birdofwildness

[birdofwildness]

Thank u pookiebear 🥺🧸

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀCrimson hunger.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀTom Riddle x vampire!reader

Summary::Tom,your boyfriend is kinky af and wants you to drink his blood. (I'm so good at these summaries, omg)

Warnings::18+,smut,PiV, me trying to write like Donna Tartt,but then I realised this is smut—,blood kink,feeding,Sub!Tom Riddle,Dom!reader

Those last few days before you spoke up seemed incredibly heavy, as if the very air itself had thickened. Tom had always listened attentively.

Too attentively.

And in these weeks his attention had taken on a kind of precision, almost surgical. The questions had started out as little things,here and there.A cheeky remark about your aversion to certain foods,your habit of avoiding sunlight.

But he was right.

When you finally told him, it didn’t seem like there was a choice. You sat in his dorm, its steamy windows letting in only a broken, gray light. Outside, the rain fell relentlessly. and his fierce presence seemed to trap you in his net.

He asked you something and you answered the truth. You told him that you were a vampire.He paused for a second. He mirrored the stillness of a man who had received exactly the answer he had expected. Then he nodded faintly, almost solemnly, as if confirming some long-held proposition. There was no shock, no disgust on his expression.

Since that evening, the world between you has settled into such a balance that you almost didn't believe it. Tom hasn’t changed in any obvious way towards you.Yet there’s something about the way he looks at you now,it carries an unspoken calculation.

The subject isn't a barrier anymore. You're existence is no longer a secret. No longer an obstacle.

Every so often, he'd ask a question. 'How long? How does it feel? Does the hunger change with the seasons?' He listens as he always has. His interest doesn't come from a place of fear or revulsion.

You couldn't exactly name what it was. Perhaps, something like pure interest. Pure interest in the other.

Most people, you have found, have no real desire to get to know each other. They ask questions out of etiquette, their interest evaporating the moment the answer requires more than polite attention. To be seen completely is a rare privilege.

It is the deepest form of intimacy for humanity.

You are grateful for his lack of fear, in an almost childish way, though you would never admit it out loud. The fact that he doesn’t shy away from you, that he meets your gaze without blinking, is a quiet mercy you hadn’t expected. Yet, every time he asks, you wonder how much more he wants to know.

Non of your worries about hurting other ,or possibly him,meant anything in these moments between you two.There is no rush. The two of you have lived for weeks in the afterglow of confession. He leans in, the lamplight catching the sharp line of his jaw.

Your legs are folded over his.He holds you close, one hand at the small of your back, the other still cradling your jaw, and you feel the deliberate press of his thigh beneath yours.

You straddle him now, your knees on either side of his thighs.His hands move instinctively to your hips,anchoring you.His gaze follows every small movement you make,those stupid chestnut eyes of his. So,so,so stupid... so pretty. It's like he's already yearning for something.

You tilt your head, letting your lips brush against his, and the kiss deepens slowly.His hands trail along your waist and hips, memorizing you. He spent a lot of time doing that, almost as if he were afraid,you'd dissapear before his eyes.

Your hands move with quiet confidence, cupping him, tracing the line of his chest until your fingers brush against the sensitive swell of his nipples. He exhales sharply, a sound almost lost in the dark.And you feel the muscle beneath your touch respond, shivering under your hands.

Such power you held over the only heir of Salazar Slytherin.

“Always so responsive to me” you murmur. His jaw tightens, eyes darkening, and the faintest smirk curves his lips.

“Yes,” he admits.

You lean closer, brushing your lips against the side of his neck, tasting the faint trace of him.Your fingers roll over the peaks of his nipples again, and you lean closer, letting your lips brush against his jaw.

“You like this, don’t you?” you whisper. “Like me taking control.”

He exhales sharply, his chest rising under your touch. “I… I can’t help it,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost reverent. “You feel… too good.”

“Oh,do I?” you chuckled.

“Please…” he murmurs, voice low, rough, almost desperate. “Please… don’t stop.”

You let your fingers linger.“Please what?” you whisper, tilting your head, lips brushing his ear. “Tell me what you want.”

His jaw tightens, eyes dark, breath catching. “I… I want you,” he admits. “I need to feel you.Please.”

You shift, and with deliberate slowness, you sink down onto him, feeling him beneath you. The subtle friction draws a sharp moan from him.His hands move to your hips to guide you.

“Fuck…” he rasps, his words trembling with need. His fingers dig slightly into your hips, holding you with desperation.

You tilt your head, brushing your lips against his jaw as you shift. “Such a good boy,” you praise. “Always so good for me.”

“Yes,yes,yes” he groans, fingers tightening, thumbs pressing into the small of your back. “I… I need you. Please… don’t stop…”

He trembles beneath you, chest rising and falling too fast, lips parting as he rasps out, “Please… please, I need you to—”

“To what?” you ask, voice ever so teasing.

His eyes darken, desperate, almost pleading. “You… you know. I want you to taste me. To feed.”

You freeze for a fraction of a second, heart stuttering. “What?” you whisper. “No, I—

But he doesn’t let you finish. His hands grip your hips harder, pulling you closer, chest pressing into yours. “Please,” he begs, voice rough, shaking. “I need you to… I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about it. I just want you to have me,fully.”

The words hang between you. And you felt the rare, dangerous intimacy of his honesty. God — you were about to die.

Deliberately, you press your lips to the pulse at his neck, tasting the warm blood. His breath hitches, making your movements feel inevitable. You feel his tension melt beneath your touch. He enjoys it, and so do you.

Even as you indulge in his fantasy, neither of you stops moving. Your hips shift against his, pressing him into the bed. Each subtle motion, each brush of skin, is heightened by the rhythm of his pulse under your lips, by the shiver that runs through him when you draw just enough, and he groans low.

“Everything alright,baby?” you ask with a hint of fear.

“Please...I'm good. Just I— keep moving”

You nod and grind against him. Every gasp, every tremor beneath you, every brush of his hands across your skin sends a jolt straight through you.

“Please…” he rasps, voice broken, fingers clutching at your hips, “I'm so close...”

You smile against his skin.“Me too.” your movements drive him wild, and in turn, his shivers and moans feed your own need.His body trembling beneath you, yours wrapped around him.Your hips grind together.

“I—” his fingers digging into your hips as if he could hold onto you forever.

The tension unravels in a wave that rips through both of you. His body shudders beneath yours, yours arches instinctively, every shiver and gasp amplified by the other’s reactions.

Just you, just him, and the raw, unparalleled intimacy of being utterly, completely consumed by each other.

[birdofwildness]

🤭🤭 thank u,cutie. We can tie him up together

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀCrimson hunger.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀTom Riddle x vampire!reader

Summary::Tom,your boyfriend is kinky af and wants you to drink his blood. (I'm so good at these summaries, omg)

Warnings::18+,smut,PiV, me trying to write like Donna Tartt,but then I realised this is smut—,blood kink,feeding,Sub!Tom Riddle,Dom!reader

Those last few days before you spoke up seemed incredibly heavy, as if the very air itself had thickened. Tom had always listened attentively.

