#ransom thrombey

[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?

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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

[heli0s-writes]

You’re Toxic, I’m Slipping Under

Summary: He bristles, offended. And you try, with as much dignity as you can muster after the last two hours of being fucked blind, to not look so smug about it. “See you next week,” he hums.

A/n: To celebrate Glass Onion coming out, here’s ol’ boy Ransom because I hate him so much :) 4.1k words. Warnings: Smut; mild degradation, spitting, daddy kink; classism; Mind Games with Ransom Hour etc. etc. Please stop reading if you’re not 18+

Your whole apartment building seems to rattle when he arrives thirty minutes late. Like raucous fanfare to announce his appearance, the door slams shut, the latch clicks loudly, and then you hear his heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs.

His shoes are still on—of course they are—stomping your floorboards and dragging in dirt. You can practically see them, the usual suede loafers switched out for leather boots with the late fall chill, and probably mud-caked because he’s thankless like that.

With your attention still on your laptop, already irritated because you’ve been attempting a paper that’s only chased its tail for the last three hours, you ask, “Did you misplace your watch, Ransom?”

Turning, you show him you’re the screen reading 8:32 and blink pointedly, “Is that a yes?”

“Don’t be smart,” he snaps back. “You know I don’t like that.”

Your head’s been a mess of fog, body tense and frustrated for days, and although you’ve always prided yourself on tact and grace—patient like a saint—Ransom manages to bring out the worst. You hiss, “Take your damn shoes off, you know I don’t like that.”

You watch mutely as he does so, not without a sneer here, a shitty comment there. He takes three long steps and plops himself on your bed, hands curling into the quilt, thumbs brushing over the patchwork fabric disparagingly. He pinches a loose thread and begins to pull, tugging slowly at first, and then finding joy in unraveling a line of stitching until nearly three inches rip apart.

“I always thought you needed to replace this thing.” He twirls the string disdainfully, “It’s ugly as sin.”

He pretends he doesn’t know how you obviously love this quilt—handstitched and affectionately made, your damn initials are embroidered into the corner, after all. He’s made a game of testing your patience, gleefully punching at every button as he tries to get you to snap.

Ransom Drysdale Thrombey. You’d met him at one of the Thrombey’s family… functions. Dysfunction, you’d muttered under your breath when Walt beat his cane against the floor in a drunken tirade and Meg ran out back to wolf down a pot cookie that she was supposed to be saving for later.

She was on the cusp of a panic attack, words tumbling out like a car crash, her hand in her beret, then hair, then trembling over her maroon-painted lips.

“God, I’m so sorry— I thought we could just make a pit stop before heading out. The food’s always catered and really good— god… it’s a fucking mess.”

You waved her off because it’s not like you haven’t witnessed at least one aunt having a meltdown during holiday dinner before— family’s just like that—and tried to placate her with, “Can’t be worse than the cousin who asked if we’d be scissoring later.”

Meg’s face twisted in disgust. “Ugh, ew! Fucking Jacob! He’s a skeezy little incel— I swear he’s a moderator on one of those internet forums where they post revenge porn and upskirt vids— honestly, he was adorable two years ago. Then I guess he went through puberty and got radicalized on Youtube.”

You paused as she lit a cigarette and inhaled furiously before realizing that the two of you were thinking of two entirely different cousins.

“I meant the big one, Meg. This one went through puberty twenty years ago.”

“Ew, Ransom,” Meg frowned, “That’s even worse.”

“Ransom? What is he, a Disney villain?”

Leaves crunched behind your back and Meg looked up from flicking ash into the yard toward the sound.

“Let’s be honest, I’ve got the face of a leading man.”

Meg blew smoke at him, as if the fumes were enough to threaten his sensibilities. You figured not, he looked like a cigar smoker anyway—one of those guys who’d dedicate a whole room in their house with the humidity just right to keep them fresh. Rich people shit.

“Go away, Ransom,” she said, to clarify.

“I don’t recall addressing you, Megan.” He took a drawn-out look, lips pursing in scrutiny before lifting a brow, making a real goddamn show about it. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll bite. 400 on the dresser for an hour; you can get yourself something nice.”

You’re still not sure what it was about either your attire or attitude that allowed him to conjure up such an offer.

Maybe it was your shitty jeans and your sweater from freshman year orientation. Maybe you looked like an easy mark to tear down.

His audacity shocked out a laugh from you—a loud, abrupt guffaw that eased Meg enough for her to dip back inside to grab more from her stash. And when she was out of sight, focused on rummaging in the old clock, you responded, “Yeah, okay. I’ll bite back.”

Maybe it was an act of rebellion against your background in contrast to all this excess. The bitter aftertaste of eating bottom shelf food out of necessity for weeks at a time—those awful chicken bouillon packets and dried blocks of instant noodles your first year of college. No one paid for your schooling or housing so learning to balance an over-abundance of classes and a job because you needed to graduate early, needed to spend less money on tuition, meant that you were working yourself to death.

If Youtube radicalized Jacob, then habitually sleeping three hours a night in the campus library and skipping meals to afford textbooks while men like Ransom crashed Maserati’s for fun radicalized you.

So, sure. Game on.

He picked you up the following weekend without anyone knowing and took you somewhere expensive. It was a whirlwind of exorbitant dinners and being quietly sneered at down the straight line of his tall nose bridge. The front door to his bachelor pad shutting but not bothered with locking. Falling into the thousand-count Egyptian cotton bedsheets naked, the skylight’s beam spilling like gold-flecked champagne.

You promised yourself it meant nothing. Just an experiment of unbridled spite. If he wanted to throw money at you, hell, that’s his problem. If he wanted to fuck you, well, you’d give him the best fuck of his life— let him see that despite wealth, at the end of the day, he was flesh and blood trembling for the right stroke.

And sure, he trembled, but it was your mistake to pare it down so simply.

Ransom juggled fuck buddies much longer than you’d been fucking at all. He knew it was best with the right amount of emotion involved. Just enough to yearn. If he laid roses at your feet, kissed your knees featherlight and worked his way up to your jaw, cradled the back of your head, nosed the pulse of your wrist, your collarbones, asked for your eyes on him, and panted the lightest breath of your name at the edge of it all—now who’s fucking who over, sweetheart?

