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cantstoptheimagines · 1 year

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Curador (Death/Muerte/The Wolf | Puss in Boots: The Last Wish)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Muerte aches at the sight of you whenever he comes home.

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Soulmate AU; helping a lover with their injuries (includes mentions of blood); established relationship; takes place directly after the movie; writers’ law states that every time an animated wolf comes into existence, I must write a fic; in my opinion, we should be calling him ‘Muerte’, so that’s what I’m going with; a huge thank you to my dear friend, Yoshino, for helping me with the Spanish translations.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 639. ➳ Reader uses feminine pronouns (she/her). ➳ You will receive the same injuries as your soulmate (unless deadly). ➳ Since Muerte is Death (straight up), why not make Life? I envision the Reader in this to be a spotted deer, who will be referred to as ‘Vida’. And who knows? I might turn this into a one-shot series if people enjoy it enough. Let me know what you think!

The slamming of a door made your ears twitch. You paused, eyes narrowing as you listened to the creaking floors within your home. A damp cloth was pressed against the corner of your lip, dotted with small specks of blood.

Footsteps slowly grew closer to your room. A quiet sigh escaped your lips when you realized who they belonged to. Having a lover with nearly silent movements did nothing but cause you panic sometimes.

You returned your attention to the small mirror in your grasp. A shadow moved about the room and a cloak was tossed next to you on the bed. Looking up at the towering figure in front of you, your gaze found red eyes staring back at you. More specifically, staring at the cloth against your lip.

“El gato lives,” he muttered, his deep voice sending shivers along your spine. “I have given him another opportunity to prove himself.”

A small smile made itself known, “Is that why your attitude seems so foul?”

He hummed quietly, ignoring your teasing remark about the infamous Puss in Boots, whom he had been chasing for some time now. His startling eyes were still zeroed in on the cloth.

“You really need to stop playing with your food, Muerte.”

His eyes snapped to yours. They narrowed into slits, shining with irritation. He snapped his jaws to the side, huffing loudly as he looked away from you. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing quietly.

His claws wrapped around the hilt of one of his sickles. The mirror was quickly tugged away from you and tossed onto the bed. Your head was forced to tilt backwards as the sickle’s sharp blade was placed beneath your chin.

Anyone else may have had fear coursing through their veins. You, however, weren’t worried at all.

Muerte stepped closer until his paw could replace the blade. The sickle was quickly returned to its sheath while he looked down at you with a blank expression. You allowed him to tilt your head back even further as he took up the space between your thighs.

“Cállate, Vida,” he ordered.

His claws wrapped around the cloth, finally removing it from your lip. It, much like his cloak and your mirror, quickly disappeared from sight. Your injury reflected his own, signaling to the world that the two of you were a perfect pair.

“It hurt when you got it,” you said. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

His expression softened. You leaned into his touch as one of his claws caressed your cheek.

“Lo siento, mi amor,” he muttered.

You gave him a small smile, along with a shrug of the shoulders, in an attempt to make him feel better, “It’s okay. No harm truly done.”

His grip loosened, allowing you to take his paw into your grasp and hold it in your lap instead. He lowered himself to his knees. Due to his tall stature, kneeling allowed his gaze to become even with your own as you sat on the bed.

“Ojalá tuviéramos un vínculo menos doloroso,” he continued. “Por tu bien.”

“I don’t,” you replied, squeezing his paw tightly.

His brow furrowed and his eyes searched for any sign that you may have been lying to comfort him, “Mi corazón—”

“It lets me know you’re still there,” you whispered. “It lets me know you’ll be coming home soon.”

He tried to hide a smile, looking away from you. That only lasted for mere seconds, however, since he couldn’t resist your gaze for very long. His red eyes explored your features. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the cut on your lip.

“Déjame ser tu curador,” he muttered, and then he kissed you again.

“Always, Muerte,” you whispered, reaching up to stroke his cheek and pressing a gentle kiss against his nose. “Always.”

Spanish Translations, In Order of Appearance: ➳ Curador (de enfermos) — Meaning “healer (of the sick)”. ➳ Muerte — Meaning “death”. ➳ Vida — Meaning “life”.

➳ “El gato...” — “The cat...” ➳ “Cállate...” — “Shut up...” ➳ “Lo siento, mi amor.” — “I’m sorry, my love.” ➳ “Ojalá tuviéramos un vínculo menos doloroso... Por tu bien.” — “I wish we had a less painful bond... For your sake.” ➳ “Mi corazón...” — “My heart...” ➳ “Déjame ser tu curador.” — “Let me be your healer.”

#2023 #vida y muerte #death imagine #death imagines #death x reader #death x oc #muerte imagine #muerte imagines #muerte x reader #muerte x oc #the wolf imagine #the wolf imagines #the wolf x reader #the wolf x oc #puss in boots the last wish #puss in boots the last wish imagine #puss in boots the last wish imagines #puss in boots the last wish x reader #puss in boots the last wish x oc

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swanpit · 4 months

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commision for @twilightprince101 's fic

#puss in boots 2 #puss in boots the last wish #puss in boots death #puss in boots wolf #death x oc #fic art

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lorsdelapluie · 1 year

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The scene takes place in the world of Puss in Boots 2, in Far far away. The reader in all my one shots concerning this world is the incarnation of bad luck, they are literally just trying to go through life and enjoy however they can.

IT IS HERE THE NSFW CHAPTER LADIES AND GENTS. EAT THIS UP. Im sorry it took so long but I hope it's gonna be worth it :' D

Note: "Chiqui" is spanish pet name that means "Little one".

