If You Love Me, Let Me Hear You
Ransom Drysdale x fem!reader
Word count: 8120 (Am I okay???)
Summary: Ransom and reader are idiots in love, but they haven’t told each other that yet. Ransom lets himself be vulnerable for the first time.
Warnings: soft!Ransom, explicit language, explicit sexual content (18+ only!!!!! - sprinkle of praise kink, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex (m/f), vaginal fingering, mildly subby Ransom, squirting (oops), calling Ransom daddy but not full-blown daddy kink???), mention of loss of virginity, brief mention of insecurity in appearance, suggestive teasing, teeny bit of angst, too-sweet fluff bc I need it to survive... Please let me know if I missed anything!
This fic is extremely self-indulgent. I am plus-size, so I obviously wrote this envisioning myself as the reader. However, I kept the mention of size brief. I don’t think I’ve written anything hinting at race/ethnicity, so I really hope this is something all can enjoy.
Please see end for A/N. :) This is unbeta’d because I was afraid of chickening out of posting!!
Divider by @firefly-graphics!
You met Ransom Drysdale at an event at his grandfather Harlan’s estate celebrating the release of his latest novel. It was the first event you coordinated in your new position as Harlan’s assistant, and you were positive that everyone in the room could feel your anxiety rolling off of you in waves. In spite of your self-imposed “no alcohol at work functions” rule, you ordered an amaretto sour, figuring it wasn’t that strong, just syrupy sweet and enough to take off the edge. Ransom took one look at you from across the room and immediately decided you’d be going home with him that night. It physically pained you to say no to him, but you did, and for whatever reason, he didn’t give up. After a few weeks of showing up at the office and demanding your attention, he asked you on an actual date – out to dinner and a movie – and you said yes, unsure of what to expect.
Now you were waiting for Ransom to take you out on your first actual dinner date in ages. You’d been together for six months, but you could count the number of actual dates you shared on one hand. There had been three, and you slept with him after the third. You tried planning a few more after that, but those plans went out the window every time Ransom saw you all dolled up for him. He couldn’t keep his hands off you once you’d let him get a taste, and you didn’t mind that a bit; however, you did take issue with two hours of work on your makeup and outfit being smeared and discarded in a matter of minutes. So today, after breakfast, you insisted on celebrating six months together with a proper date.
“We can go to Dunkin’ for coffee and munchkins if you want, but we have to leave the bedroom at some point. I wanna celebrate!” You pouted a bit, sure that you looked ridiculous, but you had every intention of standing your ground. Good thing you had the kitchen counter behind you to back you up.
Ransom looked you up and down, his crystal blue eyes darkening to the prettiest navy. He put his hands on your waist, the cool metal of his pinky ring making you shiver as it came into contact with the sliver of exposed skin that managed to sneak out from underneath your sweater… Well, his sweater that he accidentally shrunk in the wash when you insisted he do the laundry himself for once. He leaned forward and kissed over your collarbone, up your neck, and stopped just below your ear, whispering, “But we already celebrated, pretty girl. You didn’t forget, did you? In the shower after we woke up…” He pressed into you, so close that you could feel him hardening against you.. “...on the couch while we waited for the scones to finish in the oven.” He nipped at your pulse point, and you hoped he didn’t hear your breath catch in your throat. “We can celebrate here in the kitchen right now...” He kissed you then, cupping your jaw with one hand and beginning to push down your shorts with the other.
You sighed into the kiss and you almost gave in, but you came to your senses in the brief moment when his lips left yours, lungs in search of air. You pushed him off of you and yelled, “NOPE!” He tried to cage you against the counter again, but you ran around the kitchen island, putting a ridiculous amount of solid marble between you. You held back a laugh when you realized how unhinged you must have looked holding the dough-covered rolling pin you used while baking this morning. “You buy me all these beautiful dresses and all this gorgeous jewelry, and I never get to wear any of it anywhere,” you said, a little too calmly while waving the rolling pin in his face, as if it were anywhere near as threatening as those knives in Harlan’s office. “Just a few hours. That’s all I ask.”
He put his hands up in defeat. You thought you’d won until he bit his lip and raised his eyebrow, and you knew you were in some kind of trouble since he reserved the single-eyebrow raise for those moments, the ones when he formulated his most sinful plans for you and your body. “Fine. Dinner is all about you, but what we do after? That’s all about me.”
You tapped your finger against your chin, pretending to think about it but knowing your pussy already agreed to this deal. Traitor. “Fair, I guess. If you sweep me off my feet at dinner, then we can do whatever you want when we come home.”
Ransom had started rolling his eyes at you, but his face visibly softened a bit when he heard you call his house home. He walked around the island and stood in front of you, smiling like an idiot when he leaned in towards you. He jerked backward with a soft chuckle, easing the rolling pin out of your hand and onto the tabletop before taking your face in both of his hands and giving you the sweetest, deepest kiss, like some kind of Disney prince. With a soft peck to the corner of your mouth, he pulled away from you enough to see your dumbstruck face, stroking your cheek with his thumb before kissing the tip of your nose. “What was that you said about sweeping you off your feet?”
His cocky grin burst the bubble you were floating in, and you quickly came back down to earth, lightly smacking his shoulder. “You’ll have to do more than that, Hugh.” Your laugh bordered on a cackle when his jaw dropped at your use of his given name, so formal that most people didn’t even know it. With that, you took the stairs two at a time and settled into your seat at the vanity he’d had built for you so you could get ready for what could be either the most romantic or the most heartbreaking night of your life.
Ransom always told you he didn’t think you needed makeup, but you weren’t going to let your extensive collection go to waste. You settled on keeping your base simple and going all out with a neutral smokey eye. You contemplated wearing red lipstick and decided against it, pressing your thighs together at the memory of how it stained the sheets last time you wore it, when he pounded you into the mattress, your screams and moans stifled by your pillow. You couldn’t seem to get your eyeliner right, and that’s when you realized your hands were shaking.
You were in love with Ransom, and you wanted to tell him tonight. Although your relationship wasn’t traditional by any means, you knew you had gotten closer to Ransom than anyone else ever had – members of his own family included. His demeanor was caustic at best, and your friends didn’t understand why you were with him, even though he treated you like a princess in public just as much as he did in private – maybe even more so, since he couldn’t let a second go by without reminding the world you were his. His family (apart from Harlan, and maybe his cousin Meg) loathed you and made sure you knew it, taking every opportunity to call you a gold-digger and pull Ransom away from your side to introduce you to some heiress or other.
Over the last six months, you and Ransom had shared almost as many heartfelt conversations as you did orgasms. He told you he loved to write, but he was too scared to try to publish. He feared Harlan would be accused of nepotism and he never would be able to make his own name mean something. After a few weeks, you confided in him that he was your first, and he was almost angry that you didn’t tell him beforehand so that he could’ve made it special for you. Then in typical Ransom fashion, he remarked, “I’m impressed you took all of me on your first try.” You gasped and smacked his cheek, feigning disgust and failing to hold in your giggles.
Another night, he told you that his mother Linda became “annoyed” with his childhood pet cat and gave it away one day while he was at school – that’s why he didn’t want another pet now, even though he lived in his own house. You shared that even though you were working on your master’s in publishing, you truly wanted nothing more than to be a stay-at-home mom one day, that you craved domesticity, having dinner on the table when your husband came home. He furrowed his brows at that. “Isn’t that, like, the opposite of feminism?”
You countered that it’s different when a woman stays home because she wants to do it, not because it’s expected of her. He said he would love to come home to you every day, whether you had dinner on the table or not.
Most recently, he shared that he started learning Spanish with Rosetta Stone so that he could take you on your dream vacation throughout all of Spain and not be embarrassed. He blushed and the conversation ended there, with you kissing him so hard he regretted not telling you sooner.
You chose a black midi dress Ransom bought you two months ago for your birthday. It was long-sleeved and not too low-cut. It fit you perfectly. The material was soft and slinky, but not so much that it would give away the surprise underneath, a lacy matching set you knew he’d love.
You always worried about your tummy in outfits like this, but you knew Ransom would worship you no matter what you wore (or didn’t wear, for that matter). He reminded you, enthusiastically and repeatedly, that he wanted his hands full of your body. The first time he begged you to sit on his face – yes, Hugh Ransom Drysdale begged for something – you told him you were afraid you would suffocate him.
“1. That’s practically impossible, sweetheart. 2. I can’t imagine a better way to go. About to cum with my mouth full of you and my head in between your perfect thighs? Murder me. Fucking do it. I’m telling Harlan to use this in his next book.” Cheeks warming at the memory, you finally slipped on your favorite strappy burgundy heels and walked downstairs, more anxious than you’d ever been, afraid you wouldn’t be able to stomach the food at dinner.
If Ransom’s jaw could have been on the floor, it would have. The same could be said for you, taking in the sight of your godlike boyfriend. His dark hair was carefully coiffed away from his face, drawing attention to his long, even darker eyelashes. So unfair. He wore a pair of gray wool slacks, pressed to perfection, with black bit-loafers and a burgundy sweater which emphasized how flushed his own cheeks were at the moment. His sweater matched your shoes exactly, and you marveled at how he always read your mind. He took your hand, helping you down the last few steps, and twirled you around once you reached the bottom. He spun you in close to him, and like something out of a movie, he revealed the bouquet of pink peonies he’d been hiding behind his back and dipped you, dropping a short kiss to your lips. “Happy anniversary, baby.” He pulled you back up against him, kissing you again and somehow managing not to crush the flowers.
