Characters/Pairings: husband!Lloyd Hansen x pregnant female!Reader
Word Count: 1.4k
Summary: Your little bun is still baking in the oven, but you've also been baking up an actual storm and send Lloyd to work with a basket of baked goods.
Content/Warnings: pregnant reader (but doesn't factor majorly to the story); established relationship; smut (oral: female receiving)
Author Notes: I had been struggling with what to post for today, not feeling like any of the things I was almost finished with for Valensmut were what I wanted, but then a silly little chat I had with @vonalyn today spiraled into this. 😌 So you can thank Chi.
Additional Note: This is my humble submission for @witchywithwhiskey's Sweethearts Sleepover! You get actual conversation hearts, and then the story has bits of: ALL MINE, AS IF, BEST DAY (worst, in Lloyd's opinion), CUTIE PIE, ONLY YOU, TRUE LOVE, XOXO, and YOU & ME.
can absolutely be read as a stand-alone, but if you want their backstory, you can read up on the short collection:
previous: Lloyd's Christmas Surprise | Welcome Home, Pumpkin Collection
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.:MONDAY MORNING:.
“What the fuck is this?” Lloyd asks, his face in a full scowl as he takes in the basket on the counter.
You beam, hands clasped behind your back in an attempt to contain your giddy pride. “A surprise for your team for their Monday. You said they’ve been running on fumes and caffeine, so I thought maybe…a little sugar rush? Carbs can work wonders for office morale.”
He eyes the basket like you’ve potentially booby-trapped it. “You baked all this?”
You nod, rocking on your heels. “You know I did! There’s lemon bars, the espresso brownies you like, and—” you tap the gingham napkin tucked around a lumpy loaf “—honey oat bread for the gluten-free intern. I made extra, just in case.”
There’s also a braided bread ring in the middle, surrounded by flaky turnovers, a whole loaf of banana bread (you went heavy on the chocolate chips), and two rows of sugar cookies decorated as conversation hearts. The XOXO one is your favorite.
“But I thought you were just living your best baking life for us. I didn’t know I’dd have to share it.”
You lift one of your shoulders in an exaggerated, playful shrug and smile sweetly at him.
Lloyd squints at the selection, then back at you. “So, you want me to show up to work with this basket and hand out cookies like some kind of—” he gestures vaguely “—PTA mom?”
You wrinkle your nose, a little wounded. “You can just set it on the break room table. You don’t have to announce it or anything. But, I mean, wouldn’t it be nice to have people associate you with something other than terror and passive-aggressive motivational emails?”
Lloyd’s mouth purses like he’s bit into a lemon—not one of the lemon bars—and you watch the internal struggle play out as he weighs your efforts against…whatever bones in his body are rebelling against showing any modicum of niceness to his coworkers. He huffs, resigned, and starts hunting for a travel mug. “Fine. I’ll bring your—” he squints at the basket again “—heart-attack sampler to the office.” He pointedly ignores the smiley cookies, but you see him sneak one as soon as he thinks you’re not looking.
You grin into your coffee. “You’re secretly soft, Lloyd. It’ll be good for you to practice more of it before the baby comes.”
“I’m not soft,” he mutters, then glances at you, still full-frowning. “You’re just, like, a relentless kindness blizzard. Nobody can stand up to that.”
You beam.
.:MONDAY EVENING:.
When Lloyd comes home, it’s with the kind of energy of a man who has spent a full day stomping out metaphorical fires, slamming the door like it’s the front door’s fault. You barely have time to register the sound of his keys being tossed into the bowl in the entryway before he’s in the kitchen and on you, lifting you bodily against the fridge and kissing you with the kind of bruising, insistent hunger that says something inside him has snapped, but in a good way.
You barely get out an “Oh—” before he’s got your pants unzipped and pushing down over your hips, his hands already unceremoniously shoving your underwear aside. He’s still in full office drag, minus the tie, sleeves rolled up to the crook of his elbows. His collar is open, and under the harsh kitchen light his knuckles are pink and raw-looking, as if he’s had to white-knuckle his way through the entire day.
“You made me a goddamn celebrity,” he growls against your mouth, his voice ragged and reverent, his hands absolutely everywhere. “I had to listen to a dozen people tell me how thoughtful and ‘refreshing’ it was, and the fucking intern almost cried.”
You break into helpless laughter, clutching at his shoulders as he props you harder against the refrigerator door. “You’re welcome,” you manage, between giggles and gasps as his mouth finds the sensitive spot just under your ear. “Did they like the cookies?”
“Of course the liked your fucking cookies! They were delicious,” he huffs, carrying you over to the counter. “All day, it was ‘Is this your wife’s recipe?’, ‘Will she teach us her secret?’, ‘You should marry her again these are so good’. I couldn’t get through one email without someone licking brownie off their fingers and their productivity went through the goddamn roof.”
You bite a giggle into his neck; he groans, the vibration transmitting from his throat straight into your chest. His hands are everywhere, kneading into the meat of your ass. “And all I could think about all day? How fucking proud I was to have the best fucking wife on the planet and how I couldn’t wait to devour your sweet pussy the way they were devouring those treats.”
“I was just trying to help,” you say, breathless as he kisses down your jaw, over the place where your pulse beats wild.
“All. Day. Pumpkin,” he repeats. “I didn’t get one single goddamn moment’s peace, couldn’t send an email, all my meetings derailed because HR turned into your personal fangirl squad, so now I’m going to fucking ruin you.”
You don’t have time to bask in the delight of his confession because Lloyd spins you, physically bracing your hands against the counter of the kitchen island. He presses at the small of your back until your lower half is arched provocatively, ass out, just the way he likes. He’s rough, not mean, but so insistent you can’t help but gasp as he yanks your panties all the way down to your knees.
You feel the wet heat of his tongue before his hands dig in and spread you open. The first lap is greedy, almost punishing, as if he’s trying to erase the sugar high with something saltier, dirtier, and entirely his.
He laps at you messily, groaning unselfconsciously. You grip the countertop, knuckles white, hips lifted into the ferocious rhythm of his mouth. He suckles your clit like it’s his own private vendetta and you have no choice but to tremble, to rut back against his slick, talented mouth, and that bonus feature of a mustache.
“You missed a spot,” you joke, voice quavering on the edge of laughter and something more ragged.
Lloyd’s answering snarl is muffled but so fucking pleased. He slaps the inside of one of your thighs, and you yelp. The tip of his nose nudges between your folds. The sloppy noise of spit and arousal is loud and obscene and perfect.
You end up with your forehead pressed to the cool marble, hands scrabbling for the edge as he eats you out with single-minded dedication.
He doesn’t slow—not when you beg, not when you whimper, not even when your thighs begin to shake with the effort of staying upright. You’re trembling so hard your thighs shake, the marble threatening to crack your teeth as you try to bite back the noises you’re making. Lloyd is relentless, alternating between full-tongue swipes and tight, focused circles around your clit, never quite letting you settle into a rhythm before he yanks it away. You choke on a moan, his name splitting into a plaintive mewl.
He pulls off with a wet pop, spit and slick connecting you for a moment. “You gonna come for me, baby?”
You nod, maybe a little violently, vision gone soft around the edges.
“Use your words,” Lloyd demands, licking a shiny stripe up from your entrance then blowing gently, sending goosebumps arcing over your ass and down both legs.
“Please,” you gasp, desperate. “I want it, I need—fuck, Lloyd—”
“Yeah?”
You shove your hips greedily into his face, words dissolving into moans. "Yes, please, I need to come, Lloyd—"
"That's what I want to fucking hear." His tongue is all brute force, no mercy, and your body shudders at the edge before a decisive, hard suck on your clit pushes you over the cliff and pleasure shatters through you.
Lloyd holds you through it, arms tight around your hips, mouth never leaving you, almost as if he plans to keep you in that state forever. When you sag, boneless and trembling, against the countertop, he licks you clean—gentler now, but still greedy—before standing and dragging his mouth up your back, his teeth catching on the ridge of your spine through your rumpled shirt.
He straightens, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, and looms over you. “You’re not going to out-nice me, Pumpkin,” he says, the roughness catching on the softness underneath. “You want to spoil people? This is how I spoil you.”
BAHAHAHAHA I FORGOT HOW MUCH I LOVE THESE TWO!
