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#sandman x oc
igotanidea · 1 year
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Be careful who you bring home : Morpheus x reader
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part 2 is up
request/summary by anon: you know how people get pets for emotional support? reader with anxiety or fear of loneliness finds a big black cat in a park and she is just: yeah, you are coming home with me. cat happens to be post imprisonement!morpheus. he wants to argue, but she quickly takes him to her apartment which is conveniently close to the park. reader cooing to cat: who is my little baby and Matthew seeing it from the street and laughing at his boss. with 142 for reader (maybe he said something while being a cat) and 153 for morpheus.
142 was "it's just your imagination", 153 was "put me down" I might have changed the request a little bit but I hope you'll like it. Also thete is a bit of a twist/ crossover in the story. Wonder if you'll get it :D
***
„Have you ever considered getting a pet?”
The girl in her mid-twenties, dressed in comfy, black clothes sitting in front of the therapist frowned in confusion.
“A pet” she repeated “and why would I need that?”
“You know, it is proven that they have positive effect on people who suffer from depression and anxiety, so maybe this would be a good idea for healing process”
“Do you give such advice to all of your patients, doctor Raynor? Did you give such advice to Bucky, as well?”
“We both know he is not that kind of guy.”
“Really, why not?” the girl shrugged “he had some goats in Wakanda after all.”
“Stop joking around.”
“Jeez, fine. I won’t get a pet. In my current mental state I can barely take care of myself, let alone any other living being. Any other words of wisdom coming from you?”
“Not with this attitude. You may leave for now.”
“You know if I was paying you that would be the shittiest session not worth a dime.” She grabbed her coat and without a word, hands in the pocket left the room and not-so-pleased therapist.
A pet. Good joke. A four legged animal who would wake her up in the morning and at night asking for food or caress. A being that would turn her life upside down since it would require constant care and supervision to avoid destroying her apartment. Nope. Thank you very much. She was good enough by herself. Determined to get her head and broken soul back together and get clearance to get back to SHIELD and field operations. She missed that, but apparently beating up a bunch of bad guys leaves you in emotional trauma and in need of recover. Bullshit! She was an agent, for god’s sake, not a crying mess. Her attitude was far from cheerful and optimistic but just today she had to curb her murderous thoughts since one of her nieces were supposed to visit. Jemma was five years old and was still going through her princesses, pink glitter and unicorns faze. She was a challenge to be around, but definitely worth it. Her father, agent’s sister were supposed to drop her in straight to the house, but just a minute ago she got the message about the change in plans. Since the weather was beautiful and it was not often this time of the year, he took the chance for a little walk in the park and decided to meet his sister there instead of in the four walls. As she approached the park, she noticed her family amongst other walking people. Jemma was running around, picking leaved and jumping into the pools with loud, happy squeals. She could not hold back the tiniest smile on her face.
“She’s gonna get all wet and dirty and then who will tend to that?” the girl mocked while coming closer
“Hm, don’t know. I think at this point she would be someone else’s responsibility.”
“Hello, brother.”
“Hello sister” he hugged her tightly “how you’ve been? Life still kicking you in the guts?”
“I mean, when it doesn’t? You know my line of work….” Her brother was convinces she was just some regular office worker dealing with boring documents, since that was simply safer for everyone.
“Right, so mundane and ordinary…..” he rolled his eyes
“Auntie!” Jemma turned around and run straight to her favorite relatives not caring about the mud she left on her trousers while clutching to her legs.
“Hi, cupcake. Don’t you have to much energy?”
“I have so much to tell you! About the rhyme I’ve learned and some new letters I came across and my friends and everything” little girl jumped around in excitement “And I know a new magic trick dad showed me. But I still don’t quite understand it….” she frowned
“It;s ok, cupcake, we can work on that.”
“Oh, thank god. Like I said, your responsibility now. Good luck.” Girl’s brother was quick to get himself some freedom “just don’t give her too much sweets, you know how she gets after that”
“Yeah, too well. See you in a couple of hours then. Come on, Jemma” she took her niece’s little hand sticky with some mysterious substance “ let’s go home.”
If only it was that easy. They only took a couple steps when the little one broke out from aunt’s grip.
“Look, auntie, a cat!” she run over to the bench where unusually big and beautiful animal was soaking up the sun.  Before he realized what hit him, he was squeezed and carried by a little pair of still sticky hands and it was visible he did not like it.
“Jemma! Leave that animal alone. It may hurt you.”
Do not refer to me as “it”. I am a male personification. And put me down! Immediately!
She could swear she heard something in the back of her mind, but let it go. After all, cats do not talk and she was in therapy for mental trouble so it was probably just her mind playing tricks on her.
“Can we take him home, auntie, he’s so sweet, please” little girl pouted
“No. Of course not, look at… him. He is very good looking, so most probably belongs to someone. Not a chance he’s a stray cat. “
“I can’t see anyone looking for him” a couple tears showed up in Jemma;s eyes. “Please, auntie, please….” Great, now she was crying out loud getting the attention of few pedestrians.
“Ok, fine, fine, just please stop crying.”
“Thank you” Jemma stopped her actions in a second and smiled widely showing the jags in her mouth. “I will carry him so don’t worry about it, auntie” she held the cat even closer not caring about him writing in her embrace.
“Just be careful so he won’t hurt you” she warned following her niece, wondering what the hell she got herself into.
I will not hurt this little mortal.
At this point, the older girl was pretty sure she was going crazy. And to think that Raynor wanted her to have a pet to help her mental health, not deteriorate it.
***
“Auntie, look, I made him pretty”
“Mhm, great” she did not even bother to look up from some records she was currently reading “wait, you did what, Jemma?” a second later she came to realization what a five-year-old girl can mean by saying “made pretty”.
“Look, auntie” said five year old was quick to get the cat out from behind and proudly present it. Despite her rather gloomy attitude the older one could not hold back a laugh. Black fur was now embellished  with colorful glitter and was wearing a crown. If it wasn’t for the lack of resources at home Jemma would probably extend her imagination even more.
“Oh” she cooed “look who’s pretty boy” her grin was now getting wider and wider. She was no expert on animal behavior but the look on its face clearly indicated it was not happy with the situation.
“I wanted to give him a braid, but the fur was too short” Jemma saddened
“Don’t worry sweetie, it looks just perfect. Like a ….”
“Princess!” Jemma squealed and turned around with the cat still in her embrace.
“Don’t you both dare. This is humiliating”. Once again there was this little voice inside girl’s head.
“Ok, honey, why don’t you let go of the cat now. I got a snack for you.”
“Chocolate cake?” Jemma asked innocently while playing with her fingers and shyly looking at the floor
“Apple and carrots”
“That is boooooring. And I don’t like carrots” Jemma whined
“Well, too bad for you. I heard veggies give you strength. And then your skin looks healthy and shines almost like the cat’s fur. Wouldn’t you like to look beautiful?”
“I’d rather be smart” Jemma retorted taking her aunt aback with maturity of this sentence “but I guess beauty can help in future. I saw on TV that pretty girls always have what they want so whatever” she shrugged and rushed towards the kitchen where the snack was already waiting for her.
“Unbelievable” her aunt shook her head “but she’ll be busy for a while, so how about we get you all cleaned up, huh?” she picked the cat from the floor and walked towards the bathroom ignoring the writhing animal, who was not happy about forced wash.
Put me down! It demanded again and the girl stopped looking him straight in the eyes trying to check out if she was really going nuts.
“Oh come on, girl, get yourself together. It’s just your imagination.”
She walked straight into the bathroom and started gently combing out the fur. Surprisingly, her action bring the animal comfort because surprisingly to both of them he started purring.
***
Two hours later, tired and sleepy Jemma was picked up by her father and her aunt could finally let the cat out into the wild. It was impossible earlier since the little girl was checking on him every five minutes, refusing to drop this action.
“Sorry about today. “ she muttered opening the door “but hey, on the bring side at least you have a nice story to tell to your fellow cats. Besides, you really are a pretty animal.” maybe it was another impression or the flicker of lights, but it seemed like the cats fur became a bit reddish and he squinted. “go, now, find your owners, get home safe, fella.”
It was just a couple of hours, but the girls was actually starting to think that maybe, hypothetically, Raynor was right about this whole “emotional support pet” stuff.
***
Morpheus bristled and crossed the street. Only on the other side of the road he changed back into the anthropomorphic personification of dreams.
“Um, boss?” his loyal yet rebellious Raven perched on the branch, tilting his head slightly. If he was still human he would probably laugh himself silly.
“Not a word, Matthew. Not a single word about it. To anyone” he reached for his sand and completely ignoring further words of the bird transported them back to the Dreaming “Do I make myself clear” he made sure before entering the palace.
“Sure thing, boss. But it was funny don’t you think?”
“Hold your tongue, Matthew!”
@somest1 @pinksirensong
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pandoraboxsblog · 9 months
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You’re so boring!
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cuckoo-on-a-string · 10 months
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Hello, Mr. Monster (Five. Sidhe)
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Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader
Masterlist The Nightmare's Interlude
Chapter Tracks: "Milk and Honey" by Delain, "Lacrymosa" by Mozart
18+/TRIGGER WARNING: Kidnapping, involuntary drug use, involuntary body modification, cutting (not self-harm), vague threat of SA/brainwashing
A/N: I LIVE!!! Thank you all for your patience. The story is jumping into a new arc!
Don't miss the bonus interlude chapter I posted! Linked above.
5: Sidhe
“Be careful on the road.”
Aisling’s ears rang with Fay’s parting words.
The fairie always treated the end of the season with a little too much gravitas, but this time she looked at Aisling like she could physically see danger growing over her. Brambles breaking through the asphalt or boulders crushing the van.
“Know something I don’t?” she’d asked.
“I know you find trouble, and trouble finds you. I know the world is trying to settle back into an old order, and it’s the hour of chaos and hungry hands. I know you’re alone, and the road is dangerous.”
Now, many hours and miles away, the conversation replayed on an endless loop in her head.
It haunted her. From the moment the words dropped from Fay’s lips, they settled around Aisling’s neck like a loadstone. They became a tale still furled in a fiddlehead, a glimpse of wyrd lurking in the road ahead, and she’d run off without a real destination in mind. Never a great plan. Even less so with this warning tossed in her lap like a dead fish. It stank of prophecy, and the age-old fight-or-flight response kicked in. There was nothing to fight, so she fled the entire concept of fate, driving in a vaguely New York direction.
A little distance helped. It gave her space to breathe. To think.
The wind combed tangles into her hair and some of the fear from her thoughts.
When she spied a rest area with lots of trees and very few guests, she pulled off the highway.
She sat in the van, cross-legged on the floor with the windows and sliding door open, letting the breeze cleanse the space. Well. All but one window open. Plastic sheeting rustled over the window the Not Deer shattered. Someday she might have money to repair it properly, but it wasn’t a priority.
There was so much to work through.
She meditated, looking inside, listening for the tidal rumble of raw intuition. The cards danced between her hands as she relaxed against the border of the unknown, trusting instinct over logic until fold, after fold, after fold she knew she had the right order. A three-card read. Quick, efficient.
No time for nuance on the road.
She turned the first card and found the Ace of Cups in the past position. The very recent past, she would guess. It practically sang the Dream King’s name. The Ace of Cups celebrated creativity, awakenings, and new feelings – new loves.
Heat crawled up her neck as the reading conjured memories in her skin. The touch of his hands. His mouth. His voice. The ash of the stars he teased to explode still drifted across her mind, sparking new life in places she’d been sure it would never grow. It made her curious. It made her wonder what else he could do if she let him. It made her wonder what she could do to him.
Forcefully shaking off the goosebumps creeping down her arms, she refocused. She wasn’t asleep. And daydreams could be dangerous. There would be more than enough time to explore all that after dark.
The Moon marked her present. It had as many meanings as the moon had phases, most of them based on changeability and shifts in course. But only one – intuition – felt right. It looked back at her through the card, acknowledging her as she sat open to it, listening and feeling, like meeting her own eyes in a mirror.
Finally, her touch drifted to the future. Her breath stuttered. The eight of swords appeared in her hand, and she set it down quickly, fumbling, like it could bite her. If paper and ink could bite, it just might. The card of prisoners. It thrummed with warnings: imprisonment, helplessness, restriction, and malice. It jarred with the other two cards, unlinked from the common thread of her choices.
Fay was right.
Something was coming for her.
The breeze nudged the eight of swords, canting it off-center on her altar cloth. She imagined she could taste the threat in the air, fate cinching tight as she shadows of the future loomed over her rising hope.
Her palm settled over her chest, following a familiar pattern around an old ache.
It couldn’t be her monster. She refused to believe it. Not after his sweetness in the dark, not after his reassurances and promises. She simply didn’t want to imagine he’d snare her, strip away her agency as easily as he plucked away her anxieties.
That choice remained hers, and she chose hope for once. It’d been too long since she had anything to believe in but herself, and the whisper of that promise was addicting.
Caw Caw!
Jolted out of her spiraling thoughts, her eyes flicked from cards, to van, to the world outside, moving between the distant highway to the overhanging trees. Eventually, they fell on the feathered thing waiting right outside the open sliding door.
A bird that wasn’t a bird.
A dream.
Her eyelashes flickered over her vision as she tried to understand what she saw. Dreams were all gone from the waking. Her eyes never lied.
Hadn’t they all been called back?
It cocked its head, looking her right in the eye. She blinked, slowly, and it caught itself, looking to the side and pecking aimlessly at the barren parking lot, like it could fool her.
Something high in her chest fluttered. She couldn’t say if it was nerves or joy. But she didn’t recognize this dream.
“Who are you?”
It froze. Looked back at her. Spitting out a pebble it had valiantly pretended to be a bug, it croaked.
It was definitely new, at least to the waking world, and that made her intolerably curious.
“I can see you.” She let the words spin out slowly, amused and patient.
If it stayed, they were having a fucking conversation, and she didn’t imagine it came all the way from the Dreaming to play make-believe with cracked fragments of asphalt.
“Uh.” It cleared its throat. Not all dreams could speak, but the voice suited him, and she was glad they wouldn’t need to play charades to understand each other. Black feathers puffed up with half-raised wings as it hunted for the right thing to say. “I’m Matthew. Are you – are you okay?”
She glanced down at the cards, then back at the faux raven. Starting a new relationship with a lie felt wrong, but she couldn’t explain the intimate dread and trust she felt for the bird’s maker in that moment.
“Mostly. Maybe. I don’t know you. Are you… new? What are you doing here?”
She wasn’t accusing it of anything. Her worry for herself redirected into concern for the little creature risking her monster’s wrath. She didn’t want anyone getting hurt because of her. A trite desire, but a desperate need a fleet of childhood therapists hadn’t managed to shake.
The dream ducked, looking side-to-side for eavesdroppers, and hopped just a little closer. She leaned over her cards, closing the distance, humoring its covert antics. It must not be very familiar with the waking world if it thought strangers who saw a woman talking to a bird would see anything but a hippie on a bad trip.
With a flapping burst, he landed on the edge of the van’s floor.
“The boss sent me,” he said, still glancing around warily. “You know. Dream. Your… whatever the two of you are.”
A fair description, really. ‘Soulmates’ was too much. They weren’t exactly friends, and lovers sent uncomfortable heat rushing into her face.
Let the dream thing be confused. That made two of them.
“So, er, what’re you doing?” He twitched to study the cards with one beady eye, and she caught a glimpse of swords reflected in the convex mirror of his gaze.
She swept up the spread, folding it into a fresh shuffle, like she could tuck away the danger before it infected her new little friend.
“Reading.”
“Ever heard of books?”
Oh, so the little dream was actually a little shit? That worked. As a little shit herself, she approved of scamps on principle. Even if they insulted her talents.
“Not that kind of reading.”
The dream scoffed. “Those things really work?”
Funny, such cynicism coming from a talking bird. Seemed like bad manners to call him on it, though, so she shrugged. “Depends on what you’re trying to do with them.”
“Tell the future?”
All too well. “Sometimes.”
That caught him off balance, and he physically shifted from foot to foot, nails tapping on the floor as he found it again. She took pity on him.
“Why did your boss send you?”
“Just, you know, to keep an eye on things.”
She raised her eyebrows, easily folding the cards into new configurations without looking down, and the dream cleared his throat.
“Can’t really speak for the boss and all, but it’s a dangerous world out here, and he thinks too much about that. Sometimes. I’m guessing.”
The cards felt right, and she let them settle into a neat stack in one palm, waiting to be cut and dealt.
“Are you spying on me, Matthew?”
He croaked in naked offense. Or because she’d caught him out. “No.”
“Babysitting then.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
Setting the deck on the altar cloth, she propped her chin on her fist. elbow balanced on her knee, and stared the bird down.
“I might.”
Sighing so hard his feathered shoulders rose and fell, the bird looked down, muttering things under his breath she pretended not to hear.
“Have you ever had your fortune read?”
His attention snapped back to her, picking up the opportunity for mutual distraction.
“No. Do dreams have fortunes?”
“I assume so.” Since he didn’t have fingers, she dealt for him. Another simple three-card spread. She didn’t have energy for much else after an evening of drinking, a night of wildly vivid dreams, and the shock of her own reading. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”
“But you’ve done this before. For things like me.”
“Oh, yes.” She thought of long nights at the festival when she’d been too young to drink, sitting in the dark with dreams and nightmares as they came up with their own fun. She remembered the first time she’d found The Lovers in Fin’s fortune and how she’d hounded him for weeks after. “Many times.”
Less than a day and their absence itched like a phantom limb. So stupid. Months apart without problem, and now she felt entitled to mope after a few hours.
She hoped they were okay.
She hoped she’d be okay.
Matthew puzzled over his three cards, his claws sinking into the loose weave along the edge of the altar cloth as he inched closer. She’d turned all three over in one fell swoop because she wasn’t in the mood for dramatics, and sometimes fortunes were easier to explain as a whole.
The dream’s, however, didn’t make much sense at all.
Death. Two of Swords. Three of Cups.
What the fuck.
He seemed particularly interested in the first card, and she began her usual spiel. “Death isn’t always death. It can mean and end to a phase, transformation…”
“Oh, it means death,” the raven interrupted. “For sure. I died, like really recently. Then I became -” He flapped his wings, sending the cards askew. “This.”
Until recently, Aisling thought she knew an awful lot about dreams and nightmares. She thought herself an expert. But she had no idea a dream could be anything before it was, well, a dream. And Morpheus had power over the dead? More news. Less welcome. The hair along the back of her neck pricked up, and she rushed on with the reading – something simple, something she could make sense of.
“Well…” She straightened the card. “This represents your past.”
The raven bobbed, a bird-like motion attempting to imitate a human nod. “So far so accurate.” He gently pecked the second card, pushing it even further out of line. He and his fortune defied order. “What does this one mean?”
She didn’t bother straightening it. The illusion of control wouldn’t last. “Two of Swords. Means you find balance in opposing forces. You have a tendency to repeat your mistakes.” Struggling to hold down a blooming smirk, she added, "And you're talkative."
“Talkative? Psh. Does that sound like me?”
“I don’t know.” It absolutely did sound like him. “But you do seem like the type to make the same mistakes.”
“Rude.”
“Blame the cards.”
He croaked, probably cursing her out in bird.
“Sure. So, what about this last one? My future, right?”
The Three of Cups. “Good luck and abundance. Kindness and pleasure. All the good things, usually after solving a problem. Have any problems, Matthew?”
“Plenty.” He shook his head and swayed between feet, warming to the subject.
Once upon a time, tarot readers served as talk therapists. She had a feeling Matthew would make her a historical reenactor.