You thought you might say it right then and there, but he left you both speechless and breathless. Everything he was doing and saying indicated he felt the same, but you were still so afraid he didn’t, all too aware of how guarded he could be. You opted to enjoy the evening a bit before potentially dropping a bomb you wouldn’t be able to defuse. “Ran, thank you. They’re beautiful.” You kissed his freshly-shaven cheek, giggling as he tried to get you to kiss him on the lips instead. You couldn’t resist, and you let him kiss you until you felt his tongue attempting to gain access to your mouth. “Enough. We’ll never leave at this rate,” you chided, kissing him on the cheek once more before turning around to look for a vase. You were shocked to find he’d already left a vase filled with water on the counter. How had you failed to notice that, and why was he being so thoughtful, so charming?
Little did you know, Ransom was questioning if he was doing too much? Not enough? He hoped you wouldn’t notice his hands shaking as he took the flowers back from you, quickly trimming the stems and arranging them neatly in the vase. He had watched Fran do it at Harlan’s several times, and he hoped he was doing it right and not killing them. He noticed you watching him and could feel himself blushing for the second time in as many minutes. Your attempts to look away from him were futile, your eyes involuntarily fixed upon the way his thick thighs and round ass filled out his tailor-made slacks. You nearly got on your knees, but this date was your idea, after all. Instead, you opted to take the vase from him and move it to the windowsill. “You never did say where we’re going, Ran.”
It took everything in him not to spoil the surprise, that he reserved your preferred table at your favorite restaurant the next town over. You regularly ordered takeout from there, but Ransom had never actually been, so even he was looking forward to going. He also arranged the menu beforehand knowing if he didn’t, you would spend entirely too much time trying to make a decision and not enough time letting him make you laugh. He even asked them to make your favorite cake for the two of you since he knew it always sold out earlier in the day. He smiled at you, and you knew he had no intentions of telling you where he was taking you.
“It’s cute that you think the grandson of a mystery writer wouldn’t keep you in suspense..” He winked at you, moving to open the door for you. Biting back a smile, you rolled your eyes as you walked past him. He locked the front door quickly, wanting to get ahead of you and open the passenger door of the Beemer. Ransom was always softer with you than he was with anyone else, but he was taking it to the next level tonight. He was never cruel to you like he was to his exceedingly vicious family, but he also didn’t shy away from the odd sarcastic response. If anything, he was only guilty of teasing you, most often when you were begging him, sexually or otherwise. He hoped you had no idea how the butterflies in his stomach that first appeared when he saw you walking down the stairs were currently conspiring to make him vomit out of the sheer panic he felt, sure that he was about to royally fuck this up.
Ransom was in love with you. This was the first time he ever felt so strongly about anyone, and it made him sick because he felt undeserving of you. He wasn’t sure he even felt love for his family, apart from his grandfather. He had dated before you, but he wasn’t one for relationships, definitely not exclusive ones. But there was something about you, and he knew from the second he spotted you at that release party six months ago that he wouldn’t be able to live without you. He was drawn to you immediately. At first, he thought he just wanted to fuck you, but you turned him down when other women would have fallen to their knees. Normally, rejection would have pissed him off, quickly moving on to the next pretty thing to catch his eye. To his surprise, he found himself wanting to get to know you - the sex would just be a bonus.
You had him wrapped around your finger after one date, totally whipped after two, and you didn’t even know it. Then you spent the night with him after your third date, letting him take you apart with his mouth, his fingers, his cock, and he asked himself what it would be like to have you every night for the rest of your lives. And later, when you told him he was your first? Initially, he was disappointed, even upset, that you didn’t give him the opportunity to be more gentle, more careful. He got past that quickly enough when he realized it turned him on a lot, not because he was a perv who relished ruining virgins or some shit like that, but because you wanted him enough, trusted him enough, to share that experience with him. His family barely trusted him to remember to feed his grandfather’s dogs, and you were willing to give him your body, letting him be the first and only person ever to make you cum and you let him do it about five more times that night.
All of this led Ransom to this moment, white-knuckling the steering wheel as he reversed out of the driveway. He wanted to tell you how he felt; you deserved someone who could give you that, shouting it from the rooftops by day and whispering it in your ear by night. He was in near agony, frightened to say those three words for the first time to a person and not his favorite sweater or his car, unsure if you felt the same. He wanted to believe you did, that this wasn’t just some sort of weirdly intimate exclusive fuck-buddy set-up where you didn’t actually want him as much as he wanted you, all of you. It had only been six months, and he was wildly inexperienced in the emotions department, but the way he craved you assured him that there was no way he could ever let you go. With all of that on his mind, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to tell you tonight, but he sincerely wished with all of his liquor-soaked heart that he could show you, at the very least. You could sense that he was lost in his own head and reached over to lace your fingers with his, pulling his right hand down to rest in your lap. He looked at you for a moment and gave you a tiny, shy smile, quickly returning his eyes to the road.
You squealed when Ransom pulled into the parking lot at the restaurant, thankful that you chose to skip lunch, both to leave room for dinner and to avoid feeling sick with nerves. Ransom walked around to open your door and offered you his hand to help you out of the car. “I don’t believe I actually told you how breathtakingly stunning you look tonight. I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He kissed your hand that he was still holding as you smoothed your dress with the other. He shut the door behind you and moved to take your arm in his to walk you inside.
“You didn’t. I must look good if I somehow rendered a Thrombey speechless,” you grinned .He laughed at that, kissing you on the cheek. You stopped walking, turning to face him. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you? Have I made you soft, Drysdale? It’s been thirty minutes and you haven’t even cursed.” You smiled at him, eyes crinkling with amusement. He panicked for a moment before he realized you were only teasing him. He really thought for a moment that all of his efforts were for naught, that you thought it was overkill.
He tried to play it cool, leaning forward to bring his lips to your ear. Lowering his voice, he whispered, “I’m saving that for when we get home from this expensive-ass date, baby.” The tone of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, straight to your core. You’d be lying if you said your panties were still dry. He moved back, grabbing both of your hands and looking at you with a bright smile and a wink. You laughed and closed the distance between you, bringing your hands up to cup his cheeks and kiss him, innocently at first. You turned it into an almost-messy, open-mouthed, tongue-filled kiss, ending it with a quick peck before it got too out of control. He looked wrecked already, cheeks flushing (again) and chest slightly heaving. Perhaps it was a not-great decision on his part in wearing his grey slacks since you could see the outline of his soon-to-be painfully obvious erection forming. He let out a deep breath and took your hand in his, walking you into the restaurant.
Dinner was perfect, and the conversation between the two of you flowed as easily and sweetly as your favorite wine of which Ransom had ensured there’d be plenty. When you’d finished your meal, though, he seemed distant, sending the odd text and checking his phone in a way that was anything but discreet. The waiter asked if you were ready for dessert and you requested a moment to decide.
You reached across the table and put your hand over Ransom’s, imploring him to put down his phone. “I’m not sure if you’ve already arranged dessert, but I made you something at home if you don’t mind taking this to go?” His eyes widened, and you couldn’t quite discern his expression. He bit his lip, looking down toward his phone, and you realized he was nervous as he quickly sent another text. You scooted toward him in the rounded booth, lightly placing one hand on his thigh and gently squeezing his hand with your other. “Is everything okay, Ran?”
He placed his other hand on top of yours and smiled at you, but his voice was uncharacteristically shaky when he spoke. “Everything’s perfect. I just have another surprise for you at home that’s being set up while we’re here. I wanted to make sure it’s all done before we get back. I didn’t mean to worry you.” He kissed you on the cheek, his gentleness bewildering you further. “Dessert at home sounds great.” He asked the waiter to wrap up your leftovers, including the cake you hadn’t yet tasted. After placing a rather large wad of bills on the table, he stood up and extended his hand to you to help you to your feet.
“So when you said you made dessert… Did you mean actual dessert, or was that a euphemism for sex? Because I’ve been rock hard since that kiss on the way in, and I think I deserve a reward for not simply having my way with you in the restroom.” Ransom looked at you from the driver’s seat with wide eyes, hopeful yet suggestive, as he lifted your hand to kiss it with his perfect pink lips.
You smirked at him then, making the decision to toy with him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” You moved your hand still entwined with his down to his lap, gently applying pressure where he so desperately craved it. Satisfied with the clipped moan that slipped from his mouth, you continued, slowly, barely rubbing him through his pants. “I do appreciate that, though – that you kept your hands to yourself like that, handsome.” You felt his hand squeeze yours, and you knew it was taking everything in him not to pull over and fuck you on the side of the road. You could feel the wetness beginning to pool in your panties. Maybe it was a bad idea, but emboldened by the way he was reacting to your words, you decided to push him even further. You leaned over and gently pressed your lips to the side of his neck, purring in his ear, “Only good boys get to have dessert, and you’ve been so good for me tonight.”
You’d begun to suspect your boyfriend had a bit of a praise kink a few weeks ago when you jokingly called him a good boy after he proudly informed you that he did all of the dishes by hand and didn’t use the dishwasher or leave them for the maid. The words left your mouth, and his pupils dilated before he quickly cleared his throat and left the room, so you decided to hold onto that card and play it the next time you really wanted something from him. Tonight was that night. You actually did make dessert for him, and you wanted him to at least see it before he locked the two of you in the bedroom for the night. He turned his whole body to look at you like he just won the fucking lottery, and you felt the car accelerate the slightest bit. Using your free hand to pinch his chin, you directed him to face forward once more. “Eyes on the road now, Ran.”
Ransom practically ripped the keys out of the ignition when he pulled into the driveway. The second you unbuckled your seatbelt, you thought he might tear the passenger door off the hinges as he reached in to scoop you up bridal-style. He kicked the door closed and started running toward the house with you in his arms, holding on tightly to his neck and squealing in excitement. He stopped in front of the door and adjusted the way he held you, wrapping your legs around his waist and supporting you with one arm as he scrambled to turn the key in the lock. The front door closed with a slam that surely shook the house as he made his way toward the stairs up to his bedroom. Was it your bedroom, too? Your own apartment essentially served as a storage unit at this point. You shook your head to yourself. You could think about that another time.
