#SpooktacularSmutfest21.

[spookiekewchie]

holy water cannot help you now

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Characters: Antichrist!Ransom x black!reader

Summary: When tragedy strikes and you're desperate enough to make a deal with a devil it turns everything on its head.

Word Count: 13k+

Warnings: DARK FIC, HORROR THEMES, non/dubcon, mentions murder, drug use, drugging, innocent reader, naïve reader, loss of virginity, blackmail, improper use of religious items, bondage, unprotected sex (p in v, wrap it before you tap it), stalking, manipulation, crying, sir kink, mean!ransom, antichrist!ransom, degradation (not a lot of it), petnames (ransom calls the reader lamb)

A/N:  This is one of my entries for @boxofbonesfic 's exciting challenge (Bones Spooktacular Smutfest!) I didn't mean for it to be this long, or take this long to post but here it is! Anyways, all mistakes are mine so pardon any errors or typos I'm sure I missed a few. The divider is by @firefly-graphics. The moodboard is by me.

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.

Your hand trembles as you pull the sleek business card from your pocket to look at it again. You’re well past second thoughts, it's more like ninth and tenth thoughts, but you’re determined to see this through. Your uncle’s fate depends on it, and you feel helpless when you think of the ax that swings over the man’s head while he rots away in the county jail awaiting trial for a crime you’re sure he didn’t commit. The cops said he bashed a man’s skull in, but the man that had raised you wasn’t capable of doing something so violent and horrific. Just thinking about it makes your stomach roil, and nervously you twist the purity ring around your finger thrice.

You can do this, you think to yourself. Just remember why you’re doing this.

The night is dark and dreary, the streets ominously lit as you pause and look down the sidewalk and across the street at the building you’re heading towards. Carefully you slip a hand into your purse to let your fingers brush over the small canister of pepper spray that you bought earlier in the day. It does little to make you feel secure or confident. You shouldn’t be here, you know that and yet you’re just desperate enough to go and beg at the feet of the most powerful man in the city. You aren’t even sure he’ll help, he sees people all day everyday just about. Every one of them asking favors and offering god knows what in exchange. There’s rumors that he takes people as slaves or pets, others that he demands first borns, and there’s some far fetched and ridiculous tales about him demanding souls.

You aren’t sure what you believe, all you know is that you are desperate. Desperate enough to turn to the devil! Your mind screams, and a shudder wracks your frame as you take another damning step towards the building. It’s foreboding, something about it just not settling right when you try to look at it. You shake it off, it must be the nerves, is what you mutter to yourself as your fingers reach to fiddle with the purity ring on your finger again. It’s a way to self soothe, and ground yourself as you make to step into the street.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

The aggressive sound of a car's horn as it speeds by carelessly has you jumping back on the sidewalk just before it careens into you. It leaves your heart pounding in your chest, and tears stinging in your eyes at realizing just how close a call it was. That’s a sign from the lord, turn around and go back. It’s not worth it! Your intuition screams at you, and for a second you consider listening to it before you remember why you’ve come all the way across town, and for who.

You check the street this time, there’s no cars coming and it’s eerily quiet when you step off the curb and quickly make your way across. The building is dark but otherwise nondescript save for the gilded numbers over the door knocker. It’s heavy when you go to lift it, and you bring it down three times before you take a step back and wait.

A window slides open and you can hear the faint sound of music filtering out. A pair of cold green eyes stare out at you with a harsh glare and you swallow nervously while trying to remember the passphrase your friend had given you for this moment.

“Tenebris oritur.” The words feel wrong to say, they fill you with a sense of foreboding but you push it off and try to ignore it. It’s just nerves, you’re sure of it. You wait a beat hoping that you’ve said the right thing, and when the heavy door is finally pulled open and you’re ushered inside you know you have. The grim looking man by the door says nothing still, peering down his nose at you while you try not to stare at the scare that decorates his jaw. Slowly you step away from him, walking further into the building and stopping to check your coat with the girl by the front door. Then you’re led through a metal detector, and instructed to place a sticker over the lens of your phone's camera. Apparently photos are strictly forbidden in this venue. Once you’ve done that you’re allowed to follow the muffled sounds of soft music deeper into the building until you come upon another heavy door.

You push through it and almost immediately you feel as if you’ve stepped into a different world. It’s almost jarring how clean, and upscale this dimly lit lounge bar is compared to the dreary and almost too quiet street outside. The pungent smell of cigar smoke fills your nose and you do your best to not make a face or cough at the way it seems to cut your breath short. Men and women lounge and mill about, drinking, smoking, and in some dark corners doing a bit more. You keep your eyes away from those corners, face hot and body moving swiftly towards the bar. You just need to find the man you've come to see and try to convince him to help your uncle.

"Well, well, well...you must be new." Says the man behind the bar, drawing your attention as you give a soft gasp. He's handsome, tall with a chiseled stubble covered jaw, and a fluffy head of hair. He looks you over, taking in the sweet little dress you're wearing and he smirks. It's obvious that this place isn't your usual hang out spot. Hell it's obvious that you've never been inside a place like this, otherwise you would have known better than to wear something so sweet and tempting into a den of iniquity. "I'm Frank, what can I get you beautiful?"

His flirting doesn't go unmissed but you choose to ignore it because you have more important reasons for being here. "Well, I was hoping you could point me in the direction of Ransom Drysdale." A couple of men at the bar beside you fall silent and suddenly depart to go settle elsewhere. You do your best to not think about why that might be. "I really, really need to talk to him about something very important." You continue, not noticing the stocky man that settles to your left until he's close enough to touch you. The feeling of his hand against your lower back makes you jump and squeak in surprise, and it's clear that he's startled you. It's something that seems to amuse this stranger and Frank just heaves a sigh from behind the bar.

"Brock," he greets, blue gaze watching as you try to step away from the man. "The boss’ usual?" He questions, Brock just nods while eyeing you up and down.

"Now what's a sweet little thing like you doing in a place like this asking to see my boss, huh?" He doesn't let you get far before he's reaching out with a quickness to grip you by the arm and drag you back in. You look around, hoping that someone might step in and help you but everyone seems to be pointedly looking in any direction but yours.

Panic and fear have you seconds away from reaching into your purse to grab your can of pepper spray but another voice cuts in and Brock promptly releases you as if you had burned him. "That's enough, Brock. Can't you see the girl is scared?" You're shaking as you take a quick step back, stumbling slightly in your heeled boots and falling into a strong broad chest. "Careful, everything's alright now." The man coos, and you whip around to face him. You feel like you've been thrown into a shark tank, and it's quickly overwhelming you. "I heard you were asking for me, something about needing to talk to me about something very important." He offers, and you relax just a fraction. Just enough for you to take him in and notice that pictures truly do not do him justice.

Ransom Drysdale is much more intimidating in person, and he carries about himself an aura of arrogance and control that makes you want to shudder when he turns his icy gaze on you fully. You open your mouth to speak, determined to say what you have to now before courage fails you, but before you can utter a word he cuts you off.

"Not here, too many prying eyes and ears. Let's go somewhere more private." Ransom doesn't give you a chance to protest before he's plucking his freshly made drink from Frank's hand just as the man sets it on the bar, and with his other hand pressing against the small of your back he's guiding you deeper into the lounge club, past roped off booths and into a quiet little room that has a wet bar, a couple tables, a few chairs and a sofa. You stand there awkwardly, nervously glancing behind yourself to see that Brock looms in front of the only door in or out of this room that you can see. The sound of Ransom clearing his throat draws your attention back to him sitting comfortably on the sofa. He nods to the empty space besides him, but you don't move until you feel Brock giving your shoulder a shove to spur you into motion.

If you felt like you were in a shark tank before, that's nothing compared to this lion's den that you've been led into. Slowly and reluctantly you lower yourself onto the far end of the sofa, as far away from Ransom as you can manage. It's all in vain when seconds later he moves close enough for your knees to touch. Attempting to shift away from him does little good, and so you resolve yourself to try and ignore the distraction that the little bit of contact offers.

"Mr. Drysd—"

"Call me Ransom." He tells you, smirking as he lifts his glass to his lips to take a sip.

You press on, despite his correction. "I was told by a friend of mine that you might be able to help me, you recently helped her with some legal troubles after...after she put her abusive ex in the hospital." You hope he remembers Lea, she's the whole reason why you're here in the first place ready to grovel if it means getting help for your uncle.

Ransom takes a moment to think it over, he already knows exactly who you're referring to. Lea had been one of his charity cases where he didn't take a payment for lending a helping hand. It's all in the name of branding and public opinion, unfortunately you won't be so lucky because Ransom can already spy a couple things that he wants as payment for whatever little favor you're about to ask of him.

"I remember, and I'm willing to see what I might be able to do to help you. Just tell me what it is you need." The way he says that word stirs something in you, it feels loaded like he's fishing for something more and the way his blue eyes bore into you doesn't help in the slightest.

You nod, breathing out a sigh of relief. "My uncle was arrested recently, accused of murder and the court appointed lawyer isn't even trying to help. I was hoping that you could help us with legal representation the way you did with my friend."

Ransom nods along, realizing now where he's seen you before. "Your situation isn't as clear cut as your friend’s was," he starts and you fear for a moment that he's about to send you on your way. "It would cost a significant amount to get the right team in place to sort that fucking mess out." You flinch at his harsh words, but you remain hopeful. He hasn't said no yet.

"Please, sir," sir? Oh he likes that very much coming from your pretty mouth. "My aunt and I don't have much but we could go into our savings, and if that's not enough I could work off the rest. I'd do anything if it means helping my uncle. You own this place don't you, I could clean and learn to make drinks, or—" you lose your voice when Ransom suddenly leans in and you feel a warm hand settling on your leg just above the knee. Even through the dark tights that you wear under

"I might be willing to let you work off the cost, but you'd have to offer me a bit more than that, lamb." His voice is low, lips curled into a smirk and for a moment you're stunned into silence and stillness before you catch up to the moment and immediately you're shaking your head. If he's implying that then surely he's got the wrong idea about you. "What? You came to me, you said you'd do anything. That's the price, either agree to it or don't." By the door you hear Brock's chuckle, and it sets your nerves on edge. Meeting Ransom's gaze you try to search for some sign that he isn't serious, but you find none.

Swallowing thickly you drop your gaze from his, even through your tights you can feel his burning touch, and it takes everything in you to fight the urge to squirm. Instead your fingers began to twist the ring around your finger. You run your thumb over the words etched into the metal before you twist it around thrice and steel yourself. The action catches Ransom's attention, and for a moment his brow arches curiously. A purity ring? He hasn’t seen someone wearing one of those in a very, very long time. He huffs out a short laugh, licking his lips as he regards you more closely. He can practically taste the innocence on you, and he can see the way your light hasn’t been dimmed by the world yet. It awakens a desire in him that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. He wants to devour that light, and all that sweet innocence fills him with a need to corrupt.

“I'm waiting." His tone is impatient when he speaks this time, and you can feel the energy shift from teasing and seduction to tense and stifling. The grip on your knee tightens and it's enough to jolt you into moving.

Quickly, you stand to your feet taking a step away from the sofa. Anger, hurt, disappointment and embarrassment all reflect in your eyes and you know Ransom can see it by the amused smirk that's on his too pretty face. “Your choice.” He says with a laugh and a shrug while pulling a small vial of white powder from his pocket. You turn away, not wanting to be a witness to him snorting whatever drug it is he’s diverted his attention to. He cuts it into a line and you hear him behind you inhaling it, and you huff, stomping towards the door.

"Please let me by." You say, voice tight as you hold yourself together. Brock doesn't step aside, instead he grabs you by the arm and backs you away from the door with a cruel grin. This time Ransom doesn't stop him from manhandling you. Instead he watches curiously as if he's waiting for something to happen.

You panic, fumbling with one hand to pull your keychain can of pepper spray out and once you do and the safety cap is flipped open you aim and blast Brock in the face. He's coughing, sputtering, and cursing in seconds, letting you go to instead scrub at his eyes while you rush to the door and run out. Brock makes a fumbling attempt to follow but Ransom has other plans. "Let her go, go clean yourself up." He orders, wiping his nose clean with a sigh. He waits until Brock leaves the room cursing and spitting insults at you even though you're gone. The moment Ransom is alone he pulls his phone from his pocket and makes a call to the twins. Colin Shea and Jake Jensen. He tasks them with finding you, and finding out everything there is to know about you beyond what the news has already reported.

Once that's done he knows he only needs to wait. More than likely the two will have everything on you before the end of the next day. And in the meantime he thinks about what will be the best way to get you right where he wants you.

No one stops you as you rush out of the building. Some laugh at the sight of you so frightened, others simply stare as if watching a show, and the rest ignore your existence all together. The realization that no one cares, that if something were to happen to you here that you’d just be entertainment to them, it’s like a bucket of ice water being dumped over your head. You can feel the tears brimming and stinging behind your eyes. Your vision starts to blur with the unshed tears, and your chest feels tight. By the time you make it outside you’re sucking in the fresh air, taking it in in lungfuls and trying to ignore the cold and the taste of smog that faintly registers with each breath.

When you feel like you can walk a straight line, you do, heading for the nearest open business and calling yourself an Uber. You wait there, still shaken up by all that’s transpired and the lack of hope has you sullen and withdrawn. You barely speak to your driver once you’ve gotten in after checking to make sure the car and the man behind the wheel match what’s in the app. He talks enough for the both of you though, and you leave him a nice tip in the app to show your appreciation for him getting you home safely.

It’s with reluctance that you trudge up the steps that lead to up to the porch, you don’t want to go inside. You can see the light on in the living room and you know your aunt is waiting for you, likely worried sick because you’re home over an hour later than usual. She’ll have questions that you can’t and don’t want to answer because they’ll only make her worry more. In her condition it’s stress that she doesn’t need, and your father’s upcoming and looming trial is taking a toll already. Breathing in deep you blow out a cleansing breath, swallowing the lump in your throat a second later, and then you slide your key into the lock and give it a twist. Turning the knob to enter, you see your Aunt sitting close by your Uncle’s favorite chair. Your heart breaks just a little more, and you offer a quiet hello and an apology for being out so late and not calling.

“Where were you?” She questions, and you just shake your head.

“It’s not important, Aunt Lily. Just go to bed, it’s late.” You reply, going to take off your coat only to realize that you aren’t wearing it. In your haste and panic to leave that dreadful place you forgot to stop and pick it up from the coat check. The thought of going back to get it fills you with so much dread that you’ve already resolved to simply leave it there and see about buying yourself a new coat tomorrow.

Your aunt seems to notice the lack of your coat though, and when she comes closer to inspect you she shakes her head. “I know it’s late, I’ve been waiting for you. Worrying over whether or not something’s happened to you and—” She cuts herself off with a huff, “and where is your coat? It’s freezing out.”

It’s worry and fear, and you know she means well but your nerves are still on edge from your encounter in the lounge club that you just want her to stop and let you breathe.

“Aunt Lily please! I just needed some time to myself, out of this house with all the memories and worry. I just needed to deal by myself okay, and I’m an adult I’m allowed to stay out late if I need to. I’m sorry I didn’t call but you didn’t have to stay up, you need your rest just as much as I do.” You feel bad for not telling the truth and dismissing her worries but being honest would only make things worse…even if it twists your stomach into knots to be anything less than truthful.

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night, you toss and you turn in bed. It’s too hot in your room and it has you kicking your covers off in your fitful slumber. Images of Ransom’s cruel smirk, and the phantom feeling of his hand on your body plague you every time you manage to slip away to a dreaming state. It startles you awake each time and you growl in annoyance. You’ll never see him again, you’re sure of it only because you naively believe that he was only toying with you and wasting your time.

It doesn’t help you rest though, by the time the sun is coming up you’ve only managed a few hours of sleep. Caffeine keeps you mobile throughout the day, and you trudge through the motions until it’s time for you to go visit your uncle at the jail. Like so many things since his arrest, it fills you with apprehension. There’s always a worry that you’ll see him beat up or that his spirit will be broken.

You’re always relieved to see that’s not the case, but today your worries are confirmed. When he enters the small visitation room you see the limp and the black eye. What’s worse is you see how his usually bright gaze is darkened as if there’s a shadow that’s settled over him. The lump in your throat burns when you try to swallow it down, and you can feel the tears brimming but you try your hardest not to let them fall.

“What happened?” You question, and he says nothing. “Uncle Gideon, what happened? Who did this to you?”

“It won’t do any good telling you what happened, it was just a misunderstanding and it’s all fine now.” He wants to reach across the table and take your trembling hand in yours but he knows the guard won’t allow it. “I’d rather you talk to me what your aunt telling me about you staying out late.”

You sigh, heavy and feeling weighed down. “I was trying to find better lawyers for you.” You admit, knowing better than to lie to him. He’s always known when you were being dishonest, whatever tell it is that you have he won’t disclose. So you give him enough of the truth to satisfy him. Your uncle lets out an almost amused laugh, as if you’ve told a joke that you aren’t aware of.

“What?” You question, brows furrowed in confusion as you regard the man sitting across from you with a mixture of worry and curiosity.

“Nothing, sweet pea, it’s nothing.” He runs his manacled hands over his face and just shakes his head. “You should go, today’s your day at the animal shelter. Don’t be late worrying about an old man.” You don’t want to leave so soon, but your uncle calls the guard over to escort you from the room before you can protest his dismissal. The huff that leaves you is watery, and that lump in your throat returns. You hate this, you still don’t believe that he did what the police and prosecutors are claiming he did. There’s no way, he’s been the same sweet, caring, and protective man you’ve known all your life. To think that he was capable of even considering bashing a man’s skull was madness to you. You’re so sure that your uncle isn’t capable of violence that you had completely missed the bruises on his knuckles that tell otherwise.

“Don’t forget to sign out, Miss.” The guard tells you before he calls for two men who apparently have a visitation with your uncle too. One of them stops when he gets to you, says your name and offers a smile.

“You must be the niece, I’m Andrew Barber. That’s my partner, Scott Huffman. We’ll be taking over your uncle’s case, and it’d be helpful if you and your aunt could set up a time where we can get you two into the office to take some statements.” He holds out a business card while you stand there mouth moving wordlessly as you take the card between unsteady fingers.

“I don’t understand, we didn’t hire new lawyers…we couldn’t—”

“It’s been handled, and just in time too. I hear the prosecution is looking for the death penalty.” Andy reaches up to adjust his tie, not paying attention to the way your breathing suddenly gets shallower, and you sway slightly. Panic is setting in, the lump in your throat feels like it’s choking you, and the tears you’ve been fighting off all day are threatening to break free at any second.

