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chxrryhansen · 3 months

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౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Cherry’s Cevans One Shot Rec List

here you will find all of my favourite chris evans + characters fanfiction recommendations, i have many more to add and will continue to update this list. Please don’t forget to reblog these amazing writers fics as they deserve so much love!💘💘

Walk On The Wild Side - @hansensgirl

you just wanted to go for a stroll down the road—but he wants you to take a walk on the wild side. (Dark!Chris Evans)

You Better Not Pout, Better Not Cry - @hansensgirl

they know if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake. (Dark!Multi character) - i would add every single one of her fics to this list if i could💘

Sinful Devotion - @evansbby

Lloyd promises to let you go, but he demands a depraved repayment. (In other words, Lloyd pops your cherry)- my favourite writer in the whole universe💘

Smothered With Bliss - @whereireid

Is it hard being married to the most influential man in America? You most certainly think it is. — Steve Rogers: Captain America, the heart of his nation, the soul of his country. After returning home from a particularly bad day at work, Steve finally snaps, deciding you need re-educating on how to be the perfect housewife.

The Night - @misshoneybee

Working as the Barber family's nanny is a piece of cake, but what happens when the dad you've been tip-toeing around all year comes home late one night to find you asleep in his bed, wearing his favorite sweater?

Little Miss Red - @anika-ann

Ransom’s looking for a good time tonight, when you walk through the door, he knows he’ll get it. And you? Oh you’ll get it too. He's going to make sure of it.

Unholy Errand - @buckets-and-trees

You're caught in the crosshairs when a hit goes out for your boss. (Dark!Lloyd Hansen + Dark! God The Bounty Hunter + Ransom Drysdale)

What A Shirt Can Tell - @justalonelyslytherin

5+2 times Colin asked 'Is that my shirt?' plus the one time he got asked it. Aka a look through the journey of Colin and his girl, each in which his shirts play an important role.

Start Again - @wkemeup

A chemical spill, uncontrollable desires rushed to the surface, an unbridled need, and the consequences in the aftermath (Steve Rogers)

Daddy’s Little Pet - @sinner-as-saint

You and Steve are the epitome of ‘opposites attract’. He is the American hero, a super soldier who is known for his bravery, and righteousness and for being the one leading the Avengers. You, on the other hand, are a well-known fashion designer in the city. Creator and owner of your own brand, and elite boutique. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like you and Steve would be compatible. But you surprisingly are. And behind closed doors, in secrecy – you two are each other’s solace, each other’s definition of home. He’s your strong, loving and caring man. And you, his lovely, little pet whom he adores more than life itself.

Good Girls And Skype Calls - @youre-deadangel

chris gives you a treat for behaving.

Afternoon Delight - @christowhore

you're steve's live-in housekeeper and find your boss and his friends having a bbq on a heatwave stricken afternoon. they invite you to join them and show you all the pleasurable ways to cool down from the sun. (SoftDark!Steve Rogers + Sam Wilson + Bucky Barnes)

Got You - @hispeculiartreasure

The two of you had grown close over the last year; first as teammates, then as friends. You had been distant at the start, just as he had. Slowly, agonizingly - blood, sweat, and tears were definitely involved - walls were dismantled. A current of trust ran between you, one which caught Steve by surprise. As dense as he could be about matters of the heart, suspicions of his blossoming romantic feelings being mutual had proven true with a simple kiss. (Sex Pollen, Steve Rogers)

Golden Boy - @bucksfucks

you’ve always called steve the golden boy, but he snaps one night and decides to show you he’s anything but. (Roommate!Steve Rogers)

It Must Be That Old Evil Spirit - @vonalyn

There’s something unsettling about his demeanor but you can’t quite put your finger on it. As if there’s something hiding beneath the surface just waiting to pry its way out of the tight shirt across his broad frame and tear your throat out. Maybe it’s your general unease around others when you’re traveling alone, or maybe it’s just him. (Jack-O-Lantern!Ari Levinson)

Stupid Kitty - @onsunnyside

Your father wrongfully entrusted Lloyd to care for you—it’s too bad he’ll never get you back. (Lloyd Hansen x Cat-Hybrid!Reader)

Manners- Or Lack Of Them - @rogerswifesblog

Ransom wants you, the sweet girl at the bar…but you’re not what he expected you to be. (Sub!Ransom Drysdale + Mommy!Reader)

Shadow Boxer - @mypoisonedvine

you’re stuck in the same destructive cycle with ransom, but maybe you don’t want to get out of it. (Angst + Smut, Ransom Drysdale)

It’s Not A Challenge - @gagmebucky

His jaw ticks. “It’s not a challenge, doll,” he bites out. “It’s a warning. If I tried to get inside you, I’d split you in half in the process.” His eyes flicker down, and your nipples are pebbles against the thin, easily-rippable fabric—you’re testing him, and he’s failing. “Goddamn it,” he hisses underneath his breath. “That - that shouldn’t turn you on.” Bristling, he drops his hand and pedals backward—he’s on his last thread, and it’s his sole chance to make a clear-headed decision. (Boxer!Steve Rogers)

Pretty Princess - @frostironfudge

Andy Barber gets jealous when he presumes you shared a room with one of his associates.

Over And Over - @frostironfudge

Ari Levinson is a possessive man, he'll punish you till you apologise.

Such A Good Boy - @lilacevans

You and Ari attend a business meeting, and at the beginning the other boss you're meeting with just assumes that Ari is the one in charge; however, that's not the case. While you look dainty, angelic, like you couldn't even hurt a fly, you're the one who runs the family and will not hesitate to fuck up anyone who stands in your way. (Puppy!Ari Levinson) - one of my favourite fics EVER.💘

Breathe - @buckyownsmylife

The one where the new co-star is obsessed with the idea of making Chris hers, but he makes sure to show her you’re the only one for him.

Justified - @dbnightingale24

Ransom has always been the center of your world you’ve always been the center of his. However, when he can’t change his ways and you’re tired of the heartbreak, is it really so bad if you think it’s best to walk away? Ransom thinks so. - one of the sweetest most talented writers i have ever met💘

My, My, My - @1800jjbarnes

Stevie couldn't help it. Every time he saw you, he felt himself grow heavy in his slacks. You were everything he needed. And he needed you now.

All The Time - @geminixevans-stan

He is one of the most powerful men on earth but there’s more worse than him (Dark!Lloyd Hansen + Dark!Nick Fowler)

Snack - @katherineswritingsblog

he just wants his snack- which is you.

Watchful Eyes - @espinosaurusrexex

When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself. (CEO!Steve Rogers)

Cherry On Top - @dcllbows

you’ve found your favorite way to help your daddy with his grownup work. (Ddlg, Daddy!Andy Barber)

Voracious - @arilevinsons

The first time he set eyes on you; you were his sudden infatuation. (DarkProfessor!Ari Levinson)

Best Friend’s Dad - @imyourbratzdoll

you've been pining over your best friend's dad and decide to take your chance, knowing he's out and your best friend is asleep, you be a little bit naughty and touch yourself on his bed, not knowing he's coming home early.

The Breeding Ground - @fl0werfae

To others, Ari’s house was a breeding ground for him and his omega, but to him it was just fulfilling her purpose of carrying his pups. (Alpha!Ari Levinson)

My Sweet Pea - @mavsstar

Mr. Levinson lives right next door to you, the sweet, innocent college girl. Little do you know that you're Mr. Levinson's favorite neighbor. He's there every chance you need the slightest of help, maybe a little too much. (Trailer Park Au)

Like A Movie Scene In The Sweetest Dream - @worksby-d

Johnny’s always been on your “no” list, but you've finally agreed to work with him. (Pornstar!Johnny Storm)

Easy As Pie - @navybrat817

You bake pies for Andy, but you're still his favorite treat.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfic #chxrrys fic recs #fic recs #chris evans fic recs #steve rogers fic recs #steve rogers #ransom drysdale #chris evans smut #andy barber #lloyd hansen #ari levinson #johnny storm #steve rogers smut #ari levinson smut

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shannon-foraker · 2 years

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Rereading In Enemy Hands/Rewritten Minecraft Death Messages Style For The Major Villain Deaths

So, I was rereading some of the first part of the baen online edition of In Enemy Hands, for help with my fanfic writing, this week. (Warning: Spoilers for the short story Nightfall). Then I got inspired. This is the result.

Citizen Chairwoman Ransom: The last thing we need is for a politically ambitious admiral (editor's note: Esther McQueen) to put together a real military coup against us (ed. note: Citizen Chairwoman Ransom & Rob Pierre).

Let's see how the next while goes.

Citizen Chairwoman Ransom was blown up as a result of her insanity.

Rob Pierre was shot to death.

Esther McQueen was blown up by Oscar Saint-Just (3rd member of the big three of the Committee).

Thomas Theisman shot and killed Oscar Saint-Just.

(Now why am I getting these feelings that a fic that has McQueen in it could end up interesting, especially if she survives? Is it because I'm trying to write one?)

Does anyone have any good Esther McQueen fic prompts for me?

So, I posted this to my SW blog. Oops.

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darklordofthesimp · 10 months

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Dissonance (Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader)

Part of the "Anything" verse but can be read as a standalone.

Summary: When a mission-gone-wrong leads to a confrontation, Ghost confesses the way that he feels.

A/N: Get a load of the fucking ART OH MY G O D

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Mutual Pining || Tension

Warnings: Graphic Language

Disclaimer: Sunshine is Gender Neutral as always, however I am looking to start showcasing fan art as the cover pieces on fics and it will always be up to the artists discretion to decide what they want their Sunshine/Saint/Birdy to look like.

