#knives out fanfic

[dbnightingale24]

The Dog House Isn’t The Best, But It Can Still Be Our Home

Final installment to 'Pavlov's Dog'

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Part 3

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I told you guys I'd post it at some point 🥴 I'm honestly so sorry this took so long to post, but last year got really dark for me and everything just kind of took a backseat. Thank you so much for your patience, and thank you to all of you who checked up on me. It means more than I'll ever be able to express. Thank you @fuckingbye for being an amazing friend, and for also making this amazing moodboard. You are a saint and I love to the ends of the earth. Without further ado, here's the final chapter!

Word Count: 71,942 (yes, you read that correctly)

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY), Public Sex, Semi Public Sex, Drinking, Smoking, Swearing, Daddy Kink, Angst, Heartbreak, Mild Violence, FLUFF, Lying, Betrayal...I think that's it?

Song(s) That Inspired This Chapter: Will You Take Me Back In The Morning If I Promise To Never Act This Way Again?

I do not give consent/permission for my works/stories to be posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior, this is for entertainment purposes only.

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“You can’t keep going on like this, babe,” Daisy sighs sympathetically as she takes a seat next to the bathtub.

“It doesn’t matter,” you shrug as you take a drag of your cigarette, “none of it fucking matters.”

“Babe, it’s been two weeks. You do the same thing every day. You get up, eat the smallest bit of food, you sit out on your back deck and smoke until you decide to start drinking, then you draw yourself a bath and drink and smoke in it until you decide it’s too cold, or I come and get you. You can’t keep doing this.”

“I don’t even have a reason to be mad at him, do I?” you scoff incredulously before taking a drag from your cigarette, “it’s not like he lied. He didn’t even know, so I have no reason to be this upset, do I?”

“He was a complete and total asshole,” she states firmly, “and you have every reason to be upset with his actions. Yeah, it was a shit show, but he definitely could’ve handled it better.”

“The shit he said right in front of that child, even if it isn’t his, were so fucking cruel! No child deserves to be spoken to like that, and he of all people should know that!”

“Babe-”

“After everything we talked about on that trip...it’s like it didn’t even matter to him. He didn’t even care.”

“I’m sure he was just shocked-”

“That’s not an excuse, Dais.”

“I never said it was, but c’mon: it’s Ransom. You really think he was thinking clearly? Linda and Marta were there and I’m more than sure he was afraid of losing you, then Marta drops a fucking bomb on him, and it sounds like she did it on purpose, if I’m honest. Just to fuck him over.”

“Daisy, I just-”

“BABY, PLEASE ANSWER THE DOOR AND TALK TO ME!” Ransom calls desperately as he bangs on your front door.

Like clockwork.

“Why can’t he understand that I need time? I don’t owe him shit,” you start to sniffle as your tears fall, and you grab the bottle of tequila that lives by the bathtub now, and take a long drink from it.

“I’ll get rid of him, just please...please get up and do something,” Daisy begs desperately.

“Ya know, you’re wrong,” you say as she reaches the doorway, finally looking at her, “I put on makeup today,” you smile weakly.

She lets out a humorless laugh before disappearing and you hear her footsteps quickly making their way downstairs.

Since everything that took place on his doorstep, you haven’t spoken to or seen him. You don’t know what to say or how to handle the situation. He’s been calling and texting non-stop since it all happened, and every two days he comes by to visit, and Daisy tells him to leave you alone every time.

But you can’t keep avoiding him.

No, you don’t know what the right thing to do is, but you know that avoiding him is the wrong thing, and you can’t keep letting Daisy handle these issues for you. You have to at least speak to him, but say what? Do what? It’s not like you have any real right to be mad at him. It’s not like he cheated on Marta with you, he didn’t cheat on you with her, he clearly didn’t know he had a child so he didn’t keep it from you, and he did defend you to Linda. However, that doesn’t change the things he said to that child.

Possibly his child.

“He’s not my son and this isn’t fucking funny!”

“We can take a test if you want, but he is your son!”

“Well, I don’t want him! You wait...however many years to tell me about him, and you sure as shit don’t need any money, so why now?!”

“He deserves to know who his Father is, Ransom! He’s a Drysdale and-”

“Watch it,” Ransom warns with a foreboding tone.”

God, how could he be so cruel to a child, after all of the talks you two have had? He’s always cruel though, isn’t he? To you, to Marta, his own son (the resemblance is too strong for that boy to not to be his child), and fuck it, even Jack. He can’t ever seem to control his temper and, if he can’t do that, what chance do you two have together?

Still, he owns your heart and you don’t know how to get it back at this point. You don’t know and you don’t wanna know.

“Ransom, you have to stop coming around!” you hear Daisy yell, and you sigh before taking another drink from the bottle.

“You can’t stop me from me seeing her, Daisy! She’s my girlfriend!” 

“Bullshit! You two never made it official-”

“Daisy, stay out of it! Let me see her!”

“No! She’s not ready to see you and you can’t force-”

“I’m not forcing anything-”

“What do you think this is?! Showing up because she won’t answer your calls or texts, and demanding to see her?! Leave her alone!”

“You can’t stop me-”

“Let him in!” you call, lighting a cigarette as you use your tip toes to turn the water back on, and heat up your water just a bit.

Who the hell knows how this is gonna go?

You hear the both of them speedily stomping up the steps, but Daisy get there first and says, “are you sure? You don’t have to-”

“I can’t keep letting you fight my battles,” you smile weakly at her as you turn the water off.

“Babe-”

“I have to deal with this at some point. I can do this,” you all but mumble not believing yourself as you take a drag of your cigarette.

“I’ll be in the room over,” she sighs softly before turning, “fuck you Drysdale!”

“Fuck you!”

You hear her slap him and shake your head. Nothing can ever be simple, can it?

“Sweet Thing, please-” he starts as soon as he makes his way into your bathroom.

“Ransom...don’t,” you quickly interrupt. “This isn’t just some small disagreement.”

“I didn’t even know I had a child!”

“I could’ve dealt with that, Ransom! It would’ve taken some time, but I honestly could’ve dealt with that! It’s the way you spoke about him in front of him!”

“I don’t want him!”

“You didn’t have to say it in front of him! Jesus, it’s not his fault that you’re a selfish bastard! He didn’t ask to be born, and Marta-”

“She did this out of spite! Not because she wants me to be apart the child’s-”

“Be that as it may, he didn’t do anything! Basically telling her that she has no right calling him a Drysdale, when he is in fact a Drysdale! Ransom, I know you’re rough around the edges, but for fucks sake! All the talks we’ve had about our own fucked up childhoods and you do this?! You just...I don't fucking get it with you, Ransom!”

“What is there to get?! We fucking talked about this, Y/N! I’m not-”

“That’s no excuse for this! You took it too far and I...Ransom, I can’t-”

“Don’t you fucking say it,” he warns as his eyes start welling up with tears. “Don’t you fucking say that to me!”

“Ransom...I love you, but I can’t be the only good thing in your life. The only person you like,” you sob, sitting up and ashing your cigarette in the ash tray resting on the little table near by.

“WHY NOT?!”

“It’s too much fucking pressure! It’s too much pressure, and I can’t keep watching you be terrible to people because you had a rough childhood! You having a rough go of it doesn’t mean you get to walk all over people for the rest of your life!”

“Listen, give it a few days and you’ll see-”

“No, Ransom. This is done. I can’t do this with you anymore. You have to grow up at some point, and I refuse to mother you.”

“Y/N...you’ll see...you don’t mean it. You always say you’re done and you come back-”

“I can’t anymore. All of this just hurts too much. You keep finding new ways to hurt me, even when you don’t mean to, and I just...you’re cruel, Ransom. You’re cruel, you’re a bully, and you will hurt anyone by doing anything. I know there’s good in you, because you’ve let me see it time and time again, but you refuse to let others in, even in the slightest and I just...please don’t call me anymore,” you sob pathetically. “Don’t call, don’t text, don’t come by...we’re done.”

“You don’t mean this-”

“Don’t make it harder than it has to be, please. Just let me go,” you beg softly as you wipe your eyes.

“You’ll see. In a week or so, you’ll see and I’ll be waiting. I’ll wait and everything will be as it should, again,” he smiles weakly, wiping his own eyes.

“Ransom-”

“I’ll call you in a few weeks, okay, Sweet Thing,” he promises, making his way over to the bathtub. “I love you and I’ll talk to you.”

He cups your face and kisses you passionately and you’re so tempted to pull him into the tub with you, but you know you’ve got to stop. You left one toxic relationship just to jump into a different type of toxic relationship.

“Ransom,” you breathe once you two break apart, “please-”

“I’ll talk to you in a few weeks,” he promises with a sniffle before standing up and walking out.

“Ransom-”

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” he repeats, his voice cracking as he continues on his way out.

Daisy is back inside and by your side instantly, climbing into the tub and holding you close as you cry uncontrollably, as you try to come to terms with the choice you’ve just made. Yeah, he’s right in saying that you always come back, but that’s not the case this time.

You need to stay away from him for good.

The fact that he has it in his head that all of this will be sorted out in a few weeks, lets you know that this is only the calm before the storm. As both you and Daisy lean back into the tub, and she holds you close while you cry into her shoulder, there’s only one question going through your head:

How the hell are you supposed to quit the love of your life?

**

4 Years Later...

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You can read the rest of the story here

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taglist: @whiskeytangofoxtrot555, @companionjones, @autumnrose40, @fuckingbye, @pono-pura-vida, @nomadstucky, @mazda098, @chemtrails-club, @bree-lyrie, @mjey12, @charlottiedawson, @fenixstar , @thickania

[bits-and-babs]

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐭 || 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐭 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜 𝐱 𝐅!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

IMPORTANT! This fic was written with ONLY Knives Out as it’s source material, I haven’t yet seen Glass Onion. I have since been made aware 1000+ words into this fic that Benoit is gay as of the second film. I didn’t want what I had to go to waste. This is the only time I will write for him in a m x f relationship.

Summary: You introduce Private Investigator Benoit to Cluedo

Word Count: 3.1K

CW: FEMALE READER. Please see explanation above. sassy Benoit. Vague references to a mild age gap relationship, easter egg references to Knives Out film 🤭 Nylon Kink. A bit of knife play. Oral, f receiving.

Tease: “On the contrary,” he answers you with a playful lilt to his drawl, slowly sinking to his knees before you, “I intend to stay right here.”

“You’ve never played Cluedo?!”

Shock permeates each syllable of your parroted sentence, your jaw slack as you stare at your partner with complete incredulity. Benoit, in turn, peers vacantly at you like you’ve said something ridiculously dense.

“Ain’t that what I just said?” He asks you, his monotonous voice lacking any true irritation as he taps the ashes of his cigar into the ashtray on the coffee table between you.

“Nah, we’ve gotta fix that,” you insist, slapping your palms on your knees before raising from your armchair. Benoit peers over the rim of his tortoiseshell glasses, and his icy-blue eyes follow your body across the room.

“Now— Dear, you’ve worked a long shift; you can’t be runnin’ around playin’ detective with me,” he tries to reason with you, attempts to talk you down from the inevitable shitshow that was no doubt about to unfold in the shape of solution cards and miniature murder weapon props. It’s all fruitless, though, because you’re sweeping aside Benoit’s beloved ashtray and ignoring his protestations as you drop the board game’s box onto the coffee table.

Yes, you’d slogged a nine-hour shift and hadn’t had time to change into less formal attire. Your pencil skirt bunches up your thighs, and the button-down blouse collar lies taut against your throat. Hell, your nude tights are beginning to itch too, but you’re far too invested in this ridiculous adventure and refuse to turn back at the sound of Benoit’s listless objections.

“Here we go,” you mumble to yourself, sliding the lid off the cardboard box and electing to ignore the heavy sigh that Benoit hopelessly attempts to conceal. He leans forward to put out his cigar in the ashtray you had unceremoniously discarded on the wooden floor, eyeing you as you set out the board game items and distribute each piece evenly.

“Who would you like to play as?” You ask, offering out the coloured tokens in your outstretched palm.

Benoit peers at each of the six shades of plastic pawn figurines, his expression betraying his evident discontent. “You know I do this for a livin’, don’t you, Dear?”

Your scowl in retaliation to his query has Benoit snatching up the green token from your hand and setting it on his end of the table. Again you smile as though he’d never spoken and choose red for yourself. Reverend Green and Miss Scarlett.

Carefully, you shuffle the weapon, suspect, and room card decks. Then, as discreetly as possible, take the top card from each pile and put them into the murder envelope without peeking at the details on the other side.

Finally, ignoring the obnoxious sighs rattling in Benoit’s chest, you hand out the Clue cards. Five cards each for you and Benoit, four apiece for the pair of ghost hands; purple and blue. You pinch the dice between your forefinger and thumb, holding it in front of your lover's face. “Odd for purple, even for blue. Got it?”

“Got it,” he responds, clearly finding the process tedious already but suffering through for you. Your eyes are alight with excitement, a grin permanently fixed on your lips. How was he to say no? In fact, he found himself amused by your enthusiasm to understand his line of work— even if it was through juvenile means.

“Alright!” You giggle, rolling the dice to move your scarlet pawn token forward. “Let’s begin!”

-✩-

Chimes sound from the mahogany grandfather clock situated in the corner of Benoit’s living room. They’re almost deafening in the silence that has befallen the coffee table. Although it feels like moments, you realise the minute hand has completed a revolution of the face of the timepiece — You’ve been playing for an hour. You’re no closer to identifying the killer than you were sixty minutes ago.

Benoit appears bored to tears, chain-smoking cigars and even leaves his seat at one point to obtain a glass of whiskey. To the amusement of both of you, you hadn’t noticed his absence, too wrapped up in the game to realise he’d gone AWOL.

“Now, Darlin’,” he begins, cutting both the stillness of the room and your acute concentration with his southern drawl. “Don’t you think it’s time we called it a night? It’s gettin’ awfully late—“

“Benoit,” you whine petulantly, noting the wince it earns you from the older man. He certainly looks like he’d acquired a few more silver hairs since you began this wretched game. “I want to finish it.”

“Mhmm…” Benoit pushes his spectacles up his nose, glancing over the board with mirth, “I knew a man who wouldn’t admit defeat in a board game. Know what happened?”

You glance up at him, eyebrow raised in question.

“He died.”

“Benoit!”

Exasperated, Benoit turns his black cards over, revealing his weapon, room and character. He raises his hands in defeat, settling back in his seat and officially ruling himself out of the game. “There, you only gotta look at two suspects… You're not much of a detective, are you?”

“You‘ve solved it already, haven’t you?!” You gasp, looking up at him with wide doe-eyes and dismay. He answers with a firm nod of his head. Perhaps it was foolish of you, but you really thought you’d established egalitarianism with a board game. “Well, go on, how did you know?”

Benoit inhales, opening his mouth to speak and finally put an end to this ridiculousness. “Well, now, I—“

“Wait!” you shout out, holding a hand up as though it would physically restrain the syllables of his deduction from leaving his lips. “I’ll figure it out myself!”