Too attentively.

And in these weeks his attention had taken on a kind of precision, almost surgical. The questions had started out as little things,here and there.A cheeky remark about your aversion to certain foods,your habit of avoiding sunlight.

But he was right.

When you finally told him, it didn’t seem like there was a choice. You sat in his dorm, its steamy windows letting in only a broken, gray light. Outside, the rain fell relentlessly. and his fierce presence seemed to trap you in his net.

He asked you something and you answered the truth. You told him that you were a vampire.He paused for a second. He mirrored the stillness of a man who had received exactly the answer he had expected. Then he nodded faintly, almost solemnly, as if confirming some long-held proposition. There was no shock, no disgust on his expression.

Since that evening, the world between you has settled into such a balance that you almost didn't believe it. Tom hasn’t changed in any obvious way towards you.Yet there’s something about the way he looks at you now,it carries an unspoken calculation.

The subject isn't a barrier anymore. You're existence is no longer a secret. No longer an obstacle.

Every so often, he'd ask a question. 'How long? How does it feel? Does the hunger change with the seasons?' He listens as he always has. His interest doesn't come from a place of fear or revulsion.

You couldn't exactly name what it was. Perhaps, something like pure interest. Pure interest in the other.

Most people, you have found, have no real desire to get to know each other. They ask questions out of etiquette, their interest evaporating the moment the answer requires more than polite attention. To be seen completely is a rare privilege.

It is the deepest form of intimacy for humanity.

You are grateful for his lack of fear, in an almost childish way, though you would never admit it out loud. The fact that he doesn’t shy away from you, that he meets your gaze without blinking, is a quiet mercy you hadn’t expected. Yet, every time he asks, you wonder how much more he wants to know.

Non of your worries about hurting other ,or possibly him,meant anything in these moments between you two.There is no rush. The two of you have lived for weeks in the afterglow of confession. He leans in, the lamplight catching the sharp line of his jaw.

Your legs are folded over his.He holds you close, one hand at the small of your back, the other still cradling your jaw, and you feel the deliberate press of his thigh beneath yours.

You straddle him now, your knees on either side of his thighs.His hands move instinctively to your hips,anchoring you.His gaze follows every small movement you make,those stupid chestnut eyes of his. So,so,so stupid... so pretty. It's like he's already yearning for something.

You tilt your head, letting your lips brush against his, and the kiss deepens slowly.His hands trail along your waist and hips, memorizing you. He spent a lot of time doing that, almost as if he were afraid,you'd dissapear before his eyes.

Your hands move with quiet confidence, cupping him, tracing the line of his chest until your fingers brush against the sensitive swell of his nipples. He exhales sharply, a sound almost lost in the dark.And you feel the muscle beneath your touch respond, shivering under your hands.

Such power you held over the only heir of Salazar Slytherin.

“Always so responsive to me” you murmur. His jaw tightens, eyes darkening, and the faintest smirk curves his lips.

“Yes,” he admits.

You lean closer, brushing your lips against the side of his neck, tasting the faint trace of him.Your fingers roll over the peaks of his nipples again, and you lean closer, letting your lips brush against his jaw.

“You like this, don’t you?” you whisper. “Like me taking control.”

He exhales sharply, his chest rising under your touch. “I… I can’t help it,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost reverent. “You feel… too good.”

“Oh,do I?” you chuckled.

“Please…” he murmurs, voice low, rough, almost desperate. “Please… don’t stop.”

You let your fingers linger.“Please what?” you whisper, tilting your head, lips brushing his ear. “Tell me what you want.”

His jaw tightens, eyes dark, breath catching. “I… I want you,” he admits. “I need to feel you.Please.”

You shift, and with deliberate slowness, you sink down onto him, feeling him beneath you. The subtle friction draws a sharp moan from him.His hands move to your hips to guide you.

“Fuck…” he rasps, his words trembling with need. His fingers dig slightly into your hips, holding you with desperation.

You tilt your head, brushing your lips against his jaw as you shift. “Such a good boy,” you praise. “Always so good for me.”

“Yes,yes,yes” he groans, fingers tightening, thumbs pressing into the small of your back. “I… I need you. Please… don’t stop…”

He trembles beneath you, chest rising and falling too fast, lips parting as he rasps out, “Please… please, I need you to—”

“To what?” you ask, voice ever so teasing.

His eyes darken, desperate, almost pleading. “You… you know. I want you to taste me. To feed.”

You freeze for a fraction of a second, heart stuttering. “What?” you whisper. “No, I—

But he doesn’t let you finish. His hands grip your hips harder, pulling you closer, chest pressing into yours. “Please,” he begs, voice rough, shaking. “I need you to… I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about it. I just want you to have me,fully.”

The words hang between you. And you felt the rare, dangerous intimacy of his honesty. God — you were about to die.

Deliberately, you press your lips to the pulse at his neck, tasting the warm blood. His breath hitches, making your movements feel inevitable. You feel his tension melt beneath your touch. He enjoys it, and so do you.

Even as you indulge in his fantasy, neither of you stops moving. Your hips shift against his, pressing him into the bed. Each subtle motion, each brush of skin, is heightened by the rhythm of his pulse under your lips, by the shiver that runs through him when you draw just enough, and he groans low.

“Everything alright,baby?” you ask with a hint of fear.

“Please...I'm good. Just I— keep moving”

You nod and grind against him. Every gasp, every tremor beneath you, every brush of his hands across your skin sends a jolt straight through you.

“Please…” he rasps, voice broken, fingers clutching at your hips, “I'm so close...”

You smile against his skin.“Me too.” your movements drive him wild, and in turn, his shivers and moans feed your own need.His body trembling beneath you, yours wrapped around him.Your hips grind together.

“I—” his fingers digging into your hips as if he could hold onto you forever.

The tension unravels in a wave that rips through both of you. His body shudders beneath yours, yours arches instinctively, every shiver and gasp amplified by the other’s reactions.

Just you, just him, and the raw, unparalleled intimacy of being utterly, completely consumed by each other.

[birdofwildness]

🥹🥹🥹💜💜💜 thank you,pookie🥹🥹🥹😭😭😭😭

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀCrimson hunger.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀTom Riddle x vampire!reader

Summary::Tom,your boyfriend is kinky af and wants you to drink his blood. (I'm so good at these summaries, omg)

Warnings::18+,smut,PiV, me trying to write like Donna Tartt,but then I realised this is smut—,blood kink,feeding,Sub!Tom Riddle,Dom!reader

Those last few days before you spoke up seemed incredibly heavy, as if the very air itself had thickened. Tom had always listened attentively.

Too attentively.

And in these weeks his attention had taken on a kind of precision, almost surgical. The questions had started out as little things,here and there.A cheeky remark about your aversion to certain foods,your habit of avoiding sunlight.

But he was right.

When you finally told him, it didn’t seem like there was a choice. You sat in his dorm, its steamy windows letting in only a broken, gray light. Outside, the rain fell relentlessly. and his fierce presence seemed to trap you in his net.