Like the characters? Birdy Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Such amazing Ghost x Sunshine fan art by @hiskonigin honestly leaves me breathless every single time I swear to God.

___

The mission had gone terribly wrong.

You felt like they always were, these days. Any task or deployment that started off well, started off controlled, they’d fall to pieces the second pressure was applied. It wasn’t all of them, though. Just enough that it had become noticeable to Price and the team. For the life of you, you couldn’t figure out the issue.

But, as you stood nose to nose with the Lieutenant in the shared kitchen, you were beginning to see the common denominator.

“I’m not doing this with you again, Riley,” you snapped. “I’m fucking sick of this conversation.”

Simon’s fists clenched by his side, “I say when this conversation is done, not you.”

Your eyes narrowed, grinding your teeth in an attempt to keep your mouth shut. You’d been warned by Price about your insubordination but the urge to risk it all was at an all-time high. Simon Riley was insufferable.

“Yes,” you ground out miserably, “Sir.”

The officer took a step toward you, unrest buzzing beneath his skin. You could feel the discourse running in his blood, you could sense the unreasonable rage that burned in his chest. You knew it because you knew him on a plane that nobody else would understand. You’d related to him. You’d experienced it all, too.

“You’re a fucking pain in my ass,” he snapped.

Yet… every time. Every time.

Rejection pinched your heart but the feeling was almost hollow. You’d been hurt by Simon so many times that you could almost say that you were numb to it. It’s not as though you were chasing his approval, it was that you were never going to earn it. You couldn’t get civility, you couldn’t get anything from him.

You were tired.

Things had changed, everything had changed since the incident. You’d been kidnapped, held ransom, beaten and battered, and then left to die in favour of your teammate. It was ironic that Simon had been the one to save you; it felt like he regretted it some days.

The fire that burned beneath the skin had dimmed and you felt out of place. There was only so much you could take and you could feel that breaking point creeping up on you. It was foul that you were treated with the same hostility as König, your only crime was being brought onto the team.

Your only crime was that you weren’t Birdy.

“Okay,” you rasped, nodding your head. “Noted. Am I dismissed?”

Simon took in a deep breath, eyes steady on yours. He didn’t waver and you knew that he had more to say. There was always more venom with Simon, quiet with others but angry with you. Always so angry.

“Dismissed.” Ghost confirmed. When you turned on your heel, the man spoke up from behind you. “First parade tomorrow is 0700 at the gym with Birdy and König for training.”

You whirled around as fast as you’d gone to leave. “Sorry?”

Simon barely blinked. “You heard me.”

“I have the day off tomorrow,” you snapped, “we all have the day off tomorrow.”

The officer only shook his head. “Learn to follow orders and you’ll earn a day off.”

Your chest burned, blood rushed to your head and you wanted nothing more than to just scream. You wanted to grip Simon by his stupid shoulders and shake him until that fucking mask fell from his face. You wanted to beat on his dumb fucking chest until you knocked some sense into him.

“I’m sick of this, Riley.” Your voice shook as you raised a finger. “I’m fucking sick of this.”

“Imagine how I feel, Sunshine,” the LT drawled, turning to leave like he hadn’t just ruined your night- like he ruins every night.

You couldn’t breathe. The sensation of being alone, of being rejected over and over by the people that are meant to be the closest to you. You’d never stopped experiencing that particular pain. From your parents to your first few units, and now, to this.

To the 141.

To Simon Riley.

“I won’t be there,” you rasped. The words escaped from between your lips before you could catch them. “I’m not going.”

Your Lieutenant shifted his body to face you again, eyes square on yours. You couldn’t care less about the murder in his eyes, you couldn’t care less about the chill drifting along your spine. You didn’t care about anything anymore.

If they wanted to treat you like some erroneous outsider, then you would act like one.

“What?” It was low, almost whispered, but you heard him loud and clear.

You glared up at him, moving forward until you were only inches from him. You could taste his unrest, the shift in his body language, you could almost hear him grit his teeth. You didn’t care. His upset meant nothing to you, he meant nothing to you.

“You heard me.” You dared him to do something. Anything. “I’m not doing shit for you people anymore. Especially you. I’m never doing anything for you again.”

“That’s what you’ve been asked,” he snapped, “your job and nothing else.”

“I’m trying!” You all but shrieked. You felt the tether to your calm demeanour beginning to slip from your fingers. “I’ve been doing nothing but trying and it’s never enough for you.”

Your lips trembled as you gasped for air. Adrenaline was rushing through your system and you prayed that he wouldn’t push you over the edge you teetered along. You felt the unfamiliar tingle along your nose and cheeks, the tell-tale signs of angry tears.

Don’t say anything, you begged internally.

But, if there was one thing Simon was good at it was disappointing you.

“If you have to try that hard then maybe you’re in the wrong place, Sunshine.”

Something inside you snapped.

Tension slingshotted from where it had been building in your chest and landed straight onto your tongue, tasting of venom and fury. Rage washed over you, tears spilling from your lashes as you pushed a finger into his chest.

“Maybe I am.” You finally admitted to your own fears but you wouldn’t be conceding peacefully. There was too much you had to say, too much spite poisoning your lungs to leave it there.

“Maybe this is the wrong fucking place,” you nodded, “because it’s just a fucking high school in here. Everyone’s fucking someone, everyone’s in love with someone and everyone hates someone.”

The LT said nothing as you pushed him hard, stepping back from the force beneath your palms.

“I can’t do anything right because I’m not Birdy,” your voice was warbled as you shouted, thick with tears and anger alike. “König can’t do anything right because of a mistake from the brass, Birdy can’t recover because they’re being babied, and you can’t be unbiased because you want to fuck Birdy!”

“What?” Simon hissed, but the word was lost on you. You hadn’t even heard him as you pushed him again and again. He let you shove him, let you gain ground on him until his back was pressed against the wall.

“And you!” Your voice cracked beneath the volume. “I’ve done everything for you, risked everything for you!”

“I never asked you-”

“You didn’t have to!” It was a sob. It was a confession.

Simon’s jaw fell slack from beneath his mask.

“I’d do anything for you,” you finally fell to a whisper. “We both know that.”

The man took in a shuddered breath from beneath your palms. He was pressed hard into the wall with your hands splayed across his chest as though readying yourself for another attack.

But then they fell slack.

Then they left his body completely.

He shivered at the loss.

“I hate you,” you took a step back, body shaking from emotional overload. You had so much more to say, so much hatred built up over the months. There was just no energy to deliver them anymore.

And, the more you thought about it, maybe it wasn’t hatred. Maybe it was just hurt.

The realization that you would never be loved, never be accepted- the understanding that you would never be the first choice. Always an afterthought, always a hindrance.

A self-sabotaging menace that no one could tolerate.

“You’re right. I don’t belong here.” You affirmed, sorrow forming a pit in your stomach as you finally came to understand. “But, I want you to know that you made this every inch as miserable as it’s been, you selfish cunt.”

The insult fell like a gavel between you.

You half expected Simon to yell. You almost wanted him to. A reaction would be better than the silence filling the small space between you both.

The air grew heavy with tension the longer the quiet continued. Your fingers twitched at your side, the understanding that this was the end of it all. The end of the farce that he’d put on in the hospital, the short pretence of caring.

You supposed people did crazy things when lives are at stake.

Maybe he only pitied you when he’d spoken those words, the sentence you’d been hanging onto for weeks.

“I would follow you anywhere. We both know it.”

The only thing that Simon followed you with was dissonance.

“Nothing?” Your voice cracked and wavered. “Got nothing to say?”

Simon didn’t move, didn’t say a word, he didn’t even blink. You supposed you’d been expecting too much. The man never gave you anything when you needed it, when you were desperate for a sign. His silence was infuriating.

“Yeah,” you said, wobbly and broken. “Of course, you don’t, you fucking coward. Never do when it matters.”

You took another step away from him, forcing yourself to detach from the situation. The longer you stayed the longer you craved a response, you felt like he owed it to you. But no one is entitled to anything and you sure as fuck weren’t about to let yourself fall into that mentality.

The man before you brought out the worst in you.

As you were readying yourself to turn around, Simon Riley finally spoke.

“Are you finished?”

Your jaw fell slack. “Excuse me?”

Ghost pushed himself off the wall, inches from you in what felt like a second. You could barely catch your breath at the sudden proximity, the overwhelming sense of being in his presence. The feeling of being on the back foot beneath him, rather than the one in control, was intoxicating.

“I said,” he repeated, stormy eyes bearing into yours, “Are you finished?”

Each word was enunciated, a pause in between that felt like a beat on your chest every time. You were, in all honesty, flabbergasted. There was no better way to put it.

You couldn’t even string together a sentence to come back at him with, really. The audacity that it took to reply to everything you had said with such an arrogant question made your blood simmer beneath your skin.

Simon took your silence as a confirmation that you were, in fact, finished.

“Can I talk now, Sunshine?” He growled, stepping closer into your space as if there were any more room for him to fit. You receded, feeling as though you were gasping for air that wasn’t tainted by the taste of him. “You gonna let me talk?”

You said nothing as he walked you backward, desperately wanting to dig your heels into the ground. When your back hit the wall you looked up at Simon with wide eyes, hands hovering over his chest.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna talk now,” the LT deliberated mockingly, nodding his head as though he’d given you the choice. The sarcasm dropped from his tone when he spoke next. “You have no fucking clue, Sunshine. You’re a fuckin’ clueless idiot, is what you fuckin’ are.”

