#sinister strange moodboard

[lottiesoka]

The Athena Club Moodboards: Mary Jekyll, Justine Frankenstein, Diana Hyde, Beatrice Rappacinni, and Catherine Moreau.

[dreamlandcreations]

OPLA men - I licked it so it's mine

Shanks / Mihawk / Zoro / Sanji x Reader

this is @justnerdystuffs' fault idea with a little twist here and there and it has been sitting in my drafts for ages 🫣

Warnings: implied mutual pining, idiots (all of them), fluff, kissing, implied relationship afterwards and other stuff , height difference, not proofread (I just wanted to finish something finally 😭🤧)

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It's been weeks since you have had a decent meal.

After such a long time, you finally landed on an island with a nice-looking bar where the rest of the crew could celebrate whatever excuse they could come up with for drinking and partying. You couldn't care less at the moment.

You had half the menu ordered, knowing full well some of the guys would join in on the feast whether you invited them or not. And that was fine, really, until they tried to take a bite of your steak. Roux was indeed lucky not to lose a hand.

However, your dearest captain had no such self-preservation instincts. You were on very good terms with the man, Shanks was easy to get along with, but he could be such a child sometimes.

He was sitting right next to you and he moved in the moment you turned your head in the other direction to look at some stunt Yasopp was trying to pull. You turned back just in time at the sound of the fork being stabbed into meat.

You moved fast, but not fast enough. The red-haired manchild took the last piece of your steak and quickly licked it from bottom to top, grinning at you with sauce staining his cheek right from under his scars all the way to his chin.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I licked it so it's mine."

From the other side of the table Ben was watching the scene in morbid fascination, ready to save his captain from certain death once again and he didn't like the sinister grin slowly pulling at your lips.

"Hmm," you leaned closer as Shanks put down the food on his plate, reaching for a napkin to wipe his face before you grabbed his hand, yanked him closer, gripping his chin in your other hand, you slowly licked the sauce off the side of his face before you pulled away and smirked at him as you claimed, "I guess that means you are mine now."

The room turned silent, all eyes on you two, as Shanks regarded you with a strange expression, and Ben stood still right where he jumped up when you launched for the captain, while you just stared at the man before you with slowly widening eyes as you just realised what you have done.

Before you could pull further away, Shanks quickly lifted you from your chair, making it tumble back as he pulled you into his lap with his smile quickly returning but with a new warmth to it, and you already knew you were in trouble before you heard what he had to say.

"Yours, huh?" he asked, cupping your cheek gently as he leaned in impossibly close, playfully nudging your nose with his and whispered, "I think I like the sound of that."

Steak forgotten, the crew's cheering ignored, you kissed the grinning idiot and you could't help but smile into the kiss too.

Ben in the background collapsed back into his chair, grabbed a large bottle of rum, and took a big gulp, already dreading what these two will put him through together.

You didn't know how Shanks convinced the swordsman to stay for the celebration but you were having fun watching your captain get on his nerves and when you saw the opportunity to join in that fun, you just had to do it.

There was no shortage of alcohol but Dracule Mihawk has a certain taste and you knew he would go for the good stuff, so you acted as soon as he got up from his seat from next to Shanks.

You took your time to pour out the remaining wine from the last, almost empty bottle and waited until the warlord got close enough that you could tease him without too many witnesses.

He towered over you somewhat menacingly, slightly raising his eyebrows expectantly as his gaze travelled down to the glass in your hand and back to your face in a meaningful motion. You were not intimidated in the slightest though.

On the contrary, you faked innocence as you mimicked his gesture before locking your gaze with his and letting your lips pull up into a little smirk then you lifted the glass and slowly dragged your tongue around the edge of it.

"I licked it so it's mine." you stated cheerfully and shrugged at his almost unperceivable widened eyes that betrayed his surprise or anger. Definitely disbelief, you decided.

Following a tense silence, a rare smile graced his lips, and you stopped breathing for a moment as he leaned in closer. 

"Is that right?" he murmured. His usually bored tone a mix between amusement, mocking and challenge.

Mihawk didn’t wait for your response but took a hold of your chin and smashed his lips against yours just as you gasped, and he took the opportunity to immediately deepen the kiss and lick into your mouth, letting you taste the wine he has been drinking throughout the night and you had no opportunity to sample because you dropped the glass as soon as his lips touched yours.

He didn't seem bothered by the pricey drink going to waste or you knocking down his hat as you desperately reached out and hang onto him by his nape while you tried to keep up with his maddening, passionate, slow, seductive kiss that made you feel like the room was spinning around you.

He pulled away just as abruptly as he started the kiss but he didn't let you go while he regarded you with a smug expression.

"I believe that makes you mine." When you failed to reply, he faked thinking about it for a second, then his smirk returned and he added, “Hmm. Perhaps I’ll have to be more thorough with my claiming.” before capturing your lips again and lifting you up into his arms to take you away somewhere private to make good on his promise.

Luffy claimed most of the food as you sat down, and he did it in the most disgusting but interesting way possible. He stretched his tongue out and licked over all the plates at his half of the table, grinning as he yelled excitedly, "I licked it! So it's mine!"

A moment of horror passed then everyone dug into (the safe part of) the feast. Everyone, except the green haired menace next to you.

Zoro collected both bottles of wine to himself opening them and storing them on his other side, even though he knew that was the only drink you'd find acceptable and it was pretty much all the same to him as long as it had alcohol in it.

He didn't react to you theatrically clearing your throat as you turned to him so you kicked his leg with a force that made him jump up a little.

He looked at you with surprise that quickly turned into annoyance then a wordless challenge. When the silent staredown didn't end with his win he sighed and reached for both bottles, and he extended one of them towards you but pulled back before you could grab it and went to lick over that bottle opening and then the other. Smiling at you in triumph as he said,

"Heard the captain. Rules are rules!"

Huffing at the audacity, you waited until he raised a bottle to his lips and hit the bottom, tipping it so he would spill the wine on himself.

He stood abruptly, making the chair almost fall over as you laughed.

The others' only reaction was a look in your way, they were used to your antics by now, they expected a fight as soon as you sat down beside the ex pirate hunter.

What no one, including you saw coming was your next move. Your eyes followed the droplets of wine dripping down Zoro's neck as he tried to dry his shirt with a napkin. It was all in vain, the fabric was soaked through.

You blinked a few times, trying to gather some sense into you, and obviously failing as you batted away his hands, produced a knife and slit his shirt open in a flash. Then, as you stood up you licked over his toned abdomen and chest, all the way up to his jaw before biting him teasingly there.

He blinked rapidly, taking in a staggering breath as he looked down at you, fixing his gaze on your now wine red lips. You licked them to savour the taste then you took the other bottle, sauntered over to the door and paused, looking back at Zoro with a challenging eyebrow raise before you left.

"Huh," was all he said before he followed you to your room.

You narrowed your eyes at Sanji, eyeing him with growing annoyance as he ate the rare bite-sized food that was gifted to you as the last creation of the chef who the cook obsessed over for the entire week. He moaned and swooned over the taste as you clenched your teeth together, trying to come up with an appropriate revenge.

Sanji looked at you with innocent eyes, smiling sweetly as he ased, "What?"

You looked down at the empty plate pointedly and then back at the thief just in time to see him shrug. "You know the rule, I licked it so it's mine."

Your body moved before you could think it through, grasping his chin with one hand, brushing away his hair from his face and grabbing him by the back of his head with your other hand as you quickly licked the side of his face and pushed him back a little as you stepped back. There, the gesture says.

Waiting for his disgusted reaction, you started to grin, satisfied with your little revenge for now, at least for a moment or so because he didn't react how you thought at all.

He seemed to be frozen in place except for his slowly widening eyes, then he gasped, giggled, and turned to you with a grin, exclaiming loudly that, "I'm yours now, no takebacks!"

You huffed at the ridiculous train of thought and turned to leave but he hugged you from behind, nuzzling into your neck, arms circling around your waist and you couldn't help but smile as you sighed dramatically but placed your hands on his, letting him pull you into an even tighter embrace that you would be trapped in for a while.

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[hederasgarden]

Lewis Pullman Characters Masterlist

Outer Range

Oneshots

My Favorite Mistake (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 1.8K)

Half the reason you’re in the middle of nowhere Wyoming is because you’ve always been bad at choosing men. You expect Rhett Abbott will be no different.

Show Me The Ropes (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 1K)

Rhett’s talents with roping and knot tying translate well in the bedroom.

The Trouble With Books (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 1.2K)

You and Rhett discover a surprising new kink together.

I’ll Be Your Fantasy (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 2.4K)

Sequel to The Trouble With Books. Rhett helps you play out a new fantasy.

Can’t Keep My Hands To Myself (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 1.5K) Rhett’s a handsy drunk, not that you mind.

Cowboy Trouble (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader x Rip Wheeler | Explicit l 3K)

When your boyfriend loses a game of poker, Rip Wheeler claims a night with you as the reward. 

Drabbles

Take The Weight of Me (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 570)

You go to Rhett when you don’t want to think anymore.

I get on my knees, but it ain’t to pray (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 700)

In the darkness behind the bar, you find yourself on your knees, ready to take everything Rhett has to offer.

Learning to Ride (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 300)

Rhett teaches you the proper way to ride a bull (and him).

Oasis (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Gen l 650)

When you reach your limit, Rhett’s there to help.

Need You Now (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 650)

After the rodeo, Rhett shows you how much he wants you.

Take Me to Heaven (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader x Arvin Russell | Explicit l 700)

If heaven’s a place you’re certain it can be found between Rhett and Arvin.

Take a Breath (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 250)

You and Rhett experiment with breathplay.

Hiraeth (Rhett Abbott x OC | Gen | 400)

A strange hole on the Abbott farm upends Mae Collin’s whole world.

Series

Stand By Me Masterlist (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Ongoing | Explicit)

When a local ranch hand’s attention evolves into something more sinister, Rhett Abbot becomes an unlikely source of comfort and protection for you.

Small Mistakes New Beginnings Masterlist (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Ongoing | Explicit)

After you fall pregnant from a one-night stand with Rhett Abbott, both of your lives change forever.

Headcanons

Jealous Rhett

Rhett and Cowboy!Jake Crossover

Being Rhett’s Housewife

Teasing Rhett

Moodboards

Practical Magic AU

Top Gun

One Shots

All The Right Moves (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | Gen l 1.8K)

Your day takes a turn for the better when you meet not one but two cute Navy Pilots at the hospital. 

Follow the Leader (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | Explicit l 883)

You and Bob love it when Phoenix takes charge.

Drabbles

Eager to Please (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader | Explicit l 400)

You learn pretty quickly that Bob is eager to please, but he still manages to surprise you with a request. 

Catch a Fallen Star (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader | Mature l 350)

Mermaid!reader x Sailor!Bob. He’s the only survivor from the ship that broke apart on the rocky shores of the island last night. Well, there were others, but your sisters took care of them all too eagerly.

No Wingman Needed  (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | General l 700)

When Hangman realizes you like Bob and Phoenix he tries to help.

Headcanons

The day Bob earns his call sign

A night of absolute devotion and attention with Bob

Moodboards

The Astronaut's Wife AU

Bad Times at the El Royale

Oneshots

Little Games (Miles Miller x F!Reader l Explicit l 1.4K)

Miles knows it’s wrong to watch you but he just can’t help himself. 

Saving You (Miles Miller x F!Reader l Mature l 1K)

Miles has done a lot of bad things in his life but saving you isn’t one of them.

Series

You Can Check Out Any Time You Like (Vampire!Miles Miller x F!Reader | Explicit | Ongoing)

Your life changes the night a mysterious stranger rescues you, but you'll soon learn that salvation comes at a deep cost.

Drabbles

Sleeping Beauty (Miles Miller x F!Reader l Explicit l 820)

Sometimes it’s easier for Miles when you’re quiet.

Press Play

The Small Things (Harrison Knott x Plus Size!Librarian!F!Reader | Mature | Ongoing Series)

A chance encounter on the first day of your new job leads to something wonderful and unexpected

♡Main Masterlist♡

[foundtherightwords]

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 1

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

A/N: This was inspired by the moodboard for "Vecna's Bride" by @a-strange-inkling. I saw the title and the Gothic imagery and my imagination just ran wild.

I changed the names to differentiate them from my Regency AU and better fit the Gothic vibe, so Chrissy is now Christabel (after the poem by Coleridge; the fic title and chapter titles are also quotes from the poem) and Eddie is Kas, because I took some inspiration from the D&D lore of Vecna and Kas (big thanks to @waterfallsilverberrywrites for helping me with that!) When I did a poll, the consensus was that Eddie's Gothic name should be Edmund, but... I prefer Kas :P (I already have plans to use Edmund for another AU.)

