damn papa, you a rare breed

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚, 𝟐𝟗, 𝐬𝐡𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 // 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈 // 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 & 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐨𝟑

[spookiekewchie]

Looking for my most recent fics? Well look no further!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT YOU ARE NOT WELCOME ON MY BLOG

Please pay attention to and heed all warning tags, as you are responsible for your own media consumption.

Obsession (og form!Ryomen Sukuna x woc!reader)

Sukuna has some points to prove.

Click here for my full masterlist!

[tatakaeeren]

Same smile...yet so different 💔 | Part 2 | Part 3

[spookiekewchie]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Characters: og form!Ryomen Sukuna x woc!reader

Summary: Sukuna has some points to prove.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: my poor attempt at coming out of retirement, monsterfucking bc sukuna, mean!sukuna (imean is there any other type of sukuna?), rough sex, restrained reader, crying, possessive behavior, there's a slap, biting, bloodplay (sukuna bites the reader with his fangies), p in v, this is literally just filth with no plot or reason, sorry not sorry.

A/N: Yeeeah so if this is trash my bad. It's been a minute since I wrote anything, but leave it to the walking red flag that is sukuna to drag me out of retirement smh. I gave it a look over but I might have missed some errors and typos. My bad if I did. The divider is by @cafekitsune

DO NOT repost or translate my work anywhere. If you like it don’t forget to reblog and share with others who might enjoy it as well.

Sukuna laughs, the sound just as mean as it always is coming from him. It’s a mocking sound as he looks down on your panting form, a hard thrust of his fat cock spearing into you just for good measure, all so he can watch the way you tremble and choke on your screams. This is how he likes you, helpless, trapped under him as two of his hands hold your thighs apart and the other two hands keep your wrists pinned. There’s nothing you can do to escape him as he fucks you past your limits, using you until you think you might truly break apart on his cock. 

He’s obsessed with pushing you to this point, craves seeing that proud attitude of yours crumble as he fucks you mindless and reminds you of your place. Under him, at his mercy, his to possess and own because he can’t let you go. It’s not love, but merely obsession. The closest he can get to such a cursed emotion, and with every thrust that drives his cock deep inside you he punishes you for making him feel this way. You’re under his skin, in his thoughts, worming your way in so much so that you can push him to moments like these where his self control shatters. He can’t let you go because he won’t have his perfect pet used against him, and he won’t kill you because despite all his meanness he wants you close. 

You know it too, that’s why you push buttons, and do what no one else would ever dare to do. Because you know you’ll get away with it with your life intact. Your ability to walk on the other hand? Well that might take a day or two, at the least, to recover. This is your only real revenge against Sukuna, pushing him and provoking him to act on what he feels just so you know you aren’t the only one affected by his obsession with you. Funny how your revenge always ends up with you in tears though. 

“S…sukuna, please…” There it is, what he wants to hear out of you. That broken, tearful plea for mercy that he has no intention of showing you. The hands at your thighs move to push your knees to your chest, spreading you open more for his benefit than your own. The sound you make when he manages to sink even deeper inside you is like a sweet symphony to the King of Curses as he shifts both of your wrists into one hand so he can grip your chin with the other. 

He leans down, turning your head to the side. You shudder when you feel his tongue dragging over your pulse point before you feel his fangs dragging against it. Your mind is too lost to try and stop him, and you can only give another broken, sobbing moan when you feel him bite down. It hurts for only a moment before he soothes over the place he’s bitten, tasting the sweetness of your blood with a heady groan. You know he’s marked you in a place that you won’t easily be able to hide. You clench around him, so hard and so tightly that the formidable King of Curses lets out a deep rumbling growl as he lets his hips surge forward. “You. Are. Mine.” He punctuates each word with a hard thrust, and each one draws a broken cry of pleasure from your lips.

The grip he has on your chin tightens, your head snapping forward as he forces your gaze to return to him. Tears stream down your cheeks, and he swears there’s no more beautiful sight than you being brought to tears by his cock. Sukuna grins, fangs dripping red, and his mouth still bloody from marking your flesh. He uses his grip on your jaw to make you nod your head. “Say it.” He commands, and you have no fight in you to deny him. 

“Yours. Only yours.” You sob, the pleasure overwhelming and far too intense. You’ve no idea how many times he’s forced you to fall apart around his cock, but you can feel yourself reaching that impossible peak again. You feel as if you’ll go mad if he pushes you past it again, and you try weakly to plead with him once more. “Please…I—” He cuts you off with a growl that reverberates through your whole being and strikes you silent. 

“You can.” Sukuna tells you simply, “and you will.” He continues, his cock continuing to rock into you again and again as he claims what’s his. “Now.” It’s an order, and your body bends to his will, the climax hitting you so hard that your vision whites out and you let loose a raw, hoarse scream as your essence floods his cock. Sukuna chuckles darkly at the way you go limp under him, his perfect broken toy. The thought of someone as strong as you, as defiant, and difficult under him like this is enough to send him careening the edge himself. “Who am I?” He questions, giving your cheek a sharp slap to rouse you enough to your senses to answer. 

“My king…” You mutter, words slurred and barely above a whisper with how exhausted you are. It’s enough though, just enough to have Sukuna chasing his own release until he spills deep inside of you. The sound of your pathetic needy mewls as his spend paints your walls, earns a low hum of approval, though he doubts you’re conscious enough to bask in it. 

“That’s what I thought.” He says, hands releasing your limbs while he pulls himself from your warmth, admiring the way he leaks out of you for a moment before his thick fingers are pushing his cum back into you with a laugh at the way you whine. “Perhaps you’ll think twice before trying to provoke me again.” His words are mocking despite knowing this is a lesson you will never learn. Sukuna hovers over you for a moment, watching your barely conscious form. If you could see it you’d swear he was on the verge of kissing you, the thought of you opening your eyes to see him so close with a look of…near fondness on his face is enough to make the King of Curses pull away. Muttering to himself he stalks over to where he’s cast off his robe, shrugging back into it with a mildly frustrated grunt before he calls out. “Uraume!” 

The loyal servant of Sukuna appears in a near instant, obediently awaiting instruction. “Clean her up, tend to the bruises and…” He pauses for a moment, silently cursing himself for the impulsive mark he’s left behind. “And her neck.” It’s all he says before he stalks off to contemplate just how much of a mistake it was to keep you this close. He doesn’t see the way Uraume scowls at the task they’ve been given, he would hardly care if he did. He knows that they will complete the task to the best of their ability, and you’ll be cared for in the end.

[spookiekewchie]

annnnnnd now i go back into retirement

[spookiekewchie]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Characters: og form!Ryomen Sukuna x woc!reader

Summary: Sukuna has some points to prove.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: my poor attempt at coming out of retirement, monsterfucking bc sukuna, mean!sukuna (imean is there any other type of sukuna?), rough sex, restrained reader, crying, possessive behavior, there's a slap, biting, bloodplay (sukuna bites the reader with his fangies), p in v, this is literally just filth with no plot or reason, sorry not sorry.

A/N: Yeeeah so if this is trash my bad. It's been a minute since I wrote anything, but leave it to the walking red flag that is sukuna to drag me out of retirement smh. I gave it a look over but I might have missed some errors and typos. My bad if I did. The divider is by @cafekitsune

DO NOT repost or translate my work anywhere. If you like it don’t forget to reblog and share with others who might enjoy it as well.

Sukuna laughs, the sound just as mean as it always is coming from him. It’s a mocking sound as he looks down on your panting form, a hard thrust of his fat cock spearing into you just for good measure, all so he can watch the way you tremble and choke on your screams. This is how he likes you, helpless, trapped under him as two of his hands hold your thighs apart and the other two hands keep your wrists pinned. There’s nothing you can do to escape him as he fucks you past your limits, using you until you think you might truly break apart on his cock. 

He’s obsessed with pushing you to this point, craves seeing that proud attitude of yours crumble as he fucks you mindless and reminds you of your place. Under him, at his mercy, his to possess and own because he can’t let you go. It’s not love, but merely obsession. The closest he can get to such a cursed emotion, and with every thrust that drives his cock deep inside you he punishes you for making him feel this way. You’re under his skin, in his thoughts, worming your way in so much so that you can push him to moments like these where his self control shatters. He can’t let you go because he won’t have his perfect pet used against him, and he won’t kill you because despite all his meanness he wants you close. 

You know it too, that’s why you push buttons, and do what no one else would ever dare to do. Because you know you’ll get away with it with your life intact. Your ability to walk on the other hand? Well that might take a day or two, at the least, to recover. This is your only real revenge against Sukuna, pushing him and provoking him to act on what he feels just so you know you aren’t the only one affected by his obsession with you. Funny how your revenge always ends up with you in tears though. 

“S…sukuna, please…” There it is, what he wants to hear out of you. That broken, tearful plea for mercy that he has no intention of showing you. The hands at your thighs move to push your knees to your chest, spreading you open more for his benefit than your own. The sound you make when he manages to sink even deeper inside you is like a sweet symphony to the King of Curses as he shifts both of your wrists into one hand so he can grip your chin with the other. 

He leans down, turning your head to the side. You shudder when you feel his tongue dragging over your pulse point before you feel his fangs dragging against it. Your mind is too lost to try and stop him, and you can only give another broken, sobbing moan when you feel him bite down. It hurts for only a moment before he soothes over the place he’s bitten, tasting the sweetness of your blood with a heady groan. You know he’s marked you in a place that you won’t easily be able to hide. You clench around him, so hard and so tightly that the formidable King of Curses lets out a deep rumbling growl as he lets his hips surge forward. “You. Are. Mine.” He punctuates each word with a hard thrust, and each one draws a broken cry of pleasure from your lips.

The grip he has on your chin tightens, your head snapping forward as he forces your gaze to return to him. Tears stream down your cheeks, and he swears there’s no more beautiful sight than you being brought to tears by his cock. Sukuna grins, fangs dripping red, and his mouth still bloody from marking your flesh. He uses his grip on your jaw to make you nod your head. “Say it.” He commands, and you have no fight in you to deny him. 

“Yours. Only yours.” You sob, the pleasure overwhelming and far too intense. You’ve no idea how many times he’s forced you to fall apart around his cock, but you can feel yourself reaching that impossible peak again. You feel as if you’ll go mad if he pushes you past it again, and you try weakly to plead with him once more. “Please…I—” He cuts you off with a growl that reverberates through your whole being and strikes you silent. 

“You can.” Sukuna tells you simply, “and you will.” He continues, his cock continuing to rock into you again and again as he claims what’s his. “Now.” It’s an order, and your body bends to his will, the climax hitting you so hard that your vision whites out and you let loose a raw, hoarse scream as your essence floods his cock. Sukuna chuckles darkly at the way you go limp under him, his perfect broken toy. The thought of someone as strong as you, as defiant, and difficult under him like this is enough to send him careening the edge himself. “Who am I?” He questions, giving your cheek a sharp slap to rouse you enough to your senses to answer. 

“My king…” You mutter, words slurred and barely above a whisper with how exhausted you are. It’s enough though, just enough to have Sukuna chasing his own release until he spills deep inside of you. The sound of your pathetic needy mewls as his spend paints your walls, earns a low hum of approval, though he doubts you’re conscious enough to bask in it. 

“That’s what I thought.” He says, hands releasing your limbs while he pulls himself from your warmth, admiring the way he leaks out of you for a moment before his thick fingers are pushing his cum back into you with a laugh at the way you whine. “Perhaps you’ll think twice before trying to provoke me again.” His words are mocking despite knowing this is a lesson you will never learn. Sukuna hovers over you for a moment, watching your barely conscious form. If you could see it you’d swear he was on the verge of kissing you, the thought of you opening your eyes to see him so close with a look of…near fondness on his face is enough to make the King of Curses pull away. Muttering to himself he stalks over to where he’s cast off his robe, shrugging back into it with a mildly frustrated grunt before he calls out. “Uraume!” 

The loyal servant of Sukuna appears in a near instant, obediently awaiting instruction. “Clean her up, tend to the bruises and…” He pauses for a moment, silently cursing himself for the impulsive mark he’s left behind. “And her neck.” It’s all he says before he stalks off to contemplate just how much of a mistake it was to keep you this close. He doesn’t see the way Uraume scowls at the task they’ve been given, he would hardly care if he did. He knows that they will complete the task to the best of their ability, and you’ll be cared for in the end.

[gojosbf]

Choso Kamo, JUJUTSU KAISEN 2 / 呪術廻戦 (2020-) 2.13 | “昏乱" • Red Scale

(click for better quality)

[spookiekewchie]

Is there any reason why your full master list or Call me when you need won't load? Because I have been trying to read all of your demon Andy stories again.

I changed my url and haven’t gotten around to updating links.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Exhibit

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Kink Prompt: Exhibit [Exhibitionism]

Word Count: 2,000

Summary: You attend a party in your roommate’s stead. 

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, Public Sex, Masquerade, Exhibitionism, Nonconsensual Drug use, Smut, Darkfic, AU: Dark, Dead Dove: Do not eat, Minors DNI!