“You wouldn’t believe what’s happened in the past few days.” The bird gossiped like an old crow. But that was good. No one told her anything, and this would be a nice change of pace, so she settled in to listen, happy to let the little dream spin her a yarn. “There was this woman – I guess that’s not too strange – but anyway, there was a ruby, and this man tried to change the world, but the boss stopped him, and we went to Hell before that. And I’d just met the boss, and that Constantine woman –”
Wait.
“Constantine?” She abandoned her relaxed position, leaning in to question the bird. “You’ve met Constantine?”
“You mean you’ve met her, too? Small world, right?” Matthew cleared his throat, cawing.
“She’s an old friend. She… warned me…”
Of course. That was how Johanna knew her monster was back on the scene. But she didn’t understand what her monster might want with the occultist. Was it her fault? Was it coincidence? Not that those happened very often, but a girl could hope.
“How did you meet Constantine?” Fuck. She should probably text her back, just to make sure she was still alive. “Is she alright?”
“Oh, she’s fine.” He croaked again. “Promise. Anyway…”
A redirection and a half right there.
“Are you not supposed to tell me?”
“Honestly?” He fluttered, spreading his wings like an open-armed shrug. “I have no idea. I’ve never done something like this before. I’ve only been a raven for, like, a week. I used to have rent, and a job, and fingers. If you’re looking for answers, I’m really not the bird to ask.”
Of course. Answers never came easily. She had to work for them, earn them like minimum wage – enough to keep her on the cusp of a breakdown without quitting entirely.
“I don’t suppose you could point me towards the right bird?”
“Can’t you just, you know, ask the boss?”
She glanced down, brushing a wrinkle out of the altar cloth where the dream and the breeze had disturbed it.
“I don’t know.”
Silence sat between them like a wriggling slug. Ugly, awkward. Neither wanted to touch it as it grew. She had a whole life to explain, and as a dream, he understood things she’d never grasp. Neither knew what to tell the other, or what might get the other in trouble with the elephant in the room.
The longer the silence grew, the more she wondered why her monster sent a minder. Maybe he’d foreseen the threat in her cards. Or maybe he wanted to slowly exert control over her waking life until he held perfect sway over her hours in any world. A bloodless war with an easy victory.
No. She physically shook the thought away.
No, she wouldn’t think that. Nope.
Maybe he was… concerned. She didn’t know if he felt fear, but if he did, he might have the usual long-distance relationship woes. Anything could happen when they weren’t together, and how would he even know until she failed to appear in a dream?
She liked that idea better, the myth of the anxious boyfriend who texted a little too often in an effort to feel closer across the borders he couldn’t erase, so she chose to believe it.
“Can you tell me about him?” she asked. “Your boss?”
“Listen, lady –”
“Aisling.”
“Right.” He softened, just a touch, and his empathy shone through their mutual frustration. “Aisling. I’m new new, if you catch my drift. I know about as much as you do.” Twitching to peer around the inside of her van, he strung together ideas until he had a mouthful of sentences to trade. “He’s a lot, but I’ve seen him be kind when he didn’t have to be. He’s scary powerful, but even when he wasn’t, he was proud. He’s a king, I guess. More than that, but that’s what I know.”
When he wasn’t powerful? She couldn’t imagine him as anything else. Fuck, did she want to ask, but she didn’t want to get the bird in trouble.
“I’ll try…” She swallowed around her misgivings. “Asking him sometime.”
“If it helps,” the dream bounced two steps closer, “I think he’d like that.”
She was out of things to pick at, and her smile fluttered awkwardly through her emotional kaleidoscope.
“You hungry? I’m starving.” Creeping around the bird and the spread cards, she escaped the van. “I need to wash up, and I’ll see if the vending machines are shit.”
“I never turn down junk food,” Matthew said, suddenly and deeply serious. “I miss human food. Rats aren’t bad – when you’re a raven – but I’d murder for a basket of fries.”
“Chips do?”
“You’re a saint.”
Patting her pocket to check for her wallet, she started the hike across the empty parking spaces towards the rest area. “And you have low standards, pheasant.”
“Raven!” he shouted after her, but she ignored him, hands in her pockets as she swaggered away.
The women’s was blissfully empty.
She had lots of time to splash cold water on her face and stare into the mirror. She let the water run, listening to the gathering echoes trickle and crash around the tiled space. Wasteful. She didn’t care.
She needed the noise, the wordless crush on her senses keeping her grounded as the warning, the reading, and the raven cycled through her thoughts.
And beneath all that, a girlish curiosity she struggled to accept.
Her monster played her well. She found herself wanting to fall asleep just so she could dream of him again, to see if he’d answer questions, if he’d touch her, if he’d let her touch him back.
But she didn’t quite trust it. Things only went well when they were about to go very, very badly, and until she knew which direction danger came from, she’d stay on guard. Hopeful or otherwise.
She drew her knuckle over her upper lip, thinking, and dry skin snagged. It wasn’t painful, but she couldn’t help comparing the texture to the palm she’d studied in the Dreaming, and an uncomfortable sense of her mortality prickled through her thoughts. Like the way people noticed their tongues and pooling saliva after someone pointed them out.
Something as simple as the weather damaged her. Air turned too humid or too arid made her flesh crack and peel.
She thought of the silken hands ghosting through her dreams, untouched by eons of labor, and her rough, human finger passed back over her mouth. How could she compare to an Endless? She made a poor match, and she knew it. Too weak. Too fragile. Too young, even. And age wouldn’t make her any worthier.
How could he stand to touch her when she’d crumble so easily?
She squeezed the edge of the sink, feeling too much of herself.
It wasn't fair to assume she knew his thoughts. It wasn't fair to assume he knew hers. But the ugly feeling to too many - varied - doubts curdled in her stomach, and she wondered if she'd ever have the strength to voice these kinds of insecurities.
A pity party would just make her more disgusted with herself, and she shoved away from the sink, pacing over the dirty tile, down the row of stalls and sinks.
She needed to calm down and get the raven a snack. No hysterics. No blubbering. She could contain herself, and everyone would be fine.
She looked up, face to face with her own reflection again.
Had that mirror always been there? Intuition prickled under her thoughts, drawing her attention to the details she’d failed to notice when she entered.
She counted the sinks. Seven. Seven sinks with matching mirrors and one long looking glass at the end of the line, tall and wide as a person, a surprisingly thoughtful investment in the utilitarian rest stop.
It wasn’t the strangest thing she’d seen, but she couldn’t recall the blur of motion her reflection should’ve made in her periphery when she marched in. Not the biggest thing. Nothing too alarming. Not even out of the ordinary really. But traps never were.
Fairy circles disappeared in tall grass and fallen leaves. Helpful goods and little treasures always appeared just where someone might’ve dropped them. The mirror was a little too clean compared to the others. Maybe it just didn't get splashed with soap and water from the sinks like the rest, but she wasn’t willing to risk it.
She didn’t like that mirror.
It rubbed her the wrong way, and she started moving towards the exit before she finished her thought.
One, two, three steps. Rubber soles squeaking on cement painted green as she moved towards her world of sunlight and dreams and rest stop vending machine snacks.
The long fluorescent light closest to the exit blinked. She stopped, and it went out. The next light buzzed, popped, and sparked as it died, and she took a step back.
She couldn't see anything approaching, but fuck if she didn't know her horror movies, and something was playing with her.
The third light winked out like a snuffed candle. Backing up, refusing to look away, just in case, she tried to stay out of the growing shadows. It was close to noon. Why did it feel so dark?
The fourth light. The fifth.
By the time the seventh flickered and died, she'd gone to the far end of the sinks, and as her hand pressed back against cool glass, she realized it wasn't a horror movie.
It was just another trap.
She made it all of one step away before long, wisened fingers coated in crumbling moss seized her upper arms and yanked.
The mirror dragged over her skin like mercury taffy, sticky with an aftertaste of poison. Shiny and wrong beyond her powers of description, it clung to her eyelashes and stuck to her skin as the hand in her hair dragged her through, away, and back – back - back into darkness. She struggled, writhing and shouting as her nails pried at the offending grip. But her fingers didn’t meet skin. Bark and lichen flaked off, crumbling over her cheeks as the gnarled spriggan hissed over her.
“Stay still, little prize. Wandering soulmate. Stay still!” It had a shrill, groaning voice. Wind shrieking in the creaking trees. Rot and new life in the same breath, rich with the age of soil. “Take you down. Take you back. Make you a pretty, pretty bride!”
Aisling did not stay still. She snarled, trying to escape through the light ahead, but the spriggan took her by the jaw and hauled her away into the crushing dark. It lunged headfirst into a tunnel too small to really fit them and chittered away, grinding its captive against the wall as it went.
Choking, trying to keep the fae from popping her head off her spine, she kicked along, catching breaths as she could. The spriggan’s many free hands pulled them along, and each handhold pulled earth loose from the sides. It fell in Aisling’s face, clogging her nose and eyes. Little beetles and worms fell, too.
Roots stinking of grave dirt caught in her hair, scratched her skin, but the grip on her neck locked her screams in her chest.
Her heart thundered.
Fingernails snapped as she tried protecting her face from the unforgiving path, still wrestling against the spriggan’s hold. Tears of shock and pain leaked out, mixing into mud over her cheeks. Her thoughts faded under the onslaught, melting into a tumble of sensation and abject horror.
They moved faster than they should. Magic warped the natural world and tugged them through adjoining planes. Aisling lost all track of up, down, or the way back to the mirror. The roots grew with their progress, and the spriggan cackled, so wildly pleased it didn’t notice how the fragile human in its grip struggled to breathe.
The world flipped, and she landed hard on a dirt floor, half-pinned under her kidnapper's bulk. Still holding her by the neck, the unseelie tugged her through a growing crowd of things with claws, wings, and half-grown faces, moving towards something she couldn't see. Black bars threatened the edges of her uncanny vision, and she grasped after her fading rage as her legs spasmed, tangling in the spriggan's trailing cloak. Terror choked her as much as the grip on her throat.
Oh, hell.
Matthew was still waiting for her to come back with a bag of chips.
Fuck.
Losing control, losing consciousness, she realized: she really was going to die this time.
Maybe that was better than whatever the unseelie planned, but she didn't want it. She wanted to struggle a little longer, find a way to steal a kiss from her masked monster, maybe. Sit in the sun. Let Constantine know the occultist hadn't lost another friend.
'You are killing our prize, spriggan."
Dropped, she crashed face-first into the dirt, coughing more than breathing as her ears rang. The whole scene felt a step removed, like she was wandering a dream or watching through fog. But that wasn't right. Magic bitter as wormwood coated her throat, and she curled into herself, feigning a fetal position as she reached for the long, iron nail hidden in the sole of her shoe. Her broken nails grated over the head, the blood leaving the metal slick as she tried to tug it free. Heavy feet approached - goblin guards ready to haul her off again.
She wouldn't roll over that easy.
The nail came free just as the bigger of the two guards reached for her, and she stabbed it in his hand. Green blood spattered over the dirt, and the beast howled in anguish. As it fell back, the other lunged, the nearby crowd taking notice.
Iron made friends of all fae. Even the natural enemies in the unseelie court. Like she'd shouted "Fire!" in a crowded theater, everyone had two reactions: run, or put it out.
Stabbing and waving her poisonous weapon, she whirled in a circle, looking for an escape, a passage, light, anything. But everywhere she glanced, she found more eyes and bared teeth.
They mobbed her. Many hands took her arm, grabbed her hair by the roots, and clambered onto her back. More and more joined the fray until they had her spread prone. A redcap took the nail with a long pair of silver tongs, nearly tearing the skin off one of her fingers to break her grip, and darted away, eager to separate weapon and wielder.
"Get its mouth open."
Clawed fingers pushed between her lips. They forced her jaw wide and slid filthy flesh, scales, and fur past her teeth, cutting into her gums, cheeks, tongue. Heat pricked in her eyes at the helpless pain as a tall unseelie with hair like moonlight over pond scum approached with a stoppered amber bottle.
Screaming, twisting, she tried again to save herself. Maybe, worlds away, the dream bird would hear. Or his master. Johanna, Fin, anyone. But the fae uncorked the bottle, and he poured it neatly into her open mouth.
"Let it swallow."
The hands all disappeared from her face, but they kept her anchored to the floor, prepared for another fit, another hidden weapon. She reflexively swallowed a mouthful of blood and potion to keep from choking, coughing desperately to clear the drops she'd aspirated.
Salt, iron, and elder berries.
“Gently now.” Taloned fingers massaged her throat, ensuring the draught went down. “Isn’t this better?”
She groaned through clenched teeth, pushing against the poisonous lethargy freezing her from the inside out, against the forbidding chill stripping away her agency but not her awareness. Inch by inch, she lost the war, and hand by hand the creatures restraining her let go.
The potion didn’t put her to sleep. She had no opportunity to escape into dreams. It only allowed breath and tears as she turned into a limp rag doll for the unseelie to manipulate like the hollow, powerless thing they believed all humans to be. They didn't need her to rest. They only needed her to be quiet.
Satisfied, the tall unseelie nodded to someone she couldn't turn her head to see. "Prepare it."
They carried her into more tunnels, broader than before, more than wide enough for them to march through without scraping the sides. A team of monsters handled her, murmuring ideas and instructions as they moved into a room echoing with running spring water.
Roots tangled overhead, and she watched them pass like waves, imagining they were the ones really moving as the unseelie court swallowed her up.
The terror swallowed her, too.
Trapped in her own body, she reached for disassociation as hooked claws and stone knives sawed through her clothes. Oblivion, however, floated out of reach as panic chained her to the bare stone they laid her over, left her drowning in every prod and poke as her handlers discussed how to improve on the fragile human flesh she hated a few minutes ago. She'd do anything to keep it.
They bared her to the frigid air, and she couldn't even shiver. Couldn't shout, or swear, or save herself.
The spring water was bright cold. Lights popped in her eyes as the first splash washed over her belly. Chill translated into pain, something too sharp to be liquid, even though she felt it rolling down her sides. Her captors cleaned her, scrubbing and muttering and pulling her hair as they combed it out. Her discomfort and fear simply didn't matter in a place where she had no voice. No choice. They tutted over her scars - a lifetime of chasing nightmares and living on the road patterned in bites, slices, and other imperfections.
"These are old," one unseelie muttered, tracing a fingertip rough as gravel along the Not Deer's old fang marks in her shoulder. "I can only smooth away fresh."
"Then make them fresh," another suggested. "Nothing else for it."
They took a knife to her, skinning her history by inches, peeling stories, tearing fascia, and baring muscle. The blade cut out the imperfections, erasing the glossy moon on her knee where she tripped on the playground as a child. It erased every line and mark loved ones would use to identify her body, leaving her naked and new in strange and terrible ways.
She watched them throw pieces of her into the corner. Hiding at the edge of the dim light, a spider the size of a small dog plucked them up like table scraps, jaws clicking just above the wet sound of the knife.
Butchered alive, her mind filled with static, rattling with captive screams and pleas. If she lived, she would not escape unscathed. This was killing something. This was changing her in ways that couldn't be undone, and she didn't want it. Someone had to make them stop before she couldn't recognize herself.
Warm blood soothed her goosebumps, and one of the voices sighed as her skin regrew.
"We'll have to wash it again."
More freezing water. More pain. She kept still as they worked, and her sanity squealed like glass under pressure. On the verge of shattering.
One began spreading a smooth, white cream up her arm, working it into the new skin. When the unseelie found Aisling watching, it smiled. "Ground pearls and unicorn horn, so you'll glow for the Dream King."
It explained like she'd be happy, like she wanted to be a pretty bride delivered in chains. If her stomach was still under her control, she would've thrown up.
Magical ingredients like anything off a unicorn would not come off in the next bath. More permanent changes worked into her flesh for her monster's sake. She would be more beautiful and less herself.
What she wouldn't give to spit in the unseelie's face. Or curse her monster's name. Anything. Instead, they worked the potion from head to toe, and the fuckers looked damned pleased with their results, assuming her gratitude as their rightful due.
Dozens of spiders crept from the corners, and the unseelie set to work on her hair and face as a thousand little legs tickled over her limp body. She wasn't wildly arachnophobic, but she'd jump and shout if a spider crawled up her arm. Now countless spiders wandered her naked body, and she couldn't shake them off. Instinct demanded she try, but she was as helpless under the spiders as she was under the knife. After a few moments of blind horror, she realized they were moving in patterns, leaving lines of silk they built into a gauze-lace dress over the next hour. She closed her eyes, desperate for even that much of an escape, and the unseelie painted her lids and lips to their satisfaction. Their concoctions smelled like roses and mercury.
When the spiders finished, the unseelie stepped back and sighed.
"Ready."
A troop of gnomes carrying some kind of box rushed in, and the unseelie handlers pulled back the box's front curtain, revealing something between an animal carrier and a royal litter.
"It's time to deliver you to the Dreaming, little bride."
They packed her inside, careful not to ruin their good work, and the curtain fell. She counted the walls. Seven. All the same soft white fabric shot through with silver threads. A pretty box for a pretty bride.
And her first hint of privacy. Alone, without unwanted hands, spider legs, and the sight of her own blood on the floor to distract her, her thoughts gathered behind the scrim of dread. She felt her heart beating in her chest, not just the hollow echo in her ribs. Her fingers tingled, begging to move, and one curled as the box rose, swaying on low shoulders down the labyrinthine tunnels of the unseelie court. It wasn't enough to save herself, but it was more than she had an hour ago.
She didn't witness the journey. She measured the time in twitching muscles and waking limbs, counting breaths instead of minutes. They moved between worlds, but all she cared about was the distance between her consciousness and any control over her hands. She wanted to pull open the curtained wall, and slowly, slowly she pushed her hand towards the edge of the screened box. A lifetime measured in millimeters. And just when her nails scratched the fabric, the box shifted, and she rolled back to her original position. Foiled by gravity. Of all damn things. A laugh brushed with madness fluttered around in her chest, caught like a bug in a net, and she wondered what kind of potion would give it life and get it out. She needed it exorcised. If she started laughing, she'd start crying, too.
The box must be enchanted, because she didn't hear anything outside it. The unseelie made lots of noise, and if they brought her to the Dreaming in any kind of official capacity, they'd have to announce themselves. She heard fuck all. She hadn't even heard the gnomes' feet marching towards her doom. Her soft prison kept her safe and stupid as they took her away.
When the front curtain pulled back, all she knew was she was somewhere else, somewhere with light and color, without the wormy, wet smell of the underground court. Two unseelie women reached inside, taking her wilting arms and guiding her to rise much more elegantly than she could've managed on her own. She was surprised her legs worked at all, but they must've timed this carefully.
She still wanted to bite them and run. But when she couldn't really keep on her feet without their support, that was impossible. She could watch. She could wait. She still didn't have a choice.
A weak little bride who couldn't fight back but didn't lounge like a slug in her cage - a lovely, tidy gift.
The unseelie with the pond scum hair swept up, taking her hand as the two attendants stepped back. She wanted to bite him most of all, and almost like he could sense her plans to draw blood - fuck the cost - he took her by the chin and faced her towards something much worse.
They stood at the foot of an impossible staircase in a room too grand for a ceiling. A cosmos moved overhead, catching the graceful statues along the columns between daylight and starlight. The steps curled through the air to the foot of a throne, a seat for a king, set above the receiving hall where lesser creatures stood and begged. Sunlight cut into dazzling colors through arcing stained glass windows backlit the monarch's place, on high. Beautiful. Breath-taking.
Yet it was the king's face that froze her heart.
She knew many things about Dream of the Endless. The King of Dreams and Nightmares. Lord Morpheus. Since she was a child, she'd been told he was cold and capricious, particularly with his lovers. That he was possessive and vengeful. If he was a good king to one he was an awful tyrant to someone else.
