#|| I still think part of manor has always been locked from her | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cozymoko · 2 years ago

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So what I was thinking was that yuu has been in the manor for awhile, she always sees a locked door that she just can help but be curious about. Whenever she asks about it they tell her to bind her business, one the door was unlocked somehow (maybe someone forgot to lock it again after visiting idk) and she goes in to look and she finds us! The only sister of the Sakamaki family! (If it could be platonic Yandere that would be great) and you can go on from there bc idk what to add or the reactions of everyone would be 🥲 also sorry if this still isn’t any help I’m not sure if this is still confusing

THE SECRET SAKAMAKI

Note: I completely understand, no worries!

PART TWO: here!

Synopsis: Yui finally meets the only sister of the Sakamaki family who has been hidden away by her brothers.

Pairing: Yandere! Sakamaki brothers x platonic! sister reader

Format: Scenario

Word Count: 1.6k

WARNING(S): slight platonic yandere themes.

Want more Diabolik lovers? → Masterlist! ★

Please proceed below the cut.

Only a few weeks had passed since Yui Kamori’s arrival, and she truthfully wanted nothing more than to return home. Where she didn’t have to sleep with one eye open. Her skin ached, practically screaming for salvation after undergoing endless amounts of “punishments'' for even the smallest of actions.

But today, no one was here. At least not at the moment, leaving her to relax until her heart’s content. With that said, the young human teen decided to treat herself to a walk, around the manor of course. After all, she had yet to see even half of the wonders (horrors) that were the Sakamaki household and she was more than just curious.

Door after door: open, close; open, close. It was a never-ending cycle of boredom and disappointment. She had almost given up, concluding that there was truly nothing extraordinary happening behind closed doors. But that was before she saw it. Yui stumbled upon an unfamiliar door with a unique gold plaque just inches above it, serving as its most noticeable dissimilarity from the others.

The door was nothing special. It was wooden with gleaming gold imprinting smoothed between every crevice. But it stood out nonetheless. Yui slowly dragged her eyes along its surface, taking in its somewhat feminine appearance. Above it rested a large golden panel, inhabited by intricate calligraphy neatly engraved into its exterior; reading “Our treasure: [Name]”

Yui reached out, allowing her fingertips to subtly graze the cool doorknob, mere moments away from twisting it open…

“You know, it's really impolite to go snooping around someone else’s home, little bitch~!” The sound of Laito’s voice nearly made her jump out of her skin. His tone was light but lacked the playfulness it tried so desperately to convey. “Allow me to escort you back to your room, fufu~.”

Reluctantly, she followed, allowing the vampire to steer her further and further from the mysterious door; then down the hall, and back to her room. Her newfound curiosity outweighed her feeling of fear, despite Laito’s troublesome grip on her arm.

And she couldn’t help but wonder…

Just what was behind that door? Who is [Name]?

So the next day she tried her luck once more. Swiftly abandoning the security of her room, Yui proceeded down the dimly lit hallway. With the door close in sight, she noticed hushed whispers growing more audible by the second. Lo and behold, it was Kanato.

His pale cheek pressed flush against the door's wooden frame, sweet yet borderline obsessive affirmations spilling from his thin lips. Yui assumed he was talking to himself, as far-fetched as it seemed. Though she wouldn't put it past Kanato of all people.

That's when she heard it. The faintest voice reached her ears, it was feminine and loving; and very clearly a blessing to Kanato's ears. She was sure he was ready to squeal with joy if not for the very slim amount of dignity he retained. Never had she seen him happier.

A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips and before she knew it she was staring fondly at the scene. It wasn't every day she saw those sadistic men act so sweet and vulnerable, even if it was a little odd. Her dazed state didn't go unnoticed, unfortunately, as lilac hues met her soft rosy ones.

“You—?!” The vampire practically screeched, trudging down the hallway towards the human girl. “Just how much did you hear?”

Let's just say she was left with more than just a few bruises, poor girl.

The next day Yui ventured down that same vacant hallway. The old floorboards threatened to groan under her weight as she approached that same door that haunted her dreams.

“Haah…You really are a troublesome woman,” Yui jumped, startled. At her side lies a familiar champagne-haired man, tired and less than amused by her appearance. “This room is off-limits for brides. Even so, I've never met one as nosey as you. Leave while you can.”

The girl was stunned, shaking like a leaf. When did Shu get here? Why was he here? Her suspicions were creeping up on her like an unruly wave threatening to sweep her under any moment. At that moment she had finally realized, It wasn't just a door.

I think.

But of course, curiosity killed the cat.

Having grown tired of being caught, tied up, and punished time and time again Yui tried a distant approach; she had no choice. Her fair skin had grown battered and bruised, adorned by more lacerations and pricks than she could count. So as one does, she took her chances and decided to confide in Reiji.

Entering his room, Yui politely took a seat across from the man at a polished deep oak wood table. Accompanied by freshly brewed tea set evenly between the two. “Reiji,” Yui commenced, though her words came as an airy puff as her nerves threatened to tear through her light bravery. “I…I've been curious about something as of lately. A door in particular,”

His red eyes narrowed significantly, ��Go on.”

“All the guys have been acting kind of strange lately every time I get close to it and—”

A firm hand made contact with her chest, successfully knocking the wind right out of her, slamming her into the harsh cushioning that lined the leather sofa. “Enough; That is none of your concern, you are merely a living blood bag,” He sighed, sending her a menacing glare. “Don't allow your curiosity to push you to do unnecessary things. If you disrupt the peace of those I hold dear to me I shall punish you personally, do you understand?”

The mortal nodded and swallowed sharply, briskly maneuvering from the vampires prying gaze. And much to her surprise, he allowed it. Yui rushed to the door before slipping through its slight opening, down the hall, and then back to her room once more.

Someone Reiji cared for was behind that door, and from the looks of it, there was no way it was one of his brothers. So who?

No matter, at that point, Yui had given up. She was scared shitless, not wanting to undergo any more torture than she already was. She had a sneaking suspicion that the brothers were slowly losing their patience with her and she didn't want to be there to experience the consequences.

So the next few days were carried out like any other. Today she was spending her time with a certain redhead, mindlessly listening to his narcissistic rambles. As they turned down a familiar hallway, she glanced to the man at her side. Ayato walked past the door without a care in the world and made her start to second guess herself.

Perhaps her gaze lingered on the door for a second too long, for a certain redhead had noticed her delayed footsteps. “Oi, pancake what the hell are yo-?” He paused, his face growing visibly sour as he followed her eyes. “...Looking at.”

He scoffed, gripping tightly onto her frail wrist. From the looks of it, he was not pleased.

“The last thing I need is for more competition, those five assholes are more than enough.”

His hushed grumbles were like sirens to Yui's ears, igniting the dying flame of determination in her chest. That was all she needed to hear as nothing from that point on could prove her suspicions false. There was definitely someone behind that door.

However, it seemed her luck had already run out.

Until one fateful day at least.

A sliver in the door, so small it was almost unnoticeable. Feeling some sense of urgency the girl jumped to her feet, making a straight beeline to the wooden door before slamming it behind her. The subtle sound of someone clearing their throat dragged her from her internal celebration.

The woman looked to be no older than sixteen, but she knew better than to believe she was any younger. Her silky hair was tied neatly out of her face, with very little makeup brushing her features. An extravagant rococo-styled dress fell to her ankles as she busied herself with a thick novel. Only when she met her eyes did Yui notice the resemblance the woman shared with the brothers.

“A mortal girl,” The woman said, almost matter-of-factly. “You must be the sacrificial bride, correct? Yui Kamori, I presume.”

She nodded, so slowly that she seemed unsure, causing a jovial laugh to slip through the beautiful woman's painted lips.

“I see…you’re not much of a talker, are you?” The woman smiled politely before closing the book that rested in her hands, lazily tracing small circles into its cover. “No matter. Answer me this, how did you get in here? Subaru must've forgotten to close it, he's in here quite often, after all, he's such a big baby.”

“Wha…What?”

“That door is never open so I think you know what I’m hinting at.” The physically younger woman leaned toward the mortal girl, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “As for Subaru, I'm a little bit older than him so he tends to cling to me like his life depends on it!”

Yui gave her a look of blatant confusion, hardly catching onto whatever the young vampire was spewing out. “Hm, you look a bit confused and clueless, let me help you.” The woman smiled, whispering her rude comment dismissively “Do you even know why I’m in here?”

Yui shook her head, ignoring the anxiety gnawing away at her composure. Gradually shying away from the woman's attention as she hugged her sides.

“Oh my, then this should be a real treat.” She giggled, gazing fondly at the frightened girl. “Now, Yui Kamori, allow me, [Name] Sakamaki to tell you a tale of endless obsession!”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀—いつも、いつまでも♡

#—🍁#x reader #platonic yandere #diabolik lovers headcanons #diabolik lovers scenarios #diabolik lovers imagines #diaboys #shu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #laito sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #diabolik lovers x reader #yandere diabolik lovers

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glimmeringtwilight · 7 months ago

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Daffodils p2 | Yandere Diluc x Reader x Dottore

this might be incoherent. i still dislike the ending but atp if i keep chipping away i'm going to abandon it lol

CW: referenced reader death (from p1), angst, captivity, yandere themes, body horror (mild for. y'know. my usual), minor character death, NSFW (not super explicit, and no specific wordage for uuu parts), cuckholding, blood, non-consensual voyeurism (diluc), dubcon, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms (do not imitate)

Word Count: 2.6k

It’s a dreary autumn day when the master of the winery returns with you in tow.

The manor is quiet, still as the Snezhnayan winter that he trekked through for the past several sleepless days and nights to get you. More quiet, however, is you, who hasn’t spoken a word since Diluc dragged you out of that dimly lit, dilapidated lab stinking of chemicals that he found you in.

He’s tried everything he knows on the journey back. You didn’t struggle once as he carried you back home– didn’t try to run when he’d rest with you in his arms– but you didn’t say a single thing to him no matter how hard he tried to get you to speak.

That’s fine. It’s shock, he supposes. He doesn’t know what that madman did to you, and if he didn’t have such precious cargo he would have gone back there and burned that place to the ground; charring the snowy, lifeless landscape surrounding it.

But he has you. He has you now, and that’s all that matters. Even if your skin has lost some of its color now, dull and cold. Even if there’s a quiet ticking in your chest in place of a heartbeat. Even if you only ever look through him, now. It’s enough.

This is what Diluc tells himself as he returns you to the room that had been your prison for months, as he dusts off the bars of your gilded cage before locking you back inside.

You don’t say anything. But it’s enough, just having you. It’s enough, he thinks.

Adelinde keeps checking in on him now that he’s returned. Her face is always pinched with a quiet concern when she speaks to him, and the servants in the manor part like the sea against jagged stone when he walks past them in the halls.

The estate seems to hold its breath around him; no longer a ghost, but perhaps something worse. As though the light he’d held against the darkness was snuffed out, and the shadow cast in its wake was long. But he’s fine. He swears it. He’s fine, now that you’re back. He’ll be perfect for you, the perfect gentleman; the man he swore he was but could never seem to be, before.

It’s enough to just have you. To hold you every night as he lays next to you, still in your bed like a corpse, listening to the ticking in your chest like a clock counting down to nowhere. Diluc finds himself dreading the ticking and seeking it out all the same.

Weeks pass like this, with Diluc unraveling slowly as he tries to cling to the crumbling memory of you, bastardized by his selfishness and immortalized in the husk of you he keeps locked in your room.

None of the servants are allowed to see you. He hears them at night, whispering to each other when they think he’s gone to sleep.

“He’s lost his mind.”

“Are they even alive, in there? I haven’t seen them at all. Adelinde said they–”

“Keep your voice down– are you trying to wake him?”

He hasn’t lost his mind. He has you here now, to ground him, to make him whole. Even if your body seems to be crumbling, tearing apart with every passing day.

You don’t say anything anymore. You don’t eat, but you choke down whatever food he forces down your throat, teeth clacking against silverware as you stare off into nothing. Most of his days are spent taking care of you, keeping you together, stoking the fireplace in your room to keep you warm.

You don’t seem to mind the cold, but he still forces you to sit by the fire, warming you up in a facsimile of living flesh. He tries everything– cleaning you carefully every morning before dressing you, tending to the sutures that never seem to heal.

But he can’t seem to bring you back fully. Can’t seem to warm the skin that cools quickly when you’re not kept by the fire, can’t seem to wipe that glassy look from your eyes, can’t seem to drown out the ticking in your chest.

Adelinde comes home one day from running errands to find all of the clocks in the estate smashed and left out on the front steps, some of the servants already tending to the mess as the master of the estate slips back inside the manor like a shadow of the setting sun.

He can’t figure it out. You won’t talk to him, won’t hardly look at him unless he takes you by the jaw and forces you. He can barely stand to hold you.

It’s enough. It’s enough. It’s enough.

But he knows it isn’t. He can’t bear living with the ghost of you, settling for the corpse he keeps in his bed. He wants you to smile at him like you used to. Needs to hear your voice again. Holding you close while you’re still so far from him is driving him mad.

It’s another dreary day when he finally breaks. Rain pours against the roof of the estate, blazing trails down the window panes. You’re sat by the fire again as you always are, most days.

Diluc kneels at your feet, his head buried against your knees as he begs you to speak.

“I love you,” He says. He reaches up, pressing a trembling hand against your cold cheek. He can’t seem to chase the snow out of you. You don’t respond. He tries again. “I love you.”

Your eyes flick to his, the barest indication of life in them– but you look through him all the same, as you have been for weeks, now. He sits up, eyes wild, and leans over you, grasping your face desperately. He can’t bear to look at it anymore.

Diluc pulls you close, burying his face against your nape and gritting his teeth at the smell of chemicals clinging to you. You still smell like that place. Like chemicals. Like the Doctor. No matter how many times he bathes you, no matter how hard he scrubs. It’s there. Always there. Faint, but still there.