A/N: entry number three, and the end of week one of my kinktober celebration! i sincerely hope you all enjoyed the first three installments! thank you all so much for reading. mind the tags and warnings, as always, and enjoy! divider by @firefly-graphics​

Your palms are sweating underneath your evening gloves as you make your way down the marble staircase. Everyone is looking at you. You can’t see their eyes through the masks, of course, but the sea of porcelain faces turned in your direction lets you feel the weight of their gazes anyway. Your own is tied securely beneath the carefully coiffed mess of curls at the nape of your neck, and you resist the urge to check Emily’s tie-job as you descend the staircase.

“What if they notice that I’m, you know, not you?” You’d asked as she’d tied the black satin straps behind your head. “This isn’t a frat party, it’s like. An event.” Your roommate rolled her eyes in the mirror as she continued fussing over you, dusting lint from the front of your gown. 

“No one’s going to care,” she’d nodded appreciatively at her handiwork. “Besides, everyone’s wearing masks anyway.”

Keep reading

[spookiekewchie]

Maaaaaaan I hope the second she her head clears up and she regain control that the reader goes back and beats the breaks off Emily for setting her up like that

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Cut

Pairing: Soft Dark! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Kink Prompt: Cut [Knife play]

Word Count: 1,944

Summary: You haven’t been having the best luck on dating apps, but you’re willing to try again. 

Warnings: AU: Dark, Noncon, Stalking, Obsessive behavior, Possessive Behavior, Knife play, Marking, Dead Dove: Do not eat, MINORS DNI!

A/N: i’m super excited to share this one with you all, i had a lot of fun fulfilling the brief. hoping you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! divider by @firefly-graphics​

Your date’s eyes flick up over your right shoulder for the umpteenth time that night, a spark of nervousness growing in them. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, a small but reassuring smile on your lips. You turn around, but there isn’t anything out of place at the restaurant. The tables surrounding you are all full of people laughing and chatting amicably, not one of them paying attention to either of you. “See someone you know?” You joke, but Phil’s responding laughter is hollow and anxious sounding. 

Keep reading

[spookiekewchie]

Bones whhhhhy!!!! I’m in crisis!!! On one hand he ain’t shit for pulling that stunt on the other hand I am folding like freshly done laundry 😩

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Reflection

Pairing: Ari Levinson x Reader

Kink Prompt: Reflection [Mirror Sex]

Word Count: 1982

Summary: You love everything about your new house—except for that creepy old mirror in the upstairs hallway.

Warnings: Horror, Haunting, Noncon/Dubcon, Light overstimulation, Mirror Sex, AU: Dark, Smut, MINORS DNI!

A/N: my first kinktober entry!! since all of my prompts were singular words, i just decided to go with the first kink that came to mind. 😈 i really hope you all enjoy this first installment! as always, mind the tags and warnings. enjoy!

  Though your nails are already chewed down to the quick, you can’t stop yourself from tearing into them again as the officers come out of the house, one after the other, a straight line of starched blue uniforms. The first one out approaches you at the front gate. You can tell by the irritated look on his face that he hasn’t found anything, that your second call this month is a nuisance, and not one he wants to continue putting up with. 

Keep reading

[spookiekewchie]

Well gaaaaahdayum ghost Ari is a whole gd menace and I love it

[syntheticavenger]

reign - iv.

series masterlist

King! Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, murder, magic, treachery, mentions of regicide, angst, mentions of scarring, mentions of poisoning.

Summary | After the untimely death of the King, a family is thrown into a dangerous game of politics, navigated by a man who offers up his niece as a bargaining chip to secure his place in the realm.

Months prior:

“My son,” Linda calls out weakly, her servants nodding quickly. “Fetch me my son.”

The soft scrape of their shoes fades, her eyes closing to conserve her energy. In truth, she was not afraid to die. Not afraid to potentially face the demons that she had once taunted and mocked as a girl and later as Queen.

With the King Consort in hiding, Linda smiles, hearing the doors open before they shut quietly. She knew he would come quickly.

There are many people he would gladly ignore, gleefully dismiss with a simple movement of his hand.

But he would always listen to her.

“Mother.”

She smiles at Ransom’s voice.

“You knew the hour would be upon us, one day,” she greets. “Today feels like a good day to die.”

The slip dip in the bed makes her eyes open, her son staring at her with glassy eyes. He’s silent, staring at her if he is trying to commit her to memory.

“The Crown Prince has feelings after all,” Linda muses. “What wench did I pull you from now?”

“Weara,” he smirks, watching her shake her head slowly.

“Sharing with your father, are you?”

Ransom’s eyes narrow at her question, Linda smirking at the thought, struggling to move as he helps her. So gentle in his movements, a call back to when he was just a boy, wanting to help and seeing her strength.

Bittersweet now that he is watching her slip away before his eyes.

“Weara follows her mother path. She warmed your father’s bed before your own. Fortunately for you both, she’s infertile. A waste for her womanhood but a celebration for you, as well for me. I shall not have a bastard grandchild.”

Linda pauses, studying his face.

“Oh,” she breathes in slight wonder. “You hadn’t known. I wouldn’t expect a whore to share who she visits. Don’t mind her, Ransom. One day she’ll die. A fitting death no less.”

“By whose hand?”

“Someone you’ve not yet met,” Linda answers. “I need you to listen to me. Since you were a boy, I promised you protection. My only child, a seed that grew under a contemptuous sky. You flourished and your reign over this realm will be absolute.”

“So you’ve told me.”

Linda gives a soft laugh, closing her eyes once more as she swallows. Her cheeks are sunken in, dark circles under her eyes that seem to intensify the more she breathes.

“I hid her away for you,” Linda replies. “She will come from nothing. But you will make her your everything.”

“I don’t need anyone,” Ransom reminds her. “I can rule alone.”

“You may rule but there will nary be a shadow cast on the throne. Our enemies will grow in strength, outnumber you. Even with your talents, Ransom. Your father will ascend the throne before you. He salivates at the thought of it, even when he visits me on my deathbed.”

“Regardless of birthright?” Ransom demands. “He couldn’t.”

“He will. But do not fret about when he will rule. I…” Linda breathes, eyes closing again as she winces. “I need you to listen. She is poor, a peasant. But she was destined for something more.”

“A peasant,” Ransom scoffs. “Your gift to me is a peasant girl? How thoughtful, Mother.”

“She is no girl. A maiden, yes. Talents that match your own and maybe more. I’ve yet to see it but I feel the potential.”

“Old,” Ransom says with a roll of his eyes. “Perhaps you have lost your mind as your death nears.”

“No sooner would I take you with me if I could reach my blade,” Linda threatens with a smile. “You aren’t listening to a word I’m telling you. She will bring this kingdom’s downfall if you do not treat her with care.”

“And if I care for this crone? This peasant you believe I will be saddled with?”

“Then you shall find your days as future king long and prosperous. Align yourself with her and be wary of her family. Though I’ve hidden her away, the seeds of darkness have been planted long since before she was born. She will cultivate those trees and cut them down. Provide you clarity. She will help you extend your rule across the kingdoms.”

“You’ve gone mad,” Ransom says with a nod, his hand on her forehead.

“Have I? I find it peaceful in my bed, knowing that what I am going to tell you will set off your future.”

Linda coughs, clutching her chest with her hands. Death is approaching quicker than normal btu she’s proud of herself for holding on this long, in spite of what her enemies wanted.

“This is a rotten poison,” she mutters.

“Poison,” Ransom repeats, Linda nodding as she struggles to open her hands.

“In my wine, no less,” she quips in a whisper. “Come closer so that I may tell you my last dying wish.”

Ransom leans in, Linda gripping his shoulder as a tear slips down her cheek. She doesn’t wat to cry but as her only heir, the bittersweet moment is marked by grief that she could have been a better mother to her son, one who could have protected him from much more than she had.

“I will never see you rule,” she murmurs. “A fact I’ve known since your birth. But the one who killed me, offered me the wine that I stupidly drank, will never set foot on the throne.”

“Who?”

Linda uses what little of her strength she has, pulling on his shirt as her lips get close to his ear.

“Your father.”

-

There is difficulty when you are addressed, the woman at your chambers holding out a robe in her arms while you cover your nakedness in the carved tub. She speaks of you in the highest regard, even when you feel the heat rush into your cheeks.

“I assure you, my lady, there is no need to hide yourself. I am Coxara, your lady in waiting,” she introduces with a nod of her head. “It is a pleasure to be of service to the future queen.”

She helps you stand, drying you off with a large cloth while you instinctively try to move her hands as she tuts, patting the excess water off quickly before she motions for you to sit on the chair, watching you slip on the silk robe.

“It is custom, leading up to your wedding day that we anoint you in fragrant oils and adorn you with jewelry. It is…” Coxara says with a watery smile. “What our Queen expected.”

“Queen?”

“Queen Linda,” she murmurs, getting to her knees. “Her time as Queen was very turbulent. But we were cared for, nonetheless. At least, I was.”

“Is this her custom?”

Coxara nods, pouring a fragrant oil into a small pool into her palms and rubbing them together.

“She wasn’t kind. Or so some say. As queen, she was faced with insurmountable challenges. My mother was her lady in waiting. She told her everything. Those she kept close, know the truth about her. It was her rule that whoever took over the throne, be it another wife of King Richard or Prince Ransom, they would be pampered, held in high regard. For a woman who takes up residence in Greymount will need moments of peace. This,” Coxara pauses, applying the oil to your legs slow and deliberately, massaging it in as she looks at you. “Is to be your peace. When the outside is loud, we are your peace.”

“And if I wish for my own peace, to be alone?” you ask.

“You shall have it. I know not of many things, my lady, but I do know that our queen held high standards for us to follow and she would be dismayed if I did not follow what she has put as rule to us.”

“Do you miss her?”

“At times.” Coxara smiles at the thought. “She was ruthless to her enemies. Ruthless to those who she could see would try to take the throne. She had her own mysterious ways of knowing one’s character, my lady. My mother told me once of a noble who came to dinner. King Richard had been delighted that this lord would travel the high seas to attend but my mother said that Queen Linda took one look at him when he arrived and made a decision that he was going to try to usurp the throne. My mother didn’t believe her but halfway through dinner, the noble had drawn his sword and as my mother tells it, he stabbed himself with it, like a man possessed.”

Coxara shivers, finishing up massaging the oil into your thighs.

“And your late King?”

“Some say he went mad with grief. Locked himself up in one of the chambers and refused to come out after her death. They like to say he died of a broken heart.”

Coxara sighs, pouring more oil into her palms.

“He would have been much worse than Queen Linda. He cared not about his people, my lady. When word reached the villagers that Queen Linda had passed, a few of her supported were slaughtered by his own edict, claiming they were going to take the throne.”

A tear slides down her cheek, your crooked finger brushing it away.

“Someone you loved,” you hint.

“My mother,” Coxara sniffs. “He swore that she would tell her secrets, that she would use those to her advantage. My mother loved the queen. In more ways than the King ever could. I am glad he’s dead. Though I know I should not say such words.”

“But you speak from your heart,” you agree, Coxara nodding. “I would be lost if my own mother would have perished. I’m sorry, Coxara.”

“She would be proud of me. We have been waiting for you, my lady.”

“Waiting?”

“My mother mentioned that there would be someone who would come to Greymount. Not like Queen Linda but a force of her own.”

“I am not one.”

“That you know of, my lady. I’ve seen your root. It’s ugly but it serves a purpose, does not it?”

“You saw my root? Did you touch it?”

“No,” Coxara denies, shaking her head quickly. “I only looked upon it. I’d heard stories about black trees. Wishful thinking, I suppose.”

“Yes,” you answer quickly. “Promise me you will never touch that root.”

“I promise, my lady. With my whole heart.”

Relaxing at her promise, you nod, Coxara standing up as he picks up the bottle and places the wooden stopper in it.

“Do you have any family left?”

“Yes, my lady. A sister. She’s at least ten summers now.”

“Where does she live?”

“With my my father’s family in the lowlands. It’s been some time since I’ve seen her. They’re older and I worry about her.”

“I’ll tell my brother to bring her here.”

Coxara nearly drops of the bottle of oil, her eyes going wide.

“What? Do you mean it?” she gasps, her eyes filling with tears. “Do you… it’s been so long since I’ve seen her. It would mean a great deal to me if I could see her.”

“She’ll live here, with you.”

Your mind is made up, watching Coxara’s face break into a happy smile. She grips the bottle tightly, nodding to you as she heads out the door

“Thank you, my lady, thank you.”

-

“Weara,” a servant says with a scowl. “What are you doing in this wing of the castle?”

“Coxara asked me to leave something for the future queen.”

“She is out in the gardens,” the servant sniffs, folding a blanket quickly. “Her parents have arrived for the week’s celebrations. Best come back later.”

“You’re a servant,” Weara sniffs, the servant standing at her full height. “I don’t answer to you.”

“Aye, but I answer to Coxara and I assure you that she would not be pleased if you entered into her chambers. Already you sour your appearance here with your lies. Coxara would have taken the gift herself. No go, before I fetch the guards.”

Weara turns on her heels, heading down the steps, the servant looking down the hallway to make sure she disappears.

Turning the corner, Weara flattens herself against a column, staring at the sight of Ransom as he walks by with his council.

