littleheavensangel2

[littleheavensangel2]

jealousy & flirtation

EIGHT: YOU'RE ONLY PLAYING DRESS-UP

18+

Thor, Steve, Yelena, and Wanda continue learning the truth about Wren's quick exit. Meanwhile, Juniper decides enough is enough and it's time to take you out of Bucky's life forever.

Content Warning: Frat!Bucky x F!Reader, mature themes, mention of self harm/violence/injury, mention of murder, angst, blackmail.

Series Masterlist

"I'm sorry - you said yes?" Wanda asks Wren incredulously. "After everything his best friend put you through, you said yes?"

Wren shrugs. "I guess I thought we'd elope and leave the world behind," She says, laughing dryly at her naivety. "I'm not claiming to have been smart back then. He was all I cared about, and I'd have put up with ten Junipers for him."

"Damn, his dick must be amazing," Yelena mutters, in disbelief that Bucky could be worth the hassle.

"It's pretty good," Wanda confirms, to which everyone frowns at her. "What? After Steve, I wanted to make double sure that I was a lesbian and not just disgusted by him. Turned out I am a lesbian, but Bucky's a little less disgusting."

"Mean," Steve says with narrow eyes. "My dick's just as good as his."

"Anyway," Thor interjects pointedly. "How did the fight start between you and Juniper?"

"Bucky proposed," Wren repeats. "No ring or anything. He was just being dramatic and romantic. The cunt watched the whole thing. I'm surprised she didn't just waltz over and push me off the boat - but like I said, she's smart. She waited until Bucky had gone to the bar or bathroom or somewhere that wasn't with me, and then approached me. She said one of my friends was vomiting in one of the cabins, so I followed her. Little did I know she had overheard my plans to run away to Vegas with Bucky and get married by a shitty Elvis impersonator."

"Romantic," Steve mutters dryly.

"Mhm," Wren says with a snort. "She took me out to the top of the yacht where nobody else was. The same spot he proposed. Immediately blew up at me. She said I was stealing him from her, that I didn't deserve him, that he was hers and he'd never leave her."

"Did she push you off the boat?" Yelena asks, shock in her eyes.

"I wish," Wren says flatly. "I'd had enough, so I fought back. Told her she was crazy and that if Bucky wanted her, he'd be dating her. I guess I struck a nerve. She had a knife on her."

"What?" Wanda gasps, not expecting those words to leave Wren's mouth. "She fucking stabbed you?"

"Worse," Wren says darkly. "She stabbed herself."

Making up for lost time with Bucky, you took him back to your place after painting and screwed him three more times for good measure.

"I'm starving," He grumbles from where he's lying on top of you.

"Go make us some food, then," You reply weakly, your voice muffled against the pillow.

Slowly, he peels his sweaty body away from yours and lies on his back next to you. "How about you go make me a sandwich, woman?" He utters, smirking when you slap his stomach.

"For that, you can order us food," You say sternly. "I want Chinese."

While you shower, Bucky sits on the toilet.

"Don't forget the egg rolls," You remind him as steam fills the air.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, it's on it's way," He says before pulling the shower curtain back.

"Can I help you?" You ask while rubbing soap over your body.

It looks as though he plans to make a sly comment, but when he sees your tits covered in suds, his eyes darken and his mouth runs dry. You immediately recognize the look on his face.

"Again?" You ask as his dick hardens.

He nods. "Again."

After a steamy shower and yet another round of dangerous, slippery sex, you both lie on your fresh bed sheets. You're in your purple dressing gown, and he's stretching out your pink one, the two of you snuggling together while a shitty movie plays on the TV. Empty Chinese food cartons sit in a pile on the floor.

"Ah, shit, I forgot about that," Bucky mutters to himself while looking down at his phone.

"What is it?" You ask, looking over.

"I've mentioned the annual Cabo trip that Juniper plans, right?" He asks you.

"The one her parents go on, too?" You question.

"That's the one," He confirms. "They've been going since she was born, and I started tagging along when we were teenagers. When we came to college, she invited all our friends, too. She just texted me about it; it's in a month. Straight after finals."

"Shit, really?" You turn to him with a frown.

"I couldn't go last year and she almost killed me. I had an internship I couldn't turn down," He explains. "So, she's extra sensitive about it this year. Can't miss it."

"So, I won't see you all summer?" You wonder.

"We'll only be there a couple of weeks," He says, before looking down at you. "Come with us."

Taken aback, you raise a brow. Juniper would most definitely not be happy about you infiltrating their annual trip - but maybe that's exactly what she deserves.

"Okay," You agree with a smile.

"Yeah? You'll come?" Bucky asks, pleasantly surprised.

"Of course. Spending two weeks in Cabo with Bucky Barnes?" You lean in closer, giving him a soft kiss. "I can't think of anything better."

He kisses you again, smiling against your lips. "It's great up there," He tells you. "We'll have a lot of fun."

"I'm sure we will," You reply before curiosity gets the best of you. "So, you and Juniper have been best friends for, like, ever, right?"

Bucky nods while tugging on a loose string on your dressing gown. "Since we were six years old," He tells you.

"I'm all for men and women being able to be friends without there being feelings involved," You preface carefully. "But has there ever been anything between you? More than friends, I mean?"

Surprised by your question, Bucky lets out a laugh. "No. Never," Is his firm answer. "Our parents were always rooting for us to get together, but we never did."

"How come?" You wonder. "I mean, she's pretty hot, and you're alright. You're telling me you never crushed on her? You were never attracted to her?"

"Flora, I've known her since we were babies," He reminds you. "We grew up together. Went through every part of life together - she's practically my sister."

Though his words make you happy, you do well to keep that off your face. "Right," You mumble.

"She's a beautiful girl, I'm not saying she isn't," Bucky says, resting his hand on your leg. "I love her. But I've never looked at her in that way. I couldn't."

You hum, fiddling with his fingers. "And she's never had a crush on you?" You ask.

Your question makes him laugh heartily. "Of course not," He says. "She sees me like a brother. It would be way too weird for anything like that. Why are you asking, anyway?"

Shrugging, you wrap your arms around him. "Just curious, is all," You tell him. "Neither of you are exactly known for dating other people. The past few years at college, it's almost like you guys have been dating each other. You know, without the kissing."

His nose crinkles at your revelation. "Is that really what people think?" He asks with a frown. "I guess we spend a lot of time together, but it's not like that. I've dated other girls... granted, Juniper's not exactly the kind to date, but that isn't because of me."

Oh, it most definitely is.

"Fair enough," You say, smiling up at him.

He smiles back down at you, cupping your face in his hands. "Anyway, enough about me - why don't you tell me about yourself?" He asks. "Did you have a lot of boyfriends in high school?"

You snort, shaking your head. "Absolutely not," You tell him. "I know I'm dream girl material now, but I was a late bloomer."

With a grin, Bucky squeezes your hip. "I bet I'd have liked you," He theorizes. "What were you like?"

High school - and your childhood in general - wasn't the best time for you, so while Bucky's hoping for some wholesome nostalgic stories, you have little more than trauma to dump on him from that period. "Uh, just boring, to be honest," You say. "Focused on school. Stayed in the art room until the cleaners kicked me out every evening."

"Cute," He mumbles with a smile. "I definitely would've liked you."

"Don't be so sure," You whisper, before rushing to change the topic. "Shouldn't we start studying soon? We have Visual Analysis tomorrow afternoon."

"So we do," He replies, stretching his arms out. "Just think - in a few weeks, we'll officially be free from the clutches of education."

You let out a sigh of relief at his words, hoping that Juniper is merciful enough to allow you to have a pleasant summer with Bucky.

"Mom, it's all going wrong!" Juniper cries over the phone as she paces up and down her bedroom floor.

"What's going on, Joopy?" Elizabeth Johnson replies with a concerned tone. "Is everything alright?"

"No!" Juniper all but screams, throwing open her wardrobe door. "Everything is ruined!"

"Oh, baby, whatever it is, we can fix it," Elizabeth replies soothingly, used to her daughter's melodramatics. "We always fix it."

"The only way it can be fixed is if that bitch drops dead," Juniper spits, pulling out items of clothes and tossing them onto the ground.

Elizabeth hums, guessing, "Does James have a new girlfriend?"

"The stupid bitch invited herself to Cabo!" Juniper all but screams. "That's my trip! How dare she?"

"Oh, honey, if you don't want her there, just tell her not to come," Elizabeth suggests diplomatically. "It is our trip, after all."

"Jamie wants her to come," Juniper says with a pout. "If I uninvite her, he'll be angry with me. I thought they had broken up, but she found a way to worm back into our lives. Ugh!"

"The Juniper I know would find a way to get what she wants, no matter what," Elizabeth says. "Remember when you were in high school, and James was asked to the prom by Karen Sinclair? You spent five minutes talking to her and managed to get her to cancel the plans with James, leaving him to take you instead. I've never been prouder."

Raising a brow, Juniper slowly closes her wardrobe door. "I remember that," She mumbles, her mind racing with ideas. "I gotta go, Mom. I have something to do."

"Atta girl. Call me tomorrow and we can plan Cabo. I love you," Elizabeth says cheerily before hanging up.

Putting down her phone, Juniper lets out a breath before a smile slowly starts to grow on her lips.

It's time to take back what's hers.

"Understandably, Bucky thought I did it," Wren recalls, looking down at her twiddling thumbs. "I mean, he walked up to see his best friend bleeding on the floor and his girlfriend - no, fiance - standing over her, holding the knife. I was too numb with shock to even try and tell him the truth. He didn't say a single word to me. Just picked her up and took her to the hospital. I ran home, packed my things, and skipped town, expecting the cops to be on my tail. I ran for three months before realizing she hadn't filed a report against me."

The four sitting opposite her sit in silence, each of them as appalled as the other. It takes a couple of minutes to pass before Yelena speaks up. "Yeah, we need to take that bitch down," She decides firmly.

"You make it sound easy," Wren mutters bitterly.

"Surely if we go to Bucky and tell him all of this, he'll have no choice but to believe us," Thor argues with a frown. "There's strength in numbers, isn't there?"

A dry laugh leaves Wren's mouth. "It wouldn't be enough to just tell him. Don't you see? The cunt's spent almost two decades cultivating her perfect angel persona, and he's never had a reason to think otherwise," She tells him. "We can't just tell him. We have to show him."

"How?" Wanda asks, shaking her head. "We set her up?"

"Easier said than done," Steve grumbles. "Thor and I have been trying to get Bucky and Y/N back together for the past week and even that's proven to be impossible. How do we out-play the player?"

"Juniper may be smart, but she's still human," Yelena reminds them. "She's bound to mess up eventually. Heck, it's finals season; she'll be distracted and stressed out, and it might be easier to attack."

"But what do we do?" Wanda asks, frowning. "How do we prove to Bucky, once and for all, that Juniper's an evil bitch who's been sabotaging his relationships his entire life? Now that him and Y/N are over, she has no reason to do anything crazy."

Wren stands up and begins pacing around the room. "We need to trigger her," She decides. "Make her think there's someone new in Bucky's life. She'd be tempted to do what she always does; try and sabotage it, and we can make sure we're there to catch her red-handed."

"I like it," Wanda says with a nod.

"But where do we find someone new for Bucky to be involved with?" Thor wonders.

"Does it have to be someone new?" Yelena asks, before turning her attention to Wren. "Or, would she be even more triggered if she thought it was someone from his past?"

Wren's brow flies up and she's taken aback for a few seconds before she grins. "That's fucking brilliant."

Yelena

T and I drove to Brooklyn for food but it got late so we stayed in a hotel last night. Should be back later today x

If it wasn't a regular occurence for Thor and Yelena to spontaneously take a road trip just to check out a new restaurant, you'd be suspicious, but you're just slightly jealous you weren't invited. But you think sex with Bucky might be a little better than birria tacos.

After a long day of studying yesterday and the exam today, Bucky went home, leaving you to your own devices. You're grateful for the peace and quiet, and plan to head to the gym until you see the heavy rain outside.

"Fuck that," You mumble before collapsing down onto the couch and reaching for the remote control before your phone buzzes again. Assuming it's Yelena again, you pick it up and glance at the screen, but sit up when you see it's an Instagram message from none other than Juniper. "The fuck do you want?" You mutter bitterly. "Probably warning me to stay away from Cabo. Yeah, right."

Opening up the message, you see that it's shorter than you were expecting.

juniper_

We need to talk. Meet me at the statue by the lake.

Looking up at the window and seeing that the rain still hasn't let up, you scoff.

You

in this weather? no thanks. what do you need to say?

juniper_

If you care about Bucky, you'll come. I'm waiting.

Don't bite. Don't bite. Don't bite.

Damn. You can't help but be curious about what it is she needs to say. Deciding it might be good to hash it out with her, you agree to meet, seeing it as a chance to tell her to back off.

Twelve minutes later, you're standing in the pouring rain by the tall statue of some old philosopher behind campus. Juniper's tossing pebbles into the lake, clad in a heavy, black coat.

"Hey," You call out, your voice almost drowned out by the rain.

She turns around, her hood hiding her eyes. "I'm glad you came," She says. "That was a smart choice."

Rolling your eyes, you sigh and reply, "Can we make this quick? I'm freezing."

Juniper walks closer to you, an oddly calm look on her face as the rain batters down on you both. "I think I'll take my sweet time, actually," She says. "I'd like to savor this moment."

"I know you were lying," You tell her firmly. "About him showing you my nudes. I asked him."

A flash of fear shoots across her eyes, but she does well to remain calm.

"Don't worry; I didn't mention your name," You say with a scoff. "But the next time you try something like that, I will not hesitate to throw you under the bus. I've had enough of you trying to fuck things up - he likes me, Juniper. A lot. And I like him. There's nothing you can do to change that."

She listens to your rant with a bored look on her face. You aren't sure if you're imagining a slight smugness start to bloom. "Are you done?" She asks, not bothering to wait for your answer before continuing. "As you can tell, I'm very protective over Jamie," She begins.

Yeah, no shit.

"I like to keep him safe," She goes on to claim. "I like to know that the people he spends time with are good people. People who won't hurt him or put him in danger."

Your eyes narrow into a glare. "What the fuck are you getting at, Johnson?" You ask her curtly, sick of standing in the rain and listening to her riddles.

"It's my duty, as his best friend, to look out for him," She says, making you cringe. "I have a right to know who he's spending time with. So, I decided to check up on you."

You raise a brow at her words. "Check up on me?"

"You made my job pretty hard, I have to admit," She says with a dry laugh. "But that only motivated me more because a hidden past usually means there's something worth hiding. At least, that's what my father's private investigator believes."

Your stomach flips. Surely not. "I don't know what-"

"Shut the fuck up," Juniper cuts you off coldly, all warmth leaving her face. "My PI did a deep dive on you, Y/N. You poor little thing, growing up in poverty. Probably went to sleep hungry more than once. Never given any toys for Christmas. Ignored on birthdays."

"You have no fucking idea what you're talking about, Juniper," You tell her firmly, clenching your hands into fists.

"Oh, but I do," She says smugly. "See, Jamie and I grew up on the right side of the tracks. We had it good. Jamie's used to a certain level of quality. He likes nice things. Expensive art. Luxury. All the things you've never known. You may know a little about art, but you'll never emulate the natural refinement and elegance that comes with lifelong wealth."

Refined and elegant are hardly how you'd describe her.

"You think he gives a fuck that I grew up poor, you pompous bitch?" You ask her, shaking your head. "I thought you knew him better than that. He isn't shallow."

"I agree. It's possible that he could look past that stuff," She suggests with a shrug before a smirk pulls at her lips. "But do you think he could look past the things you did to make money? To look past the man you killed?"

Your heart drops. She's bluffing. She has to be bluffing.

"Poor old David Rust," She says with a faux pout. "Yet another lost soul succumbing to a foul addiction, murdered. In cold blood."

"There's more to it than that," You find yourself explaining to her, hating that you feel so weak. "I was sixteen. I wasn't even convicted."

"You think any of that matters?" Juniper scoffs. "You're a crackwhore murderer. When Bucky finds out... he'll be disgusted."

The rain continues beating down on you, but it does little to distract you from the horrific feeling of dread pooling in your stomach. It's weighing you down, making you want to drop to the floor.

She takes another step closer to you. "But, he doesn't have to find out," She offers. "As long as you stay the fuck away from him, I won't tell him about your ugly past. Break up with him, and nobody but you and I have to live with the truth."

What a fucking bitch. You consider telling Bucky yourself - explaining the entire truth - but what if she's right? Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he wouldn't understand being pushed to the edge. Being made to do the worst things just to make ends meet. Just to make sure you didn't starve. He may be polite enough not to tell you to his face, but he'd as disgusted with you as you are with yourself.

"Let's face it," She utters. "You don't deserve him. You were born and raised in the gutters. That's where you belong, and it's where you'll always belong. You can pretend you have it all with your makeup and your skirts and your art degree, but you're only playing dress-up. The trash you are on the inside will always be there, rotting, festering, until everyone around you can smell it. Wouldn't you rather end it with him before it gets to that point?"

You look up at her, wanting to scream, wanting to hit her and call her names and pull her hair, but you don't have the energy. She's not far from right - you and Bucky are worlds apart. You've been ignoring it up until now, but there's only so long you can go before he starts asking you about your childhood. Maybe she has a point. Maybe it would be easier to end it before he finds out the truth. At least that way, he'd only think you're cruel rather than a murderer.

"I'll let you think about it," Juniper says, giving you one last sneer. "You have a week to make your decision."

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PART NINE >

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[littleheavensangel2]

jealousy & flirtation

SEVEN: SHE'S CRAZIER THAN I THOUGHT

18+

No matter how much you may hate him right now, Bucky reminds you of all the reasons you were so attracted to him in the first place. Steve and Thor go on a road trip, unknowingly joined by two others with similar motives.

Content Warning: Frat!Bucky x F!Reader, mature themes, sexual tension, smut, penetrative sex, dom!bucky, degredation kink, angst, crying, insecurities, self-doubt, hurt/comfort, softdom!bucky, aftercare.

Series Masterlist

Grant places the fourth glass of red wine on the coffee table with a clink, standing up proudly with his hands on his hips as he grins at you, Maria, and Bucky. The three of you sitting on the couch in that order, looking up at Grant expectantly.

"There's nothing quite like a Sauvignon to awaken the artist," He claims, picking up one of the glasses and taking a sip before closing his eyes and sighing. "Mm." When nobody says anything, he opens his eyes again and smiles. "Don't be shy, have some!"

Bucky's the first to bite. He takes one of the glasses and has a sip, Maria following suit soon after. Not wanting to be the odd one out, you take the last glass left.

"Now, we're ready to create," Grant decides. "We only have two weeks left before the deadline, so I'd prefer for us to have most of it done by this Sunday. The final week can be for minor tweaks."

"Who put him in charge?" Maria mutters bitterly.

"Maria- you and I are at opposite corners, so we'll go first," Grant says. "Let's go to my atelier."

"Why do we have to do this together?" Maria asks with a groan. "Couldn't we just each have the canvas for a couple of days?"

Grant looks appalled at her words. "This is an artistic collaboration. If we aren't in sync, there will be no meaning to this piece. We may be painting individually, but there needs to be synergy," He explains.

"Alright, alright," She mumbles, standing up with her tools and walking out of the room with him, leaving you on the couch with Bucky.

The silence lasts for a full five minutes before you finally get bored enough to swallow your pride and speak first.

"If we're gonna be painting together, we may as well talk to each other," You say, keeping your face forward. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his head twitch towards you.

"I'm good."

Baffled by his attitude, you turn to face him with a scoff. "Excuse me?"

There's no clear emotion on his face as he replies, "I said I'm good. I prefer to paint in silence, anyway."

Not only are you confused by his obvious anger at you, you're annoyed. He's the one who showed his best friend your nudes - how dare he act like you're the one who hurt him?

You think back to the events over the past week. The last time you spoke to him was a pleasant interaction, so why has he reverted back to being cold? But then, you remember that he saw you making out with Tony. Is he seriously pissed off because of that?

"You really need to get your shit together," You utter bluntly before taking another long sip of wine. Admittedly, the alcohol is loosening your lips. "We've been over for weeks. Did you not think I'd eventually get with someone else?"

"I'm not a child," Bucky replies lowly. "I guess I just thought you had raised your standards since dating Tony."

With a roll of your eyes, you stand up, not wanting to spend another second in his toxic presence. "I thought so too, but you turned out to be an even bigger asshole than him," You spit.

He stands up too, narrowing his eyes into a glare. "I'm the asshole?"

"Yes!" You double down. "You put on the good boy act, but you're just another heartless sack of shit."

Bucky has no idea where this is coming from, but he's too pissed off to ask for clarification. "I can't believe I ever wasted my time on you," He says coldly.

"Why don't you go cry about it to your best friend, you prick?" You say childishly.

"Shut the fuck up," Bucky spits.

"Make me," You dare him, hoping he's intimidated.

With his jaw clenched, Bucky says nothing in response. Instead, he drops his glass of wine and grabs your arms before pulling you closer and crashing his lips onto yours.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Yelena asks with a frown as she looks up at the red brick house.

Wanda shrugs. "This is the address her old friends gave me," She says as the pair cross the street. Wanda's ready to make her way through the small pathway and up to the impressive house to knock, but Yelena stops in her tracks.

"What the fuck?" She mutters under her breath.

"What is it?" Wanda asks, following her eyes to a grey car.

"That's- I'm so sure that's Thor's car," Yelena says with narrow eyes, shaking her head.

"Thor Odinson?" Wanda asks with a frown. "Why would he be four hours away from campus during the week?"

"I have no fucking idea," Yelena replies. "But I'm sure that's his car."

"Maybe one of the letters in the license plate is different," Wanda suggests. "Y'know, maybe that D is actually a zero on Thor's car."

Deciding she must not know Thor's car as well as she does, Yelena shrugs. It's next to impossible that Thor would be on the same street as them right now, so she turns away from the car and rejoins Wanda in walking over to the house.

"Wait," It's Wanda's turn to stop. "Do you hear that?"

Yelena's ears perk up. The sound of two men scuffling between the two houses in front of men. "None of our business," She states firmly, not wanting to get involved an unrelated fight when they have a clear mission.

"Hold on," Wanda insists. "I'm sure I recognize that voice..."

Yelena's about to argue that they shouldn't start a side mission and that there's no way the voice belongs to someone she actually knows, but when Wanda takes her hand to lead her to the alleyway, her mouth clamps shut. Yes, ma'am. Anything, ma'am.

When they round the corner, it seems the men have stopped arguing and instead have started making out. It's Wanda's instinct to look away to give them privacy - until she realizes she does recognize them.

"Steve?" She asks, utterly appalled.

"Thor?" Yelena echoes, her eyes wide.

The two men pull away from the kiss and turn to the women, the looks on their faces a mixture of confusion and oh fuck, we've been caught. Instantly, Thor pushes Steve off of him. Steve is too busy staring at Wanda, baffled, to be offended.

The four of them, looking between each other, only have one question on each of their lips, which they chorus: "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Bucky's hands are all over you, making you realize just how much you missed him. Even a quickie against the wall with him gives you more passion and pleasure than a night with any other man, making you forget that you hate him right now.

"Look at you, getting all quiet on me now," He mutters as he rubs his cock against your soaking pussy. "This all I have to do to get you to shut your mouth?"

"Fuck you," You spit, digging your nails into his shoulder. "Just... Just put it in, Bucky."

He smirks, teasing you as he brings it to your entrance and pushes the tip in, only to slowly pull it back out. "Say please, flora," He whispers.

You should tell him to get off you for what he did - but in this moment, you can't even remember what it was you were angry about. What did he do again? Something that pissed you off... but what?

"I'm not a very patient man," He warns you. "You gonna show some manners for me?"

Afraid he isn't bluffing and will leave you high and dry if you don't do as he says, you lock your eyes onto his. "Please fuck me," You say quietly.

Bucky tuts, shaking his head. "Not good enough," He says. "Louder."

It doesn't matter to you that you're in someone else's home. It doesn't matter that that someone else is currently in their home. All that matters is Bucky being inside you.

"Please, Bucky," You whine, wrapping your arms around him. "Please fuck me. Use me."

"Use you?" He repeats, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, you want me to use you?"

"Yeah," You whimper, pressing your forehead to his. "Use me like a fucktoy."

Holding back his groans, Bucky slowly sinks his cock into you. "That's it, take it all," He mutters. "Fuck. Almost forgot how good this pussy feels."

You throw your head back as he starts fucking you, fitting inside you perfectly. The wall keeps you firmly in place as he pounds into you, his eyes fluttering shut as his head falls into your neck. He lets out low grunts into your ear, each one sending a shiver down your spine.

Your legs are wrapped tightly around his waist as he snaps his hips, fucking you harder. The expensive painting on the wall next to your head thumps with each thrust, threatening to fall off. Neither of you care enough to-

"Wait, hold on," Bucky mutters, slowing down as he reaches out to pull the painting off the wall and carefully places it on the couch. "That's a Dumas. Can't harm it."

You let out a soft laugh, agreeing with his reasoning but eager for him to finish what he started. Without wasting much more time, Bucky tightly holds your hips in place and continues slamming in and out of you. He brings one of his thumbs to your clit and rubs it, stealing the air from your lungs.

"Bucky, don't stop," You cry, tugging on his hair. "I'm almost there."

He keeps going at the same pace, his other hand rubbing your neck, making your stomach flip. "Cum for me, fucktoy," He mutters lowly. "Show me what a good little slut you can be."

With a loud moan, you finally meet sweet release, your heart racing as your body shudders.

"That's it," Bucky grumbles, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he reaches his end, filling you with him cum. "Look at you; such a dirty slut for me. Fuck."

Whimpers escape your mouth as you slowly catch your breath, your mind gradually coming back to you. Bucky gently puts you down, and you stumble back to the couch, a sudden dread forming in your stomach. It all comes back to you, along with your common sense - why you were angry at him. Because he betrayed your trust and showed off your nudes as if you're nothing but an object to him. No, a fucktoy. And you've just played right into his hands again.

Before you know it, you're tearing up, disgusted with yourself. How could you give in to him again? Hot tears fall down your cheeks and you cover your mouth, not wanting him to hear you.

"You okay, flora?" Bucky asks from behind you while zipping up his jeans. The sound makes you cringe, and an uncontrollable sob escapes your throat. Immediately, Bucky walks over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder as concern floods his features. "What's wrong?"

You shake your head, blinking away the tears and sniffling. You've never felt this horrific after sex, and you want the ground to swallow you up. Everything that usually turns you on - his degrading words, rough treatment - has you feeling utterly worthless now.

"Come here, baby," He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you. You try to fight against him, wanting to be as far away from him as possible, but he doesn't let you go.

Your breaths are shaky, your words barely recognizable. "I'm not a slut," You manage to utter, feeling pathetic after the sentence leaves your mouth. Yeah, right. You just let a man who exposed your intimate pictures to someone else fuck you against the wall of your classmate's apartment. What else are you if not a slut?

Bucky holds you tighter, stroking your hair. He isn't completely sure how to navigate this situation - nobody's ever cried after he's had sex with them, admittedly - but he knows he wants to make you feel better. "You know I didn't mean that," He states lowly.

"It's true, though," You whisper against his chest, his shirt wet with your tears.

"No, it's not," Bucky assures you, cupping your face and tilting your head upwards so you're forced to look up at him. "You're a good girl, flora."

Your stomach flips, but you still can't bring yourself to believe him. "I sent you nudes and we weren't even dating," You say, your words echoing Juniper's harsh insults outside the library.

Bucky frowns, wondering where this is coming from. "And I sent you nudes back," He reminds you. "Does that make me a slut, too?"

"But... you showed them..." Your voice trails off as you wince.

"What?" He asks with furrowed brows.

"Did you show them to anyone?" You question him quietly. "My pictures?"

Bucky feels his blood run cold - do you really think he could do that to you? To anyone? He guesses that you regret sending him those pictures, possibly concerned that he'd show someone else.

"Flora," He begins, doing his best to remain calm. "What happens between us stays here. I wouldn't- fuck. I'm not like that. You know me better than that. Don't you?"

You hiccup.

His thumbs rub soft circles on your cheeks. "I wouldn't do that to you, baby. Not when you're so good for me," He mumbles, his lips brushing against yours.

"Promise?" You whisper.

"I swear to you," Bucky says gravely. "Never. Nobody else gets to you see you like that. Your perfect body gift wrapped in that pretty lingerie... nobody else gets that. Nobody but me."

Your heart soars and you hope to God you aren't being a fool by believing him. This means Juniper was lying. She was either bluffing about the colour of your bra, or she went through Bucky's phone without him knowing. Either way, you have a newfound rage towards her and a burning desire to beat her ass.

"Look at me," Bucky whispers. "You're my good girl, aren't you?"

You nod, once again feeling safe in his arms. "I don't want Tony," You tell him. "I want you."

"I know, baby," He says before kissing you softly. "You're all mine. Tell me."

"I'm yours," You reply, clutching onto his shirt. "All yours. I don't want anybody else."

"And all I want is you," He promises, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing your ass. "You're mine, flora. Nobody else gets you. Nobody."

With that, he kisses you again, both of you ignoring the sound of Grant and Maria entering the room.

"What the fuck?" Grant spits, appalled. "What happened to my Dumas?"

Yelena stirs two sugar cubes into her tea, keeping her eyes on the dark, swirling liquid. The room is silent, and she doesn't feel brave enough to be the first to speak.

"So," Wanda begins, slapping her hands on her thighs. "Shall we start at the beginning?"

God, Yelena thinks to herself. She's so sexy when she takes charge.

Wren Wragley is sitting on a green armchair opposite her four guests. She looks different from how Steve and Wanda remember her. Her ginger hair is longer with blonde streaks in it, her top lip is fuller than it used to be, and she got better at doing makeup. All in all, she looks like she's doing well for herself. If Thor wasn't here, Steve thinks he'd definitely be trying to get into her pants right now.

"Look, I have shit to do," She says, marking another difference - she curses a lot more now. "I could spend hours talking about that cunt. What's in it for me?"

The four guests look amongst each other, each of them silently willing the others to pipe up. With a soft sigh, Yelena decides it's time for her to be brave. "I know going over what happened in the past isn't going to be fun for you," She begins. "But we need to know the truth before Juniper ruins another girl's life. My best friend made the mistake of getting involved with Bucky, and now Juniper's doing the same thing to her that she did to you."

Wren's brow twitches at Yelena's words.

Steve sits forward. "You know what Bucky's like, Wren. You know he's a good guy - his only bad trait is how naive he is when it comes to Juniper," He says softly, attempting to pull at her heartstrings. "He was happy with Y/N. Really happy. Juniper's already managed to come between them, but if you help us, we can fix things for them and expose Juniper's true colors to Bucky. He needs to know what she's been doing behind his back all these years - that she's the reason he's been so unlucky in love."

"This is your chance to get revenge," Thor chimes in, using a different angle. "Help us take Juniper down. She's been in power for far too long, and it's about time she gets knocked down a peg."

Wren raises a brow at Wanda, waiting for her input.

Wanda sighs, shrugging her shoulders. "If you come back with us, I promise I won't hold you back from beating the shit out of her," She offers.

"Alright," Wren says. "I'll tell you what happened - but we need a plan. A good plan. As much as I hate the cunt, she's smart and manipulative. We need Bucky to see her for what she is, completely, so she has no space to wriggle through and get his forgiveness."

"Deal," Yelena chirps.

A long sigh leaves Wren's mouth and she sinks back into her chair. "Fuck. Where to even begin?" She mumbles to herself before sitting up again. "I'll make this quick. I met Bucky at a party, first week of college. The party was at my sorority house. He was cute, and nice, so we exchanged numbers. I texted him a couple days later, but he didn't respond. I must've really liked him, 'cause I texted him multiple times, and finally got the hint after two weeks that he didn't like me."

