisted I give it to you."

He carefully removed the ring from its velvet nest and held it out.

You reached for it, holding it delicately and studying it more closely.

“And I am going to insist that you wear it continually,” he added, tone back to its normal bite, “none of this on and off business. We’re engaged and there’s no reason to risk a slip up forgetting to put it on before you leave the house.”

The weight of it in your hand felt significant, both physically and metaphorically. This wasn't just any engagement ring - it was a piece of Thrombey family history.

"It's... stunning," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ransom's expression softened for a moment, a flicker of something - pride? nostalgia? - passing across his face. "It is, isn't it?" he said, his sarcastic tone momentarily abandoned again. "My great-grandfather proposed with that ring after returning from the war. It's seen its fair share of family drama."

You couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I bet it has."

Ransom cleared his throat, his mask of indifference sliding back into place. "Well, go on then. Put it on.”

"Are you sure about this?" you asked cautiously. "Shouldn't a family heirloom go to someone real?"

Ransom's expression hardened slightly. "I’m hardly that sentimental. This arrangement is real enough for my mother, and it's real enough for me. Besides," he added with a sardonic smile, "you're as close to family as I'm likely to get these days."

With a deep breath, you slipped it onto your left ring finger. The final symbol of the elaborate charade you had chosen to undertake.

It was near midnight, and you were worn out and nearly ready to collapse into your bed. The movers had done most of the work, but you still had had some unpacking to take care of and moved the furniture around in your bedroom and the room that would be your office. After giving you the engagement ring, Ransom had left you alone the rest of the day.

You padded quietly through the dining room that connected the two halves of the house to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle before bed.

The house was eerily quiet as you made your way through the darkened rooms. Moonlight filtered through the expansive windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors. You tried to move silently, not wanting to disturb the stillness of the night or alert Ransom to your presence.

As you entered the kitchen, the cool tile against your bare feet sent a small shiver up your spine. You fumbled for a moment, searching for the light switch, but decided against it. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and the soft glow from the windows was enough to navigate by.

You had just placed your water bottle under the refrigerator's filtered, letting the cool water splash into your bottle, when another sound caught your attention.

At first, it was barely perceptible - a faint, rhythmic creaking from upstairs. You froze, straining your ears. The sound grew clearer: a low, guttural groan, followed by the unmistakable sound of skin moving over skin.

Frozen in place, your cheeks flushed hot as realization dawned. Ransom was fisting his cock and unabashedly enjoying it.

Part of you wanted to flee back to your room immediately, but you were paralyzed, afraid any sound of movement might alert him to your presence.

Your breath caught in your throat as Ransom's moans intensified, echoing through the quiet house. The rhythmic creaking of his bed frame quickened, punctuated by deep, guttural groans that sent shivers down your spine. You stood frozen in the kitchen, your water bottle forgotten as you listened, captivated against your will.

Your body betrayed you, responding to the primal sounds drifting down from above. Heat bloomed in your core, your skin tingling with unwanted arousal. You could almost picture him - his muscular body taut with tension, head thrown back in ecstasy, those piercing blue eyes half-lidded with pleasure. Your imagination filled in the details - the flex of his biceps as he stroked himself, the sheen of sweat on his chest, the way his abs would clench with each thrust into his fist.

You pressed your thighs together, trying to quell the ache building between them.

"Fuck," Ransom's voice drifted down, rough with need.

The raw intensity in his voice sent a jolt through you. Your breath quickened, matching the frantic pace of his movements above. You knew you should leave, retreat to the safety of your room, but your feet remained rooted to the spot.

The sounds grew more urgent, building to a crescendo. Ransom's groans became deeper, more primal. You could hear the desperation in his voice, the need for release. Your own body thrummed with sympathetic tension, your nipples hardening beneath your thin sleep shirt.

Suddenly, Ransom let out a long, guttural moan. The sound of it vibrated through you, igniting every nerve ending. You imagined him arching off the bed, his body taut as a bowstring as he found his release.

The house fell silent once more, save for the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Realizing you were still clutching your water bottle, you turned and tip-toed back to your room as quickly as possible.

You slipped quietly back into your room, closing and locking the door behind you with trembling hands. Your heart was still racing, your body flushed with unwanted arousal. You leaned against the door, trying to steady your breathing.

What had just happened? You'd come to get water and ended up an unwitting eavesdropper to your fake fiancé's private moment. The memory of Ransom's deep groans echoed in your mind, sending another shiver through you.

You shook your head, trying to clear the vivid mental images. This was ridiculous. Ransom was arrogant, infuriating, and had literally tried to murder someone. You shouldn't be affected by him like this.

And yet, the memory of his moans lingered, making your skin tingle and your core ache with need.

When you crawled into bed, you brought a book with you instead of your vibrator, refusing to sate the lust that had been kindled because you didn’t want to risk thinking of him. If you couldn’t resist him the first night living under the same roof, there would be no hope for you to make it two years.

And so you read until your eyes drooped and you were finally succumbed to sleep.

HAPPY KNIVES OUT NOVEMBER! It seemed like an appropriate point during the Countdown to Chris-mas to finally buckle down and write my first Ransom fic!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[georgiapeach30513]

Let Your Daddy See

Summary: Your boyfriend, Ransom knew you had a crush on the owner of the local bakery. He sees you practically drooling as you watch his hands kneading dough. Always making excuses to go to Andy’s work during his demos. Getting all flustered when he smiles at you, even offering a private lesson…if you want Andy, you can have him. For one night. But it’s Ransom’s choice. Enjoy.

Pairings: Ransom Drysdale X Reader X Andy Barber

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, teasing, dumb sex jokes, “surprises”, threesome, unprotected sex, PIV sex, anal sex, dumbification, degradation, double penetration, creampie, cameras, surprise! 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.7K

Ransom Drysdale Masterlist

Andy Barber Masterlist

You take a quick peek up, and are met with his beautiful blue eyes. Close enough to see the speckling of different hues of blue. His mouth turns up into a smile, and you quickly look back down at his hands. Pushing forward, and pulling back. His veins pop up on his arms and hands with the motion. Cords of his muscles ripple on his forearms. The man did more than bake pastries. He had to have a clear an amazing workout routine that you would love to sit and watch.

Since Andy had opened Butter & Buns you found every excuse to come here on a regular basis. It had nothing to do with Andy, but his goods, at least that’s what you told yourself. He honestly does make the most spectacular delicacies. And the way he runs his patisserie is so inviting. He had demos where he made the fresh breads right in front of you.

And he is even going to be starting classes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about how he would teach. Would he be the type of man that stands behind you, hands on yours as he shows you how to properly make bread? Or would he be the teacher that stands in front of you while his eyes pay more attention to the curves of your body instead, and you learn nothing at all?

He told you about the classes first of course, letting you know you are his favorite customer. You gaze over his arms again as he pushes and pulls the dough. Developing the glutens, and mixing in the butter. It is heavenly to watch. A bit distracting, but only due to how effortlessly he did that. Like a skilled ballerina up on stage. It flows and has an odd beauty to it.

“Are you getting your usual, Sweet Buns?” a girlish giggle brushes past your lips, and the quick glance up at him sends heat to your cheeks. Andy has this way of making you feel like a schoolgirl. Even your hands are clammy, and your throat dries up. “Or can I suggest something different that I know you’re going to love?” You have to look at him, but this time he catches your eyes, and you linger the hold. You couldn’t look away.

“Yeah, of course,” your voice is a whisper as you nod your head, and switch the weight on your feet.

“Oh, give me a break,” Ransom rolls his eyes beside you, and you give him a little nudge with your shoulder. He is ruining this for you.

“Why don’t you grab our coffees, and I’ll get the treats?” He smirks, rolling his eyes again. It’s one of his favorite things to do, but he does walk away to go to the front of the counter, leaving you and Andy alone. “I’m sorry about him.”

“You’d think your husband wouldn’t come in with you if he’s so easily annoyed,” there’s a slight twinkle in Andy’s eye, but you can’t quite figure it out.

“We’re not married,” you answer quickly, showing him your bare finger. “Not even engaged. He’s…” Ransom peeks over towards you, pursing his lips, and narrowing his eyes before ordering the coffee. “What are you wanting to suggest to me?” Changing the subject off your relationship is the best course of action.

“I was playing around with croissant ideas. It’s not traditional, but it’s lemon meringue.”

“It sounds perfect,” almost as perfect as his ass walking to the sink to wash his hands. He meets you down at the register, handing over Ransom’s usual mini scones before giving you his newest creation. It looks amazing, and perfect. Just like him.

“I made this specifically with you in mind, Sweet Buns,” another giggle. You love that he remembers your first encounter with him, and it has since become your nickname. Your hand brushes against his as he hands you the receipt, and his eyes linger on you as you make way to Ransom.

“I made this specifically with you in mind, Sweet Buns,” he mocks what Andy says as you sit down across from him. “Why don’t you admit you got a crush on the baker.”

“I don’t, and he’s a pastry chef,” Ransom blinks at you a few times before taking a bite of your croissant. He doesn’t want to react, but he does. A soft little moan travels up his throat, and you shimmy your shoulders. “See.”

“You completely ignored what I just said,” of course you did. It��s a silly conversation that wasn’t going to get either of you anywhere.

“I ignored you because I don’t have a crush on Andy.”

“Ahh, you just want him to fuck your sweet buns, huh?” You give him a little kick under the table, smiling at him. It is fascinating to see him get a bit jealous. He knows who you go home to, and who you want to spend the rest of your life with. “If he gets your sweet buns, what do I get?”

“You can have the warm muffin.”

“I love it when you talk dirty. So I can have the warm muffin, he gets the sweet buns, what are we going to do with your mouth?” He raises his eyebrows in a suggestive way, and now it’s you that’s rolling your eyes.

“Shut up!” You playfully say, nudging your foot at him. “You know I love you, right?” Smiling, he nods his head, taking another bite of your pastry. Rude. “But I do quite enjoy your wheels turning. Are you seriously dreaming about him with us?” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Stop eating my food. That was made just for me.”

“Unless he’s got another sweet buns that he’s not telling you about,” you are his only Sweet Buns. Andy didn’t have others that he is like this with. You’ve watched him. “If we do this can I frost your muffin and turn it into a cupcake?” You burst out laughing, throwing your head back dramatically. He is silly, even if you love his play on words.

“What is wrong with you?” Or better yet, why did he have to wait to frost your cupcake?

“Or I can always call it a pie shell. Won’t you let me make a cream pie,” he’s saying words, and you’re not sure how serious he is. You’d let him if he’d ask.

“Alright, that’s enough. Let’s go home.”

“Maybe he can butter your buns,” he’s so obnoxious sometimes. “Knead your dough. Oh oh! Maybe frost your cake,” you give a quick little wave to Andy, trying to shoo Ransom out of the shop before Andy hears what he is saying. How embarrassing. Or maybe not.

——

“Ransom! Baby, I’m home,” throwing your keys into the bowl, you remove your shoes. Slowly undressing now because it is Friday, and you are tired of this bra. “Ransom?” You couldn’t smell any cooking, so you figured he must want to go out tonight, you’ll have to persuade him to order in. You just want him, the couch, and reruns.

“Ransom?” You say his name one more time as you pull your shirt over your head, and take off your bra. He’ll be happy to see your titties free. That’s how you make sure he just orders in, and you can stay with and watch television.

“Ransom? Oh my god!” Your arms fly over your chest as Andy smiles at you devilishly. “Why are you in my house, and in my fucking room?”

“It does look like a nice fucking…room,” creep. He was attractive in his place. Being alone in your house with you. And… “Ransom, she did make a great entrance,” your boyfriend steps out of the en-suite, and you look between the two of them. The little slut!

They are up to something, and you just want to rest. In between them. “What is this?”

“Angel,” uh uh. Anytime Ransom starts a sentence with that, he’s up to something. Needing you to forgive him immediately. And of course that makes sense since Andy Barber is in your bedroom with you and your boyfriend all while your arms are over your chest, covering yourself.

Rolling your eyes, you happen to catch a peek, and Andy is a full mast. Pants are completely tented, and you feel a rush of heat pool at your core. He’s as big as you imagined, bigger even. This is about that conversation you had Butter & Buns! Ransom brought this man here for a threesome, and both men are ready to go.

“I had some thoughts about our conversation the other day…”

“And I overheard everything,” oh my god! Andy overheard every stupid joking detail. This is too much. “And I approached Ransom.”

“No, you didn’t. I went back to the buttery buns, and approached you.”

“You stuttered, and couldn’t get the question out, so I proposed a deal. I get your ass, if you agree.”

“But I’m in control,” it is like watching a ping pong match as the two of them go back and forth. Each making sure you know that they’re more manly than the other with no regard of what you want. You didn’t ask for this. Ransom and Andy just assumed. They didn’t exactly assume wrong.

You have dreamed of this very moment. You didn’t want Andy in your life, you just wanted him in your body. Have a little fun with your boyfriend. He did say his fantasy was to watch you be destroyed before he joins in. Watch as your cunt is being refused stimulation, and he waits for you to beg before joining in. You just don’t beg. You never beg.

Okay, maybe you have dreamed about the man destroying you being Andy once or twice. But the principle of the matter is they didn’t ask. “Angel, if you didn’t want me to know that you have fantasized about this, maybe you shouldn’t leave your fucking journal open on the bed. With a very detailed explanation of what you want Mr. Butters and me to do to you.”

“You caught that, huh?” Ransom is far from being dumb, but sometimes he just needs a little nudging, especially since you found out that he wanted Andy to be the man that joined you. You gave him a little hint by leaving your journal on his side of the bed.

“You made it obvious. So quit playing coy. On your knees. I can literally smell your arousal. You know I know your cunt better than you do. On your knees, and let Andy fuck your ass. I won’t ask again. And be a good girl, and drop your arms. Go on. Let me see.”

He’s such an ass when he’s right. You let your arms fall, and you glance towards Andy. His eyes coast down your body as you start to pull your pants down. Andy licks his lips as he stares at your pebbled peaks. He’s ready to devour you. Ready to turn you into the mush, and become completely pliable like his doughs.

You came home tired, but a new sense of invigoration courses through your body as the bed dips down with your weight. Leaning forward you let your head rest completely on the mattress, and your ass full on in the air. Both men walk behind you, their eyes taking in your sex before Ransom’s lithe fingers move through your folds.

“She’s soaked,” he moans before slapping at Andy’s hand. “Nope, you can’t touch her until I say so. You must inspect the goods. She expects this from me. See,” he pulls you apart at the seam. Spreading you out fully for Andy’s hungry eyes. “The tightest pussy I’ve ever felt. But this…this pretty little hole,” Ransom spits down at your puckered entrance before rubbing it around your muscle.

“This is going to be all yours. You can’t have her needy little cunt. But her ass is just as greedy, watch,” you whimper as he presses a finger past the tight rim. Pushing yourself back into him. “Go on, I’ll warm her up, but you get nice and lubed. She has a bit of an attitude problem, but you fill her up, and she’s the most obedient little sex doll, aren’t ya? Such a little slut drunk on cock.”

Your brain goes fuzzy as you anticipate two cocks at once. Overwhelmed is a perfect word for it. Feeling all the feels, while Ransom pumps his finger in and out of you, and his sinful mouth never shuts up. “You can come in her or on her, but you can’t have that tight little pussy, okay?” Andy groans, coating his cock in lube.

He fists his thick veiny member a few times, starting to move closer. Ransom’s need for mirrors in the bedroom is paying off. You’re able to see Andy’s wide body and thick hands take in your holes. He looks massive behind you. “She’s so pretty when she gets stuffed, too. Look at her, ass in the air, and ready to be fucked so hard. In and out. Filled fully. Every little hole.”

Andy clears his throat, and Ransom reluctantly pulls his finger out of your ass. Smiling when you whine at the loss of him. Starting to rock on your knees because you need a replacement. “Easy, Sweet Buns,” his thick hands grab tight to your hips, digging into your skin with so much force you hope it bruises. Andy teases your tight hole with his cock. “You going to be a cockslut for us?”

“Mhmm,” mewling as his blunt mushroom tip breaches your entrance. Your fingers grip tight to the bed, and your eyes shoot open, trying to find your boyfriend’s handsome face. Staring at him with so much need as Andy slowly sinks into you. Doesn’t stop until he’s balls deep in your ass, and you're ready for Ransom to fill you up, too. You need him. It isn’t fair you can’t have him, too.

“Shh,” he sighs, petting your face. “Let big daddy Andy have some fun, okay?” You nod your head, but reach towards Ransom. Holding onto his hand as Andy slowly pulls out of you, and crashes back into your warmth. Yipping when he does it again quickly.

You never look anywhere, but Ransom’s handsome face. The way he’s adoring you even more for allowing your crush to own your ass. Rutting into you at such a steady pace, and yet you still feel empty. Ransom belongs in you as well. “You’re doing such a good job.”

“Sweet buns, you should really get on top of me. Let your boyfriend watch that neglected cunt as I fill every inch of your ass. He can see that pretty pussy weeping with need for him. Crying out for him because you need him so much. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Yes! Yes!” Shouting because you need Ransom to see how empty you are without him. How much you need him inside of you more than some fantasy. “Please!” He nods his head, and Andy pulls out of you, and crawls on the bed. Letting you turn your back to him as you settle over top.

Able to watch every part of Ransom as you slowly sink over him. Moaning as your body swallows him whole, and Ransom’s eyes go to your core. Staring so hard at where he is supposed to be. You’ve already told him too many times that your body was made for him. “Do you like it, Ran?”

“Yes, very much so, kitty cat,” placing your hands behind you, and on either side of Andy, you start bouncing over top of him. Letting Ransom see a part of you not filled with him letting her beg him, because you won’t with words. Your body cries for him to enter you as your arousal leaks onto Andy. “You’re so perfect,” he moans, and you go harder.

Bucking on top of Andy, and ready to whine out Ransom’s name. “Make yourself come first. You needy little brat. If you want two cocks, come. Go on. You can do it,” you slam yourself over him harder. Enjoying the view even if it's torturous. “You’re almost there. You’ve got this. Keep going. Don’t stop. That pretty pussy needs my pretty cock inside of her, huh?”

