the-avengers-ate-my-tongue

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

What it looks like: I've abandoned my fic

What's actually happening: It consumes my thoughts every single day. The urge to write gets stronger but my putty brain just. won't. let. it. happen.

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

State Of Disgrace (smut)

Summary: Being a Roy is harder than it looks.

Shipp: Kendall Roy x Cousin!Reader, Roman Roy x Cousin!Reader

Words: 2699k

Disclaimer: SMUT! it's not really proofread, I have to say, but I kinda like the way it came out.

I was five and he was six. We rode on horses made of sticks. He wore black and I wore white, he would always win the fight. 

I used to shoot him down.

Being a child was easy enough. Being a Roy child, however, was a bit more capricious than a regular household.

My mother died in childbirth. She was a lovely woman by the eyes of friends, a gold digger by the malicious judgements of others. Nevertheless, for me, she was nothing but a stranger. My father was Alistair Roy, the youngest brother of my uncle Logan, who tragically also died of extreme sadness due the loss of my mother. 

Some called it depression. I used to call it his swan song.

I moved in with Logan Roy at the raw age of two. Before that, I'd never even met him. My father, before his tragic passing, was just like uncle Ewan, you see. He avoided any further familiar contact with the capitalist monster and ruler of the empire of disgrace Waystar was to them. 

Uncle Logan was not a warm man. His wife, Caroline, was even worse. So, every warmth needed by a two year old was entirely given by my older cousins — whom I had also never met before — and Roman.

Roman and I had the same age, me being just a couple of months older. We grew instantly attached  hip to hip, so much everyone else started to call us "the twins". It was not, however, a praise title, but a Shakespearean war name, for ever since we'd got enough motor skills, we began to explore the vast world that extended to the huge grounds of our mansion. Then Siobhan came, a needy, smiley little girl that resembled her father so much. Connor and Kendall were excited with their new sister; I feared the small ounces of attention I gained daily would be threatened by her charming toothless smile and spikey gingerish hair. And Roman, as much as he was also happy with the new sister, shared the same inconscient dread, the crumbs he used to get from his mother as the youngest slowly fading away. That's when we got more and more agitated, gaining a few more reprimands as soon as another nanny would quit. 

I particularly remember a day where Roman and I distracted the nannies for one minute, fleeing to the pool area. It was a windy day; the crystal water trembled and rippled, the soft movements catching my clueless attention like Narcissus was caught by his reflection. However, instead of languishing away, I came too close, my balance still in development. 

The water received me with the cut of a thousand blades, cold as the feeling of danger that felt like a punch in my stomach. Roman's screams rang in my ears and, after almost half a minute submerged, it began to resemble a sorrowful howl, like a wolf pup. I was four, too young to fully comprehend what was happening, too old to suppress the memory of peace that instilled in my heart. I was no longer the sad little orphan, the spare suitcase that couldn't find its place.

Roman's howls were gone. In an instant, I would lose my sight as well. The deep, vast blue of the pool water and the tiles, the reflection of light on the surface above me were the only things I could see. My lungs, a few moments ago burning up with the invasion of that intruder substance, were now obsolete and dispensable. My body felt feeble and, for a moment, I was only pure conscience. 

It was right at that moment that Roman's face came to my mind. How could I ever leave him? We were parts of the same molding, made of the same matter. How could I allow him to carry the guilt of my accidental death for the rest of his life? 

That was not my call, though. I couldn't swim. If it wasn't for Connor, who was bringing some girl over to the infamous little pool house and heard Roman's cries for help, I would be dead and buried. I can still remember the feeling of the water being launched out of my lungs through my sore throat, the desperate sound of coughing and the tears that stained Roman's face while he stared at me still in panic with the prospect of losing me. That's precisely when I just knew we belonged together, as kindred souls, platonic or not.

Unfortunately, I would also find out later in life I would do anything in my power to feel that kind of lugubrious peace again. Furthermore, that state of disgrace would also bring me closer to another one of my cousins. 

Seasons came and changed the time. When I grew up, I called him mine.

He would always laugh and say

"Remember when we used to play?"

Restless adolescence. I began sipping on drinks when uncle Logan or Caroline weren't paying enough attention, developing quite a taste for neat whiskey. At thirteen, I drank (and cursed) like a middle aged sailor. At fifteen, all the alcohol was locked up and the waiters were instructed to keep an eye on me at parties. 

It was also the age of fickle flings and steamy makeouts with any boy who gave me enough attention — or enough booze. Never been much of a fan of stimulants, but the barbiturates… They were my bestest friends, knocking me out sometimes for a whole day, making the world seem distorted and distant from my usual cold reality. There was no one left to acknowledge my problems; Connor had moved out, Kendall was at Harvard and Logan had sent Roman to a military boarding school to try and cut a bit of our almost symbiotic connection. Shiv was penetrating the fearsome gates of puberty, so no one was able to keep a two minute conversation with her anymore. The nannies or maids weren't paid enough to care, and Logan's corporative minions only extended their attention when I used business vocabulary. Once I realized that, I began to read every piece of news, fully understand what meant to rule a media conglomerate and excerpts about corporate business. It was brain porn to me. Knowledge was as addictive as the drugs and booze, and I was a junkie craving attention like a moth to a flame.

Caroline left, leaving Shiv and I as the only girls in the house. I chose to take a step to the spotlight, being able to impress whoever tried to sink in deeper with my knowledge and grownup words. She's so mature for her age. So clever. So smart. She's got class conscience. Little Y/n Roy is all grown up! Logan noticed my sudden interest and stimulated as much as he could without showing any favoritism on my behalf, bringing me to Waystar with him sometimes, allowing Gerri to guide me on whatever I wanted to know and understand when it came to business. That actually brought me closer to the blonde, austere woman; I sought a motherly figure to tend to my emotional needs like a junkie with a needle. 

I was also surprisingly good at corporative game. It was like playing poker, the one who pretends the best gets to count the cards and win. Board vision. I began to, as my Sherlock Holmes books expertly instructed, actually observe more than just see. 

A peck with the teeth in the nails. A quick lick or bite on the bottom lip. Dilated pupils, nostrils flaring. Avoiding eye contact. All signs of discomfort or vice versa became crystal clear to me, showing up like Christmas lights. That also taught me to be an even better player, and I became a virtuoso of deceit. The difficulty of interaction I had with people I hated had faded completely and now, at sixteen years old, I felt absolutely nothing but a huge void that came with being in control of all my feelings. Sentiments made me weak, I had learned. It clouds the judgment and proliferates like maggots on rotting flesh. If one loses control over it, it's gone. 

That should also include vices, so I mannered my consumption, elaborating some sort of twisted diet with small albeit enough doses. Being in control  was exhilarating, and I felt as if I was at the top of the world. Drinks? Only in parties of sorts and reunions, and a single glass. Drugs? Just to keep me concentrated or calm, nothing more. Uncle Logan began to see my improvement, and a conversation about business school had been approached. 

After a while, however, it started to get a bit dull, always knowing the right thing to say or what everyone wanted to hear. Defiance and rebellion were in my veins. Uncle Ewan told my dad he wasn't going to marry my mom; uncle Logan, so I've heard, forbid him to bring her into family gatherings. Many scenes were detailed crudely by the press over the years, painting my parents as the villains of a dynasty and uncle Logan as some sort of Zeus almighty. For weeks, I expected the perfect opportunity for misbehaving. Nothing serious enough to reach my uncle's ears, but to, at the very least, assure my conscience I was still the same Y/n Roy, daughter of Alistair and Giorgiana Roy. I was in paradise craving the forbidden fruit without even knowing how it would manifest.

Until Kendall came back from Harvard for Thanksgiving holidays. 

He looked different then, somehow cooler, more confident and laid-back than he usually was. It was kind of comic how attractive Kendall could be when he wasn't looking like he had a pine tree up his ass. After dinner, I managed to suggest an innocent gathering in my bedroom to talk about college and news from the world outside the golden cage we were usually trapped into. 

"Hey, you should try this" he suddenly pulls a small bag of cocaine from his pocket, waving it in front of my eyes like a plate of meat to a starving dog. "Seriously, this is the shit."

I laughed in contained mockery, knowing that, if Kendall somehow felt diminished, he would slip through my fingers like sand. Instead, I watch him prepare some lines to blow using one of my school notebooks as support. Two lines after and I can no longer see the greenish of his irises, black englobing everything. If possible, he looks even more confident, this sort of bellicosity making him even more appealing to me. 

I switch my crossed legs from position. His now dark eyes accompany the movement, narrowing. I'm wearing a short skirt, and the way I move my legs makes me look like I'm recreating that one famous scene from Basic Instinct. 

He stares in silence for a few seconds, studying my face, seeming to be gathering the guts to do something. 

"Do you like what you see?" I suddenly ask, new acquired courage, one of my hands traveling through my dressed body. Kendall shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath trying to restrain himself. I wait for no response, pulling one of his hands and placing it right on one of my breasts, the warmth of his touch allowing a small sigh to escape my lips.

"Y/n… what uh… what game are you playing here?" He tries to organize his thoughts, but I purr like a kitten as if that simple touch of his feels like the grasp of a flame in the coldest winter. "Oh, fuck… don't… don't do that, come on."

"Don't act like you don't want it to happen. I don't see you removing your hand" I crawl in his direction, stopping from inches of his mouth. "I want you, Ken."

"Y/n, this isn't right, I mean, I'm fucking older than you, we're cousins…"

"So? So what? Come on, Ken. Don't you ever get tired of being a fucking model to this family? Daddy's little toy soldier?" I jolted forward, sitting on his lap. He doesn't stop me. "I fucking want you. How many were brave enough to say that to your face?"

I lick my lips as I rub my hips against his and a low grunt echoes on his throat. He looks almost helpless; it's pathetic. I can feel his dick getting hard underneath the dark denim pants, and that gives me some sort of enigmatic power, like I'm a form of Venus. Kendall's hands lift my skirt, moist visible in my underwear, almost staining his pants. 

"Fuck, Y/n… how are you so wet already?" He pushes my panties aside, losing his patience and ripping it apart, making me giggle. I start humping against his pants while kissing his jawline, touching his lips with mine for the first time. He tasted like minties, cigarettes and a bit of the whiskey we drank after dinner. After that, he finally decided to let go; his tongue invaded my mouth with passion, and he made me lay down on the floor, towering over me. I pulled his shirt, throwing it across the room, sucking the sensitive spot on his neck that caused him to let out some sexy moans with his deep voice. My cunt was pulsing to the point it started to actually hurt a bit.

"I need you, Ken." I said, starting to unbutton his jeans. 

"What a greedy little thing you are" he pulls my hands away, trapping them on the floor above my head by my wrists. With the free hand, he took his dick off his pants, the tip glowing with precum. 

He finally rested between my legs, the feeling of his head against my entrance making me a bit nervous for the first time that night. I got even more wet just with the expectation, and just when I was about to rush him, he entered me without a warning, a loud moan escaping my lips. My nails carved the skin of his hand, and he hastily quieted down my whimpers with a sloppy kiss, letting go of my arms and allowing me to wrap them around him.

"You okay?" He questioned, his gorgeous green eyes looking so sweet, so concerned, that I actually felt slightly guilty of using him to achieve my own whims. With a smile, I nod, and he moves painfully slow inside me, my breathing intensifying. It hurt at the beginning, but soon, the pain started to give in, and my hips began to synchronize with his own movements like an intricate dance, sweat accumulating on my forehead. My whole skin felt hot, feverish, and my hands grabbed Kendall's ass to pull him closer, my legs wrapped around his lower back.