You rush past Mr. Barber, with a rushed “We’ll call you.” You can’t breathe and it feels like all the walls are starting to close in on you the longer you remain. The tears are kept at bay until you make it to your car, and once you’re in the driver's seat you can’t stop the broken sobs that finally break free. They’re the type that hurt, that feel like they’re tearing and clawing at your throat in an effort to escape out of you. You haven’t let yourself cry once since the arrest, you’ve been so convinced that everyone else will see what you see, or that a new suspect will be discovered and your uncle released.

To hear that the situation is so much more serious than that is finally the straw that breaks. You sit in your car, crying and gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. It’s minutes or maybe longer before you feel sobered enough to drive, and you let a hand move weakly to push your keys into the ignition. Blurry eyes drift to the windshield and startled at what you see you drop your keys to the floorboard and gasp. Wiping the tears away, you blink.

Ransom Drysdale stands there, staring at you in a way that sends chills and terror shooting up your spine.

You blink and he’s gone, and that shocks you even more. There were no other cars that he could have left in, there’s no one else in the parking lot, and there’s no way he could move that fast. Quickly you fish your keys up from the floorboard and shove them into the ignition and turn it on. You back out of your parking spot a bit faster than you normally would, but your fight or flight response is telling you to run so you listen.

By the time you reach the animal shelter you’ve convinced yourself that you just imagined it. You write it all off as you being stressed out, distraught, over emotional, and still on edge after your encounter with Ransom and his goon. It’s the only thing that makes sense, and once you’ve rationalized the experience you’re calmer.

Nothing else happens, and the rest of your day is uneventful. Something you’re grateful for. But the night is a much different story. Your dreams are fitful, sinful things that you can’t seem to wake up from no matter how hard you try. Ransom is in them, touching you, kissing you, rutting into you, claiming you, and pushing you to the brink until you wake up gasping and soaked with slick between your thighs. No matter how many times you try to go back to sleep it’s always the same and you spend another night in fitful sleep.

“Boss, we got the research on the girl all done.” Jake says into his headset. His fingers tap at the keys of his laptop as he navigates his way through your digital life. It only took him all of thirty minutes to get into your emails, your socials, phone and laptop. “Got info on the aunt and uncle too just in case you asked for that too.” Jake adds.

Ransom opens the zipped file that’s labeled with your name with a smirk. He’s not surprised that Jake went above and beyond, there’s a reason he keeps him and his brother on the payroll. “Your girl lives a pretty simple life, not much activity on her socials. Just a bunch of memes and pics with family...oh look at that, she’s got a cute friend…” Jake begins to give Ransom the rundown as he goes through everything starting with your birth records. “Goes to church every Sunday, works, well worked, at a daycare Mondays through Wednesdays. Apparently they put her unpaid leave after her uncle’s arrest, finances have been pretty tight since then. Her aunt works as a nurse at the local hospital so they’re making enough to keep the lights on. Colin’s tailing her right now, I think he said something about her volunteering at an animal shelter Thursdays and Fridays. You want me to patch him in?” Jake asks, still tapping away at his keyboard.

“Go ahead, Jensen.” Ransom says, hearing a click a moment later as Colin is brought onto the call.

“Hey boss, got your sweetheart in my sights.” Colin greets with a chuckle, Ransom rolls his eyes but says nothing. “Looks like she’s heading to the jail to see her dear old murderous uncle.”

“Speaking of,” Jake cuts in. “I found some surveillance footage from that night, turns out the old bastard really did bash that brats head in. You want me to send it to the prosecution or hold onto it for now?”

Ransom let’s out a pleased hum, hearing that and knowing that he has proof that no one else has just further stacks the deck in his favor has him in a very good mood. “Send it to me, and only me.” He instructs, and seconds later another file is sent to his computer containing the damning video. “Jake keep digging into their lives, Colin, you keep tailing her. Let me know when she gets to the jail.”

“What are you gonna do, boss?” Jake questions, the grin evident in his voice. Ransom doesn’t answer him, simply ending the call and making another.

He waits for the line to ring, and the familiar voice that greets him once the call is answered has the man grinning.

“Barber, I need you and Huffman down at the jail, you two are picking up a new client. I’ll send the details to your phone along with instructions.” Andrew Barber doesn’t question it, simply announces that he and Scott will be on their way shortly and hangs up.

Half an hour later Ransom receives a text from Colin, alerting him that you were leaving the jail and that you seemed upset. It’s perfect, and when Ransom appears in the parking lot moments later he sees you in your car sobbing he knows that Barber let the dreadful news slip regarding your uncle’s case. He lingers there for a moment, watching as the tears slide down your face and the muffled sounds of your sobs from inside the car has him stirring beneath his expensive trousers. When you look up and see him he doesn’t move, and even though he knows the distance is too far for you to make it out, he smirks. Something about the way you gasp in shock and begin to panic makes him want to steal you away right then and there. He resists, he wants you backed into a corner and desperate enough to agree to giving yourself to him. When you blink he takes his leave, vanishing just as quickly as he appeared.

Back in his home, Ransom wanders over to where your coat is draped over the back of his sofa. He lifts it to his nose and inhales deeply, your scent is still strong enough for him to pick up on the different notes and layers to it. Lilies, citrus, nutmeg…and there’s something else under all that. Something familiar that he can’t quite place, but he knows it’s uniquely you and it’s addictive.

That was a week ago, and things have been uneventful since that moment in the parking lot. Save for the unwanted dreams that leave you aching with a need you can’t quite explain or even know what to do with. And you still lament the loss of your coat, especially now that you’ve talked yourself out of buying a new one since money’s been tighter with your uncle’s arrest and you being placed on unpaid leave from the daycare center. You’ve been making due with wearing your thickest jacket, and it does hardly anything to keep the biting cold from seeping into your bones and making your teeth chatter loudly. Your arms are wrapped tight around your shivering form as you make your way down the street, focusing solely on getting to the bus stop that will drop you off at the animal shelter. You don’t register the car that begins to slowly creep along beside you at first, when you do though you cast a wary glance to the side and pick up the speed of your steps.

The dark town car speeds up as well, and you think about running into the next open shop you get to and waiting until the car passes before you hear the sound of a window rolling down, and a vaguely familiar voice calling out to you from the backseat.

“Need a ride, lamb?” You freeze midstep, sucking in a breath of cold air that makes your lungs ache. It can’t be him, you gave him no way to contact you much less find you, but when you turn your head to look there he sits. Ransom grins from the back seat, looking warm and comfortable as he observes your shivering form. “Come on, it’s nice and warm inside.” He tries to coax you closer when he sees you working up the will to keep walking. “Besides, I have something that belongs to you.” He adds, holding up your coat with a smug grin. You take a step towards the side of the car and hold out your hand, expecting him to hand you the much needing piece of outerwear. Ransom snatches it back and tsks at you disapprovingly, shaking his head with an amused chuckle. “Get in the car, I promise it’s just me. I left Brock at home.”

The mention of the other man brings on unwanted thoughts of that night, and if it weren’t for your need to get your coat back you would have resisted and just kept walking. The bitter chill that cuts through you with a timely gust of wind has you thinking better of that decision and reluctantly you reach for the handle of the car door. The warm air that billows out when you open it nearly makes you sigh, but you hold it in and carefully slide into the back passenger seat. Closing the door behind you, you keep as close to the door as possible, something that Ransom notices and finds himself amused by. You’re so timid, so skittish and he loves knowing that there’s something in you that makes you wary and afraid of him. You suspect as much too, there’s a twisted sort of glee in his eyes when you glance over at him setting you coat down in the space between you. You fiddle with your ring nervously, waiting for him to say something and end the tense silence. You’re so on edge that you can’t even let yourself settle into the seat to enjoy the warm air that’s heating the car's interior. Not even the heated seats are enough to make you relax, and the longer Ransom watches you with that unnervingly blue gaze the more you feel like you want to crawl out of your skin.

There’s something about it, a vibe he gives off that unsettles you, and you know it’s not just the memory of his proposition that makes you feel that way. “So,” he says suddenly and you jump slightly before taking a calming breath. “Where to, lamb?”

“The animal shelter.” You answer quickly, rattling off the address for his driver. It’ll be a good twenty minute drive and you aren’t sure how you’re going to be able to deal with it.

Another long beat of silence passes, and when Ransom notices you twisting the purity ring around your finger yet again he finally chooses to address it. “I didn’t think people still wore those these days.” He says, carelessly invading your space to reach across your body and pluck up your hand to inspect the ring more closely. You suck in a sharp breath, tensing up at his sudden closeness. His hands are smooth and tell you that he hasn’t had to work a day in his life, and just like before his touch is warm on your skin. Like a deer in headlights you’re frozen, your mind telling you to pull your hand out of his and push him away, but you can’t move. He’s close enough that you get the full effect of his cologne, and its mouthwatering. Nothing and no one should smell that good, but he does and it's causing a conflict inside you. He still sets your nerves on edge, but when he’s this close your mind spins dangerously and those sinful dreams are at the forefront of your mind. “True love waits.” He says, reading the inscription on your ring before he snorts derisively at the notion. “Is this why you didn’t take me up on my offer?” He questions, sliding his piercing gaze up to meet yours. “Is someone still a virgin?” He taunts, laughing almost cruelly when you snatch your hand out of his and look away from him.

He backs away, sliding back to his side of the vehicle and you feel no less boxed in and overwhelmed. You’re relieved when the shelter finally comes into view, and you quickly tell the driver that he can drop you off at the property’s gate. Eagerness to get away from Ransom once again has you forgetting about your coat, but he stops you before you can get out of the vehicle. “Lamb, I think you’re forgetting something.” He coos, holding your coat out to you. You go to grab it, and instead of letting it go he pulls it hard enough to make you topple on top of him. Your squeak of surprise and struggle to get off of him is quickly stopped by a strong arm locking around your middle. “Oh lamb, you really thought it’d be that easy didn’t you?” Ransom sighs, releasing your coat so he can bring his hand up to brush a few errant curls away from your face. “Thought you’d get to deny me, and that I’d just drop it and leave you be, didn’t you?”

You don’t answer, you have a feeling that he doesn’t need you to. “You came to me, wanting to make a deal with the devil. You opened the door, and now payment is owed.” He tells you, and you shake your head.

“I never agreed to—” He silences you with a hand around your throat.

“Who do you think hired the fancy new lawyers? The lawyers that are actually doing their job and keeping your dear old uncle from a death sentence.” His hand wanders from your throat and down to cup one of your breasts through your clothes. Your breath quickens, and you clench your eyes shut. You can feel your body reacting to him despite how you don’t want any of this happening. Those damn dreams that have been plaguing you every time you close your eyes for more than a few seconds play on repeat in your mind. “Look at me.” It’s a command that you follow only after you feel him gripping you around the waist tight enough that it becomes harder to breathe.

You meet his gaze, and the longer you look the more off balance you feel, and everything around you is a dull roar except for him. Ransom is in crystal clear focus, and it’s like you can slowly feel yourself slipping away. Your thoughts dull, the protests and warning bells quieting down until the only thing you can think of is giving in to whatever demands he has for you. He gives your breast a squeeze, drawing a whimper out of you and you squirm on top of him. “Why are you doing this?” You ask, words feeling like they’re coming from you slower and slurred. You don’t know what he’s doing, or how he’s doing it but you know in the very back of your mind that this isn’t really you.

“Because I want to. Because I can.” He answers, hand sliding lower and on the verge of slipping under your clothes. You should stop him, you know you should but you can’t when it feels like you’re just a puppet on his string.

It’s the sound of a horn from a car behind you that startles you both out of the moment, and you come to your senses startled and alarmed. You’re suddenly aware of the position you're in, and the fact that there’s another person in the car with you two. Your struggle comes back tenfold and you try to fight your way out of his hold. “Let me go, I swear I’ll scream.” You tell him knowing that even though the person trying to get past the gate can’t see past the vehicle’s dark tint that there’s still a chance they’ll be able to hear you. A nearly inhuman growl rumbles in Ransom’s chest before he relents and lets you go. Scrambling off of him you’re careful not to look him in the eyes again, afraid of what might happen if you do. You grab up your purse and coat, the whole while you can feel the heated gaze of Ransom burning against you.

Foolishly you spare him a final glance before you slam the car door behind you, and you swear for a moment his blue eyes were a blazing red. You shiver, and it has nothing to do with the cold.

You rush across the gravel parking lot and hastily make your way inside, chest heaving and nerves utterly rattled as you try and settle your erratic pulse. There’s something off about Ransom, and it’s more than just him being a rich, entitled creep. There’s something that’s not natural there, because the way he’s been invading your dreams and doing the most filthy things to you isn’t normal, nor is the way he had you lost and so pliant for him with nothing but that intense stare of his. And you’re sure you didn’t imagine the glowing red of his eyes when you managed to get away from him. He might truly be the devil, you’re convinced of it and you spend the rest of the day on edge because of that thought.

It’s not rational, you know that, but the rational explanation for what you’ve experienced is that you’re losing your mind. Despite everything that’s going on in your life you don’t think that’s it, but there’s no one you can talk to about this so you do your best to avoid thinking about it while you go through the motions.

Ignoring your worries becomes impossible though.

It happens while you’re filling the water buckets in the kennels, a chill crawls up your spine despite how warm they keep the interior of the building during winter. It feels like icy fingers skittering over your flesh. You spin around with a gasp of shock.

There’s no one there. You’re alone in the room.

You breathe out shakily, eyes widening when your breath comes out in a foggy puff of air. It shouldn’t be this cold, why is it cold inside? “Guys? Hey, did something happen to the heat?” You call out when you see the figure of someone passing by the door. No answer comes and when you take a step towards it the door suddenly slams shut on its own. You let out a small shriek and jump back, holding up the water hose with your finger on the nozzle trigger as if it’ll help anything.

A dog charges the door of its kennel, startling you enough that you drop the water hose with a scream. It sets off a chain reaction, the entire space is filled with the sounds of dogs barking and growling as they charge and slam themselves against the doors of their kennels. You try to calm the ones closest to you, but something has them worked up and fearful as they try to escape. You look around wildly, calling out for help but no one hears you over the din. Something catches your eye, and when you look you see something in the too dark, too shadowy corner across the room, it looks like the shape of a man’s silhouette. That isn’t what sets you running towards the door though, it’s the glowing red eyes that watch as your name is both a whisper and scream in your ears. A high pitched whine follows, and crimson drips from your nose as you clutch your ears and scream for it to stop.

Your throat feels raw from the screaming, but you can’t stop it or the fear that’s clawing at your mind telling you that you need to get away. Your hands scramble for the door handle, desperately pulling only to find that you can’t open it. It isn’t possible for this door to lock, there’s no key for it, no latch, and it never sticks. “Someone help! Help me!” You cry, yelling and beating your hand against the door. Tears stream down your cheeks and your pleading and pulling at the door becomes more frantic when you notice the shadows starting to stretch and creep towards you. The shape of the man in the corner looms closer as well, and the fear that grips you makes you choke on every attempt to take in air.

Suddenly you’re sent sprawling across the floor, the door being forced open by the shelter manager and another volunteer. They take in your crying, trembling form curled up on the ground and all the barking, growling, and rattling kennel doors and even they feel the chill in the air.

Then it all stops, the noise dies out in an instant. The dogs are quieting down and settling in their kennels, the air is suddenly warm and comfortable again, the shadows aren’t as exaggerated. If you didn’t know better you’d say that you were imagining it all, but you know it was real.

“The door…th-the door was locked.” You stammer out, flinching when the shelter manager reaches out to help you up off of the floor. You sniffle, taking the outstretched hand and let him pull you to your feet and check you over. “The door was locked.” You repeat weakly, wiping at your wet cheeks in an attempt to pull yourself together.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I don’t know what happened, but it’s okay.” You reach for your ring finger, twisting the metal band repeatedly but it doesn't calm you. “Uhh…look why don’t you take the rest of the day. We can make do without you, let me order you an Uber to get you home. You nod, numb and silent as you try to understand what just happened. Were you losing your mind? Had you imagined it?

You swipe a hand under your nose and it comes away smeared with blood.

No, you hadn’t imagined it.

The ride home is spent quietly, this driver is thankfully not chatty and you’re left to stare despondently out the window of the backseat until the car pulls up in front of the house. No sooner have you stepped out of the car do you receive a text from an unfamiliar number. You open it to find a video attachment and a message that says Read me. It’s against your better judgement but your day has been filled with stress and horror, you think that it can’t possibly get any worse.

You’ve never been more wrong in your life.

The video that plays on your screen is of your uncle. It’s not the best quality video and there’s no sound, but it’s clearly from a security camera, and it's clear enough to identify him as it shows him committing the crime that he’s been accused of. Your stomach drops, and you feel like you’re going to be sick. You don’t know what to do or what to think so you do the only thing you can and that’s call the number that the video came from. You’re shaking as you wait for the line to pick up, and when it’s answered you feel unsteady and dizzy.

“Hello, lamb. My car should be pulling up shortly, and you have a choice to make. Get in it and come to me, or don’t and I’ll let the prosecution have this video.” The goes dead, and as if on cue a black town car pulls up behind you and stops in the same spot that your Uber had been moments ago. You feel like you’re on autopilot as you move on unsteady legs to the back door. You slide into the car, and the moment the door is closed the driver is pulling away and carrying you off to what you feel will be your doom.

You’re passive and don’t fight when you arrive at the secluded house, not even the sight of Brock is enough to snap you out of the robotic task of being led into the lion’s den. He takes in the sight of you, ripped jeans and an old t-shirt. A pair of well worn sneakers cover your feet, and your curls are piled on top of your head with a scarf, and the most make up you have on is a flavored lip balm. Brock scoffs at the sight of you, but you ignore him and try to brace yourself for whatever price Ransom is about to demand from you.

“You’re lucky the boss told me to keep my hands to myself. I owe you for that shit you pulled last time, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

You say nothing, simply staring ahead at the house as you move closer and closer. Once inside you’re led into what looks like an office, and Ransom sits comfortably in an armchair sipping a glass of something amber colored. He dismisses Brock for the evening, and once he leaves it’s just the two of you and no one else for miles.

“Where did you get that video?” You say, finally speaking and finding that your voice is a little hoarse from the ordeal earlier. You want to accuse him of being the thing to torment you earlier, but you fear saying it out loud and you know it sounds crazy.

God you feel like you’re being attacked on all sides.

“Doesn’t matter where I got it from, what matters is that I’m the one that has it and I can cause a lot of pain with it.” Ransom replies, smirking as he sips at his drink.