He asked you something and you answered the truth. You told him that you were a vampire.He paused for a second. He mirrored the stillness of a man who had received exactly the answer he had expected. Then he nodded faintly, almost solemnly, as if confirming some long-held proposition. There was no shock, no disgust on his expression.

Since that evening, the world between you has settled into such a balance that you almost didn't believe it. Tom hasn’t changed in any obvious way towards you.Yet there’s something about the way he looks at you now,it carries an unspoken calculation.

The subject isn't a barrier anymore. You're existence is no longer a secret. No longer an obstacle.

Every so often, he'd ask a question. 'How long? How does it feel? Does the hunger change with the seasons?' He listens as he always has. His interest doesn't come from a place of fear or revulsion.

You couldn't exactly name what it was. Perhaps, something like pure interest. Pure interest in the other.

Most people, you have found, have no real desire to get to know each other. They ask questions out of etiquette, their interest evaporating the moment the answer requires more than polite attention. To be seen completely is a rare privilege.

It is the deepest form of intimacy for humanity.

You are grateful for his lack of fear, in an almost childish way, though you would never admit it out loud. The fact that he doesn’t shy away from you, that he meets your gaze without blinking, is a quiet mercy you hadn’t expected. Yet, every time he asks, you wonder how much more he wants to know.

Non of your worries about hurting other ,or possibly him,meant anything in these moments between you two.There is no rush. The two of you have lived for weeks in the afterglow of confession. He leans in, the lamplight catching the sharp line of his jaw.

Your legs are folded over his.He holds you close, one hand at the small of your back, the other still cradling your jaw, and you feel the deliberate press of his thigh beneath yours.

You straddle him now, your knees on either side of his thighs.His hands move instinctively to your hips,anchoring you.His gaze follows every small movement you make,those stupid chestnut eyes of his. So,so,so stupid... so pretty. It's like he's already yearning for something.

You tilt your head, letting your lips brush against his, and the kiss deepens slowly.His hands trail along your waist and hips, memorizing you. He spent a lot of time doing that, almost as if he were afraid,you'd dissapear before his eyes.

Your hands move with quiet confidence, cupping him, tracing the line of his chest until your fingers brush against the sensitive swell of his nipples. He exhales sharply, a sound almost lost in the dark.And you feel the muscle beneath your touch respond, shivering under your hands.

Such power you held over the only heir of Salazar Slytherin.

“Always so responsive to me” you murmur. His jaw tightens, eyes darkening, and the faintest smirk curves his lips.

“Yes,” he admits.

You lean closer, brushing your lips against the side of his neck, tasting the faint trace of him.Your fingers roll over the peaks of his nipples again, and you lean closer, letting your lips brush against his jaw.

“You like this, don’t you?” you whisper. “Like me taking control.”

He exhales sharply, his chest rising under your touch. “I… I can’t help it,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost reverent. “You feel… too good.”

“Oh,do I?” you chuckled.

“Please…” he murmurs, voice low, rough, almost desperate. “Please… don’t stop.”

You let your fingers linger.“Please what?” you whisper, tilting your head, lips brushing his ear. “Tell me what you want.”

His jaw tightens, eyes dark, breath catching. “I… I want you,” he admits. “I need to feel you.Please.”

You shift, and with deliberate slowness, you sink down onto him, feeling him beneath you. The subtle friction draws a sharp moan from him.His hands move to your hips to guide you.

“Fuck…” he rasps, his words trembling with need. His fingers dig slightly into your hips, holding you with desperation.

You tilt your head, brushing your lips against his jaw as you shift. “Such a good boy,” you praise. “Always so good for me.”

“Yes,yes,yes” he groans, fingers tightening, thumbs pressing into the small of your back. “I… I need you. Please… don’t stop…”

He trembles beneath you, chest rising and falling too fast, lips parting as he rasps out, “Please… please, I need you to—”

“To what?” you ask, voice ever so teasing.

His eyes darken, desperate, almost pleading. “You… you know. I want you to taste me. To feed.”

You freeze for a fraction of a second, heart stuttering. “What?” you whisper. “No, I—

But he doesn’t let you finish. His hands grip your hips harder, pulling you closer, chest pressing into yours. “Please,” he begs, voice rough, shaking. “I need you to… I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about it. I just want you to have me,fully.”

The words hang between you. And you felt the rare, dangerous intimacy of his honesty. God — you were about to die.

Deliberately, you press your lips to the pulse at his neck, tasting the warm blood. His breath hitches, making your movements feel inevitable. You feel his tension melt beneath your touch. He enjoys it, and so do you.

Even as you indulge in his fantasy, neither of you stops moving. Your hips shift against his, pressing him into the bed. Each subtle motion, each brush of skin, is heightened by the rhythm of his pulse under your lips, by the shiver that runs through him when you draw just enough, and he groans low.

“Everything alright,baby?” you ask with a hint of fear.

“Please...I'm good. Just I— keep moving”

You nod and grind against him. Every gasp, every tremor beneath you, every brush of his hands across your skin sends a jolt straight through you.

“Please…” he rasps, voice broken, fingers clutching at your hips, “I'm so close...”

You smile against his skin.“Me too.” your movements drive him wild, and in turn, his shivers and moans feed your own need.His body trembling beneath you, yours wrapped around him.Your hips grind together.

“I—” his fingers digging into your hips as if he could hold onto you forever.

The tension unravels in a wave that rips through both of you. His body shudders beneath yours, yours arches instinctively, every shiver and gasp amplified by the other’s reactions.

Just you, just him, and the raw, unparalleled intimacy of being utterly, completely consumed by each other.

[birdofwildness]

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀCrimson hunger.

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀTom Riddle x vampire!reader

Summary::Tom,your boyfriend is kinky af and wants you to drink his blood. (I'm so good at these summaries, omg)

Warnings::18+,smut,PiV, me trying to write like Donna Tartt,but then I realised this is smut—,blood kink,feeding,Sub!Tom Riddle,Dom!reader

Those last few days before you spoke up seemed incredibly heavy, as if the very air itself had thickened. Tom had always listened attentively.

Too attentively.

And in these weeks his attention had taken on a kind of precision, almost surgical. The questions had started out as little things,here and there.A cheeky remark about your aversion to certain foods,your habit of avoiding sunlight.

But he was right.

When you finally told him, it didn’t seem like there was a choice. You sat in his dorm, its steamy windows letting in only a broken, gray light. Outside, the rain fell relentlessly. and his fierce presence seemed to trap you in his net.

He asked you something and you answered the truth. You told him that you were a vampire.He paused for a second. He mirrored the stillness of a man who had received exactly the answer he had expected. Then he nodded faintly, almost solemnly, as if confirming some long-held proposition. There was no shock, no disgust on his expression.

Since that evening, the world between you has settled into such a balance that you almost didn't believe it. Tom hasn’t changed in any obvious way towards you.Yet there’s something about the way he looks at you now,it carries an unspoken calculation.

The subject isn't a barrier anymore. You're existence is no longer a secret. No longer an obstacle.