Wanda raises a brow. "I remember that party. Steve, that's when you and I hooked up," She says, making Thor scoff softly.

"You two hooked up?" He asks casually.

"I remember because it was the night I realized I was a full-blown lesbian," Wanda continues, to which Steve inwardly cringes while Thor laughs heartily. Looking back at Wren, Wanda goes on to say, "Bucky was glued to your side all night and Juniper was pissed. No way he would have ghosted you if he knew you were texting him."

"If he knew I was texting him," Wren repeats with a sordid smirk. "I didn't know at the time, but the cunt was deleting all my messages before he had a chance to read them."

"Fucking hell," Yelena mutters. "She's crazier than I thought."

"Oh, wait for it," Wren sings. "I started working at that bakery opposite campus - is that still there? - and one morning, Bucky came in. At first, I tried to avoid him, but it became clear he was still interested. Instead of texting him, I'd just wait for him to come in every morning, and we'd share a Danish while talking about video games."

"Cute," Yelena can't help but swoon, causing Wanda to nudge her in the stomach.

"I met the cunt about a month later," Wren says. "She immediately disliked me, and made that clear to Bucky, but he'd just laugh off her concern."

"He's always just thought she's over protective," Steve says, shaking his head. "That she's just looking out for him."

"Then he's dumb," Wren states bluntly, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, we carry on dating, and eventually, he asks me to be his girlfriend. That's when the cunt really kicked things up a notch. She'd tell him that I was flirting with other guys at parties, that I didn't seem as into Bucky as he was into me, that he needed someone he could trust. But none of it worked. He just ignored her."

"We saw the report she made," Wanda says. "About Professor Derrick?"

"Professor Derrickson," Wren confirms with a nod, her jaw clenching at the memory. "A sweet, old man. Taught me Sociology. Actually, he taught me and the cunt. She made up some bullshit about me trying to sleep with him for better grades."

"Seriously?" Steve asks, taken aback.

"Yep," Wren says with a nod. "But after their investigation, they eventually figured out that the cunt was lying. Well, she claimed she misheard, so she got away with it. Professor Derrickson, however, assumed it was me that complained about his conduct, so he asked for me to be removed from his class. I didn't blame him."

"That's horrible," Thor mutters with a frown. "She took it way too far."

"Oh, I'm not done," Wren tells him with a dry laugh. "And neither was the cunt. After that, she dropped the act around me. I guess I was afraid Bucky wouldn't believe me, so I didn't say anything. I didn't wanna lose him, so I just put up with the cunt's bullshit, no matter how far she took it. There's so much she did, I can hardly remember it all. She contacted my parents at one point and told them I was a drug addict and that they should convince me to drop out of college and go home, where I'd be safe from temptation."

"Holy shit," Wanda mutters, in disbelief that this is the same Juniper she's been living with for the past two years.

"Thankfully, my parents eventually believed me and let me stay at college," Wren says. "That was the first time I told Bucky about what a cunt the cunt was. He was confused, naturally, and told me he had to talk to her about it. I d'know, I guess she broke down in tears and convinced him she was a perfect angel. He told me I must've had it wrong. That someone else must've been the one who spoke to my parents."

"Dumbass," Wands mutters under her breath, hoping Bucky isn't still as naive as he was back then.

"I kept quiet after that. Despite the cunt's attempts, things were going really well between Bucky and I. Then came his birthday," Wren's tone darkens as her eyes glaze over. "He wasn't used to having a big celebration, but the cunt convinced me it was what he wanted. For some reason, I believed her, and planned a huge party. Hired a fucking yacht, and all. He hated it, all the attention, but assured me he was thankful."

"That was a crazy party," Steve says, looking down.

"Yeah. It was crazy," Wren agrees, a nervous look in her eyes as she looks up at her guests. "Uh, I'm not sure how much Bucky's told you about that night..."

"Not much," Wanda tells her. "All I've heard is that... you had a breakdown, fought with Juniper, and nobody ever saw you again."

A small smile pulls at Wren's lips. In a way, she's proud of the mysterious legacy she's left behind. "The night started off well. I... I really did love Bucky a lot, and he loved me," She says, unable to look any of them in the eyes as she speaks. "Our relationship moved really fast. Too fast. We were probably more infatuated with the idea of each other rather than in love. Our first relationship as adults, we thought we were the only people in the world who felt as intensely as we did." Wren looks around the room, her stomach flipping as she continues her story. "So, when he proposed to me that night, I didn't hesitate in saying yes."

so sorry so so sorry for the cliffhanger but part 8 is almost ready so you won't have to wait long !!

PART EIGHT >

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[littleheavensangel2]

Close To Midnight - 4

Close to Midnight Series Masterlist

Buckle up because this one is a bumpy ride! We introduce two new faces as well...

Vampire! Stripper Steve Rogers x Female Detective Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Mentions of past murder, language, angst, mentions of body dismemberment, murder, angst. Expect some twists and turns and some flashback.

Word Count: 5K

Summary | After a few disappearances of a few nightclub patrons, a detective on the case doesn’t believe in supernatural beings, even if she’s caught the attention of one.

“It’s not your fault.”

The voice is low, your head lifting up at the sound. 

You’ve kept a vigil by Bucky’s bedside, waiting for him to wake up, even if the doctors told you that it could be days until he woke. The stale cup of coffee still sits on the counter, the creamer curdled from the amount of time that has passed. Getting to your feet, you stretch, your body aching from being in the same position for hours. His sister, Becca, has also kept watch, her eyes on the space where his arm used to be.

She’s been silent through the entire ordeal, asking little questions. You can’t tell if it’s because she doesn’t want to know the answers or if she’s still in shock. There’s little the doctors have offered by way of what is to come, Carol making an appearance briefly before she muttered a goodbye to you, looking at Bucky as he slept in his hospital bed before she was seen down the hall with a team of doctors.

“It is,” you answer him, ignoring the slight shake of his head in denial.

“Whatever she was, it was her I blame, not you.”

“It was my fault,” you swallow. “I put you in danger and I’m sorry.”

“I wanted to go. I lost my arm, not my life,” Bucky reminds you. “You made sure that didn’t happen. But I gotta say… I want some answers.”

“I can’t.” Your voice is low, gaze focused on Becca as you realize she’s fallen asleep.

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky mutters bitterly with a roll of his eyes. “Your father comes out of nowhere with an axe and suddenly the boogeymen fall to the ground. We both know there’s something out there. What the hell was it?”

“It’s a story for another time,” you answer, rubbing your temples “I promise, I’ll tell you everything I know but for now, it isn’t the time. I’m still trying to make sense of it myself.”

“Is she dead?”

“I don’t know. You’re awfully calm for a man who just lost an arm.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky says with a sigh. “Like I said. Could have been my life. Silver linings.”

-

Carol pours over photos, clippings of newspapers while she pops two aspirins and chases it down with water. There’s a firestorm waiting to happen outside those doors, one that the public isn’t prepared for. Otherworldly creatures have long been fantasized about, enough for entertainment empires to be built on their stories. The real truth is much more frightening. Public safety is dwindling with bad PR, cops being found dead and no leads to go off of. Having vampire hunters in the ranks is risky but it’s one that she knows she needs to take, even if it means going back generations to find the ones that have been brought up from the days of old.

Local Teen Hospitalized After House Party Massacre.

Teen Rescued from Massacre Has ‘Zero’ Recollection of the Events, Police Say, Fearing Amnesia.

A handful of teenagers had survived the Glenwood Lane massacre, one of the most devastating incidents to the vampire hunter community. It left families in shambles, children gone within hours. 

Some turned, some left for dead.

You were one of the lucky ones.

Carol had monitored your progress since she’d heard about your escape. Your family had been overjoyed to get you back, your memories all but wiped from that moment.

The bandages over your eyes still haunt her, picking up the photo as she stares at the red veins in your eyes, the doctor holding up a light to it. It was red dust, the doctors had claimed, something that acted as an inflammatory substance.

The same material that was found in the Red Mountains.

Though your eyesight had returned, your memories had not. Your parents had opted to keep you in the dark, continuing on with your training as Carol monitored your progress from afar. As stalwart as your father could be, he was careful to never answer Carol’s inquiries about what they planned to do about your lost memories.

Those memories, as Carol had found, had bubbled to the surface during a routine afternoon with a friend. Whatever transpired that night, left two teenage twins orphaned and your memories wiped clean once more.

As it stood, Carol closing the file, it appeared you were back to hunting down your memories that had been seemingly locked away.

And the Red Mountains had been where you had found your answer.

“You wanted to see me, Danvers?” Natasha says, her head sticking into Carol’s office.

“Have a seat, Romanoff.”

Natasha makes her way to the chair, heels clicking gently, Carol watching the sway of her hips and the way her suit jacket flows out behind her, giving her an almost otherworldly appearance. 

“Did you find a way into the Red Mountains?”

“Working on it,” Natasha answers slowly. “I don’t know if you remember but one doesn’t just find an entrance to the Red Mountains.”

Carol narrows her eyes at Natasha’s words.

“Your detective did.”

“Then why aren’t you asking her?” Natasha seems on edge, something Carol has little sympathy for.

“Romanoff,” Carol sighs. “If I wanted to ask her, I would. But you’ve all but decimated my police force. I’d like her to stay alive for the meantime. She’s currently at the hospital, keeping vigil at Barnes’ bedside. Haven’t seen you there at all, by the way. Busy schedule? Barnes is one of your favored detectives, isn’t he?”

“I’ll see him tonight.”

“Tonight,” Carol repeats with a slow nod of her head. “Do you have an aversion to the sunlight? That porcelain skin can’t take a few rays, can it? Slather yourself in sunscreen. We have to make a statement to the press about this.”

“That’s usually your thing.”

“And now it’s ours,” Carol corrects. “Might want to get that sunscreen ready.”

-

Pietro reaches for his sister’s hand, holding it close as the sun begins to set. His eyes are back to blue, Wanda holding onto his hand tightly as she feels the warmth of his skin.

“Whatever happens, you will go on without me.”

“No,” Wanda denies softly, placing her head on his shoulder. “Whatever they’ve done, they will pay with their lives.”

“What of your friend?”

Wanda lifts her head at his question.

“The fog is lifting,” she murmurs.

“Did you warn Steve?”

“No,” Wanda hisses in irritation, touching her neck. “Let him find out for himself.”

“He’ll pay too,” Pietro promises. “Our kind should never turn our backs on each other.”

“He’ll find out soon enough.”

“And Natasha? Once she finds out what she is?”

“Then they’ll fight each other to the death. We’re safe here. Rest.”

Pietro closes his eyes, Wanda watching the sun go down.

-

Pictures line the walls of your family home, generation to generation as you stand at the picture of your grandfather and great-grandfather. For as long as you can remember, serving the community has been in your family’s blood. For whatever reason, your family had chosen to become police officers since the dawn of time in some capacity, a position that was seen at time as polarizing given the world.

You’d followed right in your father’s footsteps, down to the picture that your mother holds in her hands of you at your graduation from the academy.

“I remember it like it was yesterday,” your mother reminds you. “So full of hope for the future.”

“You act like I don’t have it now.”

“You don’t,” your mother replies. “In your profession, it turns you into something else. Less trusting.”

“I have to be.”

Your mother sighs, placing the picture back up as she turns to you.

“Did you and your father speak?”

“Not really. He speaks in riddles, like he usually does. I don’t want to talk about the Red Mountains.”

“Because you know that it will unlock a memory? Or because you don’t want to rehash what you saw?”

“I have no memories. It’s all gone from the accident, remember?”

“You have the tattoo.”

“Which is also meaningless. Something fun that came to mind when I was in college.”

Your mother raises an eyebrow.

“Come with me.”

You follow behind her as she goes outside, closing the sliding glass door behind you as you look out at the perfectly manicured backyard.

“Years ago, you were training to be so much more than just an officer of the law,” your mother starts, nodding toward a box on the table. “We were so proud of you. You were doing so well in your studies, your training…”

You can tell that her voice is wavering, your eyes on the lacquered box.

“We moved here because we wanted to be in a community of like minded people. I was so afraid to let you go to school. I wanted to homeschool you and your father said no. He said you needed to be around people, to understand them. To be able to protect them. Our family history is sacred, known to very few. In these walls, even in this backyard, you were safe. Outside, I… I couldn’t protect you and the knife that your father gave you, you lost in that incident when you were fifteen. You may not remember it but I do. We almost lost you.”

“I was fine.”

“You were left for dead. No amount of therapy would work. You wouldn’t sleep for nights on end until,” your mother pauses, shaking her head. “That girl across the street. She came here to see you, caught you sleepwalking one night. Promised to help you.”

“Wanda,” you swallow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“She did something to you that night,” your mother whispers. “You slept like a baby, no more nightmares. No more remembering anything that occurred that fateful day. No more remembering who you were.”

“She helped me?”

“Helped you forget who you were,” your mother replies, irritation threaded in her tone. “We needed answers and you couldn’t remember a single thing.”

Memories float inside your mind, murky, as if you’re still in a deep sleep and fighting a dream. There’s a face in the background, one that hovers out of sight enough to make you shake your head free of it.

“And I still can’t.”

“When you remember,” your mother begins, opening the lacquered box. “Then you’ll need this.”

Two throwing axes are nestled in the box, the shiny metal glinting in the light. 

“You’ll know when you need them.”

-

Carol adjusts her suit jacket, looking into the mirror while the stylist completes the finishing touches on her hair. 

Another press conference, another chance to be berated by the press for lack of action.

Of course, it isn’t for lack of accountability, at least on Carol’s part. Order has always been something that she has been good at. Accountability at the highest level, even when others faltered. She isn’t afraid to answer the questions that will be lobbied mercilessly while Natasha stands by with her pursed red lips and steely gaze. 

“They’re waiting for you.”

Maria Rambeau stands with her clipboard in hand, offering what sympathy she can by a simple head nod. There aren’t many left in Carol’s corner, especially with the rising deaths of the detectives and the recent attack that has left one of her best hospitalized. Despite her ordering the doctors to do whatever they can to make Barnes comfortable, she knows she’ll face the glaring question of what attacked him.

More importantly, she knows she has to craft a story that even she knows isn’t true.

“Is Natasha here yet?”

“She is,” Maria answers, Carol’s eyebrow lifting slightly.

“Is she? In the daylight?”

“On your order,” Maria replies, turning on her heels toward the door. “She says she’s got fifteen minutes tops before she has another meeting.”

“Here goes nothing,” Carol murmurs, buttoning up her jacket.

By the time she heads down the hallway, Natasha is waiting for her, sunglasses adorning her eyes as Carol snorts.

“Hungover?” she quips, Natasha sighing at the observation.

“My eyes are a little sensitive today, Danvers, if that’s okay with you.”

“They already think we’re hiding something, Romanoff,” Carol shoots back, reaching for the door. “If you want to give them more to talk about, go ahead.”

Cameras flash wildly, reporters hushed voices following her while she makes it up toward the podium. Natasha stands off to the side, pretending not to hear their observations of her appearance. 

“Thank you all for coming,” Carol begins, her fingers gripping the sides of the podium. “I’m here to give an update on the situation from a few nights ago regarding Detective Barnes. Please hold all questions until I have finished. Two nights ago, at approximately seventeen hundred hours, Detective Barnes suffered an injury while investigating a case in the Red Mountains.”

The crowd gets quiet, people giving each other uneasy looks at the mention of the location.

“I’d like to take this moment to provide you with the latest update and that is that Detective Barnes is receiving the best of care at the top doctors in the state. He is alive and well and expected to make a full recovery. Now,” Carol exhales gently. “I understand the location is one that has been thought of as unreachable but I am here to tell you that Detective Barnes enlisted the help of someone who knew the area well and was able to get him to safety.”

Carol feels Natasha shift her feet at the mention, her voice bright as she smiles.

“As you are all aware, the safety of our officers are our highest priority, right along with our communities’ safety. So it is with my greatest gratitude that I am welcoming another detective to the team. Detective Thor Odinson has graciously accepted my offer to join us. As many of you know, he hails from Asgard, where they were able to eradicate the very threat that threatens our community. He, along with the rest of the team will continue to work to protect your safety.”

After a brief pause, she can feel Natasha’s attention on her.

Giving a bright smile, Carol nods her head.

“Now I will answer any of your questions.”

The sea of reports erupts into shouts, microphones and pens flying up in the air as Natasha storms out, Carol giving her a side glance before pointing out to a raised hand.

“You can go first.”

-

You’re late, footsteps quickening to get to your desk, turning the corner so quickly that you collide with Natasha, the impact sending her designer sunglasses flying before they clatter to the ground.

“Shit, sorry,” you apologize, Natasha’s eyes boring into yours, your eyes widening at the sight.

Blood red orbs stare into your soul before she looks down, rubbing her eyes, snatching the sunglasses away from you.

“It’s been a long day,” Natasha mutters, pushing past you. “My eyes have been on fire all morning. I’m going home to rest. Keep your phone with you, I’ll call you. This press conference was a disaster.”

“What happened?”

“Just keep your phone on you,” Natasha continues, ignoring your question, her head down. “And stay away from Danvers. The stick in her ass is gigantic today.”

Moving down the hallway, you’re still slightly shaken by the sight of Natasha’s eyes, unable to stop seeing them until you reach your desk, looking at the amount of paperwork that is stacked on the top.

“Danvers needs to hire more people,” you lament, plopping down onto your chair and closing your eyes for a moment.

It’s been go, go, go since you left the hospital, Bucky still in good spirits for the most part, even if he’s itching to get back out there and fight whatever he thinks Wanda is.

He has no idea.

You could go after Wanda. 

Continue the fight that didn’t finish. There’s beauty in curiosity but not when it comes at the expense of your life. There is too much at stake for you to want to begin to unpack what you saw and the aftermath of what your mother had tried to tell you.

You could get your work done, finish the reports that seem to never stop, file them away to corners of the precinct that won’t ever see the light of day. It’s busy work, enough to keep your head down and not asking questions. 

Rubbing your lower back to ease the sting of the pain, there’s not much motivation to even get started with the stacks of work, let alone want to even sit at your desk.

You won’t find your answers here.

But you know exactly where you can find them.

-

N'Jadaka fluidly lowers himself to the ground, shedding his shirt in the process. It’s dark, the house lights on him and only him, throngs of people clamoring near the stage. 

Easy money for a night like this. He’s strictly weekends but tonight, given his affinity to up his body count, he’d happily obliged to see what the weekday crowd would look like.

Leave it to Natasha to call an emergency meeting, his smirk and wink sending a woman nearly crawling up the stage. There’s no point in having security rush the stage to pull her away. It’s been days since he’s eaten and he can practically see the veins in her neck and arms that almost glow under the dark lights.

“Like what you see, baby?” he purrs, his finger lifting up her chin, her eyes half mast at his touch. “I don’t just dance for anyone but… for you, well, I’d do it just for you.”

She swallows hard amid the screaming when he finally pulls away, circling the pole before his body moves around it, just out of reach of their outstretched hands. 

“Yes!” she shouts, N’Jadaka hearing her over the rest of them.

He reaches down into the crowd, helping her up with ease, flashing a warning look at the bouncers who try to stop him.

“Look here, y’all,” N’Jadaka says, his voice raising. “Got my own private client. I’ll see y’all a little later, ya heard?”

Steve will be furious but he’ll deal with it later. Mysterio is up next, even if the name grates on N’Jadaka’s nerves at the stage persona. Quentin Beck, as he calls him to his face, may have a few tricks up his sleeve but the smoke and mirrors fail when he tries to hypnotize them. Still too eager to make an impression on Steve and Natasha.

A rookie mistake.

The woman misses a step, N’Jadaka catching her before she falls flat on her face. She’s drunk, her head lifting up to the ceiling, eyes glassy as she smiles. Not his usual sort of clientele. A woman from the city, waving her clutch in the air as he spies the designer logo.

“I’ll pay whateverrr,” she drawls out, pawing at his bare chest.

“Don’t you worry about that, baby, you’re gonna pay, alright. But I’ll be worth it.”

“I know,” she giggles loudly, letting him lead her toward the private room.

“N’Jadaka,” a voice says behind him.

It’s Natasha, her arms crossed as he gives her a head nod.

“You need somethin’?”

“A moment of your time.”

“Sorry, Romanoff, I’m a little busy. Got a client,” N’Jadaka says, emphasizing the last word as he pats the woman on her ass gently. “Gonna get acquainted.”

“I know,” Natasha replies. “I drugged her for you. Now the question is, what did I drug her with? Something to make her pliable or something to keep you up for the week? You haven’t seen the sun since eighteen ninety-two, isn’t that right?”

He lets the woman drop to the floor with a slight push, her form crumpling to the ground as she loses consciousness. N’Jadaka sneers at Natasha. He doesn’t put anything past her, including testing his luck on what he thought was going to be an easy meal.

“Before you decide to attempt and fail to rip me a new asshole, I need you to listen. Got a little assignment for you,” Natasha continues, stepping over the woman. “But it’s high stakes.”

“How high?”

Natasha cants her head to the side, sizing him up.

“Life or death. Either you’ll get a meal out of it or you’ll die.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I wouldn’t get that excited. Got an Asgardian coming this way in a week or so. Need you to get rid of Barnes and his friend so he doesn’t make any friends.”

“Barnes ain’t an easy meal, Romanoff. You really think I’m fuckin’ stupid? He went up the Red Mountains and survived. Humans don’t survive that shit.”

“He wasn’t alone,” Natasha fires back. “That’s not good.”

“Oh,” N’Jadaka says with a slow nod. “Worried about your protege getting caught in the crossfire? Let her see what the world truly looks like.”

“I want you to finish off Barnes. Leave her out of this.”

“Still playing bodyguard to your beloved plaything? She’s human, Romanoff. I’ll bleed her dry too.”

“It isn’t going to be that easy but if you prefer, go ahead. Would be a waste to lose you, especially since you’re such a big pull for this club.”

“Sweet of you to kiss my ass, Romanoff,” N’Jadaka compliments, tapping her cheek with his hand. “I’ll take Barnes, no problem. Then I’ll come back and I’ll finish her off too.”

“You have no idea what’s going on, do you, Erik? Stick to the plan.”

“Or else?”

“Or else I’ll have to find a place to bury you.”

“Yeah,” N’Jadaka sniffs, pushing past her. “We’ll see about that.”

-

Bucky is asleep, your makeshift bed across from him. You know he’s perfectly fine on his own, knowing you don’t need to be here.

But he’s family and with the dwindling numbers of your peers now in singular numbers and the guilt you still carry due to his injury, you’re here for another night. 

When you dream, it’s still hazy, voices creeping into your subconscious, enough for you to be transported to a time that you had forgotten.

“You finally made it!” Kelly squeals, hopping off the counter and making a beeline toward you. “I thought you’d flake on me.”

Bottles and cans of beer line the counters, your mind uneasy. If your father knew they’d be drinking, he never would have let you come. 

Kelly pops up a bottle of beer, your hand immediately going up to decline.

“Seriously? Clint’s drinking,” she says with a tilt of her head toward the teenager who is downing another can. “Who cares? It’s a party.”

“Maybe later,” you tell her, moving toward the living room.

The music is loud, people dancing in the corners, others hanging in small groups while you survey the scene. You’re looking for Wanda, unsure of where she could be. You’d invited her, hoping that she could be by your side and make some new friends.

“Looking for someone?”

“Wanda,” you answer, looking around. “I told her to come.”

Kelly sticks her finger in her mouth.

“She’s a weirdo. Why do you insist on hanging out with her? She’s your neighbor, not like you’re obligated to be her friend.”

“I like Wanda,” you answer Kelly, rolling your eyes at her grimace. “She’s a good person.”

“She wears the same clothes all the time.”

“So what?” you challenge Kelly, stopping her criticism as she hears a knock on the door, watching someone answer it.

“Whoa,” Kelly mutters, looking at the two strangers that step inside. “Must be seniors.”

You can’t see their faces, people walking up toward them to introduce themselves. Kelly leaves your side, giving you a chance to continue looking for Wanda.

Shifting to your side, your senses heighten as your dream overtakes you again.

Screams ring in your ears, blood splattering the ceiling. You’re in a daze, whispers in the dark calling for their mothers, their fathers before it goes silent. 

Kelly is nowhere to be found, even as you crouch down to check for a pulse on a classmate who you trip over. Your shaky fingers pull away at the sound of a satisfied groan.

“I haven’t fed in so long,” the voice admits in a guilty tone. “I should know better.”

“Synthetic doesn’t do you any favors,” another voice responds. Male, authoritative. “Not to mention, it’s the best kind.”

It’s silent for a moment, freezing in place when you hear a soft cry.

“You set us back centuries,” the male voice taunts. “Do you think crying is going to change my mind?”

It’s silent again, fear paralyzing you. Shock renders you speechless.

“What the hell…” comes the female voice. “Look at this.”

Hushed whispers give you a chance to keep moving, another classmate moving slowly as they wrap their arm with their flannel shirt, mouthing for you to move toward the broken sliding glass door.

“Justice,” the male voice says with a dark laugh. “Tastes so sweet.”

“I’m not so sure about that. They teach their children differently.”

Your sneakers slip on the blood, your body shifting off balance before you catch yourself. The sound echoes in the broken house, the sheer terror in your eyes as you run, turning to check to make sure you have your knife when you see the eyes.

Red eyes that bore into your soul.

Your eyes flutter open when you realize who it is, heart beating wildly in your chest. You see the face so clearly now.

Natasha.

Before you have a chance to breathe, the door to Bucky’s room is open, a man standing over him, his back to you.

It’s not the doctor, a nurse slumped in the corner.

Someone much worse.

Adrenaline propels you forward, tackling the man to the ground, his strength overpowering you as he sends you into the wall, his hand around your throat.

“Though you could one up me, huh? I don’t think so,” the man sneers, leaning down and inhaling your scent. “I’m pretty full but I could make room for dessert.”

“Fuck off,” you hiss, realizing you’re off the ground. “Stay away from him.”

“Or what? I’m top of the food chain, kid. You’re nothing but a snack to me.”

His fangs slide down, your eyes widening at the way he laughs. There’s no soul in his eyes, the pupils full blown black.

Your fingers rake against his face when he gets closer, drawing blood to the surface as he lets you go. Tumbling to the ground, you reach for the small pocket knife that had fallen to the floor, grabbing it and driving it into his side.

The commotion sends an alarm blaring, lights flashing as you look up, Bucky standing on his two feet as he tries to balance.

“I’ll be back for you,” he threatens, disappearing in a flash out the door.

“What the fuck was that?!” Bucky shouts, reaching for you before he rests his body against the wall.

“I don’t know,” you lie, security heading into the room as they spy the blood on the ground and the nurse. “But I need to tell Carol.”

-

Steve examines N'Jadaka's face, your fingernail wounds still visible on his cheek.

“You should have healed already,” Steve observes, tilting N’Jadaka’s head up. “Who did this?”

“Some bitch who caught me by surprise.”

“No,” Steve answers him, letting him go. “I don’t think so. This is Natasha’s work.”

“That’s between you and her.”

“What did she have you going after?”

“Barnes. Said I’d get a free meal out of him. It was supposed to be easy. Thought she was in a deep sleep.”

Steve stops his interrogation, looking at the man. Barnes should have been an easy target, especially with him being incapacitated.

“Who?”

N’Jadaka shrugs at the question with indifference.

“There was a female with him. I thought she was asleep, she was muttering to herself. Figured it would be easy, you know? Two for the price of one. Didn’t realize she had claws.”

“Did Natasha tell you to get rid of both of them?”

N’Jadaka is silent, his lips sealed.

Steve pats his cheek. He has his answer, even if it’s not given verbally.

“So you got greedy. Don’t play with your food, Killmonger.”

“I wasn’t playing. If I find her again, she’s dead.”

“I’ll be the one who hears her take her last breath. For now, stay out of the sunlight and hope it heals.”

“It better,” N’Jadaka mutters, getting off his chair. “And keep Natasha away from me. If I see her, it’s on sight.”

-

Carol heads back to her office, cracking her neck with almost every step. It’s late, much later than she wants to admit. By the time she opens the door, she doesn’t bother with the light until it’s turned on for her.

“Christ,” Carol hisses, watching you sit in her chair. “What the hell are you doing here so late? And in my office?”

“I need your help.”

Carol sees the look on your face, simply placing her bag down.

“What’s happened?” her voice changes immediately at the way you stand, nearly robotic when you slide your phone toward her, the title of the article at the top:

Teens Massacred in Grisly Killings During House Party - Four Survivors

Carol is silent, her eyes following the title and then back to your face.

“Did you recruit me because I was one of the survivors?”

“No,” Carol answers you quietly. “You were recruited because of other reasons.”

“Like what?”

“Family lineage. You come from a family of cops.”

“What kind?”

“Kind?” Carol repeats. “Standard beat? Is that what you mean? No, it’s been detectives since… shit, since I can remember.”

“And Natasha?” you press.

“What about her?”

“What about her?”

“I remember that night. She was there.”

“Of course she was,” Carol agrees. “She was working the case.”

“No,” you deny. “She was at the party. I remember her eyes. Bloodshot red. She’d… just bit someone.”

Carol straightens at your admission.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Carol asks.

“Natasha isn’t human.”

It’s silent for a moment, both of you looking at each other as Carol allows a slow nod.

“I know.”

[littleheavensangel2]

Did any of bucky’s bodyguards walked into him and Malyshka?

Why do yall want them to get caught so bad🤣😩😭😭😭

No the bodyguards know better because Bucky is a little unhinged when it comes to his wife.

Steve on the other hand, sits on the bed and starts talking about his problems with Frankie's sister.

Bucky hovering over Malyshka. "How did you get in here?"

Steve leans against their headboard, eyes closed. "That's not important. She turned me down. Me. The last woman to turn me down was—"

Bucky tucks the sheets around her. "Amina. I know. Get the fuck out before I shoot you."

Steve ignores the irate, half dressed pakhan. "Amina. And we know how that ended. This girl is driving me crazy. What should I do?"

"You can start by getting out." Malyshka is trying not to scream, her arm over her eyes.

"What if you invite her to one of the events at your gallery? Give me a chance to talk to her outside of work y'know?" An unperturbed Steve reaches over and picks up one of the strawberries chilling on the nightstand.

Bucky whispers to his wife while glaring at his best friend. "I'm going to shoot him and then finish fucking you, okay?"

"Hurry up because we have about ten minutes before—"

Their bedroom door opens an inch before closing. A muffled Mommy, Papa you sleepin' drifts through the heavy cherry oak. And Bucky rolls off his wife with a not so muffled groan.

Steve gets up and strolls to the door. "No, they're awake. Maybe you can help me, Bee."

She ends up sitting next to Steve and they eat the rest of the strawberries. Bee gives Steve advice while Bucky and Malyshka figure out how to get dressed without Bumblebee noticing.

[littleheavensangel2]

Ethereal Masterlist

Starring: Actor!Ari Levinson x Plus Size!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+. This series will have Smut. Angst. Talk of addiction. More possible warnings as series unfolds. Read at your own risk.

Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

[littleheavensangel2]

Heart-Shaped Box

Based off this request by the lovely @needleandhammer​. I hope you like it!

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Fingering, unprotected sex, a lot of emotion and cockwarming.

Summary | Ari finds a way to make sure you’re still his, body and soul.

The clouds look like pulled cotton candy, amid the hazy pink and purple sky.

It’s dawn, the reason you woke up before the sun to take in the sunrise in Ibiza.

Ari has other plans.

