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stitched-mouth-vs-the-world · 7 months

Text

Inappropriate Workplace Behaviour

Pairing: Lord Death x Younger! Secretary! Fem! Reader.

Summary: Lord Death can't stop jacking off to his decades younger secretary.

Warnings: Smut, Masterbation, Mutual Masterbation, Fingering, Age Gap relationship (all parties are 18+), Boss x Employee, Vouyerism, Lord Death is a perv in this.

Writing Time: 1 hour.

Word Counter: 1231.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 8.

A/N:

Bro this was supposed to be headcannons how did it become a fic??? I should be on Day 9 now. Why do I always do this to myself I hope you enjoyed my first Lord Death fic. I said he's a perv so he's a perv.

Here is the masterlist for all my Kinktober 2023 works.

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Lord Death was shocked to say the least, when he first realized he had a strong attraction you. An attraction he didn't think any man should have for anyone so close to his son's age.

Or for his own secretary.

He would lie awake at night, fistful of his own dick, thinking about you. How you dressed that day. Simple black suit with heels that you didn't think was that eye catching at all.

But it certainly got your boss's attention, with the way it hugged your figure and emphasized your breasts and ass.

Poor Death would have to cover his own mouth from his loud moans from his own touching. He definitely wished it was your hand though over his mouth.

Could you blame him though? It was a nightmare hiding his boner all day, he had to stay put tucked into his desk.

He would imagine leading you from your desk outside his office into his office and just having his way with you on his desk. He would imagine what your moans and cries would sound like, he imagined them to be sweet and beautiful.

Just like you.

His small obsession would grow into somewhat of an addiction. You started noticing Lord Death's change around you when he started complimenting your outfits more.

I mean, he always did give you a small compliment everyday which could be about anything.

"Lovely to see your adorable smile this morning!"

"Nice shoes, dear. Are they new?"

"I like your hair today. The new look really suits you!"

But they had always been small things in passing that you noticed Death did for everyone in the office. It was like his mission to give everyone one compliment everyday.

But it changed when they became more about your clothes and your curves and happened up to four or five times a day.

"Lovely skirt dear...looks so good on you."

"Careful with that fit love, it will have to boys your age all over you."

"My my my, have a date tonight do we?"

That and the small touches he'd add here and there. A hand on your back whilst he spoke to you, a hand on your chin when admiring your outfit... you could go on.

You knew the Lord Death had a little crush on you. At this point it was so obvious. And being the mischievous little shit you are, you decided you'd tease him a little bit.

With just little things. Small touches, figuring out which kind of outfits he liked best and almost exclusively wearing them, slightly bending over when he was near to pick something up or see something better just to give him a nice view... and so on.

Lord Death wasn't a fast as you. He didn't realise you was now doing it on purpose.

One day after a lot of your teasing, he excused himself to his office and shut the door. Something he rarely ever did. So you went over to the door and peeked through the key hole. What you saw you found shocking.

Lord Death had finally given to one of his urges and ripped off all his clothes and started mastbasting in his desk chair.

He stared nervously at the door as he jerked himself off and moaned your name, worried someone would walk in even though he had locked the door.

You suddenly felt tight and empty.

You looked around, looking for anyone nearby. After evaluating the area and deeming it safe, you decided to take a possible career ending risk just like your boss.

You pulled down you tights and panties down to your knees and hiked up your skirt a little, before slowly rubbing two fingers over your clit.

When you looked down into your panties you could see how wet they had become from the spending the day with Death and now when you caught him touching himself in his office.

You looked back up in the key hole when you heard him cry. His knees slowly raises a little then his heels digged into the floor as he got lost in his fantasy. You bit your lips and moved to fingering yourself with the same two fingers that were just on your clit, as you watched your boss get himself off.

Clearly, he was having just as much fun as you was. His head fell back against his chair and closed his eyes when he felt himself come closer and closer to his edge. You knew he was close which made you sink to your knees and bit your free hand, forcing yourself to edge yourself.

You didn't want to orgasm just yet, but Lord Death was close and you was expecting him to get up and open the door when he was done. So might as well finish with him.

You watched your boss cum into his hand with a loud moan. He panted and fell limp against his chair as he calmed down from his high. You added another finger inside yourself, hoping you'd cum faster. But sadly, you just wasn't quite there yet.

And so as Lord Death slowly got up, cleaned up and dressed himself again you scrambled to find your orgasm. He seemed to be taking forever and still nobody was coming so you closed your eyes and kept fingering yourself.

You finally felt yourself close to edge and moaned in glee.

Until you suddenly fell forward onto someone's legs. You froze in humiliation and fear and couldn't bare to look up at your boss in such a position. Lord Death looked down at you, feeling only shock and suddenly more arousal.

"Ah pretty girl, what are you doing?" Lord Death asked with a worried look as he helped you off your face and sit up straight.

You still had your fingers inside of yourself, which there was no way Death hadn't noticed.

"Um... You was doing it too!" You stuttered nervously.

You sat on the ground and spread your legs slightly to remove your fingers from yourself and pull up your tights and panties before immediately slamming them shut again. But Death had already got a sneak peak of the very thing he was just imagining.

He was quiet for a few seconds before speaking up, "If you want, we can act like this never happened?"

Lord Death still didn't quiet get you was into him. He didn't understand why you were fingering yourself outside his door but assumed it was either a complete misunderstanding and not what it looked like OR you was just a perv.

You looked at him sadly and huffed, "No! Um er, it's not fair you got to cum and I didn't. So I have to cum now."

Your confidence from your teasing persona came back and you quickly pushed Death back into his office and closed and locked the door.

Considering you had given Death so many orgasms since you started working there with your body and clothes, the least he could do is give you one back.

#stitched #stitched mouth #stitched talks #stitched writes #stitched’s kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #soul eater #soul eater x reader #soul eater smut #lord death #lord death x reader #lord death smut

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dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling · 1 year

Note

Sorry to bother! I wanted to ask for a part 2 of the Broken Vessel like reader, specifically with Death and Medusa (again sorry to bother. Medusa has been a hyper fixation for a while and Death is just funny and cool)

You aren't bothering me! Don't worry bout it ^⁠_⁠^

Lord Death and Medusa x broken vessel Reader

Lord Death

★ He probably met you after one of the students brought you back from a mission. He did what he did with Crona and gave you a room and enrolled you into the school. You deserve a chance, after all.

★ Enrolling you in his academy as a student seemed like the best option. You would learn as a student and grow to hopefully be more independent. Maybe even meet some friends?

★ I have the feeling that he has some knowledge on how you came to being. Or at least a general idea of who or what made you. Whatever the case may be he wants you to know that even though you where created to be hollow, it doesn't mean you have to be.

Medusa

★ She probably came across you while she was in witch town. In her opinion, she should have made a vessel like you instead of going through the trouble of having a kid of her own.

★ You listen much better and don't complain. You don't even speak unless spoken to. You're the perfect test subject and worker. She might collect the golden liquid you make for further research.

★ Maybe she could get you in her side, it shouldn't be that hard. Lucky for her you don't have an opinion on it. She can just tell you to do something and you do it and don't expect anything in return.

#soul eater #soul eater headcannon #lord death #Medusa #medusa gorgon #Lord death x Reader #Medusa x Reader #Medusa headcannon #Lord death headcannon #soul eater headcanons #soul eater x reader

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stitched-mouth · 2 months

Text

Inappropriate Workplace Behaviour

Pairing: Lord Death x Younger! Secretary! Fem! Reader.

Summary: Lord Death can’t stop jacking off to his decades younger secretary.

Warnings: Smut, Masterbation, Mutual Masterbation, Fingering, Age Gap relationship (all parties are 18+), Boss x Employee, Vouyerism, Lord Death is a perv in this.

Writing Time: 1 hour.

Word Counter: Later.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 8.

A/N:

Bro this was supposed to be headcannons how did it become a fic , I should be on Day 9 now. Why do I always do this to myself

I hope you enjoyed my first Lord Death fic. I said he’s a perv so he’s a perv.

Lord Death was shocked to say the least, when he first realised he had a strong attraction you. An attraction he didn’t think any man should have for anyone so close to his son’s age.

Or for his own secretary.

He would lie awake at night, fistful of his own dick, thinking about you. How you dressed that day. Simple black suit with heels that you didn’t think was that eye catching at all.

But it certainly got your boss’s attention, with the way it hugged your figure and emphasised your breasts and ass.

Poor Death would have to cover his own mouth from his loud moans from his own touching. He definitely wished it was your hand though over his mouth.

Could you blame him though? It was a nightmare hiding his boner all day, he had to stay put tucked into his desk.

Just like you.

His small obsession would grow into somewhat of an addiction. You started noticing Lord Death’s change around you when he started complimenting your outfits more.

I mean, he always did give you a small compliment everyday which could be about anything.

“Lovely to see your adorable smile this morning!”

“Nice shoes, dear. Are they new?”

“I like your hair today. The new look really suits you!”

But they had always been small things in passing that you noticed Death did for everyone in the office. It was like his mission to give everyone one compliment everyday.

But it changed when they became more about your clothes and your curves and happened up to four or five times a day.

“Lovely skirt dear…looks so good on you.”

“Careful with that fit love, it will have to boys your age all over you.”

“My my my, have a date tonight do we?”

That and the small touches he’d add here and there. A hand on your back whilst he spoke to you, a hand on your chin when admiring your outfit… you could go on.

You knew the Lord Death had a little crush on you. At this point it was so obvious. And being the mischievous little shit you are, you decided you’d tease him a little bit.

Lord Death wasn’t a fast as you. He didn’t realise you was now doing it on purpose.

Lord Death had finally given to one of his urges and ripped off all his clothes and started mastbasting in his desk chair.

He stared nervously at the door as he jerked himself off and moaned your name, worried someone would walk in even though he had locked the door.

You suddenly felt tight and empty.

You looked around, looking for anyone nearby. After evaluating the area and deeming it safe, you decided to take a possible career ending risk just like your boss.

You pulled down you tights and panties down to your knees and hiked up your skirt a little, before slowly rubbing two fingers over your clit.

When you looked down into your panties you could see how wet they had become from the spending the day with Death and now when you caught him touching himself in his office.

You didn’t want to orgasm just yet, but Lord Death was close and you was expecting him to get up and open the door when he was done. So might as well finish with him.

You watched your boss cum into his hand with a loud moan. He panted and fell limp against his chair as he calmed down from his high. You added another finger inside yourself, hoping you’d cum faster. But sadly, you just wasn’t quite there yet.

You finally felt yourself close to edge and moaned in glee.

Until you suddenly fell forward onto someone’s legs. You froze in humiliation and fear and couldn’t bare to look up at your boss in such a position. Lord Death looked down at you, feeling only shock and suddenly more arousal.

“Ah pretty girl, what are you doing?” Lord Death asked with a worried look as he helped you off your face and sit up straight.

You still had your fingers inside of yourself, which there was no way Death hadn’t noticed.

“Um… You was doing it too!” You stuttered nervously.

He was quiet for a few seconds before speaking up, “If you want, we can act like this never happened?”

Lord Death still didn’t quiet get you was into him. He didn’t understand why you were fingering yourself outside his door but assumed it was either a complete misunderstanding and not what it looked like OR you was just a perv.

You looked at him sadly and huffed, “No! Um er, it’s not fair you got to cum and I didn’t. So I have to cum first.”

Your confidence from your teasing persona came back and you quickly pushed Death back into his office and closed and locked the door.

Considering you had given Death so many orgasms since you started working there with your body and clothes, the least he could do is give you one back.

#stitched #stitched talks #stitched writes #soul eater #soul eater anime #soul eater lord death #lord death #lord death x reader #lord death smut #soul eater smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #stitched’s kinktober

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pinkberrytea · 13 days

Text

Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion.

Memento mori—Remember you must die. Enveloped in memories of her death, the Vampire Ascendant watches his darling consort as she slumbers, lost in dreams of blood and mist. Life is short, and shortly it will end; death comes quickly and respects no one. To death we are hastening, let us refrain from sinning.

An exploration of Astarion's character and his relationship with his Dark Consort following the ascension, from a softer perspective.

Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 6.2k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: thank you for reading! this is my first time dabbling in creative writing, and of course my first attempt at smut fiction, but still, I hope it is at least somewhat enjoyable. I would like to dedicate this work to the lovely @locallegume, who was a huge source of inspiration, and also to hismostbelovedspawn over on reddit, for being always so incredibly kind and supportive. I love you guys!

tags: blood drinking; cunnilingus; body worship; light dom/sub; vaginal fingering; mildly dubious consent; creampie; fluff & angst; emotional sex; dry humping; possessive behavior

The beginning of the morning twilight is Astarion’s favorite time of the day, for it feels at once ephemeral and infinite. The wistful silence, broken only by the still timid chirping of the waking birds; the royal blue-colored sky, tinged with specks of the purples and violets of the dawn; the chilly morning breeze, gently rustling the flowers in the garden, pushing the still forming dewdrops off their petals and onto the ground; you, slumbering beside him, pale skin reflecting the dim light of the fading moon, rosy lips slightly parted. Sleeping peacefully like this, you look like a life-sized porcelain doll, he thinks—your unmoving chest betrays your otherwise healthy likeness, as does the unnaturally blanched color of your skin. Your nightgown hangs lazily off your shoulder, exposing one of your breasts, and your undergarments lay discarded on the floor, on the exact same spot where he had tossed them earlier that night. He adores this version of you—so vulnerable, so defenseless, laid open for him, and him only.

Astarion finds it curious, how you seem to completely lose yourself in your dreams, yet he is also greatly perturbed by the notion that there is a part of you that he is still unable to access, to dominate. It feels unnatural, not to be able to control this elusive slice of your essence, but having ever only tranced, it also mystifies him that you’d voluntarily give up your consciousness each night. You were after all ever the trusting fool—from the moment you met, he had lied to you, manipulated you countless times, and each time you fell for it, standing by his side even when the world screamed at you not to. And even now, you give yourself to him, unquestioningly, unconditionally. In all the long years of his existence, there had been none like you, and there never will be again. None as trusting, none as kind, and he both hates and loves you for it. The very notion of you extending your kindness to anyone other than him is infuriating, and makes him want to take it for himself, put it in a glass dome and hide it away in a place where only he can bask in its warmth. He thinks he is owed that, at least; yours was the only hand that ever reached out to him, so he is justified in not wanting to share.

You shift slightly in your sleep, and a lock of your hair that had been trapped underneath one of your arms falls onto your chest. After eyeing it for a moment, Astarion reaches out for the tresses and grasps them between his fingers. Bringing them close to his nose, he takes in your scent, that is now also his. It smells comforting, familiar—it smells like home. The corner of his lips curl into an almost imperceptible smile, and he closes his eyes, letting out a contented sigh. The hushed shroud of the early hours acts as a cloak, under which he is granted a brief respite, a rare chance to let himself be gentle, be kind. Just as you become entirely vulnerable before him in your slumber, he too exposes the soft underbelly of his feelings for you; that chaotic, intoxicating brew, a messy blend of passion, guilt, hurt, longing, and love, endless and unrelenting love.

He brings his elegant fingers close to your face, and ever so gently glides their soft pads across the cold, velvety smooth skin of your cheek. Your long lashes flutter slightly, tickling the sensitive area under your eyes as he lowers the digits to brush the plump of your lips. He admires you for a short moment, taking in your image—his pretty consort, so beautiful, so frail, so foolishly devoted to him. Oh how lucky he is, to have you who would do anything for him by his side; his most precious treasure, the reason why his long dead heart beats inside his chest once more. He grasps your chin, delicately tilting your head upward to face him, and tenderly presses his lips to yours. His other hand moves to your chest, fingers softly caressing the pebbled peak of your exposed breast, his touch so faint that his skin barely comes into contact with yours. As much as Astarion enjoys asserting his dominance over you, making you kneel before him, seeing the dejected yet submissive expression on your pretty face whenever he decides to make a show of his power, it is these moments he values the most. In your intimacy, he may treat you gently, tenderly, and in your state of unconsciousness, by morning his loving touches will be but a hazy memory, securing your place below, but close beside him, from where you shall never leave for as long as he draws breath—which he can now only do thanks to you.

His fingers on your nipple leave it alone for a moment to close around your breast, giving it a soft, gentle squeeze. Moving quietly so as not to wake you, he slides his right leg under yours and presses it against the back of your knee, creating a space between your thighs as he pushes them apart, where he then nests himself, climbing on top of you.

“Astarion…” when you softly whisper his name, his half-smile widens into a grin; how reassuring it is, to know you belong to him even in your dreams. He lowers his head to plant a kiss on the delicate skin of the curve of your neck, and his lips brush against the two small indentations disrupting the otherwise pristine smoothness of your flesh. Instinctively, he brings his hand to the back of your right shoulder, his long fingers blindly searching for the matching set of bite marks. The last of the three pairs adorns your left wrist, for which reason he will ever so often take your hand in his, only to lovingly kiss it and turn it around so he can admire the evidence of his proudest feat—having sired you.

“Oh my love, I’m here. I’ve got you,” Astarion coos, holding your head gently against his bare chest, fingers tangled in your hair as you writhe and squirm in his arms, empty and glassy eyes lost in a hollow stare, seeing nothing but darkness, endless darkness. The expression on your face is at once delirious and vacant—mouth agape and fists clenched, pupils blown wide, eyelashes wet with tears and a thin string of drool coming out from the corner of your lip and trickling down your chin. At least for tonight, you are lost to him, and as he winces at the still foreign sensation of the loud, vigorous throbbing in his head, your own fading heartbeat softens, dying down into nothingness. And right as it is about to fall perpetually silent, he lets his fangs pierce his own tongue, drawing droplets of now living blood; bringing your face close to his, he presses his thumb to your lower lip, and covers your mouth with his.

He loses himself in the memory for a moment, as he so often does. Your peaceful, serene expression stands in stark contrast to the one that had been etched on your face on that fateful night. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet still he remembers the pain, the agony, the relentless fear building up in his stomach as your body contorted and tears glistened in your vacant eyes. Never had Astarion been more afraid of anything than he’d been of losing you, and by his hand no less. Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion. You only ever questioned him about what had happened on the evening of your turning once, but it mattered not how many times you asked, for he would never fully disclose the raw truth—how he had cradled you in his arms and whispered sweet nothings in your ears, kissing away your tears; how he had picked you up as you lost consciousness and carried you to your bed, where he would then tuck you in so very tenderly, so very gently, softly patting your hair and holding your hand, sharing his warmth with you as you lost your own; how he would patiently wait by your side, watching as the color slowly drained from your face, his stomach sinking at the thought of you never waking again—only for you to then slowly open your eyes, their hue now a rich crimson, much like his own. No, he would never again allow himself to be so weak, for he was supposed to be your warden, your liege. This pathetic side of him was to be ever hidden from you, only rearing its ugly head during the brief, sleepy moments preceding the crack of dawn.

With his lips still pressed against your skin, Astarion starts peppering kisses down your neck, on the hollows of your collarbone and across your sternum, his hand on your breast fondling it gently, the other still tracing the bite marks on your shoulder. His still clothed hips start lazily, almost imperceptibly rocking back and forth, lightly grinding against your naked thighs; thinking back to the night when he made you his almost inevitably causes blood to rush to his groin, and his body starts unconsciously seeking the sweet relief of the friction between his hardening erection and your supple skin. He moves his hand on your breast to grasp your nipple between his fingers, lightly squeezing it. You involuntarily buck your hips in response, which amuses him greatly as he continues playing with the tender nub. A soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging and emboldening his attentions as they drift away from your clavicle towards your chest. He plants gentle kisses on the plump of your bosom, using his teeth to pull at your nightgown and drag it down, exposing your clothed breast to the chilly morning air. You shiver, and he smiles against your skin, pressing his lips to the valleys of your ribs, the softness of your lower belly, and finally to your bare crotch. With his face so close to your swollen sex, the sweet scent of your essence now intoxicates his senses. He stands back for a moment to admire how it glistens in the faint glow of the moonlight, so deliciously inviting, as your juices start building up and collecting in-between your folds.

Feeling his breath caressing the sensitive skin of your core, you finally start to slowly regain consciousness. Once his arousals were returned to him, Astarion would make a habit of waking up during the night at various times to bury his cock in you, so it takes you but a moment to gather your bearings. Either out of mischievousness or curiosity, you play coy at first, pretending to be asleep still. His soft lips briefly come into contact with your engorged bud, sending shock waves through your body, and you are barely able to keep yourself from letting out a yelp, although you can’t prevent your skin from becoming covered with goosebumps. When his tongue pokes out of his mouth to give it a tentative lick, you know you won’t be able to keep up the charade for much longer. He feels your body tense up, and slightly raises his head to look at you from his position between your legs with half-lidded, lascivious eyes, dilated pupils partially covering the ruby hue of his irises. You’re unsure if he has already caught on to your little ruse, so you try staying as still as possible, which proves difficult with his face so close to your cunt.

After what seems like an eternity he decides to continue, lapping at your clit again and then sliding his tongue downwards, burying it between your folds. He presses it against the outer edge of your entrance, squeezing slick out of you, and as he savors your essence, he can’t help but think that while its sweet tanginess does not compare to the coppery, velvety richness of the crimson in your veins—nothing ever will, for his is the blood that courses through them—it may well be the second best thing he has ever tasted. Gliding his tongue upwards once more, he uses it to gently massage the raw bundle of nerves atop your slit, leaving a trail of saliva mixed with your fluids between it and your twitching cunt, which then dribbles down onto your thighs. Placing a hand on each side of your hips, he pulls you closer to him, and the shift causes his fangs to graze the sensitive skin of your folds, in response to which your eyes water and you clutch the silk sheets under you both. Taking no notice of your desperate reaction, he continues swirling his tongue up and down your wetness, gently suckling on the tender skin, eagerly eating you up as if you were a full-course meal served especially for him, just begging to be ravished.

You feel heat pooling in your lower abdomen, and at this rate it won’t be long before you are brought to the edge. Momentarily forgetting the fact that you are supposed to be pretending to be asleep as you lose yourself in the crescendo of your release, you arch your back, leaning on your elbows to support your weight, and as soon as you do, he mercilessly pulls away from you, leaving your dripping core empty and aching. Eyes closed still, you let out a soft mewl in protest, which you regret as soon it leaves your lips, for once Astarion notices your desperation, you are done for.

Still unsure if he has already perceived your awakened state or if he believes your body to be involuntarily reacting to his touch, you dare not produce any further sounds. Having cruelly left your throbbing mound unattended, his tongue now glides its way up your stomach, leaving a glistening wet mess in its wake. Upon reaching your chest, his lips latch onto your left breast, your perked nub fitting perfectly inside his mouth. He sucks on it ever so tenderly, teasing it with a pointed tongue and lightly scraping the squishy surrounding flesh with his fangs. One of his hands leaves its place on your hip and finds its way between your legs, and you let out a sigh of relief when you feel a long, elegant finger ghosting over your clit. The other hand slides further down to the curve of your ass, and his blunt nails dig into your soft skin, giving it a firm squeeze.

The pad of the wandering digit finally presses down onto the engorged flesh of your reddened knot, massaging it leisurely in circular patterns, and another finger suddenly slides between your folds, parting them gently. Unable to contain yourself, you roll your hips into his hand, which you soon learn is a grave mistake as he tightens his grip on your ass, applying such pressure that come morning, bruises are certain to form on the pale skin, which he will then tenderly kiss better while looking apologetically at you from under thick lashes; and you will forgive him, as you always do. Lifting his head up from your now rouged, swollen nipple, he readjusts his position above you, using his body weight to pin you down and hold you in place. He lets go of your ass, firmly grasping at your jaw with his newly freed hand, and even from behind closed eyes you can feel the intensity of his gaze. This does not bode well, and try as you might you cannot ignore the sickening pinch in the pit of your stomach as his eyes scrutinize every inch of your face—has he noticed? Is a punishment in order? Will he deny you your release?

