#ransom drsydale fanfic
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Ain't Shit (R. Drysdale)
SUMMARY: Set in the Knives Out universe. Ransom wants to be a big happy family and reunite with his girl. But as always, there is more to the story...
Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Black!OC
Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Cursing, OOC!Ransom, Toxic relationship, Arguing, Single Mom!OC, Ransom cries lol, Heated discussions, Mentions of cheating (It's Ransom, I mean...), Mentions of character death (canon-compliant), Discussions of sex
A/N: I believe that is everything in the warnings, but please let me know if I missed something. As always, please enjoy. Beta'd by @serpentico and my bf :) -Lyv <3
Song Inspo: Ain't Shit - Doja Cat
Masterlist
“No, Steph, I just don’t see the point of having a rich baby daddy if he’s still gonna behave like a fucking deadbeat,” I complain to my sister, rifling through my purse for my keys. “Like he don’t do shit for his damn son or me.”
I sigh, all I wanted was to get into the house. Not be stuck on the damn porch. A cool breeze flutters around me as I shift the phone to my other ear. I shiver a little, digging through my purse a little faster. I know I had them when I got out the car!
“We tried to warn you, sis. That boy ain’t shit and them Thrombey motherfuckers ain’t nothing to mess with. Marta told me they thought she was fucking the grandaddy, girl.”
“Who, Harlan?” I pause. “Marta’s into that geriatric shit?”
“Bitch, for the right amount of money--”
“Stephania,” I warn teasingly, but she continues.
“--I would be, too! They couldn’t prove it. But if she was fucking that old man, I wouldn’t blame her.”
“But ain’t she just his day nurse?” I ask, cradling the phone on my shoulder.
I rifle more rigorously through my purse. Where the hell are my keys?
“Yeah, girl! But they asses can’t imagine someone actually being a decent person ‘cause they’re all crooked as hell. They just assume everyone else is, too.”
I suck my teeth, growing irritated because my keys are still missing. “Fuck, Steph, let me call you back. I can’t find my--”
“Keys?”
The deep timbre of his voice sends shivers down my spine. I suck in a short breath, exhaling as I address my sister again.
“Steph, let me call you back.”
“Wait! Wa--”
I hang up the phone and drop it in my purse. I turn to face Ransom Drysdale who leans casually against my stair railing, dangling my keys from his finger. A lazy smirk graces his features as he shakes my keys at me tauntingly.
“You dropped ‘em on your way out of the car. You should really pay attention to your surroundings, kitten.”
His grin is cocky as he tosses my keys in the air and catches them. I keep my gaze impassive, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Ransom, how the hell did you get here?” I ask.
“I drove,” He replies, shrugging.
“Nig-- Ransom, no. How the hell did you find my house? We don’t exactly share the same area code anymore.”
“Oh,” he replies easily. “Darling, I’m rich. You don’t think I have ways of keeping tabs on my son?”
“Well, you’ve never shown much of an interest in him until now, so…”
Hurt flashes in his eyes, and I feel guilty for a moment. His tone becomes serious as he speaks again.
“That’s not true, Amalia. Don’t do that.”
“Yeah. Well, Facetime calls aren’t enough, Ransom.”
I snatch my keys from him, quickly opening the door. I intend to slam it behind me, but Ransom shoves his heavy-ass boot in the door. I groan in exasperation, as he follows me inside. I drop my purse on the chair by the door and slip off my shoes. The door shuts quietly behind me. I look back to see Ransom hovering by the door, surveying the space. For a moment, I feel insecure.
My little duplex isn’t much. The living room is modest with nice but inexpensive furniture decorating it. Baby toys are scattered all over the place along with paperwork from my job. A doorway leads directly to the kitchen with a pass-through and barstools. There’s also a little hallway off to the side that leads to the bedrooms and the bathroom. I know it’s not as lavish as Ransom is accustomed to, so I immediately feel defensive over my little home.