“He told me he didn’t do it, he lied to me. Why should I care anymore?” You don’t mean that, you know it and he knows it but the way he grins at you tells you that he isn’t done making you regret ever meeting him.

“He told you he didn’t do it because admitting the reason why he did would crush you.” Ransom replies, getting up and wandering over to where he’s got a bottle of whatever he’s drinking sitting. He plucks up a second glass and pours a shot's worth of the liquid, you can’t see what he’s doing clearly so you miss the drop of something that he adds to the drink before he saunters over and holds it out to you. You don’t touch the glass, shaking your head at it because you don’t drink and because you need to keep a clear head.

“If you know why he did it then just tell me.” You say, preparing yourself for the worst.

Ransom just chuckles darkly, and shoves the glass into your hands until you reluctantly take it. “He did it because of you, lamb.” He says falsely sweet. “Apparently that poor poor man he killed was overheard making some not so kind comments about you and what he planned on doing once he got his hands on you.” Ransom watches as you blink back tears and mindlessly lift the glass to your lips and gulp down the liquor with a choking cough and a grimace as it burns down your throat. “I should thank your uncle, him killing that idiot put you on the path to me.” He sighs, watching you sway as the little addition he’s added to your drink starts to kick in. “You could have been locked up in some psycho’s basement, but instead you’re here with me.”

You sway again, head swimming and dizzy as the glass drops from your hand and bounces on the plush carpet. You slump forward right into Ransom’s waiting arms, he strokes a thumb over the apple of your cheek with a grin. “My sweet little lamb.” Is the last thing you hear before darkness takes you.

It’s hours, or possibly a day, when you come to you aren’t sure which. All you know is that your head feels heavy, and so do your limbs. Cottonmouth has your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth and you desperately want for a sip of water. You try to move, hoping to make it to the bathroom sink to quell this hellish thirst. That’s when you realize you’re bound, rope wound around your wrists and winding up the length of your arms to keep you secured to something hard and wooden. You struggle, turning your head to either side to see that your arms are tied outstretched to a wooden cross.

“Finally awake, I was starting to worry that I had given you too much of that little potion.” Ransom’s voice is just loud enough to fill your head with a dull ache, and you groan pitifully.

“Please, I need water.” You croak, head rolling forward on your shoulders to hang heavily as you clenched your eyes shut against the dim lights that illuminate the room. Ransom hums in thought, observing you for a moment before wandering over to a small table and mixing a few things together. He approaches with a glass of something fizzy and sweet smelling, but you don’t trust him to drink considering the fact he’s clearly already drugged you. He brings the glass to your lips, and you turn away with a sound of protest. You hear the growl of frustration before you feel his fingers tightly gripping you by the jaw and tipping your head back so he can pour the concoction into your mouth.

He doesn’t give you a choice in swallowing it, covering your mouth and nose with his large hand until you're forced to swallow the sweet drink down. You don’t know what it is, but it seems to remedy everything that’s affecting you. Your head clears, the dryness in your mouth is sated, and the taste of stale liquor is gone. Your limbs no longer feel heavy and useless, you’re more aware of the state you’re in as well. Realizing that you’re bound and stripped down to your bra and panties, it prompts you to begin to struggle against your bonds.

Ransom’s amused laughter fills your ears, and you sag against the cross in defeat. “Now that you have a clear head, you’re welcome by the way, let’s revisit that deal you originally wanted to make.”

You shake your head, wrists tugging against the bright red ropes that keep you bound to the cross. They dig into your skin, and pull tighter each time you pull at them. Ransom lets his tongue run slowly over his plump bottom lip as he watches you struggle in vain, chuckling when you make a frustrated noise. “This doesn’t feel like a negotiation,” you’re exposed enough that it’s causing you to feel embarrassed and ashamed, and all you want to do is get your arms free so you can shield yourself from his hungry gaze.

“The choice is yours, lamb.” He begins, ignoring your protests when he steps in closer. “Deny me again, and you can go free. Your uncle, however, well once he loses the expensive lawyers and the prosecution receives the full video of the murder it’s very likely that he won’t stand a chance against the death sentence.” He lets his words sink in for a moment before he offers the counter. “Or you give me what I want, and I promise he’ll spend the rest of his days well taken care of.”

“What type of choice is that? I either let my uncle die or I let you have your way?” You can feel the tears brimming again and God you are so sick and tired of crying today so you fight them back shaking your head as you begin to take in short choppy breaths.

“Well when you put it that way…” Ransom is amused by your crisis, and he knows out of the two options there’s only one you’ll choose. You’re too sweet, too giving, and too selfless to leave someone you care about to a fate like the one your uncle is facing. And of course there’s the guilt, misplaced as it is, it works in Ransom’s favor just as well.

“You’re the devil.” You say sadly, knowing exactly what corner you’ve been backed into. The laughter that leaves Ransom is mocking and cruel and with an iron grip he grabs you by the jaw to force you to look into his wickedly grinning face.

“Not the devil, lamb, but close enough. Now, what’s it going to be?”

You open your mouth to speak, eyes cast down and voice barely above a whisper. “I—you promise my uncle will be spared? You’ll make sure he’s okay?”

Ransom nods, lessening his grip and letting his hand drift down to settle around your throat. The feeling of his thumb brushing over your pulse point makes you shiver, and you hate that such a simple touch is capable of stoking the heat between your thighs despite the situation. You don’t know why, but you blame the dreams and how they seem to have primed your body to react to his touch alone. You resist the urge to try and lean into it, you don’t even understand why you want to or why the blooming heat is steadily growing.

“Okay.” It feels like the final nail in your coffin when you say the word, and an eerie silence seems to settle around the room until the only thing you hear is your breathing and his.

Ransom drops his gaze to scan your barely covered body, and when he looks back up and meets your gaze you go to scream, but before you can his hand is squeezing tighter and choking off the noise. Blue eyes are glowing red, and you know for sure now that nothing you’ve been experiencing has been imagined. “No—you...”

Not the devil, lamb, but close enough.

The words echo in your mind, and you tremble at the way the shadows in the room seem to come from him. It had been him. The dark force that had tormented you earlier in the day, you know now without a doubt that it and Ransom are one in the same. “What—” You’re trying not to panic again, but all you want to do is scream and run. “What are you?” You’re afraid to ask but you need to know, you need the confirmation even if it won’t help you or bring you any peace of mind.

He runs a finger over the swells of your breasts, licking his lips as he contemplates whether or not he feels like answering that question. “The better question is who am I, lamb.” He says softly, pressing into your space to whisper against the shell of your ear. “They call me many things. The final persecutor, the beast from the abyss, the man of sin, the son of perdition, son of the devil. Just to name a few.”

Your body goes tense, eyes wide with fear and understanding of what he is claiming. You remember the stories from Sunday school, and bible study, you know who those titles belong too.

The Antichrist.

“No! This can’t happen! I can’t do this, I take it back!” This is so much worse than you thought before, and you feel every bit the sacrificial lamb bound in red ropes to the cross he’s secured you to.

“The deal has been struck, I will have what was promised.” His voice carries an edge that makes you attempt to shrink away only to be reminded that you can’t escape. His hands tear your bra and panties to scraps, and he hums in approval at the sight of you fully exposed and at his disposal. You let out a broken sound, tears threatening to fall again as you try desperately to fight them off. His hands wander over you, cupping and squeezing the soft flesh of your breasts before pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefingers to tweak and roll them in between the pads of his digits. You bite back the sound that wants to desperately claw its way out of you, chest heaving with the effort to not simply give in to this monster’s depravity.

“I’ve thought of having you since that night you came seeking me out, but I know your type.” He sighs, bending to press his face into your neck so that he can inhale your scent. His teeth nip at you seconds later, drawing out a surprised yelp. “Innocent, and sweet. You would have never come to me so easily if I hadn’t resorted to a few dirty tricks.” He admits, drawing back to see the way your brows furrow and your expression twists with the realization that he’s been setting you up for this very moment. “How did you enjoy those dreams I sent you?” His hand snakes down your front, sliding between your clenched thighs and forcing them apart so he can cup your hot core in the palm of his hand. “I’d say you enjoyed them quite a bit.” He chuckles when he feels you’re already wet, and getting wetter for him. You gasp when you feel the heel of his palm grinding against your clit, the sudden burst of pleasure shooting through you like a jolt of electricity. He dips a finger into your slick entrance, hissing at the tightness of your untouched cunt.

When he withdraws he holds up his hand to show you the shining slickness that coats his finger. You look away, sniffling when he brings it to his lips and sucks it clean with a groan of satisfaction at the taste of you. It's better than any drug he's imbibed, and you just might turn out to be his new addiction. He needs more, and so Ransom chooses to go straight to the source while he watches you wallowing in shame and guilt for the way your body is betraying you.

“Are you gonna cry for me?” He teases, dropping to a knee to bring your legs up to drape over his shoulders. “Tastes so much fuckin’ sweeter when you cry.” You don’t mean to, but his cruel taunting finally makes you break. The tears roll down your cheeks, and a broken sob claws its way out of you when feel his hot tongue dragging through your folds.

“N-no, please. Don’t, Ran—“ Your words cut off as a sharp cry replaces them. Ransom's teeth bite down hard on your inner thigh, and you know a bruise will be left behind.

“You’ll call me, Sir. And you’re to be silent unless you’re begging me for more.” He commands and no sooner has he spoken is he back to pressing his hot mouth to your core. You bite back the sounds of pleasure that are threatening to come out of you. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip so hard that you taste the coppery zing of your blood.

Ransom's tongue laps its way up to your clit, and your attempt to jerk your hips away from his menacing mouth are met with a sharp slap to the outside of your thigh. Tongue swirling over your sensitive bud, his glowing red gaze is on your face, watching the way you try to deny your pleasure. He seals his lips around your clit, sucking at it with enough pressure that you can’t help but cry out and let your moans finally be heard. You feel him pressing a finger into you again, working you open enough for him to tease a second digit into your quivering entrance. The stretch is more than you could ever expect and you clamp down around them as Ransom begins to drag his thick digits in and out of you.

He’s done this in your dreams but those dreams are nothing compared to reality, and you feel yourself nearing your peak at an alarming rate. You squirm and try to escape before he pushes you to that point. Ransom keeps you in place with a firm hold, his free hand grips against your hip hard enough to bruise. He pushes you right to the edge and just when you think he might send you flying over he stops. Pulling away from your slick, quivering sex with a wet pop, Ransom grins up at you before standing to his full height. “So sweet, sweeter than I could have ever imagined.”

You say nothing, transfixed on the way your arousal glistens against his mouth, and frustrated by the way he’s left you aching and unfulfilled. The shame of knowing your body had given in, even worse that you’re disappointed that he had stopped before you could finish.

“Don’t pout, lamb. I’m far from done with you, and I’ll have you begging soon.” He coos before capturing your lips in a rough kiss that has the taste of your arousal and blood from your split lip mixing. He kisses you deep, stealing your breath and pressing you back against the cross he’s tied you to. You can feel the corners of the wooden beam digging into your back, it's uncomfortable but Ransom doesn't seem to take that into consideration. He growls into your mouth, gripping your body so tight that you squirm, whimpering against his mouth. Ransom forces his tongue into your mouth, and he can taste the very essence of you, and it nearly makes him abandon his plans to draw this out and make you beg for him to give you more.

Nearly, but not quite.

Your head is cloudy and swimming, but through the haze you can feel him sliding those two fingers back into you without warning. You’re so slick that you swear you can hear the faint schlick, schlick, schlick of your sex being toyed with. You catch yourself beginning to return the damning kiss, realizing a second too late and jerking your head away with panting breaths. This man, if he can be called that, is dragging you further and further into this twisted game. “You’re trying so hard not to give in, but this body is screaming out for me.” He says with a dark chuckle, fingers pumping shallowly into you just enough to tease and keep you on edge. You shake your head, denying the obvious truth that despite your efforts you’re dripping for him and aching in a way that no one has ever had you aching before. Part of you just wishes for him to force the climax out of you, at least then you can say you tried to resist. He doesn’t, instead he drags it out and teases his thumb over your clit until you’re at the edge again just for him to stop. “Beg me for it, and I’ll let you have it.”

By the sixth denial of your climax there are fresh tears on your cheeks from the frustration, shame, and embarrassment at being brought to this point. Ransom makes the bargain again. Beg me for it. You try to fight it but when you feel his fingers beginning to slow again you break with a choked sob and a “please, please not again.” You hate this, you hate feeling so needy and desperate but that’s exactly what he’s turned you into and you just want the relief he’s been denying you.

“Say it, lamb. Please, sir let me cum.” He instructs, smirking at your trembling form and admiring how he’s broken you down.

You whine behind your teeth, the feeling of helplessness fueling the neediness in your voice when you repeat his words. “Please, sir let me cum.” You say, trying not to think about how weak you sound or the wet squelch when he suddenly pulls his fingers from you. The sound of despair that escapes you is involuntary and your brows furrow in confusion. You’ve done what he wants, and you don’t understand why he’s not making good on his promise.

Ransom senses your discontent and confusion and chuckles, stripping off his soft blue sweater and the shirt he wears under it. His hands drop to his belt, and he makes a show of pulling it off before doing away with his pants. You can’t help the way your eyes are transfixed on him as he bares himself to you, and he relishes in the way you suck in a breath at the sight of his cock thick and hard as beads of precum dribble from its head. You press your thighs together, fearful of the prospect of him trying to fit so much into you. “Oh, did you think I was going to let you cum on my fingers?” He questions mockingly, reaching down to lift your legs and making you wrap them around his narrow waist. “The only way you’re cumming tonight is on my cock.” He tells you, and your breath comes out in quick pants when you feel the blunt tip of his length running through your folds as he collects and smears your wetness over it.

“I—no please, please I’ve never…I’m not ready, and it won’t fit.” You’re aware that he won’t stop until he has what he wants.

“Oh I know, lamb. I know this is the first time, but trust me I'll make it fit.” His blazing gaze shifts to the silver band on your right hand. “I’ll make it good for you.” He says, and it does nothing to comfort you when you feel him at your entrance. You suck in a breath just as he pushes in with a hiss at how tight you are. When he presses further, and breaches the barrier that marks your virginity, the strained sound that comes out of you is one of surprise and pain. His fingers are no match for his cock when he starts to fill you, and you clamp down around him so tightly that he has to still and calm himself. He expects you to be tight, but the way your body is squeezing him is beyond perfection. You’re like a vise around him, and while it feels good for him, he needs you to relax enough to let him move. “Look at me.” It’s an order, and when you don’t immediately comply he startles you with the inhuman growl that rumbles out of him. Your eyes snap to his expecting to see the blazing red still there, but instead it’s the icy blues that drag you under and fog your mind with his influence and make your thoughts drift away. “Now breathe, and relax.”

You release the breath you were holding, and with it goes the tension in your body. Soon your walls are fluttering around him, and your hips are squirming just the smallest bit as if your body is begging for more. Ransom takes it as his cue and begins to thrust into you, going deeper with each one and touching spots within you that you never knew existed. His grunts, and groans of pleasure mix with your moans and cries to fill your ears as he fucks you on the cross. “Fuck, told you I’d make it fit, lamb” He grunts, a hand moving to your thigh and the other gripping your ass as he ruts into you. “Knew this cunt would take me just fine, greedy little thing doesn’t wanna let me go does she?” He continues, and you feel the way your body clenches around him at that. Ransom curses, head rolling back on his shoulders for a moment while he loses himself in the way your body seems to suck him deeper with every thrust until he’s buried to the hilt.

There’s a voice that you hear, pleading and begging for more, in the part of your mind that’s still yours and not under his influence you realize that it’s you. He happily obliges, moving faster as changing the angle of his thrusts just so to hit a spot inside you that has you cumming before you realize what’s happening. You cry out, outstretched arms struggling in the ropes keeping you bound as the wave of overwhelming pleasure crashes over you. Ransom surges forward, burying his face in your neck to suck and bite bruises against your skin. Without that eye contact the hypnotic spell he’s had you under breaks and it’s disorienting as you try to ground yourself. It’s an impossible task and a sob of pleasure sputters out of you, incoherent words following when Ransom’s hips continue to pump his cock into your sensitive, pulsing cunt.

You want to tell him that it’s too much, that you can’t take anymore and that the sensations are becoming too overwhelming but you can’t form the words. All you can do is struggle in your bonds, and pray that he’ll finish soon. When his fingers move from gripping your ass to drift between your thighs, and you feel the rough circles he draws against your clit you scream. Another climax crashes over you, clenching your eyes shut you swear you can see stars bursting behind them as your body shudders and your thighs tremble. The pleasure is quickly turning maddening and you try to focus on anything but the electric pleasure that’s shooting up your spine and lighting up every nerve in your body.

“P-please, please, t-too much, ‘s too m-much.” You babble out, crying out in frustrated pleasure as he forces a third orgasm from you.

“Shh shh, gonna fill you up soon.” He breathes against your skin before sucking another bruise onto your neck. The fourth climax has you reeling, and it pulls him over the edge along with you. Your fluttering walls milking his cock of his spend as he cums deep inside your overwrought body with a loud moan of pleasure. You’re panting, and shaking in the aftermath, tears on your cheeks and mind in a haze. When he pulls out you whine, and sag heavily against the cross. He takes the moment to admire his handiwork before he reaches for your right hand to pull your purity ring from your finger with a taunting laugh. “This is mine now, think I’ll put it on a chain and wear it. A nice little reminder that even the innocent ones can turn into cock drunk whores.” You don't have the energy to speak, and there are no more tears that you can cry so you say nothing. Ransom seems satisfied, and a moment later you’re crumpling to the ground when the ropes keeping your arms bound vanish. “You and I are going to have so much fun, lamb.” You hear him say as you passively lay there unable to bring yourself to look up at him, afraid of what you’ll see. Instead you close your eyes and let the exhaustion take you away to a dreamless sleep.

You don’t know for how long you sleep but when you wake up the news is playing on the television and you’re in a bed instead of on the floor where you’d fallen. You’re cleaned up, still bare, and you clutch the covers to your chest when you realize. Ransom is nowhere to be seen and you think now might be a good time to try to find your clothes and run. Something on the television catches your attention, the news anchor says your uncle’s name and mentions something that makes you freeze at the edge of the bed.

“Opening statements were made today in the case of the horrific and brutal murder of…” it fades out and you realize that you weren’t there because you were here offering yourself up like a lamb for slaughter. “…the defense is arguing against the death penalty, and instead pleading insanity. If found guilty but insane it’s very likely that he will spend the rest of his life in a psychiatric facility.