You came to your senses when you heard the creak of the first step under Ransom’s foot. “Wait, Ran, put me down!”
He stopped with one foot in mid-air, ready to take the next step. He pressed his forehead to yours, whining, “Whaaat, Y/N? You’re torturing me, beautiful.”
You tried to soothe him, scratching through the hair at the back of his neck as you warily placed your feet on the ground. “I really did make dessert for you, Ransom,” you pouted.
Of course you made dessert, Ransom thought. You were perfect in every way, and every single thing you’d done that day replayed in his head, reminding him that this had to be too good to last, that you were too good for him. Without thinking, he clapped his hand across his face, dramatically stretching his features downwards. “Can you at least let me blow your back out first? I’m in pain over here.” He waved his hands around in the vicinity of his glaring boner, looking like an air traffic controller. He’d made up his mind that you certainly would not stick around if and when he worked up the courage to say those three words, those eight letters, that made his stomach flip in truly unbearable discomfort, so he was on a mission to feel you around him, on top of him, underneath him one last time.
To his surprise, you scrunched your nose at him in the adorable way you always did when he made an overtly sexual comment. You reached out for his hand and led him to the kitchen. “Just let me show you before we go upstairs. I don’t mind if we eat it later, but I’m proud of this one. I made it just for you, honey.” Ransom knew you loved to bake. In fact, one of his favorite things was watching you sing and dance around the kitchen as you experimented, sugar, butter, flour everywhere. He wondered to himself when you had time to make dessert without his noticing. “Close your eyes for a sec. No peeking.” He watched you spin around toward the fridge before he covered his eyes with one large hand, the other resting on the countertop. “Open.” If your smile were any wider, your face would have split in half.
Ransom raised an eyebrow at the dish before looking back at you. “Cheesecake? What’s on top?”
You let out a deep breath. “Okay, so…” You tried to channel Vanna White, showcasing your creation with dramatic hand gestures. “I present to you… brown sugar bourbon cheesecake with… Drum roll, please, Ransom.” His cackle was cut short by the realization that you were completely serious. He did as you instructed, moving towards you to tap your hips in place of a snare drum. “... Biscoff cookie crust. I crumbled some on top, too. I snuck down here after you fell asleep last night so it would have plenty of time to set.”
Ransom felt the sting of tears in his eyes and quickly lowered his head to blink them away before you could see. He couldn’t imagine what he ever did to deserve you, this beautiful woman in front of him who found the most thoughtful, unbelievable ways to make him feel so special. In that instant, he let himself believe that maybe you loved him, too. Why else would you sacrifice your own sleep? Why else would you work so hard? Remember his favorite things and venture to find some way to combine them into what would, no doubt, be the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten besides you? This night was chipping away at his walls to the point where they might crumble, and for the first time, he thought maybe he was okay with that.
He hugged you then, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. He peppered kisses all over your face, ending with an unexpectedly sweet kiss to your lips. You thought you saw tears glistening in his eyes, but you didn’t say anything. “Thank you so much, baby. This is so thoughtful. You’re too good to me.” Something shifted in the air between you two, and you could tell he was not going to cut a slice of the dessert anytime soon, so you turned around in his arms to put it away. He leaned over you, growling in your ear from behind, “I can’t wait to share some with you in our bed.” He kissed your shoulder and wrapped his strong arms around your waist, unknowingly answering your earlier question as to whether or not the bedroom was yours, too. The warm sensation in your chest was almost too much to bear, but you didn’t want it to go away.
You placed the dish in the refrigerator and shut the door, turning around in his arms. “Now,” you hiked one leg up on his hip, “I believe you said something about blowing my back out, honey.” His hands moved down from your waist to support your ass, prompting you to wrap your other leg around his narrow waist, your arms around his thick neck, decidedly your new favorite method of transportation.
Ransom took the stairs two at a time, anxious to see how Fran and Marta did with his request. “Close your eyes for me, baby?” He kissed your forehead, lips lingering for a moment as he watched your lashes flutter before he opened the bedroom door.
He smiled when he opened the door, taking in the view and the sweet scent of all of the candles and flowers. He texted Marta and Fran while you’d been getting ready, asking if they could pick up several dozen roses and candles to decorate the room before you got home from dinner. Neither of them ever had considered Ransom to be so romantic and were more than willing to help when he mentioned it was your anniversary. He smiled, satisfied with the job they’d done, making a mental note to Venmo them double what he sent initially.
Ransom placed you down on the floor, holding onto your waist from behind and pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Open.”
You couldn’t believe how beautiful your bedroom looked, covered in red and pink rose petals and bathed in the warm glow of the candlelight. “Oh, Ransom,” you gasped. You looked around for another moment, noticing the bed was made with the new duvet and sheets you’d been looking at online a few weeks ago. “This is too much.”
He turned you around to face him and kissed you, short and sweet. “Baby, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do enough for you.”
You looked up at him and smiled, eyes shiny with tears yet to fall. “I thought dessert was supposed to be all about you?” You placed your hands on his chest, relishing the feel of his heart beating faster at your touch.
“This is for both of us.” Smooth as ever, he reached behind your back to unzip your dress. “You get the girly, dreamy set-up, and I get to admire how sexy you are in this light.”
Your dress dropped to the floor and he helped you step out of it, picking it up and neatly laying it over the back of your chair. You were already wet, and this simple act of taking such care with you, with your clothes, only ruined your panties further. You stood with your hands on your hips, slightly flexing your biceps forward to maximize the appearance of your cleavage.
“Are you implying that I’m not sexy in other lights, Ransom?” You bit your lip so he’d know you were just playing, afraid to tease too, too much since he seemed so on edge.
His mouth hung open wide as he looked you up and down, arms reaching forward to run his hands up and down your sides before resting low on your hips. Ransom stepped back and took one of your hands in his, using his other hand to prompt you to turn around for him before pulling you in for another kiss. “That is actually the exact opposite of what I’m thinking, pretty girl.” He continued admiring you, sneakily slipping his fingers beneath the waistline of your panties. “You know this color on you drives me crazy, right?”
You smiled and nodded as he moved his fingers lower, gathering your wetness with a feather-light touch that made you pant. He groaned when he easily slipped two thick fingers inside you and met no resistance, a fresh rush of your slick leaking down his hand.
“Well, fuck me. Jesus, baby.” You whimpered at the loss of his fingers, but your eyes widened as you watched him suck on his fingers, lapping your juices from his skin. When he was finished, you pressed the length of your body to his, backing him into the wall behind him.
“That’s the goal, daddy.” You felt his cock twitch in his pants as you tightened your fingers in his hair, forcing his mouth open with a gasp, granting your tongue access to taste yourself on his lips.
You never thought you would address a man other than your father as daddy until you were with Ransom. He was your first and only, so when he commanded that you “cum all over daddy’s cock” the first time you slept together, you did just that. From that point forward, you only ever called him that in bed, figuring it was just what he liked. It wasn’t necessarily your kink, but pleasing Ransom definitely was. Whether or not you were in the bedroom, it was a surefire way to get what you wanted.
Six months later, here you were, confidently sinking to your knees and unzipping his tented slacks. You were so nervous the first time you offered to suck your boyfriend off, but he was understanding, assuring you it was okay if you weren’t ready. His tenderness only motivated you, and you probably should’ve known then that you held his inexperienced heart in your hands.
Still pressed against the wall, Ransom gazed at you with a mix of lust and adoration, in disbelief that he managed to find you and that you willingly stayed with him. He let out a thin wheeze as you finally rid him of his briefs, planting a kiss below his belly button before your lips traveled south. “Baby, please, I need you.”
You smiled up at him, nuzzling your cheek against his thigh. “Who’s got you so needy tonight, daddy?” you whispered as you nipped along his perfectly defined Adonis belt. He pulled his sweater off in a frenzy, the sight of his naked form causing your walls to clench around nothing.
“You, pretty girl. Always you. Only you,” he whined, reaching down to cup your cheek as your eyes met his.
Ransom already looked gone, eyes hooded and sweat glistening on his forehead, his chest. You weren’t sure how long you’d last, and he’d barely touched you yet.
You hummed in response, then kissed the leaking head of his cock before swallowing the length of him. You bobbed your head back and forth, taking him as deep as you could. His moans grew higher in pitch with each movement inside your throat, and you squeezed your thighs together to relieve the ache between them. His hips bucked forward of their own accord until you brought a hand to his tummy, holding him still. You pulled off of him with a wet pop, a noise that in any other situation might gross you out but only served to turn you on further while you were on your knees.
“Patience, daddy.” You rose to your feet, kissing your way up his body. You leaned on him for support as you removed your heels. Once you were finished, Ransom surged forward, capturing your swollen lips with his, frantically licking his way inside your mouth, inevitably tasting himself on your tongue. You feverishly kissed him back, providing the closeness he needed to reach around and undo the clasp of your bra. He managed to toss your bra onto your vanity before ducking his head to pay your pebbled nipples some well-deserved attention. You cradled the back of his head, carding your fingers through his hair as you pressed his face to your tits.
Another wave of arousal damn near gushed from your core, prompting you to put an end to Ransom’s ministrations. “Take me to bed?”
Ransom squeezed your ass before giving it a quick tap. You jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist while he laughed at your enthusiasm, laying you down in the middle of the bed before removing your completely-drenched panties.
“I’d venture to say this is the wettest you’ve ever been, baby.”
You felt heat rising in your cheeks in response to his comment. “Well, what are you waiting for?” You grinned at him before pulling him down on top of you, eager to feel him inside you at last.
“Baby, slow down,” he gasped, breath ragged. He kneeled over you, reaching for the nightstand where he kept the condoms. You grabbed his wrist and brought his hand to your lips, kissing his open palm. Ransom inhaled sharply, waiting for you to speak.