“Yeah. Please. Ransom, I’m…” heat and pleasure rush to your core. It’s almost cruel to come like this. A big part of you is being ignored, and no matter what you do, Ransom isn’t budging. “Ransom, I’m…”

“Then do it, you filthy little slut,” that does it. Pleasure shoots into every part of your limbs as your eyes roll into the back of your head. Slowing down your movements, but Andy picks up where you leave off. “Clenching around nothing, and I got the front row seat to heaven,” his voice is so deep as he stares at your empty cunt.

Getting onto the bed before his lips meet yours. He tastes like sin and dessert as he swallows your moans, “You needed this,” he says before crashing into you. Both men pause as sounds you’ve never made before scream out of your lungs.

Giving you a grace period for you to adjust to just how incredibly full you feel. Stretched out in the most perfect way, and getting to have and feel Ransom finally. He fits so perfectly inside you. You’ve never doubted how he is made for you. He even feels just as much pleasure as you, just feeling how different this is. It’s overwhelming. Blinding. Makes you feel as if you’ve ascended to heaven.

Everything in your body ceases to stop functioning. You’re just there. Existing for nothing but pleasure. Obviously for them, but what you feel is like a religious experience. Floating in the air with the most beautiful high encasing your body.

“There she is,” Ransom coos down to you. “I thought I’d lost you to the pleasure,” what is he talking about? You’re just feeling. “I think you blacked out for a minute. Just kept saying my name, but barely.”

“Mmm.”

“Cockdrunk,” Andy is just a vessel. A tool to add to the fun. If it wasn’t for the severe amount of fullness you feel, you wouldn't know he is even there. All you care about is Ransom. Head rolling around on your shoulders. “Alright, let’s flip. You just lay there, and take care of your girl, while I fuck her.”

“You want that, baby? You want Andy to fuck you.”

“You.”

“You’re too far gone, baby. Yeah, we’ll switch,” you want to cry as Ransom pulls out of you. Already reaching out to him as he lays down on the bed. “Come on. C’mere,” it’s Andy that helps you move over to him. Guiding you to sink over Ransom, and you start kissing on his beautiful face. “I know. I know.”

The last words you remember as Andy slams into you, and you scream. Fuck it feels so good. So full. So very full. If you could float out of your body, and watch this experience you would. The world doesn’t exist. It’s just nirvana. You try and ground yourself with the touch of Ransom, because he is perfect. Rubbing over your face. Whispering your name because you forgot.

Andy’s movements are harsh and about him getting off; Ransom is about you and him. So sweet. So perfect. So in love with him. You didn’t think you could love him more, but a man willing to have another man in your bed because you’ve fantasized about it is the perfect man. “Ransom!”

“I know, just let go. Come on two cocks,” his hips drive up into you, and you collapse on his chest. Incoherently saying his name. “Come,” he whispers into your ears, and rockets go off in your body. Shooting endorphins and pleasure to every nerve ending as your body seizes up. This is it, the true escape of the world, and absolute bliss.

“She’s. So. Fucking. Tight,” Andy grunts, thrusting into you so hard your body lurches forward. “So. Fucking. Good. Ugh!” Growling behind you as his movements become irregular. “Right. There!” It’s like everybody’s body is synchronized. Your walls flutter around their cocks, and they each shoot warm ropes of thick cum into your body, and you’re buzzing. A high like no other.

Long weeks are meant for going dumb, and what better way to escape than this. Andy pants behind you, while Ransom’s fingers softly caress your body. His lips ghost over your skin, and you feel yourself start to drift. Feeling so comfortable and exhausted from the week.

“I thought I was supposed to come in,” you relax on top of Ransom’s body, soaking up the afterglow of his release. He feels so warm inside of you. His cum right where it belongs. He wasn’t ever going to waste a drop again.

“Shh,” Ransom says softly as Andy pulls out of your body.

“No, you said if I set up the cameras, that I could fuck her mouth,” Andy rolls his eyes, grabbing a camera off the tripod and points it at your used holes. “Oh, yeah, don’t forget the money shot. But you wanted all her holes to be dripping in cum. It was a gift before you propos…”

“Jake! Shut up!” Jake Jensen mumbles something under his breath. You nuzzle into Ransom more before you drift off to sleep. You’ve never felt more satisfied. “Yes, next time I’ll make sure she’s airtight, but we got to ease her into it. And besides…”

“We know, Drysdale,” Andy hands Jake the camera before going to his clothes, “You’re marrying the girl, but she is okay with being used from time to time. Did you even know she was interested in Jake before her journal?”

“Nope. Why would she be into him?”

“I’m right here, and I am lovable!”

“Alright, go on. Next time I’ll| make her watch herself being used first. Maybe over some sweet buns,” Ransom gives a little chuckle to Andy. “There there, sweetheart, these men are going to leave, and I’m going to give us a bath. The rest of the weekend is about you. You’ve had such a hard night.”

No. It was almost perfect. Almost.

Masterlist

@tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87 @rogersbarber 

@harrysthiccthighss @distractingbeth @musingsfromthemitten

[krirebr]

More Than This 8

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~9.5k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, explicit language, fighting, my own rampant abuse of italics and en dashes, the slooowest burn, family drama - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Ohhhhhhhh boy. Getting this update in right under the six month wire. I'm so sorry this one took so long, you guys. I had to drag this chapter out of me. But uh, it's horrifically long, so that's something?

And, I know I keep saying that we're about to start a happier part of this story and then deliver a bucketful of angst, and yeah, whoops, I've done that again. I should just stop making promises, huh?

Big thanks as always to @paperweight91 who has spent the last almost six months talking this one through with me. And to @bigtreefest who was so great with the encouragement and gut checks and did a quick beta of this chapter! But, of course, all mistakes are my own.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too! As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

The rest of the day was quiet. Calmer, more settled than you were used to. After having gotten everything out into the open, it was so much easier to acknowledge Ransom’s presence, to coexist with him. You hadn’t fully realized how much you’d been holding your breath until you could suddenly breathe freely. It was a wild feeling.

Once you were all cried out, Ransom turned on the TV, turning it to the classic movie channel. That was how you learned he loved old movies. “Grandad and I used to watch them together. When I was a kid,” he said quietly. He didn't volunteer any other information and you didn't ask. But you watched the old noir with him.

One movie turned into two and soon the whole afternoon was gone. It had been… comfortable, in a way you’d never expected to be with him. Neither of you had said much, but the silence hadn’t been stifling in the way it’d been even just the day before. For the first time since you’d gotten here, you felt something a lot like hope.

He made two arrangements while sitting with you on the couch. The first was for movers to come to collect his gym equipment the next day so that your new room would be empty when your things arrived in a couple of days. 

You were made aware of the second when you received a text from him. You looked up in confusion. You were sitting right next to each other. He chuckled lightly. “That’s the number to your new car service. Call it, let them know where you’re going, and a car should be here within half an hour.”

You stared at the number. Holy shit, you’d be able to go places. You felt silly for how emotional you suddenly felt, but it was like your entire world was expanding in real time. It felt like fresh oxygen in your lungs. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

He just nodded in response. “After you’ve used that for a while, we can talk about whether a private driver might be more appropriate. If that’s what you need.”

You looked at your phone again. This was proof in your hands that you could tell Ransom what you needed and he would do what he could to help you get it. That he wasn’t the enemy you’d assumed he was. You could feel the tears starting to gather in your eyes and you took a deep breath to try to quell them without calling attention to your state.

Ransom, of course, noticed anyway. “Is that not ok?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head. “No, it’s perfect. Seriously, thank you. I’m sorry, I just–” You had no idea what to say to him, how to explain yourself. As good and necessary as the last several hours had been, he was still a stranger. And as much as he’d demonstrated a willingness to help you, that didn’t mean he wanted you getting your messy emotions all over him. “Sorry,” you said again, “I’m just emotional today. Hormones probably. I’m afraid you’re going to be dealing with this for the next nine months.” You grimaced in what you hoped was a playful manner as you tried to wipe the tears from your eyes.

He remained serious, concerned. “I think I can handle it,” he said, his tone still so soft. But if you looked very carefully, you thought that you might be able to see a hint of panic in his eyes. You didn’t know if it was for the havoc that your pregnancy hormones might wreak or everything that would come after. You didn’t ask. You knew you wouldn’t be able to answer the question for yourself either. So you turned back to the movie.  

At some point, you both started to get hungry, so Ransom ordered takeout. As you ate, you asked a few questions about the sorts of movies he liked, grateful for a safe topic to fill the silence. You certainly wouldn’t call him verbose, but you learned that he had a soft spot for Billy Wilder movies. You wouldn’t really say the conversation flowed, either, but your questions didn’t seem unwelcome. It was nice. He was starting to feel like a real person.

When you were done, you cleaned up the leftovers together, packing them up and putting them away in the fridge. It was while you were doing that that the doorbell suddenly rang. You both looked up, confused. “If that’s fucking Linda, I swear…” Ransom grumbled.

“She never rings the doorbell when it’s just me here,” you griped. You continued putting things away, sticking your head in the fridge as Ransom went to get the door. Then everything happened so fast.

First, you heard Lola yipping excitedly. As you started to turn around to see what was going on with her, Ransom asked “What are you doing here?!” And then–

And then Ransom was on the ground, clutching his jaw, and Steve was looming over him, his hand still in a fist.

“What the shit?!” Ransom ground out.

Steve’s eyes flitted around wildly until they landed on you. He sighed in relief, clearly doing a quick check as he looked at you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone so much gentler than his posture.

“Am I– What– What are you doing here? I don't–” You felt like you couldn’t process anything that was happening. How was he here?? Your gaze caught on your husband, still on the floor. “Oh my god, Ransom!” You dropped to your knees next to him. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I–” he started, then carefully flexed his jaw, “Fucking shit. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Your hand hovered uselessly between you as he slowly stood up. You turned back to Steve, who had stepped fully into the house, closing the door behind him, and now had Lola in his arms, softly greeting her as she snuggled into him adoringly.

“Steve, what are you–” you started but then you saw the suitcase at his feet. “Are you staying here?!”

Steve finally turned his attention away from Lola. “Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously, with a challenging glare to Ransom. 

You sighed helplessly. “There’s no guest room…”

“Yeah,” Ransom grumbled as he rifled through the freezer until he pulled out an icepack, “as thrilled as we are to see you, we do have hotels here. You might be more comfortable in one.” The icy coldness that filled the room wasn’t just from the open freezer. 

Steve took an aggressive step forward. “And leave you alone with my sister for even one more day? I don’t think so. I’ll be just fine on the couch. I’m easy like that.”

“Steve–” you tried but you were quickly interrupted.

“Really? You’re here for your step-sister? That’s interesting because my understanding is that you haven’t had much time for her lately,” Ransom said snidely.

Steve started to puff up in a way that was much too familiar from the playground fights of your childhood. “Oh my god!” you yelled. “Stop! Both of you!” You briefly put your head in your hands and took a deep breath, then one more. You straightened yourself and tried to deal with one of the fifteen problems at hand. “Ok, I, uh, I guess I’ll see about making up the couch,” you said, then stomped your way upstairs to the linen closet.

Steve followed close behind you, still carrying around Lola. “You know,” he said, his tone teasing, “you haven’t actually said ‘hello’ to me yet.”

“No,” you growled, as you looked through the closet without turning around to look at him, “I guess I haven’t.”

He pulled your arm lightly. “Hey, come on,” he said. “I’ll help pull this stuff together if you tell me where to look. We both know Ransom’s just gonna let you do all the work.”

That earned you finally turning to face him. “Well, he did just get punched in the face, so I think he’s a little more concerned with that than making you feel comfortable right now.”

Steve’s face scrunched up. “Wait. Are you mad at me?”

“Am I mad at you? Well, let's see. You showed up unannounced and punched my husband in the face. Yeah! I'm a little mad at you!”

“He deserved it,” he growled. 

“How would you know?!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

You sighed. You did not have the energy for this. And where were all the blankets? You remembered the pile currently in the corner of the gym. Right. You turned around and walked down the hall to your makeshift bedroom, Steve still on your heels. As soon as you walked in, he stopped, putting Lola down. “The fuck is this?” he asked, harshly, his hands on his hips. You realized your mistake immediately. His eyes scanned the cushions and blankets set up, the exercise equipment still there, your few possessions strewn about. “Is this where you sleep?”

“No! Just last night.”

“Why did you need to sleep here last night?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

It felt like a trap. If you told him you’d panicked and needed some space, he would ask why. Steve never dropped anything. And you just could not tell him you were pregnant right now. It was the absolute worst time for that. But you didn’t know how else to answer his question. “I just needed a little space.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. God, you hated being the focus of that look. It was the look he gave you when you scratched his car when you were 16, or when you were 18 and he had to pick you up from a party at 2 AM and wouldn’t tell him what had happened. It was the look you got when you were little and used to steal his paintbrushes so he couldn’t paint and he’d have to hang out with you. You’d hated that look since you were six years old. “Why are you here, Steve?”

He just shook his head for a moment. “You sounded so sad and tired this morning. And I’m just so sick of not being able to see you, not being able to tell what’s wrong.” He took a deep breath. “Not being able to protect you.”

“Steve,” was all you could say at first. Then you couldn’t help yourself anymore. You launched yourself at him and wrapped him in a big hug. He was a fucking idiot. You couldn’t believe he’d punched Ransom. You were so mad about that. But he was your fucking brother and you’d missed him so much.

He hugged you back tightly. “It’s so fucking good to see you, Chipmunk,” he murmured into your hair. 

You stood there, savoring the closeness for as long as you both were able, and then you pulled away and stared down at the mound of blankets and cushions. The big couch downstairs had been pulled apart the night before to give you a place to sleep. That severely limited the options for Steve. You sighed. “I guess it would make the most sense to put you in here.”

“And where would you sleep?” he asked, his tone taking on an aggressive edge, aimed at the man downstairs, you knew.

“I’d go back to the bedroom,” you said, with a put-on casualness like you weren’t aware of the fight that was about to happen.

“Absolutely not,” Steve said firmly.

“Oh my god, Steve! You can’t control where I sleep!” you said, throwing your hands in the air.

“The whole reason I’m here is to make sure you’re ok and that he can’t hurt you! I’m not gonna do something that puts you back in his space!”

“Steve, I don’t need that! He isn’t doing anything!”

“Then why did you text me? Why were you crying?!”

You did not have the energy for the conversation that would answer that question, so all you could do was glare at him, which he answered with a confrontational jut of his chin. The two of you just stood there locked in a staredown until Steve muttered, “What sort of grown man doesn’t have anywhere for guests, anyway?”

“The sort that likes an excuse to stop people from staying at his house,” Ransom said pointedly from the doorway, startling you both. “What exactly do you think I’d do, with you right across the hall? I’ve already gotten a taste of how you solve problems,” he said to Steve, gesturing with the ice pack still held to his face. Then, much softer, to you, he said, “I know you want your own space, but you’re more than welcome to share the bed until your stuff gets here. That’s all I wanted to say.” Then he turned around and walked into his bedroom, Lola scampering behind him, ready for bed.

You stared after him, unable to parse the feelings bubbling up inside you. He’d been so different lately. Or maybe you were just finally looking.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Steve asking “Your stuff?”

You turned your attention back to him. He was watching you too carefully. “Mhmm,” you hummed, trying to feign nonchalance. “I’m having my bedroom furniture shipped here. I’m turning this into my room.” He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to ask too many questions probably so you cut him off. “It’s been a really long couple of days, Steve. I’m tired. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

He set his jaw. You could tell he wanted to fight you. Force you to talk to him. But you held your ground, looked him in the eye with a hint of challenge, and eventually he deflated, just a bit. “Yeah, okay,” he relented before he pulled you into another crushing hug. You’d really missed his hugs.

“I am happy to see you,” you whispered.

“Me too, Chip,” he whispered right back. 

After making sure he had everything he needed, you left Steve alone with a quiet “goodnight,” and made your way back to Ransom’s bedroom. He and Lola were already snuggled in bed, snoring softly. You quickly went through your bedtime routine and then joined them, very careful not to wake either of them. After how eventful and emotionally wrought the last few days had been, it didn’t take you long at all to drift off into sleep.

You woke up in the morning pressed up against Ransom, face to face, your feet tangled together, Lola on your legs. You carefully pushed yourself away, watching him warily to see if he roused at all. Thankfully he didn't. You were sure he wouldn't be thrilled with how close you'd both gotten in the night. 

You quietly got up and let yourself out of the bedroom, a now wide-awake Lola at your heels. The door to the gym was open and the room was empty, Steve’s suitcase wide open on the floor next to the nest of cushions and blankets. You didn’t hear anyone moving around downstairs, so he was out on a run, most likely.

You headed down to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, then started looking through the fridge for the leftovers from the previous morning. As you were doing that, a creak on the stairs let you know Ransom was joining you. 

“Morning,” he said, voice scratchy from disuse. He went to the coffee maker and just stood in front of it, waiting for the pot to finish.

“Morning,” you said from inside the fridge. You found the leftovers and closed the appliance, finally turning to him with a gasp. You put the food down on the counter and went to Ransom. “Oh my god, your face!” A large bruise in a deep shade of purple took up most of the left side of his face, centered on his jaw and cheekbone. You rushed to his side and without thinking, extended a hand to touch him before you realized what you were doing and pulled back at the last minute, embarrassed. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he mumbled, his attention still fixed on the coffee slowly dripping into the carafe. 

You stared at him for another moment, before you just couldn’t keep your feelings inside anymore. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly.

He finally looked at you at that. “What do you have to be sorry for?” he asked.

So much, you thought to yourself, maybe, probably. But for right now, in this instance, you just shrugged. “He’s my brother,” you said, a little helplessly. 

“Did you tell him to punch me?” he asked as he decided he’d waited long enough and filled his mug.

“What? No!”

“Then there’s nothing to apologize for.” He leaned back against the counter as he sipped his coffee. “Where is your brother?”

“On a run, probably,” you said, now helping yourself to a mug and fixing it up how you liked.

Ransom scoffed. “Of course, he is.” He looked at you carefully for a long moment and you struggled not to squirm under his gaze. “You happy he’s here?”