Part 2- Mi Pareja.

Death was a jealous entity, you got to learn this the hard way. After your first encounter, which occured now several months ago, the wolf would oftenly visit to check on you. Pretending to check if the Lloronas weren't still mad at him for stepping in their ritual and therefore would take their revenge on you. Of course, you didnt buy any of this, you were pretty sure that Las famosas Lloronas didn't hold grudges against you and they probably forgot about that accident. As they were deeply focused on the man they were hunting and not you, you just happened to be in the way. And how would any creature in Far far away dare to hold grudge against Death itself.

Right now, you were stuck in a pool of mud, your high boots now uneapperant as you had your feet deep in this. You couldn't move, and by some strike of luck, a group of men were trying to help you. Tying a rope around you waist as they were trying to pull you away. You perceived every word with crips clarity as they gave you instructions to help you get out of this mess. Hearing every scruff and octave in the men's voice, something which reassured you in some way, making you think of the voice of your protector for the past few months. You felt the rope dip under the back of your belt, scratching your skin. That hurt. But as the pression on the rope grew, the pulls too, you soon could pull out your leg of the mess. You were walking right through this shit, and soon as you came closer to the shore, a hand extended to you.

Your eyes roses, encountering the face of the guy in front of you. He had pale blue eyes, strong face features and pretty brushed golden hair. His outfit, his face and his gentle way of brigging you back on the land with soft smile, even though you cleraly looked like a mess, made you wonder if you were not in front of a prince. What prince, this you could not know. Why ? Cause there was not only one prince in Far far away. Many of them were wealthy, which was the case of the one in front of you, you assumed.

"Who are you ?" you murmured out of curiosity. You turned around, looking at the lake of mud that you just left then your eyes met those pale blue eyes that were looking at you with concern. "Oh, sorry, I completely forgot about the part where i need to be civilized. So, thank you !"

"Vania. Prince Vania. And you are ?" So he was a prince indeed. He slowly grabbed your arm pulling you on the earth, further away from the lake as he looked at the rest of the men that looked like they belonged under his orders. He was ordering them to get you something to clean your... destroyed boots. "And please dont mention it, it's normal to help anyone in distress right ?"

You nodded, forgetting totally to answer the first question. You didn't see the need in doing so. Why would a prince need to know the name of someone who was selling flowers to get by life. Right ? But his gaze never shifted, one brow arching as to ask you to, silently, once again.

"Y/N... I'm sorry sir, I have nothing to offer you, I'm a simple florist... I can't see what any of my possession could bring to your Majesty."

"Fear not my dear. I do not seek for gifts. A smile on this soft face of yours, is already plenty enough to re-pay me." Did all prince talked that way ? What a weirdo you thought. Did he really expect you to swoon like the princesses or other women might do. You let out an awkward chuckle as you slowly slide your arm away for the grasp of Vania.

Deep down, you could sense that the discussion going on right now wasn't right, it was weird. The prince in front of you didn't do anything wrong, no. And here he was kneeling in front of you as he took care of your shoes once a towel was handed to him. Did he thought of you as another potential concubine ? Please, God no. And as soon as you were about to tell him that he needed not clean your shoes that you were much capable of doing so yourself, you could hear a whistle.

No one seemed to notice it, except you. This whistle... You knew where it came from. From a place that wasn't bathing in the sunlight, coming from the muzzle of that dear.. dear wolf. You turned around, searching for him.

As the sunny day turned into piercing winds and low temperatures, like those early dusk and unforgiving pitch-black nights. Was it already that late ? You were standing, facing towards the lake of mud, your eyes searching desperatly for the silhouette of the wolf that you knew was there. You shivered and wrapped your shawl tighter around your shoulders. You needed to go back home, if he manifested his presence to you, he wasn't pleased. You turned around to look at your savior.

"I need to go back home. Thank you once again." You didn't wait for an answer as your legs decided it was time for you to go. And you ran, you needed to go back home. You knew you weren't gonna be safe there, but something inside your mind just yelled at you to go there. For what ? Find an angry wolf ? Why would he be angry for anyway ? Where was he hiding, you could feel his piercing eyes on your back, burnin two holes that didn't help you feel at ease at all. He didn't say a single word, just a simple whistle. This whistle that have heard him do with so many of death's victim. You could picture the glint in his eyes that you knew so well, going from annoyed, to neutral, to hot. This was not good for you in any way. As your mind wandered, you were running, running for your home. When you could see the field of colorful flowers appearing behind the hill, you sighed of relief, your small home resting next to the prettiest lake that might exist. You took the stairs that were leading to your nest. And once you were inside, door closed behind your back... You sighed as you let yourself slid down against the wood. You looked at your boots, taking it off rapidly to throw it to the side. Stupid muddy lake.

But as soon as you stood up, you could sense a freshness settling inside your home. A shiver ran down your spine, feeling your heart rate increase whenever you knew he was inside your home. Inside your safe walls.

"Made a friend back there Chiqui ?" and there he was, his low and raspy voice coming out of the only dark corner of the room. Could he possibly travel thanks to the shadows. You could ask him that someday. But that someday was surely not today, with how the situation was turning. Embarassment settled in your chest, why were you blaming yourself when you did nothing wrong. He just helped you.

"He just helped me... I would hardly call that befriending someone." This must have been a wrong answer considering the low growl that came out of his muzzle. To his own eyes, Death was rarely wrong, moreover was never wrong when he was angry. Which he painfully looked right now?

