My Oh My

My Oh My

Warnings: Language, Smut-ish

Words: 1.1k

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Summary: A Monday Madness before the Holidays. Hugh Ransom Drysdale might not be who everyone thinks he is. 

*Spoiler free: no movie connections whatsoever. 

A bad reputation, insatiable habits.

It’s a small town.

Finding out what bar he frequents is easy.

You also learn he’s a spoiled, playboy who has slept with nearly every single, attractive woman within a fifty a mile radius.

Douche. Prick. Asshole.

The laundry list of names everyone else has for Hugh Ransom Drysdale is colorful to say the least, but you’re only here for one reason. A low-cut pink blouse with a barely there black mini skirt and thigh high black boots to match should get you the answers you’re looking for – plus some.

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Coming Soon: In the Dark

Warnings: Language

Words: 500

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Summary: You only thought Ransom was an asshole, wait until you meet his family. Sequel to My Oh My & Trouble

Song: In the Dark by Camila Cabello

Thank you @hysteria87​ and @sagechanoafterdark​ for supporting me with this annoyingly lovable asshole.

*Spoiler free: no movie connections whatsoever.

I can see you’re scared of your emotions, I can see you’re hoping, you’re not hopeless.

“No.”

Your answer is quick, and Ransom flicks his eyes up at you over the top of his laptop screen, watching as you shake your head adamantly.

“Hell no.”

“Why not?” he questions, obviously annoyed by your quick response.

For the last two weeks your free time has been filled with his smug, arrogant ass. You’ve been fielding question after question on Steve’s life and maybe it’s selfish, but you just want a weekend to yourself.

You keep your attention on the towels your folding. They’re still warm – fresh from the dryer. “I – I have a date.”

“Since when?” he’s not convinced.

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Seven-Thirty, Part I: Saturday

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You were planning on a productive – if lonely – weekend, but the little girl across the hall has different ideas about how you and Bucky Barnes should be spending your time.

Word Count: 5206 words (this is part one of three)

Warning(s): A tiny use of mild language. 

Author’s Note(s): This was written for @propertyofpoeandbucky‘s 2nd Mysterious Writing Challenge. My prompt was “Babysitter AU.”

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Saturday

There’s a moment, on Friday afternoons, when the world seems to melt away. In the closing of your apartment door, the careful sliding of one, two, three locks (this is New York, after all). And then begins the ritual, a slow unfurling of self from the layers of the week’s disguise: a blazer draped carelessly on the couch; bags flung in the general direction of your desk; the crisp sigh of a can of cheap beer. 

You come back to yourself on the couch, something dramatic on Netflix playing in the background. A period of calm is claimed in the easy, anonymous scroll of your phone. In those moments, it doesn’t matter that you’re alone, that everyone was too busy to make plans and that the people you love are slowly outgrowing the throbbing pulse of a nightclub, the frenetic enjoyment of one more drink, one more dance. They turn instead to the lure of more adult rites: mortgages and engagement rings and diapers. Carefully planned vacations, instead of haphazard road-trips. 

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Beautiful and Damned 1- The First Sight [Geralt of Rivia x Reader]

A.N: Your wonderful feedback to the preview made me so happy my loves, thank you! Please don’t forget to tell me what you think of this chapter, kisses! 

Reminder: This story will not follow the show’s plot, so even if you haven’t watched the series, you can still read it.

Summary: It’s a bad idea to sneak up on a witcher.

Word Count: 1992

Warnings: None.

You could still remember the fairytales you listened to so closely when you were still a child. The ones with pretty princesses, and scary monsters, a brave, very brave knights that would save the princesses from fearsome beasts.

“There was a princess, just like you,” your nurse would say, “Her mother the queen-“

“Like my mother?”

“Exactly like your mother, my sweet,” she would say, “She loved her so, so much….”

Every night, before you went to sleep, you wished for an adventure like that. A love like that, something that would place you right in the same place as those princesses. You had the title, you had the life, but in your future, you wanted something exactly like those fairytales.

No one told you that you would get it.

But again, no one told you that you weren’t supposed to wish really hard for something when you were a child either.

What happened later on was exactly like the beginning of a fairytale, because after all, every fairytale had to begin with a tragedy.

It was your tenth birthday banquet, when a witch with multiple beasts by her side cursed you, and at first, you didn’t even believe it until you took an apple from your cousin, accidentally brushing your fingers over his skin.