He was dangerous.
She knew he touched her gently and had a voice darker and deeper than the spaces between the stars, but she hadn't known until she stood a prisoner at his feet that she knew his face.
When she saw the beautiful entity trapped in the dead wizard's basement, she knew he was powerful. She freed him anyway. Her intuition led her to him, and she gave him exactly what he needed.
Her chest filled with lead. Heavy. Crushing. Pulling her down in the unseelie's grip. His hand tightened on her arm, and he refused to release her jaw, forcing her head back so the Dream King could see the fae's good work.
The Endless looked down on them all, starry eyes burning through her cobweb dress. Terrible and aloof.
Feeling drowned her reason, and she picked fragments of thought out of the swamp with shaking hands.
Why?
Why not show his face when she'd already seen it? It didn't make sense if he'd been honest with her. Was he that hungry for a little more power in their dynamic? Had he played a game, amusing himself with the dumb little mortal wyrd had already trapped in his name?
The unseelie, she realized, was speaking. He'd probably been talking since before they pulled her out of the gossamer prison.
"...one of our own. We've brought it - her - to atone for that one's error and ensured she is as fair and flawless as a mortal might be made. We cannot undo the sins of the first, but we have made a better gift of her in the end."
The creature made her humanity something fetid. She was not even as good as a dog, because her free will pushed her to snap back. But she'd been made fair, and what else could a mighty Endless desire from such a lowly thing, marked or not?
And Morpheus listened. He sat still as stone and let the fae hold her up for his inspection. She thought very carefully of every promise he'd ever made, and in this new light, she quickly found the gaps in his word.
She'd been such a fool to trust him.
A deep breath lifted her shoulders, the biggest voluntary motion she'd enjoyed since they drugged her, but she struggled to breathe. The air just wouldn't stick. Fuck. Fuck it hurt.
What an idiot.
What a romantic little idiot who had every warning and swallowed the poison anyway. It was written clearly on the label, but it looked right and it felt right so she ignored her mind and followed her gut, and look what that earned her. Belly pain and tears. They rolled hot and ugly down her face, creeping over the unseelie's hand, sinking into his skin.
He tutted. Releasing her arm, he reached into umber robes, confident in his hold on her face. Her jaw ached under the pressure.
"We understand you prefer... willing partners." The unseelie pulled out a white and purple flower for the king to see, and her blood ran cold.
She thought she'd been heartbroken before. She thought she'd been frightened. This was worse than anything she could've imagined, and she finally remembered to struggle. Sinking her nails into the creature's wrist, she tried to pull his hand off her face, but his hold was sturdier than the roots of a centuries old oak. Chances were, she'd drop the second he released her, but she'd rather eat pavement than be anywhere near the simple pansy flower.
"Love-in-idleness will woo her to your hand in a heartbeat."
It really would, too. A few drops of its nectar in her eyes, and she'd forget she was anything other than madly in love with the first face she saw. Her power to consent would evaporate as the spell took hold, and she'd be her monster's happy little fool for the rest of her life.
"No." Her voice joined the fight, and breathless as it sounded, it still carried through the chamber. Her monster must hear it, up on his throne, watching someone else manage the breaking of his new pet on his behalf.
She'd curse him with this. He'd hear her denial whenever he reached for her. She'd infect him with it, let it creep under his skin until he couldn't meet his own eyes in the mirror. Maybe. Hopefully. If he ever cared the way he said he did.
She chanted her refusals through grit teeth as the unseelie lifted the flower. As much as she wanted to hurt Morpheus, her fear drove her actions. She begged, pleaded, using every scrap of her meager strength to just get away.
"Stop. Don't. No." When did her voice become so small? "Please don't." Panicking, scrambling to escape the unseelie and his curse, she fixed her eyes on the blossom's purple streaks. Folklore said it used to be pure white until Cupid shot it with one of his arrows. She'd be the opposite. It would bleed her mind white, a placid death in life.
"Stop."
Her words. His voice.
The command froze the scene. Every unseelie. Every mote of dust hanging in multi-color sunbeams. The hand on her face went from oak to rock, and she trembled, fighting to breathe as she dared glancing away from the damned flower to the entity on the throne. Her lead heart forgot how to beat.
Dream of the Endless glared down, hands curled into fists. Had his eyes always been so bright? Fury burned like the sun, a cutting light sweeping across the gathering, wrathful and inescapable as the end of day, as the coming of dreams. They dazzled her through the scrim of tears, and she teetered on the cusp of hope.
The unseelie, after several long, painful moments, cleared his throat. "Lord?"
"Do you think it a challenge for me to find any sleeping mortal, mauled by your kind or whole?" His voice rumbled with the threat of an earthquake. Or a flood. Something old and deep that crushed civilizations without effort or consideration. A natural consequence of assuming control over something beyond even the idea of command. Ancient. Endless.
The unseelie hesitated.
She waited, too, frightened to trust again so quickly. She fought to breathe, to reason out what was happening. If he'd order that fucking plant burned in Hell, she'd feel a lot better.
"N-no, Lord Morpheus."
The Dream King rose, and every member of the unseelie delegation took a step back. Caught in the leader's grasp, she stumbled with them, clinging and whimpering as she tried to find strength to stand on her own and wrestle free.
"Did you think I'd rejoice to see one so intimately linked to my fate dragged to my throne against her will?"
The sun faded from behind the stained glass, and shadows curled out from between the columns like living things. They didn't obey the light, and they twisted hungrily on the verge of attack.
The unseelie's grip shifted. A sharp nail pressed into the side of her throat, and long fingers circled her neck. Rather than showcasing her to the side, the envoy swung her forward to block the king's ire. A literal human shield.
It was a bad idea to threaten a king in his own palace. Even discreetly.
"You are guests in my realm, and therefore protected by the laws." His eyes blazed, and a warning pulled his voice so low she could feel it in her spine, reverberating through the realm. "But if you do not release Aisling Hunt to my hospitality - safe and well - you will have harmed another guest, and your protection shall be revoked."
He didn't negotiate. He simply explained. And the unseelie holding her knew it.
"We had always intended to leave her in your care," he whined.
"Do you wish to leave my realm alive?"
The unseelie stuttered, and a cruel sliver of a smirk ghosted over the pale king's face.
"But if you'd rather stay - Well."
The unseelie considered, flexing his grip. He'd come on a mission, and it had gone poorly. The Dream King was not grateful, and now the fae had to decide if it was safer to keep his shield or flee. A moment's thought. And he shoved her forward, hard. She landed hard on her knees, yelping at the impact, and the unseelie moved out of the chamber in a rush of half-hearted apologies.
Murmurs and footsteps faded, a distant argument breaking out like a clap of thunder. She flinched, still on hands and knees, trapped in a spiral of breaths that wouldn't come fast enough and shaking limbs that couldn't fully support her.
The flower was gone. The unseelie were gone. But she wasn't alone. Wasn't safe. And the sticky spiderweb lace plucked on her nerves without keeping her warm, so she shuddered on the hard, stone floor and gasped as she stared down at her strangely pretty hands with their unicorn treatment, and -
She was not.
Not on the floor. Not on her knees.
With Morpheus.
He seized her, caught her up close with fingers that hooked into her shoulders like talons. The world seemed to quake, but maybe that was only the chest beneath her cheek and the arms around her back. She didn’t see him change shape or size, but his presence swelled, thick and biting like ozone as he pulled her so deep into his embrace she couldn’t see his splendid throne, or the retreating unseelie, or anything beyond him.
Was this better? Was this safe? She didn't know, she didn't know, she didn't trust him. Her ribs crowded her lungs, and her breathing fluttered, never drawing a full inhale or exhale, only pulling enough oxygen to keep her lightheaded, broken hearted, and awake.
"Sir?"
He dragged her deeper, long fingers gathering her by the handful to pull inside his shadows. At least, it felt that way. He might not break and bend her like the unseelie, but she had no doubt he could consume her, swallow her up until she blinked in the dark like a little star.
"Sir."
"What is it, Lucienne?" His rough, begrudging question flooded her senses, and her fingers spasmed where they dangled at her sides.
"Sir, she is not well."
She couldn't see the speaker, but they weren't wrong. Aisling felt very unwell. She hurt, and she ached, and she was worried something was irreparably broken, but she couldn't remember its name. She spun in eddies of failing thoughts, struggling to follow the basic conversation.
"I know." Sorrow, frustration, and darkness there.
But the stranger outside Morpheus's embrace remained undaunted, insistent. "Sir, she cannot breathe."
A cool hand cradled the side of her face, summoning her to meet his radiant eyes. A frightening place to be - in his hand, under his gaze - made worse by the fact she didn't know whether or not it was the perfect escape or some fresh hell.
His thumb rolled down the tear tracks, memorizing them by touch, teaching himself the shape of her pain. The face he denied her was very, very near, but she couldn't read it. Couldn't plumb the depths of whatever he tried to express.
"You must breathe."
It didn't sound like an order. He nearly whispered the three words, a private request for her ears alone. A plea. And she wanted to. She wanted to thank him for asking by filling her lungs, relaxing in his arms, and assuring him everything was fine. But she couldn't, and she didn't, and it wasn't. Another tear broke loose from the pools gathered over her lower lashes and rolled over his thumb, washing him in the agony he tried to explore.
"I have you now." He spoke like a song, the cadence pulling around her mind, soft and sweet as a lullaby, and she wondered if he was consciously trying to charm her. Any other time, she'd welcome it, but she couldn't find her courage, or her attraction. All she felt was small. Frightened. Vulnerable and nearly naked in the arms of a creature she didn't trust.
She couldn't decide to calm herself. Panic stopped being a choice several hours back, and as her body woke up, it demanded the reactions the unseelie potion refused it. Her shaking was her answer. She had nothing to give his searching eyes. Words were human and she stood there as a mess of fears and silent prayers tangled in a web of nerves.
He leaned in, pressing his lips to her third eye.
"Let me help you."
Tensing, expecting more magic or power to crush over her mind, she felt him brush her subconscious. He waited there, at the gates, and the part of her that understood him best accepted his hand. Guiding her from the frightful awareness of her own body, her monster sheltered her in a softer darkness, wrapping her in the blurred sensations of a peaceful rest.
Sleep.
She blinked, and slumped, and he gathered her up. As she faded, she saw him: the worlds beyond the face, and the smooth white skin of a being she was on the verge of loving without understanding.
Fuck.
She was still a fool, and his arms seemed like the safest place in all the world.
A very good place to fall.
Asleep.
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alteon77 · 10 months
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The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 5
It's a tale as old as time.
Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.
Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.
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Chapter One here, AO3 here, Masterlist here
Chapter Summary: A talk, a nightmare, and a few understandings come about. Morpheus learns a teeny tiny bit about compromise. Mostly just how much he hates having to do it.
May's always hated traveling.  
By horseback, carriage, train, boat, plane, or car. There's never really been a version of it that she enjoys, and given that her gastrointestinal system is currently waging a vicious, ruthless war on her at the moment, her mind hasn't really changed much on the subject. Usually, the reason for her dislike of travel can be put down to the fact that whenever she and Viego have had to do it in the past, it's been because they were running, fleeing from one place to another like criminals in the night.  
Now, though… Now it's mainly the morning sickness. 
In the kitchen of their new house, she looks at all the boxes and sighs. This could have something to do with her irrational loathing as well. Whenever they get to one of their temporary homes, there's always so much damned unpacking to do these days, so many things that they require to live in this century comfortably, and since she's useless as far as crafting the magical shields she's been left in charge of going through all their crap this time. Which is daunting and terrible and generally makes her think that Viego isn't her favorite brother anymore despite that he's kind of her only brother. 
She sets about sorting their many belongings anyway, and halfway through her second box, Morpheus just appears in her kitchen like some vengeful spirit of crappy days past. May's not surprised to see him, having not bothered to entertain the thought that he would give her even a day to get settled. After all, he's never moved, never had to deal with an eighteen hour car ride. How could he possibly know how draining those experiences are? As a small consolation, she at least has the pleasure of witnessing him look around at the disarray in something like horror. It's kind of adorable really, the way his brows draw together, the way his forehead creases, the way his lips press together as he gawks at what he probably considers unnecessary chaos.   
"Do you truly require this many objects?" 
May shrugs and takes a sip of her water where it rests on the counter. Her stomach churns when she swallows it down as if it's warning her not to even think about doing that again.
Because her stomach is stupid. And obviously doesn't know she needs to try and stay hydrated. "Well, some stuff comes in handy. Pots and pans, utensils, dishes, clothes…." 
His face is scrunched up in confusion as he studies what she's set out on a counter to organize. "Can you not simply create these things?" 
She narrows her eyes at him and reminds herself to stay calm. He'd do terrible in this kind of life being as unused to hiding his power as he is, but that's not his fault. He hasn't ever had to seek the safety of far away or had to worry about a group of savage makers tracking him down and violently, mercilessly forcing him to join their war by any means their twisted minds could conjure. "Sure," May explains slowly. "If we want to draw attention to ourselves. They can sense the magic, other makers, so we… don't do anything that might lead them to us." She points a finger over to where a gold, shimmering light is settling into the wall. "That magic becomes part of the fabric of reality here, so it's undetectable, but the other stuff? Not so much." 
He glances up, likely curious of the power that's weaving itself around the new house seemingly on autopilot. "Where is your brother?"
"He set the protection spells and ran to the grocery store."
"The… grocery store," he repeats as if the phrase is a foreign one, like he's trying the words out for the very first time. Which, May figures, might actually be the case.
"I wanted grapes." 
"Grapes?" He narrows his eyes and then waves his hand so that a bowl of them appears before her, and they are unfortunately as beautiful as anything else he creates, plump and a lovely purple. Her mouth waters at the sight of them.  
"No, thank you," she refuses politely. In that moment, however, they're probably the most difficult words she's ever had to utter in her life because she definitely wants this fruit like she doesn't think she's ever wanted anything before, but May isn't moronic enough to accept them from him. This conversation isn't going to be a pleasant one given that she's pretty sure she'll be forced to say No quite a lot for most of it, and he really really doesn't like that word.  
He purses his lips at her as though he's been sucking on lemons, and May almost laughs at that expression. It's not just Blue Steel. It's cranky Blue Steel. "We should speak," he begins gravely, his tone lower than usual. 
May stills from where she's putting forks and spoons into a drawer. "Yeah. We probably should."  
He draws in a deep breath as if trying to calm himself. "I would feel… That is to say, it would be... prudent for you to return to the Dreaming with me." 
May takes a deep breath too, preparing to deal him an answer that he really won't want to hear. "It is plenty prudent for me to stay here with Viego." 
As expected, he gets pissed. Instantly. What isn't expected, though, is the way that when his eyes burn black, it's only a minute or two before he forces them back to their normal blue, like he's really trying hard to keep his temper in check. "I strongly disagree. Why are you so adamant in your refusal to return to the realm? I believe that you once enjoyed being there." 
Oh, he's an actual fucking idiot. May glares at him, rendered speechless for a moment. She can't help it. No matter the civility that they're both painfully striving for, that was singularly stupid of him. "How very astute of you. I did enjoy it there, Morpheus. I enjoyed it enough that I even planned to make it my home. But then I was tossed out and left to rot in the Waking. Did you somehow forget that part? Because I haven't." 
His face darkens. "As I've said, I have rescinded the banishment," he grits out through clenched teeth, his hands tightened into fists at his side.  
"Until when? How long will it be this time until I'm kicked out again?"
His inhale is sharp, angry. "Recent… revelations have clearly changed my wishes regarding this matter." 
"I'll repeat that question then. Until when? How long will it be this time until I'm kicked out?" 
"Never," he hisses. "I will repeat to you that my wishes regarding this matter have changed." 
"Have they really, though? A baby doesn't have to-" 
"Surely you cannot be serious," he cuts in rudely, talking right over like she hadn't even been speaking. "A child alters everything."
He's… probably not wrong, but May won't admit that to him. It takes every ounce of willpower she has to simmer down from her sudden urge to throw a fork at him. In a barely composed voice, she says, "Look, I'm offering you an out. I know you don't want anything more to do with me, and so you don't have to be involved in this." She gestures at her stomach, and he looks like he wants to flinch for some reason. "You can walk away now and-"
"You dare to suggest that I would neglect my responsibility." 
"Stop interrupting me," she snaps, irritation rising up so quickly within her that she thinks she might be trembling from it. "All I'm saying is that I can handle this. Alone." 
"That you would even consider proposing such a thing lends to my belief that you've never known me at all."
An image of her being banished flashes across her mind, the fear and heartbreak of it so acute that it's as if she's being stabbed. He recoils a little, and May realizes that with her magic dwindling her mental shields are likely gone too, allowing him to pick up on exactly what she's thinking about. "I obviously didn't know you at all, Dream. I thought I did, but… but I didn't." 
"Will you truly vilify my understandable reaction to learning of your treasonous betrayal? I have condemned mortals to Hell for far less than your treachery." 
"That doesn't actually make it okay. You know that, right?" she demands in disbelief, because there's no way he doesn't get that. "Just because you have a history of doing shitty things doesn't mean you're excused when you do more shitty things." 
He scoffs, an incredulous fury about him. "You are being unreasonable." 
"Has it ever occurred to you that you're the one being unreasonable?" 
He lifts his chin a fraction and glowers at her. "It has not, because I am guilty of no such thing." 
"That response is a real shocker," May snarks as she tries another sip of her water, grimacing at the alarming way her stomach roils. She refuses to get sick in front of him. Absolutely not going to happen. She can't imagine anything more awkwardly mortifying than the two of them trying to have this conversation while she's hunched over a toilet. 
"You alone destroyed the love between us. Do you understand that I can never trust you again?" he bites out, and May feels herself go rigid. 
Her eyes well up, but crying in front of him is just another of those things she'd rather eat her own foot than let happen. She's sure these hormones are going to be the death of her soon, killing her with the sheer embarrassment of what they make her want to do. "I… can never trust you again either," May informs him shakily. "I… won't ever trust you again."
His face falls, and his expression is almost one… of hurt. That confuses her. Why would he be hurt? He doesn't really care about her, about their relationship. Her distrust should be less than nothing to him. He collects himself quickly, straightening up to fix her with a withering stare. "Trust between us or no, we are to have a child together, and it deserves the protection that only I can provide the both of you." 
She hates the truth of it, but she's also very aware that he's right. At some point, her and this little one might have to seek the sanctuary of the Dreaming, but… that isn't today, and she'll be damned if she goes back there with him any sooner than she must. "We're safe, though, and if that… if that isn't the case in the future, then I'll reconsider. But for now, there isn't really a need for you to have to deal with my presence, and… and there isn't a need for me to have to deal with the fear of being an unwelcome guest in your home, so let's just… not make things any worse than they already are. I'll stay here, and if anything changes we'll... revisit this discussion." 
He studies her for several minutes, weighing the compromise she's offered him. He doesn't want to agree with her. She can tell by the way his jaw is clenched tight as he grants her a single curt nod in acceptance. "I will come here, then. Frequently." 
She could refuse, she knows, could outright ban him from visiting, but honestly she just… doesn't want to fight anymore. Her head is pounding and her stomach is flip-flopping like it does right before it starts rebelling against her in the most disgusting way it can. "That's… fair," she allows. "You don't have to, but if you feel the need to check on the baby, then I… I understand that." 
He seems shocked at her easy capitulation, and May figures he probably thought they were going to yell some more. "Very… well." 
"It's not a trick, Dream. I'm completely serious. Just… don't be creepy about it. No… watching me sleep or anything like that."  
"Why ever would you think me inclined to such foolishness?" he asks with the tiniest hint of condescension in his voice, and May resists the urge to roll her eyes. Like he's never given her the Edward Cullen treatment before. "As if I would do something so ludicrous as watch you sleep."