Fingers work up inside you, a soft breath coasting down your dewy skin that makes you shiver. You’re still tender from the night prior but the sensation of how deep he can go, pulling those sinful sounds from you makes your tongue stick to the top of your mouth as your eyes close.

He’s not a musician but talented with his hands, playing your body like a fine tuned instrument. Words unspoken hang in the air amid the breathy sighs that break against your lips and the low hum of appreciation that vibrates in his chest. He’s happy and god, that’s enough to send you over the edge.

You love this man.

Another vacation with good intentions, ruined by both of your raging libidos. There’s a two fold purpose to get away for a week and half. He’s an in demand architect, dodging phone calls left and right by while you simply turned yours off. You have people to answer questions for you in your absence and the last thing you want is to be disturbed. Not when you have your own Adonis curling expert fingers up inside you, coaxing out another orgasm that leaves you boneless.

Keep reading

[littleheavensangel2]

Close to Midnight Series Masterlist

Vampire! Stripper Steve Rogers x Female Detective Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of biting, non-con blood drinking, violence, language, horror themes, drugging.

Summary | After a few disappearances of a few nightclub patrons, a detective on the case doesn’t believe in supernatural beings, even if she’s caught the attention of one.

Chapters

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Drabbles

Dusk

Kill of the Night

Gleam

Overheard

[littleheavensangel2]

Don't let your past ruin your future!! Omg my heart is breaking for both her and Steve. I'm so conflicted. I do like ransom, but the hurt he caused her is astronomical. Steve could be the perfect guy, but maybe not the perfect guy for her. This has to be one of the best love triangles I've ever read. Amazing chapter!

Redemption - Ten

It's been a year since I wrote anything for Redemption. We've seen Ransom's struggles but this is probably the most honest look at the Reader's feelings thus far.

Definitely teared up writing some pieces so you may want to get some tissues! Labrinth's "I'm Tired" was inspiration for this chapter.

Redemption Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Heavy angst, language, emotional breakdown, mentions of past cheating, fainting, mentions of past drug use.

Summary | Ransom Drysdale thought you made a clean break from him after your failed marriage. After a run in at a coffee shop, it appears that it wasn’t as easy as he thought.

There’s a handful of times Ransom has been a praying man.

Once to get clean, staring at his reflection in the mirror after a particularly hard night, nostrils bright red and dark circles underneath his eyes, his mouth feeling like it was packed with cotton. He’d lost count of how many days since he had gone on a binge, empty liquor bottles strewn across the hotel bathroom floor. He’d prayed hard that morning, gripping the sink, fighting to remember what to say to whatever higher power would listen.

Another time to bring you back home, his fingers pressing against the fabric of his pants when he was sitting in the parking lot of your job. The vivid scene of your chest rising and falling, the soft whimper of your distress when he’d tried to calm you down from another letdown, another egregious sin that he had committed against you. You could smell the unnamed woman on him, lamenting that you would never measure up to whatever he was chasing, even as he lied to you and told you that you were enough. He’d prayed hard for the guidance for you to come home, to be enough to help him fight his demons.

A feverish prayer of gratitude when he finally woke from what seemed like years of sleep, only to find out he was under tubes, ventilators and the watchful eye of a team of doctors who were watching his every move.

Making a deal with whoever would listen when he first saw the twins. He didn’t pray for sleep that night after he saw them, replaying Leah’s wide-eyed wonder at the man who stood behind her and his son who had a touch of cynicism about him, even at his young age. He’d prayed that his children wouldn’t grow up like him, bored of a life that he didn’t take advantage of, turning to the vices that made him the shell of who he had become before he had come into their lives.

His solace isn’t a church. 

Not now, anyway, not with the shadows that creep into his mind that could lead him to think the worst of himself and the pathway to feeling better is one that could find him on the precipice of a relapse.

His place of refuge is a coffee shop, his pastor a man a burly man with a beard and kind eyes.

“California isn’t a short trip,” Ari quips, pouting a dash of creamer into his coffee mug. “I assume it was a mutual decision?”

“Sure,” Ransom answers, watching the condensation on his glass of water form into droplets that slide down and onto the coaster. “ I didn’t have much of an excuse to say no, you can’t let my children go across the country to Disneyland.”

“It’s more than that.”

Ransom shrugs, trying to ignore the needling feeling that he should admit how he feels, especially to his sponsor.

“Go on.”

Ransom hates the way Ari can make a conversation seem so simple.

“Makes it real, I guess. She and Steve are getting pretty serious.”

“Sounds like.”

“But that didn’t stop her from letting me come over the night prior.”

“Ransom,” Ari sighs. “In what context are we talking about?”

“There was a lot of emotion.”

“I’m sure there was,” Ari agrees. “But that’s not what I asked. Did you sleep together?”

“No,” Ransom rushes out, his face hot with embarrassment. “But does that matter?”

“It does when you want me to think that you had some emotional, physical aspect to you going over to her apartment. It means you’re still not looking at the truth. I appreciate the candid conversation but let’s be honest here, you could have told her no, that the agreement is that the kids stay local. You didn’t do that. Why?”

“If I said no,” Ransom begins, twisting around his signet ring. “She would have asked why and I didn’t have an answer. I can’t tell her that I’m jealous that she’s seeing another man that isn’t me. We’ve had some nice moments. Doesn’t feel like I should fuck that up by telling her she can’t live her life.”

Ari nods in agreement, Ransom blowing out a hard breath.

“Happy?”

“No,” Ari denies. “Are you?”

“I feel like shit. More than anything, I want to call her, I want to talk to the kids, but I don’t know if they landed and -”

“You know they landed. I saw the flight tracker on your phone. Be honest with me, Ransom. This is a safe space, I’m not here to judge. Unless of course, you want to continue blowing smoke up my ass.”

“I fucked up,” Ransom says quietly, reaching for his coffee cup. “That’s all I can say. Sometimes, I’ll dream about her, and the kids and it feels so goddamn real and then I wake up and it’s…”

He exhales a shaky breath.

“If I have to do this every day for the rest of my life, then I will because it means I still see another day and I get a chance to be around my kids. But I’d be lying if I said waking up from that dream doesn’t fucking hurt every time,” he finishes, trying to will away the tears that well up in his eyes.

“You’re going to get through this. I don’t know where the cards lie for you and her, Ransom, I can’t see the future. But what I do see, is someone who is taking his sobriety seriously and is a loving father to his kids. That part isn’t a dream. That’s real.”

“Yeah.”

Ari leans forward, placing his hand over Ransom’s. It shouldn’t matter but Ransom lowers his head, holding back the tears.

“It’s okay not to be okay, Ransom. We’re our worst enemies sometimes. Be a friend to yourself for once. You deserve that.”

-

Leah and Carter sleep side by side, the other bed untouched while you take them in. The hotel suite is massive, almost the same size as your apartment. It had been too quiet after a while, hearing them play before their voices had faded out. 

When they babies, you used to have to place them side by side, each one reaching out for the other until they made contact. Usually it was arm and arm, a confirmation that the other was present, both waking up when you moved them to a more comfortable position. While too young to know what jetlag is, you know their signs of their exhaustion well, covering them up with a blanket after kissing their foreheads.

The sun is a hazy pink and purple from the balcony, the breeze rushing against your skin as you close your eyes. Miles away and you’re still yearning for something, nameless and indescribable, even if you’re in a Southern California paradise.

 “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Steve says behind you, stepping outside.

“It is,” you agree. “The view is pretty.”

“I meant you, but I’ll agree to that,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around you, your back against his chest. “Are you happy you came?”

“Yes,” you answer quickly, reaching up to bring him closer. “I’m still trying to process that I’m away from… everything.”

“Doesn’t happen often, I know,” Steve says, kissing your cheek. “But you and the kids deserve a break. It’s been a lot of learnings, a lot of big emotions for the kids.”

Me too, you think.

“Tomorrow I’ll be gone for the majority of the day, but you and the kids are more than welcome to explore, and I can have a car take you wherever you want to go. I get about an hour for lunch if you want to come down and hear all about the advancements in pediatric medicine.”

“Lunch sounds nice.”

“Really?” Steve sounds happily surprised, your face turning toward his. “Then, it’s a date.”

“Thank you for this,” you reply, brushing a stand of his hair off his forehead. “We needed this.”

“We all did,” Steve agrees, leaning forward when he kisses you gently, your fingers going to the collar of his shirt as you pull him closer.

-

An unexpected cold snap takes hold in Anaheim, the temperature dropping at least fifteen degrees that catches you off guard, Carter slightly shivering when he runs back inside, declaring that is too cold.

The layers of clothing work well to keep them comfortable, both of their hands in yours while they tell you what they plan to do when they finally reach their coveted destination of the theme parks that they’ve been watching non-stop. If you follow their plans, you won’t have a single moment to sit down or eat but you listen carefully, asking them questions that they have answers for, delighted that you agree with their choices.

The convention center is massive, following signs that point in the direction of where they are supposed to go. The twins wave and say hello to everyone they meet, asking for a treat when they see a doctor who looks like their former pediatrician, who pats her pockets before apologizing and waving goodbye to them.

In the crowd of people, Carter and Leah spy Steve before you go, letting go of your hands and running full speed, despite your pleas for them to slow down.

You catch up to them right when they are lifted into Steve’s arms, giggling when you see the other person standing next to him, smiling at the twins. She’s immaculately put together, right down to the designer bag that is slung over her shoulder, her hair freshly done and makeup applied flawlessly.

“Hi,” Steve says, giving you a quick kiss before motioning to the person next to him. “You’re right on time. Let me introduce you to Doctor Sharon Carter, she and I used to be colleagues back when I worked in Brooklyn. Sharon, this is my -”

“Nice to meet you,” Sharon greets you, extending her hand to yours as you shake it. “I had no idea that Steve had a whole family.”

“Oh, I -” you try to interrupt.

“This is Leah and Carter,” Steve says, the twins squirming out of his arms as they slide back down to the ground.

“Yours?” Sharon asks.

“Maybe one day,” Steve answers. 

“Interesting. Cute kids you have. Have a good lunch,” Sharon says, turning to Steve. “Don’t forget where we’re sitting. Then there’s happy hour at the end of all the madness.”

“Sure,” Steve replies, taking your hand, not seeing when you look back at Sharon, the twins grabbing your hand and Steve’s.

“See you there!”

-

Steve’s cell buzzes on the table, his expression apologetic when he finally answers a text.

“Sharon?” you ask, glancing at the twins coloring outside of the lines, Carter holding onto a chicken tender while he selects another crayon.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his brow furrowing when he dials her number. “I’ll be right back.”

Getting up from his chair, you can hear his voice lower.

“I’m at lunch, what’s going on?” he asks, maneuvering around the tables, his voice fading amid the sounds of utensils against plates and loud chatter.

Trying to ignore the pit that is spreading in your belly, you focus on the twins, Leah chewing on a French fry while Carter dips his chicken into the big cup of ranch. You want to eat, your stomach grumbling as you had skipped breakfast to make sure that the twins were fed and now you’re paying for it, feeling lightheaded for a moment before shaking the feeling away.

The insecurity sneaks in without warning. The perfect hair Sharon has that you know you will never achieve, let alone sitting that long at a salon without any interruption, to the expensive tailored outfit that you know you would never fit into after childbirth renders you speechless at how quickly the comparisons have come, a flashback to when you found out Ransom had been in the company of one of your bridesmaids, blond and coiffed like Sharon.

But she wasn’t Sharon and Sharon isn’t her, the mantra repeating over and over in your mind.

She isn’t going to sleep with Steve. She isn’t going to lie right to your face when you confront her like your former friend did.

Questions float up to the surface of your thoughts. Why didn’t Sharon know about you? Was she supposed to?

None of the feelings that begin to rise are rational, trying to keep yourself calm when Leah and Carter begin to argue over their favorite crayon, their voices getting louder before you look down at the mess of food and broken crayons.

“What happened?” Steve interrupting your thoughts, leaning down between the twins, reaching for a napkin to clean up the spilled water.

“I… I don’t know,” you answer, getting up from your chair, scooping up the broken crayons into a napkin, moving quickly to tidy up the space.

“Is everything okay?” he asks you, the twins back to normal, as if they didn’t have a category three argument.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, a waitress coming by with two sets of crayons to assuage any arguments. “Just a little blow up.”

“Not them,” he says quietly, sitting back down next to you. “Are you okay?”

His phone buzzes once more, your nerves getting to you. He makes no motion to answer it, even as you can hear it in his suit pocket.

“Do you want to answer that?”

“No,” Steve tells you. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you reply, suddenly irritated that he won’t answer it. “If it’s Sharon, you can just answer it.”

“It is,” Steve agrees. “But it can wait.”

“No, go ahead and answer it,” you answer, trying to calm yourself down. “It keeps going off so just… answer it.”

“Did I miss something?”

“You didn’t get any texts from her until today and now…” you trail off, seeing Steve’s confused expression as you fight back tears. “Forget it. Leah? Carter? There’s a playground a little bit from here and they have swings. Do you want to go?”

The twins perk up, the crayons rolling around the table as Steve blinks in confusion.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m going to take them to the park.”

“We’re eating lunch. I don’t understand,” Steve tries, watching you get up. “Can you just tell me what happened?”

“She’s asking me about the surprise symposium we’re supposed to be doing,” Steve informs you, pulling out his phone. “I can show you the texts.”

“No, you don’t have to,” you reply softly, digging through your purse, tears welling in your eyes.

That’s how it started, you recall bitterly, placing money on the table. The friendly texts, the questions that Ransom would answer. You always were offered those to read and pour over, even when you declined.

It was the others that you weren’t allowed to see.

“We will talk about this when you’ve processed things and I’m in a better headspace,” Steve says, leaning toward you so that only you can hear. “I’ll see you later.”

The kids wave goodbye, Leah carefully looking up at you as she pouts.

“Mommy, don’t cry,” Leah pleads, your head lowering to see her sweet little face. “What did we do?”

“Nothing, sweetheart. You did nothing wrong. Mommy just needs some fresh air, I promise. It’s so warm,” you lie, fanning yourself as Carter follows suit near your face. “I’ll be fine once we get outside.”

“Go faster!” Carter chimes in, Leah pulling you toward the door. “Bye Steve!”

-

“You and Sharon did a fantastic job with such short notice,” Sharon’s husband praises. “I mean it, I just was blown away at how you can take such a hard subject and turn it into a masterclass.”

“Only a little frustrating,” Sharon admits, giving Steve a slight jab on his arm with her elbow. “Sorry you had to deal with all my texts with my edits. The minute Doctor Erskine asked where you went, I knew it was something big. I’m so sorry I panicked.”

“It’s fine,” Steve assures her. “We figured it out and with any luck, Doctor Erskine will realize he doesn’t want me up there talking for an hour and a half straight.”

“Where’s your,” Sharon pauses, sheepishly looking at him. “Girlfriend? Wife?”

“She’s at the hotel with the kids.”

“Scratch that happy hour then, I thought you brought her. Go be with them. You know how these happy hours are. All the booze and none of the networking. Whatever they are to you, those kids are adorable. You’re lucky to have all of them, Steve.”

“Thanks, Sharon. I definitely am.”

Giving her and her husband a nod, he slips out the restaurant, looking down at his phone for any sign of a missed call from you, sighing when he realizes there is none.

-

The twins are in their separate beds, freshly bathed and in their favorite pajamas, unaware of the tears that stream down your face.

The cuffs of your sweatshirt are wrinkled from the amount of pulling and twisting through your fingers, guilt ridden stimuli taking over. Your throat aches with the need to shout, to scream your frustrations out to the night. The pent up rage, both at yourself and the past looks you in the face when you finally turn on the light, the mirror in the bathroom a reflection of someone you don’t recognize. 

Gripping the sides of the sink and lowering your head, you begin to pray, lips moving so fast that you can’t the words out fast enough. Your tears a sacrament that drop into the sink when you bare your teeth at your transgressions, wishing that whatever higher power would give you a chance at peace. To lighten the burden you’ve carried and to give yourself grace. 

Embarrassment takes hold, your body shuddering at the thought of how you acted, the way Leah’s gaze was solely on you and your tears. You don’t know how many times she’s seen you cry, and the thought only makes you pray harder, to hide your emotions from your beloved children so that they will never know the fight you continue to endure.

Exhaustion finally wins out, your knees buckling when you siip down onto the floor, eyes closing in defeat.

[littleheavensangel2]

I Hate You, I Love You - Epilogue

PAIRING: ex-husband!Ransom x Reader (featuring dark!Jake Jensen)

WORD COUNT: 900

SUMMARY: After your divorce from Ransom is final, you just want things to be cordial between the two of you for the sake of your children. You want to hate him but you can’t—you’re addicted to memories of him and the good years you had together. Ransom can’t let you go, either. He insists he never cheated and he’s determined to figure out which one of his terrible family members set him up and destroyed his life. He knows you’ll take him back if he has proof, and he’s found a world-famous detective to help him find it.

WARNINGS: Divorce, References to Infidelity, DILF Ransom (he’s a warning), Explicit Sex (O&V), CNC, Breeding, Degradation, Choking, Femdom, Hidden Camera/Voyeurism, Past Drug Use/Addiction, Violence. 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: Written for @boxofbonesfic and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Triple D Challenge!

Epilogue

Three Months Later

Ransom stands in the doorway of the bedroom in your suite, listening to the sound of the waves crashing on the Bahamian sand outside and watching you put on your white silk slip dress. It’s far simpler than your first wedding dress was, but you look just as elegant today as you did back then and you’ve only gotten more beautiful with age. You stand in front of the mirror, checking yourself out from a few different angles, and when you’ve decided that you look good (and oh do you look good), Ransom enters the room.

“You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding,” you say, putting in one of your diamond earrings.

“Baby,” he replies, “I think we’ve had more than our share of bad luck, don’t you?”

“Well, you’ve seen me now. What do you think?”

You give him a little twirl and he smiles. “Stunning,” he says. “Can’t wait to rip it off you with my teeth. I never got to fuck you in your wedding dress last time, you know.”

“Oh, I know. You only pouted about it for our entire honeymoon.”

Ransom walks over to you and puts his hands on your hips. He pulls you into him and you can feel him half hard already.

“Well you can make it up to me right now,” he says, and the wicked grin he wears shoots straight to your core.

“Ran,” you say, “the ceremony is in 20 minutes and my parents and the kids are already down at the beach.” You look down and see the very clear outline of his dick through his pants. “And you’re not going commando to our wedding.”

“What? You don’t want easy access?”

“Ransom…”

“Tell you what… You let me fuck you right now, and I’ll put on underwear. Deal?”

You sigh. “Make it quick,” you say, “and don’t fuck up my hair.”

Ransom has his pants off and his shirt unbuttoned before you can even get your panties down. He hitches your dress up to your waist and bends you over the side of the bed. He doesn’t need to prep you—you’re already dripping for him and you were the second you saw him all tan and dressed in his white linen suit. He pushes inside you and the stretch is just perfect, but you don’t have time to savor it. He pounds out a nice little quickie with one hand gripping your hip and the other working your clit to make sure you get to cum, too—he’d never leave you wanting, not on your wedding day. It only lasts a few minutes, but it really hits the spot.

“Happy now?” you ask, breathing heavily as you get yourself back together. “The silk is all wrinkled.”

“You look fucking perfect,” he replies, tucking himself back into his pants. “And now you’re glowing.”

“I hate you,” you say.

“No you don’t,” he replies.

You walk over to the safe and punch the combination into the keypad before pulling out the box with your wedding rings: the same one for Ransom (he insisted) and a newer, sparklier one for you (he also insisted).

“Will you take these down with you? I just need another minute. Kira can hold on to them both until it’s time for them to walk, then Henry can take mine.”

“You know he’s gonna drop it in the sand, right?” Ransom says, and you laugh.

“I wouldn’t even care if he did.”

And you wouldn’t, because you’re so happy you could cry. You finally have your family back and you and Ransom are stronger than you’ve ever been. And how could you not be? Most people say they would kill for the people they love, but how many of their claims have actually been tested? You know now—macabre as the circumstances may have been—that there’s nothing on earth you and Ransom wouldn’t do for each other and your family.

You thought you would think more about that day in the cabin and all the horrible things that happened but you don’t—not really. Your therapist says that things will come back to you in pieces, but you don’t tell her that you remember everything; you just don’t care. Jake is dead, but more importantly, he’s dead to you. He tried to steal your life and your family and your happiness and he failed. So fuck Jake Jensen. You’re happy he’s in the ground while you’re floating on air.

“I’ll see you down at the beach then,” Ransom says. “Or are you gonna make a run for it?”

“The only thing I’m running for is that buffet table after the ceremony. I’m fucking starving.”

“I’m hungry, too,” he says, stalking towards you, “but what I want is right-”

“Hugh Ransom Drysdale, if you don’t get the fuck out of here…”

“Alright,” he says, throwing up his hands in defeat. “I can wait. But I can’t promise I’ll make it through dinner.”

“You might not have to,” you reply. “Be a good boy and you can have your dessert first.”

“You give me my dessert now and I’ll give you your very beautiful, very expensive wedding present.”

“Ran, I told you not to get me anything.”

“Yeah,” he says, “but you didn’t fucking mean it.”

You laugh and Ransom kisses your forehead before heading down to the beach. You want to tell him so badly—and you almost did last night when he pumped you so full you’d have gotten pregnant if you weren’t already—but you’re saving the news for tonight, when you’re officially husband and wife again. You walk over to the mirror and stand sideways, searching for the bump that isn’t quite there yet, and you run your hands over the silk of your dress in the place where Baby #3 is waiting patiently to come into the world. Ransom doesn’t know it yet, but he’s already given you your wedding gift, and it’s priceless.

[littleheavensangel2]

I Hate You, I Love You - Chapter 8

PAIRING: ex-husband!Ransom x Reader (featuring dark!Jake Jensen)

WORD COUNT: 4.4K

SUMMARY: After your divorce from Ransom is final, you just want things to be cordial between the two of you for the sake of your children. You want to hate him but you can’t—you’re addicted to memories of him and the good years you had together. Ransom can’t let you go, either. He insists he never cheated and he’s determined to figure out which one of his terrible family members set him up and destroyed his life. He knows you’ll take him back if he has proof, and he’s found a world-famous detective to help him find it.

WARNINGS: Divorce, References to Infidelity, DILF Ransom (he’s a warning), Explicit Sex (O&V), CNC, Breeding, Degradation, Choking, Femdom, Hidden Camera/Voyeurism, Past Drug Use/Addiction, Violence. 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: Written for @boxofbonesfic and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Triple D Challenge!

Chapter Eight

You don’t know how long you slept for, but when you wake curled up next to Ransom, his arm around your shoulder, you see that he’s passed out, too. You gently disentangle yourself from him and look out the tinted window and all you see are barren trees lining a two-lane road. It could be anywhere, but it looks familiar to you somehow.

“Where are we?” you ask.

“Almost there,” the driver says, meeting your eyes in the rearview mirror.

When he takes a left onto a gravel road, your heart starts pounding. You know this road. But it can’t be, can it? You haven’t been there in years, it looks like any other rural Massachusetts road might look, but still—you know before you even see the house.

The panic starts to set in and you jostle Ransom to wake him. “Ran. Ran, wake up. Ransom!”

The officer in the passenger seat laughs. “He’s gonna be sleepin for a while, hon. But don’t worry, he’ll wake up eventually.”

“Might be better for him if he doesn’t,” the other officer quips, and the two of them chuckle as they pull up to the cabin.

It’s been fixed up since the last time you saw it—new roof, fresh coat of paint—but you know the house when you see it: it’s your father’s old hunting cabin out in buttfuck nowhere. You try to swallow the lump in your throat as you grab Ransom’s shoulders and shake him but his eyes remain closed.

“Baby, please wake up,” you squeak.

But he doesn’t, and you feel the cold air hit you as one of the officers opens the car door and yanks you out by your arm. You hear his voice before you see him.

“Took you guys long enough,” Jake says. “Tie him up and bring him inside. I’ll take her.”

The officer throws you at Jake and he catches you. You try to squirm out of his grip but he’s far too strong. “I’m sorry it had to be like this,” he says.

“Get the fuck off me, Jake!” you scream, but there’s no use in calling for help—the nearest neighbor is miles away.

“Just calm down, sweetheart,” Jake says as he drags you inside. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

He tosses you down on the couch and you shoot back up and try to run. “Don’t,” he says, and when you look at him you’re facing down the barrel of a gun. “Just don’t.”

“I thought you’d never hurt me,” you say, your eyes finding Jake’s—there’s a sadness to them but also a coldness and it makes the hair on your arms stand up straight.

“I’m trying to protect you,” he replies. He’s using his soothing voice but you know it’s bullshit—it’s always been bullshit.

“Protect me from what?”

“From him,” he says, waving the gun in Ransom’s direction as the cops dump him on the floor near the roaring fireplace.

“We good here, boss? We should get back to the real spot in case they send a cruiser by to check in.”

“Yeah,” Jake says, “we’re good.”

“You sure you don’t want us to just take him and be done with it?”

“No,” Jake answers. “He and I need to have a little chat, and it’s long overdue.”

The officers take off back toward the main road as Ransom starts to come to, moaning and groggy and confused as he takes in his surroundings.

“What the fuck?” he asks when he sees you sitting on the couch, but then his eyes focus as he takes in the sight in front of him: Jake sitting next to you, his hand on your upper thigh. Your skin is crawling at his touch but you don’t dare move—he’s got the gun in his other hand and it’s pointed straight at Ransom.

“Hey buddy,” Jake says. “You have a nice nap?”

Ransom struggles against the zip-ties and Jake just laughs.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Ransom snaps. “Don’t fucking touch her, you psychotic freak. I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Ransom looks at you with terror in his eyes. “Did he hurt you?” he asks.

“No,” you reply, your voice just barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t hurt her,” Jake says. “I would never hurt her, unlike you.”

“He didn’t do anything, Jake,” you say. “We already know it was you. Just please let us go. We won’t tell anyone.”

“Bullshit,” Jake snaps, “but that’s ok. And I’m not talking about the pictures. I’ll admit to that now, since your super detective cracked the case, but everything I did, I did to protect you from this fucking monster you married.”

“I don’t understand,” you say. “What are you talking about?”

Jake turns to you and puts his hand on your cheek, and it’s all you can do not to spit in his face, but you don’t want to make him mad. You’re not so much scared at what he’ll do to you, but you can see from the look in his eyes that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Ransom, that that’s what you’re really here for—your father’s cabin repurposed for hunting the most dangerous game.

“I know you’re traumatized,” Jake says. “I know it’s hard to think about and talk about, but you don’t have to. I know what he did to you and he’s never going to do it again.”

“Jake,” you whimper. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s ok,” he says, caressing your cheek. “You don’t have to lie for him anymore. He hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I never hurt her,” Ransom shouts.

Jake swings his head around and gets up off the couch, stalking toward Ransom and pressing the gun to his temple.

“You never hurt her?” he yells. “You fucking raped her! Your own fucking wife, the mother of your children, and I’m the psycho?”

Your mind is racing but then it hits you—a moment of clarity—and you realize what Jake thinks he saw. You got the pictures in the mail about a week after you and Ransom had acted out your darkest fantasy, and it all makes sense now. He really thinks he’s protecting you, that he’s saving you, and that makes him so much more dangerous than you thought. You know you need to play along, to give him what he wants: himself as the white knight, you as the damsel in distress, and Ransom as the monster to be slain. Except you can’t let that happen—you won’t.

“I never raped her,” Ransom yells. “Ever. You’ve lost it, man.”

“Yes,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You did, and it’s about time you admitted it.”

Ransom’s eyes lock on yours and you see the hurt and confusion swirling in them. You stare him down, willing him to just fucking think, Ran—and after what feels like forever, it finally clicks for him.

Ransom’s mind is racing. Whatever grogginess from the drug the cops had given him has worn off and his brain is in full fight-or-flight mode. He’s hyper-alert, his heart is racing, and as he looks at you—searching you for answers—he realizes exactly what game you want him to play. And it just might work, too, because Jake is absolutely off the rails. His obsession with you is far deeper and more dangerous than Ransom could have imagined, but if you can distract him (and Ransom knows you can), maybe he can buy enough time to get himself free. The heat coming off the fireplace behind him is already burning his skin, and though it won’t be enough to melt the ties that bind him, it might weaken them enough that he could break them.

It’s clear that Jake thinks he’s an asshole (and, if Ransom is honest, he’s right about that much), but he also thinks he’s a monster—a cruel, violent animal that needs to be put down to keep you safe. So if cruel is what Jake expects, that’s what he’ll get. Let him think what he wants. Let him feel like he’s right.

“How the fuck does he know about that?” Ransom snaps. “Did you tell him? Did you go cry to him about it? Are you fucking him? You are, aren’t you? You disgusting, pathetic little whore.”

Jake pistol whips him and for a moment, everything is white-hot pain and the sound of you screaming. Ransom can feel the warm blood pouring from his nose as he looks up at a smiling Jake.

“Watch the way you talk to her,” Jake says.

“Oh, fuck her,” Ransom shouts, channeling his anger into the cruelest things he can think of—the kind of things he would say to you to make you angry during the divorce. “You can have her. That’s what you want, right? What you’ve always wanted? Take her, then. She’s your fucking problem now. Gold-digging slut.” He turns to you with fire in his eyes. “That’s all I ever was to you, right? A big dick and a bank account? Well, Jakey-boy here has both those things, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

“I fucking hate you,” you scream and turn to Jake. “I hate him, Jake. I hate him so much. Please, I can’t take it anymore.”

“I know, sweetheart. It’ll all be over soon.”

Jake turns back to Ransom and raises the gun.

“Wait!” you yell. “Don’t kill him. Please, the kids...”

“I’m gonna take care of the kids now,” Jake says. “You know I love them like they’re my own.”

At that, Ransom almost breaks, because the idea of this psychopath going anywhere near his children is making him fucking feral. But he needs to pretend, be Mr. I Don’t Give A Fuck; if Jake thinks he doesn’t love you, he probably thinks he doesn’t give a fuck about his kids either—that he’d sacrifice anything and anyone to save his own ass.

“I know you love the kids,” you say, and Ransom can tell that you’re trying to keep your voice calm but you’re frantic inside. “But they can’t lose their father. They’ve been through so much. Please just let him go. You heard him. He doesn’t even want me anymore. We can be together now.”

“Really?” Jake asks, and the hopeful look in his eyes tells Ransom that he really is deluded enough to think that you love him back.

This could work. It could actually work. Ransom tugs on his wrist restraints, and there’s the tiniest bit of give, but they’re still solid. Though it pains him to listen to you, he pretends he doesn’t care when you tell Jake exactly what he wants to hear.

“I love you, Jake,” you say. “I think maybe I always have. I was just… I was so scared for so long. I couldn’t see a way out, and if he knew how I felt… he would have hurt you. I didn’t want him to hurt you so I let him keep hurting me. I’m sorry.”

You don’t even have to force the tears, but you’re not crying for him. All it takes is one second thinking about losing Ransom again—for good this time—and you’re wailing like a baby. Jake wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back as you sob into his chest. He’s still holding the gun and you can feel the muscle rock-hard under his shirt. There’s no universe in which you could take him if he wasn’t completely distracted, and maybe not even then. You hate what you have to do, but you don’t see any other way.

You look up at him and give him your biggest, saddest puppy-dog eyes. “I want him to suffer for what he’s done to me, Jake. I do. I just don’t want him to die. I could never look my children in the eye again. Please.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asks. “I’ll do anything for you.”

You close your eyes and steel yourself for what comes next.

“Kiss me, Jake. Let’s make him watch.”