You were out of your depth. He was powerful, older, and more experienced. He touched you in ways that emulated affection—that brought fire and danger. His hands were large and callused at the juncture of his fingers. His pretty mouth was pink, wet, kissed greedy. His sharp eyes took everything in.

But, as you predicted, his moods soon volleyed in every direction as consequence of never being told no, and once the novelty of crazy hot—often angry—sex grew stale, you crashed back down to earth burned out. You ghosted.

“You’re, what…” he called through the door the week after you texted that it was both too much and not enough to carry on with, “breaking up with me? Seriously. This is a fucking joke.”

And you could have practically seen it—how his bottom lip would jut out as his incisors crossed, how his brows would sink when he got angry. He was never belligerent, only calculating.

You told him to leave, and he did, after a single loud kick to the frame, because he’s never begged for anything, and he wasn’t going to start.

The guilt came afterwards, with the bouquet of roses on the doormat, petals scattered around because he’d slammed them down after being ignored again and again, and you swept them inside to throw into a vase next to the three other vases with flowers in various degrees of wilted.

“Breaking up” prickled complicatedly in the middle of your chest, because despite the many shows of affection, you knew you weren’t exactly breaking up. You had never really been with him anyway. People aren’t… with Ransom. They’re towed along by Ransom, dragged by their hair by Ransom. Played with by Ransom until he inevitably gets bored.

It devolved into needless melodrama. Weekly episodes of a teen show with grandiose gestures of toxic relationships perceived as romance. Ransom’s habit of whisking you away, fucking you senseless, turning around to fight with you about any-goddamn-thing he pleased. Dropping off flowers and champagne. Restarting the whole process.

It wasn’t healthy—isn’t healthy, probably, according to most therapists—since he’s here, present-day, in your room, beginning to undress.

You fiddle with the sleeves at your elbows, thumbing cool satin before advancing, arms subconsciously crossed.

He’s only in his underwear now. A pair of nondescript gray boxer briefs fitted on his muscular thighs, taut as he leans back on his palms. He slowly spreads his legs, inviting you between them. His lips purse when you stand passively, knee brushing his bulge, hands resting over his shoulders. He’s warm.

One palm caresses your lower back and the other on himself, gliding up and down. His lids are half open, voice low, “You miss this?”

“No,” which is a lie. You missed it when evenings were boring, half-heartedly nodding to some boy’s drivel about campus life, mind wandering to someone who didn’t look freshly 21, didn’t date like it. Didn’t talk themselves up just to get you into bed.

At least Ransom was honest; he always said exactly what he thought, told you exactly when you were pissing him off, how he was going to teach you a lesson—where he wanted you, how he wanted you, and— a chill races up your arms.

He’s downright smug when he notices.

“No? You prefer sloppy frat boys pawing at you like virgins over me? Every time, you think they might fuck right but, well, you’re always disappointed.” He reaches beneath the short hem of the robe, splays his hand out over your thigh and very slowly feels his way up.

Your eyes shutter as he pulls you forward, gripping tightly and massaging up toward your ass. The pit of your belly is tightening, the rest trying to push down being too eager for him all over you, his broad shoulders, his strong hands, how he bends his grasp on your shoulder, fixes you in a perfect curved arch just the way he likes.

Ransom noses the robe out of his path, sinking his teeth lightly down until he scrapes a line over your breastbone, laying his face gently down like a child—like a lover.

“You know,” he begins, taunting again, “You make a… face.” He says it as he trails down beneath the swell of one breast, letting your nipple graze his cheek, before he presses a kiss to your ribcage. Hot like a brand, searing into your belly. And then he bites.

You flinch, hand going to his hair to pull him away. He throws his head back into your grasp, eyes glittering and amused. He quickly works your thighs apart, dipping two fingers between and sinking into your heat.

“There it is,” he chuckles when your eyes flutter, “Yeah... Really gets me off.”

You’re in his lap before you know it, your hold on him fallen off and now scrambling for his wide shoulders to hold yourself steady. He’s got you leaned back on his thighs, hanging off the edge of the bed and perfectly helpless, the only thing planting you even close to secure are your folded knees, your arms around his neck. He’s shushing you, one large hand on the small of your back, the other still working inside your pussy.

He says, “Calm down unless you want to fall,” but it’s goddamn hard when your heart is pounding with equal parts fear and arousal. He’s sucking on your tits, balancing you just precariously enough to thrill, fingering you all the while—like it’s nothing to him, like you’re an object he can manipulate however he pleases.

His cock is erect, flexing against the fabric over his groin, a swell of hard, aching muscle. You want to put your hand around it, feel its girth in your palm, simply hold it because you do fucking miss it. The places he can reach, the ways he spreads you, rocking in and pulling out—how he sometimes settles inside, and then does nothing but watch you squirm.

It’s undeniably gorgeous—and he is too—when you fumble it out after he lays you down and hovers over you with interest. You’re wetting your lips automatically, staring in awe at his thick shaft sprouting from soft, dark, curls, the tip of it smooth and almost purple, swollen up with blood.

“Legs up,” and the way he says it, how he just goes right out and says it, makes you groan.

Boys don’t do that. Too busy in their heads about peacocking and re-enacting the kind of porno where performers wordlessly move into new positions in sync, nothing verbal exchanged but high-pitched shrieking and nasally fuck me’s.

Ransom’s extremely verbal in bed. He easily says, “Look at me. Show me how much you want it,” and flits his eyes between your bodies.  

You do, shivering, sliding two fingers along the sides of your folds, finding yourself aroused and damp, humiliated and incredibly turned on when he grins, simply content with watching. Your thighs are squeezing reflexively, abdomen crunching up trying to keep it together.

But he’s never been patient, and quickly tells you to hold your knees, rock back, make yourself small and exposed, and then he’s delving gently into your hole— thumbs taking turns, coaxing more.

Two fingers tuck in, then another two struggle next to them, and you can’t stop yourself from gasping and crying out at how he pulls apart the walls of your cunt.

The sound of it— sloppy, squelching, a light and hollow kind of noise like a tongue flicking inside an open mouth.

“Look at this pretty pussy.” He tugs a little more, and you wriggle into it, gripping your legs tighter, pulling your knees up, shins toward your burning face to hide.

