Mariacarla Boscono @ Roberto Cavalli S/s 2003

synopsis: rapper!onyankapon and his pretty housewife grow desperate for a new addition

warnings: breeding, p in v, talks of pregnancy and kids, food on the floor (blame ony horny ass 🙄) etc.

a/n: might be a series!

your duty as ony’s wife was to keep him satisfied. his satisfaction meant your eternal happiness. he moved y’all from the hood to the suburbs after all, gave you a whole new life, so you did everything that was expect of you, cooked his meals, washed and folded his clothes, and gave that tight pussy up whenever he desired. in return ony kept you in the latest designer, showered you with affection, and kept you full of his fat dick. but it was just the two of you. you were growing so lonely as ony was writing and recording in the studio five days a week. all of your friends were having children too. mikasa and eren recently welcomed a newborn, reiner and his wife were on their second, even connie up and knocked someone up. ony saw how you had shifted from when you were newlyweds to now. the honeymoon phase was over, this was serious, and his baby was ready to have a baby. ony had no choice but to pump that cute cunt full of his kids.

he comes home from a stressful day in the stu, only having one song done for his new album. he can smell the sweet aromas of tonight’s dinner that you were preparing and as much as he loved your cooking, that was far from what he was craving right now. you were done setting the table, now getting ready to put the food out when your husband walks into the kitchen, almost running into you as you were setting the roast out. “oh baby! dinners almost ready, do you need a beer or anything?” he doesn’t respond, just looking down lustfully at you while you walked the foil covered pan to the table. “uh why you looking at me like that?” you blink a few times.

“cause i’m bouta get you pregnant.”

that’s how you end up in nothing but your tiny picnic print apron, titties bouncing around as your husband is fucking you into the dining room table. “onyy~” your eyes roll back when he pulls you to the edge, making you claw at the table cloth. he’s all snug in your warm hole, juicing that pussy for all its worth. the veins on his cock are being dragged down those gummy walls of yours and you can feel him getting ready to spill inside. “pa s–slow down, pussy ‘s sore,” you’re whining when he’s bucking those hips forward with this newfound stamina.

“can’t slow down ma, gotta make you a mommy first,” he pants out, tongue poking at his cheek in concentration. “you gon make some pretty ass kids baby, look at you. gon give me my son and daughter right ma?”

“yess ony! g–gonna give you as many as y–you want daddy!”

his hands grab at those exposed tits of yours, fondling them around and making your apron act as a thing wedged between them. you hear your fine china plates crashing to the ground with your fancy metal silverware falling on your beautiful wooden floors. ony doesn’t give a shit, he can replace it all by tonight, but this man had to get his seed fucked into you now. “bouta be all pretty and plump mama, this pussy getting bred all night.” ony could picture you now, his pretty wife who’d never have to think about a job application. all you had to worry about was keeping his house clean, food on his table, and sending his children off to school. he pressed his forehead to yours, his big hands engulfing yours, pinning them against the table you ate your meals at. “bouta fill that pussy up baby– nnnngh shit–” your wet sounds filled the house, the cute little squelch and watery sounds of your cunt bouncing off the walls. another thrust and you were drowning in his thick load. you were never so excited to have morning sickness ever.

“ony,” you sulked. “our china, and my roast? you couldn’t wait until we were in the bedroom?” you pushed the heavy man off of you, giving him quite the view as you bent over to examine your tender roast splattered on the floor. ony saw his cum dripping onto the floor and adding to the mess, of course he couldn’t have that. you weren’t phased when you felt his fingers stuffing every drop back into your messy cunt, sealing it with a slap on your ass and watching the rippled recoil.

“stop all that nagging and go grab me a beer. get my card and order chinese too, imma clean this up.”

with no more lip or back talk you happily obeyed, skipping to fetch him a bottle. “yes daddy.”

after tonight you’d never have to look at a family and frown again, your hubby gave you your very own, just how he gave you everything else you’ve ever wanted. you already knew the blogs and gossip sites were about to be on it after a few months pass without you being in the public eye, everyone thinking you and ony are done until he pops out with this post:

© kittyarmin 2023. all rights reserved.