In the dark of May's room, Morpheus stands near to her bed and unashamedly looks down on her as she slumbers. He's painfully aware that, were she awake, she'd likely fuss at him for doing this against her explicit warnings not to, and once again he feels the grief of their destroyed relationship acutely. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and stroke her hair, but he does not. Despite that she carries his child, he no longer has the right to caress her, no longer has the right to partake of such a gentle gesture of care for her.  
Though he cannot deny that he wishes to. Fervently.  
As he looms over her, he thinks on their discussion earlier. While he would never admit such a thing aloud, her reasons for refusing to return with him had been… valid. Uncomfortably so. He had never considered that his actions would have led her to distrust him as surely as he distrusted her, but the realization of it had stung. Still, he remains angrily confused as to why she would not simply tell him of her complicity in composing those spells for the grimoire. She had not denied that she wrote them during the fight that led to her banishment, but when he'd pressed for her reasons in doing such a thing, she had refused to even grant him an answer.  
And it had hurt.  
Immensely. 
They'd shared so much of themselves, or at least he had assumed they had, and her sudden reticent silence then had pierced through his heart like the sharpest spear, wounding and infuriating him in equal measure. And yet, no matter his incomparable rage, he had been unable to visit any harsher punishment on her than banishment, had been unable to lend his pain to inflict worse suffering. The depth of his love for her had allowed him to do nothing else but send her away. He supposes in hindsight that he is glad for that, glad that he hadn't condemned her to Hell or worse given that she had apparently been pregnant at the time, but the idea of it having even been a possibility frightens him more than he thinks he's ever been frightened in his exceedingly long life.
Tangled in her many blankets, May makes a noise in her sleep, the low, desperate cadence of it reminding him all too much of terror, of a prey animal in the maws of a great, razor-fanged beast, and the need to touch her, to comfort her nearly overwhelms him. Morpheus narrows his eyes at her in scrutiny instead, puzzled until he feels the prick of a nightmare at the edge of his mind.  
He doesn't even consider doing otherwise as he steps easily into her dreamscape. 
It's dark wherever she's at, the only light being a few rays of sun that filter in through a single barred window set into the stone wall of this place. He looks around, his face taut in uneasiness. What is this? Where is this? Why would she dream of something so… dismal? The meager bit of the floor illuminated is covered in rushes, and he believes he can smell the iron tang of blood in the air.  
"Morpheus?" May calls as she steps closer to the light, and he's immediately alarmed at the sight she makes. She's dressed in rags and paler than he's ever seen her, sickly and injured. There are bruises blooming on every bit of her skin that's visible, varying shades of blue and red and purple that he can clearly make out despite that she's standing partially in the shadows. "What… What are you doing here? What am I doing here?" 
"You're dreaming," he tells her. "Lifting the banishment must have allowed you to do so again." 
May makes a divisive noise and glances away. Her face turned to the side, he notices the jagged cut on her cheek just below her eye. "You'll forgive me if I don't thank you for this." 
"I am not responsible for this nightmare. I did not craft it." 
"It's not… Never mind." 
His lips set in a hard line as he regards her with frustration. More secrets. More lies. How will he ever trust her if she continues to deceive him? "You were going to inform me that this is actually a memory," he accuses. "I gather by the state of you that it is a rather terrible one. When were you-" 
"That's none of your business," she cuts him off, a fine tremble to her voice, and he thinks to press the issue, to question her on it until she gives him the truth, but at that moment the energy in the dream seems to twist sharply, swelling and contorting as it rapidly grows larger. When it's expanded as far as it will, it bursts with a loud pop and then settles once again, leaving the acrid scent of magic in its wake.  
Though he's expecting it, the sudden appearance of the door still surprises him. It's rather large, the frame of it carved ornately in a style that certainly looks as if it belongs in the Dreaming. There's a faint sound coming from it, a sort of muted hum that resonates within him for some reason he can't explain. He leans down to better hear when he feels… something tugging inside of him, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that it's that same sense he's grown accustomed to in these weeks past, the one of May's panic reaching out to him.  
Like she's in a trance, she moves forward to the door, and he has to grab hold of her arm to pull her back, halting her advance. "May," he tries, peculiarly anxious now that he can feel the iciness of her skin under his fingertips. Why is she so chilled? Her magic should be keeping her warm, protecting her from the frigid conditions of this place even in her dream. "May!"  
With a dazed blink, she slowly comes out of her stupor. Little puffs of air curl from her mouth where she breathes raggedly as she flicks startled, disoriented eyes up at him. He stretches his power out and attempts to create something better suited for her to wear, something that will protect her from the cold in this nightmare, but no matter how he focuses on doing such a thing, the memory and the magic seem to be blocking his ability to do so.  
Morpheus is more than alarmed. That has… never happened before. 
He frowns. "How very… strange. This must be an…  unusually strong memory." 
"Traumatic ones typically are," May murmurs, still sounding worriedly disjointed as she huddles further into herself for warmth. 
He shrugs out of his coat and drapes it about her. "Here," he offers, his voice softer than he intends for it to be.  
"You don't have to-" 
Infuriatingly stubborn creature she is, May makes to remove even this paltry bit of comfort, likely because it's coming from him, and Morpheus grabs hold of the fabric to keep it on her. "You are freezing," he explains firmly. "And we've no idea what from this dreamscape is transferring over to the Waking given that the child is half… half mine." 
"You… think that could happen? That the baby could… carry over injuries to my physical body?" The prospect of this seems to disturb her greatly. 
He nods solemnly. "I believe the child is already exhibiting a capability similar to my powers over dreams, and… that is something I am easily capable of."  
She doesn't want to accept anything from him. It's laughably obvious, but she nods her head regardless and reluctantly puts her arms into the garment to properly wear it.  
The sight of her wearing little else but his coat makes his throat unexpectedly dry, and he swallows with great difficulty, a desire to close the distance between them coursing through his veins more fiercely than he's ever known. He's overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her (to take her apart with his lips on hers, to sweep his tongue into her mouth to taste her), the urge to bear her down onto the ground here (to worship her properly with every ounce of pleasure he can give, to coax her into a frenzy of need with his hands and his mouth as she makes those desperate noises he used to love) and have her fully (to finally bury himself inside of her, to steadily drive her higher and higher towards the peak of her climax until she moans for him as sweetly as she did before everything between them fell apart).  
He closes his eyes, willing the images away. He is all too aware that this is far from the time or place for such inappropriate thoughts. And truthfully, he knows better. They will never have that sort of physical intimacy again, and he's a fool for even entertaining the idle fantasies of it. 
"Is it… the baby? Doing this?" she asks, gesturing towards the door. Morpheus tears his attention away from her and his bothersome lust to stare at the oddity.  
"Yes," he answers offhandedly while he begins to study this entrance into their (his, only his) realm, the one he had not created. "I believe the child is attempting to shepherd you into the safety of the Dreaming." 
"Can't you do something about that? I mean… now that you know why I'm ending up in the sea?" 
"You yourself are a maker. Can you do anything to curb a growing infant's magic?" 
"No, but I make worlds. I don't…" she huffs out an exasperated sigh. "Believe it or not, this is my first time getting knocked up by an anthropomorphic personification. All of this is a little out of my wheelhouse." 
"Very well. Allow me to clarify this situation for you in the simplest way I can. There is likely nothing to be done." 
"I won't go back there. I don't-" 
"You are a fully grown woman," he informs her caustically, as if he thinks she is unaware of this fact. "These are the consequences of your actions. You might be better served foregoing your protests and gracefully accepting them." 
"Oh, fuck you."
"I believe that is precisely what has gotten us both into this mess," he snarks without sparing her even so much as a glance while he peers intently at the carving of the door frame. 
She scoffs. "Sometimes I really hate you." 
He stops what he's doing to aim a glare her way. "The feeling is assuredly mutual." This is a lie, of course. A rather large one. The feeling is not mutual, and he unfortunately knows it. He doesn't hate her at all, though he thinks that this whole mess might be dramatically easier to handle if he did.  
She stills like he's struck her, drawing in a ragged inhale as she does so. "I wasn't… wasn't being serious. It was just a… Never mind." She looks away from him, and he thinks that he sees a suspicious shine to her eyes, as if she might cry due to what he's said. 
"Apologies." The word leaves his mouth without any input from him or his simmering anger towards her. "I did not intend to upset you." 
She does not answer him, preferring instead to study the ground as if it's particularly fascinating. Shame twisting his stomach, he turns back uncertainly to his task. He doesn't understand why he should be rendered so… regretful at having hurt her. Had she not done the same to him? Are not the impact of her lies continuing to wreak havoc on his heart? Irritated at both this curious weakness he has concerning her and the dangerous annoyance posed by this link to the Dreaming, Morpheus resolves at last to reach a hand out to the knob of the door.  
"Don't!" May warns as she steps closer to him, and he notices somewhat distantly that she smells like him, so much so that he's almost overcome with the memories of when she always carried his scent on her in some way or another. "Don't touch it. That kind of… like, activates it or something." 
He lets his hand fall back to his side. "Then we'll need to travel by foot to somewhere in this dreamscape where the events are less… frightening for you."
Her bitter laugh startles him. "There's no way to walk out of here, Morpheus. It's… It's a dungeon. It's kind of made to keep prisoners from escaping, and… there's nowhere in this place like what you're suggesting anyway." 
He frowns at her. "It is the only way to break through the hold it has on you." 
"No… I… I get that. I'm just telling you that there's nothing like that here, nothing…" she glances down, seemingly hesitant to continue. "There's nothing here that's not fucking horrible." 
It's instinct for him to want to embrace her, for him to wish to offer comfort. Or at least that's what he tells himself as he resists the urge to do so with an almost herculean effort. "What… is this?" 
Eyes still downcast, she inhales through her nose and then exhales through her mouth, likely attempting to calm herself. "I… I've had this nightmare a million times, and I don't even remember quite what it is. I think it was from when me and Viego were kids, because… he's here sometimes. Well, the child version of him anyway, but… things happen here that I don't… I don't recall ever happening." 
That's… odd. Morpheus puzzles over this. Makers remember even as far back as their own births. To have her admit that she is missing whole chunks of her memories is wholly disconcerting. What could have happened here to bury those events so deeply within her? What terror had she suffered in this hell that she cannot even recall it during her waking hours? He can feel the helpless vulnerability coming from her, a thick, wretched fear that wraps itself around chest and squeezes painfully. He does not think he's capable of leaving her here to go through this on her own, and while he tries to convince himself that it's only because of the child she carries, he honestly knows better. "I suppose, then, that we have no choice but to wait until you awaken." 
"Okay," May mumbles as she starts stripping herself of his coat. "I… I get it." 
"Whatever are you doing?" he questions confusedly. 
"I assume you'll be leaving. I could be asleep for hours, and I…  know that you're busy." 
She thinks he will go, that he would so easily abandon her to whatever horror awaits her in this nightmare, and the realization of that makes his stomach clench. Does she truly believe him so uncaring? So fickle? And yet he knows the answer to that. Of course she does. Why would she think any differently of him given the events of these few months past? "You assume incorrectly," he says stiffly. 
Meeting her eyes at last, he loathes the tears he can see sparkling there, loathes that he is the foul creature to have caused them. May looks at him as if she's trying to figure out what she might owe him for this, as if she's weighing whether or not accepting his freely offered company might leave her in his debt in some way. "You don't… have to stay. I can… I can handle this alone." 
Alone. It's the same thing she had said to him about carrying and raising their child. He has no doubt that she's capable of managing anything on her own, but he doesn't quite know how to tell her that she need not do so, that no matter the thorniness between them he will care for this child and… and by extension her. "Nonetheless," he reaffirms as he reaches out to tug the coat back up onto her shoulders. "I shall stay." 
"I… Are you sure? I mean… it can get… not great sometimes." She crosses her arms over her chest as if she's still cold, as if she's attempting to conserve as much body heat as she can. To see her so chilled makes him frown in apprehension. 
"I will not leave," he relays, worry for her shoring up his resolve. "So you might as well cease in your efforts at persuading me to do so." 
"O-okay. If you… If you want to." 
He assuredly does not want to, but he will. For the child, of course. Only for the child.
Or that's what he tries to convince himself of, anyway, though he's all too aware that it's nothing more than another lie where she's concerned. He idly wonders how many more times he will be forced to tell himself that he no longer loves her before it becomes fact. 
She's clearly on edge in this place, her whole body trembling with something that isn't the cold. Morpheus watches her pace for the better part of an hour while he stands nearer the window. He does not speak, does not try to stay her attempt to walk out her nervous energy as he is well-acquainted with this tendency of hers after their many decades together. When it seems as though she's starting to tire, he suggests they sit, and she startles out of her mild panic to glance wide-eyed at him. 
"Sit?" she repeats as if the concept is bewildering to her. "Yeah… that's fine. We could… We could do that." Relieved, he gestures for her to do so first, and she shakes her head at the spot he'd indicated. "Not there…. It's got blood all over it." 
He flicks a worried glance at the area, noticing the alarmingly large russet stain there. His stomach lurches when he recognizes that it's hers. He has a great many questions on the tip of his tongue, waiting only for him to give them voice, but he does not. Whatever this is, she's afraid, and he knows he cannot compound that fear by demanding that she delve into it.  
Where she rests on the ground, she fidgets with the edge of his coat sleeves and seems unable to look at him. "So… this is awkward." 
He does not deny it. "Yes. It is." 
At the very fringes of his awareness, he senses Lucienne summoning him, but he resolutely ignores it until her calls become irritating enough for him to address. May must notice the way he stills to send a terse response to his librarian because she again tells him, "You… really don't have to stay. It's… I can manage. I know you've got stuff to do." 
He tilts his head back so that it's resting on the stone wall behind him. "There is nothing currently happening in the Dreaming that Lucienne is incapable of handling."
"How… How is the realm?" 
Studying her anew, he quickly surmises that she is attempting to engage him in small talk, and though he knows that he is not well suited to such conversation, he almost thinks that he will do anything if it might settle her restless fretting. "It is…" Flooded, he wants to say despite that he cannot, unwilling as he is to worry her further. "It is doing well. I believe the Dark Forest misses you." 
May huffs out a small laugh, and something in his chest tightens to hear it. "I bet that's fun. I can't imagine what saltiness that old broad is getting up to." 
"She is devouring subjects and relocating them to various areas of the Dreaming," he remarks dryly, far less amused by it than May appears to be.  
"Better than just not spitting them out at all, I guess," May answers with a little shrug, and he's struck with how weakened and frail she seems sitting across from him, swallowed up in his larger coat on her, and he finds himself ruminating on how she must be struggling now. She does not trust him, fears him even to some degree, and yet she has clearly decided to accept the burden and strain of his child growing within her. A great swell of…. something overcomes him. Perhaps tenderness or compassion? Perhaps that other ruinous emotion that he refuses to admit to when he thinks of her. 
He has a sudden insight that their bickering must cease as it will solve nothing. There will be many obstacles for them to face in their child's lifetime, and while they can never be what they were before, they might have a relationship that's an improvement on this one of animosity and stilted silence. He considers his next words carefully, more carefully than he tends to do. "Perhaps when you feel more comfortable to venture into the Dreaming, you might… speak with her." 
She sighs. "Morpheus-"
"You are the only one she will listen to," he continues, "and I find myself inclined to uncreate the entity altogether for her disobedience." 
May regards him in trepidation for his threat, and in that trepidation he sees the slightest possibility that he might achieve his aim concerning her living situation. "Don't… Don't do that. I'll… Later, I'll talk to her. Just… don't do away with her." 
His smile is a faint, barely there thing. "I've never understood your attachment to that particular part of the Dreaming." 
"She was…" May breaks off and looks down, but even with the scant light here, he can still make out the blush blooming on her face as if she's embarrassed. "She was so… scared when we started rebuilding your realm. The faeries had been cruel to her in your absence, and I… I don't know. I just felt bad for her. Stuck there and suffering for all that time." 
He glances around the space they're in again. It's a desolate, wholly unpleasant cell, cold and isolated. He thinks over her bruised, injured body when he'd first shown up here. Stuck there and suffering for all that time, she'd said, and Morpheus wonders just how long she had suffered in this nightmare. What had her captors taken from her here? How had they hurt her? She'd never breathed a word of this to him, and they'd had decades together for her to do so. While parts of her remembrance are… affected for some strange reason, she still seems to know some of what transpired in this memory, enough that she should have spoken to him about it. "Yes," he says at last. "I gather that is something you are able to relate to." 
She doesn't shrink away from his accurate assessment. "I… could relate to it," she admits haltingly. "But… I didn't know how to tell you that without bringing up this and by… by extension Viego, and I… I know how much you hated for me to talk about him." 
The confession stuns him. He had thought he was better at hiding his disdain for her brother. Viego Westin, everyone knows, is nothing less than a monster, a heartless beast that had murdered his own father in cold blood, that had destabilized the maker's realm by ripping the heart of it out and crushing it in his callous rage. No matter May's affection for her sibling, even she must surely be aware that he is directly responsible for the civil war that's been ravaging their once-home for millennia. He has more blood on his hands than he can ever hope to wash clean, and despite the charming exterior Viego tends to present, Morpheus has always known how deadly dangerous the maker is. It sets his teeth on edge to simply be in the same room as him. Still, May should have told him of this. "You might have tried nonetheless." 
"Has it occurred to you that I did try?" Her voice is so quiet that he almost doesn't catch her reply.  
Had she, though? Had she attempted to speak to him of this? Many times over their decades together she's complained of his temper, of his irrational anger at seemingly insignificant things. Had that been what stopped her? Had she hesitated at the possibility of his ire?  
He doesn't get the chance to ask her anything else as she gets to her feet and goes to remove his coat yet again. He stands as well, closing the distance between them to stop her from doing something so ridiculous. "I thought we had settled this particular matter," he growls, frustrated by her obstinacy. 
"I'm waking up, Morpheus. I can feel it," she says, a weariness about her that he's worried to see. "Thank you for… for staying." 
She holds the coat out, and when he reaches to take it back from her, their hands brush together. He's startled at the way his power sparks up at the sensation, at the way just that touch from her ignites a yearning within him like none he's ever felt. "I will… visit later today. If that is acceptable to you." 
May nods, only the tiniest measure of hesitation in the action. "I… Yeah, that's fine." 
When she awakens, disappearing from before him, Morpheus is puzzled by the way he… hadn't wanted her to leave, by the way he'd almost followed her into the Waking to stay a little longer in her presence. It is only as the dream begins to dematerialize from around him that Morpheus realizes he... he misses her.
And he finds that he hates himself for it.
NEXT CHAPTER
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thepaintedlady00 · 2 years
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The Sandman and The Girl Without Dreams
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Chapter 11: Write My Name In Your Blood
TW: mentions of blood, panic attacks, mental breakdowns, Pierre is an ass, SMUT holy cow, smut, Jealous/possessive Dream, aftercare, Fluff, memories, its a wild ride yall
“It’s so good to see you, after all these years Ms. Barlow." The voice made my entire body ache, phantom pain bringing forth every memory of every slice and shock that had followed that voice for years. Terror filled me as my body moved back into the table. I wanted to run, my whole being screamed at me to run, but I couldn't move. “It has been far too long, my dear.”
I forced myself to keep breathing. Forced myself to ignore the way my skin crawled just at the sound of his voice. I cleared my throat, the words still coming out weak. "You sound like shit. Half assed immortality isn't all it's cracked up to be?"
"Ah so unruly. But you and I both know why that is." Tears began to fill my eyes. I knew exactly what he'd say. He'd said it so many times before. Giselle's body stumbled forward a bit. "If you let go of the anger, what are you, Ms. Barlow?"