Every so often, he'd ask a question. 'How long? How does it feel? Does the hunger change with the seasons?' He listens as he always has. His interest doesn't come from a place of fear or revulsion.

You couldn't exactly name what it was. Perhaps, something like pure interest. Pure interest in the other.

Most people, you have found, have no real desire to get to know each other. They ask questions out of etiquette, their interest evaporating the moment the answer requires more than polite attention. To be seen completely is a rare privilege.

It is the deepest form of intimacy for humanity.

You are grateful for his lack of fear, in an almost childish way, though you would never admit it out loud. The fact that he doesn’t shy away from you, that he meets your gaze without blinking, is a quiet mercy you hadn’t expected. Yet, every time he asks, you wonder how much more he wants to know.

Non of your worries about hurting other ,or possibly him,meant anything in these moments between you two.There is no rush. The two of you have lived for weeks in the afterglow of confession. He leans in, the lamplight catching the sharp line of his jaw.

Your legs are folded over his.He holds you close, one hand at the small of your back, the other still cradling your jaw, and you feel the deliberate press of his thigh beneath yours.

You straddle him now, your knees on either side of his thighs.His hands move instinctively to your hips,anchoring you.His gaze follows every small movement you make,those stupid chestnut eyes of his. So,so,so stupid... so pretty. It's like he's already yearning for something.

You tilt your head, letting your lips brush against his, and the kiss deepens slowly.His hands trail along your waist and hips, memorizing you. He spent a lot of time doing that, almost as if he were afraid,you'd dissapear before his eyes.

Your hands move with quiet confidence, cupping him, tracing the line of his chest until your fingers brush against the sensitive swell of his nipples. He exhales sharply, a sound almost lost in the dark.And you feel the muscle beneath your touch respond, shivering under your hands.

Such power you held over the only heir of Salazar Slytherin.

“Always so responsive to me” you murmur. His jaw tightens, eyes darkening, and the faintest smirk curves his lips.

“Yes,” he admits.

You lean closer, brushing your lips against the side of his neck, tasting the faint trace of him.Your fingers roll over the peaks of his nipples again, and you lean closer, letting your lips brush against his jaw.

“You like this, don’t you?” you whisper. “Like me taking control.”

He exhales sharply, his chest rising under your touch. “I… I can’t help it,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost reverent. “You feel… too good.”

“Oh,do I?” you chuckled.

“Please…” he murmurs, voice low, rough, almost desperate. “Please… don’t stop.”

You let your fingers linger.“Please what?” you whisper, tilting your head, lips brushing his ear. “Tell me what you want.”

His jaw tightens, eyes dark, breath catching. “I… I want you,” he admits. “I need to feel you.Please.”

You shift, and with deliberate slowness, you sink down onto him, feeling him beneath you. The subtle friction draws a sharp moan from him.His hands move to your hips to guide you.

“Fuck…” he rasps, his words trembling with need. His fingers dig slightly into your hips, holding you with desperation.

You tilt your head, brushing your lips against his jaw as you shift. “Such a good boy,” you praise. “Always so good for me.”

“Yes,yes,yes” he groans, fingers tightening, thumbs pressing into the small of your back. “I… I need you. Please… don’t stop…”

He trembles beneath you, chest rising and falling too fast, lips parting as he rasps out, “Please… please, I need you to—”

“To what?” you ask, voice ever so teasing.

His eyes darken, desperate, almost pleading. “You… you know. I want you to taste me. To feed.”

You freeze for a fraction of a second, heart stuttering. “What?” you whisper. “No, I—

But he doesn’t let you finish. His hands grip your hips harder, pulling you closer, chest pressing into yours. “Please,” he begs, voice rough, shaking. “I need you to… I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about it. I just want you to have me,fully.”

The words hang between you. And you felt the rare, dangerous intimacy of his honesty. God — you were about to die.

Deliberately, you press your lips to the pulse at his neck, tasting the warm blood. His breath hitches, making your movements feel inevitable. You feel his tension melt beneath your touch. He enjoys it, and so do you.

Even as you indulge in his fantasy, neither of you stops moving. Your hips shift against his, pressing him into the bed. Each subtle motion, each brush of skin, is heightened by the rhythm of his pulse under your lips, by the shiver that runs through him when you draw just enough, and he groans low.

“Everything alright,baby?” you ask with a hint of fear.

“Please...I'm good. Just I— keep moving”

You nod and grind against him. Every gasp, every tremor beneath you, every brush of his hands across your skin sends a jolt straight through you.

“Please…” he rasps, voice broken, fingers clutching at your hips, “I'm so close...”

You smile against his skin.“Me too.” your movements drive him wild, and in turn, his shivers and moans feed your own need.His body trembling beneath you, yours wrapped around him.Your hips grind together.

“I—” his fingers digging into your hips as if he could hold onto you forever.

The tension unravels in a wave that rips through both of you. His body shudders beneath yours, yours arches instinctively, every shiver and gasp amplified by the other’s reactions.

Just you, just him, and the raw, unparalleled intimacy of being utterly, completely consumed by each other.

[birdofwildness]

this theme eats WTFFFFF I love it!!!

Thanks booboo

Eats? Lemme eat u

[birdofwildness]

New theme,sexieeess

[birdofwildness]

Hii do you take requests?🥹

Hii! Sorry for taking so long to respond lmao😭 ive been gone for some time.

Anyways,the answer is Yes!! I'm a bit behind with the requests but yes.

Also I would like to ask people to stop sending reqs about Orpheus 😭 he's just not my cup of tea. I just like his daddy😛

[birdofwildness]

Back again from my break! I just took a very long nap from Tumblr lmao

Also thanks for 0,5k babes

[birdofwildness]

Tbh not proud of this but like SELF PROMO TIME lmaoooo😭

Follow me on tiktok if you'd like.

Here.

[birdofwildness]

⋆☀︎｡Curses of heart part 1

⋆☀︎｡Beast!Tom Riddle x Beauty!reader

Summary::You get a new job. The lord is cold and distant

Warnings:: Nothing Sirius yet.

You’ve never liked early mornings.There’s something deeply offensive about being awake before the sun is.If it were up to you, the day would start around ten, maybe eleven. After a proper lie-in. After tea. After your brain has decided to rejoin society.

But no. Children,especially magical ones, don’t care if you’re a night person with a taste for silence and solitude.They scream. They levitate. They blow up things in the house.

You haven’t had much quiet lately.Since leaving Hogwarts, you’ve worked as a live-in nanny. It wasn’t what you planned to do, exactly, but you were good at it. You had patience and magic. You understood children better than you understood adults, and that seemed to matter more than your NEWT scores.

So you took a position. Then another and another.It's been ages since you took your first job. What was it? 7 years? Your bags always half-packed, moving between wizarding homes.

It’s not a bad life.

You’ve stayed in mansions, cabins, enchanted cottages with sentient rose gardens. You've made babies laugh in five languages and sung lullabies. Parents love you because you’re efficient and never in the way. Children love you because you listen.

Still, it's lonely sometimes.

You get to watch babies grow up and then you have to leave.You’ve grown used to temporary. You keep everything minimal, even your luggage.