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [8]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why. 

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 3,572

A/N: poor reader. things are not going as well as she’d hoped. we’re honestly in the home stretch, i anticipate another 2-3 chapters before we’ve arrived at our conclusion! (i also have some plans for a short prequel, so stay tuned!) bottom divider by @firefly-graphics

You stare at your husband, open mouthed as he shuts the door behind him. On the tray in his hands is breakfast, and most of all—coffee. Real coffee, swirling gently in the fancy drip . You can’t think of a single thing to say as he moves past you to set the tray down on the table. 

The scent of his cologne makes your knees tremble, it’s so familiar, so him. You haven’t seen Ransom in person in so long it feels like some sort of trick. You look down at his hands as he arranges the plates, looking for the indents left by Lloyd’s signature rings—but there is only his wedding band, sitting on his ring finger. He looks up at you. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Sweetheart.” 

Your tongue is sticky in your dry mouth. “I did.” 

Ransom isn’t as good at pretending he’s unaffected—not as good as Lloyd. Brief upset flashes across his features before it’s replaced by determined placidity. It makes the rage simmering in your belly flare up even hotter at the sight of him. You’re angrier at him than you are at Lloyd. It isn’t logical, you know, to feel somehow more betrayed by your husband than his twin, but you do. You suppose Lloyd owed you less than the man with whom you had shared every hope, every dream for your future. 

“Let’s eat something, at least,” he replies at last. “You can hate me on a full stomach.” Reluctantly, you sit down at the table. You wonder if all your meals will be taken like this now, now that contact has been re-established, like some sort of strange exposure therapy. Ransom pours himself a mug of dark coffee and then a matching one for you. You don’t reach for it, though, not until you see him drink from his own cup. 

The plate before you is loaded up with fresh fruits—your favorites: cut grapes, melons, slices of kiwi—and beneath that is a fully loaded waffle, topped with fluffy whipped cream. You spear a forkful of eggs and chew as you stare pointedly at the mug in front of you instead of at him. 

Ransom isn’t like Lloyd, he doesn’t force conversation. He simply sits there across from you, eating breakfast in your prison like it’s the most ordinary thing in the entire world. 

“How could you do this?” You vomit up the question as you tremble, unable to swallow another bite. “How?” 

“We love you so much,” he begins, and you have to resist the urge to throw the plate at his head, food and all. “So fucking much.” Ransom reaches across the table to grasp your hand. “This is the only way this works, Sweetheart.” He lifts his hand to your cheek. You hate that his reassurance feels good, that you’re tempted to press your face into the palm of his hand the way you used to. A sob tears free from your throat. 

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t—”

“Do you even know what love is?” There is a cold edge to Ransom’s voice that’s unfamiliar to you, not because you haven’t heard it before, but because he never adopts that tone with you—never. “Love is doing for others what they cannot do for themselves.” You almost want to cringe away from his gaze. “You taught me that.” As his words increase in intensity you actually try to, only to have Ransom grip your chin with his free hand.“Even if it hurts.”

He sits back in his chair, and sips his coffee. “Now finish your breakfast, Sweetheart. I have a surprise.” The word surprise immediately gets your hackles up, and you can feel your stomach churning. 

“A surprise? What is it?” Ransom winks at you. 

“Eat up.” 

You force your way through the fruit—it’s sweet and ripe but it tastes like mush now as you anxiously chew and swallow. Ransom had always been a good gift-giver. It’s one of the things you’d valued about your husband, his attention to detail, his heart. That little piece of him he’d let you see, the part of him he guarded, held like a wounded bird in his cupped hands. The part of him that memorized your birthday three months in and threw a half-birthday party because he couldn’t wait that long to give you the present he’d gotten for you—a trip to Paris, to see the Louvre. Which one of these people is your husband, you wonder, watching him watch you. Which one of them is real, which is created? 

Or had you ever really known him at all?