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Summary: Your older brother is out of jail and back home, but old habits die hard, and you find yourself caught between what you need, and who can give it to you when Curtis Everett starts hanging around again.
Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Mild Stalking, Recreational Drug Use, Intimidation, Crime, Gang Activity, Physical Abuse, References to Past Physical and Emotional Abuse, Murder, more tags to be added
Curtis stays there all night, his hand wrapped around your hip.
You fight to stay awake, trying hard not to fall asleep with him there, since you can’t seem to find the words to ask him to leave. After all, if he kicks you out, you’ve got no place left to go except crawling back to your mother, and you’d rather die than do that. You can’t help it though, and sleep comes for you regardless.
You wake with the scent of his aftershave in your nose and your head on his pillow. Sitting up, you realize you’re alone in the room again—and maybe the whole apartment, too. You’re grateful for it, considering the way you’d embarrassed yourself the night before, sobbing and crying into his arms. You should have kept it together, and now… you want to curse at yourself for your weakness.
Curtis already thinks there’s something between you—wants there to be. Falling asleep in his arms is ammunition you didn’t need to give him, no matter how good it felt. You can’t let him get under your skin, you know too well what he’s capable of. What all men like him are capable of. You steel yourself as you get out of bed and peek into the hallway, but it’s as you suspected—you are alone.
Make yourself at home, Ladybug.
You set about unpacking, organizing the remains of your life. It had felt like so much when you’d been throwing it into bags and begging your mother to reconsider, but now as you pull damp books out of garbage bags and fold up the hastily balled up clothes, it doesn’t seem like much at all. You wonder if Curtis really had “his guys” go back for the rest of your things, but you don’t really have a way to check.
I guess I could call momma.
The very thought sends a nervous jolt to your belly. No. You’d rather not know. Most of what you’d left had been clothes anyway, the most important things are here, with you. Your father’s bass lays against the wall where you’d propped it up, just next to the amp, and just looking at it makes you feel a tentative sort of relief.
You don’t have enough clothes to fill the massive dresser or the walk in closet in your new bedroom, which shouldn’t be embarrassing, but somehow is. You feel like a pauper amongst all of Curtis’ obvious wealth—new money, but you would be blind not to see it. Like a thing that doesn’t belong. The feeling lodges itself beneath your skin like a splinter.
When you’ve unpacked enough to feel sane, you decide on a shower before you pick through Curtis’ extremely meager options for breakfast. This place is nice, you realize, but it’s a bachelor-pad through and through. The only things in his fridge are a half-stick of butter, a carton of eggs of questionable date, and milk you won’t even bother to open. It is only when you close the fridge that you notice the money clipped to it with a magnet, and your stomach drops. A crisp, one-hundred dollar bill.
The note on top of it reads “Get yourself something to eat, Ladybug. Meet you after class.”
How did he know you have class today?
You shiver. He’d gotten your schedule from Damien—you’d kind of already suspected it, but now you can’t doubt it. Does he know about Peach’s? You doubt it—he still seems to think you work uptown, near—damn it.
Near here.
How are you going to explain away your commutes? Your hours? But you don’t want him to know, don’t want his pity or his feelings. Or worse… his ownership. Peach Rings isn’t the worst job you’ve had—okay, maybe it is the worst job you’ve had, but it’s still a job, and you refuse to be dependent on Curtis for more than necessary. After a brief moment of debate you decide you won’t touch it. You walk out of the kitchen, suddenly not hungry.
You’ll just move a couple hundred from your savings—just until you get paid again. You won’t take Curtis’ money.
No matter how bad things get.
—
“I think it’s obvious what happened. The officer’s account pretty much lays it out—”
“It’s not that cut and dry.” You interject, rolling your eyes. “You need to get more than one angle before you decide you have the whole picture. There are multiple eye-witness accounts that corroborate the victim’s claims, Chase. You can’t just dismiss them.” You chance a peek at Professor Greenbalm, who is nodding in agreement. The knot that had formed in your belly the moment you’d stepped onto campus begins to undo itself.
“So you’re taking the word of some random thugs over a police officer?” He asks, incredulous. You roll your eyes again.
“No, I’m taking the word of multiple eye witnesses over an officer who has everything to lose. It’s not like I’m making up evidence, here. Look, Chase, I think you have some obvious bias—”
Your opponent’s face colors. “I’m not going to be lectured on bias by someone failing a class about it.” Your own face heats as a murmur passes through the rest of the class, along with a snicker or two.
“You’re done, Mr. Baglioni. That was inappropriate and I won’t have personal attacks during a debate. You should know better.” It doesn’t matter that the professor’s reproach is swift and loud, the words are already out, the knowledge public, and you feel shame curl in your belly. “I want you both to stay after class, understood? Next pair.”
You return to your seat, face burning and eyes wet. You refuse to cry, though, blinking back the tears of frustration and outrage as you sit down with your head held high, even though all you want to do is run straight for the door. You clench your hands together under the desk.
Fucking asshole.
How had he known? Did he listen during your talks with your advisor? Had he seen your grades somehow? You stare down at the podiums with your lips pressed into a tight line. More likely he’d just heard you asking about extra credit during class sessions and inferred the most likely answer. Your cheeks sting even harder at this, and you wonder who else had guessed the same thing.
You barely hear the next debate, raising your hand arbitrarily when the teacher asks for a vote. Every whisper feels targeted, every giggle a jab. The class you’d been so excited for now feels like a prison, and you wonder how you will get through the next half of the lesson.
The embarrassment makes you second guess everything you think to say, and so you end up not raising your hand at all, keeping your eyes on the board as you count down the minutes. The notes you take are disjointed at best, random words and phrases you know you won’t be able to parse out when you return to them later for study. You can’t be present in the moment, your brain locked on earlier classes. Had your statistics and art history classes both been fine, or had you made a fool of yourself there too without realizing?
When the professor finally calls it, you’re eager to get out, packing up your things and rushing for the door.
“Wait, please,” the professor calls your name and you wince, turning around. Oh. Right. Stay after class. Your escape foiled, you return to the classroom and wait for the rest of the students to file out. Professor Greenbalm turns to Chase.
“I don’t know where you got that information, but I think you owe this young lady an apology.”
Chase rolls his eyes. “Overheard it.” He says casually. “Sorry.” He shrugs, already bored with you and the professor. The apology in and of itself is just an exercise in futility. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Thanks.” You say flatly.
“I expect mature and adult behavior out of the both of you going forward. No personal attacks during a debate. We’re all too grown for that.” She’s trying to do the right thing, to be impartial and firm, but all it feels like to you is capitulation. You force a smile.
“No problem.”
You’re almost glad to see Curtis waiting for you, leaned up against the Jag. The button-up shirt he’s wearing is open, exposing the white tank underneath. The sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, exposing the thick weight of his forearms. You can still see the corner of the yellowing bruise disappearing beneath his collar if you squint.
“Hey Ladybug.” He calls, nodding as you approach. “How was class?”
You can’t help the scowl that crosses your face. “Great. Can we go?” You sink into the passenger’s seat, your stomach tight. “Please.” After a moment he follows you into the car, getting behind the wheel. He doesn’t turn the car on, though, doesn’t slide the key into the ignition.
“Something happen?” He asks, fixing you with that heavy stare. When you don’t answer, he sighs. “Can’t make it right if you don’t tell me, Ladybug.” There’s a steady stream of students out of the doors, all of them heading into the parking lot. You watch, eyes narrowed as Chase practically skips down the steps, sliding into his Benz. You doubt he’s even thinking about what he did anymore, about you. Like it’s just a fucking Tuesday for him. I guess it is. You look back at Curtis, and realize that he’s watching you watching Chase.
“It’s not something you can make right.” You say, shaking your head.
“How’s about you let me try, first?”
You roll your eyes. “You can’t fix my whole fucking life, Curtis.”
“I dunno,” he says, the corners of his lips curling into a barely-there smile. “Seems t’me we’re already makin’ some big improvements.” Your chest goes tight as you think of the night before, of Curtis’ big, warm hands on your body through your clothes. He jerks his head at the Mercedes as it peels out of the spot, forcing another driver to slam on their brakes and honk.
“Who’s the asshole?” He asks, and you roll your eyes.