But as soon as the insecurity rises, I stomp it down. I did this on my own. Without him. So who gives a fuck what he thinks. After a while, Ransom still has yet to speak.
I sigh, turning my back to him.
“Take your shoes off if you’re planning on staying.”
I leave Ransom behind, wandering into the kitchen. Rummaging through the fridge, I find some leftovers from the night before and pop them into the microwave. Ransom takes a seat at one of the barstools as I go back to the fridge, pulling out a jar of Arizona tea. I fill a glass and slide it to him wordlessly. I fill up a glass for myself and lean against the counter furthest from him. The low hum of the microwave fills our otherwise silent environment.
I size Ransom up, taking in the noticeable changes I see in him. He’s not clean-shaven like he was the last time I saw him. Instead, he has a short, well-maintained beard. His hair is parted to the left and gelled precisely enough to give him a “lightly tousled” look. Very corporate. Very…not Ransom.
His greenish-blue eyes look dull. I would write it off as the lights not doing his eyes justice if not for the reflective glare he’s leveled his cup with. His eyes have lost that vitality and fire I always admired. Instead, there’s something vulnerable about him right now.
Despite this, his physique has not changed one bit. If anything, he’s been working out more. His shoulders fill out his off-white cable knit sweater, a soft look that contrasts his otherwise muscular frame. The muscles of his jaw tense, and I force myself to take a sip of tea instead of reaching to rest my hand on his face.
The shrill beep of the microwave startles both of us. I whirl around, spilling a bit of my drink on the floor.
“Fuck,” I curse, pulling my food from the microwave.
I set the steaming container and my cup on the counter near Ransom and grab some paper towels.
“Still clumsy as ever, huh, kitten?”
I scoff, wiping at the small puddle on the floor. Standing up, I trash the damp towel and turn to him with my hand on my hip.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Don’t call you what, kitten?” He shoots back, not missing a beat.
I roll my eyes. Just like that, the pensive, tired man from moments ago has disappeared. In his place is the insufferable man-child I fucked around and had a baby with.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I ask, fishing through my drawer for a fork.
“I can’t see the mother of my son?” He teases. “After all, I never do anything for you or my son, right?”
Though I know he means it to come across lightheartedly, I can hear the edge in his voice. For the second time today, I feel guilty. I didn’t know he heard that. Still, I’m not going back on a damn thing I said. It’s not like I lied.
“It’s the fucking truth, Ransom. If you want me to take it back then you’re shit out of luck.”
He presses a hand to his chest, feigning offense. I toss the lid from the container aside and shove a bite of pasta into my mouth. Ransom continues with the dramatics, of course.
“How could you possibly say such a thing to the father of your child?”
He continues to “clutch his pearls”, his mouth agape. I chew slowly, arching my eyebrow at him.
“Are you done?”
Ransom huffs, rolling his eyes.
“You act like I had a choice in the matter. Besides, I didn’t make you leave,” He retorts. “You did that on your own.”
I squint at him, swallowing.
“You wanna go there, Ransom? You wanna do this right now?”
He twists his mouth, tugging his bottom lip with his teeth. Ransom slides from the barstool and strolls around the living room, shoving his hands in his jeans.
“Where’s my son?”
“That’s not your business,” I say, taking another bite.
He scoffs, flopping himself on the chair by the door. He fidgets in the seat, shifting to remove a stuffed bear from underneath him. He holds the well-loved toy between his fingers, grimacing before tossing it away.
“My son’s whereabouts are my business, kitten. I’m not asking the world of you to tell me where he is.”
“You’re right, you’re not asking the world of me,” I shrug, pushing my food around the bowl.
Ransom relaxes in the recliner, a smile stretching across his face. He starts to speak.
“Exactly, I’m glad--”
“But I’m not obligated to answer any of your damn questions. So either tell me what you brought your sorry ass here for or leave.”
Ransom’s blue eyes blaze, anger crossing his features.
“You’re a piece of fucking work, you know that?” He bites back, leaning forward. “Get off your high horse, Amalia. You’re the one that fucked off to Albany without a word.”