You stare dumbly at the television, trying to process what you just heard when the sound of Ransom’s smooth voice suddenly reaches your ears. “Look at that, my little lamb is finally awake.”

You try to scramble away when he takes a step closer but the soreness between your thighs has you wincing and hissing in pain. “You lied to me! You told me you’d help my uncle and that you’d take care of him!” Ransom laughs, shoulders bouncing lightly as continues to close in on you.

“No, I promised you that he would be well taken care of for the rest of his days, and he will be.” His smile takes on a mean edge as he reaches you and begins to tug at the covers you’re desperately clutching. “He will get the best care possible while he lives out the rest of his life heavily medicated and locked up with the criminally insane. So much better than a death sentence don’t you think?”

He knows that it’s not and that’s what makes it cruel. Your uncle would call it a fate worse than death, and you’re the one that’s condemned him to it by trying to make a deal with something evil. “I need to call my aunt.” You murmur, trying to move carefully across the bed. Ransom is on you before you manage to slip away, pulling the covers from your naked body. He hovers over you, and you can see that he’s made good on another promise as well. Your purity ring hangs around his neck from a silver chain, dangling in your face and taunting you with the shameful memory of the prior night. You try to even out your breathing, but it becomes difficult when you feel Ransom’s weight settling between your thighs. Wincing you let out a pained noise. “Not again, please. I’m sore, and I just want to call my aunt.”

Ransom rolls his eyes, shaking his head and grinds against you despite the pained noise you make. “That’s fine, lamb. You’ve got two other holes for me to claim.” He chuckles darkly against your mouth before claiming it in a demanding kiss. “If you can talk once I’m done with your mouth I’ll let you call her, deal?”

#ransom drysdale x woc!reader #ransom drysdale x black!reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x woc #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fanfic #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale fanfiction #woc!reader #black!reader #trilla writes #spooktacularSmutfest21

[cockslutpadalecki]

God Is A Woman and The Devil Is Too

Summary: The hunter becomes the hunted.

Characters: Serial Killer!Steve x Dark!Reader.

Words: 1.6K.

Warnings: non-con/dub-con, kidnapping, use of restraints (rope), mentions of voyeurism, explicit sexual content, cum play, cream pie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), 18+.

Challenges: @slothspaghettiwrites​​‘ Marvellous Monster Mayhem: prompt was “God Is A Woman” by Ariana Grande (my apologies for how incredibly loose this is based on that and for the late entry, thank you for the extension! x) @boxofbonesfic​‘ Spooktacular Smutfest: prompts used are “Are you gonna cry for me? Tastes so much fuckin’ sweeter when you cry” and “Don’t worry sweetheart, the pain only lasts a little while” which are both highlighted in bold.

A/N: I have chosen to list our reader as “dark” to avoid spoilers. Beta: @princessmisery666​​ but all the general bullshit is mine. Thanks to my pre-reader @sweeterthanthis​​ for screaming at me in the DMs over this, ILU. While likes are gold, feedback/reblogs are golden. Please support your content creators. My work is my own, therefore I do not give consent for this story to be re-posted or translated to any other site.

Even though the sun has been up for hours, the streets you jog through are quiet. The noise of screaming children being shipped off to school, and commuters rushing just to end up being late for work have long since faded away into this tranquil peace that is only interrupted by the sounds of your sneakers pounding against the sidewalk and your rapid breathing. 

You’ve not been living in the area long, but you’ve already mastered your route, picking out key points of reference just in case you do veer off the beaten path and need to find your way back to familiarity. And even though you’re assured in the knowledge by the sweet couple across the hall from you that this is a safe neighbourhood— regardless of the rising reports of women going missing— you still do your best to memorise a number plate here, a street sign there, keeping your mind sharp and focused on your surroundings. 

You reach one of your unofficial checkpoints— the corner of Main Street, and make your way north towards the bakery that tempts you with its extravagance every time you pass it. It’s no different today— the cakes in the window call to you with their decadence, the fine decoration entirely too beautiful to ruin with greedy appetites. Catching sight of the owner through the glass— Ms. Carter, you assume from the name above the door— you smile at her sweetly, and carry on until you’re treading the outskirts of town. 

The road leading back to Main Street is still busy, cars rushing past you as you slow to a walk, needing a few minutes to catch your breath and allow the stitch in your side to dissipate. A warm summer breeze swirls around you and the serenity you felt this morning seems ever more present here, with the town just behind you— on the edge of existence. 

I could get used to this. You smile up at the clear blue skies, wishing you can stay suspended here forever, but life beckons you back towards humanity. Eagerness to get home and have a nice hot shower and a glass or two of wine has you doubling back toward civilisation.

You don’t hear the car approach or the hurried footsteps that mirror yours— all you’re aware of is the sun suddenly surrendering to darkness.

-

Your head hurts when you wake up. Not a dull throb indicative of a night out partying, but a skull-splitting ache so intense that even blinking is agony. Your mouth tastes like dirty pennies and cotton— all claggy and metallic, but the lack of saliva makes you choke as you attempt to swallow.

The room is unfamiliar— a sweat box devoid of windows, and only one door in or out. The only piece of furniture in the room is the bed you’re laying on and the mattress is so thin, you can feel every ridge and bump of the broken springs digging into your spine. 

Instinctively, you raise your hand to wipe away the layer of perspiration clinging to your forehead, but you can barely lift it before it’s being tugged back in the direction it came and the sting on your wrists begin. Taking a skittish glance down towards your hands, you find gnarled rope cutting sharply into your flesh. 

A scream rumbles in your chest, ready to burst from your raw throat, but a light, almost excited but disembodied voice interrupts you before you can make a sound. “Ah, finally, you’re awake.”

-

The man standing in the doorway regards you with a look of sheer wonderment. Like he’s been searching for diamonds and only ever found coal. But you— you’re the rarest gem he’s ever seen in his life. Stunning sapphire eyes stare at you, flicking from your feet over your naked legs, up the dress until he meets your terrified gaze. 

His large physique fills up the entire opening, broad shoulders just skimming the edges of the wood that frame him like a macabre painting. 

“Wh-why am I here?” you ask shakily. “What do you want?” 

“What do I want?” He stalks forward, lips curled up into a Machiavellian smirk. “Look around, doll.” He reaches you and leans over, gripping your jaw a little too tightly. “What do you think I want?” 

His wide blown pupils tell you everything— you’ve been around enough horny men in your time to know their intentions, their tells. You try to swallow around the cotton wool taste thick in your throat, but it just aids the wobbly tone of your voice. “Are you go-gonna hurt me?” 

He laughs. “Don’t worry sweetheart, the pain only lasts a little while.”

“Please, just let me go,” you choke out.

He ignores your plea. “Such perfect manners.” Your chin quivers in his hold as his thumb works its way between your teeth-bitten lips, enticing you to suck down on the appendage. “Aw, are you gonna cry for me?” He dares to mock. “Tastes so much fuckin’ sweeter when you cry.”

-

The tears come and go like the tides. As your captor repeatedly forces himself upon you, the fear bubbling in your veins subsides as your body takes over. It knows what to do, and he praises you for how wet you are. How can you not be? The stretch of his cock fucking you raw is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and the sheer precision of his thrusts is a work of art. A few times you almost forget yourself, close to showing your hand too soon, but you’re able to stop yourself before you let anything slip.

He pulls out of you, hot cum dribbling out of your abused cunt and down through your swollen folds. Every inch of you aches from his repeated assaults, but the pain is what makes you feel alive. After all, you suffered at the hands of tormentors worse than him when you were a resident of hell, so what he’s inflicted on you has been nothing short of enjoyable. You can’t wait for the inevitable slicing and dicing that he’s bound to bestow on you when he grows bored and moves onto his next victim. 

“God, I haven’t been fucked like that in so long,” you breathe, stretching out beneath him like you’ve just woken up from a deep sleep. 

His eyes widen at your words, almost as if they’re filled with fear before he’s off you like a bullet out of a gun. 

“What the fuck?”

“I gotta say, I admire your tenacity, grabbing me in broad daylight. Nobody ever tries that anymore,” you wistfully recount, curling your toes into the ruffled sheets beneath you. 

“You’ve… you’ve done this before?”  

You give him a wide smile, baring your pearly white teeth. “Of course. All the best ones snatched me during the day. Really shows me who means business. The weak stalk their prey at night.” 

“The best… best ones?” He stutters and you let out a mocking laugh. 

“Oh honey, did you really think you had the upper hand? I allowed you to capture me.”

“You’re fucking crazy.” He stumbles back, impressive cock deflating rapidly as he tries to create as much distance between you as possible. This is always the fun part— watching them piece it altogether as the fear in their eyes grows when they realise they’re fucked. This is why you’re so drawn to them. The sick men who brutalise and hurt women for their own gratification. You seek them out just like they do. The fear draws you in like a moth to a flame.

“Do you like her?” Glancing down, you take in the body you’re wearing, imagining the cutesy, fucked out look on your face as he stares at you in horror. “I picked her especially for you. Knew it was what you like after all that attention you’ve been getting on the news.” With a sharp tug on your wrists, the rope snaps in two as if it’s made of thread. Hands now free, your fingers dance teasingly over your stomach and down to the mess he’s left between your legs. 

“C’mon, don’t you wanna fuck me some more?” You whimper, smearing his still warm spend back into your pussy. “Make me bleed a little bit? Or a lot? I know you’re into that,” you add with a little giggle before sitting up.

He debates your words for a moment as if he’s curious to know what it’d be like to have someone… willing. He shakes his head, no doubt internally talking himself out of it. This isn’t how he operates. You’ve watched him for long enough to know he needs them scared, pathetic. Begging for their lives while he takes them apart inch by inch on that magnificent cock of his. That’s what turns him on the most.

You twitch just remembering the last girl he took. The way he glistened with her essence the harder he fucked her. It was a sight that kept you from moving ahead with your plan too quickly. As much as you’ve enjoyed being the object of his affection, there’s something about watching him from afar that thrilled you more than most other depraved things you’ve witnessed lesser men do. 

“Who are you?” 

“What would be more appropriate,” you tease with a smirk and spread your thighs in an attempt to entice him back for more. 

“What do… do you want?” 

Standing up, your legs almost give out on you before the strength quickly returns and you slowly slink across the room, the skirt of your dress sticking to your tacky thighs. 

“Look around, big boy,” you purr when you reach him and lift a hand to cup his cheek tenderly. “What do you think I want?” 

“You gonna hurt me?”

You laugh with a soft pout, and slide your thumb between his beautifully plump pink lips, coaxing him to suck down on your cum-stained flesh. “Don’t worry sweetheart, the pain only lasts a little while.”

***

Steve: @andreasworlsboring101​ @broadwaybabe18​ @cake-writes​ @deanwinchesterswitch​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @hurricanerin​ @oneoftheprettynerds​ @sammykb1994​ @smokeandnailz​ @syrenavenger​ @syntheticavenger​ @vicmc624​

ALL CE: @chamberofsloths​ @dreamlessinparis​ @imanuglywombat​ @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay​ @la-cey​ @livstilinski​ @ladydmalfoy​ @otomefromtheheart​ @patzammit​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @starlightcrystalline​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @sunwardsss​ @selfsun​ @threeminutesoflife​ @whiskeytangofoxtrot555​ @xoxonotme​

Forever: @amandamdiehl​ @b3autyfuldisast3r​ @buttercandy16​ @crashdevlin​ @dangertoozmanykids101​ @daughterofthenight117​ @donnaintx​ @danneelsmain​ @dandywinchesterbras​ @deangirl93​ @doozywoozy​ @downanddirtydean​ @foxyjwls007​ @gayasslookinass​ @geekofmanyforms​ @hoewkeyesblue​ @heyyouwiththeassbutt​ @ilovefanfic86​ @jewelswrites-ish​ @joseyrw​ @letsby​ @letsdisneythings​ @mogaruke​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @nik2write​ @novawillowbarnes @obsessivelycapricious​ @pinkshenanigan​ @princessmisery666​ @rattwritesfics​ @sea040561​ @sweeterthanthis​ @slutformarvelmen​ @simpformarvelmenandwoman​ @stoneyggirl​ @warriorqueen1991​ @wonder-cole​ @xoxabs88xox​ @zooaliaa​

#steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #spooktacularsmutfest21 #slothsmmmwritingchallenge

[cryptidcasanova]

Soldier, My Soldier

Winter Soldier x Reader

Summary: “I am the writing on the wall, the whisper in the air. Without these things I am nothing. So now, I must shed blood.” He lulled at the base of your throat. “Sweetheart, come with me.”

The Winter Soldier was a story, a folk tale to keep children in their beds and instill fear in the hearts of men. But some stories are meant to be locked away and forgotten.

Warnings: Dubious intent, Smut, Murder. 18+ only. Please proceed with discretion.

A/N: Spooky season is here! This is my submission for the lovely @boxofbonesfic​ and her Spooktacular Smutfest writing challenge, and it is going to be broken up into three parts over Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

My prompts are cursed item, Bucky Barnes, and the quote “Don’t worry sweetheart, the pain only lasts a little while.” Happy haunting. Dividers are by the immensely talented @firefly-graphics​.

Your Babushka was a storyteller. She was a secret keeper. 

She was made from the dust and the bones of the old world. 

Others called her magic.

She was the one who told you that the old folk tales hold power. The stories survive because we tell them. Without us, they hold no power. 

“The good and the bad stories live and die with us, my starlight.” She would tell you in broken English. “Be careful which ones live on.”

The twinkle in her eye was reassuring. You desperately wanted to believe her. To you she was your entire world. 

Your Babushka was old, far too old for anyone to keep records of. Or at least that’s what she told you. You had no idea if she was in her seventies of hundreds of years old, but you knew better than to ask.

She appreciated her solitude and lived on the outskirts of the once humble village you grew up in. She was wise and full of secrets.

Her cottage was a treasure trove of old books and games and history. It was your respite when you were little. Both of your parents were away working all the time and you had no brothers or sisters to keep you company. 

You only had your Babushka. 

So when she finally passed away you were heartbroken. 

You couldn’t believe it. 

She wasn’t magic at all. She was just an old woman. Your heart ached and your resentment grew. She left you with no goodbye. 

How could she do this to you?

And you were the one who tended to the cottage and were picking up the pieces once she was gone.

The cottage was filled to the brim with old books and knick-knacks and woven blankets. Junk, you realized. It was all junk. The cottage was cold and falling apart. How did she live like this? 

You made a grim decision. You were going to clean it out and sell it and get as far away from the village as possible.  

Time passed slowly clearing out cobwebs and rummaging through her cabinets and cupboards. Old mugs and recipe books croaked as you moved them from their places, and once you were done in the kitchen you moved on to her old sitting room.

A ferocious bookshelf stood against the wall; a clever adversary. But you weren’t afraid of the books. In fact, it fueled your fire to see the familiar story books your Babushka would read to you. 

“These books are powerful. Be careful what you read.”

You rolled your eyes.

The Grimm fairy tales were cast to the wayside, and after you pulled the first book from the shelf a wave of nausea rolled in your stomach. Your grandmother would have called it a warning, but it only added to your frustration. In a tizzy you pulled books from the shelves, not bothering to read and reminisce. 

You didn’t want to remember them, not any of them.

Books were thrown to the floor and the old rugs absorbed most of the abuse, but you couldn’t find it in you to stop. In your blind fury you didn’t realize the tears staining your cheeks. You were unhappy. You were abandoned. You were all alone. 

At last, when you reached the top shelf you noticed a book that didn’t belong among the rest. A moment of clarity pierced through the darkness.

It was a bible. An old English bible.

That was strange. It was unlike your Babushka to have a Christian bible laying around. You plucked it from the shelf and furrowed your eyebrows. It wasn’t a book at all.

It was fake. The pages were fake. The spine was wooden. There was a little latch, and you took a shallow breath as your fingers lingered over it.

It was a box. 

It was just a box. Reassuring yourself, you opened the latch with a little resistance. It hadn’t been opened in quite some time.

Inside there was a smaller, hardback book.

Oh great.

It was old and the red cover and spine were cracked. It was wrapped in twine that was dipped in dark wax. 

A wax seal was pressed into the front of the book. As you turned towards the lamplight you were met with an imposing octopus emblem. 

It was some kind of protection. 

It was some kind of spell. 

No.

No. You shook your head firmly. Your imagination was getting the better of you. Your Babushka’s old worries were not going to be passed on to you. You weren’t afraid of a book. 

But someone didn’t want this book to be opened. Maybe it was your Babushka. 

Stubbornness swam through your veins. You were going to go against her silly warnings.

You were going to open it. 

It certainly didn’t feel dangerous, and you sat down right there among the discarded story books. With the glow of the lamplight you turned the book over in your palm, blindly setting the box aside. 

The air was thick, heavy with tension, but you didn’t pay it any mind.

First was the wax seal. Bracing one hand to the book you plucked at the octopus until you could feel it give way under your fingertips. And you unwound the old twine. It was brittle, breaking apart in your hands. Perhaps the book was older than you thought.

But you weren’t deterred. Once the seal and the wrappings were set aside you brushed a hand across the cover. There were no words, no symbols, nothing. It was just a little red book. Not even the dust had time to age it.

So you settled in, opening the cover with a groan.

Written in dark, blotted ink at last you found some kind of marking. You bit your lip in frustration. The words were written in the old language. You couldn’t make out a word of it.

Holding the book up to the light you frowned, flipping through the rest of the pages. It was all written in the old language. And then at the end of the book you paused, where the words were written in haste.

They were sloppy, far more sloppy than the rest of the book. Looking at the frantic scribbles a tremor of pain weaved up into your temple. The pain made you wince, closing your eyes, just for a moment. When the pain subsided you opened your eyes and looked down to the book.

The words on that last page looked clear as day. 

Your breath hitched as you let your finger trace the words. It wasn’t written in the old language after all. The words were familiar to you.

Soldier, my soldier. 

The air was thick, and just outside rain had begun to pour. You found yourself repeating the words out loud before you could stop yourself. 

“Soldat, moy soldat.”

But you didn’t speak it in the common tongue. You didn’t even notice the foreign syllables passing your lips, eyes focused on the page. Your mind had drifted, thoughts being tugged away from the book altogether.

My winter soldier.

Lightning struck, and if you would have paid more attention to the mirror in the corner you would have noticed the silhouette of a man staring back at you. 

That same searing pain tingled down your cheeks to your neck and you winced again. When you looked down to the book it had changed. It had flipped to another page. No. You had flipped it to another page.

But these words made no sense.

Longing, rusted, seventeen,

Your fingers followed the words blindly, and in the back of your mind a nagging voice told you something wasn’t right.