“I assure you, Sir,” one of the lords speaks, keeping in set with him. “There is no sign of Lord Formad. We’ve searched everywhere.”

“Continue to search,” Ransom orders. “His wife will arrive within a day and she will be in mourning, wanting an account of the whereabouts her husband.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” one of them agrees. “We will continue to search.”

Weara watches the servant leave, heading down the steps with her laundry in hand. There is little time left and she knows that the servant will no doubt tell the rest of them that she has been around your chambers. But it matters little to her.

Cast by Ransom, she has nowhere to go but back to the house of which she came. The night houses provide entertainment but little else when dawn comes. Now she has had a taste of a king – and a prince – she no longer wants to bother with the lesser nobles that come sniffing about.

There is only one way to end this. To end Ransom’s odd obsession with you.

Pushing open the doors, she grimaces at the beautiful layout of your chambers, the thick woven rugs that feel soft under her feet. Such luxury that she will never have – at least not now and the thought makes her angry.

On a small bed, the sleeping cub that was gifted to you opens its eyes, staring right at her.

“Little beast,” Weara whispers, placing the vial of powder on the table. “You’ll need a new owner soon, won’t you?”

The pitcher of water is within sight, Weara unbottling the vial as she sprinkles it into the water. It’s a quick poison, one fashioned of her own making after watching one of her peers in the night house give a potion to a noble, who died instantly. 

Painfully.

Weara stops at the sight of the black root that sits in a pot. Her eyes dart back from the root to the door, taking a step further as the cub yawns, stretching as its tail flickers with interest.

It’s ugly, this root that sits in a handmade pot, gnarled and dark as ink. The leaves that have bloomed are thick, the branches jutting out from all sides.

“What are you, evil little plant,” Weara smirks, ripping off one of the leaves as she shrieks in pain.

The leaf disintegrates into her hand, stumbling back as the veins in her hand go black, the skin darkening as she muffles her shout of agony with her hand. Clutching her injured hand, she breathes deep, staring at it as the cub sits, staring up at her.

“What is this,” she asks out loud, her fingers going black as the cub walks toward her. It looks more dangerous now than curious, baring its fangs as it tries to hiss.

She moves out of the way, tripping over her dress as she falls on her injured hand, scrambling to get up before the cub runs toward her, its claws out as it rakes a paw against her cheek, claws out as she shouts in pain, holding her cheek with her uninjured hand as she stands, opening the door and running out.

-

You’re still with your parents and brother, your mother regaling Walter with stories of when you and Dominic were children. 

Ransom climbs the steps to your chambers, pushing open the door to find your black leopard cub looking up at him from the door. He leans down, scratching under her chin, petting her gently.

“Good girl, Bahati,” Ransom praises, spying the pitcher of water. 

Picking it up, he looks down inside of it, inhaling the weird scent. He’ll toss the water and the pitcher together.

“Where did Weara go, hmm?”

Bahati yawns, rolling onto her back as Ransom scratches her belly.

“We’ll find her,” Ransom promises, looking at the drops of blood on the ground. “I’m sure you’ve marked her well.”

-

Weara sits in her bed, weeping as her hand throbs in pain. Her hand is black, as if tipped in the darkest inks, seemingly withering before her eyes. She wishes she hadn’t touched the plant. The pain had felt like she’d been sliced with a thousand knives, the pain so deep that she couldn’t breathe.

The bandage on her cheek serves as a warning, something she could not say when a healer was called to clean and stitch the wounds, hiding her hand away while the healer had foretold that she would bear scars on her face for the rest of her life.

The only thing that she holds onto is that hopefully by morning, you’ll be dead. That thought keeps her focused on her plan and not the pain as she touches the bandage on her cheek.

The future king will mourn you, no doubt. In time, she’ll return and he’ll want that comfort that he will seek that only she can provide.

Whispers still swirl, even as the healer had left. She refuses to believe in curses but she cannot get the sight of her head at her own gnarled fingers, once lithe and beautiful. She’ll speak to another healer in the morning, to ask what potions can cure it.

She knows once she’s well, she will smash the plant to pieces. To have to decay. It’s a foul thing, something that is unnatural and for a moment, Weara wonders if it was placed there by Coxara as a warning.

Or if it was yours and yours alone.

It matters little in the end. She will rid herself of the plant and bitterly, she wants to rid herself of the cub that has marked her face forever.

All in due time.

[spookiekewchie]

Okay I loved the flashbacks and seeing how Linda was ten steps ahead of everyone and made sure to warn Ransom as much as she could of what was coming. I love love love the reader and how kind she is to those around her and her and Coxara just made me all warm and fuzzy. And then there’s Weara…

All I can say to her is, STUPID HOE HOW YOU FIGURE??? Like she clearly does not realize how numbered her days are because if the devil plant don’t get her Ransom will. She so busy being dickmatized she don’t even realize she finna bite the damn dust 🤦🏾‍♀️

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍 [𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟹 𝚘𝚏 𝟺]

Pairing: Witch Hunter!Thor x Witch!Reader

Summary: “ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴍᴡᴏᴏᴅ ᴛʀᴇᴇ, ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴇꜱᴛ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴏᴅꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ, ᴍʏ ꜱᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ɪꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ. ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʙʀᴀᴠᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀɪᴍ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴜᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴡᴏʀᴅ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴀxᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɴɪꜰᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴘɪᴇʀᴄᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ.”

Warnings: Medieval AU, Dark Fantasy, Enemies to lovers, Descriptions of war and violence, Semi-graphic descriptions of violence, Dead bodies, Body horror, Zombies (kind of), Monsters, Witch Hunter AU, eventual smut

A/N: holy shit it’s been a while. i wasn’t sure how i wanted to proceed with this, given a) how long it’s been since an update and b) how much time and work i put into this story. the next and last chapter *should* be out before the end of the month, i hope. i decided to split the ending into two more chapters instead of one, just to give myself the space i needed to end it. this is for @punemy-spotted’s Princess Power Hour challenge, which i am so effing late for it isn’t even funny, but i still hope you all enjoy this update. divider by @firefly-graphics​

When Thor dreams, it is of you. 

You stand in front of a tree not unlike the one he saw in his nightmare. He knows it’s you—the stubborn set of your jaw, your determined glare—he could never mistake it. The trunk of the tree behind you is gnarled and black, it’s roots digging into the earth like a tangled mess of snakes. You are not alone, two older girls stand in front of you, their faces taunting.

One of them sneers. “A runt. What a waste.”  The other giggles in agreement. 

“Maybe the mother didn’t send you after all.”

He wonders if perhaps it is your dream, or maybe not a dream at all, but a memory. It shifts like running paint, colors and textures flowing into one another until he is standing in the same place, only… different. 

Darker. 

 The grass is dead beneath his feet, and the sky above is grey, listless. You kneel before the tree, and behind you, a haggard crone draws symbols in the flesh of your back with a blade of sharpened bone. There is another beside you, her flesh baring the same angry red markings. 

“Do not fail.” Her voice is the whisper of dying things. “Fall if you must, but do not fail.” 

Keep reading

[spookiekewchie]

Look at them starting to get along and catch feelings 🥰 we love to see it! Also I’m just happy in general to see this updated because I love when you give us spooky content. I’m excited to see how these two progress and also to see what drama Loki is about to add to the mess

[syntheticavenger]

reign - iii.

Thank you to everyone who has read, reblogged and commented on this little fantasy fic of mine. We have a series masterlist now!

reign masterlist

King! Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, family toxicity, angst, minor character death/murder, mentions of magic, language, mentions of rumored incest (gossip).

Summary | After the untimely death of the King, a family is thrown into a dangerous game of politics, navigated by a man who offers up his niece as a bargaining chip to secure his place in the realm.

“I must say I was surprised at your inquiry,” Lord Formad says, his servant pouring them both goblets of wine before she bows her head, taking her leave. “Though I believe it was only a matter of time before our paths crossed, Lord Hanad.”

The keep is large, airy and bright with the sound of the sea crashing against the rocks. Formad looks at Hanad’s hand, carefully bandaged, that he quickly moves under the table.

“An accident,” Hanad explains, the man across from him nodding his head. “I asked for a meeting to discuss your concerns with our Lord Chancellor.”

“Mm, indeed, Lord Chancellor,” Lord Formad gripes, stroking his beard. “Merely a boy who believes to know our politics, much like our King to be.”

He pauses, giving a small smile.

“I mean no ill will toward t our future queen, of course. It’s quite interesting, my Lord Hanad, that your niece was hidden away for so long and yet, never set foot in Greymount until earlier today. Most men would have loved for their daughters to come to court. Your brother seemed content to keep her away from here. It does have the people talking of course. They say many things. Including the bond between brother and sister. Twins, I believe, yes?”

“Yes. My brother is very strict with his household. Since she was a babe, she was under lock and key. I aimed to change that. My niece has many gifts.”

“One or two that I’m certain our new king will enjoy.”

Hanad ignores the lewd comment, leaning forward as Formad empties his goblet, wiping his mouth.

“Emeric believes that he has the upper hand. He was installed after King Richard’s death, in the middle of the night. My supporters were dismayed at the haste decision. I had been a faithful steward to our late King Consort Richard and the Queen. As you can imagine, the slight is still raw with myself and my allies.”

“So I have heard. I come to you with listening ears and an open mind, my Lord.”

“You have positioned yourself wisely, Lord Hanad. I saw the way our Prince Ransom looked at your niece. He is quite taken with her, though I am not sure she has been trained to deal with men like him. He could devour her. What then of you, my Lord Hanad? What hand would you have to play?”

“Devour?”

“They say our new king killed his father,” Lord Formad whispers. “A delicate situation, one rife with swift discipline if the word got out. I trust that this piece of nonsense with you goes nowhere else. As you can imagine, our lands are thrust into turmoil with such gossip. It would mean that our new king would be illegitimate.”

“Indeed,” Hanad agrees. “Has it been spreading?”

“Only to my allies, the ones who believe it to be true are weighing options to bring the prince to the council.”

“Do you believe it?”

Formad sighs, leaning his beefy arms on the table.

“What I believe is that Ransom is cunning. Cruel hearted and darkness follows him where he goes. A position of great power could have appealed to him. But I don’t believe that he would get his hands dirty. I believe, my Lord Hanad, that he gave that edict to one of his own.”

“You believe Emeric killed King Richard.”

“I do,” Lord Formad says with a hard nod. “And he would do it to keep his seat at the table. To keep his future king happy. I aim to bring that to light, my Lord Hanad.”

Hanad taps his fingers on the table. Formad slumps in his chair, a shapely young woman calling out to him as he turns.

“Ah, Romeria,” he calls out, the much younger woman placing her hand on his shoulder, her robe pulled against her. “This is my associate, Lord Hanad of Ulyera.  My wife, Romeria.”

“Pleasure to meet you, my Lord Hanad.”

He gives her a smile, nodding his head as Formad turns her back, patting her backside as she disappears.

“The hour is late and my wife needs attending to,” he says with a sly grin. “I’ll send word for you, my Lord, when we have another meeting. I welcome your thoughts on what our realm is dealing with. You may be able to provide some clarity. Maybe some direction.”

“Of course.”

-

“What business do you have with me now?” Ransom snaps, tossing down the fabrics as Walter closes the door shut.

“We need to discuss what I’ve just heard.”

“Discuss what? You’ve been prattling on for days now.”

“The people are talking about your future bride. They say that she and her brother are…” he pauses, nearly spitting out the words with disgust. “Intimate.”

Ransom stills, lifting his head to glare at his uncle.

“Who?”

“The people.”

“No, the people know better. Your circle of acquaintances don’t. Which of them spoke ill of my future queen? Which of them had the audacity to utter those words?”

“Ransom, you aren’t listening,” Walter urges, pulling up a chair as he sits. “That night, they saw her and Dominic in her room at nightfall.”

“One time? Cannot a brother and sister see each other?”

“Are you blind? This is unnatural.”

Ransom slams his hand on the table, silencing his uncle.

“What is unnatural is that you believe your acquaintances before your own nephew. I will appease you and ask her, dear uncle, if these rumors are true. But I will also have my revenge if I find a name. Does that sound fair?”

He’s met with silence, a hard knock breaking their conversation.

“Who is it!” Ransom shouts, the door opening as a woman stands in the entryway. Immediately, he glares. “Out.”

Walter lifts from his chair, giving a slight bow before he moves out of the room, leaving the woman to stand in front of the door after she closes it.

“Weara,” he greets, her eyes narrowing at the fabrics on the table. “What brings you to my door? Especially after I have told you countless times I do not wish to see you.”

“Since I was so cruelly removed from your bed weeks ago, I wanted to confirm the truth. The great Prince Ransom has a thawing heart? One would have thought that was a myth,” she hisses. “I always expect cruelty from you. But never deceit.”

“Deceit?” Ransom asks, his tone soft. “You mistake priority with deceit. You matter so little to me, Weara. You warm my bed for months, to do a duty your own mother did with my father and you expect a full accounting of my day? You think I would share the details of what goes on inside this castle to a whore? Have you gone mad?”