“Please come back to me,” He whispers, clutching you against his chest like you’ll slip through his fingers at any moment. …Like you haven’t already. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

For the first time in weeks, you speak. Your voice is hoarse, quiet and wispy from disuse. It’s like the sun peeking through the clouds after a long storm, a refreshing wind–

“Take me back.” You rasp, and his blood runs cold. When he doesn’t respond, you repeat yourself. “Take me back.”

Diluc stays there a minute, gasping through clenched teeth as grief and anger rattle through him. You don’t mean it. You can’t. You let out a quiet, pained sound from how tight his grip on you has gotten, and he pulls away like he’s been burned.

He can’t look at you. There’s a ticking behind your chest, behind his ears– whatever it is the Doctor replaced your heart with– he can’t unhear it. Without a word, he leaves swiftly, locking the door behind him as he goes.

When he returns, the fire in the hearth has dimmed to embers, and you’re still perched exactly how he left you. Like a doll. He breathes a shuddering sigh and moves you to the bed, laying you down and tucking you in with all the tenderness and care his trembling hands can manage.

Instead of begging you to speak, he slips out of the room again, instructing Adelinde to look after you while he’s gone.

He knows how to fix this: it must be your heart. Must be that facsimile of a beating heart stuffed into your chest that’s causing you to act so hollow and lifeless. If he can just find it, he can bring you back. He’s sure of it.

Diluc journeys for another several days and nights, returning to the lab he’d found you in and tearing the place apart until he finds what he was looking for– your heart, preserved in formaldehyde and kept in a jar like some sort of sickening keepsake.

There’s no sign of the Doctor anywhere, but Diluc doesn’t have enough mercy left in his heart to spare for the Fatui grunts unfortunate enough to get caught in his path. Blood stains his jacket an even deeper shade of red, sinking into the stitching deep enough that he’s certain even Adelinde wouldn’t be able to remove the stains.

He burns the place down once he’s finished, true to his word, leaving the smoldering building behind as he makes the journey back with bloodstained boots and clothes, carrying the final piece of you; the missing puzzle piece in his hands.

Biting winds at his back keep his pace hurried as he rushes home; he has barely slept by the time he finally returns, the sun rising over the peaceful estate of the winery like a promise of hope.

He’s delirious and exhausted from hardly pausing to rest throughout the entire journey home, but he has it– he has what he knows will fix you, bring the light back into your glassy eyes.

The manor is quiet when he steps inside, and Diluc freezes when he sees Adelinde’s body laying at the bottom of the stairs, neck twisted at an unnatural angle and her expression frozen in horror.

No-

His first instinct is to find you, stepping over Adelinde’s body despite the pang of grief that lances through his chest. Every step only turns his blood cooler in his veins, cutting through exhaustion and delirium like a blade.

The door to your bedroom is cracked and he throws it open, freezing as he sees what’s there.

You’re smiling. For the first time since he lost you, you’re smiling, eyes crinkled with warmth as the number two of the Fatui Harbingers looms over you like a malaise.

Floorboards singe underfoot, but Diluc isn’t given time to act before hands snatch his arms, ripping his Vision from him and tossing it aside. Whatever angered curse he was going to say is cut off by another pair of hands shoving a gag into his mouth, and it takes several agents to drag him into the room and force him into the chair set up by the bed.

There’s the sound of breaking glass as the struggle knocks the precious cargo he’d carried all this way from his hands, shattering against the floor. Whatever grief he may have felt at the sound is drowned out by the sight of you as the Fatui grunts forcibly sit him down in the chair and start to tie him down.

Rope cuts into his wrists and his legs as he’s tied to the chair; two of the pyro agents stay behind to keep him from thrashing or knocking the chair over as the rest slink back into the hallway.

It isn’t until the last of the rope is secured, leaving the frazzled wine tycoon seething from behind the gag but unable to do much else, that Dottore finally speaks up.

“I’m glad you could finally join us, Master Diluc,” The Doctor drawls, words dripping with condescension and cyanide. “I was beginning to worry.”

A knowing smile tugs at Dottore’s lips when he turns to see Diluc’s expression, distress creased in the lines of his brow as his attention remains fixated solely on you.

Diluc sees now. That bastard is sitting in your bed, the bed you’re meant to share with him, as gloved fingers lazily toy with your nipples. The clothes you were wearing are haphazardly strewn about the floor.

Dottore readjusts. Takes hold of your legs and wraps them loosely around his hips as he situates himself more comfortably on the bed. Diluc feels nausea roiling in his gut.

He can’t tear his eyes away when Dottore’s fingers drift downward, tracing over your stomach before dipping between your thighs. The soft sound you make burns him.

It’s torture, listening to you. He’d wanted so desperately for any sound from you– anything at all– these past few weeks, but not like this. Not while you’re looking up at that monster like he’s the moon– the most life Diluc’s seen in your eyes in weeks– as he defiles you.

Every noise seems to chip a piece of him away, cutting deeper than any blade could hope to manage.

As much as it rends him to watch, he can’t tear his eyes away, taking in the sight of you shuddering and moaning softly in response to another man’s touch.

Something acrid and bitter swells in his chest– he can’t help but think that if it weren’t for him, you’d never be here. If he hadn’t stolen you, held on too tight so that you’d run away the first chance you’d gotten, you never would have died… Never would have wound up under the Doctor, on his operating table or in this bed.

Worse, still, is the selfish insistence he still feels. If he hadn’t taken you, he fears the worst may have happened to you– as though the worst hadn’t already come true. He did all of this to protect you– yet he’d failed to do even that.

You eventually shudder in a way Diluc recognizes and he sags against the chair, feeling something crack inside him. This is killing him. As much as pain rips through his chest, he can’t help but cling to that rending heartache, tolerate it if it means he gets to see you smile again. You’re still in there– not a doll, not a ghost.

He loves you; he always will. Even this will never make him hate you– it’s not your fault that you’ve been caught up in the jaws of a monster. It’s not your fault that he’d failed you.

Dottore adjusts, and whatever self-loathing Diluc had felt starts to wither at the sound of rustling fabric. No. No-

He tries to thrash in his chair, held down by the two agents standing behind him with a firm grip on his shoulders. He tries to turn away, to close his eyes and shut out the world as the whimper from you that follows sears him like a brand. Hands dig into his jaw, prod at his eyelids with a force that threatens to blind him until he unwillingly opens them again.

Months ago, when Diluc thought you’d finally settled, finally adjusted to your new life here, there was the barest beginnings of warmth in your eyes. Acceptance. Love, his heart hoped. He’s reminded of that again; you have the same embers of warmth in your gaze as you once did before the sky fell.

That same look you’d once given him, but now it’s directed at the monster grinning down at you. He never thought that warmth could ruin him, but the grief that settles into his bones is a worse pain than one he’s ever known.

The hope that he’d journeyed home with withers and dies at his feet like the heart the Doctor had stolen from you– to know it wasn’t merely literal is agony. His greed had been the undoing of you both.

In the garden, the daffodils had died months ago; it was the end of their season. They’d planted sunflowers near where your grave once was instead, but those are dying too, afflicted by some disease or pest.

Diluc had once hoped you’d go out into the garden to see them, but ever since he’d brought the ghost of you home you’ve only ever haunted this one room; days spent staring at the hearth instead of out the window like you’d used to.

Jealousy is ugly and loud in his head, clinging to his throat like tar.

Perhaps he’s damned; he wishes that you hadn’t found the light that he’d stolen from you in another man.

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theshotsheardacrossworlds · 8 months ago

Text

Bosom

Sequel to Bat. Astarion and Agnetha test having him as a bat under her coat so he can go outside when she does chores. SFW.

“This is quite possibly the most comfortable I’ve ever been in my life, darling.” Astarion sighed happily while in bat form. In my beloved future wife’s bosom. She’s taking me outside. I’ll be in the sun…sort of. Safe inside her bust and covered by her coat. I can still see between the buttons and won’t burn. He laid his head against a breast. “The best pillows I’ve ever rested my pretty head on…and so warm.”

Shaking her head, she chuckled. “If I didn’t any know better, Astarion, I’d say you’re a breast man.”

He squeaked indignantly. “How dare you! I’m an Agi man!” The most beautiful person to ever exist. My darling girl. “Though I won’t deny your tits are perfect, sweetness.” Perfect to hold. Perfect to touch. Perfect to suckle from. Perfect to fuck. Perfect to stare at during boring as hell dinner parties at Wildheart Manor.

“You are too much! What am I going to do with you?” Her hand touched the doorknob but did not turn it. “Alright, I’m going to step out. You ready?”

“One small step for you, one large step for me!” Technically, I’ll be in the sun. Just not the way I ideally want but that’s alright.

Agnetha exited their home and locked the door. Glancing down, she tapped her chest, her fingers hitting his head. Ow. “You okay? Light’s hitting me, and I want to make sure—”

She worries too much. “I’m fine, darling! Hmm,” he peeked through the gap between buttons. “It’s looking lovely today.” His nose booped a breast. “But not nearly as much as you, my dear.” He could feel the heat rising in her and fuck me it feels good.

“Oh my gods, you’re too much, love!” She giggled, pulling out a list from her pocket. “Let’s see, first on my list is buying the dyes you want from Master Figaro and then groceries. Wait a second,” she furrowed her brow. “Why did you write in ‘appointment with Mrs. Greenleaf’?”

He rolled his eyes. “Because you obviously have an appointment with Mrs. Greenleaf for a manicure and pedicure, my sweet.”

“Obviously?!”

“Obviously.” He cleared his throat and was glad she could not see his face. Not that I’m crying. No. Definitely not. “Y-you’ve done so much these past few months. Oversaw our home being renovated and decorated. The shop. Managing the shop! Keeping me on time is worthy of so much praise on its own. And you deserve some pampering by a professional. You deserve it all.” I can never give you everything you truly deserve, but I damn well mean to try.

“Please,” she sniffled. “You make it sound like I did it all by myself with one hand tied behind my back. You were as much a part of all that, especially with the shop because it’s your bloody shop—”

“Ours.” As equals. Always.

“Our shop where you’re the one actually tailoring and designing and whatever the fuck else you do.” Agnetha giggled softly, entering Figaro’s. “Hello, Master Figaro…”

***

As much as he acknowledged that grocery shopping was necessary, Astarion hated grocery shopping. Tedious. Boring. Stupid. Why can’t we simply have someone else shop for Agi, bring it home, and put it away? Once that was mercifully done, Agnetha locked the door and made the short walk to Mrs. Greenleaf’s salon.

“Hey, you still alright in there?” She tapped her chest lightly. “Not too warm or cramped?”

She has got to be kidding.

“No, it’s awful. OF COURSE I’M ALRIGHT!” He squeak-screeched at her from under the fabric.

“Okay, okay! No need to yell, love.” She laughed so sweetly. “Silly little bat, I love you.”

I love you more than you will ever know, sweetness. “Love you too, darling. Now, be sure to tell Mrs. Greenleaf to use the Darkened Suite for your treatments.” Mainly used for drow and duegear---there’s no sunlight, only illumination from mushrooms and crystals.

She raised an eyebrow in realization. “Ah, so you can be out of my boobs and be able to move around. Good thinking, love.”

“The only thinking I do, my little butter bun!”

In her most earnest and totally charming way, Agnetha explained to Mrs. Greenleaf that she wanted the Darkened Suite and that she had a pet bat who was in her coat.

“What’s his name?” The older half-elf asked her.

Oh shit.

His fiancée blinked as she sat down for the manicure and placed Astarion next to her on the table. “His name is…” She glanced at him. “Étoile.” Étoile? That means “star” among a certain tribe of elves. My love, you are incredibly thoughtful. “He’s a sweetheart mostly,” she glanced at him with mischief in her brown eyes. “But a little bossy sometimes.”

“Bossy? Me? Perish the thought!” He turned up his nose. “Now, stop chatting with me and start talking to her.”

She scratched his head while rolling her eyes. The manicure was first. She chose a lovely dark green---to contrast with her pale skin and red hair.

Then came the pedicure. Mrs. Greenleaf went to get some more of her very special honey scrub (Halsin would eat it right up) and left the couple alone.

I think I’ve been a very good bat today and deserve more breast time. From a side table, he climbed onto her chest and rested his oh so weary head.

As she leaned down to kiss his head, she whispered, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I need more titty time.” After all, I didn’t complain once while grocery shopping and normally I express my displeasure constantly.

Her eyes widened. “You can’t just say shit like that in public!” And there’s my kiss! “Alright, you can stay here, but stop saying ‘titty time’ because who knows if anyone’s using Speak to Animals today.” She chuckled a little. “You mad man. I love you.”

“I love you too, my sweet little cinnamon bun. Now, how are you feeling? More relaxed?”

She leaned her head against the cushioned headrest behind her and closed her eyes. “I am. It seems I needed it.” Agnetha began to rub circles onto his furry head. “Thanks love.”

Though he wanted to gloat, he found he could not, given just how bloody sincere she is. I simply cannot tease her when she’s like this. “You are so welcome, darling.” Hearing Mrs. Greenleaf return, he nudged her chest. “She’s coming.”

His fiancée nodded and kissed his head again. Something Mrs. Greenleaf definitely noticed. You wish you had Agi’s full attention on you, dear. It’s sad you’ll never know that level of love, care, and affection. Mine. All mine… Before he realized what was happening, he sank his fangs through the fabric of her dress, startling her. “SHIT!” He squeaked, flapping his wings a little.

“Is everything all right, my lady?”

“It’s okay. Shh, it’s okay.” Agnetha whispered, stroking his back. She looked up at Mrs. Greenleaf apologetically. “Sorry, he…erm, sometimes forgets he needs to behave when he’s out.”

Oh you naughty little thing! Two can play at this game, darling. “This is behaving. You’re lucky I’m not trying to burrow back between your tits.”