He descends on your clit, tip of his tongue licking into your stretched hole, purposefully only running against the taut skin around his fingers. “You got a talent, baby,” he murmurs, buzzing. “I could fuck you the whole day, fuck you numb… but give you about half an hour and it’s good as new, tight and perfect.”

There had been marathon rounds of bouncing in his lap between being at each other’s throats, his thighs splitting yours, hands holding you up, nibbling at your ear. Then he’d turn you around, take you to the floor until you collapsed on the bearskin rug, the sweat on your neck and chest rolling into dark furs. Railed you until you were so sensitive anything would make you come; your body unsure if it was considered your own anymore.

Fuck, fight, rinse, and repeat.

“Are you—going to talk all night?” You grunt up to the ceiling, trying to steel yourself from panting or moaning and only barely making it.

“Thought you liked it when I talked.”  His dark head is still between your legs, nose pressed into your skin, licking agonizingly slow with his entire tongue. It’s so warm, and gentle, and assertive. “What, you don’t like being told how good you taste?”

He keeps licking, pushing at the back of your knees when you try to switch positions, holding you in that bent up pose. He’s suckling at your clit when his fingers find their way back inside, easily hooking in three and pumping them smoothly.

“How—” he sucks hard, the shape of his full, plush lips fitted over you making a filthy wet smack, “mmm—I love the taste of your sweet pussy?”

When you come like it’s being ripped out of you, legs shaking around his head, lines of his spit dripping down your ass and onto the sheets, he lets you go with a hard slap on your sex, and you nearly wail.

“That’s my girl,” he says. “Yeah, you missed me, huh? You missed it like this, didn’t you? Tell me.”

“Unnng …” a high whine, “Ransom.”

“I know,” he mumbles, kissing up your belly, your neck, your ear.

He moves into position, entering effortlessly after all his prep work, and the shine of your juice still on his beard is fucking unholy hot. He’s grinning and panting, eyes fluttering briefly as he slides home.

“I know it’s big, baby. But you can take it, you’re gonna take it.” He’s a fraction unfocused, letting himself enjoy how you squeeze around him before he begins to punish.

Jesus, you missed this. Missed the agonizing drag of his shaft that feels like it goes on and on forever. Miss the way you get full of him, miss how it almost hurts.

His hipbones are hitting against yours, a steady fast rhythm because he’s experienced like that. Whereas some others might go faster when you’re close, Ransom stays at the pace that got you there in the first place. If anything, he pushes just a bit harder, makes you listen to the sound of his skin on yours, the choke of your breath he punches out.

You crunch yourself up smaller, toes touching the headboard now. Anything to get him further in.

“Fuck, you’re a slut,” he laughs. “Pretty little slut, god you don’t give it up like this for anyone else, do you?”

There’s not enough sense in you to argue even if you wanted to. The room is swimming, undulating, slipping further and further out of reach as the bed rocks and squeaks in protest. You’re sure you met a very handsome guy at the bar weeks ago but as soon as he started hinting that he was interested and stirred up conversation by asking your major, you left.

It just… wasn’t there. It wasn’t the same. No way in hell.

That boy wouldn’t have done this—wouldn’t be planting one foot on the bed, the other knee still down, enormous hands tight on your hips and crashing in.

You could cry, it feels so goddamn good.

Tears dribble their way out from the corner of your eyes. You turn your face enough to get a breath of fresh air, gulping it in frantically between the drive of Ransom’s cock and the half second he slides out.

You vaguely register his hand moving from your hip to your cheek, knuckles brushing upward.

“Oh,” he sighs, “pretty, pretty girl.” He slows his pace, nearly stilling. You squirm beneath him, inching away from how deep he is inside you, how intimate it feels as he kisses the hollow of your cheek and then toward your brow.

“So sweet for me,” he says, pulsing, making you whine with how he pushes against your sore walls. “Did I make a slut out of you? Huh? Make you stupid for my dick?”

“Make me come,” you say. “Make me—“

“Ask me real nice, baby. Ask daddy to make you come.”

You want to hit him. Kill him.

“No?” He whispers into the sensitive shell of your ear, “You don’t want it?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment clawing up your face, but Ransom’s hold is tighter, sharper, and he really is— so fucking right. You want it. And he’s made you a little stupid, so yeah--

“Please make me come, daddy. I wanna come.”

The Cheshire grin that unfurls on his face is more panther than cat. “You wanna come on daddy’s big cock?”

“Yes, daddy,” you admit. “I wanna so bad.”

“Oh, that’s it, baby. You’re a good girl, aren’t you. You put on a little show just for me? Act like you don’t want it but soon as I get in you and you let me lay you out anywhere, make you say anything.”

You turn away but he’s got your fucking number— got you as a boneless, spineless mess beneath him as he begins to fuck you again, and harder, his calculating, beautiful, cruel face hanging above you like a fever dream.

“You gonna come? Gonna cry?”

He’s melting away, he’s everywhere, and the lights behind your eyelids are starting to glare and threaten to explode.

“Gonna come for daddy, huh. That’s it, baby. That’s my girl, let me feel your pussy— ah— there it is— you can’t help it, can you? Mmm, swallow daddy’s cock with your pussy.”

Your orgasm is a wreck of curses and teeth on Ransom’s shoulder when he drops down close enough to make contact. You shake and whimper, struggling to calm yourself through the aftershocks.

When you’re done, still floaty but more aware, the mess of your humming insides less tight around him, he pulls out and shuffles up until his swollen tip is at your chin.  

You obey wordlessly, and afterwards, when the flex of his shaft is tell-tale, and he empties into your mouth, you hold it there, show him the mess.

“Baby,” he says, slowly making his way back down, admiring the come submerging your tongue.

Ransom licks his lips, licks the inside of his cheek, and leans back over again, his eyes liquid darkness and pleased as punch. And he drops a line of spit on top, drools it down over your teeth, into your mouth, and says, “Good girl.”

-

“You need a new laptop.” He’s tugging his belt until the clasp hooks into place.

“I don’t.”

“It looks old.”

“So do you.”

He bristles, offended. And you try, with as much dignity as you can muster after the last two hours of being fucked blind, to not look so smug about it.