His breathing changed, and he squeezed my skin so rough I was sure it would leave bruises tomorrow. 

"Y/n… fuck, wait… I'm gonna…" his body began to tremble as he fastened his movements, and a louder grunt came out of him while he poured himself inside me, leaning his forehead against mine. 

Our breaths mixed up, sweat dripping out, and a now pleasant and new pain between my legs. He laid on top of me until he became too heavy to endure, rolling his body sideways afterwards, laying on the cool marbled floor. I turn down on my stomach to face him, the cold white marble alleviating the pressure on my low abdomen. He looks herculean with his hair all messed up, face glistening with small drops of sweat and a peaceful manner in his eyes, eyes no longer darkened by the drugs, but clearer like leaves on springtime. 

We kissed a few more times, talked about trivialities, and he left soon after, placing a kiss on my shoulder, too hasty to record and too soft to ignore.

The matter was hardly discussed afterwards, and I never mentioned he was my first, not even when it happened again, and again. For many years, I told no one, the secret feeling like a little barb around my lower abdomen every time I saw him. 

Until I felt safe enough to share it with Roman. But that's a story for another time. 

#Kendall roy #Roman Roy #Kendall Roy x reader #roman roy imagine #hbo succession #succession #succession hbo #Kendall Roy imagine #kendall roy fic #kendall roy oneshot #succession x reader #succession imagine #roy siblings #Kendall Roy headcanons #Jeremy Strong #kieran culkin

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 𝐕𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 | 𝐋𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧

Lukas Matsson x Fem!Reader | Kendall Roy x Fem!reader

Summary: Kendall had always been a competent, steady boyfriend, but there is always, always room for improvement.

Warnings: Language, Politics, Business, Cheating, Mentions of murder, Smut (+18) Minors DNI, CNC, Rough Sex, choking, degradation, ownership kink, dom/sub dynamics. Roman as his own warning.

I am mentally unwell, and so is Matsson.

Due to your perilous schedule as a political and public figure, arguing with your lover had never really made it past scheduling in the smorgasbord of your career. Perhaps that is why Kendall decided to pick unnecessary fights in the middle of a Swedish trip. He felt, and rightfully so, infinitesimally insignificant when compared to the hellscape that is your established career in the American political sphere.

You can see it in the way his broad shoulders hunch slightly, the way his larger lower lip protrudes into a petulant pout.

You're appalled.

"Kendall, you can't be fucking serious," Your first night on Matsson's retreat was scheduled to be filled with myriad orgasms in myriad uncanny positions. You and Kendall should be christening this luxury suite, but, instead you find your voice has climbed to ungodly octaves to a point that you feared you may shatter the glass wall that displayed the quiet Norwegian woods.

You couldn't give even half a shit as to whether others housed in adjoining tree-house suites might hear your furious bickering.

"You're a fucking child," he says lowly, desperately trying to regain control over the situation but only fumbling it by the second, "Do you know that?"

"No!" You exclaim, "Iverson and Sophie are!" He turns his back to you. Your nails dig into the bedsheets, "Those are your actual children, yeah!? When was the last fucking time you called them!? You're too busy measuring your dick against the Swedes- you're too busy to give Rava a fucking call."

"I have met plenty of selfish sociopaths in my day, Kendall, but this is unfathomable." His shadow falls over you like a second cloud in the already darkened suite's interior.

"Did she put you up to this?" He asks in that manic state of his with his hand pointed outward in condemnation of his most recent enemy.

"Are you aware that you have children together? You will know her for the rest of your life, are you aware of that?"

Kendall is quick to deflect, "Fuck! I can't catch a fucking break. Of course you run to my ex and- and- what? You fucking-meet up at Tasha's. Fucking talking about Kendall's cock-rings over your croissants."

You withhold the urge to laugh by letting a wave of fury wash over you anew. "You didn't even tell them their grandfather died before you dragged us out to fucking Norway, Kendall! That's unhinged! You're unhinged!"

"I'm perfectly hinged!" He says, turning away from you, pyjama pants billowing as he grabs his keys and a pack of cigarettes, "I'm like the doors on fucking Downing street, motherfucker," He speaks lowly. Voice simmering. "I'm fucking hinged."

The door slams with finality, leaving you clinging to your robe in front of a backdrop full of trees.

There's a deeply sated sigh that leaves your throat as you haul yourself over the Egyptian linen sheets. Fighting with Kendall had always been an impossible feat- something akin to yelling obscenities at a brick wall smeared with cocaine, but it always left you marginally satisfied after. A part of you felt like you might be saving him.

There is a frown, slight and not at all visible in the low evening light, drifting across your face as you stare down at yourself with disappointment and a hint of disapproval. Kendall was supposed to rip this robe right off you the second you got out of the shower. But, instead, you find yourself turning on your side, staring at the pines beyond the glass.

The sound of the door clicking open, ruins the serenity that had begun to settle.

"I for sure thought you'd gone and blown your head off for real this time, Ken." You mumble monotonously while staring ahead at the glass.

"While all these hungry vultures at my retreat does make me lean into the sound of suicide, I quite enjoy living."

You're quick to pull your unravelled rope across your frame as you sit up against the oak headboard.

"Not Kendall." He says.

Matsson towers enough to hunch slightly and disrupt the flow of the sleek, vertical finishes.

"Why are you here?"

"Well it is my retreat."

He smiles. Or at least you believe that he believes he is smiling. Sharks can't smile, you don't think.

"My house."

Lukas shoves his hands in pockets as he continues to stare at you. His disciplined eyes never stray or drift across your exposed legs, they never gloss over your deadly grip on the tightened robe digging into the plushness across your middle.

He's staring at you. Eyes boring into eyes.

"I've come to deliver a noise complaint."

"Consider it delivered."

He does not leave. Instead, he delves deeper into your space, the space shared with your boyfriend. You watch carefully as Matsson plants himself on the edge of the bed. There is an air of nervousness that bristles throughout the Norwegian woods as he brings one leg up to cross the other. You watch, entranced by how the soft Tom Ford sweatpants crease slightly under his fluid movements. His beige Balenciaga shirt sits comfortably and it elicits a sense of control as he makes himself comfortable in front of you.

The one thing you could never allow yourself to be was intimidated, and intimidation is all you heard from the mouths that affirmed this man. However, the subtle yet suffocating label whoring, the designer sandals…

He was just another man, suffocated by the weight of his own money. He had everything to prove. That gave you control.

"I didn't know when Kendall brought me on this trip that I was to be subjected to an invasion of privacy,"

"I heard you the first time," He says, chuckling in complete condescension, "I am aware you're here with Kendall. You don't have to bring him up the whole fucking time."

"Are you here under work pretences then? I'm not involved in the hellscape that is ATN, nor the Nazi wonderland that is Waystar so I would make a lousy spy."

"I know who you are," his eyes dart away, giving you enough time to break slightly, take heavier breaths and compose yourself, "I've seen the work you are… attempting to accomplish in that flaccid dick of a country," His gaze is back on you, "And while I do applaud you, politics bores me. You're all fucked anyway, I just came here to enquire if you would like to have sex with me?"

The manner in which he says those words, so calmly and succinctly, has you praying for another moment of regeneration while he darts his eyes away.

"You mean the noise complaint was a fluke?"

"In addition to the noise complaint, I would like to sleep with you, yes."

You're practically suffocted with the over abundance of choice. Matsson would be a fun and interesting side project for you to sink your claws into and manipulate with the added advantage of sex.

But there is a darkness lurking behind this man's gaze that promises far too much risk with little to no reward.

"No, I think I'm good. Thanks for stopping by, Lukas. It was certainly not a pleasure talking to you-"

You speak calmly, shuffling off the bed so you can escort him to the door. "Please find yourself outside of my personal and habitual space kindly and quickly-" but the axis tilts, and he does a daring thing by encircling a strong grip on your forearm. You try to lurch your arm out of his iron grip but it's fucking sealed around you like a constricting python. The darkness seems so incredibly poignant. God, all this man holds is darkness.

"I did not ask for myself." He says with a hint of condescension, "I asked for you." Matsson has you locked between his spindly legs while your robe billows open. Your face warms as you feel coolness settle against your exposed stomach but Lukas' eyes never leave your own.

From this angle, there is no chance to look away. Everything is maximised, from the wrinkles running like river channels underneath his bright blue eyes to the slight overbite in his teeth, perhaps his only external flaw.

What a dangerous individual.

"They're Roys." Lukas says, "He's a Roy," You suddenly feel juvenile and bashful, as you take the scolding, "You should know better,"

You're only vaguely aware that the distance between you two has been lessening because the air feels warmer. His breath is mixing with yours and his hand is doing a funny little dance along your forearm. "You should know better," He says.

And perhaps you should have closed the distance, perhaps you should have chased him away. You certainly should not have waited for a pair of irregular footsteps approaching to finally push the lumbering man away from you. Thankfully, he kindly obliged although Matsson's hand stalled, still rubbing against your elbow when Kendall stumbles in.

"Uh, what the fuck are you doing here? What the fuck is he doing here?" Kendall's eyes are tired and bloodshot and you step away from Lukas' gravitational pull as you curl into Kendall's side. Kendall's suede Versace jacket is cool but his skin is warm as you burrow into the side of his neck. Your guilt worsens as you feel Kendall's arm curl around your waist.

You speak into Kendall's ear, loud enough for Lukas to hear, "Matsson is still trying to rape your company, I'm afraid. " You say with a lazy smile.

"Already raped," Says Lukas, shuffling passed the two of you, "Logan was the decision maker, remember?"

Before the man finds himself over the threshold, Kendall speaks up.

"Hey, no more private visits, yeah? Not cool."

You watch with bated breath as Matsson only cracks a toothy lopsided grin before tapping the wood of the doorframe and disappearing.

That evening had ended, like most of the evenings to come, with angry, jealousy-fueled sex. There had always been a distinct animosity between Kendall and Matsson but whatever had been in the air seemed to triple. Kendall kept you close during the entire experience. He kept you under Kremlin-level surveillance but he couldn't be with you all the time. In the moments you found yourself without Kendall, Matsson would appear from out of the shadows like a demon, slinking behind you with a hand ghosting your hip. He watched you from above the rim of whiskey-filled tumblers and even asked for your input whenever conversation within the group got a little political. One such conversation had the unfortunate interjection of one Roman Roy, who saw you as another toy in his toy box.

"What do you need two assistants for anyway?" The grinding of your teeth come to a deafening halt as you turn your head to face the youngest Roy. The smile on your face is amicable, some might even call it polite, but it is a well enough facade veneering the tempest brewing beneath.

"What- does Jess hold your balls while you tell knock-off Maya Angelou here" He points to you, "-to bend her head and suck?"

There were a number of things you simply allowed when it came to your courtship with Kendall Roy. You would even shame yourself into admitting that you might have found Kendall's overall emotional incompetence and dysfunctional family quite endearing in the beginning. But, like every magnificent, spine curling orgasm, the magic ebbed away quickly and soon, you were left with nothing but the wetness of his cum, cooling between your thighs.

That is what Kendall and his siblings were like most times.

Cooling, diabolical cum.

"Rome, come on." And therein lay Kendall's consistent, valeant response, of which he chose to defend you.

Rome. Come on.