Trying (and very much failing) to keep a neutral expression, she closed her eyes as the half-elf began the second treatment.

The things I can say to her to make her crack…

***

Astarion returned to his elf form the second they returned home and began to laugh manically.

Agnetha shook her head, laughing. “I can’t believe all that filth you fucking said to me when I was getting my pedicure! You naughty, naughty man!”

“You must admit that it was hilarious! Each intake of breath, stiffening up like a board,” he mimicked her. “And I bet your face was like this!” He contorted his face into a wide-eyed look of terror. “Ha! You can’t even deny it, can you!”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I love you, Astarion.” She teased, deliberately shaking those irresistible hips at me as she walks. She knows what she’s doing. She acts like she doesn’t, but she does. My Agi is so delightfully obvious. “Because you can be—”

“A very naughty man, yes yes I’m aware.” He pulled her into a hug, his lithe arms around her waist and hands on her behind. “Now, be a darling and let me make you dinner, hmm?” She taught me to cook, and I guarantee she’s a much better teacher than…Gale. Squeezing her substantial and quite beautiful backside, his lips captured hers in a slow, languid kiss. As much as I enjoy being a bat, this is far better.

She smiled into her kisses; long arms wrapped around his neck. “Together?”

“Because you think I need supervision?” He teased, flashing his fangs.

Agnetha laughed into another kiss, bringing her hands to cup his cool cheeks. “Don’t sell yourself short, love---you haven’t burned a piece of toast in weeks.”

He playfully tapped her behind. “I can do so much more for you than not burn toast, sweetness. How about some of that salmon you bought? With a spiced honey glaze? And you can make a nice little side for yourself. Sound good?”

“Perfect, Star.” No. You are perfect. Perfect in every single way. She gave him one last quick kiss and then left his embrace. As she turned towards the ice box, she gave a thoughtful hum. “I think today’s test was a massive success.”

“Why, I do believe it was, darling.”

Whether in sun or shadow, so long as I have you then I am happy.

#agnetha wildheart #agi x astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #batstarion #domestic bliss #plus size tav #human tav #sorcerer tav #soft astarion #bg3 fluff

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dramioneasks · 11 months ago

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New Year’s Day Fics (2024):

Glitter On The Dance Floor by wantsgmarie, WritexAboutxMe - E, one-shot - Following the events of You're My Home , Hermione gets her wish, and Draco escorts her to his Mother's annual New Year's Eve Gala. -or- They torment Lucius, drink champagne, dance and then fuck. Happy New Year's my loves. This story can be entirely read and enjoyed on its own, but the beginning does reference the events of part 1.

A Bottle of Blotson's by thepotterfamily - E, WIP - A little Christmas tale in which Hermione and Draco are workaholics spending the holidays in the Ministry halls together, but separate. In which Draco steals Hermione’s ink and makes up for it with the best gift she’s ever received. In a world where Draco is Hermione’s golden boy and Hermione is Draco’s saving grace, please enjoy my ten-part Christmas tale that is really more of a New Years Eve story. Eventually NSFW.

The Library Liaison by UltramarineOrchid - E, WIP - When Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy realise they’ll need to ring in the New Year by fake-dating, they think that’s just what comes with the job. Little do they know that they’re going to get far more than they bargained for.

New Years Past by magicalsydney (magicandmanuscripts) - G, one-shot - Five years of monumental New Years’ Eves for Hermione and Draco.

A New Year, Together by oceanxpoppy - E, one-shot - She was not fine. She could admit that. She hadn’t been fine in months, if she was honest with herself. It’s something she rarely was anymore, but the exhaustion of the evening had stripped her bare, and all that was left was the feeling she most abhorred; longing. A longing for a man who wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? by Granger_Danger1234321 - not rated, one-shot - Draco and Hermione are the only single ones left out of their friend group. Draco proposes a fake dating arrangement to get them through the holiday season. Just a silly, fluffy holiday fic with a fake dating trope.

Raise a Toast by MarinaJune - M, one-shot - It's the cusp of a new year, and Draco Malfoy is finally ready to take the next step forward away from his grief and his pining. Ahead of him stands Minister Granger-Weasley. Recently-divorced. The centre of attention in a crowd high on hope and celebration.

ringing in the new year by moscovit - M, one-shot - Hermione hates parties, especially intimate ones. When she gets an invitation to Blaise Zabini's New Year's party, she's got no excuse not to go. But Blaise's girlfriend, Ginny, is kind of an ex friend now after a very public breakup with Ron, and they haven't spoke in weeks. This is the story of semi anti social Hermione suffering through a party with a group of friends she doesn't feel like she belongs with.

Midnight wish by Katibugg3 - not rated, one-shot - Hermione is attending the Malfoy's New Years Eve gala alone. Thank God for the expensive wine Draco always has for her.

New Year's Resolutions by arborlibrary - M, one-shot - Hermione had not seen him since the day she’d originally been dragged into his manor and tortured by Bellatrix, while he’d just watched. She’d always wondered if he’d ever make an appearance, after six years of absolutely detesting her at Hogwarts. But he never had, and none of the others had ever mentioned him, either. And he was alone. “Granger,” he finally whispered, remaining on his side of the locked gate. She cautiously approached, though still stayed out of reach. “What do you want?” she rasped, trying to remember how long it had even been since she’d last spoken. Now she was close enough to watch his throat bob as he gulped. “It’s New Year’s Eve.”

Can I Be Yours? by Wanderingfair - E, 2 chapters - “Stop stalling.” She laughed. “Right.” he confirmed, “I’m off to have a dastardly time bashing around Londo- oh, wait, no, I’m off to go meet the gold-digger Mum set me up with,” he snapped. “I get those two confused all the time.” “Go,” she urged, tucking her mouth into the sleeve of her jumper to hide her smile. “I’ll be up reading when you get home.” “You’ll be asleep on the library sofa and we both know it.” He winked, before closing the door. OR Hermione is forced to watch her best friend Draco Malfoy go on dates and finally confront the fact that she doesn't just love him, she is in love with him.

Draco Malfoy's Five Step Plan to Being Forgettable by OneEqualTemper - E, one-shot - Five times Draco said, “New year, new me!” and one time Hermione said, “But I like the old you.”

things that have never been by ohthedrarry - E, one-shot - 31 December 2009 – Draco finds himself sitting alone at a bar, much like he had in December 1999, bringing in the New Year with a glass of whiskey and a sense that this next decade won’t be any better than the last. Until Hermione Granger wanders in with mascara smudged under her eyes, demanding a dry martini.

make a wish by thatblondebitvh - M, one-shot - Theodore Nott's New Year's experiment goes wrong. Chaos ensues.

That One Night That Draco And Theo Sent A Message by allyseisfalling - E, one-shot - It's New Years Eve night and Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott decide to go hunting.

Zero O'Clock by forestknifefight - G, one-shot - “You,” Malfoy begins, drawing Hermione’s attention again. He still isn’t looking at her, favoring the book now held in both hands. His mouth drops open like he’s afraid to speak. “I…?” She prompts him to continue. She lets her arm relax against the table, her quill nearly falling from her hand. His mouth shuts momentarily. He inhales through his nose but still does not look up at her. “You aren’t celebrating.”

Happy New Year Draco Malfoy by MissusB - E, one-shot - After going through the emotional constipation of gifting Hermione his love all December, he finally gets to tell her in person. Even better, he gets to show her as they agree to spend New Year's evening together and maybe start a new tradition together.

#new years #dramione

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year ago

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Bateman Begins Part 41

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Notes: We haven't had Nathan's perspective in a while, so. Enjoy! 🦇🖤 Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader Rating: M Warnings: Angst?

It isn't the first time that Nathan has disappeared, but that doesn't make the experience any more pleasant.

He glances over, doing a double-take as Alfred rouses on his charging pad.

"Good, you're up," Nathan mutters.

"Where are we?"

"The facility where I created you."

"Why are we here?"

Nathan grits his teeth, gaze set on the computer screen in front of him as he fights off a wave of irritation.

"Did something go wrong?" Alfred prods, and damnit—what hadn't gone wrong?

The last year and a half has been hell.

You had left, Vicki Vale had gotten a little too close to his secret, and a clown gang had begun to wreak havoc in Gotham City.

Whatever intel Vale had was somehow passed to the clowns and to whoever they were working for, which had sent them right to Bateman Manor

The only way Nathan could get out of there in time had been to suit up and ditch, but the police had been alerted to the situation

Nathan knew he was screwed when he was seen leaping out of the window

It had all been downhill from there

Nathan wasn't sure how he was going to spin this one to the press. He hadn't returned as himself or as Batman—not for two weeks.

To make matters worse, the facility's power had been winking on and off since they had arrived.

There was a faulty switch that he couldn't identify that was constantly sending them on lock down.

Alfred needed a significant amount of power to charge, and he had only just managed to flip back on after losing power during the drive.

Nathan had spent six solitary days trying to track down the faulty spoke in the system, and failing to log in to the Manor's security system.

He had no way of seeing what was happening. The cops were surely picking over everything.

What if they found their way into the cave? What if they found his gear?

What if they found your scrapped designs? There was still a wastebasket full of them in the blue room.

Alfred had tried to throw them out over and over again, but Nathan wouldn't let him.

He didn't know why he was holding on to them, anyway.

You were clearly never coming back, and it wasn't as if you'd need them.

Still, you had some great ideas in there.

He hadn't been surprised by that. You always had great ideas.

"Approximately how long have we been here, sir?"

The question shakes Nathan from his thoughts. He keeps his gaze trained on the screens in front of him as he hears Alfred shifting to stand behind him.

"Few days."

"And how long shall we be here for?"

"Look, just—Cut it with the fucking questions, alright?" Nathan pulls his glasses off, dropping them onto the desk before scrubbing his tired eyes with his palms. "I'm trying to think."

Alfred falls silent obediently, and Nathan feels a pang of regret for his tone.

"Keep charging," Nathan orders as he stands, putting his glasses back on. "I need you full power if I decide to go back."

"What's the alternative?"

"I'm working on it."

"FUCK!"

The yell leaves him roughly as the power on the stove switches off, plunging the kitchen into red light.

Nathan slams his fist roughly on the counter, drawing in a deep breath as he fought to steady himself.

Calm down, you big baby.

He can't help but hear your admonishment in his head.

He sighs softly, straightening up and reaching for the kettle. It's just hot enough for a mug's worth.

He pours some into his mug, watching the steam rise.

Where are you right now?

Nathan has spent the last year and a half wondering.

His mind has drifted to you over and over, whether he wanted it to or not:

At Giselle's parties—

At the office—

Driving the tumbler—

Sliding out of bed, careful not to rouse Vicki as he removed his arm from beneath her shoulders—

And now, alone in a locked-down kitchen, he tries to picture where you could possibly be.

Probably in some run-down, cruddy little shack in Metropolis, hunched over your laptop with some grass-green avocados waiting to go ripe in your basket on the counter.

Did you still have the avocado pendant? Did you still wear it?

The thought stabs at a tender part of his chest, and he forces it away.

You may not have ended things amicably, but Nathan is certain that you had at least kept the necklace, even if you don't wear it anymore.

You're too sentimental to pawn your memories.

Nathan reaches into his pocket, drawing his phone out and eyeing the lack of cell reception before unlocking his phone.

He opens the photos, scrolling through them until he finally finds what he's looking for.

He smiles. He can't help it.

You would probably be mortified if you knew that he'd taken a photo of you while you were sleeping.

But you'd just looked so damn peaceful.

He remembers taking the photo: snapping it quickly for fear of rousing you.

And then he'd watched your face twist in fear as you slept, saw your face twist into a mask of fear as you'd awoken from a nightmare.

Nathan's stomach churns at the memory of your eyes opening, then widening as you'd scrambled back at the sight of him.

He'd wanted a memento. He'd given you a panic.

Nathan's eyes skate over your face again before he tucks his phone away.

Wherever you are, he can only hope that you're alright, and keeping out of trouble.

That you're healthy, and comfortable...And goddamn, he hopes you're happy.

When you'd left, he'd been certain that you'd be back fin a month, two, tops

But you hadn't crawled back like he'd expected, and he couldn't bring himself to chase you down.

He'd hated you for a few months, but over time, that anger had melted to resignation.

Fat lot of good letting you go had done him.

He's in the middle of nowhere, struggling to hide his identity, and the media has perpetrated a rumor that he's been kidnapped—by himself.

Nathan glances up as the lights flicker back to normal.

He tucks his phone away, picking up the mug of tea.

He has to figure out a cover story, plan his covert return, send Vicki Vale on a wild goose chase, and work out who's been behind the deadly clown attacks—in that order.

Nathan makes it as far as the hallway before the lights flicker to red again.

He pitches the mug, letting out a frustrated yell loud enough to staunch the sound of it shattering against the wall.

Tag list: @blueeyesatnight ; @revolution-starter ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @foxilayde @danniburgh ; @brandyllyn ; @missredherring ; @the-feckless-wonder ; @ew-erin ; @xocalliexo ; @youngkenobilove ; @chattychell ; @lorecraft ; @thembosapphicclown ; @emotionalsupportbatfamily ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink

#Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman/Reader #Nathan Bateman/You #Nathan Bateman fic #Nathan Bateman imagine #Bateman Begins

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rosestarlightkatarina · 1 year ago

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The night.