“See you next week,” he hums.

You don’t say anything in response, only listening for the same heavy footsteps slam back downstairs—perhaps a fraction lighter—and the clunk of the door swinging shut. A long breath and you stretch slowly, letting your body regain its normal shape before he bent you into a goddamn pretzel. A few minutes pass, and then a few more, and you hear the roar of his car speed out of the parking lot.

Safe now, out of his reach, you amble back up into your computer chair to face the awful white, blank document staring back like a judgmental audience. You slide in and crack your neck, feeling the throb between your thighs yield to a less uncomfortable ache.

The problem, you’ve learned after leaving Ransom’s world, was that you had been ill-equipped to play his game. His game, and by extension, Meg’s game. All the Thrombeys and Drysdales and everyone in-between.

They belonged to a class you couldn’t really understand unless you were making a fucking killing—and graduation was just around the bend, so maybe you would, one day—but you were in the red with 45 grand of student debt and staring down the barrel of a subsequent degree because it was getting hard to make it with just a single bachelor’s in anything.

There was too much to do and not enough time to be jerked around by Ransom—not nearly enough time to feel frustrated about your situation in any sense. No, scraping by taught you to survive. You couldn’t be whisked off to the Caymans for brunch, couldn’t be fucked raw in hotel infinity pools, get lost for days meandering the Pacific on luxury yachts for the fun of it.

Your world was a little more drab, a little less rose-tinted.

So it was back to normal now, back to the grind, back to not wasting any part of your week on shitty dates, shitty sex, and coming home more frustrated than you left it. Because there was Ransom, so eager to make some kind of statement about proving you wrong that he’d be the last to know when he’s being used.

And maybe 4 out of 5 therapists would say that your coping mechanism to a normal sex drive is unhealthy—mind-fucking and regular-fucking your ex/not-ex will do that—but you wouldn’t know. You can’t afford therapy just yet.

You rub your back, patting out the tightness of overworked muscles. It doesn’t feel any worse than the cramp you’d gotten after staying up three nights in a row cramming for finals.

As if your brain has reset, your fingers begin tapping on the keys, and you realize your writer’s block’s been lifted.

[chrisevansispapi]

In law

summary: Ransom's mom hates reader's fame and wealth but she doesn't know reader is sharing her fortune with her son.

warning: fluff, breeding kink only if u squint and annoying in laws.

READER

I was bored in bed, after Ransom left for work, I had this goal in my head to get him back in the house.

I opened the buttons of his button up I was wearing and propped up my phone, I press record and glided my hand against my body, "missin' you a lot hubby" I sent the message with the video.

"sit tight"

I smiled knowing he was well on his way.

I was just scrolling through IG as I heard someone barge in the room, "hey dad-" I looked up and dropped my phone screaming, "FUCK" I covered myself with the sheets,"I knew it, you're milions are from milking men" Linda said, "Oh,Linda...I have only milked one man in my life and its your son-"

"Young lady, I don't know who you think you are wearing my son's designer clothes and laying in his bed by,tempting him—" The rage in Linda was boiling to the brim waiting to spill,I stood up from the bed and to stand beside Ransom.

Ransom held my hips as I defended myself "Uhm—first and foremost, how dare you barge in? and second of all... you mean our marital bed" I showed off my engagement ring and the wedding band,there it was rage spilling from Linda's head making me smile and Ransom chuckle.

"Ransom,at the count of ten I want your slut to be out of this house" Linda screeched to her laughing son. I pout at Linda teasingly. "No,can do,mom... she's pregnant, can't throw her out now" Ransom pulled me to his side,as I looked up at him and back at his mother.

Linda stared me down and immediately walked out.

I chuckled, "I'm not pregnant" Ransom smiled and kissed my lips with his soft pink ones, "Not yet, anyway" He said against my lips making me smile warmly.

"Really?" I teased him and he just growled against my lips making me giggle in excitement.

[bibislutmarvel]

I made gifs, you're welcome 😘

[desertowlet]

Marta Cabrera's good heart and kindness and attempts to making things right is just. breaks my heart and completely undoes me. the fact she still felt the need to help the very people who have done nothing but wrong her, who ignore her existence and only acknowledge her whenever was most convenient for them, and who tried to rob her of everything for the sole reason of serving themselves first and foremost. all the way to the point of telling her and saying she was not worthy of the very will Harlan himself wrote and insisting they were far more deserving of the inheritance of the very man they simply treated as an asset more than an actual family member. they used him at such an egregious degree, up until the point where he had to cut all of them off for their own good. yet somehow Marta, who has fostered a genuine and dear friendship with the elderly man she took good care of doesn't deserve this inheritance? she was far more deserving to attend Harlan Thrombey's funeral than his so-called family– the very family that did not even bother to invite her to said funeral. she was more family to Harlan Thrombey than anyone else in the entirety of the film and it shows with how he treats her– how much he cared about the well-being of Marta and her mother and sister, and making sure they were safe. Marta didn't even do any of this with the intention of getting a piece of the inheritance– she was just doing her job but so much more. she was an honest and kindhearted nurse who wanted to do the right thing for Harlan. she tried everything in her power to save his life once she realized she mixed up the dosages, and became inconsolable at the realization that she did not have the means to do that. Meanwhile Harlan's eldest grandson, his own flesh and blood, shamelessly plots and schemes his grandfather's murder in an act of cold vengeance when he realizes he can't have any share of the inheritance. Harlan may have cared about the Thrombeys and wanted to make things right before he passed, however there is a clear difference between them and Marta; she was Harlan's family.

[silver-hibiscus]

You know what just hit me? Ransom not knowing the knives in the knife halo sculpture were retractable. It looks to be a centerpiece too, with how big it is. Ransom doesn't live there, yeah, but it's implied that he's visited often enough, at least long enough to know the secret ways in and out of the house. That implies a certain familiarity about the house and yet...he doesn't know about the retractable knives in the very eye-catching sculpture dead center in that room. The whole family, in fact, seems very comfortable with it, like it's been there for ages. Someone HAD to have known it was all blunted and/or retractable. Harlan Thrombey even says something about props vs the real thing while talking to Marta before his death. Honestly I think in the end, all that talk about Harlan and Ransom being too much alike was just...shallow. Ransom thought he was the only one who "understood" Harlan, and Harlan thinks Ransom is like him when he was a child. Yet Ransom didn't know about the knife halo. Ransom thought he knew his grandfather and tried to play the game, but ultimately lost because he didn't know enough about the big, eye-catching knife halo sculpture that was likely there long enough for everyone to NOT register it as a threat. It's a display piece. That's it. And yet Ransom thought it was real enough that he tried to stab Marta with one of its knives.