Simply hearing those words leave his brother's mouth with even the faintest hint of disapproval sent Roman into a frenzy (you could see his pupils dilating and his cock hardening from your spot on a couch adjacent to Roman and Shiv). Matsson's entire foyer was set alight with amicable, drunken murmurs, of which Greg's nervous whimpers were occasionally heard peppered in.

Tom had retired to bed, (whether that would be in the same suite as Shiv, would be a satisfactory cup of tea you would divulge with your girlfriends later.) Matsson and his followers sat in their own private harem in a corner beside you.

"What?" Roman cries, slamming back a handful of ground nuts (an admittedly clever substitute for Swedish alcohol) "I was just asking a question. I know your people like to claim reparations for a lot of shit these days but I'm sure enquiring about the girl my big brother's fucking doesn't equate to slavery."

Although you hated the little demon with every bright blue blood cell running through your arteries, you did admire the sure-fire way he would spit his hateful vitriol.

"I appreciate the faux-concern, Roman." You keep it curt, cute and even forgiving, hoping he might take the win and leave you to down the last of your Hennessey in peace.

"That's your cue," Kendall announces, "Drop it."

"Look at how wet she's getting from my rich white brother finally using his voice to defend her for once." The conversation between the Swedes had long since ceased and your throat clogs as the music tins through hidden speakers. "Kenny so clearly has a type," Says Roman, now facing his brother with his elbows steepled on his knee. "I bet you couldn't wait to dive into that plethora of liberal pussy, could you, big brother?"

Your patience had long since snapped and your words are flying before you could stop them, "Considering you couldn't even get pussy without catching a rape charge or an incredibly disappointed prostitute, I'll assume this pseudo-incest interest you have in Kendall's sex life is normal,"

Roman only laughs, "No amount of sick burns is going to release you from the fact that your fucking a crackhead. Maybe it's the money," he taps the bottom of chin in a flamboyant display of consideration, "Although if it's raping our company that's your main goal, the Swedes might have you beat." Matsson straightens in your periphery, not by a lot but by enough to have a stoney smile cracking across your face.

"ATN is not my vice. Racist Propaganda doesn't get me as wet as it gets you, Roman."

"How convenient. I thought all Leftys held special orgys dedicated to besmirching racist propoganda."

Your response was already loaded in the back of your throat, aimed and ready to fire at Roman with reckless abandon. If it weren't for Lukas' interjection, you would have hoped to leave the little man bleeding all over Matsson's marble floors.

"You let him talk to your woman like that?" The rest of the party had left this specific ring of people behind, but that seemed okay. Everyone within the circle, the important people, were silent as Matsson turned his attention to a floundering Kendall.

"Maybe worry about your situation over there and I'll worry about mine."

"I'm not worried." Says Lukas, with a fierce stoicism that was so unique to him. Your heart rate speeds up ever so slightly as the couch groans while Lukas begins to rise. His friends each hold knowing smiles. Hungry smiles.

"Would you like to know why I'm not worried?" Asks Lukas, advancing with a slow gait. You turn your head just in time to watch Kendall's Adam's apple against his throat. He was speechless as per usual when the discussion didn't involve drugs or stock prices.

"Ask." Says Lukas as he advances. "Ask me why I'm not worried."

Upon you first meeting, you had found Lukas' height to be quite rude and unbecoming. You expected him to duck down, almost out of courtesy for the rest of the world laying low underneath him. As his shadow falls over you and Kendall, you find yourself grateful for this giant man making your boyfriend feel small for once- almost as small as you were made to feel around the Roys.

"Why aren't you worried?" Kendall's voice is still masked with confidence as he peers up at Matsson.

Matsson, who's teeth glint in the low evening light, like a hungry shark. He bends down low. You move slightly out of the way as he whispers into Kendall's ear.

"Because I'm gonna fuck her, okay?"

Absolute silence grows pregnant between the two and you're left to do nothing but watch as the exchange unfolds and Kendall's perceived control over everything and everyone unravels. His mouth opens and closes slightly while Matsson watches with a sadistic sort of pleasure in his eye…

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

"Nothing," Says Lukas, having returned to his full height. "I didn't say anything. I just asked your-" His blue eyes darts to you and back, "-friend, if she'd like to see my bookshelf in the living room. I saw her reading Bronte earlier," Matsson shrugs, "Thought I might extend the invitation."

Lukas is not one to wait for confirmation, nor is he a man that waits for validation. He shuffles out his foyer, quite comfortably leaving present company behind with his hands stuffed in his pockets. No rebuttal from Kendall needed.

"Where the hell do you think you're going? What are you doing?" You lift yourself from the couch, ironing out the invisible creases on your plaid Chanel skirt as your eyes dart to Roman, now in idle conversation with Siobhan.

"They're just books, Kendall." You sigh softly. "You can't honestly believe I'd be any safer here." You deliver one final gaze at his lesser appealing siblings before following Matsson out of the foyer. The amount of people congesting the dark corridors lessen as you venture further into Matsson's abode. The walls are built with a dark, heavily sanded stone. Something casting a very ominous, yet unmistakably earthy glow throughout the corridor as the mouth spills into a large and defining living room. The colours are dark. The coal walls are all encompassing and Matsson stands beside a low leather couch, waiting rather awkwardly for your arrival.

"There is no library or bookshelf." He says with his hands still stuffed in the pockets of his sweats.

"I figured. You strike me as someone that would keep all their books stored on some gadget."

"Technology and leisure are the two civilizers of man," He says, watching you with bated breath as you slink around his living room, eyeing but never once prodding his things.

"Don't misquote Disraeli, it's not very attractive."

Matsson seems to relax at that, opting to take a step closer to you as he speaks, "I'll misquote Disraeli as much as I want. The 'increased means and increased leisure' part seems a little far-fetched." Your heart begins to hammer in your chance at the advancing man and you turn, whether out of cowardice or bashfulness, choosing rather to examine the sculpture along his mantle.

Your back begins to straightens as warmth radiates from him. He does not move but he cages you in. You would not be able to leave his sphere even if you wanted to.

"We don't have to fuck, obviously. It just didn't seem safe for you to stay in that situation."

You turn slowly and you find yourself slightly jarred by Matsson's proximity. His turtleneck hugs a string and definite build and the hunger in his eyes melts all inhibitions.

"I don't need saving."

"I'm talking about the little angry man." He says, referring to Roman. "I've seen your debates. It's the little nugget of American politics I find myself quite entertained by and I have no desire to wipe a Roy's blood off my floors this evening."

His words end up snapping any and all inhibition as you're throwing yourself quite mercilessly at him. The kiss is silent but so inexplicably charged allowing you to bump into various pieces of furniture in the process of pushing you up against the nearest stone wall. A wall that is cold to the touch, eliciting a surprised gasp which fuels Lukas all the more. He displays wet slobbering kisses down the nape of your neck as he murmurs drunkenly in your ear.

"I like seeing you like this. I like seeing you among my things." The conviction present in his gravelly vibrato has a pool of wetness gathering in between your legs. Your arm circles around his broad back until your pulling, rather roughly at the blonde hair curling at the nape of neck. This had consequently been a morbid mistake because his grip travels to your throat lightning fast, compressing a dangerous weight on your oesophagus as he rips his lips away from your throat.

"You don't get to do that," he says far too casually. "You don't get to assume control when you are here in my house with my things."

Matsson keeps his eye trained on you but your focus in compounded, solely, on his wandering hand tracing the hem of your skirt. "Hey, hey, hey." As you strive to keep watch of his wandering hand, Matsson moves his head into your line of vision.

"My things. Yeah? You're apart of that now."

As his hand inches underneath your skirt you're suddenly flooded with a wave of unfamiliar emotions - fear being the most poignant and defining one.

"I don't want to do this anymore-" You're not sure whether you mean it or not but you're quite certain that Matsson doesn't care. You're suddenly truly aware that you had released something you don't really know how to control.

"Bullshit, you don't want to do this anymore." You finally feel his hand sliding into your panties and your legs wavers underneath you, "Your words say stupid shit," Sings Lukas as his fingers ghost over your swollen clothes, "But your cunt just can't seem to lie." His grip on your throat tightens before relaxing as he brings your head up to his lips. "You're fucking soaked."

"I'll fucking sue you," Although you're unable to assume a single confident tone as his fingers begin to play with your cunt, "I'll fucking take you to court for fucking assault, motherfucker."

"You wanna call Kendall for assistance?" He asks, slyly pushing his middle finger deep inside you with no regard for your strangled gasp. "Here, let's call him together. Say 'Kendall!'"

The only thing able to leave your mouth is a straggled moan as Matsson keeps you pinned to the wall by the throat. The sound of your voice - so incoherent and helpless has him evading any sliver of decency he might have had. "Fuck, you're so perfect." He places a chaste kiss on your cheek before spinning you around until he is sandwiched between your body and the wall. "I have to fuck you."

"Watch the door for me," he says, pulling your hips right up against the bulge in his pants. "Watch just in case Kendall, shows up. Right, sweet girl?"

You're nodding dumbly as Lukas hunches his tall frame while grinding his bulge into your backside. He has your skirt lifted, and his shadow casted over you as he murmurs diabolical things into your ear.

"God, you're a fucking slut, you're such a fucking slut." He keeps a grip on your throat while the unoccupied hand reaches around to lift your shirt haphazardly, "No amount of smart ass comments will ever hide the fact that you're just another whore." The casual air with which he degrades has you simultaneously humping the air while you push back against his bulge. It is in that moment when he finally decides to release his aching cock from his sweatpants dotted with precum.

"Jesus Christ, feel how hard you made me. Feel how fucking turned on I am just because you decided to be a stupid slut." You can feel the head of his cock pressing into you until you're unable to hold in the desperation.

"Jesus- Lukas!"

"What? You want me to fuck you? I think you want me to fuck you but I'm not sure." You're unsure of what he's asking, too blinded by the possibility of a carefully curated orgasm.

"Go on." He says, "Ask me to fuck you. Ask me to fuck your pussy while your boyfriend waits just downstairs."

There are tears pooling in your eyes at the sheer lewdness and the unapologetic quality of this betrayal, but your mouth opens and soon, you're shakily crying out. "Please just fuck me, Lukas."

His cock rams into you with a surety that leaves you winded. He seems as if his patience had been waning as well, what with the haggard sigh that leaves his throat and the numerous disquiet groans that float in the air. Despite yourself, you do keep a half-lidded gaze on the entrance, not put off, but rather spurred on with the possibility of your boyfriend finding you being railed by his latest rival. The thought alone has you clenching around Lukas' cock with your orgasm cresting.

"Whatever you're thinking about, I'm going to need you to think about it again- you're so fucking tight."

There's an animalistic quality to the sex- being bent over for him while he rests against a wall, a firm grip on your throats and your tits as he rams himself into you again and again.

It's far too much.

You wouldn't think there was something so ruthless hiding underneath such a calm veneer but that's all it is. All it always had been. A veneer.

"You're not with him anymore, do you hear me?"

"Fuck- Lukas I'm gonna cum soon," his grip on your throat tightens until it vacuums out any and all air. Your hand encircles his wrist, begging for release but to no avail.

"Tell me," he says as he continues to fuck mercilessly into you, "Tell me you don't belong to him." He finally gives you lee-way to talk and you're gasping out your response, "I don't. I don't belong to him," he nods slightly, brows firing as he bites into your shoulders.