Donna Beneviento x reader

This one is all about fluff and sleepy atmosphere

I hope you enjoy🖤🌙

No doubt today is a way too harsh on you. Everything is out of hand and it makes you feel even more exhausted. But the most frustrating thing is that you don’t have any chances to meet the doll maker, let alone a little talk to her. She acts more like a pretty ghost in a pretty old house and you try to copy this behavior. Expect Angie. The only one thing you have to do for being the reason of her laugh or anger is breathing. Even sleeping isn’t always a good cause for her to stop. You must be more creative than that. But you two seem to get along recently. It’s actually a miracle how you are still alive. Consider yourself lucky. However some horrible questions about their true intentions come to your head every night. And the only one person, who knows the answer, is ignoring your existence, preferring the company of her own. Except Angie, of course. When the sun hides behind the waterfall, the owner of the manor comes from somewhere, takes her continuously chatting feral creature and disappears. You can swear she has some teleportation skills. For one moment you could say she was an illusion or a fever dream of yours. But there was always Angie with her bites to make you deny these thoughts swiftly. Still your various assumptions are never gone. This night does not differ from the others. Eyes are shut but mind is overwhelmed. Thus, after some useless attempts to fall asleep, you find yourself wandering around the empty house until you see the dim light coming from the slightly open door. The curiosity wins so you have no choice but come a little closer on your tiptoes. Behind the crack there is your lady, painting a little porcelain face, all alone. Just her and soft sound of creating a new friend. Something about this view makes you stay, watching her work quietly. That’s impolite to stare you think when it’s too late. Unfortunately, the period of time is long enough to get noticed by her. Now you are caught and there is no way back. You have to speak.

"My lady, I apologise for interrupting you. I didn’t mean anything bad. I have an insomnia. Please may I stay here? Just for a little while." You say that so fast as if you are ready to get killed for your audacity. But the slight nod is the only response you have.

You hoped for this reaction but wasn’t really prepared. So you just froze for a few seconds before finally making your way through the room, looking at its beautifully arranged furniture. Still something, without any sign of mercy, is beckoning you to come to her as closer as possible. Besides, the is always a chance for you not to see the tomorrow morning. So you just decided to use all of your carriage to keep this opportunity. You slowly got down on the floor next to her, waiting for any sign of her disapproval to run away and blame yourself for such a stupid behavior for the rest of your life. You don’t know exactly what you are doing. It’s really hard to use the brains when every part of your soul is screaming inside you. Fortunately and scarily, she didn’t show any urge to stop you. You just closed your eyes, leaning your cheek to her dress to feel the soft material caressing your face. Every little thing about this woman is soothing and cosy. You can’t help this atmosphere wrapping you up in its embrace. You have been waiting for these minutes for too long that it almost makes you cry in relief. You feel like you’re in heaven and it suits your thoughts of being probably already dead just fine. It’s like being asleep and you look exactly this way when her fingers runs through your locks. Your heart is about to fly away from the chest but you don’t dare to move, relishing the soft touch. It would be unforgivable to scare this precious moment off. She keeps gently stroking your hair, sometimes drawing circles and flowers on the top of your head. You do your best not to tremble and pretend to sleep. But after half an hour it is not an acting anymore. You don’t realise how tired you are so…you wake up. In your bed. In your room. Is it just another dream? Who knows. Well, only the one may know.

#may English grammar forgive me #I do my best I promise #screaming crying throwing up while writing it #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #re8 #donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #donna beneviento x y/n #lady donna beneviento #angie beneviento #donna re8 #re8 fic #fanfic

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moorishflower · 2 years ago

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Re: Your Addams Family Post, I now have the mental image of Gomez pretty much adopting Hob as another brother/cousin/what have you. "Children! Met your new Uncle!"

It starts with the auction.

Hob doesn't think of himself as a collector, but he's also self-aware enough that his doing so is more of a defense mechanism than anything else. Because he does. He collects. He can't help himself -- so much of his life can only be traced backwards through the shapes he's left behind, his self, of a necessity, always needing to vanish into the background. He follows his own history through letters to Dear Robert Gadlyn, portraits painted with one of his hats in the background, an authentic Victorian jacket supposedly worn by Wilde himself, and which Hob vividly remembers shucking from Oscar's shoulders, leaving it to puddle forgotten on the floor while they'd kissed in sweet silence on the settee.

So when he gets an email from his friend Kev at Hansons, a "check this book out mate" sort of deal with an eyes emoji appended to it, Hob is already intrigued. Kev is good at finding him the more esoteric things for his not-collection, and hasn't steered him wrong before, and he's not disappointed when he opens the link to find a listing for a book. A book, specifically, from the 1600s. Being an Account of the Dread Pirate Sylvia, her Ancestors, her Descendants, and Her Pets, it says, though it's not the title that catches his eye so much as the provided scans of some of the pages. The handwriting is beautiful, flowing and elegant and heavy on the page, and it makes his heart ache for a time before keyboards and typewriters, when gorgeous penmanship could be counted as a virtue and not just a hobby. There are sketches of fantastical sea beasts, navigational maps, the most beautifully-rendered charcoal drawing of an orca he's ever seen, and.

And a drawing of him.

Not him as he was in 1699, when this was apparently written, but him in 1374. Him, younger, fresh-faced, just a slip of a beard still, his head tilted back, laughing. Great great etc grandmother's cousin, says a caption beneath it, in that same heavy and flowing hand. Late 1300s? Must track him down

Motherfucker, Hob thinks, and sends a few emails.

Twenty-four hours later, he's the proud owner of a fantastically well-preserved diary/travelogue/grimoire, having shelled out a significant amount of funds to even get the thing, on account of some American trying to outbid him at every turn. He's not surprised, then, when he gets an email shortly after his final bid has been locked in, from the rather posh-sounding [email protected]

The contents of the email, though. Are, to say the least, alarming.

I say my dear boy, it starts, I don't suppose we could come to an agreement as to a different price for Lady Penelope Addams' only surviving diary? If you're interested in antiques of rich and unusual history, I am certain I can provide. Only it contains one of very few references to a lost branch of our family, the Lady Penelope's great great etc grandmother and her kin, and I, being invested in genealogy, am eager to explore this hidden part of our family tree.

Absolutely not, Hob thinks, shutting his laptop with a click. Absolutely buggering bloody fuck not, he thinks, shoving a sweater into his suitcase, because it's winter, and it's Chicago, and he has no idea what sort of weather to expect. This is fucking insanity, he thinks, hands folded in his lap on the plane.

What are you doing? he asks himself, as the door to the grand gothic manor opens, and Hob, who has just trekked a portion of a mile through a swamp and had to kick an alligator to keep it from lunging at his suitcase, looks down at the man who had identified himself in emails as Gomez Addams, his. His relative. Somehow, far distant, but his.

"Robert Gadling," he says, with obvious relish, and Hob feels himself hooked by the crook of his elbow, hauled into the foyer with surprising force. "Come in! Come in! Children! Come meet your new uncle!"

#hob gadling family values #my fic #ask response #hob gadling #the sandman #addams family

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sixty-silver-wishes · 2 months ago

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sharing some "caligari" fanfic here I guess

Blurb: Jane has a conversation with her mother. (2084 words)

Unlike most antiquated mansions, the Olsen manor didn’t seem to be too different a place at night than it was during the day. Heavy damask curtains hung at the windows, so sunlight and moonlight were equally obscured. The walls seemed to stretch and shrink as one walked, thanks to the artificial, faintly tinted glow of electric lamps and chandeliers— the pride of the household, as they were hard to come by in Holstenwall. The oil-painted eyes of long-dead ancestors, forever open and disapproving, watched from trapezoidal frames that extended towards the high ceilings, along with the cold, glassy ones of taxidermied hunting trophies. A stag’s head mounted in Dr. Olsen’s library, its antlers sprawling towards the bookshelves on either side of it, was locked in endless, silent confrontation with the noble portrait of one Leopold Olsen, which hung above the doorway. Eighty years before, the real Leopold Olsen had shot the stag dead during a hunting trip. According to family legend, the beast continued to charge despite the bullet in its side, and struck him in the heart as it fell. Neither of them would ever return to the great, dark woods that surrounded the town.

Now that it sat in her father’s library, Jane Olsen didn’t like looking at the stag. She wasn’t sure if she’d rather see it alive, either. She’d never liked it; something seemed wrong about displaying its head in the library, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. It had always been there, after all. The library wouldn’t look the same without it.

She knew she wasn’t supposed to be up this late. But it was difficult to sleep, and so she’d gone walking through the house, hoping to distract herself. She passed through the library, under the painting that hung over an archway. As always, her ancestor was frozen in his final confrontation with the stag across the room. But he’s just a painting, she mused, and the stag is real. Suppose instead of a painting, it was his real body hanging up there instead…

It was easy to have thoughts like that in her father’s library, both during the day and at night. The Olsen manor seemed to have been built for thoughts like that— dark, terrible thoughts that sprung on you without warning, but you couldn’t say them out loud, even though you knew that everyone had them, because how could you not in a place like this? All you could do was catch them like sparrows before they had a chance to escape your lips, and cage them in your head, and hope they never slipped out even though they constantly pecked with their cold, sharp beaks at the inside of your skull.

The stag had once been part of the deep woods beyond the town walls. Now, it was housed in a wonderful library, stocked floor to ceiling with all the medical knowledge of the known world, antique books and new ones, polished mahogany shelves (the wood, too, had once been of the forest) and busts of famous authors and the portrait of Leopold Olsen. In its dying moments, if the legends were true, it had killed a wealthy man who had hunted it for his own amusement. It was not allowed to rot, as wild things do. It became immortalized as a quaint piece of conversation. Its punishment was most civilized.

Jane passed under it, not wanting to give it another thought. The thing had been in the Olsen manor for longer than she’d been alive.

She left the library behind, and tried to think of other things— what to do tomorrow, what she’d done the day before, what to do if her non-existent plans for tomorrow went awry. Doubtless her mother would have some way to occupy her time for her, or she could distract herself with some idle activity. Regrettably, chess had been ruled out, but there was still embroidery, or sketching, or reading (at least the books she was allowed to read), or piano (heaven forbid), or any of the other things that respectable young ladies did. If Francis wasn’t busy, she knew he’d be all too happy if she were to visit. Too happy, she thought. Francis was a devoted friend, but his devotion could sometimes cross her boundaries. He’d be eager to play the role of protector, but she didn’t think she wanted a protector.

She wandered past her father’s study, into one of several living rooms— the main one, where they received guests. The whole room was tinted with the uneasy rose-colored light of the enormous spherical lamp above. A cluster of flowers with crooked stems leaned out of a tall-necked vase, seeming strangely misplaced despite their careful arrangement on a small table. An overstuffed armchair faced away from her, its high back washed in the pink glow of the lamp.

Why is the light on at this hour? she wondered, and flicked the switch off.

“Marie!” a brittle voice cried from the armchair. Jane startled. “I told you to keep the light on…”

Jane exhaled, recognizing her mother’s voice. She turned the switch, squinting as the lamp flickered on again.

“You’re such a foolish girl, Marie,” she heard her mother say. Her hand was visible in the lamplight, limply hanging over the arm of the chair.

What is she talking about? Jane wondered. There used to be a servant named Marie who worked there, but she had been fired years ago. Then, realizing what must have been happening, Jane resolved to return to her room. She tiptoed back the way she came, when her mother called out again.

“Marie,” she said, “come here.”

Jane glanced back at the armchair. She figured she could have gone anyway, and there would be no consequences. But that felt like a consequence in itself, so she turned around.

“Sit with me.”

Her heart pounding in her chest, Jane took the other armchair, and reluctantly looked across the table.

Mrs. Olsen was slumped in her chair in a most unladylike fashion. Her hair was undone, and strands of it fell across her half-closed eyes. It may have been the lamplight, but her face looked flushed. One of her arms draped over the chair; the other was shakily balanced on her knee. She held a crystal wineglass in her hand, the kind that was only supposed to be used for special occasions. The bottle lay on its side at her feet. A dark purple stain was beginning to set into the carpet, which she would certainly command the servants to clean up in the morning. She would claim she had no idea how it got there, and it was just as likely she wouldn’t remember.

Jane shifted uncomfortably in the armchair. Her mother pulled herself up slightly, regarding her from under her eyelids.

“I hate it, Marie,” her mother said numbly.

“I’m not…” Jane began, but thought better of it. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Mrs. Olsen gestured weakly at the ceiling. “This whole damned place,” she said. “I hate this house. I hate how big it is. I hate the lights.”

Jane blinked. “But you always seem so proud of-”

“I hate them!” Mrs. Olsen shouted. Jane shrank back in her seat. “They give me headaches, and they’re costly, and they have to be on all the time.”

Jane knew better than to argue. Of course, it seemed illogical; there was no reason to have the lamps turned on at night, when everyone tended to be asleep.

“Everyone loves the lights,” Mrs. Olsen said in a daze. “Like the moon, right there in our parlor. They tell me they do; that makes me so happy. Such a pretty pink color, and so bright…”

Jane had seen her mother drinking before, but it had never gotten this bad. She barely seemed like herself at all, and as much as they had their difficulties, she didn’t want to see her like this.

“I think you should go to bed,” she offered. “Maybe that’ll make you feel better.”

“No!” Mrs. Olsen gasped, as if she were suffocating. “Not to bed…” She raised her head and looked around, as if she was stunned to see where she was. “Green curtains for this room,” she said, her words somewhat slurred. “Not pink ones. But the Hoffmanns have green curtains in their living room. Paula Hoffmann would notice if I had green curtains. And if Paula Hoffmann would notice, then everyone would notice, and so my curtains are pink— a ghastly pink, like raw meat— and I wanted English furniture, real English furniture, but these chairs are German, and everyone can tell they’re not really imported, but they don’t say anything to me. Nobody ever says anything to me; nothing important, anyway. And I wanted to wear my velvet dress with the lace today, the one with the ribbon in the back and the silver buttons…”

“This is what you’re-? I mean, it sounds like you’re very upset about these things,” Jane said. But at the same time, she understood.

“He never liked that dress,” Mrs. Olsen said, staring up at the lamp. “Said it made me look almost as old as he is.” She turned her head towards Jane. “Do you think I’m old?”

She was looking directly at her. Jane wondered if she’d be able to recognize her; after all, she was having a hard enough time recognizing her own mother.