Chapter warnings: none (but Eddie doesn't appear in this chapter yet... please bear with me)

Chapter word count: 3.9k

Chapter 1 - At the Old Oak Tree

Christabel ran.

In the distance, she could hear the shouts and cheers of the hunting party, the excited barking of the dogs, and the occasional gunshots, cracking sharply in the crisp autumn air. She was not far enough. Lifting her heavy wool skirt above her knees, she pushed deeper into the bushes. The dead leaves from years past formed a soft carpet under her feet, muffling the sound of her steps, while the leaves of this year, despite having turned all shades of gold and crimson on the trees, had not yet fallen, so she need not worry about being discovered from their crunch underfoot. She hoped the party was not headed this way. After all her endeavors to snatch a moment alone, she intended to savor it to its fullest.

Christabel Cunningham hadn't had many opportunities to be alone in her twenty-three years on Earth. The only daughter of a wealthy New York businessman, she had been since birth surrounded by nurses and governesses and servants, who took care of her under the watchful eyes of her mother. Her father had died, quite suddenly, of a heart attack, when Christabel was only a child. Christabel did not miss him. To her, he was but a dim, distant figure, always away on business trips, or holed up in his study when at home, hiding from his wife, leaving Christabel to bear the brunt of her mother's nagging. The sole mark he'd left on Christabel's life was her name, given to her by him in a fit of romanticism, much to the disapproval of Mrs. Cunningham, who preferred classic names like Elizabeth or Catherine or Amelia. His death didn't leave much of a void behind.

Her mother, an ambitious and exacting woman, embittered by her failure to have a son and by becoming a widow so young, had poured all her affection and thwarted dreams upon her daughter, smothering the girl with them. She dictated everything Christabel wore and ate and read and play, and all the friends Christabel made and all the parties Christabel attended had to be approved by her. And so Christabel had grown up with her books and her dolls, lonely but never alone.

In truth, she hadn't been allowed to attend a lot of parties. As she grew up and learned more about her father's will, Christabel discovered a more mercenary side to what she'd once thought was her mother's overprotectiveness. As the trustee of her daughter's inheritance, Mrs. Cunningham could enjoy a lavish lifestyle, a townhouse on Fifth Avenue, a summer cottage in Newport, the latest fashion in her wardrobe and the most luxurious dishes on her table. But as soon as Christabel was married, she would be in charge of her own fortune, and Mrs. Cunningham would be left with half of what she was used to. Christabel believed that to prevent this, her mother would have locked her away forever, like Rapunzel in her tower.

But social standing has its advantages. Afraid of the wagging tongues of the town, the whispers behind closed doors that she was keeping her daughter from society to hold on to her money, Mrs. Cunningham had reluctantly allowed Christabel to make her debut when she came of age. Since then, her days had been filled with balls and theater trips in the winter, tennis matches and yacht races in the summer, giggling friends and fawning suitors, still under the watchful eyes of her mother. It was tedious, but Christabel had endured it because it was better than staying at home, surrounding by the dark walls of her room and feeling her mother's disapproving stare on her at all times. Besides, that was what was expected of all the debutantes. Smile, dance, flirt, ride, sketch or sing a little, play a little piano, speak a bit of French, a bit of German, be amusing but not sarcastic, be vivacious but not feisty, be modest but not withdrawn, and hopefully make an advantageous match, and then have daughters and watch them go through the same thing, over and over again.

Christabel knew she would not break free of this cycle. Her whole life she had been taught to do what she was told, to never question, to never put a foot out of line. But as her own, feeble form of rebellion, she made it a point to refuse every proposal she'd ever received—and there had been plenty of them. With her delicate features, dewy skin, wide blue eyes, and strawberry blonde hair, Christabel always turned heads in every room she walked in. It was true that her nose was slightly upturned and her front teeth were slightly crooked, but these flaws were seen as charming, not defective. And if her manners were at times rather listless and uninterested, well, her inheritance could more than make up for it. So a lot of men had fallen in love with her, or at least with her beauty, or with her money, and had proposed, but she had refused them all.

When Mrs. Cunningham found out about these refusals, Christabel always had a believable reason to convince her mother of her decision—the family had an unpleasant reputation, their fortunes were not equal, or the boy himself did not have a promising enough prospect. Mrs. Cunningham was appeased, for a while, but after two seasons and Christabel remained unmarried, she began to grow uneasy and warned her daughter of the perils of spinsterhood.

To all her admonishment, Christabel said nothing. It wasn't that she wanted to be an old maid for the rest of her life, far from it. But unlike other young women, who dreamed of marriage as a celebration of love or even as a way to further their social connections, Christabel saw it as a means to freedom. And none of the men in her circle could give her that freedom she so thirsted. They all grew from the same stocks, the same root. If she married one of them, she would move in the same circle, lead the same life, beating a tired circle from Manhattan to Newport and back again, perhaps with the occasional trip to Europe, but still seeing the same faces, doing the same thing as everybody else, and never be free of her mother.

For that summer season, Christabel had tried to convince her mother to go to London or Paris, or, if they had to stay, then she was secretly hoping—as hateful as it sounded—to catch the eyes of a European aristocrat, many of whom were flocking to America in search of an heiress to restore their family fortune. Europe would be the ultimate escape. However, her mother disliked traveling, and although Christabel's inheritance was sizeable, it was not large enough to draw the attention of an impoverish earl or baronet.

At least her mother had accepted Mrs. Carver's invitation to their summer mansion in Tuxedo Park for two weeks of English-style country party. There were to be riding and shooting and picnics in the woods, all culminating in a costume ball on All Hallows' Eve. They had just come back from Newport, worn out and looking forward to some quiet days to recover before the winter season, so Christabel had been afraid her mother would refuse, knowing her dislike of the outdoors. But an invitation to the exclusive Tuxedo Park was hard to come by, and when Mrs. Cunningham learned the party was thrown for Mrs. Carver's eldest, Jason, who had just come back from Yale, nothing could have kept her away.

Jason Carver. Christabel sighed. All the debutantes were in love with him, though to Christabel, he had always been just a good friend, nothing more. She'd never imagined he would set his sight on her, not when he was always surrounded by so many other girls. So it had come as a complete shock when, after a dinner party at the Carvers' mansion, Jason had asked to speak to her alone in the gazebo overlooking Tuxedo Lake. There, while the moonlight rippled over the water, turning the surface of the lake into a broken mirror, he had taken Christabel's hands in his and, tremblingly, haltingly, asked her to marry him.

For the first time, Christabel had hesitated.

Jason was one of her few childhood friends her mother had approved of, as the Carvers' Manhattan residence was not far from the Cunninghams'. He had always been kind and attentive to her, and unlike some men, she knew he cared not a jot for her inheritance, since the Carvers was one of the richest and most prominent families in the city. A marriage between her and Jason would send her mother to Heaven.

That was the problem, of course. Christabel never wanted to do anything her mother wished.

"If we are to marry, can we live here?" she'd asked. It sounded as though she had accepted him already, but she didn't care. She looked around at the untamed parkland of the mansion, with the woods surrounding it on all sides and the sparkling lake in the distance. It may not be far enough from her mother, but it would be something.

"Of course!" Jason had said, squeezing her hands. "We'll come here for the summer, and—"

"No, you mistook me. I don't mean for the summer. I mean permanently."

Jason had laughed at that, thinking it was a joke. "We can't possibly live here! I have my business in town, and there's nobody here for half of the year anyway. Why would you want to live here?"

Christabel had tried to say that she wanted to live in Tuxedo Park precisely because there was nobody there for half of the year, but one look at Jason and she knew he wouldn't understand. Nobody would.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she'd said and withdrawn her hands.

She'd half-hoped Jason would try to get her to change her mind, that he would say they could live anywhere as long as they were together, but he had only shaken his head, said, "It's not meant to be then," bowed, and gone back inside, leaving her alone on the shore of that moonlit lake. Of course. No amount of love could be enough to compel a man to throw away his whole life like that, and even if he had made the offer, she couldn't possibly have accepted such a sacrifice. Perhaps it was for the best.

Still, that hadn't stopped things from being rather tense and awkward between them when they set out for the hunt that morning. Christabel had never enjoyed hunting, but she jumped at any chance to be outdoors, to be able to walk and run and move freely without being criticized for not acting ladylike enough. And another reason—her mother, having no interest in hunting and riding, always stayed behind on such occasions. That morning, though, Christabel could feel Jason's mournful eyes on her whenever she turned. She'd only wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but it was difficult when she was surrounded by the hunting party with their guns and dogs and servants. It was only when they came across a flock of partridges and the others' attention was diverted that she managed to slip into the woods.

Now, as she walked through the trees, Christabel pondered her situation. Would it be so bad, being married to Jason? It would at least let her be mistress of her own life... except that life would still be tied to another's. No, if she simply wanted to claim her inheritance, she would've married the first man that proposed and had done with it. This regret was simply because she had started to feel anxious about her future. Could she go on like this until her mother died? Could she live as a spinster, becoming brittle and bitter in her old age, facing the pity and contempt of others? Christabel felt the old, helpless anger toward her father blaze up inside her once more when she thought about the predicament he'd placed her in. What was the use of ensuring no one could touch her inheritance, if she had to saddle herself to a man to claim it?

She passed through the line of trees and came to a clearing on the side of a hill, gently sloping toward a small glen, where an old oak tree spread its cape of gold leaves over a murmuring brook. It seemed something straight out of a Washington Irving story—all that was missing was a covered bridge. Tucking her skirt into the top of her gaiters, Christabel threw her arms over her head and sprinted down the slope, letting the cool air fill her lungs and clear her head.

Near the bottom of the slope, her skirt slipped out of the gaiters and tangled around her legs. Her ankles twisted under her and sent her tumbling down. She rolled head over heels the last few feet before skidding to a stop right by the oak. Luckily, the hill wasn't steep, and her fall had been more embarrassing than painful. She cursed under her breath. When they received Mrs. Carver's invitation, Christabel had begged and begged her mother to let her have a split skirt for the occasion so she could move about with more ease and perhaps even learn to ride a bicycle, as some of her friends had, but Mrs. Cunningham had insisted that her old riding habit, with its long trailing skirt, would do just fine. Christabel shouldn't do much walking or moving about anyway, Mrs. Cunningham had argued. Men wouldn't be interested in overly energetic girls. And as for riding a bicycle, showing off her legs in those newfangled bloomers, like some common hoyden? Forget about it.

"Are you all right, miss?" a voice said somewhere over her head.

Christabel looked up and saw a pair of blue eyes. A man had stepped out from the other side of the oak tree and was looking down at her. She suddenly became aware that she was sprawled on the ground with her skirt hiked up over her knees. She bolted up and pulled her skirt down, face burning crimson.

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she sputtered, struggling to her feet.

Her ankle turned painfully. The man reached out a hand to help her. His grip was firm and strong.

"Thank you." Christabel peered at him more closely. He was dressed for a day out in tweed and stout boots, but with a walking stick, not a gun. "Are you with the Carver hunting party?" she asked, for she did not remember seeing him. He was a little older than Jason and her circle of friends, in his late twenties or early thirties perhaps, tall, with a fine-boned, elegant-looking face. But what startled her the most was his eyes, as clear and blue as the sky above, fixed upon her with an expression of fascination and interest quite unlike anything she'd received from her suitors. She reached a self-conscious hand to her hair, trying to dislodge any dry leaf that may have gotten stuck there.

"Carver? No, no, I'm a guest of Dr. Brenner."

Christabel's eyebrows shot up. Dr. Brenner was an eccentric who had inherited one of the largest fortunes in New York, but rather than continuing to run the family business, he had devoted his time to studies of the occult and other esoteric sciences. Unlike most of the residents of Tuxedo Park, who only kept their mansions here as holiday homes, he lived in a cottage deep in the woods year round, engaging in all sorts of obscure experiments, never interacting much with his neighbors. They tolerated him out of respect for his family name; some saw him as a harmless old fool and even invited him to some of their parties to show him off to their out-of-town friends, much like the ornamental hermits that the English aristocrats of old often kept on their grounds. Unfortunately, the Carvers were not one of these open-minded people, so Christabel had never met Dr. Brenner. She had to admit that she sometimes felt envious of him and the male privileges that allowed him to give up his family business, but not his wealth, and pursue his true passion. Alas, no such luck for her.

And here was this man, claiming to be a guest of the mysterious doctor! Her curiosity was pique immediately.