When you’re done eating, Ransom hands you a little plastic baggie, containing an assortment of pills. A few you recognize—your pre-natal vitamins, one of your prescribed supplements—but there are some you don’t. You glare down at his offered hand with narrowed eyes before crossing your arms. 

“I’m not taking those.” You’re expecting Ransom to fight you—hell, you’re half expecting him to pin you down and force them down your throat. But he doesn’t. All he does is purse his lips, and place them down on the table. 

“We’ll revisit that.”

“We’re not revisiting anything!” You hiss. “I am not. Taking those.” Ransom steeples his fingers beneath his chin and raises an eyebrow. 

“You had no problem taking them when you couldn’t see them, Sweetheart.” Your stomach rolls. “It was my suggestion,” he sighs, fingering the little packet. “I thought you would appreciate the agency.”

“You’re still drugging me.” 

“Sweetheart they’re not roofies.” His flippancy somehow makes you angrier. “It’s all the things you were taking—perhaps a little altered for your condition, but nothing untoward. Your Celexa for your anxiety. Prenatal supplements, vitamins.” 

“I’m not taking them.” 

“Fine.” He picks the little baggie back up and places it in his pocket. Instead of tacit, clever threats like Lloyd, Ransom simply gets up. You look up at him in surprise, almost forgetting to be angry. 

“Y-you’re not going to force me?” You ask, shocked. Your husband pushes his chair back against the table. He looks sad. Really sad, like he recognizes the weight of what has changed between you. 

“No, baby. I’m not.” He turns towards the door. “But I’m not going to stay, either.” Your eyes go wide with fear.

“W-wait, why? I—”

“You’re upset. I understand, I do.” For his part, Ransom looks realistically disappointed, like he wanted things to turn out differently than they have. A sad smile flits across his face. “But baby if we’re going to build back what we had, build it stronger, you’re going to have to think about more than just yourself.”

You feel a pang of hurt in your chest at his accusation. “I’m not selfish! If any

thing—”

“Threatening to leave me? To take the baby?” Ransom shoots you a cold, disappointed look. “What did you tell me, Sweetheart? The baby will never know my name? What would you call that if not selfish?” You swallow thickly. 

That day feels so long ago now, though in truth you suppose it’s been nearly a month since you’d figured it out and everything had broken open and fallen all to pieces. It’s strange to think that that was reality in the same way that this is—that your physical body no longer occupies a world that exists only in your memories, when everything was perfect. 

“I’m going to give you some time to relax. Maybe It’s too soon.” Ransom shakes his head. “I’ll be back when you’re ready.” Your chest feels tight at his declaration. Alone? Again? You curl your fists into tight balls beneath the table, nails digging into your palms. 

“Don’t.” 

“Oh? And why should I stay? You hate me, you won’t take your medicine—”

“I’ll take it.” You mumble, and Ransom turns back around, a soft, surprised look on his face. You don’t want to go back to being alone, back to the endless hours of silence, your food delivered while you slept or bathed, to reciting movie lines just to have something to listen to—

“What?”

“I—I’ll take them. Please—you don’t…” You close your eyes.. “You don’t know what it’s like to be in here alone, day after day.”  It’s torture. The words hang unspoken from the tails of the ones you’re brave enough to voice. Tears press against your closed lids as you try unsuccessfully to keep them back. He sighs. 

“Oh Baby.” 

You hate him —you hate both of them, so much it seems to fill up every inch of you. So why do you want him to stay? Why does it feel familiar and right and good when he tucks you beneath his chin as you sob? You’d managed to hold them in with Lloyd, but you can’t with Ransom. He’s too familiar, your body knows him, thinks it’s safe with him, even when it’s not. But it’s hard not to feel that same security when he sweeps you into his arms and sits against the window with you as you whimper and cry, pressing your face into his chest. 

Ransom rocks you back and forth, rubbing circles on your back through the cotton dress. You aren’t sure what he says to you as he does so, mumbling muddy praise and promises into your hair. It’s almost worse than that day at the villa—you hadn’t been this hopeless then, this trapped. You’d thought you could leave then, that you could simply walk away from the snare they had set for you, though you never really could.

What other end could there have been?