“Of course!” you said, too quickly. He kept looking at you. “I mean, I didn’t invite him here, so… It was just a surprise. I don’t know. He’s very protective, you know?” Ransom raised an eyebrow and you couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle. “Right, yeah. He just– Sometimes, he just– he decides what’s right. And then there’s no changing his mind.”

He made a little hum, then nodded and said, “Yeah, I know. I have met him before. But why are you worried about that?”

“Uh, he just, he isn’t always a good listener. And he’s gonna have a lot of questions for me today. I know he will. And I don’t know how I’ll answer any of them without telling him about the– that I’m pregnant.”

“And you don’t want to?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly soft.

“No, that’s not exactly– I just–” you sighed. “This isn’t what he ever wanted for me.”

Ransom made a small noise of understanding. “You think he’ll be disappointed in you.”

There was no judgment in his tone, but it still made you shrink in on yourself a little. You nodded.

“Listen, it’s no secret that I think he’s a sanctimonious asshole.” You opened your mouth to start defending Steve, but Ransom shook his head. “Let me finish. It’s clear that he loves you. I think you’ll be ok. And if he does give you shit, well, it’ll be just one of a few things he’s done to earn himself a punch.”

“Oh god, Ransom no, please don’t do that.”

He grinned at you. “Nah, I won’t. Some of us have self-control. I know him being here is important to you. I’ll try not to do anything to mess that up.”

You wondered if the warm feelings spreading through you would always be such a surprise. If he would always be such a surprise.

“But,” he continued before he paused to drain his mug. “I am going to try to get out of here before he gets back.”

“This is your house. You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s fine,” he said quietly, “you should have a nice day with your brother.” Then he put his mug in the dishwasher and went back upstairs to get dressed, with you staring after him.

Ransom left and, sure enough, Steve got back a few minutes later. He went straight to the shower and you tried to busy yourself and calm your nerves while you waited for the inevitable conversation.

When he came down, his hair was still wet and he was dressed in jeans and a plain white tee. There was nothing casual about his demeanor though.

“So,” he said, sitting down next to you in the kitchen, “you ready to tell me what’s been going on here?”

You started to get up. “Do you want some breakfast first? We have some pastries left over from yesterday.”

He grabbed your arm and pulled you back down into your chair. “No, I want to know why you've sounded so upset every time I’ve talked to you since the wedding.”

You squirmed under his sharp gaze. You knew him. You knew that he wouldn’t give up until you told him everything. But you also knew how awful his reaction would be and you just weren’t ready to give everything up. “It’s just been a lot of change, you know? Of course, it’s been hard. I’m just… adjusting. It’s been an adjustment period.”

“Adjusting to what, exactly?”

“To marriage! To living in a new place! You know, the obvious.”

“The obvious is why you always sound like you’ve been crying?”

You resisted the urge to bury your face in your hands in frustration. “You know me,” you tried. “I’m emotional.”

���You’re emotional?! Is that what he says to you?” Shit, he was already getting angry and you hadn’t even told him anything yet.

“No! God, Steve. That’s not what I’m saying! I’m just trying to say that it’s been a difficult transition, but I’m starting to feel better about it.”

“And I’m asking you to tell me exactly what about it has been difficult.” 

You wanted to growl. Once he got an idea in his head, he was so fucking intractable. “What’s been difficult about moving across the country to a brand new city and living with a stranger??”

“Yes. Exactly. In detail please.” And then he just stared at you and you wanted to scream. 

“I’ve been a little lonely,” you conceded, hoping a partial truth might satisfy him. “Ransom has to work a lot and it’s been hard to know what to do with my time.” And then, without giving him time to react, you asked. “How about you? How are you? Now that I’m out of the way, is Joseph trying to set up matches for you?” It was a low blow, but you were grasping for any defense you could reach.

“I don't understand why you won't just tell me what's going on.”

“I'm trying! It's just a lot more complicated than you realize and I think that maybe once you're in an arrangement of your own–”

“My marriage won't be anything like this.”

At first, all you could do was gape at him. Then you just sighed. “I don’t think,” you started slowly, “that you can have any idea what a marriage like this is really like until you’re inside of it, Steve.”

He shook his head. “I know what sort of man I am,” he said confidently. “I know how I’ll treat my wife.” And you saw it then, the pity in his eyes, and everything in you bristled.

Sanctimonious. That was the word Ransom had used. You loved your step-brother so much. You’d defend him to the end of the world and back. But he really could be such an asshole sometimes. And seeing him now, like this, you could understand why someone like Ransom might hate him.

“Well,” you said, trying so hard to keep your voice even, “you’ll be lucky then. To have such an easy go of it. I hope you don’t find that it’s harder than it looks. That appearances can be deceiving.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “That’s why I’m asking you to tell me. I don’t understand why you won’t.”

“Because I know you won’t listen! You’ve already decided what’s going on here!”

“Well, it seems pretty obvious! I know you, and I certainly know him. So yeah, when you’re crying every time I talk to you and you send me cryptic texts wishing I was here, yeah, I think I have a pretty good guess about what’s been going on.”

“You’re so frustrating,” you growled a little. Then you sighed. It was inevitable. You knew it. At this point, you just wanted to get it over with. “Ok. Fine. But you have to actually listen to me, ok? Like, to what I’m actually saying. You can’t just jump to conclusions. Okay? I’m serious.”

“Chip, yes, of course. I’ll always listen to you.”

You took a deep, fortifying breath. “It’s been– It’s been really hard here. I’ve been on my own almost the whole time and it’s just been really lonely. You just– you can’t know what it’s like to be married to a stranger. We haven’t known how to talk to each other and I just– It’s been really hard for both of us.” At that, Steve scoffed, but you couldn’t stop now, you had to get this out. “Anyway, um, a few days ago I learned some news, that was–” You paused to try to find the right word. You had no idea how to classify it. It wasn’t upsetting, per se, but what other word was there? “And then Ransom found out and that’s when I texted you. And slept in the gym.”

“What was the news?” Steve asked, gravely. He was looking at you so intently. You really didn’t want to do this, but you knew you had to.

You looked off into the corner of the room, unable to get this out and meet his eyes at the same time. “I’m pregnant,” you said quietly.

Steve stood up so abruptly that you couldn’t help but jump. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he actually snarled. You’d never heard his voice do that before.

“Steve, please,” you started, both hands out in a placating manner. “Please, can you calm down so we can talk about this?”

But, of course, he ignored you. “Where is he?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, helplessly. “He’s out. I don’t, I don’t know where.”

Steve didn’t say anything, just clenched his jaw and stood rigidly, his hands on his hips. You could practically see the untapped adrenaline coursing through him.

“Can you please just sit down?” you pleaded. “Just take a deep breath and sit down and we can–”

“I’m going for a run,” he said, curtly, then turned on his heel and walked towards the door.

“But you just got back from one!” you called after him. He wasn’t even dressed for a run. But that apparently didn’t matter. He was gone.

You just sat there for a moment, completely lost, with no idea what to do. Then you got your phone out and texted Ransom.

He knows

Don’t come back for a few hours, I think. He needs time to calm down. I’m sorry.

The checkmark showing he’d seen your message appeared almost immediately, quickly followed by the three dots that showed he was typing, but then those disappeared. A few moments later they came back but quickly disappeared again. No response ever came.

The men from the storage company came to take Ransom’s gym equipment away. You threw yourself into directing them, happy to have a distraction from worrying about where Steve was, what he was feeling. But then they were done, the room was empty, and Steve was still gone.

Ransom got back first. He found you in the former gym, trying to rearrange the couch cushions in the center of the room into something more comfortable. He paused in the doorway, Lola dancing around at his feet. “Where’s Steve?” he asked, as he bent down to pet her.

“He, uh–” you said without looking up, “he went for another run. He wasn’t very happy.”

“Fucking asshole,” Ransom muttered.

You finally looked at him, shaking your head. “No, he just doesn’t handle it well when he doesn’t know how to fix something.”

Ransom looked at you very seriously. “And if he makes that your problem, he’s a fucking asshole.”

“That's not– That's not what happened. That's not what he's doing.”

He stared at you for a long moment, causing you to look away, uncomfortable with the attention. “Okay,” he finally said with the hint of a sigh. “Well, I’ll be downstairs if you want company or…” He trailed off and shrugged, then left the room.

About an hour later, Steve burst back into the house, yelling into his phone. “Well, where the hell did that money go? There’s no reason for him to be that over-budget. I’ve seen the dailies. –No, you get down there and you get that set back under control. –I can’t, I’m not in LA. There was a family emergency. –Yeah, I know Joseph is still there. He isn’t my only family, is he? Listen, just go do your goddamn job.” With that, he hung up his phone forcefully then stomped upstairs without acknowledging you or Ransom where you were seated on the couch.  

You could feel the irritation coming off of Ransom but he didn’t say anything. You were grateful. You had no idea what to make of Steve right now, how to explain him. Or excuse him. The awkward silence was preferable to trying.

Several minutes later, Steve came back down, changed into fresh clothes again. He smiled at you in greeting and if not for the tense set of his shoulders, you would have thought everything was fine. “Hey,” he said, “I just ordered the two of us some food.”

“The two of us?” you asked, looking pointedly at Ransom.

“Oh!” Steve exclaimed and the fucking fake look of surprise on his face made you want to scream. “I didn’t realize he was back. Well, I’m sure it’s fine. It’s his house. He’ll be able to scrounge up something.”

“Steve,” you started. Of all the unbelievably rude– 

Your ramp-up to letting your brother have it was cut short by Ransom’s hand on your wrist. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. He looked tired and sad in a way you hated. He looked annoyed too, beyond belief, but underneath all that, you also saw something pleading in his expression. You remembered what he’d said this morning. He wanted you to have a nice day with your brother. So you swallowed down all of your anger and didn’t say anything. But you cataloged everything so you could have a private conversation with Steve later.

“See,” Steve said with a smug grin, “it’s fine. This will be nice. It’s been too long since we’ve gotten to pig out together. I got all your favorites.”

Despite your protests, Ransom made himself scarce. The food arrived shortly after he disappeared and Steve dished it up like nothing was wrong. You sat and ate with him, even though you weren’t much up for conversation, despite his frequent efforts. He never said anything about the news you’d shared that morning. You tried not to be too hurt by that. 

As you were finishing up, Ransom quietly reappeared, grabbing something to drink from the fridge. Before he could run back upstairs, you stopped him, feeling awful that he must feel so unwelcome in his own home. “Do you want some food?” you asked, gesturing to the copious leftovers. “I could make you a plate.”

Not waiting for Ransom’s response, Steve cut in. “Is that how it works around here?” he asked, not of you but Ransom. “You’ve got her waiting on you on hand and foot?” his voice teeming with anger.

“Steve,” you hissed, trying to stop him, but he didn’t notice.

“I mean, I get it,” he continued, and there was a sharp edge to his voice that made you very nervous, “you must have thought you hit the jackpot, huh? Some sweet, naive little thing who's too young to really be plugged into the right part of the prep school rumor mill. Hasn't heard about the designer drugs, or the girls, or the parties. All the trouble your family's had to bail you out of. That's why they had to look clear on the other coast for an arrangement for you, huh? They had to go that far to find anyone who didn't already know what a piece of shit you are–”

“STEVEN GRANT ROGERS” you shouted, your stool loudly scraping against the hardwood floor as you stood up. It’d barely been there, you’d barely seen it, the flash of deep hurt on Ransom’s face before he’d covered it up, first with a blank mask, then a sneer that threatened to bring everything down. But you wouldn’t let that happen. You were fucking done. You couldn’t deal with this anymore. “Can you just stop, Steve?! I’m so tired of this shit!” you yelled at him.

“What?” they said in unison, both men facing you now, surprised.

“Lola!” you called out. “Come on! Steve and I are taking you for a walk!” She came racing down the stairs, and you quickly put on her harness and leash. Then you were out the door, trusting that Steve was behind you.

You walked in silence for a few blocks. You could feel him watching you warily, but you didn’t turn around to look at him. You didn’t think you’d ever been so mad at him in your life. It might’ve been the angriest you’d ever been with anyone. Your hands were shaking. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you finally seethed, stopping so suddenly that he almost ran into you.

“What?” His obliviousness made you even angrier.

You finally turned on him, your face heating up with rage. “You’re such a fucking asshole! You’re fucking everything up!”

He cowed just a bit at your glare but quickly recovered. “What are you talking about?! I came here to help you!”

“Well, you aren’t! I keep telling you that you aren’t but you never fucking listen to me!”

He recoiled a little, and then his eyes went steely. “Really? I never listen to you? I’m the only one who ever listens to you!”

Even if that were true, there was something about the way he said it that really pissed you off. “Fuck you!” you said and charged forward with Lola running to catch up behind you.

A moment later, Steve was on your heels again. “What is going on with you? You’ve been acting off since I got here.”

You spun on your heels to face him. “I’ve been acting off?! I wonder why! You’ve just barged in here like a bull in a china shop, not caring at all about the damage you’re doing!”

“I’m here to help you. I’ve been defending you!”

“Yeah, now! You’re trying to help me, now!”

“What does that mean?”

“Where have you been, Steve? You’ve been MIA the last three months, and now when things might actually get better, now you’re here to ‘defend’ me.”

“Better? This,” he hissed, flinging an arm towards your stomach, “is better?!”

“We had to do it. There was a clause in the contract. You know that!”

He scoffed. “Yeah, and I'm sure he reminded you of that every chance he got, as he fully took advantage of it.”

If he hadn't already set you off, that would be the thing to do it. “Never! Ok? I was the one who pushed it. I was the one who rushed It. Me. Never him.”

That brought Steve up short. “What? Why would you do that?”

“Because of your aunt!”

For a frustratingly long moment, he just gave you a confused look. Then you finally saw the realization dawn on his face. “Oh. Laura.”

“Yes, Laura! That wasn't going to be me. Not ever.”

“I never would have let that happen!”

The laugh that burst out of you at that was cold, hard. “How?” you asked. “You're always saying shit like that, but what, exactly, would you have done?”

He started to answer, but you cut him off quickly, shaking your head.

“This is my life, Steve. Mine. I’m the one who has to actually live it. I don’t need you judging me for how I choose to survive it.”

“You shouldn't have to just survive it,” he said. His tone had suddenly turned sad. It made you even angrier. 

“I'll be lucky to survive it,” you growled. “You get to just waltz around, forgetting how this world works whenever it's convenient for you. Meanwhile, I have to claw and fight for just the possibility that I might not turn into my mom.” You took a deep breath. “Ransom, at least, can fucking see that. He's stuck in this mess with me, and I think he might actually want to try. You’re not going to ruin that for me just because he insulted you once at a cocktail party or whatever.” You turned on your heels. You were exhausted. You didn't have the energy for any more of this. “I'm going back. You can come if you want. But you better fucking apologize. He didn't deserve that. No matter what he’s done, he didn’t deserve to be treated that way by you.”

Steve was a few minutes behind you getting back to the house, and he did apologize, although through gritted teeth. The whole time, Ransom’s eyes were on you. 

You declared you were going to bed shortly after. It was too early, but you didn't care. You were done with this day.

As you were changing into your sleep clothes, Ransom quietly let himself into his room. You both looked a little startled by your state of undress. Part of you wanted to cover up. It felt so intimate, changing in front of him. But you knew that was silly. He'd already seen so much more of you. 

He just stood there for a long moment before he finally spoke. “You yelled at him for me.”

“Yeah,” you said. “He deserved it.”

“But he's your brother.” He almost seemed confused. 

The absolutely absurd thought And you're my husband popped into your head unbidden, but thankfully you didn't vocalize it. “That doesn't change the fact that he was wrong.”

Ransom didn’t say anything. Just stood there with a furrowed brow. After too much silence you asked softly, “Did I do something wrong?”

He jolted a little, like he’d been somewhere else, then shook his head. “No, sorry, I just–” He took a breath. “Thank you. I’m not used to people doing things like that for me.” 

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say. You suddenly felt so sad for him. But honestly, the only person who’d ever done anything like this for you had been Steve. And you’d seen Ransom’s family. You knew he’d never had a Steve.

Sparing you from having to figure out a response, Ransom took a deep breath, “Listen,” he started, “about the things he said, I–”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “We don’t need to talk about that right now. Sometime, maybe, but not right now.” Nothing about his past would change things for you now. You’d still be married to him either way. It was better to just focus on the man he was showing himself to be now.

Ransom took a long moment and looked at you carefully. Finally, he asked, “Did you yell at him for yourself too?”

You nodded, then added a quiet, “I did.”

“Good,” he said, then started to turn around. “I’ll try not to wake you when I come to bed. Good night.”

“Good night,” you whispered.

Right before he left the room, he turned back to add one more thing. “I’ve never seen you as naive. Not for a moment in this whole thing.” Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

You just stood there, in the middle of the room, unable to move for a few minutes. Then you took a deep breath and moved into the bathroom. As you finished getting ready for bed, you couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility that maybe you had two people in your corner now.

Your bedroom furniture and other belongings were delivered the next day. The movers set up the heavy furniture and then left everything else to you. As you started to begin unpacking, there was a hesitant knock on the door frame. 

Steve stood just outside your now bedroom, looking far less sure than you were used to. “Would you like some help?” he asked softly. 

“Sure,” you said, with a little shrug, pushing some boxes in his direction.

The two of you mostly worked in silence, only broken by Steve’s occasional questions of where you wanted your things to go. After a while he finally broke, “Dad’s been piling a ton of new stuff on my plate.” You stopped what you were doing and looked at him, listening. “Responsibilities and projects and– He wants me to take on more of being the face of the studio, too, so lots of parties and dinners and stuff. My schedule has been out of control. I’d think he was getting ready to retire if I didn’t actually know him.” He let out a weak chuckle. When you didn’t react, didn’t join him, he put his hands up in defense. “Not an excuse, just–” he shrugged his shoulders a little helplessly and sighed, “just an explanation, I guess.”

“You told me that I could call you any time of day for any reason. That’s what you said. And then I did, and you were nowhere to be found.”