“Ugh. Chase Baglioni.”
“He in your class?” You nod, scowling at his retreating tail lights.
“A few of them.”
“He say something to you?” You catch Curtis’ eye in the rearview mirror, and they’re dark. Brooding.
“N-no. He’s just a dick.”
“You tellin’ me the truth, Ladybug?” He asks, and you swallow thickly, nodding.
“O-of course.” He holds your gaze for a moment more before he releases you, turning the key in the ignition. “You’re… you’re not going to do anything, right? He’s just an asshole.” You reiterate.
“He the reason you’re this worked up?”
“No.” Another lie. “Just a hard class.” He looks at you again with that unreadable expression before nodding.
“Then let’s get some dinner in you.”
—
Curtis exhales the thick, acrid smoke through his nostrils, watches it spiral up into the dark night sky. He’d left you watching some show—Bob’s Burgers, he thinks—while he’d gone out to run an errand.
An errand named Chase Baglioni.
He shouldn’t be smoking, he knows you don’t like the smell. Curtis doesn’t either, but it settles him, calms his nerves. He exhales another cloud of smoke before flicking the remains of the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel.
He’s just a dick. You can’t fix my whole fucking life, Curtis.
He smirked, but there was no mirth in it. Oh Ladybug. You got no idea. Edgar’s text message is still pulled up on his phone when he takes it out.
Edgar: Chase Baglioni, 23. Parents are Genevieve and Louis Baglioni. They own that club in Midtown, Rumpus Room.
Curtis knows the club. He practically owns all of Cobb, Douglas, Fulton and Clayton counties, but Rumpus Room toes the invisible line between his territory, and the territory Rogers shares with Barnes. Even if he oversteps a little, he knows they won’t mind him putting a little scare into the kid.
Or roughing him up a little.
He hates that you didn’t tell him the truth, that he has to hear about it from the girl in your class that Edgar’s dating, but that’s a conversation he’ll have with you another time. For now, he’ll settle for making sure that no one, least of all Chase Baglioni, feels like they can treat you like less than you’re worth.
And you’re worth everything.
Curtis takes another drag on the cigarette. He tries hard not to smoke since he got out, but it’s been hard to give up the habit, even knowing how much you hate it.
It makes the waiting easier, though.
He checks the watch at his wrist. Nine-fifteen. Which means Chase has been in the Rumpus Room, running up a tab on his parent’s dime for the better part of two hours. Curtis is patient, though, he knows how to wait—it’s what had gotten him through five years of prison, after all. Besides, maybe you’ll be asleep when he gets home, and maybe you’ll let him hold you again. A grin threatens to erupt across his face at the thought.
Maybe you’ll let him do more.
The door to the club opens, and Chase stumbles out.
“Just bill my folks, you know the drill asshole.” Chase is yelling back into the club, his voice obnoxiously loud above the thumping bass-line. “They’ll—hic—take care of it.” Curtis is moving before he really knows it, flicking the cigarette into the gutter as he pushes off of the Jag. He only has a few minutes until the valet comes back around with the car, but that doesn’t deter him.
After all, he only needs a few minutes.
Chase doesn’t notice Curtis until he’s a few steps away, turning bleary, irritated eyes on the other man.
“Can I fucking help you?”
“You can.” Curtis doesn’t stop until he’s practically on top of him. He knows how big he is, knows his size makes folks nervous—in fact, he’s counting on it. Chase takes a shaky step back, casting a look back at the club like he’s weighing going back inside.
“See, I got a problem, I’m wondering if you can help me out.”
“Look, whatever problem you have with my dad—”
“My problem’s with you, Chase.” Curtis watches with satisfaction as the younger man’s eyes widen a fraction.
“Me? I don’t even know you, dude—wait.” The fear in his face ebbs a little in the wake of his recognition. “I do know you. You’re that thug who’s always waiting for little-miss-fucking-perfect after class. What, did she tell you she got her feelings hurt today?” He sneers. “Fuckin’ pathetic bitch.”
Curtis’ lip curls. His arm snakes out faster than the drunk idiot in front of him can counter, and he grabs onto his collar, hoisting him up by it. The fabric digs into Chase’s throat, and his breath escapes his parted lips in a shrill wheeze.
“Call her a bitch again.” He says lowly. “I want you to.” Weakly, Chase swings at him, arms flailing, constricted by his jacket. After a moment Curtis drops him in an undignified heap on the sidewalk. He knows how this would have been settled inside, and he almost aches for the simplicity of it. There was, after all, something to be said for meting out a punishment with your fists in the yard, but this isn’t the yard, and Curtis isn’t inside anymore.
He’ll have to use a lighter touch.
“L-look, I’m sorry, okay? Just back off—”
“You’re sorry? Do you even know what you’re sorry for?” Curtis asks, cocking his head. When all Chase does is sputter, he sighs. “I didn’t think so. Here’s what’s going to happen, because I want your apology to be as loud as your disrespect. You’re going to apologize to her in front of the class. You’re going to get on your knees and beg her to forgive you.”
“Or what?”
“Or I break the other fingers.” Curtis catches Chase’s left hand in one of his, and without warning he wrenches two of the fingers back until he hears a satisfying snap. Chase screams and Curtis smiles. He feels the grin spreading across his face, and doesn’t even try to stop it as Chase cowers, clutching his hand to his chest. It’s a clean break, no bones jutting through the skin, no blood. But Curtis can tell by the way they hang limp and awkward that he’s done what he wanted, that Chase is hurting just like his Ladybug was hurting.
“I’m sorry,” he blubbers, and Curtis rolls his eyes. “I’m, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me—” There’s a growing dark stain on his pant leg, and Curtis chuckles at the realization that the kid’s pissed himself. Good.
“Save it for class.” He bends down, ruffling Chase’s hair with one hand. He flinches. “I’ll know if you don’t.”
—
You wake up as Curtis unlocks the door, sitting awkwardly up on the couch with a little stretch. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the streaming service you’d been watching has an “Are you still watching?” message posted on the television, so you know you’ve been out for at least a little while. Curtis hangs his jacket on the hook by the front door before toeing out of his shoes.
“Didn’t mean t’wake you, Ladybug.” He apologizes before heading to the kitchen. He pulls a beer from the fridge, and there’s a crisp snap as he pops the top. “You been havin’ a hard time, you need your rest.”
Your face warms. “Don’t worry about me.”
“S’like askin’ the sun not to shine,” he laughs. “Can’t do that.” Curtis takes a long, slow sip. “I’m just tryin’ to ease the burden some.”
”I can handle it.”
“Never said you couldn’t, Ladybug.” His eyes are so heavy on yours over the top of the bottle that you almost want to look away. “Just that you shouldn’t have to.” He drains the bottle in another few sips, and tosses the empty in the recycling bin. “Wes got the rest of your things from your momma’s place. They’re in the storage unit downstairs, I figure we can bring ‘em up in the morning, yeah?”
So he didn’t forget after all.
“Thanks, Curtis.” You look down at your knees. “I feel like I’m saying that a lot, lately.”
He leans against the counter with a grin. “You could always stop. I’m gonna keep doin’ for you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” The silence that follows feels heavy, and you don’t quite know what to do with it. “You think I’m doin’ any of this because I have to? Sweetheart I want to take care of you.” He crosses the room to stand in front of you, and you almost flinch at his closeness.
Your chest goes tight with panic and something else you don’t want to name. Because the thought of someone wanting to care for you is…tempting. You want to know what it feels like—but you don’t want to want that with Curtis. Curtis means danger. Curtis means staying. Your mouth is dry as you fight for a way to diffuse this, a way to turn things backward, but he speaks again before you can force words out of your aching throat.
“Ain’t anybody ever taken care of you?” He asks, but then shakes his head. “I guess not, not with a momma like yours.” He pulls you against his chest, burying his nose in your hair.
Your heart pounds as his hands caress your sides. It shouldn’t feel this natural, his touch. This good. And oh, you want to lean into it, to press your face against his chest and inhale the scent of his cologne, but you hold yourself still. There is blood on his hands, you remind yourself. He’s just like Damien.
But what if he’s not?
The thought makes you shiver.
What if he’s not?
Curtis’ hands keep finding new places to rest themselves, your hips, your waist, the small of your back. You aren’t touching him back, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, there’s no way to know which.