Daybreak, furnace, nine,

The pain subsided, but you could feel the lucid way you were sounding out the words. You had been speaking them out loud. The foreign tongue was still dancing on your lips and you didn’t even know it. 

“Benign, homecoming, one,”

And as your eyes roamed the last of the unspoken words a knock on the door pulled you from your reverie. 

Your eyes jumped from the book to the door, a broken croak pulling from your lips, but when you looked back down the book had changed again. 

That last set of words was there, but you couldn’t understand it. 

It was in the old language all along.

And if you would have looked up, you would have seen an imposing silhouette pushing away from the window, creeping back into the dark. A silver glint caught the corner of your vision but it was too late. He was already gone.

Part 2 Here

#spooktacularsmutfest21 #soldier my soldier #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark fairytale #folk lore #urban legends #candyman au

[lalahbug]

Cabin in the Woods 2

Fandom: MCU / Werewolf!Bucky Barnes Word Count: 4.6k #spooktacularsmutfest21 My Masterlist No taglist, please follow @lalahbuglibrary

Warnings/disclaim: General <--- by reading this fic you agree/are okay with the media you are about to consume.  DO NOT REPOST OR COPY MY WORK!

SMUT/SEX MINOR DNI! DARK CONTENT! NOT FOR EVERYONE! DARK CONTENT! (I think it’s more soft dark, but I’m labeling it as dark to be safe) EXPLICIT CONTENT, memory altering, pet names (bunny, doll, my girl, baby, sweetheart, mate, little one, etc) some pretty heavy manipulation/conditioning, dubious consent?, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, knotting, cockwarming?(while knot goes down)

Author’s Note: continued under story  ___ is a blank for your name/oc/whatever you prefer Written in 3rd person Line/header is to separate paragraphs to indicate time skips, as Tumblr hates my formatting. Gained thematic inspiration from @boxofbonesfic​​​ and her fic All Dark, No Stars. Please go read it, it’s amazing~!

This is an entry for Bones Spooktacular Smutfest! check out the Challenge Masterlist to support other amazing author’s~! Prompt/Dialogue will be in bold. Also listed in additional AN I’m basing this to take place in Nov of this year, 2021. Here’s a calendar if you’d like, with moon phases, ya know, because werewolf. Imaging inspo on previous part.

Story under cut, 2 of 2

November 19th

         Late afternoon air was stirring outside while hot water relaxed her muscles in the bath, soaking after washing the day off in a shower. Thinking about Bucky and their relationship. Bucky was a dream, so was the life he was offering her. But couldn’t bring herself to agree that they were meant to be. Had he even been with another woman? If not, why not? Also, if not, how the hell was he so addicting with his ministrations?

        How could he be so sure that she was suited for him? What did he see that as so special? How could she be worth doing everything he’s done and is willing to do? He never even let her touch him. Not letting her return any favors. Was he self-conscious of his body? She’d love to show him how much she adores it. She felt so selfish, waiting to give in, dive into Bucky. And it was eating away at her.

         She sighed, deciding it was time to call Bucky, talk about going slow. Doing a long-distance relationship for a bit, at least until her lease ended in a few months. He could do that, right? Maybe if he was just addicted to her, because she was around, this could clear his mind. And if he’s not, then they could make it work, right?

         Toweling off her body and changed into a loose shirt and sweats. She set for the kitchen to get some water before sitting down to read while letting something play in the background. Deciding to relax a bit more before calling Bucky, she left too nervous for it right now.

         Barely a couple of pages into her book, when the power cut out. She groaned, before getting up, the wind wasn’t too strong. So, what happened? She glanced at the phone, remembering her parents got the corded one, so if there was a power outage, it’d still work.

         Her fingers were dialing his number as quickly as they could. But after the first ring, the line went dead. What she was fearing and trying not to think about. Was confirmed with a guttural voice sounding in her mind.

         ‘I’m here for you little one.’ She whimpered before covering her mouth. Her body quivered. Surely couldn’t outrun a wolf to Bucky’s. ‘No, you can’t, even if you could. I’ll follow your scent.’ Panicked raked her brain. ‘Yes, my mate, I can read your mind.’

         She glanced around, before looking over her shoulder, trying not to think, but simply see if there was a good hiding place.

         ‘My clever girl, not trying to think. But I know you’re panicked, so you’re either looking for running or hiding options. Neither will help you.’

         “Why me?” she couldn’t help but question. While she lit candles.

         ‘Your family promised you to me years back. I’m done waiting. You can’t be too mad. Wouldn’t you trade your first daughter’s marriage rights, if it meant health for your mate, your spouse?’

         She immediately knew what had happened. Tears brimmed her waterline. He was right. She couldn’t be mad. Knowing what her mother, what she promised, to save her father’s life. It explained how even when chemo was failing, somehow, they got a miracle and his cancer disappeared. She loved her father dearly, and if she was being honest. If this wolf would have spoken to her about it, simply as giving her father longer life and taking her as a mate. She would have said yes.

         ‘Now, you know; come out or I’m coming in. You need to be outside in moonlight tonight. It is the only way for this to happen without you going through the pain of change.’

         She shuddered at his words, the pain of change. Is that what he was doing? Trying to save her from unnecessary pain?

         ‘You know it is, come out, little one.’

         She was silently moving about the cabin, humming a song to herself. To keep her plan out of her mind.

         ‘Mate, you test my patience. Whatever your plotting, it will not pan out. This happens tonight.’

         She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Bumbling around, putting on warmer clothes and one of Bucky’s sweaters. “Will I see my family again?” she murmured to him. Trying to keep him distracted.

         ‘Yes, once we are the same, your life will change, you’ll be here with me. Then we can travel once you’re acclaimed. I won’t keep you from your family and friends, I know that would hurt you.’

         “The same, you say. So, what are you? You’re too big to be a normal wolf, dire wolves are extinct. So that leaves me guessing supernatural beings since you have powers.”

         ‘I’m a werewolf. My lycan form only takes over on the Blood Moon. You will appear human most of the time, wolf shifting is optional outside of the forced lycan.’

         “Wasn’t that earlier this morning? The blood moon is just a lunar eclipse, right?”

        ��‘Yes, I do not want to frighten you more than I have though, so I am grateful it happened before the full moon, which is tonight. You can avoid partial blood moons by staying indoors, but any total lunar eclipse is inevitable.’

         He was meant with silence. No more questions. The song she had been thinking of was gone.

         ‘Mate, where are you?’ he growled when she didn’t answer. Setting to finding her, when he went to follow her scent. It was muddled, candles and incenses lingered in the cabin, masking her. Finding the only open window, she had to come out of, he could barely smell her. She reeked of another, a man.

         A piercing howl staggered her run, knowing he’d be on her tail soon. No matter the small things she did to try and throw him off. But she had to get to Bucky. He was a hunter; his family had lived on these mountains for generations. Maybe he knew how to save her yet keep her father alive. She was hesitant to be with Bucky, but that was a better choice than being forced to be something else.

         Aware that fallen leaves were giving away her location by sound, even if her smell hadn’t seeped through Bucky’s yet. He’d catch up to her soon. She compelled her legs to carry her further. Almost at the end of the path, where the trees opened to the sky and Bucky’s land.

        Her poor thundering heart, dropped.

         As the ground engulfed her.

         Landing sharply on her ankle, she cried out. But comfort washed over her as she heard heavy footsteps, that sounded human. Even in stuck in a ditch; where she felt small from how far down she was. Joy and hope bloomed in her chest at the thought of Bucky coming to her rescue. She scrambled to try and stand up.

         “Help! I’m-I’m stuck down here! Bucky!” she frantically called out. Letting out a happy gasp at his face peering down at her.

         “I know, sweetheart,” so he had heard her running or maybe he got the first ring of the phone and was about to come down to check on her when he couldn’t get ahold of her.

         “I dug the pit.”

         Her skin blanched as her heavy body collapsed to the dirt floor. As one of the first things, Bucky told her on the phone the first day she arrived. ‘A promise was made, and I tend to keep to it.’

         “Are you okay, little one? I heard you cry out when you landed.”

         Bucky calling her, what the wolf called her, made her stomach turn, as a swell of her memory pieced everything together.

         “Bunny,” he called down to her when she didn’t answer. She snapped her head up, to see his grief-stricken face. It made her sick. He sighed. “I can still read your mind, mate. I didn’t want you down there. I was hoping by giving you information, you’d come out on your own, and we’d enjoy this night together. I had a beautiful place set up for us.”

         He looked up at the sky, dusk was ending and the moon would be high within hours.

         “But my clever bunny, willful, and vigilant. Had to try and escape. Landing herself at the bottom of a pit. I told you I didn’t want to hurt you; you did this to yourself.”

         She scoffed at his blame. “Now doll, don’t do that. I have to do this. I couldn’t stand the thought of you having to be bitten and be in agonizing pain your whole vacation. Just to have to feel every snap of your bones for your first shifting. This way when you’re ready, you can choose if or when you wolf shift.” He jumped down, landing gently on the balls of his bare feet. “Now what got hurt when you landed?”

         She glowered at him, but it softened as he held his gentle yet tolerant gaze. She looked down at her right foot. Slowly moving towards her as he scooped up her throbbing ankle. Eyeing his mostly naked form, only some loose shorts scarcely hanging to his hips.

         “I think it’s just sprained,” she whispered to him as he gently rubbed it, the pain lessened.

         “It is,” he said before carefully setting it down. He reached to run a thumb over a cut on her face. “Looks like you might have scrapped up your face on the fall. I might have made it too deep. I didn’t want this to be used, but,” he sighed. “I thought that if I needed it, I would want to make sure you couldn’t get out on your own. I’m sorry you got hurt from the steep fall.”

         Owlishly blinking at Bucky, she didn’t know what to say. He never wanted her hurt, but he knew how willful is she. That she’d try to escape, so he needed something to catch her without having to hunt her down. Her brain was scrambling, sensing the red flags, but with everything, she couldn’t piece it together.

         “Bunny,” he nearly growled, clearly not liking her mindset. She froze as he brought his body closer to her.

         “Bucky, I-“ she couldn’t help the whine that came out. “I’m scared. I just want to go back to the cabin, please.”

         “Shh,” he cooed before easily moving her into his lap. “You want us together, I know you do, you were thinking it this evening.” He rubbed patterns on her back. “I know you’re scared, but it’ll pass. If you’re willing to behave now, I can take you where I planned to take you earlier. Or we can be here. Either way, we’ll be together tonight, I promise.”

         She was so tired mentally and physically, but hearing he needed her to behave and promised something, again. Whatever energy was left in her body burned up.

         “I won’t behave! I don’t want any more promises!” she tried to push away from him. But his arms constricted around her.

         “Doll, behave,” he grunted, turning her to straddle his lap.

         “Bucky let me go!” she tried to hit him but he easily gathered her wrist into one of his palms before pinning her to the ground. She still squirmed, rage coursing through her.

         Bucky pressed his body on top of hers, making sure to slot his hips between her legs. Effectively restraining her, to keep her from hurting herself or him. He waited for her to tire out a bit before pressing a kiss to her forehead. Ignoring her protest and swarming livid visions.

         Minutes passed before she huffed then sniffed, as crushing emotions came back as her frenzy concluded. Bucky still kept her confined, knowing how stubborn she is.

         “I’m only doing this because I love you,” he kissed her deeply, pressing his tongue into her mouth. Her soft whimpers encourage him, “heard you want to return some favors.” He kissed down her throat. “I’m not self-conscious, but being a werewolf, some of my antonym is different than what you’re used to.”

         She trembled at the thought, wanting to know, but not, at the same time. He started bruising a piece of skin on her neck with a kiss where he’d pressed his snout once before, making her flinch away. Still piecing together all the things he’s done.

         “After tonight, here is where I’ll bind you to me,” he kissed the abused area before pulling back. Seeing the fear in her eyes, “you need to relax, bunny. These next few days will be a bit rough, but you’ll understand everything afterward. I pr-” he cut off, remembering how it set her off last time.

         “Get off of me, Bucky!”

         “After that fit? I think not,” he huffed through his nose, clearly annoyed with all the chasing and fighting. He’d planned this night to be much more romantic but looks like it’ll have to wait until she’s changed.

         “Bucky, I’m sorry, I-” she didn’t know what to say. She could only think back on what he’s done, as himself and the wolf. Using the wolf as a reason for her to not be left alone. Keeping her close at all times for her safety, when he was the only real threat. Giving her fear to place himself by her side as much as possible. Helping her calm down by being intimate. Every sign of danger or anxiety, she ran to him, needing him to pamper her or get a few climaxes. Now she craved his touch when she was alone. He conditioned her.

         “Condition is a bit harsh. I showed you, our fate, shaping us to be combined. To make this easier for you, everything I do; is for you, bunny.” He breathed in her aroma, growling quietly, noting, she was right about one thing. She was a bit acclaimed; he could smell how wet she is. Her training was taking faster than he’d hoped.

         “Stay out of my head,” she looked away as he nipped along her throat. Squirming, wanting to clench her legs together but his mass was in the way.

         “I know it’s annoying now, but once we’ve bonded. You’ll be able to read my thoughts too,” he chuckled. “Although I think it might just exasperate you more, seeing how much I think about you.”

         “You mean think about me outside manipulating me?” she sneered, trying to hold back a gasp as he moved his hips against hers. His dick hardened at the smell of her arousal.

         “You know I do,” he sighed as he dry-humped her, relishing how she fidgeted. “Dreamed about you, our future, becoming one,” his free hand ghosted down her side. “And lately, I can’t get your taste out of my mouth. You were right about me being addicted to you. Hearing you cry my name, making you cum, and lapping up your messes.”

         She whimpered as the head of his member caught her clit through her clothes, adding additional friction. Inhaling deeply, she went to twist away as he lifted off her a bit. Her breath staggered as he roughly ripped the waistband to her sweats, tracing her damp panties.

         “Love how warm and willing you always are for me.” Her protest breaks apart as he clawed her underwear from her body. His hand gently bunched up the sweater she stole from him along with her shirt to expose her breast. Her nipples pebbled at the loss of warmth briefly before he palmed one of her breasts. Lavishing the other in kissing and licks. She bit her lip, trying to stifle her sounds. “Let yourself feel this, it’ll make tonight easier. Give in bunny, I’ll take care of you,” he nipped at her a bit harshly making her cry out. “You want that don’t you? Your mate to take care of you?” he whispered while trailing kisses up her throat.          

         A weak keen erupted from her as he massaged her sensitive nub. She did want that, but not like this. She wanted a choice. But as he started to spread her slick, her mind started to crumble.

        Was this really a bad alternative? Being loved and cared for, by the man that healed her father. Who went out of his way; to not only give her the best he can but also never wanting to hurt her? She could stay in these woods, a place that always felt like home. Never having to work again for someone else. A peaceful life away from the world, but still being able to go see it and those she cared for.

         Not that she had much of a choice, she had tried to run, and fight back. But somewhere inwardly, her heart was happy to be with Bucky. Maybe she did love him, but she didn’t want to be a burden or a regret for him. And knowing he wasn’t just addicted, that he’s wanted her; body, heart, and soul. It soothed some turmoil.

         Bucky was humming in agreement to all her thoughts, elated her was coming around. Slowly starting to sink his fingers into her silk-like walls. Kissing her as she blindly let out willful cries.

        He’d give her everything she wanted. Even wait for her to come around to the idea of pups. He wasn’t ready to share her attention just yet anyway. He’d start her on herbs and pills once she changed, to help her prevent children. That way he could still knot her, a feeling he didn’t want either of them to miss out on.

Caught up in his own thoughts, he hadn’t realized how fast he was pumping his fingers in and out of her while rutting against her thigh. Her thoughts were scattered, she was so close.

         “I love you,” he stammered as she tensed with her orgasm and a squeal of his name. She murmured back some gibberish that induces his smile. She was drained from running, fear, adrenaline, anger, and now getting a release. But now that she knew, he wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her. He removed his fingers savoring the disappointed whimper she makes.

         “Bucky?” she tugged weakly at her wrists, sighing in relief when he let go, and she was able to put her arms down.

         Bucky stared at her heaving chest, slowly watching it calm down. Sensing the full moon, being with his mate, a primal emotion was taking him over. Feeling her cooling skin, gave him enough control to scoop her up and at a dizzying speed causing her to yelp then clinging to him as he jumped out of the ditch.

         She let go of him, her arms weak, and looked over to where he walking. Under a large, nearly bare of leaves, tree at the back of his lawn, he had set up thick blankets with pillows and some lanterns. If she could ignore how she got here, she would admit this was romantic looking. To rest warmly on comforters and stargaze. She caught Bucky’s smile out of the corner of her eye, realizing he had heard her thoughts again.

         Bucky sat down on the plush ground, cradling her in his lap. He kept his eyes on her, waiting for anything, hoping she’d meet his gaze. Now that she knew what he was, why he was hesitant on intercourse, he wanted nothing more than to show her. But he needed her to want it, as much as she did before.

         Her breath tangled in her throat catching the primal look in his eyes. She unintentionally bit her lip, her body always reacted to him. The moan escaping her as he clashed their lips together, proved it as well. His hand dipped into her, still fluttering core. Bucky was panting as he pulled back, watching her lust drunk face. Thrusting another finger inside her before curling them, groaning at the slick of her tight walls as she keened for him.

         “How are you still so tight?” he grunted bumping his forehead to hers. Once she kissed him first, he started to discard her tops and his shorts. Slowly lying her down into the blankets.

         Bucky smirked when she mewled at his fingers leaving her core. Humming at the taste of her. No, he wasn’t addicted, he was obsessed, easily being able to dive into her at any time. He took a breather to admire her body, tracing a hand from her neck. Cupping her breast, tweaking her nipple, enjoying how it became rigid from the attention. Her thigh brushed against his throbbing member. He glanced down then at her.

         “Do you still want to show me how much you adore my body?” he was smiling while asking, but she could sense his uncertainty. It was refreshing to see his restrain. Her body reacted while her neural gave over the reins. Letting her hand travel down his chest, admiring his bare chest. His hand resting on her wrist, gently guiding her down further. Chewing her lip as she felt his length, a bit shocked how heavy and hot it felt, tracing a finger over a rigid vein. Pressing her thighs together as she tried to wrap her hand around his shaft, unable to fully enclose her fingers around his thickness.

         “It won’t fit, Bucky,” she whimpered as he started to rut into her hand.

         “It’s yours, bunny, all yours. You can take it, been prepping you all week.” He let go of her wrist. She glanced at the red angry tip before he was over her, stroking the tip along her slit. Positioning his hips spreading her shaking thighs. Letting his cock gather her juices amid kissing her intimately, gently prodding her opening.