“I know,” he started, “I–”

You shook your head. It was your turn to talk. “I spent months here feeling more alone than I ever have in my life. I’ve had nothing to do, no one to talk to. I was living with someone I thought I needed to be scared of.” You paused, wondering if that would set Steve off, but he just sat there, waiting for you to continue. Like he was really trying to listen this time. “His family’s been so awful to me, his mom especially. And you know my mom's been no help. She just kept telling me to keep him happy, even though I didn't know how. And I didn't know how to talk to him and he didn't know how to talk to me. But I knew the only way I could even start to feel secure here was if we fulfilled every part of the contract. So,” you put your hand on your stomach self-consciously and shook your head. “And the only person I actually wanted to talk to was you, and you wouldn't pick up your fucking phone. It felt like I was just stuck here while you went back to your life and forgot about me.” Tears spilled past your lashes and you hurried to wipe them away.

Steve’s face, which had grown sadder as you'd been talking, completely crumpled. He crawled from his sitting position across the room to you as fast as he could. “Hey, no,” he said emphatically as soon as he was sitting in front of you. “I think about you all the time. I've missed you so much. I've been so worried about you. I know I haven't done a good job showing it. I'm so sorry I ever made you feel like I didn't care. I–” He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes for just a moment. When he opened them, they had the distinct shine of unshed tears. “Talking to you was really hard. I felt like you weren’t actually telling me anything.” Before you even opened your mouth, Steve put up a hand to stop you from saying anything. “I'm not saying any of this was your fault. I know it's all mine. But I just didn’t know how to get you to talk to me. And if you wouldn't tell me what was wrong, then I couldn't fix it. I felt so useless. Every time we talked I felt so fucking useless. And so sometimes,” he paused like he was bracing himself, “sometimes it was kind of a relief to have the excuse of being busy. To have a reason to not call or text you back right away. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I was always thinking about you. I was always worried about you. But sometimes I just couldn't fucking talk to you.”

It took your breath away, the intense stab of hurt you felt. “I’ve never needed you to be useful,” you gasped out through your tears. “I just need you to be there for me. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I just need you to be there for me.”

“Shit,” he choked out, his voice so thick. “I know.” He moved forward, then paused, waiting for you to stop him. When you didn’t, he lunged for you, wrapping you in his arms. “I know. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.”

You just sat like that, holding each other for several minutes. When you finally pulled apart, Steve blinked his eyes clear and said, “I hope you know that I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said softly, and took a deep breath, “and I forgive you for doing it anyway.”

You watched some of the rigidness leave his shoulders. “Thank you,” he breathed out.

Neither of you said anything, and there was still this tension in the room. You were so tired of it. You just wanted your brother back. You just wanted any normalcy you could possibly get, so you wiped the tears from your eyes and said, “You're right. I wasn't telling you anything. I think because I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn't listen past the first two words and then do something completely wild, like fly all the way across the country to punch Ransom in the face. Ridiculous, right?”

He just stared at you in shock and then clocked the wry smile on your face. He laughed despite himself, then rolled his eyes and groaned. “You're sure he didn’t deserve it?”

You pulled a small pillow from the box beside you and threw it at him, annoyed as he dodged it easily. “Yes, I’m sure, you asshole!” You scowled at him, but you couldn’t quite keep the corners of your mouth from ticking up. The whole room felt lighter now, easier to breathe in. It was such a relief.

“I can’t believe you actually like him now,” Steve whined, his whole face scrunched up in disgust.

You shrugged. “I still don’t really know him. But I’m going to try to. We both are, I hope. I don’t know, I think maybe we could be friends, eventually.” You shook your head in disbelief. “That’s a best-case scenario I never really imagined.”

Steve looked at you thoughtfully, and with a hint of playfulness, said, “Well. I’m never going to like him.” His eyes got a little more serious. “But I’m really happy, and so relieved, that things are getting better for you.”

“Yeah, me too,” you said softly. Then you both went back to unpacking, conversation ebbing in and out much easier now.

Eventually, you heard him let out a long sigh. You turned to look at him as he carefully pulled something from a box. Oh. It was Mr. Bun Bun, your favorite stuffed animal as a kid. You remembered crying as you packed it away to put into storage, Steve sitting next to you, gently rubbing your back.

He slowly took a few steps to the head of your bed and then reverently placed it against your pillows. He just stared at it for a moment and then looked around at the rest of the room. “Wow,” he said, and he sounded so sad, “I guess you really live here now.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. “I've been here for months.”

“Yeah, I know. But I guess,” he shrugged, “I guess it still sort of felt like you'd be back any day. But all your stuff's here now. It just– It feels final.”

You looked around the room as well. It wasn't exactly like your old room in your old apartment but this was the closest thing you'd had to feeling home in months. “Yeah,” you said quietly, not quite sure what to do with these feelings. “I guess it does.”

Steve sat down on your bed and you immediately joined him. He knocked his knee against yours. “I know I keep saying this, but I really do miss you. It’s so weird to not have you in LA anymore. To go to all these parties and not be able to talk to you there. Or to be able to just drop by your apartment when I need to see you. Or when you need to see me.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “That’s why it’s so important for us to actually keep in touch.”

“I know,” he said, seriously. “I’ll be better at it. I promise.”

You hummed in response and grabbed his hand. Now that everything was out in the open, it was such a relief to just be able to enjoy his closeness, without the tension hanging over both of you.

After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and spoke again. “I’m gonna go home tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“You were right. I’m just in the way here. It’s time for me to go.”

“Ok,” you replied, your voice small. You weren’t sure how to feel about that—the last few days had been so hard and so exhausting. But you’d finally gotten your brother back and now he was leaving again? “Are you sure?”

He jostled you with his shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently with a smile. “I’ll be back. And I’ll even let you invite me next time.”

You smiled back. “Advanced notice?” you asked. “How novel!”

Steve grabbed one of your pillows and hit you with it. You collapsed into giggles, feeling lighter than you had for a long time.

You spent the rest of the day with your brother, which warmed your soul even more than you thought you needed. 

You took Lola out for a short walk in the evening, while Steve finished gathering his things before the car would come to pick him up. When you came back in, you found Steve and Ransom locked in a serious conversation. They spoke in hushed tones, leaning across the kitchen island to face each other. There was no yelling. No tensing muscles ready for a fight. All the same, it made you very nervous. 

They both quieted as they noticed your presence. That didn’t help to quell your worry at all. “What’s going on here?” 

Steve gave you his trademarked boyish grin. “Just getting to know my brother-in-law.”

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously then cast a concerned glance at Ransom, but he waved you off with a reassuring shake of his head. Steve was still grinning at you like everything was fine. He really could be such an asshole. “Sure. OK,” you said, resigned to whatever weird dynamic was happening in front of you. “Are you all ready?”

“Yup,” Steve nodded, gesturing to where his luggage was waiting by the door. “Car should be here any minute.”

You nodded back, trying to ignore the way your chest tightened. He pulled you into a hug quickly. He just held you for a moment before you heard Ransom clear his throat behind you. “I’ll give you two your privacy.”

You pulled away just enough to see Steve look over your shoulder so he could say, “Remember what we talked about.”

You looked over to Ransom who held Steve’s gaze and firmly said, “Yeah, you too,” then went upstairs.

“The fuck was that?” you asked Steve.

“Nothing, just a conversation we needed to have.”

“Steve,” you sighed in exasperation as you separated yourself from him.

He put up his hands in defense. “It’s fine. I’m playing nice. I promise.”

“Sure.”

He took a step back and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s one more thing I need to say to you. I should have done it yesterday when you first–” he shook his head. “My reaction when you told me about the baby was awful, I know that. And I don’t know if ‘congratulations’ is something you want to hear right now, so I just want to say that I’ll be here for you, whatever you need. And I’ll be here for the baby too. OK? I just really needed to say that.”

You searched his face, his eyes for anything that might warn you that his words were empty, but all you found was sincerity. You took a deep breath. “All I need is for you to pick up your phone.”

“I know,” he nodded quickly. “I will.”

You were so torn between the exhaustion and frustration of the last few days and just how much you'd missed your brother. You pulled him into another hug. “You’re such a jerk,” you said with a hint of fondness.

“I know,” he said, wrapping his arms around you.

“And I love you so much.”

You felt him exhale, any remaining uneasiness bleeding out of him. “I know. I love you too.”

His phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. “Your car is here,” you said sadly, pulling away.

“Hey, that’s ok. It’s not like they’ll leave without me.”

“No,” you shook your head, “you should go. You don’t want to get home too late.”

“Oh, chipmunk,” he sighed. “Ok, one more,” then hugged you again. “I’m so proud of you.”

You pulled back to look him in the eye. “What for?”

He took a moment to gather his words. Finally, he said, looking you right in the eye, “For being so much stronger than you should have to be.”

You had no idea what to say to that so you walked over to the door, Steve right behind you. 

At the door, he put one hand on his suitcase, and with the other, he grabbed your hand. “I’ll see you again soon. I promise.”

You nodded, searching for something to say. “Uh, thanks for coming.”

That elicited a big hearty laugh from him. “Yeah, sure.” He squeezed your hand. “Take good care of yourself.”

“You too,” you said, opening the door for him.

He gave you a big smile before he walked out the door. You watched the driver take Steve’s suitcase from him and open the back door for Steve to get in. You stayed in the doorway until the car slowly backed down the driveway and turned onto the road. After closing the door, you still stayed where you were, trying to breathe through the flood of emotions overtaking you. You already missed him so much, yet you were so relieved he was gone. What were you supposed to do with that?

You were finally jolted out of your reverie by the sound of Ransom coming down the stairs, the tinkling of Lola’s collar accompanying him. “Steve’s gone?” he asked as he came off the last step. 

When you nodded, you saw the way his shoulders slumped in relief. You held back the apology desperate to crawl out of your mouth. Steve’s actions weren’t your responsibility, you tried so hard to remember. But still, Ransom had lost the comfort of his own home for days. The guilt was there.

He got himself a water out of the fridge and then looked at you carefully. “How are you?”

The reflex to tell him you were fine was strong, but you did your best to resist it and answered honestly. “I don’t really know.”

He smiled a little ruefully. “I have no idea what’s normal for siblings.”

You chuckled lightly. “Neither do I.”

He took several steps towards you and you couldn’t help the way your body swayed in his direction, just a little. “But you’re alright?’

You nodded and said softly, “I will be.”

“Good.” Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the way the fingers on one of his hands drummed against his thigh. “Well. I just wanted to check on you before I went to bed.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, strangely aware of the space between you. “I appreciate it. It was a weird few days, but I think I’m ok. Or I will be.”

“Yeah. Good,” he said again. 

You both just stood there for a moment, the air around you oddly charged, until Lola pawed at your leg. “Right. Well, she needs to go out. So. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, then turned toward the sink as you went outside with Lola.

When you got back in, there was no sign of Ransom, so you led Lola upstairs to your new bedroom. She immediately hopped onto your bed, wagging her tail wildly. As you looked around, all of your things almost as they’d been in your apartment in LA, those feelings you felt while unpacking your things with Steve grew in you even more. You smiled at your little dog. “Yeah, feels almost like home, doesn’t it, Lola?”

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[ronearoundblindly]

I am sorry but I'm going to need a Ransom story with this prompt. It can be RoaR or a one-off, he can love it or hate it in this space, he can see it over Reader's shoulder on the computer screen, your choice!

o.0 oh boi oh boi oh boi! Fall Vibes but it's gonna be my summer challenge submission to @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar, featuring the flavors Cookies and Cream (soulmates) and Rocky Road (rags to riches) with the topping Oreos (marriage of convenience (reluctantly)). Also my second entry for @stargazingfangirl18's Birthday Bonenanza, featuring a babe in love and cranky about it + "can you just...hold me please?"

For Show Ransom Drysdale x poor!soulmate!reader

Summary: Ransom hates that you--his soulmate and wife--are nothing like him.

Warnings for smut and Ran's a**hole brain (rude, nasty thoughts that he barely even believes). Classic Lexi--this is cheeky, y'all, but you know it's because I can't help myself... MINORS DNI. Find all-age friendly fic on my Light Masterlist. WC 2.1k

Ran didn’t believe in love to start, but this is fucking ridiculous. Opposites attract? Get wrecked, asshole. He’s keeping opposites on the other side of the house. It’s not far enough.

It’s standard practice for the confirmation of matching soulmarks to act as a de facto marriage contract—common law, if you like,—and Ransom Drysdale fought tooth and nail to make you prove you had his name on you. He needed to see it with his own eyes or fuck that shit.

His is obvious; he can show it off. In fact, Ran is surprised by how long it took you to come forward, considering his family and status, considering his lifestyle of being very visible.

But no, he had to wait for a fucking database to pop out record of his match from your healthcare provider, and he had wait for that because the government knew about your health…because they know such things…about people who need their fucking money. The registration of soulmarks puts the financial responsibility on the soulmate if they end up having the means.

Now Ran is responsible for you, a woman he made lower the front of her panties in open court to reveal his goddamn name in his own goddamn handwriting imprinted right above her goddamn cunt, and suddenly it became his cunt, his problem, his responsibility.

You’re not even fun. You had no money and didn’t care to have any, so you moved your few, ratty belongings into his home, replacing nothing, offering nothing in return for his—well, in return for every fucking thing he has now being yours, too. It’s so fucked.

You don’t want to show off, and he has no intention of showing you off. He can’t be seen with you, not without the proper clothes or jewelry, and you refused to get them. Instead, Ransom leaves you alone in the house, doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants, as always. He won’t talk to you because he just gets furious every time. He’s not going to have deep conversations about the state of the world, though he might have one social justice issue he can fight for: the mother-fucking law that made you his wife without question.

Ran slams the kitchen cabinet storing all-white, matching stoneware mugs when he notices what’s missing: your single, sad, flea market mug. It’s clay so it always looks dirty, and he hates it.

He lightly punches his own neck in irritation.

He didn’t stand a chance fighting the marriage, not with your name in deep, port red letters creeping up his throat, higher than any turtleneck he’s ever owned. Coupled with his legal name resting snuggly beneath your pubes, it was obviously, technically accurate that you’re soulmates. When was the last time someone challenged that system, he thinks. That might be a better use of his money than—

Where are you anyway?

For all his annoyance, he hasn’t set eyes on you for days.

His house is large enough (and he spends so much time anywhere else) that you have your own room, which you didn’t question, and the kitchen is easy enough to share when one of you eats out with other people (as he does two to three times a day). You get the slightly bigger and more formal living room while Ran gets the den with the big TV. Really it’s been the perfect system for almost forgetting you exist.

He pours tea into his clean, white mug and leaves said big TV fairly loud on some program he wasn’t paying attention to, leaning over the granite countertop to see if he can spot you from this angle.

No luck.

He steps closer, sipping.

A little closer, more sipping, a purposeful smack of his lips to grab your attention if you are just around the corner.

There are two openings, both far larger than doorways, to the living room, each through the central hall. When he doesn’t immediately see you, he steps to the farther opening. What the—

What’d you do to his couch?

Is that every single pillow and blanket from your side of the house?

Did Yankee Candle Company throw up in here?

What, the fucking fireplace wasn’t enough ambiance for you? You had to make some sort of nest with his stuff? And there’s that ugly-ass mug, no coaster, on his super-expensive, reclaimed hardwood coffee table.

A pillow shifts.

No, not a pillow; it’s your back, and when you shift again, Ran sees one of the plush throw blankets slink farther down your bare skin. It’s the largest swath of your body he’s ever seen.

You lay with your arms folded, peering out the windows behind the couch, and you still haven’t fucking noticed him.

He huffs before realizing he isn’t listening to the faint TV anymore, but when he ticks his head, he sees your TV isn’t on either.

“”I think of nothing but you as I fall asleep at night”—” Ran hears a woman’s voice fake a deeper tone before switching to normal “—Javier says, pulling her soft curves into his hard body—”

You sigh dreamily and wiggle on the cushions. The blanket slides over the swell of your ass.

Ran stops moving mid-sip of tea.

“”Please, my darling, let me have you—“ this is fucking terrible, he thinks “—as only a lover can.””

Alright, now Ransom is just sad. You’re naked in his living room, rubbing your thighs together and listening to an erotic novel on your phone.

“Chloe felt his digits dance across her clavicle, his eyes enchanted by her heaving bosom…”

Go out to a club or restaurant with him? No. Wear nice clothes he could buy you? Nope.

“”Javi,” she gasps, distracted by his rough palm groping her breast hungrily, “I can’t believe you want me.””

Ran is going to fucking gag at the whining appall in the narrator’s voice.

Why listen to this awful shit instead of show off him as your husband? From the quick shiver racing down your spine and the curl of your toes where they hang over the cushion’s edge, it’s because you’re fucking horny for it.

Good god, how low are your standards?

He stalks forward, feet hitting the floor hard until he reaches the plush rug.

Startled, you peer over your shoulder at him, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights, and you begin scrambling to recover yourself.

Ran puts his cup down by yours. “Don’t move,” he orders, and to his surprise, you obey, keeping you head turned his direction and sinking back into the pillows.

“”How could you doubt? From the moment I met you, I adored you.””

He swivels to face the same direction as you, reaches out his hand and mime the stroke he’s contemplating tracing over your curves.

“”I’m yours,” Chloe breathes, Javier’s growing member signaling his desire against her silk-covered core.”

Ran finally bends until the tip of his middle finger grazes the inside of your thigh.

As he drags it over one cheek and down the other, you whine and push your ass toward his hand.

That’s…not bad, all things considered. You are his wife, after all, and you clearly want to be fucked. He won’t argue that having some other woman’s name scrawled on him hasn’t limited his game for quite a while. Financially independent or not, when a pussy is presented to him, Ransom will say ‘yes.’

He stops noticing the audio from your phone and just dives in, no sentiments or kind words of his own. He simply unbuckles his belt, pops the button of this jeans, and rips that zipper down before teasing your folds to find enough slick at your entrance to swirl around. He spreads you and your wetness with purpose. Each second that passes drives Ransom a little bit more insane.

Impatient, strung out like a virgin on prom night, he rushes to shove his pants out of the way and kicks one knee up between your legs, his other foot still on the floor. He pumps his fingers inside you until he’s knuckle-deep and nearly dripping, manhandling your hips to the right height to sink his tip into you.

