Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [9]
Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader
Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why.
Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!
Word count: 3477
A/N: as always, i am so thankful to you for reading, for waiting for updates, and for feedback!
Doctor Hegeman smooths the ultrasound gel over your belly, and his eyes go soft behind his thick glasses as he circles your bump. It’s pronounced now, a gentle curve that sits just low enough that it can’t be mistaken for anything else. The doctor leans back to grab the ultrasound wand and spreads the gel over the sensor, and holds it against his palm to warm it a little.
“Now let’s just take a deep breath and relax.” He blows out a breath of his own, encouraging you to do the same. Doctor Hegeman is an older man, about the same age as your own father if you had to guess. There is a practiced ease with which he positions the screen and settles himself onto his stool that tells you he’s an old hat at this. You want to ask him how many captive pregnant women he’s treated but Ransom squeezes your hand just as the thought shifts into your throat. At the same time, Lloyd squeezes your shoulder.
An affectionate warning.
“Are you excited to see the baby, Sweetheart?” Ransom asks quietly, threading his fingers through your own and bowing his head to brush his lips along your knuckles. You swallow.
“Yes.”
Lloyd gets up to adjust the blinds, holding down the button on the wall panel until they slide almost completely shut. Doctor Hegeman makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat.
“Thank you. Ah, here we are.” He turns to you, his warm smile somehow both comforting and utterly indecent. “Let’s get started.” He holds the wand firmly to your belly, and though he’s spent a good long while warming it, it’s still shockingly cool as it touches your skin. The feeling of firm but gentle pressure increases as the doctor directs your attention to the screen.
“And there we are!” He draws out the ‘a’ like he’d been expecting a drumroll. For an irrational moment you’re almost afraid to look at the screen, like somehow looking will make it more real. And then Ransom’s quiet voice makes you open your eyes.
“Sweetheart look.” Each word is heavy with awe. “There’s our bean.” The ultrasound screen is a grainy gray-green, but even so you can see—your baby.
That’s your baby.
Your heart swells in your chest as you choke out a disbelieving little laugh. Bean was right—the picture there was nothing more than a curled up, vaguely human shaped blob, but you feel more love and pride in that moment than you think you ever have in your life.
My baby.
“Let me just get the volume going here—” Doctor Hegeman’s fingers skitter over a ridged dial and the sound of their quick little heartbeat fills your ears. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Lloyd leans down to kiss your forehead.
“Look at you, Princess,” he breathes, and when you glance up at him his eyes are shiny and wet. “M’so proud of you.”
“Everything looks fantastic Mrs. Drysdale,” Doctor Hegeman pauses, pressing the wand down a little harder on your belly. “Baby is developing just fine, it looks like we’re, what, two, nearly three months along now? My goodness.” You nod. You’d been approaching month two when you’d left for Mykonos—now you’re well on your way to month three.
Have I really been here that long?
“I’m seeing pretty much everything I want to see, here. Baby’s developing fingers, toes, all the good bits.” You blow out a relieved breath. “Mom, you look healthy—even without measuring, I’d have liked to see you gaining a little more weight, but every body is different, so I’m going to give it until our next visit to make any determinations in that regard. Let’s get you changed and get those measurements going.” He turns back to the machine, wiping the gel from the ultrasound wand with a cloth.
“And Dad?” Ransom perks up from behind you.
“Yes?”
“No undue stress. No pretzel positions later, understand?” Your face heats and Lloyd lets out a chuckle. “No arguing, no unnecessary picking.”
“Will do, doc.”
“Fantastic. I’d like to get some more measurements, so if you wouldn’t mind getting the lights? And the scales?”
With an air of reluctance Ransom unthreads his fingers from yours, sighing. Lloyd returns to the window while Ransom fiddles with the equipment on the other side of the room. Doctor Hegeman pats your shoulder.
“I’ll make sure to send copies of the sonogram.” Almost instinctively, you wait for Lloyd or Ransom to respond, to answer for you the way you’re becoming accustomed to—but they don’t. You lean up onto your elbows, peeking around the ultrasound machine at the two of them as your eyes widen.
They can’t hear you.
“Help me.” The words tumble from your trembling mouth before you can think of better ones. “You have to help me!” The smile dies on the doctor’s face.