"Are you implying that I imagined what I saw? That kid on his knees in front of you? With his hand around your arm?" As these words came out of his snout, the wolf’s paws left the shadow in which they comforted. He approached. Dangerously. His lips retracting and that growl coming from the bottom of his throat was a clear indication of his annoyance. "His eyes scanned through you when you were facing backwards, looking for me. I shouldn’t have whistled. I should have come out of the shadows and taken the head of this cheap prince."

Fuck. You made the wrong decision, didn’t you? This is exactly what to do if you want to get murdered. Don’t scream. Don’t get angry. Let him ramble. You looked down, you knew better than look at him right in the eyes when he was angry. It scared you.. Not a lot but a little, probably a natural instinct to fear what was created to end one's life.

Fuck. Miercoles...

But Death wouldn't take you right ? Not because of some misunderstanding. He cared about you. But that behavior awfully looked like a...

Territorial behavior.

It’s just two words, but the implications behind it make your lungs constrict and your heart race. Other adjectives spring up around it, bringing a wave of excitement with them.

Territorial. Possessive. Jealous. You were probably just thinking it right now. Sure Death has been following you around like a shadow those past few weeks. You were awfully suspiscious about that behavior. You even joked about it, but now.. Now he seemed more agressive than usual. And you would be damned but it did aroused you. Well.. Still does.

"Chiqui ?"

He called out, and as you rose your eyes from the floor, the wolf was now in front of you. Did he call for you prior to that ? Wait, he was really close. His eyes were looking right throught you, those white pupils locking into yours. There he was, doing it again.. Reading right through you. And right now ? You were pathetic. Patetically blushing head over heels as you realised your arousal over the wolf in front of you and his display of possessivity.

His muzzle opened, but no voice came out of it. You raise your eyes to look at the wolf ashamed of the feelings curling up inside you right in the moment. And you could have sworn, you saw his eyes darken for a moment. And before you could say anything to defend or ask what was he on about.

"Me vas a volver loco." he breathed in a strained voice as if he was holding himself back. Holding himself from launching onto you.

You will drive me mad, that's what he said. And you murmured back, in that splendid language that was spanish, that he already did that to you. Hearing you speak in your native language always made him stop for a moment. His chest halting as if Death was catching its breath.

“How much do you like this shirt?” he asks, voice lower and more gruff than he probably intended.

“Not much.”

And just like that it shreds with a quick jerk of his claws, and the pieces land somewhere near the corner of the room as he tosses them aside with a careless flick. Some yelp left your mouth, and yet as you should feel afraid.. Embarassed to be half bare in front of him, you didn't try to hide away. You swore that as he looked at you, you saw his throat boped.

You shake your head and laugh softly, trying to ease the tension that was building inside of you as you got shyer and shyer because of his gaze on your body “I feel like some kind of sacrifice in front you like this.”

His blood races, and his muzzle that was above you a few moments ago fell into your neck as his tongue licked that sweet skin of yours. You gasped, but dont try to lean away from the wanted touch. Feeling the teeth brushing on each other side of your throat, when his hands were now roaming over your body hurrying themselves to get you off those layers.

“A worthy offering,” he says, unwrapping that tissu belt and your pants as if you were his most precious treasure. “Any entity would be pleased with such a gift.”

You come to him willingly, eagerly, running your hands over the back of the wolf, nuzzling your fingers inside the white furr. Pressed against his body, the warmth of your body warming up his cold one, as his mouth left your throat to nibble on your ear.

“What about...Hm. A terrible, fearsome monster? Would I make a worthy sacrifice for him, too?”

“That depends on whether you were a willing tribute.” he answered as he stopped himself from nibbling the rest of your body.

“And if I was?”

“If you were, Chiqui…” he says, as his hands slides now on your bear cheeks to carry you towards what was your bed. “Then I would have no choice but to worship you.”

The words are low and rumbling, spoken into the soft skin of your inner thigh as he inches closer and closer to your inner thighs. You gasps again and shifts for him, opens for him, trembling with anticipation. Never you would have thought to see The so feared wolf between your thighs, ready to devour you. And with the first swipe of his tongue over your warm, swollen flesh, you cry out and arches against his hold.

The sight of you struggling to keep your voice to yourself, and those thighs closed is more erotic than anything he ever could have imagined. Wrapped around you soft, plush body, squeezing you tight, keeping you still when you buck and writh with pleasure, it draws on that same dark instinct howling up from the bottom of his soul.

A word keeps repeating in his head, like a mantra as his muzzle devour you, making a wet mess of yourself.

Claim you.

But he was settling for devouring you instead, savoring the offering you bring to him so sweetly.

The taste of you only stokes those instincts higher, stronger, closer to the brink of blissful oblivion. Something he never dared to imagine as he was...Death himself. And you were nothing but a beautiful alive being. Your thighs bracket the sides of his head, pushing against his soft furr and he grunts in approval, tightening his grip on you and sinking his fingertips into the curve of your ass.

You were both lost in the moment, him not caring for the claws of his back paws clawing at the floor and leaving marks in the wood. And you not caring enough to keep your voice down as you were riding, the soft sensation of his tongue and teeth literally eating you out.

Knock knock.

That caught you off-guard. You both stopped, looking at each others. The ears of the white wolf perking at the top of his head. Before you could see a frown appear on his face, a growl pushing its way behind his teeth. Unhappy. Who was-

"Darling are you okay ?"