My mind answered the question out of instinct. Nothing. But I bit my cheek, refusing to give him even the smallest amount of satisfaction of saying the word. The pale eyes sparkled and a bloody smile spread on Giselle's lips, but it was his. "Nothing. You are nothing."
"What do you want?" Pierre demanded from beside me, his body moved trying to shield Dream from view.
"Ahh The Marquis," the doctor said with a sigh. "I've been waiting so long to put a face to the name of the man that stole my money and broke our deal."
Pierre shrugged. "I'd say it was not personal but I don't like to lie."
The pale eyes shifted behind him. No. My body moved too slowly to block his view. "You did not tell me I was in the presence of the great Dream of the Endless."
"He has nothing to do with this," I said shakily.
"Does he not?" He chuckled and coughed. "Fear not, dear, so long as he remains out of our affairs I'll keep the glass cage empty. As for the matter at hand, I wanted to speak with you myself, to try and make you see sense, but…" They eyes looked to the bodies on the floor. "You've not changed, still refusing to see reason."
I ground my teeth together. "Go to Hell."
Another wheezing laugh and a gentle click of his tongue. "I'll see you again soon, with my real eyes. In the meantime you may want to call your friend… I fear she's run into a bit of trouble."
Johanna. I resisted the urge to immediately break. Pierre pulled his gun and shot out before I even recognized it, Giselle's head snapped back and she fell back to the ground. The phone on the table shattered and everyone was silent, still waiting to be sure he was gone. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and shakily dialed Johanna's number, holding it tight in my hand as it rang out on speaker. "Pick up." The ringing droned on. "Pick up the fucking phone Johanna!" I yelled, repressing the tears as the ringing trilled in. "God damn it…" Not again. No. No. No.
"Hello?" She answered weakly. "Pen, you there?"
Pierre took the phone from my hands, recognizing the familiar sight of me about to completely shut down. "We're here, witch."
I forced air into my lungs, desperately trying to calm the shaking. Their words blurred in and out of my hearing as my ears rang. "How is she?" Johanna asked.
"Not so good," he answered honestly. "I don't know if she can even hear us."
"Fucking bastard. When you get her back tell her I said I'm okay, it was just some thugs, no one good enough to get me."
Pierre knelt beside me from where I'd dropped onto my knees. When had I done that? He carefully reached out and touched my arm, finger curling around the scar. Pain, screams, blood everything boiled over and my body moved faster than my mind did, grabbing one of the daggers from the box and pressing it tightly to his sternum. 
He went still, holding a hand up to Dream and Hob. Oh god, what would they think of me after this? The tip of the blade broke the skin as I heaved. "Look at me, Penelope." My name was wrong… Nothing. I squeezed my eyes shut. You're nothing. "Look at me, Ma moitié."
Ma moitié… Pierre. This was Pierre, my friend, my Pierre. I opened my eyes, looking up into his eyes as he smiled. "There you go. It's me… your other half."
My lips quivered as I breathed out a sob. He slowly lifted a hand to my face, wiping away my tears. "It's okay." How did they find me? The ugly, mistrusting and dark part of my soul reared its head, but Pierre noticed. Of course he did. "I made you a promise, you remember? I will never hurt you," he said softly. "I will never betray you."
Pierre. My mind finally came back into connection with my body and I eased the knife away from him, dropping it to the ground. His arms were around me in an instant, crushing me to his chest as broke down. "He's not here. He's gone. I have you."
***
“It’s so good to see you, after all these years Ms. Barlow,” an old faintly familiar voice filled the room. Penelope’s stillness twisted into absolute terror and she moved to step back, trying to flee the voice, running into the table. “It has been far too long, my dear.”
This was him. Finally. Dream had been waiting to meet this doctor ever since he saw his face, saw what he'd done to Penelope, his Penelope. His eyes were glued to her ridged back, the bond between them swarmed and flooded with everything she felt. Her urge to run made him burn. Her want to slice the skin from her bones just to be free of the wrong feeling that coated her at the sound of that voice made his anger near uncontainable.
She made a noise, soft and forced. "You sound like shit. Half assed immortality isn't all it's cracked up to be?" It lacked all the venom and fire he was used to hearing. His gut twisted… She sounded scared. Never had he heard this voice, never had she allowed this raw, vulnerable weakness be heard by anyone, not even him.
A wheezing sound echoed in the room, a laugh following that made him burn hotter. "Oh, don't worry about me, dear. I'll remedy my condition as soon as you get here."
"Yeah? When I do find you I'm going to fucking kill you!" It wasn't a scream, nor a yell, but something in between. Something raw and animalistic, forced.
"Temper temper," the old man dared to mock her, to scold her like a child? "You were always so unruly. But you and I both know why that is." A broken sound left her, soft, so soft he doubted anyone but him heard it. "If you let go of the anger, what are you, Ms. Barlow?"
"Nothing." It was her voice, broken and shaking. 
"Nothing. You are nothing."
"Nothing." She thought again. "I am nothing."
"What do you want?" The Frenchman demanded, moving just a little bit further in front of him.
"Ahh The Marquis. I've been waiting so long to put a face to the name of the man that stole my money and broke our deal."
This was perhaps the only time the man's smugness made Dream happy as he answered, "I'd say it was not personal but I don't like to lie."
The pale eyes shifted to Dream, and he held the stare, watching a grotesque smile spread on the dead woman's face. "No." She moved to block him from view, but the damage was done. "You did not tell me I was in the presence of the great Dream of the Endless."
Dream was proud, glad that this man knew who he was and thus knew, even just a fraction of what horrors laid in store for him when Penelope freed him of his oath. The feeling didn't last long though, not when his lady sounded so afraid, "He has nothing to do with this."
"Does he not?" Weak coughing filled the small devices speakers. "Fear not, dear, so long as he remains out of our affairs I'll keep the glass cage empty. As for the matter at hand, I wanted to speak with you myself, to try and make you see sense, but… You've not changed, still refusing to see reason."
"Go to Hell."
"I'll see you again soon, with my real eyes. In the meantime you may want to call your friend… I fear she's run into a bit of trouble." His eyes returned to her, watching as his words struck.
"Johanna."
 The Frenchman shot the corpse, its head snapping back as it returned to the ground. The phone on the table shattered and the room went quiet, waiting. Penelope moved fast, pulling out her phone and dialing the number, clutching with all her might.Her hands were shaking so badly Dream couldn't see the screen clearly. Just this once he focused fully on her through the bond, honing in on every thought and feeling. 
"Pick up." Desperation and fear held her voice, the raw pain of old faces flashing in her eyes, filling her vision. It was enough to make him want to weep, but her thoughts are what truly broke him. "Not her. Please don't take her from me. I can't do this. Icanticanticant."
"PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE JOHANNA!" She screamed her hand pulling at her hair so tightly he could feel it on his own scalp. "Answer. Answer the phone." The ringing echoed in her ears as her thoughts began to drown out every other noise.
"God damn it…" Her breaths were quick and ragged, "Not again. No. No. No. This is your fault. It's always your fault. You did this."
"Hello?" Constsntine spoke, sounding as if she was out of breath, but Penelope didn't move. The phone began to slip out of her loosening hands. His body twitched forward, but the Frenchman was already there. He caught the phone, worried eyes roving over Penelope as she stumbled back. "Pen, you there?"
He spoke softly, his eyes staying on Penelope. "We're here, witch."
Constantine sighed. "What happened?"
"The doctor decided to pay us a visit."
"In person?"
"No, through Giselle and a phone call." The Frenchman said.
Constantine kicked someone over the phone. "How many did she have to kill?"
The man looked at the bodies on the floor. But Dreams' gaze turned back to her as she slid to her knees, her hand clutching the box where her blades rested for dear life. "They'll never stop. They'll just keep coming and coming and coming." Her pain echoed through him. "Seven."
"How is she?"
"Not so good. I don't know if she can even hear us."
"Fucking bastard. When you get her back tell her I said I'm okay, it was just some thugs, no one good enough to get me."
"I will send one of my associates to help you clean up. Be safe, witch."
"You too, Frenchie."
He set her phone back on the table and spoke softly. "Penelope?"
She didn't respond.
The Frenchman knelt down, carefully reaching out and touching her arm. Dream heard the dam holding back her memories break. He heard every one of their voices fill her mind, all the screams of the asylum, the doctors drills and blades, everything. She'd moved almost too fast for him to notice, grabbing one of the daggers from the box and pressing it against the Frenchmans chest. 
As much as Dream disliked the man, he was important to her and he knew she'd never forgive herself if she hurt him. He took a step, moving to stop her. The Frenchman held hand up, stopping him. She dug the tip of the blade deeper as her breaths grew heavier. "Look at me, Penelope."
"Wrong… I'm nothing. Nothing. You're nothing." He wanted to go to her, wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until every last one of these thoughts was silent.
"Look at me, Ma moitié." The man said, voice still soft.
"Ma moitié." The affectionate name stilled the cries and screams. "My Pierre." He felt a pinch of jealousy rise in him, but forced it away. None of that mattered right now. All that he cared about was bringing her back from the darkness that swallowed her mind.
"There you go. It's me… your other half." He lifted a hand to wipe the tears from her cheek. "It's okay." 
"Liar." Her thoughts hissed. "He told them. He led them here. No. No. How did they find me?"
As if he could see the dark thoughts in her eyes the Frenchman smiled. "I made you a promise, you remember? I will never hurt you. I will never betray you."
"Pierre." Everything about her relaxed, the softness returning to her eyes as she looked down at the blood pooling on his shirt. "Oh god."
"It's okay." He assured her.
She was sobbing now as she threw the blade to the side and clutched his shirt. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" She chanted, pressing both her hands over the blood, as if it were a mortal wound.
He pulled her forehead to his. "It's okay," he said again. "Ma moitié, it's okay."
"He was here…" She sobbed, every inch of her shaking. "He knows!"
"He's not here. He's gone."
Dream watched her curl into the arms of her friend. He wished it was him she could find such comfort in. Wished he could be the one to console this side of her fears. He'd seen the memories first hand, but The Frenchman… Pierre had been there for all these moments when he had not. I trust him. She'd once told him, and only now did he understand just how much. Penelope loved him, she loved Pierre enough that her loudest, darkest, most consuming thoughts stilled at the sound of his affectionate name for her. It made him ache with jealousy and guilt, but he could feel neither. He just felt her heartbeat, listened to the thoughts and voices and echoes of the past fade away. Pierre had earned this moment. Earned her trust and love, and so, just this once, Dream looked down at them and felt relieved.
"I have you."
***
Pierre only let go once I was able to take full breaths, and even then he was attached to my side, acting as a shield to keep my eyes away from the blood and bodies that covered the floor. Everyone was silent as he picked my blade off the floor, cleaned it and set it back in the box. He looked at me and gently asked, "Do you want to keep them with you?"
I shook my head violently. "No. No."
"I will return them to the apartment in the morning. For now, you and the… Who are you?" He looked over the table at Hob, who looked more on edge than I'd ever seen him.
"Hob," he answered. "I own this place."
Pierre nodded, looking around. "It is very nice! Hob… Take Penelope to your home, it is up the road, yes?"
"Yeah…" Hob glanced at Dream and asked, "How did you know?"
"I was watching the three of you for a while before you came here." I shook my head at his far too honest admittance. 
"You can't just watch people," I scolded him halfheartedly.
"I was not watching people, I was watching you." He corrected me with a kiss to the head. "Hob, take her to your home. The lover and I will await my associates."
I sighed. "Nows hardly the time for-"
He cut me off. "Go get yourself cleaned up. We will join you shortly."
It was rare for Pierre to give out commands, but when he did I knew it was something he considered important, and that he'd likely not change his mind. Looking up at Dream, the first time I'd been able to since I'd picked up my blades, I asked the silent question, are you okay with this? He nodded, turning to Hob and asking, "Is there another exit?"
"Yeah, round the back. I'll get her out of here," Hob stepped around the table and held his hand out to me. "How's that leg?"
I took his hand with a tired smile. "The cut isn't too deep, but I'll still probably need stitches."
As we moved to walk past Dream he stopped us and pressed a long kiss to my head. "We won't be long."
I spared one last glance at the two before Hob and I disappeared behind the kitchen door and silently prayed they wouldn't try to kill each other. The cut on my leg burned the whole hobbled walk back up the road, and I dreaded the thought of having to explain all this to Hob. He was calm, surprisingly so for someone that had not only witnessed an all out blood bath but then saw a woman rise from the dead. Though I supposed to an immortal there wasn't anything he'd consider far fetched at this point. 
He helped me onto the couch, setting my leg up on the coffee table and moving to the kitchen. I stared at my reflection in the turned off TV and sighed. Their blood was everywhere, sticking to me like a second skin, and the longer I looked the more sick I began to feel. Hob returned with pain killers, water and a heavy first aid kit. "Take those, drink some water and breathe for a minute."
I followed his requests and nodded to the kit. "You gonna stitch me up?"
"If that's alright with you?" His dark eyes held that familiar tint of worry in them and I could feel the words rising from his throat. "I don't know what all that was about, but it seemed to be a lot for you."
"When you asked me what the worst ways I'd almost died were…" I paused, breathing in and looking away from his face. "Those people, the man they work for, they… They spent a very long time looking for me, hurting people to get to me."
Hob was gentle when he asked, "Why? I mean you're absolutely lovely don't get me wrong, but that just seems like a lot of fuss for one girl."
"Have you ever been captured?"
With a thoughtful him he considered the question. "Got burned at the stake once."
"Not like that," I clarified. "Taken by people that knew about your immortality, knew and wanted it."
"No," he said. "I haven't."
I wiped away the tears before they could fall. "I don't recommend it. They're not… They're not too keen on letting you go after they pull you apart and convince themselves that you're the key to immortality."
"If you'd rather wait for your friend to handle this I'll just clean the cut a bit… I know we don't really know one another that well." Hob sighed, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry, that you had to go through that."
I sniffed and shook my head, ripping the rest of the fabric away from the wound. Meeting his eyes I smiled. "I trust you, Hob Gadling."
He opened the kit and set out everything he needed before putting on a pair of gloves. The sound of them stretching over his hands made me flinch and wrap my arms around myself. Hob squeezed my knee. "If it gets to be too much just tell me and we'll stop, okay?"
My fingers curled into my shirt and I nodded. "I'm… I'm probably not going to be able to keep myself from shaking. I'm sorry I know that makes this harder."
"Don't be sorry, love," he whispered, wiping away a rogue tear. "I've got steady hands."
Hob was amazing. He talked me through every second, made jokes about how his stitches used to be shit and just as he'd said when it got too difficult to keep the memories of harshly sewn wounds at bay he stopped. I didn't even need to say anything, he just knew. He took off a glove and rubbed my arm, using his touch and his stories to keep me grounded. Once he'd finished he covered it and sat beside me on the couch, pulling me into his arms and letting me cry.
It wasn't the same as with Pierre, I'd not lost myself to the memories this time and Hob was considerably more awkward, but I appreciated Hob's gentle nature and understanding. He probably had a billion questions and yet he asked none that were not important to the task. I sighed into him, my fingers finally uncurling. "Thank you."
"Anything for a friend," he replied, setting his cheek to my head.
"So, burned at the stake huh? What's that like?"
With a chuckle he spoke, "Not the worst way to go actually…"
As Hob told his story I closed my eyes and smiled. He did have a very nice voice.
***
Dream watched the Frenchman with a curious gaze as he lit a cigarette and smiled at him, but he made note that this smile was not like the others. This smile was veiled anger and a burning determination that he'd not seen in ages.
"Dream of the Endless," he finally said, blowing a plume of smoke towards him. "When the witch told me who, what, you are I should have assumed you were her man in the glass."
He said nothing, his hands resting comfortably in his pockets, and so the Frenchman continued. "She spoke of you often and fondly, even almost blew everything to return to that hell hole and try to free you. She would do anything for you."
Dream tilted his head a little. "As I would do anything for her."
His smile grew more tense. "Maybe, but you'll have to forgive me for having my doubts. Loyalty is a rare occurrence nowadays as one such as yourself knows."
"Why are we having this conversation?" Dream demanded.
"I need to know you are capable of doing what must be done." He answered plainly. "Penelope is strong, stronger than anyone I've ever met. But when it comes to the doctor," he shook his head. "She freezes. Her anger and her skill becomes useless and he knows this."
Dream looked the Frenchman up and down. "And?"
He sighed. "And when the time comes to put that fucker in the ground you or I or the witch will have to be the ones to do it. Against his goons she can take down anyone, but he speaks and she crumbles. There is only so much her damaged psyche can take before it snaps… As we just saw."
"She's strong, when the time comes she'll do what she feels is right." Dream assured him. "She always does."
"You have been in her life for what? A month? Two?" The Frenchman sneered. "I have been here for ten years."
Before Dream could retaliate, release the swelling of anger that puffed up at his words, the door opened and three men entered. "Got your message boss, is this the one?"
The Frenchman turned and looked the man in the middle up and down before he nodded. "This is him."
The sound of bones breaking echoed, surprising Dream as he watched the man lose his knees, only being held up by the other two men. The Frenchman pulled up a chair and they moved him to it. With a watchful gaze he shed the coat he was wearing and rolled up his sleeves. "They call you Tony, yes?"
"Y-yes."
"Tony, would you care to explain to me why you were seen speaking to this woman, earlier today." He gestured to Giselle and watched the man, Tony's, face carefully.
He stuttered, fear and pain clear on his features. "I was… I… I'm sorry."
"What did she offer you? Money? Sex? Immortality?"
"Money. She offered me a lot of money." 
The Frenchman nodded. "At least you are honest. Sadly, this won't be enough to save you."
"Please! Please boss!"
Without hesitation the Frenchman began punching the man. The sound of his bones breaking under the Frenchmans powerful strikes echoed around them. Dream had seen brutality before, but this was cold and calculated. He hit not out of anger or a loss of control but to inflict a specific pain to a specific area. To send a message. He stopped for a short moment and sighed. "I would have made this quick if it was me you'd tried to betray. But it wasn't, was it?"
Dream couldn't see the man's face, but he didn't need to. The smell of fresh blood hung in the air as he whimpered. "Please… She's just… One girl."
"That one girl is worth more than three hundred of you." The Frenchman sneered. "She is all that matters! And I made her a promise, many years ago, I'll not break that promise because of worthless scum like you!"
The beating went on for a few minutes more before the Frenchman turned back to Dream and gestured toward the bloody sight. "I am willing to do what must be done, even when she would want me to be merciful. Are you willing to break her heart to do what's necessary?"
He scoffed. "I won't need to resort to such."
"You may think you're better than me all you wish, lover, but in the end I think we both know you'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe, just as I do." He smiled, taking his gun and shooting the man in the chair before holding a bag out to him. "Go, help Penelope get cleaned up. But think on my words, Dream of the Endless."
Dream took the bag and watched him speak to the other individuals before they began their work. When he left, the cold breeze washing the smell of blood and decay off of him, he felt a pit form in his stomach. If the Frenchman was correct then he would have to break his promise to protect her. He would, he knew he would as did the Frenchman it seemed, but would he be able to bear the brunt of her anger should it come to that? Would he be able to live knowing he'd betrayed her already fragile trust?
As he entered Hob Gadling's home once more a smile spread on his lips and all thoughts faded at the sight of her curled into his friend's arms, no longer crying or shaking. Hob was telling stories, voice soft and low as he rubbed her arms to comfort her. Upon seeing him in the doorway he smiled. "I think she dozed off."
"It has been a rather eventful night."
"I got her leg stitched up," he said. Dreams' eyes turned to the cut now wrapped and healing.
"How did she handle it?" He questioned.