Sullenly, Benoit sinks back into his armchair, admitting defeat and allowing you to play out your inspector fantasy. He pouts for a few moments, watching you furiously exert your mind with the evidence before dragging his gaze over your uniform.

A quiet man, reticent in nature, Benoit rarely discussed his appreciation for your work apparel. Yes, the pencil skirt was lovely and hugged your body well, and the blouse accentuated your bodily aesthetics, but it was the tights that really captured his imagination.

In truth, Benoit was fascinated with your nylon wardrobe and could go so far as to say it was somewhat of a sexual preference. A kink. He enjoyed the sleek look they gave your legs, their shine underneath lights. Once, the feel of your stockings in his hand as he held your foot up to aid in fastening one of your heels had set him alight.

Gazing at your legs, folded over one another as you attempted to piece each clue together resentfully, Benoit felt heat rise under his collar. The nude tights you were wearing are perfect, sheen delicate beneath the faux-candelabra light fixtures. There’s not a tear, ladder or hole in sight.

He planned to amend that.

Benoit lifts himself from his seat, skirting the coffee table easily and approaching you with long strides. You momentarily glance up from the clue card in your hand, scowling to yourself as he advances. “So embarrassed with my detective work that you’re retreating to bed, Mr Blanc?”

“On the contrary,” he answers you with a playful lilt to his drawl, slowly sinking to his knees before you, “I intend to stay right here.”

Momentarily, your mind works like an old television with a crooked aerial antenna. Static fizzles between your synapses, and you cannot come up with a retort to Benoit’s cheeky inference.

“Best keep your mind on the case, detective,” he murmurs, palms settling on your ankles and tracing up the sides of your calves, “We wouldn’t want the killer gettin’ away now, would we?”

You swallow thickly, holding the cards with shaking hands as you feel Benoit place a lingering kiss on the inside of your knee. He skirts the tip of his nose up the inside of your thigh, humming softly as he squeezes the meat of your calves in his hands.

Focus. Focus. It couldn’t have been Benoit; he’s rescinded his cards. So, it was one of the Ghost Hands. Blue was suspicious, and you’d already discovered she was carrying a wrench. However, she had a decent alibi… Meanwhile, you had barely anything on Purple.

You roll the dice again, the face showing a two rather than the hand glass you had been hoping for. Gritting your teeth, you attempt to rake over the evidence, only to be interrupted by your vision swimming suddenly.

Benoit’s nose notches against your clit through your tights, his head practically buried beneath the fabric of your skirt. He groans softly, inhaling the scent of your sex. You whimper, the edges of his glasses pressing against the junction of your thigh as he presses a delicate kiss to your slit through your panties.

“Do me a favour, Dear,” he breathes against your thigh, pressing kisses to the nylon fabric. He doesn’t have to state what he wants from you explicitly. Fumbling with clumsy hands, you set the cards down quickly on the armrest and pull the hem of your skirt over your hips to give Benoit better access.

“Much obliged,” he whispers to you, and you can hear the gratuitous smirk playing on his lips. Attempting to ignore him and focus on the cards, you endeavour to read the clue, which is written in plain English. You haven’t yet fully deciphered it, thanks to Benoit’s tinkering.

He has other plans, though, nipping at your skin through the fabric of your tights. You jolt slightly with each bite he gives you, and you can hear him chuckle beneath you.

“Anythin’?” Benoit teases you with a combination of kisses and nibbles trailing up your thigh. It takes a moment for your answer to form on your tongue, toes curling in your heels.

“Mhm- N-Not yet,” you stumble over your words despite your attempt to conceal your evident appreciation for his affections.

“Hmm,” he hums, the rumble in his chest setting your hair on end as he, once again, presses lingering kisses over your panties. “I feel a noose tightenin’.”

Everything inside you freezes, and you’re quick to glance at the miniature weapon icons. The rope lays dead centre of the pile, and you’re forced to reconsider everything. Was Benoit giving you a hint?

Admittedly, you don’t have time to contemplate. As you open your mouth to question him, Benoit sucks on your clit through your panties. Your line of questioning dies in your throat, instead coming out as a strangled ‘Ahhh~’.

As quickly as he offers you the blissful sensation, he’s stealing it away. He pulls back, sitting on his haunches, and you’re blinking back your arousal to see him clearly. “W-Why did you…?”

Benoit hushes you gently with a wicked smile. “I think you should focus on the case.”

Smug bastard.

Filled with the desire for retribution, you cast your eyes back to the clue cards in your hand. They’re slightly creased now due to the tight grip you’re holding them with. You manage to make out the words ‘Name One…’ before a clicking sound pulls your attention away yet again.

The glint of light reflecting off the blade in his hand had your heart seizing. Not in fear, no, but exhilaration. See, Benoit carried the flip knife on his person always. It was less of a weapon for self-defence than a family heirloom, and Benoit never took it out without good reason. Simply asking to see it would not gain you access to the elusive dagger.

Your breath hitches, adrenaline buzzing down your spine.

“Now, hold still,” Benoit insists, impossibly blue eyes gazing up at your face through the lenses of his glasses. You nod quickly, both showing him you are listening and urging him forward with his plan.

You watch as he leans forward, slipping the knife's point into the nylon at your crotch. Utterly motionless, you whimper as your lover pulls the handle upwards and slices through the fragile material with ease.

“Been wantin’ you to keep these fine stockin’s on …” Benoit whispers against your thigh, pressing a kiss to the soft flesh there as he closes the knife with a click and slips it back into his pocket.

“H-Huh?” You tremble beneath his affections, his lips travelling further up the inside of your legs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“Case, Detective,” he replies flatly, sliding the pad of his index finger against your slit through the cotton of your panties, “You’re deducin’ a murder weapon— it’s in plain sight.”

“Right,” you nod dumbly, swallowing back your arousal and glancing at the board. The box said the game was suitable for ages eight and up; surely it shouldn’t be this difficult. There had to be evidence you had overlooked. Your notes are settled on the coffee table, and you venture to decipher the evidence as you take up the booklet with trembling hands.

But then Benoit is hooking his finger inside the crotch of your panties, pulling the fabric to the side and exposing your sex. You almost drop the notepad on his head. “How ‘bout you take me through your notes, Dear Detective?”

You would, God, you absolutely would if you could. However, Benoit’s tongue drags against your slit, and your mind goes numb, buzzing as though it has a pins-and-needles sensation. He hums, amusement lilting his voice as he watches you struggle.

Overwhelmed, you completely forget about the game of Cluedo, tilting your head over the back of the chair and sliding your fingers through the greying man’s hair. The notebook falls from your hand, clattering against the wooden floor but you’re already too far gone to care.

Eager to please you further, Benoit is gripping your thighs, lifting them so they settle on his shoulders. The nylon tights rub against his neck this way, and you’re sure it spurs him on because he slides the flat of his tongue over your clit. It jolts your body forward, and that maddening chuckle sounds between your legs again.

“Now, Darlin’,” he croons, and you’re whining due to the lack of friction already, “You be careful. The killer’ll be gettin’ away.”

You choke on an apology, Benoit burying his face into your cunt and sucking at your clit keenly. He’s swirling your clit with the tip of his tongue, one, two, three times, and then dragging over the seam of your sex to lap up your slick.

Not only was the man eloquent, but he was also persuasive with his tongue. Trembling in your seat, you sob out as your muscles tense against it. Your legs twitch against the shoulders of his suit, and you arch your hips up to grind against his face.

“Detective,” he prompts you, and you suck in a breath like you’re coming up for air after being suspended in water. Your eyes roll back, and you try to focus hard on what it is he’s requesting of you.

“Hngg- B-Blue has a go-good alibi—” you let out an obscene whine, the wet noises of his tongue dragging against your soaked pussy diverting you from the task at hand.

“Mhmm?” He hums, and the vibration has you bucking against his face again, sobbing out his name in a broken whimper.

“A-And I’m not sure about Purple!” You squeak out. God, it’s so messy. You’re soaking his face, and you’re sure you can see your slick glossing up his nose and chin. If you stained the seat, you’re not even sure he’d mind; the blues of his eyes engulfed by the black of his pupils.

It’s a wave of pleasure building, teasing at your abdomen and throbbing through you with each pulse of your heart. You inhale deeply, feeling it tease at the edges of your skin. You’re devastated, overpowered by the ecstasy clawing at the base of your spine— you don’t even notice what it is you’re saying.

"I-I-It was the- ohhhh fuck, Benny~" you sob out, tears rolling down your cheeks, “It’s you— Hgnn fuck!-!”

"Hm? Use your words, dear. You're makin' an accusation, you know. Don't want to slip your words now." He’s entertained by your bewilderment, “Especially when the person you’re accusin’ has given you a damn good alibi.”

You’re so far gone that you’re not even embarrassed that you’d just implicated the one person you could be sure wasn’t the killer. Swallowing sobs, you watch as Benoit circles your clit repeatedly with his tongue, eyes staring straight up at you and watching you come apart.

It all happens so fast. Your toes are curling in your shoes as the cramping sensation of your oncoming orgasm takes hold. One of your shoes falls off and clatters to the floor, and Benoit places the flat of his palm against your pubic bone.

“Oh God-!” You choke out, whining as he continues with the devastating pattern he’s drawing. “I’m gonna— Shit, Benny, it’s—“

He’s nodding without removing his mouth from you as though he’s telling you ’I know’. It’s shoving you right off the edge, those beautiful blue eyes blinking slowly and taking in every inch of the image of ecstasy on your face.

It pulses right between your legs, throbbing against his tongue like a pulse. You scream out his name, all of the muscles in your body tensing so hard that you’re cramping. Your vision goes white, and you’re gripping Benoit’s hair so tightly that you’re surprised you don’t rip any out.

You’re suspended for a moment, and then everything melts away, every inch of your body melting against the plush of the seat. Distantly, you recognise the smile against his lips, pressed to your skin.

“… Who was it?” You slur like you’re drunk on the dopamine he’s just overdosed you on. He laughs heartily, and you can’t help but smile with him.

“Blue.”

“Fuck!” You gasp out, palms covering your face and digging your nails into your hairline. As if! “When on earth did you figure that out, Benny?”

He sits back on his knees, pulling the handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiping his chin and nose to remove the slick you had rubbed onto him. “Mhmm… Why, I figured it out the moment you laid out the cards.”

You scoff now, disjointedly sitting up in your chair. The muscles of your arms are like jelly, and you struggle to raise yourself. “Are you that good that you could tell at first glance?”

Again, a smug smile plays at the edge of Benoit’s lips, his eyes flicking up to your face.

“No… I simply saw the cards you drew.”

END

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[georgiapeach30513]

Closer to Heaven and Closer to You, Part 9

Summary:  Ransom falls in love

Pairings:  Ransom Drysdale X Reader

Rating:  mature

Warnings:  language, mentions of sex, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  5.8K

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*dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

Harlan wakes from his hospital bed to see you lean over on Ransom fast asleep.  While Ransom had been asleep as well, now he was making shapes on the back of your hand that was in his using his thumb.  Soft motions to keep you as cozy and comfortable as possible.  Ransom’s blue eyes move all around your face as he takes you in.  You two were supposed to be watching Harlan, but he was now watching you.

You seem at peace, and ease, even as you lean over on Ransom.  But his grandson was absorbing something he hadn’t felt much of in his life, love.  Ransom was content, but more than that, so much more.  He was falling head over heels in love with a woman.  One who didn’t pursue him, one who hadn’t slept with him after the first meeting, one he hadn’t grown tired of.  

He was treating you like some precious stone.  His hand holding yours gently, while his arm around your shoulders were keeping you warm, and simultaneously bringing you even closer to him and his heart.  The both of you were fools for trying to deny this.  This, that was much more than just physical attraction.  Ransom valued you, and your opinions.  He cherished you, and randomly brought you up in conversation.

Harlan had doubted that Ransom even knew what he was feeling.  Love was a foreign feeling to his grandson.  He assumed he would be confused or repulsed by the emotion, but Ransom was surprisingly embracing it, craving it, and continuing to nurture it.  Ransom didn’t want to wake you, because he didn’t want this moment to end.  

Ransom didn’t even know he had the power to make these moments happen all the time.  He just knew that you were becoming a delicate flower he wanted to protect, and he wanted to bask in your presence.  “Ransom?”

“Shh, please, don’t wake her,” he says, barely audible.

“You two need to go on home.”

“If I wake her,” Ransom’s words get lost in his throat as you snuggle more into his warmth.  You hadn’t had a sleep this good in so long, and your body is refusing to let you wake.

“Son, you don’t have to lose these moments.”

“She deserves so much more than me,” he chokes out.  Looking up at his grandfather he sighs.  He didn’t want to lose you, and also didn’t believe he was worthy enough.

“And you deserve so much more than you allow yourself.  Don’t let them win.”

“Them?”

“Your parents.  Not all marriages are like that.  I wanted more for my daughter, still do.  Her bitterness from her loveless marriage has spilled out onto you, and you don’t deserve that.  I had a beautiful marriage.  One where I adored your grandmother, and would have done anything for her.  Ransom, don’t push her away because you’re scared,” Ransom shakes his head slightly, unsure of how to respond.

“You are scared, because you feel something real.  It’s right there in front of you, and isn’t a fairytale.  She enjoys time with you, and not your money.  She talks with you, and doesn’t ignore you.  She’s stood up against your parents for you, refusing to see your flaws that they are too quick to bring up.  That woman adores you.  Don’t push her away.  Now, go fetch my hospital nurse.  I’m ready to go home, and I’m sure Bunny is more than capable, considering Nurse Pricks-A-Lot burst a vein.”

“Yes, sir,” he takes a final look at you, before sliding you off his shoulder.  Smiling down at you when your eyes stir, and you begin to yawn, sitting up, and immediately look at Ransom with a soft smile.  “The boss is demanding that it’s time to go home.”

“Well, we better get him home then,” home.  Taking Harlan home.  The two of you.  It sounded good, and even better coming off your lips.  “Go on, I’ll see that no one comes in stabbing at his arm again,” you weren’t upset that you had been on Ransom’s arm asleep.  Didn’t even give it a second thought.  Ransom wasn’t sure if it was because you were comfortable enough or because you wanted to be there.  He also didn’t care as long as you were comfortable.

“Get me out of this bed, and help me get dressed.  Grab my shoes, please.”

“Harlan, you have to be discharged first,” Harlan could be one of the most stubborn people.  When he made up his mind to do something, it would be done.

“No, I want out of here.  I can’t fathom having another nurse besides you.  They were horrible.”

“They were fine,” he shows you the deep bruising on his arm, and sure you are lying, but you wouldn’t admit to it while you were in the hospital.  You were too attached to Harlan, and watching them not treat him with the same care you would hurt your heart.  “Fine, they left a lot to be desired, but you still have to be discharged.”

“I want you to stay at the estate.”

“Nope, I have an apartment that is perfectly fine.  It helps me separate work and home,” this has always been your philosophy.  You wanted your home to be your safe space.  

“I want you to move closer to the estate then.  There’s apartments a few miles from me.”

“And those apartments are significantly above my price range.”