"Fuck- I didn't plan to cum inside you-"

"I don't fucking care- I'm really close." Lukas nods quickly before releasing your neck to drag your cheek until your faces are pressed together in a smouldering kiss. "Fuck I'm gonna cum inside you-"

His words already have you diving headfirst into a groundbreaking orgasm. You're crying out helplessly, until Matsson has enough sense to cover your mouth with one large hand. He fucks you through it, filling you with cum as he groans just as loudly as you had been.

"Fuck," he chuckles quietly, "Kendall is not going to like that."

"Kendall," You breath heavily, safely contained in Lukas' comforting grip, "Is not my Keeper."

Lukas delivers a chaste kiss on your cheek, his stubble grazing against the side of your face.

"I plan on killing them anyway." He says, simultaneously unaware and aware that he's drifting into pillowtalk.

"Every last one of them."

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

Must be season of the witch is my favorite love reading each part over and over! Each time I read it it makes me think of the character mary sibley from the Salem tv show! How they seem so alike

yesss thank you so much ❤️ it's actually pretty much based on her since it was just when I started to watch the show, I love it (tho I still have to finish season 3). Mary Sibley is amazing, that woman is a force of nature

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

Is there a possible way we can get a part two to Transpassing were we can see how the relationship began and her breaking up with him. I’m so obsessed with your sandman work! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Thank you so much, love 😍 yes, I've been thinking about it, actually. Dreamt of Morpheus last night and seemed like a sign. Will do!

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

Glorious Purpose?

Summary: Mobius had intentionally shown the frames of your conversation when he was being held captive by SHIELD. What did he intend with that? Meaningless sentimentalism? Or to introduce something else, something more?

Pairing: Loki x Stark!Reader

Warning: a bit of angst, spoilers of Loki (series), swearing

Word Count: 3072

A/N: yes' i'm random that way lol, had this idea doing my late night maladaptive daydreaming, thank you very much. English is not my first language! Any typos or something, let me know.

One of the sharpest pains he'd ever felt, and it wasn't even physical. 

Loki rewinds the video, looking at Frigga, his mother — even if he denied eventually in the future, the woman was still his mother —, lying on the floor. Dead. By his own intercession. He could feel his eyes watering up, his breath trembling. Was Mobius right? Would this actually happen, as it did every time in every single timeline? Moreover… Was all of the hatred for Thor worth it?

He fast-forwarded to another scene, lifting an eyebrow when he recognized someone in one of the frames.

You.

But it was you! You fought against him in New York, with the Avengers, developing some powers after being touched with the sceptre on SHIELD's giant flying device. Stark's daughter. He recalled how curious he was about the young woman, suspicious of what she could be. 

Of course, there hasn't been an Infinity Witch in over a millennia, as he learned the Sorcerers of the earth had been avoiding the birth of a new one for centuries. He remembered how the power of the Tesseract threw you over the balcony of that ugly Stark building, only for you to come back seconds later, a mist of an electric blue glow flowing around you. He could feel your suddenly powerful aura in his bones; all of his body hair bristled like a giant cat, and he couldn't help stare at you in absolute awe. You'd already been affected by the sceptre, now another stone had built up your power. 

Mobius had intentionally shown the frames of your conversation when he was being held captive by SHIELD. What did he intend with that? Meaningless sentimentalism? Or to introduce something else, something more? You both were in a small ship with Thor and Jane Foster.

He kept watching when you talked about the loss of your mother in labour, and how Stark had sent you somewhere called England until the age of seven, when you were expelled from a boarding school for building a bomb and exploding the chemistry lab. You laughed at the memory, and he admired how youthful the sound was; how your eyes gleamed, and you slightly blushed. You didn't seem to regret your mischief. That pleased him. 

"I'm so sorry about Frigga, Loki. She seemed to be a remarkable woman" your voice felt like velvet, and he could tell you were being sincere.

"Why?" He inquired, his voice sounding slightly annoyed. "Why are you sorry? You didn't even know her."

He was deflecting again. Feelings were never his forte. Feeling was… a waste of time. A distraction. 

You stared at him with patience, sighing.

"A loss is a loss. You seem to love her very much, I can’t even imagine losing my dad, it would drive me nuts. It pains me to see you hurting. Thus, she showed nothing but kindness to me, even when your f… Odin kept a harsh demeanour due to his suspicions." You corrected yourself in a haste, knowing how it would infuriate him to call Odin his father. He appreciated your gesture in silence, staring at the mountains while the wind messed up his hair. 

The scene changed. Thor pulled him over to his side, leaving you with Jane Foster slightly behind. You all seemed to be trailing along a vast desert. Svartalfheim. The land of the dark elves.

"What are you planning, Loki?" He interrogated, pulling him by his armour like chastising a child. "Y/n is a good woman. She doesn't deserve to be a tool for your dirty affairs."

He watched as himself laughed, but his eyes were perplexed. Thor would never trust him. 

"Nourns, brother… We were simply having a conversation. You're not jealous, are you? Must you always take all the good toys to yourself?" He provoked, his silver tongue sharp as a blade. He watched as Thor clenched his fists, waiting for the impact, but it never came. Instead, the blonde sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

"You both seem to share a strong connection ever since the battle of New York. I saw the way your stare longed for her when we used the Tesseract to return to Asgard." He halted, searching for words. "I mean it when I say she's a good woman. Do not fail her, brother."

The present Loki lifted his eyebrows in surprise, watching as his future self seemed to be pondering at Thor's words. Therefore, Thor was favourable to whatever was going on between the two of you… interesting.

He fast-forwarded again. His corpse was on the ground. You wept, hugging his body and begging him to wake up. Thor held your shoulder, also crying. The scene cuts to the throne room; Odin offering Thor the throne of Asgard, him denying it. Once he leaves, a voice comes from the shadows, your voice. Odin's form changes back; it was actually Loki.

"I hope you know what you're doing" you allowed yourself to be seen, raising an eyebrow once you realised how surprised future Loki seemed to be. "Really? A mere illusion? I'm the lady of infinity, you really thought I bought that little show of yours?"

"So you didn't truly mourn me? Were those tears as false as my death itself?"

You chuckled, crossed arms. You seemed more confident, powerful. Instantly, present Loki knew you had absorbed the powers of another infinity stone.

"You're incorrigible, Loki. Or should I say Your Majesty?"

"So, what happens now, milady? Are you going to try to stop me? Play hero as you did in Midgard?"

You seemed to consider your choices for a moment, poking your chin with the index finger.

"Actually, I think this could be good for you. Being king, learning some virtues for a change. I just hope you'll be a benevolent one. Asgard deserves it after the last events. Deal?" You lifted your chin, impetuous, looking even more dashing. "I'll be watching you closely, Loki. Don't make me regret this decision. And promise me Odin's going to be fine."

"I promise, Y/n." He simply stated, his lips curling in a satisfied smile, one you gladly reciprocated. "Promise one thing in return, milady?"

"Don't push it, god of mischief" you jested. "Name it".

He stepped closer, lifting his hand to place a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Promise me you will watch me. Closely."

Present Loki couldn't help to smirk at the scene, appreciating the way your lips were ajar and the glow in your eyes. You allowed yourself to delight in his touch, nuzzling his hand like a kitten, and he wanted to find you pathetic, however, he simply could not. As confusing as it all was, he knew him. He wasn't trying to manipulate you. He was being sincere, he wanted you close.

"Loki…" you sighed, and the way you said his name, like a longing prayer, awoke something lost a long time ago inside him. His eyes fluttered and, for a few seconds, he couldn't catch his breath. 

The frame changed again. This time, Thor and you were in Asgard, arguing with Odin, who probably was still him. Thor threw Mjolnir, forcing him to stay in the hammer's way, since Odin had the power to stop it at his will. You lifted your hand, your eyes glowing yellow, and Thor released him right before the hammer could collide against him, staggering, right at the moment Loki changed back to his form. You had used the power of the mind stone to stop Thor from hurting him, watering eyes as you stared at the blonde.

Thor looked shocked, staring back at you with disbelief in his eyes.

"You knew, did you not? You knew all along and you did nothing to stop him!" He seemed hurt, betrayed. For a moment, Loki pitied him; however, he couldn't help to notice you took his side instead of Thor's. "I thought you could be a good influence on him, Stark, but you are as mischievous and untrustworthy as such." 

"Thor, please. I can explain" your voice cracked as you tried to avoid the tears that rolled free through your face. "I… I…"

"I don't wish to hear it! There's no possible explanation for this treachery! You said I was your best friend, and yet you betrayed me. You betrayed Asgard."

"I love him, Thor!" You sobbed, and Loki's heart skipped a beat. You held your chest, trying to catch your breath, and future Loki looked astonished at your words.

The scene changed again. Odin calls Thor and him his sons. You stare at the scene from afar with a knowing smile, hugging your body for comfort. Remember this place, Odin says. Home. He vanishes in a whirl of golden sand, gone. 

Another scene. Thor (with shorter hair?) states he thought the world of him, and how they thought they were going to fight side by side forever. Loki's heart softened at his brother's words, tears streaming down his face. For the first time, he felt as his equal. His sibling. Not a threat to be exterminated.

Another scene. All of you standing on the Bifrost with a Valkyrie, and you glowed so much your feet barely touched the ground, the air sparking with so much power. You smiled, raising your arms.

"Meet your demise, goddess of death."

The scene changes again. Thor says maybe he's not so bad after all, calls him brother. Thanks him. Another frame, and future Loki is holding you by your waist, smiling like he never did.

"You know, I really wish to promote my dad to grandfather. And Thor to uncle. I think one day we should think about that." You jested, stealing a peck of his lips with a sly grin. Little minx. Present Loki couldn't avoid a chuckle, his eyes teary. It's amazing how intimate both of you look, and he wished there were more scenes from before... Or was it after, since he hadn't lived it yet?

"I think, at least for a while, the world could not handle one more Loki or Y/n Stark, dearest."

"Gosh, I believe you're right. Forget about the world, we wouldn't be able to handle it."

Another scene. He stood in front of Thanos himself. The Infinity gauntlet was around your throat and, in his mind, you were begging him to escape. 

"I can handle it. I can beat him, but not with you here. Please, Loki. Just go."

He tried to stab Thanos, but the Mad Titan easily blocked him with the power of the gauntlet, releasing you on the ground. He then held future Loki by his throat, and he watched himself start to struggle.

"Undying?" Thanos mocked. "You should choose your words more carefully."

"Please! Please! I'll go with you, I'll do anything you ask of me, but please! Spare him!" You begged, crawling to the Titan's foot, undignified, desperate. 

"You… will never be… a god" his strained voice threw one last shot.

A loud crack. Your pained screams filling the air. You and Thor hugging his lifeless body, just as the Mad Titan grabs you by the hair, teleporting elsewhere, leaving Loki unsure of your destiny. He watched as the ship exploded, unsure if Thor survived either.

The tape ended, as did his life. Just like that. End of file. End of the great Loki Laufeyson, with his bloody glorious purpose. 

A dry laughter echoed through the room and, for a moment, he didn't realise it came from himself. Glorious purpose. 

"What's so funny?" A voice came from behind. It was the woman from TVA, the one that caught him. 

Things escalated quickly, the physical altercation taking it's toll. He stole the device that kept resetting him from Mobius earlier, and found the perfect opportunity to use it. He put it around her neck, resetting at his own will, over and over again just to spite her and, when it ceased being funny, finally getting rid of her.

"This way! Bring her." Agitated voices echoed across the hall outside. "This one was hard to get. Surely will be pruned as soon as possible."