Tears burned in your eyes, collecting on your lash line against your will. Had he really trapped you against a wall just to shatter you further? Did he really hate you that much?

His gloved hands came to grip your own and you flinched away, the back of your head thudding against the drywall. Simon’s eyes narrowed, pressing your trembling fingers against the thin shirt covering his chest.

You could feel his heartbeat. To your shock, it wasn’t steady.

His heart was racing.

You met his gaze once more, watching as his eyes trailed the lone tear on your cheek.

“You’re an idiot.” He repeated but, this time, his voice was a whisper. “You have no fucking clue.”

You wanted to say something, anything. You wanted to believe what he implied, you wanted to hold onto it with the hope that you’d had so many times before.

Unfortunately, vague confessions and sweet nothings weren’t enough anymore.

Simon knew it, too.

“I can sit here correcting half the shit you’ve said,” he shook his head. “But I’m not gonna bother ‘cos I agree with you.”

Your heart dropped.

“Don’t look at me like that, let me finish.” Simon rasped, his fingers tightening against yours. “You’re right about it all, ‘bout it being a fuckin’ high school. König wants Birdy, Price wants Saint, Soap wants Gaz, and everyone’s a fucking bitchy cunt to someone on the team.”

You blinked at the last couple that he’d mentioned.

“But,” he shook his head, gaze heavy on your skin. “I’m not targeting you because I don’t think you belong. And I don't. Want. Birdy.”

You made a small noise, embarrassment burning flush along your neck. You cast your eyes to the side and took in a shuddering breath.

“I don’t give a fuck who you want-” You began, the lie falling shakily from your lips.

“Yes, you do.” Simon interrupted sharply. You looked up at him quickly, ready to defend yourself. “Because I give a fuck about who you want, too.”

“Why?” You blurted, heart thrashing in your chest when he shoots you a pointed glare.

“Come on, Sunshine, don’t play dumb.”

“Then don’t be a coward, Simon.”

The LT raised a brow, gripping your hands tightly at your words. The beating beneath your palms picked up in speed, reminiscent of a racehorse sprinting towards the finish line. You’d never have picked his anxiety if you were just watching him, those dead eyes unwavering.

Maybe, that was why he let you feel it… feel him.

He wanted you to know, he wanted to show you in the only way that he could- in the only way you would trust.

Simon Riley was laying himself bare.

“I give a fuck because,” he paused, loosing a shaky breath. He blinked, finally. Those blonde lashes fluttered as his eyes scoured the features of your face, building the courage to spill his honesty to you. “I give a fuck because I want you, Sunshine.”

There it was.

You were frozen, suspended in time with your hands on his chest and your face inches from his. The taste of his words lingered on your tongue as you took him in with every trembling breath.

“I give you a hard time,” Simon nodded, “I do. You put yourself in these fuckin’ situations to save me and I can’t do anything to protect you.”

And, as if someone had turned on the lights, everything suddenly became clear.

The time he’d been so furious that he barged into your room after a mission to berate you. “I could have lost you,” he’d said, “You would have died and it would have been on me.”

That shattering incident where you’d fought in the kitchen, “I don’t need you to save me!” Ghost had snapped, smacking your cup from the table. “I don’t need anything from you.”

And, of course, this mission. This whole debacle had started because you’d recovered him from an ambush.

“This whole time…” You rasped, “I thought you hated me.”

Simon scoffed, the sound bitter on his tongue. “No. I just hated the way I felt. The way I feel.”

You opened your mouth to speak, your fingers pressing into the skin of his chest. These months had you doubting yourself, had you wondering what you could have done so wrong to deserve this treatment. The embarrassment of wanting someone that couldn’t stand you was crippling.

But now… now as his eyes bore into yours, begging you to say something wordlessly. The way his body was on edge, waiting for your response, fearing your rejection. How could you be asked to articulate anything? How were you meant to formulate a sentence?

You wanted to tell him how you felt, you wanted to tell him everything.

You wanted him.

But the craving to put your hands on his skin, to taste his confession on his lips, to show him what he meant to you, it was overwhelming. You wanted him to understand how you felt in a way that he’d never doubt, in a way that would explain why you were constantly risking yourself for him.

You knew he understood when his hands moved to grip your waist.

“Oh, my God.”

You leapt away, your body thumping into the wall as the spell broke between yourself and the Lieutenant.

“Oh, my God!” Birdy said again, hands coming up to their eyes hesitantly as they stumbled back and forth in the doorway. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

You groaned, dropping your chin to your chest as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Relax,” Simon coughed, his fingers trailing along your skin until they fell by his sides again, slow and hesitant. “Just- We were debriefing.”

You could hear footsteps approaching from down the hall and the urge to throw yourself out the window grew exponentially. Out of all the times for these two idiots to make an appearance, they had to pick the most paramount moment. It was as though they were the main characters and you were simply a side-plot, cursed to never be able to develop further than the main story-line.

You glanced up at Ghost who offered you a similar expression, unimpressed.

König cast a shadow over the intruder as he rounded the corner to the kitchen, undoubtedly investigating the commotion. His eyes fell on Birdy first, watching as their hands came up and down from their face, unsure whether they were allowed to look. Then, jade eyes moved to observe Ghost who hadn’t moved from his position posted next to your flushed body.

“Oh…” König murmured, realization slowly dawning as he returned his gaze to Birdy. “Oh.”

Gigantic hands reached to gently but firmly tug on the back of the stumbling sniper’s shirt. He offered an apologetic wave as he began to drag Birdy from the room, the latter still sputtering embarrassed atonements.

“It’s okay,” you slipped out from your space between Simon and the wall. “I was just leaving anyway.”

You quickly moved towards the door, wiping away any remaining tears from your face roughly. Just as you reached the exit, you realized that you’d left the man hanging. What if he thought that you were rejecting him? What if he went back to hating you?

What if you missed your chance?

You paused, turning to look over your shoulder.

Simon was already watching you, eyes soft and his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.

“Don’t worry,” he offered. “I’ll catch up, Sunshine.”

You hid your smile as you turned back around and continued.

You left the room embarrassed, sure. But, you also left with newfound hope and a promise.

You left with the promise of Simon Riley.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 ghost #cod mw2 x reader #mw2 x reader #cod ghost #call of duty x reader #ghost call of duty #Call Of Duty MW2

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bigtreefest · 3 months

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Fic Rec Masterlist

*This list is constantly being edited as I read more that’s so good I feel the need to share

Fluff 💞| Smut 🔥| Angst 🧊 | ST’s Favorite 🌟

Bucky Barnes

Series

🌟An Offer by @wntrs0ldier

I Thought You’d Never Happen to Me by @nickfowlerrr

Van Helsing Retold 🧊by @gaysindistress

New Tricks by @sebstanwhore

The List by @srgntjamesbuckybarnes

Catch Me if You Can by @buckyalpine

Treat You Better by @notafunkiller

Wedded Bliss by @gutsby

I Think He Knows by @delicatebarness

One-Shots

Wrapped Around Him by @angrythingstarlight

Back Again by @delaber

Are You Bored Yet? By @pellucid-constellations

Curiosity Killed the Cat by @queers-gambit

My Everyday by @pellucid-constellations

Traitor (technically a 2-shot) 🧊🔥 by @insomniumstella

Details by @soulgazingwithbucky

When we are Older by @buckys-wintersoldier

Hell Hath no Fury Like a Farmer Scorned by @eat-limes-bitches

You Know Just What I Need by @sinner-as-saint

Right Here by @ellemj

I Hate You by @ellemj

My First and Only by @buckyalpine

Bake Nights by @jobean12-blog

Steve Rogers

Series

Reckless 💞🔥🧊 by @kinanabinks

The Gemini by @rogersideup

One-shots

With You by @buckets-and-trees

I’m So, So… Sorry by @ronearoundblindly

Stucky

Series

The Brooklyn Boys by @buckets-and-trees

Backstage Pass by @luxeavenger

Mafia!Stucky by @myfictionaldreams

The Fuckboy Committee by @kinanabinks

Ari Levinson

Series

Highways & Heatstrokes (trucker AU) 🔥 by @oh-my-damn

🌟Bedrock and Blueprints by @ronearoundblindly

Sweet Renegade by @cevansbrat0007

Being in Love (ex Bucky) by @imtryingbuck

Pearls & Sunflowers by @chase-your-dreams-away

Flamingo King by @onsunnyside

One-Shots

Stoner sex 🔥 by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

I’ll Wait, Angel by @buckyscombatboots

Jake Jensen

Series

One-Shots

A Helping Hand by @buckymorelikefuckme

Curtis Everett

Series

Live Is Short So Make It Sweet by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

I Know I Should Know Better by @krirebr

Dream Come True by @thezombieprostitute

One-Shots

Andy Barber

Series

Like I’m Gonna Lose You (with Ransom Drysdale) by @paperweight91

One-shots

Ransom Drysdale

Series

Precarious Agreements by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

The Root of All Ransom by @ronearoundblindly

More Than This by @krirebr

One-Shots

Afterglow by @stargazingfangirl18

Johnny Storm

Colin Shea

Sprawling Multi-character AUs

Lucky Charms by @yenzys-lucky-charm

We’re All Monsters by @krirebr @paperweight91

Come Hell or High Water by @imaginedreamwrite

#Bucky Barnes #Steve rogers #Ari Levinson #Jake Jensen #Curtis Everett #fic rec Masterlist #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Steve rogers fanfiction #Ari Levinson fanfiction #Jake Jensen fanfiction #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fanfiction #Curtis Everett fanfiction #stucky #stucky fanfiction #chris evans #sebastian stan

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dbnightingale24 · 3 months

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The Dog House Isn’t The Best, But It Can Still Be Our Home

Final installment to 'Pavlov's Dog'

Part 3

I told you guys I'd post it at some point 🥴 I'm honestly so sorry this took so long to post, but last year got really dark for me and everything just kind of took a backseat. Thank you so much for your patience, and thank you to all of you who checked up on me. It means more than I'll ever be able to express. Thank you @fuckingbye for being an amazing friend, and for also making this amazing moodboard. You are a saint and I love to the ends of the earth. Without further ado, here's the final chapter!