“Let me pay the difference,” you shake your head no.  Harlan was persistent and normally got what he was wanting, but you were not going to be some kept woman.  You agreed to a wage, and that was that.  “Then I’m giving you a raise.  I want you closer.”

“No.”

“Fine, I have a small house at the edge of my property.  No one has lived there in years.  It needs work.  It’s quite small.  But it’ll have everything that you need, and even bring you closer.  It’s about the size of your apartment.”

“The small house that sits beside Ransom’s?”

“Now that you mention it.”

“Why do you need me closer?  And is it closer to you or closer to Ransom?”

“I want you closer because I’m scared I’ll collapse again.”

“I’ll make sure that you get enough water.  Dehydration is going to kill you someday.”

“Bunny, I want you closer because you’re alone in this city.  You leave me and sit in a shitty apartment alone, and eat your microwave food that is too high in sodium, and it’s nasty.  Please say yes.  Let me give you more of a social life,” Harlan’s family isn’t what you would call the best of friends.  But Harlan, himself, was such an interesting man.  “How do you know where Ransom lives?”

“When I took you to the Museum of Fine Arts you made a decision to point over to a house, and said, that’s where Ransom lives.  And then pointed at that little house, and said, ‘I own that.  It needs work, but it would be better than a dusty apartment’,” Harlan gives you a little chuckle.  He wasn’t subtle.  “How much work are we talking about?”

“A good clean out.  Really good.  It’s terrible. Was a bit of storage.  But everything works.  I believe.  Come to think of it, you could just live…”

“No.  Fine.  I clean out this house, then what?”

“You don’t have dinner alone.  You enjoy conversation, and you become more than just, Bunny, my nurse.  You become someone that my granddaughter can look up to.  Or someone that my grandson would pay attention to.”

“Quit bringing up Ransom,” it wasn’t that Ransom was bad.  Ransom was good.  Too good, but you didn’t need a man, and you weren’t looking.

“I was referring to the other grandson, Jacob.  He’s the little shit that can’t keep his eyes off his phone.  He lacks social skills of any kind.”

“Wow, he sounds amazing.  I’m glad you told me about him.”

“Plus, I think it’s time for my family to meet the woman that has been taking care of me.  The woman that both me and my grandson enjoy spending time with,” you dramatically roll your eyes at him, grabbing up his clothes for the departure he was determined was right now, “You better stop that.  Deny it all you want, but you and Ransom enjoy time together.”

“Me and Ransom enjoy you.”

“Uh huh,” Harlan gives you a grin, slinging his feet over his bed, “That’s why you two had continued a conversation outside, while I had walked in, and you didn’t even notice.”

“You…you were…you snuck away.”

“Yes, I snuck.  And you and he were giggling.  Ransom Drysdale giggled, and you made that happen.  I was a burden and wasn’t adding to the conversation, I saw myself out for you.”

“Get dressed, before I call you an old man.”

“You better watch your mouth, Bunny.”

“What did she say to you, Harlan,” he wasn’t gone long, but you did miss his face.  No.  You can not get involved.  You are working.  He is the grandson of your employer, and you have sworn off men.  You can not miss him.  He was hardly even gone.  

“That she was going to call me an old man.”

“Well, you are.  I did give her permission to call you that when I wasn’t around.  It is my name for you after all.”

“I didn’t ask for permission though, Drysdale.”

“No, you didn’t,” his eyes roam up and down your body, and you have to turn away.  If he was closer to you, Ransom would feel the heat radiating off your cheeks, and even your chest.  This could not happen.  You can not be openly flirting with Ransom, and not in front of Harlan.  But it flowed, and was natural.  And you liked it.  You liked it too much.

“What does that even mean?” Linda asks, taking a drink of her wine as her eyes stare down the table at you.  You wish you hadn't agreed to dinner with the family.  Even if it was only Linda, Richard, Ransom, and Harlan.  Instead of the many annoying conversations there could be, there was only the one, and Linda had caught what you and Harlan had said.  

“What does that mean?  You’re going back to Montana?”

“It means I’m going home to Montana?”

“We don’t pay you to fly back home.”

“I’m not taking a check, but you don’t pay me anyways,” Linda’s tongue clicks in her mouth, and Harlan gives you a sly smile, while Ransom obviously, accidentally kicks at your foot.  Obviously it was on accident.  “It’s not permanent.  It’s Thanksgiving.”

“My father’s health doesn’t change for the holidays.”

“And Harlan said that I could go.  Again, Linda, with all due respect, you don’t sign my check, Harlan does.  I work for him.  I ask him for time off.  If he needed me, I would stay.  I’m going home to Montana for a week, and I’ll be back by the following Monday.  It’s not that complicated.”

“What’s in Montana anyways, Bunny,” Richard enunciates his words carefully, and you’re not sure what to make of it.  You didn’t even like either of them, and didn’t understand where Ransom could have even come from.  He was nothing like his creepy father or bitchy mother.

“My family.”

“If you enjoyed your family so much why would you move all the way to Boston and land in a relationship with a very wealthy family.  I know you’re the reason that Harlan’s will was changed, you vicious little…” Harlan’s fist slams on the table, and you lift your napkin to lay it down.  You could tell when you weren’t wanted.

“Now that is enough.  She is my guest, and you will treat her with respect,” Linda begins opening her mouth as you stand, “No, you will not utter another word.  She asked for that week off to visit, and I am the one who told her that it was an excellent idea.  That is enough.  Bunny.  Bunny?”

“I’m sorry.  If you’ll excuse me,” you can’t even look at any of them.  You just want to get out of there.  You needed air, and to be away from them.  Walking into one of the sitting rooms, you slump down on a couch.

“Ransom,” lifting your head up, you see Greatnana Wanetta looking at you, pointing.  “Ransom is happy.”

“Wanetta, I thought you had gone to bed.  Do you need help?”

“Ransom.”

“He’s having dinner.  Would you like me to push you in there?” Shaking her head, and motioning you with an arthritic finger to come towards her, you stand, going to her side.  “What is it, Wanetta?”

“Ransom is happy,” she gives you a smile, tapping at your leg.  “I like you.”

“Crazy old woman,” your body stiffens, hearing that slimy voice.  You hated him.  “Wanetta, let the help wheel you to your room.  That’s all she’s good for.  Well,” he snickers, eyeing you up and down.  “Has he actually gotten to taste you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Play coy.  All his girls do.  And trust me, there’s many.  It’s best you not give into him, he’ll only disappoint you.  It’s all he’s good at.”

“It’s you that’s the disappointment.  Wanetta, let's get you to bed,” wheeling her out, and away from Richard, you force yourself not to cry.  It wasn’t Richard’s words.  It was the fact that Richard and Linda hated you.  You had never done anything, and they despised the ground you walked on.  

“Ransom is happy,” Wanetta looks up at you as you open the door to her room, “Because of you.”

“No, he’s not,” she still gives you that sweet smile.  A look that was telling you that she knew something you didn’t know.  “I know he isn’t what Richard and Linda believe him to be.  He’s a good man.  He’s smart, kind to people who deserve it, he’s talented with writing, and yes, he is handsome.  He just…”

“Because of you,” her old body crawls into her bed, reaching out her hand to tap you on your nose.  “There aren’t many.  There’s you.”

“Go to sleep.  I’ll see you sometime tomorrow,” that was of little comfort.  But a tiny bit.  There weren't many girls like Richard liked to often assume.  “Goodnight,” you whisper, closing the door.  Walking towards the side exit of the house, and through the kitchen, but instead find Ransom leaning up against a counter.

“You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?”

“It didn’t seem like I was wanted.”

“After dad came back, he and mom left,” a silence settles between you and Ransom, and you try not to smile.  There was a warmth that radiated off him, and you want to move closer to him to feel it.  You were positive other people did not feel it, but you certainly did.  “I don’t…I don’t want you to leave for the week, but I’m also worried that you’re going to leave and not want to come back.”

“Why would you say that?”

“My family has been less than welcoming to you.”

“You and Harlan haven’t.  I’ll be back in a week.”

“What if I asked you not to go?”

His hand is twitching at his side, and you’re unsure why.  It was a long evening of trying to play nice with people that were the biggest assholes you had ever met.  “Why would you ask me not to visit my family?  Ran, it’s Thanksgiving.  I need to be with my family.”

“You’re the only one that gets to call me that.  I’m sorry about my family.”

“Don’t be.  I know you’re not like them.”

“Please, don’t go.”

“Why?  You haven’t given me a reason why.  I want to go.  I miss them.  I came here to get away, but I left behind so many good things, and most of it was my family.  I needed to come out here for me to learn about me, and to…I ran.  I ran a\way from my current situation.  It was shitty, and I don’t regret coming in here.  But why do I need to stay?”

“I don’t want you to leave me,” you gulp, and he steps closer to you.  Close enough for you to smell his warm, sweet, and still smoky scent that had weaved itself into his cable knit sweater.  A scent that you had been craving since it had lingered on your clothes from the hospital, and it was dizzying.  What was he saying?  “Please, don’t go.”

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t.  You can stay with me, and Harlan.”

“I don’t want to stay here during Thanksgiving,” oh, that pouty face was back.  Why did that face make you want to drop to your knees and beg him for forgiveness?  “And what I mean by that is it’s a family holiday.  I should be with my family and not a job.”

“But,” one more step, and he’s right in front of you, reaching out a hand to touch your forearm, and you go weak in the knees.  “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“What do you mean by saying that?”

“It’s nothing,” he shakes his head, stepping back away from you, and holds out his hand to the door.  “I mean nothing.  You should be with your family.”

“Ran?”

“No, you don’t want to be here with my family.  The others are just as bad as my parents, and if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be here either.”

“You could always — always come to Montana with me?”

“Yeah?” There was that genuine smile.  The one that makes his dimple appear, and his eyes light up.

“Yeah.  Just think about it, okay?” He responds with an okay, and you start to walk towards the door.  Looking back at him one last time.  You weren’t falling.  He was just a friend, and was a good man.  That was it.

“Bunny!” You stop immediately, turning to look at him.  “Would you want to have dinner with me sometime?”

“We just had dinner.”

“No, I mean, just you and me.  Like out.  Together.  For dinner.”

“Like a date?” A smile creeps up on your face, and it was completely against your will.  Your body was overtaking your emotions that you were supposed to be in control of.  But what you do feel is lighter than air.  You hope he doesn’t dance around the question and that he answers you sincerely, because if he doesn’t you’re not sure how you can respond with a yes.  

“Yes,” thank goodness he was honest.  “A date.  Me pick you up.”

“I could walk over there.”

“No.  I can pick you up, and we can go to this really great place called…”

“Longhorn,” Ransom’s mouth turns up in a confused snarl.  “Trust me.  I know you were going to say some Michelin star restaurant.  But I want you to be in my element.  I’m always in yours.  Not everything has to be extravagant and fancy.  It can just be fun.”

“What’s at Longhorn?”

“Steak, chicken, shrimp, a little bit of everything.  And it can be my treat.”

“But I asked you.”

“Fine.  It can be your treat.  Goodnight, Ran.”

“Goodnight, Bunny,” he watches you retreat from the house, walking in the direction of your new home with the biggest grin on his face.  You had said yes.  He had built it up in his head that he didn’t deserve you, and that you would never agree to this.  But you did, and you were happy about it.  Your eyes were gleaming, and you even turn back around for a final gaze at him, and the prettiest smile he had ever seen.

“Ransom, I know you’re new to this son, but it’s cold, and dark,” Harlan peeks his curious little head into the kitchen.  His grandson was beaming from ear to ear.  “Offer to drive her home.”

“Oh, right.  Yes.  Drive her home.”

“And don’t linger.  You go home as well.”

“Yes, okay.  Right.  Don’t overwhelm her.  Don’t make her feel she has to entertain me.  Take her home, and…”

“Go,” Harlan giggles at his grandson.  Pointing out the door to see you use your phone as a flashlight.  “She’s waiting.  Or at least walk with her.  Bid her farewell and let her know you’ll pick her up tomorrow at six.”

“Yes.  Okay,” Harlan loves seeing Ransom at this moment.  He was acting like a child.  Ransom had convinced himself that you would never agree to go out with him, and now you did, and he felt like a little boy.  It was absolutely adorable.  Ransom was falling in love.

You are beautiful.  Ransom had never seen anyone as stunning as you.  He can’t even take his eyes off you.  Hated the drive to the restaurant because he had to keep his eyes on the road instead of you.  But you had turned your body towards him.  You kept your eyes on him, and a nervous hand close to him.  You smiled the whole way to the restaurant, and you are still smiling now.

Watching his every move as he glanced over the menu.  You smiled the entire time.  While he is enjoying sitting across from you, he hates that the table was keeping you too far away from him.  It was overwhelming for him to constantly hear of your life with a good family.  A family that encouraged you, and praised you and your sisters.  But they did a fantastic job of raising you.  They made it near impossible for Ransom not to fall for you.

“How’s the steak?” The giggles.  The way your hand constantly moves from the table to the side of your face, and back to your plate.  It was noisy in the restaurant, but at the same time Ransom felt like there was this bubble keeping the two of you separate from everyone else.

“It’s not bad,” he has the prettiest smile.  You had never seen him smile at anyone like this.  Hadn’t noticed his dimples before you and him had stayed with Harlan the entire time he was in hospital.  He was handsome the moment he walked into your life, but there was this beauty that you feared nobody saw but you.

“How often do you come here?”

“Here, here?” You give him a shrug, and he probes you again.  “I haven’t actually been to this one.  There’s one, not in my hometown, but close enough.  I’d go all the time with friends.”

“Dates?”

“No.  This is my first date to a Longhorn.”

“Why…how — I mean, what brought you to Boston?”

“Well,” you lay down your fork, and take a deep drink.  You aren’t sure how much information you want to divulge to Ransom.  The first date is not the best time to talk about an ex, much less an ex fiancé.  “I ran.”

“From what?” His hand reaches across the table, taking yours in his own, “I won’t judge.  I’ve made mistakes in my past, too.”

“Have you ever been engaged?”

“I’ve never even been in love.”

“I don’t think I have either,” it was shameful.  Yours and Frank’s relationship was volatile, and you aren’t exactly sure how to explain it.  It was like a tornado.  Rushing into your life, and rearranging everything.  And by the time the storm settled you were left with pieces of yourself.  You had finally felt whole and put back together being in Boston, but also so lonely.

“I don’t know if I understand.”

“The proposal was comical, and pretty sure he was doing it as a distraction.  I was in the relationship, and he was in love with something else.”

“Was she a brunette?  Or a redhead?  Maybe blonde.”

“I said something.  I was never going to come first, and I let him get away with so much.  Lost myself in the process.  Lost what it was that I wanted because he wanted to make those decisions for me.  I was always the bad guy, and he was always this great good guy.  Yeah, well, he left to go to his first and only true love, and I told him if he did, that I was gone.  He went anyway, so here I am.”

“How long ago?” Licking his lips, he tries to avoid that pouting face that you were growing so fond of.  

“Well, I’ve been in Boston nearly a year.  I left that day.  Packed up what I had, and was gone.”