And then Jake’s lips are on you. You open up for him, every cell in your body screaming with disgust, but you let him devour you—the years of pent-up desire for you making him ravenous. He moans into your mouth and his hands are everywhere: your face, your chest, your ass as he reaches under you and pulls you up onto his lap, never once breaking the kiss. You pretend to like it—to love it, even—but inside you’re sick.

The gun is on the coffee table now, just a few feet from your hand where it rests on the back of Jake’s neck. Finally he pulls away, breathless.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he says.

“Me too, baby,” you tell him, running your hand through his hair. “I almost kissed you yesterday. I wanted to so badly but I was scared.”

“You don’t have to be scared of him anymore.”

“I wasn’t scared of him,” you say. “I was scared of how much I wanted you.”

“You have me,” Jake replies. “You’ve always had me.”

You hear Ransom laugh coldly. “If you wanted him so bad, why’d you fuck me last night, huh? He not giving you what you need?”

If you had any doubt that falling back into bed with Ransom is what finally made Jake snap, it was gone the second Ransom brought it up. Jake isn’t shocked by it; it’s clear he already knows, and he’s fucking furious.

“He made me, Jake,” you plead. “He told me if I didn’t give him what he wanted, he would find a way to cut me and the kids off. I just… I need that money.”

“I told you she was a gold-digging whore,” Ransom says. “I didn’t even have to ask twice and she was on her fucking knees.”

“I’m so sorry, Jake. I wanted it to be you. I thought about you the whole time.”

“It’s ok, sweetheart,” he says. “I forgive you. And if you want me, you can have me.”

You force yourself to say the words, “I do want you. I want you right now. Please, Jake.”

You let Jake strip you down to nothing and lay you down on the couch, watching Ransom watching you. You try to tell him with your eyes that this isn’t what you really want—that it’s a necessary evil, that you’re doing it for him—but you can see on his face that it doesn’t make it hurt him any less.

“Your skin is so soft,” Jake tells you. “You smell so good. I always knew you would.”

You close your eyes as Jake takes your nipple into his mouth—one then the other—and you do what you’ve been doing for months: you pretend that it’s Ransom making you feel all these things you’re feeling, because you can’t deny that it feels good. And it should. After all, Jake has spent fuck knows how long watching the two of you. He must know exactly what you like—where you like to be touched and how, what gets you worked up, what makes you cum.

Jake kisses his way down your body and you wince and inhale deep when you feel him spread your thighs and lick your core, moaning deep against your flesh.

“Fuck, you taste like heaven, sweetheart,” he says. He turns to Ransom. “I get why you stole her from me. One drop of this sweet pussy and I wouldn’t let her go either.”

Jake returns his attention to you, dragging his tongue up and down your folds before giving tiny kitten licks to your clit. Your body is starting to betray you now and you know you have a part to play so you let it happen, telling yourself just close your eyes and think of Ransom, but Jake won’t let you.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he says, and you have no choice but to watch down the length of your body and Jake eats you like a starving man. “Does that feel good, baby? Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” you whisper, and he sucks your clit into his mouth and starts to flick it with the tip of his tongue. “Oh, fuck. Feels so good.”

Jake wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you tightly in place as he fucks you with his tongue. You can feel the coil tighten in the pit of your stomach and it makes you sick to think about it because you know you’re going to cum. Your hips buck against his grip but he’s got you locked against his face so all you can do is grind your pussy against him.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he demands, “and look at him. I want him to see what a real man can do.”

You look at Ransom, your brow furrowed and lips parted as Jake brings you to the verge. You want him to look away but he doesn’t; instead, he mouths “It’s ok, I love you,” and it sends you over the edge. You cry out as you writhe against Jake’s mouth, and when you’re done you can feel him smile against your flesh.

“Good girl,” he says, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs. “So good for me.”

Ransom feels like he’s going to vomit but he keeps a straight face as he watches you come down from your orgasm. He hates that it was real. He’d hoped you’d have to fake it, but it is what it is. Jake turns to him with an evil grin, his face covered in your slick.

“How’s it feel, Ransom?” he asks. “Watching someone take what’s yours.”

Ransom swallows his anger and his pride and his disgust because he knows Jake isn’t done with you. He puts on an air of nonchalance as he says, “She’s yours now, buddy. It’s been ten fucking years of the same used-up pussy and I’m bored as shit. Been there, done that. If you want my sloppy seconds, go right ahead. I ruined her with my cock and then with my kids. You can have it.”

“Is that right?” Jake says. “All that shit you did to try to get her back, all that fucking money you spent, and all of a sudden you’re bored?”

“Yeah,” Ransom replies. “I am. She’s probably fucking in on it with you anyway. You probably planned it together—this whole thing, and for what? Money? That’s all it ever is with this bitch. You’ll figure that out soon enough.”

Jake slides his hands under your pliant body and places you on his lap facing Ransom, your thighs outside his own, and he spreads your legs open wide as they can go.

“I want you to look at this,” he says, spreading your pussy lips open. “This is mine. You’ll never touch her again. You’ll never taste her again. You can pretend you don’t care, but I know you, man. You’re full of shit. Always have been.”

Ransom is reaching his breaking point but he stays strong—after all, you’re the one who has to suffer this horrible violation, and you’re doing it for him. The least he can do is keep his shit together. It’s hard, though, because the utter humiliation written on your face is breaking his heart. When Jake shoves two fingers inside you and starts to pump them, you close your eyes tight.

“You hear that?” Jake asks. “She’s so fucking wet for me.”

And you are, Ransom can see it and he can hear it. He pulls hard at his wrist restraints, the skin on his hands burning from the fire behind him, and there’s a bit more give this time. He wishes he could tell you just a little bit more, baby, it’ll be over soon, but all he can do is watch as Jake takes you apart again with his fingers.

“Tell him how it feels, sweetheart.”

“God, his fingers are so fucking long and thick. Gonna make me cum again.”

When Jake curls his fingers, your eyes shoot open and you dig your nails into his thighs. Ransom knows he found your g-spot, and he knows what that means.

“Fuck, Jake, right there. Don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. He speeds up his movements and Ransom watches as your thighs start to shake. The bile rises in his throat and he swallows it down as you cum again, and all Ransom can do is sit and watch and pray you don’t call out another man’s name.

When you’re done, you fall back against Jake’s chest, and now Ransom is in full panic mode because there’s only one thing left for Jake to do and it’s a bridge too far for both of you. He can’t let Jake fuck you, but he’s already got his pants down and his dick out and the zip-ties are still holding strong. Jake stands and strokes himself as he stares down at you where you lay on the couch. You’re afraid now—Ransom can see it, and Jake can, too.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asks mockingly. “Too big? I know you can take it.”

“Jake, wait,” you beg, sitting up. “Please. I want our first time to be special. Romantic. This is… I think we made our point, no?”

“I won’t force you,” he says. “I’m not like him.”

You hear the words come out of Jake’s mouth but they don’t match the feral look in his eyes, which are locked onto you so that you can’t sneak even the quickest look at Ransom. It doesn’t matter, though. If he was able to get out of the ties, he would have by now. You’ve bought as much time as you can. You don’t want to do it—you really really don’t want to—but you’re out of options.

“I know you’re not like him,” you say, and you force yourself to drop to your knees in front of him and take his cock in your hand. “Let me take care of you.” Jake hisses when you get your hand on him and looks down at you and you give him your hungriest blow job eyes. “I wanna taste you, Jake. Please.”

“Fuck, sweetheart. You look so pretty on your knees for me.” Jake looks to Ransom. “You wanna watch your pretty little wife suck my dick?”

“EX-wife,” Ransom scoffs. “And she gives terrible head. Too much teeth.”

He spits the last word at you and then it hits you. You know what you have to do.

“Fuck you, Ran,” you say. “You fucking loved it. Now you can sit there and watch me suck the soul out of him and pretend like you wish it wasn’t you cumming down my throat.”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Jake says. “You tell him.”

You spit on Jake’s cock and stroke it hard a few times and you can tell by the way he’s clenching and unclenching his fists that he won’t last long—much better for you, but you’ll have to be quick about it. You swallow the dread inside you as you take his dripping tip into your mouth, and you almost gag at the salty-sour taste of him. He tastes like he’s rotten from the inside, but you focus on the task at hand—running your tongue around the head before licking a hot stripe from the base up to the tip. Jake moans as you take half of him in your mouth, your hand working the bottom part of his shaft as you bob your head up and down.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Slow down, sweetheart. I’m about to fuckin cum already.”

You pop off him and look up, giving him a sly little smile. “You wanna cum in my mouth?” you ask. “Or you wanna paint my pretty face?”

You go back to work, massaging his balls which are so tight you know time is really of the essence.

“I… I don’t… Oh, fuck. You’re so good, sweetheart. So fucking good. That’s it. Suck it.”

You look up at him, and when you see his eyes close and his head fall back, you tighten your grip on his balls and twist, biting down hard on his shaft at the same time. The coppery tang of his blood floods your mouth as he starts to shriek, and you push away from him and spit it out as you grab the gun off the coffee table.

“You bitch!” he screams, holding the bloody mess that is his groin. “You lying fucking bitch! I’m gonna kill the both of you!”

“I told you, buddy,” Ransom quips. “Too much teeth.”

You run to the kitchen to find a knife to cut Ransom loose but you can’t find anything sharp enough.

“Ran, I don’t see anything,” you yell, Jake’s bellowing shouts almost drowning out your voice.

“Just fucking shoot him!” Ransom shouts.

But you can’t. Something in you just can’t pull the trigger. It’s not that you don’t know your way around a gun, but you’ve never had to point one at a human being and shoot. But Jake doesn’t give you a choice. Even through his agony, he manages to get himself up off the floor and make a run for you, and before you even know what you’ve done, your ears are ringing and he’s back down again, the blood from his groin mixing with the blood spurting from the fresh hole in his thigh. You remember enough high school biology to know that you most definitely hit an artery. He’ll bleed out in minutes.

“Fuck,” you scream. “Ran-”

“Don’t look at him, baby,” Ransom says. “Look at me. You did what you had to do, ok? He deserved it.”

“I need to call an ambulance,” you say, but Ransom shakes his head.

“No. You don’t. Now just focus on finding something sharp enough to cut these.”

You get your clothes back on before walking slowly toward the kitchen, trying not to look at Jake where he lays slumped on the floor. He reaches out for you but he’s too far away to touch you.

“I love you,” he says, his voice so weak you can barely hear him. “I’ve always loved you. We could have been so happy.”

You turn to Jake and he’s white as a sheet. You know he doesn’t have long now. He can’t hurt you anymore. You kneel down next to him, ignoring Ransom’s pleas behind you.

“Obsession isn’t love, Jake,” you say. “You don’t love me, you just hate Ransom. And guess what? He fucking won.”

Jake looks at you like you shot him all over again, and you watch the life drain from his eyes.

EPILOGUE

[littleheavensangel2]

I Hate You, I Love You - Chapter 7

PAIRING: ex-husband!Ransom x Reader (featuring dark!Jake Jensen)

WORD COUNT: 5.2K

SUMMARY: After your divorce from Ransom is final, you just want things to be cordial between the two of you for the sake of your children. You want to hate him but you can’t—you’re addicted to memories of him and the good years you had together. Ransom can’t let you go, either. He insists he never cheated and he’s determined to figure out which one of his terrible family members set him up and destroyed his life. He knows you’ll take him back if he has proof, and he’s found a world-famous detective to help him find it.

WARNINGS: Divorce, References to Infidelity, DILF Ransom (he’s a warning), Explicit Sex (O&V), CNC, Breeding, Degradation, Choking, Femdom, Hidden Camera/Voyeurism, Past Drug Use/Addiction, Violence. 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: Written for @boxofbonesfic and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Triple D Challenge!

Chapter Seven

As you lay on the bathroom floor, the tile cool against your cheek, you try to regulate your breathing but you can’t. Your head is swimming, because If Ransom is telling the truth—about the pictures, about everything—then you’ve made a horrible mistake. You were the one who blew up your life and destroyed your family; you were the one who caused your children all that pain. That thought alone is enough to break you. But it’s not your fault—not completely anyway. You know that it cut Ransom deep that you didn’t believe him, but how could you? You try and tap into your most horrible memories, to conjure up what it felt like to see Ransom with another woman: heartbreaking, devastating, infuriating, embarrassing. You just couldn’t unsee those images, but it wasn’t just the pictures that made you divorce him; it was all the things that Jake had told you.

But if Ransom is telling the truth, it means Jake has been lying this whole time, and if Jake did all of this to break you up, it means he’s in love with you—obsessed with you—and probably has been for years. You should have seen it. How the fuck did you not see it?

You pick yourself up off the floor and dry heave over the toilet because there’s nothing left in your stomach to throw up. You try to think it through—all the things Jake said, all the time you’ve spent together since the separation—and when you really look at it, put all the pieces together, it all makes terrible sense.

You exit the bathroom and Ransom is waiting for you with concerned eyes. “Ran,” you croak, “I think I know who did this.”

“Who?” Ransom asks, but before you have a chance to tell him, Kira comes in.

“Mommy?” she says. She sounds scared and you know what you must look like.

“Mommy isn’t feeling well.” Ransom turns to you. “Are your parents around today?” You nod, feeling like you might be sick again. “Call them,” he orders and turns back to Kira. “You and Henry are gonna go to Grandma and Grandpa’s for a little bit while Daddy takes Mommy to the doctor.”

“OK,” she says, and you can feel her anxiety from across the room. Ransom can sense it, too, and he kneels down to get face-level with her and rubs her shoulders to soothe her.

“Will you do something for me?” he asks her, and she nods. “Will you go get your brother and take him upstairs? I’ll be up in a minute to help you guys get ready.”

Kira does as she’s asked with no further questions and you grab your phone to dial your mother.

“Mom? I need you and Dad to take the kids today… No, everything’s fine, I just… I can’t get into it right now, ok? Can you come over now and get them? I’ll explain everything later.”

You hang up and look at Ransom. You can tell he’s still waiting for your big revelation but you don’t want to have that conversation until the kids are out of the house. “When they’re gone,” you say. “My parents will be here in 20.”

Ransom nods. “I’ll get them ready to go. You just sit down.”

But you can’t sit. You pace around the room, your mind racing, until Ransom comes downstairs with the kids. Henry’s got the sniffles and you know he’s been crying.

“Mommy is gonna be fine, bud,” Ransom says.

“I’ll be ok, sweetie,” you tell him. “I promise. I just need to see the doctor and she’ll give me some medicine and I’ll be fine.”

The doorbell rings and you see Ransom hesitate to answer it. He hasn’t seen your parents in months, and the last time they saw each other, your father would have punched him in the face if your mother hadn’t stepped in. Ransom loves your parents and they absolutely adored him. They were like the mom and dad he should’ve had—loving, supportive, kind—which made the divorce even harder on everyone. You know that losing the only real parents he’d ever known (especially your mother) had left Ransom shattered. It cut him almost as deep as the loss of you.

“I’ll get it,” you say, and when you open the door, your mom takes one look at you and her eyes go wide.

“You look awful, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

You see your father take in the state of you and then look past you, into the house.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” he shouts. “What did he do this time?”

“Dad!” you whisper-shout. “Please, the kids are right there.”

Your father’s jaw sets and he clenches his fists and shoves them in his jacket pockets, lowering his volume to ask you, “What’s he doing here, Pumpkin?”

“It’s a long story,” you reply. “Please just take them for a few hours. I’ll explain everything later, ok? I just-”

“Don’t worry,” your mother cuts in. “We’ll take them.” She turns to your father. “Go wait in the car, Bernie.”

Your dad opens his mouth to protest but your mother snaps. “Car. Now. Don’t make a scene.”

He looks at you and then over your shoulder, shooting Ransom a death stare before stomping off toward their SUV. The kids run to your mother when she enters the foyer. She hugs them tight and gives them kisses and says, “Happy New Year, kiddos! Ready to go?”

Ransom’s got their backpacks and he walks apprehensively toward your mother and hands them over. “Hi, Rose,” he says. “It’s really good to see you. Thank you for taking the kids.”

“Ransom,” she says, her voice cold for him but warm and inviting again for the children. “Alright. Let’s get going.”

When they’re gone, you turn to Ransom and he looks absolutely crushed. “I miss her,” he says, almost on the verge of tears.

“We’ll fix it,” you tell him. “They’ll understand. We just need to fix it.”

“Who the fuck did this?” he snarls, and you tell him everything.

You sit next to him on the couch and he holds you as you tell him everything Jake told you: that in the early days of your relationship, Ransom had a different girl in his bed every night you weren’t at their apartment; that he drowned himself in coke and pussy every single boys’ weekend on the Cape; that he fucked some casino girl he met at Caesars during his bachelor party in Vegas the weekend before you got married; that he kept a secret phone full of girls’ numbers and had a Tinder profile he created after Kira was born; that his body count since the separation was sky-high, and he’d go to New York on the weekends he didn’t have the kids to fuck 22-year-old models or whatever other piece of ass was hanging around the clubs.

Ransom doesn't interrupt you, just lets you get all of it out because it’s been festering inside you like a cancer, but you feel his body tensing up more and more with each horrible story you tell him. When you’re done, he stands up and starts pacing around the living room, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him. I swear. I’m gonna go over there right now and strangle that fuck to death with my bare fucking hands. Why the fuck didn’t you ever tell me any of that?”

He looks at you and he’s furious, but you know it’s not at you.

“He made me promise I wouldn’t ever say it was him. Believe me, I feel like an idiot now, but at the time, I just… I felt bad for him. The two of you were like brothers and I just…”

Ransom sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “You trusted him,” he says, “and you keep your promises. I get it.”

“And he had proof, Ran. There were some pictures with you and the guys at the Cape house and there were girls there. He showed me the Tinder profile and it looked real. I just… between that stuff and those fucking pictures I got, I just… I believed him.”

You bury your head in your hands, unable to look at Ransom as you remember every lie Jake told you. You can see it now: the way he manipulated you and has been for years. You’d made it easy for him, too.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” you yell, and you know it’s pointless to try and hold back the tears. “I’m so sorry.”

He returns to you on the couch and wraps his big arms around you, enveloping you in his comforting scent. “Don’t apologize, baby. It’s not your fault. He gave you a lot of reasons to believe him.” He pulls away a little and looks at you, an almost amused expression on his face. “I gotta say, though, I’m fucking shocked that you didn’t throw any of this shit in my face—especially with the way I was acting towards you.”

“I almost did,” you say. “So many times. Especially during the divorce, but my lawyer told me not to—that it’s almost impossible to prove adultery in court even with everything I had—and it would hurt my case if it turned out not to be true. I know how ridiculous that sounds, but I just… you pissed me off so fucking much that I just wanted to win. I would have done anything the lawyer told me to do. Of course, now that I think about it, Jake is the one who recommended the guy to me…”

“I always wondered why you hired that clown. Barber told me he was completely worthless.

“Well, now you know. But none of this answers the question of where those pictures came from. Do you think he drugged you? I mean, is there a night where that could have happened? You can tell me if there is. At this point, I honestly don’t care if you went to the strip club with him.”

“I didn’t, though—not after that time I came home wasted and you almost fucking murdered me. But I didn’t black out that night. He bought me a lap dance and that was it. I didn’t even want it but he insisted and-”

“I don’t care about a fucking lap dance, Ran.”

“Well, I care. I should have said no.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” you say, because it’s the least of your concerns. “I just don’t understand how there’s a picture of you getting your dick sucked if you didn’t get your dick sucked.”

“I swear to you, baby. My dick hasn’t been in any mouth but yours since the first time we hooked up. It’s gotta be a fake.”

“But that’s your body, Ransom. I know what your body looks like. Don’t you think I pored over every fucking inch of those pictures looking for something that would prove it wasn’t you?”

“I know,” he says. “I did the same thing.”

“Well then what the fuck?”

There’s a loud knock at the door and both of you startle. “That’ll be Blanc,” Ransom says. “He better fucking have something.”

You and Ransom answer the door together, and you are greeted with the sight of a blue-eyed man in glasses and a bespoke three-piece suit.

“Mrs. Drysdale,” he says, and his accent is even more pronounced and absurd than The New Yorker article described.

“You must be Detective Blanc,” you reply. “Please come in.”

“Are the children at home?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Good, because there are some… delicate matters we need to discuss.”

“Please tell me you have something,” Ransom says.

“I do,” Blanc replies, “but first I need to speak with Mrs. Drysdale. Alone.”

You look over at Ransom. “Can he stay?” you ask Blanc.

He looks at you, his icy blue eyes firm but not unkind. “I’m sorry but I’d rather you answer my questions without any outside influence.”

“Just talk to him, baby. It’s ok. I’ll just be upstairs.”

“Alright,” you say. “Would you like something to drink, Detective? Coffee? Water?”

“I’m all set,” he says, “and we’ve much to discuss.”

You sit down on the couch, Blanc in the armchair opposite you on the other side of the coffee table.

“Mrs. Drysdale, I know that you’ve been through a great deal of stress in the past year and that a lot of this is going to be very uncomfortable for you, but I need you to answer my questions truthfully and to the best of your ability, do you understand?”

You nod.

“When did you first suspect your husband was cheating on you?” he asks.

“When I got the pictures in the mailbox,” you reply.

“So at no point in your marriage prior to that day did you ever suspect that your husband was being unfaithful to you.”

“No. Not really.”

“What does ‘not really’ mean?” Blanc asks, his interest piqued.

“There was one time when Ransom stayed out later than he was supposed to and it turned out he had been at a strip club. I thought maybe something had happened that night but… I guess I just didn’t want to think too hard about it because I didn’t want it to be true.”

“Was Jake Jensen at the gentleman’s club with your husband that night?” he asks, and that’s when you know for sure that Blanc knows far more than either you or Ransom about what’s really going on here.

“Yes, Jake was there,” you hiss, and you start to say more but Blanc stops you with a flick of his hand.

“Just answer the questions, Mrs. Drysdale, and when we’re done, you can tell me whatever you’d like.” He continues, “After you received the photographs in your mailbox, you confronted your husband and he denied everything, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t believe him.”

“No.”

“Did you want to believe him?”

“Of course I did I just-”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because there were pictures.”

“Besides for the photographs of your husband being fellated in the gentleman’s club, is there something else that made you believe he was cheating on you?”

You can’t help but laugh. “I mean, have you seen those pictures? It seemed pretty fucking clear to me, but yes. About a week later, I went to Jake and I asked him to tell me what he knew—the truth—and he told me Ransom had been cheating on me for years.”

“And you believed Mr. Jensen’s assertions.”

“I did. I don’t now.”

“You now think that Jake Jensen was lying to you about your husband’s infidelities,” Blanc says, leaning forward in his chair. “What made you change your mind?”

You take a beat to answer. “Well… you, I guess. Ransom wouldn’t spend this kind of money to hire the guy who never gets it wrong unless he’s actually telling the truth.”

Blanc nods. “So you’ve come to believe that Jake Jensen is responsible for the photographs that were placed in your mailbox?”

“Yes. I think so. Although I don’t understand where they came from. Ransom doesn’t believe he was drugged and I know that’s him in those pictures.”

“It is him,” Blanc responds, a knowing lilt in his voice, “but he was never in that room.”

“What are you saying?” you ask.

“I think it’s time for Mr. Drysdale to join us, but there’s one thing I’d like to do first. Would you allow me to have a look around your bedroom?”

At this point, you’ve had enough of the cloak-and-dagger routine; you just want Blanc to spill it already, but you agree. “It’s up the stairs, second room on the right.”

Blanc leaves you and hurries up the stairs and you sit there trying to guess at what’s going on, hoping whatever he’s looking for doesn’t have him rummaging around in your nightstand. Your large collection of sex toys is the least of your concerns at the moment, though. Blanc confirmed that it’s Ransom in the picture, so what the fuck does that mean? It’s taking him a while—too long—and you can hear Blanc and Ransom talking but you don’t know what they’re saying. Then, clear as day, you hear Ransom yell, “Motherfucker!”

Ransom comes rushing down the stairs and stands in front of you, Blanc trailing him and trying to match his pace. Ransom looks pissed but he also looks guilty as hell and you start to panic.

“I have to tell you something,” he says.

“Mr. Drysdale,” Blanc calls out. “I highly recommend that you wait until we’re done here to have this conversation.”

“No, fuck that,” you say. Whatever it is, you need to hear it. Now. “Tell me.”

“After I moved out, I told Jake to put extra security cameras in the house. I just… I wanted to be able to see you and the kids. I missed being home. That’s all it was… at first.”

The way he says it puts a knot in your stomach. “Ransom, what the fuck did you do?”

“There’s a camera in the bedroom. I… I watched you sometimes. I’m so sorry, baby.”

You can tell from the look in his eyes what he means when he says he watched you, and you know you should be mad—you are mad—but you know that there’s more to this, that you’re about to get the answers you’re looking for.

“Christ, Ransom,” you say, rubbing your temples to try and stave off the headache that’s been threatening to explode. “You fucking spied on me?”

“I know it was wrong and I’m sorry but I just-”

“Stop,” you snap, holding your hand up. “Just shut up. I’ll deal with you later. Just tell me what this has to do with anything because that was after I got the pictures.”

“Except it wasn’t,” Blanc interjects. “I examined the camera. It’s been there for years.”

“Jake has been watching us,” Ransom says. “For fuck knows how long.”

Your stomach starts to churn but there’s nothing in there to expel so you just clutch it tight like some sort of agonizing lifeline. It was one thing when it was Ransom spying on you, but Jake? You have one of those life-flashing-before-your-eyes moments you always thought were bullshit, your brain fast-forwarding through years worth of the things you’ve done in that bedroom—your most private, intimate, vulnerable moments. He could have seen everything.

You hear Blanc’s voice and you can only just make out what he’s saying—it sounds like you’re listening from underwater. “I know this is traumatic, Mrs. Drysdale, but there is a silver lining to this particular cloud—now we know how he doctored the photograph.”

“We do?” you ask, because you still have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. Your mind is still stuck on the many, many ways you feel violated.

Ransom sits on the couch next to you and places his hand on your back. “It was me and you,” he says. “He took a still from a recording of us and edited me into that room with some woman.”

“It was a very convincing fake,” Blanc says. “Even my contact at the CIA was impressed. Whatever else Jake Jensen may be, he is technologically gifted.”

“He’s a piece of shit is what he is,” you snarl. “You’re not gonna get a chance to kill him, Ran, because I’m gonna do it first.”

“I would highly recommend that the both of you stay as far away from Mr. Jensen as possible. It’s taken a while—the man knows how to cover his tracks—but my associate was finally able to hack into his personal accounts. She found quite a few unsavory things, a lot of which are going to be of interest to the United States government. He’s been stealing from your company, for one, Mr. Drysdale—putting small amounts into your personal savings account every few weeks. He’s got a great number of files from both of your cell phones and computers: things of an intimate nature—I’m sure you can fill in the blanks there. And then this morning, at about 6am, he initiated the purchase of a large villa in Montenegro, which—in case you were not aware—is a lovely little country in the Balkans with no extradition treaty with the United States.”

“So he knows he’s caught?” Ransom asks.

“Not necessarily,” Blanc replies, “he could just be making a contingency plan, but it is a bit worrisome. Did something happen yesterday that might have set him off?” Blanc turns to you with those piercing blue eyes. “Mr. Drysdale told me that you went out for lunch with Mr. Jensen yesterday. Did he say anything or do anything that seemed out of the ordinary?”

“No,” you say, because you really can’t think of anything all that strange, and the fact that he was so totally normal is the most frightening part. “I mean, he mentioned that he’s been lonely and in a bit of a rut. Maybe he just wants a change of scenery?”

“Are you really still giving him the benefit of the doubt?” Ransom snaps. “Come on.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… Ransom, this is crazy.”

“Well,” Blanc interjects, “whatever Mr. Jensen’s plans are, I’m less concerned about whether or not he’s running from the law than I am about whether or not he plans to take Mrs. Drysdale with him.”

“Why would he possibly think I would go with him?” you ask. “Even if I didn’t know all of this, I wouldn’t just leave my kids and take off with him.”

“I don’t want to frighten you, Mrs. Drysdale, but at this point, I’m not sure your opinion on the matter is a factor for him.”

“So, what? He’s gonna fucking kidnap me and take me to Europe? That’s what you’re telling me? This is insane.”

“He’d do it,” Ransom says. “If he’s still obsessed with you after all this time, willing to do all this shit, he’d absolutely do it. I want to get you out of here—you and the kids, out of Boston. Today.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Blanc agrees. “I have notified the police and they are looking for Mr. Jensen as we speak. The wire fraud alone could get him 20 years. Where are the children presently?”

“They’re with my parents.” You look at Blanc and his expression is dead serious. “You don’t think he would hurt the kids?”

“I cannot say for certain, Mrs. Drysdale, but what I do know is that a man consumed by obsessive love is a dangerous man. There’s no telling what he’s capable of.”

You look at Ransom and see that the anger in his eyes has been replaced with fear. “Ran,” you squeak.

“Call your parents,” he says. “Now. Tell them to take the kids… I don’t know, fucking anywhere. Does your dad still have that cabin in the Berkshires?”

“The hunting cabin? He sold that place years ago. What about the Cape house?”

“It’s being renovated. I’m selling it.”

“Fuck, ok.” You turn to Blanc. “What should we do?”

“Let’s not frighten the children unnecessarily,” he replies, “but I do think leaving the city is the safest choice—for all of you.”

You sit and think for a moment, trying to come up with a plan that won’t scar your kids for life and that will maybe buy you some time before you have to tell your parents the entire story. You can’t deal with that—not yet—and you barely understand it yourself.

“I’ll tell them to take the kids to Mystic,” you say. “Kira has been wanting to go back to the aquarium and Henry has never been. They’ll love it. And I’ll just tell my parents… fuck, what do I tell my parents?”

“Tell them we’re trying to work things out and we need a day or two,” Ransom says. “It’s not even really a lie.”

“My dad will hate that,” you say, “but it’ll work, yeah.”

“Make the call,” Blanc says. “I’m going to check in with the police. I’ll be back shortly.”

Blanc exits the room and you grab your phone off the coffee table and make the call while Ransom makes their hotel reservations.

“You could have given us a little notice, sweetheart,” your mom says. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

You hate keeping things from her but it’s a necessary evil. “Ransom and I just need to sort some things out and I don’t want to confuse the kids. It’s only two nights. I’ll bring over their things. Ransom already booked your hotel.”

“We can pay for our own hotel room, thank you very much,” she snaps.

“Mom, please. He wants to do it. Just let him.”

“Fine,” she says, “but your father won’t like it. Here, he wants to talk to you.”

You were hoping to avoid a conversation with your father but you know there’s no way out of it.

“Hi, Dad,” you say, faking as much cheer as you can.

“Don’t ‘Hi, Dad’ me. Something is wrong over there, Pumpkin. I know when you’re lying.”

You sigh because he’s right—you never could lie to him worth shit. “Look,” you say, “don’t tell mom because she’ll freak out and then the kids will freak out and it’ll be a whole fucking mess, but I just need you to get the kids out of the city for a few days. Ransom was telling the truth, Dad. Someone out there wants to hurt us and the kids just cannot be here right now.”

“This sounds like more of his bullshit. I can’t believe you’re actually falling for this after everything he’s put you through.”

“I mean it, Dad. He wasn’t lying. It was Jake. He did all of this. The cops are involved now… it’s a whole thing, and it’s serious, ok? I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can, I promise. I know you don’t trust Ransom, but I need you to trust me. Please.”

He lowers his voice so your mother can’t hear him. “Are you in danger, sweetheart?”

“No,” you lie, as convincingly as you can. “The cops are here now, but I just don’t want the kids to know. Now did you get the hotel confirmation? Ransom just sent it.”

“Yeah, I got it. Nice lookin’ place. Tell that piece of shit to book your mother a spa treatment.”