         She pushed back on his chest, to break the kiss. “B-bucky, wait, protection?”

         “It’ll be okay,” he kissed her lovingly, he’d explain later. How it wasn’t needed until they were bonded. If he didn’t start now, while he still had control, he’d lose all of it and hurt her on accident. He pressed the bulbous head of his dick into her, swallowing his hiss to kiss her, to soothe her, as she fidgeted. “I’m so sorry baby, I just have to do this. Now, while I still have hold on my mind. Once the full moon is high, I’ll lose myself to it and you, my mate.”

         Giving her long and gentle kisses anywhere he could on her skin as he steadily stretched her cunt. She gripped onto his triceps, starting to dig her nails into his skin. Savoring her pants and whines as he filled her, almost there, and he had to stop. Dropping his head to her shoulder, groaning as she clenched around him.

         “Almost in bunny, fuck,” he grunted as he bottomed out. “Doll, you’re still so tight,” he leaned down on her more, letting her adjust to him. Tangling his lips and tongue with hers, pulsing his hips against her, but not pulling out. She moaned as his cock kissed her cervix. He was about to resist, give her more time, but as her core quivered with her silent plea.

         Gentle and timed strokes with his head buried in the crook of her neck. Breathing her in while she sang for him. He desperately wanted to sink his teeth into her neck, but without the mating gland there yet, it would only hurt her. Tomorrow, it’d have to wait until she woke up tomorrow evening. Changed and ready to mate with him, connected.

         She wanted to fight back, she swears she did, but the way he read her body instead of her mind. Every wince, he adjusted. Keeping a slow and steady rhythm as he abused the spots his fingers and tongue memorized for him before.

         Surrendering to the pleasure, she dug her heels into his thick thighs. Wrapping her arms around him to grip into his shoulder blades. Relishing the drag of the thick vein that rubbed her g-spot on every withdrawal.

         Bucky wanted this to last as long as possible, willing himself to just feel her and not take her. But his will was crumbling as he felt his knot start to swell. The need to tie himself to her, was stronger than his want, especially with the high of the night approaching.

         Pushing her thighs further apart and up, allowing him to wrap his arms under her knees. Splitting her open even more, to make space for their climax.

         The increase of his pace and new position had her mumbling and whining out his name. A tremble started to rack her as a coil tightened in her.

         “Cum for me doll,” he pressed his body down on her as she started to arch her back. Soft whimpers were all she could manage as he pinned her down while driving into her. “That’s my good girl, let go bunny,” his chest rumbled as she clenched down on him like a vice. “Fuck that’s it, baby,” he pressed his forehead to hers as she peaked with a high moan.

         Trying to catch her breath, Bucky let off her a bit to allow it while he started to chase his own high.

         “Can you give me another?” he asked, but was already working on trying to get her to come again. She shook her head no while gasping as his hips started to snap into hers.

         Then she felt it, a pressure slightly catching at her entrance. A small panic cut through her ecstasy. What is that? Will it ruin her?

         “Ruin you for anyone but me, you’re mine doll,” he pressed his lips against hers while letting down one of her knees to freely circle her clit. “You feel so good, baby,” his soft praise cut off with a groan as she pulsed around him with her release. Crinkling his nose in concertation to try and be gentle, he rested his head against her shoulder. Right at her apex when she relaxed, he was able to slam his knot into her.

         A strangled pleasured scream ripped through her throat, a sound she didn’t recognize coming from her own body. When he spilled inside her, the warmth, him moaning her name and feeling so stuffed. She cried out a soft cry of his name in return for her last orgasm.

         Bucky was flushed while trying to catch his breath, he pulled back a bit. Running a thumb over her sweat dewed forehead. Waiting for her eyes to focus on him more clearly.

         “You did so good for me,” his honeyed whisper was followed with a gentle kiss before he rolled them over. Causing her to fidget, trying to pull away, but they were stuck together.

         “How long?” she was too depleted to move anymore and she was on the verge of dozing. She eased on him, feeling as one with him.

         “At least 15 minutes I would think but,” he growled softly at the feel of her walls fluttering around him. “I can hope for longer, you feel amazing.” Grabbing a loose blanket, he pulled it over her backside. “How are you feeling, little one?”

         A soft hmm was all he got, but her thoughts were dazed. Drained, comfortable, and loving. He smiled at a soft snore from her while gently kissing her head and rubbing her back.

         Eyes lingering on the full moon, glad he got his way. Getting her to sleep outside on the full moon on this thriving Friday night. Relaxing under her, he planned for the morning. Mating and bonding her fully. Getting her to move in his cabin. There was never any danger in these woods, but his home will always be the safest place for her. For their future.

Author’s Note: continued

Prompt is Cabin in the Woods, dialouge used: - “Help! I’m, I’m stuck down here!” “I know, sweetheart. I dug the pit.” Which was in bold in the story.

I finished this for me, I had so many things I wanted to write and join. So I wanted to finish at least one challenge. Cutting it close I know, on the very last day, but hey at least it isn’t late?  I’m starting to notice that stories I do for MCU in 3rd person don’t do too well. So I might try to do more 2nd person stories in the future. But we’ll see. Maybe what I’m writing just isn’t up to others liking and that’s why these 3rd person ones don’t do too good. Idk lost a lot of motivation for this one too, so maybe it’s just this story.  For anyone who does like it, thank you very much, I appreciate you~!

#spooktacularsmutfest21 #Boxofbonesfic #werewolf!bucky #werewolf bucky #werewolf!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky smut #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky x you #xreader #x reader #x you #reader insert #lalah writes #lalahbug

[boxofbonesfic]

𝕾𝖕𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖙𝖆𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖗 𝕾𝖒𝖚𝖙𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Here is the masterlist of submitted works for my Spooktacular Smutfest 2021!! Please read these amazing stories, and reblog them so that others can see them too!

Please keep in mind that this challenge is 18+ for smut, and also possible violence and general horror themes. With that said, please also mind the warnings on each work! You are responsible for your own media consumption!

𝒜 𝐿𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 - (Jake Jensen x Reader) @filthy-gorgeous-library

𝒢𝑜𝒹 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 - (Demon!Steve Rogers x Reader) @autumnrose40

𝐼𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓌 - (Lee Bodecker x Reader) @disturbedbydesign

𝓈𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂. - (Serial Killer!Ransom Drysdale x Reader) @clints-lucky-arrow

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇’𝓈 𝐿𝓊𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒷𝓎 - (Siren!Loki x Reader) @lokislastlove

𝐿𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓂𝑒 - (Dark!Ransom Drysdale x Reader) @lokislastlove

𝒮𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓇, 𝑀𝓎 𝒮𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝑒𝓇 //1//- (Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader) @cryptidcasanova

𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒 - (Jake Jensen x Reader) @specialk-18

𝑀𝑜𝓋𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝒫𝓈𝓎𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓈 (Ransom Drysdale x Reader) @geniedetails

𝐻𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓎𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒮𝓊𝒾𝓉𝑒 (Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader) @lipstickstainedred​

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓃 (Jake Jensen x Reader) @late-to-the-party-81

𝒮𝓅𝒶𝓌𝓃 (Devil!Matt Murdock x Reader) @thewildthorberrys

𝒢𝑜𝒹 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒲𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝑜𝑜 (Serial Killer!Steve Rogers x Dark!Reader) @cockslut-padalecki

#challenge masterlist #spooktacularsmutfest21 #fanfiction challenge #fic challenge #marvel fanfiction #dc fanfiction #xreader #marvel x reader #jake jensen x reader #steve rogers x reader #lee bodecker x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom x reader

[constancelaufeydottir]

Devilish

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings: explicit language, smut, p in v penetration, oral sex(m receiving), murder, mentions of blood, major character death, cheating, MINORS DNI

Summary: Bucky met a woman who bear the name and face of his past lover, and he swore to never let her go again.

Word count: 5687

a/n: This is my entry for @boxofbonesfic Spooktacular Smutfest and I hope it’s not too late 😬 This had been in my drafts for some time and it’s not perfect but I still love it.

P/s: Did I mention this was heavily inspired by Junji Ito’s Tomie? I was tempted to include a snippets of the manga(the one where tomie was dismembered) but then it’s not for everyone so if you’re interested, do check it out!

Not beta’d, all mistakes are my own.

How was this possible?

You shouldn’t be alive, yet he was staring at this picture of you.

A picture of an enticing and beautiful woman stared back at him. She had fox-like features, her eyes were almond shaped with a small mole below her left eye, her lips curled upwards as she smiled like an inviting devil. She was the kind of woman who would steal your heart away with a mere glance.

But you couldn't be alive, because he watched you die.

The vivid image of you dying in his arms was etched in his head even after all these years, haunting him in his dreams every midnight, at 3 oclock sharp—like clockwork.

He remembered the sky was grey that day, and the way your skin resembled the gloomy weather due to the extreme blood loss. He remembered his hands stained red, and your lifeless eyes staring widely into the distance. Everything was either grey or red that day, including his life. And he wasn’t the same man after that day.

Bucky’s thumb hovered on the screen, and swiped right on the tinder profile whose picture was the woman he swore to protect with his life. The woman he had loved with every piece of his heart, and still loved till this day.

Even if there was a slim chance that it could be you, he’d take it. He couldn’t ever forget how happy you made him. Even if you were a selfish, manipulative, and narcissistic woman; even if you cheated on him several times; even if you’d made him commit crimes for you, he’d still do it over and over again if it meant that he was yours and you were his.

It was a match and Bucky initiated the conversation. Yet the woman who looked a little too much like you never replied and it took him some time to convince himself that it was fine, that she perhaps was just busy.

And it wasn’t until a few days later that he saw her on the streets. The woman who wore the face of his deceased lover from decades ago. She was walking alone, head held high as men and women who walked past her threw curious and jealous glances at her. She was very much like you, who used to garner tons of attention when you were in public.

Men wanted to court you, make you theirs, and craved for your attention like they were deprived of love for centuries; women were jealous of your beauty, wanting to be like you so their partner would stop gawking at the sight you or a handful of them wanted to be with you.

You had this mysterious aura where you attract and seduce people so easily that it became a problem in your relationship with Bucky. He’d lost count of the times where he’d come home to a sight of you on top of another man; the times he lost his temper and accidentally killed those who touched you; and also the times where you’d bat your eyelash at him and swear that he was the only one you love.

And Bucky would forgive you every single time because to him, you were his sweet angel and he’d defy even god, even if his pristine wings were tainted with black and he was falling from grace into the dark abyss.

He was in the line, waiting to order his coffee when she walked into the shop. She stood behind him waiting for her turn not knowing the man in front of her had thousands of questions he wanted to ask her. Deciding he should make a move, he turned his head to her. In this close proximity, Bucky experienced the butterflies in his stomach much like when he first met you. He almost forgot how beautiful and enchanting you were, almost.

“Hi, are you perhaps Tomie?” He watched as her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, “I’m James, we matched on Tinder.”

There was a slight flicker in her eyes as she recalled who he was. “Oh, you. Nice to meet you, James.”

“My friends call me Bucky,” he watched as she eyed him up and down, as if contemplating if he was worth her time. Finally she deemed him worthy and threw him a flirtatious smile. What a little minx.

“My real name is y/n,” his eyes widened at the name, cold sweat forming at his forehead while chills ran down his spine.

“I’m sorry, your name is y/n?” He had to confirm.

Was it really you? How did you come back from the dead? How were you still alive? Far too many questions were flooding his head and the quick beating of his heart was not helping at all.

“Yes. Is there something wrong with that?” her head tilted.

His hands gripped on her shoulder tightly and she winced at the pain. He was a lovesick man searching for answers only she could provide, and there was this determination and madness in his eyes. “Don’t you remember me? I’m James!”

“Should I?” She snickered in annoyance, “Can you let go of me? You’re hurting me.”

Bucky’s shoulder slumped in dejectance. Of course she couldn’t be you, after all it’s been more than 80 years. After all, he watched you die in his arms.

“I’m sorry, you just looked like someone I used to know, someone I loved very dearly.”

“Is she prettier than me?” she raised her eyebrows—a smirk on her face waiting to be praised—as she twirled a strand of her curls between her fingers.

He looked at her, the same face as yours except this one was so much livelier, and with a mole under her eye. Also more beautiful, more charming. He felt like he was sucked deep into this whirlpool as he stared at her.

“O-of course not. You’re so much prettier.” He wanted to get on her good side, wanted to make her his, wanted to be the one she loved.

Her signature flirtatious smile never left her lips, “I know.”

She trailed her fingers teasingly from Bucky’s hand then up to his arm, caressing the metal arm of his which he was no longer afraid to show in the public. Though he couldn’t really feel her touch, he yearned for her to touch him more.

“James, what do you say we go to your place and … have some fun?” She leaned closer towards him, her body pressed against his as she whispered in a low tone in his ears, the sultry and suggestive voice of hers sending a tinge of pleasure down his crotch.

That was how Bucky found himself buried deep in her, on the clean white sheets of his bed. His face contorted in pleasure as he plunged himself deep into her while she lifted her hips to meet with his, sweet moans spilling from her lips.

She was the epitome of perfection. A devilishly beautiful face, smooth skin as if made of the finest silk, her soft body he could knead and touch. Her sweet voice, oh so enticing when she moaned out his name.

As the waves of pleasure hit her, her fingers latched around Bucky’s throat, constricting his air supply; her face inching closer towards his with a mischievous smirk on her face. “Now tell me, am I pretty?” Her voice was laced with a sweet charm, reverberating in his head.

“Fuck, yes!” With that, he let out a strangled cry, the pleasure blinding as he emptied himself in her. Vision clouded by his own high, he watched as black tendrils twisted to form a face on top of her head when she came, it was like a projection of her but with white pupils and an even evil smile. The face smiled at him while fear washed over him, his grip on her hips tightened. He shut his eyes, trying to shake the image away. He slumped on top of her still breathing heavily, chest heaving from post-orgasm, and fear.

Bucky wrapped an arm around her, trying not to think of the haunting black face that resembled yours and hers. He pulled the blanket to cover them both but she was quick to sit up, a disgusted look on her face.

“What are you doing?!” she was shrieking now, pushing his hand that was gripping on the sheets of white. He had an utterly confused look on his face.

“I figured you might be cold since it’s a little chilly in here,” she crossed her arms around her chest, sneering at his ignorance.

“You think I’d cover my body with this cheap cloth?” she poked at Bucky’s chest, “Change them into silk ones, tomorrow.”

“Of course, sorry.” Bucky was quick to apologize. She was as demanding and materialistic as you but he was deeply in love, he saw no flaws in her. “Does this mean you’re going to come here often?”

“Hmm, I don’t know ...” She looked at her perfectly manicured nails, a smile on her face.

Bucky’s eyebrows knitted in worry, he couldn’t let you get away again.

“I’ll do anything! I’ll buy you anything you want, I’ll do whatever you say. Just please don’t leave me, again.” Bucky was desperate, desperate to make her stay.

“Anything?” she smirked devilishly as she cupped his face, eyes wandering across his face, thumb tracing his pouty lips.

“Anything for you, my love.”

The smell of iron permeated the whole space. Bucky looked down at his blood stained hands and realized he was numb to the feeling of killing. It used to scare him, guilt him, made him feel like he was going to get caught and thrown to jail when he first murdered someone. Being brainwashed and ordered to carry out missions killing people is a thing; being conscious and murder people then proceed to wipe out the evidence is another.

He removed all the evidence and traces he left, then forged fake traces so the police wouldn’t be able to track him down. He used to be sloppy, leaving trails of crumbs everywhere, but hey that was in the 40s and he was an amateur back then. Now it felt like something so natural that he’d become somewhat of a professional in this area, he could do this with his eyes closed.

Bucky opened the door to his house to reveal her waiting on the couch, the new couch he just bought because she complained and whined about how disgusting and scratchy his old couch was.

She walked towards him; hips swaying seductively, lips curled into the cruel smile he was used to.

“How did it go? Did you get rid of him?” she asked. No, it must be you. She must be you, because no one would ever ask him to do such things. Only you, only you would be this cruel to demand him to kill someone. Only you would use him like this and completely disregard his feelings.

He looked down at her face, and at this moment her face overlapped with the one of yours in his memory. She was the exact replica of you; having the same sick personality, the narcissism, the mysterious charm, the bad habit of cheating. She was literally you, except the mole below her left eye.

Bucky thought this must be some kind of a sick joke, you must be playing games with his mind to punish him for what he had done. Yet he couldn’t escape this trap you had set for him, and he wouldn’t want to do so too.

This woman, standing in front of him eyeing him suggestively, she must be you. Because no one would be so cruel to toy with his heart like that, and no one could make him fall in love like that.

“Yes, I did.” He watched as you snake your hands on his abs and then his chest.

“Good boy.” Your hands were now at his shoulders, your breasts pressing against his chest, that big doe eyes of yours filled with lust.

The term definitely jogged a long forgotten memory hidden deep in his brain.

His second last kill before you died.

“Good boy.” Your eyes lit up when you heard that he killed that bastard you cheated with on Bucky. He was useless and wasn’t worth your time anyways. No matter how many men you slept with, at the end of the day you’d run back to Bucky’s arms because he was the almost perfect man who’d listen to everything you say and would obey your every order.

“Good boy gets rewarded,” you beckoned him with your finger, to the couch.

He sat obediently—like a dog, your dog—as you knelt on your knees in between his legs while smoothing your hands along his thighs, intending to tease and play with him until he gave in. You looked up at him with those innocent eyes, eyelashes fluttering in excitement. He’d always thought you looked like an angel, yet what you did was not the actions of one. You were a devil disguised as an angel with intentions—far lethal than a devil—whose sole purpose was to lure men in with your innocent looks then set them in their own ruins later, while you snickered at their fall, laughing at how gullible they all were.

Bucky didn’t even realize you had undid the buttons of his pants until he felt your tongue on his cock. You wrapped a hand around his girth as you licked around the head, lapping up the pre-cum leaking and humming at the taste. As you put the tip of your tongue in the slit, teasing the sensitive part, Bucky swore he could feel your smirk. The wet appendage swirled around the crown, more sticky substance dribbled from the tip along with a throaty groan from Bucky. You licked a stripe along the veins of his thick length; his eyelashes fluttered as you continued tracing the veins with the tip of your tongue.

He threw his head back the next second as you took the head in your mouth, gently suckling at it. If he wasn’t watching, he’d thought it was your pussy sucking his cock in; damn you and your sinful mouth. He watched as you took more of him in your mouth, lips stretching around his cock with your lipstick staining the flesh hints of red. He suddenly felt no remorse for killing those bastards. Those filthy men—who you’d welcomed into your embrace—worth no more than another line in his notebook.