Mrs. Olsen didn’t wait for a response. “That’s the worst thing a woman can be, is old. Almost as bad as being unmarried.” She laughed coldly, and kicked the wine bottle at her feet. “That’s how it happens. At first, it seems like an escape. No more poverty, no more difficult decisions… you get married, and somebody else makes them for you. You have a big house with pink electric lights, and you have parties and balls for other married people, and you have a child who you hope will be just as happy as you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“See, it’s all because he wanted you,” she continued. “He was never handsome, or very charming, but they don’t get you by being handsome and charming, even though that’s how you think they will. They get you with promises of green curtains and English furniture; that’s how they always do it. And then you lose your name to his, and he makes you into something he can drag out when he wants and wear on his arm. Oh, and you love it at first. You love it when his colleagues look at you and wish you were theirs. You love how he jokes about keeping you from them. The jealousy is delicious, you know. I would choke myself on it if I could. But what you really love is the escape, so much that you’re willing to overlook the pink curtains. And then…”

Her forehead was starting to show permanent wrinkles. The overhead light made the creases look even deeper.

“It’s not an escape anymore, because you have a child. A pretty, perfect child, who’s prettier and more perfect than you. You have created this pretty, perfect thing, and so you are very proud. But then she feeds off of you, and she feeds and feeds until you are certain there will soon be nothing left of you. You wish she were not so perfect, because she is easily taking what you worked to earn. But you have to make sure she’s even more perfect and prettier than she already is, because Paula Hoffmann has green curtains, and everyone knows if your furniture isn’t from England.”

“I…” Jane began. She felt positively sick. “I think I should go.”

You want her to know your suffering, but you also want her to never know you suffered. You want to protect her, but some days you wish she never existed at all. But that’s all right, because they don’t really want me to exist, either. Nobody does. My child, my husband, Paula Hoffmann… they all want to take and take until I’m gone.”

Jane wanted to run to the light switch and turn it off already, but stayed frozen in her seat. “Is that really what you think?” she whispered.

Mrs. Olsen sat up, her eyes brimming with tears and clarity. She looked almost radiant under the rosy halo of light above her head.

“Gilda,” she said, “you look almost as old as I am in that dress.”

#the cabinet of dr. caligari #fanfiction #fanfic #the cabinet of doctor caligari #writing #my writing

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livlepretre · 10 months ago

Note

currently rereading fe and this thought occurred to me: we know that whenever elena dreams of klaus, these incidents actually happened but she always ends up rejecting him and that’s why he compels her to forget and go to sleep, but is part of his compulsion to go and dream of what had just happened or does she remember these moments in her dreams because she herself possesses some sort of magic that might lessen his compulsion?

Interesting thought!

in FE, Elena has no powers which she can directly access-- her blood is super powerful, but only a witch can channel it-- which sucks for her, because basically her blood's power is the ability to overwrite the Laws of Nature/suspend the need for Balance, and replace all of that with other rules-- this is how, for example, Klaus can be both a vampire and a werewolf. In theory, if Elena were, say, to have been locked up in a creepy manor for years and years of isolation with nothing to do but study magical theory, perhaps she could develop some ideas of how to hijack this power with the help of a sympathetic witch-- but she would still be unable to use it for her own purposes. There are a few small exceptions-- things like objects that are crafted from her blood and thus belong to her, like the bloodstone, or even Klaus himself, she has powerful sway over. She called to the bloodstone, and the bloodstone answered. She can sense Klaus because he is also a creation of her blood-- that is what the nature of their "bloodbond" is-- an awareness of her metaphysical possession of him (although, in this case, he's a living being, and immensely powerful in his own right, so "calling him" doesn't work. probably.) She also figured out how to use this relationship with Klaus to do things like override the blood ward he had set on the room with the coffins-- basically, because her blood was already mixed with Klaus's in the sacrifice, it was still, mystically, flowing in his veins, and allowing him to remain perpetually a hybrid instead of shunting off his werewolf side in favor of the vampirism. And she can sense Dark Objects used in human sacrifice because she has an affinity for them-- basically, I think the magics used in the sacrifice itself sort of... magnetized her to those sorts of objects. But this is basically the extent of things-- she is as susceptible to compulsion and dream tampering as anyone else.

In fact, the reality that Elena is essentially just an ordinary human with like, this really psycho streak that is a personality quirk unlocked by crazy circumstances as opposed to a supernatural ability is one of the reasons I find her so interesting-- yes, she has this super-power, but it's totally inaccessible for her even as it also makes her a Major Player. It's actually her wild gambits and her cunning and ruthlessness combined with her fierce love (for certain people) that makes her so compelling. (And also, the sense that she would have been a totally normal person if she hadn't had her brushes with the supernatural? I think Elena-- like Katherine or Tatia-- is someone who doesn't know how far she will go until she is pushed, and then it turns out there is nowhere she won't go, and it's a horrible realization for both the one doing the pushing and for Elena herself).

Anyway, so what really did happen is this: Klaus would make a move on Elena, or tell her something intimate, and then he would either compel the memory away altogether or compel her to forget and instead to dream up what if it had gone differently... vampires can control dreams, and he does that a lot. He really is as pathetic as he suggests when they first reunite in Nola 2.0, although, we find out later that he really does take things all the way to having sex with her and then changes his mind mid-act because it's not actually satisfying him to have a doll that looks like Elena, he actually wants Elena. (The fact that Elena accepts what happened here the way that she does once she remembers is definitely definitely a side effect of her extreme trauma, and a reflection of the self-harm of going along with these vampires-- she gets to a place where she accepts harm without processing it as such.)

Now, Elena, just like anyone else with a strong mind, might be able to build immunity to compulsion, the way we saw Bill Forbes did on the show. She's been working on it for a few months now in the FE timeline. You'll have to wait to see how that turns out though!

#asks #fairytale ending #tw noncon

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nebulablakemurphy · 1 year ago

Text

Through Love And By Love (Pt. 3)

Draco Malfoy x fem!OC

Summary: Twenty-Two years ago, Draco Malfoy used the imperius curse to slow Voldemort’s rise to power. No good deed goes unpunished. Warning: this series contains mature subject matter surrounding use of the imperius curse, reader discretion advised.

Part 1 | Part 2

Draco makes the proper modifications to the obliviate charm. It won't completely alter Rosanna's memories, it will only suppress the ones where he is present. When everything is sorted, he'll be able to give them back.

Seems simple enough, and once it's done, it's done. The imperius curse however is more difficult. When Draco casts it, he has to mean it. If he half asses the spell or lets his feelings get in the way, not only will it not work; but the effects it will have on Rosanna's mind...he wants to avoid at all costs.

The duration of the curse is also up in the air, could be weeks, could be months, could be years. All the while he'll be commanding this shell of the girl he loves.

'I control you.' Draco repeats the mantra in his head, every night before bed, willing himself to mean it.

When the time finally comes, he's standing in front of Rosanna as she's sound asleep, with his wand drawn. 'She doesn't remember', Draco tells himself. 'This isn't your Rosanna, it only looks like her. You can do this, you have to.' "Imperio." Draco says, with conviction.

Nothing happens, because he hasn't given a direction. 'Wake up', he wills her. And so she does.

It takes him a few tries to get into a routine, he doesn't have to think each specific step. She still has a brain after all. He only has to think of the desired out come. For example, 'get dressed and follow me', is one simple order instead of several smaller ones.

————————————————————————

After a few weeks of having her at Malfoy manner Draco begins experimenting with more complex demands such as, 'tell me what you think.' Or, 'act like you care for me.'

For a time he can almost forget that it's all a lie. Draco sees her in the room of requirement, how she was, how she loved him. If he ignores the small discrepancies, it’s bearable.

Malfoy manor is under lock and key, however that doesn’t stop an owl from arriving, carrying a parcel with the last will and testament of Albus Dumbledore. Along with Ron, Harry and Hermione; Rosanna is a beneficiary.

‘To Rosanna Marie McVay, I leave my mirror. May you always remember who you are.’

A long ragged shard of an old broken mirror. Draco wants to get rid of it, because even the words seem to taunt, like a cruel joke. But perhaps it means something to her that he cannot comprehend. And so he files it away in his chest of drawers for safe keeping.

It takes about three months before Narcissa runs her wand over Rosanna; and finally it glows. She's expecting.

"Well done, Draco." Lucius says, putting a hand on his shoulder. He’s out of Azkaban, still he isn’t the same man he was before going in.

Draco shrugs him off, they haven’t spoken more than a few words to each other since his return.

"You should let the dark lord know, tonight." Narcissa tells her son gingerly, "he'll be pleased."

"Shouldn't we wait a while? Just to be sure." Draco is still in denial, everything's happened too fast.

"Don't be ridiculous." Lucius insists. Voldemort has been breathing down their necks for weeks.

"What about Rosanna's parents?" Draco asks. "Surely Archer and Dixie deserve to know they're expecting a grandchild."

"Draco...you must understand, we could hardly have them looking for her." Narcissa cuts in.

"What've you done to them?" He spits, angrily.

"Relax Draco, 'twas a simple memory spell. They're on holiday." Lucius informs him.

"Where?" Draco's jaw ticks.

"Just off the coast of France, it's a lovely villa. All expenses paid." His mother brushes a spec of lint from his shoulder.

"If you ever do anything to hurt her or her family-"

"Draco, darling," Narcissa stops him. "We're on the same side. We are protecting Rosanna, we are protecting her parents."

"Could've fooled me." Draco disagrees.

"Mind yourself." Lucius snaps.

"Did it ever occur to you, that perhaps forcing us to have a child was not, in fact, in our best interest? That it might, instead, be detrimental to Rosanna, who hasn't had a proper chance to finish her education? Or the fact that she is brilliant and deserves every opportunity in this world? Do you ever consider the fact you took all that away from her?" Draco is gutted, he's afraid, he is alone.

"No one’s taken a thing from her. We've given her a wealth of opportunity. Is the situation ideal? Of course not. But son, you must know, when this is over; after serving the dark lord, she can have the best tutors. If she wants to continue her studies, she will do just that. Any avenue that Rosanna wishes to venture will be readily available to her. As for you, you will want for nothing Draco. Just as you always have. You can marry, live a long and happy life here in the manor." Lucius doesn't understand, it should be an honor to both of them to restore the Malfoy name to grace.

"What about the baby?" Draco runs a hand through his hair.

"He will have the world as his finger tips, darling." Narcissa coos. "A strong Malfoy boy, a son. You will raise him right, just like you were raised. "

"So you're no longer concerned with her lack of pure blood?" The boy scoffs.

“Draco, you are my son. I care for you a great deal, I want the best for you; always. All will be right once this baby is born. Open your eyes, see it." Lucius says, in closing.

Draco can't see it, but he does see Rosanna's belly grow over the next five months. 'Be happy,' is his only requirement of her.

She has a proper bump now. After she's gone to sleep, Draco keeps his hand on her stomach. Finally feeling his son stir beneath his fingers.

He attempts to choke down the lump in his throat, but he can't. Tears slipping onto his pillow as his shoulders heave with sobs. He can't do this alone.

Rosanna gasps, springing up into a sitting position. The pleasant, floating, out of body feeling she's become accustomed to is gone. Leaving behind a terrible migraine in it's wake. "Fuck." She complains, clutching her head between her hands.

"Lie down, love." Draco tells her, without much thought.

"No, my head-" Rosanna argues, "something's wrong."

He can tell, she's not listening to him anymore.

An imperius curse can be broken, but only through extreme force of will. Few people have ever done so.

"Please, do something." Rosanna reaches for him with trembling hands. She can't recall more than a passing glance shared between them at Hogwarts, but she can remember the passed months with him here. How kind he was, patient, gentle; the way one might treat a very dear friend.

"Let me look at you." Draco insists, holding his hands on either side of her face. "You're bleeding, Ro."

Blood trickles from her left nostril. Upon truly seeing him, something within her scream. There's something right there, just beneath the surface that she can't seem to grasp, but she wants to. The harder she reaches for it, the harder her head throbs in protest.

Draco knows what he has to do, the bleeding is getting worse. Her mind has been tampered with for too long, these kind of spells aren't meant to last forever. He has to give her memories back.

When he does, the blood from her nose slows significantly. Dashing to the bathroom he retrieves a hand towel, holding it beneath her nose. Massaging her temples as she keeps the towel in place.

"Rosanna," Draco says, after a long moment.

"Are you ok?" She asks.

"Me? I should be asking you." He chuckles, he doesn't know if the spell worked. He doesn't know if she remembers, or if things were lost in translation.

"I heard you crying," she explains. "I knew I had to get up. I couldn't at first, but I just kept telling myself, you have to wake up Ro, you have to wake up.”

"An imperius curse is nearly impossible to break." Draco remarks, brushing wayward hairs from Rosanna's face. "I should have known, nearly impossible is no object for you."

"Of course not." Rosanna shrugs, teasingly.

Draco knows she's never thought of herself as anything special, clearly she is; she always has been.

"You should try to rest." He encourages.

"Yeah," She agrees, moving to lie down in the bed they've shared for months. However, this being the first time it's truly them.

They face each other on top of the dark satin sheets, their hands clasped between them. Content to simply stare into the others eyes for the rest of eternity.

"Did you miss me?" Rosanna whispers, after a long while.

"Every second." Draco confesses, in the same hushed tone.

————————————————————————-

The next few weeks are spent finding their new normal. Another adjustment, from the kids at Hogwarts, to the imperiused puppet and master, to now pregnant Rosanna and overprotective Draco.

Narcissa and Lucius can see that something is different about her, in comparison to the girl who'd arrived there all those months ago. Writing it off to hormones and never pressing the issue.

The news that Voldemort has finally requested Rosanna attend a death eater’s meeting doesn't come as a surprise to any of them. It has only ever been a question of when.