You aren’t sure how long you sit there with Ransom, your heaving, hysterical sobs becoming hiccoughs. Listlessly you stare out at the waves, dragging the back of your hand across your puffy eyes. Wordlessly, he hands you the little plastic bag of pills. You take it from him without a fuss, tear open the corner and dump them into the palm of your hand. You consider them for a moment before lifting them to your mouth and swallowing them dry. 

—

The surprise, as it turns out, is books. 

Ransom brings in a brightly colored bag from the hallway as you sit sniffling on the bed, still wiping at your puffy eyes. It almost brings you to tears again as you pull out the tissue paper to reveal the prizes inside. They’re all books you’ve never read before but had been meaning to, even going so far as to put a list of them on the fridge in the apartment you shared with Ransom. Frankenstein. Hound of the Baskervilles. The Shining.

“You read my list.” 

“Of course I did,” Ransom says, pressing a kiss to your temple before sitting beside you on the edge of the bed. “It’s been up there for months.” He teases. “I thought we could read them together, like we did in college. Since you’ve been so lonely.” Something goes tight and achy in your chest at the memory of it, you and Ransom cuddled together on your narrow dorm room bed as you read him passages of Wuthering Heights and Catcher in the Rye. It’s so easy to picture it now, though you had not thought of them for months—maybe years. Your husband just a few years younger, draping his own sweater over your shoulders. 

I like when it smells like you, he’d say when you’d stammer about lotion or perfume, pressing it into your hands anyway. 

“I’d like that.” 

It’s almost like being home again, wrapping yourself in the soft comforter on the bed as Ransom begins to read. Is it so wrong, you wonder, to want to go back to when things were ordinary and perfect? Before you knew your husband and his brother felt something deeper than love, deeper than obsession for you—ownership, perhaps. You don’t want this new knowledge, as insane as that seems. You don’t want to know that your family is dependent on them, that their lives rely on your marriage in ways you never could have foreseen. Your father’s business, Nathalie’s school—all things they would lose the instant your relationship dissolved. 

And as Ransom reads, it’s almost easy to pretend you don’t have it, to close your eyes and just… listen. You’re half asleep when he shifts you into his arms, pressing soft kisses to the top of your head. You begin to stir, pushing at his chest, but he hums softly. 

“Just let me have this, Sweetheart. You can still hate me when I’m done.” Your husband holds you to his chest, stroking your hair until you fall asleep. He holds you like that for a long time, listening to the sound of your breathing. With a sigh, Ransom lowers you down to the mattress. He’s arranging your books on the bedside table when the sound of the keypad draws his attention.

“You’re bringing her presents already?” Lloyd drawls from the threshold. “I thought you said she wasn’t ready.” Ransom rolls his eyes. He knows what jealousy looks like well enough on his own face to know it on his brother’s. 

“I said that a week ago,” he says softly. “And keep your voice down. You know we had to lower the dose on the sedative.” Lloyd leans against the bedpost, watching as Ransom fusses over you. “Besides. You got to see her yesterday.” He shoots a glare at his older brother. “You took a fucking bath with her. You always have to be fucking first, don’t you?” 

It’s Lloyd’s turn to roll his eyes. “I don’t interfere in your relationship, you don’t talk shit about mine.” He smooths a hand down your cheek. “I called the doctor. He said he’ll be here Monday.” 

Ransom nods. “Good.” A small smile crosses his lips. “I think she’ll be excited to see the baby.” He rests a hand on the ever-so-slight curve of your belly, and Lloyd snorts. “With our luck, it’ll be twins.” You shift, mumbling something in your sleep as your face twitches. Lloyd kisses your forehead. 

“Shh, baby. M’right here.” His hand replaces Ransom’s on your belly. “We’re not going anywhere.”

—

“A doctor?” You stare at the two of them incredulously. “Here?” Lloyd scoffs at your shock. 

“Come on, Princess. It’s not like we’re in space.” He pats you affectionately on your hip. “Besides, you’re due for a checkup. Don’t you want to see your little nugget?” His words twist your stomach. You had scheduled an ultrasound for when you returned from Mykonos—not knowing, foolishly, perhaps, that you never would. I wonder what they told Dr. Pashik. 