"Are you?" she asked, with interest. "I didn't know he ever invited anyone here. You must be a man of science or some sort of scholar, for him to allow you to encroach on his solitude. What is your business with him?" Then she colored again, realizing how intrusive her question was. Usually she never allowed herself to behave so casually with a gentleman, but there was something about this man that freed her from the confines of propriety. Or perhaps it was the scene around them, the wild woods and the open sky that had no use for etiquette. Still, the habits of upbringing were hard to shake off, so she cast her eyes downward and murmured, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to pry."

"Not at all," the man said with a friendly smile. "As a matter of fact, my family came from this area before it was developed, and Dr. Brenner is helping me to research our history. I'm just looking for the ruins of their village."

"Oh. That sounds very interesting."

"And if there's anyone who must be pardoned," the man continued, "it should be me, for I have been so presumptuous in talking to you without so much as an introduction. You must allow me to make amends, Miss—"

"Cunningham. Christabel Cunningham," she said.

"What an unusual and beautiful name." The man looked into the distance. "The lovely lady, Christabel, whom her father loves so well. What makes her in the wood so late, a furlong from the castle gate?" he recited in his rich, musical voice whose reverberation seemed to reach Christabel's very core.

She laughed to hide her blush. "A very fitting quote. Only it's not so very late, and while the Carver mansion is grand, it is far from a castle," she said. "And I'm simply taking a walk, not praying for my betrothed. In fact"—the noise from the hunting party had ceased, and she realized it must be nearly time for luncheon—"I'm just heading back now."

"And alas, I am no Geraldine," the man said. "But may I accompany you anyway?" He extended an arm toward her.

Christabel hesitated, thinking what her mother would say about walking in the woods with a stranger. But surely, there was no harm in it. The hunting party was not so far away, and she could always tell the truth—that she had gotten hurt, and this man was helping her. She took the proffered arm, and they started walking toward the Carver mansion, not following the route Christabel had, but taking the longer way, along the lakeshore, Christabel hobbling to keep up with the man's long strides. There was a dull ache in her ankle, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to complain.

"I see that you are an admirer of Coleridge, like my father," Christabel said.

"Your father must be a man of great taste then."

Her smile disappeared. "I wouldn't know. He died when I was very little." She caught herself again. Why was she telling this man, whom she met not five minutes ago and whose name she still didn't know, all these things about herself?

"Oh, I am so very sorry." The man took off his cap, revealing longish blonde hair that fell over his forehead in soft curls. His eyes were full of sympathy. "I know how difficult it is, losing one's parents. My own parents—" His voice hitched. "They died when I was very young as well. An earthquake, in San Francisco."

Christabel's heart panged with sympathy. "That must be horrible."

Those brilliant blue eyes dimmed for a moment. "It was."

"So you live in San Francisco?"

"I do, yes."

"What is it like?" she asked eagerly. Outside of Newport and occasionally the Catskills, she had never been anywhere. She had never even left the state of New York.

Before the man could answer, she put her weight on the sore ankle by mistake and let out an involuntary yelp. He turned to her, all solicitous concern. "Have you hurt yourself in the fall?" he asked.

"I must have," she replied reluctantly.

Tucking his cap into a pocket, he knelt down, took her ankle in his hand, and gently turned it this way and that. "Does this hurt?"

"Only a little," she said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, that won't do." He put one arm around her and the other under her knees, scooping her up easily as though she weighed no more than a feather. "I should have noticed sooner," he said. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right." Christabel was feeling a little dazed. None of her suitors had ever picked her up like that—indeed, none of them ever touched so much as the hem of her skirt without asking for permission first. She found that she didn't mind being handled, didn't mind the lack of permission-seeking. Nestling against his chest, she glanced shyly up at her gallant rescuer. Despite his slender frame, he was carrying her across the uneven terrain with no effort at all. The sun was shining upon his blonde hair, turning it into a gold helmet, and his blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. She was glad they were taking the longer route.

But all too soon, the shingled walls of the Carver mansion appeared behind the trees, and the hunting party came into view. Christabel was afraid her rescuer would put her down the moment they came upon the others, but if anything, his hold around her seemed to tighten.

"There you are, Christabel," Jason said, stepping forward. "We were about to send out a search party—" His countenance changed upon seeing her in the arms of the stranger. "What happened?"

"Miss Cunningham had a bit of an accident," the man said. "I happened to come across her and took the liberty of escorting her home."

"How fortunate," Jason said, his voice icy. He all but yanked Christabel out of the other man's arms, as though she was a child, or worse, a doll, a toy to be fought over.

"I'm perfectly all right, Jason," Christabel said, fighting to put her feet on the ground. "It's just a sprain."

Jason relented and put her down. Christabel turned to her rescuer, who was replacing his cap on his hat, preparing to go. "Thank you so much," she said. "I hope I haven't delayed you from your quest."

"It was my pleasure. It's not every day a beautiful lady fell from the sky and landed at your feet, is it?"

She couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face. "I still don't know your name."

"Haven't I told you?" He looked confused.

Christabel frowned, trying to recall. "No, I don't think so."

"Ah." He tipped his cap at her. "Henry Creel, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Will I see you again, Mr. Creel?"

He flashed her another of his dazzling smiles. "You can count upon it." Then, with a bow in the general direction of the hunting party, who was staring at him, he turned and disappeared into the woods.

Chapter 2

As usual, if you want to be tagged, drop me a line! Any likes/reblogs/comments will be greatly appreciated, thank you!

[elysiaskz]

MY KDRAMA IN MY SKZ DR !!

Title : Budget Cuts

Starring : Elysia Nova as Eve D’Angeles, Kim Jisoo as Park Seona

Plot : Eve D’Angeles works at InkGan Co., seemingly your average conglomerate located in Changwon, South Korea. She works the same mundane cubicle job, day in and day out for 6 years in an era of remarkable technological advancements. That is, until she begins to notice her coworkers permanently disappearing, only to be replaced by more efficient high-tech robots. As time passes, all the workers in Eve’s department are replaced. One day, InkGan Co. locks down completely due to a “security threat”, and Eve gets a strange call from a woman who introduces herself as Seona. She explains that InkGan Co. is doing something far more sinister than simply letting go of employees, and that they need to meet up and escape the office (and furthermore, the entire city) before it’s too late. Unfortunately, the building is filled to the brim with deadly security robots, and HR won’t take too kindly to employee’s insubordination- especially from humans.

(inspired by the vr game of the same name, Budget Cuts!)

Moodboard / Aesthetic :

[stvphenwrites]

Lil edit of Sinister Strange I did (Kinda sucks, still trying to get better at manips.)

(Will be using this picture of a moodboard of ironstrange) (Head cannon: Sinister has scars on his body, mostly neck, chest and arms [Of course his hands have the scars] that's why on his neck there's a scar from a fight.)

(Any tips for manips will be appreciated, I only have Ibis Paint X)

[owlsandwich]

WIP(ish) Intro

(All moodboard images taken from Adobe's free stock image site)

Title: The Mechanics of Magic

Why the 'ish'?: The Mechanics of Magic is technically already published, but I am currently working with an editor to release a polished second edition. I am also working on a direct sequel!

Genre: Low fantasy with lots of magic. Multiple POV. Not urban!

Setting: An original world where magic exists openly alongside early internet level technology.

Themes/Tropes/Other points of interest: found family, redemption, healing from trauma, connection vs. isolation, neurodivergent cast, queer characters (though you might have to squint to see it before it's made obvious in book 2), dead characters sharing a body and mind with living characters, the villain(?) is the love interest

Blurb:

Two decades after the slaughter of Ardveld’s royal family, Matthew could almost forget he’d ever been the crown prince. His survival a secret from all but his closest friend, the expectations of his birth have been consigned to history.

A job. A family. He thought he’d moved on.

But when his eighteen-year-old son Alex is arrested and taken to the palace, Matthew realizes his past has caught up with him.

Meanwhile, novice mage, delivery driver, and part-time thief Roy is looking for answers. A simple break-in takes a sinister turn when he stumbles across a weapon imbued with destructive magic and glowing with the sigil of Ardveld’s deceased royalty.

Across the city, a string of strange magic attacks prompts an investigation by Ardveld’s newly appointed Head of Magical Affairs, Tamara. What she discovers threatens to reveal the truth about Ardveld’s takeover and will determine the future of the survivors.

Cover for new edition:

The book is available in its current form for free to anyone who wants to read it. Just drop me a message!

Tags: I've just realised I haven't established a tag for any of my Mechanics related posts, so I will probably start doing that under #themechanicsofmagic

I want to do some character intros, but am out of time for now, so will add those soon!

[nitrosodiumfmp]

Ulterior Research (2/3)

This next task requires me to take a step back. It's a little unfortunate to digress like this when I'm already in a full-steam-ahead mindset with the project, but I get that it's part of the FMP.

I'm going back to the first class mindmap to explore various concepts in more detail; not specifically my 3 ideas, but 3 themes relating to the Midas myth, which I would then dissect and explore components of.

This is my mindmap and moodboard for Life and Death. Quite a bit of this relates to themes of Sinister; mythology, limbo, the underworld, ghosts, revenants, even measuring souls, though more abstractly through the lore implications of the Archivists. Alternatively, there are many ways you could use this theme which I didn't; zombies, opposites, and more theistic views of the whole thing.

This one is on Illusion. There wasn't so much to explore on this one, but some things are still relevant to Sinister; primarily a psychedelic aesthetic. On a gameplay level, I do plan for layouts involving strange-sized areas and walls that you can walk through, but that doesn't really fit into a specific theme beyond broad Illusion.

As inorganic as it is, I'm going to finish the third mood board tomorrow. It's on Dreams and Nightmares.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

updates to Masterlist:

The Language of Love

a Defender Strange x Sorceress Reader romance; general audience, fluff, pining; a WIP in two chapters

Sweeter Than Sugar

a Stephen Strange x Female Reader one-shot; when you’re head over heels in love, even the simplest things can be sweeter than the sweetest of sugars

No Place Like Home

a romantic Doctor Strange one-shot featuring Stephen x Hope Collins (OFC)

Stephen Strange x Beauty Lincoln (OFC)

hurt/comfort prompt

💋kissing prompts💋

Stephen Strange x Hope Collins (OFC)

hand kisses and/or kissing your lover so gently, worried that if you pull away for just one second, they might disappear

Sinister Strange x Beauty Lincoln (OFC)

“Okay, but I want to do that again. And again, and again, and again. With you; only you."

Stephen Strange x Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC)

wet kisses after finding shelter from the rain

Stephen Strange x Female Reader

a kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck

💖moodboard inspired blurbs💖

Stephen Strange x Female Reader

springtime kisses in the rain

Stephen Strange x Waitress Reader

Stephen x Beauty head canon/cuddles

🦋other head canons🦋

OG Stephen one two three

Defender Strange one two (exists but can't find link...yet)

Kamar-Taj

Recently, I've seen several people lamenting the dwindling amount of Stephen Strange fan fiction here on tumblr. And though I've been struggling with writer's block for some time now, I still have a good supply of Stephen x OFC and Stephen x Female Reader stories. Several of the multichapter fics are WIPs, but I'd like to think they're worth the read. Includes a varitey of fluff, romance, humor, angst, and smut.

My Doctor Strange Masterlist

I mean, look at him; he's daring you to take at least a little peek...

[geeky-politics-46]

Fluffy Sinister Strange Playlist

Sinister Strange x Reader

Songs that are either referenced directly in my Fluffy Sinister Strange series, or make think of our naughty & sweet spooky boy.

I wanted to give a little snippet of some of the songs I picked for this playlist. So I've included the song title, artist, & a few lines that I feel fit the story. There are more that aren't listed here. These are just my personal faves.

"Rescue Me" by: Chris Young

This one is one pretty much all of my Marvel playlists.

"Who is gonna rescue me? Cause it sure feels krytonite how you got me on one knee with my hand out begging for mercy. What's a happy ending if I can't get the girl? What's it matter if I save the world? If you don't promise me, before you take this ring & rescue me."

"I Wish I Was The Moon" by: Neko Case

This one is for Stephen before you fell into his universe.

"Last night I dreamt I had forgotten my name. Cause I had sold my soul, but I awoke just the same. I'm so lonely. I wish I was the moon tonight."

"A Thousand Years" by: Christina Perri

I can't hear this song without bursting into tears. It's like a Disney fairytale.

"I have died every day waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid. I have loved you for a thousand years. I'll love you for a thousand more."

"Feel Again" by: JLV

"Been so long that maybe I forgot how to love. I've been running. I've been running. Somehow, you reminded me with only a touch. Make me wanna feel it again."