“You love Montana,” it wasn’t a question, but you respond with a head nod.  “I’m not going to ask you to stay for Thanksgiving.  But it’s going to be miserable without you here.  It always is.  They’re…I don’t know.”

“They hate me.”

“No, they fear you.  They see the care you give Harlan, not wanting anything in return.  You stayed at the hospital, and didn’t get a paycheck because you weren’t working.  But you didn’t care.  You wanted to make sure Harlan was okay.  They care about his money, his properties, and what he can give them.  They fear you because you have a relationship,” you know where this was going.  Right to that pesky will that Richard and Linda always brought up.

“That will was in the process of being changed before you got here.  But it was revised since you’ve been his nurse as well.  Harlan is getting tired of people waiting for him to die.”

“He’s healthy for his age, and honestly doesn’t need me there everyday.”

“You think he wants a nurse to make sure his health is okay?  No, he wants a companion.  Sometimes I leave and do research for him.  And he’s left with his toxic children.  Nobody comes to visit him on the regular.”

“That’s sad.  They don’t even know what they’re missing.  With you either.  Ransom, you’re a good man,” snorting, he shakes his head.  His hand tries to slip out of yours, but you cling to it without thinking.  Your body is tired of you not leaning into Ransom’s obvious need for touch, you wanted him, and he was starving for you.  “You are.  Harlan thinks so, too.  Harlan’s job is studying human behavior, and he sees this great potential in you.  He adores you.  He’s not the only one.”

“Bunny, I…I don’t know how to date.  I don’t know what love is, and…”

“Neither do I.  But who said that dating equals love?  You start off as casual, and find your way to love or…well, let’s start from the first date.  I enjoy spending time with you.  Not just in Harlan’s study.  I enjoy this, and I would like to do it again.  Go on, look at the bill,” you point at the book that woman had casually dropped off, reading the table and knowing you needed to continue this moment.

“This is a joke right?” You giggle again, and Ransom wants to make you giggle all the time.  Every day.  “We should get dessert.  This isn’t right.”

“It is.  What did you think it was going to be?”

“Normally, this is the price of appetizers and drinks.  No, half an appetizer and one drink.  You’re a cheap date.  I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I enjoyed the food, so I didn’t take offense.  I also don’t really want tonight to end.  But I’m not inviting you to my place to have sex either.  I’m drawing my boundaries.  I don’t want sex right now,” heaven knows that your heart was in your pussy.  You can admit where you went wrong in the relationship with Frank as well.  You were all in the moment he was inside of you.  

“I love that idea.”

Ransom loves it a lot.  A woman that can be upfront and honest.  And if he was being honest, sex too soon made him get bored.  That’s all he wanted after the first time, and he never learns anything about his partners.  Soon they become nothing more than a late night booty call before he doesn't call at all.  You wanted him to wait, but continue on with the conversation.  He liked that a lot.

“Uh,” gasping, you sit up in the bed quickly when an arm goes around your waist.

“What?” Ransom sits up just as fast, looking around the room, already getting in protective mode.  Thinking that something had tried to hurt you.  “What’s wrong?”

“You’re…I thought someone was trying to grab me.  Did we fall asleep talking?”

“Something like that,” he groans looking over to the clock.  “It’s four in the morning.  It had to have been around two when we fell asleep.  I remember looking at the clock at 1:30.  I haven’t slept this good in ages.”

“Me neither.”

“Well, honey Bunny, why don’t you lay back down, and know that it is my arm that’s around your waist.  Only if you want to.  If you don’t, I can head home.”

“We should put something more comfortable on though, right?  Like…would you be offended if I wore…”

“Is this where you ask to wear my sweater, and I sleep in my underwear?” The giggles return, and you nod your head.  Ransom was sure that this was for the movies because it had never happened before.  “Here,” he says, taking his sweater off, and you have to look away. You weren’t expecting all that under the sweaters.  Thick veiny arms, and tits that made you envious.  “I had laser hair removal.”

“I don’t care,” you giggle, twirling your finger, motioning him to turn around.  “Don’t look,” this time a pillow gets tossed to his face, and you quickly pull your own sweater off, trading it for his.  His scent was glorious.  Mysterious and rich, and still had the sweet warmth to it.  You thought it smelled good on him, but you weren’t prepared for the smell to wrap around you like a blanket.  

Standing up, you let your skirt hit the floor, and you pull down the covers, “Underneath them, Ran.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, getting up, and taking off his own jeans.  Sweet lord.  Eyes on his beautiful face.  Eyes up.  Don’t look.  His boxer briefs were begging you to look, and you did a few times.  “I can put the pants back on,” he smirks as his knee hits the mattress.  There was the Drysdale cockiness that he was known for.

“Nope.  No, that would not be comfortable.  I have a pair of sweatpants, but they were his.”

“Do you think I’m too good to wear another man’s pants?”

“It’s just…”

“I’m the one that’s going to get to cuddle you all night long.  I’m not too worried about some ex you had to fly across the country to get away from.  And seeing how I am very tempting for you like this, it might be best for me to wear them, lest we break your rule.  Bunny, you broke up for a reason.”

“Right,” you did break up for a reason.  But Ransom being confident enough to not care that those sweatpants once belonged to Frank was attractive.  It was fucking hot is what it was.  Ransom was the one that was in your bed, and he knew it.  He wasn’t threatened by Frank or your past.  “Let me get them.”

“We can snuggle right?”

“I’d prefer that.”

“Good.  It really has been a long time since I slept that soundly.”

“Me, too.”

“Ransom,” Wanetta lifts a hand up, cupping her favorite grandson’s cheek, smiling at him.  He was so handsome, and reminded her of her husband.  He was a good boy.  “You’re in love.”

“Yeah,” months of dating had taught Ransom not to be shy about his feelings with people that wouldn’t use it against him.  “I’m so in love with her.”

“She loves you.”

“I want to marry her,” his eyes glisten as he watches Greatnana.  He wanted to find someone that he would spend the rest of his life with.  And he did.  “No, I’m gonna marry her.  I can’t keep her here though.”

“Nope.  She loves her home.”

“And she is my home.”

“The mountain air will be good for Harlan,” Wanetta coughs, pointing a tired and withered hand over to her bedside table, “I’ve not got long.  But that is for you.”

“How come you only talk to me and Bunny?”

“It’s for you,” she points again, and he slowly opens the drawer, pulling out a ring box.  He slowly lifts the lid, gawking at the antique engagement ring that once belonged to the woman laying in the bed before him.  “Take her away from here.  Take my son.  Give her the world.”

“We can’t leave you.”

“I don’t have much time left.  This place isn’t good for her, or your relationship.  Make a home in Montana.  You both deserve that.  It’ll be a new adventure for my son.”

“I’m not planning on asking her anytime soon.”

“No, but you will ask eventually.  You’ll know when the time is right.  Just keep that ring safe until then.  It’ll look beautiful on her finger.  Tell Harlan he has my blessing to leave when I’m gone.  Give her the world.  Give her you.”

“You think way too highly of me.  Thank you.  She’ll love this,” Wanetta cups Ransom’s cheek again.  She would never see her favorite person married, but she knew in her heart that you made him so happy.  You made perfect sense.  You had changed him.  Even if his parents wanted to argue that fact.  Ransom allowed himself to become the man he was always meant to be.

“You are her world, Ransom.”

Ransom fights back the tears.  He still didn’t feel he deserved you, but he didn’t want to give you a chance to realize it.  He didn’t want to leave you.  He wanted you forever.  It might not have been love at first sight, but it was an attraction that grew to respect.  

“Build a big house in Montana and have a ranch.  Out there you won’t have them ready to criticize you.”

“I don’t know how to run a ranch.”

“But he does.  That Bucky.  The only one she talks to back home who isn’t family.  Hire Bucky to set it up for you.  A home where you and she can raise your children.  They’ll have a charmed life living in the middle of nowhere.  You’ll hear their giggles as they run through the pasture,” it sounded like heaven.  He knew if he wanted to keep you he had to take you away from here.  

You described Montana as heaven.  But his heaven was being close to you.  If Montana was what you needed, it was what he would give you.  If a cowboy was what you desired, well, he would try to be that cowboy to take you away from here and closer to heaven.  

He had to get in touch with Bucky.  He had to get land bought, a house built, talk to Harlan, and right now, he wanted to find his girlfriend, and remind you how much he loved you.  Love.  Ransom had found it, and he wasn’t going to let anything take that away from him.  He would do whatever you needed from him, and being away from his family sounded like a heaven all of its own.  

“Ransom, remember,” Wanetta taps on her own nose, watching her grandson try and figure out his plan.  “You are her world.”

“And she’s my heaven.”

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season​ @marveloustaylortot​ @pono-pura-vida​ @sstan-hoe​ @softsatnin​ @missusbarnes-rogers​ @peaches1958​ @seitmai​ @smile1318​ @andydrysdalerogers​ @cjand10​ @patzammit​ @lavender-annd-lilac​ @midnightramyeoncraving 

[wolverton]

VIRGIN MARGARITA

by tenderising & wolverton

T | Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter + Benoit Blanc/Phillip | WIP

SUMMARY:

Somewhere in Cuba at the height of summer, a man is missing and with him, a special cocktail recipe that divided the populace. The world-renowned detective Benoit Blanc is on the case with his part-time sidekick and full-time husband Phillip. On the other side of town, Hannibal Lecter—who does not yet know he is about to become a murder suspect, but would not find it all that surprising if he did—is beginning to experience the consequences of his actions in unprecedented ways. The love of his life, Will Graham, claims that karma waits for no one.

Summer domestics in the heart of Cuba, a murder mystery, and crack that is only occasionally treated seriously, brought to you lovingly in collaboration with @tenderising <3

READ ON AO3

[missuhmisery]

meg thrombey headcannons

bcs her closet is glass and she’s so gorgeous!! fem!reader but it’s rlly ambiguous sooo??

her love language is gift giving!! she mostly gives you jewellery and you two match rings<3

you get on with joni very well (bcs if she wasn’t supportive she’d get cancelled but COUGH COUGH) and she’s SOOO FUNNY but unintentionally

meg is a very good cook and makes you dinner every time you come over. her favourite thing is to bake your favourite kind of baked good.

you met her in college and you get into friendly debates all the time

she’s protective as fuck and defends you against her family when they get mouthy at you (especially jacob)

she reads a lot but is ashamed of it. you buy her books for every occasion and she writes a lot in margins.

she can go on long rants when you are alone together and it’s so endearing

she likes to wear your clothes and steals your jumpers especially all the time!!

she can play guitar and taught herself through youtube videos when she was 13. she is embarrassed of it though and won’t play it for you unless you beg her (then she will because she has a massive soft spot for you)

she says i love you first and spent a long time deciding when was the right moment.

she’s a strong advocate for midi rings. you never wore them until she told you how good they look over and over and forced you to wear hers.

she also makes you swap rings frequently. it’s how joni found out there was something going on.

can you tell i like her rings yet!?

she procrastinates her school work but gets it done so quickly it impresses you.

her perfume is burberry her because linda gifted it for christmas and she hasn’t looked back since.

okay that’s it for now but i’ll probably write more and with more clear fem!reader and also masc!reader probs

love u <3

[lettalady]

A Turn of the Knife: 18 - I'll only hurt you if you let me

[ alternatively titled: frustration ]

With your obligation to the gallery finally fulfilled, you tap out a message to Ransom, smiling to yourself as you step from the curb.

          Heading back to the hotel.

Granted, he’d told you to call when you were ready for a distraction. The offer to take your mind off the unexpected encounter with your family was – well, it was likely rooted in his boredom with his surrounding environment. He’d already claimed to have worked his way through the staff, after all.

You note the – read – receipt on your early warning message before switching your focus to getting from point A to point B in one piece. T-minus 10 minutes till you’re on your back with his voice in your ear, pushing you towards the edge.

[ read more on AO3 ]

[whorror-barbie]

Hmmm I'm in the mood to write some random Drysdale fanfic for some reason.

[krirebr]

More Than This 1

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

Word Count: ~4.1k

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: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, a very brief conversation about the possibility of abuse, explicit language, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

A/N: And here we go! A huge thanks to @drabblewithfrannybarnes for helping me nail down some of the worldbuilding details and @paperweight91 for reading so much of this and especially telling me how to fix the scene that refused to be fixed. You're both the best!!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

It was uncommon to be called to your stepfather’s office. The high rise on the edge of Studio City had housed the heads of his family since the silent film era, give or take a remodel and expansion or five. You’d only been here a handful of times, mostly left out of the family business. When his assistant opened the door for you, you were surprised to see a small group of people, all in expensive business attire, surrounding your stepdad, Joseph Rogers, at his desk. Even more surprising was the figure standing in the corner, staring out the window – your mother. 

“Mom?” you asked, unable to hide your confusion. She just gave you a tight smile in return and turned her attention to her husband.

“Sweetheart,” he called to you. It’s what he’d called you since you’d first met him as a child and it had always felt patronizing and empty. You were well aware that you were an annoyance he’d been saddled with when he’d married your mother for her late first husband’s connections. Eighteen years later, you wished he’d drop the pretense already. “Please, have a seat,” he gestured to the leather chair in front of his large oak desk. 

You sat down across from him. “What’s going on?” you asked, an uneasy feeling building in your gut.

“Congratulations are in order,” he said, smiling at you. “You’re engaged.”

Years of experience at bullshit industry and society parties had you pasting on a benign smile. This was your fourth, no fifth engagement, the first one dating all the way back to when you were 10. They’d all dissolved for one reason or another, the business arrangements at the heart of them disintegrating too. But looking around the room at all the extra people in attendance, you knew better than to dismiss this outright. You were older now. Many of your friends from school had found themselves married as part of business deals in the last few years. Love matches were uncommon in the circles you frequented. There wasn’t much patience for love when this much money was at stake. But still, just because it was expected, that didn’t make you any more ready for your turn. 

“That’s wonderful,” you said, putting all your effort into keeping your tone even. “May I ask whom I’m engaged to?” 

“Ransom Drysdale,” Joseph said. “He’s the grandson of Harlan Thrombey, the mystery writer. We’ve been trying to secure the movie rights to his works for years and this should finally cement it. It’s fantastic news for our family and this studio. The joining of our families should create many opportunities for all of us. Ransom is one of the most eligible bachelors in Boston. You should feel very lucky.”

Lucky was the last thing you felt right now, but you kept your face schooled as you ran through your mental Rolodex to try to figure out if you had any social connections to this man. The fact that he lived on the other side of the country made it less likely but not impossible. 

“So,” he continued, sliding a stack of papers across his desk to you, “all you need to do is sign and initial the contract where it’s marked, and we can get started finalizing the details for the wedding next month.”

At that, all your poise disappeared and the smile dropped off your face. “Next month?”

Joseph nodded. “It’s important to strike while the iron is hot with deals like this. So go ahead and sign so that we can all move on to the next stage.”

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. This was happening. This one was real. “Shouldn’t I read it first?” you asked, somewhat desperately.