“I cared for you, Ransom,” she starts, voice cracking with emotion. “You cast me out the minute your father died.”

“I had no need for you any longer. You served your purpose. Don’t try to pretend that you were not aware of how it would end.”

“And if I were to bear your bastard?”

“You wouldn’t,” Ransom answers. “I’d feed you to my pets before you could tell a soul. But we both know you’re infertile, Weara. It is a curse that you flaunt well to your customers, or have you forgotten? For one who speaks of deceit, you have no problem with it flowing from your own lips.”

“You cannot marry her!”

“By who’s ruling?” Ransom demands.

“I warmed your bed, Ransom,” Weara sobs. “For months, I heard your schemes and I kept them quiet.”

“And so you believe you should queen as a result of your silence? You interrupt my meeting with my beloved uncle for a hissy fit? You are lucky I did not have you thrown out into the streets. Go.”

“Ransom, please I -”

“I am your King! Get out before I remove you myself!”

With a hard sob, Weara flees, the door slamming as he exhales loudly, grabbing a glass before throwing it against the wall, watching it shatter.

-

Fingers coast over a silky leaf, checking the health of the plant as a heavy knock rouses you from your thoughts, the door opening to reveal Prince Ransom. You curtsy, still trying to get used to the heavy dresses that feel unnatural to wear.

“Your Majesty,” you greet, his expression one of curiosity before he sits, motioning for you to do the same. 

As childish is it is to dream, you are enamored with his handsome face, nary a wrinkle on him as he offers a cool smile. It’s dangerous to think about this future king, one who you cannot get to know as of yet. Many walks in the gardens have taken place with the future King at your side. The conversations are surface level, leaving much to be desired, much more questions to ask on the tip of your tongue.

“A moment of your time, my lady,” Ransom begins as you sit. “I need your assistance in a matter I find… distressing.”

Judging by his stare, you realize it is better to listen than to speak, nodding quickly.

“You are very close with your brother. As an only child, I can’t imagine the bond that you must share. Envious, as I may be, it appears that to others, this bond is too familiar.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I believe you do. There are witnesses who say that they saw you and your brother on your balcony on your first night.”

You swallow, thinking of who you saw that night.

“Say it,” you whisper, heart pounding in your chest from anger. “Tell me what they suspect.”

“There are whispers that you and your brother are intimate.”

“Do you believe these whispers, Your Majesty?”

It takes every bit of you to maintain your composure, to block out the thoughts you have so that Dominic does not come crashing into your room, defending your honor. More importantly, you are surprised at how quickly rumors have started.

“Have you given me any reason to believe them?” Ransom counters.

“No. My brother is my closest confidant. I trust him where I trust no one else. In times of hardship and struggle, he has always been my constant. I don’t expect any of your followers, your people to understand that. But we are not deviants, Your Majesty. While I would lie on the sword for my brother, there are limits and boundaries that one will never cross, nor ever entertain,” you state, lifting from your seat. “Please excuse me.”

Ransom doesn’t let you get far, his hand on your upper arm as you stop, eyes welling in your eyes while he shakes his head.

“You’re angry,” he confirms, your lip trembling as he spies your tightly gripped fists at your sides. “Do you know who spoke such lies?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” Ransom murmurs, pulling you closer. “It matters that my future queen is distressed over a blatant lie. I want the name.”

Shaking your head, you won’t start anything you can’t finish yourself. You’ll have your vengeance in time, the hurt of the words and the weight of what Ransom has told you hangs heavy in your heart. You’ve grown used to the words that have been hurdled against you since you were a kid. Every unholy name was casted upon you from children to adults, who hadn’t believed in your gifts, who thought you daft for planting a garden when there were flowers blooming across the hills. 

Dominic has always been your savior, protecting you from the grieving widows who blamed you for their husbands’ deaths in the forests due to the hardwinds, calling you a witch and begging for your death to appease their suffering.

Blood was always thicker than water but the bond you have with Dominic is unbreakable. One that would not be sullied by anything unclean.

Ransom’s hand coasts over your cheek, thumb rubbing against it, blue eyes boring into yours.

“Tell me,” he urges, gently pulling you closer as his soft lips press on your forehead. “Let me put to bed these rumors so that you may be at ease. Do not deny me.”

Closing your eyes, your heartbeat slows as you allow him to soothe you, even if it’s temporary. You can see the man in your thoughts, clear as day.

“Lord Formad.”

-

The hushed whispers cease when Lord Emeric enters the council hall, the men following him with their eyes as he sits.

Dominic stands at the door, listening intently as he hears your fervent plea to not intervene.

“I called this emergency council meeting to discuss a very troubling concern,” Lord Emeric begins, looking around the table. “It appears our future queen became very distressed over some very vile accusations of her character.”

“Already?” Lord Ghentam exclaims with a shake of his head. “She’s only been here for less than a week.”

“What allegations does she speak of?” Lord Formad inquires. “My Lord Ghentam is correct. It could be the gossip of milk maids, of the women of the night. Jealously knows no bounds.”

“My Lords,” Lord Emeric says loudly. “There is someone who sits presently at our council who has been confirmed spreading these inaccuracies. The King would like to speak with them in his chambers to verify the validity of these accusations.”

The eerie silence that follows makes Emeric narrow his eyes.

“Am I to take this silence as you all agreeing to meet with Our Majesty?”

“I would do no such thing to our future queen,” Lord Ghentam speaks up. “She is still of virtue! A maid! I know her father, Lord Kulane, well. They have no depravity in their household.”

“And you, Ser Dominic?” Lord Formad speaks up. “What say you of this accusation?”

“I know nothing knowing of you what you speak, my Lords,” Dominic replies. “My duty is to serve Greymount and the King. I have not been made aware of any gossip regarding my sister.”

“You might as well know it,” Lord Emeric says with a sigh. “Someone at this table believes you are sleeping with your sister.”

“Which?” Dominic asks angrily, hand on his sword as he takes a step forward. “Tell me so that I may answer them.”

“Now, Ser Dominic,” Lord Emeric sighs at his infuriated face. “I mean to put an end to this. My Lord Votelnar, will you explain what you heard the night our dear lady came to Greymount?”

They turn their heads to face him, Lord Votelnar lifting his head.

“I heard my Lord Formad make an observation of Ser Dominic who was in her room. He said he found it odd that Ser Dominic would come between our Prince Ransom and his future bride at their first meeting, only to end up in her bedroom late that night.”

“Do you believe Lord Formad thought they were intimate.”

Lord Votelnar nods, staring at Lord Formad as he answers.

“He told me he believed it to be so.”

“Lies!” Lord Formad shouts, standing up as his chair scrapes loudly, pointing at Lord Emeric as spittle rests on his chin. “This is madness! This entire council rests on its laurels when a witch is placed in our midst, brought here by our Lord Chancellor to cement his place at our king’s side.”

“She is not a witch!” Dominic shouts. “Nor would I ever lay with my sister, you conniving -”

“That’s quite enough,” Lord Emeric says with a nod. “Ser Dominic, Ser Ulrich, please escort Lord Formad to our Prince Ransom for interrogation.”

“You’re mad!” Lord Formad shouts, the knights grabbing each arm of his. “You’re not the real Lord Chancellor! My allies will hear about this!”

Pulling him up the steps, he calls for his supporters before the doors slam shut.

-

“Leave us,” Ransom instructs, watching a cowering Lord Formad on his hands and knees.

Dominic and Ulrich bow before they leave, Dominic giving him a threatening glance before disappearing out the door.

Ransom circles the man, taking a bite of an apple as he chews thoughtfully, inhaling slowly before he swallows.

“Do you know why you are here, my Lord Formad?”

“I do.”

“Then you are aware that this matter is of utmost importance and needs to be dealt with.”

“I ask for mercy, Prince Ransom,” Lord Formad whispers, getting to his feet slowly.

“You may certainly ask for it, Formad. But I will deny it.”

“Deny me mercy? Your Majesty, I have served you and your family for decades,” Lord Formad begs.

“And you sully your service with lies about my future queen, do you not?”

A low roar and a growl gets Lord Formad’s attention, his shaky hands gripping the table as he looks out over the balcony.

“You can’t see them, Formad,” Ransom says with an irritated sigh. “That’s half the fun.”

“You can’t do this.”

“I can’t?” Ransom pauses, tapping his finger against his chin as he thinks. “I think I can, actually. I made sure of it.”

Ransom grips him by his robes, lifting him as Lord Formad’s eyes go wide at his strength.

“Did you believe I would not find out about your treachery? That you met in darkness with Lord Hanad?”

“I…I…” Lord Formad gasps for air, Ransom’s eyes burning into his own. 

“You severely underestimate me, my Lord Formad. You singlehandedly tried to turn my uncle against this union and you spread your lies about my future queen to the point of her tears. You underestimate what she can do to this entire kingdom and beyond our realm. What we can do together.”

“I can make it right,” Lord Formad wheezes, his legs kicking as his face goes red. “P-Please, Your Majesty.”

“You are going to make it right, my Lord Formad,” Ransom replies with a cold smile, letting him go as the man drops to the ground, trying to crawl away before he’s dragged toward the balcony. 

“No, no, please!”

With a shrill whistle, he can hear his pets, growling as tears prick at Formad’s eyes

“I hate it when nobles beg,” Ransom seethes. “Go with dignity.”

He tosses him over the balcony, the sound of his body hitting the ground with a thick thud, his screams overpowered by the loud roars of Nero and Brutus as he looks over. Formad’s eyes look up in terror as the lions wait, looking up at their owner, their tails flicking as they lick their chops.

“Nunc est devorandum,” he commands, the lions roaring before they tear into Formad, Ransom leaning over as he observes him being devoured.

-

Standing in the moonlight, you let it bathe you in its light, the root now spouting another branch. Inhaling deeply, you focus on where your uncle could be. Your mind is a map, voices in your head acting as a guide to your path.

“You believe Emeric killed King Richard.”

“So I have heard. I come to you with listening ears and an open mind, my Lord.”

A vision clouds your mind, eyes opening as they turn to milky white, face upwards toward the sun.

Your uncle, locked in an intimate embrace with a woman, candles around them as he pulls on her hair. The woman looks up at the ceiling, her face one that you’ve seen before.

When you first arrived, introduced to the nobles that stood around you.

Lady Formad.

The vision is clear, the sound of the door opening to your chambers that breaks you of your meditation, heart pounding at the realization that your uncle is sleeping with a married woman.

“Your Majesty,” you gasp, curtsying to him as he stands in the darkness. 

“The hour is late. I thought you may have been asleep. I come with a wedding gift.”

“A gift?”

Ransom steps into the light, holding a black leopard cub in his arms. Its yellow eyes shine in the moonlight like jewels.

“You’ve yet to meet my pets but I wanted you to have one of your own.”

He places the cub in your arms, watching it snuggle into the crook of your arm.

“Do you like her?”

Petting her soft fur gently, you nod, unsure of what makes you worthy of such a precious thing when your head raises at the remembrance of his words.

“Wedding gift.”

“I will announce to the council tomorrow with a larger celebration planned prior to our wedding. If you will allow me to do so.”

“I do,” you respond.

“Then,” Ransom says against your lips, kissing you slowly as his fingers slide up the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “Let the celebrations begin.”

[spookiekewchie]

This is all so good I’m loving all the twists and turns and the mystery

[syntheticavenger]

reign - ii.

I told myself I was going to wait to see if people liked the first chapter and I guess it was enjoyed, haha.

So here you go, have another chapter.

Previous

King! Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, family toxicity, angst, mentions of murder, threats.

Summary | After the untimely death of the King, a family is thrown into a dangerous game of politics, navigated by a man who offers up his niece as a bargaining chip to secure his place in the realm.

Ransom gazes over the balcony, his two beloved lions, Nero and Brutus, fighting over a carcass. Brutus rips an arm from the body, settling down to enjoy his selection.

He’s inclined to toss another body over, just for the frustration that runs through him at the thought of what he had promised. His own dawning empire could be threatened by a careless moment but he stands strong in his belief that he has made the right decision.

Even if others disagree.

“How can you stand there and watch them eat?” Walter asks, his uncle leaning on his cane for a moment, refusing to come any closer.

“They are powerful. A good reminder of what we are,” Ransom replies. “Are you here to try to attempt to have me reconsider?”

Walter taps his cane on the ground in irritation.

“Do you trust Hanad?”

Ransom watches his pets for a moment longer, turning back to his uncle who sits on a chair, eyeing him carefully. His uncle has been worried since the beginning, from the day his mother, the Queen, died mysteriously, leaving the King Consort to rule. 

And it ceased as quickly as it began.

“I trust no one, Walter, you know that.”

“Then why agree to the marriage? You should have rid yourself from him the minute he saw you. You gave him power, Ransom! We don’t give our enemies what we’ve held for centuries!”

“Is that what you think? That I freely gave him whatever he wanted?” 

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. He doesn’t belong in our lands, doesn’t belong in this castle. You invite him in, to potentially hold a council seat because you couldn’t kill your father as cleanly as you liked. I warned you that he was going to struggle and you didn’t believe me. I could have cleaned up the mess on my own.”