You laugh. “I will. I love you, Dad. Take care of my babies. I’ll call you in a few hours.”

Before you have a chance to hang up, your father has one more request: “Let me talk to Ransom.”

You hand him the phone. “My dad wants to talk to you.”

You see Ransom’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and takes the phone from your hand. “Hello, Bernie,” he says, and you hear the muffled sound of your father saying something on the other end of the line. “I understand,” Ransom replies and hangs up.

“What did he say?” you ask.

“He said if anything happens to you, he’s gonna—and I quote—smash in my skull like a fuckin watermelon.”

You have to laugh because you’ll cry if you don’t. You don’t even notice Blanc has reentered the room until he clears his throat.

“I’ve spoken with the police,” he begins. “They’ve been unable to locate Mr. Jensen at his home or his office and none of his associates have any information about his possible whereabouts. The officers who went to his residence reported a great deal of damage in his home office—broken furniture, computer smashed to smithereens. At this point, I think we should operate under the assumption that Mr. Jensen knows the jig is up, that he is very mentally disturbed, and that he is dangerous. The police department would like to send two officers to keep watch over the two of you while they try to locate Mr. Jensen, and I have to agree.”

“What about my parents and the kids?” you ask.

“I’ll have the Mystic police notified and on the lookout for Mr. Jensen, but I’m fairly confident that his focus is solidly on you, Mrs. Drysdale. I know that’s no real comfort…”

“It is,” you say. “I’d rather him come after me than go anywhere near my babies.” You turn to Ransom. “We need to get the kids’ things together and bring them over to my parents’ place.”

“I would really rather you let the authorities handle that, Mrs. Drysdale. Or, at the very least, I’d rather you wait until your police escort arrives.”

There is no chance in hell that you’re sending the police to your parents’ house. Your mother will lose her entire mind, and that would mean explaining everything to them. And the kids would be fucking terrified. You’re not ready for that. Of course you want your parents to know that Ransom is innocent, that he’s still the man they thought he was, but you just need all of this to be over before you start to pick up the broken pieces of your life and glue them back together.

“The officers can follow us there,” you say, “but I don’t want my parents or the kids to see them. Does that work?”

Blanc agrees and waits with you and Ransom until the officers arrive. It’s the same officers who responded to the alarm, and you find yourself relieved to see them. Ransom makes you a cup of chamomile tea to calm your nerves as Blanc gives a full report to the officers.

“I’m going to head over to the police station to give a statement,” Blanc says. “But you’re in good hands here. We’ll catch up to Mr. Jensen soon enough, Mrs. Drysdale. I give you my word.”

Ransom shakes Blanc’s hand and thanks him for his help but all you can manage is a tiny smile as you sit sipping your tea. You’re thinking about your parents and the kids. You need to get over there and get them out of town. Once Blanc is out the door, you turn to the officers.

“We need to stop by my parents’ house on our way out of town,” you say. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“It’s best if you don’t know the exact location, ma’am, but we have several safehouses across the state that we sometimes use in situations like this. Not the comfiest digs,” he says, looking around your house, “but it’s secure. No one will find you there.”

“Whatever,” you say, grabbing Ransom’s arm. “Let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

The exhaustion hits you when you got into the backseat of the police vehicle but you manage to stay conscious and together enough to drop off the kids’ things with your parents. Ransom stays with the officers and your father meets you outside as instructed. You don’t want your mother or the children to see, even though the cops’ black SUV is unmarked. He has questions, of course, but you can’t answer them—not yet. You wouldn’t even know where to begin, so you tell him that you and Ransom have to go to the police station to file a report and you’ll call him as soon as you can.

“I love you, Pumpkin,” he says.

“I love you, too, Dad. It’ll be ok. It’ll all be over soon.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

[littleheavensangel2]

I Hate You, I Love You - Chapter 6

PAIRING: ex-husband!Ransom x Reader (featuring dark!Jake Jensen)

SUMMARY: After your divorce from Ransom is final, you just want things to be cordial between the two of you for the sake of your children. You want to hate him but you can’t—you’re addicted to memories of him and the good years you had together. Ransom can’t let you go, either. He insists he never cheated and he’s determined to figure out which one of his terrible family members set him up and destroyed his life. He knows you’ll take him back if he has proof, and he’s found a world-famous detective to help him find it.

WORD COUNT: 3.3K

WARNINGS: Divorce, References to Infidelity, DILF Ransom (he’s a warning), Explicit Sex (O&V), CNC, Breeding, Degradation, Choking, Femdom, Hidden Camera/Voyeurism, Past Drug Use/Addiction, Violence. 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: Written for @boxofbonesfic and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Triple D Challenge!

Chapter Six

Jake drives to his office after dropping you off at home after lunch, riding the high he gets every time he’s close to you. Today was different, though. You dressed up for him, you were flirting with him—sly smiles and little touches and all that talk about relationships and something better coming your way. You didn’t have to say it; he knew what you meant.

He knows you’re not quite there yet, that you feel guilty having feelings for your ex’s best friend, because you’re a good person and you always have been. You’re a kind, sweet, good girl who doesn’t do things that hurt people. You never knew that Ransom had stolen you from him—Jake never told you and Ransom certainly didn’t—so, to Jake, none of the pain that you’ve caused him counts. It was never your fault. It was Ransom’s. It’s always fucking Ransom.

But Jake knows he’s almost got you now. He saw the way you looked at his car. He saw the delight on your face when he ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu. Ransom isn’t the only one with money to burn on you. Jake can take care of you now; it’s what the money is for—all it was ever for—and all he wants is to provide for you and give you everything and anything your heart desires.

You were just tipsy enough on the car ride home to admit to him that you’re ready to start dating again—well, that’s not exactly how you’d put it. Your exact words were, “I miss having my person,” but it’s all the same in the end. You’d even slipped and told him how much you missed sex but you were immediately mortified that you’d said it. You looked so cute, hiding behind your hands, making him swear to forget you’d ever said that. But you didn’t want him to forget. No, Jake knew by the way you looked at him that you were thinking about it, about him.

He could see the wheels turning in your pretty little head and Jake knew you were thinking about what it’ll be like. Will he be a good kisser? (Absolutely.) Will he eat you out for hours? (Gladly.) Will he be gentle with you or rough? (Both.) How many times will he make you cum? (More times than you can handle.) Will his cock be big enough to satisfy you? (It’ll tear you in half.)

He thought for sure you would invite him in for one more glass of wine, commiserate a little more about your mutual loneliness, inching closer and closer to him on the couch before finally letting him kiss you. And then finally, finally, once Jake got his mouth on you, you would see—it was him all along. You’d let him lick you and fuck you and you’d see that he was bigger and better than Ransom fucking Drysdale. You’d forget all about your shitbag ex-husband, all those wasted years, and you’d start over with Jake—the something better you’ve been waiting for.

But you didn’t ask him to stay, didn’t even invite him inside, just thanked him with a gentle touch to his forearm and exited the car. It was ok, though. Progress. He was making progress. It must be hard for you to admit that you have feelings for him. You probably feel stupid that you’ve been so blind for so long, that you didn’t see from the beginning that he was the right one. Jake has been waiting ten years for you; he can wait a little longer.

Jensen Security HQ is quiet and mostly empty, with most of the office staff still on holiday vacation. Only a few essential employees are milling around, and they know better than to bother the boss. Jake enters his corner office on the 50th floor of the John Hancock building, the floor-to-ceiling windows on both sides flooding the room with light. He takes a seat in his oversize leather chair and swivels around to look down on the city, the Charles River sparkling in the sunlight below him. He feels like the king of Boston. Now he just needs his queen.

With a few easy keystrokes, Jake is wading through Blood Like Wine’s financials. The company is doing surprisingly well even though Harlan refuses to option any of his work for movies and TV. Walt is a fucking moron, but even that idiot could see that one solid deal with Netflix would keep Blood Like Wine running for the next 10 years at least. But Harlan is stubborn and thinks he’s always right—a trait he shares with his grandson—and so the company is solvent… for now. Jake initiates another transfer, this time a slightly larger amount than the last few, and puts five grand into Ransom’s personal savings account. On its own, it’s not enough to raise any red flags, but combined with the other transfers Jake has made over the past few months, someone is bound to notice soon.

Because it’s not enough for Jake to take you back from Ransom. He needs to take everything from him. He’d been convinced that Ransom would start using again if you left him, and he almost did the weekend Jake convinced him to come down to New York. He’d dragged him to 1 OAK, brought in some Instagram models the guys from the Manhattan office knew, and made sure that the girls were swimming in party favors. Jake could see it in Ransom’s eyes—how much he wanted to rip a fat line off of some sugar baby’s tits and feel that bitter drip again—but he didn’t touch the girls or the drugs. He just sat there, surly as fuck all night, nursing his whiskey and scrolling through pictures of you and the kids on his phone.

If Ransom didn’t break that night, Jake knew he wasn’t going to, so he moved to Plan B. If he couldn’t get him fired and written out of Harlan’s will because of the drugs, maybe he could get him tossed out on his ass with a little creative accounting. It pisses Jake off that Blood Like Wine’s accounting department is so fucking slow on the uptake, but this latest transfer should set off some alarm bells over there. All told, it will look like Ransom has appropriated about 30K in company funds. Harlan won’t be able to sweep that under the rug—not with Walt around—and he’ll have no choice but to fire Ransom. Jake doesn’t know what tickles him more: the thought of Ransom getting fired from the only job he’d ever be able to get or how gutted he’ll be that Harlan finally sees him for who he really is.

And without you, without Harlan, without money, who the fuck is Ransom Drysdale? He’s a nobody, a loser, a joke with no punchline.

Jake smiles as he scrolls through Ransom’s main checking account, noting the large (but not nearly large enough) monthly payments to you. And then he sees something strange: a staggeringly large payment to a Benoit Blanc.

“What the fuck?”

Jake Googles the name, which sounds familiar to him, and he realizes why when the New Yorker article pops up: “The Last Of The Gentleman Sleuths.” Jake skims it but he remembers the broad strokes: the guy is some sort of investigative genius—a total weirdo, apparently, but he’s never once gotten it wrong.

“Motherfucker.”

Jake had thought Ransom had given up after the first four PIs didn’t find anything. Of course, they didn’t find anything because they weren’t looking for anything. Three of them were already on Jake’s payroll and the other one didn’t take much convincing—a contract with Jensen Security was worth far more than solving the case of where Ransom Drysdale sticks his dick. But this Blanc guy—this is a problem. If he digs in the right places and finds the right people, it won’t be that hard for him to figure it out.

Jake pulls out his phone and calls Ransom but it goes straight to voicemail. He checks the time and sees that it’s 5:45; he’s in the car with the kids and he won’t pick up. Jake closes his eyes and tries to steady his breathing.

“Think, Jensen. Think.”

He doesn’t know what he could possibly say to Ransom to get him to call Blanc’s dogs off. There’s nothing, really—not if he’s willing to spend that kind of money to get answers. Jake realizes that Ransom is never going to give up trying to prove to you that he didn’t do what you think he did, that he is never going to stop trying to get you back. It infuriates Jake, but he understands it. He wouldn’t give up, either. He never has.

The only thing Jake can think of that might stop Ransom is if you were happy with someone else. His pride would never allow him to chase after you once you’d given yourself to someone else—once he’d seen you fucking someone else, cumming for someone else, loving someone else. Ransom would be so angry, he’d never be able to look at you the same way again; he’d fucking hate you for it.

Jake is running out of time. He can’t afford to be patient with you anymore.

By the time Jake gets home, every muscle in his body is taut with stress. He’s so on edge that two glasses of whiskey don’t do a thing. He knows what he has to do—the only thing he can possibly do to calm his nerves. He strips to nothing but a pair of boxers and sits at his desk chair, opening the folder of stolen videos he’d taken off Ransom’s second phone—the one the kids aren’t allowed to touch, the one he uses only for you.

There are hundreds of X-rated pictures and videos for Jake to choose from. He’s seen them all, but the novelty never wears off. He knows exactly which one he wants to watch right now, though—Jake wants to watch Ransom cry like the little bitch he is.

The camera quality isn’t as crisp as Jensen Security tech but it doesn’t matter. Jake can see and hear what he needs to when he pulls up the video and presses play. You’re wearing a black leather corset and thong with fishnet thigh-highs and stilettos—every inch the dominatrix as you fasten Ransom to the headboard with a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs. He’s wearing nothing but a collar and a pair of your red panties, which are far too small to contain him, and his cock is already rock hard and poking out the top. And who could blame him? You look like a fucking goddess—strong, powerful, in control.

“You’ve been a bad boy this week,” you say. “I don’t think you deserve to look at me.”

“Please, Goddess,” Ransom whines. “I need to see you.”

“I don’t care what you need. Now hold still.”

You grab a blindfold off the nightstand and tie it around his head.

“You look so pretty in my panties, baby boy, but you’re ruining them. Look at you, leaking all over the silk. So fucking hard and I haven’t even touched you. Do you want me to touch your cock?”

“Yes, please.”

“Yes, please what?”

“Yes, please, Goddess.”

“Too bad,” you snap, your voice suddenly cold. “You think you deserve my hands?”

“No,” he groans.

“Why not?”

“Cause I was a bad boy.”

“And what happens to bad boys?”

“They get punished.”

You kick off your heels and straddle his chest, grabbing the leash on his collar and giving it a little tug. He groans and his hips jerk off the bed and you tsk-tsk him.

“Keep your pretty little ass on the bed, baby boy. Don’t make me tie your ankles up, too.”

He whines and you laugh at him. “Already whining like a little bitch,” you say, “and we’re just getting started.”

You straddle his face and hover above him, pulling your thong to the side with your pussy just out of his reach. He strains to get to you, pulling hard at his restraints and sticking his tongue out as far as he can, but it falls just short. You mock him as he struggles, the veins in his neck bulging the more frustrated he gets. Finally he gives up and throws his head back against the pillow, thrashing it back and forth, and he whines again—louder this time.

“You gonna cry, bitch?” you ask. “You wanna taste my pussy so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes, Goddess. Please.”

“Alright,” you say. “Be a good little bitch boy and eat me till I cum. Then maybe I’ll let you look at me.”

You stand and quickly shimmy out of your thong, straddling him again and pressing the fabric against his face.

“You wanted a taste,” you say. “Lick it.”

Ransom inhales the scent of you before running his tongue up and down the damp spot.

“Taste good?”

“You taste like heaven, Goddess.”

You throw your panties aside and yank on his collar with one hand, grabbing his hair with the other and lowering yourself onto him. He moans as you pull his hair and ride his face, and Jake knows Ransom can’t breathe like that, but what man wouldn’t happily suffocate between your thighs?

Ransom shakes his head wildly and you moan. “That’s it, bitch. Just like that. Get your tongue in there. Deep as you can.”

You start to move your hips faster, holding onto the headboard for leverage as you grind hard and fast on his face. You speed up even more and then stop, grabbing Ransom’s hair and shaking on top of him as you cum. When you let him up for air, he chokes down as much of it as he can, chest heaving beneath you and face covered in your slick.

“Fuck, Ran, you ok?” you ask, taking his blindfold off and breaking character.

Jake hates this part. It almost kills his boner—almost.

“I’m good, baby. You know I’d rather eat your pussy than breathe.”

You laugh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Keep going. I’ve never been this hard in my fucking life.”

“And you’re gonna stay that way, too,” you say, getting back into it. “You don’t get to cum yet.”

“Didn’t I do good for you, Goddess?”

“You did,” you reply, “but you know what you have to do if you want me to touch your pretty little cock, right?”

“Beg.”

“That’s right, bitch. Beg me.”

“Please touch me, Goddess. I’ll do anything.”

“Ok,” you say, “since you ate me so well, I’ll touch you. Now let’s play how many times can I edge my little bitch before he starts to cry?”

Jake knows the answer to that question is 4, and this is his favorite part of the video. He loves to watch your absolute delight in torturing Ransom, bringing him to the very precipice with your hands and your tongue and then letting him writhe in agony when you pull him back. By the end, his upper chest and neck and face is lobster red and he’s crying—really fucking crying—as the veins in his arms and his neck pop and he kicks his feet in full-blown tantrum mode.

“You’re so pretty when you cry like a little baby bitch,” you say.

“I can’t take anymore, Goddess,” he wails. “Please let me cum.”

“One more,” you demand. “Give me one more and then I’ll let you fuck me.”

You tease him with your pussy this time, dragging him kicking and screaming to the edge again, and just when he thinks you’re about to let him put it in, you ruin another one.

“FUCK!” he screams, and you just laugh at him.

“Poor baby,” you coo.

“I can’t… I can’t… I can’t take it. I can’t…” Ransom sounds like he’s hyperventilating but he doesn’t use his safeword. “Please. Please let me cum. Please.”

You take in the sight of him, writhing and whimpering—all for you, all because of what you’ve done to him—and you finally take pity on him.

“Ok, baby,” you say. You straddle him and slide down the length of his cock and he hisses. “I’m gonna fuck myself on your cock now. Use you like the stupid little fucktoy you are.”

You ride him hard and fast, rubbing your clit in hard circles because you know Ransom won’t last. Within a minute he’s done for, begging, “Can I cum, Goddess? Please, Goddess, can I cum in you?”

“Not until I do. That’s all you’re good for anyway—just my big fat fuckstick to play with whenever I want. Right, bitch?”

“Yes, Goddess. Oh fuck. Please.”

The tears are streaming from his eyes and you bend over to lick his face clean, and when you start to cum you tell him it’s almost his turn.

You give him a countdown. “5… 4… 3… 2…”

Jake waits until the 1 to finish, as does Ransom who cums with a feral growl that lasts the better part of a minute. When he’s finally done, you hop off him and an obscene amount of cum runs down your thigh.

“Jesus Christ, Ran. Look at that.”

“Bring it here,” he says, and when you do, he licks you clean.

You giggle. “Didn’t even have to tell you to eat it,” you say.

“You know I’m always your bitch,” he replies.

You’re still laughing as you walk to the phone and end the recording, and when the video ends Jake leans back in his desk chair and sighs. He’s finally relaxed a bit, but he still has a huge fucking problem on his hands and no idea how to solve it. Well, no good idea, anyway.

He has to believe that you’re ready for him now. He has to, because if you aren’t, if he makes his move and it’s too soon, he’s done for. Everything he’s done—the many highly illegal things and the money spent and the risk he’s put his own company at—needs to be worth it. You’re worth it. It just has to work.

You’re ready now. You’ve got to be.

Jake takes a shower and returns to his desk to take care of a few work emails, and when he finishes he can’t help but check in on you. Ransom should be gone by now; it’s way past the kids’ bedtime. If he’s lucky, you’ll put on a little show for him.

When he pulls up the feed for your bedroom, he thinks it must be a mistake—that he accidentally opened one of Ransom’s old videos, but no. It’s live.

“God, you’re beautiful. I fucking love you.”

“I love you too, Ran. I love you so much.”

No. No no no no no. This isn’t happening. This cannot be fucking happening. There’s no possible way that this is happening—not when Jake is the one you want in your bed. You’d practically told him as much just a few hours earlier, so why are you fucking him? He must be forcing you again. That’s what this is. He’s making you say those things. You don’t mean that. You don’t love him, you fucking hate him. He ruined your life. He broke your fucking heart. Why are you taking him back?

Jake slams his laptop closed, picks it up, and starts smashing it on the edge of the desk. Pieces of it fly everywhere as he yells, “You bitch! You stupid fucking bitch!” He swipes everything off his desk onto the floor, the lightbulb in his desk lamp popping and shattering as it hits the ground. He grabs the heavy mahogany with both hands and flips the desk on its side, and when he hears the wood crack he slides down the wall behind him and screams into his hands.

He sits there until day breaks through the blinds, rocking back and forth, thinking through every possible permutation of how this plays out. But he knows. He knew the second his ass hit the ground. There’s only one way this ends.

CHAPTER SEVEN >>>

[littleheavensangel2]

I Hate You, I Love You - Chapter 5

PAIRING: ex-husband!Ransom x Reader (featuring dark!Jake Jensen)

SUMMARY: After your divorce from Ransom is final, you just want things to be cordial between the two of you for the sake of your children. You want to hate him but you can’t—you’re addicted to memories of him and the good years you had together. Ransom can’t let you go, either. He insists he never cheated and he’s determined to figure out which one of his terrible family members set him up and destroyed his life. He knows you’ll take him back if he has proof, and he’s found a world-famous detective to help him find it.

WORD COUNT: 4.8K

WARNINGS: Divorce, References to Infidelity, DILF Ransom (he’s a warning), Explicit Sex (O&V), CNC, Breeding, Degradation, Choking, Femdom, Hidden Camera/Voyeurism, Past Drug Use/Addiction, Violence. 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: Written for @boxofbonesfic and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Triple D Challenge! Also, this is an anti-JK Rowling blog but the fact remains that reading Harry Potter books to little kids is cute so we shall pretend for the sake of DILF Ransom that the HP books were written by someone who isn't a complete piece of shit.

Chapter Five

The second Ransom gets the kids out of the car, they sprint to the door calling for you. When the door swings open, the sight of you steals Ransom’s breath.

“You look so pretty, Mommy,” Kira says, wrapping her arms around your waist. “Daddy, doesn’t Mommy look pretty?”

“Always,” he says.

You smile at him and the diamonds he bought you catch the porch lights and sparkle. You’re always beautiful to him—even sleep-deprived and covered in spit-up, you were the loveliest thing he’d ever seen—but he hasn’t seen you like this in a while. You look put together, you look relaxed, you look almost happy.

You’re not, though. He knows you’re not happy with him even before you ask him to come inside.

“I need to talk to you,” you say. “It won’t take long.”

Ransom waits nervously as you get the kids settled in upstairs. When you come back down, the look on your face is some combination of anger and discomfort.

“Look,” you say, “obviously you’re free to see whomever you like, but I need you to promise me—really promise me this time—that you won’t bring random women around the kids. Now if you’re actually with someone, that’s a different conversation. So, the woman you brought to Harlan’s, are you two…”

“No,” he says, “not at all. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought her. I just…”

“You just what, Ran?”

“I knew it would piss you off, and I’m a fucking child, ok? I just… I wanted to make you jealous.”

You huff and shake your head, crossing your arms in front of you. “Why do you do this shit to me? Why do you insist on making everything so fucking hard?”

He snaps back, “Because I’m mad at you!”

“You’re mad at me? Is that a joke?”

“Yeah, I’m mad at you. I’m mad at you because you didn’t believe me when I swore on our children’s fucking lives that I never cheated on you. And you still don’t believe me. And it fucking hurts me. So I’m a prick to you and I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. I know I’m an asshole. But I fucking love you. I’m still in love with you and-”

“Don’t,” you cut him off. “Don’t you fucking do that.”

“No, fuck that. I love you and I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”

“So that’s it? You’re either acting like a complete prick or declaring your love for me? There’s no in-between for you where maybe we can stop fucking fighting all the time and make this work and actually move on?”

“I don’t want to move on,” Ransom says. “I can’t.”

“Seems like you already have, Ran,” you reply sadly.

“It’s not what you think,” he says, wishing so desperately he could tell you the truth—that he hasn’t touched a woman since you, that he only brought Natalie around the kids so he can find out who the fuck destroyed both your lives. “I don’t want anyone else. I never have.”

“Please just stop lying to me. I swear I’ll forgive you for everything if you just stop with the lies.”

“I’m not lying and I’m gonna prove it to you if it’s the last fucking thing I do.”

You squeeze your eyes closed and take a deep breath. “I wish I could believe you. I really do. You think I don’t miss our life? You think I wouldn’t give anything to have it back?”

“Then just trust me, baby. Please. I know it’s asking a lot.”

“It’s asking too much. I can’t trust you, are you fucking kidding me? Two days ago you were with some other woman, being an absolute prick to me, and giving me… I don't even want to talk about your little Christmas present.”

“Wasn’t that little,” Ransom says with a smirk.

You try not to laugh but you can’t hold it in. “I fucking hate you so much,” you say, still trying and failing to fight off the giggles.

“No, you don’t. I know you don’t.”

“Maybe not,” you say, “but I should.”

“Look at me,” Ransom says, taking your upper arms in his hands gently and pulling you closer. “I promise you that I’m going to fix this. I’ve been trying to fix this for a year and I’m close now. Just give me a little more time.”

Your eyes start to water as you stare into his. “You can’t fix it, Ransom. There’s nothing left to fix. It’s over.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, and he lets you go even though all he wants is to hold you tighter.

“You should go,” you say and Ransom nods and starts for the door. “Unless… do you want to stay for bedtime?”

Ransom feels like his heart is going to explode in his chest because there’s nothing he wants more in the world at this moment.

“I do,” he says. “I really do.”

You sigh. “Alright. Come on, then.”

Ransom follows you up the stairs, eyes trained on the curve of your ass in your tight little jeans, and all he wants is to grab you by the hips and take a big bite. You’d let him, too. He knows you would. But he needs more time, he needs Blanc to come through with concrete proof, which reminds him: he needs to check in with Jake and see what he was able to get out of you.

Jake had texted earlier in the day and told Ransom he was about to take you out to lunch for a chat. Ransom hated the idea of you out with Jake; it made him insanely jealous (and even more so now that he sees what you decided to wear for the occasion) but he let it go. After all, he was the one who sent Jake on that particular errand—a necessary evil—and Jake knows how to butter you up; you trust him, he’s become your confidante since the split, and they both know that a nice bottle of red always loosens your lips. But It should be Ransom sitting across a table from you in the North End, sharing a bottle of wine, and if all goes to plan it will be again soon.

“Daddy!” Kira screams when the two of you come up the stairs together. “You’re still here!”

“That’s right, baby girl. Mommy’s throat hurts a little and we can’t have you going to bed without storytime so I said I would stay and help.”

“I’ll get her ready and you take Henry?” you say and Ransom nods, heading towards Henry’s room to get him ready for bed before bringing him into Kira’s room and tucking him in next to her.

“So what am I reading tonight, Miss Kira?” he asks, because Kira always gets to pick the books (and Henry is mysteriously fine with it).

“Grandma and Grandpa got me Harry Potter for Christmas.”

“I think I can manage that,” he tells her.

You walk over to Kira’s bookshelf, grab the hardcover Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone off the shelf, and hand it to him. Ransom pulls up a chair next to the bed and you sit cross-legged at the foot of it, facing the three of them.

“OK, are we ready for a brand new adventure?” he asks.

“I’m so excited!” Kira squeals.

Henry just nods his head and Ransom can tell he’ll be out in a minute. Kira, on the other hand, will want a whole chapter. He’d read her the whole fucking book, start to finish, if it meant he could stay longer.

“Here we go,” he says, opening to the first chapter. “Chapter One: The Boy Who Lived. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense…”

As Ransom reads the first chapter in its entirety, he steals tiny glances at you. Mostly you are watching Kira’s face light up as she enters the Potterverse, but a few times he catches you looking at him with a soft smile on your face. You don’t try to hide it; you don’t look away when he catches you staring. You just look at him the way you used to, back when the two of you were always together for this nightly ritual. God, he’s missed this.

Ransom focuses hard on his storytelling—on the performance he’s giving for his daughter—because if he doesn’t, he’ll start thinking about how many chapters there are in the book in his hands and how many of them he’s going to miss. He’d beg on his knees for you to let him come over every night until it’s finished just so he doesn’t have to miss one single expression on his daughter’s face. He knows he won’t have to, though, because he’ll watch storytime on the security camera every night he can’t be there. But it’s not the same. Not that he ever thought it was, but being back together like this just reminds him how much he’s lost, how alone and empty he is without his family.

“… He couldn’t know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: To Harry Potter—the boy who lived!”

Ransom dog-ears the page and closes the book and Kira looks up at him with puppy dog eyes. “One more?” she asks.

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” he tells her. “It’s already past your bedtime.”

“Will you come back tomorrow if Mommy’s throat still hurts?”

Ransom looks at you and you give a slight nod.

“I will,” he says. “I promise. Sleep tight. I love you.”

“I love you, Daddy,” she says. “Goodnight.”

Ransom leans over Henry’s sleeping body and kisses Kira on the forehead before picking Henry up to carry him to his room.

You give Kira a goodnight kiss and follow Ransom into Henry’s room, pulling back the covers so he can lay his son down and tuck him in. You turn on the nightlight and close the door behind you, leaving it open just a crack, the way Henry likes. Ransom follows you back down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Thank you,” he says. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It was nice. I missed it.”

“Me too. You have no idea how much.”

“I think I do,” you reply. “Besides, you’re so much better at doing the voices than I am.”

“I mean, I did take one semester of acting in college, so obviously I’m a pro.”

“You only took that class because you thought the professor was hot.”

“Exactly, which is why I actually went to class.”

You laugh and Ransom almost forgets that this is not his home anymore. It feels wrong to leave when he should be lighting a fire and sitting on the couch under a blanket with you, having a glass of wine to chase off the Sunday Scaries and talking about the week ahead. But he knows he has to go, that if he stays any longer something could happen to ruin this perfect moment, so he grabs his coat off the stool in the kitchen.

“I should go,” he says. “Let you get on with the rest of your night.”

“Yeah, me and all my big plans. I’ll walk you out.”

You follow him to the door, and when he turns around to say goodnight to you, you walk right into him. He grabs you instinctively to steady you and you put your hands on his chest, looking up at him with sweet hungry eyes. He sees the want in them and he waits for you to come to your senses and push away from him but you don’t. Instead, you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze, burying your face in the fabric of his sweater as you hug him. Ransom hears you inhale his scent and he hugs you back tight—maybe too tight, but he doesn’t want to let go—and when you tilt your head up to face him, the tip of your nose brushes against his chin and he loses all control.

He brings his lips to yours slowly, praying that you’ll accept his kiss, and you do—softly at first, tentative, just lips. His whole body is on fire for you and he wants nothing more than to grab the back of your head and deepen the kiss but he stops himself. It takes every single ounce of willpower he has, but he lets you lead. But all it takes is one touch of his tongue to yours and you’re done for. You moan into his mouth and open wider for him, letting him kiss you deep as you bury your hands in his hair and pull. You push him back against the door and he brings one hand down to cup your ass while the other cradles the back of your neck. He’s rock hard already, and he knows you know it by the way you're moving your body against him.

You break away, breathless, and look into his eyes. He searches you for any sign of shame or regret but it isn’t there.

“Take me to bed, Ran,” you whisper.

He doesn’t hesitate. In a flash he has you over his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time until he gets you to the bedroom you used to share. He closes the door quietly and locks it before tossing you down on the bed.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks.

“Oh just shut up and fuck me, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Clothes fly everywhere as the two of you scramble to disrobe, and when you’re both completely naked, Ransom kneels at the edge of the bed and yanks you down towards him by the ankles. He wastes no time, a part of him still thinking that you’re going to change your mind at any moment—and he would stop, he would, but he knows he won’t have to the second he buries his head between your thighs to get a taste of you. He moans against your flesh as the first drop of you hits his tongue and you spread your legs wide for him. When he licks a hot, slow stripe up your folds, you arch your back and keen—it’s loud, too loud, and Ransom just laughs.

“Shhh, baby,” he says, pressing his finger to his lips.

You clap your hand over your mouth and mutter “shit” before you grab the remote off the nightstand and turn on the TV, raising the volume just loud enough to muffle the sounds he knows he’s about to drag out of you. Ransom eats you like you’re a tasting menu at a Michelin starred restaurant—slowly, taking his time with each course, savoring every part of your sex until your legs are quivering and your heels are digging into the bedspread as your toes curl.

“Oh God, Ran. Don’t stop. I’m gonna cum. Please.”