Ransom thought he was winning by knowing and planning for everything but was ultimately outplayed by Marta. Something something assumption does not make reality and Ransom thought he was special cuz he and his grandfather understood each other but ultimately all he did was prove that he knew nothing

[nickiewrites]

Cute murder boys????

[hindi-si-ikay]

Chris Evans, after many years of playing Cap and romcom guys, is finally blossoming into a new and improved movie character role. THE VILLAIN 😈

[dbnightingale24]

A Sneak Peek To ‘The Dog House Isn’t The Best, But It Can Still Be Our Home’

The final installation to ‘Pavlov’s Dog’

~~

 Finally getting back into the swing of writing!! It’s been a crazy month, so I haven’t been able to write like I want to, but I think we’re finally getting back into a habit...well, as much as a habit as one can get into. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it, and I can’t wait finish this up and post it!

Warnings: Swearing, Arguing, Heartbreak, Crying, Co-Parenting...ish

Word Count: 2163

~~ 

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“You can’t be here,” you muttered as met me at your parents front door.

“You won’t answer my texts or calls-”

“Because we’re done! Ransom, please stop. Please! This hurts too much and we need to just call it quits!”

“Why? Because of what I said?! I know it was fucked up and I fucking apologized-”

“Ransom, I can’t do this right now! I can’t deal with you and all of your bullshit-”

“What bullshit?! I love you!”

“I don’t wanna do this with you again. Please, don’t make me do this again.”

“You love me-”

“What does that mean?! Honestly, what the fuck does that mean in this situation?! I said it before and I’ll fucking say it again: you’re a fucking bully, Ransom! You don’t care about who you hurt as long as you get your way, and I can’t do it! I’m no saint, but I’m not that terrible! Whether or not he’s your child or not, he didn’t deserve to hear you speak about him like that!”

“He is my child,” I confessed softly.

If the situation hadn’t been so damn serious, I would’ve laughed at the look of pure bewilderment on your face. You were probably wondering how I could’ve been so careless, cause it was all I could think about since Marta told the both of us.

“I can’t...I can’t do this right now, Ransom. I have to-”

“Y/N, I love you. I love you so much and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that,” I promised as I got down on one knee.

“You can’t be fucking serious right now!” you snapped as your eyes went wide.

“We’re meant to be-”

“Ransom, please don’t do this. Not right here and not right now,” you sobbed as you shook your head.

Why didn’t I listen? Why can’t I ever just fucking listen?

“Why not? It’s difficult, but it’s not impossible! We can do this!”

“Ransom, stop it! Please don’t do this-”

“Marry me, Y/N. Just say yes. We can do this, all you have to do is say-”

“No, Ransom,” you sobbed. “I won’t marry you. Not right now and not like this.”

“Y/N-”

“This isn’t how this is supposed to go. You don’t propose as a last desperate plea! I’m not some fucking toy, I’m not your Mom, and I’m not your fucking therapist. I can’t be your fucking scapegoat-”

“You wouldn’t be!”

“That’s all I would be! Ransom, I can’t do this-”

“Yes, you can! Just say yes! We can move, we can start over, we can start our lives together-”

“No we can’t! Ransom, this isn’t going to solve all of the problems we have-”

“But it can!”

“Ransom, please don’t make me give you a definite answer right now, because you won’t like it.”

“Just say yes! There’s no reason not to-”

“They’re a million reasons not to! Ransom, no. I can’t just jump into this because I’m in love with you-”

“Jump into this because you know it’s right!  We’re right for each other and we have been-”

“What about your son?!”

“What about him?! She did all of this out of spite and jealousy-”

“So he should suffer?! He did nothing and-”

“He doesn’t even know me! He’s gone this long without knowing me, and he’s probably better off for it!”

“Do you even hear yourself?! That’s a fucking cop out and you know it!”

“I never wanted a life with her!”

“You still fucking lied to and manipulated her, Ransom! I hate to break it to you, but they’re consequences to your actions!”

“Listen, I know I fucked up and I hurt you...I’ve hurt others, but before this...Y/N, we were doing so good! Please! I love you and you love me-”

“Love isn’t enough, Ransom. Not this time,” you sobbed as you backed up. “Please, just leave me alone, Ransom. Stop sending flowers, stop coming up around, stop calling and texting...please, just let me go. I love you so much, but I can’t take this anymore. You’re one way with me in private, and completely different in public and I just can’t...you’re not a bad guy, Ransom. I know you want the rest of the world to see you that way as a defense mechanism, but I know you. Truly know you and I don’t like the asshole you pretend to be. I never expected you to be perfect, and yeah, I could live with a lot of things, but you’re just making excuses for yourself! You don’t try at all and I won’t...I can’t the only guiding light in your life. I can’t be the only thing you care about, especially when you don’t even care about yourself!”

“Sweet Thing-”

“No Ransom, I love you, but I can’t keep making excuses for you-for myself so I’ll be able to stomach the shady shit you do! Love is not enough-”

“Everything I’ve done is forgivable!”

“Tell that to Fran!”

“You were fine with it before-”

“Just because I stomached it, doesn’t mean I was fine with it, and ya know what? That’s on me. I talked myself into believing that you were trying to change because of how well you were treating me, but that was all bullshit, wasn’t it? It was all an act-”

“No, it wasn’t! I love you-”

“Ransom, I can’t do this anymore. Love is clearly not enough...not anymore.”

“Y/N-”

“Please go,” you sobbed softly.

What other choice did I have? The resignation was in your eyes, and it had been there since we got back to my house that day. I can’t even blame you, because it’s my lifestyle that put us in the position we’re in, isn’t it? There’s not even a ‘we’.

There’s only me.