"Better than I thought. Only had to take a few breaks, when the shaking got too bad for me to work." Hob smoothed a hand down her hair. "She's strong."
Dream nodded. "Very."
Hob chuckled. "As much as I enjoy the friendly cuddles she reeks. Think you can wake her, get her cleaned up? I'll get the spare room set up."
He knelt down beside the two and put his hand on her face. "Penelope."
Her eyes shifted beneath the lids and she slowly blinked them open. Fear filled her for a moment at the unfamiliar space, but when she focused on his face it disappeared. "Dream."
"You fell asleep," he whispered. "Let's get you cleaned up so you can rest properly?"
She hummed, squeezing Hob's arm. "Thank you Hob, for everything."
"Don't mention it, beautiful. I'll talk until someone cuts my tongue out."
Dream helped her to her feet, catching her as she unsteadily began to fall. She melted beneath his touch and let him carry her into the bathroom. It would be easier to return to The Dreaming and attend to her, but Penelope would more than likely wish to remain in the Waking World until her and her friends could speak on a new plan. He would have to return, as Lucienne had said, his realm needed him now more than ever especially with the dreams and nightmares returning. Matthew would simply have to be watchful for him when the time came.
Dream filled Hobs shallow tub and helped Penelope undress, and get settled in the warm soapy water, her wrapped leg hanging out to stay dry. He carefully washed the blood from her arms and face, taking note of the way she avoided his eyes. "Are you angry with me?"
She shook her head. "No, of course not!"
"Look at me, my love." He whispered, tilting her head up. When her teary eyes met his head smiled. "I'm proud of you. Taking life is not an easy thing, especially not for one as good and pure as you, but given the circumstances I'm glad you did it."
She frowned a little. "You're not… Disgusted? Disappointed?"
Tilting his head slightly he chuckled. "How could anyone who watches a beautiful goddess take down her foes with such grace and precision be disappointed or disgusted?"
His words brought a tiny grin back to her face. "I'm not a goddess."
"Weaver, I know I know," he mimicked the words she'd once mocked him with. "I love you, every part, even the ones that may not be ones you find beautiful."
"Thank you," she whispered. "For all of it, Morpheus."
He turned to the bag and pulled out two small bottles to wash her hair with. After helping her get out he wrapped her into one of Hobs robes and looked in the bag again. It was small, but full of necessities. Money, passports, first aid tools, personal hygiene products and a loose fitting pair of clothes that did not look like they belonged to her. He held them up, the faint scent of the Frenchman's cigarette smoke lingering in the fabric. Jealous once again curled in him. "Clothes?"
She smiled. "They're Pierres from years ago. I wore them so much after fights he just kinda let me keep them. Is that… Is that okay?"
"I'm not fond of your French companion, but I trust you. That has not and will not change." He assured her, helping her pull the clothes over her body. "Though I have a large collection you're free to steal."
Penelope laughed. "Of course you do, you can just wave your hand and have all new clothes."
He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and grabbed a brush to brush through her hair. "I wanted to offer to take you home, to The Dreaming, but I have a feeling you wish to remain here."
"As good as going home sounds," she sighed. "I need to keep them safe. Pierre has the taste of blood now, he's angry and that makes him reckless. Johanna will take this personally and start cutting corners trying to dig things up faster. They need me to keep them relaxed, at least until we can all talk."
"I understand." He tapped her ring gently. "I know you do not want me involved, but should the need arise, call for me. Call for me and I will come."
"Even if I won't let you destroy everything and everyone when you get here?" She asked, though her tone told him she was only partially teasing.
"Even then. It matters not why you call, simply that you do. If when I find you it is peace you wish, I shall honor my oath. And if it is nightmares and darkness you ask of me, I shall deliver it."
Dream felt the shiver run through her as she smiled up at him. "You're magnificent, Dream of the Endless."
Pressing his head to hers he laughed. "You are far more so, Penelope the Weaver."
***
Hob led Dream and I to the guest room and told us to make ourselves at home before quickly excusing himself. Dream set me on the bed, quickly getting me settled before he turned. "I know you have to go back… But can you stay for a little?"
He smiled, already shedding his coat and boots. "I won't leave without saying goodbye again, I promise."
"Good," I mumbled as he slid beneath the covers and pulled me into his soft solid chest. I focused on his heart beating beneath me, focused on the steady pressure of his hand stroking down my back. The loud bumps and odd noises or Hobs home barely had an affect on me until the door opened and the floorboards creaked with movement, I jerked up.
Pierre caught my fist and smiled. "Apologies, was it me you wanted to hit?"
I sighed, settling back to Dreams side. "What are you doing?"
He shoved up beside me on the bed, his body curling around mine, pressing his nose to my hair he answered, "I came to rest, of course."
"In my room?" I asked, smoothing a hand over Dreams' now tense chest.
"This bar man only has two rooms."
"There's a couch."
"You would kick me to the couch?" He questioned softly. "Like a stray mutt?"
"That is what you are," I teased, moving a hand to hold his. His knuckles were swollen and poorly wrapped. "Who got the brunt of your anger this time?"
Pierre made a noise. "No one important. A traitor that needed to be taught a lesson."
"Is this traitor alive?"
"Sleep, Ma moitié." No.
"Pierre…"
"Sleep." He repeated more solidly. Dream had curled me even closer, glaring down at Pierre as he settled into bed beside us. He gave Dream a look. "Goodnight, lover."
"Shut up, asshole," I groaned, elbowing him and snuggling deeper into Dream's chest. "Goodnight, Dream."
"Goodnight, my love."
Pierre giggled. "You two are adorable. Tell me Ma moitié, how do my clothes feel against that soft skin of yours?"
I kicked him, nearly sending him off the edge of the bed. Dream smiled down at me and kissed me softly as I drifted off into a peaceful sleep, cocooned by the Dream Lord and my most trusted friend.
The next morning Dream was still beside me, just as he promised he would be, his arms holding me tightly to him. Pierre was also still beside me, speaking in French and taking up half the bed. As I came to I began to recognize his stories as our old sexual escapades. With a loud groan I shoved him clean off the bed. "Get out, you absolute dick!"
He smiled and winked at me. "Good morning my beautiful goddess!"
"Out. Now. Or I'll find a knife and cut you!"
Making his way to the door he wiggled his eyebrows. "Sounds like fun! You know there's nothing I'm not willing to try for you!"
Once the door shut behind him I turned to Dream. "I'm so sorry about him. He's an ass."
He gave me a reassuring smile and tugged me back into bed. "I'm aware, but it's alright. I think I've grown used to his antics."
"Have you?" I asked with a grin.
"He's a simple man," Dream noted. "His humor is juvenile to say the least, and he smokes almost as much as he speaks, but he cares for you."
We lay in silence for a moment, his fingers running through my hair and mine tracing shapes on his chest. "Do you have to go now?"
"Unfortunately, I do." I set my chin on his chest, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. He brushed a piece of my hair behind my ear and sighed. "You make leaving very difficult when you look at me like that, my love."
I giggled, a blush rising to my cheeks. "Sorry, I don't mean to make your kingly duties difficult."
"Will you be alright here?" He asked softly, the worry in his eyes reminding me of last night's disastrous outcome. 
"Yeah, I'll be okay. I'm sure Hob and Pierre won't mind keeping me company today. You need to get your work done," I said, brushing a stray hair off his forehead. 
"I'll return tonight to keep you company," Dream offered, pulling me up closer to him.
"I would like that very much," I agreed, pressing my lips to his.
Beneath me Dream practically vibrated. His whole body moved into the kiss, his hands gripping me tightly. He sighed against my lips. "I'll send Matthew to join you later."
"Stop worrying," I whispered, smoothing my thumb over his furrowed brows. "And give the bird a break. I'll be alright. Besides I've got two strong men to keep the bad guys at bay."
He nudged me, moving to rise from the bed. "I need to say goodbye to Hob before I go."
In the living room Pierre flipped through the channels on the TV, his dirty blond hair slicked back in his usual style and his casual attire sticking out against the finiary of Hobs home. Hob stood in the kitchen doorway and watched him curiously as he drank his tea. When he saw Dream and I he smiled, turning and holding out a tray of muffins. "Hungry?"
I greedily filled my hands with as many as I could carry before joining Pierre on the couch. He stole one of my muffins instantly before returning to his TV surfing with a grumble, "English television is shit."
As I ate I watched Hob and Dream speak quietly to one another before they shared some kind of agreement and Dream turned, coming to kneel in front of me. "I'll be back later. Call if you need me, please?"
"I will," I promised, pressing a long kiss to his lips. "Now go, get your work done."
Dream stood, his eyes sliding over Pierre with a look of something and a flare of jealousy passing quickly through our bond. Part of me wanted to say something to reassure him, but he gave me one last look, one full of trust and adoration, and I knew his jealousy was simply a gut reaction. He trusted me.
The front door closed behind him, but the black clad figure of him didn't walk through the streets. He was home and I envied him immensely. Closing my eyes and leaning against Pierres shoulder I sighed, imagining The Dreaming, my newfound home. I missed Lucienne and Merv and their constant antics. I missed Cain and Abel and Goldie and their bickering and showmanship. I missed the dreams and nightmares that had already begun to settle back into their homes. I missed walking through the palace with Morpheus' hand in mine or sitting on the bridge together watching the sunset. I missed the normalcy that The Dreaming had begun to offer me, something I'd known very few times in my life.
Soon. I promised myself. Soon all this will be over and we can go home together.
"So, what is this change in you?" Pierre asked curiously.
"Change?"
"You feel," he paused, searching for the right word. "Powerful, more so that you did before."
I nodded. "Yeah, it sounds nuts but I kind of discovered I've got some… String magic."
Hob sat up in his chair. "String magic?"
"I see these threads that connect people and, well, the universe." I explained poorly.
"So do we have these strings?" Hob asked.
"Yeah, everyone has one."
Pierre blocked Hob from my view. "Look at mine first!"
"Not bloody fair!"
"Relax, I can look at both of yours." I assured them, gently willing the world of threads up. It was softer here than in The Dreaming.
Pierres appeared first, bright and demanding. Orange with strong veins of red and pink and a thinner strip of green that, surprisingly, wrapped around his head. I told him his colors, my thoughts drifting to one of Luciennes books. Orange burns the brightest, life and love and adventure tangled into one thread. It is no surprise that those with orange dominated threads also burn away the fastest.
As long as I'd known him Pierre was blazing, burning through the world with everything he was, everything he had. As I watched him pridefully boast about his amazing range of colors I smiled, quietly hoping his fire would never dwindle.
"Mine next," Hob said, looking at me like a kid on Christmas. 
Hobs was obvious. Bright yellow with orange and blue, but the blues had hues of green in it. His was firmly tethered to his heart as I looked at it with a smile. "Yours is yellow, with orange and blue."
"What does it mean?" He asked. "The colors?"
"I'm still working it all out," I admitted. "But yellow I think represents warmth and brightness. It shows you're optimistic and lively."
He nodded, standing to deposit his cup in the kitchen. "After all the years lively is a good work to hear."
Pierre jostled me and smirked. "So, what fun would you like to have today?"
"The kind where we sit inside and stay out of trouble?" I offered up, knowing full well he'd never agree to such a boring thing.
He scoffed. "Sit inside? On such a lovely day?"
Hob moved to stand beside the window and nodded. "It is rather nice out."
"Not you too!" I whined. "Listen, we should just relax inside and lay low. After last night, who knows what those assholes have planned."
"Come on," Pierre pleaded. "Let's go out, have a bit of fun! The old bag and his goons will be laying low, you should get out now before they start making noise."
"I wouldn't mind a day in the town," Hob added, scratching his head innocently. "It could be fun."
"You two are going to get me in trouble!" I hissed standing up. "Come on. We'll have to run by the apartment so I can change."
The two quietly cheered and jumped to their feet, gathering their things and following me out the door. A little shopping and maybe some food wouldn't hurt anyone.
***
Dream sat on his throne reading through the current census Lucienne had made for him. So many of his creations were back, yet there were still many that were not. Part of him worried that his absence had caused them to lose faith in him… Had caused such a deep damage that even his return could not sway them to come home. This worry had burrowed deep into his chest over the past few months. It festered and made him feel uneasy every time he left and to compensate he poured even more of himself into his work.
He'd made several rounds through the town, though he was never received with quite as much enthusiasm as Penelope was, another thing that made his chest ache, but not one he would focus on. Dream worked diligently to restore his realm to its former glory, and to gain back the love and trust of his subjects, but he feared he may never be the ruler he once was.
After the sun had set he spoke with Lucienne on what information he needed next, ran new designs past Merv and briefly spoke to Matthew about flying to the Waking World to check on Penelope while he finished up his remaining tasks. He walked the palace, examining everything to be certain there were no cracks or missing pieces, and in his walking he found himself on the pier, looking down into the clearing water. 
During his capture the dreams of the humans grew dark and festered with nightmares, now he wished to see if they'd grown brighter. He knelt before the water, reaching out slowly and letting it gently tighten him into the depths. The nightmares greeted him with bowed heads and kept their distance, his power fully restored and thus his title and authority no longer something any could question. Moving through the water he viewed many dreams, bright and happy full of imagination and laughter. The sight eased the ache in him considerably.
Just as he prepared to return the sound of loud music and familiar laughter echoed from the depths. Penelope? He pressed forward, diving deep into the various pools containing her voice. The first was merely the image of her dancing in an empty room, the black silk dress hugging her form and her hair bouncing with the movements she made. In the far corner the dreamer sat, crudely stroking himself beneath his table. 
Dream moved to the next, something similar but more people filled the space. This dreamer had imagined a very poor look alike of his lady bent before him at his table. He scoffed at the horrible rendition and moved on to the next. Whatever it was she'd gotten up to in his absence it certainly had inspired these pathetic, unimaginative fools. The next was just as crude and poorly realized as the last. A terrible look alike on her knees for the dreamer, resembling nothing of the beauty he knew she was in any position.
It was the last dream that made the jealousy and pent up possessiveness unfurl. It was no mere dream, but a memory of the events that had inspired such. Penelope, his lady, danced happily among the humans, the black silk dress even more beautiful and revealing than the other dreamers had depicted. She was happy, Hob spun her around joking and laughing with her, but that didn't bother him. Hob was a gentleman. It was the other one. That damned Frenchman that got his blood boiling. His hands were all over her, holding onto her hips and moving with her as though they were doing more than dancing. His lips whispered in her ear, and though he could tell it was his usual jokes that Penelope would smack him for it did little to ease the curling ball building in him.
Enough. With a snap of his fingers all dreams surrounding his lady ended, and with a wave of his night filled coat he was in the Waking World, in her room.
On her bed an opened box with a bright red ribbon lay open. The card reeked of him, his smoke, and had some crude message in French. He'd bought her the dress. Dream sat on the bed, holding the ribbon in his hands, and waited.
***
Dream was already sitting on the edge of my bed when I closed the door, twisting a shimmering red ribbon in his hands "God damn you! Don't sneak up on me!"
"Did you have a good evening?" The tone of his voice was low and rigid. His mind and emotions clouded, as if he was purposely withholding them from me.
"I guess?" I answered, slipping my shoes off. "Are you okay?"
He chuckled low and dark, sending a jolt of heat straight down my spine and to my core. "No. I don't suppose I am."
The air in the room thickened with a heavy lustful need as he stood from the bed and trapped me against the door. "Oh… What's… What's wrong?"
His eyes gleamed like silver moons as he looked down the length of my body, drinking in the dress Pierre had gifted me to wear out on our night of fun. "Who do you belong to?"
"Excuse me?" I whispered back, nearly choking from the suddenness of the question.
"Who do you belong to?" He repeated his cold breath fanning over my neck as he moved his lips to my ear.
I bit my lip and clenched my thighs together. It was obvious he wanted me to tell him I was his, so obvious that I really wanted to see what he'd say if I gave him a different answer. "I don't think I belong to anyone."
Dream laughed against my ear, dragging his fingers down my shoulder and sliding the thin strap off it. "Don't make me repeat myself again, Penelope."
Fire burned in my lungs as I set my head against the door to meet his eyes. "Or what?"
"Or I'll have to punish you."
"Well, first, I'd like to know what's got you in your big dark mood."
A smirk. "You."
I watched his lips. "Have I been bad or something?"
"Not bad," he answered carefully, running a hand down the front of my dress. "An inspiration is perhaps more accurate."
"Why would inspiration be a punishable offense?"
"Because when you inspire a pathetic group of mortals to dream of you in your little dress I have to see it." Oh. His dark gaze flicked back up to me. Oh shit. "I found it amusing at first, but then I saw one of their memories of the events that transpired and found it far less amusing. Your body, pressed up against your friends. His lips whispering in your ear. His hands on you."
I swallowed. "Dream…"
His hand cupped my jaw, tilting my head back so he could look straight down at me as he stepped closer, pressing me impossibly further into the door. "Choose your next words wisely, my love."
Burning need coiled in my gut as the raw unfiltered ache of his jealous rage hit me. "Nothing happened. It was just dancing. I would never-"
"You misunderstand. I know nothing happened. I know who you belong to, but it seems your friend needs a reminder and you need to be reminded." Oh god. His thumb ran down the center of my neck. "So, my love, one last time. Who do you belong to?"
"You," I whined as he shoved his knee between my thighs, a pulse of heat rushing through me.
"Again."
"You," I replied louder, his hand gripping my hip and grinding me down against his thigh.
The hand now on my neck applied a little pressure. "Again."
I moaned softly, tears pricking the edges of my eyes as the pleasure began to build at a torturously slow pace. "You, Morpheus. I belong to you."
His eyes took in the sight of me, pinned against the door, hips moving against his thigh, his hand gripping me to control the pace. With a hum he shook his head, lips brushing against mine. "I'm not satisfied."
Pulling away from me completely he ignored my whimpering, took off his coat and set the ribbon on my dresser before sitting in my chair. I stood perfectly still, waiting for his coming instructions. He leaned back and motioned me forward with two fingers. I approached him slowly, standing in between his wide spread legs. "Kneel."
My breath trembled as I followed the command, kneeling between his thighs, hands squeezing them softly. He caught my chin between his finger and thumb, pulling on my bottom lip slightly as he said, "I think it's time we put this gorgeous mouth to better use, don't you?"
I nodded eagerly, listening to the sound of him freeing himself from the confines of his pants. "No more rebellion?" 
The words went straight to my cunt as I gave him a wicked smirk. "Perhaps later." 
With a nod, he released my face. "We shall see."
I didn't wait for instructions as I took him in my hand, pumping a few times before I dragged my tongue up the length of his hard cock and swirled it around the leaking tip. Our eyes stayed locked, his expression remained cold and unchanging. I looked away only to take him into my mouth, pressing my tongue flat against him, occasionally running the tip along the underside of his cock. His hands stayed relaxed on the arms of the chair as he kept up the unaffected act. We'll see about that. 
Hollowing out my cheeks I took him deep into my throat, not stopping until I hit the base of his pants. I held myself there, swallowing around him and humming at the sound of his fingers digging into cushions, at last earning a moan from the king of dreams. "Good girl."
I continued my movements, one hand digging into his thigh while I used the other to feel up his tightened abdomen. Through my lashes I looked up at him, the sight alone would have been enough for me. His head was thrown back, the muscles and veins in his neck visible in the pale moonlight. God Morpheus, I moaned in my head, watching his Adam's apple bob. I'd never get tired of looking at him like this.
When his hand finally fisted in my hair and held me still I loosened my jaw as much as I could as he began steadily fucking up into my mouth. Saliva pooled everywhere as I choked on him, but I didn't care, couldn't care. "That's it," he breathed. Morpheus, I thought wantonly. "Just take it." Morpheus. "You're doing so good for me." Morpheus. His fist tightened in my hair, holding me down against his pulsing cock as he came down my throat. "Fuck."