“Th—they’re keeping me here, I, I need—” You cast a panicked glance behind you. “I need help, y-you have to ge-get me out—” The room grows brighter as the automated blinds rise back up, and your heart pounds against your ribcage as the doctor stares at you. You wonder if he will simply turn and tell them what you’ve said, and your spine tightens with fear at the thought of their retribution. Or—and this is perhaps the worst thought of all—maybe he already knows.
And doesn’t care.
“Sonogram.” Lloyd says, settling himself back down next to you on the chair he’d dragged up beside the exam table. “You’ll send copies?”
The kindly smile is firmly back in place across his mouth.
“Of course.” He turns back to the ultrasound machine, scribbling something onto a post-it note. “I’ve got some recommendations for nutritional supplements, things to help with sleep, that sort of thing. Nothing that will overwhelm you. “ He turns back to you, and for the life of you, you can’t tell if his smile is genuine or if the lifting at the corner of his lips signals some sinister end you cannot imagine. “Let’s talk about next steps.”
“O-okay.”
“Now we’re beginning to enter into the more critical stages of development, so we don’t want you doing anything too much, do you understand?” Wait. You swallow thickly. Is he—?
“You’re going to want to focus on eating lots of good food, resting, prioritizing your health until our next appointment.” Your heart is pounding in your chest—you’re thankful Dr. Hegeman has already disconnected the nodules measuring your blood pressure and heart rate—no doubt they’re skyrocketing. Are you reading this correctly? Is it longing making you foolish or desperation?
“And when will that be?” Ransom asks. “When would you like to see us next?”
“Four weeks.” Your chest tightens.
“F-four weeks? That’s not, that’s not a little… long?” You ask, praying the pleading, desperate hope coiling in your chest doesn’t make it into your voice.
“That’s the soonest we’ll see any marked development, I’m afraid.” He reaches over to squeeze your hand gently with both of his, and you feel your heart stall for a second, two, as he slips a crumpled ball of paper into your palm. “I know there’s an urge with some new mothers to check development every day—but a watched pot never boils.” He chuckles and pulls away, sighing.
“Four weeks. I’ll put that on the calendar.” Ransom rises from his seat and Lloyd follows suit.
“That’s—”
“We’ll discuss it outside.” Lloyd’s tone is pleasant enough, but you can hear the warning in it. “Let’s get your things.” You slip the paper into your sleeve as you rise from the exam table, stepping out of the way as the twins ferry the medical equipment back out of the room. As much as you want to read the note, you can’t. There are cameras everywhere—you know better than to trust their diverted attention, you will need plausible deniability and a good cover.
Instead, you remove yourself to the bed, trying your best to position your body as inconspicuously as possible to one side so that you can see out of the wide metal doorway.
The concrete hallway that extends beyond it is narrow and short, ending in a set of stairs that cut out of your vision abruptly around four steps up. When the last of the equipment has been loaded into the hallway, Ransom darts over to kiss your forehead.
“You did so good, Sweetheart. Be right back.” You nod, smiling as your heart pounds.
“Okay.”
After the door closes behind him you count to three hundred, just to make sure enough time has passed before you meander over to your pile of books on the coffee table, facing your back to the majority of the cameras. You pick up a book, and with trembling hands you gently shake the crumpled up post-it note out of your sleeve and onto the page. With small, slow movements you unfurl it, pressing it as flat as you can.
STAY STRONG. BE BACK 2.5 WKS 4 TESTING.
Your chest goes tight and you swallow the deep sob that threatens to wrench itself out of your throat. Stay strong.
Dr. Hegeman is going to help you.
—
You aren’t sure if this is a dream or a memory, the soft silk sheets beneath your fevered skin, the hands—so many hands—pulling, touching, caressing. God, it’s enough to drive you crazy. And it’s Ransom, it has to be, because you see his face so clearly. He’s all around you, kissing and mumbling words of praise and affection in your ear as he drags his lips down over the curve of your hip—
How’s that possible?
And then a mouth attaches itself to your throbbing, soaking cunt, sliding through your folds as sure finger spread you wider—
“Ransom!”
You don’t remember speaking, there isn’t enough breath in your chest to do so but that is your voice, your breathless, needy whine echoing back to you over the sounds of breath and skin sliding against skin. There’s a chuckle, and more mumbled speech you don’t really understand.