“Open up, darling. Your mouth.” The commanding tone with which Astarion vocalizes the otherwise unassuming words is all it takes to placate your erratic thoughts, and obeying is for you as natural as breathing—or it would be, if you were still alive. Once you do as he says, you feel his thumb pressing on your lower lip, forcing it further down. He slides the digit inside your mouth, gagging you slightly, and your lips instinctively close around it. “Good girl,” he purrs, and encouraged by the tenderness of his praise, you start lightly sucking on it, coating it with saliva. For a short moment, he becomes entranced by the feeling of your wet tongue massaging his skin, and his mind wanders to the thought of your plump lips wrapped tightly around his cock. This prompts him to once again start bucking his hips, rubbing the now obvious bulge underneath his pants against your stomach, but this time his rhythm is much more frantic, more desperate.

Relief washes over you as you feel the fingers still in your slit resume their fondling, the one on your clit now applying greater pressure, handling it much less gently, yet just as skillfully, his knowledge of all the ins and outs of your body having always been something he prided himself on. The other makes its way down from its place between your folds, plunging into you as soon as it reaches your entrance. Your body jerks in response, and your moan is muffled by his thumb in your mouth—when he then plunges another, stretching you open without giving you time to adjust, you involuntarily bite down on the digit gagging you, sinking your fangs into his flesh. He grimaces, and you can tell you have hit an artery, because the flow of the thick, hot blood running down your throat is alarmingly heavy. However, rather than pulling away, he lets you drink, curling his fingers inside you and massaging the tight walls of your cunt with his knuckles. The rich taste of his crimson lingering in your tongue and spreading inside your body, mixing with yours within your veins and making them pulsate with life—pure, raw, vibrating life—works as a powerful aphrodisiac, heightening all your senses, and the feeling of him fucking you with his fingers is all it takes for you to come undone on his hand, muscles spasming and clenching around the digits, coating them in the sweet nectar of your release.

Just as you reach your climax, Astarion’s own teeth sink into the indentations marking the otherwise smooth skin of your neck. You instinctively cock your head to the side to grant him more access, letting him feed on you as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, sucking on his thumb still. His blood flows from him to you and then back to him, and the sheer intimacy of it brings you so close together that it’s as if you have merged into one single being. You can no longer tell where you end and he begins, as your minds touch and mesh and then untangle again, in a sensual, chaotic dance, where you both sway to the rhythm of his heartbeat. And while the connection lasts, his emotions rush through you and yours through him, rendering words meaningless as the everlasting adoration, the inebriating, all-consuming love you share, no matter how tainted, is laid bare before you, in all its wickedness and allure.

“Fear not: you are mine.”

You finally open your eyes, letting go of his thumb, and as the fog from the afterglow subsides you notice his fingers remain inside you still, gliding effortlessly up and down your twitching walls, which are now lubricated with slick and come; your skin tingles from the overstimulation, but the sensation is not unwelcome. With the hand you have just freed, he holds your head in place while he continues to feed, and you both stay like this for a while, his fingers buried inside your cunt and his fangs in your neck, where they rightfully belong. His little grunts as he drinks from you and the feeling of his hardened cock pressed flush against your stomach rekindle the ache between your legs, causing the living blood now coursing through your veins to flow to your tender core.

Having drank to his heart’s content, Astarion pulls away from you, making you wince at the sudden emptiness as both his fangs and fingers leave your body. No longer plagued by the perpetual, agonizing hollowness of vampiric hunger, his only reason for feeding on you still is the invigorating thrill of your taste on his tongue and your blood pulsating in his arteries; you were his first, after all, having offered him the greatest gift of them all when you had no good reason to. Killing you on the evening he first revealed his true nature had never been out of the question, and it puzzles him still why you would willingly surrender this sanguine gift to a vampire stalking you in the night—a pitiful creature, hiding in the shadows, with murderous intent and offering you nothing but pain and misery. He is reminded of your foolishness and naïveté every time he sinks his fangs in your soft flesh, and the familiarity of it is oddly comforting to him.

Not bothering to wipe the red smear on his chin, he brings his hand up to your mouth once more, only this time his digits are covered in your juices. A single look into his crimson eyes, clouded with lust, tells you all you need to know, and you eagerly obey the silent order, wrapping your lips around his fingers.

“Ever so obedient, aren’t you, my sweet?” His honeyed words and impish smile send shivers down your spine, and unable to talk as your tongue flicks and swirls, lapping at your own sticky essence, you look up at him through your lashes with coquettish demureness; his pretty little spawn, always so good to him, so docile, so devoted. The very sight of you makes his cock twitch with desire. “I do find it charming when you play your darling little games. Mostly because you are awful at them. You did know I was aware the entire time, didn’t you?,” although his smile widens, there is a hint of danger in his voice, “That you were awake.”

As his blood within you rushes to your cheeks, spreading to the tips of your ears, Astarion’s expression darkens for a moment, and the lust in his eyes grows wilder, more desperate. There is something endlessly enticing about how bashful and girlish you look when your face is hot and flushed with his crimson, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar, and it makes him want to devour you whole. He abruptly slides his fingers out of your mouth, and the glistening string of your fluids that forms between your lips and his digits breaks off as he uses that same hand to grab your neck and bring your face close to his. Once you are mere inches apart, he stops for a moment, locking eyes with you, and the proximity between you is such that you can feel his long lashes brushing against your skin and see the flecks in different shades of red swimming in his irises. The stillness in the air makes you acutely aware of the sound of his heartbeat, and it paradoxically both comforts and torments you. Such is the nature of your relationship; yearning and sorrow, worship and regret, lust and greed. The duality of it is not lost to you, but you’re past the point of coming up with justifications, for it is far too late for redemption. You made your choice, he made his, and now his burden is yours to bear. It matters not if outsiders looking in cannot make sense of it, as the bond between you was never meant to be understood by anyone else—however ugly and twisted it may be perceived by those around you, it is undeniably a bond of love, one you are willing to protect even if it costs you everything.

“Until the world falls down.”

When he finally closes the distance between you and crashes his mouth into yours, your mind is wiped clean of any semblance of coherent thought and your senses are filled with nothing but him—his scent, his warmth, his taste. He hungrily parts your lips with his tongue as soon as your skin touches his, your teeth clicking in his desperation, and his grip on your neck tightens. You feel tears well up in your eyes, some spilling through your lashes and rolling down your cheeks, your repressed emotions overflowing as you lose yourself in the fierce intensity of his kiss. You want him, you need him, you hate him; you love him, oh how dearly you love him, more than life itself. He explores the inside of your mouth, wantonly, passionately, only stopping to suck on your bottom lip, nipping it with his fangs and lapping at the droplets of blood blooming from the punctured flesh. Once he pulls away, gasping for air, you are both a disheveled mess, lips swollen and bruised and red. Not yet letting go of you, his fingers wrapped around your throat still, he guides your head back down, laying it on the soft feather pillow, only to then straighten up his torso, hand on your neck holding you in place and darkened eyes looking down upon you. From your position below him, he looks ethereal, almost godly, as the moon casts a pale halo around his frame, shining its light on the naked skin of his upper body.

He holds this position for a while, silently studying your face, and as he does, his intense gaze seems to gradually soften, mellowing out into almost tenderness. You feel the pressure of his fingers on your skin lessen, and then cease completely as he frees you, raising his hand up to cup your cheek. His thumb traces the trail of dried tears, and you lean into his soothing touch, eyes wettening once more. Taking notice of this, he leans back down and brushes his lips against the teardrops threatening to escape from your lashes, drying them before they fall.

“Shh, my darling, hush.” The softness in Astarion’s voice and the gentleness of his caresses as he runs his fingers through your hair are all you ever yearned for, all you ever needed, and yet with every touch your chest tightens and you feel a pang of loneliness and guilt tugging at your unbeating heart, for this is what you want, but not what you deserve. You have failed him, just as he has failed others, and your regrets bind you together for eternity as the thread of your fate entangles with his in a constricting embrace—so is it too greedy, to let yourself be selfish and indulge in his warmth before the sun rises? Is even someone as broken and wicked as you allowed a moment of reprieve, however brief? You know not the answer to these questions, nor do you think you ever will. All you know is that there’s nowhere else you want to be but in his arms, no matter how much it hurts, for you’ll endure the pain as long as you are by his side.

“Kiss me,” you quietly plead, your supplication barely a whisper, prompting him to pull away slightly to look into your eyes. He takes a moment to try and read your expression, his gaze sharp, inquisitive, stripping you off all your defenses and laying you bare before him. A short time passes, and without saying a word, he lowers his head down again, lips brushing against yours, their pillowy softness and the taste of your blood still lingering on his skin shrouding your mind in a white fog. You raise both of your arms and wrap them around his neck, bringing him closer as your mouth matches his movements, the desperation of before now manifesting more tenderly, more lovingly, but just as intensely. One of his hands remains on your cheek as he kisses you, and with the other, he finally unlaces his pants, freeing his neglected erection, which by now is slick from the precome leaking from its engorged head. The color of the sky outside slowly begins to brighten, now a beautiful blend of periwinkle and cyan, and as the twilight peaks and starts to reach its end, Astarion decides he has waited long enough—he will take you here and now, before the merciless, harsh light of the sun engulfs you both.

Feeling his hardness against your thigh, you readily comply, spreading your legs apart. You need this just as much as he does; to be one with him, carnally, for your souls have long merged, and there is no you without him just as there is no him without you. As he lines up with your entrance, his lips leave yours and he presses your foreheads together, staring into your eyes with reassuring tenderness. You feel the tip of his cockhead flush against your dripping sex—the reddened, puffed up skin feels warm, and thinking of how it is swollen from his blood in your veins is all it takes for him to finally snap and give into his desires. He slides inside of you in a single thrust, the wetness from your juices facilitating his entry as he stretches your walls to accommodate his large size. You try to bite back a whimper, your eyes once again tingling and prickling with the promise of tears as one of your hands finds its way to the back of his head and your fingers become entangled in his silvery curls. Not moving immediately, he waits a while, giving you time to adjust. You revel in the familiar feeling of his cock stuffed inside your core, the pain and warmth of it, and you wonder if he too can find comfort nowhere else but in your flesh, as it is only when filled with him that you are able to hold together the broken pieces of your descended mind.

The hand that had been cupping your cheek now rests on your waist as he moves his head to nuzzle the curve of your neck, taking in your scent. Ever so slowly he starts rolling his hips back and forth, planting gentle kisses on the delicate skin where his fangs had been buried just moments ago, now stained with patches of dried blood. You close your eyes, still trying to hold back the tears, hugging him as tightly as you can, or as tightly as he’ll let you. His pace is at first languid, sensual, allowing you to feel the entirety of him as he massages your aching, tender walls, still sensitive and spasming from your orgasm. He grunts in your ear, prompting you to start undulating your own hips, doing your best to match his rhythm. Emboldened by this, he moves his hands down to grab your ass, tilting your pelvis up and pulling you closer to him. Just as desperate to feel him as deeply as physically possible, you wrap your legs around his midriff, allowing him to reach the innermost parts of your throbbing cunt. When the tip of his cock brushes against the spongy skin of your cervix, your gut tightens and you cry out for him, unable to contain yourself.

“Astarion…”

The sound of his name in your lips, so very eager, so very sweet, is all the encouragement he needs, and the once languid movements give way to more vigorous pounding, the lewd sound of smacking flesh echoing in the otherwise quiet room as he snaps his hips and buries himself deeper inside your aching core. Your body rocks in rhythm with his thrusts, the tears in your eyes finally escaping your lashes and running down your face, a chaotic culmination of all the pleasure, all the hurt, all the desire and all the devotion brewing deep inside your heart as your raging feelings come to a boil. No one can understand, no one will understand—and yet, as he fucks you senseless in the early hours, pumping his cock in and out of you with lascivious abandon, none of it matters. You hold him even closer, pressing your squishy breasts flush against the sweaty, glistening skin of his chest. He moans at the sensation, intensifying his pace and using his hands on your ass to tilt your pelvis higher, pushing your folded legs, which are still wrapped around him, as close to your upper body as your flexibility will allow it. You feel the muscles in your thighs stretching and burning, but this only excites you further, and the soft whimpers leaving your lips escalate in frequency and loudness alike.