Narcissa offers to get Ro up to snuff. Draco is wary of leaving them alone together, but Rosanna assures him that she's fine. So eventually he leaves to ready himself for the evening.

"You're a beautiful girl." Narcissa remarks, running her brush through Rosanna's long strawberry blonde hair.

She sits in front of Narcissa's lavish vanity, staring blankly into the mirror as the older woman stands behind her. Rosanna doesn't look like herself, painted in dark makeup and zipped into a perfectly tapered midnight blue silken dress.

"A perfect match for my Draco." She goes on. "Any thoughts on a name for the baby?”

"Not yet." Rosanna forces a smile.

"Draco is named after a constellation; just something to think about." Narcissa knows full well that right now, she's the closest thing the girl has to a mother.

"I don't really know anything about having a baby." Rosanna thought she'd have more time to learn, when she was older, when she was ready.

"It's perfectly normal to be nervous. After all, being a mother is the most important undertaking a woman has. All Draco's life I have spoiled him, but there are things money can not buy. Namely love; your love." Narcissa moves her hair lightly into place.

Rosanna twists her hands in her lap, "Draco keeps telling me I'll be a good mother, but how does he know? I'm going to disappoint him if I don't know what to do the second that sucker is slapped into my arms."

"You'll have help," Narcissa assures her, "a nanny if you'd like."

"No, I don't want a nanny." Rosanna shakes her head.

"Draco-" Narcissa greets when she spots him.

Rosanna turns to him, blonde hair styled into an elegant updo. Makeup done to perfection, a deep red gloss that makes her full lips look truly sinful.

"Give us a moment, mother." Draco stammers at the sight of her.

Narcissa gives a tight lipped grin as she leaves the room.

Ro runs her hands over her dress as she stands.

Draco approaches her, his face a mask of indifference. And for a second, Rosanna actually wonders if he's mad. "I would not change one cell in your body, nor hair on your head. You are easily the best thing that's ever happened to me. You could never disappoint me, I need you to know that. If you're having trouble with something, never hesitate to come to me."

"You gotta stop ease-dropping." Rosanna chastises, draping her arms around him, stroking lovingly at the soft hair on the nape of his neck.

"About tonight," he changes the subject. "We're meant to be guests of honor. You know who sits head of the table, we will sit immediately to his right. Traditionally, I would be seated aside of him, because I'm the male."

"Damn it." Rosanna shakes her head. "He's sexist too?"

Draco chortles, "As I was saying, you'll be next to him. Be calm, steady; I'll be right there with you. Across the table is a seat reserved for Snape, if he shows up. He shouldn’t try to talk to you, none of them will. If they do, keep it short and simple. You're honored to be there. I know you're a decent liar, you can pull this off."

"So what happens at these meetings?" Ro asks, nervously.

"Not much, we cover any news about Potter. While we're on the subject, it's imperative to remember, the dark lord knows you and Harry were friends. When he accessed Potter's mind and memories, you were there. Don't lie about it if he asks." Draco smooths a hand along her back.

"Ok." She nods.

"He'll give assignments, if need be and tie up any loose ends. It's all straight forward really." He puts her mind at ease.

The moment they enter the dining room, everything Draco had promised is out the window; because there's a woman, suspended midair near the archway. They recognize her as one of the professors from Hogwarts. Muggle studies wasn't a class either of them had taken, they don’t really know Ms. Charity Burbage, but they'd seen each other plenty in passing.

"Breathe," Draco whispers, "just keep breathing." His hand is at the small of her back, guiding her toward their seats.

Voldemort's mouth twists into a demented grin. "Well, if it isn't the young Mr. Malfoy and his beloved Rosanna. What a pleasure it is, to finally meet you." He purrs. "Come, join me." Voldemort motions to the seats aside of him.

"Thank you for having me," Rosanna smiles as Draco pulls out the chair for her, waiting until she sits before pushing her in.

"Of course, dear one." He eyes her belly. "As I'm sure you all know, a congratulations is in order for our friends. They are to have a son, bringing them one step closer to fulfilling their destiny."

All eyes at the table are fixed on them. Rosanna isn't sure if they're meant to speak or not. So she simply nods, crossing her legs beneath the table. Draco's left hand stretches over, searching for hers. She twines their fingers together, resting their hands in her lap.

Severus arrives a few moments after the meeting has officially started. Joining them at the table, giving Draco and Rosanna a once over as he takes his seat.

He sees them third year, in detention for fraternizing after hours. He sees them fourth year, dancing the night away at the ball. He sees them fifth year, tested and divided by circumstance. He sees them sixth year, leaving together the night he'd killed Albus.

He sees their then faces, he sees their now faces; still just children, but stripped of their innocence.

When Rosanna is excused, she rushes up the stairs to their bedroom.

Draco stays with his parents to see the others out. "She's not been feeling well, terrible morning sickness." He explains, "I better go check on her." Draco closes the door behind last of the death eaters before venturing up the staircase.

He finds her, dry heaving over the sink, mascara stained teardrops falling against the porcelain. Draco knows what a panic attack looks like, from personal experience.

"Alright sweetheart, you're alright." He wets a rag with cool water from the tap, lying it on the over heated skin at the back of her neck.

"I can't breathe," Rosanna sobs, fingers twisting against the edge of the sink basin. She needs to be sick, she needs to breath, she needs to lie down, she needs to scream.

"Try, try for me." Draco murmurs, his lips at her temple. "Take a deep breath in."

She does try, but suddenly her dress is too tight, suffocating her. "Get it off, get it off me." Rosanna chokes out, clawing at the zipper behind her, but her fingers won't cooperate.

Draco moves her trembling hands aside, using his own to ease the zipper down her back. The material pooling at her feet, but it doesn't help.

All she can think about is the woman from the parlor, dropping lifeless onto the dinner table and served as a meal to Nagini.

"I'm so sorry, Ro. You have to believe me, I had no idea that was going to happen. You were never supposed to see that. It was to be a normal meeting, just as I said. I didn't know." Draco apologizes fiercely, pressing desperate kisses to her shaking shoulders.

Her breaths come in short gasps, resting her head against the cool surface of the mirror. "It's not your fault." Rosanna shakes her head. The child in her womb stirs wildly, seemingly sensing her distress. She places a hand over her belly protectively.

Draco wraps both arms around her, grounding her. One hand resting over her heart, to dull the ache that's taken root there. The other on top of hers, calming their baby. "You are strong, you are safe, and you are so loved."

Rosanna isn't sure if he's talking to her or their child, either way, it's enough to bring her back to herself. She catches her breath, standing up straight and turning to face Draco.

His features still laced with worry. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm sorry. That's never happened before." Rosanna can't meet his eyes.

"There's nothing to apologize for." He tips her chin up to catch her gaze. "They aren't as awful once you're used to them. I'd like to tell you that they suck less too, but that'd be a lie; they always suck."

Rosanna smirks at him, "since when does Draco Malfoy say something sucks?"

"I've been hanging around this girl for sometime. She's an awful influence, you see, she's got quite a dodgy vocabulary." Draco teases. "I've tried to keep away, only problem is, I'm terribly in love with her and it never seems to work."

"I love you so much." Ro laughs, peppering his face with kisses. Effectively covering him in cherry red lip stick. "You look ridiculous," she tells him as they break apart.

"Yeah?" He turns her back toward the mirror.

Her hair is a bird's nest and her cheeks a mess of black streaks. "Before you take the mickey out of me, let's get that rubbish off your face."

"Screw you." She takes the cloth from her neck, rewetting it with soap; properly removing what's left of her makeup.

"What about me?" Draco protests, "you've done this." He motions to his crimson stained face.

"Don't you like my work?" Rosanna feigns hurt, softly swiping the marks off his face.

"I love your work, darling, however I'm afraid red's not my color." He smiles, it’s been so long that the feeling is foreign to the muscles in his face.

————————————————————————-

When the golden trio is dragged in, by snatchers, to Malfoy Manor, they look slightly worse for wear. Especially Harry, who is nearly unrecognizable under the swelling of his features from Hermione’s stinging jinx. A last ditch effort to conceal his identity.

When Draco cannot positively identify the boy as Harry Potter, Bellatrix utters one sickening command. “Bring me Rosanna.”

Draco nods, taking the stairs up to his bedroom. The door creaks open and Rosanna turns to him.

“What’s wrong?” She closes the book she’s been reading.

“I need you.” He chokes out. “I need you to come with me and I…Rosanna, I’m so sorry.”

Rosanna swallows hard, moving to her feet and smoothing out the front of her dress. The one with light purple daisies scattered about the material.

Draco and Rosanna know full well what will happen if they are caught lying. Still they do it anyway.

Legillimacy comes easy to her, the way occlumency does Draco. They’ve been working to teach each other, no time like the present to put those skills to the test.

“Come, Rosanna.” Bellatrix insists, giggling erratically as she does. “Right here.”

Rosanna crosses the room, joining Bellatrix near where Harry is kneeling. She is about six months along and her belly comes as a shock to her former friends.

“Good girl, come come.” Bellatrix pulls her in. Attempting to peer deep into Rosanna’s mind. “Take a good look for us.” She points down to the man in question. “Is it him? Is it Harry?”

Rosanna floods her thoughts with images of Harry from their childhood. Distracting Bellatrix, hiding what she knows to be true. This is Harry.

Bellatrix huffs out a breath, “you really don’t know, do you?”

Rosanna shakes her head, “I’m sorry. It’s too hard to tell with his face that way.”

“That’s alright, precious.” Bellatrix puts a hand to Rosanna’s belly. “You’ve done your part. Now run along, there’s work to be done.”

Rosanna nods, moving towards the stairs on shaky legs.

“Put the boys in the cellar,” Bellatrix barks her next command at Lucius and Draco, grabbing Hermione by the collar. “Me and this one need to have a little chat, girl to girl.”

The sound of Hermione's tortured cries haunt Rosanna's nightmares for years to come. But she knows the best, and only course of action is to return to her room and come up with a plan.

Tearing through the dresser, in search of her wand, she slices her finger on a shard of…glass? Even through the parchment wrapped haphazardly around it.

‘To Rosanna Marie McVay, I leave my mirror. May you always remember who you are.’

Rosanna tosses Dumbledore’s will aside, staring down at the reflection in her hand. Somehow the image staring back is not her own.

“Hello?” She whispers. The eye looking back at her could almost be her former headmaster’s. But that’s impossible. “Can you help me? My friends are being held captive in Malfoy manor-”

There is a pop from behind her, Rosanna squeals at the unexpected appearance of a house elf. Not one of the Malfoy’s, not anymore.

Dobby had been freed the year before Rosanna transferred to Hogwarts. He isn’t thrilled by the prospect of returning to Malfoy Manor, his old masters were very cruel, and Dobby is a free elf. But, “Dobby is here to help Harry Potter and his friends.”

“Harry is a good friend of mine. I need your help to get him out of here.”

“What about you, miss?”

“It’s a long story, but I can’t leave, not yet. Harry and Ron are in the cellar, I can show you how to get there.”

“Dobby knows his way to the cellar.” The elf lowers his voice.

"Thank you, Dobby." Rosanna leans down to kiss his cheek. "Tell Harry, Rosanna sent you. Tell him I'm sorry, for everything."

"I'll tell them, Ms. Rosanna." Dobby agrees, any friend of Harry's is a friend of his.

The elf disapparates into the cellar. Rosanna grabs her wand and sets off to find Draco. Harry and Ron are now free, having fought their way back up to the main floor with Dobby’s help.

Rosanna finds herself on the opposite end of Hermione’s wand. They stare at each other for a beat too long.

“Rosanna!” A voice, dueling in the distance, warns.

In a panic, Rosanna casts a healing charm.

Hermione returns the gesture.

They put on a good show, before Hermione finally disarms her. In the chaos, only she and Rosanna know that's all she's done.

"Ahh!" Rosanna howls, falling to the ground clutching her belly.

"What is it, darling? Is it the baby?" Narcissa is beside her in an instant, abandoning her post.

"Something's wrong." Rosanna lies.

"We'll call the midwife straight away." Lucius assures her, appearing only a second later.

Everyone but Draco and Bellatrix have stopped firing curses at the golden trio.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Draco demands, as he and Harry wrestle over his wand. Over powering Potter for just a second, he leans down to whisper. "Knock me off, take the wand and go."

Harry listens, they disapparate with Dobby, but not before Bellatrix throws her knife into the mix.

————————————————————————-

The midwife arrives shortly after, checking Rosanna over. Deciding that the stress might have caused a bout of false labor pains, and orders her a weeks bed rest with increased fluids.

Draco waits on her hand and foot, playing his part well. He quite enjoys doting on her and the growing baby in her belly.

As soon as Ro is cleared for regular activity, she and Draco spend the night in the kitchen. Making tacos the muggle way, the way Rosanna's grandmother had taught her when she was just a little girl.

"Why is this so bloody good?" Draco says in disbelief, diving another chip into the guacamole.

Rosanna is seated atop the cool granite island, contently swinging her feet. The platinum haired boy in the high rise chair to her left. "I told you. The baby likes tacos." Rosanna notes, feeling the infant practically doing flips in her belly.

"Course he does, he's my son." Draco grins at her, moving to his feet to have a feel.

"Everyone keeps saying boy. How do you know?" She cocks her blonde head to the side.

"The last ten generations of Malfoy have only a single male heir. Truthfully, I'd be just as happy with a girl. I do worry though, that they'll have an accent." Of course he wasn't actually concerned. Draco could listen to her speak, uninterrupted, for days on end.

"I don't have an accent." Rosanna bats at him.

"This estate will be ours someday. I'd like to fill it." Draco confesses, stealing a bite from his abandoned taco.

"You want more kids?" It isn’t something that’s ever come up.

"Not straight away. But after a while," he nods. "I want everything with you. A proper wedding, a home filled with our children, their laughter. Pets, if they please you. Holidays in America, show our children where their mother is from, why she talks funny. Send our children off to Hogwarts and take pride in whichever house they're sorted into. We can grow old together, we can be happy together."