"At Last" by: Etta James

I firmly believe this song is overused, but it still fits very well here.

"You smiled. Oh, & then the spell was cast. Here we are in heaven. For you are mine at last."

"Ablaze" by: Alanis Morrisette

This one is for little Donna from her parents.

"To my girl, all your innocence & fire. When you reach out, I am here hell or high water. This nest is never going away. My mission is to keep the light in your eyes ablaze."

"Ain't Nothing 'Bout You" by: Brooks & Dunn

"Once I thought that love was something I could never do. Never knew that I could feel this much. But this yearning in the deep part of my heart for you is more than a reaction to your touch. It's a perfect passion, & I can't get enough."

Songs directly referenced in stories & moodboards:

"In A Different Light" by: Doug Stone

"Spooky" by: Classics IV

"Can't Help Falling In Love With You" by: Elvis Presley

--------------------------------

Back to main masterlist

Back to Fluffy Sinister Strange masterlist

Stephen Strange Taglist: @starkiller-queen @glitterylokislut @verycollectivecreator @chatampr @lovecleastrange @wheredafandomat @mkixx @evelynrosestuff @katefullerrr @littlepinknightmare @foofarny @stygianoir @moonroyalt @saturnsbabe69 @blaxdet @blackrose-92 @ironstrange1991 @rindulacre @nancy-thompsons @wolfatheartandsoul @dangerouslittlefairy @n0obmaster-69 @oliveoilthoughts @onebatch--twobatch @yourmajesty13 @blondekel77 @lil-sweater-slut @gwephen @taramaria @sinceimetyou @slashersrus @coeurgrenadiine @cc13723things @just--a-magpie @supervengerslock @strangelockd @dont-feel-so-good-peter @kingsmanperfecthartwin @ghost-lantern @inlovewithloki16 @thefalconandthewinterwidowshield @itssmaugtheterrible @katherinemaximoff @veryfancydoilies @cute-angi @mochacake2016 @prix19 @alexfanficnook @anotheroddfish @mando-is-the-way @xourownsidee @baes-x @dreamingsmile @negar77rd @imaginesfreetotake @ppatricia34me @rougepetale @tis-vereon @divinearchangel @sherlux @hiddlechive @ginnykate @thatesqcrush @friendofplenti @yuugenmomo @holdmyowos @the-royal-petals @lokislov3 @captaincarmel164 @lucimorningst4r @mydearalmira @petalcranberry @singhfae @emotionsareforuglypeople @trappedinlimbo15 @veryladyqueen @icytrickster17 @kentucky-criedfricken @briefhandsstudenttoad @calamityismyspecialty @sinisterstrange616 @patbrdsc @trojanaurora @azu21 @massivehahaao3tree @strangesgirls

[mrhyde-mrseek]

I made collages for the rest of the crew! Here they are!

SHOOT I just realized the text on one of Jekyll’s photos is cut off! It should say “You are not me and I am not you, but you and I are the same thing.”

[theladybarnes]

✰ - completed  / ⇆ - on going / ✖ - cancelled

MULTI CHAPTERED SERIES:

( STRANGER UNIVERSE )  ⇆

When a little boy vanishes, a small town uncovers a mystery involving secret experiments, terrifying supernatural forces, and one strange little girl.  PAIRINGS: Steve Harrington x Reader (Endgame) / Ex! Billy Hargrove x Reader STORIES: Season One / Season Two / Season Three / Season Four MOODBOARDS: one / two / three

RED RIGHT HAND ✰

It’s on the one year anniversary of their dear friend’s death that the small group of friends from Hawkins, California arrived to Camp Night. The newly bought sleepaway camp that was in severe need of new staff since its grand reopening. Legend says there was a kid that died at the camp ten years ago on this very day. The teens choose to ignore the coincidence, focus on having fun, getting laid, and making money before they head off to college after the summer. Unfortunately for them, something sinister has other ideas. (mini series) PAIRINGS: Steve x Reader, Eddie x Reader, Robin x Nancy x Jonathan (love triangle) CHAPTER MASTERLIST: ( ▸▸▸ )

ONESHOTS:

TBD

UPDATED: 4/9/24

[red-riding-wood]

@kiss-me-cill-me Lemmy, so sorry it took me ages to reply to this. I know I mentioned it over DMs but I have not read those comics, in fact have not read any yet for Scarecrow but I want to! It's one of those things I just keep putting off and I don't know where to start.

To me, the yellow light simply represented hope. The other side that the reader is glimpsing on the other side of all this darkness and pain. I'd be very interested to see the parallels between the yellow light here and the comics, though. I'm kind of frustrated now I hadn't read them first because I'm just thinking maybe I could have incorporated them more in some way or done something differently haha.

Since I drew from very personal experience with this fic, it's difficult for me to put words to it, too. But, strangely enough, shortly after I wrote this fic some events happened in my life that plunged my mental state back to what I can only describe really in this fic; it's the closest I think I can express to the reality of my trauma and illness even though reality is obviously very skewed.

Well I'm now reading this after your hand thirsting/measuring escapades, so you liking anything to do with fingers makes sense lmao. I'm glad you noticed the medical metaphors; I did try and scatter as many in there as I could.

The part where she can see Crane, and his glasses are glinting silver in the dark, that was actually inspired by the scene where he gets in the elevator with Rachel in the film (I edited a screenshot for the moodboard). I was so in love with that image, how sinister it was and also how strangely hot it was. I knew I wanted to include that in one of my horror-esque fics.

I LOVE that you picked up on the bars thing with her fingers and how that represented feeling trapped. That was exactly what I wanted to convey and I didn't really expect anyone to pick up on that since it was such a throwaway line. You always seem to get exactly what I'm putting down in my writing and I love you for it!

Yellow Light

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x F!Reader

Summary: Jonathan is your guide as you escape Arkham Asylum.

Based off the song "Yellow Light" by Of Monsters and Men (original version here and acoustic version here). This song is really special to me and helped me brave my heart surgery in August. A lot of this fic is a projection of my own experiences, trauma, and health issues over the past several years -- but Arkham can represent absolutely anything you want it to that you or the character is trying to escape.

Song lyrics are in bold.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, depictions of PTSD (hospital trauma specifically), drug addiction/use, psychosis, hallucinations, fear of death, blood.

Will also use similar themes to my upcoming series "Darkness Until Dawn" and OC Cassie Hart but this is a standalone x reader fic.

I also feel like Crane might come across a bit OOC in this fic because he's in an established relationship with the reader and he's in a comforting role, but I promise I have some very fucked-up stuff for him coming up where he's an absolute menace.

WC: 3309

Sounds of Hell threaded themselves into the night air. Howling, bleating, baying down the streets. Whispering thoughts of death into your ears. Thoughts that formed into icy talons that raked down your spine, that stirred goosebumps along the bare flesh of your arms. That froze you in place, your heart slamming against your ribs as they tethered you to the cold concrete like vines.

Frantic looks cast to your left, to your right, you turned, stumbling over your own feet as you whirled, the darkness of each alleyway sinking into your soul. Staring back at you as if to say, you cannot escape me.

I’m looking for a place to start. Everything feels so different now.

Which way was out? Which way was back there? Back to the dingy halls of Arkham, the acrid stench of spoiled cafeteria food, the howling of patients that still seemed to echo back to you from the alleys.

The maw of a great beast parted, razors of teeth glinting silver in the dark, stretching from one brick wall to another. Hurtling towards you, wisps of black smoke emerging from the darkness and curling round you like hissing tongues. The roar started as a peal of thunder, and ended as a shockwave, razor teeth shattering into glass as the beast collided against your skull. Dizzying waves sent the world spinning, brought you to your knees before the Devil himself.

She’s good as dead.

The beast’s maw burned hot as hellfire, breathing smoke into your aching lungs, ripples of molten lava racing beneath your skin. Teeth tore into your shoulder as your hand met the ground, shaking fingers settling into the grooves of the concrete like cold tiles. Death’s talons wrapped around your throat as a cry twisted from your larynx, pointed nails morphing to scalpels and tearing down your sternum, splitting open your ribs and baring your bleeding heart.

Crimson freckled the concrete, splatters of your blood landing hot and thick against the back of your hand as cold washed over each limb, the darkness creeping in from the corners of the alleys. You reached your free hand to your forehead, and nearly cried out again in pain, but you couldn’t speak; something sharp wedged itself between your fingers, something sticky attaching webs of hair against your clammy palm.

Your hand came away with a shard of glass protruding from the stretch of skin between your fingers, red dribbling down flesh too pale to be living.

Your stomach buckled, and you curled in on yourself, eyes rolling to the back of your throbbing skull and voices pouring in like a tide.

Get back here! She’s running. Running away. Where does she think she’s going? She’s not going anywhere. She can’t escape us. You can’t escape us.

Patients rattled the bars of their cages, threw themselves against their padded walls. Screeched warnings and mournful wails and haunted cries into the stale air of the hospital, into the icy chill of night.

Fingers seized into talons as they closed around your ears, attempting to block out the noise as it built into a terrifying crescendo, wails and whispers melding together as if the darkness were mocking you but the chill that swathed your impotent form reminded you of your isolation.

GET OUT! your lips parted to say but fell silent upon the words of the damned. Let me go. Let me go, let me go.

Warmth brushed your shoulder, and you blinked saline from your eyes, streaking salt down your lip, dampened hair falling over blurry vision as you looked up to the hand held to you in the darkness. The white cuff of a shirt disappearing beneath a black suit.

Just grab hold of my hand. I will lead you through this wonderland.

And his voice, soft and warm and human, cut through the noise. Hollowed a path through the tunnel of voices and breathed life into lungs that gasped for air. Sent a tremble of fear through death’s icy talons and made the demons crawl back into the earth.

I’m here, he said.

You couldn’t straighten your claw-like grip as it brushed the warmth of his hand, but his fingers entwined in yours and the glass split his palm and bled over your knuckles and he pulled, your shoulder screaming in pain and your legs wobbly beneath you, but you stood.

Your fingers balled into a fist, the touch of his hand dissolving like a pill in water, like sutures that held you to together for one moment only to leave you in pieces, scarred and bruised and broken. For a moment, you thought you’d fall again.

Faintly, a glow emerged from the blackness, silhouetting the lazy fall of a feather, so tranquil in contrast to the tendrils of ink black that writhed in your peripheral. You swiped a hand out to the feather, its softness akin to his hand, but the voices hissed at you to look up.

The jagged peaks of the skyscrapers groaned above, folding in across the dim sky and curling into black tides that came crashing around you as pressure mounted in your skull.

The darkness devoured you. 

Water up to my knees. But sharks are swimming in the sea.

The ocean came flooding in around you, dampness seeping into the cuffs of your trousers, rising as the blackness pressed in around you. Ahead, the light glinted yellow, casting a thin line of white against the waves. The feather bobbed along the surface, chased by current that now buffeted the backs of your knees.

One foot placed before the other, you waded through the water, each step weighing heavier than the last. Each time, the light ahead grew just a little brighter, though the sides of your vision darker.

Wretched creatures began to emerge from the darkness, hissing and snarling and reaching for you in tendrils of smoke and ink. Gravity began to pull you downward, the current guiding you forwards as the alleyway morphed into a tunnel, and the voices of the underworld rang louder in your skull as you descended into the bowels of the city.

She’s heading into the darkness. The rot.

A giggle, echoing against the walls of the chamber that reeked of all things barren and desolate. Her mind’s a disease.

The reach of death grew thick here, in twisted ropes and vines that swallowed the arched ceiling, that bore down on you like snakes and streaked through the sea like eels of tar, the water itself no longer seeming so heavy in comparison as they engulfed each limb. Tightening. Shuddering.

She can’t get very far. She’s killing herself.

She has to. She has to live.

The voices were starting to argue.

Some were even voices you knew; they came to you past the iron bars nestled into pockets of your memories, depressions in the walls – people you’d known in that awful place cried out to you, cursed you, their faces fuzzy but still recognisable even in the darkness. Fellow souls trapped in the place that knew not of the sun’s warmth against your skin or the whistle of freedom through the wind.

Look. Look, girl.

Your brow furrowed, and your eyes scanned the darkness. With each face they landed on, the symphony of wails seemed to spike in volume along to the frantic thud of your heart, the little weaving line of a monitor etching itself across your mind’s eye.

Not there. No, not there.

Can’t she feel it?

It’s too late. The rot has her.

Soon it will reach her soul.

Your heart came lurching to a burning throat as the waters stirred and a creature emerged from their murky depths, slivers of metal protruding from its back before it disappeared, for half a moment resembling the wicked tips of syringes that still pricked your swiftly numbing skin.