Wait.. That voice. You were pretty sure you recognize it. It was the prince from earlier. Did he follow you here ? Did hear you ? Wait. Darling ? That nickname was revolting. The face of the wolf raising from between your thighs, as his tongue passes upon his upper lip, a growl settling in the back of his throat. Not a desiring growl, but a threatening one. That was not good, your legs grabbed him in place, crossing behind his neck. Blocking him.

"Chi-"

"I'm quite busy at the moment ! Could you please go away." you ask in a strangled voice as you were slowly coming down from your high state. You didn't really catch what he answered you cause the next moment Death's tongue was back on you. It doesn’t take long until your body is taut and straining again, cries wishing to grow louder and more insistent. Mostly when the wolf between your thighs pushes against that sweet sweet spot. And yet you could hear that SO annoying voice coming from behind the door.

"Desaparece cabron !" You yelled, ash he stroked and eased you through every spasm of your climax, keeping you firmly held on the bed as you were doing for him, coming apart against his tongue.

Stars. You were seeing stars, literally. A laugh rumbling between your thighs, as you looked down at Death sliding his thumb to collect the rest of you on his lip. When you were finally settling down, your thighs were freeing the man you had in a choke hold.

"If I only knew you could curse like that."

"Is he gone..?" You breath out.

"Por favor, don't mention him ever again. He is far. Now it's my time. And I need to know, one important thing."

You looked at him frowning, wondering what could he possibly ask in that moment. You pray, please no more question about if they were friends or not..

“How much of me do you want, Chiqui?”

How much ? You asked yourself that question a while back. You were looking at Death's back as he was walking in front of you in some dark forest, two months ago. The spores of some mushrooms in the environment making your imagination run wild. You wondered if he knew already back then.. You pictured him above you, licking his teeth like he often does when he is about to eat up a meal you prepared. Hungry or impatient... You couldn't say. And you would look down at his inner thigh, cheeks growing hot. Would you like that ?

The answer doesn't come right away, Death wondering if you were unsure. But his eyes wandered, looking at your still moving hips, chasing the pleasure he was more than willing to give you. When he pressed his teeth into you skin in a small reminder, though, you gaze up so lustfully up at him.

And fuck, were you beautiful, once again you could see his chest raise. Your eyes glazed with pleasure, lips parted on a gasp, cheeks flushed.

“All of you,” you whisper. “I want all of you, Death.”

His answering groan echoes in the room. Leaving you breathless, you could almost taste the anticipation and the craving in the air.

“Are you sure?”

Soflty, your hands run through the puff of his cheeks. Your fingers ruffling the white hair. And your look gave the answer, you were looking at him like he ever wanted you to look at him since he first laid his preying eyes on you.

Maybe it’s what he always needed. Someone to be patient with him. Someone to be dedicated to him.

He has now a hand on each of your thighs, holding you open, as he raised from the floor, towering you down, one knee resting now on the bed.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” You breathe. “Yes, I trust you.”

One hand leaves your thigh, catching your chin between his fingers, tipping your head forward. “Look down, Y/N. See what you do to me.”

Between your legs, you could see his cock, hard and pulsing against your damp thigh (wait when did he get rid of his pants), you could feel the red rushing to your cheeks. That was...big. And it didn't look like any human male sex you had ever seen.

Not like you intentionally seen lots of them.

A laugh echoes in the room, while the wolf deciphers the expression you display. His face regaining its previous poise, his mouth opening and laying his fangs around your throat. Slowly, the fingers that had explored your entrance find their place again to continue this work of relaxation. He and you both knew that if you weren’t relaxed enough, this whole thing could be a lot more painful than either of you wanted. You push your head back, resting on the matress within a soft moan.

“That’s it,” The wolf grates out when you bear down and shift open to take him deeper. “Just like that, Chiqui.”

You could feel his voice rumble against your throat as he slides his tongue against you skin once again. Pressing his jaw around you, catching your breath. Enough pressure to cut your breath when you took too deep breaths. As warmth floods through you with his graveled praise. Warmth and trust and painfully sweet tenderness that only ratchets up every other sensation.

The feeling of Death’s fingers breaching you, filling you, diving deep and branding you from the inside out, is like absolutely nothing You’ve ever felt before. Pulsing and alive?, twisting and shifting and fitting itself to the shape of you. And you could feel him grind against your thigh, trying to releave some of that build up tension in between his legs.

“So mesmerizing. Do you think you can take some more?”

He asked as he pulled his teeth away, locking his gaze into yours. You nod, but he brings his free hand up to cup your chin, tilting your head up toward him.

“Let me hear your words.”

“Yes! I want more. Por favor.”

“Ask, and it’s yours,” he rasps, and pushes in another finger that makes you gasp.

Your thighs shake from the impossible, building waves of pleasure and the Wolf tightens his hold on you, spreading you even wider as his three rather larger fingers dives deep and retreats.

His knotted cock bumps up against your inner thigh, and a small pulse of uncertainty moves through you. You had no idea how you were going to take all that. Long, thick, and already weeping from the tip, your core tightens just looking at it.

Death seems to read your hesitation as if you were an open book in front of him, because he leans in to whisper low and dark into your ear.

“I’ll make sure you’re ready for me, Chiqui.”

Inside of you, the fingers he’s impaled you on shifts and twists, growing thicker somehow as he spreads them. The stretch of it boarders on too much, making you squirm and moan and press back against him, but you are not about to ask him to stop. When you tangle your hands into his furr and pull his head forward to claim his mouth, he growls and presses even deeper, fitting himself against the spot he drove you wild with just a few minutes ago.

There, right there, hitting that sensitive spot inside and ripping another scream from you as you climax crests and breaks. He works you through every spasm, drawing the pleasure out until you are half-certain you are going to pass out from it.