“One death would lead to two,” Ransom counters slowly. “Then what would you have me do? Kill the rest who took his body? Kill you for your insolence? Men like Hanad aren’t stupid, Walter. He will protect what he believes to be my secret as long as he is rewarded by it.”

Walter lets out a groan of annoyance, running his hand down his face.

“Exactly my point.”

“But you underestimate me, dear uncle, as you tend to do,” Ransom continues, circling Walter as he looks up at him. “His niece will be Queen. When I put a baby in her belly, my son will be a prince. Naming him and his brother as lords are nothing to me. They are titles, Walter. Which can be stripped away at a moment’s notice. Whenever I see fit.”

“And if he puts up a fight? Tells your secret?”

“ I will invite him into the lion’s den.”

-

Arda glances at you inside the garden, lifting up a gnarled root and placing it into a bag. Your deep blue cloak, a gift from the soon to be King, swallows up your frame before Kulane steps outside to see his wife, her hand over her mouth. The distress has been mounting for days, the telltale lack of sleep on her face, dark smudges under her eyes.

“It feels wrong,” Arda murmurs, Kulane tucking back a wavy strand of hair over her ear. “This is her home, Kulane.”

“She’s going to a better one,” Kulane argues. “With more power and stability.”

“Better,” your mother scoffs. “Better than being kept safe? Knowing I can see her in the mornings? To help her tend to her garden?”

“Don’t let your heart cloud your judgement,” Kulane admonishes gently. “She will be a queen. Hanad -”

“I don’t care what he said, what he promises,” Arda argues, pulling away from her husband. “Does he know of her gifts? Does the Prince know?”

“No.”

“All the more reason for her to stay here. I don’t care about our titles, Kulane. I care about our family.”

“Then think of the good it can do when she’s ruling a kingdom. Everything we’ve taught her has led to this moment.”

“And Dominic? What of our son?”

“He will stay at the castle.”

Arda gasps, shaking her head in disbelief. It feels cruel to break the news in such a way but he knows that Hanad would not have hesitated to tell her the truth. In a few days time, they will eventually travel to their new holdings, land gifted by the Prince to benefit their new titles.

“Then I’ve lost both of my children on this day.”

She leaves him behind, Kulane calling out to you. When you lift your head, you notice he’s dressed in much finer clothing. He stands proudly when you come to him, holding your bag in your hands. 

“The carriage will be approaching soon,” he reminds you. 

You nod, saying not a word. You haven’t since he had cruelly told you that you would be moving to the castle, to meet the Prince and be his wife. Spoken to you without a pause for your questions, your concerns, your uncle had left you alone, your father trying in vain to back up the claims that it would be better for you to listen to him. That your future would be much more than what you have now.

“No words for me this day, I assume,” Kulane comments, your head lifting at his words before you move past him. “You will make us proud, daughter. I have no doubt.”

-

The carriage slows to a stop, Dominic standing at attention. He can feel your eyes on him, the unease in your thoughts that he seeks to soothe before you block him out.

“Don’t,” he whispers to you, your eyes closed, a tear running down your cheek. “Don’t shut me out. Not me.”

It comes rushing back, the anger and pain of being ripped away from your home, your mother and father and the growing hatred of your uncle that makes Dominic stare at you before you place the hood of the cloak over your head.

When the door of the carriage opens, a tall man with thick wavy hair and a beard steps out. Immediately the villagers that have come to see this spectacle, bow their heads.

“Lord Emeric,” Dominic introduces. “Our Lord Chancellor of the soon to be King.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Lord Emeric greets you, bowing his head. “The King shall be pleased to see you.”

There is no fanfare, save for the guards that sit atop the hill, ready to accompany the carriage to make sure you get there safe. Your father has told you as much. Under heavy supervision, the Prince will take no chances with your safety.

Your uncle is nowhere to be found, Dominic silently communicating with you that there is a very good chance that he is already at the castle, no doubt in audience with the Prince, planning his future.

And your own.

“Shall we? I am under strict orders that you be there by nightfall, my lady.”

He holds out his arm, Dominic giving you a slight nudge before you take it. You don’t turn around, your head held high. You’re aware that your father is watching, moving as regal as a queen.

The Drysdale soldiers keep their eyes on you, opening the door of the ornately carved carriage for you to step inside. Your calm nature belies your true feelings, your thoughts like a thunderstorm, the door closed and secure before the soldiers step away.

“Don’t worry,” Dominic murmurs, untying his horse. “I’ll be right there with you.”

He cannot mourn the old house that you will never see again. With the new titles come new land and your father and uncle are keen to move into the new keeps that await them, something they have not told your mother.

Or you.

He cannot bring himself to tell you the truth. Not yet, at least. Your garden has been picked clean, the rest of the villagers carefully picking what is left. Remembering your plant, he heads back to the space, only to find nothing there, as if it never existed.

Ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of his head, he mounts his horse, easing him into a gallop to catch up with the carriage.

-

“Your uncle’s promises about your beauty did not do you justice,” Lord Emeric praises with a warm smile. “All these years… hidden away. One must wonder why your father hid such a treasure.”

“My uncle tends to get ahead of himself.”

“On the contrary, he did not say enough. The Prince will be delighted to see you. You are very fortunate, my lady. Handpicked by the Prince himself.”

“Handpicked?” you ask incredulously. “My uncle led me to believe it was his doing.”

“Pardon my bluntness, my lady. But your uncle is not the one who is the master of the strings, as much as he desires to be.”

You allow him a small smile, one that he returns.

“I take it that you feel like you’re between two worlds,” Lord Emeric hints with a sigh. “You’d be correct in that. Greymount is strong and secure. But inside the walls, I fear there are many political alliances that need to be mended. With the death of the King and his… mysterious disappearance, we will look to you to build those broken partnerships by the Prince’s side.”

“Disappearance?”

“Yes. His body went missing a day after his death. Some say it was his followers who are still in mourning. And others…” Lord Emeric trails off, shaking his head with an fleeting thought.

“What?”

“You may as well know the truth of it. There are some who believe that he was assassinated.”

“Assassinated?”

“King Richard lived a very… rich life. He had many health issues, as I can attest to. I’m informing you now so that you are not caught off guard by any of the servants that may be attending you. I trust that this conversation will never reach the Prince. He cared very much for his father and I believe that to bring this up would cause him considerable pain.”

“Yes, of course. Between us,” you promise.

-

Hanad stands at the balcony with the Prince, looking down on the procession below. It’s fitting, enough for Hanad to smile widely.

“Looking forward to seeing your niece, Lord Hanad?” Ransom asks. “I trust this welcome fits your expectations.”

“I could not ask for more, Your Majesty,” Hanad says, bowing his head in appreciation. “I assure you I had no expectations.”

“Hmm,” Ransom hums, looking toward his uncle. “No expectations, indeed.”

He leaves Hanad, heading toward the castle doors to greet you and Lord Emeric.

Eager is he to hear what his Chancellor will say about you. He is curious to find out what you look like. A maiden past the years of what he is accustomed to has him on guard. He half expects you to be an old maid, hair of gray and missing teeth. Hanad has assured him you are still of fertile age, capable of bearing him a son.

He meets the carriage as it stops, the door opening as his Lord Chancellor gives him a knowing glance.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Emeric begins, holding your hand to assist you up. “May I present Lord Kulane’s daughter.”

Your name sounds heavenly, Ransom staring as you pull the hood back from your cloak.

There is no old maid for him to meet. Only a beautiful woman with intense eyes that does not offer him a smile but rather a knowing glance at the balcony before he helps you out of the carriage. Your youth belies your years, something Hanad had failed to mention.

You curtsy, smooth and refined, much better than the courtiers that have been trained to do so.

Ransom is pleased by the stares of his nobles. He’d sooner toss them to his beloved pets should they have looked at you a different way but he sees it, the way the ladies pause and the men’s stares linger a little too long.

Envy.

“Your Majesty,” you greet him. “It is my pleasure to meet you.”

“I assure you the pleasure is mine,” Ransom answers, reaching for your hand. “Let the servants take your things. Let us walk.”

Dominic takes a step forward, Ransom’s head turning at the sound. He is aware of the bond between brother and sister but he is also keenly aware that your brother did not want this meeting to take place, per Hanad’s confession.

“Ser Dominic, I presume? Your sister is in good hands, I assure you,” he replies, nearly mocking in his tone. “My Lord Emeric, show Ser Dominic around, won’t you?”

-

Birds trill in the distance, the Prince stopping at a maze of thick, lush, greenery. He’s handsome, that much you will allow. But as he stares, you’re aware that it feels like he’s searching for something, perhaps an answer, without saying a single word. 

You decide to oblige him, slowing your steps at the entrance of the maze.

“Why me, Your Majesty?” you ask, the Prince stopping at your question. He seems intrigued by your question. 

“Why what?”

He wants you to say it, the way he pauses, his tongue running over his lips. There’s something about him that you want to observe, to pick and prod until you find your answer.

“I am not unaware of my uncle’s yearning for a sit at your council. Though I do question why you would choose me when I am older, much wiser to the politics of men than a mere maid who lives to make her father happy.”

“And yet you’re here,” he reminds you. “And what good is a younger maiden who may be swayed by what others can offer? When you’re younger, everything on the table looks good enough to devour. But as one grows wiser, there is an appreciation and understand of which fruit you choose to eat.”

He lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing it gently as it lingers just enough for you to get goosebumps. A loud roar cuts through the air, making you step back in surprise before he smiles.

“Ah, my pets,” he assures you. “I believe it is feeding time.”

Looking back at the sound, you see only a tall wall, turning around to see that he’s vanished completely.

-

The two moons shine brightly in the night sky, Dominic slipping away to your chambers, your vision clear as you guide him. He climbs every step, the door opening before he has a chance to knock.

“You’ve pleased him,” Dominic tells you, shutting the door to your vast room. “The servants say he is captivated by you.”

Candles light the way to the roaring fireplace, your gown trailing behind you, grabbing a pot from the balcony. You don’t answer his praise, cradling the pot close.

“Hardwinds bring darkness,” you remind him, Dominic nodding in agreement as the black gnarled root has sprouted two new branches. “The earth confirms it.”

Your hand hovers over the root before you guide his own over it. He can feel the coldness, your eyes watching a leaf unfurl from the branch.

“His power grows,” you whisper. “You can feel it, can’t you?”

Looking up the moonlight, Dominic swallows, the confession on his tongue before he looks around the room.

“Are all these gifts from the Prince?”

“Yes,” you reply, still looking at the plant. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“You haven’t said a word about him. Or a single thought.”

“He…” you trail off, blinking as you grip the pot. “He disappeared.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I was walking with him. I heard a sound and when I turned around, he had gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes.”

Pulling the plant away and placing it on the balcony, you can feel your brother behind you.

“And where is our beloved uncle?” you ask.

“Secret meeting with the Lord of Formad, though not as secret as he likes it to be. He has yet to learn the art of keeping silent. Being a knight of this realm means you become a close acquaintance to those who look for any sort of goodwill. Even if I have no political sway.”

“Formad. What does uncle want with him? Father had turned him away years ago when he tried to buy our land,” you remind him. “Even if Hanad wants a meeting with him, Father would deny him.”

Dominic stands next to you, nodding at the lanterns that move down the rocky steps.

“You’ve yet to learn about alliances,” Dominic mutters, his hand on his sword. “Or perhaps, you are not aware of how brazen our uncle truly can be. He seeks an audience with Formad because he wishes to have a spot at the council’s table. Formad can make that happen.”

“How?”

“In my travels, Formad has made it known that he had once desired to be the Lord Chancellor. He believes that it was wrongly appointed and aims to reclaim what he rightly believes is his.”

“Hanad would not be swayed so easily. He has his meetings with the Prince. What would he have wanted with Formad?”

“Which can all be taken away by the Lord Chancellor. Our uncle may strive for a seat at the table but it starts with alliances. If he earns favor with Formad, he will be invited into his home, to build up his own house, to have powerful men at his own table,” Dominic explains. “And all he’ll have to do is what he does best once he’s built it up. Command and take.”

“And what of Formad if he rebuffs our uncle?”

“I don’t have an answer for that. But I know he will try his hardest to win him over tonight.”

“Will he?” you ask, plucking the leaf from the branch and crushing it under your fingers.

Somewhere down below, a shout of pain carries on the wind, catching Dominic’s attention.

[spookiekewchie]

Unc doing a whole lot and don’t even know these folks onto him. He gonna play himself I’m calling it now. He’s gonna overreach and end up an entree for the lions. Meanwhile Ransom is a cold piece of work but I’m into it 😩.

[syntheticavenger]

reign - i.

I wanted to write something out of my comfort zone and a fantasy medieval AU is at the top of the list. I'm nervous as hell to post it but hey, it's only the first chapter and if it doesn't get traction then at least I tried. If you do like it, let me know.

So, I offer you then, the first chapter of a GOT/HotD inspired fic.

King! Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, family toxicity, incoming dread, talk of menstruation, world building.

Summary | After the untimely death of the King, a family is thrown into a dangerous game of politics, navigated by a man who offers up his niece as a bargaining chip to secure his place in the realm.

Hardwinds.