Tearing your hands from the water, you froze, paralysis seeping in to every pore.

Ink tendrils snaked across the pallor of your flesh. From your fingertips to your elbows, the rot had taken you. It tightened round your forearm, your fingers turning completely numb.

You screamed.

Shhhhh, he soothed. Just come to me, darling. I’ll make it all better.

“JONATHAN!” Your mangled cry turned into something intelligible, the name sweet like honey on your tongue despite the bitterness of bile at the back of your throat.

Just follow my yellow light. And ignore all those big warning signs.

You began to slosh through the water, seeking him out in a frenzy, your teeth gritting as the walls of your skull began to cave in, as the rot spread to your shoulders and turned the water to pitch.

And at last, you saw him. Like the feather, silhouetted by the light, but unmistakably him. He paused, looking over his shoulder, strands of his black hair wisping this way and that. His face was shadowed, the sockets of his eyes black. The frames of his glasses glinted silver in the dark, like the teeth, the scalpels.

And he disappeared round the corner that twisted, walls shifting and shuddering as if forming a maze for a path.

Death’s icy fingers pried their way beneath your skin as the cold seeped past your blood and bones and settled somewhere deep inside the dwindling warmth of your soul. Freed from the water at last, you turned the corner and raised a rot-wreathed hand to the light fractured by a criss-cross pattern that reminded you of the bars of the asylum’s gate.

And the damp air became dry and musty, and the sewers morphed into dingy halls, alabaster wallpaper peeling back to reveal the black rot. Your pace quickened as these walls closed in, groaning with curses of the damned.

Just a little farther, the soothing, slightly-lilted baritones of his voice encouraged you on, but every turn you made down the narrowing halls, he managed to evade you, disappearing just out of reach. At the end of each hallway, what must’ve been a sewer drain and not a gate yawned from the blackness, little pockets of light stretching wider with each turn.

The feather crunched beneath your toes.

Fingers wrapped around the bars of the gate, and the hinges squealed as it swung open, your feet slotting into indentations along the walls as you desperately attempted to pull yourself up.

Warmth made you shiver in your cold sweat, and whispers funnelled into thin threads and lay buried beneath the ground as his hand met yours. In the faint glimmer of the light, you witnessed the rot dissipate, chased away by his touch. Purified.

“Jonathan,” you breathed, pulled flush to his chest, the mint of his breath raking across your lashes and the familiarity of his musk inhaled deeply through flared nostrils. You buried your face in his wrinkled tie and dress shirt and sobbed, your tears still tasting like saline. You savoured this moment, trembling beneath his touch, his hand petting the back of your dampened hair. You pulled away only as he hissed in pain.

“Jonathan, I’m scared,” you whimpered, guilty that you had seemed to wound him but caring only for sanctuary in this moment in which you knew nothing but fear. “Please don’t leave me. I’m so, so scared.”

“I know you are,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “But you have to keep going.”

“Where? Where are you taking me?” You stared into the hollows of his eyes, still pitch black past the glint of those silver frames. Why couldn’t you properly see him? Could he see you? Was he just another shadow, a trick of light on the wall?   

Somewhere deep in the dark, a howling beast hears us talk.

Sirens wailed from the alley behind, and your blood ran cold. Jonathan stepped away, his touch tearing from yours almost painfully. Like he’d left the shards of glass in your palms.

“Don’t let them take me!” You pleaded, stumbling forward through the darkness. “I can’t go back! I can’t! COME BACK!”

She’s so afraid. So pathetic. She can’t do this without him.

The light grew in intensity, tinted more gold now than yellow, bathing the walls in a soft glow as they drew impossibly close, tapering the air in your lungs, building the pressure against your temples until your shoulders sagged under the weight of fatigue and white-hot fire cleaved your skull in two.

Jonathan paused, and turned. “Close your eyes,” he told you. “It’s not so dark here when you embrace it.”

I dare you to close your eyes. And see all the colours in disguise.

“NO!” You screeched, afraid that if you so much as blinked, he’d disappear, and you’d be lost to the darkness forever. You lurched forward on your heel, wedging yourself between the shuddering walls that closed in around you, following the same – and only path – he had taken. Turning sideways, you gulped in a breath of air, fingers scraping madly against the brick walls as the tide beginning to pool again round your ankles. The sky collapsed, pinning you, forcing your only breath from your lungs and snapping your ribs around your stuttering heart.

She’s gone. She won’t make it. She can’t reach him.

The air grew stuffy, stale. Your own breath bounced off the walls and flushed your cold, tear-streaked cheeks.

“Just trust me,” Jonathan said. “Just let go.”

Running into the night. The earth is shaking and I see a light.

With the darkness claiming you and the ground beneath you quaking with wrath, the howls of the damned echoing through a familiar hall, the world swaying on its axis, you had no choice but to suffocate your fear, to shutter your eyes closed on the light that seeped through the crack in the walls, warm against your skin in the cold dread of night.

She’s giving up.

She’s fighting.

She wants to die.

She wants to live.

The yellow-gold exploded across the backs of your eyelids, streaking like fireworks along the pitch black. Your skull still throbbed in pain, and your lips parted, the sound of a window banging against old hinges as death whispered to you through the alleys, the sewers, the hallways.

Next time.

Jonathan’s touch met your clammy palm, and the world fell silent, the walls disappearing around you and the emptiness of air spilling around your limbs.

I’m here, he reminded you.

The light is blinding my eyes, as the soft walls eat us alive.

Your eyelids peeled back to reveal the checkered, rose pattern of your wallpaper, the bright fluorescents of the bathroom, the blue eyes that bore into your own past silver frames. Slivers of ice encroaching on ink black pupils, cold and calculating yet echoing a familiar warmth.

He loosened the makeshift tourniquet from your arm, pins and needles racing from your fingertips to your elbow. A syringe of your favourite poison lay on the bathroom tile, beige powder swirling in a sea of saline.

“Come back to me. Come back to me, please,” he begged, as if for this moment alone, he allowed himself to believe in the higher power you knew he cursed.

Water seeped into your clothing like the sea of pitch, spilling from the bathtub that you had left on. It carried little rivulets of crimson around a minefield of glass. He didn’t seem very concerned with turning it off right now, despite always bitching at you about saving electricity or water. His eyes were on you, and only you.

“Jonathan,” you mumbled weakly, though you thought you screamed; your eyelids fluttered and your heart pounded faster in your chest as the darkness threatened to spill across your vision again. Your nails dug past the fabric of his suit, gripping his arm tight so that he could never let you go.

“I’m here,” he breathed, and reached his other hand around your neck to cup your head, to bring you forward. You glimpsed the white ceramic of the bathroom sink, bloodied where you’d tried to steady yourself with your hand after you’d bashed your skull against the mirror – your ineffectual attempt to cast the demons out. Glass shards lay scattered against the tile. Fragments of your broken reflection.

You still remembered the haunted look you’d hoped to banish from your eyes.

“You have to get your head out of that place,” he murmured against your scalp, his fingers bloody and sticky as he brushed shards of glass from your hair, seemingly immune to the pain. “You’re not in hospital anymore. You’re here. With me. You have to come back to me.”

Your lower lip trembled. “I can’t escape them,” you admitted, voice a mere whimper. “I can’t escape it. You’re here to take me back, aren’t you? You’re gonna lock me up.”

For a moment, you really thought that he might; his palm still rested, warm and bleeding, against your cheek, but his cold blue eyes studied you not as his lover but as his patient, assessing your condition. He sighed, as if disappointed. Shame crawled its way beneath your skin like the cockroaches that had infested the asylum’s lower wards. You had always been so desperate for his approval, he rarely saw this side of you since your rehabilitation. It wasn’t until slivers of ice shattered into twin pools of blue fire that relief began to seep into you, slow and warm but whelming.

“No. No, I’m not,” he said, voice gentle, soothing. Blue eyes glanced to your head again. “Though, you are showing symptoms of a concussion…”

Your heart sped in your chest, and the icy talons of death speared your soul, the darkness hedging the borders of your vision. Innerved by your fear, you reached for the bottle of tiny white pills that lay open, haphazard next to you. But the warmth of his hand left your face, and your fingers clenched around nothing. In a blur of movement, Jonathan threw the bottle at the toilet and it clattered against the back of the seat. You jolted, gasping, wincing as the jagged teeth of the beast sliced through your clothing.

“You prescribed me those,” you told him. “They’re supposed to make me better. You said so yourself.”

“I’ll fill you a new prescription tomorrow. Taper you off. They were no good for you,” he said, and laced his fingers through the bloodied locks of your hair. Pulled your forehead to his so that your breaths became one, and the demons in your skull grew muffled, and his warmth chased away the icy touch of death.

“What am I gonna do?” you whimpered, sobbing, hands grasping feebly at whatever you could grab hold of – his sleeve, his tie, his collar. You felt as if your soul, your mind, were laying in fragments around you like the glass, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t piece them back together. “I just want to be free. I just want to be okay.”

“I know.” He inhaled, closing his eyes, and his grip tightened on your hair, scalp stinging slightly at the almost needy action. Like in this moment he was more afraid of losing you than you were him.

Even he thinks she’s a lost cause.

And Jonathan was never one to utter false truths; because you knew this about him, his silence unnerved you. But finally, after what could’ve been hours or minutes of your pitiful sobbing and the endless drone of the tub, the trickling of water against the tile, he said,

“I’ll be right here, darling. All you need to do is take my hand.” The warmth of his palm slotted into your own, and you wove your fingers so tight that your knuckles turned white around the blood that trickled down both your wrists from the jagged glass that barbed your flesh. A seal. A pact.

“I will see you through this,” he said. “All of it. I promise.”

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[americasass81]

Beneath The Moonlight

Warnings 18+ for the following:- Non-Consensual Sex, Dubious Consensual Sex, Kidnapping, Language, Violence, M & F Penetrative Sex, F/F Penetrative Sex, Group Sex, Oral (Both M & F receiving), Betrayal, Fingering, Mention of Anal, Mild Spanking, Mild Choking, Mention of Degradation, Use of Pet Names, Mention of Edging, Branding, Implied Mind Manipulation. Seriously do not read if any of this upsets you, the warnings are there for a reason. Feedback is welcomed and any mistakes are my own.

By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut.

Pairings:- dark!Tony Stark x Reader; dark!Steve Rogers x Reader; dark!Natasha Romanoff x Reader; Tony Stark x Steve Rogers (implied established relationship); Implied other dark!Avengers x other kidnapped victims.

Author’s Note 1:- Got the idea for this from the new image of Doctor Strange in the trailer for Spider-Man: No Way Home.

Author’s Note 2:- Huge thanks goes to @nsfwsebbie for the amazing moodboard that accompanies this fic. Please go check out Sab’s work and pass on some love.

Synopsis:- Leaving your comfort zone and joining your best friend at her boss’ party, you never thought the shattering of the multiverse would ever affect you in such an irreversible way.

Total Word Count:- 6,171

The party was in full swing as you sat in a quiet corner and drank away your anger. Having been convinced that this party would be one hell of a shindig, you had yet to see any evidence of that and even less of Isabelle since she had dragged you to the Avengers compound with the promise of a night you would never forget. Convincing you that the parties hosted by her boss attracted all kinds of eligible young men and women as well as hosting numerous Avengers, you finally gave in and thought one night out wouldn’t kill you. Now however as you downed the rest of your drink, all you longed for was an early night in your own cozy bed. Deciding to have one more drink before calling it a night, with or without your best friend, your body told you a trip to the ladies was in order before you drowned the rest of your sorrows.

Leaving the party and making your way to the toilets, you did what you needed to do, washed off your face and gave yourself a much needed talking to before heading for the door. Stepping out into the hall however, you wondered if that last drink had been one too many when an eerie feeling enveloped you in a corridor that now seemed dimmer than when you were last here. Walking in the direction you were sure you had come, your inner voice soon told you something was wrong however when instead of finding a room full of revelers, you came face to face with a dead end and a flight of stairs that pointed upwards.

Having nowhere else to go but up, you ignored the voice screaming at you to turn back in the hopes that what lay ahead was the way out of this disaster of an evening. Placing one foot in front of the other however as you walked towards the first door you came across, you began to suspect something sinister was afoot upon turning the handle, entering the office and picking up the phone. Finding the line completely dead, you wished you could find your way back to the party where you knew your phone was tucked safely in the pocket of your discarded jacket. Instead, exiting the room and continuing along the corridor, your footsteps stopped abruptly when you thought you heard someone call your name. Listening closer now for anything out of the ordinary, your feet began following the sound when you were certain your ears had picked up your best friend calling out to you. Moving up another flight of stairs, you opened the first door to be greeted by nothing but an empty bedroom. Moving to the next room to find the same picture you expected to find the now similar scene replayed behind door number three but what you saw instead as you stepped inside however stopped you dead.