"Death-"

Your words cut off at his sharp growl and his tongue crashes past your lips. He’s ravenous as he strokes his tongue deep, hand on your throat, keeping you pinned in place. And when he notches his cock against your entrance, the clawing need to have him inside steals your breath.

Death breaks the kiss and looks down. Expression hungry, an animalistic growl, he watches himself nudge against you once, twice, before sliding the blunted tip inside.

Just that—just the smallest part of him—is already enough to make you feel stretched and full. His shuddering breath breaks against your shoulder as he drives his hips forward another inch, then another, until you are meeting him thrust for gentle thrust, groaning at the impossible feel of him sliding deeper.

“Dios,” he says. “Déjame tomarme mi tiempo contigo. Me estás absorbiendo.”

You hear him, but with each inch gained you are getting more impatient. Letting out a small moan of protest, you shift your hips, straining to take more of him, and his answering growl rumbles all the way through you.

“Greedy. So greedy, my Y/N. Shall I be merciful and give you what you want?”

“Please,” You gasp. "Por favor, deja-"

You don’t get to finish begging.

With a powerful upward thrust, he fills you up entirely and wrenches a ragged scream from the back of your throat. He’s there, bottomed out, sunk to the hilt in you. You are stretched so full that for a few long moments all you can do is drop your head back against the bed and close your eyes, trying to adjust to the feel of him.

“Bellissima,” he murmurs, rolling his hips in a way that makes another moan rasp from your throat. “Look at you taking me so well, my mate.”

Mate. You knew that was a language used between wolves. Inside a pack... A mate is a partner. A partner for life. You knew thanks to that , that Death is mindless at this point, too far gone into the magic being woven between the two of you to think about what he’s saying.

When you look down and see yourself stretched around him, feel the insistent pulse of him inside of you and the light press of his teeth against your neck, searching a way for the back of it, there’s no part of you that shies away from that word.

My mate.

It’s not enough, not nearly enough. Reaching up to wrap an arm around his neck for leverage, you grind into his thrusts and move restlessly against him, begging for more. More pleasure. More touch. More of the wild, incredible feel of him.

You must moan at least some of it out loud, because he growls low in his throat. “You need more from me, Chiqui?”

“Yes! Please.”

When he pulls out of you, you cry out sharply in protest. It’s only a couple of seconds, though, before he’s got you turned around and pushed up against the cotton of the sheets,his teeth finds the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your body, his hand pressing you into the bed, as he slams back into you.

It’s more intense than before, heavier, deeper. You don't know if that was the bite at the back of your neck that was driving you to madness, or the feeling of his knot pushing inside you. Stretching you to the maximum, making you scream his name. It was burning you up from the inside out until it breaks with a ferocity that blanks your vision out for a few long, ecstatic moments.

He comes just after you do, driving deep and exploding in you, locked by his knot, with a wash of heat that makes your belly flutter and your body go lax under his.

You obviously had a hard time coming down from that feeling you just had. But so did he. The erastic breathing that you could feel against your neck as the fangs did not let go, brought you little by little back to the world of the living. Soon you could hear the movement whipping the air from the wolf’s tail. Then the bed began to crack. Death let go of your neck, the moment the creak reach his ears, he was leaning to hard on the bed, and was about to break it.

Slowly, you could feel his weight lifting up from you, and his tongue running on the mark and the droplets of blood he left behind. A soft sigh left your lips as you could feel the knot of the male above you softening and he could finally pull out.

And as slowly, he reaches down to take your numb body against him, his nose nuzzling against your jaw just under your ear his a soft hum.

"You smell like me."

A small laugh escpaed your lips. You surely didn't expect that to come out first. You were relaxed in his arms, completely sated, andhe couldn't help but internally purr in pleasure to see you so undone. And a smile even peeked out at the sound of your laugh.

His mate. Satisfied. Happy. Utterly fucked-out and his.

"You reeked of the kid earlier. I thought I was going to lose my mind." he growled against your ear, flattening his ears back at the thought surely bothering him again.

"Feels like you did."

Despite your laugh, the wolf growls at the mockery. "It is not a mistake, Chiqui. You are mine. And now... Everybody will know that Death itself maked you."

Oh... And here you go blushing again, and it was his turn to laugh.

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deathandthemaiden23 · 8 months

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Spontaneously got the urge to study Death like a bug under a microscope again 🥰

#puss in boots #puss in boots the last wish #puss in boots 2 #puss in boots death #lobo #muerte #death x oc #sidhelobo #sidhela #i never get tired of drawing him he's so fun to draw #ive been writing more for my fic and man #im so excited to start posting it

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princesschimchim1325 · 1 year

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Yes

Alrighty then.

○ Love is the literal embodiment of love. She is a red marble fox with a heart marking in her forehead and has purple eyes with white pupils.

○ She is playful and loves teasing others, including Death(Muerte). She is blunt and gves very meaningful advices to those who asks and those who she sees in need.

○ Love softly guides souls to the right person, to the right people. Familial love, platonic love, self love and romantic love are the things she preaches.

○ Love was very disappointed in Puss when he ran away from the wedding but she understood that it was for the better.

○ Love and Muerte have known each other for a long time. Love teases Muerte as a sign of affection and endearment. Muerte may look like he'd rather be anywhere but don't be fooled, he likes it. Muerte teases Love a lot as well.

○ Muerte is BIG, like way taller than an average wolf. Someone said he's 7'06, which makes Love 5'07. So take that as you will 😏.