Ransom wouldn’t dream of stopping—not now, not when he’s got you on the verge of cumming all over his face, which is exactly what you do when he digs his fingers into the flesh of your thighs and sucks your clit into his mouth. You can’t hold back, or you don’t want to—either way, you have to grab a pillow to muffle your cries as you grind against his face and topple over the edge. Ransom wishes he could see your face, watch you as you come undone for him, but he’s not done with you yet. Not even close.

Ransom kisses his way up your body—your mound, your hip bones, a circle around your belly button and up to your breastbone—watching you the whole time. You look down at him with your lips slightly parted, your breathy little moans escaping each time he presses his lips against your skin. He takes your breasts in his big hands, gently kneading at them before he takes one of your nipples into his mouth and flicks it with his tongue. You gasp when he gives it a tiny nibble, and then he moves to the other side to give it his full attention.

You’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist and he can feel your pussy throbbing with need against his cock. He’s painfully hard and leaking for you but he takes his time savoring every inch of exposed skin. He kisses up your neck to that spot behind your ear that makes you crazy, and when runs his tongue over it, you grab his biceps and arch off the bed.

“Need you inside me, Ran. Please. I need it so bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You miss my cock, baby?”

“So much.”

“You need the real thing?”

“Mhmm.”

“It’s yours. It’s always been yours.”

Ransom sits back on his knees and pushes your legs open wide. He takes a beat to admire you splayed out for him, pussy glistening and clenching around nothing, more than ready for him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he says. “I fucking love you.”

“I love you too, Ran. I love you so much.”

It’s all he’s wanted to hear for a year, and he could blow just from hearing the words pass your lips, but he pulls his shit together because your warm, wet pussy is waiting for him and he can’t disappoint her. He grabs his cock and drags the tip through your folds a few times before pushing inside you. You let out a low moan as he slides inside you and between that fucking sound and the fact that you’re so fucking wet and it’s been so fucking long, he’s already overstimulated and has to stop halfway.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Fuck, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

“More,” you beg, and he gives you what you crave.

Ransom snaps his hips, burying himself inside you, and he kisses you gently as he slowly starts to move. He takes his time with slow, deep strokes, savoring the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls, of your nails digging into the meat of his ass you pull him in closer. You throw your head back, exposing your neck to him, and he licks a hot stripe from your collarbone up to your chin, the salty-sweet taste of your skin better than any candy. When he starts to roll his hips, he hits you just right, and you wrap your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts, telling him without words that you want more. He starts to really fuck you now—hard and fast and deep, the way he knows you like it.

Ransom grabs the back of your thighs and pushes them back, folding you in half underneath him and angling you just right so he’s hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. He brings his face close to yours, your ankles bouncing on his broad shoulders as he pounds you into the mattress. He grabs your face and presses his forehead to yours, sweat mingling together, as he watches you start to unravel.

“I’m so close,” you moan. “Do it.”

“I know what you need, baby. But I wanna hear you say it.”

“Choke me, Ran.”

Ransom wraps his left hand around your neck and you put your hand on top of his, two of your fingers gripping his pinky ring, and when you start to squeeze his hand, he knows it’s time. Ransom applies just enough pressure to the sides of your throat to hear your breath catch, and when your eyes roll back and your mouth falls wide open, he gives you everything he’s got left in him.

“Cum for me, baby. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

He almost loses it when he feels your pussy start to spasm but he squeezes his eyes closed tight, willing himself to last longer even though the feel of you after all this time is absolute bliss. He releases some of the pressure on your neck as he fucks you through your orgasm, clasping his right hand over your mouth to muffle your screams, and when you’re done and your body goes limp beneath him, he takes his hand off your neck and cups your face, running his thumb across your bottom lip. He feels you clamp down on him hard, your greedy cunt desperate for his release, and while he’d love nothing more than to fuck you until the sun comes up, he can’t hold back anymore.

“Oh, fuck, baby. Squeeze me just like that. Fuck. I’m gonna cum in that tight little pussy.”

“Do it. Fill me up, Ran. I need it.”

“You want my cum, baby?”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re gonna get it. FUCK.”

He hears you giggle and you bring two fingers to his lips. “Shhh,” you say, but it’s hard to keep himself quiet when you feel so fucking perfect wrapped around him—like you were built for him, like he’s finally home.

Ransom goes white behind the eyes and explodes, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his hips jerk involuntarily. He spills himself into you and he can hear how desperate he sounds, whimpering against your flesh as you milk every last drop from him, your satisfied sighs filling his ears as he fucks his cum into you, deep as he can get it. He’s never stopped wanting another child with you, and he knows it’s what you wanted, too. It’s not that he thinks another baby would fix things on its own, but it would never be a mistake.

“I love you,” he murmurs as he comes down, kissing his way up your throat to your lips. “I love you so fucking much, baby.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

He stays inside you for a while, not wanting the moment to end, terrified of what comes next. When he finally pulls away, he settles in beside you, your back pressed to the front of him. The curves of your body are a perfect fit for him as you lay there together, snug as two puzzle pieces.

“I know I have to go,” he says, chin resting atop your head. “Just let me hold you for a while.”

You don’t speak for a moment, and it feels like an eternity as Ransom waits for the inevitable rejection.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, you whisper, “Don’t leave yet,” and that’s all that needs to be said.

He’d intended to sneak out before dawn but you’d worn him out, physically and emotionally, and he wakes to the sound of banging on the bedroom door, the kids trying the doorknob and yelling for their mother.

You shoot up in bed and look at him with panic in your eyes. “Fuck. What are we gonna tell them?”

“I’ll handle it,” Ransom replies. “Just get some clothes on and get back in bed.”

Ransom dresses quickly and waits for you to get yourself back under the covers before opening the door. Henry’s delighted squeals of “Daddy!” echo through the room; he looks elated, but Kira is hesitant.

“You didn’t go home,” she says—half-question, half-statement.

“Mommy wasn’t feeling well so I told her I would stay and take care of her.”

“What’s wrong with Mommy?” Henry asks.

“Just one of her headaches. She’s feeling better, now. Right, sweetheart?”

You smile at him and you’re absolutely glowing. “I feel great,” you reply.

“See? Mommy is fine. Now who wants breakfast?”

Kira looks up at him, still not convinced. “Pancakes?” she asks.

“Coming right up.”

Ransom is in the middle of whipping up his pancake breakfast when you come down the stairs, showered and dressed in a pair of jeans and a distractingly tight cowl neck sweater. You grin when you see him at the griddle.

“Smells good,” you say.

He hands you a cup of coffee—light milk, brown sugar, the way you like it—and watches as you look at the kids sitting impatiently at the table. He can see the tinge of worry in your eyes, and he feels it, too. This was all very unexpected, to say the least, and Ransom is just as concerned as you are that whatever is or is not happening here not make things harder on the kids. Not so much Henry, but Ransom can’t bear the thought of giving Kira any false hope. She’s a clever little thing, she can sense something is up, and it’s one thing for Ransom to hold out hope that things might go back to the way they used to be, but the last thing he wants is to disappoint his baby girl again.

You’re mostly quiet during breakfast, picking at your bacon, and Ransom puts on a good show for the kids but he knows it’s coming—that the two of you need to have a conversation and he may not like what you have to say. But he’s made a decision; he made it the second you kissed him back last night. He’s going to tell you the truth, Benoit Blanc’s instructions be damned.

When breakfast is over, you send the kids into the den to watch TV and come up behind him while he’s finishing up the dishes. You start to speak but he stops you.

“Before you say anything, there’s something I need to tell you,” Ransom says. “And I just need you to listen to me, ok? Just listen, and then you can say whatever you need to say.”

“Alright,” you agree. You take a deep breath and let it out. “Tell me.”

Blanc had made that clear that neither he nor Harlan was supposed to tell you about the investigation—something about observing you coming and going without any outside influence at play—but Ransom doesn’t want to keep any more secrets from you. It seems counterproductive to lie to you in the cause of proving he’s not a liar.

“That woman I brought to Harlan’s-”

Your lips set in a straight line and he can see the fire in your eyes, and he knows exactly what you’re thinking. “Goddammit, Ransom. You promised me you weren’t-”

“Just listen,” he pleads. “She wasn’t my date. Her name is Natalie and she’s a private investigator who works for a guy named Benoit Blanc.”

Your brow furrows and you tilt your head to the side. “The guy from The New Yorker article? The detective?”

“Exactly. Harlan and I hired him a few weeks ago to figure out what happened with those fucking pictures.”

“I don’t understand,” you say. “What do you mean what happened? You know exactly what the fuck happened, Ransom.”

“No,” he snaps. “I don’t, which is what I’ve been trying to tell you for a fucking year. I’ve been through four other guys, spent I can’t even tell you how much money to try and figure out who the fuck decided to ruin our lives, and nobody had any answers. But this Blanc guy… he’s the best there is.”

He can see your mind racing, trying to square what he’s telling you with what you think you know.

“I don’t… I… You really don’t know what happened?” you ask, your voice wavering a bit on the question.

“I really don’t. But I’m gonna find out, and I want you to help me. Will you meet with him? Answer some of his questions?”

“What questions? I don’t know anything.”

“Just let him do his job, ok? Will you do it?”

You don’t respond. You just walk over and sit on one of the kitchen stools, staring into space. Your voice is shaky when you whisper, “You really didn’t do it?”

“I really didn’t do it, but someone went to a lot of fucking trouble to make sure you think I did.”

You look at him with tears in your eyes. “Ran-”

“Don’t, baby,” he replies “It’s ok. Someone played you, someone who wanted to hurt us.”

“Your fucking cunt mother,” you snarl.

“It wasn’t her. I know, I know. I thought so too, but it wasn’t. Blanc doesn’t think it was anyone in the family.”

“So who then? Who the fuck would do this? And HOW? Because… God, it makes me fucking ill to think about it, but that was you, Ran. I know what you look like when you’re getting your dick sucked.” You clutch your stomach and swallow hard. “Christ, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

You rush to the bathroom and Ransom can hear you throwing up your breakfast. But as hard as it is for you, you believe him now. You finally fucking believe him, and Ransom can’t help but smile. When you finally come out of the bathroom, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.

“Ran,” you croak. “I think I know who did this.”

CHAPTER SIX >>>

[littleheavensangel2]

I Hate You, I Love You - Chapter 4

PAIRING: ex-husband!Ransom x Reader (featuring dark!Jake Jensen)

SUMMARY: After your divorce from Ransom is final, you just want things to be cordial between the two of you for the sake of your children. You want to hate him but you can’t—you’re addicted to memories of him and the good years you had together. Ransom can’t let you go, either. He insists he never cheated and he’s determined to figure out which one of his terrible family members set him up and destroyed his life. He knows you’ll take him back if he has proof, and he’s found a world-famous detective to help him find it.

WORD COUNT: 4.6K

WARNINGS: Divorce, References to Infidelity, DILF Ransom (he’s a warning), Explicit Sex (O&V), CNC, Breeding, Degradation, Choking, Femdom, Hidden Camera/Voyeurism, Past Drug Use/Addiction, Violence. 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: Written for @boxofbonesfic and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Triple D Challenge!

Chapter Four

You wake up well-rested Sunday morning, in what you could almost classify as a good mood, but it doesn’t last—the house is too quiet. Sundays when the kids are at Ransom’s are always hard for you. You miss the days when the kids would come running into your bedroom full of excitement for the day ahead. They would pile on top of you and Ransom, the both of you still curled up together and half-asleep, and you would grudgingly detach yourself from your husband to let the kids snuggle up in between you, asking for Daddy’s Sunday morning pancake breakfast to begin. You were so content those mornings, just sitting at your kitchen island enveloped in the smell of bacon and sipping a cup of coffee Ransom brewed for you as you watched him make Mickey Mouse pancakes on the griddle.

These days you make your own coffee and eat a yogurt while scrolling through your phone, looking at the Instagram posts of your friends and acquaintances and their various family activities. You hit like on them all because you feel like you have to, but you’re envious of their perfect little lives. Of course, you know that not everything is as it appears—that Insta and Facebook and all the rest is just curated content, meant to show everyone in their best light. Still, though, it stings. You’d never wish your current situation on anyone, but you can’t help the jealousy that bubbles up inside you.

You miss your babies and you can’t wait for Ransom to bring them back, but that’s not until the evening. You have a whole day to fill and no idea what you want to do with it. You want to start looking for a job even though Ransom provides enough every month that you don’t have to work. You want to, though. As much as you love being home with the kids, you need something else in your life. After all, you’re smart and capable and a hard worker; you worked your whole life until Kira was born. Going back to school seems too daunting, but you could definitely hold down a job.

The problem is that you’re afraid to try. You’ve been out of the workforce for so long that you don’t even know what you would do anymore or if anyone would even hire you. You scroll some local job listings and you let out a bitter chuckle when you see that Blood Like Wine is hiring an Executive Assistant. If you wanted that job, Harlan would give it to you in a second, but it’s the absolute last thing in the world you’d consider doing. The idea of working for Ransom is both horrifying and hilarious to you, and when you think about it you are reminded of the few times that the two of you had acted out that exact scenario in the bedroom—the demanding boss and the naughty secretary. It was hot as hell, and it was one of Ransom’s favorite games to play.

The two of you used to roleplay a lot, especially on date nights after the kids were born. It wasn’t that your sex life had gone stale—you didn’t need to spice things up—but you both loved to play around and explore different fantasies. It started out pretty tame with the usual stuff: you’d dress up as a French maid or a cheerleader, or pretend to be a virgin, or play naughty professor and eager student. You’d always been a sub, but you’d even explored a bit of femdom when Ransom wanted to try it. He’d never given up full control before, and you had to admit: as much as you loved your husband to dom the shit out of you, it was fun (and so fucking sexy) to tie him up and turn him into a whimpering mess.

You’d always enjoyed rough sex, especially with Ransom, but there was one thing you just couldn’t bring yourself to ask for. You were ashamed and embarrassed and you kept it to yourself for a long time, but Ransom knew you were hiding something.

“Just tell me,” he’d said, but you shook your head.

“I can’t. It’s too… I just can’t.”

“Please? You know I’ll do anything you ask me to do.”

You’d closed your eyes and winced before admitting to him that you wanted to try a rape fantasy. He’d looked a little shocked but after considering it for a minute, he agreed.

“Not gonna lie,” he’d said, “that scares me a little, so I need you to tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

“Forget it. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Ran.”

“No, no. We can try it if you want to, but you need to be in charge of this one because I’m not really sure how this whole thing works and I really don’t want to hurt you—at least, not in any way you don’t want me to. Can I ask… why do you want to do it?”

You smiled at him and ran your fingers across his cheek. “I don’t know exactly, honestly, but I know that I trust you.”

When it happened, it was even more intense than you thought it would be, but you were never for one millisecond afraid. You can’t really explain it, but it just made you love him more—that he was willing to go so far out of his comfort zone to do this for you. Something about being forced to place complete faith and trust in him made you so unbelievably hot, and you’d had one of the most powerful orgasms of your life.

And Ransom was the king of aftercare. He’d run you a bath, carried you to the bathroom, got into the tub behind you and held you while you came back to yourself. You’d laid against his broad chest as he washed you and whispered the sweetest most reassuring things to you. You haven’t been able to get back in that tub since the split, even though you absolutely love a good bath. It just feels too big and empty without him in it with you.

As you finish your coffee, you decide that today is the day that you will reclaim your bathtub. You rummage around under the Christmas tree and dig out the fancy bath salts and candle your sister gifted you and head upstairs to run the bath. You light the candle—lavender-scented, your favorite—and cue up a chill playlist as the water runs, and when it’s ready you sprinkle in the salt and immerse yourself to the neck in the scalding hot water. The burn of it goes straight to every muscle in your body and it’s absolute bliss—exactly the type of self-care you need on this lazy Sunday.

You are drifting somewhere between consciousness and sleep when the house alarm shrieks to life. You jolt up, water sloshing over the side of the tub as you scramble out of it, trying not to slip on the heated tile as you grab your bathrobe. Your heart is pounding in your ears. You’re alone and you’re afraid. It’s not the first time the house alarm has gone off, but Ransom had been there to investigate so you could hide out until the coast was clear. But now there’s nobody home but you and a potential intruder.

You tell yourself that it’s probably nothing but you can’t bring yourself to go downstairs and check. You feel a panic attack start to take hold of your chest and you grab your phone and hide in your walk-in closet. You’re trying to control your breathing when your phone rings. An unknown number pops up but you answer it anyway.

“Hello?” you whisper.

“Mrs. Drysdale, this is Colin with Jensen Security. We’ve received an alert that your alarm has been activated. Do you require assistance?”

“Yes, please send someone. I don’t know why it’s going off and I’m here by myself.”

“Are you somewhere safe, Mrs. Drysdale?”

“I… I think so.”

“Stay where you are. I have alerted the authorities and they will be there soon. Would you like me to stay on the line?”

“Yes please. Thank you.”

“Alright. Just hold tight.”

Colin stays on the phone with you while you wait, the alarm still blaring throughout the house, and it seems like an eternity before you hear the knocking at your front door and a man’s deep voice shouting, “Police!”

“They’re here,” you tell Colin, and he directs you to stay on the phone as you walk downstairs.

You still don’t want to go but you force yourself to, thinking that any potential criminal would have run off at the sound of cops at the door. When you get downstairs, everything is as you left it, and you open the door to find two officers standing there.

“The alarm just started going off,” you tell them frantically. “I’m home alone and I didn’t know what to do.”

“It’ll be alright, ma’am. Can we come inside and take a look around?”

“Yes, please.”

You step aside, pulling your robe closed tighter as the two men enter your house to investigate, thanking Colin for his help and hanging up.

“Anything out of place down here, ma’am?” one of the officers asks. “Did you hear any strange noises?”

“No,” you reply. “I was in the bath. But everything looks normal.”

“It’s probably a false alarm, but we’re going to check the whole house and the perimeter just to make sure, ok?”

“Ok,” you whimper, only just realizing that you’re crying. “Thank you.”

Pacing around the kitchen as the officers search the house, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you think about calling Ransom. It’s his arms you want wrapped around you, his voice soothing you and telling you you’re ok. You pull out your phone to call him but just before you get a chance your phone rings—it’s Jake.

“Jake,” you answer. “The alarm went off. The cops are here now but–”

“I know,” he says. “Dispatch just called me. I’m getting in the car now. Are you ok?”

“I was so scared, Jake.”

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes. The police are there. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, ok? You’re safe.”

Jake arrives quickly, entering without knocking, rushing over to you with concern in his eyes. You’d gotten yourself together a bit after the cops came, but when you see Jake, you completely lose it. You throw your arms around him and sob into his chest, and he hugs you tight, rubbing your back and telling you, “You’re alright. Everything is gonna be alright.”

You pull away from him, embarrassed at your complete meltdown—and a half-naked one no less—and you have to laugh at yourself. “I’m a fucking mess,” you say, wiping your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” His voice is gentle, soothing. “You were scared. Are the kids ok?”

You shake your head. “They’re at Ransom’s, thank god. I don’t think I would have been much of a calming presence for them in that situation.”

“I doubt that,” he says. “You’re tougher than you think. I’m gonna go talk to the cops, ok? But I’ll be right back.”

You sniffle a bit and nod as Jake walks off to talk to the officers. It’s an almost Herculean task in your current state, but you manage to make yourself a cup of tea to calm your nerves while you wait for Jake.

“Cops didn’t find a thing,” he tells you. “Definitely a false alarm, which means that this is technically my fault. I’m gonna get my best techs out here right now to go through the whole system and find the problem. I’m gonna upgrade everything, too. Free of charge. I’m so fucking sorry this happened.”

“It’s not your fault, Jake.”

��No,” he says, and looks almost angry. “This is my company’s fuck up. This should not have happened and I’m gonna figure out why the fuck it did so you’re never in this position again.”

“Well I appreciate that. Do you want something? Tea? Coffee?”

“I’m good,” he says. “Sit. Relax. Drink your tea.”

“I should probably go put some clothes on,” you say, and you catch Jake giving you a quick up and down, his cheeks going a bit rosy as if he’s only just realized you’re in nothing but a bathrobe.

“Yeah,” he says, averting his eyes.

You smile at him and tell him you’ll be right back, rushing up the stairs to throw on some leggings and a sweatshirt. When you return to the kitchen, Jake is sitting at the island smiling at you.

“What?” you ask.

“That sweatshirt looks familiar.”

“You look down, realizing you’re wearing one of Ransom’s old Harvard shirts. “Oh, yeah. It’s Ransom’s.”

“It’s mine, actually,” he says. “Fucker stole it from me years ago.”

You laugh. “You want it back?”

“Nah,” he replies. “Looks better on you. So listen, my techs are on their way now. It’ll probably take them at least 4 hours to go through everything thoroughly and install the latest upgrades. Do you want to go grab some lunch or something? Or would you rather be here while they work?”

“I trust your guys,” you say, “and I would love to get out of the house for a while.”

“Great. Because I’m fucking starving. Pick a place—anywhere you want, it’s my treat.”

“Jake, you don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I really do. I feel awful about this.”

“If you insist,” you say. “I haven’t been to the North End in a while. How do you feel about Italian?”

“I could eat my weight in pasta right now,” he replies.

“Same,” you say, “but let me go put something on that’s suitable for the outside world.”

“Take your time,” he replies. “I’m just gonna take a quick look around and see if I can figure out the problem before the guys get here. Might save them some time.”

“Go for it. And thank you, Jake. You didn’t have to come rushing over here.” You pause, a question forming in your mind. “Why did they call you, anyway?”

“Hmm?”

“Your dispatch. You said they called you when the alarm went off. Why? I doubt they call the CEO every time an alarm gets tripped.”

Jake smiles. “They have a list of my VIP clients. They’ve been instructed to call me when one of you has an emergency.”

“So I’m a very important person, then?”

“You’re the most important person,” he replies.

“You’re too good to me, Jake,” you say and you walk upstairs to get ready for lunch.

You didn’t get a chance to actually bathe in the bath so you take a quick shower, wash your face, and brush your teeth. It occurs to you that you haven’t been out to a nice grown-up lunch in a long time. Most of the time you’ve got the kids, and the few times you’ve gone out with your girlfriends, it’s mostly just for drinks. You decide that you want to feel like a real person today. You want to wear nice clothes without juicebox stains on them and slap some makeup on your face. You take your time in your closet, running your hands over the many lovely things you own—things Ransom bought for you when he wanted to dress you up like his own personal doll, things you picked out for yourself and modeled for him.

You decide on black skinny jeans and an emerald green silk blouse with a ribbon-tie neck. You opt for black heels instead of your usual flats, and you dig out the 3-carat diamond stud earrings Ransom gave you after Kira was born. You put your face on—nothing too excessive, just a natural daytime look—but when you’re all done and you look at yourself in the full-length mirror, you feel like you again for the first time in a long time. You know you look good, and it feels good to look good.

“Wow,” Jake says as you enter the kitchen, eyes wide as he takes you in. “You uh… you look really nice.”

“I know it’s all a bit much for lunch,” you say, “but I can’t tell you the last time I went to a restaurant that didn’t have chicken nuggets on the menu.”

Jake laughs. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with chicken nuggets,” he says. “So the team is here. I let them in, hope that’s ok.”

“It’s fine. It’s great. Does that mean we can go? I need a mountain of pasta and a glass or six of wine.”

“Sounds amazing. I’ll drive so you can get as day-drunk as you want.”

“Jake Jensen,” you say, grabbing your purse and coat, “you’re my hero.”

Jake gives some final instructions to his team and follows you out of the house to his car—a brand new green Jaguar F-TYPE.

“Damn. Nice wheels, Jensen.”

“My Christmas present to myself,” he says.

It makes you sad to think about Jake all alone at Christmas. He’s such a wonderful guy—smart, handsome, successful, and so very kind. You don’t understand how he isn’t married. Sure, he’s not the smoothest when it comes to the ladies, but he’s just such a catch. You know he dates and you’ve met a few of his girlfriends over the years. They all seemed lovely, but nothing ever stuck. His relationships were always over in a month or two, and you just can’t understand why. You’ve known Jake as long as you’ve known Ransom (technically longer) and he’s a good person—a bit of an introvert and a total workaholic, but definitely marriage material for the right girl. You want the best for him: a wonderful wife, a beautiful family. You want for him what you once had.

Jake is uncharacteristically quiet as he weaves his way through traffic to the North End and you can tell there’s something on his mind.

“What’s up with you?” you ask.

Jake sighs. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just in a bit of a funk lately.”

“Did something happen?”

“No,” he replies. “That’s the problem. Besides for work, I’ve got nothing going on. I don’t know. I just… I’m lonely, I think. But whatever. It’s fine. I’m not about to sob to you about my fucking problems. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“You can talk to me about anything, Jake. You know that. I hate that you feel like you can’t.”

“No, I know I can. I just… it seems like kind of a dick move to bitch about being alone when you’re going through… well, everything.”

“Well bitch away because I’m so fucking sick of hearing myself talk about myself.”

“Maybe once I’ve got a glass of wine in me,” he says. “Here we are.”

Jake finds a spot a block from the restaurant. It’s not super crowded and you’re able to get a nice table by the window. The hostess hands you your menus and gives Jake the wine list.

“Red or white,” he asks you.

“Red,” you reply. “Something with teeth.”

When the waiter comes to take your drink order, Jake snaps the wine list shut. “The ‘98 Barolo, please,” he says, and your eyes go wide.

The waiter perks up at the selection, seeing dollar signs behind his eyes. “Excellent choice, sir. I’ll be right back.”

“Jake!” you exclaim. “That bottle has to cost as much as my first car.”

Jake gives you a mischievous smile and leans forward. “You know I’m rich as fuck these days, right?”

“Yes,” you say. “I’m aware of that and I’m very proud of you but it’s too much.”

“You can’t take it with you, sweetheart. Let’s treat ourselves. Besides, you look like a million bucks. We need the wine to match.”

“Jesus,” you say, rolling your eyes “You working on your pick-up lines, Jensen? Because that was pretty good, I gotta say.”

“I’m trying,” he says. “I never was much good at that, as you are well aware.”

You smile. “You are endearingly awkward. Some girls like that.”

“Well where the fuck are these girls you speak of because I can’t seem to find them. Or when I do find them, I can’t keep them.”

The waiter arrives with the bottle and pours a taste for Jake but he passes it to you. “You wanna do the honors?”

When the liquid hits your tastebuds you moan—you actually fucking moan, it’s that good—and you understand immediately why the bottle costs what it does.

“Life-changing,” you say, and the waiter smiles as he tops off your glass and pours one for Jake.

“Cheers,” Jake says, and the two of you clink glasses. You watch as he takes his first sip, waiting for his reaction. “Ok, that’s fucking incredible.”

“Right?”

“And to think, you tried to stop me.”

“I was wrong. So so wrong. I’ll never doubt you again.”

“You better not.”

“So,” you say, “about those girls you can’t seem to keep.”

“I’m gonna need more wine for this,” he replies, taking another sip.

“What’s the deal, Jake? Like, really.”

“If I knew the answer to that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“I’m serious. Like your last girlfriend… Casey, I think?”

“Cassie.”

“Sorry. Cassie. She was so nice and smart and fucking gorgeous, so what the hell happened between you two?”

“She was all those things and more,” he says, “but there just wasn’t a real connection between us. It was all very surface. It’s always like that and I don’t know why.”

“Well do you let them in?” you ask. “Are you actually yourself with them, or are you just Jake Jensen, big shot CEO.”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Maybe I am a bit closed off. It’s just very hard for me to trust people.”

“I’ve never gotten that sense about you.”

“That’s because you’re one of the only people I trust.” He looks up from his menu, his eyes soft and sad behind his glasses. “That’s pretty pathetic, huh?”

“Not at all,” you say. “And I am painfully aware of the pitfalls of trusting people so I get it. But you’re never going to find that deep connection you want if you don’t try.”

He’s silent for a moment, just looking at you, and you can’t tell what’s going on in his head exactly—just that something is.

“You’re right,” he says. “I’ll try harder. I don’t want to be alone anymore. Now can we order because I’m getting depressed and I want to eat my feelings.”

“Amen to that,” you reply.

You finish your glass of wine and he pours you another, and by the time your entrees arrive, you’re almost done with the bottle.

“Should we get another?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“I shouldn’t drink anymore. I’ve got the kids later and I am very pleasantly buzzed already. Speaking of which, do you think your guys will be done by 6? That’s when Ransom is supposed to drop them off and I’d rather he and the kids not know anything about the whole ordeal.”

“I can check in with the team now and see where they’re at,” he says, excusing himself from the table and exiting the restaurant to make the call.

As you sit enjoying your bolognese, the wine coursing through your bloodstream relaxing your body and mind, you think to yourself that you can’t remember the last time you felt this good. It’s so easy to be with Jake. He makes you laugh, he cares about you, he makes you feel safe. It feels good to trust him again. You were angry with him for a while after you found out he’d kept Ransom’s cheating from you, but you knew he hated himself for it. And it was hard for him, because he loved Ransom like a brother. You’d made a promise to Jake that if he told you the truth, you would never tell Ransom it came from him, and as many times as you wanted to throw it in Ransom’s lying cheating face when he denied everything—tell him that you heard it straight from his best friend’s mouth—you kept your promise. Jake was in a no-win situation: it was either betray his best friend or keep you in the dark. He chose Ransom but he’s sorry for it now. He regrets it, probably more than you even know, but he did what he felt like he had to do.

Because the truth is that, much as you love Jake, he’s always just done whatever Ransom wanted him to do. That was the way their friendship worked, and you never really understood why Jake let Ransom walk all over him but he did. You of all people know how alpha Ransom can be, but it always kind of bothered you—the way he treated Jake. Just because Jake let him get away with it doesn’t make it right. You’re happy that Jake has pulled away from Ransom since the split. Part of you—the petty, spiteful part—feels like you won him in the divorce, but the other part knows that it’s what’s best for Jake. He deserves a better friend than Ransom just like you deserve a better man.

But a part of you understands why Jake stayed loyal longer than he should have. It’s the same part of you that, even after everything, would let Ransom do whatever he wanted to you. It’s the part of you that still loves him even now.

“They found the problem,” Jake says, returning to the table. “It was a wiring issue, which is a pretty easy fix. They should be done with everything long before the kids get back.”

“Oh good. Maybe I can squeeze in a nap before the little monsters return.”

“How are they doing with everything?” Jake asks.

You sigh, tracing the rim of your empty wine glass with your finger. “Henry seems ok. Kira… not so much. I’m doing my best but it’s just so hard, and Ransom… well, he doesn’t make it easy.”

“What did he do?” Jake asks, and you note the way his voice gets a bit deeper, more serious.

“He just knows what buttons to push,” you reply. “He’s always itching for a fight and he makes everything ten times more difficult than it needs to be. Oh, and he brought some skank around my children over the holidays. Did you know he was seeing someone?”

Jake looks agitated, his usually calm demeanor gone and replaced with a barely contained anger. He takes a deep breath to calm himself.

“No,” he says. “I didn’t.”

“Well apparently he is. She was with him at Harlan’s on New Years.”

“He’s a piece of shit,” Jake spits, and it’s almost like he’s talking to himself and not to you. “He’s always been a piece of shit. He never deserved you. He’s never been good enough for you. Maybe if I’d had the fucking balls to tell you the truth before you married his good-for-nothing ass…”

“Jake,” you snap. “Calm down. It wasn’t always like this. And he gave me my babies. I can’t have regrets.”

“Well I sure as hell can.”

“Don’t,” you tell him. “It’s pointless and I don’t want you to. I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason, so I just keep telling myself that all of this messy painful shit must be something I just have to deal with on the road to something better—that there has to be something better.”

Jake gives you a sad smile and takes your hand in his. “There is. I promise you, there is.”

