strawberryciggarettes

[strawberryciggarettes]

Gwen Poole comics are the silliest thing, because what do you mean she calls Spider-man ‘PP’ on missions.

(She’s saying his initials of course but no one but Peter understands why she’s calling him that, and that’s just great.) 😭

[strawberryciggarettes]

Title: The Bride of Thorns

Genre: Dark Fantasy/Gothic Romance

Pairing: Forest Creature/Reader

Summary: You were born from wildflowers and grief, given to a monster made of bark and bone.

He calls you bride. He gives you jewels, silk, a ring that fits too well.

You live as his wife inside the ruins of his castle, watched, wanted, claimed.

But when another offers you freedom, the forest remembers its curse is the creature you married.

Content Warnings:

Dubious consent, sexual content (non-explicit but emotionally intense), power imbalance, implied grooming, monster/human relationship, body horror, violence (off-screen mutilation), possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, themes of captivity and transformation.

Dead dove do not eat (Please look through the content warnings before reading).

There were many stories about what lurked in the oldest part of the forests, where stone pillars covered in moss hold together what used to be a castle of sorts. Most of the land was lost to the elven folk. It was surrounded by thick briar that was made from ancient magic and kept everything out.

But one day, it parted and let out a creature that was said to be the king of thorns. He was old and powerful, and the elven folk called him unclean, a creature from a broken age. He is twisted, made from old bark and broken bones, his face was jagged and ruined.

He sought out an oracle and came bearing treasures that had been forgotten, precious stones and metals, and artifacts that were tinged with ancient spells.

The creature, in all of his wealth and power, was alone, and he sought a bride, one who didn’t look at him in disgust. He was willing to trade everything for one.

The oracle was prepared to deny the creature until something buried in the chest caught his eye. A locket, old and worn, once belonging to someone who had been gone for a long time. He hesitated, conflicted, but with grief in his chest, accepted the bargain, only taking the locket out of everything offered.

He leads the creature deep into the trees and to where a ring of wildflowers grows. The creature stiffens and huffs. “This is a jest.”

The Oracle kneels and murmurs in a language that had been lost.

And the flowers shutter, and petals turn to flesh. You're born gasping, your hands clawing at the soil you came from, your body naked and fragile.

Your eyes flutter open, dirt clings to your thighs, chest, your mouth.

The creature takes a step forward with a clawed hand reaching towards you but not close enough to touch.

Choked sobs escape you as you sprawl out in the dirt. The sky burns your eyes, and your lungs hiccup with breath you don’t understand. You don’t know how to cover yourself. You just feel the wrongness of being exposed.

The oracle kneels beside you and strips off his cloak, already gathering your limbs into his lap. He brushes hair behind your ear. Closes your legs. Wraps you tight.

“She’s afraid” the creature rasps.

“She’s new.”

He cradles you a moment longer, cheek to your hair. “She means a great deal to me,” he tells the creature. “I raised her from seed. She is more daughter than spell.”

“You agreed,” the creature reminds him.

“Yes” the oracle says, “I agreed.”

He kisses your brow, tells you he’s sorry, then he hands you over.

The creature slides a ring onto your finger. It is gold and twisted like thorns with a drop of amber in the middle. It fits perfectly.

Your lead away, with the creature's hand resting lightly on the small of your back. The oracle watches as the forest swallows you both whole.

The creature lives in a castle melted into the bones of the forest. It’s made of stone and rot.

He gives you your own room. Your bed is too large, the comforter is soft but dusty, the walls have carvings in them, and light streams in through a window that is too high for you to reach.

He doesn’t touch you yet. Instead, he watches as you settle in.

Sometimes, in the morning, he can hear you padding through the hallway, and your giggles echo through the halls.

You find things to keep yourself busy, when you aren’t with him that is.

You sweep ash from the floor, you learn to braid your hair with glass beads, you hum sometimes, without knowing where the songs come from.

He brings you jewels, combs made from silver, corsets made from bone and dresses from silk. You wear it all.

You were the one who came to him your first night together and wore nothing but a shawl and your ring.

He was at the window, staring off as moonlight flooded the room. He turns as your bare feet whisper against the floor.