Word Count: 71,942 (yes, you read that correctly)

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY), Public Sex, Semi Public Sex, Drinking, Smoking, Swearing, Daddy Kink, Angst, Heartbreak, Mild Violence, FLUFF, Lying, Betrayal...I think that's it?

Song(s) That Inspired This Chapter: Will You Take Me Back In The Morning If I Promise To Never Act This Way Again?

I do not give consent/permission for my works/stories to be posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior, this is for entertainment purposes only.

“You can’t keep going on like this, babe,” Daisy sighs sympathetically as she takes a seat next to the bathtub.

“It doesn’t matter,” you shrug as you take a drag of your cigarette, “none of it fucking matters.”

“Babe, it’s been two weeks. You do the same thing every day. You get up, eat the smallest bit of food, you sit out on your back deck and smoke until you decide to start drinking, then you draw yourself a bath and drink and smoke in it until you decide it’s too cold, or I come and get you. You can’t keep doing this.”

“I don’t even have a reason to be mad at him, do I?” you scoff incredulously before taking a drag from your cigarette, “it’s not like he lied. He didn’t even know, so I have no reason to be this upset, do I?”

“He was a complete and total asshole,” she states firmly, “and you have every reason to be upset with his actions. Yeah, it was a shit show, but he definitely could’ve handled it better.”

“The shit he said right in front of that child, even if it isn’t his, were so fucking cruel! No child deserves to be spoken to like that, and he of all people should know that!”

“Babe-”

“After everything we talked about on that trip...it’s like it didn’t even matter to him. He didn’t even care.”

“I’m sure he was just shocked-”

“That’s not an excuse, Dais.”

“I never said it was, but c’mon: it’s Ransom. You really think he was thinking clearly? Linda and Marta were there and I’m more than sure he was afraid of losing you, then Marta drops a fucking bomb on him, and it sounds like she did it on purpose, if I’m honest. Just to fuck him over.”

“Daisy, I just-”

“BABY, PLEASE ANSWER THE DOOR AND TALK TO ME!” Ransom calls desperately as he bangs on your front door.

Like clockwork.

“Why can’t he understand that I need time? I don’t owe him shit,” you start to sniffle as your tears fall, and you grab the bottle of tequila that lives by the bathtub now, and take a long drink from it.

“I’ll get rid of him, just please...please get up and do something,” Daisy begs desperately.

“Ya know, you’re wrong,” you say as she reaches the doorway, finally looking at her, “I put on makeup today,” you smile weakly.

She lets out a humorless laugh before disappearing and you hear her footsteps quickly making their way downstairs.

Since everything that took place on his doorstep, you haven’t spoken to or seen him. You don’t know what to say or how to handle the situation. He’s been calling and texting non-stop since it all happened, and every two days he comes by to visit, and Daisy tells him to leave you alone every time.

But you can’t keep avoiding him.

No, you don’t know what the right thing to do is, but you know that avoiding him is the wrong thing, and you can’t keep letting Daisy handle these issues for you. You have to at least speak to him, but say what? Do what? It’s not like you have any real right to be mad at him. It’s not like he cheated on Marta with you, he didn’t cheat on you with her, he clearly didn’t know he had a child so he didn’t keep it from you, and he did defend you to Linda. However, that doesn’t change the things he said to that child.

Possibly his child.

“He’s not my son and this isn’t fucking funny!”

“We can take a test if you want, but he is your son!”

“Well, I don’t want him! You wait...however many years to tell me about him, and you sure as shit don’t need any money, so why now?!”

“He deserves to know who his Father is, Ransom! He’s a Drysdale and-”

“Watch it,” Ransom warns with a foreboding tone.”

God, how could he be so cruel to a child, after all of the talks you two have had? He’s always cruel though, isn’t he? To you, to Marta, his own son (the resemblance is too strong for that boy to not to be his child), and fuck it, even Jack. He can’t ever seem to control his temper and, if he can’t do that, what chance do you two have together?

Still, he owns your heart and you don’t know how to get it back at this point. You don’t know and you don’t wanna know.

“Ransom, you have to stop coming around!” you hear Daisy yell, and you sigh before taking another drink from the bottle.

“You can’t stop me from me seeing her, Daisy! She’s my girlfriend!”

“Bullshit! You two never made it official-”

“Daisy, stay out of it! Let me see her!”

“No! She’s not ready to see you and you can’t force-”

“I’m not forcing anything-”

“What do you think this is?! Showing up because she won’t answer your calls or texts, and demanding to see her?! Leave her alone!”

“You can’t stop me-”

“Let him in!” you call, lighting a cigarette as you use your tip toes to turn the water back on, and heat up your water just a bit.

Who the hell knows how this is gonna go?

You hear the both of them speedily stomping up the steps, but Daisy get there first and says, “are you sure? You don’t have to-”

“I can’t keep letting you fight my battles,” you smile weakly at her as you turn the water off.

“Babe-”

“I have to deal with this at some point. I can do this,” you all but mumble not believing yourself as you take a drag of your cigarette.

“I’ll be in the room over,” she sighs softly before turning, “fuck you Drysdale!”

“Fuck you!”

You hear her slap him and shake your head. Nothing can ever be simple, can it?

“Sweet Thing, please-” he starts as soon as he makes his way into your bathroom.

“Ransom...don’t,” you quickly interrupt. “This isn’t just some small disagreement.”

“I didn’t even know I had a child!”

“I could’ve dealt with that, Ransom! It would’ve taken some time, but I honestly could’ve dealt with that! It’s the way you spoke about him in front of him!”

“I don’t want him!”

“You didn’t have to say it in front of him! Jesus, it’s not his fault that you’re a selfish bastard! He didn’t ask to be born, and Marta-”

“She did this out of spite! Not because she wants me to be apart the child’s-”

“Be that as it may, he didn’t do anything! Basically telling her that she has no right calling him a Drysdale, when he is in fact a Drysdale! Ransom, I know you’re rough around the edges, but for fucks sake! All the talks we’ve had about our own fucked up childhoods and you do this?! You just...I don't fucking get it with you, Ransom!”

“What is there to get?! We fucking talked about this, Y/N! I’m not-”

“That’s no excuse for this! You took it too far and I...Ransom, I can’t-”

“Don’t you fucking say it,” he warns as his eyes start welling up with tears. “Don’t you fucking say that to me!”

“Ransom...I love you, but I can’t be the only good thing in your life. The only person you like,” you sob, sitting up and ashing your cigarette in the ash tray resting on the little table near by.

“WHY NOT?!”

“It’s too much fucking pressure! It’s too much pressure, and I can’t keep watching you be terrible to people because you had a rough childhood! You having a rough go of it doesn’t mean you get to walk all over people for the rest of your life!”

“Listen, give it a few days and you’ll see-”

“No, Ransom. This is done. I can’t do this with you anymore. You have to grow up at some point, and I refuse to mother you.”

“Y/N...you’ll see...you don’t mean it. You always say you’re done and you come back-”

“I can’t anymore. All of this just hurts too much. You keep finding new ways to hurt me, even when you don’t mean to, and I just...you’re cruel, Ransom. You’re cruel, you’re a bully, and you will hurt anyone by doing anything. I know there’s good in you, because you’ve let me see it time and time again, but you refuse to let others in, even in the slightest and I just...please don’t call me anymore,” you sob pathetically. “Don’t call, don’t text, don’t come by...we’re done.”

“You don’t mean this-”

“Don’t make it harder than it has to be, please. Just let me go,” you beg softly as you wipe your eyes.

“You’ll see. In a week or so, you’ll see and I’ll be waiting. I’ll wait and everything will be as it should, again,” he smiles weakly, wiping his own eyes.

“Ransom-”

“I’ll call you in a few weeks, okay, Sweet Thing,” he promises, making his way over to the bathtub. “I love you and I’ll talk to you.”

He cups your face and kisses you passionately and you’re so tempted to pull him into the tub with you, but you know you’ve got to stop. You left one toxic relationship just to jump into a different type of toxic relationship.

“Ransom,” you breathe once you two break apart, “please-”

“I’ll talk to you in a few weeks,” he promises with a sniffle before standing up and walking out.

“Ransom-”

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” he repeats, his voice cracking as he continues on his way out.

Daisy is back inside and by your side instantly, climbing into the tub and holding you close as you cry uncontrollably, as you try to come to terms with the choice you’ve just made. Yeah, he’s right in saying that you always come back, but that’s not the case this time.

You need to stay away from him for good.

The fact that he has it in his head that all of this will be sorted out in a few weeks, lets you know that this is only the calm before the storm. As both you and Daisy lean back into the tub, and she holds you close while you cry into her shoulder, there’s only one question going through your head:

How the hell are you supposed to quit the love of your life?