CHAPTER FIVE >>>

[littleheavensangel2]

I Hate You, I Love You - Chapter 3

PAIRING: ex-husband!Ransom x Reader (featuring dark!Jake Jensen)

SUMMARY: After your divorce from Ransom is final, you just want things to be cordial between the two of you for the sake of your children. You want to hate him but you can’t—you’re addicted to memories of him and the good years you had together. Ransom can’t let you go, either. He insists he never cheated and he’s determined to figure out which one of his terrible family members set him up and destroyed his life. He knows you’ll take him back if he has proof, and he’s found a world-famous detective to help him find it.

WORD COUNT: 4K

WARNINGS: Divorce, References to Infidelity, DILF Ransom (he’s a warning), Explicit Sex (O&V), CNC, Breeding, Degradation, Choking, Femdom, Hidden Camera/Voyeurism, Past Drug Use/Addiction, Violence. 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: Written for @boxofbonesfic and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Triple D Challenge!

**This is a bit of a spoiler but just so I don't have to hear any shit about it, please note that the smut toward the end of this chapter reads like rape/non-con due to the POV but it is actually CNC.**

Chapter Three

Jake waits until 10pm to give Ransom a call. He wants to keep him waiting, to remind him that he has a life outside of being Ransom Drysdale’s errand boy. It’s always been like this between them, ever since the first day they met freshman year at Harvard. The second Ransom learned that Jake was a computer genius it was always fix this, hack that, and Jake would always do it. For a guy like him—a nerd, a loser—the idea of being friends with Ransom fucking Drysdale, King Shit on Campus, was the dream. Proximity to Ransom meant money and connections and an endless parade of pretty girls. Jake thought that maybe some of Ransom’s effortless cool and skill with the ladies would rub off on him (it didn’t), but it was more than that; he really thought his friendship with Ransom was real. Young and naive as he was, he believed that. For a long time, he believed it. Until you, he believed it.

But Jake is grown now; he’s got his own money and success and has for a while. He should have cut out the cancer that is Ransom Drysdale years ago. After all, Ransom just takes and takes and takes, and what does Jake ever get in return? Sure, he paid for their apartment back in the day, and floated him some money when he was starting his security company—money Jake paid back in full the second he could—but other than throwing his money around, Ransom has always been a user. But Jake sticks around and pretends to love his “friend” like a brother, and he does it all for you.

You were supposed to be his. Jake saw you first, fell in love with you before he’d ever spoken a word to you, and the worst mistake he’s ever made—the one that still keeps him up nights—was telling Ransom about you.

The summer after graduation, after Ransom and Jake moved into their Beacon Hill apartment, Jake landed his dream job as a software engineer for the Red Sox. Ransom may have made some introductions, but Jake knows it was his skill that got him the job. After all, you can’t charm or buy your way through building software. You need to know what the fuck you’re doing, and nobody does it better than Jake Jensen.

Jake had never been happier. He was working a job that combined his two passions—baseball and tech—and making bank for the first time in his life. One day, about a week after he started, the software team went out for drinks at one of the Fenway bars, and there you were, pulling perfect pints of Guinness for a bunch of rowdy pre-gaming Sox fans. He’d never in his life seen a more beautiful woman and he knew instantly that he’d do anything to have you. He couldn’t talk to you, not yet; he needed to work up the nerve, and he knew he wasn’t even close to having it yet when you glanced over to his table and locked eyes with him and flashed him a tiny smile. Jake got lightheaded just from that little gesture. No, he wasn’t ready, but he promised himself that next time he would talk to you.

When he got home that night, Ransom was scrolling through his phone contacts, trying to settle on his booty call for the night. Jake threw himself down on the couch and said, “I think I’m in love.”

Ransom didn’t even look up from his phone. “Who is it this time? Some random chick on the T you didn’t talk to?”

“She’s the bartender at Bleachers,” Jake replied, staring up at the ceiling and seeing your face floating in the square coffers. “I’m telling you, dude. She’s the one.”

“OK, so a random bartender you didn’t talk to. Got it.”

“I’m gonna talk to her next time,” Jake insisted.

“Sure you are, buddy. Now come here. I need your opinion on something.” Ransom held up his phone and showed Jake a Facebook photo of a blonde in a bikini. “Does this chick look like she does anal?”

Jake shook his head and laughed. “I have no fucking clue.”

“Well here’s hoping,” Ransom said, pulling up the girl’s contact info and shooting a text. He got a reply in less than a minute, because of course he did. “Looks like I’m about to find out.”

Ransom pulled a vial out of his pocket and tapped out a fat line on the glass coffee table, snorting it with a rolled-up hundred.

“You want?” he asked, and Jake just shook his head. “Suit yourself, pussy.”

“Yeah ok. Well, good luck with the anal,” Jake said, and Ransom grabbed his coat and left.

Jake was happy to be rid of Ransom for the rest of the night so he could give himself a bit of unrestrained self-love thinking about you. Two nights of furious masturbation later, Jake decided it was time to shoot his shot. He drank two tumblers of whiskey at home before heading to Bleachers on a mission. He walked in and straight over to the bar. When you smiled at him, it almost stopped him in his tracks, but he couldn’t let himself get derailed.

“What can I get you?” you asked, your voice like music.

“Boston Lager,” he replied, but it came out like a question and not a statement.

“Bottle or draft?” you asked, and Jake managed to speak with more conviction when he told you he wanted a bottle.

It started when you bent down to grab a cold one from the fridge—couldn’t have been more than 5 seconds but Jake got completely lost in the curve of your ass. His head was swimming but he managed to stop staring before you turned back around. You popped the cap and handed him the bottle and his hand was shaking when he handed you a $20. He took a deep pull from his beer as you worked the cash register, and when you handed him his change he said, “Keep it.”

You raised one eyebrow and gave him a sly smile. “That’s quite the tip for one beer.”

That fucking smile did him in. “Uh, well, you know… good service,” he stammered. He could feel the sweat beading on his brow and the heat flaming up his cheeks. “So, uh… do you like working here?”

“It pays the bills,” you replied. “Especially when I get the big tippers in.”

There was that fucking smile again. Jake was going weak in the knees. He had to sit down. And that’s when it happened: he completely missed the stool and ended up on his ass on the floor, covered in Sam Adams.

He heard your voice ring out, “Oh my God, are you ok?” and then you were kneeling on the floor next to him, your perfume filling his nostrils. He wanted the floor to open up and swallow him in that moment, but no such luck. He pushed himself up off the floor and straightened his glasses, flashing you an awkward smile.

“I uh… I guess I’ve had one too many.”

Another smile from you—a kind one—and then you reached out and brushed some dirt off his shoulder and his whole body was on fire. “It happens,” you said.

“I should go,” he replied. “It was… uh… it was nice to meet you. Bye.”

Jake practically ran out the door, walking all the way back to Beacon Hill, replaying every second of his mortification. When he told Ransom what happened, he laughed so hard he fell on the floor himself, but when he pulled himself together, Ransom was surprisingly supportive.

“Give it one more try, buddy. You can’t possibly do worse.”

Jake just shook his head. “I fucked it up. I always fuck it up.”

“Nah,” Ransom said. “From what you said, she seems nice. I mean, she didn’t laugh at you, which… I don’t know how that’s even possible. Maybe she’s got a fetish for anxious losers with balance issues.”

“FUCK!” Jake screamed.

“Just chill out about it,” Ransom said. “I’ll go with you next time, talk you up, tell her you’ve got a huge bank account and a massive cock. I mean, she’s a fucking bartender. It shouldn’t take much if you can keep your shit together.”

Jake should have known better but he allowed Ransom to play wingman the next weekend. He was always convinced that being around Ransom made him look cooler, richer, and more successful by proxy. You smiled and waved at him when he walked in and Ransom spoke low as they headed to a table.

“Well, looks like she remembers you at least. That’s a start. You sit, I’ll go grab the first round.”

Jake took out his phone and pretended to check his email but really he was watching the two of you. Ransom leaned over the bar and you seemed friendly but not overly so. Your smile was different—it seemed forced—and Jake thought you could probably see right away that Ransom was bad news. Beauty and brains, he thought, and he wished he could hear what Ransom was saying to you but he just had to trust that he was taking his wingman duties seriously. Jake forced himself to look away until Ransom came back. It was taking a long time—too long—but Jake told himself to be patient, that Ransom knew what he was doing.

When he finally returned he placed a beer and a shot in front of Jake and said, “Sorry, buddy, she’s got a boyfriend.”

Jake was crushed and he knew he looked it. Ransom clapped him on the back and told him, “Drink up and let’s get the fuck out of here. This place is a shithole. I’ll buy you a lap dance to take your mind off things. Besides, she’s not even that hot. You can do better. Forget her.”

But Jake couldn’t forget you. He fell into a major funk—so bad that he decided to go home just to get away for a while. His sister had just had a baby and he wanted to meet his niece so he spent a few days with his family, his mom’s homecooked meals doing much to lift his spirits. He even hung out with some of his childhood friends. He was able to pick up with them easily, and even after years away, his old friendships felt so much more real than his friendship with Ransom and the other guys in their circle.

Jake returned to Boston refreshed and almost healed, but it was short-lived. When he walked in the door to the apartment, he heard the unmistakable sounds of Ransom fucking the soul out of some girl. He should have just gone to his room and shut the door and put on some headphones, but Jake was feeling particularly masochistic that night so he dropped his bag and crept toward Ransom’s bedroom door.

He heard the headboard crashing rhythmically against the wall as Ransom degraded whatever poor girl had the misfortune of ending up underneath him.

“Oh you love this fat cock, don’t you. Fucking take it.”

“Oh fuck, Ransom. Harder.”

“My dirty little slut likes it rough, huh? I knew you would.”

Jake stood there, trying to ignore his growing erection as he listened to the woman’s cries—some mixture of pain and pleasure that had her crying out Ransom’s name—and the slap slap slap of skin on skin.

“Fuck baby I’m gonna cum. Open your mouth. Stick your fuckin tongue out. Yeah, just like that. FUCK.”

Ransom groaned long and deep as he came, telling the girl to swallow every drop he gave her.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” he asked and she moaned her approval. “So, uh, you need me to get you a car or…”

God, he’s such an asshole, Jake thought, shaking his head. He went to his room to wait for Ransom’s latest conquest to leave, feeling sorry for her the whole time, and once he heard the door open and shut, he went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. He was on his way back to his room when there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, it was like a punch to the gut. You were standing there all swollen-lipped and messy-haired, and your eyes went wide when you saw him.

“Oh, uhhhh, hi. I um… I left my phone.”

Ransom came up behind Jake wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. “Here you go,” he said, handing you your cell.

Jake just stood there staring at you for what seemed like an eternity.

“Thanks,” you said, your eyes darting between Jake and Ransom. “Uh, I’ll see you around.”

“You take care now,” Ransom said, shutting the door before you could respond.

Jake turned around slowly to face him, his fury barely contained as he looked at his friend.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Ransom looked a bit sheepish as he replied, “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Well I did see it, so can you please give me one good reason why I shouldn’t break your fucking jaw?”

“Look, man. She called me, ok? I was pretty fucked up already and I just… you know I can’t resist a juicy piece of ass.”

“And how did she have your number to call you, Ransom?”

“I might have given it to her.”

“Oh you might have given it to her. God, you’re such a piece of shit. Fuck you, man.”

Jake stormed toward his room but Ransom grabbed his arm. “Jake, wait. I’m sorry, ok? I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did. I’m leaving and I’m not coming back. Fuck this shit.”

“You can’t be serious. You’re gonna move out over some gash who wouldn’t give you the time of day? She’s nothing, man. She’s trash. Wasn’t even that good. I did you a fucking favor, honestly.”

Jake absolutely lost it then. He saw red and the next thing he knew he was on top of Ransom, pummeling him until his face was a bloody swollen mess. Ransom managed to get a good shot in, knocking Jake off him. He spit some blood out onto the floor as he pushed himself up on his elbows.

“I deserved that,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jake. I really am. I never wanted to hurt you, man. You’re my best fucking friend. I don’t want to fight with you over some chick who doesn’t mean shit to me.”

“She meant something to me,” Jake muttered.

“I know. I fucked up. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Jake sighed. He knew he would give in and let it go. He always did when it came to Ransom, but it was getting harder and harder to rationalize it. He knew one thing for sure after that night, though: he would never trust Ransom Drysdale again.

And he was right not to, because not only did Ransom keep fucking you right under his nose, making Jake listen to it for months and months until he finally moved out, he had the nerve to actually fall in love with you. Jake knew after the first time you’d slept over at their place. Ransom didn’t do the morning after, and Jake knew then that he was already gone for you. But he should have known from the very beginning, because if anyone could make Ransom Drysdale change his ways, it was you.

Jake never let on that he had feelings for you. He pretended to be happy for you and Ransom, and a tiny part of him actually was because it meant that he could be close to you, spend time with you, become your friend. If that was all he could get, he would take it, but he never gave up on the idea that someday you would realize that you were meant to be with him. Ransom would fuck up eventually—how could he not?—and Jake would be there for you when he broke your heart. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

But it didn’t. Ransom quit the drugs, kept away from the clubs, and cleaned the girls out of his phone. He even started seeing a shrink to deal with his many issues because the substance abuse was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all the things fucked in Ransom Drysdale’s head. He actually changed for you and it made Jake absolutely furious.

And then you fucking married him and Jake thought it would be the single worst day of his life, but when you had your first kid it was really game over. You were tied together for the rest of your lives by the life you created together. And, God, you really fucking loved him, and Jake couldn’t stomach the idea of breaking your heart. He loved you too much to hurt you.

Until the day he loved you too much not to.

When Ransom hired Jensen Security to secure the house, Jake had thrown in a few extras without his knowledge, and the master bedroom cam was his guiltiest pleasure. He knows every inch of your body, knows exactly how you like to get fucked and what makes you cum. At first, it was knowledge that Jake hoped he would be able to make use of someday, but once he’d resigned himself to always being on the outside looking in, he just used it as his own personal porno site. He can’t watch porn anymore, can’t get hard for anyone but you, which is why he’s never been able to keep a girlfriend for more than a month or two. It’s not that he can’t fuck—he can—but he’s never present; his mind is somewhere else when he’s with a woman and they can always tell.

So he got into a routine: every Friday night, when you and Ransom would drop the kids at your parents’ for date night, Jake would tune in and watch. He limited himself to one night a week of shameless voyeurism, and you always had your best sex on your childless Fridays anyways. It was usually enough to keep him going for the week. One particular Friday about a year ago, he tuned in—lotion and tissues at the ready—but something was very, very wrong.

Ransom had you by the neck, his face an inch from yours, snarling, “You burned my fucking dinner and you think you’re gonna go to sleep without satisfying me?”

“Please, Ran,” you begged. “I don’t want to tonight.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you want.”

Ransom ripped your blouse off and flipped you around, hiking your skirt up to your waist before throwing you face down on the bed and tearing your thong off. You tried to kick him off you but he was far too strong. He kneed your legs open, reaching between them to shove his fingers inside you. You squealed and tried to pull away from him but he just laughed.

“Oh, princess. It’s gonna be so much worse if you struggle,” he said, and Jake had never heard his voice so cruel. “Don’t make me tie you up again.”

“Ransom, please. You’re hurting me.”

“Good.”

Ransom spit on your pussy and rammed himself inside you with no warning. The scream you let out chilled Jake to the bone. You reached behind you, blindly trying to scratch and claw at Ransom’s arms as he held you down and fucked you into the mattress. He grabbed your wrists and held them together at the small of your back as he continued his assault.

“Just lay there and take it like a good little slut. That’s all you’re good for, right? Taking my cock and making my babies. Can’t even cook a fucking steak right.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m so sorry. Please, Ran.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, and pulled out of you just long enough to flip you onto your back. He shoved himself back inside you and Jake could see the trails of mascara running down your face.

“Ran-”

“I said shut up.”

Ransom slapped you across the face so hard that Jake could feel it in his teeth. He should’ve stopped watching. He should’ve called the cops. He should’ve driven over there with his .45 and put a bullet in Ransom’s skull. Instead he sat frozen, watching as the man you married violated your body and your trust and your love.

Just when Jake thought all the fight had left your body, you brought your hands up and scratched at Ransom’s chest. He hissed as you broke the skin but it only urged him on.

“You stupid fucking bitch,” he spat. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

“No, Ransom. Please. No more.”

“You did this. Remember that when you’re covering up the bruises.”

He hit you again, then again, and when you started to scream, he wrapped both his hands around your throat and choked the sound straight out of you.

“Scream again and I’ll snap your fucking neck.”

Your eyes bugged out and you stared at him in horror but his pace only grew more relentless.

“I’m gonna put another baby in you tonight, bitch. That’s all you are to me, you know—just a hole to breed and fuck however I want, whenever I want.”

You cried harder but you couldn’t speak, just squeak out the saddest, most pathetic little sounds.

“Keep crying, baby. Makes me so fucking hard.”

Ransom groaned his pleasure as the tears kept falling from your eyes, and when he started to roll his hips your mouth fell open wide and your eyes rolled back in your head.

“That’s it. I knew you fuckin wanted it. You always want it. So fucking desperate for my cock.” Your legs started to shake as you came with Ransom’s hands still around your neck. He finally let go and you coughed and gasped for air but Ransom just laughed at you. “Dumb little slut doesn’t even know when she wants to get fucked. Was that good, baby? Did you like that?”

“No,” you croaked.

“Then you’re gonna hate this.”

Ransom threw your legs back, bending you in half and pounding the deepest part of you.

“It hurts,” you whined. “Please, Ran.”

“You think I give a shit? You’re gonna take all my cum and then you’re gonna lay here until it takes.”

You bit your bottom lip and squeezed your eyes closed as you suffered through the next agonizing minute until Ransom came inside you. You were just laying there like a broken ragdoll as he pulled out slowly, a glazed look in your eyes when he kissed your forehead and whispered, “Good girl.”

Jake slammed his laptop closed, ran to the bathroom, and made it to the toilet just in time for his stomach to upend itself. He made a promise to himself then and there: he would save you from the man you married, the man who fooled you and everyone else into thinking he was changed. Jake made a plan that very night and it worked. You are free of Ransom now, and all Jake needs to do is convince you that the right man for you has been there all along.

Ransom picks up on the third ring. “Hey, man,” Jake says. “Happy fuckin New Year.”

“You too. So listen, I need you to go by the house again and talk to her for me.”

“What kind of damage control am I doing here? What did you do this time?”

“No, nothing like that. I just… I need to know who the fuck told her I was cheating on her.”

“Dude, the divorce is final, and you made that shit ugly. What does it even matter at this point?”

“It just does, ok? Will you do it?” Ransom asks; he’s practically begging and Jake delights in it.

“Anything for you, buddy,” Jake says and he hangs up with a smug smile on his face.

Ransom never was the brightest bulb on the shelf, but he’s making it almost too easy. The only real challenge left is you, but Jake knows you’re at your breaking point. The holidays were rough, as he knew they would be; you’ll be wanting a fresh start in the new year—real change. And you’re so terribly lonely. He’d heard you on the phone with your sister Christmas Eve, bitching about how badly you need to get laid.

“I’d take anyone at this point,” you’d said.

It’s time now. It’s finally time.

CHAPTER FOUR >>>

[littleheavensangel2]

I Hate You, I Love You - Chapter 2

PAIRING: ex-husband!Ransom x Reader (featuring dark!Jake Jensen)

SUMMARY: After your divorce from Ransom is final, you just want things to be cordial between the two of you for the sake of your children. You want to hate him but you can’t—you’re addicted to memories of him and the good years you had together. Ransom can’t let you go, either. He insists he never cheated and he’s determined to figure out which one of his terrible family members set him up and destroyed his life. He knows you’ll take him back if he has proof, and he’s found a world-famous detective to help him find it.

WORD COUNT: 4.3K

WARNINGS: Divorce, References to Infidelity, DILF Ransom (he’s a warning), Explicit Sex (O&V), CNC, Breeding, Degradation, Choking, Femdom, Hidden Camera/Voyeurism, Past Drug Use/Addiction, Violence. 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: Written for @boxofbonesfic and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Triple D Challenge!

Chapter Two

It’s just after midnight and the party is winding down downstairs as Ransom puts the kids to bed. Henry was out like a light the second his head hit the pillow, but Kira is begging for a bedtime story even though she’s beyond exhausted. Of course he gives in. There’s nothing she could ask of him that Ransom wouldn’t do. He sits beside her in bed and pulls up her favorite story on his phone and she’s snoring softly by the time he gets to the third paragraph. He stays there for a while, his baby girl curled up against him, and it almost hurts him to look at her because she looks like you: her hair, her eyes, the shape of her face—it’s all you. Henry takes after his Daddy, but Kira is you in miniature.

He gently detaches himself from Kira and tucks her in before heading downstairs to talk to Blanc’s assistant, Natalie. He hates himself a little bit for letting you think that he’s seeing someone (and doubly so for bringing her around the kids) but he can’t help himself—he needs to see your jealousy because it means that you still care, that you want him as much as he wants you. As for the gift… well, maybe it was a bit cruel, but he can’t have you forgetting what you’re missing, what’s yours for the taking if you’d just let him come home. And he knows how much you need it. He can see it in your eyes every time you’re near him. You think you’re hiding it but you can’t. Your mind may hate him right now, but your body never will.

Natalie is waiting for Ransom by the door and he walks her out to her car to get away from the prying eyes and ears of his family. They can’t know a thing—none of them—if any of this is going to work. Blanc made it clear that, besides for Ransom and Harlan, it was essential that no one know that an investigation was underway.

“So,” Ransom says, “what do you think? It was her, right?”

“I know you’re set on the idea,” Natalie replies, “but I really don’t think Linda had anything to do with it, Mr. Drysdale. It just doesn’t add up.”

Since Day One, Ransom has believed that his mother was behind those pictures, but he hasn’t been able to prove it. What he knows is this: he’s never cheated on you—not really. He doesn’t consider a vanilla lap dance or two at a strip club or bachelor party to be cheating, and you wouldn’t either. You might be pissed, but you’d never leave him over something so meaningless. Ransom doesn’t know where you got the idea that he’s been sleeping around on you since before you were married, but it’s simply not true. Did he go out and get rowdy a few times with the boys? Sure. But he never went too far and he certainly never put his dick in any hole that didn’t belong to you—and he hasn’t since the first time he touched you all those years ago.

But there were pictures of him doing exactly that—pictures that he can’t explain because he has absolutely no recollection of that night. He doesn’t know whether the pictures are fake or whether he was drugged or both, but he’s been trying to find out since the day you kicked him out. He’s been through several PIs, dragged out the divorce proceedings as long as he could in the hope that someone would be able to find out what really happened, but no one has been able to help him.

Harlan never believed it but Ransom decided to leave the old man out of it—the whole mess was so upsetting to him and he hasn’t been in the best of health. But maybe he shouldn’t have left him in the dark for so long because once Ransom finally admitted he’d been searching for answers since you left him, Harlan told him about Benoit Blanc: the incredibly gifted, incredibly expensive private detective who can apparently crack any case. Ransom can’t rest until he finds out who destroyed his life and why, so when the divorce was finalized a few weeks ago, he ponied up the considerable cash (with a little assistance from Harlan) and brought Blanc on board.

It made more sense for Blanc’s assistant to pose as his new girlfriend over the holidays; no one would bat an eye at Ransom bringing some random woman around. She's been trained by the best and Ransom trusts her judgment. She’ll report back to Blanc in the morning and maybe something new will shake loose from whatever conversations she’s had with his terrible family over the past few days.

Natalie spent the days from Christmas through New Years (sans Christmas Eve with the kids, of course) poking around the Thrombey family’s business, posing as Old Money from New York with Mayflower blood (so of course Linda loved her instantly). If Natalie says that it wasn’t his mother, Ransom believes her. Linda was the easy choice—she’s always hated you and Ransom already despises her—but even Ransom has to admit that it doesn’t seem like Linda’s MO. If she wanted to break the two of you up, she would have gone after you. She would have painted you as the villain and not the victim.

So that leaves Ransom’s second suspect: Walt, who he’s pretty convinced is in love with you (and at the very least wants to fuck you) and who desperately wants Ransom out of the family business. It’s not a stretch to think that Walt, who thinks he’s much smarter and more interesting than he actually is, might have deluded himself into thinking he’s got a chance with you if Ransom was out of the picture. He certainly would have believed that Ransom would fall off the wagon and start using again if you left him, and he almost did a few times, but he stayed clean for his children and because drug use is the one thing that Harlan will not abide. He’d made it very clear to Ransom when he brought him on board at Blood Like Wine that he’d be out of the company and completely disinherited if he ever started up with the drugs again, and nothing would please Walt more than to see Ransom fail.

“What about Walt?” Ransom asks, but Natalie just shakes her head.

“Not Walt either,” Natalie says. “He does stand to benefit, but he’s really not very bright. He could never pull it off even with Jacob’s help, but as freaky as the kid is, I don’t think he’s involved either. Don’t get me wrong—he’s almost certainly some alt-right psycho doing illegal shit on the dark web, but whatever he’s got going on has nothing to do with you or your ex-wife.”

Ransom sighs and runs his hand through his hair. He hates that Natalie uses the term ex-wife to describe you, though it’s technically accurate. But to Ransom, you’ll always be his wife. He doesn’t care what some piece of paper says.

“Yeah, you’re right. Walt’s a fucking moron. But who then? Because it has to be one of them.”

“Does it?” Natalie asks. “No offense, but you’re not the most beloved person I’ve ever met. There have to be other people out there who might want to see you suffer. Just think about it, make a list of people close to you and send it to me and we’ll look into it. Blanc thinks it’s past time to look outside the Thrombey circle and I have to agree.”

“Alright,” Ransom agrees. “You’ll have it tomorrow. Thanks for putting up with my family over the holidays. I’m sure you’d rather be, well, anywhere else. I know I would.”

“It’s my job, Mr. Drysdale, and I get paid handsomely for it,” she says. “One more thing, though. It’ll be tricky, given the current state of your relationship, but Blanc is insistent that it has to be done.”

“What?”

“We need to know where your ex-wife is getting her information. Not the photos, but the other things she claims to know—the infidelity before your marriage. Does she have any friends or family that might be sympathetic to your cause here? Anyone you think she would talk to that would talk to us?”

Ransom laughs. “All her friends fucking hate me and everyone in her family would shoot me on sight. She might talk to Jake, though.”

“That’s Jake Jensen? Your friend? Are you sure?”

“She’s always had a soft spot for Jake,” Ransom says, his voice barely masking his irritation at the fact that you and Jake have remained close since the split. It’s convenient for Ransom, of course—having someone to keep tabs on you and report back to him—but he can’t help but be jealous that Jake is still in your life, that you trust him. “Besides, Jake does all our security at the house so it shouldn’t be hard to come up with some excuse for him to go over there.”

“Do it, then,” Natalie says, “and soon. Blanc will be in touch once we’ve got something.”

“Consider it done,” Ransom replies. “And Happy New Year.”

“You too, Mr. Drysdale. Take care. And I promise you we’ll get to the bottom of this. Blanc never misses and he’s not about to start now.”

Ransom flashes her a sad smile and waves her off, praying that she’s right, because he knows it’s the only way he’ll ever get you back. Without concrete proof, you’ll never believe him, and that’s what cuts the deepest. Some days it makes him angry—so fucking angry he can barely breathe—that you could believe he would risk losing you and the family you built together. But he has to put himself in your position: if he saw pictures of you with another man, would he believe in your innocence? Most days he thinks he would, but you don’t have his past. You were never a coked-out party girl fucking your way around the world. You were always a good girl—before him, for him, even after him. He knows you haven’t even looked at another man since you kicked him out, and he takes comfort in that. You still love him. You still want him. You just want the him that you thought he was, and Ransom will go to the ends of the earth to prove to you that he’s never stopped being the man you fell in love with.

Ransom returns to the mansion and heads upstairs to his room across the hall from the kids, poking his head in the door of their room to check on them before getting ready for bed. He knows he shouldn’t do it—that he needs to stop doing it—but he can’t help himself. He grabs his laptop and his headphones, logs into the security system at the house, and pulls up the feed for the bedroom he used to share with you.

He bites his bottom lip and moans, “Oh, fuck, baby,” because there you are, completely naked and splayed out on the bed, making excellent use of your Christmas gift.

You don’t know the camera is there; Ransom had Jake’s guys install it and a few others during a “routine maintenance visit” at the beginning of the separation—just to keep an eye on things, Ransom had said, but really he just wanted any way back into his house. If he had to spy on his own family, so be it.

In the beginning, he really would just check in and watch you going about your daily routine with the kids. He’d eat breakfast in front of his laptop watching you three eat breakfast, he’d tune in at bedtime when you tucked in the kids and read them their bedtime stories. But one day when he was feeling especially lonely in his big cold bed, he started missing the way you look when you sleep—so beautiful, so at peace—and when he checked the feed from your room, he saw you pull out your vibrator. He watched mesmerized as you struggled to get yourself off, and he was so close to getting in his car and driving to the house and replacing that toy with his tongue.

God, he wanted to taste you, but the idea of you rejecting him was too much. So he didn’t do it—not that time or any of the many other times he’s watched you when you think you’re alone at night. He knows it’s wrong, that it’s a horrible invasion of privacy—a violation, even—but Ransom is addicted to you. He’s addicted to the shape of you and the sound of you, he’s addicted to the scent of your sex and the flavor of your skin. He’s addicted to the way you feel from the inside, so he decided if he couldn’t be with you physically, he’d be there in spirit.

Ransom watches as you fuck yourself on his dick, so wet he can hear the squelching sounds of your pussy as you take it hard and fast. He’s rock-hard in an instant, reaching into his gray sweats and pulling his cock out to match your movements. He cranks the volume on his headphones and hears your breathy little moans, your sweet voice begging, “Fuck me, Ran. Oh God, fuck me,” and he’d give anything to feel your tight heat squeezing him instead of his own hand.

“That’s it baby,” he whispers. “Take it.”

You twist your nipple between your fingers before bringing your hand down to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles as your hips jerk up off the bed to take his cock deeper. Your movements grow more frantic, your cries more desperate, and he knows you’re almost there.

He whispers, “Cum for me, baby. You can do it,” and you reply as if you can hear him.

“So close baby..”

You fuck yourself hard, taking the length of him with each thrust, and you drag your hand up your body to your neck, wrapping your tiny hand around it—just like he used to, just how you like. He knows you’re wishing it was his big hand and thick fingers holding you with just enough pressure to steal some of your breath, and that thought alone has Ransom ready to blow. But he waits until you’re ready. He wants to cum with you, and when he sees your legs start to shake he cups his balls and jerks himself faster until you’re cumming with his name on your lips and he’s shooting a load up his bare chest.

He watches you for a while after, just laying there panting before you gingerly pull the toy out of you. He can see your phone on the nightstand and he wants to call you and tell you all the things he would say if he were there right now, if that had been his real flesh inside you instead of just a replica. He wants to tell you how incredible you are, how beautiful, how much he loves you. Instead, he watches as you toss the dildo across the room, scream into your pillow, and start to cry.

Ransom barely sleeps at all that night, too wrapped up in thoughts of you and how desperately sad you are. You’d never let him see it because you think it would give him satisfaction to know just how deeply broken you are, but he knows. He didn’t have to see your breakdown to know, but having seen it, it will never leave him. He’s more determined than ever to find answers and make whoever the fuck is responsible for doing this to you pay.