He shook his head, “No need,” he said, gesturing to the man you recognized as one of the family lawyers standing beside him. “Julian has already gone through it with a fine-toothed comb. All of our interests are well represented. It’s all in legalese anyway. Impossible to understand if you aren’t a lawyer.” He chuckled and many of the people standing around the desk, staring at you, joined him. 

“I just–” you stammered. You didn’t know what to do, but you knew you couldn’t pick up that pen.

Irritation bloomed on your stepfather’s face. “Lydia!” he called. 

Your mother stopped staring out the window and stepped up to your chair. “Honey,” she said gently, putting her hand on your back. “This will be such a good thing. And then we can get to all the fun parts of planning the wedding!” She picked up the pen and held it out to you. You took a moment to look at her. Her features were drawn and her eyes looked exhausted. She’d looked that way as long as you could remember. It did nothing to reassure you. 

You glanced at the door behind you. You knew you weren’t getting out of this room without signing the contract. You took a deep breath and took the pen from your mother. There was nothing else to do. No other choice. You quickly flipped through the papers, initialing where indicated and signing the last page. Your hand was shaking so badly you weren’t sure any of it was legible.

When you turned over the last page, Joseph clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” He took a large binder off the desk and passed it over to you. “We’ve put some information together for you on your new fiance. Ransom will be in town next week to take you to dinner so that the two of you can get to know each other. Now, I’m sure you want to go celebrate, so we won’t keep you any longer.”

At the clear dismissal, you stood up. Many people in the room offered their congratulations and you nodded to them, forcing a strained smile. Then you made your way out on shaky legs, needing to see the one person who might be able to help you process what had just happened.

You’d been six years old when you and your mother had moved into the Rogers mansion. You were terrified, already able to sense Joseph’s indifference towards you. But your comfort during that time, and all the time after, had been his son, Steve. Twelve years old, still reeling from the death of his mother and just as deeply lonely as you, he’d named himself your protector, shielding you from his father’s annoyance and your mother’s sorrow. He guarded you from monsters when you woke up in the middle of the night after a nightmare and would stare down your bullies on the playground. You were very quickly inseparable. 

When you became engaged the first time when you were ten, sixteen-year-old Steve had taken you out for ice cream, telling you not to worry too much, there was so much time before anything would happen and that everything would be ok. When the arrangement had fallen apart, he’d hugged you and whispered in your ear, “See? I’m always right.”

That was the memory you couldn’t stop thinking about as you let yourself into your stepbrother’s apartment, using the key he’d given you on the day he’d moved in. He wasn’t in his front room, so you moved all the way to the back, to the spare room he used as an art studio. You lightly knocked on the doorframe as you entered, trying not to startle him. He was standing with his hands on his hips, staring at a half-finished painting, but looked over his shoulder as soon as he heard you. There was a warm smile on his face, but it dropped as soon as he took in your expression. “What happened?” he asked as you flopped down onto his couch.

“I think I might be really fucked, Steve,” you said quietly, your hands still shaking. You couldn’t get them to stop.

“What happened?” he asked again, more forcefully this time, as he dragged a chair from the corner of the room so that he could sit right across from you.

“Your dad, he–” You stopped and shook your head. Steve’s face darkened. “I’m engaged,” you said with a helpless shrug.

“Okay,” he said evenly. “That might not be the most dire thing. You’ve been engaged before. Nothing ever comes of it.”

You sighed. “They’ve set a date this time.”

“Oh,” was all he could say at first, surprise on his face. “That’s new.”

“Yeah.” you nodded. “A month from now.”

That had Steve sitting up straight. “The hell?!”

“It’s happening this time. I can feel it.”

“Hey, no,” he said, reaching out to touch your arm. “Let me try to talk some sense into him. Buy you some time. He might listen to me.”

You shook your head. “Everything’s already signed. They made me sign. I don’t think there’s any getting out of it.”

“He give you a name?”

“Ransom Drysdale.”

Before he was able to stop himself, Steve grimaced.

“Fuck,” you muttered, briefly covering your face with your hands.

“No, it’s– I’ve only met him once or twice, ok? I don’t actually know anything about him.”

“But you don’t like him.”

“He’s–” Steve paused, clearly trying to find the words that wouldn’t upset you even more, “a strong personality.” He looked at you carefully. “And he’s older than you. Older than me, even.”

“I know,” you sighed, reaching for your bag and taking out the folder. “They gave me this.”

You handed it to Steve and he paged through it. “This is intense. Do you think they gave him one about you?”

You shrugged. “Dunno. Probably. Can’t imagine it says anything interesting.”  

Steve nodded, seriously. “It’s probably pretty thin. Just the story of that time you completely freaked out when you weren’t allowed to bring Mr. BunBun to school with you.”

You grabbed the pillow next to you and hurled it at him. “You’re such a dick!” you laughed. “I’m very upset!”

He batted the pillow back at you and cackled when it hit you in the chest. “He deserves to know the kind of person he’s marrying. The kind who throws a five-alarm tantrum when she’s separated from her stuffed bunny.”

“I was eight, asshole!” You laughed again but then your brain caught on something Steve had said. “Holy shit, he’s marrying me. I’m getting married. I don’t know anything about him. He could be anyone. You don’t even like him! He could hurt me and–” 

“Hey, no!” Steve interrupted quickly. “I might not know much, but I know that. He won’t do that. I’m sure of it. And if he ever even tried, I’d be there so fast. They’d never find his body.”

“Will he be kind to me?” you asked quietly. He opened his mouth to say something, but you stopped him. “Be honest with me. Please.”

He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” you said, trying so hard not to cry, “I guess at least now we know exactly how your dad feels about me.”

Steve closed his eyes and quietly said your name. When he opened them, there was a resolved look on his face that was painfully familiar. His ‘I’m going to fix this’ face. He was intractable when he got like this. He set his jaw. “I’m going to talk to Dad.”

You shook your head. “Steve.” Your stepfather was just as intractable as his son. This would only result in a shouting match that wouldn’t go anywhere.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said resolutely.

All you could do was say “OK,” with a wan smile, knowing it was a lie. You lay down on the couch and curled up on your side. “Do you mind if I stay here for a bit?”

“Of course not. Lola good on her own for a while?”

You nodded. Your little dog was probably asleep in her kennel. “Yeah, for a while.”

“Do you mind if I keep working on this?” he asked, gesturing to his painting.

“I like watching you paint,” you said, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of something you’d done since you were small.

He stood up and turned back to his easel, and you did your best to focus on watching him paint and not think about how, if this went through, you’d have to move to Boston and you wouldn’t get to have this time with your brother anymore.

As expected, Steve’s talk with Joseph yielded no results when it came to your future. The only thing it seemed to have any effect on was their own relationship, Steve announcing to you that he was no longer speaking to his father the next time you saw him. You hadn’t expected anything else.

For your part, you spent the next week vacillating between going overboard preparing for your first meeting with Ransom—pouring over your folder on him, making salon appointments, shopping for a dress that would make the right impression—and pretending your problems didn’t exist. As such, the day of the dinner still snuck up on you. You were a nervous wreck. 

The plan was for him to pick you up at your apartment, but an hour before he was supposed to arrive, you got a text from an unfamiliar number telling you to meet him at the restaurant instead. 

So now you sat at the table, alone, in a new dress with your hair done. You’d arrived ten minutes early, and he was now 20 minutes late. You took a deep breath, staring at the empty seat across from you. He would show up. He had to. 

Another ten minutes passed and, as you waived off the server for a third time, you let yourself consider what it would mean if your future husband had stood you up. You should go. It’d be pathetic to stay. And even if he did show up after you’d gone, it’d make a point. Show you had a backbone. You should definitely go.

Just as your hand began to inch toward your handbag on the table, the hostess came through, leading a tall, handsome man to your table. She stopped beside you and then ducked away. The man looked at you critically. He said your name like a question and, when you nodded, he sat down. He didn’t introduce himself, but he could only be Ransom. 

He was dressed nicely in an expensive sweater and slacks, but much more casually than you were and looking around the restaurant than most of the other people there, too. And when he sat down, you could see the places in his sweater where it was threadbare or torn. You tried very hard to not take it as a sign of how he felt about this dinner, felt about you.

You cleared your throat to say something, you weren’t entirely sure what when he glanced at your glass of water. “You don’t drink?”

“No, I do,” you said, but when he smirked you realized how that sounded. “I can,” you amended, but that sounded odd too. “I mean, I don’t have anything against it. I was just waiting for you.”

He snorted. “Well, aren’t you polite?”  His tone made it feel like the worst thing you could possibly be. He flagged down the server and ordered a glass of the Macallan 18, then huffed impatiently while you asked questions about their wine selection. You didn’t know how he could be half an hour late and make you feel bad for taking your time ordering. 

Once you’d finally made your choice and the server left, you tried not to squirm as he gave you a once-over with his eyes. You felt disappointing without really knowing why. You tried to shrug off the feeling, but then Ransom said, “How old even are you?” with scorn in his voice.

You cleared your throat. “Twenty-four,” you tried to say with confidence.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

You did your best not to shrink in on yourself. Maybe he was just nervous too. It was a weird situation. But, “Didn’t they tell you about me?”

He snorted again and rolled his eyes. “Gave me a whole binder. I never opened it.”

You looked down at your empty place setting, embarrassed. You’d studied every inch of what they’d given you, hoping to show him how seriously you were taking this and he couldn’t care less. “Oh,” was all you were able to say. 

He grinned a little meanly. “You got one too, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you’ve memorized facts about me that you were ready to rattle off to impress me.”

“No,” you growled out. You weren’t going to let him make you feel small just for trying to show interest in the person you were going to have to spend the rest of your life with.

He swiped one hand over his mouth and chin. “My god,” he muttered, “this whole thing is fucking ridiculous.”

The waitress came back and set down your drinks. Ransom immediately took a large gulp of his scotch. You itched to do the same, but you suddenly felt like proving a point. Even if you weren’t entirely sure what that point was. 

You were ready to order, but Ransom hadn’t glanced at his menu yet. Just as you were about to ask for a few more minutes, he said, “Go ahead and bring me another one of these right away,” and gestured with his drink in dismissal. She nodded and left.

Fuck it, you let yourself take a large drink of your wine. “Do you know what you’re going to have?” you asked, nodding to his menu.

He shook his head. “I have dinner plans after this.”

Heat shot through your whole body. “I thought these were the dinner plans.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Getting a head start on the nagging?” he asked, dryly. “Wow, it’s like we’re already married.”

You opened your mouth to do something, you weren’t sure what. Everything in your mind had gone white. But once again, Ransom beat you to it. “Alright, let’s get this done. You’re moving into my house. Fine. But I already have everything we need, so I expect you to pack light. I don’t need your shit cluttering up everything.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know how to have a conversation with him. Someone who left no room for you and seemed not to care at all about anything you had to say. And then there was the voice in your head that kept shouting about how incredibly important this dinner was to the rest of your life. And now it wasn’t even dinner. So when you opened your mouth to speak, what came out was, “I have a dog.”

He stared at you for a moment, seemingly surprised that you’d spoken at all. “What? No. Absolutely not. You’ll have to get rid of it. I hate dogs.”

You didn’t even bother to try to think through the static in your head. “She’s coming with me. I don’t care what else happens, I’m fucking bringing my dog.”

Ransom just narrowed his eyes and stared at you for a moment, then, “Fine. Just keep it away from me. And if it destroys my house, you’re getting rid of it. I’m serious.”  

“She won’t,” you said, as sure of that as anything. “She’s a good girl.”

“Whatever,” he said, as the server returned with his second drink. He slid his empty glass to the end of the table, then said, “The bill,” without looking at her. As she took his empty away, he continued to you, “I don’t know why you want to deal with a dog and a baby, but…” he shrugged.

You just blinked at him, trying to catch up with the massive leap he’d just taken. “Baby? What? Who said anything about a baby?”

He laughed, loudly. “Oh my god, they didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” you asked, harshly, panic starting to build up in your chest. 

“Of course, they fucking left that to me. There’s a clause in the contract,” he said, “requiring you to get pregnant with my child within the first year.”

You stared over his shoulder, you couldn't look him in the eye, horrified and speechless. You couldn’t breathe. How were you supposed to breathe?

“You seriously didn’t read your own marriage contract?” The judgment in his tone had you shrinking in on yourself. You couldn’t help it.

“They didn’t give me any time,” you said, quietly. “They just made me sign it.”

“And you always do what you’re told, don’t you? Yeah, you look like a good girl.” He said it the same way he’d called you polite when he’d first sat down with you. Like it made you weak. Stupid. You’d never thought so before, but now you wondered if he was right.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

He chuckled humorlessly. “We agree on that,” he said. “This whole thing is fucked.”

At some point, without your notice, the server had returned with Ransom’s card and the receipt. He signed it quickly, then stood up. “Listen, now, at least, we can go back to our parents, tell them we met, chatted, got to know each other. Everything is hunky dory. And then do whatever we want for the next three weeks. Right now, I’m going to try to salvage my night. You go do,” he gestured vaguely at you, “whatever you need to do. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

And then he was gone and you were alone.

You sat in the back seat of the car on the way back to your apartment, running over every moment of your evening. You kept thinking about the way he’d looked at you, talked to you. A baby. You were supposed to have a baby with him. A child that you’d have to raise. By yourself, judging by how invested in all this he seemed to be. Forty, fifty years of him looking at you like that, talking to you like that. And a baby. You leaned forward and asked the driver to take you to your parents’ house instead. 

Once you arrived, you said you needed to speak to your stepfather urgently and were shown to his study. You stood in the middle of the room, too anxious to sit down, and waited. Everyone was making you wait tonight. 

Several minutes later, Joseph finally came in. “We weren’t expecting you tonight,” he said. “How did it go?”

You ignored his question, which you guessed was an answer in itself. “Please don’t make me do this,” you pleaded. 

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, disappointed, and moved over to his bar, pouring himself two fingers of decanted whiskey. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“It was. It was awful. He’s– I can’t do this. Please, please don’t make me.” Your voice broke, but you couldn’t be embarrassed about it, not when you were staring down an entire lifetime with him. 

“Everyone gets nervous before their wedding. You’ll be fine. This is important. To all of us.”

“It’s not nerves!” You were close to shouting, suddenly. “You weren’t there. You don’t know. There have to be other families we need things from. It doesn’t have to be this family, does it? It doesn’t have to be right now. Please, please, anything else. I’m begging you, don’t make me marry him, have a child with him.”

He chuckled lightly. ���Oh, that’s what this is about. It won’t feel as scary once the baby is here. You’ll make an excellent mother.”

You just stared at him, agape. He wasn’t listening to anything you had to say. “How could you not tell me that was part of the contract? I deserved to know. I wouldn’t have signed!”

His face hardened at that. “You were naive to not expect it. Of course, children are part of this. I admit that the timing is a little fast, but Harlan insisted.”

“Joseph, please listen to me. I can’t. I can’t. Please. If you care about me at all, you won’t make me do this.”

“You’re being ridiculous. It’s done. Everything’s signed. You signed. Now,” he said and took a drink, “it’s getting late. It’s high time you went home. Hopefully, you’ll be able to calm yourself down there.” And then he left the room, ignoring you as your whole world fell apart.