Ransom and Lloyd are wrapped around you like snakes; your husband curled around you from behind, while Lloyd has draped himself across your lap, tracing circles on the exposed skin of your thigh where the dress has ridden up. They’d come into your room sometime early that morning while you’d still been mostly asleep, taking up residence on either side of you while you mumbled groggily. Of course Ransom and Lloyd had not come empty handed, bringing with them more gifts; books, card games, even a portable device they told you you were allowed to watch movies on. Of course, upon discreet investigation there were only streaming apps installed on it, no browser, nor any way to reach the outside world. It was password locked for extra security, which neither one of your lover-turned-captors had yet supplied you. 

You rest a hand on your tummy. “I am excited,” you say finally. “I guess… I’m surprised.” Until now, they had not allowed you to see a single person other than them—in fact you wouldn’t have known there were more people here than the three of you had Lloyd not pointedly told you. “What kind of doctor treats a prisoner?”

“You’re a patient, Princess.” Lloyd corrects you. “Not a prisoner.” He kisses your thigh. One who enjoys a discreet, hefty payout. 

“Someone you know from work?” You ask snidely, and Lloyd laughs. 

“Maybe when I can trust you, I can tell you.” He winks at you. You know your brother-in-law does work for “the government” but you aren’t really sure which government. You get the feeling he has no loyalty in that regard, though all you have to go on is your own baseless assumption. Your thoughts turn to the doctor, and you wonder if they might be sympathetic, despite Lloyd’s money. If you’re even allowed to be alone with them—in all likelihood you probably won’t. If Ransom and Lloyd have been anything they’ve been careful, you doubt they’d make such a rookie mistake this far into the game. Not now. 

You smile sadly. “I don’t think you’ll ever be able to trust me.”

“Oh Princess, I don’t know about that. After all, look at us now.” A lump forms in your throat. “All cozy like. I think you feel a lot more comfortable than you want to admit.” You swallow against the lump that’s formed, thick and sticky in your throat. 

“I just know there’s no use trying to push you off.” 

“Okay, Princess.” Lloyd blows you a kiss. “Whatever you say.” 

It is warm and comfortable between them, and as much as you hate it, Lloyd’s hands do feel familiar and right on your skin, though you don’t want them to. It occurs to you once again that you don’t know what’s in those neat little pre-packaged pill bags that they’re giving you, and as much as you don’t want to bask in the sudden intensity of their affection after weeks of stark purposeful isolation, you still can’t help yourself. It doesn’t help to know the rules of the game when they’re still playing it so effectively. All you can do is watch as Ransom and Lloyd move you around the board, to ends you can only imagine. 

“When is the doctor coming?”

“Tomorrow,” Ransom says, squeezing your hand. “I think we’ll hear the heartbeat, you’re far enough along, you know.” He sounds excited. You know he is—Ransom has always been excited at the prospect of fatherhood. He’d been downright encouraging when you had brought up going off your birth control, if the things he’d been growling into your ear as he rutted into you in your bed were any indicator, and they were. 

“We still haven’t talked about names.” 

“I had a list going but it was on my phone.” 

“Maybe we’ll take a look at it together soon.” Ransom’s hands drift to your shoulders, rubbing at the tense muscle knotted underneath your skin. 

“Will we get pictures?” You ask. “Of the ultrasound?” 

“Of course.”

“Then… will you send them to my parents?” His hands falter, and you turn to look at him. Your husband’s expression is unreadable as he glances down at his brother, an entire conversation passing between them wordlessly. You feel that same pang of old jealousy creep up into your chest, and you swallow it down. “I just—they… they would want to see.” 

“Maybe.” He says at last. 

“Where do they think I am?”

“I don’t—”

“I’ve been good, haven’t I?” You ask, shifting away from him, from the both of them. “Please. Tell me something. Anything.” Lloyd shakes his head with a frown, but Ransom sighs. 

“You’re in a very expensive hospital in Austria.” 