Perched naked at the foot of the bed with Steve Rogers pounding into her was your best friend Isabelle while Tony Stark stuffed himself down her throat. Finding your voice and drawing the attention of everyone in the room, your presence still didn't stop the depraved sex act taking place as you asked what the fuck was going on. Moaning around the cock in her mouth however, Isabelle's voice soon joined yours when Tony pulled out and allowed her to speak. "QUICK RUN! Doctor Strange has done some- ," but you didn't wait to hear what the Master of The Mystic Arts was up to as you took her advice, turned tail and ran back along the corridor.

Quickly closing in on the stairs that would hopefully lead you back to the safety of the party, your world completely changed however when a glowing portal swallowed you whole and spit you back out in the room you had just left. Hearing the door close behind you this time however alerted you to the presence of the Black Widow and you now wondered how you were ever supposed to escape this place. Looking between the master spy and your friend who was once again being firmly spit-roasted by her boss and the former Captain America, you quickly removed your shoes as you foolishly prepared to fight.

Smirking at you as she moved closer, a stupid person might have wondered why the guys remained fucking your friend, but you were not dumb enough to underestimate the Black Widow. Knowing you didn't really stand a chance but refusing to let them take you all the same, you kicked out as she drew closer and was a bit proud of yourself when two attempts later, your foot caught her square in the chest. Though not nearly powerful enough to cause any permanent damage, it did give you the opportunity to make it to the door only to lose your concentration when the super soldier's words reached your ears.

"Oh come on now Nat, you can do better than that." he taunted and as you foolishly looked behind you, it created enough of a distraction for her to launch herself across the room.

"That's more like it Romanoff. Show her what you've got." Tony called out as he glanced over his shoulder at the fight taking place behind him while still successfully thrusting his shaft down Isabelle's throat.

Now finding yourself increasingly outmatched and out of breath, Steve caught your gaze and winked over at you before leaning forward to whisper in your friend's ear. "Don't worry sweet Izzy, like you she'll be ours soon enough," and seeing the wide-eyed fear blossom on her features was all the opening Natasha needed. Coming up behind you and locking your arms by your side, the warning she gave was enough to stop your protests.

"Give in and she lives. Continue down this path and you will witness first hand what a corrupt Sorcerer Supreme is truly capable of," and as your eyes fell on your friend, the Widow cooed with satisfaction as she felt your body relax in her arms. “See boys, I told you my girl was smart,” she declared proudly and it took every fiber of your being not to smash your head backwards into hers. Ignoring the opportunity though in favor of the illusion of compliance, Natasha moved both of you closer towards the bed and sitting down close to Isabelle's head, pulled you down to sit in her lap. Stroking her hands along your thighs and up your abdomen, her lips began roaming along your neck as she successfully coaxed all manner of profanity past your lips.

"Oh moonbeam, shhh. I promise we'll take good care of you." she said as her hands finally reached up to slip your dress off your shoulders and expose your bra-covered tits. Watching as the guys continued to use your friend, your brain tried to figure out if you could still get out of this before you too experienced Isabelle's fate. That however was not to be, when deciding she had played with you long enough, Natasha got up, tossed you on the bed with your feet dangling off the side and laid her naked body over yours. Kissing, licking and kneading what little bit of flesh she had so far exposed as she moved up your trembling frame, Steve let out a laugh and Tony reached out to slap your thigh as Natasha held your head and placed her pussy over your warm mouth.

Shocked now by what you knew was expected of you, Steve's words brought heat to your cheeks as he looked at you and addressed his friend. "Go easy on her Nat, I think you might be her first."

"What, Steve, you think moonbeam's a virgin?" she asked and you swore you would die happy if you got out of here and never again saw the moon in a clear night sky as long as you lived. As it was, you were currently stuck here having to listen to three naked Avengers have a conversation about your sexual experience as if you weren't right there in the room with them.

"WOMAN, Romanoff. Steven thinks you may be her first woman." Tony clarified and as she moved back slightly to gaze down on you, something in your features told her they were right. Leaning down to kiss you tenderly in a way you suspected only a woman could, you found your traitorous body relaxing somewhat as she spoke softly to you.

"It's okay my precious moonbeam, I'll tell you exactly what to do," and with that she bent towards your ear and whispering like a lover on the evening breeze, talked you through what was about to happen. Then moving her cunt back over your face, she lowered herself to your lips and let out a satisfied moan as your tongue snaked out and tentatively began to explore her folds while your lips latched on to her intimate flesh. Sucking, nibbling, flicking and licking as if on autopilot, your aroused body soon acknowledged the feelings waking up inside you and when your tongue finally breached her sex, the moans both of you released were met with laughter and catcalls from the two guys present.

Now adding to the growing sounds of sex permeating the room as your body took you in a direction your mind was nowhere near ready to venture, your hips began to move as if trying to find relief for the ache growing between your thighs. Listening to the moans emanating from the so-called heroine above you as Steve’s hips slapped loudly against Isabelle and Tony seemed happy to comment on your new found skills, the ache in your neglected pussy was now nothing compared to the ache in your head as the Widow held you tighter and screamed out loud when her body shook and her arousal gushed out all over your face. Swallowing what you could so as not to choke as she continued to fuck herself through her orgasm, you were thankful for the air that assaulted your lungs when she finally released you, collapsed beside you and ran her fingers through her folds.

Ignoring her as best you could while wiping your hand over your face, your attention was drawn away from the woman you had just fucked to the three people currently still going at it an arm’s length away from you. Never viewing yourself as someone particularly interested in watching the mating habits of the human race, the scene taking place before you somehow grabbed your attention and refused to let you go. Listening to your friend gag on Tony’s cock as America’s golden boy uttered the most filthy and degrading things while sending himself and Isabelle towards their climax, you were suddenly grateful when Natasha drew your attention back to her.

"Oh now that was amazing, moonbeam. Maybe you've never been with a woman, but that tongue of yours definitely knows what it's doing." she said as she leaned forward and nibbled on your lower lip before placing her moist fingers against your tongue. Then looking down at your heavily breathing form as her other hand removed your bra, she couldn't deny how beautiful you were or how much she looked forward to watching you come undone on her strap and tongue. Moving that same hand down your body as you continued to clean the arousal off her digits, she smiled triumphantly at the wetness leaking from you and kissing you slow and tender once she removed her fingers, your breathing returned to normal leaving her so enraptured by you that it took her a few seconds to realize Tony was actually speaking to her. "Sorry Tony, what were you saying?"

"I was saying . . .,” he panted as his thrusts became erratic and his arms holding Isabelle’s head began to shake, “that maybe we should use this one here . . .,” he continued with a powerful jerk of his hips that had your friend all but choking, “to make your girl come. You know, really make this an intimate affair." he smirked as he finally emptied his load down her aching throat and saw the look of disgust settle on your features. "What do you say, Romanoff? You willing to share your prize for a bit?" he continued somewhat breathlessly as he eased slightly out of Isabelle's throat while raising an eyebrow at his female teammate.

Staring as Steve continued to chase his own climax while Tony ran his hand along Isabelle’s cheek in a gesture that could be mistaken for a lover’s caress, you hoped beyond hope that she would say no. Watching however as Steve locked your friend’s ass securely against his hips while both of them came before collapsing beside you, a devilish gleam in Tony’s eyes told you that your hopes were about to be shattered. Gazing into your frightened eyes as her hands continued to pinch and knead your exposed tits, she kissed you once again before facing the group at the other end of the bed. "You know what Tony, yeah that is something I'd like to see. Besides, it will give you two a chance to catch your breath and I can make sure Sam and Bucky locked the place down after getting rid of all the rejects." she agreed as Isabelle giggled beside you and your spirits sank deeper than you ever thought possible. Then slapping each breast once, she rose from the bed and your blood ran cold as the horror of what happened and what lay ahead slowly started to sink in.

While Tony removed himself from the bed also and headed to the cabinet to prepare some drinks, Steve eased himself out of Isabelle's sopping cunt and dropping her back on the bed, proceeded to produce some silk ties before stalking towards you. Watching it all through hooded eyes as you screamed at her to help you, Isabelle proved fairly useless as she instead ran her fingers through her folds before bringing them to her mouth and sucking hungrily.

Realizing now you were completely on your own, fighting off the super soldier as best you could proved just as useless as fighting Natasha however when he moved you to the center of the bed, placed his considerable weight upon you and began tying each hand to the frame. Then kissing and biting along your neck and shoulders as his hips flexed against your clothed lower half, you felt like getting sick when his honey dripping voice reached your ears. "Oh don't worry sweetheart, soon you'll feel so good you'll never want to leave," and with that he settled himself once more at the foot of the bed and taking the drink offered by Tony, pulled your friend back towards him while your attention was now squarely on the images flashing before your eyes.

Having pulled up surveillance on the compound as Tony settled in beside you, Natasha's search showed that not only had the place been locked down, but the majority of the party guests had indeed been evicted from the building. Now as the various screens she scrolled through confirmed, all that remained were those poor unfortunate souls who had been chosen by Earth's Mightiest Heroes to satisfy their sexual needs. Shutting off the live feed of various Avengers in all manner of undress and sexual activity, Natasha picked up her drink from the cabinet and joining her colleagues on the bed, finished removing your dress before easily coaxing Isabelle between your legs.

Fearful now of what they had planned for you having seen one guest held aloft by a floating cloak as Doctor Strange buried his head between her thighs, any protests you wanted to make were easily stifled as Tony Stark bent forwards to capture your lips and explore your mouth while Isabelle began to run her fingers along your clothed mound while her lips kissed along your thighs. Taking your friend's place between the super soldier's legs, all three heroes then watched in awe as Isabelle let go of the final thread of decency that signified your friendship and locked her gaze with yours before speaking.

“What’s the matter, starlight, don’t you fancy me? Do you have any idea how many nights I dreamed of having you in this position? Not to worry,” she continued as she moved herself up your body and placed her mouth over your breast. Suckling on it before nipping and pulling at your nipple, you slowly began to give yourself over to the feelings working their way through your body as she released it with a pop and then moved over to lavish the same attention on your other breast. Adjusting your body on the bed, you couldn't quite figure out if you were trying to escape her and Tony’s ministrations or push yourself further into them and these warring questions threw you for a loop. Finally resting her head between your heaving mounds however as Tony continued to assault your mouth, you knew your friend was no more with the next words she chillingly uttered. “Soon you’ll scream my name like I’ve always wanted, starlight,” and as her hand returned to your dripping honeypot, you wished you had been more assertive when you told her you didn't want to come here tonight.

Watching the whole exchange from her spot in Steve’s lap and deciding that a bit more participation was sorely needed however, Natasha took a sip of her drink before speaking. "Alright now Tony, that’s enough. Let my moonbeam up for air. I want to hear how she sounds," and as your mouth was finally released, you were at least grateful for this small mercy. But mercy doesn't last long in situations like this and though you were at last able to breathe when Tony grudgingly removed his tongue, you traitorous body finally gave voice to the passion bubbling within you as Isabelle shoved aside your panties and placed her warm mouth over your throbbing mound. Flicking her tongue out to meet your clit, Steve's laughter reached your ears as your words took flight and joined with his. "Oh my god Izzy, yes. Suck harder please. Make me feel good." you cried out before becoming a babbling mess as your friend bit down while simultaneously plunging two fingers into your waiting heat.

Begging, crying and chanting her name like a prayer as her tongue moved up and down your slit, you then reached out suddenly and squeezed Tony's arm as Isabelle added a third finger and pushed against that hidden spot that made you see stars. Scared now of the feelings this night was stirring within you and more so of the ones your best friend was pulling from you, you suddenly screamed to the heavens above having received a particularly sharp bite to your clit while you looked at Tony and pleaded with him to make Isabelle stop. Lapping gently then on your bundle of nerves to soothe the sting as the iron avenger ignored your pleas, you now began to move your hips against her as one hand reached down and held her head firmly against your cunt while the hand holding Tony's arm was placed firmly on his throbbing phallus.

"Ha, would you look at that." Tony grinned as Steve slipped his hand between Natasha's legs and buried his fingers into her dripping pussy. "Looks like your girl's an adventurer after all," but she was too busy eye-fucking you as Isabelle and Steve worked both of you closer and closer to release. Finally edging both of you to the point of tears, the soldier and your friend finally gave in to the begging and flicking your clits harshly one last time with tongue and thumb, watched in awe as both you and Natasha cried out and arched your backs in unison when your orgasms flowed through both of you like a force of nature.