“You gonna let me?” He asks, and this time, you feel a thousand words all rushing to your tongue, but the ones that leap from it are the ones you want to hold in.
“I shouldn’t.” Immediately you regret them, wishing you could suck them back into your lungs. Not that you can’t, that you won’t—but that you shouldn’t.
Almost like you want to.
“And why’s that?”
“B-because I—I—You’re dangerous, Curtis.” You stammer, looking down at your hands pressed against his chest. Quietly, you add, “You’re a murderer.”
“Some people need killing,”
“You’re like Damien—” This time, he grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up towards his.
“How many times do I have t’tell you, Ladybug?” Curtis says lowly. “I’m nothing like Damien.” He crushes his mouth against yours.
There is an eager hunger to the movement of his lips against your own, and your gasp of surprise all but allows him access as his tongue sweeps into your mouth. You don’t know when his hand left its place squeezing the curve of your hip to knot in the hair at the nape of your neck, but he holds you still, deepening the kiss. Curtis’ other arm is an unmovable iron bar at your back, keeping you in place. The movements of his tongue are slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to kiss you, like you’re all that matters.
Heat pools in your belly.
“Taste like honey,” he rasps. “Knew you would.” And then he claims your mouth again before you can work out a protest, the words stuck in your throat like taffy. You can feel him walking you backwards, but you still gasp in surprise against his lips when the backs of your knees hit the couch. You land on the cushions with a huff, and Curtis is between your thighs instantly, kneeling on the carpet as his massive hands settle on your knees.
Your heart speed up until it’s practically hammering against your ribs. He begins inching your leggings down bit by bit, cold blue eyes locked on yours from his position kneeling between your legs.
“Let me take care of you.”
God you actually want to.
You don’t know what’s wrong with you, what’s so broken that Curtis-fucking-Everett wants to fix you. You hate that it feels like maybe he can, like being treated like you’re precious might actually make it true.
Your waffling and indecision allows him to shimmy the stretchy fabric down over your knees, and suddenly you’re on the couch in your shirt and panties, wondering how exactly you’d gotten here.
“Curtis, wait, wait, I—” The touch of his tongue, even through your panties, is electric. It turns the protest on your lips to garbled nothing as he pulls the cotton aside and presses his mouth to your slick folds.
“Sweet here too,” he mumbles. “Fuckin’ sweet all over.”
You know you’ll be ashamed after, when he’s finished taking care of you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care now, to make him stop the way you know you should. How can you? Your hips roll against his face as he slides his tongue in delicious circles around your hopefully swelling clit. And Lord his fingers. They dance up your trembling thigh before pressing at your cunt.
“Oh.” Your mouth forms the letter as he sinks a finger inside, curling it against your pubic bone. You mewl out another syllable as he adds a second one, and you feel Curtis smile against you.
“Greedy.”
He feels so much better than your own fingers, every touch smooth and sure. It’s like Curtis is memorizing you with every pass of his fingers, mapping out your core with his tongue. You’re desperate for something to ground you, to keep you from flying off into space into a million pieces but there’s nothing to tether yourself to. Your hands pass over the close shaven stubble on his scalp before settling on his shoulders and squeezing.
He hums.
“You’re so tight, Sweetheart,” he says, though it’s more to himself than to you. “Wonder if I can fit another finger inside…” He tries to, and the added pressure is enough to send you flying. You hate the embarrassing gush of wetness that coats his fingers, the pathetic whine that escapes your lips as you cum—and the way his name on your lips follows after.
“Curtis!” He places a tender kiss on your inner thigh even as your legs twitch and shake in the aftermath.
“Good girl.” His voice is soft, so muffled you almost don’t hear him, pressed as he is to your thigh. He stays like that for a little while, his lips moving against your feverish skin. They feel like velvet. Curtis is reluctant to release you, his fingers slowly uncurling from their position anchoring your hips to his face. He holds your gaze as he draws the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping the slick evidence of your orgasm from his face.
“C’mere, Ladybug.” He helps you up to your feet, clucking his tongue as you stumble, knock-kneed. Your shirt barely comes down to the tops of your thighs, and he chuckles as you tug it down as far over the mound of your cunt as it’ll go. “Don’t be shy, now,” he pats your bare hip with a large hand. “Get on t’bed, now. I know you got work tomorrow night.”
I shouldn’t have done that. The regret slams into you full force as you nod stiffly. “Yeah. Work.” You can barely think about that now, there’s no space for it around the shape of your shame. You’re supposed to be good, to be bright and right and better—but how can you be when Curtis makes the dark feel so… safe?
He isn’t supposed to feel safe.
“Curtis, I—”
“Don’t.” Your regret has to be plain on your face because Curtis holds up a hand, shaking his head. “There’s a lot I’ll put up with, Ladybug, ‘specially from you, I’m not ashamed to admit that. But what I can’t—what I won’t do, is hear you lie to me when I still got you sticky on my fingers.” Your mouth goes dry and you feel a hot pulse at your core.
“We just—I don’t think it’s a good idea.” You say, looking down at your bare feet. Fuck, I wish he’d let me keep my goddamn pants on. “You and me.” In fact, you know it’s not. He might not be dealing anymore, but you know by the sight of his bloody, bruised knuckles that he’s got no intention of ever going straight.
And why should he? Living the way he does has got him living nicer than the straight and narrow has ever gotten you. Curtis leans forward to cup your face, and the smile he gives you is positively wicked.
“A little late for that, don’t you think, Ladybug?”
Steve catching you in the rain, his white shirt completely soaked and transparent
Ok, this has to be Neighbor Steve.
Warnings: explicit language, more fluff than I normally do, completely unedited, 18+ - MINORS DNI
After Steve caught you ogling him during the heatwave, the tone of your conversations when you run into him in your building has gotten decidedly flirtier. But for whatever reason, that's where it's stopped. As much as you've tried to send signals that you are very open to more, he's never taken you up on it. Which is fine. It's fine. Totally fine. You are very cool with it. The thought of it definitely doesn't make you shrivel up inside. You are so cool.
All of that is the furthest thing from your mind right now, though, as you and your dog run through the rain. It'd been such a nice day, but as you hit the halfway point of your usual longer route, the sky unexpectedly opened up and you and your poor dog were hit by an absolute downpour. Now, finally home, you're both completely soaked and desperate to get inside and dry.
After some fumbling, you get the door to your building unlocked and opened. Just as you're about to get inside and let the door close behind you, you hear your name ring out. You turn around to see Steve hurrying up the path. "Hold the door!" he yells.
You freeze, doing as he asked. Holy shit. He's just as soaked as you, but while you're sure you look like a drowned rat, he very much does not. He– Well. He– He's wearing that damned white t-shirt again. Except it's not white now, it's translucent. You can see everything – that tattoo you spotted before, and a few more to go with it, an incredible set of abs, nipples. Holy shit.
He quickly ushers you inside, thank god, because you can't move on your own, your eyes still stuck to his chest. "Fuck, that came out of nowhere, huh?" he chuckles.
The moment you're out of the rain, your dog proceeds to do her best to shake herself dry, as if the three of you weren't already dripping all over the entryway. "Oh, shit," you mumble, reaching for her without really knowing what to do.
Steve just laughs. And then does it himself, shaking out his golden locks. Part of his hair flops down over his forehead, and you do your best to hold in your gasp. Really it's just so unfair that he could get caught in a rainstorm and come out looking like that. What the actual fuck? you think to yourself.
Except, judging by the way his head whips around to look at you, maybe you didn't think it. Maybe it was more out loud than you'd meant. Oh god. You immediately start babbling, which is unfortunately just as uncontrollable as the initial slip-up you're trying to make up for. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry. I just– I mean– Look at you!" You throw a wild gesture at him as he just stares at you with his mouth open, trying to take in your ramble. "It's cats and dogs out there and you look like that?? While I–" another wild gesture, at yourself this time. "I just– How is it fair that you're so beautiful??"
"You think I'm beautiful?" he finally manages to interject.
"Huh?" And that's when your brain finally catches up. Oh dear god. What is wrong with you?? You cautiously glance at him to find him staring at you, not upset, but like he's trying to figure you out. Fuck it, you suddenly think. You've already embarrassed yourself. You have nothing left to lose. "You wanna get dinner with me sometime?"