You’ve never liked early mornings.But today is different.

You’re up early, kettle whistling, suitcase half-zipped at the edge of the bed. A stack of freshly cleaned uniforms folded with surgical precision, wand tucked neatly into the side pocket of your coat.

You like being prepared. Even for the jobs that don’t make sense. Like...this one...

Because this one didn’t come through a telephone. It was through a letter.

The letter didn’t arrive by owl.It simply appeared one morning. Neatly folded on your windowsill, sealed in deep crimson wax, with no sign of how it got there. No magical burst.Just... there.

The parchment was thick, old, with a faint scent of smoke and ink. The handwriting was sharp, elegant.

“A child of great importance requires care. Your name has been given. You will be collected Thursday evening. Do not be late.”

No signature nor name.You stared at it for hours before replying.You’ve worked for strange people before, but this wasn’t strange. Just secretive.

It’s nearly time.You’ve checked the letter three times, even though it didn’t say much. Just the pickup time, Thursday, exactly 6:00 AM.

You glance at the clock.5:58 AM.

Your chest tightens.Still nothing outside. Minutes pass by,then you hear it.The soft purr of an engine outside your window.

A black car.Waiting at the edge of the curb, its windows darkened.You step outside with everything you need in your hand.The evening air biting through your coat.

The door opens by the hand of the driver.

He’s tall. Thin. Old.Dressed in black from head to toe, his coat perfectly pressed, buttons high at the collar like something out of a Victorian novel. His hair is slicked back, dark and neat, and he wears gloves despite the mild weather. His face is expressionless.

“Miss Y/N.”

“...Yes,” you reply, clutching your suitcase. “That’s me.”

He takes the luggage from your hand wordlessly and places it in the trunk.Then he opens the passenger door.

“Please. We are on a schedule.”

The interior is pristine. Velvet seats. Cold air. It smells faintly of ink and old books.

As the door shuts behind you, you glance at the man behind the wheel.He hasn’t looked at you once since you entered.

“Do you work for…the person I'm going to work for?” you ask cautiously.

“I drive.

You raise an eyebrow, but say nothing.And with that, the car pulls away from the curb.

The car glides silently through narrow streets, then out toward winding, tree-lined roads.The driver’s posture hasn’t changed since you stepped into the car. Back straight,eyes fixed on the road. Completely still, except for the occasional, precise movement of his gloved hand on the wheel.

“So... do you, um... always pick up the nannies?”

“No.”

You try again. “Have you had this job for a long time?”

“Long enough.”

You nod slowly, eyeing the side of his face. He looks like something between forty and fifty.

“And what exactly should I expect when we get there?” you ask.

His jaw tenses slightly, but his voice remains cold and unreadable.“The child is young. That is all you need to know.”

You stare out the window. Trees flash past.You try one last time.“Does the house at least have proper heating?”

This time, there’s no answer. Not even a glance. Just more silence.You sink back into your seat with a sigh.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath. “Guess I’ll find out the hard way.”

The road began to narrow.You sat forward slightly, peering through the front windshield.

Perched on a hill, half-devoured by ivy and shadow, the manor rises out of the mist.Not quite a castle. Not quite a home,just stone.Cold windows. Twisting towers. An iron gate yawning open ahead of you as the car approached.

It looked like something out of a Shirley Jackson novel.

The driver finally speaks, voice flat and final as the engine slows.“We’re here.”

You exhale, not realizing you’d been holding your breath.“Lovely,” you murmur. “Very warm. Very inviting.”

He ignores your sarcasm and steps out, retrieving your suitcase with the same eerie precision as before. You open your own door, because of course he doesn't, and step out onto the gravel, your boots crunching softly in the silence.

The gate creaks shut behind you.The heavy wooden door creaks open before you can knock. You stood frozen at the sight and not just because of the building.

Tom Riddle stands ahead of you.

You’ve seen his name in old yearbooks, whispered in Hogwarts corridors, and once or twice in more unofficial circles.He’s only a year ahead of you, but you never crossed paths. Or maybe you did, and he never bothered to notice.

Now, here he is. Standing in the hallway. He's tall, straight-backed, dressed in black from collar to toe. His dark eyes flick up briefly to meet yours, sharp and unreadable.

You glance down at your suitcase, then back up at him.He doesn’t even glance your way.For all his power, for all his dark reputation, you’re the stranger here.

“You must be the nanny,” he says, voice low and precise, like a statement rather than a question.

You nod soflty,but he doesn't smile back.“Delphini needs care. You will do your job. There is little time for pleasantries.”

His gaze sharpened.“Miss Carrow will assist you. She knows the house, the child, the routines. Follow her instructions.”

Without waiting for a response, he turns and walks deeper into the manor, footsteps echoing in the silence.

You’re left standing there,trying to make sense of what just happened, when you hear soft, hurried steps approaching,and a faint clinking of metal.

A woman appears from a side hallway, slightly hunched, but quick in her movements. Her grey hair is gathered in a loose bun.She wears layered, lavender-toned robes that have clearly seen better days, but are clean and well cared for. At her hip hangs a ring of mismatched keys and small pouches that clink and jingle softly as she walks.

She stops in front of you with a warm smile."Ah, you must be the new girl!" she says brightly, eyes lighting up. “Poor thing, he didn’t say two words to you, did he? Well, don’t mind Mr. Riddle. He means well.

She extends a hand, small and wrinkled, with faint ink stains on the fingertips.

"Mrs. Carrow. I manage the house." She winks."You’ll get used to the manor."

You blink, caught off guard by her warmth.“I—thank you. It’s... big.”

She chuckles, already turning and waving for you to follow."It’s ridiculous, is what it is. Come on then, love. Let’s get you to your room before the stairs change their minds again."

You follow her up a narrow staircase, the wood beneath your feet creaking in protest.Candle sconces flicker to life as you pass.

Mrs. Carrow hums a little tune under her breath, keys jingling softly at her hip.“Truth be told,” she says over her shoulder, “I wrote the letters.”

You blink. “Oh?”

“The ones you got,” she says. “The job offer, the instructions. Well, Mr. Riddle dictated the general idea, of course, but he insisted they be concise.”She glances back at you with a knowing smile.

You raise an eyebrow. “That explains a lot.”

Mrs. Carrow chuckles. “Yes, dear. If it had been up to me, I’d have included a little more warmth.”

She lowers her voice.“But alas, the Dark Lord’s version of hospitality is efficiency.”

You snort softly.

“Anyway,” she adds, coming to a stop before a carved wooden door, “this’ll be your room. It’s one of the warmest. Plenty of light in the morning, and close enough to the nursery that you’ll hear her when she cries.But not so close that you’ll go mad.”

Mrs. Carrow smiles gently as she opens the door, stepping aside for you to enter.You take a few careful steps inside.

It’s not grand, but it’s comfortable. High ceilings, warm-toned walls, an old wardrobe with brass handles, and a bed that looks far softer than you expected. A small writing desk sits by the window.

The air smells faintly of lavender.Behind you, Mrs. Carrow places your suitcase by the foot of the bed.