As he continues pounding into you, Astarion’s kisses on your neck become more passionate, more heated, going from pecks, to licking, to sucking, until eventually he gives in and once again sinks his fangs in the bruised flesh. You mewl faintly and your grip on his hair tightens, in response to which he bites down on you harder, nails raking across the skin of your ass as his thrusts grow fiercer, more violent. The message immediately gets through to you—the cheeky little spawn must know her place—so you obediently let go of his curls, although your digits remain entangled in them still; yet he does not slow down his pace, ramming into you with such force that you are afraid you will have trouble walking once he is finished. Be that as it may, one of his hands leaves its place on your ass to hover above your swollen clit, which twitches desperately as his cock resurfaces and then disappears again inside your cunt. He grasps it between two deft fingers, massaging the engorged bundle of nerves as a reward for your obedience, and that is all it takes for tension to again start building up in your groin.

“You have given me everything.”

His digits on your tender bud; your blood running down his throat; his cock slamming into you, stretching open your tight walls—you are so very close to climaxing again, and yet you don’t want the moment to end; you don’t want morning to come, breaking the spell and robbing your lover from you, as it always so cruelly does. The tragic inevitability of it is however unaffected by the infinitude of your existence, a gift that was also bequeathed to you by him, and enveloped by the ice-cold embrace of the memories of your death, your body comes alive as you are pushed over the edge, your twitching cunt fluttering and contracting around him, creaming and squirting your sweet juices all over his length.

As you slump back and go limp is his arms, Astarion unlatches his mouth from your neck and props up his torso to marvel at your image as you bask in the glory of your release—so maddeningly beautiful, cheeks and plump lips flushed bright pink with what remains of his lifeblood within you; his consort, his spawn, his to use as he pleases, his and nobody else’s. While he continues fucking you through your orgasm, all you can hear are his low moans and grunts and the squelching sounds of your wetness as he ruts into you with ever increasing furor. You can tell he is also close by the way he holds your hips with both of his hands, pushing his own against them with almost vicious ferocity while you remain slumped on the headboard, tits bouncing cutely with every thrust. The daylight seeping through the curtains now brightens up the room, and as you look up at him with half-lidded eyes, you notice how handsome he looks illuminated by the gentle glow of the rising sun, sweat beading his temple and dripping down his chin and nose.

“Gods…” he groans, voice raspy with lust, and with one final push he empties himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his seed, which feels thick and warm flooding your tender walls. Still panting and sucking in sharp breaths, he falls on top of you, not bothering to pull his cock out of your still spasming cunt, chest flush against yours and head burrowed in the crook of your neck. Spillover runs down your thighs and soaks into the wrinkled sheets, but neither of you bother cleaning it up, the resulting stain surely to give the maids good reason to blush later.

You bring a hand up to his silky curls once more, gently running your fingers through them as you feel the calming thumping of his slowing heartbeat vibrating against your cold skin. As the dawn finally breaks over the still sleeping city, signaling the beginning of a new day in your undead life—for better or for worse—you find comfort in the warmth of his flesh and the sound of his ragged breathing as it gradually steadies. All your suffering, all your pain; if even your death is required to bring him to life, then so be it. He will live for the both of you, and you will love him for it. Forever—for good.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

#personal #astarion x tav #bg3 #bg3 fic #ascended astarion #lord astarion #astarion #astarion smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #ascended astarion x reader #fic: death and his maiden #my fics

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mxqdii · 8 months

Note

Hi! Can you write something about how Mattheo or Theo would react to someone yelling and being really mean to y/n? It can be fluff or smut I will leave it to you❤️

what i was made for - m.s

pairings: mattheo riddle x reader

summary: mattheo comforting reader as she breaks down

warning(s): violence, comfort, mentions of killing curse, cursing, very sad ending (prepare yourself)

a/n: so originally, i was doing the request. but i ended up getting carried away with ideas.. and so if anybody wants me to make this a series i can !!

not proofread

it's been a really bad week.

everyone found out about my dad being a death eater, causing me to loose friends and people just viewing me differently

i get dirty look walking to class, whispering all around me, people gossiping and spreading lies.

it's hell

thankfully, i still have my friendgroup in slytherin, because at least they'll hear me out.

i also have my boyfriend mattheo

he's been nothing but sweet while everything has been chaos

he's helped me a lot, more then he'll ever know,

although, recently i've been more distant.

thing's have been getting harder, and i can't help but feel weak.

i don't want mattheo fighting all my battles for me, and also, it's just overall embarrassing

as i walk to potions, a group of girls stop in front of me.

i sigh, recognizing them instantly

they've been tormenting me this whole week

"what now" i say with a groan

"well, we just wanted to say we're sorry about what we said" one of the girls says and i keep my annoyed expression

"no you're not" i laugh

they all scoff and walk away, except one.

"go on now" i say, voice slightly raised.

"no, because you see.. they don't like you because of your dad, me on the other hand? i just don't like you." she says

i can't help but admit, her words caught me by surprise a bit.

"okay... why?" i say and she grins

"you don't remember me do you?"

i examine her face, trying to find the familiarity.

and then it hits me

"jasmine.." i mumble and she nods

jasmine was a girl in my class third year, she ended up leaving the school because of her ex.

"the look on your face? priceless. honestly, it was one of my reasons to come back" she says and i scoff

i see her tie her hair up

"you- you wanna fight me?!" i shout and she grins

"cmon, one way to settle this, you win? i'm gone, for good this time" she says nodding

next thing i know, jasmine is on the floor with a black eye and a broken nose.

i run back to the common room, getting stopped before i get there.

cormac.

"what happened? you finally get what you deserved?" he says, all his friends laughing

"fuck off" i say, trying to walk away

he grabs my wrist and i try to break out of his grasp but fail.

"let go of me!!" i shout, still trying to break free.

he abruptly lets go, making me fall.

him and his friends laugh and i stand up, tears filling my eyes.

i push him up against a wall, pointing my wand to his throat.

"you fucking mess with me again i'll avada kedavra your ass you understand?" i yell and he doesn't say anything, eyes widening

"do you understand??" i yell louder this time and he nods in fear

i loosen my grip, my wand now not being so pushed up against him, looking around i see all his friends looking at me terrified, looking the other direction i see mattheo.

i put my wand away, walking to my dorm, looking down the whole time.

closing my door, i break down completely.

i threatened someone with the killing curse

it hits me then suddenly,

i'm becoming just like my father.

i hear a knock on my door, not bothering to answer.

the door opens anyway, making me wipe my tears and any possible blood on my face

i'm met with mattheos soft gaze, the concern and worry in his eyes.

"get out!" i yell

"no" he says, walking closer to me

"mattheo.. GET OUT!!!" i shout

he's now inches away.

"get out, get out, get out." i say repeatedly, hitting his chest.

"let it out, it's okay" he mumbles softly

i eventually give up, just falling to my knees sobbing

he pulls me into a hug, stroking my hair.

after what feels like forever, but what was probably only a minute, i wipe my tears and sigh.

"sorry, i'm okay" i say sniffling

"stop telling me you're okay, you're not." he says and i look down in defeat.

"cmon" he says, grabbing my hand and dragging me to the bathroom

he grabs q-tips and hydrogen peroxide, cleaning the cuts on my face

the stinging doesn't phase me at this point, being too numb to really care.

"i'm becoming my father" i mumble and he stops his actions

"what? no you're not" he says and i scoff

"i threatened cormac with the killing curse mattheo, thats not something someone says in a civil conversation. i'd be surprised if i dont get expelled" i express

"i'll talk to mcgonagall about it okay?" he mumbles and i nod

after cleaning my wounds, we head into bed.

he wraps his arms around me, feeling overwhelmed by his warmth, i fall asleep.

i wake up in the middle of the night, gathering a sweater and my shoes.

i tiptoe out of my dorm to the astronomy tower.

i think about everything thats happened this past week

people finding out about my father, people hating me, threatning cormac.

it's that moment that a flip inside of me flips

a moment of clarity, realization.

i hear footsteps behind me, turning around and seeing the exact person i called for

"i'm ready" i say to him, walking closer.

in the end, all of this, it's all apart of the journey. because i am my father, and i couldn't come to terms with it before, but i am now, i can't deny destiny.

"you will be great, just as your father is." he says and i nod

"thank you, my lord" i say, looking at my wrist seeing the deatheater mark.

looking down at it, i smile, i feel complete.

i liked the power i had over cormac, the rush, the adrenaline. i liked fighting jasmine, that feeling of control.

about jasmine by the way, forgot to mention.. she was my ex. and she left because of me, she found out about my father and i told her to leave, and if she ever came back i'd have him kill her.

that was the start, where everything started going wrong.

i hear footsteps coming up the stairs, seeing mattheo.

"baby why'd you-" he starts speaking, but i notice his gaze shifting to my wrist

his eyes widen and fill with tears

"no... you didn't" he says in disbelief

"th-thats not fair.. i did what i was supposed to do..!" he shouts

i look at him in confusion

"i tried so hard, so hard. to make sure you never got the mark, i did everything, begged him not to" he explains

"mattheo, i did this, it was me."

the look on his face changes, changes to digust and shame.

"you wanted this?!?!" he shouts, tears falling down his face

"who.. who are you?" he cries, looking me up in down with that disgusted expression.

"mattheo.. think of how great we could be, we could be a team. do this together-" i start

"together? together?!?!" he yells

"you want me to- how long? how long have you been planning this?" he asks

"you don't want me to answer that mattheo." i say in honesty

"i hurt people mattheo, it's all i'm good at. i'm sorry you were the one to love me, when i told you not to, you should have listened" i added

"you were right, you are your father." he says in horror and i smile

"takes one to know one" i say, adding on a final goodbye,

"goodbye mattheo"

a/n: could make this into a potential series if anyone would want that, lmk!!

TAGLIST:

@strniolo @stargirlv0id @annaisabookworm

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #slytherin boys #draco malfoy #harry potter #hogwarts #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle fluff #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #voldemort #lord voldemort #angst #sad ending #death eaters #dark mark #betrayal #madispeaks!

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ephemerasnape · 15 days

Text

Outlier Audios

Here are some short audios I've done with some well-beloved dark wizards from the Harry Potter universe... I've posted them all before but it was ages ago now.

They are not explicit but definitely suggestive.

Because you needed underhanded praise from these hot Slytherin bastards... 🥵

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highreevess · 2 years

Note

Omg I loved what u wrote about rafe but I'm currently in love with tom riddle again. Can you write a smut (or fluff whatever u like) about a popular!Hufflepuff reader (or whatever house u like) with tom trying to seduce her?

Of course! I'm going to write smut because, with Tom Riddle, fluff is pretty much nonexistent, but I will make the smut a bit softer than I usually would. Though Tom Riddle would never be sweet during honest sex, he would be if he was trying to seduce someone.

My Tutor

Warnings: Underage sex (Tom and reader are seventeen), seduction, manipulation, sub!reader unprotected sex.

Summary: Reader is at risk of failing her potions class, and she has to ace her next test in order to pass the class. She thinks that getting a perfect score on her next test is impossible, but when a certain dark-haired Slytherin offers his aid, she finds hope. What she doesn't know is that Tom Riddle is not helping her because he wants her to pass the class. He is helping her because he has been looking for an opportunity to seduce her for months. And when he finds it, he takes it.

Word count: 3,871

Sighing, I set down my graded essay and cross my arms over my chest.

"What's wrong, Y/N?" my classmate, Abraxas, asks.

"I failed," I sigh. I was studying for this potions essay for two weeks. I spent every night and day researching everything there is to know about potions, and yet I still failed.

"It's just one essay. You'll make it up," Abraxas says, dismissing my feelings about failing the paper as something unimportant.

"It's not just one essay," I tell him. "I'm barely passing potions. If I don't ace my next test, I'm going to fail the class." Though my grades are literally perfect in every other class, in this one, they are downright awful.

"I could always tutor you," a sudden voice says. Turning my head to the left, I see Tom Riddle standing above me, his hands clasped behind his back. Eyebrows furrowing, I ask, "Why would you offer?" Though I am quite liked throughout the school by most of the students and staff, there are still some people that do not like me. Tom Riddle is one of those people.

"You said you were at high risk of failing. If I tutor you, you will pass," he answers simply, as if I am stupid for asking my question.