You swear that the smile that blooms on Steve's face is bright and warm enough to dry you both off. "I was starting to worry I was reading your signals wrong. Yeah. Yeah, I'd love to."
Your answering smile is strong enough to push all the clouds away.
My blog is 18+ and so is this fic collection. Not all fics will contain smut but be warned that the majority of fics in this collection contain dark, dub/non-con themes. I have tried to tag them as best I can but please read at your own risk.
Mood board by me, made in Canva and pics from Pinterest (credit to OG posters)
Much like Sun, Sea and Sirens the creature type isn't revealed until it is posted 🥰 But as per the poll, Water Fairy won! I hope you all enjoy this new AU with me x
Dividers and Headers by @/cafekitsune
Key: ❗️series, 💀 Dark, 🔥smut, 💕 fluff
Blackberry Wilds 💀🔥❗️
Elven!Bucky x f!reader
Between the Reeds and Waterlillies 💀❗️
Ransom Drysdale x Water Fairy!f!reader
Labyrinth 🔥💀 ❗️
Goblin King! Lloyd Hansen x f!reader
Treasure 🔥💀
A Dungeon & A Dragon 🔥💖
Dragon!Ari Levinson x princess!reader
Song of Spring 🔥💕❗️
Part 1 | Part 2
Satyr!Jake Jensen x Nymph!f!reader x Curtis Everett
Hi! I really like your HC AU. Could you do one of how Cevans characters would react to reader flinching during an argument?
Oooh I love this idea! 🥹💔 Let’s get to it!
POV: Y/N flinches in midst of an argument.
Warning - The following HC contains: angst/fluff, comfort, reader has hinted trauma.
Steve Rogers
Steve would cut himself off and stare at you. “Doll, why did you wince like that?…did I raise my voice too loud? I didn’t mean to if I did but I….you know me…I have never and wouldn’t…” Steve begins to ramble a little with his words as he processes what just happened. “Who hurt you, my love? Please, tell me…I’m worried…this had to have come from somewhere, right?” Steve asks as he’s ready to receive an explanation while pulling you in to stroke your back gently. He listens, already plotting in his head to pay ‘someone’ a visit responsible for your trauma response.
Ransom Drysdale
Ransom raises his eyebrows as he sees you flinch and he furrows, confused. “Kitten,…did you seriously think I was about to hit you just now?” Ransom would ask with his arms crossed. “…Do you think I would steep that low?” A part of him takes offense as he first assumes that’s the whole story, but the pieces pick up slowly that this could have come from a previous encounter. He sighs, realizing he’s handling this poorly. “Darling…I didn’t mean for you to react that way. I hope you’re not scared of me…are you?” He’s relieved when you shake your head, and he decides it’s best if you both take a break from arguing. He comforts you, reassuring there’s nothing to be worried about. He hopes you’ll eventually tell him and explain on your own why you flinched.
Andy Barber
Andy would shut his mouth the moment he sees you flinch, and he would stay still as he processes the moment. When he receives your look of feeling guilty, his face softens, “Oh honey…it’s okay, let’s stop arguing about this and talk about what happened, okay? Did I scare you?” He asks first, not wanting to put much pressure on you. He wants to know right away if it was him who had caused you to flinch, and he wants you to feel safe so he speaks in his most soothing tone. When he sees you’re not reacting negatively to his closeness, he pulls you in to an embrace, making you feel safe.
Jake Jensen
Jake would stiffen, wondering what just happened to make you flinch. “Are you okay? You just flinched as if I was going to…” his heart breaks in a million pieces as he puts two and two together. He carefully takes your hands to give you reassurance. “Baby, what happened? Was it me?…You know you can talk to me about anything…I’m all ears, always.” Jake would reassure as he makes you sit down on the couch with him encouraging a chat about it. This incident would bother Jake for a long time, and he would often catch himself in future mid-arguments asking if he’s not coming across as too aggressive to make sure you won’t react like that ever again.
Johnny Storm
Johnny’s sentence would die out the moment he sees you wince and ask, “What was that?”, distraught and confused. “Did you just…” he doesn’t complete his sentence as he flattens his hands and raises them. “Babe,…I’m never putting my hand on you…my parents, while they died when I was very young raised me good enough to know that’s never okay…I wouldn’t do that even if you called me names or cursed at me like Ben always does!” He makes light out of the situation to distract you and pulls you in to caress you when he sees a small smile form on your lips, already leaving you two to forget about what you were even arguing about.
Ari Levinson
Ari’s response to you flinching would be to take a step back and give space between the two of you. He’s encountered women with traumatic responses before and knows that to deescalate the trigger, he needs to show he isn’t going to do any harm, like raising his hand. He would then say to you in a soothing voice, “Sweetheart,…I apologize if I came off as heated just now…let’s put this aside and think of something else, alright?” He would then crouch down, look up at you and making himself small to further deescalate your trauma response. You would respond getting closer to him and come into his welcoming and warm embrace, as you know Ari’s safe. It’s all forgotten and Ari doesn’t see any point of bringing up the argument again. Your feeling of safety comes first.
Thank you @imyourbratzdoll for helping me out a little on this one! ♥️🥰
A/N: This story came to mind because @lanabuckybarnes and I discussed how Lloyd would react if a baby was left on his doorstep. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B
The Mercenary's Daughter: Let me know if you'd like to be tagged | @soelstress
“Again,” he commanded, his voice low but unyielding. Filling your lungs, the morning air was sharp and biting– a cold that matched your father's gaze. His hands were clasped behind his back, standing across from you with a steady stance. His eyes scanned your body with critical precision, taking in every detail and making mental notes of every flaw as you gripped the wooden training staff in your small hands.
You shifted your feet, breathing calmly and bracing for the strike you knew would come. He never held back, not when it came to you– his only daughter, his favorite. He trained you to be better and pushed you the hardest. You had to be faster, and quieter– a weapon sharper than his older children, his sons.
He nodded, signaling for you to begin, and you did. Your small frame moved with precision and instinct, straining every muscle. You kept up with the grueling pace he demanded. Beads of sweat rolled down your forehead, not once did you falter. He expected excellence, so you were nothing less than perfection.
“You’re not like your brothers,” he said, his tone softer after the hours of drills. Yet, there was still that edge that kept your attention. “You’re sharper. Smarter.” The tiniest glint of pride flashed in his eyes, so brief that for a moment, you doubted if it was real. But, it was still enough. It was everything.
Outside the Hansen family, you were known as “The Child.” A shadow, a whisper. A name spoke in fear. But to your father, Lloyd Hansen, you were his creation– the exception. And, as the early morning sun rose over the estate, a pale light shining over the training yard, the weight of his expectations settled over you.
You promised yourself one thing at that moment: You would never let him down.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫❜𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: This is a re-upload. I recently have been getting some comments on ao3 and it's inspired me to get back into writing. Likes/Comments/Reblogs are always appreciated.
Summary: You and Ransom's reunion ignites a spark of hope for a potential reconciliation, but the past still lingers between you.
𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Exes to lovers, Ransom being a menace, exes to lovers, forced proximity, angst, angst with a happy ending
Read on AO3
She never liked high society gatherings. Endless chatter and clashed spoons against expensive china teacups were simply not her cup of tea. She knew that she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and she didn't take it for granted. However, she also understood that it could be taken away from her just as quickly as it was given.
When Harlan passed away, Y/N was away at college, and she didn't fully process the news until she returned home. When she received an invitation to a High Tea party in Harlan's honor, deep down, she knew she had to go.
Harlan was more than a friend—he was like a family to her. He provided food, water, clothes, and a roof over her head when no one else would. Even though the parties bored Y/N, she knew that she owed it to Harlan to attend, and she felt guilty that she was so easily uninterested. She kept reminding herself, It's for a good cause, and you owe it to Harlan.
Y/N had been allowing her tea to go cold for quite some time now. As she raised the ceramic cup to her lips, she made the mistake of meeting her ex-boyfriend's cerulean gaze. Her heart skipped a beat, fear and excitement mingling in equal parts.
She spots a familiar face from across the room—one that she knows all too well.