As you left, you passed your mother in the hall. Neither of you said anything.

When you got home, Steve was waiting for you, having already let himself in, holding Lola in one arm. “How did it go?” he asked seriously. You shook your head and finally let the tears fall. He pulled you into his arms, smushing you against your dog, and gently guided you into your home.

Part Two

Tag list is open

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@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

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[jay-wasstuff]

Fanfic authors after seeing the 10 second cameo

[dbnightingale24]

First, I want to thank everyone who has read, reblogged, or supported my stories. It means more than I’ll ever be able to put into words, truly. Without you all, I wouldn’t feel confident in launching my Patreon page! I’ll still post fanfics, but I’ll also be taking requests, and posting original stories. I hope you all will follow along, and continue to enjoy my stories! Thank you so much; you’ve given me the confidence I needed to do this. I love you!

Here’s the link if you’d like to follow along:

https://www.patreon.com/user?u=113976020&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator

(It’ll be more official soon!)

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[nicoline1998enilocin]

Fluffcember Day 14 | Popping your cherry

Pairing | Roommate!Experienced!Ransom Drysdale x Roommate!Virgin!Fem!Reader

Word count | 1.9K

Summary | You're just coming home from the worst date, but it's good that your roommate, Ransom, is there to cheer you up. After a long talk with him, you confess you've only been looking for someone willing to take your virginity, and that's when Ransom steps in and is more than happy to help you do just that.

Rating | Mature (M)

Warning(s) | Use of a pet name (Sweets), soft!Ransom, Reader's age is mentioned once.

Angst | Light angst, Reader went on a bad date.

Smut | Taking virginity, fingering, protected sex, lots of praise.

A/n | This one-shot is written for day 14 of my Fluffcember 2023 Challenge. I always have a blast when writing for Ransom, so I can't wait to see what you all think of this! Thank you to @ccbsrmsf1 for proofreading this one 🎄

Events Masterlist | Roommate AU | @buckys-wintersoldier Masterlist | Date gone wrong | @anyfandomkinkbingo

Banners: @vase-of-lilies | Divider: @firefly-graphics | GIF credit: The owner

Main Masterlist | Ransom Drysdale Masterlist | Read on AO3

Honestly, you're not entirely sure where you went wrong during your date because you were having fun. More than him, apparently.

Because when you offered to go to one of your places, he made a weak excuse about his cat or something and stormed off.

So now, here you are, in a taxi back to your apartment, still frustrated that seemingly no one wants to help you with your problem.

You're about to finish college, and you're still a virgin. Of course, there's nothing wrong with that in and of itself, but you feel like you've been missing out on a fantastic experience based on how everyone around you always talks about it.

What you should have seen, however, is that the one person closest to you is more than willing to help you out if you ask. Your roommate, Ransom, has been there each time to pick you up after your dates have gone wrong, and it's killing him.

''Hi Sweets, how was it?'' Ransom asks as you walk in the door, but you're too ashamed to tell him how it went. Again.

Instead of answering Ransom, you storm off to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you before slipping off the sad excuse you call a dress and putting on some sweats and one of Ransom's sweaters.

When your hair is in a messy ponytail, and your make-up is off, you let yourself fall onto the bed with a loud sigh, and as if he could sense it, Ransom knocks on your door.

''Can I come in? I brought your favorite tea,'' Ransom says, his voice soft and gentle, which warms you from the inside. Despite that, you want to curl up into a ball, never to be seen by anyone ever again.

''Go away!'' you say, and keeping yourself from breaking down is challenging. Tears are fighting their way out, and you manage to slap your hand over your mouth to stifle the worst of the sob.

''Alright, I'm coming in,'' he says, swinging the door open, quickly walking over to your bed and putting the cup of tea and a small bowl of your favorite chocolates onto your nightstand.

''Hey, what's going on? C'mere,'' he says as he sits on your bed and pulls you into his lap. He's seated with his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out in front of himself.

His left hand is resting on the side of your head as you cry with long sobs against his chest, his right hand rubbing soft circles on your waist and hip to calm you down a little bit.

''It's okay, Sweets, I'm here with you. You're okay,'' he whispers in your hair as he keeps placing soft kisses in your hair to reinforce his words, effectively calming you down.

After nearly 30 minutes, you've finally calmed down enough, and you wipe your cheeks with the back of your hands, sniffling a few times before removing your head from his chest and looking at him.

''Hi beautiful girl,'' Ransom says with a soft smile and a twinkle in his eyes. Even when you feel like an absolute mess, he thinks you're the most beautiful woman on earth, and he's lucky that you're here in his arms.

''I'm not beautiful,'' you mumble, but Ransom laughs softly, his white teeth exposed as you hear the chuckle escape his lips.

''You are beautiful, Sweets. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and that says a lot because I have seen many of them. But none of them compare to you and your beauty,'' he tells you.

He strokes a few loose hairs behind your ear, and his knuckles slide over your jaw as he pulls his hand back. He leaves a trail of goosebumps behind, and a shiver runs down your spine.

''Are you willing to tell me what's on your mind?'' he asks, his eyes shooting from yours to your plump lips and back. He can never get enough of your beauty, and he will always get lost in the color of your eyes.

''Men are stupid,'' you say as you let yourself drop against his chest again, with a deep sigh this time. His arms wrap around you, and you pull your knees up to your chest so he can hold you close.

''Except you, of course, you're not stupid,'' you quickly say, and Ransom chuckles.

''I'm glad you said that; I almost started to worry!'' he jokes, a genuine laugh forming deep inside his chest, once again warming you from the inside out.

''This guy I went on a date with is stupid, though,'' you sigh, and Ransom tilts his head to look at you with a quirked brow, wondering for more information.

''I was asking if we should go here or to his place because I enjoyed myself, and I thought he did too, but he made up some shitty excuse about his cat, and here we are…'' you tell him, and Ransom pulls you a little tighter to his body.

''His loss,'' Ransom shrugs, and you sigh again as you cuddle up into his chest, reveling in his warmth. You found yourself in your happy place, and you're not planning on going any time soon.

''Sweets? Why do you go on so many dates to begin with? It's just curiosity, not judging you or anything,'' Ransom asks later that night.

You two have moved to lay under your duvet, and your head is lying on his chest, where you can hear his steady heartbeat. Your hand splayed out over his abdomen, your leg thrown over his.

His left arm is wrapped around you and is on your ribcage, moving slowly up and down with your breaths. His other arm is folded underneath his head, and he stares at the ceiling as his thoughts go a mile a minute.

''Well, everyone keeps telling me how amazing it was to lose their virginity at 16 years old and stuff, and here I am, nearly 26 and still a virgin! So, well... I've figured I'd take matters into my own hands, but so far, no one has been willing to do it...'' you sigh out, shutting your eyes tightly as you're trying not to be so embarrassed.

''Huh,'' Ransom mumbles. It takes a little while to come up with an idea, and he hopes you'll also be into it.

''What about me?'' he suddenly asks, and your head shoots up to meet his gaze.

''What about you?'' you ask, though you're pretty sure you know what he's getting at with his question.

''If you're sure you want to lose your virginity, I am more than okay with doing that. But only if you are, too. If not, we can drop it and never talk about it again,'' he tells you, but that isn't necessary.

''A-are you... I mean... You'd do that for me?'' you ask, a little unsure now, but the more you think about it, the more it makes sense. There's no one in your life who you'd trust more than Ransom.

''Of course, Sweets. I'd do anything for you,'' he tells you before he guides you off of him, and he crawls over you, effectively caging you in.

''Ransom, please...'' you beg softly, and that's all he needs to know what you want. He leans down, capturing your lips with his in a soft, gentle kiss that takes your breath away, and you need more.

Your tongue slides over his bottom lip, and he opens his mouth to grant you access, your hand sliding into his hair to pull him impossibly closer.

His lower half is leaning on yours, and you can feel how hard he is right now as he's throbbing in his pants from the anticipation of what's about to happen. He'll be your first; after this, he plans never to let you go.

You moan softly as his hips start rolling against yours, and Ransom can't help but smile into the kiss before letting go and sitting on his knees, looking at you.

''I need words before I move on, Sweets. Because I need you to know that if we go through with this, you'll be mine, and I'm not letting you go. If you want me to stop at any point, you can tell me, and we can stop, no strings attached,'' he tells you, but you want him. Now.

''Yes, Ransom. Please take my virginity and make me yours. All I want is to be yours,'' you tell him, now almost getting impatient.

Within no time, you're both completely bare, and Ransom has sunk two of his long, thick fingers into your entrance, moving slowly to get you adjusted to the size of them.

''R-Ransom, I'm close!'' you tell him as he curls his fingers, the tension inside you building more and more, ready to snap. All you need is for him to give some love to your clit, and you'll fall over the edge, but he wants you to say it.

''What do you need, Sweets? Tell me, and I'll let you come,'' he says with a mischievous smile, and you groan in response.

''Need you to rub my clit!'' you tell him, and he obeys immediately, making you fall over the edge almost instantly.

''Look at you cumming for me; look so good for me, Sweets. Such a good girl,'' he grumbles out, and it only makes you even more horny, needing to feel him inside you.

Ransom grabs a condom from seemingly out of nowhere, but you're not thinking about that. All you're focused on right now is how big he is because it doesn't even stand up against his abdomen from how heavy and large it is.

It's amazing. And about to fit all inside you.

''Are you ready for me, Sweets? I'll go slow, I promise,'' he says as he leans forward after putting the condom on, capturing your lips with his as he lines up with your entrance.

''Yes, Ransom, I'm ready,'' you tell him, and your hands are on his biceps, squeezing softly when you feel his tip. It's a strange but pleasurable feeling, and the groan leaving Ransom's throat tells you everything you need to know.

Slowly but surely, he thrusts into you, keeping his gaze on your face at all times, ensuring that if you're hurt, he'll stop immediately. It's a good thing there's nothing but pleasure visible on your face because you're somewhere north of heaven right now.

With a loud moan, you feel him slide into the hilt, and your back arches, pressing your chest against his. You've never felt so full but never want this feeling to end.

''R-Ransom, it feels so good,'' you tell him, and he can't help but smile because he feels the same. He has never felt so damn good before.

When you've gotten used to feeling him inside you, he slowly starts to move, hitting your sweet spot after a few experimental thrusts, and it has you seeing stars. You wrap your legs around his hips, effectively pulling him even closer.

''You feel so good around me, Sweets, such a perfect, tight pussy for me to ruin,'' he growls in your ear, making you moan in response. It doesn't take long for both of you to cum, and when he's done, he pulls out carefully to let himself fall to the side.

''How're you feeling, Sweets?''

''Perfect,'' you tell him with a lovesick grin. It was everything you dreamt of and more. It was heaven.

[georgiapeach30513]

Kinktober 2023, Day 5

We Don't Need No Thought Control

Summary: Ransom could always block out others thoughts. It never bothered him. Never was an issue until you. A student that not only tested his nerves daily, but one that had the most salacious thoughts in her head. If you wanted to be used so much, you could just say it out loud. He definitely gets off on punishing you. It’s what you deserve.

Pairings: Ransom Drysdale X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, mind reading, teasing, female masturbation in public, degradation, age gap, teacher/student, mentions multiple of multiple partners, bondage, unprotected sex, PIV sex, blindfold, creampie, implied snowballing, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1.9K

Previous

Series Masterlist

Ransom looks back out to the class, trying to skip over your face. Why were your thoughts so loud? It was a burden hearing people’s voices, but yours were screaming. You weren’t paying attention to anything he was teaching, but your thoughts were on him. Little minx.

You were about as filthy as the books you always had with you. Your brand of porn. Age gaps and professors, and he was your current fantasy. How you needed life to imitate art. The scenarios you thought had him wanting to sin and go against his moral code. On the outside you looked like this sweet and innocent young lady. On the inside you were so fucking deviant. You wanted to be used.

You wanted not just Ransom to use you, but to bring in Ransom’s friends, while you sweetly cooed, “Yes, Professor Drysdale,” just before your mouth was stuffed full of cock.

Filthy. Disgusting. And Ransom wanted your body sticky with sweat and dripping his cum. If you wanted to be a slut, he could make you be his slut. Especially since you wanted to scream your dirty thoughts so loud. He can’t even fucking focus.

Sitting in the front row with your legs spread. Your barely there panties, showing off more of your pussy lips than not. God, he wanted to taste you. He wanted to feel your silky skin wrapped around his length. Needed to hear your sweet little whimpers as you took his cock like a good girl. Biting at your lip and furrowing your brow at how hard and deep he was pounding in you.

“Professor Drysdale?” If the sounds you were making in your head were anything like the real thing, he was going to enjoy making sure you got an A on the next assignment.

“Professor Drysdale?” You wanted to be used and degraded. Your body would be his to destroy. Ruin you. Have you under his desk during class, and choking on his cock, while your desperate little body grinds on his foot.

“Professor Drysdale!”

“What?” Ransom slams his book down on the desk, his eyes roaming around the class before landing on you. Fucking bitch. You smirk at him, spreading your legs further. Your hand drifts in between your thighs, and you move aside your panties. Your cunt leaks out onto the seat, and an audible growl exits his mouth. Slut. You’ll pay for that.

“Are you going to give us the assignment for the weekend?”

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath as he shuffles around on his desk. Your mind was blaring your mewling voice. Your tits bouncing around as he pounds into you. Why were you so vivid with details? And why the fuck were you really in front of him slipping a finger inside of yourself. Pulling it out so he can see how slick and sticky your honey is.

“Just have fun jacking off. Um…riding the…get out of my classroom,” he turns around facing the wall while everyone leaves. He doesn’t have to turn back around to know that you were still there. A thought that you hoped he would lock the door paints into his mind. You are communicating with him. He does.

“Professor Drysdale, won’t you look at me?”

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” he answers honestly. Still refusing to turn around. You needed his attention.

“Only if we get caught,” he still doesn’t turn around, but he hears the loud squelching sounds your fingers make with every stab into you that you make. “I’m so wet right now. You can do whatever you want, professor. I’m your student. Teach me.”

“Fuck you,” he groans. His cock strains the material of his pants, and he wants to bend you over and drive himself so deep into you that you see stars. Spanking your ass for good measure. Hoping that you understand you can not be giving him so much grief during class.

“You can fuck me if you want. I’ll be your good student. Don't you want to mold me to your fat cock? I see your thoughts, sir. I know you want your cock in every hole. I know that you want your friends to watch as I take you like a good girl.”

“Those are your thoughts,” he finally turns to look at you, and you are bouncing on your own fingers. Giving him a show of your cunt swallowing every inch of your knuckles. Your pussy was wrapped tight around your fingers, and he knows it is going to hurt. He wanted it to. You were being a bad girl.

“Punish me then. I am a dirty little slut whore, and you need to punish me.”

“These are your thoughts,” he tells himself more than you. He’s unsure. Had these been his thoughts all along?