Ran groans at how fucking good you feel. He’s probably just desperate. He’d be excited about any ol’ means to come right now.

He snaps his hips in small thrusts until his whole length glides in and out in seamless stimulation. You’ve buried your face in the pillow, so he can’t hear if you make any noise. He can, however, see your hands scratch at the upholstery and clench into fists. He can see you deepen the arch of your back, angling his dick to fuck just slightly down through your channel. The pressure squeezes the spongy head of his cock like a vice. He’ll never say it out loud, but your pussy is fucking perfect. God fucking dammit.

Ransom relentlessly drives into you, catching the sideview of your breasts bouncing each time his thighs slap yours. He smacks your ass once just to see if it jiggles for him, and that’s when your hand snakes to disappear between your legs. He expects you’re going for your clit which is good because he’s about to get off and get lost, but instead, he feels your soft fingers cup his balls.

He’s so enamored by the sensation that he switches to tiny pulses deep in your cunt while your hand wraps and rolls his sac gently. Twitching and tensing, Ran unabashedly moans until your walls constrict around his length.

He’s got to make you do that again.

Ransom collapses forward to lean over you, his own hand diving to find your clit, resting his palm right over your mound and soulmark. Every inch of his body burns hot with need. He humps wildly, resting his chin over your shoulder.

“”I don’t care how, Javi, just stick it in there. I need you. I need you so badly…””

“Jesus Christ,” Ran growls, “are they still not fucking?”

A giggle bursts from your lips, a sweet, happy sound he’s never heard from you before, and you reach for him. Your palm lands on his soulmark, your fingers curling to scratch the hairs at the nape of his neck, and there’s…there’s…

He can’t comprehend how your body fits his so well. He can’t reconcile this sudden swell of obsession in his gut for you. He’s enveloped in a binary system of souls, gravity tugging at that connection between you.

Ran doesn’t believe in love or destiny. He refuses. He believes in pleasure and perception, in accumulation and ownership.

The only thought left in his static-filled head is mine, mine, mine, mine.

He falls over the edge first, a satisfied shout punctuating each spurt he plants within you, furiously working your messy clit and kneading one breast in his free hand until he feels that squeeze again, and again, and again, dying to a flutter just as your shared cum leaks out around his cock.

By this time, Ran is panting and resting a sizable portion of his weight on you, knees knocked loose in his onslaught, pushing you both flat to the chaise cushion, feet dangling off the end.

You still hold each other’s mark in a comforting palm.

He’s speechless as the room fills with heated love declarations amidst passionate sex and bad dialogue. Ran tries to catch his fucking breath. He’s glad you don’t speak either.

Everything about his life—his past, his present, his future—sits utterly raw in front of him, and he can’t cope.

He makes the mistake of peeling his body off yours, releasing you and dislodging your hand. The cold emptiness which immediately sweeps over him is sickening, and Ran barely waits for you to roll onto your back before he wedges himself between your legs again, instinctually laying on his side, pressing his sweater-clad shoulder against your sopping folds just so he can rest his soulmark right on top of yours.

Euphoria returns to his body and mind, thick like honey and all-consuming.

He doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to talk about. He doesn’t want to live a moment without you.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Mercifully, the audio speaks for him.

“”Can you just…hold me please? That was…that was…””

“”So intense,” Javier rumbles, “so beautiful.””

Ransom, the preening trust fund baby, has finally found something all his own, something he doesn’t want to share, something shown only for him.

He refuses, however, to call it ‘love’…

…yet.

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: I'm fine.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 1

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Words Count: 2,143

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

The clink of the spoon against the teacup echoed in the room. Your father, Tom, stared down at the tea, trying to keep his composure, but his heart ached for you.

He looked up at you sitting across from him. You could see the worry in his eyes, yet he seemed more concerned about you thinking he needed support, when it was supposed to be the other way around.

“Eat the cookies. You need to eat. You’ve lost a lot of weight,” Tom said, pushing the plate of cookies closer to you. His voice was gentle but firm.

The cold plate touched your skin, jolting you back to reality. You couldn’t believe that you had once promised never to come back home. Your father looked so much older than the last time you saw him, seven years ago.

As you watched him, you could see the lines on his face, the graying hair, the tiredness in his eyes. He looked fragile, contrasting to the robust and indifferent man you remembered.

He used to be so distant and reserved, his eyes always seeming to look through you rather than at you. His mind was always elsewhere, consumed by his work. You remember feeling invisible as if you were never a priority in his life.

He doesn’t know that you were an outcast and bullied the whole time you grew up in this town. It was all because of his job and the house you lived in.

Flashback Starts

In this town, there was only one mortician—your dad. And the funeral home was connected to your house.

Kids your age made fun of you relentlessly. They called your father the angel of death and labeled your home as hell. The bullying started early and only intensified as you got older. By high school, it felt like there was no escape.

But then, a glimmer of hope arrived when a new kid from the city transferred to your school.

His name was Ransom Drysdale-Thrombey. He was sent to this small-town school because he was a troublemaker. The principal asked you to help Ransom, hoping you could help him.

At first, it was tough. Ransom was resistant, and his rough exterior matched the rumors about him. But you stayed patient and persistent.

Over time, Ransom began to open up to you. His academic performance started to improve, and slowly, a bond formed between you.

Because of Ransom’s improvement, you met his family for the first time. It turned out that Drysdale was a mighty name. His family owned a big bank.

This was the turning point. Ransom introduced you to his grandfather, Harlan Drysdale. “Grandpa, my friend here is a genius. She’s the one who solved the issues you’ve been stressing about. I just showed it to her to ask her opinion, and she solved it.”

Harlan, the patriarch of the company, exuded a charisma you had never seen before. He looked at you with a mix of curiosity and respect.

You felt nervous, your hands trembling slightly as you stood there. Harlan’s presence was intimidating, but there was a kindness in his eyes that put you at ease.

“Is that so?” Harlan said, a smile spreading across his face. “I’d like to hear more about this solution of yours.”

Ransom beamed with pride as he gestured for you to explain. You took a deep breath and started to talk about your idea, feeling a strange sense of confidence growing inside you. Harlan listened intently, nodding along, his expression thoughtful.

When you finished, Harlan leaned back in his chair, clearly impressed. “You have a remarkable mind,” he said. “Ransom is lucky to have you as a friend.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt seen and appreciated. You glanced at Ransom, who gave you an encouraging nod.

Meeting Harlan and the Drysdale family marked the beginning of a new chapter. You were no longer just the mortician’s kid. You were someone with potential, someone who could make a difference.

The years of bullying and isolation started to feel like a distant memory, replaced by a newfound sense of hope and possibility.

He looked at you and slowly nodded. “For a high school student to solve a credit issue is amazing. I’m glad my grandson found a hidden talent.”

Your heart felt warm. You had never received such a compliment in your life.

“You will be a valuable asset in the future. Dear, are you interested in working with me?” Harlan asked.

“Yes, sir!” you replied quickly.

This was your golden ticket to leaving this town, having a better life, and succeeding.

After graduating high school, you packed your bags, said goodbye to your dad, and jumped into Ransom's car. As the car started moving, you didn’t glance back even once.

You had made your decision to leave everything behind.

You received a scholarship for college from the Drysdale charity, supported by a glowing recommendation letter from Harlan himself. You studied hard, like a person possessed, determined to graduate quickly and start working at the Drysdale company.

You graduated in two years and fulfilled your promise to work with Harlan. You gave it your all, becoming a workaholic to prove yourself.

Your hard work paid off, and you made a name for yourself in the finance world. They called you the “female Midas” because every company's stock you bought saw its price soar.

Harlan was proud of you; you could see it in his eyes.

Then everything changed after Harlan died.

The company's business structure changed too, with Ransom in charge. You tried to talk to him, but he didn’t listen.

One day, the FBI raided your office and accused you of insider trading. You hadn’t done it, but the accusation hit hard. Even without proof, you lost friends, and your trading and financial licenses were revoked.

You called Ransom, but he didn’t pick up. You tried contacting the other Drysdales, but nobody wanted to help.

You had spent seven years celebrating Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas with them, but they still hadn’t accepted you.

You had poured your sweat, blood, and tears into this company, only to be thrown away. After everything, they still hadn’t accepted you. The way they made you feel like family, only to discard you, was a sick joke.

Even a wolf would accept a dog into its pack.

You sat alone in your empty apartment, your hands trembling with anger and betrayal. The silence was deafening, starkly contrasting to the lively gatherings you once shared with the Drysdales. The warmth you once felt from their acceptance had turned cold and hollow.

You looked at the framed photo on your desk, a picture of you and Harlan on the day you graduated. His proud smile felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the harsh reality of your present.

You picked up your phone one last time, scrolling through the countless unanswered messages to Ransom and the Drysdales. Each one felt like a dagger, a reminder of the trust and loyalty you had given, only to be met with silence and abandonment.

You have lost everything. The court has taken your apartment, your car, and blocked your bank account until the investigation is done.

You feel ashamed and don’t have any close friends to turn to.

Your last hope is your hometown. With your small amount of cash, you pack your laptop and a few outfits and take the last train home.

When you call your dad, his voice sounds uncertain when he hears you’re coming home and ask if he can pick you up.

It’s late at night when you arrive. It’s just you and your dad. You’re grateful no one else is around to see you.

Tom looks nervous. He tries to ask you on the car ride home, “Did something happen?”

You close your eyes and lean your head against the window. “I’m tired. I’ll tell you tomorrow morning.”

“Ah. Right. You must be tired,” Tom says, his voice shaky.

The silence in the car is heavy, filled with unspoken words. Tom glances at you occasionally, his worry evident in the rearview mirror. You can feel the weight of his concern, but you can’t bring yourself to talk about it yet.

When you finally pull up to the house, it looks the same as when you left. The familiarity is both comforting and painful. Tom helps you with your bags, his hands trembling slightly.

You only brought one bag, but he wanted to carry it, as if carrying your burden. He could feel that you were going through something.

Inside, the house is quiet. You head straight to your old room, which hasn’t changed much. The sight of it brings a lump to your throat.

You drop your bags and sit on the edge of the bed, feeling exhausted and defeated.

Tom lingers in the doorway, unsure of what to do. “If you need anything, just let me know,” he says softly.

“Thanks, Dad,” you reply, managing a weak smile. He nods and gently closes the door, leaving you with your thoughts. The weight of your situation presses down on you, but at least here, in this small room, you feel a glimmer of safety.

Flashback End

*******

The next morning, you woke up with no desire to move on. But seeing your dad already waiting for you, you couldn’t make him wait for an answer.

So you told him about the struggle you're facing right now.

Tom wasn’t ready for this. He thought you returned because your heart was broken by Ransom or you missed home. Or, you missed him.

After hearing every word that came out of your mouth, he couldn’t believe it. His only daughter had been betrayed like this.

“I need to stay here for a while,” you said. You would stay until you heard from the court. You had sent them evidence proving your innocence.

"Why did you say that like you're asking for permission? This is your home," Tom replied. He didn’t care if you were a criminal or a murderer. If you needed a place to hide, he would provide it for you.

"Thanks, Dad," you said, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

'Knock. Knock.'

You and Tom looked at the door. Only he stood up. It seemed like he was already expecting someone.

He opened the door. "You're here early," he said.

You sipped your tea, assuming the newcomer was just another guest of your dad's.

"Nothing ever goes wrong when you do things early," the voice said cheerfully and friendly.

You almost choked on your tea. The voice sounded all too familiar, and you prayed it wasn't who you thought it was.

"Thanks. I'll meet you at the morgue in 5 minutes," said Tom as he moved to close the door.

"Are you having a guest?" the person asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Tom replied, his voice a little tense.

"Why are you nervous? Do you have a special friend?" The teasing tone drew closer.

You closed your eyes and clenched your fists. You knew your dad, short and not as physically imposing, wouldn't be able to stop the tall, athletic man approaching.

"Y/N?" the voice said, confirming your worst fears.

You opened your eyes and saw the new guest. Locking gazes with him, you felt a surge of apprehension and dread. He was Bucky Barnes, the embodiment of your past torment.

You, the quiet, bookish nerd, and he, the charismatic, popular guy—Bucky represented everything you had once dreaded in high school. His group of friends constantly tormented you.

Crossing your arms tightly, you couldn't mask the edge in your voice. "What is he doing here?"

Tom's hesitant introduction only added fuel to the fire. "He's my apprentice," he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"What does that mean?" you asked, your tone sharp.

Tom cleared his throat nervously. "Um, well... after I retire, I'll be passing the business on to Bucky."

You raised your eyebrows, not saying anything. Tom seemed nervous, perhaps worried that you were angry he hadn’t told you about this sooner.

Meanwhile, Bucky still looked stunned to see you standing there.

Leaning forward, you couldn't contain the resentment in your voice. "Him? Are you sure? He and his group made a mockery of this business every single day, taunting me whenever I set foot in school!"

The room fell silent, the tension thickening with each passing moment.

You had hoped to find refuge here, but now you were having second thoughts. The person who had bullied you was now working with your father and set to inherit the business. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

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[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚

🕊️a whore's fairytale masterlist🕊️

summary - poor little sleeping beauty (you) has a tough day, from finding out who she really is, and falling into a deep slumber. is the prince able to awaken her?

warning - smut, somnophilia, dubcon (all my characters consent), choking, spitting kink, swearing, creampie, breeding kink, wife kink, kidnapping, cursed.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You were shocked to learn the truth, finding out you were a princess and that your real name wasn’t Briar Rose, you were told your parents had named you Y/n and that they had to send you off with the fairies because a woman named Maleficent cursed you. You had to take a few moments to collect yourself, learning that they were to take you back on your eighteenth birthday, which meant you were due to leave your home any moment now to go back to where your family supposedly lived. 

As the four of you began to head off, your mind was full, thinking about your family, the curse, and the man you had met earlier that day. Oh, he was so handsome. You were saddened to hear the news that you were to be betrothed the moment you got to the castle. You didn’t want to be married off to a man you did not know. It didn’t sit right with you. Maybe if you spoke to your parents, they would understand and let you be with the man in the woods. 

After the long walk, you had finally arrived at the palace, staring up at it with wide eyes, gobsmacked at the sheer size of it. The guards moved out of the way as you walked closer to the entrance, letting you in. Your blue dress that the fairies made as a birthday present clung to your body with each step. Small hands touched your arm, causing you to look down at Fauna. “We will have to leave you for a bit, my dear. We have some business to attend to before you are able to meet your parents.” 

You give a soft smile. “That is alright, Fauna. I’ll be okay.” You assure them, watching as they leave. You begin to look around, admiring the artwork that litters the walls. Suddenly, a wisp of light appears in front of you. Your mind starts to go fuzzy as it pulls you into a trance, and your legs begin to follow as the light moves away from you, leading you toward a secret panel that opens when you are near. You walk up the winding staircase and into the hidden room.

Maleficent’s voice fills the room, coaxing you. “Touch the spindle! Touch it, I say!” Her command fills your ears, taking over your mind, and you have no choice but to obey. Your mind had taken over your legs, causing you to walk over to it. Your hand lifts, finger pointed, before a soft gasp escapes you when the spindle pricks your finger, causing it to bleed. You fall, eyes slipping closed into a deep slumber, not knowing of the dangers that lie ahead. Maleficent cackles as she appears over your unconscious body. “Oh, what a dumb girl.” She smirks as she spies into your mind and sees you dreaming of a man. “Hmm, if you want that man so badly, I guess I could give him to you.”

It was too late when the fairies realised what had happened. They looked at each other with wide eyes. They quickly become their former selves, allowing their wings and magic to take over and lead them to where you are. They would never have expected to be met with you, knocked out into a deep slumber with the one who cursed you standing above you in the same room. Their hearts race as Maleficent looks at the three with a deadly smirk, knowing they wouldn’t be strong enough to stop her. 

“The three fairies! Flora, Fauna and…” Maleficent cocks her head to the side, “Merryweather, I’m guessing?” She waves her hand, scoffing. “Oh, well. I don’t care. I assume you came to get your girl? It is a shame. She would’ve done some good for the world.” She reaches down, running her fingers through your hair. “But, I’m willing to show the princess that the world isn’t so good and colourful. Goodbye.” With a wave of Maleficent’s hand, you and she disappear, causing the fairies to set off in a panic, frightened to tell your father, the king, the news. 

Maleficent lays you on a soft bed, watching you as you sleep. “M–Maleficent, my queen. T–the prince, we found him…” She turns, raising a brow, waiting for her henchman to spit it out. “It seems he is waiting for the princess at the cabin, h–he seems impatient.”

“Hmm, that sounds perfect. Bring him to me!” She waves her hand before looking down at you. “You’re going to have so much fun, little one, and instead of true love’s kiss.” She scrunches her nose as those words leave her lips, not believing in such a thing. “Let’s make it something more… Extreme.” A dark grin appears on her face, knowing what the prince would do once he saw you. Her crow told her how the two of you got along in the woods and how the man couldn’t stop staring at your soft breasts and plump arse. 

Ransom struggled against the henchmen, growling and swearing as they dragged him along. “Get your filthy paws off me! I’ll kill you for touching me! Don’t you know who I am!” The henchmen just shrug and huff, not caring. One of them grabs a cloth and stuffs it into the young prince’s mouth, wanting some quiet. They finally make it up to the room you are held in, throwing Ransom inside. 

“Ah, finally.” Maleficent walks over, tilting his head up with her finger underneath his chin. “Hmm, you are quite handsome.” Her eyes drag across his face, getting what you see in him. Ransom’s brows furrow, unable to speak with the cloth in his mouth, his eyes fall upon your sleeping form, and he begins to wonder what the hell is happening. “But, you are not for me… Princess Y/n continues to think of you, and as you can see, she is currently in a deep slumber.” Maleficent leans closer to his ear, whispering. “Why don’t you find a way to wake her up.” She cackles as she straightens and waves her hand, disappearing in a puff of smoke.