“My father wouldn’t believe that,” you say, shaking your head. You know your family—they wouldn’t just swallow some paper thin excuse just to get back to their lives. Would they? “He-he would want to see me.” 

“Your father is very busy with his business, Princess,” Lloyd cuts in effortlessly. “He has so much to worry about, and then there’s Nathalie’s classes…” he shrugs. “They trust us to take good care of you.” 

“So let us take care of you.” 

You’d suspected you had no tears left to cry, that perhaps you’d cried them all already. But as always, you manage to surprise yourself with more from the seemingly unending supply inside you. You want to push away their hands as they pat and comfort you, hushing you and wiping at their tears with the pads of their thumbs. It’s the only comfort you have, especially knowing your family isn’t looking for you. Why would they? You remember the bitter, bitter arguments you’d had with your own father when you had decided to move out. They relied on you, needed you—you contributed to more than a third of the bills, there was simply no way around it. You were hurting the family, damning them with your independence. 

“Have you ever thought about anyone but your goddamn self?” Your father had never apologized for that night, and like a dutiful daughter you never brought it up again because how could you? You were the oldest, junior mom, de-facto parent. Something shatters inside you at the thought, and you feel it almost like physical pain. I wonder if they can hear it. 

You don’t know when the arms around you begin to feel like solace instead of suffocation as you weep against someone’s warm chest—you cannot be sure, not through your blurry, red-rimmed eyes. But as your fingers curl into his shirt, and another warm set of lips presses against your hair, you wonder if perhaps this is why they chose you. 

Because who didn’t love to tinker with a broken doll?

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

actually the baddest in the subway

Run All You Want

Summary: Bucky told you that you can’t escape him, but that doesn’t mean you wont try. Too bad for you Bucky enjoys a good chase. 

Pairing: Soft Dark mafia!Bucky x reader

Warnings: Slight dub con, allusions to forced marriage, smut, 18+, violence (not towards reader) mentions of death, edging, Buckys pain kink, power kink, breeding kink, reader kicking Steve’s ass

A/N: For @syntheticavenger who wanted to know what happened to the reader from Can’t Run, Can’t Hide. Unbeta’d if you catch an error let me know! Do not copy, repost, rewrite or translate my work, even if you credit it, I do not give my permission for my works to be posted on any other site. 

“Boss.” 

Bucky pauses, holding the glass to his mouth, the rich bourbon cresting over his lip as his piercing eyes follow your fleeing form on the security monitors.

You stumble across the expansive front yard, heading for the black iron wrought gates at the entrance of his estate. Taking a sip of the rich amber liquid, he swallows, a hint of a wry grin twisting across his face. He finishes his drink,, watching you run further and further from the mansion. 

Bucky places his glass on his desk and looks over at your trio of bodyguards. Any hints of amusement fading away, the sharp, knowing look in his eyes making the men cower, he gestures for them to explain why you’re currently halfway across the lawn.

Maximo clears his throat, stepping forward. “Sir if you would let us stop her before she-” He snaps his mouth shut when Bucky quirks a brow. Lowering his voice, he pleads, “Sir, I’m just saying we could prevent her from-” 

“Get Steve.” Bucky sharply interrupts. 

Maximo’s breath hitches, he opens his mouth but his half-formed protest shrivels on his tongue as Bucky slowly cants his head to the side. He drops his eyes to the floor, mumbling. “Yes, Sir.” 

Bucky dismisses them with a flick of his hand, turning back to the monitors, tracking your every movement. Maximo storms into the hallway, your other two guards close behind. He hits the wall with the side of his fist, hissing under his breath. “I told her to wait. If she would listen to me for once. Damn it.” 

What good is a bodyguard if you won’t let him protect you?

After the door swing shuts, Bucky loosens his tie and shrugs off his suit jacket. Settling in his leather chair, he watches you run past the hedges. He slowly unzips his pants as you scramble over a shrub, stopping when your gown catches on a branch. He takes his hardening cock out of his boxers while you rip the bottom of the expensive lace to set yourself free. 

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