"She seems alright" another voice replied, probably the other guard.

"She took out almost the entire unit by herself. Never trust a pretty face, they're usually the most dangerous types."

"Aw, you think I'm pretty?" Your voice echoed through the hall, and Loki's heart skipped a beat. "Don't worry fellas, I ain't doing shit. I'm tired of fighting."

Loki ran to the door, leaving it ajar and being able to see you. You looked almost the same as the frames; your hair was longer, and you had some new scars to show, but in spite of that, the same. 

"Y/n" he called before he could stop himself, standing by the door. You turned your head so quickly he feared you would get a sprained neck, your tired eyes glistening with tears. You tried to reach him, suddenly forgetting you were trapped, but one of the guards began to warn the others. 

Bad choice. Your eyes looked like helfire and, with ease, you knocked both of them to the ground, pruning them with one of the batons. Loki was astonished. You were something else; like a Valkyrie, a true fighter, a warrior. Imposing, dangerous. You turned to him, assessing with your eyes, only to throw your arms around his shoulders, hiding your face on his neck. Loki was taken slightly aback; he wasn't much used to physical displays of tenderness. You realised how stiff he felt, and it took a moment for you to understand what was wrong. Your eyes fell tired again, and suddenly, you looked much older than you really were. 

"Ah… You're not my Loki, are you?" You caressed his cheek with a sorrowful expression that pained him. The meaning behind those words, the sentiment, he could practically taste them in his tongue, like a bitter piece of a once sweet fruit. "Forgive me. I… I keep forgetting about the multiverse."

"I have seen you before, have I not?" He recalled, just before he snatched the Tesseract, he had a glimpse of the you of the Future Loki's timeline. Nourns, that was confusing. "You were trying to get the Tesseract. Why? You already had it, the avengers stole it from me."

"We didn't steal, you twat. It was SHIELD's, if someone actually stole it, it was you." You replied, but there were no emotions in your voice, no anger, or resentment. Nothing. You sighed, raising your head to look at him once more. "You look exactly the same. You don't know, do you?"

Loki looked around the hall, wondering if guards were coming for them. He pulled you back to the room he was in, shutting the door and placing a chair so no one would open it. 

"I know… I know enough" he kept the part about the two of you out. "I've seen my end. Pray tell, what happens after that? And how are you here?"

You sat on the table, staring at your knees.

"After you died, Thanos took me to collect the other gems, keeping me away from them so I couldn't absorb their power. I located the rest of them. He killed his own daughter to avoid me from getting close to the soul stone. I managed to escape when Stephen Strange opened a portal to send me to Wakanda, a city back on earth, where his army was attacking, so I could help protect Vision, since he had the last gem. Once Thanos came to take it, I managed to get close to the gauntlet, absorbing the power of the remaining stones. However, it was a bit too much for a few minutes, it made me vulnerable. The stones fought to corrupt me, and Thor tried to stop him, but he successfully snapped his fingers and fulfilled his plan. It was too much power, I couldn't… I didn't…"

You stopped for a moment, blinking away tears. Loki waited patiently in silence. 

"We found Thanos a few days after that, but I knew it wouldn't matter anymore. So I wouldn't be able to revert what he did, he destroyed the gems right after he escaped. I could feel my power being drained at each stone he destroyed. By the time we found him, there was nothing left. Thor killed him. We had lost, and shamefully. Half of our friends were gone, half of all life. It took us five years to actually come up with a plan to reverse his doings, to gather stones from other timelines, bring them to ours so I could regain my powers and bring everybody back. And so did we. An error in calculation, and we lost Natasha. But the stones were there. I absorbed them with the fear of being taken by them once more, drunk with power, but it didn't happen. I snapped my finger, and it was incredibly damaging to me." 

You showed some of your scars. 

"It's an unbelievable source of power, Loki. No one should be able to gather them. I was built for it and it still hurt me deeply. We were attacked, Thanos came from another timeline and tried to gather the Infinity stones once more. I wasn't able to use the powers again so soon, so…" you hesitated, your eyes moving from one place to another as if you were looking for a way to bolt. "So dad had built a gauntlet so another person could use it in case of me being corrupted by the stones, and he used it to finish Thanos for good. My dad was human, so it killed him. He died because I couldn't fulfil my duty. Because of me. And that was the last trigger, the last thing I could possibly stand. So I travelled through the multiverse trying to find a way to reverse what happened and bring everybody back. Apparently TVA saw me as a threat, so here I am." you stared at him in silence, waiting for a response. "Is that… is that the Tesseract?"

Loki followed her stare, forgetting for a moment that he had taken the electric blue square from the drawer, seeing several infinity stones with it. 

"Yes. It doesn't work here."

"Yeah, I figured. Tried to use my powers lots of times here. We're trapped." You shrugged, taking the square and rolling it in your hands. "As cheesy as it may sound, at least i'm with you."

#loki #loki headcanon #loki fic #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki of asgard #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson #mcu loki #god of mischief #loki series #loki tv #tom hiddleston #loki x you #loki mcu #loki show #loki headcanons #loki imagines #loki imagine #loki fanfic #loki god of mischief #thor odinson #tony stark #natasha romanoff #mobius #tva loki

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

*gasps in fifty languages*

hannibal growling is my religion, and oh im such a monk

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

rereading my own writing is just a constant fluctuation between "damn, girl, you wrote this? (affectionate)" and "damn, girl, you wrote this? (derogatory)"

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

Don't Blame Me (Smut)

Summary: if there's one thing that makes Hannibal Lecter lose control, is rudeness.

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x reader, past Alana Bloom x reader (mentioned)

Warnings: Smut!

English is not my first language, if you see any mistake, let me know! It came out a little different than the ask cause I just don't see Hannibal losing his shit like that hahahahah I hope you like it anyway, anon!

Word Count: 2277

It's common knowledge that one must never miss a Lecter soiree. 

Always one of the most expected events of the year, I was lucky and even grateful to be invited. I've known Hannibal since the years on Hopkins, he'd always been Alana's interesting acquaintance, one I never thought I'd catch the attention of. 

Turns out we have more interests in common than I originally thought. He's a skilled artist, so am I. We both enjoy opera, and love to play instruments, mine being mostly flute and oboe. I could still hear the angelic sound of the harpsichord being played half an hour earlier. Impressive how his fingers glided through the keys, how effortlessly he recorded complex tunes to entertain his guests.

"I missed the days that sparkle in your eyes were directed to me" Alana's jest ringed in my ears, making me jump a little. She chuckled. "Look at you all jumpy. Relax, Y/n. He didn't catch you staring."

"Shut up, Lana" I shoved her playfully, sipping the red wine. "Do not get me started on Will Graham and those puppy eyes. He's staring right now, you know. You should give the poor man a chance."

"Okay, I got it. I won't meddle in your affairs anymore."

"There is no affair." I wish there was, I thought to myself, taking another sip of the wine while I eyed Hannibal from afar, talking to an older woman dressed like a peacock. "I…"

"I noticed your glass is nearly empty, so I fetched you another one" a familiar voice came from behind me, and the glass was abruptly removed from my hand and replaced with a fuller one. I contained my desire to roll my eyes once I saw who the intruder was.

"Frederick. Were you also invited or just crashed the party to feast on good things for once?" I teased, narrowing my eyes while looking at the director of the general administrator for Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. 

"My dear Y/n, I wouldn't dream of it. Of course I was invited. Moreover, I would avoid all this meat if I were you. You never know the provenance, if you know what I mean." He lowered his voice, coming closer and almost whispering in my ear. I could not help to actually roll my eyes this time, turning to face him. "I am, after all, restrained to low protein meat, that is."

"You still believe that silly theory that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper? Please, Chilton. I never deemed you to be clever, but this is plain stupidity." I allowed the alcohol to make me more straightforward, chuckling on my words.

"Sticks and stones, little Y/n. Sticks and stones." Chilton teased, stepping away and going to bother someone else with his presence.

"For god's sake, the man is a burden" I whispered to Alana, who cracked at the comment.

"He has always been like this, you know that. I don't fathom why you always allow him to get under your skin."

"I've known Frederick for longer than you, Lana. Believe me, if you give that man a hand, he will most certainly grab your arm, shoulder and everything else you have to offer. Now, if you excuse me, I shall mingle a little bit more before the dinner actually begins. His interaction gave me a sour taste on my tongue."

I clicked my glass to Alana's, walking around the room and chatting to some people. Uninteresting conversations filled my ears and fake smiles made my lips start to tire out, but as soon as Hannibal's chocolate eyes were on me, I felt my entire demeanour change. 

An idea occurred to me as I walked straight to the balcony, hoping he would join me. The night breeze engulfed me and I realized how trapped I was feeling inside that house, with those judgy stares and meaningless conversations. My wine glass remained untouched as I placed it on the strong wood porch, contemplating the cloudless sky.

"Tired of the good old socialization already?" I grunted when I realized that was not the voice I longed to hear, turning back to face Frederick.

"Careful, Chilton. One might say you are stalking me. As far as I remember, that's still a crime." I crossed my arms to show how much I unappreciated his presence, stepping away until my back was against the balcony.

"Come now, what have I done to deserve so much animosity? We used to be colleagues, friends if I dare to be so bold."

"An old dog with difficulty dropping the dry bone he was once given. Are you really that starved, Frederick? That's pitiful." I was aware of how indelicate I was getting, but he was starting to bother me immensely. "If there's one thing you are not, it's bold. Arrogant and extremely annoying, yes. Can't stand to hear a loud no? That checks, too. One must always let go of the past if we wish to evolve. God knows I have."

He dismissed everything I said with a slight wave of his hand, getting closer. I could smell the faint scent of whiskey, imagining that, after the loss of some of his organs, he probably would get drunk much easier. He tried to reach me with his free hand, but awkwardly dropped my glass, causing it to crash a few meters down. 

We were alone and a little far from the other guests. The balcony's door was closed shut. I felt my hands start to tremble a bit, and realized I had to get out of there before things could get out of hand.

"Seriously, Frederick?" I snarled, rolling my eyes. "Playtime is over. Let me through, I'm getting out of here."

"Y/n, I…" he held my wrist with considerable strength, making me gasp. I tried to pull away but he was strong, and before I could snap and finally throw the punch he deserved, a low, deep voice echoed.

"I believe you heard the lady clearly, Dr. Chilton." There was a different gleam in Hannibal's eyes, and I wasn't the only one to notice. Frederick turned paler, letting go of my wrist with haste. "I think you should go. You've had too much wine, I see."

He hesitated, but agreed with a nod, leaving the balcony without looking back. Hannibal stared at him through his shoulder darkly and I released the breath I was holding, my knees would have given out if Hannibal had not held me discreetly, supporting my weight with an arm around my waist.

"Are you okay, Y/n?" He inquired, one hand lifting my face so I could look at him. I was so embarrassed. "Do you need a place to rest?"

"Not at all, Hannibal. Do not worry about me, it was just a fright and the wine. I cannot steal the host of his guests."

"Nonsense. Come, I will take you to the guest bedroom. We can enter through the kitchen, so no one will see your state. Please" he pointed to the other door, showing that there was no space to argue, and I just surrendered, allowing him to guide me through the vast kitchen filled with employees working to the elegant guest bedroom, shutting the door behind us. 