“I’ll let you settle,” she says kindly.

You give her a quick nod and she pulls the door shut behind her with a soft click.

You sit on the edge of the bed, exhaling slowly, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket.

What exactly have you gotten yourself into?

[birdofwildness]

©birdofwildness is introducing a new series...

⋆☀︎｡Curses of heart series

⋆☀︎｡Beast!Tom Riddle x Beauty!reader

Summary::You take a nanny job in a manor, caring for the infant daughter of Tom Riddle, a cursed, cold man with secrets buried deep. You were hired to care for a child… but the house, and its master, demand far more.

Works::

Curses of heart part 1

[birdofwildness]

A song of destiny

Ch 1

Morpheus x reader

Late afternoon, clear skies, the sound of crickets and bird song filled the air. Your childhood had been magical.

"Hello Mr kitty"

Your cat had approached you. Pushing its face into your hand begging to be pet. He purred and the world was perfect but you didn't know that. You didn't know that this was the most perfect it could get. Time stilled but you did not notice. Until a hand grasped your shoulder. You turned around startled about to call for your mother. But you were stopped when you saw the man. He was wearing a huge robe, a book was chained to his hand and you could not make out his face. You felt a strange sense of safety and acceptance. As though he was meant to be there.

"Hello child"

"Hello" you replied feeling safe but confused.

"Would you join me for a dinner party"

You blinked and stared for a second before squealing in excitement. " I love dinner parties! Do I get to be all fancy"

_______

Dream sat at the table annoyed. Desire sat across from him amused by their seating, giving dream a teasing wave. Bubbles floated down from the other side of the table. Delirium laughed as she blew more.

Family meetings were rare. And this one even more so. None of the endless had any idea why they were here but what was worse is that destiny was late.

"Where is destiny, he calls us here and then flakes? That's not like him" desire said while admiring their nails. " you must know that destiny can never be late" death smiled. "Unless it is destined" she let out a laugh. Dream shook his head at sister in amusement.

"Dear siblings" a voice interrupted. Destiny stood at the front of the table, a small child hiding behind him. "Who is this" death asked. The sibling looked around confused.

"I bring her here for you to meet so when the time comes you may have compassion"

Despair sighs a gloomy sigh "another riddle"

Delirium squeals "dO YoU LikE BuBbLeS?"

The child let's out a quiet yes. Delirium blows bubbles towards the little girl ranging in shape and colour. Some are hearts, some are pink, some are stars. The girl gasps in amazement and looks up to destiny for permission, gaining an understanding nod. With that she runs to delirium giggling and popping bubbles.

Dream can't help but smile at the young child.

The girl catches his eyes for a moment and immediately blushes and looks away. "Aw someone has a crush" desire teases. Death laughs and dream is not amused. Though he can't help but find it a little endearing.

"Her destiny is a great one" destiny continues "it is beyond that of me and fathers knowing"

Every one is shocked. "What does this mean" dream asks. Desire looks to the child and back to destiny "she looks pretty normal to me"

"Come child" destiny calls. "We take our leave, all will come to pass".

And with that everyone is left stunned.

[birdofwildness]

⋆☀︎｡Dreambound part 10

⋆☀︎︎｡Morpheus x underworld princess!reader

Summary::You beg your parents to save your husband.

Warnings::Smut,18+,piv

“You're going where?” he argued.

You crossed your arms, jaw set. “You heard me. I’m going to the Underworld. To speak to my parents.”

Morpheus stilled. “You would beg the King and Queen of the Dead to spare me from a fate decreed by beings older than time?”

You lifted a brow. “If that’s what it takes. Then yes.”

“No.” His answer was immediate. “You mustn’t.”

You scoffed. “Don’t tell me what I must or mustn’t do. They’re my parents.”

“They are gods,” he said.

“I’m doing this to save you,” you continued. “I’m your wife. I refuse to just stand here, smile, and watch the kindly ones rip you apart like a goddamn prophecy puppet.”

“You cannot interfere.”

“I already am.”

“What if they say no?”

You looked at him, and for the first time in days, let the fear crack through your voice.“Then at least I tried.”

...

The Underworld hadn’t changed.Still dark, still cold, still dripping with power.

Home. Sweet...or in this case,rotten home.

You walked the obsidian corridors with purpose, not just blood. Guards didn’t stop you,no one in their right mind stopped the daughter of Hades and Persephone when she moved like that.

There is no other monster, no other fire, like an unadorned woman.

You reached the throne room without a word, pushing open the massive doors.Your mother was seated, graceful as ever, dressed in silks the color of rotting pomegranates. Your father beside her,sharp angles and silence carved into bone.

You slowed as you approached, squaring your shoulders before dropping into a short, respectful bow,just enough to show you remembered who they were. And who you were.“Mother. Father.”

Persephone gave a slight smile. “Y/N,” she said, her voice soft but not warm. “It’s been some time.”

“I didn’t come for pleasantries.”

“Then what?” he said, voice still low. “Did your husband raise a hand to you?”

You blinked.“What—? No!”

“Because if he did,” Hades continued, calm as death, “he’ll never dream again. I’ll make sure of it. Limb by limb. Thought by thought. Until there’s nothing left.”

Persephone sighed beside him, unbothered.“Not everything is solved with dismemberment.”

“Most things are,” he muttered.

You raised a hand, pinching the bridge of your nose.“Gods, no. He didn’t hit me. I’m trying to save him.”

“Pity,” Hades murmured.

You steadied your voice.“I came because the Furies want him dead.”

Persephone’s expression didn’t change. Not even a blink. Hades simply looked at you.“So?” your father said at last.

You frowned. “So? So?! I—”

Persephone cut in. “He is not our concern.”

“He’s my husband.”

“He’s also one of the Endless,” Hades replied, folding his hands together. “Not a child in need of parental rescue. If his actions have led him to the Furies, then let him answer for them.”

You clenched your jaw. “You think I haven’t tried everything else?”

Persephone finally stood.Her beauty was quiet and terrifying.“You chose to love a god who trades in dreams and consequences. It is not our fault.”

“You're judging me?” you snapped.

Hades leaned back on his throne, his gaze impassive.“You ask us to interfere with forces even we respect,” he said. “You ask us to risk our realm for love. That’s not strategy. That’s foolish.”

You swallowed hard.“It’s not just love,” you said quietly. “It’s mine.”

Persephone and Hades fell silent.You didn’t lower your gaze.

“If you won’t help me,” you said evenly, “then I’ll face the Furies myself. Alone, if I have to.”

Hades laughed. Cold. Dry. Hollow.“You? Alone? Against the Kindly Ones?”

He shook his head.“You’d jeopardize the balance of the realms for your husband?”

“I’d do worse,” you replied.“If it meant keeping him alive.”

Persephone’s eyes flashed.“You’d risk everything we’ve built. The peace we’ve held. The respect we’ve earned.”

You shrugged.“Then maybe it’s not worth as much as you think.”

Hades’ eyes darkened.His voice, when it came, echoed through the hall like thunder.“Enough.”