Although your pupils were blown, your eyes were soft, searching his face. “I just wanna feel you, Rans–”
Ransom’s brows rose high on his forehead, but in what emotion, you were unsure. Now you were afraid you’d done something wrong, even though you didn’t do it on purpose.
“–I mean, daddy. Please.” You searched his face for any indication of what he was thinking, but he was giving you nothing.
Ransom was overwhelmed. No one had called him by his actual name during sex ever. Even his first girlfriend stuck to calling him “baby” or “handsome” after he clapped a hand over her mouth when she started to say his name. Once he was a bit older, he preferred “sir” or “daddy”. But then you came along, thawing out the block of ice in his chest where his heart always was meant to be. And you were telling him to fuck you raw? Another thing he’d never done with anyone else, wanting to be somewhat safe since he used to sleep around so much.
“Please say something,” you murmured, bringing him back out of his own head.
He leaned down, cupping your cheek and pressing his forehead to yours. “Are you sure that’s what you want, baby?” he prodded, voice laced with warm concern.
“I’m so sure.” You stroked the apple of his cheek with your thumb, smiling when he relaxed at your touch. “You’re the only person I’ve ever been with, and you haven’t been with anyone besides me in all this time.”
The corner of his mouth turned upwards, showing off one of his dimples that would make you weak in the knees if you weren’t lying down already. “But you’re not on birth control, baby. Please don’t feel like you have to do thi–”
Pulling his face to yours, you kissed him hard. “–No, I’m not, but I’ve been tracking my cycle. We should be fine.” His eyes fluttered shut as you kissed him once more. You waited for him to open his eyes so you could look into them.
“I trust you.”
Ransom looked like the heart-eyes emoji; he had never heard those words in his life – not from family, not from friends. He kissed you again, sloppily, hungrily.
“If you change your mind, promise you’ll tell me?”
“I won’t change my mind, but I promise.”
Another kiss, gentler this time, made your head spin. It was different from any other kiss you’d shared, emotional and full of something you were hesitant to name. He lined himself up with your entrance, coating himself in your slick before pushing into you slowly.
“OhmyfuckingGOD,” he hissed as you adjusted to his thickness, your walls involuntarily tightening around him. “You feel so amazing, baby. I’m not gonna last long. Fuck.”
The sensation of his cock inside you was similar to the usual, but so much more intense. Ransom began to move, and you could feel each vein dragging against you with every thrust. Open-mouthed kisses along your throat left you panting. You were a pliant, fucked-out mess as he moved his hips with more intention, his tip hitting the spot that made you see stars.
“Ransom, please,” you screamed as one thrust in particular had you arching your back, pushing your chest into his.
Your eyes flew open as you tried to assess the damage you’d done. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Ransom slowed his pace. “Don’t be sorry, pretty girl.” He kissed your tears away as quickly as they came. “I’ve never let anyone call me by my actual name in bed before.” He smiled sweetly at you as he continued moving inside you, each stroke somehow more tender than the last. “Say it again, Y/N. Tell me who’s making you feel this good.”
You cried out as he began to circle your clit with his thumb. “You are, Ransom. Always. Make. Me. Feel. So. Good.” He punctuated each word with a perfectly-angled thrust.
You were so fucking close, and Ransom began to lose his rhythm, not far behind you. “Please, Ransom, make me cum.” You sounded pathetic, needing your release in the worst way. His hips snapped violently against yours, pushing you up the bed.
“Louder, baby. Scream my name when I make you cum.” Using his index and middle fingers together, he rubbed your clit harshly at lightning speed, making you choke on air as you fell apart.
His name left your mouth like a wail, volume so high that, if he had neighbors, they’d probably call the cops. Ransom continued fucking you through it, losing all control at the feeling of you squirting all over him.
“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Ransom moved to pull out of you, planning to finish on your chest, but you crossed your legs behind him, pulling him right back in.
“Baby, please, I need to cum.” He pressed his face into your neck as he struggled to delay his climax.
Hugging him tightly, you kissed the top of his head before pushing him up to his knees, straddling him. “I know, baby, I know. I want you, all of you. I always will.” You snaked a hand down his back to grab at his ass, urging him impossibly deeper inside you. “Come on, Ransom. Please give it to me.”
He came with a roar, biting into your shoulder. The feeling of his cum filling you up was unlike anything you’d felt before, but not unwelcome by any means, and triggered another orgasm of your own, milking him thoroughly. You held each other, sobbing wordlessly as you came down from your simultaneous highs, eventually collapsing in a puddle of loose limbs.
You weren’t sure if minutes or hours had passed, you were so out of it, floating on the most blissful cloud. Ransom began to stir, kissing from your chest to your collarbone, from your throat to your jaw, before finally ending once again at your lips. You winced as he pulled out of you, the feeling of his spend leaking from your core unfamiliar and a little unpleasant. Ransom laid next to you, tucking your head under his chin and folding you into his embrace.
He smiled sleepily, unable to get enough of your voice saying his name with so much affection. “Yeah, pretty girl?” He held you tighter.
“Why did you let me say your name tonight?”
He shuffled down to face you, lifting your chin with his finger. He figured it was now or never.
“Because I love you, Y/N. You’re the only person who’s ever believed I could be a good man. You encourage me to be the man I want to be, not the man you want me to be or the man everyone else seems to think I should be. You’ve never tried to change me. I’ve only changed because I wanted to. I wanted to be better for you.”
You felt tears spilling down your cheeks, now that your boyfriend had confirmed you had nothing to be afraid of, after all. He felt the same way, and your heart was going to beat right out of your chest.
“And you make me happy,” he continued. “I love your laugh and the way you somehow always know what I want for breakfast. I love how you sing in the shower, then pretend you didn’t. I love how you let me be the little spoon on my bad days and when I’m drunk. I love that you read to me when I can’t fall asleep. I love your heart and your mind and your laugh. Everything. I love everything about you.”
The terrified look on Ransom’s face didn’t last long. It couldn’t – not when you were rolling on top of him to pull him into your millionth kiss of the night.
“I love you, too, Ransom. So fucking much. I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long now.”
The two of you held each other and cried, in need of emotional release following such an intense physical one.
With another peck to your lips, Ransom untangled himself from you, going to the en suite bathroom to grab a washcloth to clean you up. His touch was soothing, careful around your most sensitive areas. He discarded the cloth in the hamper before leaving the room again. You wondered where he went, but you could hardly keep your eyes open.
A few moments later, you felt something cold against your mouth. Opening your eyes, you found Ransom sitting next to you with a plated slice of cheesecake, holding a fork up to your face. You laughed, sitting up before taking a bite.
“I really outdid myself, didn’t I?”
“Absolutely, baby. This is fucking incredible.”
You brushed a crumb away from the corner of his mouth. “I think we should make post-orgasm cheesecake a permanent thing.”
Ransom placed the now-empty plate on his nightstand, getting under the covers with you. “I know we should make it a permanent thing.” He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your back.
“I love you, Ransom. I hope we’re a permanent thing,” you whispered into his chest.
He looked down at you before kissing the tip of your nose and holding you tighter. “I love you, too, pretty girl. I know we’re a permanent thing.”
A/N: This fic is actually the reason I started this blog. I used to write fic years ago and stopped writing, fic or otherwise, for quite some time. Earlier this year, I started to venture into reading fic again and found some incredible authors here. I had submitted these asks (1, 2, 3) to Christy (@chrissquares), knowing she loved Ransom as much as I do, and her responses inspired me to create a new blog and get back to writing.
I’ve been working on this since the end of May when I sent in these asks, and I think this is as ready as I’ll ever be to share it. Thank you so much for the inspiration, Christy! I’m so happy to be writing again, and I hope people can enjoy this (much longer than planned) story. 🥺
As always, comments and reblogs are so appreciated.
Send me drabble prompts to help me flex these writing muscles again!
186 notes · View notes
Untwining | Mat Barzal
A/N: Full disclosure, I have absolutely no idea where this came from. But it’s not happy, and it’s really short
warnings: Full of angst, nothing is happy here.
Word count: 366
He didn't understand what he'd done to her, but he would by the time she was finished. It had started as a whirlwind romance. They spent every waking moment together until they didn't. When training started back up, he was nowhere to be found, she spent most mornings cleaning up whatever mess that he made the night before. His afternoons were spent in front of the tv; playing whatever video games he or his teammates could. She spent them doing her job. The job he said she didn’t need to have, that he’d support both of them. His nights were full of the sport that brought them together, hers spent laughing with the women who made it still tolerable. Neither realized how entwined their lives had become or how quickly that it would come unraveling as the world spun around them. Quietly, her stuff disappeared from the apartment; getting moved into a friend's apartment, a section of her closet here, the extra toiletries from under the his-and-hers sink in the bathroom. The little touches that made New York feel as much as home as it could. Slowly pictures changed from pictures of the two of them to pictures of his family and friends. By the time she was leaving, her identity was completely removed from the apartment and she was no longer a part of his life.
Walking into an apartment that was formally so full of life, so full of love, broke Mat. He knew he was the one to fuck it up, he knew he lost the best thing in his life because of the sport he loved and was honored to play for a living. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to get her back. Beau knew this, and he knew that she was feeling almost the same way. Beau knew that she was as broken about not being able to separate herself from the sport that brought her to the wonderful man she once knew. She knew that to make him notice what she did for him; she would have to leave and not look back, even when he was screaming her name in hopes that she’d hear and come back.