If yall want more, just ask away~

#death x reader #puss in boots death #puss in boots last wish death #puss in boots the last wish #puss in boots #death x oc #death the wolf

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cas-kingdom · 2 years

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Half-dream

A/N: I must confess, I created my OC’s backstory before watching the entirety of the show & reading the comics, so it is a little similar to Lyta’s situation (revealed in episode 8). However, not the same. (Not everything related to her existence will be revealed yet, but instead of being conceived in the Dreaming, Stella was conceived in the Waking World). I’ve no idea if this is logical according to the comics/show so I really stuck to the magic of fanfiction. Enjoy!

As it is with my Moon Knight fics, my Sandman fics won’t be written in reader style, and instead will be written with my OC, as her character is a little more complex.

Title: Half-dream

Summary: When Morpheus returns to his realm after his imprisonment, he is met not only with the desiccation of his kingdom, but the arrival of a young girl, cared for by Lucienne until now. Wary of her very existence, he brings her with him as he reclaims his tools and restores his monarchy, only beginning to see this girl as anything other than a threat when his sister steps in.

Words: 2192

When Death returned, her brother was watching the girl.

He was a black figure stood in the dim room of the soul Death had just journeyed with, arms hanging limply at his sides, eyes unblinking. Stella Russo was in the room across the hall. She had taken herself there after Death had gone. Her back was turned but her muscles were tensed, the scent of her tears clinging to the air between them. She did not want Morpheus to see.

Death crossed her arms at her chest. She took slow steps forward until she could gauge the look on Morpheus’s face. His brows were drawn together ever so faintly, mouth open only slightly. He was flexing his fingers in a vague sort of manner, as though he was battling with his unconscious desire to both go to her and leave her be.

Death couldn’t help but appreciate that. The relationship between the two was…promising. Nobody could say that the Lord of Dreams was especially affectionate, except perhaps Death herself, if she thought of the moments in which she had experienced her brother at his best. But she could tell that he held some semblance of care for this girl. She could tell his reasoning for keeping her by his side rooted less in performing his duties and more in the unspoken fact that he enjoyed the company.

Stella was an impossibility according to him, someone who should not have come into being, and would not have, had he not been encased in a glass cage and without a handle on his kingdom for so long. And yet, Death knew impossibilities happened every day. Often, they were called miracles. And the girl who should not exist, the proof of unification between two realms Morpheus had always separated, gave Death some hope that the confused, purposeless entity she had seen tossing breadcrumbs at pigeons not two hours ago would not exist for much longer. Stella had a brightness about her. If she could not provide the evidence Morpheus unwittingly craved that she was a threat to neither realm, Death was more than certain she could at least soothe the ache in his heart.

Morpheus, though not blind enough to disregard this, had yet to act upon it. As per usual.

Moving to stand beside him, Death’s eyes followed Stella as she moved out of sight and further into the room. Morpheus briefly turned his head to look at his sister. Then he turned back. “She’s upset,” he said simply.

Death nudged him with an elbow. “Most humans get distressed when they’re witness to the end of a life. They don’t understand the beauty of it.”

“She is not human.”

“She’s not not human, little brother. You can’t forget that.”

A breath of a scoff escaped Morpheus’s nose, and one of his brows quirked. “Forgetting that would contradict my purpose,” he said. Death rolled her eyes.

“Your purpose,” she echoed with a sigh. “Is your purpose not to protect your creations?”

There was a beat of silence. And then, “In part.”

“And is she not one of your creations?” An answer did not come quick enough, so Death amended her sentence. “Indirectly,” she said.

Morpeus seemed to think about it for a moment before he decided. “Yes.”

“Then go and protect her.” Death uncrossed her arms and quietly walked up to peer through the open doorway. Stella had resigned herself to staring out of the window at the far corner of the room. She was leaning against the glass, and Death could just about see her mirror image. Death turned back to look at Morpheus, who was looking straight at her. She bumped a brow, a glint in her eyes that he knew to be an implicit “do as I say.” As though to add unneeded context, she dropped her brow and uncrossed her arms, lowering her voice with her next words. “Look, Dream,” she said, “I know you’re not the most…comforting of the seven of us, but Stella’s lost a lot, perhaps more than you, and you seem to have been her only constant in the past few days.” She glanced over her shoulder. “She’s upset, and you need to go to her. Protect her from what you couldn’t then prevent.” She looked back at him. “Help her.”

Morpheus’s expression did not change. He flicked his eyes from his sister to the doorway, then took the first step. Death hung back, a victorious smile on her lips, and went to wait outside.

Stella saw him slowly approach her in the reflection of the window. Her breath hitched and she reached up to wipe at her eyes, though she knew the redness couldn’t be hidden. She felt him stop behind her, heard the rustle of his coat as he stuck his hands in his pockets, and waited for his inevitable words.

“Are you alright?”

His deep voice tore apart the silence.

Swallowing, she rubbed at her nose. “Yes.”

A beat. And another. Then, “Are you?”

Stella glanced over her shoulder, her vision blurred but just clear enough to make out his face. One brow was quirked, his head dipped the slightest bit in encouragement. Stella felt a knot rise to her throat and she made quick work of gulping back her tears and turning to the window once more.

“Do you think…” Her voice cracked and she licked her lips. She had decided that rapidly blinking would stave off the imminent sobs. So far, it was working. “Was Death there for my mother? When she died?”