"I'd like that." Rosanna decides.

"Can I tell you something else?" Draco asks, drumming his free hand against her knee.

"Mhm." Rosanna hums, around a mouth full of taco shell.

"I was never truly happy until I met you." He confesses.

"That’s not true.” Rosanna rolls her brown eyes.

"I know you hate me going on about it." Draco grins, looking down at his hands. "But being with you, eating tacos that we made, on a stove, which I hadn't the slightest idea how to work... You make me feel like I can do anything. You never make me feel daft for having to learn. No one's ever done that for me. Only you."

It still startles him, the depth of his love for her, the way it never seemed to bottom out. How he would look at her with absolutely certainty that he couldn't love her anymore than he did at that moment and then somehow he always did.

"That's because I love you," Rosanna says, before bursting into tears, "dumbass." She adds for good measure.

Part 4

#through love and by love #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #harry potter #draco imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fic #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy x oc #draco x oc #Hermione granger #Ron Weasley #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #bellatrix lestrange

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zwy01 · 1 year ago

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Susanna doodles!!!

I drew my noblesse oc from my Millennium AU, Susanna Mergas! She is the second child of Ludis Mergas and Rozaria Elenor, and the younger sister of Alois Elenor. She goes by the nickname Susa, and a few others.

1. Susanna painting!!! She is very cute and has big eyes and a round face just like her father Ludis. Her eyebrows are short and oval-shaped. She parts her bangs sideways and her super long, wavy locks that extend beyond her knees flow like waves when she moves. Interestingly, her hair never gets in her way even when she’s running and jumping around like hyper gymnast. It’s a real mystery to everyone. She’s very extroverted and cheerful, and always full of energy. Life is never boring around her, as she always has fun things to do! Millennium AU Lukedonia is only functioning thanks to her lol. She’s probably looking at you right now and thinking about dragging you to her next tea party. There’s no other escape, new best friend! Lol. Despite her tiny stature, she’s surprisingly strong. All that junk food probably worked their way into her muscle fibers, as Ludis jokes. All you need to do is sit down and enjoy the dozens of assorted sweets she brings out from the Mergas manor. There’s also ramyeon flavored macarons, if you like that kind of stuff, hehe! She’s got you covered.

2. Susa tries on a beautiful outfit! Very much Izarok themed. It probably belonged to one of Ludis’ female predecessors/ancestors and is a Mergas heirloom of some sort. It’s been a looong while since this outfit was last worn by someone. Ludis found it in his manor, and he gives it to his daughter. As expected, she looks absolutely stunning in it. Susa loves it! Her parents love it too. Alois is very moved by his sister’s cuteness. Awwwwww.

3. Lil’ Susa and her mother Rozaria! They are super close and very affectionate with each other. One of Susa’s favorite things to do as a child was playing with mami’s long, red hair. She still loves to do so even in adulthood, and Rozaria is more than happy to bond with her personal stylist! Susa also has a sweet tooth. It’s probably in her dna or something, because she inhales them like a blackhole. If she were human she would’ve gotten cavities a billion times already. Luckily, she’s a noble, so that doesn’t happen lol. Still, Ludis and Rozaria prefer to monitor their bab’s junk food intake, so other than retrieving the occasional treat, Ludis has barrier spell put up around their pantry. In the very, very rare cases where he forgets… well, you can guess what happens lol. Mommy Roza is worried about her daughter’s tummy, but Susa is actually more than fine lol. Ludis is surprised but amused. Better not forget next time, oops

4. Susa and Ludis part 1! By conventional noble standards, Susa was a bit of a slow learner, a late bloomer. As the Millennium AU progresses she does get very powerful and becomes the promising Mergas heiress, but not many people know that she has struggled for a while, especially in her childhood. Luckily, Ludis is a great parent and he is a pretty chill person in general so he never pressures Susa. He even modifies the traditional “standard” Mergas training curriculum just for his daughter, even when Lord Raskreia questions him for it. Hey, are no real enemies in the outside world anymore, right? Surely we can take it one step at a time. Lil’ Susa is aware of how she is doing compared to her peers, and it sometimes overwhelms her. Poor girl. Ludis being the supportive parent he is will do anything for his daughter and he lets her know that he’s always there for her. This father-daughter bond would later be forged in iron. Best dad.

5. Susa and Ludis part 2! After a wee timeskip to 80 years later, Susa is now a young teen at 100! Susa’s persistence and hard work, as well as Ludis’ unconditional love and support, pays off. Susa manages to successfully conjure a simple barrier spell. This moment is a huge milestone for Susa and she’ll remember it forever. Ludis is super proud of his bab. Roza and Alois are probably crying tears of joy too. Susa’s just so amazing, isn’t she?

6. Sibling bonding time!! Ludis and Rozaria are busy with stuff and are outside, so the siblings get housesitting duty, and some time to spend with each other. They got the entire manor aaallll to themselves lol. Ludis summons Izarok and leaves it with his kids to entertain them and of course Susa gets a hot pot started. Nothing beats comfy pajamas and great food. Fun fact, Alois isn’t really a fan of vegetables, though Mommy Roza knows that Susa will take good care of him. Eventually he won’t be able to say “no” if it’s his sister, lol. C’mon just one bite, you gotta eat your green foods too Al!

7. Susanna x Arya! They are the only “official” couple in my nextgen cast. Everyone else either hasn’t confessed yet, the crush is single-sided, or … something more complicated. Arya K. Landegre is the daughter of Regis and Rael. Susa and Ari are very loving and affectionate girlfriends and have a great relationship. They are each other’s soulmates. Much later in the AU they eventually marry each other.

8. Susanna x Arya what if babies! Susa/Ari is official and they eventually marry, but the next-next-gen doesn’t “exist” to me in my Millennium AU so these two babs are just a concept and don’t happen in the “main” Millennium AU timeline. Even so, they’re very cute lol. If Susa and Ari ever have kids of course they’ll name them something very unconventional and nonconforming to noble traditions, lol. Cute sons. Precious babs spoiled rotten by their mamas.

#noblesse #manhwa #myart #fanart #ludis mergas #rozaria elenor #susanna mergas #alois elenor #arya k. landegre #oc #ocs #original character #millennium au

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year ago

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𓅨 Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Chapter Thirty-Nine

Your Fate is Sealed With Mine: Y/N Burgess is the granddaughter of Alex and Paul, and after having spent so many summers at their manor and always wondering why she was forbidden from entering the basement, she descends the steps into the world of the Order. She broke out the being that had been trapped in that glass cage, but what does he want with her now that he is free?

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material (Unprotected Sex is a Major No No), Pet Name Overuse (Fight Me, Bitch), Morpheus Gets Territorial.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Female!GranddaughterReader, based on Netflix’s ‘The Sandman’, Reader now has long-ish hair for plot reasons (Just so Morpheus can tug on it later).

Word Count: ~4.4k

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Your lips were stinging by the time Morpheus finally broke your ravenous lip lock to effortlessly lift your body up against his chest and stride for your four-poster bed. Gently pressed back against your feather soft bedsheets, you reached up for Morpheus’s messy hair as his lips surged back down to yours. Lips hungrily chasing after each other, you curled your fingers around obsidian locks and pulled, trying to drag lips that were already ravishing yours, all that much closer. Morpheus chuckled against your mouth and torturously withdrew, eyes sparkling and soaked with darkness.

“Patience, my dream,” His voice purred, mouth hovering over yours. Morpheus brought a hand up, his thumb skimming over your chin to your tingling lips. You had half the mind to nip at the appendage. “We have the rest of eternity to indulge in each other. I wish to take my time.” An aching shiver ricocheted down your spine. You didn’t want to practice patience, he was your star soaked desire, he was what made your heart continue to beat, he was your eternity. And you wanted eternity now. But it did no good to try and rush a being such as an Endless. They had patience. Morpheus had patience. He knew what was running through your mind even without having access to it. So taking hold of the hand you had buried in his scalp, Morpheus wound his fingers through yours and pressed your join hands against the bed.

You softly moaned, knowing that he was going to drag this out as long as he so wished, and knowing him well, it would be a long time before you got to sink your nails into his pale skin and press your lips against the spots you wished to explore. His gentle chuckle washed over your body shortly before lips fluttered across your cheek. You started squirming against the lingering kisses pressed against your skin. Your free hand went back to his shoulder and you clawed at his jacket.

“Morpheus must you draw this out?” You breathlessly aired, your body shifting beneath his. Starry eyes lifted to yours once more and a midnight eyebrow rose up.

“Y/N, I have wandered this universe for thousands of eons and have yearned for no one like I have you,” Morpheus spoke, his thumb brushing against the palm of the hand he held tightly. “I have searched the stars and dreams for someone to be my equal, my queen, and only you are worthy. My queen, my dream, allow me this honor of worshipping your body as you deserve?”

“Bloody hell, Morpheus,” You complained. The being just loved to make everything ever so difficult, didn’t he? “Would you please just—“ Your robe disappeared and skin prickled where it was still slightly damp. You didn’t even have time to think about the fact that he had just rid you of your robe before Morpheus’s mouth dropped to your neck, tilting your head back with the grip he had on your chin. Your shoulders pressed back against the bedsheets, you sputtered and wheezed on your next breath. Morpheus’s mouth was searingly hot against your flesh, nipping and ghosting over the most sensitive parts of your skin. You gasped when teeth scraped your collar bones. “Morpheus!”

He ignored your gasp and dipped further down, mouth rapidly moving across your breasts. You squirmed further, then gasped once more when his tongue flicked your nipple. Morpheus hummed, pleased by the reaction he could draw from your body, and continued to devour every little bit of your breasts. Morpheus’s sinful lavishing did not remain solely for your chest, but continued migrating downwards, onto your stomach. That’s when your face became painfully hot and your knees diverted inwards. You could feel his smirk against your skin before his face lifted. Your eyes connected.

“You were not so prudish when you chose to rise from that bathtub in retaliation, my dream,” Your burning embarrassment morphed into a dirty scowl you hoped he felt in his black, decrepit soul. He was bringing that up now? “You’ve not the faintest idea how much that night cracked my restraint when it came to you, Y/N,” Morpheus spoke, his eyes glowing silver with possession. A shiver went up your spine, you remembered exactly what happened that night all too well. “I do not like to share.” Clearly.

“I’m not a possession,” You breathed out. His lips twitched.

“Of course not, but you are mine,” Morpheus stated before dropping his lips back to your breasts. He placed a tender kiss on each of your breasts. “These are mine,” His lips then pressed a kiss to your stomach. “This is mine.” Your hipbone was next. “And this…” Lips drew down your thigh, landing on the soft, inner portion. He even had the cheek to sink his teeth into your skin for a moments, making a small squeal pass through your tightly pressed lips. Your leg jerked in his hold. “Mine as well,” Bloody hell was he going to do this to every bit of skin you had? “Most of all?”

You swallowed, feeling the tremble in your body as your eyes stayed transfixed on every little micro movement he made. His eyes stared into yours, that silver glowing in possession. It was then you realized that his fingers were brushing their way down your body until Morpheus was cupping your cunt, thumb pressing down over the small patch curls you had.

This…” Your entire body stiffened, never having been touched like this before. Silver shifted to mercury that swirled with deadly seriousness. “….is mine,” At this point in time that was a fact you knew very well… but his words still manage to draw heat to the very part of your body he grasped, and where heat bloomed, moisture gathered. If you weren’t a floundering naked mess before, you certainly were now. “Yes?”

Your head was nodding quickly, tongue feeling too thick with shock to form a verbal response. Morpheus didn’t like that. His other hand came up to grasp your chin sternly.

“Words, Y/N.” He prompted, brushing his thumb over your lips. Your lips trembled and twitched beneath his electric touch.

“I—“ You sputtered out, your mind struggling to come up with words, you were hypnotized by his eyes and touch.

“Hmm?” Morpheus prompted again. Your mouth open and closed a few times before you tried again.

“Yes,” You aired out, your voice not even a whisper. Another sharp lance of heat made its way through your abdomen and your cheeks felt as if they were on fire. Surely he could feel how wet you were now. “I— I’m— I’m yours.”

“Do not forget this, my dream,” He said his face dropping closer to yours, clear possession and claim shining in his dark eyes. “You are mine just much as I am yours.”

That made your legs quiver, and that dastardly smirk of his widened ever so slightly. Morpheus leaned back down and pressed his lips back to yours. He kissed you deeply, urging your lips to part. Sweeping into your mouth, Morpheus quickly spun you up into a tornado of hunger. Mid toe curling kiss, the hand that had remained between your legs in a clear possessive point, slipped down and his fingers stroked through your folds. Then he sank a finger deep inside you. You jolted against his still clothed body, breaking your lip lock as a ragged gasp left your mouth. Morpheus’ other fingers brushed across your hot cheek, his eyes closely watching the facial expressions playing across your face. Your eyelashes fluttered at him and you let out a shuddering breath. The Endless didn’t even think twice before seductively drawing his finger from your cunt, stroking your folds and then pushing his finger back in. Another gasp. Your shoulders drew together. This time your fingers scratched at his jacket.

The noises alone, coming from your body and drawn from his hand, were enough to fuel the fire burning beneath your skin. Morpheus caressed your walls a few more times, drawing out plenty of your juices so that when his hand finally slipped free from your body, his fingers were coated. Your embarrassment turned morbid. But it only grew worse when he brought his fingers to his mouth and cleaned each and every digit while you watched. Your cunt felt quite wet and tingled in the worst way, and it seemed that he was only just getting started.