Continuing to assault your now sensitive pussy, Tony continued to work your hand along his cock before turning to face his teammates who were currently locked in a tongue war. Slapping Isabelle's ass to the point where she cried out into your flower, Tony then took his opportunity when Steve and Natasha broke apart to see what was going on to address the spy. "Romanoff, you mind if I try her mouth. You looked like you were having fun with it."

Looking back and forth between someone she knew she never wanted to let go of and the iron avenger, Natasha eased herself off the bed and pulling her teammate with her, walked over to open a recessed drawer and took out a few things before handing them to Steve and finally speaking. "Do what you want with her Stark," she huffed out as Steve grabbed hold of her hips, plied her ass with a generous amount of lube and eased his considerable length past her tight ring. Holding himself still as Natasha adjusted to the feeling of the super soldier filling her ass, she soon found her voice again as your eyes rested on the harness that Steve now handed her, "but remember her pussy is mine," and then you watched as she ran one end of the double-sided dildo through the wetness your tongue had helped create before Steve leaned back slightly and lifted her feet off the ground in order for her to place her legs through the straps.

Getting a clear view now of the super soldier's shaft buried balls deep in the redhead's ass as your friend's mouth continued to suck and bite your sensitive clit, you couldn't help the moan that escaped your throat and enveloped Tony's erection at the scene playing out before you. Easing his shaft in and out of your mouth while your tongue circled his weeping tip, it was now his turn to groan above you as the warmth of your mouth and the vibrations you created shoved him closer to his release. Catching your gaze lingering on Steve as he whispered something to Natasha, your attention was brought back to those currently fucking you when Tony shoved his cock that final inch down your throat and then used his hand to squeeze it gently. Breathing through your nose as Isabelle’s fingers assaulted your clit and g-spot while Tony praised you for being such a good girl, you didn't think things could get any more debauched until the Black Widow plunged half the dildo into her pussy, secured the harness and nodded a silent confirmation to the man she had fought alongside for so long. Holding her now by her legs and walking her towards the bed, Steve expertly maneuvered both of them onto the bed before addressing his friend. "So Tony, are you ready for tonight's finale?" and the use of the word tonight shocked you out of your current situation and made you wonder how long they planned on holding all of you hostage. As it was, the iron avenger halted his movements long enough to answer.

"Absolutely. Let's get started." he replied and removing himself completely from you, he kneeled by your side before reaching down to pull Isabelle from your soaked pussy. "Come now Izzy, time for all of us to have some fun together," and though both of you finally had a chance to breathe, the implications of what they had planned left you completely speechless. Trying once more to free yourself from the ties that still held fast, Natasha reached forwards to grab your legs as your eyes focused on Steve's large hands playing with her nipples. Running her hands along your calves as Steve's cock gently worked open her ass, your mind suddenly went blank as Tony finally explained the plan. "Okay darling, time for you to show Izzy here how good that mouth of yours is while we have some fun," and as he ushered her towards your horrified face, you once again found your voice.

"No freaking way. ENOUGH!" you yelled as your arms once more pulled at the restraints while your legs thrashed harder until they were finally free of the Widow's grasp. Pulling yourself towards the head of the bed as best you could with your hands still bound, you thought you had finally gotten them to see sense when Natasha simply nodded her head and Tony handed Isabelle over to his teammates before leaving the room.

Wondering now what was about to befall you as the Widow began to explore your friend's body, your mind reached a new level of panic when the door opened and a naked Hawkeye appeared before you. "Well, well, well, looks like someone's having a party." Clint smirked as he slapped Steve's ass and kissed Natasha quickly before taking in the scene before him. "So, why am I here? His lordship just hollered and as you know I've got a warm and rather willing body waiting for me back in my room." he quipped as his eyes finally found your defiant face.

"Well Legolas as I'm sure you can assess, Nat's little prize is a bit of a handful," Tony said as he re-entered the room carrying to your horror what appeared to be a leg spreading bar, "and since my Capsicle is otherwise busy," he added before grabbing Steve's hair and kissing him fiercely while the super soldier still ravished as much of Natasha’s body as he could, "we could use an extra pair of hands for a quick minute."

Looking now at the two party guests, one fairly pliant with a shield and arc reactor brand above her heart that you had only now just noticed and you, an unclaimed body of pent up rage and aggression just waiting to bubble over, he let out a laugh before speaking. "Okay Stark, what do you need exactly?" he asked while you watched Tony grab a hold of Isabelle's legs and secure them in place as Natasha held her firmly in her grasp. Waiting patiently now to see what happened next while still discreetly trying to free yourself, all thought left you as five sets of eyes, one curious and four lust-fueled, landed on you before Tony broke the silence once again.

"Well Clint, if you would be so kind as to release and hold onto Nat's little treasure while we get set up here," and as Tony winked at you, Clint moved forwards swiftly and untied your wrists from the bed before dragging you against his chiseled, sweat-slicked body. Thrashing and fighting him every step of the way, some torn panties and a hard slap to your pussy had you nearly bent over as the fight left you and your now tear-filled, frightened eyes watched Tony situate himself exactly where you had just vacated.

"Alright Romanoff, hand over the little thing." Tony then instructed and you watched transfixed as Natasha moved your friend close enough that Tony could reach out and grab hold of her easily. Then turning her to face his teammates at the foot of the bed, he situated her over his impressive length and blowing a kiss at Steve, both let out a sinful moan as he sheathed himself fully within her ass. Turning now to face the archer, you knew it was your turn to discover the horror they had in store for you and it reignited the fire within you. Throwing back your head, which Clint proved an expert at avoiding, a threat from Natasha to tie you up in the common room and allow every Avenger use you proved enough of a deterrent to ensure your compliance.

Satisfied now with your somewhat mellow attitude and pointing between Tony and Isabelle's spread legs, Clint picked you up and dumped you on your hands and knees as Natasha leaned forward, spread your cheeks and began to run her tongue around your asshole. Releasing a hand to reach back and try to slap her away, this proved futile and resulted in Clint laughing at your efforts when he grabbed the same hand and tied it securely to the vacant cuff by Isabelle’s ankle. Doing the same thing with your other hand, you now found yourself in an uncomfortable position and you dreaded to think where this night would end when the archer spoke again. "Okay kids I've done my part, now do not call me again unless this one breaks loose and kills one of you," he said and slapped your ass before walking towards the door. Opening it quietly and turning around to survey the scene before him, he chuckled darkly before continuing, "I've got a gal back in my bed begging me to slam my rod in her ass until one of us passes out and I'd prefer not to be disturbed," and with that he walked away and closing the door, left you to your fate.

"Alright Izzy, grab hold of her head and move it closer. She's about to make us feel real good." Tony instructed as Isabelle reached for your head and coaxed your body forward until your mouth came in contact with Tony's balls. Ordering you to use your mouth as your friend and the restraints held you in place, you tried to move back until pressure against your pussy reminded you of those present behind you.

Grabbing hold of your hips to steady you, a female voice in your ear told you that Natasha and Steve had finally joined in your total humiliation. Feeling what you suspected to be the other end of the dildo rubbing along your glistening folds, Natasha told you not to tense up as she lined herself up with your entrance, kissed your shoulder and spoke to the soldier buried in her ass. "All ready here Stevie. Ram it home baby," and with no further warning, 220lbs of prime Grade-A American muscle slammed the Russian spy into your pussy.

Whimpering around Tony’s nutsack in your mouth and trying not to bite down at the sudden intrusion, as Natasha released a string of profanities behind you, you didn't get long to adjust before the Russian moved her hands to your breasts and the hands now holding your hips told you Steve had taken over control. Pulling your hips towards him and Natasha as Izzy willingly used your mouth to continue massaging Tony's balls before moving it up to her glistening flower, you had never felt more like an object and it made you sick. Trying as best you could not to participate proved useless however as Natasha turned out to be an expert at pleasing a woman and whispering words of encouragement while tenderly nipping and kissing your heated skin as Steve continued to pound her into your throbbing sex helped drive you closer to only your second orgasm of the night.

Closing your eyes and praying not to come as Izzy worked your tongue back over Tony’s balls while his shaft lazily thrust into her ass, all rational thought left you as Tony's words reached your ears. "Izzy darling, would you like to see what Nat's toy can do?" and though trying to raise your head proved futile, the buzzing that filled the room along with the tingling in your pussy told you more than you ever needed to know.

Realizing now that the dildo connecting you and the spy actually vibrated, your struggles began again in earnest when Isabelle forcefully shoved your face against her pussy and the super soldier squeezed hard enough to probably leave bruises before speaking. "Nat, control your plaything or I'll call someone in here to tie her legs around your waist while ripping open that nice ass."

Wrapping an arm gently around you now while moving one hand down to play with your clit, she peppered your face and neck with kisses before releasing your head and resting her lips beside your ear. "Moonbeam, love, if you behave I'll make you feel so good and after tonight Steve and Tony will be Isabelle's problem." she cooed as her nimble fingers continued to circle your bundle of nerves. Gasping in lungfuls of welcome air while feeling yourself getting lost in the pleasure coursing throughout your body, Steve’s very real threat still ringing in your ears and the fluttering rising when the vibrations assaulting your walls increased again, this time your mouth clamped down hard on Tony's thigh as it all became too much.

"Ow fuck," Tony cried out, jerking his hips into Isabelle while Nat continued to coax out all your hidden desires. "The little minx drew blood," Tony smirked before continuing as if slightly impressed by your strength, "I'd definitely say she's a keeper, Romanoff. Though how you plan to tame her is anyone's guess." he commented as Isabelle grabbed your head once more and brought it back to her neglected cunt.

"I've got my ways." Natasha confessed as you now cried and moaned beneath her when the vibrations increased yet again and Nat and Steve's ministrations pushed you closer and closer to the most powerful orgasm you could ever remember having. Laughing now as he told everyone to shut up and just enjoy the moment, the room was soon filled with nothing but the sounds of five people giving in to the basic desires that drive all humans and as the tension building within you finally snapped, your juices gushed out all over your thighs and the bedding as the sweet darkness finally claimed you.

Opening your eyes some time later, it took your senses a while to figure out exactly what was going on. Looking around you and taking in the warm water you were sitting in, the feminine body at your back told you the Black Widow had moved you to a bath. Feeling your body begin to tense and the fear rise within you as your eyes fell on the Widow's brand over your heart, Natasha wrapped her arms gently around you while running her lips along your shoulder. "Shhh breathe moonbeam, you're safe. I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you."

Finally calming down enough for the arms around you to ease slightly, you found your inner brat and let loose all the anger you had been holding onto. "Safe? Let nothing bad happen? You're fucking insane." you spat as you tried to move away from your captor. "I've been neither of them since I arrived here and it's all your fault. You and your unhinged teammates. And what's this monstrosity?" you asked, drawing her attention to her mark as you bit your lip to hold back the tears.

Hoping that you had now gotten all the tantrum out of your system, Natasha rested her chin on your shoulder as one hand moved to your stomach while the other traced the mark that frightened you more than anything else that you'd gone through that night. Sighing deeply at your slightly trembling form, she thought about lying to you, but figured things might be better going forward if she started with the truth. "It's my brand moonbeam. A gift from Doctor Strange." she said as her fingers stopped moving and settled over it. "It marks you as mine and connects us body and soul." she explained as the hand on your stomach wormed its way between your thighs.

Grabbing that hand and whimpering at the feeling of her fingers on your still sensitive intimate area, she murmured words of love and comfort over and over again until your hand slipped from her wrist and your body relaxed against hers. "There you go moonbeam, doesn't it feel so much better when you just give in and let me take care of you?" she asked as her left hand came up to turn your head so her lips could latch on to yours. Moaning into the kiss in time with the thrumming radiating outwards from your core, you lost all sense of yourself and reality as the redhead pulled away and spoke once more. "Maybe tomorrow, if the guys agree, we could drop by and you can visit with Izzy. She's fitting in rather well from everything I've heard."

Remembering now how easily she had succumbed to the super soldier and the iron avenger, though still not blaming her entirely, your brain told you that she could no longer be trusted and finally giving in to all that happened, you turned slightly and huddled deeper into the redhead's chest. "No, I don't want to see her. Please don't make me." you begged and she couldn't hide the smile that graced her features as she held you close and soothed you while you visibly relaxed a bit more. Knowing now that she finally had you where she wanted you, Natasha tenderly washed both of you and then drying you off, lay you gently in her bed and kissed every inch of your body while telling you of the future you would share together, until you fell apart once more and drifted off to sleep in her strong and loving arms.