Ransom stood from across the room, his arms crossed against his chest and a wicked grin plastered across his face as cerulean eyes bore into hers. She freezes for a split second, trying to process this unexpected turn of events. He shouldn't be here. How has no one else noticed him or at least greeted him at the door? A part of her begins to wonder if this is just a figment of her imagination—a product of sheer boredom from having to entertain pointless small talk with the older women at her table.
In what feels like mere seconds, Ransom is beckoning her over to him, index finger curled. Her mind is reeling, her heart hammering in her chest as she realizes that he's sure to make a scene if she refuses. She knows that he doesn't take rejection well. He's never been one to react well to being told no, or to anything getting in the way of him getting his way.
She slowly lowers her tea cup and saucer, her eyes still captivated by his. As she lowers her cup, it falls, pouring warm tea down the front of her dress. She gasps, just managing to catch the china cup before it hits the ground and shatters. When she stands from her seat, all eyes are on her. One of the ladies gives her a sympathetic glance and says, "Oh no. Why don't you get that all cleaned up, dear?"
Despite the discomfort of all the attention, she forces a small smile and makes her way across the room, sliding between the other tables in front of her. She finally makes her way across the room. "What are you doing here?" Y/N whispers to him, a hint of anger in her voice.
"What? No greeting? Not even a simple 'Hey, how are you?' I'm so happy to see you again." Ransom replies in a hushed, sarcastic tone, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.
"It's not nice to see you," she retorts, raising a brow and crossing her arms.
As he looks at the damp patch on her dress, she narrows her eyes. He gives her an impish look, and she feels the urge to grab him and demand answers. She knows it is not a coincidence that he showed up. But instead of reacting, she takes a deep breath and pushes past him.
As she hurries into the bathroom, she grabs a few paper towels and dabs at the wet patch on her dress. She mentally curses herself for letting Ransom distract her. Her mother had gifted her the dress for the event. An event that was supposed to be about Harlan. She sighed, shaking her head. Y/N was still processing his death, even though it had been several weeks after his funeral.
Her thoughts quickly shift back to Ransom. How dare he think he could just waltz back into her life after years of not being around. As she fixed her dress, she tried to calm her racing heart and take deep breaths to steady herself. She couldn't let Ransom ruin the entirety of her day. She needed to stay strong and not let him get to her.
As the bathroom door creaks open, Y/N sees Ransom's reflection in the mirror, making her jaw clench in frustration. "So," he starts, walking over to her by the sink, "our connection is still so strong that you can't help but spill tea when you see me, huh?" His voice is teasing, as if he's enjoying watching her squirm. He knows he’s pushing her limits but, he’s missed her and can’t help but tease her about the incident now that they’re away from prying eyes.
Even though she knows she shouldn't give him the satisfaction, she can't help but feel a twinge of anger at his words. She turns to face him, trying not to let her emotions show on her face. It's hard to maintain a cool facade when all she wants to do is scream at him for his arrogance. She takes a deep breath and gathers herself. She won't let him win. She won't give him the satisfaction of seeing her react. She'll stay calm and collected, no matter what he says or does.
"Please don't flatter yourself. It's just a dress, and I'm used to dealing with spills," she snaps, turning back to the mirror. "And better yet, I'm used to dealing with men who don't respect boundaries." She seethes, her voice dripping with contempt. She hated how he could get under her skin so easily. So much for trying to stay calm.
"Oh? So I'm just a man who doesn't respect your boundaries, eh?" he grins, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. He watches her pat dry her dress, his taunting smile widening. "You know, I remember a time when you loved it when I invaded your space."
She ignores his gaze, now fixing her curls. "Yeah, well that was when I was young and foolish and it was before you broke your promise." Her voice is cold, her anger evident in every word.
She refuses to let Ransom win this argument, no matter how much he tries to provoke her. She's better than that, and she won't let him get the best of her. She tries to steady her breathing and focus on the task at hand, refusing to let him take up any more space in her head.
Ransom chuckles, shaking his head. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but we both know you still have feelings for me. I can see it in your eyes when you look at me, even now.” His words pierce through her defenses, making her feel vulnerable. But she won’t let him control her, and she certainly won’t let him weaken her resolve.
Y/N finishes touching up her appearance. She straightens out her pink floral dress before turning to him. “I’m sure you would like that but, I have a boyfriend. And he’s..perfect. And ten times better than you.” She makes her way toward the door when Ransom grabs her wrist tightly.
His grip was rough and firm. "Don't even think about comparing our relationship to whatever you have now. You and I had something real, something special," he growls, his voice low and threatening. He forcefully grabs her by the waist, pulling her closer to him as he leans in to whisper in her ear. "Don't you remember?" His breath on her skin sends shivers down her spine.
She can't deny how he's making her feel: confusion, anger, frustration, panic. But she still won't let him weaken her resolve. She's stubborn and would rather die than admit he's right. Her anger boils up again, coursing through her veins. "Ransom, let me go!" She grits through her teeth, her eyes glancing around nervously as she hears footsteps outside the bathroom door.
As soon as they hear the knob to the bathroom door turning, Ransom instinctively grabs her by the arm and pulls her into the bathroom stall. Y/N's heart beats faster at the fact that she's this close to him, his chest an inch away from hers.
She notices his soft, expensive black suit, his hair perfectly pulled back. His cologne, sharp and intense, instantly invades her nostrils like the biting cold of winter wind. He raises an index finger to his lips, cautioning her to stay quiet.
She rolls her eyes and looks away, hoping they won't get caught. She can't afford to be seen by the other ladies, who would surely spread the rumor around town. Holding her breath, she peeks through the crack in the bathroom stall door as the older ladies, dressed in matching pastel silk dresses and sparkling pearl earrings, gather by the sink. The ladies all look so prim and proper, each one talking softly in a hushed tone like they are in church. Y/N feels like she is going to choke on her breath, but she keeps silent.
"That's Mrs. Wellington. If we keep our voices low, she won't even hear us," Ransom whispers, his gaze piercing through her soul. His knuckles trail down her arm, and goosebumps ghost over her skin. "Does that boyfriend know how to touch you? Does he know how to kiss you?"
His voice was barely above a whisper, his tone husky. He’s testing her. He knows she can’t make a scene unless she wants to risk getting caught. He’s got her cornered and he enjoys it immensely.
His words pierce her heart like a dagger, rekindling the pain and emotions Ransom once caused. At this moment, her resolve wavers, and for a moment, she struggles to maintain the anger she felt only moments before. She turns to face him, her eyes locked on his. Her voice is determined as she speaks, but there's an undercurrent of sadness in her words.
"I'm better off without you."
She knows it's a lie, but she says it with such conviction as if she's trying to convince herself as much as him. But she can’t deny that she's not ready to let him go, despite all the pain he's caused. She still holds out hope that things will work out between them, even though she knows it's a naive wish.
The air in the room feels thick with tension. Ransom leans back, putting his large hand on her shoulder. She thinks for a moment that he believes her. Suddenly, they both hear the clicking of heels as Mrs. Wellington, the head of the group, dressed in a bright teal silk dress, walks by with the other women. Their coiffed hair forms perfect crowns upon their heads as they exit the bathroom.
She dashes towards the door, but she feels Ransom grab her wrist again. His annoyance is evident in his voice as he questions her. "Do you really think you can lie to me after all these years?" He asks. "I just need to know that you feel the same way about him as you used to feel about me."
Y/N looks at Ransom, searching for sincerity in his eyes, and she finds it. She can't bring herself to lie about loving her boyfriend. Or the fact that she’s hurt him deeply, the pain evident in the way he’s looking at her. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She's speechless. Tears start to flood her eyes, and she shakes her head, whispering, "I can't... I can't do this."
With that, she pulls herself away from Ransom’s grasp and rushes out of the bathroom, leaving him behind.
One week later,
Linda Drysdale had invited Y/N and her mother to Harlan's old house. They hadn't seen her since she had left for college, and part of her was excited to see them. But another part of her felt nervous. She still hadn't gotten over what had happened between her and Ransom, an event that had been replaying in her mind like a broken record.
Ransom was like a phantom, with him invading her mind even more than before. She knew there was a chance that he'd be there, as it was his family's house. Just the thought of having to deal with him made her stomach churn.