“You taste divine,” He rasped out, his eyes now sparkling with lust. You didn’t know if you should take that as a compliment or shrivel into a raisin in embarrassment. Such words had never been spoken to you! But you hadn’t ever gotten this far in a relationship in the first place. Was this a normal reaction? You had not a clue. While you were caught up in his gaze, still a rather limp, trembling mess, his fingers slipped from your face and he moved back. You looked at him in confusion until his hands wrapped around your thighs and Morpheus started pressing open mouthed kisses against your hip. Those kisses slowly migrated from your hip to your thigh, and then turned sharper when he reached your inner leg.

You started panting out small whimpers as Morpheus sucked and bit mark after mark into your unblemished thighs. After all, they all but begged to be painted with color and why not by an Endless? But the pleasurable torture didn’t end there. No. It all came to a head when Morpheus brazenly hashed out a rather voracious lick straight through your folds. It was like you were struck by lightning. Every nerve ending in your body fired and you found your hips jerking away from his dastardly mouth. His hands didn’t let you get very far. Morpheus slipped his hands up your thighs and pushed your hips into the bed with enough force that you couldn’t even move a millimeter. Then his mouth dove back in for more and you were crying out in ecstasy.

Your nails clawed at the silken sheets beneath your twisting body. Had they been any sharper and you might have even sliced through the delicate fabric. But scratching and clawing at the bedsheets wasn’t enough, your hands were hungry for more than just soft fabric. So you reached down and sank your nails into Morpheus’ messy jet black hair, curling your fingers around the soft strands. In your squirming, you had shifted away from Morpheus’ mouth. He did not like that and was sharply yanking your cunt back to his mouth with a soft growl. Your action caused you to receive a particularly vicious lick right over your clit that had your back arching from the bedsheets and your mouth gaping open.

“Morpheus,” You gasped out. Feeling as taut as violin string, you threw your head back and yanked on the strands of hair trapped within your grasp. A more than pleased rumble came from the Endless.

You dropped back to the bed, your thighs starting to shake from the overwhelming sensations Morpheus was drawing from your body. Neck straining while you retained a white knuckle grip on his hair, your flushed cheeks burned harder when silver blue eyes met yours. You didn’t need to drop your impenetrable walls to feel the smugness coming off him. It certainly blazed in his eyes. Morpheus was dining on flesh that no man or being had touched before and he was making a right mess of you. But then the immortal bastard had to start sucking and you felt like the cusp of pleasure that had been building within your body, start to bulge and ripple. Even when your knees joined your thighs in trembles and started squeezing, he never stopped feasting like a man with a ravenous appetite. Death’s words were coming back to haunt you.

Heart beating a thousand paces a minute, your fingers curled in, surely tugging hair by the roots, as convulsive waves of pleasure ruptured in your body and you fell apart. While your body twitched and convulsed, enraptured by the overwhelming pleasure you was experiences, a strained keen emerged from your mouth. It was a sound you had never made before and lasted until your vocal cords could no longer sustain the sound. There were stars in your eyes and they weren’t from Morpheus’ brilliant and shining starlit ones. You let out a noise in the back of your throat upon realizing that your legs felt entirely numb. You even had a few tears leaking from the edges of your lashes, streaking down the side of your face.

“Still with me, my dream?” Morpheus’ low, dulcet voice floated into your still slightly ringing ears. You tightened your slackened grasp on his hair and strained for words. He was quite smug.

“I have half the mind to smack you for that comment,” You croaked out, your throat feeling rather raw at the moment. You gave his hair a brief sharp tug before letting your fingers go loose once more. Morpheus pressed a few kisses against your still shaking thighs, the moisture that coated his mouth and chin, smearing on your skin. You shivered in place as the delicate kisses, your leg twitching against his cheek.

“You reap what you sow, my queen,” Morpheus smoothly countered, his lips traveling down your inner thigh to your knee. His hand stroked it as he nuzzled the inner part. A small whimper passed through your lips, every centimeter of your skin came alive to his electric touch. Then that hand reached up and took one of your limp ones still buried in his hair, and he brought your wrist to his lips. Your fingers twitched when he pressed several kisses against your fluttering pulse. His eyes stared into yours with dark adoration and utter devotion as his lips caressed the delicate skin of your inner wrist.

“I’ll sow whatever I bloody well please,” You breathed out, your lungs slowly catching up with the oxygen intake Morpheus had sucked from your body with your first ever mind numbing orgasm from something that wasn’t your fingers. His mouth. Your eyes couldn’t help but drop to his full lips still lightly glisening and curved into an infuriating smirk. Warmth once again bit at your cheeks. You were still spread out beneath him, a rather limp mess whose legs were still trembling, not a speck of clothing on… and he was still fully clothed! You scowled and reached up to grab at his long coat, the course outer material rough against your fingers. Then you yanked him up towards you so your faces were only a hairs width apart. “You are entirely overdressed, my love.”

Morpheus gazed into your eyes, so deeply that you saw galaxies, and a few seconds later your hands which had been grasping course material, slammed into bare chest. Your eyes dropped to see that he had made his clothes disappear. Cheeks flushing once more, you glared back up at him.

“Really?” You questioned its a huff. “I’ve been looking forwards to undressing you for weeks and you do the job for me!?” Morpheus’ eyebrow rose in amusement.

“Forgive me for my transgression, my queen, shall I redress to give you that pleasure?” The cheek of this being! Scowl deepening for a moment, you then splayed your fingers out across the chest you had stolen glances at all those months ago in the decrepit basement of Fawny Rig. No imagination would ever give Dream of the Endless justice for the sculpted divinity beneath your fingers. Drawing your right pointer finger up, you traced his right clavicle. You couldn’t help but murmur the thought currently running through your mind.

“You need more sun,” You whispered as your finger traced random shapes across his shoulder. You lifted your eyes back to his, you didn’t just see galaxies now, now you saw universes. Universes that were surely reflected in yours.

“What I need is you,” Morpheus returned equally as soft, reaching to cradle your cheek in hand. Then his head dipped down and his lips pressed back against yours. You stretched your head up to press your lips firmly against his while your hands slipped across his chest and up his neck. Cradling his strong jaw in hand, you hungrily nipped at his lips, still feeling the high from the pleasure he had wrought from between your legs. When Morpheus slipped his way past your ravaged lips, you were raking your fingers back through his hair once more. No one kissed you like he did. No one kissed you with such explosive passion that it seemed to be kept only just in control. No one ever had the chance.

Moaning softly against his lips, that moan ended up being dragged out when Morpheus’s lips dragged across your mouth to greedily devour the delicate skin of your neck. You ached into his chest when he skimmed his teeth over a particularly sensitive part of your throat. Every part of his beautifully sculpted naked body pressed into yours and its dizzying affect left your head floating in the clouds. His hand landed on your waist and he pushed his fingers up your side, splaying them across your stomach until they brushed the underside of your breast. The breathy moan that slipped it’s way through your parted lips was a short stride from a cry of pleasure. Your hands pushed through Morpheus’s dark silky strands once more, your left hand ghosting it’s way over his ear to stroke the marbled column of his neck. His skin was exactly like it looked, a perfect marble that held either warmth or coolness, and right now it was warming you to through to your heart.

“Morpheus, please,” Your breathless plead was met with more gentle kisses, this time dusting your throat with adoration and reverence. Soft starry skies gazed into yours which were filled with begging need. You wanted him so much in this moment you thought you might die if you didn’t feel his touch, feel his body against yours, feel him in you. Morpheus brushed some of your hair from your face. “Please, I—“ His thumb stroked over your lower lip, silencing you.

“Is this what you really what you wish for, my dream?” Morpheus spoke, his voice washing over your flushed body like a silk blanket. If it was possible his eyes grew more intense, Endless. Your lips parted once more but he pressed down with his thumb. “Do not answer unless you are absolutely sure.”

The Endless still held some restraint in the end.

“Please, Morpheus, make love to me,” You breathed out, the words flowing from your tongue in a quiet roll. You hoped that your face didn’t betray the desperation you felt in your heart. Either way, it didn’t matter because Morpheus’s hands and mouth were suddenly everywhere. You squirmed at the influx of sensations pushing and pulling at your body. Then more of his skin was touching yours and you were nearly drunk on the warmth that radiated from him. Letting out a shuddering breath, you watched with transfixed eyes as Morpheus nudged your legs further apart and ran a hand down your still wet thigh in appreciation of what he had drawn from your body. His touch made your leg twitch and he smirked. You fought against the heat rising in your cheeks. Of course he’d be smug about the mess he had made! Endless and their damn egos. That brief irritation was quickly forgotten when his cock slipped through folds and little spasms of pleasures started bursting from your cunt. Dear god, he wasn’t even in you and your body was going crazy! Morpheus was going to ruin you. His face told you that he knew exactly what you were thinking. But you didn’t think you would mind.

Your cunt throbbed with need and you couldn’t help but wiggle your hips. At the very least, he didn’t keep you waiting for long. Morpheus cradled your head and dragged your lips into a tongue tying open mouthed kiss. You could feel his hunger feeding off of what you had to give, and you were sure that he wouldn’t stop until he had taken everything you had, and more. So caught up in the mouth possessing yours, you didn’t even realize that Morpheus started giving you exactly what you wanted until your body started protesting. You quivered beneath his body, your arms wrapping around his shoulders while your mouth broke from his with a strained groan. His cock made your walls sting. Morpheus’s lips pressed against your neck, pressing kisses over the place your pulse hummed.

“My dream…” Morpheus whispered against your skin. You tightened your arms around his back, going as far to lift a hand to his messy hair and take hold of the strands once more.

“I just need a minute,” You whispered in his ear, thighs shaking against his. Your body wasn’t liking the intrusion nor did it like the stretch, but it wasn’t like you were giving it a choice in the matter. One did not spend weeks on end with Morpheusand not want to jump him. Your spite had held you back long enough. Morpheus shifted his head and smoldering eyes ringed with a bright silver stared into yours. They were fathomless and an abyss that echoed desire, passion, and adoration.Your heart fluttered in your chest, beating fast like a bird trapped in a cage.

“Only you can bend my will,” Morpheus murmured before returning his lips to your chin. It was in the instance that you started to realize the gravity of the power you held over Dream of the Endless. He took your breath away once more, withdrawing from your body torturously slow before thrusting forwards again. You could have sworn that your cunt all but dragged his cock back into your body in a demanding need for more. That made a strained moan flow from your mouth and your fingers press down harder into Morpheus’s skin. He held you to the soft mattress, his slow thrusts periodically pulling strained sounds from your throat. You wished for him to go faster, but Morpheus was determined to do exactly as he had claimed: you had eternity to indulge and he wanted to take his time. But you wanted to indulge now.

His head dipped down against your breasts shortly before his tongue flicked across your nipple sharply. You twitched in place, feeling a rush of sensation that spread across your skin. Your back arched against his mouth to seek more of that delicious sensation and Morpheus took the opening to lavish your untouched skin with kisses that would surely paint marks in their wake. It was ecstasy. He was ecstasy. His hand journeyed from your hips to your waist, and then to the skin stretched over your ribs just beneath your breasts. You wanted those hands to wander more, loving the way that your skin tingled with electricity in their wake. Morpheus’s cock hit a particular spot within you that had your fingers in his hair clenching and your mouth stifling a cry. Morpheus dragged his teeth along the curve of your breast, his eyes glowing silver as they rose to meet your fluttering ones.

“Surely, you do not mean to stifle your intoxicating sounds.” He softly growled out. You stuttered in your heavy breathing, he was angry that you had— one particularly vicious thrust on his part combined with his teeth sinking into a spot on your chest had your thoughts cut right off as your back arched, thrusting your body into his with a rather strangled cry. “You are enthralling…” Morpheus’s husked voice caressed your trembling body. Your grasp on his hair tightened to the point of pulling the strands at the roots and the hand you had pressing into his back sunk down, your nails finally coming out. His mouth curved at your action. Morpheus was clearly pleased by your reaction. “Do you not see how enchanting you are?”

You were gasping for air now, your breasts rapidly rising and falling with each gulp of air you sucked in and exhaled. Your hips bucked against his, your bodies meeting together in a clash. Morpheus’s hand went back to your hip and his grip tightened as he crashed his lips back against yours for a brief yet ravenous kiss. Your lips felt near numb from the way they were swollen and buzzing, and your cunt was nearly on fire from the overwhelming pleasure assaulting it. You could feel it, Morpheus was going to draw a soul-shattering orgasm from you that just might leave you seeing stars for a good few minutes. Worse, he was gently pushing at the walls you built up around your bond.

“You are the dream that has held me together all these years, will you not let me in?” Morpheus pleaded, his forehead coming down to rest against yours. Even with a body that was near imploding from pleasure, fear and worry still managed to worm their way into your battered heart. He wished to have this conversation now? “Will you not let me in?” His voice was even softer this time and briefly closing your eyes, you could feel a few surprise tears run down the side of your face. You wanted to hold onto this intimate moment and not do as he asked, but his gentle and soft words that aired on pleads, guilted you into giving in. So taking your mind off the physical pleasure of his cock continually filling your body ever so lovingly, you edged the walls you had constructed all those weeks ago, down.

That was a massive mistake.

At the first brush of emotion from Morpheus you were instantly gone in an overload of absolute devotion and adoration. It was so much emotion you choked on it and dug your nails so hard into Morpheus’s back that surely you had drawn blood. Sensation was ripping through your body like a tidal wave and you felt yourself coming in quivering waves. The softly glowing lights in your room flickered harshly from the strain of power you could just barely feel coming off your body through the orgasm that was trying to rip you under its wave. Senses in a whiteout, you whimpered, feeling Morpheus slide his fingers into your messy hair and pull your head against his. Then, with your faces pressed together, you felt Morpheus stiffen and moments later an incredible warmth filled your body.

Your entire body was trembling at this point, struggling to come down from the high of emotion, pleasure, and power. Falling limply against the bed, your sharp grasp on Morpheus slackened. Then you opened your eyes. Mercury eyes stared into yours and you felt another ripple of emotion. You were his everything.

Date Published: 12/25/22

Last Edit: 8/23/23

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