36 notes · View notes
I can’t blame you for choosing her
She is beautiful
of course you love her
of course you wanted her
why would a boy like you want a girl like me
when you could have a girl like her
in the end I never stood a chance
because no matter how bright I burn
I can’t hold a candle to her
she is everything i am not, but most importantly, yours
14 notes · View notes
What’s That? [P.P. x Reader] Pt. 3
A/n: I tried writing some angst and I don’t know how I feel about it. Also, thank you to @softboy-holland for being there to tell me to actually write this shit. Also, this is a soulmate au.
Warnings: Cursing, angst, mentions of abuse, a lot of bruises, um yeah
[Part 1] [Part 2] Masterlist
Time froze. Your best friend, Peter fucking Parker claims to be your soulmate. If this had happened years ago, before everything started, you would be over the moon with joy. The idea of the amazing boy you’ve grown to love being your soulmate filled every molecule in your body with excitement. But now, you dreaded it. Not because you don’t like him, that isn’t the case at all. It’s because no one needs you as their baggage, especially Peter. Yet, here is the boy you used to dream of marrying, standing right in front of you telling you he thinks you’re soulmates. He doesn’t want you as a soulmate, he can’t. He deserves better than damaged goods.
Life was so cruel. Cruel to you, but especially cruel to Peter Parker. Peter Parker didn’t get breaks from heartache and he was always carrying the world on his shoulders.
You look at Peter, flabbergasted at his accusation. “We just have a black eye at the same time, that doesn’t mean anything. Plus, you decide to tell me this now and in school.” This was not the reaction Peter was expecting. Your soulmate connection was bruising and he can’t see why you won’t believe him. There are 800 million teenagers in the world and you were already a very pessimistic person.
He shrugs. “Well, now I realize this wasn’t the best plan and best time to talk to you about this.”
“How would you even know?”
“A blue bruise under your rib cage, I have one too. I have a purple one on my left side. I can name more.”
“They’re mine. I can’t explain how I got them right now, but I will. Look, y/n, I realize this is a lot to tell you all at once, but don’t you feel it?”
You hate lying to Peter but now you have to, for his and your sake. “No.” You don’t know what you feel, but it is definitely something and you feel bad for telling him different. .
Did you just ruin everything, or was he the one to ruin everything just now? Who knows at this point. He has the Stark internship all day so you don’t walk together, which is fine by you right now. He needs to be focusing on his own life. Ever since he saw a few of your bruises under your hoodie, he flipped out. At that time, though, he wasn’t even thinking about soulmates but more that you were getting hurt.
What’s even worse, it’s the only family you have left that’s hurting you. You have to come home every day to a shitty stepdad who is usually drunk. Sometimes you get lucky though, and he stays out a lot later. Your phone buzzes as you stop at Delmar’s.
Luke: I’m probably going to be home in the morning, don’t pull any shit
You shove your phone into your back pocket. You hate him so much, it’s unbelievable. Mr. Delmar mentions that Peter came here a few minutes ago but you didn’t have the heart or energy to explain to him why he wasn’t with you. Holding the sandwich in your hand, you walk out of the store so ready for this day to be over. But no, because you’re you and you have your luck.
Even the birds seem to be mocking you, like everything in the world gets to enjoy happiness but you. Well, you just push it away because everyone you care about always goes away and so it’s just better if you don’t care, but your best friends won’t let you leave anytime soon. Your mind replays the moment of you and Peter today over and over again.
“Shit,” you say in frustration as you lower a fist into the air. Many faces turn towards you, but you don’t particularly care. They can kiss your ass because are any of them having a crazy crisis about their best friend possibly being your soulmate in the middle of a street in Queens? Probably not. God, you’re a mess. A cafe is to your right, looking like a good place to get away. You burst in, putting your elbows against a table and your head in your hands.
You realize coffee doesn’t particularly go well with your delmar sandwich but you need caffeine. If this had happened a few months ago, you would go to your mom and ask her for advice. But this isn’t a few months ago and life happens. People die and you have to move on with your life and pretend like it never happened. Your whole life is pretending. Just pretending everything is okay and ignoring the constant pain in your chest. Life is a mess, your best friend could be your soulmate and you are getting beat up almost every night by your own step-dad who also occasionally reminds you about the fact that you’re a failure. Lost in your own thoughts, it takes you a moment to notice the woman who taps on your shoulder. Concerned, she mutters, “are you all right darling?” You want to talk to someone, anyone right now but this woman is just being nice and does not want to hear all of your problems.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you ma’am.” She nods, letting you be.
Once you compose yourself somewhat, you head back home. No, it’s not a home, it’s an apartment, one where you will never truly belong. Your home died a few months ago leaving you without a true family but instead with this shitty piece of a man called your stepdad. Slamming the front door shut, you walk into your room and take off your sweatshirt, trying to look at some of your back in the mirror. They are mostly around your ribcage, only some of them being yours. Faint bruises have started to appear all over since school ended and one on the small of your back hasn’t gone away yet. There are several yellow, week old ones on the side of your abdomen reminding you of the pain inflicted on you. If Peter really is your soulmate, how the hell is he getting his bruises? Why is Peter “soft and cuddly” Parker getting hurt almost every night? He couldn’t be your soulmate, the world wouldn’t do that to you; make you see broken love and then you are expected to be open to the idea? No, that’s unfair to both of you. He deserves happiness and love and you can’t open yourself up to someone that much; putting all your faith into one person and hoping they stay. Your dad left, you lost your mom, if something ever happened to your soulmate, especially Peter, your heart would break with whatever there is left to break. You let out a soft sob as you fall to the floor, head in hands. You’re okay. Calm down. You’re okay. Calm down.
But you’re not okay, and you don’t think you ever will be. You don’t think you can ever get over the memories of your dad packing a suitcase or your mom squeezing your hand one last time. But you need to figure out how to. To your surprise, your phone buzzes.
Peter: Meet me on your rooftop in 15 minutes
Peter: I need to tell you something
You: What could you possibly need to tell me that would require us being on a rooftop
Peter: Well, since you won’t allow me into your apartment, I mean
You: Fine, fine
You: It’s raining now
You: I’ll tell you my apartment number please just come down
Peter: Okay, it will be a bit longer then
Later, a soaked Peter Parker rings your doorbell. You let out a chuckle at the fact that for some reason he is at your door, drenched and dopey. You let him in and tell him not to sit on anything before until you can get him a towel.
“Pete, what could you possibly need to talk about that you come over to my apartment when it’s raining? Is this more about the soulmate stuff?”
“No, no, it’s about something else.” You raise an eyebrow in suspicion.
Tensely, you say “Peter, please.”
You throw him a towel and a t-shirt you’ve stolen from him so he isn’t cold and wet. You were not expecting him to change shirts here, in your living room. He pulls his shirt up and you realize you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were even holding in. His abs are defined, but you are very about confused how he got them because he doesn’t work out. At all. Yellow and blue bruises are spread across his torso, matching yours. The reality of the situation sinks in and you let out a soft sob.
He walks over to you, not trying to argue his case. Somehow, even when he is wet, his body lets off a warm and soothing feeling. This Peter did not look as much like a boy that you were used to. He pulls you into his chest and runs his fingers through your hair. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”
“Don’t you dare apologize for anything. What are you sorry for?” He doesn’t understand why you are apologizing because he knows you are smart and you have clearly made the connection between your bruises, figuring out the two of you are soulmates.
“I’m sorry that it’s me. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry that I’m so broken. I’m especially sorry because I don’t want a soulmate.”
He looks like a dagger pierced him but he’s trying to hide the pain. He takes a deep inhale, trying to calm himself because he absolutely adores you and you don’t see it. He swallows. “Um, okay, can I ask why?”
You look at him with sad eyes and that hurts him even more. “I just, I’m too much for people. I’m too much baggage to look after and you don’t need that.”
“You’re not baggage. Don’t even think like that.”
“Be realistic Peter.”
“Okay, fine. But just know I need you, I’ll go,” you sigh heavily. Part of you wants to scream to him to come back and to take care of you, but you can’t get the words out of your mouth. The slam of the door makes every part of your body give out, causing you to collapse, sobbing once again. “Dammit.”
The next day, neither of you had any new bruises, which was good. You aren’t trying to ignore Peter but he’s ignoring you. But can you really blame him; you hurt him really bad. That was the last thing you would want to happen, are you being selfish? You didn’t want to love him just because you didn’t want to lose him. What kind of fucked up logic is that?
You were “sick” the rest of the week, too weak, tired, and sore.
Peter has been ignoring you all week, and of course he was concerned when you didn’t turn up to school. But life goes on, well, it has to. During world history, there was an open seat next to him because the class was somewhat small. It wasn’t until a girl in all black with platinum hair that made him somewhat interested in this class. He needs to get over you so he didn’t feel so guilty being attracted to this girl.
“This is our new student, Felicia Hardy.”
@cutie1365 @esoltis280 @awetom @falseosterhollandfantasies @suit-lady@goodnightbuckybarnes @come-on-peter @screamholland @tomsfireheart @clontbarton @fandomdarlings @letmereid @tshollandlove @sebass-stanfan @bubbaholland @parkswebslinger @yuckybucky @tomholland-can-like-get-it @parkerpunology @frecklesparker
215 notes · View notes
Pro-writing tip: if your story doesn't need a number, don't put a fucking number in it.
Nothing, I mean nothing, activates reader pedantry like a number.
I have seen it a thousand times in writing workshops. People just can't resist nitpicking a number. For example, "This scifi story takes place 200 years in the future and they have faster than light travel because it's plot convenient," will immediately drag every armchair scientist out of the woodwork to say why there's no way that technology would exist in only 200 years.
Dates, ages, math, spans of time, I don't know what it is but the second a specific number shows up, your reader is thinking, and they're thinking critically but it's about whether that information is correct. They are now doing the math and have gone off drawing conclusions and getting distracted from your story or worse, putting it down entirely because umm, that sword could not have existed in that Medieval year, or this character couldn't be this old because it means they were an infant when this other story event happened that they're supposed to know about, or these two events now overlap in the timeline, or... etc etc etc.