It nearly made you flinch,but you didn’t. You stood your ground, defiant, chin held high.

“If you choose to stand against the Furies,” he said, his tone dangerously calm, “then do not expect our protection.”

“Leave. Before I forget you’re my daughter.”

...

The air shifted the moment you stepped back into the Dreaming.Gone was the choking heaviness of the Underworld — replaced by the quiet hum of dreams, soft and alive, threaded with starlight. But even that could not quiet the storm still churning in your chest.

You didn’t teleport directly to Morpheus. You couldn’t. Not yet.So instead, you landed in one of the palace halls.

Your shoes echoed faintly as you moved, each step louder.Anger clung to you.Shame, too, but buried deep. You had stood before the gods who raised you, and they had turned their backs.

Your hands clenched at your sides as you walked, breath tight in your throat. Part of you wanted to scream. Another part just wanted to see him,just to make sure he was still here, still real, still breathing.

“Back so soon?” came a voice. You turned to see Lucienne.

You didn’t look at her right away.“It went about as well as you'd expect when you tell the King and Queen of the Dead to help save your emo husband from three cosmic harpies.”

“So. Badly...shall I prepare tea?”.

“Not today. Thank you.”

You barely made it halfway down the corridor when the air shifted.Three shadows stepped into your path. Three sets of eyes, ageless, merciless,fixed on you like you were already guilty.

The Maiden tilted her head. “You walk with heavy steps, daughter of the Underworld.”

The Mother’s voice slithered around you. “Did you go to them? Did they give you what you came for?”

The Crone’s lips twisted into something close to a grin. “Or did they send you crawling back with empty hands?”

You exhaled through your nose. “You always show up when I’m about to seduce my husband. You think that’s symbolic?”

“Answer the question,” the Mother said.

You folded your arms. “No. They didn’t help me.”

“And you?” the Crone asked. “Have you chosen sides, little goddess?”

You didn’t blink.“I’ve chosen him.”

“Then it is war,” the Maiden whispered.

And just like that, they vanished.

War.

You stood there a moment longer, shoulders tense, before finally pushing open the door his chambers. His chambers, that turned to be yours aswell.

The door shut behind you with a soft click.He was there, as always, seated on the edge of the bed. His back was to you, shoulders hunched, head slightly bowed,but he looked up the moment you stepped inside.

“Dearest.” he said softly. “You’re back.”

You nodded, slower than usual.You walked to him, your movements more careful than they needed to be, and sat beside him without a word.

“They said I was reckless,” you murmured finally, staring down at your hands. “That I was foolish for even asking. That siding with you would mean risking the balance of the Underworld.”

Morpheus didn’t answer at first. His gaze lowered, unreadable and still.“You came back to end it, didn’t you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Our marriage,” he said, still not looking at you. “It’s the logical conclusion. Your parents have disowned you, the Kindly Ones seek my end, and now you stand to lose everything for staying by my side.”

“My love—”

He stood up slowly.“I would not blame you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You owe me nothing.”

You stared at him for a long moment. Then you stood too.No distance between you.

“That’s not why I came back,” you said. “I didn’t walk into the Underworld just to crawl back out and abandon you.”

His eyes met yours. He looked scared.

“I came back to you.” you said.

His lips parted like he might say something,but the words never came. Instead, he reached for your hand, fingers brushing over your knuckles with a care that made your chest ache.

“If you back down now,perhaps the kindly one's will have mercy on you.”

“I do not wish to.”

You leaned in first.Your lips met his softly.He kissed you back with equal tenderness, no urgency, no weight of kingship or doom.Just him, and just you.

When you finally pulled back, he didn’t say anything. Just rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, hands still holding yours like they were the only thing keeping him steady.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I wasn’t gone long.”

“I still missed you.”

Morpheus’s fingers traced lightly along your wrist, his gaze diving deeper into you than ever before.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Not now. Not like this.”

You stepped closer, the heat of his body against yours both tender and burning. Your fingers curled around his neck while his hands settled on your waist.

Your kiss deepened slowly with the quiet desperation of someone who had written a thousand stories but was afraid of the ending to this one. His thumbs found the edge of your jaw, tilting your face just so, as if trying to see every expression, every flicker of want in your eyes.

You helped him shed the layers.The robe slipped from his shoulders, and your hands followed, brushing over pale skin.He trembled under your touch.

The bed behind him met the backs of his knees, and he sat, looking up at you like you were some miracle conjured from starlight. You crawled onto his lap, straddling him slowly, your hands braced against his chest.

He leaned into your touch, his lips ghosting along your throat, your collarbone, reverent, never rushed. “Why did you come back?” he breathed against your skin.

You held his face in your hands. “Because I love you.”

That broke something in him.His eyes darken, a flicker of something possessive sparking behind the stars in his gaze.

His hands roamed now, slower but needier, mapping your body.Your thighs bracketed his hips, your bodies pressing closer, breath and skin and need all tangled together. Every shift of movement sparked heat, and still, neither of you rushed it. This was worship.

You kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the way his lips parted under yours, the low sound he made in the back of his throat when your hips shifted against his.

He undressed you like you were something sacred, like he’d been waiting lifetimes to touch you like this. And when his fingers brushed bare skin, he stilled in awe.

“You’re divine,” he said softly, like it wasn’t nearly enough.

When he slid inside you, it was careful.His forehead pressed to yours, and you both froze for a breath, for the unbearable sweetness of being one.

You gasped, and he kissed the sound from your mouth.You rocked against him slowly, letting every shift of your hips, every breath and moan and whispered promise, build something sacred between you.

“You're perfect,” he whispered, voice cracking like a prayer. “You were made for me.”

“Yes” you breathed. “I’m yours.”

His hands gripped your hips tighter, his mouth finding the curve of your shoulder, your neck, your collarbone. Kissing, tasting, worshiping.

And when it finally crested, when your body trembled against his and his name broke free from your lips, he followed you into it, burying his face in your shoulder, breath shuddering as he let go with you.

For a long time, neither of you moved. His arms around your back, your fingers curled into his hair.

He pulled you close, voice hoarse. “I love—love.Love you.”

You kissed his temple., “I figured,beloved.”

And in that moment, tangled together in warmth and starlight, you both believed in a happy ending.

[birdofwildness]

Finally getting back to writing about Tom Riddle 😌

Doing a fic with Tom Riddle X reader. Beauty and the beast retelling

[birdofwildness]

request.

morpheus x reader angsty fic where reader develops hanahaki disease (because of dream), but with happy ending. please. 🥺

Oh god😭 I'm so sorry for taking too long with this request😭 I hope it's decent enough.

⋆☀︎｡Crimson petals

⋆☀︎｡Morpheus

Summary::What the request says lmao.

Warnings::Mentions of blood, sickness

A/N::Hanahaki Disease is fictional illness involving flowers growing in lungs due to unrequited love

The Dreaming was quieter without you.

Morpheus noticed it in the way the clouds dragged a little slower. He never said anything aloud, not to Lucienne, not to Matthew. But he felt your absence. How could he not? You were the only one he felt most understood by.