He knows, not of his own understanding but of hers, that the winds that are coming can lead to death. The cold rushes through the trees, snapping branches above as his horse, Valor, gallops toward a clearing to escape the incoming change in the weather.

These winds have toppled riders from their horses, slamming them against the trees. The cold can rip through clothing, tear at the skin and burrow into flesh, cleaving it away from bone.

He’s seen the skeletons of the men who went against your word, their bones weathered by the winds.

Only when he sees a familiar path, the soft sound of your voice that seems to lead the way, do the winds stop.

As children, you both used to play in the forest. Older by a whole ten minutes, Dominic used to watch you freeze, eyes wide with terror at the sound of the branches snapping above, the leaves rustling before you would take off.

“Hardwinds,” you’d whisper to him as a child, pulling him along to get out of the forest, the familiar howl of the trees sending goosebumps down his arms.

He’d ignored you once, the wind lifting him from the ground, carrying him a few feet before he crashed against a rock.

He bears the same scar to this day, a reminder that you were one with the earth. No one else knew when the hardwinds would start.

Those that heeded your warning survived.

Those who ignored it had paid with their lives.

-

You sense him before you see him, eyes closing as the air stills around you. Your heartbeat quickens before you finally hear the sound of the gate opening, pressing your palms to the ground in appreciation.

He’s weathered now, his armor marred in places that you don’t want to think about. A warrior through and through but still your brother, his smile wide at the sight of you, looking at the beautiful garden that seems to get more vibrant every time he comes home.

“Every time I visit, I think you’ll be gone. Married, off with a husband and maybe a child.”

“I’m old now,” you muse, fingers coasting over the dirt as you make a circle. “Lest you forget.”

“Hardly,” Dominic counters, crouching down to look at the garden. “Thirty odd trips around the sun does not make you an old maid. It makes you wiser than the girls who have their first bleeds, the ones their parents push forward for nobles once they finally come of age.”

“Dominic! Where did you learn such language?”

He shakes his head, lifting you up, brushing the dirt from your skirts.

“I’ll tell you something, sister. There are certain men I keep my distance from. Things I outright deny when they are brought to me. Unnatural appetites. Thank the Gods for our parents who’ve kept you safe.”

You say nothing at his disgusted expression, wiping your hands on a cloth carefully.

“You haven’t been back for some time. What caused this special occasion?”

“Our Uncle is coming,” he replies, his mouth set in a frown. “He brings great news, as he claims in his letter. Father is curious so we will have an audience with him tonight.”

“You don’t trust him.”

“No,” Dominic answers quietly. “I don’t.”

He stares at the small plod of dirt that you’ve patted down. Concern ripples across his face, staring back at you as his eyes narrow.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” you respond. “A feeling. A seed to show what is coming.”

“That sounds ominous,” he replies, leading you back toward the house. “When will it sprout?”

“When darkness is near,” you answer, walking with him, unaware of the black sprout that pokes through the dirt.

-

Dominic cannot help but stare at his uncle, Hanad, who sits at the head of the table while he finishes his wine. As always, your father, Kulane, sees to his comforts, even if he doesn’t deserve them. While your family lives in poverty, he curries favor with the King, inching ever closer to sitting with the council of men that Dominic despises. 

The fire crackles behind him, Hanad placing his goblet down as he looks at his brother and nephew. His beard is adorned with gold, a gift from the Templed Isle, a place he visits often but shares little about his time there.

After a moment, he clears his throat, looking around at the small space.

“Where is my niece? I thought she would come and welcome me. Unless her time is occupied with her potions and mystical learnings,” Hanad says with a smirk.

“What do you need her for?” Dominic inquires. “You sought an audience with Father and myself, not her.”

“I sought an audience with my brother,” Hanad emphasizes. “You are here only because I want you to hear this proposition. Which, I suppose, we will do well to not have your sister in attendance. Least not at the moment.”

“What is this proposition that you speak of?” Kulane asks, motioning for both Dominic and Hanad to sit. “And what does this have to do with my daughter?”

Almost gleefully, Hanad leans forward, eyes nearly sparkling with interest.

“Let me paint you a tale of where we have found ourselves. The Drysdale empire has long overshadowed our village. We are conscripted into service, to fight wars that they will not. Send our children,” Hanad reminds Kulane, nodding at Dominic, who clenches his jaw. “To shed blood and cut off our lineages. And for what? While we lose our namesakes, our flesh and blood, they turn to more greed, more wars to line their pockets with silver that we will never see. That changes now.”

“What are you talking about?” Kulane questions, Hanad smiling at his brother’s confused expression.

“King Richard is dead.”

Silence falls at Hanad’s admission. 

“Felled by his own son. Ransom,” Hanad finishes.

Kulane shakes his head gravelly, hands to his head as he tries to sort out what his brother has told him, anger flickering across his features before he lifts his head, trying to keep his voice even and calm.

“You come into my house to tell me lies?”

“I would never lie to you, brother. I saw it with my own eyes. Poisoned by his only child.”

“And yet you live to tell the tale and leave alive,” Dominic interrupts. “How very fortunate, Uncle.”

“I lived to tell the tale because I offered the soon to be king a proposition. My silence and fealty to the new king if he marries my niece.”

“What?!” Dominic shouts, leaping up from his seat. “What are you talking about?”

“Do not interrupt me, boy,” Hanad warns, Kulane holding out his hand to stop his son. “I am no fool. She is still a maiden. Older than the usual ones the prince has been with, but she is untouched. Innocent to the ways of men. I am not blind to my niece’s beauty. You’ve hidden her away for so long that she’s been forgotten about. I intend to change that.”

“And you would send her into the lion’s den,” Dominic spits. “You speak of losing flesh and blood, but you have no qualms about using her for your own advantage.”

“This is not about me. This is about our family. These are how dynasties and empires are made. A once in a lifetime event and those who are fortunate enough to have it must make quick measures to protect and uplift their family line. I will do that for our family. Even if you won’t.”

“So you aren’t asking,” Kulane reminds his brother. “You wish to take her away to the palace. Parade her around as a potential bride. What if Ransom denies her?”

“Father, you can’t be serious, do you understand -”

Hanad raises his hand for silence.

“He will not deny her. Upon my speaking to him, you and I have been made Lords, brother. Dominic, despite my reservations, has been made a knight.”

“My boy,” Kulane begins, looking up at his distressed son as he pauses for a moment, looking down at the table. “We have so little in our lives. If the journey of becoming noble is a pathway with thorns and deceit, then we must make our own way of it. Find our own integrity.”

“Integrity would not be allowing this proposition. Not letting my sister be sacrificed. In the end, she is the one who will pay. You know that.”

“She will become queen,” Hanad snaps, his hand slamming on the table. “Not the daughter of a Lord, a sister of a knight. She will be exalted higher than any of us. She will rule at his side.”

“He’s a murderer,” Dominic argues, Kulane holding up his hand again for silence.

“And we will keep his secret,” Kulane agrees, looking at his brother before looking at his son. “She must never know about what has occurred.”

“She’s not stupid. She’ll know.”

“Then you hold your tongue,” Hanad commands. “Or she shall find herself an only child.”

-

The night air sends a chill through your body, wrapping your robe around you for warmth, holding the lantern carefully, the light guiding your path. Lack of sleep only breeds more concern, pushing open the gate to the garden, walking slowly toward the patch of dirt that you’d buried the seed in earlier.

A black gnarled root juts out from the earth, your eyes focusing on it, crouching down to inspect further.

“What dirt needs tending to at night?” your uncle asks softly.

Looking back at him, you straight up, hiding the gnarled root behind your robe.

“I thought I left something behind.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

Looking behind you, the root begins to grow, looking back to face him as you answer.

“No.”

[spookiekewchie]

Oh this is going to be hella good! I already don’t like the uncle and her pops seem like a pushover lowkey. And I love a little witchy reader 😍

[spookiekewchie]

⛓kinktober 2021- cum marking⛓

—as long as you know who you belong to...

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Characters: Frank Castle x woc!reader

Summary: The one where mouthing off at Frank has consequences.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: language, frank grabbing reader by the throat, name calling, unwanted touching (not from frank), dry humping?, orgasm denial, cum marking, implied future smut

A/N: Day two of kinktober is going out to all my Frank hoes out there. Hope yall enjoy this filth lmao. Pardon any errors or typos please. The divider is by @firefly-graphics

DO NOT repost or translate my work anywhere. Reblogs are always welcome, and let me know that you enjoy my fics.

The sound of a vase crashing to the floor in your living room tells you that you have an unexpected guest. Judging by the grunts and grumbled curses coming from a man, you already know exactly who it is. You sigh, not pausing as you finish fastening the ankle strap of your heel in place before you grab the gun from your dresser and wander into the living room to confirm your suspicions.

Frank Castle is standing in your living looking irritated at the broken vase. Any other day you might have been excited to see him, but not tonight. Not when it’s been three weeks of radio silence and you’ve had time to reevaluate the relationship...if you can even call it that. For all you know it could just be sex with him, but you’re not even really sure about that on the worst of days. It doesn’t help that when he’s with you, whether it’s a week or month at a time he does everything a lover should. It’s hardly fair you think, you don’t know where you stand, you just know that you want him...wanted. You remind yourself that three weeks is too long and you’re pissed about it. Especially when you think about all the times you let your social life suffer because you were more concerned with waiting around just in case Frank showed up. Well you’re determined to put an end to that, your friends want to go out tonight and you already promised them that you’d show.

Unless Frank was hurt and needed your help, pissed off as you are you know you won’t leave him bleeding and injured.

Judging from the lack of stab and bullet wounds Frank isn’t hurt. “What do you want?” You know what he wants, and when he looks at you with a gun in your hand, and wearing a tight little dress that is almost a touch too short, and showing off more of your warm brown skin than he likes, it cements it. The man damn near swallows his tongue at the sight of you, and briefly you smirk. You still got it, and it’s fueling the petty desire to rile him up before you leave him to go see your friends.

“Actually, don’t answer that. I know what you want Frank, and I’m too busy for you tonight. I have plans.” You tell him, picking up your purse and slipping the small handgun into it. A gun that he insists you carry with you when you go out, for your own protection. Maybe he does care. A little voice chimes in the back of your mind before you quickly silence it.

“You wanna tell me what this attitude is about?” Frank questions, clearly not pleased and doing his best to not show just how easily you get under his skin. God that question just makes you light up with anger and before you know it you’re laying into the man.

“Three weeks Frank!” You snap, and when he doesn’t react or say anything it just sets you off more. “Three fucking weeks, you could have at least let me know you weren’t dead in a fucking ditch somewhere. God it’s like you either show up here half dead, or just to get your dick wet.” You know that’s not entirely true, but you’re mad so the facts are a little blurry. Still he says nothing, and you show no sign of stopping your tirade now that he’s got you going. “You fuck me, then you leave me, then you don’t even call and just expect me to welcome you back like it’s nothing? I don’t know if anyone’s told you lately but you’re too fucking old to be acting like a fuckboy Frank.” You spit out, and you can see the deep calming breath that he has to take to likely keep from crossing the room and yoking you up.

“Yeah but I’m not too old to fuck that attitude outta you.” He finally replies, voice gruff and barely hiding his displeasure at how you’re choosing to speak to him. Of course you scoff, doing your best to ignore the wave of heat that rushes to your core. You huff, petulant and bratty because acting out is easier than admitting you feel played.

“Whatever Frank, you wanna stick around and wait up, then fine. Do you, but I’m going out with my friends. I’ve spent one too many nights sitting around like a damn fool waiting for you to show up like I don’t have other options I could have been entertaining.”

And just like that Frank’s on you, a hand around your throat and the back of your legs bumping roughly against the arm of your sofa. “You wanna run that last part by me again?” The words are more of a growl than anything, and you know you’re toeing the line of setting the man off. Still, you just can’t help yourself, even when you feel the way your body trembles slightly in his hands.

He needs to know that he’s not the only one interested, maybe then he’ll put in a little more effort.

“I said I have other options, and if you can’t be fucked to at least text and let me know you aren’t dead in a ditch somewhere then clearly I should be paying more attention to them.” You spat, breath catching in your lungs a second later when his grip tightens. You think to yourself that you’ve done it, you’ve riled him up and he’s going to bend you over the back of the sofa and rail you until you can’t see straight.

Frank just lets you go, scoffing to himself as he shakes his head and steps back.

“You and I are going to have a conversation about this when I see you later.” Is all he says before he’s stalking his way into your kitchen to fish a beer out of the fridge. Men. You think to yourself, so God damn entitled.

If you were thinking clearly you would have known that Frank was plotting something.

It's a little over an hour later when you realize that you should have suspected Frank to be up to something. He appears in the upscale little bar that your friends had invited you out to, at first you think he'll come over and drag you out of the bar. Especially when some guy decides to buy you a drink and flirt with you. Your gaze drifts over to Frank, wary and unsure now that you aren't feeling as confident as you were earlier in the evening. Accepting the drink you sip at it, half paying attention and half keeping an eye on Frank. It's not until you feel the guys hand on your ass that you give him your full attention.