Unless you are 1000% certain that a specific number is adding to your narrative, and you know rock-solid, backwards and forwards that the information attached to that number is correct and consistent throughout the entire story, do yourself a favor, and don't bring that evil down upon your head.
37K notes · View notes
obsessed with the idea that no hunter had ever seen an angel before and within a decade dean had one living in his house
6K notes · View notes
Speak your mind, even if your voice shakes.
3K notes · View notes
You plant your own garden instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. In other words, take responsibility for your own needs and your own happiness.
Maggi Myers, The Final Piece
529 notes · View notes
... It’s about a headcanon I had after seeing Diamond of the Day for the second time. What if the reason Merlin lived for 1500 more years was because of what Arthur had said to him?
I don’t want you to change. I want you… to always… be you.
A Little Unsteady by @shut-up-merlin
The fifteen hundred years which have passed since the battle at Camlann have not done Merlin any favours. He's been left alone without his friends, without his king... and without his magic.
All this time, Arthur has been watching over Merlin from behind the veil, desperate to find a way to help Merlin restore his magic. When Arthur finally washes up on the shores of Lake Avalon, he's in an unfamiliar world. He doesn't know where to go, but feels a strange pull. Without any other options, he decides to follow it.
Some things might not be lost to Merlin after all...
225 notes · View notes
ok but why have I been thinking of Pedro "Dad's Friend' Pascal!?!?!? just imagine this for a second with me? there's this work conference and your dad offers to take you along, his twenty-something-year-old daughter who really needs a break from school, and you jump at the chance because his friend is the second guy from the office that will be attending and you get connecting rooms and it's stolen glances and soft touches for a while and one day, Pedro comes to tell you that your dad is busy in a meeting so he'll take you out to lunch and he thinks that you're just lounging around but when he walks into your room, you're laying nude on your bed, touching yourself and screaming his name and-
yeah, take it from there ;)
I just want to say how much I love when Maggie tortures me and prepare yourselves for the things she’s having me unleash ✨
Pretty Little Thoughts
Warnings: 18+ only, masturbation, spanking, age-gap, rpf, lemme know if I missed anything
Pedro knew he should have knocked before walking in to make sure you were decent, should have known better than to just stride in, but maybe he had been secretly hoping you wouldn’t be. He had only come to tell you he was taking you to lunch, thought maybe you’d just be lounging. He figured he’d just pop his head in and invite you out and that would be it, an excuse to spend alone time with you while your dad was busy.
Instead he felt like he was rooted to the ground, you were naked on your bed and he knew he should turn away and that he should step out of the room but he couldn’t. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you and your naked body. He couldn’t take his eyes off the way your eyes were closed shut in pleasure or the way your back was arching off of the bed. He couldn’t turn away from watching the way your fingers stroked your wet heat, the way you were kneading your own breast, and he definitely couldn’t look away or leave when he heard his name slip out from your lips as you got closer to falling over the edge.
He felt himself harden as you whimpered out his name, shifting where he stood to try and adjust himself. He wanted to go over to you, to be the one to coax that sweet pleasure out of you. He wanted to have you trembling underneath him, he wanted to taste you. He never thought he’d find you like this, pleasing yourself to the thought of him.
Sure you both had been exchanging stolen glances and soft touches the whole trip but he never thought you would actually be interested in him, not when there had to be plenty of guys your age fawning over you, wanting your attention. Yet there you were, touching yourself, moaning out his name over and over again, imagining all the things you wanted him to do, begging him for more, and he wanted so badly to know just what images were playing behind those shut eyelids.
He was so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed that you had noticed his presence. You let out a squeak as you glanced over at him, your hand immediately leaving your core, even though you knew you had been seconds away from coming undone. Pedro felt his cheek burn as he snapped out of his thoughts, seeing you looking at him with wide eyes knowing you had been caught.
You knew you should be embarrassed but as you looked him over, eyes wide, the erection straining in his jeans, you could only feel the desire rising in you. You wanted him, you needed him, you wanted to feel him in all the ways you had just been thinking about him knowing he was so close within reach now.
Pedro opened his mouth, gaping at you, trying to think of what to say, an excuse for why he was standing there looking at you like a fish out of water. He tried to come up with something, anything to make you both feel less embarrassed but then you smirked at him, crawling to the edge of the bed, and curling your finger at him, “Well are you just going to watch? Or are you going to do something about it?”
He felt his mouth open then close, he knew this is where he should walk out, where he should pretend this wasn’t happening, pretend that this was just a dream. He shouldn’t be contemplating fucking his business partner’s daughter, he shouldn’t be looking over your silky smooth skin and wondering how soft you’d be underneath him, but he was. The way you were staring at him, the sultry smile on your face, how you were there beckoning him over on your hands and knees. “Sweetheart, I shouldn’t,” he finally breathed out even though his feet were carrying him towards the bed, “If your dad finds ou-”
“He won’t, it can be our little secret, don’t you want me?” you ask him softly as he stands in front you. You get on your knees, starting to unbutton his shirt. “I could be such a good girl for you,” you whisper into his ear, causing a shiver to run down Pedro’s spine. He knew then that there was no holding back, not after hearing those words come out of your mouth.
Pedro lets out a soft growl, hand grasping your face, to make you look up at him, “A good girl? Good girls don’t touch themselves without permission.”
“Maybe you should have checked on me sooner,” you say nonchalantly as you unbutton the last button on his shirt, making sure you keep your eyes on his, not breaking contact as you run your hands up his soft stomach and up to his chest placing your hands on his broad shoulder to steady yourself.
Pedro tsks at you, giving your cheeks a light squeeze with his hand, “That doesn’t change anything sweetheart, good girls ask for permission and you did not. You’re going to have to apologize for that now.”
You try to fight back the smug smile wanting to come across your face, loving the control coming off of him. “What can I do to make it up to you?” you ask him biting your lip. Your pupils were blown and Pedro knew that they had to be reflecting his own.
“Tell me what you were thinking about,” he asks huskily, his free hands moving down your back. You let out a soft gasp as you feel his large hand cupping your ass cheek.
“W-what do you mean?” you stutter out, trying to focus on the meaning of his word as you feel his hand start to knead your ass. You shiver under his warm touch.
A moan escapes your lips as his hand comes down on your ass in light smack, “Be a good girl, tell me what you were thinking about when you were touching yourself.”
You place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. Letting out another moan as his hand comes down on you again, an eyebrow raised as he looks down at you expectantly, “I was thinking about you…” you breathe out.
“What about me?” Pedro asks softly, running a soothing hand over your ass.
“Your cock,” you whisper, trying not to wiggle under his touch, wanting to feel the sting again, wanting to feel him, everything in your body screaming to move closer to him.
Pedro smirked down at you, he could tell you were enjoying yourself already, could see you being difficult on purpose. “Come on sweetheart, you can do better than that. Tell me what you want to do with my cock,” he gives your ass another spank, seeing the glimmer in your eyes as you let out a gasp.
“I-Inside me, I want it inside me,” you moan out, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure he brings his hand down again. You can’t help but press your ass against his hand, enjoying the attention he’s given it.
Pedro gives your ass a squeeze, looking down at you, russett eyes watching you, “Be a good girl and I’ll give you whatever that pretty little head of yours was thinking about. Tell me what you were thinking.”
Your thighs clench at his words, you were slick and wanted the relief you had stopped yourself from having. “Me on top of you, riding you, making you feel good, I want to make you feel good,” you admit, staring at him under your eyelashes, chewing on your lip.
Pedro tilts your head up, making you look at him as he gives you a smug smile, “Is that what you want sweetheart? To make me feel good?”
You nod eagerly, the sight of you so excited to please him making Pedro twitch in his jeans. “Please Pedro,” you beg, pleading with your eyes, “Please can I make you feel good?”
Pedro smiles down at you pressing his lips against yours. His lips are soft on yours, the tickle of his scruff and mustache making you grin against his mouth. You could taste the wine he had drank with your dad before his meeting on his tongue mixed with the cigarette you know he had to have sneaked in before coming to you. His lips were feverish, pulling you flush against his mostly clothed form, as he explored your mouth with his. He pulls back pressing his forehead against yours , “Take my clothes off sweetheart, we’re going to make that pretty little fantasy of yours come true. You can show me just what a good girl you are bouncing on my cock.”
370 notes · View notes
Number 48 with Ransom Drysdale?
I wasn't sure which 48 to go with, so how about all three? 😅Thank you so much for sending me this!! 💜
Fluff: “the world could be on fire and i’d still be happy as long as i'm with you.”
Smut: “what would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?”
Angst: “you can’t take back what you said.”
Ransom Drysdale x fem!reader
Summary: Ransom said something stupid and you heard it. Now he has to explain himself.
Warnings: some cursing, lil bit of smut (18+ only!!!!!!), beginnings of oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of angst, hurt/comfort?
Word count: 1355 (Is this drabble length? Who knows!)
Prompts are in bold!
You ran toward the front door, fumbling with your keys in your haste to get away from your prick of a boyfriend. Ransom was close behind, almost getting his fingers caught in the door when you tried to slam it behind you. “Y/N, please, let me explain!”
He stepped inside and toed off his shoes before running after you up the stairs. He checked every room, unable to find where you’d disappeared to. With his head in his hands, he sat down on the bed you shared and wondered when exactly he’d stop being a fucking moron. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to call you, but set it down when he heard sniffles from the walk-in closet.
Ransom took a deep breath and opened the door gingerly, as if he were afraid he’d scare you off. “I’m so sorry, cookie. Can we please talk about this?” He found you sitting on the floor at the back of the closet with your knees pulled tight to your chest.