For a moment, I think about denying his offer because I know how calculating and manipulative Tom Riddle can be when it suits him, but if I don't take him up on his offer, I am going to fail. Tom Riddle is top of the class, meaning there is no one better. If I want to pass, I need him.

"When can you tutor me?" I ask.

"Tonight," he answers, and my eyes widen. "Are you sure?" I ask. I hadn't expected him to offer to tutor me so soon.

"The test is in one week. If you wish to pass, we should start as soon as possible," he tells me.

I glance back at Abraxas, who just shrugs his shoulders and silently encourages me to take Tom Riddle up on his offer.

Swallowing, I look back at Tom Riddle. "Okay. Where?"

"The room of requirement after hours. Eleven to be precise," he answers before turning around and walking away. He heads toward the back of the library before disappearing behind a tall bookshelf.

I turn back to Abraxas and admit, "I don't know how I feel about being alone with him after hours."

"He's not going to hurt you," Abraxas assures, but even he knows that isn't something he can promise. Though I have never personally seen Tom Riddle cause harm to someone, I hear the rumors murmured throughout the school. I hear the rumors of him terrifying first-years and casting the imperius curse on sixth-years. I hear the rumors of him casting the cruciatus curse on those who have failed the tasks he has given them.

He has never been caught, but he has turned seventeen. That means the trace is no longer on him. The only way to prove that he used one of the unforgivable curses is to have a witness, and there are never witnesses.

"If his intentions were honest, he wouldn't want to meet alone after hours," I mumble, looking down at my potions essay.

"He can't kill you in the school, Y/N. You're worrying for nothing," Abraxas says, dismissing my thoughts.

"Am I?" I retort, meeting the fair-haired wizard's gaze.

He ignores my concerns yet again because he knows they are valid. Instead of arguing with me, he just says, "Do you have a choice?"

At his words, my gaze travels down to my potions essay, which is marked in dozens of places in bright red ink.

Swallowing, I answer, "No."

*****************************************************

Making my way down the large hallways of the school, I quickly head toward the room of requirement. It is just before eleven at night, but professors and other staff are often awake at this time. It's risky for me to leave my common room after hours.

But as Abraxas reminded me earlier today in the library, I do not have a choice.

When I come across a small corridor with a spiral staircase made of stone, I take it, heading upward until I get to the seventh floor of the large castle.

Once I step off of the staircase, I make my way to the corridor on the floor on the left. Once there, I make my way forward until I come across a wall made of stone with nothing on it.

I stand in front of the wall for a few moments, and eventually, a wooden door appears in front of me. I swallow and intake a deep breath before walking forward and opening the door.

I make my way into the room of requirement and see Tom Riddle standing just a few feet away from me, his hands clasped promptly behind his back. To the right of him is a rectangular table with two chairs on opposite sides. To the left of him is a large fireplace made of gray stone. Within the stone fireplace are a few green logs, crackling because of the green fire burning them.

"You came," he announces, his eyes narrowed as if he did not expect me to.

"I didn't really have a choice," I admit.

"We all have a choice."

His words cause my mouth to gape slightly because I don't know what to say to that.

Clearing my throat, I ask, "Shall we start?"

He nods and glances at the table he stands next to.

Taking the hint, I walk over to the table and pull out the chair on my side before taking a seat in it. He, however, does not do the same. Instead, he continues standing next to me, not even a foot away. "I have reviewed your most recent essay. You struggle most with the fundamental elements of each ingredient within a potion. You struggle with explaining how these ingredients make a certain potion when mixed together."

He takes a step closer to me, and I find myself swallowing at the action. He stands only two inches away from me—close enough for me to smell his cologne, close enough for me to feel his shadows.

"We shall work on that first," he says, and I give a curt nod.

His hand reaches out, and he grabs a piece of parchment with neat notes written on it in the finest of cursive—no doubt written by Tom himself. He wouldn't settle for notes written by anyone other than himself.

"I'm going to ask a series of questions. You are going to answer them," he says, leaving little room for argument.

"What is Aconite used for?" he asks.

"It's used in the Wolfsbane Potion and Wideye Potion," I answer.

"That's not what I asked."

"Yes, it was," I argue.

"I asked what it is used for, not what it is used in," he tells me, and I roll my eyes.

"What's the difference?"

"This is what I mean," he tells me, "you're misunderstanding the questions asked on tests and misunderstanding the prompts on essays. You know the material. You are just misunderstanding what is asked of you."

"Then, how do I fix that?" I ask.

"First, I want you to try to answer these questions," he says, grabbing a piece of parchment from the stack of papers on the table I'm sitting at. He brings it in front of me and says, "Read the questions and answer them. Really read them. Now that you know what your problem is, you may be able to fix it without my help. Give it a try."

Though I don't think I will be able to do what he thinks I can, I nod my head and turn my attention to the paper in front of me. On it is a series of hand-written questions written in the darkest of ink.

I look for a quill on the table, but when I don't find one, I turn to Tom. I see him holding a quill and an inkpot. He hands the quill to me and sets the golden pot of ink down on the table, a few inches away from my paper.

I mumble words of thanks before dipping the quill he gave me into the ink pot and casting my gaze on the paper in front of me once more.

I begin to read over the questions and prompts on the paper, double and triple-checking the questions before bringing the end of the quill to the paper and writing down an answer. I then check the questions again and my answers again before moving on to the next one.

Tom, though silent and uninterrupting, stands right next to me, distracting me even though he does not mean to. He watches me as I answer the questions he has written down, his blue eyes narrowed in observance.

After about ten minutes of answering the questions on Tom Riddle's "quiz," I feel Tom Riddle shift. He moves so that he stands behind me instead of next to me before leaning over.

Turning his head so that his mouth is close to my ear, he whispers, "Reread number seven." The coolness of his breath against my skin causes goosebumps to break out all over my body, but I try my best to ignore them. I give him a curt nod before redirecting my gaze to the seventh question on the parchment. I reread it and see that I misread the question when I answered it a minute ago.

I dip my quill back into the inkpot before crossing out my written answer and writing a new one. Once I do, I set my quill down and wait for Tom Riddle to either tell me to try again or tell me that I got it right.

"Very good," he whispers into my ear, his deep voice causing my body to wrack with a small shiver.

He seems to notice this because he tilts his head and says, "Am I making you nervous?"

I swallow and shake my head, scared that my voice will betray me if I choose to give him a verbal answer.

I see Tom Riddle's eyes narrow out of the corner of my eye.

Tom Riddle moves his hand toward the table and gently grabs my hand, his index and middle fingers gently pressing into the underside of my wrist. "Then why is your heart racing?" he asks, and my eyes widen when I realize he has hold of my wrist to check my pulse.

He leans closer, and his eyes drop down to my chest, which is only covered by a thin, yellow top. "Why are you breathing so heavily?"

Swallowing, I try my best to scoot away from him, but with one of his hands gripping the back of my chair, it's impossible.

"There's no need to move away, Y/N," he says, letting go of my wrist. His now unoccupied hand goes to my hair. He tucks a lock of it behind my ear, and a small breath escapes my lips.

Leaning in, he whispers lowly into my ear, "There's no need to ignore what you want."

My body wracks with yet another shiver, and I mentally curse myself for it.

"Tom, we should be studying—"

"Is that really how you want to spend your time with me?" he asks, cutting me off. "Do you really want to spend your time with me learning potion formulas instead of allowing me to give you the pleasure you seek?"

A small gasp escapes my lips at his words, and the corner of his lips kicks up. Holding my gaze, he moves his hand. He moves it downward until it hovers just above my breasts. He lets it hover there for a moment before grabbing the top button of my yellow top and undoing it.

When I make no move to stop him or push him away, he undoes the second button, then the third, and the fourth.

Only when he gets to the last button of my top do I realize what he is doing. I quickly shove myself away from him and stand up from my chair. "We can't," I tell him, intaking deep breaths because I wasn't breathing at all a moment ago.

"Why not?" he asks, tilting his head.

Swallowing, I shake my head again and avoid answering his question. My cheeks are inflamed with heat, and I'm afraid that if I answer him, I will either give him an answer that he knows is a lie or an answer that is the truth, which is the very last thing I want.

Tom Riddle takes a step forward. "Are you afraid I'm going to hurt you?" Though I would love to say yes, I can't because I know that it would be a lie.

And he would know it too.

So, I shake my head.

"Then what are you afraid of?" he asks, taking another step forward. He stands only half a foot away from me now, and it makes me take a step backward.

"I'm not afraid," I assure. "I'm simply not interested."

His head tilts, and he takes another step forward. And then another. He keeps moving closer to me until he backs me up against the stone wall behind me. Once he has, he brings his hand up to my face and thumbs my bottom lip. "Give me a real answer, and I'll leave you alone."

After a few moments of silence, his gaze drops from my eyes to my lips. He begins to stroke my bottom lip with his thumb, his eyes fixed on the movement.

Suddenly, he parts my mouth and sticks his thumb inside. My lips close around his finger on instinct, and he notices this with a smirk. "You can lie to yourself all you want," he tells me, tucking another lock of hair behind my ear with his free hand, "but you can't lie to me."

He removes his thumb from my mouth before surging forward, pressing his lips to mine. My eyes widen at the action, but all it takes is the sweep of his tongue against my lips for me to lean into the kiss. My eyes flutter closed, and I return the kiss.

Tom's large hands go to my top, and he undoes the very last button before pulling the top off of me, leaving me in only a black corset. Breaking the kiss, he grabs my shoulders and turns me around. He gently pushes my front against the cold wall in front of me before grabbing the laces of my corset. He quickly unties the corset while leaving kisses on my shoulders and neck.

Once he peels the corset from my body, he turns me around so that I am facing him.

My torso and breasts are hit by the coldness of the air, and a small gasp escapes my lips. I quickly cover my breasts with my hands, but he pulls my hands away and says, "Don't you dare."

"Tom—"

My words are cut off when he grabs my arm and spins both of us around. He then grabs my waist in his large hands and lifts me up. He sets me down on a cold, hard surface, and I don't realize that I am on top of a table until I look down and see the wood.

When I look back at Tom Riddle, I do not find him standing in front of me anymore.

I find him on his knees.

"Has someone given you an orgasm before?" he asks, and my mouth parts in a gasp.

"I'll take that as a no," he says, grabbing my thighs with his cold hands. He gently spreads them before saying, "Lift your hips for me, little witch."

I obey on instinct, and he grabs the end of my Hufflepuff uniform skirt before pulling it down until it reaches my ankles. He then pulls it off and tosses it somewhere in the room.

Though the frigid air around me makes me try to close my thighs, Tom Riddle makes it impossible. He keeps my thighs open with his powerful hands.

"Have you ever been with someone before?" he asks, and I swallow before nodding in answer. "One," I whisper.

"And he didn't make you cum?" he asks, and I swallow before shaking my head.

"Pity," he says, teasing my clothed pussy with his index finger. "A beautiful witch such as yourself shouldn't be left unsatisfied." My cheeks heat at his words, and he notices this with a widening of his smirk.

"Tell me, have you ever touched yourself?" he asks, and I nod.

"And did you cum?" he asks. I hesitate for a moment before shaking my head.

Narrowing his eyes, he asks, "Have you ever had an orgasm?"

My cheeks heat yet again, but this time it isn't because of lust; it's because of embarrassment.

"There's nothing to be ashamed about, Y/N," he tells me, moving my panties to the side so that my pussy is exposed to him. He trails his index finger up my slit until it brushes over my clit, and my hips involuntarily buck against him.

Leaning in, he blows on my exposed clit, and a breath of air passes my lips. "Tom," I beg, but I don't know what for.

"Do you want me to touch you?" he asks, and I nod. Though I know that I shouldn't be doing this with him, the need to have him touch me overpowers all the warning bells going off in my mind.

"I need words, Y/N."

"Touch me please," I beg, and he obliges immediately. He presses his index finger against my clit and begins rubbing tight circles into it. "You have all of these stressful things weighing on you and no way to relax," he says, teasing my entrance with his middle finger. "Such a pity," he tells me, sliding his middle finger inside of me.