“Oh, so you do wanna go there!” I exclaim, rounding the pass-through. “Then let’s fucking do it, Drysdale. I’ve been waiting for this conversation.”
He stands to his full height as I confront him. Ransom is heads above me with his six-foot frame, but that doesn’t intimate me in the slightest. I stand chest to chest with him-- well, chest to midsection-- and talk my shit.
“You were the one that couldn’t keep your dick in your pants to save your life! Two hours before our son was born, where were you?”
Ransom grits his teeth, looking to the side. His stance falters a bit.
“Yeah, you didn’t think I knew that, did you? Tanya can’t keep her mouth closed for shit. If you gonna sleep around, at least find a bitch that doesn’t kiss and tell.”
Ransom at least has the sense to look guilty for one moment before he schools his features into an impassive glare. He crosses his arms, sneering down at me.
“I didn’t take you for the sensitive type, Amalia. Mad ‘cause that pregnancy pussy wasn’t hitting like you thought it was?” He mocks.
I laugh incredulously. “You wanna make this about my body while I was carrying your child? You wanna act like you didn’t damn near bust a nut every time you looked at me let alone fucked me? Fine, then let’s talk about where you were one week after your son was born.”
“What the hell are you on about? I was in Boston that entire time.”
I scoff. “Ok. Bet.”
I walk away from him, swiftly moving to snatch my phone from my purse. I tap around for a few minutes before shoving the phone in his face.
“That’s not your ass on a beach in Florida then?”
The picture shows Ransom, clear as day, cuddled up with an overly tanned blonde in Tampa, Florida.
Caught, Ransom pushes the phone out of his face. He drags his hand over his mouth, pacing away from me. He crosses back toward the kitchen as I place my phone in my pocket, turning to him with crossed arms.
“Cat got your tongue, bitch? Ain’t shit to say now, right?”
“Watch it, Amalia.” He snaps. “Who the hell sent you that?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re a liar.”
“Yeah, okay I’m a liar. And you’re a fucking runner. What a pair we make,” He says dryly. “But none of this will hold up in court. Especially not against the best lawyers money can buy.”
The implications of his words hang in the air. His words are like a cold bucket of water suddenly being dropped on my head. For a moment, my world freezes. Questions swirl around my brain, bouncing against every nook and cranny.
Court? He wants to take this to court? Ransom wants to…what? Petition the courts for custody? Why now? Why is he doing this? What does he want with Shiloh?
I feel my body go cold as numbness seeps into my bones. The air feels static, almost sharp. Like breathing in tiny bits of glass. Then all at once, everything inside of me becomes deathly calm. My eyes meet his, brown and blue clashing as I step toward him.
“No, but you know what will hold up? Every sleepless fucking night I’ve had taking care of Shiloh. Every bill, every piece of clothing, and every bit of food I buy for that boy. Every moment I’ve spent with that baby since the second he was born will hold up in court.” I say, moving toward him.
“And if you think I don’t got the receipts to prove it then you got another motherfucking thing coming.”
I stand directly in front of him, my voice lowering as I look up at him.
“You wanna take this to court? Let’s. Fucking. Do it.”
Ransom stares down at me, his glare impassive. I steel my resolve, refusing to back down. His eyes search mine. I know he wants to call my bluff, but he can’t. Tucking his lips, Ransom finally looks away and sighs. He runs a hand over his face and then through his hair before pacing around the living room again. I wrap my arms around myself.
The coldness in my bones has settled, leaving me rattled and frozen in place. I stare at Ransom’s discarded glass on the counter.
Half-empty.
He paces silently. I stand there, continuing to stare into space. A heaviness settles around us as tension strangles the room. Then, Ransom sighs. A deep, heavy sigh laden with fatigue. He drops onto the recliner as if all the fight in him has vanished. He holds his head in his hands, breathing in deeply.
He exhales and lifts his head to look at me. His elbows are propped on his knees, hands clasped in front of his mouth. The man from earlier returns. The pensive, tired man with creased eyebrows and the entire world on his shoulders.