You could barely even look at me today, and why should you? Why would you? Lets not pretend any of this shit is on you. From day one, I’ve been getting all of this shit wrong, for reasons that shouldn’t have mattered. I should’ve gone after you the right way when I had the chance, but pride and fear got in the way and I stayed silent. Then, when I finally decided that it was time to go after you, it was because of my bruised ego. Then, despite all of the hell you ended up going through, you still gave me a chance.

Why do I have to fuck up everything? Why can’t I ever bite my tongue, especially when my temper flares up.

You were 100% right in everything that you said. You and I have had so many talks about our shitty childhoods, how terrible our parents were, and what the fuck do I do? The second the words left my mouth, I knew you were more furious with me than anything else, but I couldn’t stop myself.

Fuck Marta.

Yeah, I know my actions have consequences and all that shit, but she did this out of spite, and a stupid weak attempt to win me back. She knew I would snap, especially with Linda being there, and it had nothing to do with our son getting to know me.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t throw you down the fucking steps right now?!” I snarled as I threw the results of the paternity test down. “You little bitch-”

“He has a right to know-”

“Bullshit! Marta this is all bullshit! You don’t give a fuck if that kid knows who his father is or not, and-”

“He’s your son, Ransom!”

“Then why wait until now?! You tell me about him after how many years?!”

She said nothing as tears streamed down her face.

“FUCKING ANSWER ME, MARTA! YOU JUST RUINED THE MOST IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIP IN MY LIFE-”

“YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVED ME!” she shouted at me. “You told me you loved me, took half of the inheritance and the company and left!”

“Don’t fucking blame me because you didn’t cover your own ass, Marta! You’ve always known the type of man I am, so I don’t know why you truly believed you were so fucking so special when I-”

“Because you made me believe I was! You made me-”

“Jesus Marta, has no one ever taken you out? Showed you a good time, fucked you senseless? I do a few basic things and you thought a ring was coming? I barely even had to work get that money, but and it’s my fault?! Have I not made sure you’re taken care of? You’re sister and Mother are taken care of, aren’t they?! I’m the one keeping the family afloat in accordance to Harlan’s wishes, not Walt, so I’m still taking care of you! So what the fuck?!”

“What the fuck is so special about her?! What’s so fucking great about her that you’re ready and willing to change your ways?! Why do you get to have your happy ending?! All you do is take from and hurt people! So no! I wasn’t about to sit back and let you live in some fucking fairy-tale!”

“I hope you don’t expect me to help you raise him-”

“He’s your son and now he knows who his Father is!”

“He also knows I don’t want him, and whose fucking fault is that?! You didn’t think about him at all! Not only does Linda know, but you made sure to crush his soul!”

“That’s not-”

“Not what? Not fucking true? It fucking burns you, doesn’t it?! You’re not the fucking saint that everyone thinks you are! At the end of the fucking day, you’re just as terrible and two faced as the rest of us!” I spat at her, venom laced in every word.

She’d probably been holding it in for a majority of the talk, but she finally ran to the trash and threw up everything in her.

“Exactly, as much as you hate me, I can read you like a fucking book. You’re not as holy, perfect, and saint like as you’d like for everyone to believe. Fuck you, Marta!” I yelled before I started to storm out.

“What...what do you think is gonna...happen?” she breathed once she finally got herself together. “You think...you think she’s gonna take you back after you abandoned your own son? After...after all the things you’ve...said? She’s too good for you, Ransom. She doesn’t want damaged goods.”

It’s not like she was wrong.

There was no way in hell you’d take me back, especially if I would’ve abandoned my own child...again. So, I’ve been trying. Really trying. The kid isn’t so bad, and more times than not, I enjoy spending time with him. It’s just not how I imagined things at all. I never even wanted kids until I had your attention, and you’re the only one I ever wanted children with. However, things are what they are, and I do my best to make him happy. Even if you weren’t in the picture, I know what it’s like to have shitty parents.

You were right in saying that my carelessness isn’t his fault.

So, I take him to ball games, I try to care about how he does in school (even though I didn’t care about school, at all), I bring him to work and show him what might be his one day, I call when I’m not around, I don’t yell at him when cries (like my fucking mother did), and I try to control my temper around him. So far, he’s a pretty evened out kid, and I won’t be responsible for fucking him up.

“He’s asleep now,” Marta smiles at me as she makes her way down the stairs. “He had a great day, Ransom. Thanks for the surprise trip to the museum.”

“Yeah well, he’s my son too,” I shrug as I get up. “I’ll be back next weekend to pick him up-”

“Stay. We can talk, watch a movie-”

“Marta, don’t. Nothing has changed between us, it’s the same as they’ve always been.”

“She barely even looked at you today, Ransom.”

“That doesn’t mean I fell in love with you.”

“Ransom-”

“You got your revenge, Marta. I don’t know what the hell else you want from me. I help you raise our child, you and your family are still taken care of, I keep you looped into everything that happens with the publishing company-”

“What’s so wrong with me that you can’t even try to make it work, Ransom?”

“You’re just not her, Marta. That’s not meant to hurt you. That’s not to make you feel small, and I don’t want to argue. I have loved Y/N since kindergarten and it’s only grown over time. Yeah, I’m an asshole, that’s not lost on anyone, but I do truly love Y/N. You made sure to kill any chance of that relationship turning into something real, so you win. At the end of the day, you win. I’ll see you next weekend,” I nod before making my way out, leaving Marta heartbroken once again.

~~

taglist: @emerald-evans​, @maroonsunrise83​, @nomadstucky​, @autumnrose40​, @fuckingbye​, @companionjones​, @whiskeytangofoxtrot555​, @mazda098​, @pono-pura-vida​

[janknabobfdi]

Can we just talk about how different the killers' plans were between the two movies

Ransom used a secret passage way only Harlan knows about to switch the medication to get Marta's inheritance nullified by the slayer rule. With the only evidence pointing to him being a few dog barks and a senile grandma.

If Marta didn't give Harlan the right medications by touch she wouldn't even KNOW that she killed someone, the toxicology report would notice a morphine overdose and she gets arrested for medical negligence.

Despite Marta actually giving Harlan the right medications and being witnessed the Fran, He manages to improvise his way into silencing Fran and framing Marta for her murder.