The ride over to Harlan's estate was quick, with Y/N trying her best to act fine. But despite her efforts, she couldn't help but feel her mother's concerned gaze. When her mom touched her shoulder and asked her if she was okay, she forced a smile on her lips and said she was fine. But she was far from it.
When they parked in the driveway and stepped out of the car, Y/N took a deep breath before knocking on the door with her mother beside her. Linda answered the door and greeted them with a hug, putting her at ease. “Oh, I'm so happy you guys could make it,” she beamed as she pulled them both into her embrace. “And look at you,” she said, taking a good look at Y/N. “You look so grown-up! Come in, dinner is almost ready.” Linda stepped aside and let them walk inside.
As they walked past the foyer, Y/N noticed that the house was just how she remembered it. The living room was expansive, smelling as if Harlan had still been alive there. The aromas of the musty bookshelves, tobacco smoke from his old pipe, and the woodsy scent from the handmade furniture all came together to create a unique and nostalgic fragrance.
For a moment, she felt at ease until Linda called out from the kitchen. "Ransom! Come down here, dinner is ready!" Her heart dropped in her chest as she heard the floorboards creak above her, followed by the sight of Ransom descending the stairs.
He gave her a smug smile, seeing the look of shock on her face."What? You didn't think I'd ditch my own family's dinner party, did you?" he asked, his tone playful but with a hint of triumph.
She was left speechless as Ransom walked into the dining room, her shock almost enough to leave her unable to move. But she recovered quickly and followed him into the room, surprised to see that everyone had already taken their seats. Linda sat with her mother on one side of the table, and Richard was at the head of the table, leaving Y/N to sit between her mother and Ransom.
Feeling her heart pounding, she forced a nervous smile and took her seat next to Ransom, determined not to let her fear show on her face. Throughout the course of the meal, she felt his gaze linger on her every so often. But she kept her true feelings hidden beneath a forced smile.
Moments after dinner ended, Linda began to cry. Richard leaned over the table, holding her hands and asking, "Honey, what's wrong?"
"It's nothing, really. I was just thinking about Harlan and how happy he would have been to see us all together. He adored the two of you so much." Linda replied, wiping her tears and nodding at Y/N and Ransom.
Y/N offered Linda a grateful smile, transported back to the times she had spent at Harlan's country estate. As she sat there, wrapped up in memories and emotions, she felt her heart ache.
Eight years ago.
Y/N and Ransom laughed as they ran down the halls of Harlan’s country estate. She suddenly darted into one of the studies, jumping onto the desk in the middle of the room. Ransom sauntered over to her.
"Bad move," he said as he approached, his eyes full of mirth. She smirked and shrugged, feeling his hands grip her chin. His thumb grazed over the soft skin of her jawline. He was now only an inch away from her. His arms caged her in, with both of his hands resting on the desk on either side of her hips.
"I missed you today," Ransom whispered, looking down at her lips. A playful glint shone in his eyes as he drew her face closer to his own, their lips almost touching. Her heart raced, knowing that he was just waiting for her to make the first move.
"I've caught you now," He said, his voice low and mischievous. "What's my prize?"
Y/N blushed, her chest rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch her breath. "You can have...anything you want," she gazed up at him with her eyes, trying to not make it obvious that she was feeling nervous. Ransom's smirk widened, and he leaned in again, moving his lips close to her ear, a low murmur filled the air. "Anything I want, huh?" he whispered, his breath tickling her skin. Her body tensed up, not sure how she should react to his words.
She was suddenly snapped out of her thoughts as she heard the sound of dishes being cleared by the butler. Richard stretched and looked out the window. "Well, I'll be damned," he said, shaking his head as he took in the sight of the heavy rain outside. Linda's eyes widened at the sight of the storm. "Oh no. We can't let you leave in that kind of weather," Linda said. "You can stay the night. We have plenty of room, you know that."
Her mother stood up from the table. "I appreciate it, Linda, but I don't want to impose. I know you're still grieving."
"Don't be ridiculous! We insist. It wouldn't be right if we left you to brave the storm," She insisted.
Y/N's heart raced at the thought of spending the night with Ransom. As she followed her mother into the living room, she felt a mix of anxiousness and excitement. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the sight of the storm raging outside the windows. She knew it wouldn't be easy to sleep in the same room as Ransom, especially with their history. But the thought of being close to him again, even if it was just for one night, made her stomach flutter with anticipation.
The storm seemed to mirror the tension between her and Ransom, each drop of rain a symbol of the emotions that threatened to overflow and burst, just like the storm. The sound of the rain against the windows created a haunting ambiance in the room, adding to the awkwardness of the conversation.
As Linda and Richard joined them, her dread only intensified. She tried to hide her discomfort but she could feel the tension building like the storm outside. She wished they would leave before things got any worse.
"Your mother can take the guest bedroom," Linda said. "And, Y/N, we don't have another empty room here. You and Ransom will have to share a room. I'm not ready to clean out Harlan's room just yet." Her tone was melancholic as she spoke as if she didn't want to burden Y/N with her request. Y/N's guilt grew with every passing moment, knowing she had no choice but to comply with the request.
Ransom tried to suppress a grin, which only made the situation worse. She felt as though the floor was rising and falling beneath her, the weight of the situation crushing her like a ton of bricks. Her thoughts raced with dread, wondering how she could possibly share a room with her ex and still keep her sanity.
As everyone went to their assigned bedrooms, Y/N stood there, contemplating her options. Sleeping on the couch in the living room wouldn't be a good idea since she would have to explain herself, but sleeping with Ransom was even worse.
She knew she wouldn't get any rest, no matter what she did. "Shall we?" Ransom asked, the smirk on his face growing wider. She let out a heavy sigh and shoved past him up the stairs, his presence behind her like a dark shadow.
The bedroom was lavish, with a black, modern desk filled with papers and pens, a tall wooden bookshelf, a spacious walk-in bathroom, and a king-sized bed with black, modern sheets and a leather ottoman at the end. It was a far cry from her simple bedroom back home, and she felt out of place as she sat down on the edge of the bed. Ransom followed, sitting down next to her, and reached over to tuck a strand of her hair that had fallen in her face.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to ignore the warmth that spread through her body as his fingers grazed her skin. They sat there in silence, the intensity between them palpable. Y/N could feel her heart racing, knowing this was not how she wanted her visit back home to go. As she looked around the room, she couldn't help but feel uneasy and uncomfortable in the situation.
Y/N shrugged Ransom's hand away and got up from the bed, crossing her arms against her chest. She took a deep breath before speaking, determined to make her boundaries clear. "Okay, let's get something straight," she said firmly, her eyes locking onto Ransom's. "We are not sleeping in the same bed! Absolutely not!"
To her surprise, Ransom let out a light chuckle and his arrogant smirk reappeared on his smug face, making her heart race with a mix of irritation and attraction. She tried to ignore it, reminding herself that this situation was temporary and that she can make it through this. "And where would you have me sleep?" Ransom asked, a mocking tone in his voice, making her stomach knot with anger.
She shook her head with frustration, refusing to let him get under her skin. Despite her desire to see him suffer, she knew it was best to keep her emotions in check. "I don't know, but definitely not in the same bed as me," she replied, feeling the awkwardness in the room mounting with each word.
Ransom's eyebrows raised, and for a moment, she felt a twinge of guilt, knowing she was pushing him away. She took a step back, trying to distance herself from him, and repeated her boundaries with more force. "I don't care," she repeated, her voice getting louder with each word. "I'm not sharing a bed with you."
His smile faded, and his expression grew serious as he realized Y/N was not going to change her mind. "Fine," he said, his tone low but not unkind. He turned to the couch and sat down, letting out a heavy sigh as he ran a hand through his hair.
Another wave of guilt washed over her at the sight of him sitting there, alone on the couch. Maybe she had been a little too harsh. But she reminded herself that she had set her boundaries, and sticking to them was important. She stood up and made her way over to the couch, sitting down next to him, and nervously fumbled with her fingers.
"Look, I'm sorry," she said, keeping her voice low. "I know this is a weird situation, but I need to stick to my boundaries. I'll take the couch, and you can have the bed, okay?"
He chuckled softly and shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Y/N, we're both adults," he said with a small grin, his eyes meeting hers. "What's the big deal with us sharing a bed for one night?"