I swallow the pity I feel and give him a heated glare, daring him to break the silence. To piss me off further.
Instead, his eyes swarm with tears. I watch as his face contorts, a broken sob escaping him. He covers his face with his hands, sobbing silently.
I stand there watching him, frozen. Unsure of how to proceed. Ransom was never very forthcoming with his emotions. For once, I feel out of my depth with him. Do I comfort him? Or do I leave him alone to deal with his feelings?
The bitch in me wants to tell him to clean himself up and get the fuck out.
So, I shift awkwardly on my feet. I go back and forth for what seems like forever as he sits in front of me crying. I avoid looking at him, but the sound of his sobs isn’t exactly something I can ignore. I screw up when I take a glance at him, feeling immediately drawn in by the unabashed emotion on display. I feel myself giving in and wanting to succumb to the desire to console him. My resolve starts to crack and then…
Then, he looks up at me with pained, heavy eyes. My heart wrenches in my chest as he mumbles a garbled apology. I cross to him, sliding to the floor just as he crashes into my arms. The weight of his hug nearly knocks me over but I keep myself upright, holding him close to me. Ransom grips me tightly as I stroke his hair, whispering soft reassurances. He buries his face in my neck as apology after apology tumbles from his lips.
“I’m sorry, Amalia. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Were he not sobbing his face off, I might feel vindicated. I deserve this apology after all, right?
I gently shift his face from my neck, encouraging him to sit up on his own. I smile softly at him as he sniffs, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. I brush away a stray tear, stroking his face. He leans into my touch, giving me an all too familiar look.
I clear my throat and pull my hand away, wiping it on my pant leg.
“Ransom, what’s going on?” I ask quietly. “Why are you here?”
I steal a glance at him. He stares intently at me as if weighing his options. He licks his lips before releasing a heavy sigh.
“Harlan is dead.”
The words come out quietly and quickly. They roll off his tongue as easily as a “hello” or “goodbye”. But these words cause my heart to drop and lead fills my chest. My vision blurs and suddenly I can’t see. I blink the tears away and shake my head, searching his face for a lie. He stares back solemnly, tears leaking from his eyes.
“He…no, that’s not possible! He was just…” I trail off. “No…”
He props his arm up on one knee, dragging his other hand over his face. His head lolls back, resting on the recliner. He sniffs, wiping at his nose.
“He’s dead, Amalia. Died three days ago.”
My lungs feel as though they’re about to give out.
“How?” I push out, struggling to keep my emotions at bay. “How did he--”
I cut myself off, pressing a hand to my mouth. Ransom’s mouth presses into a thin line. He hesitates before speaking again.
“Heart complications.”
I release a heavy breath, my chest caving. My hand presses into my chest, trying o relieve the tightness that has accumulated. His words swirl in my mind as I try to comprehend them. Pressure rises in my head, and I think I’m sobbing but I can’t tell. My body feels foreign-- like it’s no longer mine. Like I’m floating above it.
He was just here, my brain screams. He was fine. He told me he was fine!
I talked to Harlan all the time. After Shiloh was born, Harlan Thrombey was the only person from that damn family to reach out to me at all. He offered money and moral support. I told him I didn’t want a dime. After all, it was Ransom’s responsibility. Not his.
“I guess I have a habit of cleaning up that boy’s messes,” He had said to me.
Still, the old man reached out weekly to update me on his health and to facetime with Shiloh. Now and then he still tried to send me cash, but I wouldn’t have it. His constant support meant more to me than his money. He stepped in when I felt like I had no one else in the world and, for that, I am eternally grateful. I had plans to surprise him with a visit next month so he could meet Shiloh in person.
But it’s too late now.
Suddenly, I slam back into my body and find myself wracked with sobs that echo off the walls. The tears tumble from my eyes of their own accord as I shrink into myself, curling into a fetal position. Ransom reaches for me, trying to comfort me. I thrash in his arms and push away from him. I don’t want his comfort. I don’t need it.