You jolt out of the barstool, grabbing your purse as the drink in your hand tips forward to spill into the handsy idiot's lap accidentally while you apologize profusely. There's chaos, the man is not happy and makes a grab for you before your group of friends descend upon him and shove you towards the back and out of harm's way. It gives Frank just enough time to slide an arm around you and walk you towards the empty restrooms. You say nothing, watching him check that the stalls are all empty before he returns to the door to flip the little lock in place.

"You aren't going to hurt that guy are you?" You question quietly, knowing Frank well enough to know that even though he looks calm now he's not happy at the thought of someone trying to touch you against your will. Frank's methods of dealing with that usually involve violence.

"Might break his hand later, teach him not to get grabby with people." He answers, and you have no doubt that might means he absolutely will. That has your panties damp, but you say nothing of it as you watch Frank as he finally rounds on you.

Neither of you say anything for a moment, but you can tell by his tense movements that he’s still not happy with you. All your earlier bravado is gone, you know you fucked up earlier with how you spoke to him. You’d been too prideful to just tell him that you had spent all that time worried about him, and that you’d missed him. “Look about earlier…” You start, pushing the strap of your purse up on your shoulder and watching as he stalks his way back over to you. Words falter when he cages you in by pressing his palms against the wall on either side of your head.

“Yeah, you wanna tell me what the fuck all that shit was about?”

You chew your bottom lip, hesitantly reaching out to wrap your arms around him. “I was upset because you hadn’t reached out for three whole weeks.” You admit, and briefly you can see the way his gaze softens for just a second. He knows he should have at least sent a text, it’s not like you’re just some casual fuck that he keeps around. You're one of the few people left in the world that he'd go on a warpath for if something happened to you. Clearly he hasn’t shown that to you, not that it’s easy for him to open up in that way.

That doesn't mean he can let you get away for your earlier stunt. Frank doesn't encourage bad behavior, and letting you go unpunished would be doing just that.

“So that’s what had my good girl actin’ like a fuckin’ brat, huh?” He grabs you by the chin and you can’t help the way your glossed lips form into a pout. “You know that pout is real precious, but it ain’t getting you out of your punishment.” He tells you, leaning in like he might kiss you only to pull back and leave you whining as you try to chase his lips. Frank just laughs at your efforts before he’s pulling your arms from around his neck and spinning you around to face the wall. He doesn’t even have to say the words, you already know what he expects and trying to be a good girl for him you press your hands flat against the wall and arch your hips back until you feel the round globes of your ass pressing against Frank. He stays put for the moment, watching as you fight to stay still and not grind back against him.

Ever so slowly he slides the tight dress up over your ass, hissing at the black lace thong that’s just clinging to your slick cunt. “Fuck, you always were such a good little slut. Too bad you had to act like a god damn brat tonight. Might’ve filled this tight lil’ cunt with my cum ‘stead of havin’ ta punish you.” His words bring a defeated whine to your lips, but if you know Frank once he’s sure that you’ve learned your lesson he’ll indulge...at least you hope. You expect him to spank you, but instead you hear the zipper of his jeans coming down and the rustle of fabric as he pulls himself free. When he rips the waistband of your thong in two and pulls it away from you, you think for a moment that he’s changed his mind, but then he quickly douses that dream when he presses his cock between your pressed together thighs and you can feel him dragging against your damp folds. He’s so close to being exactly where you want him, but he makes sure to only tease you with the possibility of his cock slipping into you. You can’t help but whine and throw a pleading look over your shoulder at the man.

“What? You thought I’d change my mind?” He scoffs, and you’re too embarrassed to admit that, yes, you thought that maybe Frank would just fuck you and give you what you wanted. This was worse than his rough palm spanking your ass raw and red, this was damn near torture when all you want is to feel him splitting you open and making you scream out for him. When you don’t answer him he lays a sharp slap against your mound, and then another until you're tripping over your words to admit the embarrassing truth.

“Y-yes, sir!” You stammer, and you can hear the dark chuckle from Frank. He grunts softly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against the buttery smooth brown skin of your exposed shoulder. Never once does he lose his rhythm as he teases his cock through your folds. His rutting against you makes you want to sob, because he’s so close that all it would take is a slight angle change and he’d be pushing into you just like you need. But Frank is careful to avoid doing just that, and you can’t do anything but stand there sniffling and squirming each time you feel his thick cock slide back and forth between your thighs while he teases your sex, and lets your slick coat his length.

“You think you deserve to feel this fat cock splitting you open?”

You moan at that, squirming as you clench your thighs together tighter and draw out a hiss from Frank. Just the thought of him inside you is enough to make you clench around nothing and you’re quite sure that he’ll be able to make you cum just like this without even being inside you. “Please, I’ll be so good for you. I’m sorry about earlier, I won’t do it again...” You’re begging and pleading with him, and you can tell it's getting to him when you hear that growl of his from behind you.

“You’ll be good for me, huh? My good little slut?” He grunts out, the tip of his cock bumping your clit when Frank slides his length forward and you keen in pleasure. “You’d do anything to get my cock in you right now wouldn’t ya?” He taunts, a hand gripping your curls into a tight fist as he yanks your head back. You can’t speak, not trusting your voice just now so you give a strained and jerky nod to answer him. You feel it again, his cock rubbing against your clit and you’re so worked up that you know it’ll make you cum if he does it again.

Frank knows as well, and pulls himself from between your thighs, you’re so frustrated that you could cry and you know that’s exactly what Frank wants. “Don’t move.” He orders, and you just huff out a choked noise but do nothing else to voice your displeasure. You want to peak over your shoulder to see what he’s doing, you can hear him and you can see how one of his hands has drawn away from the wall. You can only guess he’s taking care of himself, and your suspicions are confirmed when you feel his hot spend being shot against your lower back. You bite down on your bottom lip, whining in defeat as you feel him give your ass a pat.

“Have fun entertaining those other options with my cum staining that pretty ass.” He tells you, and you can hear the amusement in his voice as you carefully force the dress down over your ass. You’re just glad that the dark fabric won’t show the wet stain that is likely to be there.

“I wanna go home, Frank.” You mutter, pouting up at him as you turn around to face him. You don’t even want to go back out there to finish enjoying drinks with your friends. You just want Frank, and he knows it just as well as you do. He doesn’t stop you when you step forward and slide your arms around him so that you can bury your face in his chest and inhale his scent. You really are glad that he’s okay. He returns your embrace, even dropping a sweet kiss to the top of your head. It’s a soft moment, but you know this isn’t the extent of your punishment for how bratty you’d acted earlier in the night.

“One hour, and then you better have your ass back to your car and ready to leave. Gimme your keys.” He orders, and you don’t hesitate to reach into your purse to pull them out and place them in his waiting hand. “We still gotta have a conversation later.” He reminds you, and you nod before moving to check your appearance in one of the restroom’s mirrors before you heave a heavy sigh and walk out. Frank carefully slips out moments later, and no one is none the wiser thinking you had just slipped away to get yourself together after the jerk earlier had tried to grab you.

They don’t even see Frank’s eyes zero in on the creep who glares at you from the back door of the bar before he slips out the back. Frank follows, intending to have a very different type of conversation with the man. You see him going out of the corner of your eye, but you don’t react. You just focus on trying to enjoy a drink and your friends' company as you count down the seconds until your hour is up. It’s difficult to do with the feeling of Frank’s cum drying against the swell of your ass, and every time someone approaches you with the intention of flirting you just can’t bring yourself to entertain it. Frank’s marked his territory, and you want nothing more than to go to him and let him claim you the way you know he’s just itching to. You check the time on your phone after a bit and nearly sigh in relief to see that there’s only five minutes left before the hour is up. Just enough time for you say your goodbyes and get the fuck out of there.

“I don’t know guys, I think I’m just still a little shaken up. I’m gonna call it, I’ll text when I get home.” They understand, they’re good friends after all and you might feel a little guilty about dipping out early on them if it weren’t for Frank waiting for you outside.

Just as you suspect he’s already behind the wheel of your car when you get to the parking lot, and he says nothing as you slip into the passenger seat. He just puts the car in gear and drives away. It makes your belly swoop in anticipation, and one look at him tells you that his gears are turning as he thinks up just what he intends to do to you once he has you alone.

You already know it’s about to be a long night, and you can’t wait.

[spookiekewchie]

⛓kinktober 2021- predator/prey⛓

—so i think we should run, run, run...

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Characters: alpha!Soldat x woc!reader

Summary: You know there's no escape, the wolf will always find his kitten...and still you run.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: a/b/o, stalking, pet names (kitten), non/dubcon due to a/b/o dynamics, forced heat (false), predator/prey (hunting the reader down), chasing, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, readers conflicting emotions due to a/b/o dynamics, choking, unprotected sex (p in v), rough sex, outdoor sex, big ass beefy soldat, a couple of google translations (very minor), i think that's everything???

A/N: I don't even know where to start except for this has been sitting in my brain for months and kinktober seemed like the perfect excuse to give yall this nastiness. Anyways here’s my first a/b/o thing. Hopefully it ain't trash. This is a dark plot please be mindful of the warnings. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. If there’s any errors or typos my bad, I gave it a look over before posting but I probably missed something knowing me.. The divider is by @firefly-graphics

translations: Бежать котенок = run kitten / котенок = kitten

DO NOT repost or translate my work anywhere. Reblogs are always welcome, and let me know that you enjoy my fics.

He’s here, how is he here? He can’t be here! Your mind races, eyes wide in shock as you eye the alpha in front of you. You’d seen him on the streets earlier, and you’d gone through extra lengths to evade him before slipping away to your hideout. You were sure that you’d shaken him off your trail, and in your false sense of security you had led him right to you. The empty mansion you’ve been squatting in suddenly seems massive and claustrophobic at the same time. The walls all seem to be pressing in on you while the doors all seem too far away. He takes one heavy step forward, and you swear the sound of his boots on the marble tile sounds like thunder.

You flinch back a step, body coiled and tense as if you’re about to bolt away from him like you have so many times before. “God damnit, why won’t you just leave me alone!” You shout, more irritated than afraid despite knowing just how easily the alpha in front of you can end your life. The mask covers the bottom half of his face, but the way his skin crinkles around his steel blue gaze let’s you know that he’s smiling under it. You know what he wants from you, and he knows what you’re about to do.

“Бежать котенок.” The soldier gives you nothing more than that, just the simple command that you can barely make out or understand in the midst of the fear and excitement that’s gripping you.

It doesn’t even register to you that you’re already running until a moment later when your brain finally catches up with your body’s flight or fight response. Your legs are pumping under you, carrying you as far and as fast as they can away from the menacing soldier. It’s been a while since you’ve run like this, and you can already feel the way your heart is pounding in your chest at the exertion, but you keep moving, you keep running.

You can’t stop, not with the Winter Soldier stalking after you.

Your first instinct is to go for the back door, if you can make it out of the overly large house then you have a chance. You can see the door that leads outside and you just need to reach it. Just as you do though a knife flies past you and buries itself into the door. You scream, turning away and running in the opposite direction in an instant, you bolt up the stairs as soon as you reach them. Taking them as fast as you can before ducking into a room. Of course it won’t be that easy, he wants a chase. He wants you terrified, and he wants you begging for mercy that he won’t grant you once he decides to put an end to the game.

He’s already tracked you through the city, cruelly letting you think that you’ve evaded him just for him to spring from the shadows like some phantom, and now he stalks after you with one goal in mind. The Soldat intends to claim you, and bond you. Your mating gland throbs at the thought of it, of how two years of running from the Winter Soldier have led to this moment. He’s the one alpha you’ve never been able to shake off your trail. He’s been persistent, and patient like a wolf stalking its prey. You know he’s never been too far behind, that he’s only let you think you’ve escaped him. It’s all been a game of wills between you two, the alpha in him wants nothing more than to tame the willful omega in you, and you’ve gone through great lengths to avoid that very thing. You’ve gone from state to state, continent to continent. For all intents and purposes you’re off the grid, no social media, no cell phone, no internet history for him to have tracked, yet he still always managed to find you. You want to scream in frustration but you know that will just give him a better idea of where you are.

You take a quiet breath, stealing your nerves as you look around the room that you’ve darted into. There’s no weapon to defend yourself in sight, but you do spy a vanity full of perfumes and cologne. You already know that the Soldat will be able to find you easily enough by scent, so you think fast as you grab up all the bottles you can and think of a plan. It’s not the best, but it’s what you have at such short notice and you know you don’t have long before he’s stalking into the room.

“Where are you, kitten? Come out, come out wherever you are.” You can hear him just down the hall, his voice muffled by the mask.

You panic a little, dropping the bottles onto the bed in the room before quickly grabbing them one by one and twisting off the tops to pour the liquid out onto the comforter. It’s all you can do to keep yourself from retching at the strong odors as they mix and create a hellish scent that burns its way up your nostrils. But you know it’ll be worse for the soldier. The super soldier serum coursing through his veins makes his senses stronger, and it’s a blessing. You also reckon that it can be a curse as you rip the perfume and cologne soaked cover from the bed and rush to hide by the door.