“Are they? You had them first. I just added to them. Made them more colorful. Professor, I want you to use every inch and every hole. Mmm, I’m almost there,” you whine, your fingers getting soaked with your juices. “I’m going to come. Professor, I’m…”

“Don’t come,” annoyed, you stop your movements, and sit still watching him. “Not here. I’m going to text you the address to my house, along with my code to get in, and I want you sprawled out on my bed. If you want me to use you, I’ll use you. You might want to rethink this now. Do you want to be fully taken down into my depravity?”

“Yes,” why would you not? Professor Drysdale looks as if he was carved by the gods themselves. He is the reason you had all these thoughts. They kept you up so late at night, and no matter what you did, it was never enough. You need him.

“You want me to have you tied up to where you have no say what gets done to you, because it’s not about your pleasure, it’s about mine. I’ll have you edged so many times you’re going to beg to come on my cock. Have tears rolling down your eyes. I’ll have you so fucked up and sore, you won’t be able to fill my head with your disgusting thoughts. I’ll just know how sore that tight cunt is. Are you ready for that?”

“Yes.”

——

Professor Drysdale starts circling around you. Asshole had put a blindfold on you, and you couldn’t see what he was doing. All you can do is envision how he was looking at you. He had you all tied up, and unable to move.

“Professor?”

“Mmm,” his finger runs up the gusset of your ruined panties before skimming back down, “Why do you wear these panties?”

“I want you to look,” you tease. Letting your mouth turn up into a devilish grin.

“Oh, I’ve looked. And you’re a fucking disgusting little slut. You just want me to use you?” You nod your head, slowly starting to grind on the chair. “Needy little thing. Which other professors do you let see you desperate like this?”

“Does it bother you? Thinking about your colleagues staring at my dripping cunt? Leaving my chair soaked, and they go back to lick it. Locking their door to stroke their cock thinking about fucking me on their desk?” You paint a filthy picture. He knew they all had thought about you. He could see their thoughts of teaching class while they rail into you. But to hear you so confidently tell him that you knew about their thoughts pissed him the fuck off

“You vicious little bitch,” his hand slaps over your cunt, and then he pushes you back on the bed. Ripping off your panties. “Clenching around nothing. When was the last time you were fucked?”

“Professor Winchester bent me over his desk last week. He wasn’t a fucking pussy.”

“Bitch,” he growls, yanking you down the bed, and his fat cock slams into you. Giving you no time to adjust to his width. Just starts pounding into you. Hard and angry because his jealousy was getting the best of him. You could tell it would.

Ransom was your typical only child. Bred to get everything he wanted, and what he wanted was you to control. To own. To show off to his friends that you begged him every night to do whatever he wanted. You might be learning something from his Lit class, but were learning more about taking his cock like a good girl.

You are so responsive to him. Whimpering, and praising him. Feeding his ego just like he was feeding your cunt. Watching your body suck him back in, and you wrapped around so tightly, not wanting to let him go that he’s ready to blow his load right then and there.

He can’t. But he also has no intentions to stop fucking you. It’s your punishment for pushing those thoughts into his head. He would make sure all of your darkest fantasies came true. Starting right now. This was only the beginning. His good little whore. He didn’t mind sharing, but you were his. And you could only fuck who he said. And he would watch every single fucking time.

“Whose slut are you?” His hand slides up your body, and he wraps his fingers around your throat. “Who’s slut?”

“Yours,” you weakly get out. He feels too good. He was hitting every spot inside of you. Your backside was soaked with your juices. Ransom seemed to get a high on how wet and messy you were alone. “I’m your slut!”

“Exactly. You better remember that,” he says, jerking off your blindfold. You blink away the stars in your eyes. Both from Ransom’s motions, and the assault of light to your eyes have you blind.

“Aww, you sure you don’t want to be all of ours?”

“NO!” Ransom grunts as he spears into you harder. Deeper.

“But ‘Professor’,” someone’s voice goes up an octave, impersonating you. “She needs to have her core classes taught, huh?”

“Professor Barnes?” Anatomy. “Oh, god,” your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your cunt was loud. And the other three men crowd around to watch. Or wait their turn, who knew anymore.

“Hands off!” Ransom smacks at another’s hand as he tries to pinch your nipple. “I am the one to control her!”

“Why you?” There were so many of them. You couldn’t keep up. Why was your math teacher here?

“Because she has the nastiest thoughts about me!” His head tilts back to the ceiling while he pounds into you. Your body was going to be bruised from the inside out. Unable to grab onto anything, you just scream out in pleasure. Your walls clenching down around him right as he spurts his thick cream into your womb.

“If you want her,” he pants, stepping back from you. All of them watch in awe as Ransom’s cream seeps out. “Clean her up. Sweetheart, meet your teachers; Barnes, Winchester, and Miller. I know several others are curious. But who do you belong to?”

“You,” you whimper, watching three men sink to their knees, ready to clean Ransom’s spunk out of you. “I belong to professor Drysdale.”

“Of course you do. No fucking unless I’m around, okay?”

“Okay, professor,” you whine as three mouths fight for a taste of your cunt. Kissing and nipping on your thighs. Sucking on your sensitive pearl. Lapping up every ounce of yours and Ransom’s juices.

“This is going to be a long weekend, Minx. But let us teach you a few things. You just take what’s given to you.”

“Yes, professor. I’ll take it. Just own me,” and they would. They would own and destroy each and every one of your holes. They are going to have you sticky with sweat and cum, and you are going to take whatever they give you. Whenever they wanted. But you would always belong to Ransom.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @missusbarnes-rogers @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @floral-recs @buckybarnesisdaddy @magnificentsaladllama

[ronearoundblindly]

Ransom x reader

Enemies to lovers , bot came from wealthy backgrounds as one is a trust fund (ran) then the other has her life getting good with a buissness outside her family . Why are they enemies at first? Shes admired for not relying on her folks too much as a teen and down to earth , enjoys the finer things as she views them as a reward or gift but ransom Demands that shit they also bicker how shes freinds with people bellow her and she sasses him how he always rely on perks thats petty

Warnings: so. much. cursing. It's all from Ransom's point of view, and since he's a disturbing(ly sexy) asshole, that translates to language. Plus smut (protected sex) MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. Reader's background/company is ambiguous. Also of note is the 'enemies' portion is quite subtle. WC 4k

The Root of All Ransom, Part One (see series)

There’s new money and then there’s new money.

Ransom loves the smell of new, physical money, and because he spends so much of it, he gets to feel those crisp bills all the time. Sure, his black card gets the same look at a register, but the plastic gets tattered after a while. The metal cards are a nice touch. Hefty. Metal makes a great tapping sound when he’s bored of waiting for a retail worker to do their fucking job and let him leave already. Cash is easiest to toss down and run out. He likes all forms of money. Ransom is diverse that way.

You, however, you are the New Money, the shit that’s a title, the shit that’s been earned, and it reminds him of his mother’s ranting. ‘Self-made’ his ass. Grandpa Harlan never made Linda repay a dime; that’s not a million-dollar loan. That’s good, old-fashioned nepotism. That’s inheritance come early. Old Harlan is Old Money, but New Money You is just as stale.

“She’s a breath of fresh air,” the middle-aged woman beside him coos.

Fucking gross.

Each time Ransom sees you he gets a foul taste in his mouth. His nostrils flair. He can smell the budgeting on you even at a distance. For every one of these events (with swag bags and a charity write-off promise) where you make a speech after receiving an award for whatever—he’s already too bored to listen—Ransom drinks heavily to make it to the end of the night.

He hasn’t given a dime, mind you, but Harlan has, and Linda has. Neither of them ever wants to go hobnob. Linda would but can’t trust Richard at these things, so she sticks to daytime shindigs. Walt is a bumbling, awkward mess, so he can’t represent anything other than why big pharma for every neurosis exists. He’s not welcome. Instead, it falls to nowhere-else-to-be Ransom. 

He thought he’d hate the events as much as the company until he found a thick, silver lining: some starry-eyed wannabe is always seated at an adjacent table. Handsome, young Ransom is guaranteed someone to go home with. Bonus points if they give head during the car ride.

Tonight though, he fucks up.

Ransom Drysdale makes the mistake of chatting up your date: your friend, Mariah, from high school who’s in town for the weekend. She’s doing a remarkable impression of a bimbo socialite, and he’s already wasted most of the meal trying to land an unattainable prize—though not a worthwhile prize, obviously.

It’s not his fault; he was at the bar when you and Mariah arrived, so he had no clue.

He expects you to be defensive once you make your way back to the table after your speech and find your friend with him. Ran is sure his reputation precedes him. He looks great in the photo ops just as he looks for great ass. He thinks your smile seems forced until you get closer. All you do is tell them to enjoy themselves.

Mariah here looks like she’s about to drop to her knees under the table, and you’re gonna let her?

You can’t possibly be stupid enough to trust him, can you?

He snorts out a chuckle, thinking you may know your business but you clearly do not know people. He wants to fuck Mariah. Then he really wants Mariah to tell you about fucking him, ad nauseam, hopefully, multiple times. Then he’s not sure whether he’d prefer you want to fuck him or you be mad about him fucking Mariah. He’ll have to wait and see.

“Isn’t she the best,” Mariah tosses out as flippantly as her hair extensions over her exposed shoulders. “I’m surprised she wanted me to come instead of a real date.”

“Sure,” he swigs his whisky quickly, “but then I wouldn’t get you for the evening, too.”

If he’s not mistaken, Mariah just soaked the pretty little thong he can just see the outline of in her tight dress, so Ran lays on a few more easy moves and thinks it’s a done deal.

Alas, he is wrong, and you and your friend leave together smiling while he races to text a booty call to meet at his place in a half-hour.

It’s all very frustrating, and Ransom hates you that much more.

Ransom has two new coats, a half-dozen new shirts, a three-piece suit, three new pairs of shoes, and he’s looking for the piece de resistance: a scarf (or several).

He loves accessories because he loves to change things up. He gets bored extremely easily, and he feels better when he treats himself.

In Hermès, he eyes a few options. He might even bother to get that one for his mother just because it has a few hideous accent colors he knows she’ll hate. Linda will still smile tightly and fake gratitude; it’s the only type of gratitude she knows. He doesn’t find anything for himself though, so he heads to the counter and recognizes the curves of a woman’s backside…in a dress that he’s seen in multiple candid tabloid shots.

How old is that garment? Jesus. Have some pride, woman.

His bored greeting startles you.

“Mr. Drysdale,” you exclaim, hand over your heart, “good to see you again.”

Is it?

“Right,” he grumbles roughly. “What brings you out of your goodie-two-shoes hole this afternoon?”

You seem excited, but in a different way than he’s ever noticed. At events, you are the picture of humility, full of genuine gratitude (and possibly the only reason he knows what that looks like), but this is something else.

The salesman returns with your order and unboxes a Birkin bag for you to inspect.

Now you’re just plain giddy, overjoyed, and vibrating, and Ransom preens a little to see Ms. High-and-Mighty so lowered as to indulge in retail therapy.

That’s a twenty-five thousand dollar bag you’re holding.

“Nice color,” Ransom chides, but he isn’t rewarded with your deterrence. You simply turn to beam at him.

“My favorite!” Your hands return to sweeping over the beautiful pebbled leather. “I had to wait for years—which is fine—“ you quickly add “—but I promised myself I’d do ten hours a week of volunteer work to earn such an extravagance.”

“Are you going to use it?”

You nod without turning back to him.

“Are you going to enjoy it?”

Another saleswoman motions to help him with the scarf he holds, and Ransom says nothing to her but drops his black card on the counter.

“Very much so,” you say quietly, almost like a confession.

“Then what’s so crazy about that?”

You giggle. You actually giggle. You don’t tell him how wrong he is or judge his spending in any way, which is surprising when that’s all those events he knows you from are for—to get him to spend money their way.

Ransom doesn’t know what compels him to stand there with his small purchase and watch while your bag gets squared away. You don’t choose to wear it out of the store, something he finds patently ridiculous because it’s a fucking Birkin and you’re about to walk out of Hermes with it in a box in another bag.

He pushes off the counter to walk out with you, an idea springing up.

“You’ve met my mother, I believe.”

Your polite smile gives nothing away. “Yes, a few times. Very briefly.”

“Her birthday is next month—” he lets an employee open the door for you both “—her sixtieth, allegedly.”

“Oh, well, tell her happy birthday for me.”

“You could come.”

Your face scrunches but whether from his offer or the bright sun on the street, he doesn’t know. His sunglasses are already on. You rummage around in what looks like a tapestry bag on the bad side of vintage for yours. 

This is why you should have left using the Birkin, and he’s honestly surprised Hermès even served you looking like you do.

Where’s all that new money now, he thinks, because one bag is certainly not all of it.

“Why not? You both own businesses and run in similar circles.”

“Hugh, I don’t think—“

“Ransom,” he corrects with a sneer.

“Well, I just…” You regard him thoroughly for a long moment until a black car pulls up and its driver opens the door for you.

There it is. There’s a bit of pomp. He’s almost proud to see you being served. You’re just like him—or rather his family—in a way; you have help.

“Fine,” you say to Ransom while nodding to your driver, “text me the details, and I’ll see if I’m in town.” Even though your words are dismissive, they sound genuine and kind.

Yuck.

Your driver fishes a card from his breast pocket and curtly adds a ‘sir,’ before shutting you behind tinted windows.

Ok, so it’s not the easiest ‘yes’ he’s ever gotten. It wasn’t a ‘no’ either. Good news is that Ransom is not holding his breath. If it works, it works.

The idea is to flaunt you in front of Linda, not romantically, of course, but as a younger woman, perceived as better, more self-made, more successful, with a Birkin bag in his mother’s actual favorite color, while he gives her a scarf she’ll be revolted by. It’s perfect.

This did not at all go to plan.

Linda is supposed to be pissed. She’s supposed to be appalled and furious and have to hide that from her guests—which is most of the family, catering staff, and Harlan’s house help. She’s supposed to look at Ransom and know that he did this on purpose.

He told you not to bring a present for a reason, but he made damn sure when he picked you up that you were wearing that damn bag.

How the fuck was he supposed to know you’d go and be the dumbest bitch ever?

Linda got through two whole sentences of greeting after obviously clocking the Birkin and then turned it about her. She’s predictable that way, but you are not.

“That’s my favorite color,” she said.

“Mine too,” you said.

You both fucking laughed.

“I’ve always wanted one,” she said.

“You should have one,” you said.

He should have known right then except for on what planet does someone…

Ransom only stepped out for a few minutes to mess with Walt, smoking that sickening cigar. When he comes back in, there on the table right beside Linda is your bag. He looks around, but you aren’t in the living room. Then his mom smiles and pets the Birkin possessively.

“Oh, Ran, that girl is so sweet,” Linda coos.

Richard snorts in astonishment. “She’s really something.”

Ransom cringes at the lustful leer on his father’s face while he stares off toward the library.

What the shit? 

You gave his mother your bag? After one minute of conversation?

God fucking damn it.

He has no words. Ran just purses his lips and stalks off to the other room in search of you. You’re deep in conversation with Harlan, seated across from each other in the bay windows of the library in high-backed upholstered chairs. On the floor beside your foot is a Blood Like Wine tote, partially filled.