I sat on the comfortable mattress, appreciating the shades of cream and white, and the beautiful vintage-like furniture that seemed to complement the place perfectly. I realized then that Hannibal had fallen silent, and I stared at him with worry. He had turned his back to me, leaning on the dresser, breathing a little heavier.

"Hannibal?" I called, getting up and walking towards him, reaching out with my hand on his shoulder. His face was impassive, but he had that same look in his eyes again, something ancient and darker that wides his pupils and pierces his lips tightly.  I allow myself to reach deeper, caressing his strong arm and feeling the muscles tense under his suit. "What is it?"

"He dared to touch you like that" he pointed in a cold tone. "Like you are someone else's property."

My eyes softened as I felt some butterflies in my stomach, and I took the liberty to grab his chin, kissing his cheek tenderly in appreciation.

"Forget about Frederick, he is immature and arrogant. I will call him tomorrow to address this matter."

He still had that predatorial look in his eyes that gave me shivers, though not the way it should. Something in being that much protected by him made me feel dear and precious like an exotic pearl. 

He would not give in, and I felt bold enough to once more kiss his handsome face, this time on his jawline, near his left ear. That caught his attention, and he towered over me, cradling my face with his enormous hands, making my eyes tremble with the feeling of electricity that flowed through my veins. With no hesitation, his lips crashed against mine, and I moaned into his mouth, the hunger for him making my loins combust. 

"I have wanted this for so long…" I murmured against his neck, his fancy perfume invading my nostrils. He smelled so good. 

"As did I, Y/n. You have been in my thoughts a great deal lately" he confessed, making me blush. Impostor syndrome trying to kick in, I avoid the self-degrading thoughts as I delight in his open mouthed kisses in my skin, gasping in pleasure when he lightly bites my shoulder, enjoying it more than I ever thought I would.

"Your guests…" I tried to be reasonable, a dirty smile playing on my lips.

"The dinner will take a little while longer, I'm afraid" he whispered in my ear, nibbling on the lobe with a mischievous deep chuckle. He lifted my dress to my waist, since we didn't really have that much time to spare, and I got rid of my panties, almost tripping on them with my heels and the rush. 

His hand went to my core, testing how wet I was, and he smiled with how soaked I felt. A loud moan echoed through the room and he removed his hand at once, lifting one finger at me as he would chastise a child. I frowned with frustration, lifting my chin to face him.

"We are not supposed to be too loud, Y/n. You do not want the guests to hear us, do you? Imagine the scandal" that made me laugh with pure bliss, nodding in agreement. "Are you going to be a good girl?"

Oh, fuck. Is this really happening?

"Yes. Yes, I will" I agreed in haste, and he effortlessly lifted me up, sitting me on the dresser and starting to unzip his pants. I tried to control my breathing and anticipation, pleasuring myself with the vision of his hard cock, precum glistening at the tip. He massaged it with his hand for a few seconds before he towered over me, holding my hips in place while he entered me so painfully slowly I nearly sobbed.

To avoid the loud moans, I bit my left fist, suppressing the sounds as my insides clenched to accommodate him. A joyful smile illustrated his lips, his hair falling over his eyes due to the sweat, and he looked like a Greek statue. I could not avoid the mesmerized stare, melting in admiration, as he leaned to cover my lips with his own one more time, his tongue exploring my mouth like he was famished. Still slowly, he started to move his hips, almost both torturing and indulging me at the same time. I entangled my legs around him, pulling him closer to the point one could swear we were one. He moaned my name, followed by an almost savage growl that sent vibrations through my entire body and, for a while, I regretted how little time we had. He seemed to sense that, rushing his movements until the dresser started to hit the wall and, for a moment, I was certain everyone outside could hear us. 

So much for discretion, I thought, grabbing his broad shoulders while he inserted himself deeper and deeper inside of me. His thumb began to stimulate my clit and, sensing I would begin to cry out at any moment, Hannibal silenced me with his lips, allowing me to moan against his mouth as I felt the tension start to build up in my lower abdomen.

I felt him pull out his cock, replacing it with his skilled fingers, finishing on my thighs. I followed him right after, covering my mouth until my moans were unsteady breaths. 

I hadn't even realized Hannibal had left until he came back from the suite with a hot towel, starting to clean me up. I thanked him with a sweet kiss, doing my best to fix his clothes and hair. We both knew it wouldn't do any good, but he enjoyed my caresses and how I took care of him as well. He took one of my hands — the one Chilton grabbed like a brute earlier — and kissed my wrist, right where small purple bruises began to form. 

"We should go back. Who is going to serve dinner? We're being unforgivably selfish" I taunted, chuckling lightly.

"Perhaps you should be my dinner, then" he jested, and I openly laughed, shoving him playfully.

"Later. If you'll have me, that is." I lifted my eyebrows with expectation, staring at his brown irises.

"It would be my pleasure, Y/n" with a last kiss, he went to the bathroom suite to fix his appearance, leaving me with a silly smile and a warm feeling in my chest.

#hannibal x reader #hannibal #hannibal x you #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter x you #nbc hannibal #hannibal imagine #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter fanfiction #will graham #mads mikkelsen #hannibal headcanon #hannibal fanfic #hannibal lecter headcanon #Alana Bloom #Frederick Chilton

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

Hello lovely! Can I please request a Hannibal x fem reader where they are not yet together and at a soirée she gets dragged away by one of the guests but Han realises she is missing, goes and find her and beats the shit out of the guy? Then he takes her to his rooms to make sure she is fine but he is still super angry, pacing around, shouting (tho she is not scared of him) so she kisses him to calm him down and they both confess they feelings and ends up in smut. Thaaaaanks <3

Hey babes! Love that idea, be working on that in no time!

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

I dunno, I guess I just really need to read a fic where the reader (Peter Parker's friend) falls in love with TASM! Peter after the whole thing with the multiverse, she promises to find him no matter what, and joins Wanda with this purpose. If someone knows something like this please tag meee

#peter parker #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter fanfiction #andrew garfield #andrew peter parker #spiderman nwh #marvel #marvel mcu

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

Mrs. Fell (Smut)

Summary: you've been living with Hannibal in Florence under the identity of Mrs. Fell. Although you missed Will dearly, the energy between the psychiatrist and you begin to unfold in different — and intriguing — paths.

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x reader, Will Graham x reader (mentioned)

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence and, obviously, sex. 

English is not my first language, if you see any mistake, let me know!

Word Count: 2280

You jolted upwards on your bed, sweat soaking the silk linens and the black nightgown you wore.

Another nightmare. They were becoming quite common these days. 

You sighed, allowing your body to lie back down, the mattress springs squeaking annoyingly. With unnecessary roughness, you covered your mouth with your hand, trying to suppress your hopeless cries so they wouldn't wake Hannibal up. Even though he was in another room, the walls had ears. You knew he would hear you somehow. He always did. 

You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. God, how you missed Will. His touch and soft voice would be exactly what you needed to soothe you, his words of assurance guaranteeing you everything was alright and nothing would harm you, for he wouldn't allow it. 

But things ended up slipping out of his control, didn't they? You weren't with him anymore, under his golden protection. You were with Hannibal Lecter in a fancy house in Florence, Italy. Being held hostage, as much as he would disagree. Kept as a pet, an amusement. A consolation prize. Spoils of war. 

Without your control, your mind spiralled to the night Hannibal took you as advantage in his escape, disembowelling Will cowardly and threatening to kill him if you wouldn't come with him. His last fraction of torture, you remember thinking to yourself while you both rode the motorcycle under those heavy drops of rain that washed all your tears away.

You also remembered how kindly he wiped your tears without saying a word, for he knew nothing he would say would be enough. You were in that position because of him, after all. You had begged him to let you stay, to talk to Will, but he wouldn't have none of it. The flight to Italy was bittersweet, since you had never flown before, the sky being ignorantly astonishing to your pain. 

You still felt the ghost of Will's bloodied kiss before you left him. His breathless sobs still echoed in your ears, clenching your heart painfully. You never were religious, but you remember praying he would survive the wound, so you could be reunited again and forget all about the goddamn FBI, Jack Crawford and Hannibal Lecter. 

You both could live in a small cottage by the sea, fish, swim and sail all day long, raise a few babies of your own. Little boys and girls with dark hair and y/e/c eyes running around the beach, laughing joyfully with nothing to worry about. 

That reality seemed distant, however, at least at the moment. You would linger in the shadows of Lydia Fell, your new identity, until it was safe enough to come to light again.

Time travelled fast while you pretended to be the wife of the renowned Dr. Fell. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and you could feel the energy between you and Hannibal shift mysteriously. It was surprisingly easy to be Mrs. Fell, attending to parties, little soirees vanity allowed Hannibal to arrange. He would pamper you with pretty dresses, fancy food and barbiturates, making days easier to endure, afternoons fun and evenings interesting, filled with culture and knowledge you never got tired of soaking like a sponge. Whenever the memory of Will became too unbearable, you would pop a pill and drink a glass of Bâtard-Montrachet, dancing to old elegant tunes; your head feeling hazy and heavy until you finally gave up and went to bed. 

His bed, after a while. It was more convenient to pretend integrally to be Mrs. Fell. It wasn't so bad, after all, you hated sleeping all alone. Hannibal's presence made you feel safer, and he was ever most respectful towards you. It didn't take long for you to realize the longing stare to his hands when he cooked, or the way his back flexed when he sliced something thick. Started as innocent glances; until you finally acknowledged the lust rising at the bottom of your abdomen with the silliest of things, like when he played the piano, or talked about the paintings and sculptures of the house you were both staying in. 

You couldn't deny how appealing the man was, with his charms, intelligence and sophistication. How easy it was for him to entangle Will and you into his web of lies and sadistic games. You were a mere fly, trapped, waiting — and sometimes even longing — to be devoured.

"Hair up or down?" You inquired with a sly smile, grabbing a fist of your hair and pulling it up while you looked at the mirror, watching Hannibal fix his cufflinks. He directed his attention to you and your exposed neck, and you noticed how his eyes darkened, making your insides twist. 

In silence, he walked towards you, lowering the straps of your red dress a little bit to expose your shoulders, pulling out of his pocket a beautiful golden necklace with rubies the size of berries. You choked a gasp, covering your mouth while he tied the astonishing piece around your neck, allowing his fingers to gently caress the skin.

"Up. It will bring out your eyes even more with the necklace. Allow me." He took a few bobby pins and started to work on your hair with surprising skill, letting a few strands loose to shape your face perfectly. 

"Is there anything you don't know how to do?" You teased, chuckling slightly while you stared at yourself in the mirror. You looked beautiful, and at the same time an entire different person. 

"Yes." His eyes lingered on you with a subtle glow that didn't last long. "You're wearing the perfume I gave you."

"I am."

"It suits you."

"In what way, Hannibal?" You turned to face him with a capricious move, eying him from below. 

"It's elegant and discreet, yes. However, it possesses a hidden flame that only the most skilled men are able to capture."

"And you're one of those men, I suppose."

"Would you say so, Y/n?" 

You hesitated, chewing your lip with anticipation. 

"That was very psychiatrist of you, Dr. Lecter. Directing the thought to me."

"Old habits never die, I suppose. You are avoiding the question, Y/n." He stepped closer, lifting your chin with his index, caressing it with his thumb. "Would you say so?"

You licked your lips and he followed the movement with his eyes.

"Hannibal… I'm Will's. My heart will always belong to him." You tried to push away his hand but he held your chin harder, keeping you in place.