He was dead right that second, his lifeless body dropping to the ground much like the apple from your hands, the scream leaving your lips almost inhuman.

Then they locked you away.

Well, not really. You were still allowed to walk around the specific parts of the castle, with the condition of wearing your long gloves, and not letting anyone touch your skin.

Not that you could really hide it if they did, not after that knight brushing a finger over your cheek, and dropping dead in a second just like the others. In time, the story of you became a legend, and legends became gossips. You were called many names by the time you grew up; daughter of darkness they called you, grim’s princess, kiss of death….

“Your majesty?” your maid Cassandra’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you looked up from your drawing, and put the small piece of coal beside you, grabbing your gloves just in case.

“Yes?”  

“Your mother sends for you.”

“Oh.” You wiped at your hands carefully, then put on your gloves, “What for?”

“She said I was to take you to her room,” she stood on her tiptoes to peek at the parchment, “Oh that’s gorgeous, your majesty.”

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from smiling wide, “You really think so?”

“Oh definitely,” she looked up at you, “Will you gift me one after you’ve finished?”

“You’re the only person who gets to see them, so why not?” you winked at her, “If you find it to your liking, that is.”

“If you weren’t a princess, I say you would be an artist.”

“Don’t let mother hear that,” you murmured, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of it, then got up from your bed to walk to your full length mirror. You smoothed out the skirts of your dress, putting the crown on top of your hair and twirled around to check whether you looked your best, since you knew what sort of speech your mother would give you if she saw any kind of flaw in your appearance.

Cassandra stepped aside instantly as you approached the door, and walked right behind you as soon as you stepped into the hall. You flexed your fingers nervously under the leather gloves, avoiding everyone’s gaze in the hall and trying to ignore the way they all scurried away. It was supposed to be your normal after years and years, but it never failed to send a small surge of icy feeling through your spine.

You wondered whether they knew how lucky they were, to be able to simply touch someone even innocently, and not have them die in seconds right before their eyes.

Probably not. You hadn’t thought about it before you were cursed either.

You had gotten better at pushing that burning jealousy to the back of your mind, though. It was still there, you knew it was, and it got worse each time you saw a happy couple that could kiss each other, or touch each other. You could even hear maids’ whispers about their beloveds, all secretive and scandalous, but-

You did wonder how it would feel. Judging by their whispers, it had to be pure bliss.

The pure bliss that you could only dream of.

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In the future show Hawkeye the character Kate Bishop is in it, and in the comics she is friends (possibly romantic interests although not officially canon) with America Chavez/Miss America and she is Latin-American!

one day, there will be a latina superhero in the MCU, one day.

Take Your Time

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky braves a bar in Bucharest, unknowingly changing his life forever.

Warnings: alcohol, angst, mentions of abuse, mentions of cheating, mild smut

A/N: hello, everyone. This is the first time I’m posting a piece of writing on Tumblr. It’s inspired by the song Take Your Time by Sam Hunt. Please do let me know what you think, feedback is always appreciated. If I’ve missed any warnings, I’m so sorry, let me know. 

He had never been this far before. Perhaps far was too strong of a word, it was, after all, only across the street. And yet, to Bucky Barnes, it was as far as crossing the Pacific Ocean.  His heart was hammering like a freight train at full speed, threatening to burst out the confines of his ribcage as he placed a hand on the door. It wasn’t too late to change his mind, to turn around and run across the street and up the winding stairs back into the safety of the tiny apartment he was renting. But he willed his feet forward, not keen to spend yet another long night in the fragments of his lonely, jumbled mind.

The stench of cheap liquor and sweat hit him first, a few curse words and drunken chortles ringing through the air, punctuating the steady pounding of music. Bucky’s face involuntarily scrunched at that. He wasn’t sure what music he did like, but it certainly wasn’t whatever that awful electronic wail was. The other patrons didn’t seem to mind, too consumed in their beer to notice the man in a black baseball cap tentatively taking a seat closest to the door. He was so engrossed in scoping out an exit strategy, two or three in fact, that he didn’t notice her until she was waving her hand in front of his face.

Bucky jerked, trying to push down his instinct to throw his left fist at the sudden disturbance. She didn’t recoil. She didn’t even flinch. She held up her hands, as if to surrender, and then she smiled and he swore his heart stopped.

“What can I get you?”

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