Your chest tightened upon hearing the nickname he coined for you one day when you accused him of liking Biscoff cookies more than he liked you. It was only a few months into your relationship and you stupidly thought it meant something. “What is there to talk about, Hugh?” you said with all the vitriol you could muster. “You told your family I’m basically just a piece of ass.” You wiped at your eyes, hissing at the burn caused by the mascara you’d forgotten you were wearing. “I don’t see how you could clarify that statement any further.”
Ransom sank to his knees in front of you and reached for your hands, but you pulled away, crossing your arms. He sat back and brought his hands to his lap, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm, trying to relieve the pressure building up behind them so that he wouldn’t cry just yet. “I’m so s–”
“–First of all, that does not make it better. Second, whether I was supposed to hear it or not, you still said it, Ransom. You can’t take back what you said.” All your willpower couldn’t stop your voice from cracking. You covered your mouth with both hands in a futile attempt to stifle the sobs beginning to rack your body.
He crawled forward, wrapping you in a tight hug and letting you cry into his shoulder. Thankful you didn’t push him away, he rubbed soothing circles into your back with one hand and cradled the back of your head with the other. “Baby, please listen to me. If you still can’t forgive me after this, I’ll understand, but please please please let me explain myself.”
You relaxed into him a bit and loosely wrapped your arms around his middle, hesitantly nodding your consent into the side of his neck. “My parents were asking if I was serious about you because they’re selfish fucks. Everyone in my family is, except my grandfather. They don’t like to see outsiders getting comfortable in our ‘ancestral home’ or whatever. I’ve seen it before when my cousins bring their significant others home. They don’t want to see me happy because… Well, because they’re assholes, but also because they see new people as threats, especially when those people aren’t as wealthy as my grandfather has made us.”
Ransom sat down on the floor, guiding you to sit in his lap. You looked at him, a bit unsure, as he took your face in his hands. “If I let them know that you mean something to me, everything to me, then they would make your life miserable. It sounds so stupid saying it out loud, but I figured if I let them think you meant nothing, then they’d leave us both alone for a while longer.” He brushed a few stray tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. “There are no words to tell you how sorry I am, cookie.”
You blinked at him and waited a moment to see if he’d continue, but he remained silent, eyes shut tight, tears threatening to fall from behind his dark lashes. “That’s why you never bring me to family things? I thought you were embarrassed by me. I thought you didn’t want them to meet me.” You started crying again as your last sentence caught in your throat. Ransom pressed his forehead to yours.
“I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t want you to have to meet them. You make me so happy and I was scared they’d try to ruin that, ruin us. I should have been honest with you.” You covered his hands with yours, still holding your face, and leaned back enough to look in his eyes, somehow still brilliant blue in the dim light leaking in from the bedroom.
“I make you happy, Ran?”
“The happiest I’ve ever fucking been. The world could be on fire and I’d still be happy as long as I’m with you.” He kissed your forehead, the top of each cheek, and the tip of your nose, but you stopped him with a finger to his lips before they could catch yours.
“You make me happy, too, handsome,” you sighed, bumping his nose with yours. “But you have to promise me you’ll talk to me more. I know your family is mostly made up of assholes, and I can handle that, but I can’t handle it if you’re going to act like that, too. This all could have been avoided if you just gave me a heads up. I’m not going to tell you how to handle your family – I know you probably know best – but I am telling you how to handle me.”
You took his hands from your face and held them with yours, close to your heart. “If you need me to act a certain way or say certain things to keep them out of our bubble for a while longer, I can do that. I just need you to communicate with me, okay?” He nodded at you, a hint of a smirk forming on his lips.
You kissed him then, unspoken emotions flowing between the two of you of both apology and acceptance. Ransom deepened the kiss, needy as he always seemed to be after an argument, no matter how big or small.
“You said something about handling you, cookie?” He laid you down on the closet floor, pushing down the straps of your dress and bra. Your laugh turned into a moan when he simultaneously nipped along your neck and rolled your nipple between his fingers.
You moaned his name, arching your back and pushing your exposed chest against his sweater. “Strip, pretty boy.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He practically leapt up, removing his clothes with a speed you were sure had to count towards some sort of Olympic record. You couldn’t stop giggling as he settled between your legs again, resting his chin on his hands folded over your tummy. “Tell me what you want next,” he almost whined, looking up at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes he could muster.
You carded your fingers through his hair, admiring his features for a moment before you decided to take advantage of the situation. “What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me? Always so needy, handsome.”
He let out a shaky breath. “Who cares what they’d say? If they ever had sex even half as good as we do, they’d be fucking desperate for it, too.” He lifted his head and began to kiss his way down your body, stopping at the tops of your thighs. “Wait. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”
“Show my pussy how sorry you are, then we’ll talk.” You pushed his face away to where you needed him most, laughing and gasping as he whispered actual apologies against your core, causing your skin to break out in goosebumps as his breath fanned over your warm, wet center. You’d already forgiven him, but why not make him earn it?
A/N: I really hope you liked this! I’ve just started writing fic again after about seven years off, so feedback is appreciated, as well as comments and reblogs. :)
Send me drabble prompts to help me flex these writing muscles again!
186 notes · View notes
I wish I had met you sooner. Maybe if I had known you longer, you would have chosen me. Maybe you would have fallen for me. Maybe it would be me beside you, holding your hand. Just maybe, if I had met you sooner, it could have been me.
but she met you first
106 notes · View notes
The Causal Chain And Why Your Story Needs It
The most obnoxious thing my writing teacher taught me every story needed, that I absolutely loathed studying in the moment and that only later, after months of resisting and fighting realized she was right, was something called the causal chain.
Simply put, the causal chain is the linked cause-and-effect that must logically connect every event, reaction, and beat that takes place in your story to the ones before and after.
The Causal Chain is exhausting to go through. It is infuriating when someone points out that an event or a character beat comes out of nowhere, unmoored from events around it.
It is profoundly necessary to learn and include because a cause-and-effect chain is what allows readers to follow your story logically which means they can start anticipating what happens next, which is what is required for a writer to be able to build suspense and cognitively engage the audience, to surprise them, and to not infuriate them with random coincidences that hurt or help the characters in order to clumsily advance the author's goals.
By all means, write your story as you want to write it in the first draft, and don't worry about this principle too much. This is an editing tool, not a first draft tool. But one of the first things you should do when retroactively begin preparing your story to be read by others is going step by step through each event and confirming that a previous event leads to it and that subsequent events are impacted by it on the page.
3K notes · View notes
a tokyo revengers writer ?? FINALLY ive been looking for one since last year
but draken as a bf head cannons 👩🏽??
AAAAAA IM SO GLAD YOU FOUND ME BABIE !!! i hope you enjoy!!!
draken as your boyfriend ♡
➳ this mans is a GENTLEMEN!!!
➳ expect him to be real nonchalant about everything. kind of a private kind of love.
➳ the type to be like “why are you looking at me” mf I LOVE YOU
➳ closed off at first, doesn’t outwardly show that he’s into you. you’re kinda wandering in the dark a bit n not even his friends know for sure
➳ very very very very old fashioned !!! and polite!! opens every door for you, pulls your chair out for you, gives you his lil sweater if you’re cold
➳ look at where he was raised. this man is chugging woman respecting juice 24/7 by the GALLON. you bet that’s translating no matter who he’s dating. just a king!
➳ simple, relaxed, and attentive. likes to go on relaxing dates like easy coffee shops, watching the sunset, or even just walking around the town he’d consider a date
➳ loves being around you n spending time with you, but respects your privacy as well. never too pushy, never too clingy, always seems to be JUST what you need
➳ his folks back home ADORE you !!! they think you’re stealing their lil ken away from them when really they’re so glad he’s found someone like you
➳ kinda spoils you, but unintentionally !! pays for your dates, buys you expensive things. not to show off or use money as a way to express his love, but just because he thinks you deserve em
➳ affectionate, but again in a lowkey, simple, and sweet way. idly reaches for your hand when you’re walking together, presses kisses to the top of your head, gently slides a hand around your waist to subtly protect you. it just comes naturally to him
➳ doting. always encourages you to be the best version of you. not one to be your cheerleader on the sidelines but will always be the one that gave you the gentle push
➳ if yall are alone he loves to just be around you n hold you. this man is always warm so no need for a blanket when he’s around hehe!!! just a big ol cuddle bug!!! but would never go out of his way to ask for it he just does grabby hands hh
449 notes · View notes
Some days seem to fit together like a stained glass window. A hundred little pieces of different color and mood that, when combined, create a complete picture.
Maggie Stiefvater, Shiver
207 notes · View notes
I had a weird, empty feeling inside me. Not a bad sort of empty. It was a sort of lack of sensation, like being in pain for a long time and then suddenly realizing that you're not anymore.
Maggie Stiefvater, Linger
149 notes · View notes
It's not about the landing. It's about the flying.
78 notes · View notes
To My Heart, He Carries the Key(s)
Steve Rogers x fem!Reader
Word count: 2135 (oop)
Warnings: light drinking (no bad decisions), toothache-inducing fluff, implied smut for .02 seconds
Prompt: Steve / Giving him a lift back to his office after he forgets his keys after a post mission bar hop - from @syntheticavenger
A/N: Hi, y’all! Here’s my entry for @syntheticavenger’s How It Started - How It’s Going 5K Challenge! This is my first time sharing a fic in seven years, so I’m a little nervous. If I missed any warnings, please let me know! I tried to make the reader as neutral as possible in characteristics, but I do identify as female, so I wanted to be safe and classify this as a female reader. (I also made no mention of height except that Steve is taller than Reader hehe, so I hope taller folks can picture themselves, too.) This was not beta’d because I’m entering at the last minute (typical), so if there’s anything incorrect or that doesn’t make sense, please reach out. :) I hope you enjoy!!!!!