You drop the shawl.

He takes your hand and presses the ring to his lips. “Are you certain?” He murmurs.

You nod. He guides you backward and presses you onto his bed. It was the first time you had been in his room. It smelt of earth and cedar.

He drapes ropes of pearls over your neck before he starts. He had meant to give them to you later, but decided this moment was much better.

The act is not tender. Not at first.

You bleed a little. His breath rasps through his teeth as he sinks into you, voice low and guttural with restraint.

You cry from too much. From having never felt anything, and then suddenly this. He shifts, becomes more careful, and holds you like he’s afraid to break you.

After you sleep with a clawed hand on your belly, as if he’s worried something might take root.

And in your dream, the Oracle weeps in the garden you once laid.

From that day on, you stay in your husband’s room and sleep at his side each night.

But of course nothing can stay so perfect.

When the Fae Prince comes, he doesn’t enter through the gates. He finds you at the edge of the woods, you’d wandered too far while picking herbs.

He’s radiant. Pale gold skin, lashes like feathers, clothes stitched from silver thread.

“You’re even lovelier than the stories said,” he murmurs, taking your hand without permission. “The creature takes in living treasures now?”

You pull away. “I’m not a treasure.”

“You’re enchanted,” he laughs. “Flowers don’t just become girls. Let me take you somewhere with sunlight. With music. With choice.”

You flee before he finishes the thought. You tell your husband everything.

He listens in silence. Then stands. And the forest remembers why it was cursed.

The prince’s body is delivered to the fae courts three days later.

Naked. Twisted. Bloodless.

Your creature doesn’t speak of it. But that night he holds you like a lifeline.

You try to sleep. But in your dreams, you see the prince’s broken hands.

When your husband comes to you again, you do not open your legs so easily.

“Why are you upset?” he asks, baffled. “He touched what is mine.”

You twist away. He stops. His clawed hand lowers. “I protected you,” he says, slower now. “I-I had to. Or there would be more. They would all come. Try to pluck you. Breed you. Mount you.”

His eyes shine too bright. “You are mine. Aren’t you?”

You nod, but something inside you trembles.

He lowers himself over you, not pressing-not yet, and touches your cheek with fingers stained from violence. “I was made from curse,” he says. “I was twisted and ugly and left to rot. Until I saw you.”

You do not speak.

His voice cracks. “And I know I can’t be gentle all the time. But I never wanted to scare you.”

You meet his eyes. Then, open your arms.

He sighs. Collapses into you.

Your thighs ache when he finishes, but this time, you hold him after.

You still do your chores. You still hum. But now, when you wear your jewels, you feel the weight of what they cost. Now, when he touches you, you wonder who else will die to keep his hands warm. Still… you let him hold you in the dark.

Still, you bloom. But never again without thorns.

Thank you for reading. This is the first time I have ever written something like this. If you have any questions, comments, or requests, let me know.

[strawberryciggarettes]

I'm just saying, if you guys are ever looking for anime recommendations and have an appreciation for a stylized art style...

[strawberryciggarettes]

Now, if I could just find fics that feel like this…

[strawberryciggarettes]

Here are my X-Men sleeping head cannons.

A- (Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch)

Wanda's a bit of a romantic and your companionship in dear to her. She prefers to spend her nights with you in her embrace or herself in yours.

B- (Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler)

He's all over you at night and prefers to keep you close. It's often you wake up and find his tail wrapped around you,something he does subconsciously in his sleep.

C- (Charles Xavier/Professor X)

Charles tends to keep his distance at night, but he often keeps a loose arm around you regardless.

D- (Kevin Sydney/Morph)

You and Kevin often lay over each other, both spread out and try to get comfortable, still a bit of contact with each other for reassurance to know the other is there.

E- (Logan Howlett/Wolverine)

Definitely Logan he probably just shows up to your room after being gone all night and passes out before he even makes it to the bed.

F- (Hank McCoy)

Hank really tries not to smother you when you're sleeping, especially with his mutation, but he still likes to have you in his arms.

[strawberryciggarettes]

I need more fics where the reader is wearing very pigmented makeup, I might as well just write my own honestly.