“—thinks it’s just you, Ran—”
You sit up, your nightgown sticking to your sweaty chest. There’s no sound other than the quiet hum of the air filters, barely audible over your own panting. As you shift over to the edge of the bed, your thighs slide together with an unmistakable slickness that makes your face heat. Shame settles lead-heavy in your belly.
You haven’t dreamt about that first night with Ransom in college for years—though why it is resurfacing in your subconscious now is a mystery you’re honestly afraid to solve. Either way, your body remembers, your cunt clenching traitorously between your sticky thighs. It had felt so much like a fairytale back then, your friends had even jokingly called you Cinderella—from rags to such riches you still had trouble comprehending them. The romance felt straight out of the picture books too, Ransom’s doting affection blinding you to the things you should have seen coming—
Like Lloyd.
The door opens as you step down onto the cold tile, a shirtless figure—Ransom or Lloyd, you aren’t sure yet—steps inside.
“Saw you tossing and turning,” his voice is hoarse with sleep. “I can’t sleep either, Sweetheart.” Ransom, then. At least, you think it’s Ransom. The stubble he usually shaves is getting long now, leaving a shadow that resembles the mustache Lloyd’s resumed growing out.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Your cheeks heat as he approaches. Your whole body is still practically thrumming from the dream. There’s another hot, stubborn pulse from the slick place between your thighs as if in answer.
Moonlight spills across the floor, illuminating his face for just an instant as he crosses the room. In that moment, you are back in your bedroom. Your husband is coming in for the cuddle that he knows you can’t fall asleep without; the gentle, familiar smile on his face that he reserves just for you. You hate yourself for grasping at it with desperate hands as the terrible reality floods back in. You shouldn’t want that feeling, shouldn’t want the serene, unthinking bliss of before—
But God fucking help you, you do.
Ransom hums as he tucks an errant curl behind your ear. “You said my name.” Your face burns with the knowledge of why as he tucks his index finger beneath your chin, forcing you to look at him. No, no, no—You try to pull away but he holds you fast, his thumb tracing the shape of your lower lip again and again.
“You can be honest with me, Sweetheart, you know that.” He’s too close to you, too fucking close—“Do you miss me, Love?” Ransom’s breath ghosts across your cheeks. “I miss you so much. Every night.” You hate this. You hate him. You hate yourself because you love him still, so fucking much. How can you hate him and love him both in equal measure? What is wrong with you?
“I m-miss you.” You mumble tearfully, staring straight into his dark eyes—Ransom won’t let you look away. Why didn’t you lie? Why couldn’t you?
“I know.” He kisses your trembling lips softly, wrapping his arms around you as he tugs you to his chest. “I know.” It feels terrible and familiar and right when Ransom buries his face in your hair, and you cannot help but cling to him, pressing your face against his shoulder. He smells exactly like he should, warm linen and that musky, sandalwood cologne.
“I want to go home, Ran.” Your words are muffled against his skin but you know he hears them. “Please.” You whisper. “I’ll be good.” You hate that you mean it, almost. That your lie rings so close to truth it is nearly indistinguishable. His breath hitches, and for half a heartbeat you see a flicker of uncertainty cross his face before a familiar look of resolution replaces it. Not for the first time you wish you could read your husband’s mind, untangle the nest of thoughts within and hold them up to the light. Maybe then, just maybe, you might begin to figure out where this went all bad and wrong like a twisted limb.
“We will, Baby.” He kisses the top of your head, and when you pull away to look at him, he wipes a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “We will.” You wish you were strong enough not to believe him, but you do, and you hate yourself for it. They can’t keep me here forever. They won’t.
“You’re going to get Dr. Hegeman all angry at me when he comes if you keep this up, Sweetheart.” Ransom cups your face, and the earnestness there sends spindly cracks through the wall you’ve cobbled together around yourself, the one you try to shore up in every moment you spend alone.
“W-what do you mean?”
“He just got done telling us not to upset you, remember? No undue stress. It was only a week ago, don’t tell me you forgot.” Ransom taps the end of your nose affectionately. “I don’t want you getting all worked up, Sweetheart. You’re going to go home. We all will.” You know he means Lloyd too, includes him now in his definition of family. “When you’re ready.” He holds you for a moment, his hand rubbing circles on the small of your back the way he knows you like best.