Literally the only reason why his plan didn't work was because he underestimated Marta's competency as a nurse.

Meanwhile Miles drove his SIGNATURE CAR on his way to kill Andi, Gave Duke his glass IN PLAIN SIGHT in front of everyone and lied about being the target despite the fact that toxicology reports will say that Duke had PINEAPPLE JUICE instead of poison. WHEN MILES ISN'T ALLERGIC TO PINEAPPLE JUICE.

[chrisevansispapi]

Squabble

Warning: arguing,some love languages are shown,implied smut.

Summary: Reader and Ransom has a new home and they want a baby to come along with it

——

When we arrived to the driveway, Me and Gideon slowly came out and saw the beautiful home, “Everybody’s waiting inside even Giddy’s nanny”Ransom informed me,as he carried the bags and still managed to open up the front door.

We got inside seeing the spacious and will lit foyer,Ransom gave the bags to the staff, Gideon slowly woke up from the bright lights of the chandelier.

“Morning Gideon!”Ransom picked up his son and got ahold of your hand, “Daddy,Momma…nice wayts(lights)” Ranskm lead me to the master bedroom,which was amazing,there was a walk-in closet where all my clothes went and Ranny’s too.

Ransom was trying to make the little boy laugh, “you want a little sister?” Ransom tickled Giddy, “you want a black eye?” I said mocking his tone,Gideon laughed at me and his daddy’s banter, “Giddy can’t even speak properly yet,think about babies when he can talk,alright?” I grab Gideon from him and took a tour around the house.

———

I was now in Ransom's SF90 on the way to the mall, “Can you just take into consideration a new cutesy baby in the new house?”Ransom drove to the parking lot, “Giddy is still a baby,Ransom… He’ll get jealous” I got out of the car and so did Ransom.

Ransom slammed the car door and turnt around,I walked with him in silence, “Let’s go to Baby Gap” I spoke out,breaking the unbearable silence, “okay”Ransom turned to his phone.

“That’s it? You’re being mean because I’m not ready for another child?—fine,I’ll go on my own,if you want to give me petty silent treatment” I walked into Baby Gap leaving him.

Baby Gap was so colorful and filled with every animal prints, reminded me of Gideon, I grabbed everything I wanted to put on Giddy and paid for it with Ransom's AmEx card.

My phone rang and it was Giddy’s nanny on facetime, “Sonia…Hi,What’s wrong?” I asked her, “Mrs.Drysdale,Gideon is not eating or drinking milk” Sonia was showing me Gideon who was crying his throat out. “I’m on my way,Sonia—Don’t worry” I hung up and ran as fast as I can to Ransom.

“Giddy’s crying non stop and not eating,let’s go” We ran to the car and drove 90 m/h.

———

I was now holding Gideon’s still panting body, “shh mommy’s here” I rub his back as his eyelids were now falling down, I lay him down on mine and Ransom's bed, "sleep tight" I tucked him in the duvet.

"That's why I don't want another one just yet,Can you handle two of that?" I was now sitting on the bed,Ransom just looked at me with his puppy dog eyes, "Come here" I pat down beside me, He sat down plopping his bulky body on the bed, I lie down beside him.

I draped my arm over his shirtless body, "Soon, just not now, a'ight?" I kiss his cheek, "Hmm" He cups my face with his one hand and presses his lips on mine.

"let's go have some fun in the office" Ransom winks at me, "mmmkay" I kiss him one more time before calling Sonia to watch Gideon in Our room.

[ilikestuff69]

‘Knives Out’ (2019)

Directed by Rian Johnson

[locklylemybeloved]

hey everyone who liked knives out listen up

if you havent already, PLEASE watch See How They Run

it is an absolute MASTERPIECE and the storytelling, plot line, characters, plot twists, foreshadowing/imagery and literally EVERYTHING have me obsessed

its an absolutely deLIGHTFUL murder mystery that has a similar humorous tone to knives out and glass onion (they are very different storywise but in terms of vibes are very similar)

anyways saoirse ronan is amazing in it, sam rockwell is amazing, literally the entire cast is amazing idk at this point im rambling but its truly amazing

anyways thank u for coming to my ted talk pls watch it i want to scream about it with someone (its on amazon prime and like other streaming stuff but if im being honest, i 🏴‍☠️-d it

[deliciousangelfestival]

Every Time You Lie - Ch 6 || Lloyd Hansen

Character: dark!Lloyd Hansen x female!reader, dark!Husband Lloyd Hansen x Wife!reader.

Synopsis: Any woman is jealous of you, especially with the status of being the wife of Lloyd Hansen—the CEO of the biggest pharmacy company in the country. From the outside, everyone sees you as a perfect family, a successful husband, two kids, and living in a big house. 

But the truth is different. You are trapped in this marriage because of the mistake you made. You are willing to give everything you have to get your freedom. Free from him. Free from your vicious mother-in-law. Free from your snobby son.

Both of them shouldn’t be together.

Warning: Betrayal, suicidal thought, harsh language, tragedy. Minors do not read. 18+

Author Note: I do not consent to copying or translating my work.

Any reblog, comment, and feedback are appreciated. I want to know what you guys think.

Series Masterlist || Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 , -

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

You and Lionel arrived home from the arcade, and Lloyd awaited them. As you entered, Lloyd greeted you with a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek. However, his words hinted at an indirect warning about you not letting him know about your whereabouts.

"Wife, you didn't inform me where you were going. You used to do that before..." Lloyd's tone carried a subtle edge, making it clear that he expected you to keep him updated.

Lionel, upon hearing his father's voice, visibly flinched. Lloyd then instructed Lionel, “Go to your room,” with a stern tone, to which Lionel responded timidly, "Okay," and quickly retreated to his room.

You couldn't help but notice the unease in your son, a stark contrast to the vibrant and playful boy you remembered. It raised questions about the dynamics within the household that went beyond your memory loss.

Lloyd's disdain for the doll was evident in his dismissive words, "What kind of ugly thing is that?" However, you became protective of the prize Lionel had worked hard to win, countered his comment.

"Hey, don't say that. Lionel worked hard to win this," You defended a hint of defiance in your voice.

Surprised by your straightforward response, Lloyd softened, "Alright, alright. I'm sorry."