"Tom," I breathe, bucking my hips against him. "More." I don't want to rush him or boss him around, but I need more. I need him to make me cum.

"Such a greedy little thing," he chides, removing his finger from me. My eyes widen at the loss, and I open my mouth to tell him to touch me again, but he shushes me by speaking first. "I'll give you what you want, Y/N. Don't worry."

I watch him as he undoes his belt and tosses it to the floor beneath him. The metal of his buckle hits the stone floor with a loud noise that causes me to flinch slightly.

He seems to notice my flinch because he says, "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you." Leaning forward, he presses another kiss on my lips, which I return in less than a millisecond.

My hands go to his slacks, which I quickly unzip. He steps out of them before pushing me down onto the table so that I am lying on it. "Hold on to me," he tells me, and my eyebrows furrow in confusion. Seeing my confusion, he says, "Trust me. You'll want to hold on."

Though I do not understand why he is telling me to hold on to him, I obey and grab onto his large arms.

That's when I feel it.

Something hard touches my core, and I look up at Tom's face when I realize that it is his cock. "Tom—"

"Trust me, little witch," he breathes, pushing the head of his cock into me. I gasp when I feel how thick it is, and my nails involuntarily dig into the flesh of his large arms.

"Shh," he says, bringing his hand up to my face. He strokes my cheek with his thumb as he gently continues to push inside of me. "It will feel good in a moment. Just hold on."

Though the sheer size of him pains me, his words cause me to nod my head and close my eyes tightly as I wait for the pain to subside.

Slowly and gently, he works his way inside of me, stroking my cheek and whispering words of encouragement as he does. Once he finally bottoms out, he whispers, "Are you okay?"

Though I am still in some pain, I nod my head, and he begins to slowly move.

I keep my hands on his biceps so I can hold onto him, and he seems to notice because he moves one of his arms so he can reach between my legs. He moves his fingers until he finds my clit, and once he does, he begins to rub tight circles into it.

The feeling of him rubbing tight circles into my clit causes me to relax around him, and I find myself allowing my eyes to flutter closed, in pleasure this time; not pain.

Wiggling my hips, I try to get him to rub my clit faster, but he doesn't. He rubs slow, tight circles into me, and it makes me whine in frustration.

I see him tilt his head, a wicked smirk forming on his pale face. "Tell me what you want," he says, continuing to circle my clit and fuck me at an agonizingly slow pace.

"Faster," I breathe, hoping he will understand what I mean.

He does.

He circles my clit faster and begins to gently pick up the pace of his thrusts.

Though I have touched myself before and have been touched by others, it has never felt like this. His touches are so skilled, and it makes me whine in pleasure.

I feel something coiling low in my stomach, and my eyes widen. "Tom," I say, my voice shaky. "Tom, I feel something weird—"

"Shh," he says. "Don't fight it. Just let go."

"Tom—"

"Trust me," he says as he continues rubbing my clit and thrusting into me.

The feeling in my lower stomach intensifies as he continues fucking me, and eventually, I am hit with an overwhelming feeling of pleasure. My eyes flutter closed, and my mouth parts in a quiet moan as pleasure takes me. "Oh, God," I whimper.

Tom Riddle's thrusts begin to quicken, and my eyes open when I feel it. I look up at Tom Riddle and see him with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

He begins to fuck me at a hard, fast pace, and though I am very sensitive because of the orgasm I just had, I don't object to his roughness. Instead, I watch as a rapture of pleasure overtakes his features.

I feel him pull out of me, and a second later, I feel something squirt onto my stomach.

When his eyes open, he looks down at me. "You're never going to be satisfied by someone else again."

He gets off of me before helping me off of the table. He then grabs my skirt and allows me to step into it. He pulls it up before grabbing the rest of my clothes and helping me dress. Once I'm fully dressed, he puts his clothes on as well.

"You need more tutoring. Meet me here again tomorrow night."

4K notes · View notes

daddyjackfrost · 2 years

Text

Chapter 1: A Fated Meet

╰┈➤ ❝ [Stay With Me ; Morpheus] ❞

morpheus x fem!reader

warnings: third person pov, 5k+ words, i have not read the comics

read chapter 2 here

stay with me ; masterlist

The air was warm and husk as the full moon illuminated the small village, livelier than it ever was during the day. Peasants swarmed around, singing and drinking. That was the power of the dark, it brought upon such comfort. Hidden, yet not concealed, had been humanity’s favourable way of living.

Death, the maternal eldest sister of her siblings, quite enjoyed small towns. The first act of life and the final act of death felt intimate among villages, and perhaps it was her yearning to understand humanity, but a mourning village was humanity’s greatest display of love.

Walking beside Death, was her younger brother: Dream. Both of the siblings, The Endless, were out in the Waking World for different reasons.

Death, while doing her job, wanted to walk amongst humans with her brother. She wanted him to connect to the living, awake humans that visited his realm. It had been an old conversation that had carried on for thousands of years.

Dream, in all his ancient and sullen glory, had left his realm to appease his sister.

Death smiled at Dream, motioning her head towards the lively tavern to their right. “Let’s go inside, Dream.” Death began walking towards the tavern, her dress following behind her.

Dream held back a sigh. When it came to Death, there was not a single place he would not follow. As much as he disliked leaving his realm, he had yet to decline an offer from Death. For her, Dream would do anything.

Dream’s original impression of the tavern did not do it justice. The inside of the wooden pub was filled with village folk, men and women alike. Loud, overlapping conversations and lit torches welcomed the siblings. In the midst of the chaos, Death and Dream walked slowly through the tavern.

“Must we spend time here, dear sister? I assumed we would visit those who called to you.”

Although the tavern was loud, overwhelmingly so, Dream’s voice wrapped around Death.

“Patience, Dream.” Grabbing two jugs of alcohol, Death handed one to Dream, who looked at her unimpressed. “Look around you. This… this is humanity. This is what they live for.”

Dream scanned the tavern, taking in the scene before him. His eyes trailed their clothes, their hair, and their mannerisms. Dream did not know how his sister could see beyond what mortals were, temporary. Humans were nothing special, not to Dream. They had simply been created to give his siblings and himself a purpose. A job.

“I do not know how one could want to live this life. They are miserable. Why else do they sleep as much as they do? Spend much of their life in my realm?”

Death rolled her eyes, and took a sip of her drink. As she did, Dream placed his drink on an empty table, abandoning it.

“Humans are so much more than you give them credit for, Dream.”

“Doubtful,” Dream said, slightly amused. Death’s relentless pursuit was admirable. “A human could not love this life. This is why they kill and return to you so quickly.”

Death raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in her eyes. “Is that so?”

Dream nodded, once. He controlled the realm of dreams and nightmares. He was the King of The Dreaming, he knew what humans yearned for, dreamed for, and it was not this. Nightmares for humans consisted of happenings from the Waking World; debt, illness, loss, and fear.

Mortals feared their own creations, as well as his.

Death began walking. “I want to introduce you to someone, Dream. Someone I believe may change your stubborn mind.”

Curious, Dream followed his sister. The Endless were not supposed to mingle with mortals, not unless absolutely necessary. And his sister was not one to break the rules.

Death stopped in her tracks, staring at a table of women. Dream paused next to her, his eyes landing on a woman half standing in her seat, her voice passionately carrying through the tavern.

“I will never die, Karisa. I recommend you do not as well. Look around you,” the woman spread her arms, motioning to the tavern, “there is so much to live for. Why would death take me from a world I was born to love?”

Dream’s eyes darkened. There was something in the woman’s voice that called to him, cut through the noise of the tavern and reached his ears. Intrigued, Dream shifted closer to the woman.

At the slight movement next to her, Death’s lip twitched. She leaned into Dream, speaking quietly.

“This, Dream, is Y/n L/n. A mortal not afraid of death, but afraid of not loving enough.”

Dream stood straighter. “You once asked me if a human could love their life enough to live it forever, and I believe we may have just found our answer.”

Dream hummed in response. With the slight tilt of his head, he considered this human. At first glance, she appeared to look like any other woman that visited his realm. Dream’s eyes travelled the length of the woman. Her hair seemed to shine, her eyes twinkled, and something magical seemed to run in her blood.

It was with distraught as Dream of The Endless realized he found this human to be beautiful.

From the corner of her eyes, Death tried to decipher the look on her brother’s face. Yet, Dream remained stoic and unmoved.

“We all die, Y/n. There is no escaping it.” Karisa, the blonde woman sitting across Y/n, stated.

Y/n shook her head, tucking her escaped hair behind her ear. “No,” she disagreed. “If this life was a gift, Death shall not take it back. Surely it cannot be that hateful.”

Death grinned, and Dream’s soft pink lips twitched.

“Are you hateful, sister?”

Death let out a small laugh. “Not even close,” she whispered back.

“What do you propose, then? How will you live your life to escape death?” Karisa asked, amused.

Death, Dream, and the other women around the table leaned closer, intrigued by Y/n’s answer.

“Simple,” Y/n sat back on her stool. “I will simply live my life, promising to love openly. There is such a wide sea I have yet to explore, land I have yet to see. I know I shall live my life to the fullest. And my love for living will save me.”

Dream let out the softest of sighs. He had never heard a human speak in such a way. The very reason he existed was because when the Waking World left humans wanting and weary, they would enter his realm.

If humans began to love their waking life, would there be a need for The Dreaming?

Dream planned to ask Lucienne about Y/n. What she dreamed of. What scared her. Why did he not recognize her from his realm?

Karisa, seemingly familiar with Y/n’s passion, laughed. “Love is not that strong, my naive dove. It cannot save you.”

Y/n’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, determined. “On the contrary, my dear Karisa, I believe love to be very strong. And I have much to love, much to give my heart to.” With a smile that only a friend could decipher, Y/n said, “you know how much love I have to give.”

Karisa let out a small smile, shaking her head. “Yes, darling. You and your overly large heart.”

Y/n brought her jug to her lips, smiling at her friend.

Death shared a look with Dream. Many, many, eons ago, Death and Dream laid their opinions about humans on the table. Dream, confined to the human unconscious, believed that mortals could never love their lives, hence his very purpose.

Death, closer to humanity than any of her siblings, argued that a human’s capacity to live their life had little to do with eternity, and more with their ability to love.

With a nod, Death straightened and laid her hand upon Dream’s shoulder. “I grant Y/n L/n immortality. For as long as she loves her life and yearns to live, she shall live.” Turning to look at Dream, Death continued. “I, Death of The Endless, grant Dream of The Endless to take her life, if the chance arises.”

Dream tensed under Death’s touch, his lips parting for the slightest of moments at Death’s change of tone. Dream had taken lives before, but Death’s permission seemed intimate, like a ribbon of fate had been tied to his name.

Death released her grip on Dream’s shoulder and smiled at him.

“Learn from Y/n, Dream. Let her guide you to the meaning of humanity. And more importantly,” Death’s voice turned breathy, ancient, “she is yours.”

Dream’s lips twitched down. The air around him grew heavy and darkness crept into the tavern.

“Explain the meaning behind your last sentence, sister.”

Dream’s voice was huskier, taunting. It prickled the nape of Death’s neck. Although Death was older and wiser, she had seemingly forgotten that Death also ruled Nightmares, and his company was not all pleasant.

Stepping away from her brother, Death smiled. “I’m but a messenger of fate, Dream.”

Dream stared at the space Death occupied before she vanished. Flexing his fingers behind his back, Dream slipped into the shadows. He would wait to speak with Y/n, once they were alone.

Positioned at her highest, brightest point, the moon stood proud as the tavern emptied and the village-folk found their way back to straw mattresses and the cold floor.

Y/n, the last of her friends to remain, walked out of the tavern with the energy of a child. Hours within the crowded bar did little to hinder her appearance. Among the dirty, poorly mannered villagers, Y/n appeared to be a dream.

Dark calculating eyes watch the mortal from the shadows. Dream emerges into the moonlight with grace, his black robes dragging against the dirt road. Hand clasped behind his back, he stands tall as Y/n walks away from him.

“Are you the one who speaks of defying death?”

Dream’s voice is low and he speaks his words slowly, drawing her in. Y/n halts, her back instantly straightening. With caution, she turns and a small gasp escapes her.