You were a wild soul...perhaps you left for some adventure. Yes,that could be a possibility.He had always admired your desire for adventure.One day you were chasing dreams on the edge of the waking world, the next, telling riddles to nightmares and braiding flowers into his hair.

You had vanished before, of course. It was in your nature.

“She always comes back,” He remembers Matthew reassuring him once.“Maybe she’s just... busy? Humans are weird. You know that.”

...

The library smelled of parchment. Morpheus walked in without a sound, his shadow long against the ancient marble floor as he moved through the rows of books.

Lucienne stood near one of the central shelves, attempting to close a particularly stubborn volume.

“Lucienne,” he said quietly.Sturned to him with practiced calm. Her expression was composed, pleasant even.

“Yes,My Lord?” she asked.

“I have not seen Y/N in some time,” he said, stepping closer. “Has she visited you? Spoken to you? Left any books behind?”

Lucienne looked at the book in her hands, then at him.“No,” she said carefully. “Not directly. But she comes and goes, you know that. She is… difficult to track. Even in dreams.”

Morpheus narrowed his eyes. Something felt off about Lucienne.The book in her hands shuddered and snapped shut on its own. Lucienne was not being helpful,he needed someone else.

Mervyn Pumpkinhead was exactly where Morpheus expected him to be: leaning against a scaffold, smoking a phantom cigar, and pretending he wasn’t taking a break.

Matthew was perched on a bent metal beam.“Oi, boss!” he called, waving as if Morpheus were just any other passerby. “Fancy seeing you outside your brooding tower.”

“I am looking for Y/N,” Morpheus said, voice low. “Have either of you seen her recently?” above him, wings half-open in lazy balance.

Matthew’s feathers ruffled. “Y/N? Huh. Not in a while now that you mention it. Maybe she's talking to clouds, stealing fruit from dreams or driving nightmares nuts.”

“Yeah,” Mervyn added, flicking ash off his cigar. “She's never where you expect, but always making a mess.”

“This is not a jest,” Morpheus said coldly.

Matthew blinked. “Uh. Yeah. No. Sorry. Just...didn’t think it was serious.”

Mervyn hesitated, the cigar freezing halfway to his mouth. “You’re really worried, huh?”

“She is nowhere to be found.”

Matthew scratched at his beak. “So what now, boss?”

Morpheus stared into the air and for a moment, something unreadable passed behind his eyes. Then he turned, coat swirling like ink in water.

“Now,” he said, “I must go.”

...

The House of Secrets sat curled beneath a dusky hill.Its windows blinked with dim candlelight, and the wind here never carried birdsong.

Morpheus knocked once.The door creaked open with a familiar groan.Abel peeked out, eyes wide, mouth already trembling.

“L-Lord Morpheus!” he stammered, stepping aside so quickly he nearly tripped over his own feet. “W-what a surprise! What a—what a lovely surprise, yes, very!”

“I seek Y/N,” Dream said, stepping inside. “Has she come here recently?”

Abel’s smile faltered. “O-oh… um… n-not that I recall. I-I mean, she might have, but you know, people come and go and I… I don’t always notice and—”

Dream’s eyes narrowed. “Where is Cain?”

“Oh! Out. Yes, gone. Hunting. Burying something. Again. You know him, haha.” He was sweating now, visibly.

Something clattered upstairs.Abel flinched. “That was just… the wind! The house creaks a lot, you know? Full of… secrets!”

Morpheus turned towards the stairs. He heard another sound, something like a cough.

Abel made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. “Oh, that? P-probably the pipes! Terrible plumbing, truly dreadful!”

Before Morpheus could respond,Cain appeared at the top landing, arms crossed, looking entirely too casual for someone clearly blocking the hallway.

“Well, well,” he drawled, descending slowly. “Look who’s decided to honor us with his presence.”

“I seek Y/N,” Morpheus said simply.

There was a rustle from above.Morpheus didn’t look away. “You are stalling.”

Cain smirked. “I am the first liar. Comes naturally.”

Abel winced.“Cain—” he started.

Cain held up a hand. “No. He should hear it from her. If she still wants to speak.”

“I am going to her,” Morpheus said.Neither brother stopped him this time.

He moved slowly. The stairs creaked beneath his feet.The air grew heavier with each step.

When he reached the door, it was already ajar.He pushed it open with a fingertip.The room was dim, lit only by the pale, flickering glow of dreamlight through the curtains.

Flowers.Flowers everywhere.Scattered across the wooden floor like fallen stars. Red, violet, pale yellow. Roses,Camellias,Chrysanthemums. Some fresh,some wilted. Some still wet with blood.

He found you curled in the center of the bed. Hand to your mouth, breath rattling.A few petals stuck to your lips.

“Morpheus…” you rasped.

He crossed the room in two steps and knelt beside the bed. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

You laughed, and it came out broken. Petals spilled onto the pillow.“I didn’t want to… burden you with my mess.”

“This is not a mess,” he said, colder than he intended. “It is suffering. And you let it root itself in you without telling me?”

“You don’t love me.”

Morpheus stared at you, motionless. He was wounded.“Where… where did you get that idea, dearest?” he asked, and the word dearest came out before he could stop it.

You blinked up at him, you were exhausted.“Morpheus…”You smiled, but it was the kind meant for endings.

“I’ve known you for eons. Walked beside you. Bled beside you. Been your tether, your best friend.”

He didn’t interrupt.You went on, slower now.“I watched you mourn your son. I held you after you escaped from the waking cage. I stood silent when you chose queens and lovers and let them all leave you. Or you left them.”

You swallowed, painfully.“But you never looked at me the same way. Not once.And I accepted that. For a long time. I smiled through it. I loved you anyway. And then…” you looked down at the petal in your hand, trembling, “then it started growing inside me.”

His voice came unsteady.“I did not know.”

“I know,” you said. “You never looked.”

“That is not true.”

You blinked. “I have looked at you more times than I dare count,” he said, eyes locked to yours, “but never in the way you think,because I feared what it might break.”

You watched him. Waiting.

“You were my constant,” he said softly. “My dearest friend. The one presence that never demanded a crown or a kingdom. Who never feared my storms. Who never tried to change me.”

He reached out, then brushed your cheek.“I did not look at you as a lover… because loving you that way would have ruined the purest relationship I have ever known.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

“I could not bear to lose you,” he finished.

You stared at him.The man who had haunted your thoughts for centuries.

"Then you’re a fool," you whispered.

His eyes widened,but you reached out, fingers brushing against his pale hand, grounding both of you.

And then you leaned forward.And kissed him.

His lips were cool at first, but they softened into yours almost instantly, like he'd been waiting across centuries for permission. He cupped your cheek so gently, as if afraid you’d shatter.

The kiss was not desperate.It was honest.

Long overdue.

You exhaled slowly…and for the first time in weeks,you felt healed.

[birdofwildness]

Lmao guys...I realised that the third part of the dreambound series wasn't available in the masterlist ...oops.

Fixed it.

[birdofwildness]

Thank you babes for 0,4k followers 🥹🥹