His binds and cloth disappearing along with her, Ransom grumbles, shaking his head. “Fucking witches.” He stands, brushing off his clothes, and his head lifts as he peers at you, eyes drifting down your body. “Huh, so you’re the princess I’m meant to marry.” He walks close, tapping the blanket with the tip of his fingers. “I was ready to fuck you as a mere peasant girl, but knowing that you are much more, it’s so much better.”

It’s as though your body knows he is near. Your nipples harden and slick gathers between your thighs, your dreams turning sexual and dirty. You shift in your sleep, letting out a soft whimper as you dream of the handsome man in the woods, bending you over the log and thrusting into your tight cunt. 

Ransom smirks as he watches you squirm. His cock hardens when he hears soft whimpers escape you. “Fuck, sweetheart. You sound so good, and I haven’t even touched you yet.” He strips from his clothes, sighing as his cock springs free from his slacks, no longer feeling tight and suffocated. Ransom pulls the blanket away from your body, his cock twitching when his gaze lands on your dress, wondering if it could get any tighter. He slowly gets onto the bed and crawls on top of you, lifting your dress higher as he moves up your body. “So beautiful, and all mine.” He pampers you with kisses, kissing up your body until he reaches your face. 

Ransom groans when his leaking member connects with your bare cunt, and he grips his thick base, rubbing his swollen tip through your sopping folds. “Jesus, you’re so wet, sweetheart. What or who is making you so wet?” He raises his brow in jealousy, wondering who you could be dreaming of when he is here for you. “You know what? If you’re going to be a little slut in your dreams. Then I’m going to treat you like one.” Ransom growls, sick of competing with someone else when you should only be focused on him. He aligns his mushroom tip with your tight hole before thrusting in. His eyes close as he grunts, never having felt someone like you before. 

Sweet moans pass your lips, dreaming of the handsome man in the woods gently lying you onto a blanket on the ground, pressing his hips into yours as he buries himself deeply into you, making love to you, marking your skin with his hands and lips. Your back arches in your dreams, arms wrapping around him, nails digging into his back. 

Ransom moans, “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Shit, sweetheart, you’re squeezing me so fucking tight. You’re sweet walls are fluttering around me like crazy.” He buries his face into your neck, peppering kisses along your skin and thrusting harder and faster into your sweet honey pot. “My sweet little sleeping beauty.” Getting lost in how good you feel around his member, he hastily grabs a pillow and shoves it under your hips before gripping them, giving him leverage. “When you wake, I’ll continue to fuck you. I’ll fuck you every day, even after you become my wife. I’ll pump you full every single day and night. You won’t think of looking at another man when you have me.”

He nuzzles closer to you, pounding harder as he kisses your cheek, moving closer to your lips, his eyes slipping closed, enjoying the feeling of you wrapped around him. “You’re mine, my sweet Y/n. All mine.” The moment his lips connect with yours, magic explodes around the two of you. Your eyes fly open, arms wrapping around him and your back arches. Ransom smirks, tilting his head back as he looks down at you with hooded eyes. “Ah, my sweet little sleeping beauty is finally awake. Do you feel that, sweetheart? Do you feel me inside you? Fucking into you, claiming you?” He fucks into you deeper, hitting against the hidden spot inside you. Ransom cups your cheek, glaring down at you with lust-filled eyes. His thumb lands on your bottom lip, pulling your mouth open. “You’re mine, understood?” 

You whimper, feeling yourself throb around his cock, never having experienced pleasure like this before. Your mind is cloudy, being pulled from your dream to see it come true with the man you’ve fallen for. You claw at his back, digging your nails into his soft flesh. “O–oh, it feels so good, my prince!” You scream, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues to pound into that spot, allowing Ransom to spit directly into your mouth, smirking as you immediately swallow. 

Ransom moves his hand between you, rubbing and rolling your swollen clit between his fingers. Enjoying the feeling of you squeezing his thick cock, he continues to pound into you, the hand that cups your cheek, moves to your throat and squeezes. “You’re going to cum for me, sleeping beauty, and then. I will pump you so full of my cum that it leaks out of you for months.” Your sweet moans fill the room, walls tighten around Ransom, your back arches, and you cum, your juices squirt out of you, covering everything. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

He captures your lips with his, thrusting harder and deeper until his cock twitches and his eyes slip closed. Ransom groans when his end approaches, burying himself deep inside you and emptying thick spurts of cum, coating your walls and filling you to the brim. He begins kissing down, resting on your neck, leaving soft kisses in his path. “My sweet little sleeping beauty.” Ransom lifts his head and stares deeply into your eyes, his softening cock still deep inside you, blocking his cum from leaking out. “You’re now mine forever.”

You hum, feeling your eyes begin to droop again. You would later learn not to fall in love with the first handsome man you laid your eyes upon. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

in the sugar and spice universe, the boys know that she cams and i assume that she’s aware that her roommates watch, but does she know about ransom watching?

a/n: i. am. gnawing. at. my. cage.

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

sugar & spice au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist

we’ve already established that his discovery of your little hobby was what ended your relationship. i imagine that he fell over your stream while just browsing for something to jerk off to and then BOOM, there you were. 

in true asshole fashion, he of course confronted you about it in a big ol fight:

“choose. come on. me or that.”

“ransom,” you sighed as he kept on pushing.

“come on,” he roared, “just pick goddamn it!”

“that!” you blurted as he kept on yelling, “i wanna keep camming!” though that statement hadn’t been what he’d predicted, “it makes me happy and you–…”

“…i don’t?”

“not lately…”

“well how else would you think i’d react to finding out my girl has secretly been whoring herself out to anyone with an internet connection?”

the slap you then crack against his cheek echoed throughout the whole room, “fuck you,” you spat, “don’t ever talk to me, don’t even look at me, ever again.”

and then you tried to stay as far away from him as possible even though i think he would have kept trying to worm his way back into your good graces (because he obviously fucked up)

you also moved in with steve, bucky and curtis after the breakup and i imagine they began to act as your bodyguards when it came to your ex. keeping an eye out and helping you avoid him at all costs. 

but the thing is, from the moment that he first discovered your stream, and honestly also as a way to lick his wounds post-breakup, he kept going back to it, kept opening up the website till it was permanently open on his phone, always ready for when you went live or posted something (a pic or vid or just flirty message)

it was like an addiction and he couldn’t stop

he wasn’t even ashamed about it because to him it was a way to keep your faded relationship alive, keep you with him and for a generous tip (which he could more than afford as the trust fund kid he was) you’d still do as he wished, still follow his sinful commands.

turn around, let me see that ass

be a good girl and turn up the speed

send me those panties after you’ve soaked them with your cream, i’ll pay double your usual rate for the underwear you sell.

did you know that TittyCokeKingXXX, one of your most loyal followers and top tippers, was your ex? hell no.

how would you finally discover his true identity? maybe it would be at a party you’re both at, a celebration after the football team’s latest victory (of which both your roomies steve and bucky are on, but unfortunately so is ransom) 

he probably gets too drunk and then the truth starts slipping out

maybe he thinks he still has a shot, but just as you turn him down, he gets petty and accidentally blurts out, “well you didn’t seem to have a problem with me last night when you were calling me sir and making yourself squirt in the shower.” 

the image of you crumbled on the tile floor, shower head blasting in your hand as you ripped it away from your overstimulated clit was still seared into his brain. tits all soapy, yet he could still make out the faint letters of the possessive scrawling he'd paid you to scribble with marker the week before reading daddy’s girl

“…how do you know that?” you uttered and he suddenly realised that he’d actually said those words out loud and not just thought them as usual, “ransom, how the fuck do you know that?”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[lanabuckybarnes]

| Handprints |

18+ Minors DNI

✧Pairing✧ Hugh Ransom Drysdale x Fiancé Reader (F)

✧Warnings✧ Soft Rannie, Jealousy, Some lil bitch flirting with what’s yours, Insecurities, Wow Ransom knows comfort??, Drinking, Crying, Assault (deserved), Unprotected PinV, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Multiple Orgasms, Aftercare King — This is pretty tame for me but if I’ve missed any warnings please don’t be afraid to let me know

✧Word Count✧ 1.4K

✧Author Note✧ Everyone say frick you to this man because I ain’t been able to get things done thanks to his stupidly handsome face and my brain hyperfixating on it. Fr tho I have WIPs, ideas and everything inbetween all left to rot because this son of a bitch is plaguing my mind. He’s so hot tho….

Also big thx to my homegirlies @samodivaa @delicatebarness for reading my filth and coming up with the title 🫶

You didn’t want to go out with Ransom tonight. You had your evening all planned out; sex in the shower, snuggling in bed, sex there too — the whole shebang. But of course, Ransom found himself invited to a dinner party with some old friends that he was excited to introduce you to, so your evening was cut short to merely sharing the shower with him and fleeting kisses between tellings of his long day — he didn’t even have time to make you cum.

The night was enjoyable; most of your fiancé's friends were just like him so you could deal with them. Until she arrived, her curves wrapped in a beautiful floor-length golden gown, her incredibly blonde locks curled to perfection and her eyes predatory.

“Oh my god Rannie!!” She squealed at the sight of your incredibly handsome man, outstretching her perfect little arms and pulling him in for a tight hug.

“Hey Charlotte” Ransom smiled wide, perfect pearly white teeth directed at the stunning lady “This is my fiancé” he said, reaching a large ringed hand out to envelop yours.

Charlotte turned, that cute little lady act dropping to a sneer when she turned her attention to you. Jealously oozed out of her, jealously and bewilderment. Her scrutinising glare made you feel ugly and small.

“Hey,” she forced, spitting your name back at you. Her hand squeezed Ransom’s bicep “Wow Ran you’ve gotten big…” her eyes flickered to him before returning to you “Did you see him in high school, he was so scrawny, skinny little arms and a big bobblehead. Bet you get a lot of girls' attention now hm?”

God you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“Maybe but I’ve only got my eyes on one” Your betrothed looked upon you with sparkling blue orbs, squeezing your hand tight. For a moment the party faded leaving you both staring into each other's adoring eyes until Charcuterie cut it short with a fake ‘awww’.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it then,” she says, giving Ransom a bright, man-killing smile and you a much duller, green eyed glare.

“Well that went well.”

“Huh?” Ransom turns, pulling you close by your waist and laying a soft kiss on your forehead.

“She likes you,”

“Yuh huh?”

“And she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you” he guffawed, his eyes scrunching up until the blue was barely visible.

“She does, she’s jealous” you argued, pushing him away slightly.

“I think you’re projecting pretty girl” he joked, quickly reining in his laugh when he noticed how upset you looked. Ransom put on a more serious look, hooking a finger under your chin with his free hand “Baby, you’re the only person I want. I only love you” You knew that. There was just something in that girl's gorgeous eyes that made your whole mind thrum with insecurity.

“I know” You pouted and he kissed you with a coo.

“Of course you do, look at the size of that rock on your finger” For effect he clasped your left hand, shoving the massive crystal into your eyeline.

The rest of the night you tried to let the situation with Charlotte go. You stuck around your fiancé most of the evening, stealing his warmth while listening to his old college football teammate drum on and on about how good of a quarterback Ransom once was.

“I remember one game he got rushed to hospital trying to challenge this mountain of a man. He was on his ass and there was blood pouring out of his head.”

“That must’ve been why he thought it was a good idea to settle for someone like her, y’know with the head injury.” A loud laugh came from behind your small huddle, you knew who it was before you even turned.

“That was out of order Charlotte” a girl in your group chastised, glaring at the now very drunk woman.

“Oh I don’t care, you lot sugarcoat everything. Ransom you could do so much better than…that” Her ringed hand failed in your direction, and a growl settled on her lips at the mere sight of you. It was enough to push you over the edge.

Shoving Ransom’s arm off your shoulders you darted away, heading straight for the car you came here in. You had to get out of the crowd, you were thoroughly embarrassed and angry at the whole situation, fat tears falling down your face by the time you swung the passenger door open.

You don’t know how long it took Ransom to settle in the seat beside you, not too long anyway. Instantly his arms were around you, a hand cradling your head into his neck while the other rubbed up and down your spine.

“I'm so sorry baby, I’m so fucking sorry” His words were thick with remorse, his fingers tightening around you “We shouldn’t have come here.”

He let you cry until you ran out of tears, his arms wrapped around you tightly until you pulled away, sighing at the wet patch on his tan jacket.

“I’m sorry” you whispered in a low voice, rubbing a sleeve over his wet shoulder in a feeble attempt to dry it off.

“Don’t apologise, pretty girl, that's what I’m here for. For letting you cry on me…and for slapping whoever disrespects what’s mine.”

“What?” You gawked, red eyes wide at his words.

“I smacked the shit outta her, she’ll think twice about saying shit like that again.” He looked so nonchalant about the whole thing, a pout of sheer unconcern pulling on his lips.

You tried to look appalled at your man’s actions, letting your jaw hang low in astonishment, but it quickly dissolved, a smile breaking out and a shocked laugh bubbling forth.

“Oh my god Hugh Drysdale!!” You smacked his arm softly, giggling freely at just the thought of that blonde’s face with Ransom’s handprint on the side of it. “We gotta get out of here before she calls the cops.”

“Agreed.” He hummed, starting the engine and setting off down the road, singing away to your shared playlist.

“Fuck baby, fucking hell…”

There was a distinct schlick schlick sound coming from the ajar door of the massive house leaving a tiny part of your brain silently thankful for its size. The rest of you doesn’t give a flying fuck.

Ransom laid out on his back beneath you, face and chest flushed and his hair awry thanks to your wandering hands. His hands gripped at your hips, helping you bounce on his thick length, chasing your third orgasm of the night. Somewhere along the journey home your insecurities and jealousy fizzled into raw desire, your hands groping at Ransom while he drove. You barely made it through the front door before you jumped his bones, shoving him into the wall and swallowing his length with ease only experience would get you. Charlotte could never.

“Taking me like such a good girl—fuckkkk—yes baby squeeze my dick” Not only was he a mess physically, his brain had short-circuited after you straddled his body, ripping the belt from the loops of his pants.

“So full Rannie” you whimpered, collapsing onto your hands. Sweat dripped off your forehead and onto his body, you fucked him ferally like two people with nothing on the brain except each other — which wasn’t far from the truth.

“That’s it, good girl, gimme one more baby I know you can” Ransom urged, pushing himself into a sit and using the last of his brainpower to sink a hand between your joined bodies to rub tight circles over your puffy clit.

“She could never make you feel this good could she?” you gripped at his locks, moaning into his open mouth. Ransom’s head shook violently in your grasp, muttering out how you were the only woman in the world that could make him feel this euphoric. Your orgasm was approaching quicker and quicker, jumping over each mental hurdle until all that was left for your brain to think of was the man filling you to the brim.

“Fuck shit m’fucking close baby, gonna fill you up again, you want that huh? Want my cum in that messy little cunt?”

His words hooked your release between their clawed fingers and hurtled it into your body. Your world went white, your body stiffening and your walls milking the man below you for all he was worth. He spilt the last of what he could offer right against your cervix, holding you tight as he shouted like a madman.

The room settled, the only sounds being your mixed breaths gasping for air.

“That was good” Ransom chuckled, pulling out of your with a hiss and flipping you over “might need to make you jealous more.”

“Don’t you dare” you warned with a glare, sealing your lips with his when he leaned down, cleaning up the mess between your legs before dealing with his own.

“I really am sorry about tonight baby, you didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that” The brunette broke the silence that had overcome you both, his fingers massaging down your spine.

“It’s alright, she got what she deserved.”

“Yes” Ransom nodded, resting his weight against your back “and you got what you did too.”

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except on this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

Comments, Reblogs, Likes & Asks are always appreciated, although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience. They let me know that you are enjoying what you read and give me motivation to write more.

Thanks for reading~

[thezombieprostitute]

The Sweater Incident

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.

Prompt: mistaking an elegant holiday fete for an ugly christmas sweater party

A/N2: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Warnings: Angst, Lots of angst. Let me know if I missed any!

"I still can't believe your parents are hosting an ugly sweater party," you chirp at Ransom.

"Me either," Ransom tells you. "Normally they do that whole fancy schmancy thing."

"Huh. I wonder if they're trying to be 'cool' or 'normal' or whatever."

"Possible," Ransom shrugs.

"And thanks, again, for letting me do the shopping for it. I picked a few couples sweaters that I think you'll like."

"It's not a problem," he smiles at you. "I know you always find the best sweaters. Just look at my closet."

You giggle as he holds you close and kisses your forehead. "Now pick out your favorites for this thing."

After looking them over a few times Ransom finally settles on the couples sweaters that say "I Come in Peace" and "I'm Peace". You can't say your surprised he went with the most tawdry of sweaters. It's gonna be a great way to get his family riled up.

You realize what's going on a few seconds too late. Ransom walked you in with an arm around your shoulder and his trademark shit-eating grin. The first few people you see are his parents and his cousin Meg, all dressed immaculately.

Linda's jaw drops and she immediately starts yelling at the two of you, mainly you.

"Richard! Look at this!" she screeches, jamming her finger at you. "Do you see what this degenerate is doing our son?!"

She turns to Ransom, "how did she convince you to do this? I know she's gotten you into pulling pranks! Is that what this is?"

Richard starts joining Linda in the screaming and yelling but you don't hear any of their actual words. Tears are clouding your vision and you're having trouble breathing. You run back out the front door and the sobs start coming.

You hear Ransom calling after you but you just keep moving. When he catches up to you, he grabs your arm and you try to pull away.

"What the hell? What's wrong?" he yells.

"You tricked me! You embarrassed me! You---" your crying cuts you off.

"I thought you loved pulling pranks," he rebuts. "You always say we're partners in crime with this stuff."

"Exactly, Ransom! PARTNERS! If you'd asked me to do this with you, of course I would have, but you decided to pull this prank on me as well as your family!"

"I thought you'd get the joke!"

"I get the joke on your family, but not on me!" you scream at him.

"Oh, so I'm never supposed to pull a prank on you?" he argues.

"You can do that, of course, just not ones that embarrass me in front of your family! I've already got the worst relationship with them that this is just...it feels cruel."

That makes him stop in his tracks. You know Ransom doesn't always understand the limits so, between sobs, you try to explain.