Standing before her is a tall, lean man with snow-white skin, and long black hair. She recognizes the embroidery on his black robes as those of the wealthy. Shadows hide his features, but Y/n does not miss his sharp jaw or the downward curve of his lips.

Strange, she thinks, everything about him is dark, except his lips.

“Love, was it?” The stranger’s voice vibrates against Y/n’s spine. “Your love for life will be your saving grace?”

Y/n turned completely, coming face-to-face with a being that resembled a man, yet felt anything but.

“Are you mocking me, sir?” Y/n raised an eyebrow at the man. She had not seen him in the tavern, and the man before her was not dismissable.

“Anything but, human. I find your love for living intriguing.” Dream took one step closer, his voice ticking Y/n’s cheek. “You must tell me how far love gets you.”

Dream’s lips curve upwards briefly, and Y/n pinches her hand. “Let us meet every hundred years, Y/n L/n, and you shall tell me if you truly love this life.”

Before Dream can slip back into his realm, Y/n asks him: “How will you find me?”

Dream had forgotten how conscious humans can be. As Dream prepared to respond, he noticed a glint in Y/n’s eyes, one that seemed to already know his answer, but yearned for the words to be spoken aloud.

“I will find you, Y/n. Even if you may not want me to.”

With that, Dream slipped back into the shadows and into his realm, The Dreaming. Before the gateway closed, Dream caught Y/n’s brief smile and turned his head. He had experienced enough of humanity to last him a thousand years.

Waiting in Dream’s throne room, Lucienne, the chief librarian, stood patiently. She had received word from her Lord to find everything they had on a Y/n L/n, and to Lucienne’s frustration, there was very little.

“Lucienne.”

Lucienne bowed as Dream walked by her and sat on the steps of his throne. Raising her head, Lucienne faced her Lord, smiling. “How was your trip in the Waking World, my Lord?”

Dream paid little attention to the librarian.“Interesting,” he answered, shortly.

His eyes landed on Lucienne’s empty hands and Dream frowned. “I asked for records, Lucienne. Where are they?” Dream’s voice remained as soft and emotionless as it always did, but Lucienne did not miss the flex of his fingers.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I checked very thoroughly and there is no record of Y/n L/n in The Dreaming. The only information I could find was that she is an only child, and her parents died when she was a mere babe.”

Dream rose to his feet, his long black coat following him down the steps until he reached Lucienne.

“How is that possible, Lucienne? Every mortal dreams. We have records of every single human.”

The weight of Dream’s words pressed down on the librarian and she winced. “I know, my Lord. However, Y/n simply does not exist within The Dreaming.”

Dream stared at Lucienne’s earnest expression and let out a small hum. It seemed that Death’s chosen human would be more interesting than Dream thought.

Lucienne cleared her throat and Dream’s eyes shifted to her, attentive. “Perhaps, my Lord…” Lucienne chose her words carefully, “Y/n may not be completely human.”

Dream lightly exhaled through his nose, releasing the tension that had gathered between his shoulder blades. He let himself breathe in the scent of The Dreaming, knowing it cleared his mind/

“A God?” Morpheus questioned, mused.

Lucienne shook her head. “Not quite, sir. I checked the Book of Gods, and did not find her in it.”

Dream walked back to the steps, sitting down. His coat spread out around him dramatically and he rested an arm on his knee, rubbing the skin under his chin.

“If not a God…”

“I am not sure, my Lord. But as you said, mortals dream, yet Y/n does not. She is an enigma.”

“Yes, Lucienne.” Dream thought back to the woman with a profound interest in living. “She is.”

“What will you do, my Lord?” Lucienne tried to keep her curiosity to herself, but she wished to know what her Lord would do. Y/n L/n was unknown to The Dreaming, and therefore, a possible threat.

“Nothing,” Dream answered. “I am not to worry myself with her, Lucienne. I will meet her in a hundred years time, and have my questions answered then.”

Holding her tongue, Lucienne nodded and bowed.

“As you wish, sir.”

As Lucienne walked back to her library, Dream ran his thumb over his lips. There was something about Y/n that irked Morpheus. He was unsure whether it had to do with her overwhelming love for life, or because he did not know her.

“Jessamy,” Dream whispered.

As a master calls upon a servant, a black and white raven landed before Morpheus. The raven bowed at her master, waiting for instructions.

“The mortal, Y/n. I need you to keep an eye on her. You must tell me if she has any relationships with any Gods, or…” Dream paused, “my siblings.”

Jessamy, ever the faithful servant, bowed her head and flew off.

Morpheus stood and dusted off his coat. He would not think about Y/n anymore. He was an Endless, he had a job to do. Responsibilities to adhere to.

Transporting out of his palace and into Fiddler’s Green, Dream clasped his hands behind his back and began walking. He would travel through The Dreaming, visiting each resident and balancing dreams and nightmares, imagination and reality.

As a kingdom does for its King, grass parts for Morpheus and trees loom over him, protective of their King.

100 Years Later…

Y/n brushed her fingers through her hair, tucking the loose pieces behind her ear. She smoothed out her dress and sat down, pressing her back against the large tree. Although she brought a book to read, the tied pages lay untouched next to her.

A hundred years had passed since Y/n had met that strange man and made an unspoken deal with him. She thought about the man often. His eyes, voice, and most of all, the presence he carried.

Y/n breathed in the fresh air. Her eyes danced across the field, filled with children and their families. A wave of loss washed over Y/n. The man she had loved had died long ago, and her children had grown old.

“I see you are well, Y/n.”

A raspy, lowly pitched voice invades Y/n’s mind, vibrating against her skull. Blinking, she looked up at the figure standing to the left of her.

Y/n’s eyes took in the being clad in black robes. In the sun, Y/n got her first proper look at Dream. His dark raven hair was shorter than she remembered, his eyes held indifference, and his skin looked bone-white. His face was sculpted to perfection, straight nose, sharp jaw, and soft pink lips.

He was beautiful.

“I am, yes.” Y/n smiled at him. “You really did find me.”

“Had you any doubt?” Morpheus asked, curious.

“No,” Y/n answered. “I hope it was not easy, though.”

“Why? Is this a game?” Morpheus’s head tilted to the right slightly.

“Is it not?”

Straightening his form, Dream motioned toward the park. “Will you accompany me on a walk?”

Y/n did not know this man—being—but his voice, soft and raspy, was not asking a question. It was a hidden command, and Y/n was to obey.

Y/n answered by extending her hand to Morpheus, an invitation to appease her curiosity about him. After living longer than anyone she knew, Y/n cared less about etiquette and more about enjoying and loving her life.

Dream’s eyes narrowed at her outstretched hand but his expression remained stoic. With a gentleman’s grace, Morpheus stepped towards Y/n and slipped his curved hand under hers, his thumb resting on her fingers.

Y/n tightened her hold on Morpheus’s hand as he pulled her up. Their hands, locked and pressed together, resembled a sign Y/n had seen once in a book.

Yin and Yang.

Standing, Y/n and Morpheus stood close, their hands no longer connected. Y/n held her breath as she saw a glimpse of stars in his blue eyes, and Morpheus stood still as he recalled Death’s words: “she is yours.”

Morpheus stepped back, turned, and began walking. Y/n let out a breath before running after him. Standing close to him felt uncomfortable, like he knew the secrets kept hidden deep within.

Walking side by side yet with considerable farness, Y/n and Morpheus walked through the forest clearing. Y/n cleared her throat and Dream looked at her from the corner of his eyes.

“Will you ask me?”

Morpheus looked straight ahead. “How has life been for you, Y/n? Do you still love it?”

Y/n laughed, surprising Morpheus. “Life has been hard. My husband, family, and friends have died. Many from famine and the plague. Do you know how hard it is to explain why you are not aging? I think I may have caused mental anguish to some.”

Dream listened attentively. Her words held painful stories, and yet her tone was light, happy. Before making his presence known, Dream had watched Y/n for a moment. She looked content, uncomfortably so.

“Do you wish to die?”

With furrowed eyebrows and a smile, Y/n looked at Dream like he had asked an absurd question.

“Wish to die? Absolutely not, my goodness. The pain of loss dulls over the years, but I love my life. The feeling of falling in love is so enamouring, I wish to feel it again, and again.”

Dream stopped walking, turning towards the strange woman with the same passive expression.

“You love your life?”

“Yes.”

Morpheus nodded, once. “I see.” His tone remained soft, yet rumbling. “I shall meet you in one hundred years, Y/n.”

Before he could slip away from her, Y/n took a step toward him on instinct. Dark blue eyes glanced at her feet before flickering to her face.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Dream considered her words for a moment, before nodding. “If I may ask you one.”

Y/n shrugged, nodding. “What can I call you?”

Morpheus stared into Y/n’s eyes, looking for any ulterior motives. Names were powerful, and Morpheus had many.

Morpheus parted his lips, and changed his mind.

“You may call me Oneiros.”

Y/n tilted her head, her eyes wide with curiosity as she let his words sink in. “Oneiros”, she repeated slowly.

The sound of his name, old, unused, awakened something in Morpheus. He had chosen to give Y/n that name because it existed before her time.

“What does it mean?”

“You have asked your question.”

Y/n’s face dropped before she laughed. “Yes, I suppose I have. What is your question, Oneiros?”

“Do you dream, Y/n?”

For the first time since Morpheus learned about Y/n, she tensed and her lips twitched downward.

“Pardon me?”

Morpheus took a step closer to Y/n, tilting his head to match eye-levels.

“Do you dream, Y/n?” Morpheus’s voice was soft, but his question—and it was a question—felt taunting.

Y/n considered lying, but when Morpheus’s blue eyes caught hers, she knew that lying would be unorthodox. Such eyes, as ancient as they were, would see through her.

“No,” Y/n answered. Surprising herself, and The Dream Lord. “I do not dream when I sleep.”

Oneiros stepped closer to Y/n, until they breathed the same air.

“Why?”

For the first time since Y/n had met Morpheus, she heard the slightest hint of curiosity.

Stretching her lips into an uneasy smile, Y/n took a step back. Needing to breathe her own air.

“You have asked your question, Oneiros.”

Dream blinked, slowly. His lips twitched upwards.

“Yes. I suppose I have.”

Without a word, he slipped back into the shadows. Hidden from mortal view, Morpheus watched as Y/n stared at her hands before clenching them into fists.

When she turned and began walking, Morpheus slipped into The Dreaming.

200 Years Later…

“Are you on your way to visit the mortal, sir?”

Morpheus nodded at Lucienne. He stood on his palace balcony, taking in the sight of The Dreaming. His affection for his realm was beyond words, and his tenderness towards his creations often rendered him speechless.

“I have been checking the library for any new information on her, but nothing new has appeared.”

Morpheus turned his back to The Dreaming and stood upright as Lucienne spoke.

“Y/n told me she does not dream. She seemed… upset about the fact.”

Lucienne raised an eyebrow. “Did she?”

“Yes. That was all I asked.”

Hiding her frustration, Lucienne smiled. “Right. Well, perhaps you shall find out more today.”

Morpheus slipped into the Waking World. When his eyes opened, Morpheus stood in what he assumed was a library.

Scanning the old, abandoned library, Dream’s eyes landed on Y/n. She sat on her knees, facing an elderly man. The man’s hair was white and his eyes had grown old. Morpheus recognized the man.

Adam Khan.

Using the shadows to get close, Morpheus decided he would remain hidden until Y/n was alone.

“I do not understand,” Y/n said, quietly. “You have many children, why me?”

Adam Khan smiled, and the room brightened. He laid his brown wrinkled hand on top of Y/n’s.

“Because, my dear, you are my child as well. You love these books, this space, more than any of my other children. I will die, but you will not. Let my love for knowledge live through you.”

Dark eyes watched Y/n’s lips tremble. Her emotions were written over her face, empathy had never been painted clearer.

“Thank you, Khan. I will love and protect this library for as long as I live.”

Adam Khan laughed, standing. “I imagine that to be a long time.” He tipped his head and walked away, leaving Y/n alone.

“You can show yourself, Oneiros.”

Morpheus stepped out of the shadows, arms hanging beside him. “How did you know?”