“Grandpa,” he interrupts, leaning one arm against your chair with a questioning gaze.

“Ransom, my boy, it’s good to see you.” Before he can get a word in, Harlan waves an arthritis-gnarled hand in your direction. “Have you met my neighbor?”

“Neighbor?”

You shrug with a weak smile. “I purchased the Carlyles’ old property last year but kept my apartment in town.”

He’s thrown off by this news, thinking. “That’s walking distance from here,” Ransom says flatly.

“Yes, it is. That’s why I can find my own way home tonight.”

“Ah,” Harlan taps his nose, “so you two know each other.”

“Your grandson was kind enough to invite me.”

“And you made quite a fucking impression,” Ransom growls while putting a hand on your shoulder.

Harlan flicks Ransom away. “Don’t be creepy, son. Get the lady a drink.”

“Mr. Thrombey, please.” You stand, forcibly pushing his hand off of you. “Ransom’s your family. Why don’t I get you boys something while you catch up?”

“Whiskey, neat, two fingers,” Ransom bitterly spits, shoving the hand in his jean pocket.

Harlan tsks him with a solemn look.

“The same,” his grandfather sighs before returning your smile. “I appreciate it, dear.”

“Anytime.”

Ran fights the urge to kick your tote on the floor.

Harlan simply moves on. “One of my next novels is an intrigue of corruption, involves a non-profit, and Good Miss was enlightening me to a few details of their inner workings.”

“Glad you both can turn it off for five minutes,” Ransom grunts back.

Harlan’s sharp gaze lands on him.

“While I am glad you did not use her and lose her, as they say.”

“God, no,” Ransom groans in revulsion. “She’s here to rub Linda the wrong way…not me.” He tries to bury his self-satisfied smirk in a sweater sleeve held to his mouth.

“Charming.” Harlan means anything but charming as he looks to see you side-tracked again by a chat with Marta. “You’ve done much worse before—“ he turns to the window “—but my guess is she never has.”

Ransom’s jaw twitches. This is why he hates his family, even his favorite among them. No wonder he brought someone exclusively to annoy them, hoping to make them feel small and selfish, but he forgot something important.

They’re all like him. None of them care to be selfless. They don’t want to be charitable. They are fine being perceived that way, if necessary, if it gains them something else they want.

But.

What Harlan says gives him another idea. What if he keeps you around? They are sure to lose their minds. Harlan would be impressed (and proved wrong). Richard will be jealous (although that’s still gross). Linda would be unable to manipulate that situation (though she’ll try).

Plus, Joni will hate you instantly because you’re prettier and don’t need her snake-oil skin shit.

“Harlan,” you offer his grandfather his drink first, then turn to Ran with that irritatingly kind smile. “Hugh.”

He takes the glass and flashes pearly whites.

It’s decided. He just hopes the sex won’t be as boring as he thinks. You’re definitely not a roadhead bitch.

Although based on that damn Birkin, you are stupidly generous, so he hopes that translates to the bed…or wherever he fucks you.

“Sure your shoes can take it?”

As if he can’t walk across the fucking woods…the embers of waning alcohol all push around in his gut on the trek over to the Carlyles’ place. He hasn’t gone over there since maybe freshman year of high school during a long Christmas stay at Thrombey Manor.

He was wrong. Ran’s shoes are not fine, but he has to bury that irritation down deep while entering the warm and inviting mansion filled with your...roommates?

Four other people live in a house that you sometimes stay in: Angela, Diego, Terrell, and Luca.

Ran doesn’t fucking care. This is not some weird orgy he’s planning. He almost walks right back out and floors the Beamer back to civilization.

Mercifully, you have most of the upstairs entirely to yourself, a small suite of a bedroom, office, and bathroom neatly tucked above a quieter part of the house.

He’s surprised that you drop the tote bag and start shedding clothes so quickly.

“Sorry about them. We all went to uni together and this works as a crash-pad for the internationals.”

“No problem,” he sighs, “I know what it’s like.” They’re freeloaders, like my cousin Meg, is what they are, but Ransom keeps that thought to himself.

You offer him another drink, which Ran accepts, watching you like a hawk with sky-blue eyes.

Beneath your dress, you wear a slip, a silky satin thing that actually impresses him. He’s convinced there is thick shapewear beneath it because that just seems like a you thing to do: one sexy move, one boner killer. Instead of showing him though, you spin your finger around in front of him.

“Really,” he quips. He’s already resigned to putting his dick in either way, so he doesn’t really care.

You smile too sweetly for it to read as coy. “Make yourself useful and go to my bag.”

“That’s not a bag,” he scoffs. “Might as well be made of tissue paper.”

He still obediently wanders over to the chair you draped it over and flips back a handle. Excellent. This nearly makes up for the entire party. Ran derives a sickening amount of pleasure from knowing these condoms were stored in the Birkin his mother will now carry around with pride.

He downs the remainder of his drink and whips out a wrapper. He wouldn’t care if you didn’t have any, or didn’t want to use one, or if you made some reference to them but the lights were off and didn’t check. The lights are still on though, and you’ve pointed him right to them. He’ll play ball. He hopes you play with balls, too. He hopes this is fun instead of just mediocre. He prepares himself to be actively bored, however, because that’s the most likely scenario.

It’s his usual MO. Works like a charm. Start out slow and teasing—girls tend to think it’s sensual but he’s being lazy (and they beg soon anyway)—until he can take over in exactly whatever fashion he wants. Except you don’t quite let things unfold that way.

He expects you to want him to kiss you, but you playfully turn away each time he advances. You swat his hands when he tries to touch you, only to grab the hem of his sweater and rip it off him. You don’t wait for him to unbutton his jeans before sliding cool fingers down past the band of his boxers.

Fuck, he does like it when they're forward.

He pops the button, pushes the zipper, and shuffles out of the heavy cotton while you get a good hold of him. Ransom doesn’t care that your hands are soft, just rough enough for friction and nothing more, and he doesn’t really care that your slip is still on because he’s figured something else out.

You’re not wearing underwear. He’s not sure if you were but tossed them aside while he grabbed the condom, or perhaps you’ve been speaking with his family for the better part of two hours with your cunt kissed by the same air they were all breathing, but he’s happy about it.

Ransom leans forward to you again, but instead of letting him kiss you, you look down to spit in your hand and work him harder.

“The sooner you suit up…” you taunt him, glancing at the wrapper still clutched in Ran’s hand, “sooner you get in for the night.”

He’s been with bossy doms before—not his favorite—but this is different. His instinct is that you want a show of it, maybe you want to see him touch himself, maybe you want to see his face as the tight latex is rolled down his throbbing cock, but you hold his gaze while turning your body away from him.

Since he doesn’t have to play up how he looks, Ran focuses on the expanse of skin across your back. There’s so much more than your dress showed, yet not enough, and it’s beautiful. He thinks about the same, smooth skin that must be stretched across your ass and rolls his hips against the fabric while his mouth maps your neck and shoulders.

Not romantically, of course, he’s not trying to make you feel better—you are more than capable of feeling yourself, but Ransom enjoys a little taunting of his own now and then.

His hands move to cup your breasts, and fuck, did you not have a bra on earlier either? This day is full of surprises.

His intense rutting coupled with teasing your taut nipples makes your slip catch between your ass cheeks, and he angles his dick to press through the apex of your thighs, taking the satin with him.

Pretty skin beneath his lips, pretty noises ringing in his ears, Ran pulls away.

The fresh wet spot on your slip sticks to the condom when he looks down at his demanding erection.

You’re ready. He’s ready.

Fuck, Ransom is so ready, and you know it, climbing onto the edge of your bed to get comfortable presented in all your glory, all the lights on, fingers already teasing and working yourself open.

This is already way better than he expected. He doesn’t have to work. He doesn’t have to try. He doesn’t have to fake interest. You handle your clit like the expert you are on yourself, and Ran works himself up, sheathed and thrusting in you like the expert he is on himself. Pleasure for pleasure, and fuck is it pleasurable. 

His fist holds onto the bundled satin across the small of your back, and you make natural escalating noises.

It sounds genuine.

Shit, when was the last time he didn’t get annoyed at some bitch hamming up her moans? Not that it distracted him from coming, no, he could get him whether she was dramatic or an awkward, silent one. Takes more effort when he has to ignore something she’s doing though. 

Then you demand he goes faster, and he’s into it. Then you come with a groan that’ll haunt his hindbrain, and he can feel the massaging grip and release. Then you take his balls in hand, tugging gently, and he fucking loses it.

He feels the hot flood of his cum into the condom as your walls still ripple against him. 

Damn, he doesn’t even care if you made him wrap up. That was fucking satisfying. It wasn’t even complicated, but you came and he came and that’s all he needed.

Ransom hasn’t been at a girl’s place in a while (certainly not without his car ready to get away) because he prefers to kick them out and already be home, but his hookups are usually clinging to the idea of staying the night.

You immediately go to the bathroom, clean up, and—now completely naked—stand at the foot of the bed.

“You good, Hugh? I’m on a call with Beijing in fifteen, so take your time—“ you button up a plain, blue shirt, your nipples showing right through “—or sleep or whatever. I’ll be a bit.”

“Only the help calls me Hugh.” It’s all he can come up with while he stares at your breasts and contemplates why he feels a bit used.

He got off, you’re not clinging to him, and you’ve given him an easy out. If he had to describe his perfect fucking date, this would be it, and his gut twists oddly just thinking about being dismissed.

You don’t miss a beat, heading for the door with only panties and the shirt on. Your ass pops out easily from under the hem.

“Suppose I’ll see you at the Kennedy thing next weekend, huh?”

Ran slaps his hand over his face, remembering there’s another fucking event coming up. “Yeah. Is that the stupid inner-city garden initiative?”

You hum in response, grabbing something else out of your flimsy purse tote. He better not see you carry that fucking thing around in front of actual fucking people. You don’t see him staring at your ass through his fingers before you swivel back around.

“If you need something, text me. Don’t knock.”

He snorts, knowing that he wouldn’t stay if a girl paid him to.

For one shining moment, you turn to beam at him. “Thanks for making it quick,” you chirp with a wink and shut the door behind you.

You goddamn wink at him after chucking him into the quickie category in your own mansion.

What the fuck?

Out of spite, he should just sleep here, he thinks. Let Harlan question why the Beamer is still in the drive. Let Walt stare at the car and know Ransom can get better pussy than that twat has had in a lifetime. Let Linda…

Hell, let Linda do whatever the fuck she wants and let Richard think whatever the fuck he wants.

Ransom takes his own naked walk of glory to the bathroom and does just that—he sleeps in a hookup’s bed all night, completely pleased with himself and his control of the situation.

a/n: Honest to god, this was supposed to be a one-shot. Genuinely, I swear. Now that I've plotted it out though...there was no way. I just personally don't really like more than 5k per Tumblr post. Too easy to lose your place. This way we stick with a three-ish-act structure, too. Squee! Hope you enjoyed this, and please let me know what you think in comments, reblogs, or anon asks!

[Next Part]

[Main Masterlist]

[coltrainbat]

Can you write about ransom being interested of fucking his shy wife, reader's big ass.

Good Bunny

A/N: You said being and not actually doing it so I went off that. Sorry if thats not what you meant at all lol.

Warnings: Mentions of anal, anal sex, rimming - I feel this is obvious. Also first Ransom fic! Yay!

You lay in your silk nightie, face down on the bed, mindlessly scrolling through your phone until you felt the mattress sink and a familiar figure appear next you, rubbing their hand up your calves and towards you partly exposed ass.

“Hey bunny.” Ransom eyes were fixated on your lower back.

“My eyes are up here.” You moved your head to the side, smiling at your handsome husband.

He moved to lie on the bed, hand still lightly moving back and forth into your fleshy backside.

“I had an idea bunny.” He looked you in the eyes now, mischievous written all over his face.

“What is it?”

“You know it’s such a waste, having an ass like that and not using it for good.”

“What you mean? I’m always shaking it.” You wiggled your ass a bit for emphasis. Ransom groaned at the ripple that flew through the flesh, he grabbed it lightly and gave it a soft smack being met with a small yelp from you.

“Not that bunny, it’s just that I’ve been lucky enough to fuck 2/3 of your holes and thought maybe we should go 3 for 3..”

Your eyes widened at the suggestion.

“We don’t have to. I’d go slow and if you hated it we’d stop but I know how you like to try new things and-.”

“Would it hurt?” You looked at him, worry on your face.

“Yeah, but so did your first time and now you love it.”

You bite your lip “That’s true.”

Ransom moved closer to you, lying next you and holding out his arm for you to snuggle closer. His hand running down your back, rubbing your ass softly.

“We can start slow.” He purred, pulling you up by your chin to look at him so he could gauge the emotions of your face.

“How does that work?” You were anxious but curious.

“Well, we’d start with my tongue...” The mention of his tongue made you perk up.

“Like I always do.” He chuckled. “And I’d move it lower, run it around your rim.”

“And then when your you’re in doggy and nicely turned on… I’d get the wet stuff from your pretty little pussy and slip in a single finger.” He held up the number one.

“It wouldn’t hurt, you’d love it… you like feeling full don’t you bunny?” You nodded submissively at your handsome husband.

“And then, when you’re really ready, I’d get you a pretty pink buttplug and while you’re all hot, heavy and distracted, I’d slip it in your ass.” You gasped as Ransom.

“I’d give you a little time to adjust and it would only be a little bigger than my finger.” You nodded agreeably, thoughts of buttplugs danced through your head.

“Would it get stuck?” You asked innocently, Ransom’s head threw back in a chuckle.

“No baby it has a stopper, I wouldn’t let that happen… you know why?”

“Why?” A smile was showing now as you were impressed with your ability to make him laugh.

“Because I’d have control of it, slowly pushing it in and out of you.”

“And then what?” You were curious now, moving onto of Ransom so your hands were on either side of his chest, his hand still firmly on your ass.

“And then when you’re about to cum, I’d pull it out with a pop.” He moved his mouth and mimicked the sound of the word for emphasis. “You’d lose your mind bunny.” You lay your head on his chest, gazing up at him, hanging on his every word.

“And then overtime, the buttplugs would get a little bigger and longer each time I fucked you until I think you’re ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“For my cock in your ass.” He said it so casually, the smirk on his face never leaving.

You bite your lip at his salacious comment. Thoughts clouded your head and a wet spot formed in your panties at the thought of Ran filling all your holes.

His digit slowly slides up and down your crack, teasing the hole under the thin strip of fabric.

After that discussion, Ransom’s touches and slaps on your ass became more frequent.

Grabbing a bunch of fat to pull you closer.

Teasing your crack as you were standing and occupied, dragging his finger up and down.

He took you to the sex shop letting you pick out whichever buttplug you wanted, you naturally chose the pink one with a sparkly stopper.

And lube, a whole bottle of anal relaxing lube.

[krirebr]

More Than This Masterlist

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: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, explicit language, the slooowest burn - See each chapter for individual warnings. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

One

Two

Three

Four

Series in progress