You slowly took in every inch of him, the bulbous head hitting the back of your throat, his cock heavy on your tongue. His thighs tensed up, fist balling up tightly when you bobbed your head slightly, cheeks hollowing to create a suction. You kept working on his cock, your hand found his balls and fondled with them as he groaned at the sensation. Rubbing your own thighs together, you felt yourself getting wet and snaked a hand down to your clothed mound, sliding your hands in your pants as you stroke along your folds. His cock hit the back of your throat once again, and this time you took it further down as much as you could until your nose reached his abdomen while guttural moans escaped his lips.

It was torturous, how painfully slow you were going and Bucky was fighting the urge to grab a fistful of your hair and thrust his own way into your mouth, because one wrong move and you would not hesitate to deny him of pleasure for a week. He desperately wanted to make you gag on his cock making those obscene noises but if he wanted to cum, he’d have to be a good boy for now.

When you got faster, bobbing your head on his cock, Bucky knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer. Fingers slithering up his toned abs, you felt his muscles tensed up. He brought his own fist to his mouth, biting down on his hand to relieve some of the pressure building up. You knew his tell whenever he was close and being the devil you were, you took his cock out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting his cock to your lips. Glancing at his frustrated and unsatisfied face, you flattened your tongue, licking him up from the base to the head as your lips curled into a smile; doe eyes staring at his pained expression.

Bucky saw you taking your hand out of your pants, fingers glistening with your own juices as you crawled into his lap, prodding his lips with the slick-coated fingers. He took your fingers in his mouth, tasting your sweet arousal as you intently watched. “Does my good boy wanna cum?” He nodded at your words desperately with your fingers still sitting on his tongue and you giggled at his eagerness. “Show me how badly you want it then.”

A sharp pain lashed across his cheek, bringing him back to this reality. His head whipped to the side while your hand which had slapped him still hovered in the air. He looked at you with shock, and fear; fear because he thought he’d done something wrong and you’d leave him any second now.

“Thinking of another bitch, Bucky?” You crossed your arms across your chest, heart fuming with envy.

“There’s no one in my mind, love. Only you.” He gulped, knees weak as he tried to hold himself up.

Your anger dissipated a little, then gestured to him to follow you into the bedroom and he did, not knowing what was going to happen next.

Next thing he knew, Bucky was handcuffed to the bedpost naked with you on top of him. You were straddling him, your exposed cunt rubbing against his leaking cock, pre-cum sticky on his stomach. He let out a low grunt as you rocked your hips, your folds sliding on his length as your hands played with your own breasts. His gaze followed your nimble fingers as they tweaked against the pebbled nipples, plucking and teasing yourself but mainly him. How desperate he wanted to put his hands and his mouth on you, taking those beautiful tits in his mouth as he rolled the hardened buds with his tongue and between his calloused fingers. How sensitive and responsive you were every time he sucked on them, your fingers running through his hair as you arched your body; how easy it was to draw out moans from you with just his skilled fingers and mouth.

Now, however, he couldn’t be having his way with you. With his strength, he could easily break off these bounds but if he did so, there would be consequences and he didn’t want that. He watched as you made small noises of satisfaction when the head of his cock brushed against your swollen nub, your eyes closed drowning in your own bliss.

His breath hitched in excitement when he saw you hovered your hips over his length, your legs on both sides of his body. “Only good boys deserve rewards,” you leaned forwards; palms on each side of his head, face inches away from his with your lips merely touching his, “are you a good boy?”

“Yes, yes! Please,” a degrading smirk painted your face as you witnessed him lost his composure, begging desperately to fuck you, “Please ah—”

He let out a gasp when you grasped his cock and aligned them to your pussy, teasing him again when you dragged the head through your weeping folds, slathering the sticky substance leaking from his cock on your slit. You enjoyed watching him whimper, head thrown back in pain and frustration but couldn’t do anything about it.

You finally decided to end his torture and sank down on his cock all the way, his length buried in your cunt deliciously and you sighed in contentment. Throwing your head back in pleasure, you started circling your hips, hissing as you tried to adjust to the stretch.

The other reason you would always run back into Bucky’s arms was because of how well endowed he was; his cock always stretched your walls to the brim despite him having just fingered you with three of his thick fingers.

“S-shit, so tight,” he grunted, eyes shut tight. Everything was torturing him; your velvety soft walls clamping down on his cock, his own pleasure, the cuffs. His wrists strained within the metal cuffs; rings of red adorned his skin as he restrained himself from exerting too much pressure, otherwise the ‘fragile’ metal would break off. Your long fingernails made little crescent moons on his chest and abdomen as you bounced yourself on his cock, getting yourself off like he wasn’t there; merely a toy for your own pleasure. Your breasts bounces along with the rhythm of your hips, moans and cries occasionally slipping out of your lips.

Leaning backwards, you displayed your glistened thigh to him. You let your hand roamed through your body; his eyes followed your fingers as they found their way down, where you and him connected. Rubbing your fingers on your swollen clit, you didn’t stop slamming hips down on his length.

“Look at you, baby boy. All tied up and flustered.”

He was breathing hard with the pleasure overwhelming, his chest heaving and his eyes shut tight.

He felt you bouncing harder on his length, bracing your hands against his chest; your head drooped, face contorted in intensifying pleasure with your teeth biting down on your lips.

Every inch of him was hitting you in the right spot; your ass cheeks slapping on his pubic bone every time you slammed your hips down, gravity pulling you towards him.

Quick fingers reached down to flick at your clit; you felt yourself getting closer and closer.

With a high-pitched moan, you came; your body convulsing, overwhelmed with waves and waves of climax.

Bucky’s gaze was fixated on you the whole time; you looked like a goddess bathed in euphoria and he, your worshipper, kneeling at the bottom of the altar, ready to tend to any of your needs. He blinked for a millisecond; your body still arched, lips still curled into a smirk but your eyes, they were black. No, not just the pupil, every inch and corner of it was pure darkness, ready to consume him.

He cried out; his muscles tightened as he pumped his seed deep inside you, chasing his own climax. He cried out, in dread; not knowing whether the woman he was still balls deep in was a human, or an entirely different being.

Bucky convinced himself that it was only a hallucination, that his mind was playing tricks with him. Drenched in cold sweat, he laid there hands freed from the restraints, his brain working hard to comprehend what just happened.

You lifted yourself off him, wincing a little as your mixed fluids seeped out of your cunt. You sat on his stomach, the ridges of his toned abs grazing your clit and you let yourself grind on him again.

Bending forwards, you darted out your tongue, licking on the thin layer of perspiration on his pecs. A trail of wetness was left on his chest up to his neck, his exposed skin peppered with the bruising kisses you left earlier.

“Think you can go another round, baby boy?” You nibbled at his earlobe, voice alluring. He said nothing, only moving his hands to grip on your hips as if enchanted.

It happened all too quickly; his trained body couldn’t prevent it from happening, and he questioned if he wanted to let it happen. The huge gash on your face was the evidence of the traumatizing incident earlier.

Your fingers latched onto Bucky’s arm as you strutted along the streets, looking forward to adding another luxury bag or a necklace to your collection.

“You bitch!” A shrill shouting voice came from behind. A woman emerged from the crowd, running towards you hurling degrading terms at you. “You bitch! Fuckin’ stole my man,”

You raised your eyebrows as you eyed the crazy woman with a disgusted face, body turning to Bucky for protection. “Who you callin’ a bitch? And for the record, I did not steal your man,” you giggled as you saw the woman’s face twisted, “he came to me himself, like a dog.”

You pouted, lips jutting out as you mocked her, enjoying her being riled up a little too much. Your perfectly manicured fingers covered your mouth as your snickered, clearly unempathetic. Bucky always knew you weren’t a good person, hell you weren’t even a decent enough person. Manipulating and using men were your forte and you were damn good at it; men followed after you like swarms of bees, yet they all died in Bucky’s hands after you were done playing with them.

“You know what I’m seeing here?” You tilted your head throwing pitying glances at the woman, “I see a woman who wasn’t capable of keeping her own man,” Another mocking chuckle left your poisonous lips. “Tsk, tsk. Pathetic.”

The woman upon hearing your mockery widened her eyes in rage, her face twisting in jealousy. “I’m gonna kill you!” She hurled herself towards you, the knife hiding in her pocket now in her grasp.

Bucky stood there watching her slashed the blade on your face, every slash filled with anger and resentment as she took her revenge on your perfect face.

You shrieked in pain; screams so high pitched that Bucky winced at the brief pain in his ears. Blood gushed from the deep gashes on your face onto the floor; the woman had unconsciously made a huge ‘X’ on the left side of your face, the wound so deep you could see hints of the cheekbones peeking out.

A few people had to help restrain the mad lady from inflicting more pain on you. You cradled your wounded face as hatred clouded your eyes and you shot a piercing glance at the woman. Your sharp glare soon morphed into a sinister smile and you chuckled at her despite your pain—rejoicing when you saw her shiver in terror.

Bucky knew what he had to do later, he knew what the woman’s fate would be soon. But now, he must tend to you first.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” he wrapped an arm around your shoulder while you inclined towards him.

“No hospital,” you blurted out weakly, having lost a lot of blood; your face and sundress painted red, yet he thought you still looked heavenly, “just get me home.”

He obliged, never one to question your decision and orders.

“Are you sure we don’t need to go to the hospital? The wound is deep, maybe we sh-”

Bucky knew how much your face, your beauty meant to you. That deep gash certainly was going to leave a large scar on your face and it wouldn’t be pretty. But as you reached home, the cut on your face was no longer dripping with blood, your hand that was shielding the wound was removed from your face and you took a cloth to wipe away the dark red blood.

His words died in his mouth as the part where you had a deep laceration was now smooth and clean as before. There was not a single evidence left other than the blood stains to let him know what happened before with the woman was not a dream.

Lips curled into an innocent smile, you looked over at him still holding up the pristine cloth tainted with your blood on your face.

“Is there something wrong?”

He shook his head frantically, fearing that you’d be able to see through his tough facade. And if you could, you’d see a fragile and scared man underneath the mask wanting to be released from this nightmare.

He gave you a strained smile, “Just thinking how beautiful you are.”

You gripped at his chin, your nails digging into the soft skin of his throat. “Such a good boy, always knows what to say.” Smiling eyes staring into his intimidated ones, he swallowed a glob of saliva as your smile deepened into a lustful smirk.

Bucky wouldn’t say he was a man who gets jealous easily (though his body count would beg to differ) yet the green seeping with poisonous jealousy consumed him little by little over the years before you died.

Today, the colour was exceptionally darker, as his heart sank to the bottom of his gut when he had to watch the flirty conversation exchanged between Steve and you. Bucky had wanted to introduce you to Steve for quite some time; wanting the two most important people in his life to meet each other and be on good terms. What he didn’t expect was Steve reciprocating your blatant flirts and sexual innuendos you tossed at him.

You flaunted your mysterious and minx-like charms at him the moment he arrived; the playful touches of your fingers, the fatal smile, that overly friendly giggle. Poor Stevie was completely charmed; a warm and shy smile plastered on his face, his starry eyes dazed.

His tongue poked at the inside of his cheeks as his gaze went back and forth between the two of you who seemingly forgot the brunette soldier.

He wasn’t surprised when he saw Steve and you naked on the couch one night. Your fingers were caressing his face tenderly like a lover’s delicate touch and all Bucky saw was red.

You were a cruel, vicious woman who made his hands drenched with the blood of countless people. And now adding to the already thick coats of sins was the fresh blood of his best friend—the only person who truly accepted him for who he was.

When the knife in his hands plunged into your chest, Bucky genuinely expected pitch black blood like the colour of your heart to seep out of the skin. But to his surprise, it was as red as his blue eyed best friend’s. Each drive of the blade dragged piercing screams from your venomous lips until one particular hard thrust and your voice was abruptly stilled.

An incredule laugh left his mouth as his knees weakened, your limp and bloodied body in his arms, your beauty undeniably astonishing even after death found you. Everything seemed so familiar; the way your melodious voice turned into this shrill screech, your lifeless eyes staring into the distance. And when he looked out the window, the sky was grey, much like decades ago when he first killed you, how ironic. Everything came back in a circle, he couldn’t seem to escape you and this gloomy life.

It must’ve been a punishment, you were meant to come back and torture him, grounding him to make him suffer in this loop of unescapable misery.

He was extremely tired; his muscles were sore after hours of cutting and sawing. Bucky never knew it was this exhausting to dismember someone, let alone two bodies now lying on the floor of his living room. Wiping the droplets of sweat adorning his forehead, he slid down the wall as his eyes trailed over to pieces of limbs scattered. All of this mess he had to clean on his own, if only he didn’t let jealousy consume him and plunge that knife into Steve’s stomach.

Bucky didn’t even have time to mourn for you or Steve; his eyelids grew heavier as he was making continuous sawing motion. He let himself rest against the wall for a while, his eyes threatening to close. The long duration of staring at the colour red got him a little dizzy and desensitized to which he finally closed his eyes, allowing himself a short nap.

“Bucky,” your voice woke him up from a sweet dream consisting of you and him in a little cottage in the woods; and in that dream your limbs were still intact, your cheeks flushed and your lips still warm with colour. “Poor Bucky.”

His eyelashes fluttered as he stirred awake, the state of being called awake had him in a brief moment of dissociation from reality.

“Bucky, look at me,” the voice of the devil who was once tempting and laced with honey.

When he opened his eyes, the gruesome and sickly sight of your mutilated body welcomed him.

Fear consumed him, cold shivers ran down his spine, goosebumps crawling on his skin. From the clean cut of your limbs grew faces identical to yours, each and every passing second the cells regenerate and grow into the very nightmare he was desperate to escape from. Horror washed over him as the realization of who you were dawned upon him; a monster hidden under the shell of a human, a creature who took the form of the woman he loved dearly and whom he killed with his bare hands. Soon, these limbs would grow into a whole new but identical woman as you and they would continue your legacy, manipulating those they seduce into their slaves to be used as they like.

“Are you scared?” your honeyed voice echoed in his head.

“Yes,” he replied shakily as he watched a tiny body slowly growing from your severed head; that signature devilish smile of yours painted your blood covered lips as if mocking his fruitless attempt to get rid of you.

“Good, you should be.” With that you laughed, your newly grown body vibrating with joy.

Bucky felt so tired, hungry, and parched but he couldn’t muster up the energy to even get up from the floor. What was waiting for him was his inevitable death surrounded by the pungent smell of blood, the mocking voices of his lover and the guilt of having murdered his own best friend.

Death came little by little; pain consumed his fatigued body, his weary eyes could only stare at the pile of your limbs regenerating and spitting out mocking words at him. And at last when he felt the last bit of energy leaving his body, he heard you saying, “I shall find you in your next life too, my love.”

#SpooktacularSmutfest21 #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader

[cryptidcasanova]

Soldier, My Soldier (3)

Winter Soldier x Reader

Summary: “I am the writing on the wall, the whisper in the air. Without these things I am nothing. So now, I must shed blood.” He lulled, looking at the base of your throat. “Sweetheart, come with me.”

The Winter Soldier was a story, a folk tale to keep children in their beds and instill fear in the hearts of men. But some stories are meant to be locked away and forgotten.

Warnings: Dubious intent, Dubcon, Murder. 18+ only. Please proceed with discretion.

A/N: Spooky season is here! This is my submission for the lovely @boxofbonesfic​ and her Spooktacular Smutfest writing challenge, and it is going to be a short story broken up into three parts over Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

My prompts are cursed item, Bucky Barnes, and the quote “Don’t worry sweetheart, the pain only lasts a little while.” Happy haunting. Dividers are by the immensely talented @firefly-graphics​.

Part 2 Here

Fear rattled deep in your bones. 

You jumped up from the chair, tripping over the edge of the rug before pulling yourself upright. 

He was coming. The Soldier was coming. 

The cottage was quiet. You rushed back over to the front door and locked it, then ran through to the kitchen and the bedroom to make sure the house was locked up tight. No open windows, no squeaky hinges. 

You weren’t going without a fight. 

It was then, only then, that you noticed that the house had been put back together again. Everything was in its place and it was as if you never tore the house apart. The kitchen was exactly the way it was, and you jumped as you ran back to the sitting room. All of the books were back on the shelves, save for the little red book you left in the chair.

The book was gone. 

Your throat went dry. 

It was too quiet, too still. It was him. It was him all along. Your Babushka was right all along. There was a reason she kept the book hidden.

You covered your mouth with your hand, choking back a cry.

“Were you content with my story?” 

The slow, masculine words reverberated right behind you, like you could feel him against your back. It was just like it was in your dream. 

Your heart jumped in your chest. A moment passed, but you couldn’t find any words to say. You were frozen still. You were afraid to move, afraid to breathe. 

“That’s what I thought.” The Soldier replied to his own question. “I was obliged to come.”

A hand at your elbow coaxed you to turn, and as you did the fear both heightened and waned. 

The Soldier was there, locked in the house with you. He was preserved just like you had seen him in your dreams. But he was no ghost, no monster like the one’s hiding under the bed.

He was imposing in the small room, being large and strong in stature and dressed in dark tactical gear. Dark boots and pants framed his threatening thighs, and his metal arm was free from the tactical jacket. Your gaze slipped from his metal shoulder to his face. 

He was still wearing the mask. 

But his eyes were different than you remembered. In the dark they had been cold and detached, but now - now they were filled with overwhelming emotion. The baby blues were breathtaking.

It was like he could see you, see all of you, deeper than you had ever known. And you couldn’t look away. He tilted his head to the side.

“I’ve been trapped. But you,” He urged, “you saved me. No more nightmares.”

Nightmares. 

His words stirred you from your reverie. You took a step back, walking further into the sitting room and away from him.

“That’s because you are the nightmare.” You responded with poorly hidden fear. “You’re not real. You can’t be real.” 

Even behind the mask you could see a world of emotion, of fire in his eyes. They shifted ever so slightly as he addressed you again. 

“I’m as real as you.”

The knot in your belly left you aching. 

You weren’t going to give up without a fight. Maybe you could get around him; make a run for it. But another thought struck you. You couldn’t go home. You wouldn’t put your parents in danger. 

“That’s not how it works, sweetheart.”

It was like he could read your mind. It must have been clear as day on your face.

“Then what do you want?” 

He took a step closer, the tactical gear moving silently with him. You couldn’t find it in yourself to move away as he leaned down, brushing his hand against your cheek. Skin against skin, he was warm and alive. 