"I've given you every single opportunity to flee over the past few months, Y/n. And yet, you remain here with me. You should face the inevitable" he knelt in front of you, his hands traveling through your thighs, lifting your dress. "You enjoy being Mrs. Lecter more than you would like to acknowledge."

You sighed, allowing your head to drop back, longing to be touched. 

"Mrs. Fell." You corrected, eyes closed. "I am Mrs. Fell."

He lifted one of your legs, placing it over his shoulder while lifting your dress up, a guttural moan escaping his throat once he realized you were bare under it. The soft touch of his tongue in your core was enough to drive you mad, grabbing his locks while he delighted himself with your taste. You whimpered, moaning his name under your breath, biting your lip so hard you felt your front teeth penetrate the flesh, the copper taste of blood invading your tongue. 

Hannibal could smell it, lifting his eyes quickly like a predator, rising only to lick the small trickle that stained your chin. You were surprised with how much that aroused you; he hesitated, staring at your mouth with hungry eyes, and you wondered if he was asking for permission. You granted it with pulling him closer, kissing him with passion, tasting more parts of yourself on his tongue that you could fathom. He held you by your ass, lifting you up with ease while you wrapped your legs around his hips without breaking the kiss. You felt the soft touch of the mattress against your back and the silk linens, focusing on how good Hannibal's hands felt as they explored your body, rough and experienced touches that certainly would leave a few bruises tomorrow. 

He got slightly impatient, then, ripping your dress and exposing your breasts, your nipples hard with the stimulation. You gasped with the abrupt move, raising your arms to cover yourself instinctively, but he held your hands against the mattress with no avail. 

"I liked that dress!" You protested, trying to hide how nervous you were, the feeling of doing something wrong spreading adrenaline over your entire being. 

"Perhaps I should buy you another one, then" Hannibal said while starting to undress, throwing his vests on the ground. "I have the feeling you were never touched the way you truly desire, Y/n."

That single line caused you to paralyze like a doe on headlights, your wide eyes staring at him with disbelief. He was right; you hadn't been with many men in your life, and the longest relationship you had was with Will. He was never too much interested in sex, though, and on the times you actually did it, he touched you like one would handle a fine china. With care and tenderness, as if he feared to break you. It wasn't bad at all, he made love to you every single time, always so intense and intimate that you felt like you would break in tears sometimes. 

Hannibal was right. You were never fucked properly because you never had been with a man who cared about your true desires. Moreover, it wasn't Will's fault that you never showed him your dark inclinations, he had a twisted view of perfection when it came to you. The only light in his life, the only unchangeable good. Being held in that place was exhausting and you had never realized how full of it you were until Hannibal's statement. 

"Tell me what you want, Y/n." He commanded. You blinked away images of Will to the bottom of your conscience, embracing your desire and acting on it.

"I want you inside me," you pleaded, using your elbows to support you while you stared at his remarkable body. "Take me, Hannibal."

A convinced smirk illustrated his lips, his pupils so dilated his eyes were completely black. He crawled over you, nibbling on your neck and earlobe while his hips nested on yours, fitting in perfectly as if you both were built to the purpose by gods. He entered you without a warning, causing you to sink your nails into the skin of his back. He sighed, the feeling of your walls clenching to accommodate him being too good to be true. You spread your legs, allowing him to reach deeper, a state of bliss pouring over you. It was wrong, but it felt so right. You moved your hips in perfect synchrony, one of his hands grabbing your neck, keeping you in place without actually hurting. He used his thumb to caress your bottom lip and you took the opportunity to suck on his finger, the salty taste tickling the tip of your tongue. 

That caused him to fasten his movements without care, a light ache joining your pleasure. The wet sound of his thrusts, your moans and his groans echoed through the bedroom like an unholy symphony, the scent of sex and sweat starting to fill the air. The tip of his cock touched a critical point inside you repeatedly, and you could feel the tension start to build up at the bottom of your abdomen, arching your back while he grabbed your hair, pulling your head to the side to sink his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, near your collarbone. That sent sparks along your spine, and you sucked the air through your teeth, your nails descending the skin of his back and drawing blood. 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head while you felt pleasure wash over you, release becoming almost unbearable. It was as if Hannibal knew all your buttons, where to touch you, exactly what to do to bring you to the edge of the abyss. And you jumped without hesitation, his breath fastening till a moan escaped his lips and he filled you with his cum, his body trembling in silent ecstasy. 

He didn't leave you right away, enjoying the warm and wet feeling of your cunt for a few more moments before he finally pulled out, trying to stabilize his breathing. You stared at the ceiling with glassy eyes and ajar lips, feeling his cum dripping out of you. Without a word, Hannibal picked you up in his arms with a surprising tenderness, taking you to the bathroom and preparing a hot bath. 

Ah, Will. Forgive me. What have I done? Was the thought that echoed in your mind repeatedly, realization towering over you with an iced shadow. You tried to catch a glimpse of the sun under months of a lonely dark night, but ended up being severely burned. As Icarus flew too close and had his wings melted, you fell to your doom, beyond salvation, beyond forgiveness. You were stained for life; Will would never look at you the same way. 

"Y/n." Hannibal stared at you with his chocolate irises, proceeding to wash your hair, removing the bobby pins himself had placed over your locks earlier. You felt weirdly numb, dissociative, like your body wasn't your own anymore. 

"Lydia" you corrected in a tired whisper, a demented little smile playing in your lips. "My name is Lydia Fell."

#hannibal #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter x you #nbc hannibal #hannibal imagine #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter fanfiction #will graham x reader #will graham #mads mikkelsen #hannibal headcanon #hannibal fanfic #hannibal lecter headcanon

[the-avengers-ate-my-tongue]

This is perfect 😍

A New Day

One-shot

Content Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2561

You find that in one of your many peaceful days; days filled with all sorts of dreams, and the loving care of your lover, Morpheus, that there is something different within you. In a matter of minutes, the realization hits you with the news that you are pregnant. You must break the news to Morpheus and when the day comes, he must learn how to pass the time, as new father.

Your love had gotten you where you needed to be. On a lazy Sunday, when the yellow sun hung high and you sat on your porch swing with a book, there came a sudden feeling, a realization that something within you was happening. And you curled up, setting down your book and then gently placed the thin blanket over yourself as you felt a cool breeze wash over your skin. It was a perfect day, with the most voluptuous clouds and the whispers of sweet rains to come later in the afternoon. For that moment you enjoyed the calm dance of the trees and the shade that pulled into its embrace and then into slumber. 

You were grateful for how easily sleep came to your tired body. Because in a moment's notice you opened your eyes and found yourself at home. 

It was then that you felt that strange feeling overwhelm you again, it was so subtle. But it was hard to miss. You had to find Morpheus at once. Quickly you rose from the bed of flowers that you’d woken up in, noticing quickly that you were already outside his castle. With haste you dusted your dress off and headed inside. 

“Morpheus!” You called. There weren’t many people around and your voice echoed off the walls. “Morpheus!” You repeated yourself, this time more anxiously. 

You continued down the hall and found yourself at the library, Lucienne was there, features sharp and concentrated on the task at hand as always. She hadn’t heard your footsteps make themselves known, but your voice cracking through the silence, she did hear. 

“Morpheus!” You cried out again. 

She stood up from your chair and looked at you with concern in her eyes, “my Lady, is everything alright?” 

You shook your head, “I can’t find him Lucienne, where is he?”

“Ah that, he’s around, he’s very focused on his work,” her features dropped  the heavy concern, “is something the matter?”

“I have very urgent news to discuss with him.”

She quirked a brow at your response before placing a soft hand on your shoulder, “alright Miss, I’ll lead you to Lord Morpheus.” 

You relaxed under her touch and walked beside her. “Has he been working for a while?” 

“I’ll be honest Miss, I lose track of time in the library. But I do believe he has been working for msome time now.” She said, and though she knew it might not be the right call, she decided to ask one more time. “Is something the matter, Miss?” 

You took a deep breath and stopped in your tracks, “I- I think I might…” And you may have continued that thought but before you could you heard his voice calling softly to you. You turned to face him immediately. His figure loomed overhead, you found your heart beating fast and before you knew it you were speeding down the corridor in the direction of his welcoming arms. 

He left out a quiet huff when your bodies collided, but he collected you into his arms as you made yourself at home in him.

 “I heard you call for me?” 

Face buried in his chest, you nodded and squeezed him. You felt words get caught in your chest. 

He brought a hand up to your head, holding you against him, “what troubles you my love?” 

You turned to look up into those wonderful eyes of his, star filled and full of light. 

“You,” a sigh left you, brave, you needed to be brave, “you are going to be a father.” 

He looked dazed as the words escaped you. As if he could not fathom the idea of fatherhood yet again. Lips pursed into a line, he just met your gaze and thought a million things at once. “Are you certain?” But he, too, could feel it. He shook his head, “Do you wish to see this through?” 

You broke his gaze and nuzzled into him, then you nodded slightly, “can we?” 

‘Can we?’

Those words buzzed in his ears. Nothing could prepare him for the joy. He took your face into his hands and pressed a kiss on your lips, desperate and full of love. 

“Anything for you my love.”

-

Resting with sweat covering every inch of your body you watched as Morpheus stared with curious carefulness, at the small bundle in your arms. 

“You can come closer,” you said, your eyes looking down at the sleeping baby and then back up at him. “He looks like you.” 

His lips quirked into a faint smile, “does he?” He slowly climbed into the bed making his way closer and closer to you. Once at your side he looked at you expectantly, “may I?” 

It dawned on you that the softness from his voice sounded different. It filled you with a kind of love that you were not quite ready for yet, as it overwhelmed your senses, the manner in which it seemed that the child in your arms could turn him into perfectly melted butter in an instant. The kindness in his tone was sugary honey, cascading into your being, taking a hold of you. He was yours, he loved you. He held your son in his arms so carefully, as if a single touch may break or shatter its small light body. The galaxies in his eyes awakened as a new purpose and consciousness stirred into his very soul. He felt as though he too was born anew, the child stirred in his arms, little gurgles of sleep broke from his rest, a smile continued to grow on Morpheus. He held the child closer and he reached for his tiny hands holding it delicately in his. He had forgotten how small babies were. He now had another being to whom his heart belonged to. 

He leaned over and placed a kiss on your forehead. Seconds later, your eyes closed and you fell into a deep sleep. 

Morpheus got up from the bed, seeing his sleeping son stir in his arms. “When you wake, I shall show you your home,” he whispered. Then he turned to look at your sleeping figure as a sneeze escaped you. But you turned and continued to sleep. 

He walked over to the window, the sun was raining down on him. In the light he watched, as those wide round eyes opened slowly and stared back at him with an equal amount of amazement and marvel. He smiled, he could really see what you meant in that moment, when those bright eyes looked into his soul he felt as if lost in his own reflection. 

“We named you some time ago,” he mumbled, his thumb caressing the baby’s cheek tenderly. “Aster,” he said into the air, “she said that you would be a star and we must name you accordingly.” 

He felt understood by his son for a moment. In his arms he felt like he carried the universe and the universe stared back at him. That until a cry tore the air and rattled  his nerves to his very core. Panicked, Morpheus turned to look in your direction. Did the child suddenly hate him? He was by no means incompetent but he was unerved at the crying that came from the lungs of such a small creature. Determined to not fail as a father, in a blur of sand he exited the room and found himself in the kitchen. Food, maybe his son was hungry. He saw that you had already meticulously prepared bottles of formula. He remembered your worried features, as the anxiety of your child rejecting you and not having formula ran through your head with a million other worse case scenarios. 