You won’t have a lot of time when he opens it and steps through, so the second that he does you spring into action and throw the perfume drenched cover over him before sprinting away. You don’t stop to look and see if your hasty plan is successful, but you can hear the sound of his coughing and cursing as he rips the covers, along with his mask, off of his face with a growl.

The soldier has to give it to you, it’s clever what you’ve just done. By using his enhanced senses against him you’ve rendered him temporarily unable to scent you, and it gives you a mild advantage. He tries to inhale and there’s no hint of you that he can detect, frustration has him putting a metal fist through the wall before he’s stalking out of the bedroom to try and track you by sound now.

“Clever, little kitten. But I can still hear you. Your heart is pounding for me.” He taunts, and as if you can stop your heart from beating as fast as it is, you press a hand to your chest to try and calm it. It’s easier said than done, and you know you need to do something quick before he tracks you down because of the traitorous organ beating wildly in your chest. You dart across the hall, thankful that he isn’t close to the sitting room so you can rush to the stereo system and turn on the loudest most blaring radio station you can find.

Something above you crashes, you know it’s the soldier reacting to yet another one of your dirty tricks. You allow yourself half a second to smirk, knowing that he’s likely never had to work this hard to catch his prey before. Though if the curses in Russian that he’s bellowing out are anything to go by you know you need to get out of the large house and to safety. You know he can’t easily hear you, so you don’t bother trying to be quiet as you go for the kitchen door. Stopping only to yank the knife he'd thrown at you earlier from the door before you rip it open and step out into the cool night air. You have only moments to decide between trying to run along the road in the unlikely hope that someone will be driving by and willing to stop to help you, or try your luck in the woods that sit just beyond the backyard. At least in the woods you’ll be able to hide easier than you would running straight down the side of the road. You’re a harder target, you rationalize while your feet quickly carry you towards the tree line as you break into a run just as you hear the sound of the loud metal music come to an abrupt end. You can only assume the soldier has shot out the stereo, though you clearly have no intentions of finding out for sure.

You run, and you run, deeper into the woods and never drawing a straight path as you try to carefully avoid leaving too obvious a trail. You’ve been doing this for two years, evading him and constantly slipping out of his grasp. You know you’re the hardest hunt he’s ever chased, and you know that the challenge you present to the alpha in him makes him want you just that much more. The thought of what might happen if you slip up just enough to let him truly capture you sends a shiver down your spine and shamefully slick coats your sex at how primal and raw this all is. You hate that as much as the Soldat frightens you he excites you as well, and you wonder if it’s much the same for him with how you refuse to simply give him what he wants.

“I will have you, kitten.” He calls out, inhaling deeply and letting out a satisfied sigh as his sense of smell comes back to him. Everything rushes in at once and it staggers him for a moment as he sorts through the smell of the fresh air, the grass, and dirt, the trees, and then there’s you. God he can smell you again and he can smell how your body craves him. It makes his cock stiffen beneath the fabric of the tactical pants he wears. “Smells like you want me to have you, котенок.” He taunts, smirking as he licks his suddenly dry lips, sniffing the air to find the direction that your scent is strongest in and then he’s off.

The fact that you can hear his words as he calls out into the night only tells you that he’s too close, and you’re almost tempted to simply break out into a desperate run. You take a breath to steady yourself, the hand around the hilt of the knife grips tighter and you carefully make your way through the woods. You try your best to leave as little of a trail for him to track you with, he can already smell you and there’s no need to make things easier. You use rocks and fallen logs to traverse the woods mindful of any noises that you might make as you near the main road. All you need is to flag down a car and then you’re home free, in fact you can see headlights just ahead through a break in the trees and you can feel your heart swelling with hope as you sprint towards freedom.

“There you are, kitten.” The voice is unnervingly even coming from behind you, and you whip around with the knife still in hand. You know you don’t stand a chance in hell at beating him, his smirk tells you that he knows it as well but he’s inviting you to try.

Don’t fight him, give in. Give in! Your primal side screams, wanting nothing more than for you to get on all fours and present yourself to him. You ignore it, trying desperately to not give into that baser side of yourself that wants to end this chase. “I’m not your fucking kitten!” You snap, holding the knife out in front of you as you attempt to ward the persistent alpha off. He steps forward with a mocking grin, and you take off again but this time he doesn’t let you get far. You feel the iron grip around your waist and you twist in his hold with a wild swing of your arm with every intention of slashing at him with the knife, but easily deflects your attempt. It’s like you thought, you don’t stand a chance in a fight with him but he seems to appreciate the effort regardless when he knocks the kitchen knife from your grasp and pulls you into his chest. The fights over before it even starts, and your primal side of you purrs at the strong alpha as his scent envelops and saturates your senses.

It leaves you lightheaded, and dizzy with the smell of him. He’s woodsy, like cedar, citrus and leather. But there’s a hint of whiskey and blood to him that sets you on edge and reminds you that he’s a killer. You should try to break free of him, you know you should but your head is swimming, and the only thoughts you can think are for him. He sets you on edge, but thrills you at the same time, and his scent makes your mouth water. It has your every instinct to give him flaring up like a forest fire as warmth floods your core and you know a fresh wave of slick is soaking into your jeans. Your fists clench into the leather of his jacket, and you try to shake your head clear of him realizing far too late just what it is he’s doing to you until you feel that strong, almost painful, pang of need deep inside you.

“Fuck! Stop-st...stop it!” You hiss, groaning as a twinge of pain registers in your lower belly. The bastard is pumping pheromones into the air and it’s forcing your body into a false heat and you know it. There’s just nothing you can do about it, and he knows it when another stronger, and more painful pang of need hits you and on instinct you bury your face into the warm leather covering his chest and let out a half sob. “Why?”

“Because you’re mine, kitten. Always have been, and now I’m going to make sure you and the rest of the world knows it.” If you could think straight you wouldn’t allow yourself to feel even an inkling of desire at his words, but he’s not giving you much choice in the matter as he let’s his scent and pheromones permeate the air around you and tricking your body into a false heat that has you needing him more than you’ve needed anything in your life prior. His hands drop to rip the fabric of your jeans down the seam, clearly not intending to waste time with ordering you to undress, the soldier knows you well enough by now to know that even in the needy haze he’s pushing you into you’ll still try to resist. He knows he can simply command you but that’s not what he wants. He wants you begging and pleading for his knot, and then he wants you to take everything he has to give you until you’re a whimpering and incoherent mess for him and only him. Your shirt follows swiftly, and he shows the same lack of care for your undergarments as he reduces them to scraps with no effort at all. It all happens so fast, and you barely have time to process it before you’re falling back against leaves and dirt as your body lands with a soft thud.

You have no time to gather yourself and scramble away before the Soldat is on top of you, pressing you into the soft earth as he claims your lips in a demanding and possessive kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. You want to push him away, but your hands grip tightly against his broad shoulders and you don’t break away until you feel the dull cramp that has you hissing in pain. You know that if this was a true heat the pain would be worse, but that does little to make you want to resist the alpha that’s slotted himself between your spread thighs.

“Stop fighting me, котенок.” He lifts one of your wrists to his lips, letting his teeth scrape over the sensitive flesh there and it has you whining and squirming under him. He simply smirks, scenting you then, letting his and yours mingle. From the first moment he’s caught your scent he’s been obsessed, it’s a scent that is distinctly warm cinnamon, vanilla, and something sweet that he can’t place but he knows it uniquely you. He wants to possess it, wants to possess you in every way he can and he won’t rest until he does.

“Pl-please I—” It’s a stronger cramp of pain that cuts you off and makes you want to curl into the fetal position. Briefly it makes you wonder if this isn’t a false heat after all despite your mind telling you otherwise.

“Shh, I know, kitten. I know, you need me don’t you? It hurts more and more when you try to deny me.” He coos, and you know that’s not entirely true, but it’s just true enough that you nod as tears finally spring free and you break. You hate this feeling, and you want it to stop. You want the relief that only he can give you even if you know that the price he’ll demand for it will bond you to him. It’s a dirty and cruel trick, but the Winter Soldier has never played fair, and he’s had his sights set on you for far too long. His fingers dance along your slick folds, and just his touch alone causes the smallest bit of relief in you. It doesn’t last long, and soon he has exactly what he wants from you as you plead with him to make the discomfort and pain you’re feeling go away. He chuckles under his breath, his hand leaving you just long enough for him to undo his pants, and work the tactical gear half way down his thighs.

You can’t help but glance down, eyes wide and suddenly you’re all too aware of what’s happening and that you should be trying to get away. You try to push yourself up enough so you can scramble away, but he’s faster than you and forces you back with one hand while the other hitches your leg against his hip. “Where you going, huh? ‘m not even in you yet and you’re running from my dick.” He taunts you, and you want to tell him that there’s no way he’ll fit but the hand that he places around your throat silences your protests. “Maybe if you hadn’t put up so much of a fight I’d have stretched you out first, but don’t worry kitten…” He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath tickling against your mating gland while his other hand lines him up with your entrance. “I’ll make it fit.”

He pushes forward then, the swollen tip of his cock breaching your entrance and making you cry out loud enough that he feels the need to apply enough pressure to your throat to cut off the sound. He doesn’t need someone hearing your screams and coming to investigate, not that he isn't prepared to deal with it if they do. The soldier ruts into you, his pace rough and you know it’s his way of getting you back for the dirty tricks you pulled in the house when you were trying to evade him. Tears spill down your cheeks, it’s a mixture of defeat, relief, and pleasure that’s making them fall. You want to hate him for doing this, but even as his thick cock is splitting you open almost painfully around his girth, you know that with anyone else, you’d never feel anything close to what he’s making you feel in this moment. It hurts but it’s the type of hurt that you like, and you can feel your walls gripping around him so tight that it has him hissing out a string of curses and praise at how he knew all this time that you would feel good wrapped around him.

You feel like he's trying to fuck you into the earth itself, each thrust hard and brutal as he claims you for the first time. You'd scream if it weren't for him fucking you so hard that your voice has given out temporarily. Your nails claw at him through the leather jacket he still wears, scrambling over him until they meet the bare skin of his ass and they sink in and drag harshly over him. The soldier hisses through clenched teeth, growling in your face when you do it again and find yourself lifting your hips to meet his rough rhythm. "I hate you." You moan, the words choked out through the grip he has on your throat.

“Fuck, kitten. You might, but your body doesn't." He taunts, a toothy grin on his lips as he ruts into you harder and for a moment your vision whites out as slick gushes from you. "Keep grippin’ me just like that.” He grunts, with a slight shift in the angle of his hips that has you seeing stars when the tip of his cock finds that spongy spot inside you. You scream, and the sound is ruined by the hand that he has squeezing around your throat. Still he knows he's found that sweet spot, and he zeroes in on it with each thrust. His thrusts become harder, his cock practically spearing into you as he picks up pace and sends you spiraling over the edge of blissful ecstasy faster than you can process. Your body clamps down around him, and it does nothing to stop his frantic thrusting. He only hauls you up with him as he leans back onto his haunches and settles you astride his lap. The shift causes him to sink deeper and all you can manage to do is cling to him as your whimpering cries muffle into the side of the alpha’s neck.

“You’re mine, ‘mega.” He declares, and you purr in pleasure, unable to fend off that primal instinct of yours to agree. “Say it.” He demands, and even though it’s not an alpha command you still feel compelled to give him what he wants.

You wish you can say you were stronger than your most primal urges and that you really did hate him like you claimed just moments prior. You can't though, and your resistance to given in finally dies with a keening whine of needy pleasure. “Yours, alpha.” It’s said with a moan, and you can feel the rumble in his chest as he growls out his approval at your submission. Hearing you acknowledge him by designation only making him feel near feral and his possessiveness of you grows tenfold that he can’t stop himself from yanking your head to the side to further expose your mating gland. You have all of a second before you can feel his teeth biting down, and breaking the skin there as he marks you as his and bonds you to him. You gasp, crying out as your body goes taut against him and the act that he’s just committed forces you over the edge again as a fresh wave of slick seeps from you.

The bond is wide open, and fresh and it’s overwhelming as you feel his emotions and feelings come rushing in. There’s hunger, and possessiveness, and undercurrent of anger and while you recognize that it isn’t at you it still frightens you. There’s also want, and need. A desire to protect you, and provide for you. Most surprisingly you can just detect something else buried under all that and everything else that’s flooding in. There’s a sliver of fear and it has you feeling confused for a moment before the moment shatters with the sound of the Soldat's voice.

“Now you really are.” He growls, and you can smell the coppery tang of your blood in the air as he laps at the mark he’s left. You’ll be sore once the endorphins wear off, the bite he’s left behind is deep and shows the certainty of the alpha that it belongs to. There’s no mistaking that you’ve been claimed or that you belong to him now.

A moment later you can feel him inside you, his knot swelling and making you see stars again as his hot seed is shot deep into you. You squirm at the sensation, gasping at the feeling of fullness when you try to move. Carefully the soldier maneuvers himself into a proper sitting position with you still straddling him and filled with his cock as the swell of his knot remains. You know that sooner rather than later the blissful high will wear off and you’ll be left to grapple with your new reality, but for now you happily bury your face into the crook of his neck and try not to think of the fact that two years of running has been brought to an end.