And it scared you. 

“I’m here for you.” He answered gently. “You called for me.”

But you shook your head. 

“I read the book.” You were biding your time, waiting for the other shoe to drop. With a shudder you looked away from him. “You’re going to kill me. That’s how this works.”

The crinkle in his eye was gentle, watching you with an intensity you couldn’t place. 

“Would that be so bad?” 

His tone knocked you off your center. 

The Soldier was sincere. It wasn’t the voice of a brutal, malicious killer. If you didn’t know any better you would have called it vulnerable. 

He could have snapped your neck or sliced you to pieces, but here he was, on the edge of holding you instead of hurting you.

This was not the man from the storybook. A wave of emotions poured through you. The words you needed to say were heavy on your tongue. 

“I don’t want to die.” 

Another slow moment passed, your confession settling like dust across the room. 

The soldier moved again, reaching up with his metal hand to his own face.

And in your surprise he pulled at his own mask, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. 

What you saw frightened you.

He wasn’t the snarling, sharp toothed monster you expected underneath. He wasn’t the nightmare his attire let on. 

He was a man. Just a man. 

He was a man with sharp cheeks and soft lips. A man with dark hair and light eyes. He was startlingly beautiful.

“Death is nothing to fear, doll.” He reassured, and you were absorbed in the way the words danced past his lips. 

He was so much more human than you could have ever prepared for. 

“You called on me.” He stole your attention again. “And now I am here. I am your soldier, and I’m not leaving without you.”

His hand moved from your cheek down to the back of your neck, pulling you flush against him. And then he buried his hand in your hair, urging you to look up at him. 

I’m not leaving without you.

And then he kissed you. You lost all semblance of the world around you, like you were falling and he was your only respite. Your lips parted with a groan and he swallowed you whole, holding you close. 

Slow and purposeful he kissed you, again and again, stealing your very breath away. You could smell the undertones of leather and lead on his skin but you didn’t care. His touch was gentle but firm. He was suffocating, all encompassing, and your head was spinning. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.

It was a kiss of death. 

And when he pulled away you were holding onto him like your life depended on it. Your thoughts were muddled. You couldn’t focus.

You settled your head against his shoulder. Everything was spinning.

“What did you do to me?” Your voice was hoarse. “Why did you-” 

The Soldier stopped you with a kiss at your temple.

“Let me show you what you mean to me.”

At his words your legs gave out, but he didn’t let you fall. The Soldier caught you, carrying you in his arms like a bride as your head lolled to the side. Your energy was gone. You were drained, dazed, and trapped in his embrace. 

He carried you through the house to the bedroom, and the only thing that was out of place were the number of blankets and quilts strewn across the bed.

You vaguely thought about the killer, the man laying you down against the covers. He was being warm. The adoration in his movements wasn’t lost on you.

And then he was on you again, pinning his weight against your own. 

“The world is hard and cruel. Show me that it can be soft.”

The Soldier kissed you slowly, savoring the soft sounds you made as you gave in to him. There was no resistance. He had stolen your senses, and you were feeling what he wanted you to feel. Your hands moved on their own accord and you cupped his face, coaxing him on with the last of your energy. 

You tugged at his hair and listened to his throaty groan. He was patient, desperate even. He nipped at your lips and jaw and neck, and your body keened in to him on reflex. He wanted this. In the corners of your mind you wanted this.

He was chanting sweet words against your skin.

“Give me your heart and you can have mine.”

It was lost on you when the clothes were shredded from your body, or how one moment he was far away and the next he was on you again, enveloping you in his warmth.

The heat of skin against skin made your veins jump. You knew that in the deepest corners of your mind more carnal demands had made themselves known. 

The Soldier wanted you, came for you, and he was going to have you.

His brutal touch caressed and careened down your skin, and it was the poison of lips at the base of your throat that threw you into a frenzy. He held you captive with his teasing touches, and then at the final hour he found his refuge inside you. You felt all of him as he made his home inside your body. Strong and hard and thick he settled between your thighs, watching as he disappeared inside you.

You felt all of it. He was going to tear you apart.

It was an intoxicating, tortuous enchantment that you were under.

A veil of pleasure draped over you as he rocked his hips. He was no dream, no urban legend, but flesh and bone. He was real, as real as could be as he pulled bubbling moans from your lips. 

Pleasure crashed over you in waves as he urged his hips forward, on and on until you both collapsed against the bed. You were wrung out and time faded away. The gossamer layer was still there, muting you from the outside world. Your senses were still muddled. You were fully encompassed in him.

Your soldier.

The bleary haze you were under was overwhelming.

He let a moment of peace stretch on, letting the pleasure settle in your bones before he kissed your lips again. 

“It’s time, doll.”

In the haze you looked up at him. You had no energy to fight. You blinked up at him with an uneasy look.

“Will it hurt?” 

Your voice was hardly a whisper, but the emotion was there. 

Your eyes were glossy with unshed tears, coming to life on their own. You knew, deep down you knew, this was how it would end all along. No one escaped the Soldier.

He brushed his hand across your hair with adoration.

“The pain will be exquisite.” He whispered in that gentle, soothing tone. “But don’t worry sweetheart, the pain only lasts a little while.”

But he was going to guide you through it all. He wasted no time as he sat up, pinning you to the mattress. You weren’t going to suffer. You were too soft to suffer. 

His right hand held onto your own and his metal hand hovered over the middle of your chest. 

You could hear his sweet words from before in your head.

Give me your heart and you can have mine.

He wanted your heart. 

“Our names will be written on a thousand walls.” He promised in a whisper. “We will live forever in the hearts of men. Come with me, doll.”

The metal touch made you shiver, but you didn’t fight him as his hand broke through the skin. You didn’t fight him as your lungs collapsed and the blood pooled in your stomach. You only had enough energy to keep your eyes on his, full of trust and reassurance. But you felt all of it. 

The pain was exquisite. You felt the tug of his fingers as your heart was stolen from your chest. You watched the pulse hammering in his hand. Blood vessels popped and you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.

The carnage was overwhelming. 

It was overwhelming, but you never felt any fear. Not when he was looking at you with that heavy, committed gaze. 

He felt it all as your grip slackened in his hand and as your eyes lost their luster. 

It was a large price to pay, but you were his. His forever. The Soldier was free, but this time he wouldn’t be alone.

He was yours. Your Winter Soldier.

#spooktacularsmutfest21 #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #folk lore #dark fairytale #urban legend #candyman au

[cryptidcasanova]

Soldier, My Soldier (2)

Winter Soldier x Reader

Summary: “I am the writing on the wall, the whisper in the air. Without these things I am nothing. So now, I must shed blood.” He lulled, looking at the base of your throat. “Sweetheart, come with me.”

The Winter Soldier was a story, a folk tale to keep children in their beds and instill fear in the hearts of men. But some stories are meant to be locked away and forgotten.

Warnings: Dubious intent, Smut, Murder. 18+ only. Please proceed with discretion.

A/N: Spooky season is here! This is my submission for the lovely @boxofbonesfic​ and her Spooktacular Smutfest writing challenge, and it is going to be a short story broken up into three parts over Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

My prompts are cursed item, Bucky Barnes, and the quote “Don’t worry sweetheart, the pain only lasts a little while.” Happy haunting. Dividers are by the immensely talented @firefly-graphics​.

Part 1 Here

Another knock at the door pulled your attention away from the book.

It was getting late, and you stood on uneven legs as the door opened. Your parents ushered in with similar confused expressions as they saw the pile of books. They looked at each other with concern. You hid the little red book behind you. 

“It’s time for your Babushka to rest.” Your father’s voice was patient. “Everyone’s waiting. The house will still be here tomorrow.”

Oh. Yes. You had forgotten.

Your parents hosted a wake to celebrate her memory, and even in your tumultuous state you followed them back to your childhood home, leaving the cottage upturned. It could wait. You would have time to finish later. 

You left the book on the empty shelf, sparing it a second glance before following them out.

You were surprised - there must have been more than a dozen people that came to celebrate her. The humble home was filled with the town elders and their families. 

They came and told stories of her life, remembering and reminiscing about your grandmother.

“Did you remember the storm that blew roofs off homes? Hers was the only house untouched!” One woman exclaimed.

“It was like she knew the storm was coming.” Another joined in. “And she made enough bread and soup for the rest of us while we picked up the pieces.”

Only the elders seemed to remember it, all joining in and adding their recollections.

“And do you remember when she chased that bear away from the village?”

“I heard that she used her womanly charm on the beast.”

Laughter filled the room.

“No, that wasn’t her.” One of the men corrected. “But she did make that snake oil that made my pa’s hair grow back.”

“No it didn’t.”

“-Did too.” The man insisted. 

You smiled from the corner of the room, watching the men bicker. You didn’t even know that your Babushka had known all of these people.

The glass of aged wine in your hands was enough to lift your spirits, and while your heart was heavy you made an effort to enjoy yourself.

“She was quite the storyteller.” You added to the conversation, and the hint of a smile twitched on your lips. 

There was a round of agreements.

“I remember her telling me about the critters and the woods and the sprites that brought back lost items.”

“Oh, yes. Those sneaky woodland fae.” Your mother smiled at you. 

As you took another sip of wine you would have sworn you saw something in the reflection of the glass. 

It almost looked like a -

“What about the story about that runaway carriage? It was going as fast as one of those freight cars. 

Your thoughts were pulled from the glass up to the man. 

“What did you say?” 

He stopped his sentence and backed up. “The carriage was going too fast, like a bat out of hell. 

“Like a freight car.” You repeated. A wave of goosebumps jumped on your skin. 

A freight car.

Rain picked up outside and you were startled by the flash of lightning and by the person next to you patting your hand.

“I didn’t know you spoke the native tongue.” The woman next to you praised and you looked at her in confusion. “Spoken like a true native.”

You frowned. You didn’t know the native language. You hadn’t known you were speaking it out loud.

You thought back to the little red book. The string of words pulsed in the back of your head, remembering how they practically jumped off the page. 

The last words were freight car. Someway, somehow you knew. 

You needed to get the book. You stood abruptly, capturing the attention of the room.

“Did my Babushka ever tell any stories about a soldier?” You paused, looking around. “The snow-no. The cold soldier?” 

You wracked your brain trying to remember. But for the life of you the words wouldn’t come. And then the oldest man of the room tilted his head at you behind his thick spectacles.

“You talk of the Winter Soldier.”  His words hung in the balance.

The air in the room was thick. The man hadn’t spoken all night.

“And no, no she did not.” He emphasized. “That’s because there’s no such thing as the Winter soldier, child.”

Your belly ached.

You didn't believe him. 

The man urged you forward with the nod of his head, and when you were close enough he clasped his old, aged hands with your own. 

“Listen to me. There are stories hidden away on purpose, and your Babushka only spoke of the good ones. We do not keep the good things trapped.” He explained his thick native accent. “We flourish in them. We enjoy them. We honor them.”

“But some stories are not worth the trouble they bring.” The elder next to him added sternly. The old man nodded in solidarity. 

“There is darkness out there, out in the crevices of this world.” One of the others added. “Choose to live in the light. Choose love.”

And those words stuck with you.  

You let the words from the little red book slip from your mind. There were more important things than just these childhood stories. 

The anger and resentment you had towards your Babushka simmered out, and you realized your own grief. 

You missed her. 

And you had this chance to honor her memory. So you reveled in the night, sharing stories and drinking and singing while the rain poured outside.

The hour was late when the last of the stragglers had left the house. Your parents had gone to bed and you were cleaning up, knocking back the rest of your wine. 

As you retreated back to your room there was a buzzing in your veins. But you weren’t alone. 

There, reflected in the glass, the silhouette was there again. A soft breath of air against the window pane was the only proof that anyone was ever even there.

Not that you noticed. You sat down and toyed with the hem of the quilt at the end of your bed, looking up at the ceiling with muddled thoughts. All your life you had planned on moving away, to move to a big city and leave the village behind. 

But now…something changed.

You had never heard all of those stories about your Babushka. The new faces you had seen, the lives they had lived.

You were making new decisions.

Part of you wanted to take over the cottage. You could bring it back to life, keep the memories preserved there, keep the good stories intact.

It had been your home away from home as long as you could remember. You were going to sleep on it. 

But sleep didn’t come easily, at least not at first. The rain had settled down, but you couldn’t get comfortable. Your thoughts started drifting back to the book. 

The foreign words and the wax seal and the soldier tormented your thoughts. Who was he? What was his story?

You had the most vivid dream that night. It was one of those kinds of dreams that feels so real, like you were awake all along. 

The room you were in was cold and dark and wet. It was no place for a person. But even then, in the cold and the dark, you didn’t feel scared.

There was warm breath along your neck. 

“Say the right words.” It was a slow rumble. It was a slow masculine voice reverberating against your back. “Say them. Set me free.”

You didn’t turn. You couldn’t turn. 

“Say your right words. I’ve given them to you.”

“Sweetheart, please.” The words were gentle. Desperate even. “Say them. Say them.”

The voice turned into a vicious snarl and you could hear the sounds of chains rattling right behind you. 

Your body was filled with adrenaline. You could move. You could finally move. You turned on your toes, coming face to face with the man. 

But he was no man at all. 

He was a caged animal. The man was chained to the wall and his wrists and his ankles, rubbed raw from the abuse of tugging at his confines. Dark hair fell around his shoulders and hid part of his face. A faint light at the other end of the room illuminated his body. Gnarled scars circled his shoulder and littered his abdomen like stars. He was terrifying and beautiful. 

The man was naked as the day he was born, save for a dark mask that was fitted along the bottom half of his face. 

You couldn’t hold back a gasp. 

“Who did this to you?”

You moved towards him on instinct, touching the chains on his hand. But his left hand was no hand at all. His arm was replaced with metal, all the way up to the cusp of his shoulder. You could feel it, your fingers dancing along the metal to the feel of his scarred skin.

All the while he was still.

Your eyes darted from his shoulder to his face, and in the dark you noticed the faint illumination against his eyes. He was looking at you, unblinking and unmoving.

“Who are you?” You dared to ask, letting your hand fall away from his skin.

The man cocked his head at you, eyes brimming with emotions you couldn’t place.

“I am the writing on the wall, the whisper in the air. Without these things I am nothing. So now, I must shed blood.” He lulled, looking at the base of your throat. “Sweetheart, come with me.”

You couldn’t tell if he was speaking behind the mask or if you were hearing him in your head. The man was as still as death.

“I am the story that the bravest men fear. The stories that families are meant to forget.” He strained against the chains and you could hear the harsh bite of cold metal. “I am the angel of death, the white wolf. I am -”

“The Winter Soldier.” 

Your breathless answer made his eyes crinkle with satisfaction.

He tugged at the chains and you heard them break free from the walls. His hands, both metal and skin framed your face and you could hear the jingle of chains as he moved. But he wasn’t evil. He wasn’t unkind. His touch was gentle.

“That’s my girl.”

You woke up with a start, sitting up in your bed and cradled your face the same way he had done. You were crying. With a shallow breath you wiped at your cheeks. 

It was one hell of a dream.  You needed to go back to your Babushkas and find the red book.

The skies were grey and instead of driving you walked to the old cottage. The morning was quiet, almost too quiet, especially after the storm the night before. Something wasn’t right.

You double timed it as you ran off the road and onto the old dirt path to the cottage. Something wasn’t right at all. As you unlocked the house it felt as stagnant as it felt outside, but there was fire running through you.

The little red book was sitting in your Babushka’s old chair and you reached for it with an urgency you’d never felt before.

All the while you hadn’t realized that all of your reorganizing and decluttering had been undone. 

Every mug and spice jar and book was back in its place. All around you the house was back in order, and you were so strung up by the book that all you noticed was the weight of it in your hands. 

You needed to know the story. You needed to know his story.

With hurried movements you sat in the chair and opened the book. What you saw made your blood run cold. 

You understood it. You understood the foreign symbols and words. You could read the goddamned book.

To the souls lost along the way To the forgotten sons and daughters that we buried We must not forget them.

Keep this knowledge and keep it safe Keep these horrors from ever seeing the light of day but never forget. 

You turned the page.

The legend first appeared in 1945. The rise and fall of Hydra was due to their own greed during and proceeding the war, and they had broken down and reprogrammed their soldiers to be war machines. Not only were they soldiers, but they had created a super soldier. The Winter Soldier.

The Soldier killed the targets assigned to him, effortlessly, but he always came back for more. He killed and killed until there were no targets left. But the soldier wasn’t satisfied. He was built for carnage, filled with a bloodlust that could not be quenched.

He questioned his own existence and destroyed every last member of hydra until he wandered off into the icy Soviet slopes. He became a ghost, an angel of death, the white wolf in the snow.

You turned the page.

But then something happened.

The government found information about the soldier. He was a man, a captured man, that had been turned into nothing more than a mindless animal. He was a sleeper cell, called upon by activation codes of his own. The codes were released.

But ordinary people called out the codes.

Civilians called out for him. They said his name, like a master summoning a genie. And he came.

He came.

And he killed them.

School children would play, calling out for the Winter Soldier. Old spinsters would gaff at the stories. Other soldiers rattled in their boots as they told the story around the campfire.

But every time he came. And every time he killed. 

So his activation codes were destroyed. They were shredded and burned and forgotten. His name could be heard in whispers through the winds, but without the codes he could never be activated again.

You turned to the last page, to the frantic writing.

He’s coming.

I called for him, and he killed the man I wanted dead. But now he’s coming for me. 

Don’t say the code. Don’t call out his name. Or he will come for you.

Longing, rusted, seventeen,  daybreak, furnace, nine,  benign, homecoming, one, 

freight car.

Your blood was on fire. Your head was pounding.

Soldier, my soldier.

My Winter Soldier.

You threw the book down on the carpet. 

With shaky hands you put one hand over your mouth in disbelief. This man was no man at all. He was a Frankenstein monster. He was an urban legend. 

And you let him out of his cage.

Your phone rang and you jumped with a fright, fishing it out of your jacket pocket. 

It was your father. The anxiety in your bones was lessened, and you answered as quick as you could.

“Hello?” You called out, sinking into the back of the seat. 

“Honey, I think you better stay inside today. Something happened last night. Old man Ruven was killed.” You drew a breath, but the air wouldn’t come. “Be careful.”

“You too.” You choked out before he hung up the call.

Ruven was the old man from the wake who knew about the soldier. You knew he was lying. You had spoken the codes and Ruven was the one who said his name. An unbridled fear rushed through you.

The old man was dead.

And you were next.

Part 3 Here

#spooktacularsmutfest21 #soldier my soldier #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #dark fairytale #folk lore #candyman au