But he won’t give up. Instead, he pulls me closer and cages me between his legs, one propped up with the other stretched out. I scream and I cry and I struggle in his arms. Still, he holds me tighter. Eventually, I tire myself out and slump against his chest. I listen to the familiar thrum of his heartbeat and, against my better judgment, start to relax. One of his hands rests gently but solidly on the back of my head while the other rubs my back. I grip his sweater, rubbing the fabric between my fingers. My sniffles fill the otherwise quiet space as everything suddenly comes to a standstill.
The subtle rise and fall of his chest reminds me of a time before this. Before Shiloh. Before the arguments and the cheating. Before I ever knew who he truly was. My eyes burn again as a new wave of sadness rushes over me. But I stop myself short, refusing to give in to that pain. I buried it, and I can’t go back.
There are more important things to deal with now.
I sit up, untangling myself from Ransom. I feel his stare on me as I wipe my face and tuck my hair behind my ear. I cringe inwardly at how much of a mess I’ve probably made of myself. Self-consciously, I run my fingers through my hair and detangle some of the kinks. If this wig wasn’t laid as fuck, I’m sure it would be crooked and matted by now. I drop my hand to my lap with a sigh and bite my lip, searching for something to say. But for once, my words fail me. So, I settle for silence instead.
But Ransom has other plans it seems.
He reaches for the hand resting on my lap and holds it in his. He squeezes lightly and I look at him hesitantly. He smiles softly and releases a quiet breath. His thumb strokes the back of my hand as he looks away from me. He faces the direction of the large window behind the chair. The setting sun shines on his face, giving him a warm glow that highlights the green undertones in his eyes.
He draws his bottom lip in, running his teeth over it before releasing it. He lets out a short breath and nods to himself slightly. His gaze returns to mine, determined. I frown, uncertain of him. I move to withdraw my hand but he rests his other hand on top of mine. He gazes at me imploringly and this sudden change unnerves me further.
“Ransom, what is it?”
“Kitten, I need you to listen carefully to me,” He starts, his voice low. “Promise you’ll hear me out?”
I remove my hand, choosing to stand. Ransom sighs and stands as well. I cross my arms, arching an eyebrow.
“What is it,” I repeat.
He rests his hands on his hips. His head tilts towards me a little as he frowns, his forehead creasing. Then, he crosses his arms and turns away from me for a moment. He faces the window, placing one hand over his mouth. I grow impatient and huff.
“What the hell is it? What are you not saying!”
Ransom sighs and looks at me over his shoulder. He looks back out of the window before finally turning back to me. He lifts his hands, his palms out toward me.
“Okay, okay. There’s…Harlan left a will,” He says.
I shake my head, shrugging.
“Okay, and?”
A hand drops to his hip as he drags the other through his hair.
“Look, my granddad was incredibly fond of you. He loved Shiloh,” Ransom rambles. “And…and so he wanted to take care of the two of you.”
“Yeah, and I told him that I never wanted his money. That Shiloh was your son and that I would be fine. Y’all know that. He knew that.”
Ransom laughs shortly, shrugging. “He was a stubborn bastard. We all knew that.”
I rub at my temples as the beginnings of a headache rise.
“Get to the fucking point, please.”
“Fuck, okay. Listen,” He says, exasperated.
He places his hands on my shoulders and levels me with a deep stare.
“Amalia. Harlan…he left-- fuck.” He pauses, swallowing thickly. “He left half of his estate to you.”
Next Chapter: Bad Reputation
Divider by: @firefly-graphics
Banners by: @maysdigitalarts
Title card by Me :)
Backup Blog: @thegirlonhamilton
Masterlist
#Ransom Drysdale x Reader#Ransom Drysdale x Black!Character#Black reader#black writer#my writing#black fanfiction#angst#hurt/comfort#chris evans#written by me#written by lyv#Ain't Shit - RD#fanfic#black fanfic#ransom drsydale fanfic
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