Despite his light tone, Y/N couldn't help but feel a wave of anxiety wash over her. A part of her wanted to trust Ransom and let down the walls she built up, but another part of her reminded her to keep her guard up. Reluctantly, she shook her head again. "I'm just not comfortable with it," she said softly. "I'll be fine on the couch."
Ransom nodded slowly, acknowledging her decision, but she couldn't help but feel the weight of his disappointment. Without another word, he stood up and grabbed his pajamas before disappearing into the bathroom with a small sigh.
After a few moments, he stepped out of the bathroom, only wearing his gray pajama pants. She fought the urge to lower her gaze, her eyes wanting nothing more than to linger on his well-toned chest for a moment. "Do you want to change?" he asked, holding his clothes in his arms. Y/N hesitated, trying not to let her emotions show on her face. "Nope, I'm fine in these clothes," she lied, looking down at the black midi dress she was wearing.
He threw his clothes on the end of the ottoman, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Oh come on! Will you stop acting like that?" he said, teasingly. "I swear, you look like I'm about to take away your virtue or something." Y/N couldn't help but laugh, feeling some of the tension leave her body, realizing that she had been holding her breath this whole time.
He was right. She was being childish, refusing to change into more comfortable clothes. They were both adults. They could both sleep in the same room without giving in to their desires. Right? "Sorry Ransom, but I think you stole my virtue away from me a long time ago." She teased, cracking a small smile. "Fine. Do you have anything I could borrow for the night?"
"Of course," Ransom said, seeming to relax a bit. It was the first time in a while that Y/N hadn't looked like she wanted to punch him in the face, and he was pleased that she seemed to be opening up to him more. Deep down, he hoped that maybe they could get back to how things used to be. He walked over to his dresser, pulling out a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants.
"Here you go," he said, handing her his clothes. Y/N smiled again, but this time it was genuine, compared to the forced and angry ones he had seen in the past. She whispered a soft, "Thank you" before walking towards the bathroom to get changed.
He felt a certain urgency to follow her into the bathroom and kiss her and wrap his arms around her. To feel her body pressed against his. But he knew it wasn’t the right time. Another sigh escaped his lips as he turned around, beginning to pull the covers down and crawl into bed.
–
A sudden crackling sound woke Y/N and Ransom in the middle of the night. The sound of thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, accompanied by flashes of lightning that lit up the room. The power went out soon after, leaving the room dark except for the moonlight sneaking in through the windows.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, feeling a tinge of fear rising within her. "Ransom?" she asked, her voice a slight shake.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, sounding irritated but not at her. He tried flipping the switch, but it was dead. "I think the storm cut the power out," he said, sounding annoyed but not directing it at her.
Y/N let out a heavy sigh. "Great," she grumbled. She pulled the blanket up closer to her chest, but it did little to add warmth. The cold quickly filled the room, and a chill slowly crept through the entire house. She could make out the shape of Ransom's face despite the darkness, thanks to the moonlight creeping through the window.
Despite the circumstances, Y/N couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement as she looked at him. She quickly suppressed the feeling, reminding herself of their current situation. Staying safe and warm was her top priority, not her feelings for Ransom.
There were a few moments of silence, and Y/N started to shiver under the weighted blanket, her teeth chattering as she tried to bury herself deeper under the covers. Ransom broke the silence, his voice low and gentle. "Y/N, the power's out and it's going to be a long night. We might as well keep each other warm," he said.
His words were comforting, but she hesitated for a moment. As much as she craved the warmth of his body, she couldn't bring herself to face him. Her emotions were already running high, and she didn't trust herself to keep them in check.
Finally, she mustered up the courage to stand up from the couch and crawl into bed with him. She shifted, her back facing Ransom's chest. She snuggled up close to him, his body heat a welcome comfort in the otherwise cold room.
As she relaxed into him, she felt a small flutter of excitement in her chest, which she tried to suppress but it was futile. She let out a slow breath, trying to slow her racing heart. Ransom felt her shivering frame press against him as he pulled more of the covers up over the two of them.
He began rubbing her arms up and down, in an attempt to provide her with more warmth. "Does that feel better?" he whispered, his voice low and gentle. His lips curved up in a small smirk at the fact that he got to hold her in his arms again. Something he’d missed for the longest time. Despite not being able to see her face, he knew she was awake by the tense muscles in her body and the heavy breathing he could hear.
"Yeah. It feels nice." Y/N replied, her voice shaking a little from the cold. Ransom leaned closer to her ear, speaking in a low voice. "You know, you would probably get more warmth if you were facing me." There was a moment of hesitation, and then she finally replied. "I’m fine the way I am. Plus, you’re only saying that because you want me closer to you."
"Maybe," he chuckled softly, pulling her hair back from her face. For a moment, he brushed his fingers against her cheek, a gentle touch that she could barely feel through the blankets. "Or maybe I just wanted to see your pretty face." As Ransom's fingers continued to brush against her skin, she felt her cheeks grow warm.
She didn't know how to react to his small gesture of affection and sighed deeply, realizing that he wasn't going to let up. Reluctantly, she shifted onto her right side, looking away from him. "Is this better?" she muttered, her tone laced with sarcasm.
Ransom smiled softly, gently trailing his finger down toward her jaw. He knew that he shouldn't push her too much, but he couldn't help himself. He had a hard time controlling himself around her. Every time he looked at her, it reminded him of when they were together and happy. A part of him hated how they had grown apart.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her forehead. "I miss you, Y/N. I miss how close we were before." The words came out in a whisper, barely audible in the quiet room. But they hung in the air, heavy and full of emotion. "I never meant to hurt you that night. I was stupid and I felt like I was doing the right thing by letting you go. I…I didn’t want to hold you back."
Her breath hitched as he said those words. She knew deep down that there was no turning back now. The expression on his face was soft, and there was a tinge of remorse in his eyes. For a moment, he looked just like the boy she remembered all those years ago before they both headed off to college.
"I..." she hesitated, struggling to find the words. Then, with a deep breath, she uttered the words she had been wanting to say for so long. "Ransom, you were never holding me back. I would’ve followed you anywhere. You...you broke my heart..." she whispered, her voice cracking as she spoke.
Before she could say anything further, Ransom pulled her into him, wrapping his arm around her waist. Their faces were so close together, and she could feel the warmth of his body against hers. It was a tempting sensation, one that made her heart race. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her right now, and she knew it.
“Don’t you think I know that? I regret that every damn day. It was the biggest mistake of my life,” Ransom whispered in her ear. His breath was hot on her temple as he spoke, and she could feel the tremors in his voice. It was clear that he was just as torn up about the situation as she was.
"Ransom," she murmured, pressing a hand to his bare chest. She knew where this was going and feared what she might do. Their connection had always seemed otherworldly - a drug that she had never been able to get enough of, even after they'd separated. He'd always been a source of temptation, a pull that she'd never been able to resist. She never loved anyone else quite like she did him.
He leaned his forehead against hers, a spark of desire in his eyes. "Tell me this feels wrong and I'll stop," he whispered, his voice dripping with seduction as he asked.
She sighed softly. She knew it was wrong, but the pull of temptation was too strong to resist. She couldn't force the words out - deep down, she wanted this too. And the way that he was looking at her right now - it made her heart race even faster and her belly twist with delicious uncertainty.
She closed the gap and kissed him passionately. Her arm wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, even closer than before. He was stunned at first and then, without a moment's hesitation, he kissed her back. It was fierce and passionate, with a certain roughness that she had missed for so long. His hand cradled her neck as they kissed, a feeling that she never wanted to end.
A few minutes after they locked lips, she pulled away, leaving them both panting and trying to catch their breath. Even in the dimly lit room, she could still make out the familiar outline of Ransom's mischievous grin. "Just give me another chance to love you," Ransom whispered, his voice laced with sincerity and hope. "Give me another chance to show you the kind of love that you deserve. I promise I won't let you down again."
Her heart fluttered in her chest as she listened to his words. It was something she had been hoping for, for the longest time, and now it was finally becoming a reality. With a mix of excitement and trepidation, she replied, "Ransom, losing you once was painful enough. I don't want to ever go through that again."
Y/N felt a sense of vulnerability wash over her as she spoke, but she pushed through it, determined to see this through. She cupped his face in her hands and leaned in to kiss him once more as their bodies intertwined beneath the sheets.