The question had not been unexpected, and yet Morpheus still took a moment to consider it. Stella had not talked about her mother once since their meeting, though he supposed there hadn’t been much time. The moment he had returned to his desiccated kingdom, Lucienne had introduced him to the half-dream, and his wariness of everything he did not yet understand had caused him to unwillingly, and against Lucienne’s insistences, tug her along with him while he regained his tools, so he could ‘deal with her’, as such, later. It was only recently—recently being in the past day or so since his tools had all finally reached his grasp—that he’d found himself suddenly with no clear path ahead. In that time, he’d spared more than a glance at Stella Russo, analysing her, figuring her out, wondering on her very existence. And at the back of his very crowded mind, he supposed he was beginning to realise, admittedly with help from his sister, that the girl was little more than a sixteen-year-old. A sixteen-year-old who, according to what Lucienne had told him, had not long been dealing with the grief of her mother’s passing. Morpheus did not consider himself possessor of many redeeming qualities, but Death had told him that he was all Stella had. He supposed, in a way, Stella was all he had, too.

His eyes flicked to the open doorway to see if his sister was still there. She wasn’t. He turned back.

“I’m sure she was,” he said.

Stella nodded to herself. “Good. I like her. Your sister, I mean. I think I’d feel some kind of peace if hers was the last face I saw. I guess I just hope my mother felt the same.”

Morpheus had guessed that was perhaps her reason for such emotion. That observing Death’s job had brought about some unwanted memories.

He gazed down at the ground, pondering.

“Tell me about your mother,” he said then, slow but genuine.

Stella seemed to freeze. She looked at him a second later, a deep frown marring her features. “Really?” she asked.

“What kind of ruler would I be if I did not learn more of the bearer of such an impossibility?”

Stella shrugged. “Am I really that impossible? Did you never think a human would fall in love with their dream?”

Those words pulled at a corner of his lips. He lifted his chin and slowly moved to stand beside her, turning his own head towards the traffic of everyday people doing everyday things on the other side of the window. He could feel the coolness radiating off the glass.

“That’s not the impossible part,” he told her. He noticed her look at him from the corner of his eye, but his own vision was locked on the outdoors. “When asleep,” he continued deliberately, “mortals are powerful beings. They fall in love with their dreams because they are exactly that. Dreams. Creations of their very desires.” A woman was rushing along the path with her child. The child tripped and yelled out. “What I did not think, was that a dream would go rogue, as a nightmare often does.” The woman stopped and bent to lift her up, soothing the child’s cries. “Your mother must have been someone worth breaking rules for.”

Morpheus had considered the possibility that Stella’s father was a nightmare. Nightmares, after all, thrived in the Waking World. Whereas dreams, good dreams, could not exist very long. By his vague understanding of how his creations had turned away from their purpose while he had been…detained, he was sure that the dream in question had appeared in a mortal woman’s dreams and then escaped his realm to meet her in the flesh. His nightmares didn’t often flee simply to procreate.

Lucienne had told him that Stella’s first time travelling, awake, to the Dreaming had happened when she’d been just five years old. That was the only power he knew of so far that she had inherited from his realm. Lucienne had said that Stella never told her mother that she could travel between realms, and that Death had claimed Stella’s mother when Stella had been just fifteen. She had remained in the Dreaming with Lucienne ever since. Yes, she had lived sixteen years and would likely know if that power was not alone, but Morpheus knew that some powers only showed their faces in their own realms. Having lived in the Dreaming only a year, Stella could have the potential for more.

Did he wish to learn more about Stella’s mother for her sake, or for his own? He did not know, but he did not think it mattered.

He turned and caught Stella’s gaze just as her teeth let go of her bottom lip. “I’m not sure I’d call it going rogue,” she admitted.

“No? What would you call it?”

She hesitated. “Following the heart?”

Morpheus rose an eyebrow but said nothing more. “Did your mother truly never speak of the dream?”

Stella shook her head. “She never told me anything about my father. What he looked like, his name…that he was, essentially, a figment of her imagination.” She let a short breath of morbid amusement leave her nose. “I didn’t even know he wasn’t human until I travelled to the Dreaming for the first time.”

Morpheus’s lips curved into a smile and Stella felt the knot in her throat shift down slightly at the sight of it. “Lucienne told me of that,” Morpheus said. “Conveniently you appeared in the library.”

The first raindrop of many splashed on the outside window. Stella absently reached out to place a finger against it, following it as it trickled down towards the ground. “Lucienne told me everything I didn’t know about myself,” she said. “She taught me how to control the travelling. She could never find anything about my father, of course. It seems…everyone anyone ever knew about him died with my mother.”

She said the last words quietly, and Morpheus frowned. He knew he had treated her less than she deserved since they had begun his journey to find his tools. It had been a consequence of multiple emotions. Wariness of the unknown. Grappling for his handle once again. Challenged by all that had changed and been created in his absence. He had, in a sense, been afraid, and he could admit that now. Stella truly was no more than a young girl. He could sense the dream in her, not just in her powers but in the way she acted and simply was. She had a view on the world that was not human, though that part of her, the mortality, shone incredibly bright within her. No dream would shed tears at the sight of Death’s job. No dream would act as stubborn and resilient as she had. She was both dream and mortal, through and through, and Morpheus could find less reasons now to fear that. To fear her.

Without a word, he reached an arm across and placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. Stella glanced down at it before she flicked her eyes up to meet his, an air of innocent confusion swirling amidst the green.

“I am sure your mother is watching over you,” he said.

Stella blinked. She swallowed down the lump and soon felt it disappear. She withdrew her finger from the window just as Morpheus squeezed her shoulder once and let go to walk towards the door.