4 Years Later...

You can read the rest of the story here

taglist: @whiskeytangofoxtrot555, @companionjones, @autumnrose40, @fuckingbye, @pono-pura-vida, @nomadstucky, @mazda098, @chemtrails-club, @bree-lyrie, @mjey12, @charlottiedawson, @fenixstar , @thickania

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georgiapeach30513 · 8 months

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Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

This year's Kinktober is going to be featuring moodboards that YOU guys help decide. Each of these were created by the moodboard events. Each day in the month of October you will get a new ONE shot. These are not one big universe. Each one will be a stand alone story. Without further adieu

The Girls Come Easy with Lloyd Hansen/Mickey Henry/Clark Kent Just Pull the Trigger with Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Take A Look with Paul Diskant The Spike in My Heart with Cole Turner We Don't Need No Thought Control with Ransom Drysdale Take the Time with Bucky Barnes This Hole In My Chest with Johnny Storm Losing My Mind with Ryan Ackerman Kiss the Stars with Ari Levinson An Open Page with Jefferson Nasty Naughty Boy with Andy Barber/Cole Turner Things I Can't Escape with Johnny Storm Last Night with Colin Shea Watch & See with Kyle How You Scream My Name with Jake Jensen No Privacy with Johnny Storm He Offers Me Protection with Dean Winchester/Soldier Boy Saints and Sinners with Curtis Everett Keep Coming Back For More with Lucas Lee Diamonds In His Watch with Steve Kemp Warm Up To Me with James Mace In Mysterious Ways with Mr. Freezy/Steve Kemp Fade Away with Ari Levinson It's Yours All Yours with Andy Barber Cause We're All Alone with Dayton White When I Crack That Whip with Mike Weiss What Lightning Sees with Frank Adler The Way You Did Last Night with Jimmy Dobyne Made To Be Mine with Jake Wyler Double Shot of Crown with Chase Collins Fear the Reaper with Ransom Drysdale/Curtis Everett

A/N: This one shots will have various forms of kink. They will range from sweeter kinks to dark. Read ALL warnings before each one shot. You are the one responsible for the content that you consume. Minors DNI!

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #chris evans #sebastian stan #henry cavill #jensen ackles

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holylulusworld · 1 month

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The widow (2)

Summary: You trust no one. Not since they got your husband killed.

Pairing: TFaTW!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions death of a loved-one, mentions of s miscarriage (no description), the reader is under protection, bitchy reader, arguments, grumpy Bucky, angst, grief

The widow masterlist

The Widow (1)

Over the next few days, you stayed in your bedroom. The confrontation with Bucky, and defending your dead husband drained all the energy you had left from your body.

You lost your appetite and didn’t even try to get up from bed to have a shower. It’s not a secret that you reek, and need to clean yourself up but you just can’t find the strength to do more than mourn the loss of Ransom all over again.

“She didn’t leave the room for days?” Sam throws his hands up. “I know you and her were butting heads from the moment you met, but we are responsible for her. Y/N had nothing to do with her husband’s crimes. She’s an innocent victim and lost more than her husband that day.”

“What else did she lose, huh?” Bucky huffs. “The money? Or all the shiny things. Maybe her pretty dresses and expensive shoes.”

“Bucky, why are you so angry at her?” Sam questions. “From the very beginning, you attacked her without a reason.”

“Because she’s a spoiled brat and cries over her criminal husband. I lost people too – good people. People who protected people all her life!”

“Her husband was a good person too,” Sam gets louder and starts to argue with his hands. “He did everything to protect his wife. Ransom Drysdale committed most of the crimes he got arrested for after they threatened his wife.”

“That’s what he told the cops.” Bucky sneers. He still doesn’t believe you and your husband got tricked by his business partners.

“Bucky, I know blaming you for your past was a low blow,” Sam’s features soften, and he puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “But man, she’s an innocent bystander, and she’s grieving. Y/N did not only lose her husband that day, but her unborn child too. Her future got ripped out of her hands by the people claiming to protect them.”

Bucky feels like someone punched him in the guts. He looks at Sam, feeling like a monster. “Her baby?”

“Ransom protected her with his body, but she still got shot,” Sam lowers his voice. “One of the bullets hit her belly and…”

“She lost the baby,” Bucky whispers, as he looks anywhere but at Sam. “You should’ve told me so, Sam.”

“Why? Only because she lost her baby doesn’t make her a saint,” Sam can’t help but snap at his friend. “I didn’t think her losses would stop you from blaming her for all the things happening to her.”

“Sam, I’m not like that.” Bucky tries to argue. “ You know that.”

“Yeah?” Sam cocks his head and looks Bucky up and down. “How about you prove you are not a stubborn and unfair bastard.”

“I still don’t like her,” Bucky points his index finger at Sam. “But I’ll try to do better.”

Bucky enters your room after he knocks a few times. You didn’t tell him to get fucked as usual and he’s worried you tried to escape or worse, hurt yourself.

“I’m coming in,” he says and opens the door. Bucky finds it unlocked because you didn’t want him to tear the door down for a third time. “I hope you are dressed.”

He waits for a heartbeat, and another before finally stepping inside the room.

“Sam is downstairs and needs to talk to you. They will be here in a few days to hear your statement.”

Bucky walks toward the bed, finding you in the same position as last time he sneaked inside your room to check if you are still alive.

“Come on, don’t be a brat, redress, and come downstairs for breakfast.”

You don’t react. All you do is stare at the wall and wallow in your pain.

“G-et fucked,” your voice cracks, but you at least tried to get rid of him.

“There she is,” he says and walks around the bed to crouch down right in front of you. Bucky frowns deeply. You are still staring at the wall. “You need to get up and have a shower.” He scrunches up his nose. “When was the last time you showered?”

“Get fucked.”

“Doll, that’s not what’s going to happen,” he carefully moves closer to drag the blanket off your body. You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself. “You need a shower and food. If you don’t get out of the bed yourself, I’ll grab you and put you under the spray.”

You huff. “Just let me rot in dirt and smell. You don’t give a fuck about me.”

“Yeah, but you smell bad, and I don’t want Sam to get mad at me,” he smirks when you turn your back on him. “Oh, we are on cold-shoulder terms already. Good. That’s progress.”

You don’t like that he’s talkative today. Something must’ve happened, and you wonder what your prison guard is up to today. “Let me sleep.”

“You slept enough over the last days,” he says and grasps for you. You’re too tired and weak to fight him. You end up in his arms.

“Let me down,” you say, and wiggle in his grip, but you don’t stand a chance against a super-soldier. Bucky carries inside the bathroom, laughing as you throw insults at him. “Let me down! I won’t tell you twice!”

“You already did, doll.” He carefully puts you on your feet but blocks your path. “You’ve got two options. Number one, I’ll leave the bathroom and you have a shower. Number two, you act like a brat, and I’ll scrub your smelly ass clean.”

“You wouldn’t dare putting your hands on me!” Your nostrils flare, and you’re about to attack a much stronger opponent.

“Have a shower, and I’ll change the sheets. Sam brought you fresh clothes and toiletries.” Bucky turns to leave. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes to get clean, or I’ll take down the door and scrub you clean.”

“Get fucked,” you weakly reply. Today is not the best day for a fight or any kind of interaction with other people. You only want to go back to bed and hide from the world.

Bucky glances at you one last time before leaving the bathroom. Something seems to be off with you, but he doesn’t have the time nor the patience to ask you what’s wrong.

“Y/N, hi,” Sam walks toward you to tell you about the latest development in your husband’s case. “How have you been?”

You shrug and walk past Sam.

“You could at least answer his damn question.” Bucky curses himself for his slip of the tongue. He promised Sam to try better and just started a fight again.

You yawn and walk toward the small kitchenette. “He’s still my prison guard, and my husband is still dead. Everything remains the same. What about you? Any plans on killing me yet?”

Bucky watches you grab a bottle of water and an apple before you walk back upstairs to hide in your bedroom.

“What’s wrong with her?” Bucky frowns deeply. He was waiting for a snarky comeback or a witty comment coming from you.

“Bucky, leave her alone,” Sam shakes his head. “Today is her wedding anniversary. It’s the worst day to mess with her. Give her time and space.”

Part 3

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #The widow (2)#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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grendel-menz · 5 months

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Ransom Saint my dnd character... an man obsessed with being better than other people

#art #my art #digital art #character design #original characters #ocs #dnd #dnd pc #ransom saint #dungeons and dragons

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frontlinebicepsoftheninth · 1 year

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so i went through and think i found every single title John is ever called throughout the series. i counted sixty-four in total and they follow patterns to a degree, patterns i'm sure someone well versed in classics would be able to draw references to but as far as i can break it down it seems like he gets called a variety of names mixed and matched from these:

- role titles: teacher, master, prince, king, lord, emperor, god, creator, resurrector (interestingly he's never just called "prince," that one always has an adjective attached)

plus

- adjectives: undying, everlasting, resurrecting, holy, divine, kindly, gentle, all-giving

or as the "[role] of":

- locations and events: the nine houses, the nine resurrections, the nine renewals, the house of the first

- people and concepts: dead kings, necromancers, saints, death, resurrection, the unstilled mandible, the sharpest edge

there are also several combative titles only used to describe his relationship with death:

- ransomer, vindicator, scourge

others present him as first and also as physically higher than something:

- first, first among, above, above death, over the river

lastly there are a few that are just any combination of two roles like "[role] our [role]" or "[role] the [role]", as well as two where the pattern is "the [role 1] who became [role 2] and the [role 2] who became [role 1]".

overall i think this is really effective characterization of not only john but the people referring to him, depending on what title they use. Teacher seems to use the most flowery and complex titles and multiple in a row, Harrow says "lord" most often, BOE just calls him by his full name, Ianthe says "god," etc. and a lot of worldbuilding detail is actually revealed from some of them.

full list below the cut (let me know if i'm missing any)!