How it started…
Your coworker at the local pub called out sick. He was supposed to relieve you at 7:30, leaving you time to freshen up before your date picked you up at 8 PM. It was now 7:55 PM. Your manager wasn’t answering your calls, a sure sign that you should text your date and apologize profusely for canceling at the last minute.
Y/N: Hey, Johnny. So sorry, but I can’t make it tonight. :( My coworker is out sick and no one else can cover. Can we reschedule?
🔥: I was about to text and say I’m running late. All good.
Y/N: Are you busy tomorrow?
When Johnny hadn’t answered you by 9 PM, you weren’t sure how to feel. Your phone lit up with a notification: humantorch81 has added to their story. The little voice in your head told you not to click it, but click it you did. A selfie-style video played, and you watched Johnny take one shot, then a second, then a third… The fourth clip showed him stuffing $100 bills in someone’s cleavage. Douchebag.
Thunderous laughter and applause in the doorway had you closing the app and putting your phone in your back pocket. A group of men came into view. Maybe working tonight wouldn’t be so bad. You recognized one of the men as James (he told you to call him Bucky) Barnes, the former Winter Soldier. He was a regular at the pub, located only a ten-minute drive from the Avengers Compound. Bucky, Sam Wilson, and sometimes Thor frequented the pub, regaling you with tales of both past battles and present gossip. Lucky for you, they also tipped well. You could make out a few more familiar faces, including Tony Stark’s. Okay, they were probably tipping very well tonight.
The door opened once again and you could’ve sworn your heart stopped. In walked Captain America, your childhood crush. Your admiration for him never really subsided. If anything, it was renewed when he was recovered from the ice during your junior year of high school. When you were small, you often would talk about how you were in love with Captain Rogers, making him the subject of your art projects and writing assignments. As you grew up, you saw how silly you’d been and merely appreciated how beautiful and gentlemanly he seemed. Your sanity was well and truly tested, though, the first time you met him, and it turned out he was even more wonderful than you dreamed he’d be. You barely could stand to speak to him, let alone look at him, out of shyness.
Tonight was no different. Seeing Steve standing in front of you with flushed cheeks and tousled hair, you thought your heart might burst or you might start drooling - you weren’t sure which would happen first. Mr. Tall, Blond, and Handsome started making his way towards you, eyes downcast as if he were nervous. Was he nervous? Why would he be nervous to order a drink? From you, of all people?
He finally looked up at you, only to stumble over his own two feet. The blush that had just disappeared returned quickly, tinging his freckled nose and perfect cheeks with the most flattering shade of pink that complemented his sparkling blue eyes. The first time you’d met, he had a full beard. He was clean-shaven now, and although you loved the facial hair on him, his boyish face made him look like a Disney prince. It took everything in you not to swoon.
“Hey, Y/N. Long time, no see.” He let out a short, bashful laugh that made the butterflies in your tummy flutter. He scratched the back of his neck, not quite able to meet your gaze.
“Hi, Captain Rogers!” You judged yourself for sounding so eager to see him. “It’s good to see you. Been a while,” you smiled at him, reaching for a fresh gravity pint glass. “What can I get you? Your usual?” Steve typically started his visits with a pint of Guinness, and then depending on the occasion, he’d order either more of the same or some whiskey.
He began to pull his credit card out of his wallet. “You’re too good to me, doll. And please, can you call me Steve?” He passed his card to you and you put it next to the register. “This may be a long shot, but do you know how to make a Singapore Sling? We’re celebrating after completing a two-month mission tonight, and I’m craving something sweet.” Either you were crazy or Captain Rog- Steve, you corrected yourself - was looking at your lips when he said that.
“Well, Steve,” you said pointedly, “I actually do know how to make one. That’s one of my favorites.”
“No kidding! I hardly order them, but when I do, no one’s even heard of them. I guess my age is showing.” He sat down then, watching you grab the pineapple juice from the refrigerator.
“You don’t look a day over 103, Cap,” you giggled, winking at him. Since when do I giggle?, you thought. Who do I think I am? You managed not to smack your own forehead, though you were sure you’d berate yourself later. “But yeah, my grandmother introduced me to them a few years ago. They were her favorite, and they quickly became mine.” You passed the glass to him, peeking at him from under your lashes as you awaited his reaction.
Steve picked up the glass and raised it to you first before taking a sip. It wasn’t lost on you that his lips apparently were that pink before the bright red liquid ever touched them. “Gosh, this is perfect,” he nearly moaned. For what felt like the millionth time in ten minutes, you felt your face heat up once again. “Thank you so much, Y/N. It’s just like I remember.”
“It’s no trouble at all. I’m glad you like it.” He smiled at you softly, looking like he wanted to say something more. “Go celebrate, Steve. Let me know if you’d like anything else, okay?” You squeezed his hand where it rested on top of the bar. The action felt so natural for some reason, but before he could react, you pulled away, busying yourself with drying glasses.
A few hours and more than a few shots of Asgardian mead later, Steve found himself at the bar with you. He told the others he’d stay behind while you closed up so you wouldn’t be alone. You exchanged stories about your friends and families. You learned that his favorite meal was shepherd’s pie, and that his mom would make it for his birthday every year, even though the tiny apartment would be sweltering hot with the oven on in July. Funnily enough, that was your favorite meal too, both to cook and to eat. You told him you’d love to make it for him sometime, and he said he’d like that very much.
After closing out the register, you turned around to find Steve resting his chin in both of his hands, staring at you with what you only could classify as puppy dog eyes. You’d never noticed how long and dark his lashes were before. You exited from behind the bar, his eyes following you until you stopped beside him. “Ready to go, Cap?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” He grabbed your hand and stood up, wobbling a bit. “I’ll drive you home.”
“Oh, nooo, you won’t. You’re in no condition to drive.” He still held onto your hand and started to lead you to the door. “Besides, I only live ten minutes away from the Compound. It’s practically on my way home. I’d be happy to drive you back.” He hummed in agreement and squeezed your hand, a muted show of thanks as he clearly was growing more tired by the minute.
You walked outside and he continued to hold your hand as you locked up, carrying your purse on his opposite shoulder. Even though you were driving, he insisted on opening your car door for you.
The drive was quiet, but pleasantly so. You found yourself relaxed in his presence, something you never would have believed a few hours ago. As nervous as you felt around him, you couldn’t help but think he felt nervous around you, too, and as you got to know each other tonight, those nerves began to dissipate, allowing you to start falling for Steve, for real this time.
“Y/N?” You glanced over at Steve who you thought had been asleep. In fact, he’d been watching you, memorizing your profile and trying to gather the courage to say what was on his mind.
“You’re so pretty,” he cooed, reaching to brush your cheek with his thumb. “I mean, you’re more than that. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re- dammit.”
You put the car in park since Steve decided to begin his confession just as you were pulling up to his apartment building. He clearly was having a difficult time, undoubtedly worsened by the otherworldly alcohol in his system. You turned to look at him, reaching for his hand, encouraging him to continue.
He took a deep breath, covering your hand with both of his. “What I’m trying to say is, I think you’re lovely and I’ve liked you for quite some time. Would you maybe wanna go out to dinner sometime?” The way his eyes twinkled as they searched your face told you he’d lasso the moon and pull it down for you if you asked him to.
You leaned forward, cupping his cheek with your other hand, to kiss his forehead. “I’d love that, Steve.” The smile on his face could have melted the very ice that once entrapped him. He gave you a soft kiss on the cheek, and you stayed like that for a moment, enjoying the feel of each other so close.
You exchanged numbers, Steve asking you to text him when you arrived home and you promising you would do just that. He reached into his pocket, but to his surprise, his keys were nowhere to be found. He leaned forward, lightly smacking his head on the dashboard. “I hate to ruin this moment, sweetheart, but I must have left my keys in the office building on the other side of campus. I’ll just walk over, okay? Text me when you’re home?” He moved to open his door.
“Steve, don’t be ridiculous,” you chided with a laugh. “It’ll take 30 seconds to drive you over there.” You grabbed his hand, urging him to stay seated.
The drive was quick, and Steve ran in and out of the office even quicker, keys to his apartment in hand. You drove him back to the apartment building again. “I don’t think I forgot anything else now,” he laughed more to himself than to you. “Thank you so much for everything. Good night, Y/N.” He exited the car and before you lost your nerve, so did you.
“Wait!” You followed after him, and he stopped in his tracks. “I forgot something this time.” You stood on your tiptoes and reached for his face, planting your lips on his. Steve’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but he instantly relaxed into you, putting one hand on the side of your neck and the other on your waist.
How it’s going...
You heard your phone ringing in the kitchen, having left it out there to time when the shepherd’s pie would be done baking. You answered immediately after reading the caller ID. “Hey, honey. Everything okay?”
“Hi, sweetheart. Everything’s all right. I can’t wait to see you. Listen, are you home already?”
“Yeah, I took off today, actually. I made you dinner. Are you calling because you forgot your keys?”
“Yes, actually,” he sighed with relief. “I’m glad to know I didn’t lose them. Tony would have been annoyed with me… again.”
Whenever you saw an opportunity to tease Steve, you took it. “It seems you’re becoming forgetful in your advanced age, Old Man Rogers.”
He hummed, the tone of his voice a shade lower than a moment ago. “That’s real funny, sweetheart. I don’t think you were calling me old last night or even this morning, as a matter of fact. I had no trouble keeping up with you then.”
“Steven Grant! Why, I never,” you replied with your best Southern belle impression. Your face suddenly felt warm to the touch, and it wasn’t because the oven was on.
He barked out a laugh. “Maybe I’ll have to remind you how old I’m not when I get home. I’ll see you in an hour, Mrs. Rogers.”
Any reminder that you were married to this man made your heart sing. “I love you, Steve.”
“I love you more.”
171 notes · View notes