No pressure tagging of interested parties:- @hoseokchild @nsfwsebbie @gotnofucks @ironlady1993 @saiyanprincessswanie @sapphirescrolls

[foundtherightwords]

The Hollow Heart - Masterlist

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother’s control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband’s sinister secret before it’s too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband’s enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas’s loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

A/N: This was inspired by the moodboard for “Vecna’s Bride” by @a-strange-inkling. I saw the title and the Gothic imagery and my imagination just ran wild.

I changed the names to differentiate them from my Regency AU and better fit the Gothic vibe, so Chrissy is now Christabel (after the poem by Coleridge; the fic title and chapter titles are also quotes from the poem) and Eddie is Kas, because I took some inspiration from the D&D lore of Vecna and Kas (big thanks to @waterfallsilverberrywrites for helping me with that!) When I did a poll, the consensus was that Eddie’s Gothic name should be Edmund, but… I prefer Kas :P (I already have plans to use Edmund for another AU.)

Warnings: violence, gore, domestic abuse, non-explicit smut

Word count: 79.8k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18

[dizzydancingdreamer]

The Runaway Princess | One

Okay, okay, okay so I'm dropping this preview here because I have yet to decide if this is going to be a long fic or a chaptered fic but I have the first part down and I wanted to share it. It's a young Zemo x OC fic (lightly OC? His wife in the comics is named Heike and I took that name and ran with it so she's my own design but with a ripped off name LOL).

If I decide to post the rest on here it will be on my DIzzy After Dark page because I'm planning this to be an NSFW style fic (bc why the fuck not) but this opening bit is 110% friendly to all ages I just wanted to introduce Heike because I fucking love her.

This story goes with the Zemo moodboard I made months ago and finally just got around to polishing. Here is the like to that!

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Synopsis: Heike is a Ballerina and a Princess, but before that she is an object, one toyed with by her very mother. She is to be married to a man she's never met, whom she has yet to even see a picture of (though that's of her own design), and is on the verge of one of the biggest moments of her career: dancing on the Marinsky stage.

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Heike Petrov (OC)

Warnings: Slight angst, eventual NSFW content that will be 18+ (not this part), fluff tho and lots of it, seriously this is all over the place

Word count: 2.2k

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The first drops of sunlight pour in through the arched windows, painting the glossy wooden floor in an array of sparkling pastels. They hit the paneled mirrors, bouncing off of the golden bar that runs the entire length of the studio, illuminating every surface in an ethereal glow. For just a moment— the tiniest fraction of time where there's no noise other than the slightest shuffle of silken slippers against mahogany and even, meticulous breaths— everything is perfect. Everything is calm.

Perhaps if Heike’s eyes were open she would admire the peace— the way her studio looks as though it’s been dipped in a bath of gold and oil paints. The way it’s just cool enough to keep the sheen of sweat from her limbs. The silence. Oh yes, she would certainly admire the silence. It’s all she’s ever longed for.

Her eyes are not open, though, and in her head her thoughts are excruciatingly loud— louder than they’ve been in ages. There’s no silence for her to admire behind the darkness of her eyelids. No gold, or oil, or peace. Nothing of the sort.

No, in her head she is on a stage. A loud, vast, practically thrumming stage.

Bozhe, pomogi yey.

That’s nothing new, though— that’s her life. Her life is on a stage and her life is a stage. She is always doing and someone— but more often someones— is— are— always watching. Being on the stage is not new.

What is new is the particular stage that she is on this morning. The Mariinsky Stage. The biggest grande allegro in all of Russia. It’s the stage she has been preparing to dance on for almost all of her life— for almost twenty-five excruciatingly long years. In just thirty-six hours she will be performing in front of the world’s most important people.

Kings and Queens.

Princes and Princesses.

Presidents and Prime Ministers and everyone in between who can afford a ticket.

So, her family— her entire family— somehow that’s worse than anyone else.

A soft voice cuts through her pondering but not quite through the dread.

“Mi’lady, it is seven.” Already? Heike could have sworn she just put her slippers on a few minutes ago. “I am afraid it is time we start dressing you. It’s a special day— the Queen has, erm, reminded me, shall we say, that you mustn’t be late to brunch this morning.”

The Princess sighs, the Mariinsky beginning to fade from behind her eyelids. Of course her mother’s been pestering her lady in waiting again. Would it truly be a normal day if she didn’t? It isn’t as if Katerina is the kindest, hardest working, most tolerant woman in the castle— no, that would be absurd. Surely if she was then her mother wouldn’t treat her with such scorn— as though she’s lower than the dirt the country stands on. Only a touch worse than she treats her own daughter.

Oh— wait.

Cracking an eye open, Heike drinks in the woman before her. Scarlet hair, pale skin, rosy cheeks, and a worn smile. Worn but there nonetheless. She opens the other eye, passing Katerina what she can only assume— nyet, hope— is the same. She has no idea how Katerina puts up with the Queen. She can barely do it and she’s the princess. Heike knows it’s for her, though, so she tries her best to be the opposite.

She lowers herself to the floor, stretching her hands out towards her toes. “Three hours to get ready? Surely that’s too much time to throw on a dress and some heels, Kat.”

Katerina rolls her eyes, tsking and shaking her head. “Shush miss— you know this morning is different.”

The princess giggles, tilting her head to the spot on the floor next to her. Katerina sighs but it is pointless— Heike is well accustomed to her pattern of feigning annoyance. When you’re around the same person day in and day out for nine years, you begin to pick up on their traits. Like how Kat rolls her eyes but the left side of her mouth still ticks up. It comes with the territory— it comes with being best friends.

That’s what they are, really. Best friends. Heike’s only friend, truly. She knows it’s odd to become friends with your lady in waiting— it’s not lost on her the implications of such a relationship and of her status— but Katerina has never felt like her servant. The idea of even having a servant has always felt terribly outdated, at least to her. Kat is her friend— her sister. Well, if sisters were paid to be your sister. She would like to believe that the reason Kat sticks around, though, is because she feels the same way.

Bozhe, pomogi yey.

Katerina slumps onto the floor next to her, rolling onto her back, her blue gown pooling in a graceful circle around her. Heike meets her eyes with another smile— this one much less coy. There is only so much that can keep the nerves at bay. Practicing her ballet was helping— a lot, actually— but now that she’s not moving— now that the dawn has broken into a more sinister form of daylight— all the raging thoughts have begun to simmer again. Now, it seems, they are boiling over.

“What do you think it’ll be like?” Her voice is quiet, just barely breaching a whisper, but in their little bubble of mahogany and glass it is louder than ever.

Katerina pushes herself up onto her elbow, her brows creasing together. They have been having the same conversation for weeks, ever since her mother told her the news. Heike can practically hear what she’s going to say before it’s out of her mouth.

“It or him?” Heike winces at Kat’s bluntness regardless— usually they skirt around the real topic for a few minutes, warming up to it.

She supposes they don’t have time for that today though. Not when he will be sitting in their conservatory in three hours. Maybe even less. Maybe he is even here now, waiting, speaking to her parents and bartering a deal for her hand— no. She takes a deep breath, beginning to untie her slippers if only to keep her shaking fingers occupied.

“Baron Helmut Zemo—” Heike tests his name on her tongue. It tastes familiar— that is probably because she has been repeating it for weeks now, though— “he sounds regal.”

“He is royalty,” Katerina reminds, the left side of her mouth quirking up. “Just the same as you, Mi’lady.”

Heike sighs. “Katerina, please— I’m a dancer. A ballerina. None of the formalities— they make me feel… strange.”

Being a princess would mean that she is the daughter of a king and a queen— it would mean she actually got recognized as anything more than a pair of pointe shoes.

She doesn’t add that, of course, only pulls said pointe shoes from her feet, letting her toes stretch and curl in the cool air of her studio. Not for long— only until her fingers begin trembling again and then she is starting on the sides of her leotard, pulling at the little silk ribbons. Soon, though, even that is interrupted, a pair of warm hands wrapping around hers and halting her attempts to hide her fidgeting.

“You’re stalling is what you are. Just as you have been all week. It isn’t healthy, Hei. Talk to me— you always talk to me.”

Heike lifts her eyes back to her friend, meeting her worried blue eyes and feeling her shoulders drop. “I’m sorry, I know. It’s just— I—” She doesn’t know what to say— part of the reason she hasn’t talked about it is because she’s at a complete and utter loss. “I am tired. I think. But so are you— more so than I. So I shouldn’t complain.”

Katerina rolls her eyes again, squeezing her hands. “Mi’lady I am exhausted. Truly I am. But at the end of the day I get to go to my bed and I get to sleep. Just like you do. We both sleep, yes?”

“Yes, but what—”

“It means we are the same— which means don’t say that. We are friends. You are tired. I am tired. I can be tired and listen at the same time, believe it or not.” Kat shakes her hands, bringing them up to her chest with Heike’s fingers still wrapped in her own. “I know it’s hard but we must talk about this. No excuses.”

Heike tries for another smile but it feels more like a grimace— like all the muscles in her face are rebelling. “How are you so kind to me?”

Katerina narrows her blue eyes until all Heike can see is black. “No excuses, Mi’lady.” She scrunches her nose, her face softening from it’s accusatory glare. “But— on that note— you’re much more lovely than you give yourself credit for, Hei. You’re easy to be kind to. So, again, stop making excuses because if you don’t then you will be unlovable. I will stop loving you.”

Heike laughs for a quick moment and then straightens— Kat is right. Kat is always right.

“I’m nervous,” Heike admits.

It’s harder to push the words out than she thought it would be. It’s like her throat squeezes extra hard when she says it, her teeth and tongue acting a barricade to the truth. The words do manage to shimmy through but they take all the energy she has with them and she sags. Her whole body rebels against the notion that she’s worried. Princesses aren’t supposed to worry.

“I don’t even know what this man looks like.” Heike continues, gently pulling her fingers from Katerina’s grasp, curling them around her bare arms and closing her eyes— It’s easier to think in the darkness. “I suppose I could look but there is no point, I’ve made it this far without. No matter what I do he will still be here soon. His appearance isn’t really the point anyway. That’s what I keep telling myself at least.”

Heike mutters the last part but she’s sure she hears it.

Only a few measly seconds pass before Kat’s voice cuts through the darkness, as patient yet as pressing as ever. “What is the point then, Hei?”

Her. The point is her. It is not about whether Heike likes him— it doesn’t matter if she does, her mother has her ways of getting what she wants. The Queen— her holder. Gods, this man could hate Heike— take one look at her and despise everything he sees— and her mother would still, somehow, find a way to have them married.

Heike snaps her eyes open— she draws the line at having to think about a wedding. Her wedding. To a man who will probably hate her. That’s the point— marriage. Status. Everlasting, lukewarm relationships for the sake of kingdoms that are more an idea than anything else.

Again, Heike doesn’t say that, at least not all of it.

“What if he does not like me?” She can’t force her voice past a dull whisper, her hands— now that they aren’t being held steady— once again trembling.

Katerina’s face softens immediately, her eyes losing the glimmer of humor she had somehow been maintaining. It was probably for Heike’s benefit. People are always trying to keep her happy, like it’s some sort of crucial task. Keep Heike happy or it’s off with your head. Her— the princess— the burden. She doesn’t want any heads, she can barely keep track of her own at any given moment.

Case in point.

Katerina holds her arms open wide and raises a scarlet brow. Heike doesn’t waste any time in rushing forward and piling her body into Kat’s. Burden or not, there’s no way she’s about to refuse the best hugger in the castle.

The lady in waiting squeezes her arms around the princess, her words soft against her temple. “That is impossible. Impossible. You worry much too much— you always have. He will love you, Heike. I know he will. It’s impossible not to love you, trust me I would know.”

Heike snuggles deeper into her friend’s arms, soaking in as much of her lemon and vanilla perfume as possible. It’s the only thing that’s ever screamed home to her. She has been many places— danced on many stages— but coming home never meant the castle walls. It never meant anything because Katerina was always right there next to her, holding her hand or flicking her ear or snoring until the very last minute when they are being rushed off the plane and Heike is doing more of the waiting than anyone. She has always had the privilege of bringing her home with her— her citrusy, red haired home.

But for how long will that be possible?

She doesn’t ask— It is for her and her only to bear. “But what if he doesn’t?”

Katerina pulls back, much to Heike’s dismay, her hand slipping under her chin and squeezing gently. “The we run, Mi’lady.”

Heike’s heart softens. “We?”

Kat rolls her eyes, the left side of her mouth halfway to her ear— Heike supposes she should have seen that coming. “You are not leaving me here alone, miss.”

Bozhe, pomogi yey.

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Translations:

Bozhe, pomogi yey — God help her