He released his grip on my hair and I pulled myself off him, licking up anything left over as he looked down at me and caught his breath. "Are you satisfied now, Lord Morpheus?"
He bent over and held his lips inches from my own before whispering, "Not in the slightest."
Before I could speak again he stood, stepping over me and moving across the room. He grabbed the floor length mirror in the far corner and set it up facing the chair with a quiet him as he retook his seat. Through the mirror I watched as his long lithe fingers stroked down his cock, still glistening with my saliva. His eyes, mere pools of silver in the darkness, met mine and he stilled. "Come."
I scoffed, that rebellious spark filling the air. "I'm not a pet, Dream."
"You would look fetching in a collar though," he mused, eyes trailing over me. "Come sit in my lap."
"If I don't?" I questioned, though I'd already stood up to comply with his command.
"Then I'll have to bend you over my knee." A shiver ran through me as I moved closer to him. "Panties off."
I smiled, slowly lifting my dress up and sliding the lacy black panties off of me. "Anything else you want off, my Lord?"
"No." I lifted a leg, moving to straddle him but he stopped me. "Face the mirror."
As I compiled my reflection greeted me, the black silk hugged every curve of my body and the high slit showed off a good amount of my thigh. Dreams hands ran down my hips, gathering my dress a little before guiding me back to sit. One hand held my hip while the other lined his cock up with my already soaking hole. He slid me down on top of him slowly, lifting the dress so the sight of him disappearing inside me was clear in the mirror as he gazed hungrily over my shoulder.
I was already gasping and panting, my hand covering my mouth muffling the loud moan tore through my throat when he'd finally pulled me completely against him, moving both my legs to rest openly over his thighs. Behind me Dream pulled my hands together behind my back with a growl. He pulled the red ribbon off the nightstand and wrapped it tightly around my wrists. Before securing the ties he kissed my shoulder, the gentle tenderness returning for only a moment to ask, "Is this alright?"
Through the mirror our eyes met and I smiled. "I trust you."
The ribbon pulled taut against my skin and he kissed my spine. "And that is something I shall never betray, my love."
"I know," I whispered watching as the glowing silver of his eyes drifted down to where we were joined, the dark possessiveness retaking him as he pulled on the ribbon, testingly. "Now what?"
"Now, you sit still."
My eyes went wide. "Wait, sit still?"
Dream smiled. "Yes, I don't want you to move an inch."
"Well thats, hardly fu- fuck!" I hissed as his fingers lightly grazed my clit. "Oh."
"Oh," he mocked quietly. "Oh indeed."
"This isn't fair," I whined as his fingers began their slow movements again. I could feel myself beginning to squeeze around his cock, but I couldn't move. His free hand had my hip in an iron grip, one I just knew would leave bruises. 
He chuckled, biting my shoulder and forcing another moan from me. "Punishment is hardly ever fair. And I am a strict king."
Dream continued his slow pavement for ten minutes then slowly began speeding up. But as was the way of things with Dream he refused to let me come. He'd bring me to the edge, watching me intently through the mirror and then just as the sweet release was within reach he'd stop all movement. After a half hour of this every inch of me was shaking, my legs trembled, squeezing his thighs desperately. "Morpheus," I whined for the hundredth time, my voice hoarse and desperate, chest heaving as I leaned my head back into his shoulder. "Please."
He chuckled, moving his hand from my hip to wrap loosely around my neck and pressing an open mouthed kiss behind my ear. "What is it you want, my love?"
His fingers stilled once again and I groaned. "You know exactly what I want!"
"Perhaps, but I still want to hear you say it."
"Oh? You want me… Ah, god damn you," I moaned, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes as his fingers built back up their movements. "You want me to beg?"
Morpheus hummed, the vibration of his chest sending chills up my body. "I'm open to begging."
For a moment I settled on not giving him the satisfaction, but that moment was short. My chest heaved as the pleasure of his fingers working my clit and his cock stuffed inside my aching cunt brought the coil in my gut tight once again before he stopped. With a broken huff I slumped forward, my head looking down at my trembling thighs. "Please, Morpheus. Please let me come."
His hand moved to my hair, fisting in it and pulling my head back up. "Look at me when you beg, my lady."
Our eyes locked and his glistened with absolutely unhinged lust. "Please," I gasped, my fingers twisting into his shirt from behind. "Please let me come. I'll do anything."
With a smile his eyes drifted down to where we were joined together, watching his fingers and smiling at the mess I'd made in his lap. "You have been quite good."
"I have," I agreed desperately.
"Will you continue to behave?" The dark timber of his voice nearly brought me to the climax I so desperately wanted. 
"Yes," I gasped. "I'll behave."
"Very well, I'll let you come…" His lips pressed to the shell of my ear. "Next time."
Everything stopped and a disappointed sob tore from my mouth. "Morpheus!"
He lifted me off of him and set me on the bed, my face pressing into the plush blanket as I whined. The sound of the mirror moving back into place and him leisurely undressing off to the side, just out of my sight, was torturous. I pulled on the ribbon, but just like all the times before it held firm.
His weight dipped on the mattress and without any warning he pushed himself into me, inch by inch. I bit my lip to keep from screaming as my aching cunt burned at the slow pace. God he was really going to drag this out, wasn't he? I pushed my hips back against him as his hand wound around the ribbon and pulled, lifting me off the bed and into his bare chest. One arm came around me, pulling my lip from my teeth while the other pulled my dress up and gripped my hip. "None of that. I want every noise."
"But…" I tried, my mind drifting to the poor men in the living room.
He pulled the ribbon harder. "Let them hear you. Perhaps this will finally be enough for your friend to realize exactly who you belong to."
"Morpheus," I whined as all the denied pleasure began to build inside me. The coil tightened and tightened until it was unbearable.
"Come," he ordered and my body immediately followed the command.
White filled my vision as a desperate and wanton moan filled the room along with his name. He pulled out, unwinding the ribbon from my hands to move me onto my back. 
My nails dug into his arms as he leaned over me, teeth closing around my nipple through my dress and tugging lightly. I couldn't have contained the cry of pleasure that filled the room even if I wanted to. His cock slid back into me with no resistance and he pulled my legs over his shoulders, nearly bending me in half as he pounded into me. 
Orgasm after orgasm, position after position, each more intense than the last until I was a moaning, sweaty, crying mess beneath him. His name was all I knew.
"Morpheus," I begged. For more or for less I didn't know, but he didn't stop.
"Just one more," he whispered, kissing the tears from my cheeks. "One more my beautiful Weaver."
"Come with me," I whined, fingers pulling at his black hair. "Please."
His hot breath fanned across my face as he kissed and sucked at my flesh as his hips began to falter in the harsh pace he'd set. Morpheus pressed his lips to mine just as my orgasm washed over me and his hips stilled in turn as he filled me with his hot come. We swallowed one another's moans for a moment before he set his forehead to mine. "Are you alright?"
I laughed weakly. "Absolutely!"
He kissed me softly, rolling off me and looking me up and down carefully. "I wasn't too rough was I?"
"Morpheus," I said gently, guiding his face back up to mine. "It was amazing. All of it."
With a sigh he pressed his head to my chest, running his fingers on the silk. "Forgive me. I should not have sprung this on you."
I scratched his head softly, running his smooth hair through my fingers. "I enjoyed it. It's quite a sight to see you let go of that ironclad grip you have on your urges."
He chuckled. "I like the dress."
"I figured you did since you didn't try to rip it off of me."
"I was tempted," he admitted, resting his chin on my chest to look up at me. "But decided against it."
I stroked his cheek. "We'll, thank you might Dream Lord for sparing my new dress."
He moved away from me, disappearing into my bathroom. Before I could ask I heard the water turn on and he returned, gently removing the dress from my body, kissing every bruise left by his hands. Then he lifted me into his arms and settled the two of us into my tub where he massaged my arms and shoulders and whispered praise in my ears and kissed me gently.
I closed my eyes, sinking into him. "I love you."
Dream nuzzled his face into my hair. "I love you too. I missed you today."
"As did I," I hummed. "Hob and Pierre are absolutely unhinged together as it turns out."
He laughed. "Tell me about your day."
***
Hob Gadling and Pierre sat across from one another in Penelope and Johanna's living room, each quietly sipping the tea Hob had made. At first the moans and desperate cries of pleasure had been quieter, easier to tall over, but now they filled the apartment.
Pierre smiled. "I still think she was louder for me."
Hob sighed. "There's no way. Sorry mate, but there's just no way she was louder than this for you."
"You think I am a poor lover?"
"I didn't say that." He replied. "But she's in there with basically a god right now. And there's just no way you're better than a god."
He scoffed. "I disagree."
"Morpheus!"
The two grew silent again. "Should we leave?"
Pierre shrugged. "Are you hungry bar man?"
"I could eat," Hob replied, grabbing his coat and following the Frenchman out the door. "It's Hob, by the way, not bar man."
"Hob. It's an odd name, no?"
***
I woke the next morning sore, but for the first time in a while it was in a way that made me smile. I could feel Morpheus curled into my back, his face buried in my hair as he lay beside me. I stretched my heavy limbs, the slight movement bringing Dream fully awake in an instant. His arms tightened around me and he breathed in deeply. "Good morning."
"Good morning," I replied, twisting to kiss him. 
"How are you feeling?"
"Sore," I said honestly. "But in the best way."
He chuckled, smoothing his hands over my body, lightly massaging me. "What are your plans for the day?"
I shrugged. "Don't know, but don't you need to get back to The Dreaming?"
"I was able to complete my tasks yesterday before getting… Distracted," he said. "So, you have me for the day."
I gasped and turned in his arms, rolling over on top of him. "The great King of Dreams is all mine? Oh think of the evil I can accomplish!"
Dream ran his fingers through my hair. "Evil isn't exactly your style."
"What is then?"
"Rescuing stray animals? Feeding birds?" He offered up. "Inspiring the fantasies of mortal men?"
I pinched his arm. "I personally had nothing to do with the last one!"
His fingers running up my spine sent goosebumps along my flesh. "Perhaps not, but you are quite an inspiration, not just to mortals."
"Do I inspire you, Dream of the Endless?" I giggled, nudging his nose with mine.
"More than anything," he offered up freely, eyes bright and swimming with love. The adoration he felt for me was almost enough to make my heart stop. I pressed my lips to his, savoring the slow unhurried way they moved together.
A knock at the door made me freeze. Oh fuck. My head fell into his shoulder as I remembered that Hob and Pierre had been in the apartment for last nights… Loud performance. Dreams pride was unbearable as he chuckled. "Yes?"
Hob cleared his throat on the other side of the door. "The French guy and I got breakfast ready, if you two are hungry."
"By the sounds of last night I know she's hungry," Pierre teased loudly. 
"God!" I groaned. "This is your fault."
Dream sat up, bringing me with him. "I accept full responsibility."
"Smug bastard."
I uncurled from him and got dressed, the marks far too high up my neck to even try and hide. Dream had returned to his normal attire and sat on the bed watching me as I fixed my hair. He came up behind me, moving my hands to tie the red ribbon into my locks. "There, perfect."
I scoffed at him. "The nerve of you!"
"Come, you need to eat before our day of fun can begin."
With his hand in mine we left the safety of my bedroom and sitting on the couch the two smirking men drank their drinks quietly. Pierre had a hundred jokes ready, I just knew it, while Hob looked more at Dream than he did me. I nodded toward the chair. "Take a seat, I'll grab my food."
Pierre was up in an instant, following me to the kitchen with a grin. I groaned and moved fast, trying to focus on buttering my biscuit and dishing up my eggs while he leaned against the doorframe. "Last night was quite the show."
"Pierre…" I warned. "I'll stab you."
He shrugged, tilting my head up to examine the marks in my neck. "He's far more rough than I'd imagined!"
I slapped his hands away. "Knock it off!"
"Tell me then, who's better? Him or me?"
I pulled my lips together tightly. "Sweetie…"
He gasped, an offended hand flying to his chest. "Him? No!"
"Sorry Frenchie, with him there's just…" I smiled. "There's real feeling. It's not about letting off steam or trying not to focus on something, it's just… Natural."
Pierre smiled, his real one, the one I knew was genuine. "I'm happy for you, Ma moitié. You deserve nothing but the best in this life."
I held his hand. "You deserve that too."
"Not really." He shrugged, kissing my hand quickly. "All the good I am came from you. It's something I'll never be able to repay, and something I will spend every minute of my life trying to."
"You already have," I whispered.
He smiled, pulling me in close to kiss my head. "Not even close, Ma moitié."
"Stubborn ass."
"Always."
The front door opened and shut quickly, bags dropped to the floor and the person that had come in moved quickly to the kitchen doorway. Johanna sighed, relieved and instantly pulled me into her arms. "God I was worried about you!"
I hugged her tighter. "So was I. Sorry about the other night, I wasn't…"
"Shut up," she insisted. "What matters is you're back to normal, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Grab your food, we gotta rework our plan before any of us can go."
Just like Johanna, I thought while following her and Pierre out into the living room. Dream and Hob now sat together, Hob finishing up some hushed words before he gave Dream a pat on the shoulder. I sat on the floor between Dreams' knees. "Everything okay?"
"Yes," he replied silently. "It would seem you've made quite the impression on Hob Gadling."
"Oh?" I twisted a little, looking up at him as I took a bite of my food 
"He was just telling me about how good you are, about how I needed to take whatever this is seriously and not hurt you."
I choked on my food a little and smiled. "I mean I would hope you're taking this seriously, Dream. You're in my head after all."
His hands rubbed my shoulders. "I can say the same of you, my love."
Johanna pulled out the papers she'd gathered on her trip and we sat for a while, reviewing the information. Out of curiosity I pulled the threads up, examining her odd thread with curious eyes. Her thread was gray with black and orange veins, but what made it odd was the yellow that was frayed and torn from the main thread, half even and half unwoven. The gray thread wrapped tightly around her throat while the broken yellow led to her heart.
If she'd been a stranger I would have had no clue what I was looking at, but I knew Johanna. I knew that deep down she was a lot like Hob, bright and lively and warm. The broken yellow thread was hers once, as was its placement in her heart. But, the years of this job, this life, had worn her down… Astra's loss had caused the thread to snap and for her whole life to be rewoven and changed. The gray wasn't like Destinys. His felt balanced and clear, while her felt like the beginnings of a storm, unsteady and full of things left unresolved.
Looking at it made me sad, but the simple fact that the yellow remained at all gave me hope that she'd one day get to reunite with that side of her. Pierre suddenly spoke, "So the bastard is likely operating here in London."
"Probably never left," I added, letting the world refill my vision.
"We need to dig up as much as we can," Johanna said, her eyes darting wildly between the papers.
I got her attention. "We need to relax."
Pierre scoffed. "After the other night-"
"The other night changes nothing." I insisted. "He knows I'm here, so I'll disappear for a bit, send them looking elsewhere while you two continue with the original plan."
"Ahh the old goose chase!" Pierre smiled. "I like it."
Johanna crossed her arms. "Where will you go? They've got eyes everywhere."
I looked up at Dream and smiled. "Dream of the Endless, would you allow me to hide away in your great realm?"
He smiled just a little. "Of course, my realm is always open to you."
"Problem solved."
Johanna nodded. "Alright, it's good enough for me."
I clasped my hands together. "Great! I'll go pack!"
Dream followed me shortly after and stood in the door, watching me pack my things. "They've all gone."
"Even Hob?"
"Yes, he had to go make sure the inn was ready to open."
"I should probably apologize for that, huh?"
"I'm sure he doesn't mind," Dream assured me.
I looked him up and down and asked, "Are you okay?"
He sighed, moving closer. "There is something I wish to try."
"What is it?"
Lifting my silver bound wrist he kissed it gently. "I wish to show you some of my past."
I looked at him gently. "You don't have to. If this is about what Hob said…"
"It is," he said. "But more than that, it's about what everyone's said since our reunion. Desire would use what I haven't shared to try and manipulate you. Hob fears my secrecy will cause you pain. Lucienne advises openness and honesty. Even Destiny has said I would need to open myself to you."
"I understand that, and they aren't wrong, but…" I pulled him closer. "You still get to choose when that is. I don't want you to feel pressured into sharing things you're not comfortable with."
Dream stroked my cheek. "I have seen the worst of your memories, without your permission, I believe this much is owed."
"If you're sure," I said once again. "What do you need me to do?"
He placed his hand in mine. "Put my hand to this silver thread. The one you used to see Destiny's hidden memories."
"It's cold," I warned as I pulled up the threads, moving his hand to it and directing him to hold it. The blizzard overtook us both and this time when the frozen lake appeared, Dream was beside me, holding onto the thread.
He looked around for a moment, moving along the rigid path forward, until the first statue came into view. "Nada," he said softly.
"Who was she?" I asked, looking up at the beautiful ice sculpture of the woman.
"My first love…" he sighed. "And someone that hurt me deeply, that I in turn hurt."
I lifted his hand, pressing it into the cold of the statue. All around us the memories of them played out in hazy visions. Beside me Dream was stiff. I could feel the love they shared, feel how badly he wanted her to remain by his side. Then the pain came, hurt and anger and confusion. The vision faded and the feelings with it. "What happened between you two?"
"It is ancient law that mortals and Endless cannot be together or disaster will follow. Nadas people were destroyed because of our love, and the pain this caused her…" He paused. "She took her own life, and so in death I offered her eternity at my side as my queen." I squeezed his arm tighter, the knowledge that another could have taken my place was something I wasn't entirely ready for, or fond of. "She refused and in my young and blind rage I condemned her to Hell, where she remains even now."
"You cast her to Hell?"
He sighed. "Yes. I'll admit, it was not something I saw fault in before, but then I found you." He turned to me. "Nada never would have been my queen, nor my equal. Even if she had accepted, you would have merely existed and been more to me and The Dreaming than she."
I kissed his cold fingers. "Can you free her?"
"Much like your mother, my forgiveness is what is required. When we were in Hell I was not ready to let go of my anger, bit now…" He smiled down at me. "Now I believe I may be."
We walked forward again, the next statue standing tall above us, one I recognized instantly. "Olethros."
Dream nodded, setting his hand against the ice. "My brother."
The vision of their family, all hazy figures and faces formed. Olethros was the only clear one among them. He announced his departure, met with anger and confusion and questions. "When was this?"
"1695." Dream replied. "Though he did not vanish entirely until shortly after saving you, this was when Destruction left our family and his realm along with his duties. He remained in the Waking World for a while, but never in one place for long enough that our family could find him."
"Why is he here?"
"I said much that day that I wish I could take back. His role was never easy, none are. Had I been more understanding… More open to aid him then perhaps…"
"He might have stayed?" I finished. "I don't know. I only knew him as Olethros, and we certainly didn't have eons together. But, he was his own man. No one could have stopped him if it's what he'd chosen, not even you, Dream." 
The next statue was of a woman and child, both appearing in light robes. Wordlessly he pressed his hand to the ice. All around us laughter and love and joy filled the air. Family. They'd been a family. As I watched the past him embrace his wife and their child I couldn't help but feel the sting of it. He loved them both so much. "Calliope, my ex wife and Orpheus… my son."
"What happened?"
"My son died," he answered solemnly, tears in his eyes. "Calliope blamed me. Her final words to me were a promise to never speak to me again."
The vision faded with the echoes of the pain. "I'm sorry."
Dream closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I was not the best husband to her, nor the best father. But, I loved it… Having a family of my own."
I wiped his tears. "I know I can't replace that… Can't give you the exact same as they did, but I can be your family."
"You are my family," he corrected. "You, The Dreaming, all of it is our family."