He took the bottle and found that his attempt to feed his child would prove to be nothing but futile. With some sort of manic strength, the child took one sip from it and then pushed it away from Morpheus’ grip. In his head he smiled, that could count as an endearing moment, but with the crying, he found himself disturbed that he could not, without his magic lull his own son into a state of calm. 

He frowned and that seemed to make the child cry more and more. He took a deep breath and thought, he knew it would be wrong to wake you… He tried to rock the baby, gently, “shhhh,” he began so slowly, the gentleness of his heart pouring out. “Dearest, you must rest,” his eyes twinkled. The rocking seemed to work ever so slightly. 

He turned to look around in the small space they had, one glimpse at the trees outside, and he knew just what to do. In one more swirl of sand, he traveled from the kitchen into the lush grounds of Fiddler’s Green. The sturdy trees stretched magically ahead. 

“This is our realm,” he said, and turned to the still crying child, “it is as much yours as it is mine.” 

Morpheus waved his arm in front of him and from the ground, made out of twisted branches and sprinkled with leaves, sprouted a seat in which he sat. Another wave of his hand and butterflies swarmed the area, fluttering in their bright colors, painting the world just for his son. “Your mother loves it here,” he started, and noticed that Aster’s eyes had gone wide and his wails had faded from the air. “This is where she told me she loved me,” he smiled. He was smiling so much, those smiles reserved for the little, unknowing bundle in his arms. “I was smitten by her courage, as I’d been a coward. But she…” his voice faded, those eyes looked at him expectantly, “she faced me head on, called me unaware, pathetic- she completely seized my heart that day.” 

Little by little, as he continued to speak, he noticed that you and Aster shared a peculiar similarity. His eyes, which had looked just about everywhere they could, came to a slow descending close. And in minutes, slowed rhythmic breathing left the sleeping baby’s lungs. It seems as his voice had the power to lure even the two most stubborn beings he knew into a deep sleep. 

He cradled him, his eyes filled with the utmost adoration. Overhead, the sky was darkening and the stars began to show their glittering bodies in the inky blackness. He felt that warmth fill him. That night he would grant all the dreamers the gentlest of dreams. It was a night for peace. 

Sensing that you would wake soon, he left in a sprinkle of sand, returning once more to your side. 

You were slowly coming out of the drowsiness and once he appeared next to you on the bed, you reached for your son, even in sleep you had the sense he was much too far from your side. Morpheus smiled, he knew you needed your turn in the moment, but he was slow to do so. Fully and utterly attached to the beautiful baby that you and him had created.

He laid next to you both, thus becoming the big spoon. His hands traced your shoulders and arms, his head found a comfortable spot atop your head where he placed one of many kisses. In your loving sanctuary, though he did not feel tired, he did feel at peace. So Morpheus closed his eyes, finding himself right where he needed to be, and he slept. With your back pressed against him, he felt a tingle in his mind, reminding him that there were a myriad of days ahead and he need not face them alone ever again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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In His Eyes

Summary: after Morpheus' rescue, where does that leave both of you?

Pairing: Morpheus x Witch!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood. Second part of must be the season of the witch.

English is not my first language, if you see any mistake, let me know!

Word count: 1764

Morpheus laid your body on the bed carefully, taking a strand of your hair from your face with tenderness. Lucienne watched from afar, always amazed by your relationship with the Dream Lord and how he reacted to you.

"She never gave up on you, my lord. Assisted me with the Dreaming while sleeping, spent the day looking for you when awake." She assured, knowing how the situation was when you departed years ago, the last time she'd seen you in the throne room and the heart of the Dreaming. She and Jessamy could hear your screams from all the way down to the library, but Morpheus remained stoic as ever. You came out sobbing, and swearing never to come back or see him again.

And you fulfilled your promise. That is, until the moment you found out he was missing and Lucienne needed your help. You were stubborn, that much was true; but you couldn't bear the thought of Morpheus being in trouble somehow, even if you understood the magnitude of his powers. 

Therefore, you stayed. Lingering and feeding on scraps from the Dream Lord's lost presence. Twenty years go by, years that felt like days. Thirty. Fifty. Seventy. Each year becoming more unbearable.

"Now that I have recovered my totems, the restoring of the Dreaming shall begin. I no longer need her strength." Morpheus stepped closer, sitting on the bed and holding your face with tenderness, his thumb caressing your cheeks.

"So that's the mighty saviour, uh?" Matthew cawed, eyeing you with curiosity. 

"Perhaps Lord Morpheus needs some privacy at this moment, Matthew. Shall we?" Lucienne raised an eyebrow to the raven, inciting him to leave with a nod of her head.

The last vision she had before she shut the bedroom's doors was Morpheus' lips touching yours softly, as if he was afraid of breaking you.

A month before Morpheus' rescue

You knew what you had to do. It was simple. Would it make Morpheus mad when he found out? Perhaps. However, you were never one to follow rules or commandments, and that was part of his endearment for you. 

So, one night, you didn't return to The Dreaming. Instead, you picked some candles, a ceremonial dagger, some herbs, and summoned another one of the Endless, one you knew for a fact you would easily get along with.

With the dagger, you slashed one of your wrists open, allowing the blood to flow. Your eyes turned completely white, and you chanted some old spells for a while until the air felt thick and heavy with power. 

"It is not your time yet, Y/n Y/l/n. Why do you summon me?" A soft voice reached your ears, and you couldn't help but smile lightly.

"Hello, Death. It's an honour, really." You turned to face her, being temporarily mesmerized by how beautiful she was. The ebony skin, bright eyes and kind smile made your heart jump in your chest. What a pleasant trap it was. Who would want to follow Death if she wasn't alluring somehow? "I think we both know why.

She sighed, crossing her arms. Of course she knew.

"There's nothing I can do, you know. He's too stubborn and proud to ask for help from any of us." She pointed, sitting in front of you and starting to play with one of the candles, avoiding your stare. "However… When it comes to you, he tends to be more… reasonable."

You chuckled, distracted by the act of sealing the gash on your wrist with some magic. Then, it occurred to you.

"Hold on a second, he has mentioned me, hasn't he?" You couldn't hold a little smirk, feeling your cheeks flush a bit.

"He might have" Death winked at you, getting up. "There's nothing I can do if he doesn't request my aid directly, Y/n. My little brother's known for his thick head. As much as it pains me…"

"I have the means to rescue him. The Dreaming's been decaying fast, I will not let it crumble. It needs its ruler."

"You underestimate yourself, wielder of magic. There is no need for my help. You have been using your powers with excellency when it comes to ability, but you own more potential than you fathom. Focus on your emotions. On how bad you want to find him. That should be enough. A bit cliché, but true" She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I wish I could help more. But we're not supposed to meddle in our sibling's affairs."

"I understand. It's been a pleasure to finally meet you, despite the circumstances. Morpheus speaks very highly of you." 

She rolled her eyes with a little smirk, and you wondered for a moment how your relationship with your siblings would've been if they had survived their birth. 

"I'll tell you this; as you know, my brother can be very stoic when it comes to his feelings, but all you need to know resides in his eyes. And when he speaks of you, they glow differently. He has not been the same since your quarrel. I hope you can make amends in the future."

You felt blood rush to your face, lowering your gaze to the floor. What were you now, a teenager? Get it together, Y/n!

When you raised your face again, however, Death was gone. You sighed, remembering Sonja for a moment. You wished she were here to assist you, regretting for a moment her abandonment centuries ago. If she were here, however, she would say you could do this. You were the first cradle witch to survive in a very long time. There was nothing you couldn't do.

You started to prepare yourself for the next full moon, when your power would be blossoming and thriving. Gathering some materials, you followed the path to the woods near your cottage, where you used to energize yourself to perform great rituals. 

It had to work. You would bring Morpheus back even if it demanded your last drop of energy and power.

Now

Your eyes fluttered open, and you felt exhausted. Memories started to float on your brain, confused, chaotic.

Morpheus was finally free.

You smiled slightly, caressing the sheets under you with ease. You hadn't slept this peacefully in… well… a century. Dreamless sleep had never been restoring to you, you craved the fantastic scenarios your mind had the ability to create ever since you were born, being a skilled lucid dreamer. 

You scanned the huge bedroom you were in, being completely alone. With a sigh, you sat on the comfortable and large bed, caressing the long, silky beige nightgown you were wearing. Beautiful. A sight at the mirror to fix your messy appearance and you felt ready to look for the ruler of nightmares around the castle, which you realized it was starting to be rebuilt.

You thought for a few seconds and picked a robe so you wouldn't feel so exposed, tying it in front of the mirror while humming an old song you knew. After that, you picked up a brush from the nightstand, brushing your tangled bed hair with patience. You pinched your cheeks to look more alive, and voilá. 

With a little smile, you opened the bedroom's doors, pacing around the castle towards the throne room, imagining he was probably filled with tasks and duties now that he was back. 

Touché. There he was, looking absorbed with a pile of books. You took a moment to admire his serious expression, lips pursed in an eternal pout, disheveled dark hair as a halo around his head. Oh, to touch those soft locks again.

"I see you, Y/n. Come closer."

You clicked your tongue, annoyed. Even after centuries, you were never capable of sneak up on the Endless. Morpheus held a sly smirk, closing the book and getting off his throne, facing you. 

For a moment, you could see millions of stars in his eyes, remembering Death's words instantly. All you need to know resides in his eyes.

"I've missed you so much, Morpheus." You said, almost whispering, shutting your eyes to try to control your emotions. "You have no idea how those years were for me. Please, forgive me. I never wish to part from you again."

In seconds, his hands were on your face, and he kissed your tears away.

"I know how resentful you can be. I will wait a million years for you to forgive me, if that's what it takes…"

"That will not be necessary." Morpheus interrupted you, sighing.

"You really hurt me, Morpheus."

"I know, dearest. I was wrong to meddle in your affairs, and even more to be angry when you protested." You blinked a few times, surprised. Morpheus admitting he was wrong? Miracles do happen. "I did not mean I deemed you incapable of knowing the best for yourself."

"I know. I overreacted. Sonja's loss completely took me out of the rails. I was spiteful and revolted, and I took it on you. That will not happen again."

He nodded once, the warmth of his body making you dizzy. How you'd missed him. You nuzzled your face against his neck like a hungry kitty, an infatuated smile crossing your lips.

"I thought of you greatly during my imprisonment.” His index finger traced patterns on your cheek, while the other one rolled a lock of your hair. You felt yourself melt within his touch, his voice, his warmth. "Lucienne told me you never gave up. I am grateful."

"Don't be, this was no favour. The Dreaming is my refuge, and I love it with all my heart. When I heard you were missing, I was so worried. I thought of Lucienne having to administrate everything by herself… so I came." You shrugged, smiling lightly.

You didn't get an answer, at least not a spoken one, for Morpheus' lips crashed against yours with such a passion he hadn't displayed so far. Taken by surprise, you needed a moment to react, grabbing the hair on the back of his neck, receiving a low growl in response that reverberated through your chest. 

When you parted, you gasped for air with a pleasant smile, biting your lip with the sight of his swollen red ones. 

"Stay" was his simple plea, the eyes glowing with the shine of a whole galaxy.

"Learn to be more humble on your requests, Dream of the Endless" you repeated the words he had once said to you centuries ago, on the night you'd met. 

Nevertheless, you knew you would stay. For him, you would do anything.

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