“Come, Stella,” he said, stopping by the door and giving her a small smile. Times were changing, and so was he. “Let’s go home.”

Sandman Masterpost

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alexstarksblog · 2 years

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Is it Death and Misaki?! And moreover, in ordinary clothes, and Death is also without a mask?! Yes, yes, they are the most and I'm always still alive ;P

#fanart #owo uwu #:33 #art #my art #darksiders #darksiders oc #darksiders 2 #darksiders death #death x oc

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reyofluke-ocs · 2 years

Photo

“We aren’t made to fall in love with humans. It’s just one of the rules of the universe.”

tagging: @guardiansofheroes, @stanshollaand, @foxesandmagic, @hiddenqveendom, @arrthurpendragon, @cas-verse, @eddiemunscns, if anyone wants to be added/removed let me know!

clock texture from 9 liters of art on deviant art

#allaboutocs #ocappreciationtag #toalltheocsivelovedbefore #oc community #the sandman oc #death of the endless x oc #death x oc #ocs deserve better #oc: adriana gillian #ship: adriana x death

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oven-thermometer · 1 year

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Do you write fanfiction of your OCs? If so, can we have a taste?

summary: a prequel beginning vibe to the story of my oc delilah :)

a/n: you didn’t specify a fandom so I went with darksiders lol. ive had delilah for the longest time, ive written out the concept for her story and even drawn her but never actually posted anything past that one huge oc masterlist thing I have! im so happy I finally get to write something abt her, even if this is death centered. This was always going to be the beginning of any multichapter thing I was gonna do for her anyways haha.

warnings: mentions of death

wc: drabble of 853 words

The sharp light reflected off of Death’s cool, grey skin. The blue glow sat on the dark shelf, accompanied by the others Death had lit earlier. They burned through wind and shine – never once flickering. They were unwavering in their supply of calmness. His hand slid across the aged wood until it fell to his side, the cracked wood felt coarse even on his calloused fingers.

The tired, ragged curtains were kept tightly shut. Not an ounce of unnecessary light escaped into the space from the outside. Only a glimpse of sun would be seen as Death wrapped himself in his plum cloak and swiftly exited the house. The door’s hinges would creak under the weight of simply being touched. Many years had seen too much of the house fall into disarray, with the roof caving in and the windows leaking whenever it rained. The floorboards would creak and pop loudly when the temperature changed. Although, these constant, unchanging issues wrong with the house gave him comfort. They would always be there, so long as he never changed or fixed them. They would stay. He could keep them. He clung to them as an anxious child would to it’s mother’s hand.

Despair’s teal flames licked at his ashen body. He kicked the ground in impatience, making Death’s lip curl upwards behind his mask. Despair’s impatient personality streak would always remind him of her.

The journey was calm. Thick, luscious grass grew uninhibited with delicate white flowers peppered throughout. Leaves swayed gently in the light breeze, the birds dancing through the branches. Their noises combined with the song of the forest and the meadows followed Death as he and Despair rode.

As his ethereal horse came to a halt, Death felt the soft pitter patterings of rain drops landing on his head. He lifted his head slightly to look at the sky, and he saw nothing but the glaring sun staring back at him teasingly. A few stray clouds dotted the blue horizon, and these were squeezed of their moisture as more soft water fell on his face. He held his hand out, he had seen her do it countless times, and watched as the globules of liquid slid across his weathered palm. He had asked her why she always did this, and she had only answered by explaining that if she could not see the rain, she at least wanted to feel it. At the time he thought nothing of it, but now he truly felt what she meant. Even for him, a being with sight, the idea of a world without feeling only seemed sorrowful and lonely. So he continued to feel every chance he could.

Eventually, Death came to what seemed to be the ruins of an old temple. Huge boulders of debris and cracked walls lay helplessly strewn across a stone floor. The site always seemed to be long since used, no matter how many visits he made. She loved this place. The murals were still clear on the walls, albeit broken into an unsolvable puzzle across the area. The drops of rain stained the stone work to a dark grey where they fell, running towards the center of the structure. The floor slanted towards the middle, meaning any water collected there. He ran his hand over the large crack here, inspecting the rich soil for any weeds or unwanted specks. But, none was to be found. Occasionally a few stray pests or bugs would make this place and this soil their home. Death would always gently find them better places to live and thrive, although he knew she would have reprimanded him for it. He couldn’t stand to see anything stay and grow in this crevice in the floor other than the plant he had been caring for.

A thick, dark blue stem sat in the soil; growing to about a meter before buckling under a weight and bending. Said weight held a graceful mauve flower which hung unperturbed from it’s stem as it seemed to glisten slightly. The petals dipped whenever enough water droplets grouped together, causing them to fall and splash onto the ground underneath.

The single flower on this plant always seemed to perplex Death – and yet it would always make sense when he left. This flower and this place all looked and seemed so beautiful on the outside – but closing your eyes and leaving, simply thinking of the feeling you felt makes you feel the exact same. Remembering the emotions he felt when visiting his flower was it’s purpose, he would learn.

He sat alone for some time as Despair wandered. The horse came and went as he pleased – never straying too far or coming too close. Maybe he knew, but animals always accepted loss and mourning easier. Or so he must have imagined.

As Death stood, once again preparing to leave the place, he turned to the flower for one final exchange, as he always did. It was three simple words. Three words; with the last one solidifying her memory and ensuring her place in the universe to not be forgotten.

“Thank you, Delilah.”

#darksiders #darksiders death #death #darksiders oc #darksiders oc delilah #darksiders death x oc #darksiders x oc #death x oc

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