John

J. G.

E. J. G.

John Gaius

Gaius

Teacher

Master

King

Lord

Emperor

God

Creator

Resurrector

Resurrection

Holy Prince

Most Holy Lord

Prince Undying

King Undying

Lord Undying

Emperor Undying

King Everlasting

King of Necromancers

King over the River

Lord over the River

Resurrector of Saints

Resurrecting Prince

Resurrecting King

Kindly Master

Kindly Emperor

Kindly Lord

Kindly Prince

Kindly Prince of Death

Prince of Death

Ransomer of Death

Scourge of Death

Vindicator of Death

First among Necromancers

Necromancer Divine

Adept Divine

Emperor Divine

Lyctor Divinely Ordained

Necrolord Prime

Necrolord Highest

God the Emperor

God of Dead Kings

God of the Unstilled Mandible

God of the Nine Houses

Lord of the Nine Houses

Emperor of the Nine Houses

Emperor of the Nine Resurrections

King of the Nine Renewals

Lord of the House of the First

Lord of Resurrection

Lord of the Sharpest Edge

Lord above Lords

Lord our Kindly God

Emperor our Lord

Emperor All-Giving

Gentle Emperor

The Emperor who became God and the God who became Emperor

The Man who became God and the God who became Man

First Reborn

God above Death

His Celestial Kindliness

Emperor John Gaius

BONUS (from Pyrrha): Mad bastard

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heli0s-writes · 1 year

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You’re Toxic, I’m Slipping Under

Summary: He bristles, offended. And you try, with as much dignity as you can muster after the last two hours of being fucked blind, to not look so smug about it. “See you next week,” he hums.

A/n: To celebrate Glass Onion coming out, here’s ol’ boy Ransom because I hate him so much :) 4.1k words. Warnings: Smut; mild degradation, spitting, daddy kink; classism; Mind Games with Ransom Hour etc. etc. Please stop reading if you’re not 18+

Your whole apartment building seems to rattle when he arrives thirty minutes late. Like raucous fanfare to announce his appearance, the door slams shut, the latch clicks loudly, and then you hear his heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs.

His shoes are still on—of course they are—stomping your floorboards and dragging in dirt. You can practically see them, the usual suede loafers switched out for leather boots with the late fall chill, and probably mud-caked because he’s thankless like that.

With your attention still on your laptop, already irritated because you’ve been attempting a paper that’s only chased its tail for the last three hours, you ask, “Did you misplace your watch, Ransom?”

Turning, you show him you’re the screen reading 8:32 and blink pointedly, “Is that a yes?”

“Don’t be smart,” he snaps back. “You know I don’t like that.”

Your head’s been a mess of fog, body tense and frustrated for days, and although you’ve always prided yourself on tact and grace—patient like a saint—Ransom manages to bring out the worst. You hiss, “Take your damn shoes off, you know I don’t like that.”

You watch mutely as he does so, not without a sneer here, a shitty comment there. He takes three long steps and plops himself on your bed, hands curling into the quilt, thumbs brushing over the patchwork fabric disparagingly. He pinches a loose thread and begins to pull, tugging slowly at first, and then finding joy in unraveling a line of stitching until nearly three inches rip apart.

“I always thought you needed to replace this thing.” He twirls the string disdainfully, “It’s ugly as sin.”

He pretends he doesn’t know how you obviously love this quilt—handstitched and affectionately made, your damn initials are embroidered into the corner, after all. He’s made a game of testing your patience, gleefully punching at every button as he tries to get you to snap.

Ransom Drysdale Thrombey. You’d met him at one of the Thrombey’s family… functions. Dysfunction, you’d muttered under your breath when Walt beat his cane against the floor in a drunken tirade and Meg ran out back to wolf down a pot cookie that she was supposed to be saving for later.

She was on the cusp of a panic attack, words tumbling out like a car crash, her hand in her beret, then hair, then trembling over her maroon-painted lips.

“God, I’m so sorry— I thought we could just make a pit stop before heading out. The food’s always catered and really good— god… it’s a fucking mess.”

You waved her off because it’s not like you haven’t witnessed at least one aunt having a meltdown during holiday dinner before— family’s just like that—and tried to placate her with, “Can’t be worse than the cousin who asked if we’d be scissoring later.”

Meg’s face twisted in disgust. “Ugh, ew! Fucking Jacob! He’s a skeezy little incel— I swear he’s a moderator on one of those internet forums where they post revenge porn and upskirt vids— honestly, he was adorable two years ago. Then I guess he went through puberty and got radicalized on Youtube.”

You paused as she lit a cigarette and inhaled furiously before realizing that the two of you were thinking of two entirely different cousins.

“I meant the big one, Meg. This one went through puberty twenty years ago.”

“Ew, Ransom,” Meg frowned, “That’s even worse.”

“Ransom? What is he, a Disney villain?”

Leaves crunched behind your back and Meg looked up from flicking ash into the yard toward the sound.

“Let’s be honest, I’ve got the face of a leading man.”

Meg blew smoke at him, as if the fumes were enough to threaten his sensibilities. You figured not, he looked like a cigar smoker anyway—one of those guys who’d dedicate a whole room in their house with the humidity just right to keep them fresh. Rich people shit.

“Go away, Ransom,” she said, to clarify.

“I don’t recall addressing you, Megan.” He took a drawn-out look, lips pursing in scrutiny before lifting a brow, making a real goddamn show about it. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll bite. 400 on the dresser for an hour; you can get yourself something nice.”

You’re still not sure what it was about either your attire or attitude that allowed him to conjure up such an offer.

Maybe it was your shitty jeans and your sweater from freshman year orientation. Maybe you looked like an easy mark to tear down.

His audacity shocked out a laugh from you—a loud, abrupt guffaw that eased Meg enough for her to dip back inside to grab more from her stash. And when she was out of sight, focused on rummaging in the old clock, you responded, “Yeah, okay. I’ll bite back.”

Maybe it was an act of rebellion against your background in contrast to all this excess. The bitter aftertaste of eating bottom shelf food out of necessity for weeks at a time—those awful chicken bouillon packets and dried blocks of instant noodles your first year of college. No one paid for your schooling or housing so learning to balance an over-abundance of classes and a job because you needed to graduate early, needed to spend less money on tuition, meant that you were working yourself to death.

If Youtube radicalized Jacob, then habitually sleeping three hours a night in the campus library and skipping meals to afford textbooks while men like Ransom crashed Maserati’s for fun radicalized you.

So, sure. Game on.

He picked you up the following weekend without anyone knowing and took you somewhere expensive. It was a whirlwind of exorbitant dinners and being quietly sneered at down the straight line of his tall nose bridge. The front door to his bachelor pad shutting but not bothered with locking. Falling into the thousand-count Egyptian cotton bedsheets naked, the skylight’s beam spilling like gold-flecked champagne.

You promised yourself it meant nothing. Just an experiment of unbridled spite. If he wanted to throw money at you, hell, that’s his problem. If he wanted to fuck you, well, you’d give him the best fuck of his life— let him see that despite wealth, at the end of the day, he was flesh and blood trembling for the right stroke.

And sure, he trembled, but it was your mistake to pare it down so simply.

Ransom juggled fuck buddies much longer than you’d been fucking at all. He knew it was best with the right amount of emotion involved. Just enough to yearn. If he laid roses at your feet, kissed your knees featherlight and worked his way up to your jaw, cradled the back of your head, nosed the pulse of your wrist, your collarbones, asked for your eyes on him, and panted the lightest breath of your name at the edge of it all—now who’s fucking who over, sweetheart?

You were out of your depth. He was powerful, older, and more experienced. He touched you in ways that emulated affection—that brought fire and danger. His hands were large and callused at the juncture of his fingers. His pretty mouth was pink, wet, kissed greedy. His sharp eyes took everything in.

But, as you predicted, his moods soon volleyed in every direction as consequence of never being told no, and once the novelty of crazy hot—often angry—sex grew stale, you crashed back down to earth burned out. You ghosted.

“You’re, what…” he called through the door the week after you texted that it was both too much and not enough to carry on with, “breaking up with me? Seriously. This is a fucking joke.”

And you could have practically seen it—how his bottom lip would jut out as his incisors crossed, how his brows would sink when he got angry. He was never belligerent, only calculating.

You told him to leave, and he did, after a single loud kick to the frame, because he’s never begged for anything, and he wasn’t going to start.

The guilt came afterwards, with the bouquet of roses on the doormat, petals scattered around because he’d slammed them down after being ignored again and again, and you swept them inside to throw into a vase next to the three other vases with flowers in various degrees of wilted.

“Breaking up” prickled complicatedly in the middle of your chest, because despite the many shows of affection, you knew you weren’t exactly breaking up. You had never really been with him anyway. People aren’t… with Ransom. They’re towed along by Ransom, dragged by their hair by Ransom. Played with by Ransom until he inevitably gets bored.

It devolved into needless melodrama. Weekly episodes of a teen show with grandiose gestures of toxic relationships perceived as romance. Ransom’s habit of whisking you away, fucking you senseless, turning around to fight with you about any-goddamn-thing he pleased. Dropping off flowers and champagne. Restarting the whole process.

It wasn’t healthy—isn’t healthy, probably, according to most therapists—since he’s here, present-day, in your room, beginning to undress.

You fiddle with the sleeves at your elbows, thumbing cool satin before advancing, arms subconsciously crossed.