It’s habit that tells you to rest your hands on Ransom’s broad shoulders, and the contented sigh that works out of your throat when your rest your head against his chest is mirrored by one of his own. If you close your eyes, you can pretend you’re in your bedroom, that you’re in any one of a thousand, thousand memories instead of here in this moment where you hate him. You don’t want to—and maybe that’s what’s most fucked about it all.
You don’t want to hate your husband. You want to love him again. Tears well up, threatening to spill down your cheeks as your lip trembles.
“Oh Sweetheart. Baby. Look at me, look. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He rocks you back and forth, mumbling soft words into your hair. “Don’t cry.” You sniffle against his chest, wishing it doesn’t feel as comforting as it does when he starts to hum. It’s your wedding song.
You sway like that for a while, eyes closed, Ransom’s fingers drawing shapes on the exposed skin of your arms and through the fabric of your nightgown as gradually, the feeling stops. He doesn’t want to let you go, though, burying his face in your hair with a sigh. Uncomfortably, you’re reminded of the snatches of your dreams earlier; warm hands on your body, lips brushing against your skin. Only this time, it’s real, Ransom’s mouth traveling down your jaw, lingering at the fluttering pulse point by your throat.
“I want to make you feel good.” Your chest tightens at his words.
“I—I—“
“Just you, Sweetheart. Just for you.” He cups your breast through your nightgown, flicking his thumb across your nipple. The result is instant and electric. Your sharp intake of breath makes a grin spread across his face. Ransom takes a step forward, and then another, walking you back a few paces until the backs of your thighs press against the mattress.
“Just for you.”
Ransom knows you, knows your body so well; knows all the places that make you tingle and shiver—the spot beneath your left ear, curving his tongue against your skin as you whimper. The buttons down the front of your nightgown are easy work for him, his fingers finding your nipples easily after he parts the fabric. His eyes widen a fraction, before the lascivious little smile on his face grows wide.
“W-what?”
“Your nipples, Baby. They’re—I mean, they’re bigger.” You’ve been numb to some of your body’s more obvious changes, only looking in the mirror when you have to, but his reaction forces you to take note. Ransom cups your breasts together with a pleased sigh, flicking your nipples with his thumbs. They hadn’t been particularly sensitive before, but now the feeling sends a hot, electric pulse straight to the still-slick place between your thighs. And when he sucks one into his mouth, you loose a shuddering moan.
You feel Ransom’s lips curl into a smile as he rolls your thick, swollen nipples between his tongue and teeth, pressing a hand between your thighs. He draws a line down between your lips with one steady finger.
“S’this why you couldn’t sleep, Sweetheart?” He chuckles knowingly, and you press your face into his shoulder with an embarrassed nod. “Needed me?” He circles your entrance with one finger as he tugs on your nipple. You gasp, your thighs falling apart. He releases your breast with a wet pop, admiring the his swollen handiwork before his gaze drops.
“Wider.” It’s automatic, your thighs sliding apart so that Ransom can loop them over his shoulders. He tugs you forward until you’re almost hanging off the bed. You don’t remember lying back, but you’re staring dizzily at the ceiling as Ransom nips at your inner thighs. The first touch of his tongue to your cunt is like fire, leaving you whining and squirming. You feel like you’re already ready to pop, your nipples throbbing in time as your husband fixes his lips to your swollen clit and sucks hard.
“O-oh God!” You undulate against his face, feeling that cocky smile against your cunt as he circles your entrance with two thick fingers. He slides them in to the third knuckle, scissoring them. “R-Ran—”
“Shh, Sweetheart,” his voice is muffled from between your thighs. “Don’t want to wake up Lloyd, do you?”
God, you’re drowning in a sea of Ransom, and it feels so good to do it. His fingers in your cunt, mouth on your clit, the smell of his aftershave underscoring it all—
You cum hard, thighs tightening around your husband’s head as you rock against his face. He sucks softly on your clit, prolonging that blissful suffocation until you can’t stand it anymore and tug on his hair. He chuckles, wiping his glistening mouth on his sleeve. You feel sluggish, boneless as Ransom helps you climb properly into bed. He doesn’t leave, instead climbing in beside you—and you’re too tired to complain, even when he pulls you against his chest, tucking you into the hollow of his body the way he knows you like.
He waits until the sound of your breathing goes soft and steady, and there’s no second’s worth of hesitation and stiffness when he brushes his lips against your cheek.
“We’ll go home soon, Sweetheart.” He says lowly. “We’ll go home very soon.”
To be continued…