Because he’s not responsible—not for this—but he knows now he has to do better. He’s been letting his own pain and anger turn him into something he’s not, acting like the piece of shit that you think he is, and he doesn’t really know why. It was just a basic instinct for self-preservation, he supposes. Every time he’s around you, he can’t help but put on that old front—Mr. I Don’t Give A Fuck: the smug selfish asshole, the arrogant prick. It was just too hard to keep showing you his love and being rejected, so he chose cruelty instead. That stops now, he thinks. No matter how much it might hurt him to love you openly, it fucking stops. You deserve better. The kids deserve better. And if he’s got any chance of getting you back, getting his life back, he can’t keep doing damage.

Ransom gets the kids packed up and ready to go, hoping to avoid his parents on the way out, but Kira and Henry want to say goodbye to their great-grandpop who is inconveniently sitting in the living room with Linda and Richard. The kids run over to hug Harlan, bypassing their grandparents completely, which puts a smug smile on Ransom’s face.

“Mother. Father. A pleasure as always.”

Richard purses his lips but Linda ignores the sarcasm; she’s got her eyes on a new prize.

“So, will we be seeing more of your new friend?” Linda asks. “She’s a lovely girl. Certainly a step up from You Know Who.”

Ransom looks to his children, happy to find that Kira is too wrapped up in her great-grandpop to have heard that comment, before shooting daggers at his mother.

“I don’t think so,” he says. “I have more important things to focus on. Kids, time to go.”

Kira and Henry let go of Harlan and grudgingly accept hugs from Linda. Henry wrinkles up his nose and pulls away from her.

“Grandma, you smell funny,” he says, and Ransom chuckles.

“New fragrance, mother?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked. “Shrew by Dior?”

“Oh just go,” she says. “I think we’ve all had enough.”

“On that, we fully agree,” he says, giving Harlan a nod goodbye before guiding the children out to the car.

The two of them fight the entire ride back to Ransom’s house, each insisting that it’s their turn to pick the afternoon movie. They are still at it by the time Ransom gets them inside and starts making their lunch.

“Enough, you two,” he says, sternly but gently. “Who picked last time?”

Kira points at Henry and he points at her. Ransom can’t help but smile at them. He’s pretty sure that it’s Kira’s turn—she wouldn’t lie—and that Henry just doesn’t remember, but he wants them to work it out on their own.

“What was the last movie you watched?”

“Toy Story,” Henry states emphatically.

“Isn’t Toy Story your favorite, bud?” Ransom asks, and Henry nods. “So then don’t you think that maybe it’s your sister’s turn and you just didn’t remember?”

“Maybe,” he replies.

“Ha!” Kira says, but Ransom stops her gloating with a look.

“Don’t be mean. He just forgot. Do you know what you want to watch?” Ransom asks, but he knows before she even says it that it’s The Little Mermaid.

“Little Mermaid it is. But lunch first.”

Ransom puts their plates of dino nuggets on the table and they dig in as he takes out his phone and shoots Jake a text.

R: Happy New Year buddy. Need a favor. Call me when you get a chance.

Jake is probably still nursing a New Years hangover and Ransom doesn’t expect a response until late afternoon at the earliest, so he’s surprised when he gets a text back 20 minutes later.

J: I’ll call you tonight. Still got last night’s girl in my bed ;)

Ransom chuckles and shakes his head before responding.

R: Untie her then.

J: Very funny.

R: I’m serious though man call me later.

J: Will do.

Ransom is surprised Jake managed to score last night but maybe he shouldn’t be. He’s loaded these days and he’s a good-looking guy. But Jake Jensen does not have and has never had anything even remotely close to game. Ransom has never met someone who is worse at picking up women. It was a running joke all throughout their college days at Harvard. Hell, he’d even tried to pick you up once, before you met Ransom, and he’d failed miserably. You’d been kind about it, because that’s just who you are, and you never teased him about it over the years even though you absolutely could have. But Ransom knew the story—how Jake had gotten so red-faced and flustered trying to talk to you behind the bar that he missed the stool when he tried to sit down. Ransom still laughs when he pictures it. It’s just so Jake.

Ransom gets the kids settled in on the couch in the den and puts on the movie, ignoring their pleas for candy. These days he would normally give it to them even though they just had lunch—something Mommy would never allow—but he resists the urge to give in to their whims this time. He wants to do what you would do, what he himself would have done back when you were still a happy family living under one roof. He misses lazy weekend afternoons watching movies with you and the kids, tries not to look at the opposite side of the couch where you would be sitting, legs curled under you as you cradle a mug of tea. It’s pointless, though. You are everywhere he is.

You’re in the face of your daughter, her eyes glued to the TV, mouthing every word of the movie you both know by heart. You are in her sweet voice as she sings along with Ariel, the way the two of you used to do together. Ransom still remembers the first time he heard you sing. It was in the early days of your relationship, the first time you’d actually slept over at the apartment he shared with Jake. You’d been there before, of course, in his bed many times, but that was the first night he’d asked you to stay until morning. You almost didn’t—you didn’t trust him yet—but Ransom whined and gave you his best puppy dog eyes until you gave in. In the morning, he woke and you were gone, and for a moment he was devastated, but then he heard the shower in his bathroom turn on and your lovely voice singing a Joni Mitchell song. He knew he loved you then. It would take him months to tell you, but he knew.

When The Little Mermaid is done and Ariel gets her happy ever after, the fighting over the next movie starts in earnest.

“MY TURN!” Henry screams, and Ransom knows he’s on the verge of a major tantrum.

“I think it’s my turn, actually,” Ransom replies.

“You don’t get a turn,” Kira says.

Ransom raises an eyebrow at her. “Why not?”

“You’re old. You’re gonna pick something boring,” she whines, crossing her little arms and huffing a bit. She looks just like you in that moment and it hurts Ransom’s heart to see it even though it’s adorable.

“Boring, huh? Is Spiderman boring?”

“But Mommy said we can’t watch Spiderman yet,” she says. “She’s gonna be mad.”

“Shut UP, Kira!” Henry yells, and Ransom turns to him with a stern face.

“Hey! You don’t tell people to shut up, especially not your sister. Apologize. Now.”

“Sorry,” Henry says, his eyes starting to water.

“I’ll tell you what. I’m gonna text Mommy and ask her if it’s ok and we will all listen to whatever she says, deal?”

“Deal,” they reply in unison, and Ransom pulls out his phone.

He winces internally when he sees the last text you sent him—a “go fuck yourself” in response to some obnoxious thing he’d said about you being on time to drop the kids off at Harlan’s. He’d done it to get a rise out of you, and of course it worked, but Ransom is committed to doing right by you now, to starting fresh in the new year. His fingers tap out a message to you and he hits send.

R: Is it ok if I let the kids watch Spiderman? I Googled it and I don’t think there’s anything too bad in there.

He stares at his phone for a minute until he sees the three dots pop up.

Y: Yeah ok. Kira will be fine but turn it off if it seems like too much for Henry, k?

R: I will. You want to Facetime with them before bedtime tonight?

Y: That would be great yeah.

R: OK. We’ll call around 7.

Ransom sees you start typing and stop and start again.

Y: Thank you for asking first about the movie. I really appreciate it.

Ransom smiles, knowing it must have been hard for you to thank him for anything.

R: Well Kira said Mommy would be mad and we can’t have that :)

Y: Smart girl. Give them kisses for me.

R: I will.

Ransom can’t remember the last time he had a conversation with you that didn’t go south. It feels good—so much better than picking stupid fights to try and win a losing game. He tells himself to remember this feeling the next time the urge to be a prick comes over him, to remember what your kindness feels like.

He turns to the kids, both staring at him, waiting with bated breath for their mother’s decree. “Mommy said yes!” he tells them, and they both shriek at a pitch that could break glass. He wishes you were here to see the excitement in their eyes, but the ache in his chest only makes him more determined to put his family back together, no matter the cost.

CHAPTER THREE >>>

[littleheavensangel2]

I Hate You, I Love You - Chapter 1

PAIRING: ex-husband!Ransom x Reader (featuring dark!Jake Jensen)

SUMMARY: After your divorce from Ransom is final, you just want things to be cordial between the two of you for the sake of your children. You want to hate him but you can’t—you’re addicted to memories of him and the good years you had together. Ransom can’t let you go, either. He insists he never cheated and he’s determined to figure out which one of his terrible family members set him up and destroyed his life. He knows you’ll take him back if he has proof, and he’s found a world-famous detective to help him find it.

WORD COUNT: 5.5K

WARNINGS: Divorce, References to Infidelity, DILF Ransom (he’s a warning), Explicit Sex (O&V), CNC, Breeding, Degradation, Choking, Femdom, Hidden Camera/Voyeurism, Past Drug Use/Addiction, Violence. 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: Written for @boxofbonesfic and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Triple D Challenge!

Chapter One

The sound of Christmas music blaring through the speakers at Saks is doing nothing to help your hangover. It’s not the worst one you’ve ever had, but the holiday season had been difficult this year and you'd been hitting the bottle a little harder than you normally would. It was your first Christmas as a broken family, and you’d done your best to keep things all holly and jolly for the kids, but of course they noticed the difference. Every step of the way—picking out the tree, decorating the house, baking cookies—you’d heard a near-constant chorus from your son and daughter.

Where’s Daddy? Where’s Daddy? I miss Daddy.

At 3 and 6, they aren’t yet old enough to really understand the concept of divorce. Your youngest, Henry, has always been a happy, easygoing child. He’s rolling with it, at least for now. But Kira… Kira has always been too smart for her own good, and intuitive—she feels things in ways other kids her age don’t. Much as you try to hide it, she can sense every bit of your sadness and anger. And she has her own pain, too. She misses her father and she makes sure you know it at every opportunity. You don’t blame her, obviously. She has no idea what Ransom put you through, who he really is. He may be a horrible person—a liar and a cheat—but even you have to admit that he’s always been a good father.

Today, you’ve got the unpleasant task of exchanging nearly all the gifts that Linda had bought the kids for Christmas. They were lovely things, expensive things, but of course she couldn’t be bothered to actually ask what sizes the kids were before doing her shopping (or, more likely, sending someone to do it for her). And she didn’t leave you with any gift receipts–she’d never do something so gauche as that—so here you stand in front of the sales counter, your two bored and restless children tugging at you as you plead with the woman behind the counter to please just make the exchanges.

You understand that store policy dictates that she can’t help you—you used to work in retail, you get it, you really do—but as you hear “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” blast through the speakers, something inside you snaps. There’s only so many times you can hear the same goddamn songs over and over again for months at a time. Christmas is over. Why can’t they stop playing them? And why is it so fucking loud? You don’t realize that you’re crying until you see the horrified face of the saleswoman and hear Henry’s little voice asking, “Mommy, why are you sad?”

“Yikes,” the saleswoman mutters, gathering all your things off the counter. “It’ll be alright just… just let me just talk to my manager, ok?” She pulls a tissue from behind the counter and hands it to you with a look that reeks of pity.

And just like that, you’re the crazy lady having a mental breakdown in the children’s department at Saks Fifth Avenue—not the way you wanted to ring in the New Year, but you’re not entirely surprised. Nothing about the past year had gone as planned; why should today be any different? You try to gather yourself a bit and assure your kids that you’re ok—just one of Mommy’s headaches, you tell them, but Kira knows better.

“She’s sad about Daddy again,” she tells her brother, and you hate that she’s so right when she’s so very young.

“I’m ok,” you tell her, but you’re not and you don’t know when you will be.

You should have known better. Ransom was a playboy when you met him and you knew that. You were working as a bartender near Fenway, trying to pay off your student loans after you graduated from BU, and you figured Ransom was just slumming it. And that was fine by you. He was supposed to be a fling—just sex, no strings—but you fell for him against your better judgment.

When you think back on it now, you tell yourself that it was the sex that kept you coming back, and that was true at the beginning—Ransom was a total prick but he was the best fuck you’d ever had and probably will ever have (and that pisses you off to no end). But after a few months of late-night booty calls, the facade started to fall away and he let you behind that steel wall he’d built up over the years. You saw things in him: the harm his family had done to him, the potential he had—the same potential Harlan always saw and inexplicably still sees despite all the damage he’s wrought.

You’d decided if you loved him hard enough, you could fix him. And he’d made so many promises to you. Tangled up in his sheets after your first real date, he’d sworn off the women and the partying, and you believed him. For a long time—long after you probably shouldn’t have—you believed him. He’d even started to go to therapy, which is something he’d refused to do his entire life even though he very clearly needed it after growing up in the Thrombey/Drysdale clan.

“I’ll go for you,” he’d said. “I’d do anything for you.”

You didn’t know about his infidelities before you got married. You found all that out later, after the shit hit the fan and you cried and screamed and begged his best friend Jake to be honest with you. Jake had become your friend, too, after all. But he’d been around when it happened. He knew for years and just stood by and let Ransom make a fool out of you. He owed you the truth.

You would never have married Ransom if you’d known that his promises were bullshit, that he was still getting coked up and partying and sticking his dick in other women during his boys’ weekends—at least, that’s what you tell yourself. If you’re honest, by the time Ransom proposed to you, you were so desperately in love with him that you were willing to look past some fairly obvious red flags. And then there was the money, the lifestyle… you didn’t marry him for his money (as Linda has always insisted), but it certainly didn’t hurt. You grew up with nothing, and Ransom took every opportunity to spoil you rotten.

He paid off your student loans and you let him. He took you on luxe vacations all across the world when he learned you’d never even left the East Coast. “You deserve the world, Princess,” he’d always say, handing you some exorbitantly expensive gift, and you’d take it gladly—glittering jewels and designer bags and clothes straight off the runways of Paris and Milan—and then you’d strip down to nothing and model your new things for him and he’d fuck you so good you’d forget your own name.

You would have signed a prenup if he’d asked, but he didn’t. In fact, he was aggressively opposed to it. You realize now that it wasn’t out of any sort of trust in your everlasting love; he rejected the prenup to piss off his parents. If you’d known then what you know now—that Linda would despise you forever because of it, that his lawyer would paint you as a gold-digging whore in the divorce proceedings—you would have signed it in a second.

If you’d found out about his cheating before Kira was conceived, you would have left. It would have been easier to cut ties with him in the early days of your marriage, before your firstborn bonded the two of you together in a way you never knew you could be bonded. You loved being a family and watching Ransom grow up and blossom into a warm, loving father. It was a side of him that never failed to warm your heart (and you still feel that way when you see him with your children). When you’d told him you were pregnant with Kira, he cried and made a promise—more to himself than to you—that he would be everything that his parents were not. He would make sure his children knew that he loved them, he’d show them and tell them every single day.

That’s the one promise he actually kept.

The first time you actually caught Ransom cheating was six months after Henry was born. He had dinner plans with his friends and you didn’t mind letting him off Daddy Duty for a few hours as long as he came home at a reasonable hour with diapers. Instead, he stumbled in empty-handed at 2am, reeking of booze and pussy. He’d promised that nothing happened, that Jake and the boys dragged him to the strip club to celebrate Jensen Security’s IPO, but he didn’t touch any of the girls. You didn’t believe it—the stench of him alone told a very different tale—but you forced yourself to look the other way. You knew you’d be getting a nice apology gift out of the whole thing but that wasn’t why you forgave him. You couldn’t give up on the idea of your perfect little family. You loved being Mr. and Mrs. Drysdale with your two precious babies. You couldn’t bear the thought of giving up the life you’d built together, not when it was only just beginning. You wanted to grow old with him, watch your kids grow up, maybe even have a few more.

Even though Ransom never actually admitted to anything, he worked overtime to make it up to you, to make you feel like he only had eyes for you and that you were the most beautiful, precious thing in the world to him. Within a week, you’d let him back in your bed. You loved him, but it was more than that: you were addicted to him—to the way he knew every inch of your body like it was his own. And it was his. Every piece of you was his, and every night you gave yourself to him and he took and took and took until you could almost forget that anything had ever come between you.

You let it go because you had to. For your sanity, you had to.

But then, a little over a year ago, you got back from dropping the kids off at your parents’ house and checked the mail to find a blank manilla envelope shoved in your mailbox with your name on it in big block letters—no return address, no postmark. You felt your whole body run cold because you knew before you even opened it. Somehow you just knew, because things were going too well. You were too in love, too happy.

But there he was—Ransom Drysdale, caught in 4K at the club, balls deep in some stripper’s throat—and you knew you couldn’t come back from that. Not when you’d seen it with your own eyes, the image of him blissed out and cumming in another woman’s mouth burned into your brain for all eternity. There were other pictures, too—different girls with their fake tits in his face, grinding their pussies on his bare thighs. Maybe, if you were a different kind of woman, you wouldn’t care so much—and honestly, if it was just the humping and grinding, you would have been able to move on from it. But he’d gone past what you could tolerate. You knew some wives let what happened in the champagne room stay in the champagne room, but that’s not who you are. Ransom was supposed to be yours and yours alone, forever. He’d promised you that. But you should have known that Ransom Drysdale’s promises don’t mean shit.

You didn’t have to know to know it was Linda who’d sent the pictures. She denies it to this day, but you know.

When Ransom came home from work that day, he swore up and down that he didn’t do it, or at the very least didn’t remember it. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, but it didn’t matter anymore. The second you opened that envelope, you knew you’d never again trust a word that came out of his lying cheating mouth. You kicked him out and he stayed at Jake’s for a week, blowing up your phone the whole time, begging for another chance. But there were no more chances. You made that clear.

He cried on the phone to you, begging, “Baby, please let me come home.”

You’d spat your reply: “You can come home and get your shit because we’re done, Ransom.”

You shouldn’t have done it. You knew it would only make it hurt worse in the end, but when Ransom came to pick up his things, begging on his knees for you to take him back, you let him into your bed one last time. He’d fucked you like he loved you, then he’d fucked you like he hated you, then one last time—desperately pleading with his mouth and his fingers and his cock for you to please just take him back, let him put baby #3 in your belly like you’d been planning, and just start again.

You may have been stupid enough to fuck him again, but you weren’t that stupid. You’ll never forget the look on his face when he left that last time, sweaty-faced and sex-haired and absolutely gutted. But he did it to himself. Now he had to live with it. And you had to find the strength to move on even though every single part of you still loved him.

In the months that followed, the old Ransom came back in full force. He channeled all his pain into anger, but true to form he let his snake of a divorce lawyer do all his dirty work. One would think, having cheated multiple times on the mother of his two children, Ransom would have accepted that you were owed. And, yes, you wanted to take as much of his money as you possibly could, because you were angry, too, and he had taken so much from you—pieces of you that you would never get back, things you couldn’t put a price on. He fucking owed you, and he was going to pay.

But, of course, Ransom could afford the best divorce lawyer in Boston, and Andy Barber knew exactly what he was doing. The children would be more than taken care of, of course, but as for you… he’d made you fight for every dime. He’d dragged out the proceedings as long as he could. He’d tried to force you to sell the house and the car. He’d even tried to argue for full custody of the kids even though Andy and Ransom both knew that was a losing battle. They’d just done it to make you suffer. In the end, you agreed to 50/50 custody of the children, which is all you’d ever wanted. You may have wanted to bleed Ransom dry for the pain he put you through, but you would never keep him from his kids.

You had hoped that, even after everything, co-parenting would be the one thing the two of you could manage to do civilly. After all, the one thing you and Ransom agreed on was that there was nothing in the world more important than your children’s happiness. And you tried. You really fucking tried. But your ex-husband had reverted back to being a child himself, and if there is an opportunity to piss you off, Ransom will always take it. He would never do anything nasty in front of the kids, but he was perpetually late dropping them off, spoiled them rotten and let them run wild whenever they were at his place. There were no rules at Daddy’s house, so of course they always wanted to be there instead of with you.

You’ve lost track of how many times Ransom has shown up past bedtime with the kids still bouncing off the walls on a sugar high, flashing you that fucking smirk of his and mumbling a half-assed apology. You never yell at him in front of the kids, but your text conversations after the fact are always filled with absolute vitriol. You say cruel things to him and he says cruel things back to you. You’ve never hated someone so deeply, and every time you end a conversation and toss your phone away, you think to yourself—this is where the love goes, it doesn’t die, just transforms into deep fiery hatred that lives in the pit of your chest, burning you to ash from the inside.

But you love him. Even though you hate him, you love him and you miss him: the sweet domesticated version of Ransom who loved nothing more than bedtime stories and Disney movie afternoons with your babies, going apple picking and on hayrides and to fucking petting zoos—all that cute shit he would have scoffed at when you first met him. And then there was the sex, which only got better the longer you were together. Some couples fizzle out, especially after having kids, but not you and Ransom.

Fuck, you really need to get laid.

You know that Ransom is sticking his dick in every bitch from Boston to New York (though he promised you he’d never bring his women around the kids), but you haven’t managed to get back on that particular horse. You hate that you haven’t had sex since the last time with Ransom. But more than that, you hate the fact that you can’t make yourself cum without thinking about him. So many of your nights are spent alone in your big California King, working yourself with your fingers or your toys just praying that this is the time you won’t need to close your eyes and picture him fucking the life out of you to get off.

But you do. Every single time, you do. Sometimes you even moan his name, and the post-nut clarity on those evenings makes you physically ill.

So as you stand at the sales counter at Saks, thanking all the gods that the manager has decided to take pity on you—you decide that in the New Year, things will be different. You will put yourself out there and try to meet somebody new and force your traitorous pussy to give up Ransom’s ghost.

By the time you get the kids home and fed, it’s almost time to leave again. It’s Ransom’s weekend and you promised to drop them off at Harlan’s for the Thrombey family New Year's Eve party. They love the fireworks almost as much as they love their great-grandpop, and you can’t bear to disappoint them when the rest of this holiday season has been so fucked by the divorce: Christmas Eve at Daddy’s, Christmas with you and your parents at home. The kids didn’t understand it, and part of you wanted to try to make it work all being together, but you just couldn’t have Ransom in the house for Christmas. You had too many fond memories of Christmases with him and your babies in that house and you didn’t want to tarnish them with a Christmas that would be awkward at best and traumatizing at worst.

So you dress the kids up in their cute little outfits and make your way to Harlan’s. You aren’t going to stay—you would rather eat glass than see Linda’s smirking bitch face reminding you wordlessly that some low-class townie bartender was never going to be enough for her son. When you ring the doorbell, Marta answers and you find yourself wondering, as she kneels down to give your kids a massive bear hug, how such a kind and gentle person can stand to be around this fucking family.

You say goodbye to Henry and Kira and they run past Marta into the house to find their dad.

“Happy New Year,” you greet her. “I’m not staying.”

“I figured,” she says, grabbing the kids’ overnight bags, “but Harlan wants to see you. He told me to tell you he’ll meet you up in his study. He knows you probably don’t want to mingle.”

You sigh as you look past her into the house, both wanting and not wanting to see your ex-husband. “I’d really rather not. Can it wait?”

“He wants to take care of it tonight,” she replies. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you apologize. It’s not your fault my life is a shit-show.” You brace yourself to enter the Thrombey mansion, lamenting your choice not to bother with makeup or clothes that aren’t due for a wash. “Tell Harlan he’s got five minutes and then I’m leaving. And don’t tell any of the rest of them that I’m up there, ok?”

She nods her assent and you head toward the stairs but Marta stops you. “He’s here with someone,” she says. “I just… I wanted you to know so you weren’t blindsided.”

She gives you a sad smile and you thank her for the heads up before sneaking up the stairs to Harlan’s study. As you sit watching the clock and waiting for him, you cycle through sadness and anger. Another promise broken—Ransom has brought one of his whores around your children—not that you’re surprised. You are debating whether or not to confront him about it when Harlan enters the room.

“Happy New Year, my dear,” he says. “I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to give you your Christmas gift.”

He hands you a card and you hold your hand up to refuse it, knowing what’s inside.

“I told you I don’t want your money, Harlan.”

“Just take it, please. That settlement was a disgrace. You didn’t deserve what he put you through, and you should know that I gave my grandson an earful about it.”

You huff out a laugh and roll your eyes. “You of all people should know that Ransom does what he wants to do. He wanted to hurt me and he succeeded. So you keep your money. I don’t want it and I don’t need it. I’m doing just fine.”

“Are you, though? Are you really?” he asks, and you know he’s not talking about your financials. Harlan always did care very deeply for you, and you know that the dissolution of your marriage still upsets him. “I just want you to be happy, my dear. That’s all this is. Maybe you could use it to go back to school like you always wanted.”

It was something that you’d discussed with Harlan a few times, but after Henry was born, going back to school with two babies to care for seemed like an impossible dream. Ransom had always been surprisingly supportive of the idea even though you knew he loved you at home with the kids and always ready to make more. You think now maybe his enthusiasm for your continued education was just an opportunity to distract you while he carried on his extracurricular activities.

“I can’t take it, Harlan. I just… I can’t. Please understand. I need to move on, do things on my own.”

Harlan sighs. “If you insist,” he says, and he tucks the card back into his jacket pocket. “But know if you need anything, you need only ask.”

You smile at him—such a sweet, gentle man. You have no idea how the rest of them could possibly have come from him.

“I appreciate that. Really. Happy New Year, Harlan.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll be staying for the fireworks?” he asks, but he knows.

“No. But the kids are looking forward to it. And they’re looking forward to some time with their great-grandpop so you should get back downstairs.”

You get up to leave but Harlan doesn’t move from the doorway. “One last thing,” he says. “I’ve been thinking, and I know you’re not going to want to hear this but please just consider what I have to say.”

You sigh. “I’m listening.”

“I think that Ransom may be telling the truth about… the incident.” The incident is what Harlan calls the debaucherous night immortalized on film that ended your marriage. “He truly doesn’t remember it, and I think he may have been drugged.”

You can’t help the laugh that explodes out of you. “Oh, Harlan. If anyone drugged Ransom it was Ransom.”

“I mean it,” he says. “Something about it isn’t sitting right with me.”

“Yeah well a lot about it doesn’t sit right with me.” You’re yelling now but you can’t stop yourself. “Look, Harlan, I know you love him and you only want to see the best in him, but this isn’t one of your novels. There’s no great mystery here to be solved. He cheated and he lied and he got caught. End of story.”

You want to push past him but you don’t because he’s looking even frailer than usual.

“He still loves you, you know. He never stopped loving you. I know he acts… well… the way he acts, but it is just that—a performance. In my heart, I just know that he didn’t do this, that he would never do this to you or the children.”

His eyes are watery and you know that he truly believes in what he’s saying, and now you’re even angrier at Ransom because he’s turned this brilliant man into a fool.

“I wish I could believe that,” you say, your voice starting to waver. “I would give anything for it to be true, but it just isn’t.” The tears start to well up and you feel the walls of Harlan’s cluttered study closing in on you. “I have to go. Happy New Year, Harlan.”

Harlan nods and moves aside so you can pass, and on your way down the stairs, you pray you don’t run into anyone. You need to get out of this house and quickly before you completely fucking lose it.

But of course, that’s not in the cards for you. The woody scent of his cologne hits you before you see him—that intoxicating blend of cedar and leather, Eau de Ransom.

“Leaving so soon?” Ransom is leaning against the front door, arms crossed and wearing a sly little smile as he takes in the state of you. “Fireworks are about to start.”

“Get out of my way, Ransom.”

“What, you got plans? Big night alone at home with Netflix and two bottles of Cab?”

“Fuck you,” you snap, and you try to shove him aside but he’s a brick wall of muscle under the soft cashmere of his sweater.

“Feisty tonight,” he says. “Alright, I’ll let you go. Just wanted to give you your Christmas present.”

He steps away from the door and grabs a gift bag off the side table, holding it out to you, but you don’t take it.

“I don’t want shit from you.”

You grab the doorknob but before you can twist it his huge hand is encircling your upper arm and pulling you into him.

“Don’t be fucking rude,” he hisses. “It’s a gift. I had it made special for you.”

“If I take it, will you leave me the fuck alone and let me go? And don’t you have some slut in there waiting for you? Or are you going to lie about that, too?”

“Jealous?” he speaks low in your ear and you hate that you can feel the deep timbre of his voice absolutely everywhere.

“No,” you lie. “Just wondering why you’re bringing some woman around our children when we agreed that it wouldn’t be good for them. I know you care about getting your dick wet more than you care about me, but I thought you cared about your kids more than pussy. I guess I was wrong about that, too.”

You can see the set of his jaw before you feel the squeeze and you know you’ll have a bruise from the pressure he’s putting on your arm. “Don’t you ever fucking say I don’t care about my kids. Ever. You hear me?”

“Then fucking act like it, and get your goddamn hands off of me before I call the police.”

He lets go with a low chuckle. “You used to like when I left bruises.”

“I fucking hate you,” you say, but you don’t, and you hate that you don’t.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he replies. “Enjoy your present.”

He saunters off into the house, leaving you with nothing but a throbbing pain in your arm and a fiery rage with no outlet. You should hate him, he has given you every reason to hate him, but you don’t. Something inside you won’t allow you to. What you do hate is the fact that, if Ransom had dragged you the ten or so feet into the powder room to fuck you, like he had two New Years Eves ago, you would have let him. You know you would have, and the self-loathing is so strong in you that it’s suffocating.

“Asshole,” you mutter as you open the door. You walk right into a cloud of cigar smoke and start coughing.

“Nice to see you again, hon,” Walt says, giving you an up-and-down glance that makes your skin crawl. You never knew what was worse: the way Walt looks at you or the way his creepy teenage son does.

“Happy New Year, Walt,” you say, not stopping for small talk as you storm out to your car. You’ve had more than enough of the Thrombeys for one night.

You hear the fireworks start to boom as you make your way down the long driveway to the main road, and you can’t help but think about the look of awe and wonder that must be on your children’s faces. They’re probably out back on the terrace, sitting on Ransom’s lap, and he’s smiling at them as they ooh and ahh up at the bursts of color in the night sky. You hope he made them put their coats on but you know in your heart that he did. You wonder if his latest fling is standing behind him, where you used to stand. You wonder if your children know her name.

It’s 11:00 by the time you get home. You almost throw Ransom’s gift in the trash but you have to admit that you’re curious. Whatever it is, it’s probably expensive, and maybe you can sell it and buy something nice for the kids. You place it on the kitchen island and pour yourself a hefty glass of wine, staring at the bag as if you could will the contents to reveal themself. You decide not to open it—not yet—and you grab your glass and the bottle and head up to your bedroom.

You scroll Netflix for a while as you sip your wine, and there’s both too much to watch and nothing to watch so you give up. The bruise on your arm is already starting to come in and you trace it lightly with a finger. You used to wear his bruises like jewelry—he wasn’t lying when he’d said you loved it when he marked you up—and your mind starts to wander to that familiar place where you keep all your steamiest memories of him.

No. You’re not doing this. Not anymore.

You try to snap yourself out of it by going downstairs to grab yourself a snack but Ransom is everywhere you look, and nowhere more so than in the metallic red gift bag sitting on your countertop. You decide, fuck it, if he’s going to haunt your every thought, you might as well get a gift out of it. You remove the tissue paper to reveal a long wooden box wrapped in a red satin bow, and you lift it out of the bag and place it on the counter. Removing the ribbon and tossing it aside, you let it sit there for a moment before you open it. You take a sip of wine and swallow, steeling yourself for the reveal, but nothing in the world could have prepared you for what met your eyes when you flipped open the lid.

Resting on a bed of blue satin lining was a perfect, life-sized replica of your ex-husband’s cock. You have every ridge and vein of it burned into your memory, of course, but seeing it in the (almost) flesh was an entirely different story. Even the coloring was accurate.

“Motherfucker,” you shout to no one, thinking about the smug satisfaction Ransom must have gotten every step of the way to making this personalized gift a reality.

You want to shut the box and throw it straight in the trash but you don’t. You take it out and wrap your hand around the girth of it, feeling its heft in your hand, and you hate yourself instantly because you know you’re going to use it. You’re going to use it right now. You may never use anything else again.

So much for new year, new me.

CHAPTER TWO >>>