He’s only in his underwear now. A pair of nondescript gray boxer briefs fitted on his muscular thighs, taut as he leans back on his palms. He slowly spreads his legs, inviting you between them. His lips purse when you stand passively, knee brushing his bulge, hands resting over his shoulders. He’s warm.

One palm caresses your lower back and the other on himself, gliding up and down. His lids are half open, voice low, “You miss this?”

“No,” which is a lie. You missed it when evenings were boring, half-heartedly nodding to some boy’s drivel about campus life, mind wandering to someone who didn’t look freshly 21, didn’t date like it. Didn’t talk themselves up just to get you into bed.

At least Ransom was honest; he always said exactly what he thought, told you exactly when you were pissing him off, how he was going to teach you a lesson—where he wanted you, how he wanted you, and— a chill races up your arms.

He’s downright smug when he notices.

“No? You prefer sloppy frat boys pawing at you like virgins over me? Every time, you think they might fuck right but, well, you’re always disappointed.” He reaches beneath the short hem of the robe, splays his hand out over your thigh and very slowly feels his way up.

Your eyes shutter as he pulls you forward, gripping tightly and massaging up toward your ass. The pit of your belly is tightening, the rest trying to push down being too eager for him all over you, his broad shoulders, his strong hands, how he bends his grasp on your shoulder, fixes you in a perfect curved arch just the way he likes.

Ransom noses the robe out of his path, sinking his teeth lightly down until he scrapes a line over your breastbone, laying his face gently down like a child—like a lover.

“You know,” he begins, taunting again, “You make a… face.” He says it as he trails down beneath the swell of one breast, letting your nipple graze his cheek, before he presses a kiss to your ribcage. Hot like a brand, searing into your belly. And then he bites.

You flinch, hand going to his hair to pull him away. He throws his head back into your grasp, eyes glittering and amused. He quickly works your thighs apart, dipping two fingers between and sinking into your heat.

“There it is,” he chuckles when your eyes flutter, “Yeah... Really gets me off.”

You’re in his lap before you know it, your hold on him fallen off and now scrambling for his wide shoulders to hold yourself steady. He’s got you leaned back on his thighs, hanging off the edge of the bed and perfectly helpless, the only thing planting you even close to secure are your folded knees, your arms around his neck. He’s shushing you, one large hand on the small of your back, the other still working inside your pussy.

He says, “Calm down unless you want to fall,” but it’s goddamn hard when your heart is pounding with equal parts fear and arousal. He’s sucking on your tits, balancing you just precariously enough to thrill, fingering you all the while—like it’s nothing to him, like you’re an object he can manipulate however he pleases.

His cock is erect, flexing against the fabric over his groin, a swell of hard, aching muscle. You want to put your hand around it, feel its girth in your palm, simply hold it because you do fucking miss it. The places he can reach, the ways he spreads you, rocking in and pulling out—how he sometimes settles inside, and then does nothing but watch you squirm.

It’s undeniably gorgeous—and he is too—when you fumble it out after he lays you down and hovers over you with interest. You’re wetting your lips automatically, staring in awe at his thick shaft sprouting from soft, dark, curls, the tip of it smooth and almost purple, swollen up with blood.

“Legs up,” and the way he says it, how he just goes right out and says it, makes you groan.

Boys don’t do that. Too busy in their heads about peacocking and re-enacting the kind of porno where performers wordlessly move into new positions in sync, nothing verbal exchanged but high-pitched shrieking and nasally fuck me’s.

Ransom’s extremely verbal in bed. He easily says, “Look at me. Show me how much you want it,” and flits his eyes between your bodies.

You do, shivering, sliding two fingers along the sides of your folds, finding yourself aroused and damp, humiliated and incredibly turned on when he grins, simply content with watching. Your thighs are squeezing reflexively, abdomen crunching up trying to keep it together.

But he’s never been patient, and quickly tells you to hold your knees, rock back, make yourself small and exposed, and then he’s delving gently into your hole— thumbs taking turns, coaxing more.

Two fingers tuck in, then another two struggle next to them, and you can’t stop yourself from gasping and crying out at how he pulls apart the walls of your cunt.

The sound of it— sloppy, squelching, a light and hollow kind of noise like a tongue flicking inside an open mouth.

“Look at this pretty pussy.” He tugs a little more, and you wriggle into it, gripping your legs tighter, pulling your knees up, shins toward your burning face to hide.

He descends on your clit, tip of his tongue licking into your stretched hole, purposefully only running against the taut skin around his fingers. “You got a talent, baby,” he murmurs, buzzing. “I could fuck you the whole day, fuck you numb… but give you about half an hour and it’s good as new, tight and perfect.”

There had been marathon rounds of bouncing in his lap between being at each other’s throats, his thighs splitting yours, hands holding you up, nibbling at your ear. Then he’d turn you around, take you to the floor until you collapsed on the bearskin rug, the sweat on your neck and chest rolling into dark furs. Railed you until you were so sensitive anything would make you come; your body unsure if it was considered your own anymore.

Fuck, fight, rinse, and repeat.

“Are you—going to talk all night?” You grunt up to the ceiling, trying to steel yourself from panting or moaning and only barely making it.

“Thought you liked it when I talked.” His dark head is still between your legs, nose pressed into your skin, licking agonizingly slow with his entire tongue. It’s so warm, and gentle, and assertive. “What, you don’t like being told how good you taste?”

He keeps licking, pushing at the back of your knees when you try to switch positions, holding you in that bent up pose. He’s suckling at your clit when his fingers find their way back inside, easily hooking in three and pumping them smoothly.

“How—” he sucks hard, the shape of his full, plush lips fitted over you making a filthy wet smack, “mmm—I love the taste of your sweet pussy?”

When you come like it’s being ripped out of you, legs shaking around his head, lines of his spit dripping down your ass and onto the sheets, he lets you go with a hard slap on your sex, and you nearly wail.

“That’s my girl,” he says. “Yeah, you missed me, huh? You missed it like this, didn’t you? Tell me.”

“Unnng …” a high whine, “Ransom.”

“I know,” he mumbles, kissing up your belly, your neck, your ear.

He moves into position, entering effortlessly after all his prep work, and the shine of your juice still on his beard is fucking unholy hot. He’s grinning and panting, eyes fluttering briefly as he slides home.

“I know it’s big, baby. But you can take it, you’re gonna take it.” He’s a fraction unfocused, letting himself enjoy how you squeeze around him before he begins to punish.

Jesus, you missed this. Missed the agonizing drag of his shaft that feels like it goes on and on forever. Miss the way you get full of him, miss how it almost hurts.

His hipbones are hitting against yours, a steady fast rhythm because he’s experienced like that. Whereas some others might go faster when you’re close, Ransom stays at the pace that got you there in the first place. If anything, he pushes just a bit harder, makes you listen to the sound of his skin on yours, the choke of your breath he punches out.

You crunch yourself up smaller, toes touching the headboard now. Anything to get him further in.

“Fuck, you’re a slut,” he laughs. “Pretty little slut, god you don’t give it up like this for anyone else, do you?”

There’s not enough sense in you to argue even if you wanted to. The room is swimming, undulating, slipping further and further out of reach as the bed rocks and squeaks in protest. You’re sure you met a very handsome guy at the bar weeks ago but as soon as he started hinting that he was interested and stirred up conversation by asking your major, you left.

It just… wasn’t there. It wasn’t the same. No way in hell.

That boy wouldn’t have done this—wouldn’t be planting one foot on the bed, the other knee still down, enormous hands tight on your hips and crashing in.

You could cry, it feels so goddamn good.

Tears dribble their way out from the corner of your eyes. You turn your face enough to get a breath of fresh air, gulping it in frantically between the drive of Ransom’s cock and the half second he slides out.

You vaguely register his hand moving from your hip to your cheek, knuckles brushing upward.

“Oh,” he sighs, “pretty, pretty girl.” He slows his pace, nearly stilling. You squirm beneath him, inching away from how deep he is inside you, how intimate it feels as he kisses the hollow of your cheek and then toward your brow.

“So sweet for me,” he says, pulsing, making you whine with how he pushes against your sore walls. “Did I make a slut out of you? Huh? Make you stupid for my dick?”

“Make me come,” you say. “Make me—“

“Ask me real nice, baby. Ask daddy to make you come.”

You want to hit him. Kill him.

“No?” He whispers into the sensitive shell of your ear, “You don’t want it?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment clawing up your face, but Ransom’s hold is tighter, sharper, and he really is— so fucking right. You want it. And he’s made you a little stupid, so yeah--

“Please make me come, daddy. I wanna come.”

The Cheshire grin that unfurls on his face is more panther than cat. “You wanna come on daddy’s big cock?”

“Yes, daddy,” you admit. “I wanna so bad.”

“Oh, that’s it, baby. You’re a good girl, aren’t you. You put on a little show just for me? Act like you don’t want it but soon as I get in you and you let me lay you out anywhere, make you say anything.”

You turn away but he’s got your fucking number— got you as a boneless, spineless mess beneath him as he begins to fuck you again, and harder, his calculating, beautiful, cruel face hanging above you like a fever dream.

“You gonna come? Gonna cry?”

He’s melting away, he’s everywhere, and the lights behind your eyelids are starting to glare and threaten to explode.

“Gonna come for daddy, huh. That’s it, baby. That’s my girl, let me feel your pussy— ah— there it is— you can’t help it, can you? Mmm, swallow daddy’s cock with your pussy.”

Your orgasm is a wreck of curses and teeth on Ransom’s shoulder when he drops down close enough to make contact. You shake and whimper, struggling to calm yourself through the aftershocks.