He held you delicately, as if you were fragile, and said, "It's already late. You have to drink your medicine before resting."

You nodded in agreement, "Okay."

In the quiet stillness of the Hansen mansion at night, Lloyd awoke to find the space beside him empty. Concerned, he donned his night robe and sandals, contemplating whether you were sleepwalking, a behavior you had never exhibited before.

Locating you in front of the expansive French window, he approached you gently, attempting to coax you back to bed. "Honey, let's go back to sleep," he murmured.

However, your demeanor suddenly changed, and you strangled Lloyd, causing him to fall to the ground with you on top. In your rage, you accused him, "It's all because of you!!! Everything is gone because of you, my father, my sister, my brother."

Struggling for breath, Lloyd pleaded, "Wife, wake up; it's all a dream."

“Y/N!!!”

The intensity of his scream finally jolted you awake from your turbulent dream.

You gradually sat up on the bed, and your movement stirred Lloyd. Concerned, he inquired, "Did you have a good sleep?"

You nodded in response.

Lloyd tenderly stroked your hair, "Let's get up. I'll accompany you for your therapy today."

You responded with a soft sound of agreement. While you wanted to convey that you might not need more therapy, there was a small comfort in knowing you would get to see your daughter, Emily.

As you left the bed, Lloyd's hand instinctively touched the back of his neck. He winced, feeling the subtle sting of your nails scratching his skin during sleepwalking. A frown creased his forehead.

Concern etched on his face, Lloyd reached for his phone and dialed a number. He spoke to the receiver in a hushed tone, "Change her medicine. Add the dosage."

The atmosphere seemed lighter than usual as Lionel joined them at the breakfast table. The young man brought his basketball, a tangible sign of the spark reignited by yesterday's outing.

You welcomed him with a cheerful greeting, "Good morning."

Lionel responded with a simple "Morning, Mom," sitting across from you. You patted the chair beside you, "You're too far; sit beside me." Lionel agreed, moving closer.

Observing the newfound closeness between mother and son, Lloyd continued with his breakfast. However, his moment of reprieve was interrupted by an unexpected phone call. The news he received prompted a sudden outburst, "Nonsense!!! It's impossible!!! We have the license."

Lloyd's sudden outburst caught the attention of both you and Lionel, causing an awkward pause in the breakfast conversation. However, Lloyd swiftly regained his composure, addressing the urgent matters on the phone.

As he concluded the call, Lloyd told you, "Prepare the jet. I'll be there in person. Call our PR to handle this." He turned off his phone, attempting to mask the abruptness of the situation.

You who have been listening to his conversation, “What jet?”

As he turned off his phone, Lloyd reassured you, "Ours. We have a jet, my dear. You'll be surprised at how successful your father's company is under my hands." Your grip on the fork tightened at the reminder of the company's ownership transition.

Lloyd, adjusting his tie, approached you and gently kissed your cheek. "I have to go to LA; something happened in our branch there. I couldn't accompany you today, but I'm sure Emily will be there."

You, trying to conceal your emotions, responded, "I'll be fine. Be safe."

Lloyd smiled, assuring you, "I will." Before departing, he turned to Lionel and promptly commanded, "Be good. Don't make any trouble."

Lionel, responding with a subdued "Yes, father," visibly flinched. You sensed your son's unease and comforted him by placing your hand atop his, offering reassurance. As Lloyd left, Lionel found solace in his mother's presence, a reprieve from the looming shadows of his father's authority.

As you underwent therapy for your foot and had various medical examinations, Dr. Gabriel, the head doctor, assured you were healthy. Emily stood by her mother's side throughout, providing a comforting presence.

After the medical appointments, Emily suggested, "Let's take a walk near the hospital lake before you go back." You agreed, although your eyes subtly signaled your discomfort with the idea because of Lloyd's assigned bodyguard to always be at your side.

Sensitive to her mother's feelings, Emily assured you, "It'll be alright. I'll handle it."

While enjoying the beauty of the scenery, Emily suddenly said, "Mom, I left something. I'll be right back."

While you sat on the bench, taking in the picturesque view of the swan lake, you felt someone join you. Shocked, you turned to find Ransom seated beside you, clad in his familiar brown cloak, scarf, and sunglasses.

A surprised smile played on his lips as he greeted you, "Hey, sweetie."

The unexpected presence of Ransom stirred a mixture of emotions within you. Your heart raced, and her mind was a whirlwind of memories from their past. Despite the surprise, you composed yourself and replied, "Ransom? What are you doing here?"

You couldn't help but feel a sense of fear lingering due to Lloyd's intimidating bodyguards. However, after noticing your unease, Ransom reassured you with a mischievous smile, saying, "Rest assured, I've taken care of your bodyguard."

Curious, you asked, "How?"

Ransom placed one finger on his lips, adopting a playful expression, "Bribe."

You chuckled at the revelation, finding it typical of Ransom's approach. "That's so Ransom."

As they shared a lighthearted moment, Ransom couldn't help but gaze at the woman he had once loved, now standing before him, laughing. 

Unable to contain his emotions, Ransom wrapped his arms around you, confessing, "How much I miss you."

Surprised by the sudden embrace, you hesitated momentarily but found a strange comfort in Ransom's arms. There was an undeniable sense of rightness, a feeling you hadn't experienced with Lloyd.

Feeling your warmth in his arms, Ransom couldn't hold back his emotions. "How much I miss you," he repeated, his voice filled with regret and longing.

As you, still held in his embrace, you gathered the courage to ask, "Ransom, why did we break up?"

Ransom released his hold, and for a moment, a flicker of fear crossed his face. After a heavy sigh, he admitted, "We had a massive argument. And I..." He paused, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

Your curiosity mixed with concern, pressed further, "Ransom, what happened?"

Running a hand through his face, Ransom sighed deeply. "I ended up in jail."

Your eyes widened in shock, "What?"

Author Note :

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[acebecca]

Knives Out AU where Marta never read the labels. She gives Harlan the 3mg of morphine, he goes off to bed, both of them blissfully unaware of the attempted murder/framing.

Meanwhile Ransom is completely losing his shit.

[the-scooby-gang]

Knives Out

But Older Fred is there

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