Y/n pushed herself up, standing. She turned to look at him briefly before smoothing out her gown and walking down an aisle. Morpheus followed her, silently.

“The air chilled, and I felt your eyes on me.”

Morpheus hummed. His fingers skimmed the books on either side of him, thinking of Lucienne and her library.

Y/n tried to keep a stable pace as she walked. Dream’s presence behind her had her body on edge, like she needed to outrun a nightmare.

Reaching the end of the aisle, Y/n motioned at the seat facing hers. “Can I get you anything?” After a pause, she tilted her head to the side, eyes calculating. “Do you eat? Human food, I mean.”

Morpheus sat down, smoothing out his coat. “No,” he answered her first question. “And, yes.”

Y/n nodded, realizing that was the second thing she knew about him. “Are you human?” Intrigue coated her voice.

Morpheus took a moment to contemplate his answer. “Would you like to play a game?”

Y/n smiled, leaning forward. “I love games.”

“I will answer two questions, if you answer two of mine.” Morpheus decided to withhold any rules. Why set them if they are not needed.

Y/n kept her calculating eyes on Morpheus. She leaned away from him and crossed her legs.

“What could a being like you want to know about me?”

Morpheus lifted his chin to meet her gaze. “Quite a bit, actually.”

Y/n’s head dipped as she tried to hide her fleeting smile. “Fascinating.” She looked up, meeting Morpheus’s penetrating stare. “What are you?”

Dream’s expression remained impassive. “Have you any guesses?” His voice was honey, soft yet raspy, like a summer storm.

Y/n tilted her head and bit her bottom lip. She had her theories, but Dream’s stare made her feel exposed, hesitant. “You cannot be human. And defining you as a God… feels inadequate.”

Morpheus’s head tipped to the side, his blue eyes studying Y/n in a way a sculptor studies his muse. “I am not a God. I am more. Endless.” His tongue caressing the syllables of the last word as one would a sonnet, or the name of a lover.

“That is not an answer.”

For the very first time since meeting Oneiros, Y/n felt the slightest inkling of fear. Two hundred years ago, Y/n guessed she may have made a deal with the Devil, but she realized that the Devil was a subsidiary among beings like Oneiros, more than a God.

“That is my answer.”

Y/n smiled, uneasily. “Very well. My second question is,” Y/n spared a glance at the wide window, “why does your raven, Jessamy, follow me wherever I go?”

Y/n watched his expression very carefully, looking for any signs of surprise. Morpheus remained still, his eyebrows furrowed and his stare bold, but not withering. Y/n watched hesitancy dance on his lips and awaited his answer.

“To watch you.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped Y/n and she slapped her hand over her mouth. Dream’s eyes narrowed, slightly.

“I know that much, Oneiros. But why?”

Morpheus’s eyes twinkled. “You have asked your questions.”

Y/n looked at him, bewildered. “You barely answered them. You are not a conversationalist, are you?”

Ignoring her words, Morpheus leaned forward in his seat. “Why do you not dream?”

Gone was Y/n’s teasing smile. Her lips fell into a frown and she threaded her fingers together, leaning back into her seat, seeking comfort. “I do not know. My slumber has always been dreamless.”

“That is not possible. You are human. Human’s dream.” Morpheus’s voice was gentle, flowing with thinned curiosity. “Do you lie?”

“Is that your second question?”

Morpheus’s lips curve upwards. He had forgotten what a good conversation felt like. “No.” Dream wanted to ask more about who she is, what she is, but at the last second, he changed his mind. “How has your life been this last century?”

Y/n failed to hide her surprise. She was sure he was going to ask something else, but she accepted the change of conversation.

“With honesty?”

Morpheus nodded, once. “I invite honesty. You shall do well to remember it.”

“The last sixty years have been hard. I was called a witch and taken as a slave for a very ruthless man. I escaped, along with Adam Khan’s children. My time as a captor was filled with hardship. Hunger is a feeling I wish upon no man.”

Morpheus leaned back, his hands folded. “Do you wish for death?”

Y/n laughed, and Morpheus’s eyes remained on her.

“Not in the slightest. I had a few hard years, but that does not mean I do not love my life. I escaped, made friends, learned a great deal about humanity and the power of knowledge.” Y/n turned her head to look at the old, withering building. “I have been given this learning center. I have so much to live for.”

Morpheus looked away from Y/n. Her passion and empathy prickled his skin until he had to look away. A small, hidden part of Morpheus was glad she had not asked for Death. He found her company interesting.

A universe studying the atoms it is made of.

Morpheus stood, tipping his head. “Until next time, Y/n.”

“In a hundred years time, Dream.”

Morpheus’s head lifted and his burning gaze fell on Y/n’s smiling face. “Greek is a very beautiful language, agreed?”

Morpheus closed his eyes and slipped back into The Dreaming, a small smile on his face.

That night, in over two hundred years, Y/n dreamed for the first time.

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randomshyperson · 1 year

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AM I SUPPOSE TO BE OKAY AFTER THOSE???

I NEED MILF WANDA IDEAS SOMEONE SEND ME IDEAS PLEASEEE

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines #wanda maximoff #love and death #hbo max #Elizabeth Olsen #elizabeth olsen #hbo #hbo max shows #marvel #wanda cult leader when #lord help me I'm about to go full fleabag mode with the first pic #Last pic is giving me chills

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incorrectquotesharrypotterv · 2 years

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Y/n: Why would you think any of this was a good idea?

Tom: Probably because I’m a dangerous sociopath with a long history of violence.

Y/n:

Tom: I don’t know how you keep forgetting this.

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melodrangea · 6 months

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I was wondering if you could write a one shot (or headcanon if it fits better with that) of black star having feelings for the reader. But he's worried because he knows the readers family has had bad history with the star clan and thinks the reader thinks bad of him but they actually really like black star.

of course my dear <3

I love the idea of this because Black Star being from the Star Clan is one of his canonically biggest insecurities

(we don't romanticize insecurities but getting over them is fine my loves)

i pretty much am a headcannon based account because i'm a little too lazy for full sentences so I hope but a really long headcannon list is fine!

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Black Star with a S/O that's had Bad Experiences with the Star Clan

-you guys would most likely meet at the DWMA

-you and your partner had been assigned to fight Tsubaki and Black star for training

-and you either won or came really close

-from then Black Star was really impressed with you and found himself wanting to learn more about you

-so being an assassin he tried to sneak around and observe

-and being Black Star he failed miserably and was spotted by either you or your partner semi immediately

-you for some odd reason thought it was sweet and offered to hangout with/train with Black Star

-he was taken aback, blushingly he agreed

-and from then on you two just kept getting closer, you got closer to Tsubaki as well

-you and Black Star learning more about eachother, you would train and study with Black Star and soon enough you became one of the group

-at first Black Star was hesitant to introduce you to the group, partly because he was worried about what they would think of you, and partly because he didn't want to share you

-and when everyone ended up loving you he found himself even more drawn to you

-how smart you were, how driven, and just how beautiful you were; inside and out

-boy was falling in love with you and he didn't even notice

-he only knew when Soul mentioned something

-"So when are you going to ask y/n out? Or are you just going to gawk at her like a sucker on valentines day?"

-that was when it hit Black Star, just how much of a fool for you he was

-but the harder he fell, the more worried he became

-Black Star knew about your past with the Star Clan, it wasn't uncommon knowledge

-your parents were a power weapon/meister pair that got murdered by the Star Clan when your parents tried to stop them from consuming human souls

-that was 12 years ago, which was your cause for joining the DWMA, a few years go. You not only lived there like Black Star, but you joined to avenge your parents and stop all those like the Star Clan from hurting anyone else

-Black Star knew this, it was this drive to stop evil that attracted him to you in the first place, but for obvious reasons he was a nervous wreck

-he tried to get rid of any part of himself that tied him to the Star Clan; he never took you to places where he knew he was hated and never let you around people that he thought would out his secret

-he tried so hard he even made an effort of hiding his star tattoo with jackets and sleeves to make sure you didn't make the connection

-he tried, until unfortunatley, it came to bite him in the ass

-you two were out at a cafe in death city, you were just walking out; you on his arm when the pair of you ran into an old 'aquaintence' of Black Star's

"Y/n let's go"

"hm, why? didn't you want to go see that new bakery that opened up down the road?"

"we can do that another time, c'mon we need to go!"

you looked at Black Star confused, "but why? hey-?" you felt a shove as Black Star was shoved forward, taking you with him.

you turned back, ready to fight when you saw a boy, probably around sixteen. he held a bat in his hands and he looked angry.

he yelled, holding up the bat "what the hell are you doing here!?"

you huffed, letting go of Black Star's arm, he tried to grab at you but you flew past him, getting in the boy's face. "I don't know what you're problem is but we aren't doing anything so buzz off."

the boy made a gesture at Black Star with his bat, "I wasn't talking to you, stupid bitch. I was talking to him. Now who the hell let you out here!?"

you exhaled, feeling your anger rise, Black Star grabbed your forearm, his tone suddenly serious, "y/n, please, can we just go home?"

you turned back, features softening, you gave the boy one last glare and started to walk off.

the boy growled, running towards you he held up his bat ready to swing, "I wasn't down with you, you monster!!"

Black Star turned, grabbing the boy's bat he shoved him backwards, face planting into the pavement.

you turned to look back but Black Star just pulled you further, he seemed frantic to get back. so you rushed, shoes clacking against the stone pathway the boy called out;

"why are you with him? don't you know what he is? he's a Star Clan member, they eat humans like us for sick pleasure, how could you-"

"shut up." you stood still, hands gripping themselves into fists, you turned sharply, running up to the boy, "I SAID SHUT UP!!"

"y/n"

"I already know what Black Star is! And he's nothing like them. He's kind and sweet and not an ass like you. He's not a 'danger to society' he strong, he protects the people he cares for and one day he's going to surpass God himself! And he'll only do it to better himself and the people around him! I don't know where you get off on trying to make someone's life hell when they haven't done anything to you, but it stops here and now!" You stomped the ground, "You here me?! Cause I can beat your eardrums until they do!"

You looked at the boy, he was shell shocked. You huffed, turning back on your heel. A small crowd had formed by then and sheepishly you grabbed hold of Black Star's arm again.

"I'm sorry about that, I got a little carried away. We can go back now if you want."

Black Star looked at you wide eyed, they had glass over and he stammered trying to collect himself. "You knew the whole time? You knew and you don't hate me?"

You sighed, the crowd starting to disperse, "not at first, but I've known for a while. About a week after we went to that theme park a few months ago, a woman approached me while you were competing at that booth with Soul. She was freaked out, warning me that you were dangerous. I figured it out from then, tattoo's aren't common on people our age, especially stars on the shoulder."

Black Star looked down, one of his fists clenched. "but- but why?"

You chuckled, "why? Because you aren't them Black Star. You're nothing like them. So I have no reason to hold you for anything. Besides they were wiped out when you were really young, you didn't even know them. I'm just only wondering why you never told me. You didn't really think I'd hate you for something you really couldn't help did you?"

"I didn't want to lose you. I-...I love you too much for that."

The breath hitched in your throat, you look at Black Star, his eyes were glassy and he looked like he wanted to stick his foot in his mouth.

"You- you love me Black Star?" both of your faces went red, you smiled, tears lingering in your eyes, "I'm so glad."

Black Star gasped, studying your facial expressions, "wait, does this mean you-"

"I love you Black Star."

-from then on you two were inseperable

-he treats you like such a princess, he would give you the world if you let him

-he was no longer scared to take you anywhere, knowing you would have his back against anyone and anything

-Black Star would just spend his time admiring you if he could

you read in a corner by the fire, it was cold outside, and you were bundled up in soft socks and one of Black Star's sweaters (he really bought them for you, this mf doesn't get cold). You smiled, kicking your feet at a sweet moment in your book. Black Star sighed, sitting on the other side of the couch.

you looked up from your book amused, "someone bored bab- what are you looking at?"

"You're so beautiful y/n."

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oh my gosh, I LOVED writing this one

I love when a writer can feel what they're writing in their very bones

AND I COULD FEEL IT IN MY MALLEOLUS

as usual I hope you enjoyed my dear and my keyboard is forever at your service

-Melodrangea

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