When you’re done, still floaty but more aware, the mess of your humming insides less tight around him, he pulls out and shuffles up until his swollen tip is at your chin.

You obey wordlessly, and afterwards, when the flex of his shaft is tell-tale, and he empties into your mouth, you hold it there, show him the mess.

“Baby,” he says, slowly making his way back down, admiring the come submerging your tongue.

Ransom licks his lips, licks the inside of his cheek, and leans back over again, his eyes liquid darkness and pleased as punch. And he drops a line of spit on top, drools it down over your teeth, into your mouth, and says, “Good girl.”

“You need a new laptop.” He’s tugging his belt until the clasp hooks into place.

“I don’t.”

“It looks old.”

“So do you.”

He bristles, offended. And you try, with as much dignity as you can muster after the last two hours of being fucked blind, to not look so smug about it.

“See you next week,” he hums.

You don’t say anything in response, only listening for the same heavy footsteps slam back downstairs—perhaps a fraction lighter—and the clunk of the door swinging shut. A long breath and you stretch slowly, letting your body regain its normal shape before he bent you into a goddamn pretzel. A few minutes pass, and then a few more, and you hear the roar of his car speed out of the parking lot.

Safe now, out of his reach, you amble back up into your computer chair to face the awful white, blank document staring back like a judgmental audience. You slide in and crack your neck, feeling the throb between your thighs yield to a less uncomfortable ache.

The problem, you’ve learned after leaving Ransom’s world, was that you had been ill-equipped to play his game. His game, and by extension, Meg’s game. All the Thrombeys and Drysdales and everyone in-between.

They belonged to a class you couldn’t really understand unless you were making a fucking killing—and graduation was just around the bend, so maybe you would, one day—but you were in the red with 45 grand of student debt and staring down the barrel of a subsequent degree because it was getting hard to make it with just a single bachelor’s in anything.

There was too much to do and not enough time to be jerked around by Ransom—not nearly enough time to feel frustrated about your situation in any sense. No, scraping by taught you to survive. You couldn’t be whisked off to the Caymans for brunch, couldn’t be fucked raw in hotel infinity pools, get lost for days meandering the Pacific on luxury yachts for the fun of it.

Your world was a little more drab, a little less rose-tinted.

So it was back to normal now, back to the grind, back to not wasting any part of your week on shitty dates, shitty sex, and coming home more frustrated than you left it. Because there was Ransom, so eager to make some kind of statement about proving you wrong that he’d be the last to know when he’s being used.

And maybe 4 out of 5 therapists would say that your coping mechanism to a normal sex drive is unhealthy—mind-fucking and regular-fucking your ex/not-ex will do that—but you wouldn’t know. You can’t afford therapy just yet.

You rub your back, patting out the tightness of overworked muscles. It doesn’t feel any worse than the cramp you’d gotten after staying up three nights in a row cramming for finals.

As if your brain has reset, your fingers begin tapping on the keys, and you realize your writer’s block’s been lifted.

#ransom drysdale #ransom thrombey #knives out #ransom x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale smut #reader insert #fanfiction #ransom drysdale thrombey

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gabessquishytum · 3 months

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So this was literally a horny dream I had: Hob is a highwayman. Lil bit of a Robin Hood type, robbing the rich to give to the poor (but also pocketing a good bit of the money he's no saint). And one day he waylays a carriage, and is in the process of relieving the occupants of their valuables, when he notices that something is... off. The carriage has a bunch of guards and only two occupants, an older man with a cane and an absolutely beautiful man about Hob's age, maybe a little younger. But neither of them has anything terribly valuable on them, so why all the guards? And why is the older man watching the young man more carefully than HOB, a robber with a loaded gun? And the young man looks awful, exhausted and disheveled and heartsick, maybe even a little physically sick, like he's been running on spite instead of food and water for... a while now.

The young man isn't watching Hob either, his eyes keep darting between the open carriage door and the old man. And there's a brief moment that the robbery gets tense and he flinches, which is perfectly reasonable behavior in a robbery, except that he's flinching TOWARD Hob, who is, again, a robber with a loaded gun.

So Hob, trusting his instincts, turns to the young man with a rougish grin, and says something about how there's nothing of value in the carriage- unless, perhaps, the young man is worth the ransom. He's got his back to the older man, and he's frantically trying to convey what he's actually asking with his eyes, even though this is a complete stranger who probably doesn't know him well enough for that.

But the young man nods, almost imperceptibly.

Hob immediately gets an arm around his wait and drags him from the carriage. None of the guards seem quite sure what to do as he slowly backs away, gun trained on their leader. The young man in his arms puts up a very good show of resisting capture without actually hampering Hob's grip on him, or his aim. (And I'm not quite capturing the vibe of the dream, where they've both wholeheartedly decided to trust each other in this life-or-death situation, but it was like- those two minutes of slowly backing away, Hob rambling about demanding a ransom in the hope of baffling everyone with his bullshit, have bonded the two of them for life, becauseit proved to both of them they can trust each other absolutely)

As soon as they're a good way off from the carriage, Hob grabs the man's hand and runs.

Once they're back at Hob's hideout the man introduces himself: his name is Dream, he's the second son of an extremely powerful family. The other man in the carriage, Roderick Burgess, had essentially kidnapped him, dragging him away from whatever university he was at to have him forcibly married to one of his sons. He suspects that a member of his own family helped arrange the forced marriage, but he can't be certain.

I forget how exactly it played out, but Hob ended up offering to go back to Dream's family home with him, essentially as a bodyguard- Dream is planning to just run away before anyone can succeed at forcibly marrying him off, but there are a few valuables he needs to grab from his family home first, and a few of his siblings he wants to let know about his plans.

So they do that. Although I think if I were doing this as a fic I'd put a little breather here, where they stay in Hob’s hideout for a bit until they can pull together a disguise for Hob, and Hob ends up nursing Dream back to health because he is a MESS from the kidnapping- nobody had physically harmed him (yet), but between the stress and the fact that he spent the whole time refusing to eat (partially out of spite, partially fear of being drugged) it did a NUMBER on him.

(Also this wasn't just a nebulously historical au in my dream it also nebulously took place in the omegaverse, which mostly meant that 'forced marriage' was also 'forced mating' but there was also this thing where when they do go back to Dream's family home, alpha!Hob is pretending to be omega!Dream's chaperone. And I would LOVE to figure out what sort of worldbuilding my subconscious mind intended to exist there.)

So they go back to Dream's family, and it's tense. Hob is pretending to be a Societally Acceptable acquaintance of Dream's, who's chaperoning him for Dream's safety after Dream escaped from being kidnapped twice. Dream's spinning a story about how Burgess kidnapped him, and then he was double-kidnapped by a highwayman, but managed to run away from the highwayman and went to his friend Robert for help. Dream's parents are pretending they know NOTHING about why Burgess would POSSIBLY have kidnapped Dream.

And everyone is pretending to believe each other's lies. Hob picks up on how to mimic 'upper-class gentleman' fairly quickly, but he's an awful actor (so ironically, the impression he's giving isn't 'highwayman pretending to be a gentleman' so much as it's 'gentleman who's lying about how he knows Dream'). And Dream and Hob both know that whoever arranged for Dream to be kidnapped in the first place will try again.

So they grab Dream’s belongings the first chance they get, slip a note to Death explaining what they're going to do (and asking her to explain things to Delirium if she gets the chance), and run for it. (And proceed to do a lot of robbery together, still Robin Hood style but specifically targeting people that Dream KNOWS are assholes. Hob's in charge of strategy, Dream's in charge of covering their tracks, they cooperate on the actual robbery part. Hob often tells Dream that he knew from the moment they met that they'd be able to work together this well.)

Burgess does eventually catch up to them, but by that point there's not much he can DO. He can't accuse them of theft, no one would ever believe that the lovely young couple living in a modest house at the edge of town are secretly criminals. Sure, they definitely have money but they're so generous with it, they couldnt be thevies. And even if someone DID believe him, Dream covered their tracks too well.

And he can't pull off the forced marriage thing, either, because Hob and Dream are very much married/mated. (And maybe, depending on how long it takes Burgess to catch up, have a kid on the way...)

YAY!! ficlet in my inbox!! I'm jealous of your dreaming brain, to be honest. Last night I dreamt I was playing catch with a hamster.

I especially like this being omegaverse because the whole "forced mating" thing is such a genuinely horrifying threat and I love the hurt/comfort of it all. The biological compulsion of mating and heats and all that stuff is so genuinely scary, and I bet Dream would HATE his body for it's omegaish tendencies. Adding my own personal omegaverse headcanon, I like the idea of Dream actively getting sick because he's with Burgess, who is literally physically repellent to him. Like, his body actively rejects the whole thing and even starts to shut down because the scent is so disgusting, he can't deal with it any more... its only when he's been around Hob’s scent for a while, that he actually starts to recover properly.

Imagine how proud Dream would be of his mating mark, one which comes from genuine love and mutual respect. He'd be standing behind Hob looking so smug as Burgess rages and throws a tantrum. How dare Dream be happy?! Hob is probably itching for permission to kill Burgess for threatening/scaring/just being in Dream’s presence, but Dream doesn't even care. He wants Burgess to live and suffer in his miserable old age with a son who doesn't even like him.

Meanwhile Dream will be happily raising his own son with Hob, and having the time of his life commiting dramatic robberies and distributing wealth among those who deserve it. Its the happiness he truly deserves.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw omegaverse #cw kidnapping

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