"Your family already hates me, Ran. But we both know that and so when we're in on a prank together, it's like I've got someone at my side against the unstoppable rampage that is your family's disdain for me. When you do something like this, it adds to their perception of me and it's no longer me and you against them. It's you and them against me."

Ransom blinks a few times, unsure of how to proceed. You step away from him and pull out your phone to get an Uber home.

Back at your shared apartment, you're curled up on the couch, wearing what Ransom had dubbed "your angry hoodie". It was an oversized hoodie that you could curl yourself up into, pull on the drawstrings, and shut out the world. You've stopped crying, but you're still, understandably, miserable so you don't hear Ransom entering with several bags. It's not until you catch the scent of your favorite takeout food that you perk up and start hearing Ransom. But you're still so angry and hurt you're not leaving the security of the angry hoodie.

Ransom recognizes what you're wearing and respects your desire to not be touched or talked to. Instead he moves the coffee table over to the couch and starts setting up a veritable buffet of your favorite foods. You hear him open up a can and you're pretty sure it's a can of your favorite soda. He sits on the opposite side of the couch and turns on the TV, selecting one of your comfort shows to start playing.

You wait for him to say something but Ransom continues to respect the rules of the angry hoodie and doesn't say a damn thing. Even as the food gets cold and the drink gets lukewarm.

You open the hood just enough to let yourself see him on the couch. He looks chagrined. You can tell he hasn't been able to sit still, fidgeting every second he's been on the couch, but he's staying silent with his hand to his mouth, like he's thinking.

You open up the hood a little more, "I'm not gonna forgive you so easily."

"Wouldn't expect you too," he admits. "But at least I can start trying to make amends."

You nod and adjust the hoodie just enough that you can start dishing yourself up some of the food. Sure enough, everything on the coffee table is one of your favorites. An assortment of all the different restaurants and food types that you love. You enjoy your food and the show Ransom selected, sitting for a long while before you realize Ransom hasn't eaten anything yet.

"Are you going to eat?"

"I got this for you. Not gonna eat it without permission."

"Thank you," you nod, opening the hoodie up a bit more. "You may eat." Wordlessly he makes himself up a plate.

It takes a few more episodes of your comfort show for you remove the hood, indicating you're ready to hear Ransom out.

"I know I fucked up," Ransom says. "And, thanks to your explanation, I know how I fucked up. I can't undo what I did, but, again thanks to you, I know that there are things I can do to make amends. Starting with promising you that I'll never do anything like it ever again. You're the last person in the world that I ever wanted to hurt and I'm genuinely very sorry about this whole thing."

You sniffle a little, remembering the burning embarrassment you'd felt. "I'll accept your apology, but you've still got a lot of amends to make."

"I understand," he nods.

"For now, I'm going to congratulate you on handling your first real emotional fight as part of a couple. Specifically for not running away. You came back, you faced me, while respecting my rules, and I appreciate that." You see Ransom's shoulders significantly relax at that. "And as soon as you're done eating, you're giving me a foot rub."

He huffs, "anything for you."

Tagging:

@alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness;

@lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[muddyorbsblr]

mercy upon ourselves

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Your multiversal duty of punishing perpetrators of infidelity in their afterlife takes an interesting turn when you see that the betrayed party is one of your variants | loose 'sequel' to 'all will be alright in time'

Pairing: Loki (God of Stories/Time) x Reader; Will Ransome x Reader (different Reader)

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: 18+ | talks of infidelity; steamy moments at the end; (technically) mass murder; Cora Seaborne (yeah she's a warning); Will Ransome (in this case he needs to be a warning, too) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: this loosely takes place in the RTC 'multiverse', but no prior reading of the series is required; Reader is the goddess of fidelity

Dick-tionary: steamy moments (but not outright smut) starts at "Loki let out a low chuckle"

Your duty as goddess of fidelity, in theory, was simple enough. Upon the death of a betrayer, you were to choose their punishment in their eternal afterlife. After your first few thousand cases, they all began to meld into the same old tale, often feeling as if they all even wore the same face.

That was until this particular story. Where the face of the deceased and betrayed wife held…your own.

Before you could even call out to him, Loki was by your side in a heartbeat, laying his hands gently on your shoulders and pressing a kiss to the back of your head. "I can sense your unease, little Princess. What troubles you?"

Together you looked through the glowing branches that surrounded you, each telling the story of a different timeline, a different universe. Until you finally found the one which held the case you needed to review. The universe where your echo had died of a broken heart upon learning that your husband, Loki's echo in the form of a Reverend William Ransome, betrayed you to have an entanglement with a newcomer in your quaint village of Aldwinter.

"This is no variant of mine," your husband seethed. "I could never belittle our love like this, the thought alone pains me."

You took his hand in yours, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "I know, husband. This timeline is simply…a fluke. Our echoes, our variants? They are not reflections of ourselves. His flaws and failures are not your burden to bear."

"Failure," he repeated, his top lip curling up in a sneer as he looked upon the faces of his variant and his mistress, living together under the same roof, sleeping in the very bed that your variant breathed her last. "That is precisely what this branch is. Perhaps it should just drift away…to wither and rot."

"Loki we should not punish an entire universe for the mistake of one man. There are still countless lives within this branch--"

"And your variant is no longer one of them because of the mistake of his one man. He deserves to suffer."

"And he will," you reassured him. "His suffering falls within my purview. It is my Norns-given duty to see to it. And while I know we both would relish in watching as this pathetic coward of a man sees the end of days upon him, I cannot in good conscience have it be at the cost of an entire universe. But perhaps the village that was complicit…the village that stayed silent to protect their precious reverend's reputation."

"What do you have in mind, my love?" He pulled you close to him, embracing you from behind, hands caressing your sides. Soothing himself from the unease of seeing how his variant dared take you for granted.

I was made to be yours. Words that resonated so deeply into both your souls. Words he used when he first confessed his love to you. The same words you yourself uttered when your memory spell had broken and you found him that fateful day eons ago.

The same words you both used within your new vows when he returned to you. And used ever since.

And somehow this insipid trifling man thought himself above those words? Dare even spit them back in the face of the same entities that weaved your two souls together so intricately that it bled through every timeline and universe known to him?

All the suffering in the Nine Realms would not be enough for this William Ransome as far as he was concerned.

"Well, husband, we are in a rather…unique circumstance," you mused aloud, a little sound of contentment slipping from your lips when he pressed a kiss to your temple. "I bear the same face as this Y/N Ransome…and they reside in a town that is riddled with a rather superstitious lot. And my variant…she deserves her revenge, does she not?"

Had it not been for the gloomier and grayer than usual state of the sky, it seemed a typical day in Aldwinter. It had been years since the spectacle that was your passing occurred, and the townsfolk had finally began to warm to the presence of Cora Seaborne. Sure, she and William would still get looks out of the corners of their eyes, especially when she would emerge from the house in a dress that people could have sworn was yours, but other than that, no one made any trouble for them.

Not to their face. Not anymore.

The cold heaviness of regret had made itself at home in the pit of your widower's stomach ever since that day, the day that he betrayed you. No amount of rationalizing could have him absolve himself of his sin. Any which way he went with his internal arguments, they would all land in the same place.

The blame fell entirely on him. And he would have to live with the consequences of what he'd done for the rest of his days.

In the form of the tombstone that would steadily erode with the passing of time.

And in the form of the new family he was all but strong armed into taking on, if only to spare himself more scandal and ridicule. He'd already lost the respect of a good number of the congregation, this would smite the number down to a paltry handful if he turned his back on his then pregnant mistress.

Though despite all their efforts at maintaining what they thought they'd found with each other, they had lost the babe. Twice. As if God Himself willed it so that no child would ever result from their treachery. A fitting punishment, as far as Will was concerned.

Love may not have been a weakness, but lust most definitely was. Lust was what drove him to commit the treachery that led to the loss of love.

He should have resisted. Walked away. Ran, even.

Perhaps if he had, you would still be here, serving as a bright ray of sunlight even in the dark gray overcast over your little town. Perhaps your children wouldn't have turned their backs on him and he would be allowed the privilege of getting to see them build their own families, lead their own lives.

Instead all he had was darkness and silence. And he had no one to blame but himself.

"William!" Cora's shriek traveled across the marshes.

Moments like these, he preferred the darkness and silence.

He tried to take in a breath before turning to face her, the picture of a doting partner. "What is it, Cora?"

"The look--the looking glass, I saw--"

Her stammering was cut short by the sound of Matthew frantically ringing the alarm bell. "TIDE INCOMING! EVERYONE GO INSIDE! GET TO SAFETY!"

One of the fishermen in the approaching boats stumbled forward until he fell limp in the reverend's arms. "The waves, they be the size of mountains. Bigger even. God is angry with us."

"No," Matthew wheezed, coughing out sea water. "That wasn't God, out there in the waters. Not our God. That was some sorceress, some witch. Demoness. We must find safety." He began to usher every villager he could find into the church. "She don't look like the type that shows mercy."

"She?" Cora spoke, pointing a shaky finger at the curate. "You…saw her face? Tell me does she look like--"

"Enough talk about the evil looming in on us, Mrs Seaborne!" he snapped, pointing his finger at the Ransome house. "Go home. May this evil, whoever and whatever she may be, have mercy on us all."

"What was that, Cora?" Will hissed as they made their way home. "You look completely beside yourself."

"I could have sworn I saw Y/N's face in the looking glass," she said shakily, gulping for breath, shuddering when she said your name aloud once more. "Will, she looked angry. Vengeful."

"You're not making any sense, Y/N is gone," he said tersely, a familiar lump forming at the back of his throat as he forced himself to acknowledge your absence from his life. He ushered her along, trying to ensure that she at least would not stumble too harshly. "I laid her into the ground myself, gave her eulogy."

"I know," she huffed. "But I also know what I saw, that was no hallucination, Will--"

"I've read texts that there are some pregnancies that alter with the minds, the perception of the expectant mother. Perhaps this is simply one of those cases," he waved off. "Look, Cora we're almost home. We can wait out the storm and then when this is all over you can rest. We all can."

She simply nodded and they cross the marshes back to their home, only to find Francis, pale as freshly pressed cardstock, awaiting them by the door. "Mother, F-Father, there's a woman--" he sputtered out, pointing at the open door.

And then you stepped out. "There you are. Cowards."

William's heart stopped in his chest watching you walk out of your old home, what seemed to be billowing fabric drenched and clinging to your skin, hugging every curve that his hands had longed for since your passing. Even soaking wet, your dress proudly gleamed a brilliant emerald green, and there was a glow that seemed to radiate from underneath your skin.

You were no longer of this earth. You were something…more. Something above them all. And it showed in the way you held yourself, in your gaze as you looked upon the marshes that held your former home. As you looked upon the husband that survived you, your upper lip curling in derision as you saw the bump protruding from Cora's stomach.

"Y/N…" he whispered your name, your sheer presence bringing him to his knees. "Sweet wife, you have returned--"

"Hold that rancid thought," you silenced him, raising your hand in the air as if grasping for something. In an instant, his words ceased, feeling as if his tongue had swollen and became as heavy as lead in his mouth. "You do not get to call me your wife, Reverend Ransome. Not since you sullied your vows and laid with this London whore."

Cora took a step toward you, opening her mouth as if to defend herself, or perhaps her lover. But you put a stop to that as well, raising your other hand in her direction, and suddenly she was forced to sink to her knees as well. "Please, Y/N," she pleaded with you. "Let us take this inside there is a tide coming--"

"Do you mean this tide, friend?" you spat the last word out, as if it tasted bitter on your tongue. Suddenly the tide was steadily approaching the shore, rising to a height that would completely engulf and decimate Aldwinter once it bore down on them. And you rose from the ground, floating well above the roof of the Ransome home, the reverend, along with his lover and her son, looking up at you in sheer horror.

"What do you want from us?!" Francis yelled into the sky, reminding you of how mortal worshippers would look to the sky and beg the gods for explanations. For miracles.

"I do not wish for you to give me anything, young Mr Seaborne. In fact, I wish to offer you all…a choice." You turned your gaze to the kneeling couple. "Get in the water. And perhaps I shall spare this town."

"Y/N please, this town is full of innocent lives, no matter what has happened to you I know in my heart that you would never wreak this kind of devastation upon--"

"What has happened to me?!" you repeated, your shrieking tone piercing even through the deafening sound of the tidal wave still standing tall, waiting to descend. "Your lustful indiscretion cost an innocent life, William Ransome. There is no innocent life in this town. Not anymore. The people here chose to stay silent, to keep your affair a secret for the sake of preventing a scandal. Though that didn't seem to work out the way you'd hoped, did it?" You motioned toward the wave with a jerk of your head again. "Get in the water."

The wave grew even more violent, already taking in the fishing boats and pulling it into its dark abyss.

They both stubbornly stayed still, still kneeling on the muddy marsh ground staying silent. The tramp's hand twitched toward the vicar's, but his moved upward, as if wishing to reach for you.

It was always you, she realized bitterly. She may have him now, but only as a result of his momentary lapse in good judgment where his body chose another's. But his heart…his heart would always choose you.

When presented with any semblance of a choice, Will Ransome would crawl back to you on his hands and knees in a heartbeat. And now she must lie on the bed she made. The bed they both made.

Only when you pointed toward her son, her dear Francis, and he was lifted up from the ground, kicking and struggling in mid-air, did both of them make a noise. Calling out to you, pleading for you to put him down and stop the madness. "This is the last time I will repeat myself, adulterers. Get in the water. Or your boy here suffers first."

"Y/N, stop this," Cora spoke, rising to her feet. "Are you not tired? It has been so long, years, even. Francis was still just a little boy when you last saw him. He is a grown man now, how long will you let anger consume you?"

Even from this distance, you could see the ire in Will's features, clearly ticked off with the words that came out of his lover's mouth. "My darling, please. What must I do to atone for my transgressions towards you? I will promise you anything, do anything. Whatever you wish for, it's yours, please can we just go home?"

You lowered both Francis Seaborne and yourself down to the ground, the young man running immediately to his mother, quivering like a leaf in the wind. The disgraced vicar reached his arms out toward you, every muscle tensing and freezing in place when you rose your hand into the air again. "It is the actions of philanderers like you that make the mortals look down on me, consider me a lesser god."

"God?" Cora repeated in a sharp exhale. "Don't be ridiculous, Y/N--"

"Fools like you don't realize what awaits you on the other side of your mortality, where the fate of your eternal afterlife…falls to me," you cut her off, not bothering to hide the smirk that tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Adulterers doomed to suffer an endless loop of the consequences of their actions."

"My wife--"

"Is dead, Mister Ransome," you bellowed. From the corner of your eye you could see villagers gathering at their windows, the horror in their expressions as they began to speculate on what exactly had come to terrorize their quaint little town. "You killed her, there is no use in denying it. Your foolish, licentious choices brought her to her grave. For that alone, you will suffer once your feeble human life reaches its conclusion."

"If you are not Y/N Ransome, then who are you?" Francis asked, voice shaking as he held on to his mother. "Why have you come to wreak havoc in our lives?"

You walked toward the town's vicar, tears in his eyes as he watched you move closer. He reached for your hands, looking like a wounded pup when you swatted him away. "I am the goddess of fidelity," you answered simply. "When betrayers like you and your mistress cease your time on this mortal plane, you and everyone complicit in your torrid affair will be at my mercy."

The tide rose even higher, looming menacingly over the town in a dangerous arch, blocking out what little light they once had from the sun beyond the clouds. You grasped William's chin harshly, fear evident in his eyes, heart thundering against his chest.

"But your actions, your infidelity in particular…upset my husband," you spoke, holding his gaze as you  hissed the words inches from his face. "And for that, I am willing to bend the rules and begin your suffering ahead of time. Put forth the events that will thrust your pathetic souls upon my doorstep."

You rose from the ground again, rage for your fallen variant coursing through you as you heard them plead for forgiveness. For mercy.

"P-Please Y/N…" Cora sputtered out. "I will leave the town and no one will ever hear from me again, just please let me leave with my boy."

"No," you droned. "You have asked what you can do to atone, I presented you with a choice. Now I know how capable you both are of making choices, you've made several together, some of them even on the very ground you stand on. Which leads me to believe…you have made your choice. Stubbornly bargaining your way out of my wrath, out of your suffering. At the cost of this town you call home."

"You truly aren't Y/N Ransome, are you?" she spat out, a look of entitled indignance on her face. "The Y/N I knew wouldn't be this ruthless. She would have shown mercy--"

"Oh but I am showing mercy, you unworthy tart," you spat back. "For ruthlessness is mercy. Upon ourselves." With a flick of your wrist, the tidal wave was finally let loose.

And the little town of Aldwinter sunk into the water.

Before the tsunami crashed down and took you with it, Loki conjured a portal and pulled you back to safety, a bit of water splashing into your bedchambers before it closed. With a wave of his magic the water evaporated into the air, and your soaked dress was dried.

"Husband…" you spoke, a wide smile gracing your features when your eyes met his. You both were on the floor, the god cradling you in his arms as he pushed your hair away from your face.

"My darling wife," he breathed out, his own smile mirroring yours as he picked you up in his arms, carrying you to the bed. "Your flair for the dramatic has you reckless as ever."

He sat you on the edge of the bed, handing you a goblet of wine that did a quick job of warming you and canceling out the effects of the damp cold of Aldwinter.

"You should rest, my love," he said softly, moving to position himself behind you to undo the braids in your hair, carefully working his fingers through the wet strands. "This is the first time you wielded your newfound powers as a goddess, I can imagine your body feels overworked…and famished."

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled, causing your husband to chuckle and press a tender kiss to your cheek. "How did you know when to pull me back?"

"To start, I must admit that I was watching the spectacular show you put on, avenging your variant with such vigor," he whispered into your skin. His hands found their way to your shoulders, working away at the knots. "And our souls' threads are intertwined, little Princess. I can always feel when you need me. I was made to be yours."

"And I yours," you sighed contendedly, leaning against him when he wrapped his arms around you. When he cupped the side of your face, holding you as he pressed his lips to yours, you all but melted into his embrace. "I love you," you mumbled against his lips.

"And I love you," he murmured, continuing to kiss your lips as he maneuvered you to lie down on the bed. With a wave of his hand, the fabric that covered your skin changed to something much lighter, more sheer. One of your sleeping gowns, you surmised. "Rest, dear heart. I shall arrange for food to be brought to us for when you wake."

Your body was all too eager to obey the softly spoken command. The rest of you, however…well, after the ordeal in that despondent village on Midgard, the rest of you ached for your husband's touch. To wash away the muck of the marshes.

Loki let out a low chuckle, kissing along your clavicle as his hand roamed the side of your body. "I can always feel when you need me," he repeated, his tone holding a much more lustful intent than moments earlier. "And much as I want nothing more than to indulge in making love to my beautiful wife, I cannot, should not, be so selfish and ignore her body's need for rest." He made his way to your lips, allowing himself the tiniest sliver of decadence as he licked into your mouth. "You'll need your strength for what I intend to do to you later tonight."

Your breath hitched as images flashed in your mind of your husband teasing and pleasuring you, claiming your body repeatedly well until after the sun rose the next morning. In multiple places throughout your marital chambers. Constantly finding or making the time to bring you to orgasm in the midst of pampering you.

Suddenly it made sense why he would choose to deny you now…in exchange for a much more delicious reward just a few short hours away.

"Would you stay regardless, husband?" you asked weakly, already feeling yourself succumbing to the exhaustion and the slumber that your plush sheets promised. "Hold me?"

You weren't able to see the loving smile that graced your husband's face from your request. You only felt the soft kiss on your forehead before he positioned you to lay in his arms. "Gladly, my darling." He conjured a book into his free hand, ready to begin reading to you when a stray question entered his mind. "What of their souls, Y/N? What hellscape did you design for them?"

"I gave them what they deserve," you grumbled, shifting your position to hold him closer, your arm draping over his stomach as you laid your head on his chest. "Each other. They are doomed to spend their afterlife together, with Cora knowing that his heart longs for his late wife. And William having to watch from the sidelines as my variant finds new love. You have a stray echo that never found his fated, by the name of Pine. I presume by now they've found each other, starting a story of their own."

A/N: Hang on what's this…? Did I tease a future story at the end there? 😳 Why yes…yes I did 🤭 Ngl this year felt like I didn't get a whole lotta stories done especially in the latter half, but hopefully with everything finding a bit of balance, 2025 will look a bit different and I can set aside more time for story writing 💖

Ooh, and also I def got the idea to make this because of the "Get in the Water" song

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki

[buck-star]

His cookie | R.D

>> You're not the best baker, neither is Ransom. Luckily it doesn't matter because you're his favortie cookie anyway. <<

Pairing: BestFriend!Ransom Drysdale x BestFriend!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 1.157 Words

Warnings: fluff, idiots in love, some allusion of sexual wording, petnames [princess, cookie]

Authors Note: Christmas themed oneshot, since | haven't written for Ransom in a while, here he is, our knitted hoodie cookie monster. Divider made by me.

Events: December Daze Challenge [baking together but neither know what you're doing l @the-slumberparty], Fluffy Winter Event [Best Friends to lovers | baking]

Masterlist | Ransom Drysdale Masterlist

“Ran, no— no, that— no,” you mumble, trying to hide your smile when Ransom holds up the butter. Or at least half of it, because he just dropped the other half in the eggs. “That doesn’t work like that now. They said three eggs—“

You hold up the book of recipes, showing it to Ransom so he can see the exact amount of ingredients you should add. Your finger slides over the side, pointing to where it’s written down. Your best friend leans over the counter to read where your finger lays, shaking his head slightly.

He’s still using half of the butter in his hands, grumbling. “But it also said butter and flour!” Ransom turns his head to look into the bowl with the eggs, flour, and half of the butter.

The two of you should definitely ask someone to help you or even make the cookies so you only had to eat them. But Ransom and you are both sure that you can make them yourself, maybe with some practice, but it should work to make some easy baking tasks.

“No— Yes, but no. It says that we need butter and flour, but first we need the eggs and—“ Ransom interrupts you when he smashes the butter down on the kitchen counter.

“Punch them.” He smirks, looking into the bowl where the flour is already mixed with the eggs and half of the butter. “Guess we need to pick out the eggs— or the flour and the butter?”

“We do not punch eggs, Ran,” you laugh, your stomach already hurting from all the laughing with your best friend. Maybe you’re not the best baker, but you could work as a comedian. Maybe as a comedian who bakes cookies or tries to bake them and mixes the ingredients before the egg is in its perfect shape. “They just need to be—“

“Hard. You know— I know other things that could be covered in white stuff and could be hard, too. You can cover it in flour and butter, but that would be messy,” Ransom explains, nodding down at his crotch. You chuckle and roll your eyes playfully at him.

“Now, be serious; we have to get the eggs fluffy, foamy, whatever you want to call it. You have to be able to take the bowl, hold it above your head, and turn it around without the egg spilling anywhere,” you say, walking around the corner to stand next to Ransom.

He grins at you, one of his calloused hands reaching out to pull the bowl closer, looking at the ingredients. For a moment he looks thoughtful, like he’s considering the options you have to make the egg fluffy, but knowing it doesn’t work with the other stuff in it already.

“So, how about we just throw it away and make the dough again or we buy cookies?” Ransom suggests, his blue eyes moving from the bowl with the ingredients to you. He studies you for a moment before his gaze slides back to the bowl. When you just look at him with a smirk on your lips, he grumbles and shakes his head. “What? You want me to separate the flour and butter instead?”

You laugh softly; the thought of him sitting down with bowls and trying to seperate just the flour, just the eggs, and the butter was pretty funny. Especially considering that the flour and eggs are already pretty mixed together. “As funny and entertaining as that would be, I think we should just try and make the dough without the eggs being like they want them. It should turn into dough and cookies anyway, I guess.”

“I love you, but I don't trust you with that anymore,” Ransom mumbles under his breath. He then nods and sighs softly, turning around to stand with his back against the counter. He looks thoughtful for a moment before his eyes roam over your face once again. “Okay, let's try to turn those not fluffy eggs into dough.”

With a soft chuckle, you nod toward the bowl, and Ransom growls low in his throat. He looks at you with narrowed eyes, but when you don't budge, he growls once again, rolling up the sleeves of his knitted sweater. He slowly reveals his muscular forearms with the prominent veins running along them.

“Drooling, aren't you, cookie? That's why you want me to touch this disgusting, slippery stuff here,” he says before kneading the ingredients to turn them into dough. You add a few more things every now and then, letting Ransom knead it the whole time while he mutters how wet and disgusting it feels to have the egg stuck around his fingers.

After a while, the two of you manage to get the dough done; it's finally in the oven, and you sit with your back against the counter to watch them growing in the warmth. In your hands you have a hot chocolate, or two, because Ransom is currently looking through some of the counters.

“What are you looking for?” You ask with a chuckle, watching your best friend intensely. He shakes his head, looking through another counter before he finds what he’s looking for. He turns back to you, hiding whatever it is behind his back while he sits down next to you in front of the oven.

“Close your eyes,” he mumbles, waiting for you to do as he says. You lean forward, placing the cups in front of you between your slightly spread legs, and close your eyes, turning your face toward him. “Now, open up, princess.”

You part your lips, listening to Ransom fumbling with some wrapping paper. A soft giggle escapes your lips as he sighs heavily. “Need help to open it?”

“No, now open up,” he says with a chuckle, bringing something to your lips. Before you have it completely in your mouth, you already know what it is — Ransom's favorite cookies. He pushes it halfway between your lips, bringing two of his fingers underneath your chin to lift it up and make you press your lips together.

Before you can say anything else, you feel Ransom's warm breath against your soft skin, and you. His lips are only inches away from yours as he brings his lips around the other half of the cookie.

“Wanted to do that for so long already, cookie,” he mumbles, biting as carefully as he can into the cookie until it's breaking and he can press his lips against yours. A soft sigh falls from your lips as you bring your hands around his neck to pull him closer. “Wanted to wait until our cookies were ready but couldn't focus on anything but you and your lips on mine, my princess. You're the sweetest, cookie.”

His lips press against yours once again, the cookies forgotten, because nothing tastes as sweet as you, and he would rather stop eating his cookies than stop kissing you.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 add yourself.

[eccentricallygothic]

hear me out ok the 5 cevens characters working together to fluster bunny. like randomly one morning she wakes up and she's getting it from all sides. poor bunny is teased to tears before ransom or jensen finally take some sympathy on her and let her cockwarm them while hiding her embarrassed teary eyes <3

Oh God I am melting becauseee-

Warning(s): Somnophilia (consensual), dacryphilia, gangbang, corruption kink, p-in-v, blow job, anal, boob fucking, handjob, degredation, cockwarming.

Bunny is confused at first, (the innocence of which drives Lloyd mad), then turned on but then soon overwhelmed due to how much of a sensitive Princess she is. 

Daddies had discussed this with her a couple weeks ago with a mutual agreement that whenever it happens it will be a surprise because Bunny always has her safe word anyways.

"Hnnng~" her plugged mouth vibrates against Lloyd's cock as Ari stretches her unsuspecting and very tight pussy with a capital S. 

She's basically hanging between the huge men and being held up solely by their cocks like one of those hentais. 

Andy is grunting behind her as he wraps her hair around his fist and pushes his fat dick between her plump ass cheeks and up her much lubed pucker. 

Jensen is still praising her for being so brave as he guides her smaller hand around his girth, free hand stroking her hair which was the only consolation with all the violation going on. 

"Dirty little horn Bunny" Ari snickers from his spot as he feels her move around him. "Half asleep but still moaning and clenching around our cocks while we fuck her dumb."

Lloyd hisses as he enters her throat from his spot besides her since Ransom is thrusting between her tits.

The dark haired man grunts and curses at the sight before him as he rocks his hips against her chest, holding both of Bunny's tits together while she hangs propped up by all their cocks, panting through her nostrils. 

She's spread out and filled to all her brims like a lifeless fuck doll, lazy eyes scanning her surroundings through her still droopy eyelids. 

It goes on for hours. 

Some daddies even change positions. 

Touching, teaching, fucking, degradation and praise which is just Jensen building her up for the other daddies (and him) to crush back down. 

Bunny is a whining and crying gurgling mess by the end of it, covered in cum and tears as she trembles on her hands and knees, their juices leaking out of all her holes.

"Aw, would you look at this leaking little breeding bunny" Jensen chuckles darkly as the other Daddies enjoy the sight.

Bunny ducks her head as this rare side of Jensen makes her feel even more vulnerable, exposed and small, if it were even possible after all that.

Ransom chuckles to himself when her bottom lip wobbles and eyes tear up. 

"But she's a good breeding bunny, isn't that right?" His fingers slip through her sweaty hair as he comfortingly caresses it. 

Bunny peaks up at him only through her lashes and murmurs out a weak and broken 'yes Daddy'.

"Look at how small and pathetic she is. Nothing but a fine set of tight little holes" Lloyd's spank is cruel as it nearly echoes in the room. 

Bunny whimpers into Ransom's hand again and that is when he finally takes mercy at the fucked out sight. 

"Little Bunny can't take any more, huh? Needs Daddy to protect and take care of her?" She vigorously nods, feeling the gazes of the other Daddies almost cut her skin.

Ransom's chest swells with pride and authority when he sits on her Princess Bunny bed and pats his thigh. 

The girl obediently crawls into it before nuzzling her red face in his broad chest. 

The male positions his cock against her much well lubricated entrance before gripping her hips and lowering her down on it. 

Bunny moans and whimpers, tightening her arms around him as she clenches in defense before eventually adjusting to Ransom's thick and veiny girth, feeling him just under organs. 

It's not long before she's snoring against his chest, exhausted from the erotic episode.

Ransom continues to rock them back and forth slowly, caressing her back as he presses a reassuring kiss to the top of her head every now and then. 

The other Daddies leave but not before Ari makes the remark that she's just like a fuck doll, being turned on to serve her purpose and then going right back to idle mode when her batteries run out. 

Andy, Lloyd and Jensen snicker as they follow the giant out of the room.

Maybe they will wake her the same way later. 

With their little slut Bunny, the possibilities are endless.

[sosa2imagines]

Ooo since you said I could send in more suggestions I have one more if it’s all right!!🥰

Can I please request a Ransom Drysdale x fem!shy!reader where she’s his girlfriend and he’s bringing her to meet his family for the first time? They are not very welcoming to her as she isn’t wealthy like they are (like she has a normal job like being an elementary school teacher), and she’s a little bit younger than Ransom, so with all that they accuse her of being a “gold digger” because he buys are nice things and she lives in his penthouse (he just loves to spoil his girl) and make her cry? (Ransom would lose it omg)

Hey, I hope you like it, thank you so much for the ask.

Warning- Little angst, fluff, toxic family.

You nervously adjust the hem of your dress for the fifth time, glancing at Ransom as he pulls his vintage Beemer into the long driveway of the Thrombey estate.

The house looms ahead, a testament to the family’s old money and prestige. Your heart hammers in your chest, but Ransom’s warm hand finds yours, squeezing gently.

“Stop worrying,” he says, his tone laced with his trademark confidence. “They’ll hate you no matter what, so just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

You glance at Ransom's unwavering confidence, the smirk on his face adding to his roguish charm. Despite his words being intended to reassure you, they only serve to twist your stomach into knots. “That’s not reassuring,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ransom chuckles, leaning over to brush a kiss against your temple. “Relax, cupcake. You’re with me. They can’t touch you.” He’s trying to make you feel better, but the knot in your stomach tightens as you step out of the car and into the house.

As you step into the Thrombey estate alongside Ransom, the weight of the house's age and wealth hangs heavily in the air. The opulence is overwhelming, making you feel even more out of place. Ransom's hand finds the small of your back, a warm and reassuring presence amid the sea of strange faces.

The inside is as intimidating as the outside, old wood, grand staircases, and a suffocating air of wealth and judgment. The moment you walk in, all eyes are on you.

“Ransom,” his mother, Linda, greets, her sharp gaze flickering over you like she’s already made up her mind. “And this must be…?”

“This is my girlfriend,” Ransom announces, his arm slipping around your waist protectively. His tone is firm, daring anyone to challenge him.

Linda’s smile is polite but cold. “Welcome,” she says, though it sounds more like a warning than an invitation.

As the introductions go on, you feel the weight of their judgement. Joni compliments your dress, but her voice is dripping with honeyed poison. Walt's handshake is a weak and dismissive gesture, and even Meg seems reluctant to fully acknowledge you.

In a room filled with cold glances and thinly veiled disdain, only Harlan’s smile feels genuine. He looks at you, his eyes sparkling with warmth and approval.

“So you’re the one who’s managed to tame my grandson,” he says, a touch of amusement lighting up his face. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, his kindness like a lifeline in the sea of cold stares.

Ransom rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “She’s not taming me, Gramps,” he responds, his hand rubbing comforting circles on your back. “She’s just making me tolerable.”

Dinner is where it all falls apart.

“So, what do you do?” Linda asks, her tone deceptively casual.

“I’m an elementary school teacher,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Linda's eyes narrow at your answer, her lips curving into a sneer.

“An elementary school teacher,” she repeats, her tone dripping with condescension. “How admirable.”

Ransom stiffens beside you, his hand gripping yours under the table. Your heart sinks a little as you see the flicker of judgement in his family's eyes.

“How noble,” Joni coos, her eyes gleaming with thinly veiled disdain. “It must be such a challenge, you know, financially.”

“I manage…” you say quietly, feeling smaller with every passing second.

Joni's saccharine words feel like a blow to your already frayed nerves. “Oh, I can imagine,” she says with a mock gasp. “It must be so hard, living on such a pitiful salary.”

Ransom's hand tightens around yours, a wordless message of support amid the mounting pressure.

“But Ransom must help, right?” Walt chimes in, his smile more predatory than kind. “Living in his penthouse, the shopping sprees…he really spoils you, doesn’t he?”

Your cheeks burn as you glance at Ransom for support, but his jaw is already tightening.

“She’s not with me for my money, if that’s what you’re implying,” Ransom says, his voice a low warning.

“Of course not,” Linda says with a forced laugh. “But it’s…an adjustment, isn’t it? Coming from such different worlds.”

The tension is palpable. You try to deflect, be polite, but the comments keep coming.

“She’s so much younger than you, Ransom,” Joni adds with a pointed look. “It’s sweet, really. Youthful innocence.”

The implication stings, and you feel the tears prickling at your eyes.

“Enough,” Ransom snaps, his voice loud enough to make everyone fall silent.

“Ransom, we’re just…” Linda starts, but he cuts her off.

“No, you’re just being the insufferable assholes you always are!” he spits, his blue eyes blazing. “She’s ten times the person any of you will ever be, and if you can’t see that, then you can eat shit!”

“Ransom!” Linda gasps, her face pale with shock.

“No, I’m serious,” he continues, his voice dripping with disdain. “Eat shit, Linda! Eat shit, Joni! Hell, eat shit, Walt! You’ve all been waiting for a chance to tear her down, but you know what? She’s better than this circus, and we’re leaving.”

He stands, pulling you gently to your feet. His touch is firm but tender, his anger dissipating the moment he looks at you.

Ransom's arm around your waist remains strong and protective, a silent testament to his loyalty to you. He seems unfazed by the family's coldness, his gaze fixed defiantly, almost daring any of them to cross a line.

Harlan speaks up as you’re leaving. “Ransom,” he calls out, his voice calm but resolute. “Take care of her. She’s a keeper.”

Ransom glances back at his grandfather, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes, before leading you out the door.

Once you’re outside, he stops, turning to you. His hands cradle your face as he studies you with uncharacteristic softness. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Don’t let them get to you. They’re vultures, and they don’t deserve you.”

“I’m sorry…” you whisper, tears spilling over.

“For what? Being perfect?” He wipes your tears away with his thumb. “Cupcake, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Screw them, they can eat shit!”

You manage a small smile, and he pulls you into his arms.

“Come on,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Let’s go home. I’ll order your favorite takeout, and we’ll forget they even exist.”

With Ransom, you know he’ll always have your back, no matter how hard the world, or his family, tries to tear you down.

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