I looked up at him as he looked down the path. "You've lived a long life. Let this be enough for now?"
"How do we return?"
"Break the thread." I instructed, forgetting to warn him of the coming plunge into the lake.
We were huddled close together when the warm world greeted us, Dreams arms held me tightly to him, shielding me from any unknown danger. Shivering I kissed his chest. "Thank you."
"Are you alright?"
"I'm just a little cold."
His coat wrapped around me in an instant. "When you're warm, we can begin our day."
"Do you have things planned?"
"No," he admitted. "I want you to do whatever it is you want to."
I smiled up at him. "I'm proud of you… Of the ways you've changed."
He shook his head gently. "I've not changed. I am as I've always been, just… More inspired."
"As you say, Mr. Endless, Sir." I teased. "Now, I was promised a day out so, let's go."
Being in the Waking World with Dream was always awkward. He never knew exactly where to look or what was weird and what was normal, but to his credit he tried his best. Even as I forced him to try every food and look at every street vendor he never complained or made any faces. Honestly he was fascinated, studying everything with this look of wonder. It was adorable.
As the sun was beginning to set we sat side by side on a park bench. I watched a group of kids play while Dream picked at the sweet treat I'd shoved in his hand. I loved kids, their bright laughter and chubby cheeks. After seeing his memories of being a father a newfound want had filled my chest. Seeing him have all that with someone else… It hurt, I envied it. But, maybe we could have that one day too?
"Dream," I started softly. "Do you… Would… Would you ever want to have a child again?"
He turned to me, looking up at the children playing and he smiled a little. "If you'd have asked me not long ago I would have said no. But, that was,when I thought you were dead."
"So you would?"
"Would you?" He asked cautiously. "I never thought to ask. I honestly didn't think it would be possible after seeing all the…"
Oh. He thought… I shook my head, twisting my fingers together. "Oh, no. They never… I… I guess they wanted to leave that bit untouched… In case…" The words died in my throat, but Dream understood.
He linked our hands. "I enjoyed being a father, even if I wasn't the best at it the first time. I would be thrilled to have a second chance with you."
"I've never been a mom," I said with a laugh. "But, I'd be happy to give it a try with you one day."
Just as he pressed his lips to mine thunder echoed in the sky and rain began to fall. I smiled, watching everyone flee the park as the sunlight grew dim. Dream looked a little disgruntled at the change. "We should depart."
I stood quickly. "And miss the rain?"
He smiled. "I forgot I was with you for a moment. I should make you your own rain cloud at this point."
"Can you?!"
Dream shook his head, chuckling softly. "What shall we do in this downpour my lady?"
Holding a hand out to him I smiled wide. "Do Dream Lords dance?"
"No, they don't."
"Would you, if I said please?"
With a sigh he stood, taking my hand in his. "I can deny you nothing."
I pulled him in close and the two of us danced in the rain, slow and soft. After a while it felt like we'd become part of the storm itself and I cherished the feeling. "Thank you, Dream Lord, for indulging me."
"Perhaps you will now indulge me in an adventure?"
With a grin I nodded. "I love adventures!"
He pulled the sand pouch from his coat and gave me a look. "Don't say it."
I bit my lip, resisting the urge to tease him anyway. Instead I let him blow the sand and take us wherever it was he had in mind. As it cleared the old tavern came into view. I looked back at him with curious eyes. "Are we taking a walk down memory lane?"
"Something like that," he replied, leading me inside. "The last time we were here, do you remember it?"
Nodding, I looked around a bit. "Of course."
"Do you remember some… Thoughts you had?"
Ohhh… I thought, turning to him. "Yes."
Dream smiled at that. "Would you care to explore them some more?"
"Absolutely."
"Good," he said lowly as he waved his hand. "I've come up with some ideas myself."
The tavern filled with people, lighting up and taking on the qualities it held in the past as it bent to Dreams whim. Soft fabric rusted against my skin and when I looked down I was wearing a gown in place of my regular clothes. It was elegant and revealing, two strips of fabric around my neck connected it to the long puffy sleeves that cuffed at my wrists. The deep v of the front accentuated my breasts beautifully and the knee high slits in the side made movement easy. It was nearly see through with a multitude of golden stars of various sizes and placements.
"You've certainly given me a fine dress, Dream Lord!" I said, twirling a little, noting the way his dark eyes looked down my body. "Though I'm not sure how period accurate it is."
"Yes, it's a shame there will be little left of it when I'm finished with you."
Heat rolled through me as I looked back at him, adorned in his 1389 look with his shoulder length hair and billowing sleeves. "Is that a promise?"
His brow arched. "Does it need to be? Is that what you wish, my lady? For me to swear to you that I'll not stop until every inch of you is bare before me?"
I hummed, swallowing thickly. "It's a start."
"A start," he chuckled, backing me up against the table.
"Well yes, I should hope with such a magnificent set you had more than one idea in mind." I smiled up at him. "Or was this supposed to be a quick affair?"
Dream shook his head, a smile spread on his lips. "Quick is not something I would use to describe what I've planned."
My eyebrow quirked. "What is it you have planned?"
"For starters," he said, hands settling on my thighs. "A kiss."
"Just a kiss?" I inquired. "Rather tame for you, my lord."
He merely smiled and lowered his lips to mine, starting with a slow kiss, one that had me clinging to his arms for support as he stole the very breath from my lungs. When he pulled back to let me regain my lost breath he moved his lips to my jaw, trailing kisses lower and lower until he was biting and sucking the hollow of my throat.
My hands ran through his hair, pulling gently at the roots as I gasped and wiggled beneath him. "Dream," I said in a heated moan. "Please don't make me beg again."
With a dark chuckle he returned his lips to mine, kissing softly before pulling back to cradle my head in his hands. "I won't make you beg, my love. Not yet."
"God, your ego is astronomical," I murmured, pulling his lips back to mine.
This kiss was deep, our teeth clashed together as our tongues twined and his hands pulled at the front of my dress. The ripping sound was music to my ears and sent a wave of anticipation through me. When I pulled away his hair was shorter beneath my fingers, the flowy sleeved gone and replaced with his simple 1489 appearance.
"Hi," I breathed out.
"Hello," he replied, returning his hands to tearing the front of my dress open. The instant the chilled air hit my breasts I gasped and instinctually moved my hands to cover them. Dream caught them, pinning them to the table with a smirk. "I think not, love."
His mouth latched onto my nipple, his tongue swirling over it and teeth dragging down and tugging on it until it was peaked. He turned his attention to the other, paying no mind to the way my chest heaved against him or how my legs had spread wide and curled around his hips, desperately trying to pull him closer. "God, Dream just move forward!"
"Hmm," he thought, nipping and sucking hickeys into my chest. "Forward? Like this?"
His pelvis met mine, the firm outline of his erection rolling against my already aching core. A broken moan left my lips as my head fell back. "Yes," I gasped. "Just like that."
Dream ground himself against me one last time before he disappeared, my body arching out trying to chase his cold hands. I huffed and glared at him as he took a seat at the table across from us. His long hair cascading down his shoulders and the fine black clothes of his 1689 attire sitting comfortably against his pale skin. "You're an ass."
With a leisurely pace he pulled his cock free of his pants and stroked a hand up and down it. "Perhaps I'll just make you watch then."
"Is there a particular reason you've skipped a year?" I asked, eyes watching his hand stroke himself.
"Yes." He was too smug about this. "That year was your favorite."
"So you intend to make me work for it?"
"Work? No." He sucked in a deep breath, the movement of his hand beginning to get to him. "I intend to draw this out."
I stood, running my hands up his arms and stroking his face. "You think it'd end so quickly?"
"I know it would," his eyes flashed to mine. "You'd want your fill of me and I'd not deny you."
With a thoughtful hum I settled in his lap, leaving enough space for his hand to move between us. I placed my hand over his and kissed his jaw. "I could help, if that's the Dream Lord's wish?"
A low groan echoed around us as his hand fell away, leaving mine to pleasure him. "Yes, please."
My free hand wrapped into his long hair and pulled his head up to meet mine. With a wide, smug grin I whispered, "Told you I was gonna pull your dumb long hair."
"It's a good thing you're distracting me or I might take offense to that, my lady."
I kissed him, shushing him softly. "Just enjoy the moment, Morpheus."
Every sound he made I committed to memory, every breathless moan and soft words. Moments like these were rare, and so I loved the chance to savor every second. The usually stoic, hardened plane of his face was now relaxed, light and beautiful with thinly restrained ecstasy. I moved my lips closer to his, "You look good like this. Maybe I should do this all the time, help you get rid of those tense lines on your face."
He moaned, hands tearing the slits of my dress until they exposed my thighs completely now. "Surely your hand would tire if we did this all the time?"
"I have another," I offered. "I also have quite the mouth," he moaned, hips lifting and pushing into my hand. "Or we can always do things the easy way and you can just fuck me."
"An eternity of your touch, that does sound tempting." His eyes were blown wide as he looked up at me. Lust, need and an undeniable love hummed between us. "Though I don't know how happy you'd be stuck with me every moment of forever."
I smiled softly. "I'm yours, Morpheus. Being stuck with you every moment of forever is all I want."
As I quickened my pace, determined to bring him the pleasure he was chasing, he stopped me with a hand on my wrist and a labored groan. "If you continue that I'll not be able to last."
"Don't you want to come?" I asked.
"I do," his dark gaze flicked up to my face. "I want to come inside you." 
A shiver rolled down my spine and I pressed my chest up to his, the cold buttons stinging my skin. "Oh? Do you enjoy that?"
"Immensely," he groaned, pulling my face down to his mouth. He was unforgiving, the way his mouth demanded everything from me while also giving me more. His hands squeezed my thighs tightly, pulling me fully into his lap, smirking at the soft moan that rose from my throat as our hips aligned just right.
When I pulled away to catch my breath the scenery had changed. We were no longer in the crowded part of the tavern, but in the back room in front of the fireplace. Dream was dressed head to toe in the soft black fabric of the 1789 self he'd shown me. His collar high, blocking his throat, the ruby glistening in the light. His hair was puffy, pulled back into a small ponytail by a fine black bow. He smiled at me, taking note of my repressed laugh. "Problem?"
"This look is just a lot," I said, doing my best not to laugh.
He hummed, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Then perhaps I simply need to make you see the appeal of it."
His hands settled on my hips, lifting me for a quick moment before setting me down over his thigh. My fingers curled in the fine fabric of his sleeves as he urged me to move. "Riding your thigh is supposed to do this?"
"No," he answered, lifting my chin with his finger. "But you'll do it anyway."
"Is that an order?" I purred.
"If it needs to be."
"It does."
Dream sat up straighter, moving me harshly against his thigh. He grabbed my throat in a light grip and smiled. "Ride my thigh, Penelope."
I sighed, grabbing hold of his jacket lapels and nodded. "Yes, my lord."
He relaxed as I moved against him, dragging my wet, aching pussy against the softness of his pants. I couldn't help but be grateful that this was all an illusion, partly because of the mess I was no doubt making of Dream's fine clothes, but also because of the noises I was making. Each drag forward and back rubbed my swollen clit perfectly against the solid muscle. Each movement brought me closer and closer to losing myself to the pleasure building inside me. But, as Dream was keen on reminding me, I wasn't the one in charge.
His hand on my throat squeezed a little. "Slow down."
"What?" I whined.
"Slow. Down." He repeated, authority and power filling the room.
With a gasp I followed his order, disappointment at the now ebbing release that had been building up. As I looked down at him, one arm draped lazily over the arm of his chair, his body sitting perfectly straight and his eyes watching the wetness spread on his pants, I was beginning to like this look. He looked the part of king, even more so he looked intimidating, bossy even. "I think I'm beginning to see the appeal of this look."
His eyes dragged up my form, pausing to watch my breasts bounce with my movements before meeting mine. "Oh?"
"It captures your kingly intimidation."
A smile spread on his lips. "If you can make yourself come in the next fifteen seconds I'll skip straight to the look you really want."
I moaned desperately at the thought, throwing my head back and moving my hips furiously to try and achieve the new goal. Dream kept me balanced as he calmly counted. "Five."
God damn it! I cursed, his order to slow down had waned my progress too much. "Ten. Best hurry, love, times almost up."
"I'm trying," I whined, the coil in my gut tightening and tightening, but not fast enough.
"Fifteen." He clicked his tongue. "Why don't I help you?"
I looked down at him, now clad in his 1889 attire, the form fitting suit, the slicked back short hair, the ruby ascot and his top hat. He dragged his tongue over his fingers and reached between us, pressing them to my abused clit. I gasped, grabbing onto his shoulders for support as I ground against him. "This is a good look too," I managed to say between heavy breaths.
"You like it?" He inquired. "Last I showed it to you it seemed you were more interested in Hob Gadling."
"You… God! You were being a tease," I sighed.
He lifted the hat from his head and placed it on mine. "Hold this for me."
Without warning he lifted my hips slightly, his fingers working my clit sliding into me. His head dipped down to my breasts, tongue and teeth sucking and pulling at the sensitive buds until all I could do was hold onto him. "Morpheus," I whined. "No more teasing, please!"
Pressing a kiss to my heart he nodded. "No more teasing, come for me and I'll reward you."
My head fell back, one of my hands just barely managing to catch his hat. "God, please!"
He moved his fingers expertly against me as I ground hips down onto them, the release I'd been steadily building towards right in sight. The coil tightened and tightened when he spoke again, "You're such a good girl, riding my fingers."
I came with a loud moan, his simple words of praise filling every inch of my trembling body with the exact thing it needed for the coil to snap. His fingers gently worked me through the orgasm while his lips kissed every inch of me. "Your voice should be illegal."
"Yes, I believe you once said it could get me anything I wanted."
"It can." I breathlessly assured him.
"So I see." He stood, holding me in his arms and walking forward until my ass met the rough wood of the take we started at. 
As I regained my breath I looked at him and smiled. "Finally."
The longer slicked back hair and glittering earrings sent heat right back into my gut. My hands smoothed down the dark leather, tugging gently on the ruby that hung around his neck. His leather class thighs felt sinfully good against my still trembling skin. 
Both his leather clad arms boxed me in as he leaned down, the ruby swinging in between us and his face only inches from my own. "Tell me, how often have you thought of this?"
"Which part? You had quite the elaborate set up here, Dream."
"You're simply unbearable," he whispered, eyes filled with lust. He kissed my jaw, teeth grazing over the skin slightly. "Tell me."
"Ever since you showed it to me." I admitted, breathlessly.
His growl vibrated through my ear, lips moving down to press against my bare shoulder. I bit my lip, closing my eyes to take in the sound. "It must have been so difficult for you to be patient."
God damn you. I thought. "Don't pretend like you weren't thinking the same thing. Tell me now, mighty Dream Lord, how often have you thought of this?"
I could feel his smirk against my shoulder. "Which part, as you said, this has all been quite elaborate."
"I'll be specific then," I mumbled. "How often have you thought of fucking me here, in this torn up dress, in this crowded tavern?"
"Since you thought of it." He admitted. "You have a very vivid imagination."
I gasped as his teeth bit at my skin, my hands spreading over the tops of his and squeezing. "High praise coming from a dream lord."
The feeling of his lips twisting into a smile nearly made my legs give way. "Praise, such a lovely idea."
He moved away from me and knelt down, gathering what remained of the material of my dress and moving it out of his way. His hands lifted my thighs, pulling me to sit further on the edge of the table. "What are you doing?" I asked over my thundering heartbeat.
"I intend to feast at Hob's table." he pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh and I moaned. "A reward for your patience."
He wasted no time, his hot tongue licking a long strip up my slit. My hands buried into his hair and grasped at the roots. He groaned against me, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to my core as his tongue swirled around my clit, slowly at first and then moving faster. My fingers pulled tighter at his hair and my head fell back, nearly pulling me flat onto the table of food. "Morpheus! Oh my god you're good at this!"
I could feel him smirk against me, but he made no move to pull away or stop. His hands held my legs apart, thumbs smoothing up and down my skin as my legs began to shake again. "Did you think I would not be?" His thoughts made me moan louder.
"No," I whispered hoarsely. "Oh, god… I knew you'd be good at this but… Fuck!" His tongue plunged into me as far as it could, lapping up all the remaining wetness from my orgasm. "Fuck you're too good at this."
He chuckled against me, the vibrations nearly making me come undone. "Morpheus, I can't!" I screamed as the building pleasure became told much. 
He pulled away, replacing his tongue with his fingers. "You can."
"Please!" I whined, pulling his hair tightly.
"One more and you can have me, my love."
His mouth was on me again, licking and sucking at my clit until I came. Dream lapped up every bit of it, pressing a kiss to my thigh before rising from the floor and tearing my dress in half. The tattered fabrics fluttered to the floor and his leather clad body leaned over me, the sensation of my bare skin against his warm leather was nearly too much. I shivered against him. "You in leather is too sexy."
He chuckled, moving some of my hair that had stuck to my forehead. "You think I'm sexy in just about everything."
"Well can you blame me?" I weakly gestured to him. "You're a masterpiece!"
"You simply enjoy flattering me," he argued.
"That too, but seriously, you're far too beautiful for this world." I kissed him. "I love you." 
"I love you," he replied easily.
I wiggled my hips toward him. "Are you finally going to fuck me?"
"Is that your wish my lady?"
Looking down at my bare body I shrugged. "You already kept your original promise, it'd be a shame to waste the opportunity."
Dream nodded, his eyes hungrily taking over me, hands following. "It would indeed."
He lifted one of my legs over his shoulder and moved me down the table. With one hand he freed his engorged leaking cock from his pants and lined it up with my still soaking and pulsing core. With the other he stroked my leg, turning his head and pressing a kiss to my knee as he slowly pushed into me. My hands gripped the edge of the table, head falling back against it with a loud thunk. The hot stretch was something I'd never get used to, something I'd never grow tired of no matter how many times he fucked me.
Once he was seated inside me, our hips flush against one another he leaned over, kneading one of my breasts in his hands as he pulled back out and thrusted back in. "Morpheus!" 
"I'll never get enough of you," he moaned, his hips moving quicker and his hands moving my legs to wrap around his small waist. He pulled me up, my hands gripping his leather clad chest as I gasped and moaned into his neck. His arms kept me from collapsing as he began ernestly fucking up into me. I barely hung off the table, his arms holding the majority of my weight. One hand gripped my hair, pulling my face back so he could look down at me. "Penelope," he set his forehead to mine and said softly, "I am yours… I have always been yours and always will be."
I pressed my mouth to his, joyful tears filling my eyes as we came together, his arms tightening around me and holding me to him. I pulled away and nuzzled my face into his cheek. "I'm yours, forever."
***
We had been back in The Dreaming for a week. Dream busied himself with work while I took to practicing my thread work. While both of us were busy we still made time for one another. As I'd seen in his memories he could be forgetful, neglecting even if overwhelmed, but he seemed to be making an effort to keep that from happening again. He'd said many times that he hadn't changed, but I could see it, as could Lucienne and Matthew and maybe even Merv.
I'd grown stronger every day, both at thread work and within The Dreaming. Licienne said it was normal, that it was simply the realm adapting to my authority. No matter what it was, I enjoyed it. Everything felt lighter, easier somehow. Spending most of my time with Lucienne studying the threads and practicing I grew very adept at finding my way through the infinite library. She and I grew closer, so much so that I nearly had her calling me Penelope. She was a good friend and a brilliant advisor and she loved this realm more than anything.
As I sat, going through the list of fruits and vegetables to craft a pressure built in my head. It was dull at first, like a headache, but slowly grew. I pulled the apple loose from the threads and voices began to echo through the library. "Lucienne?"
"Yes, Pe - my lady?" She replied, peeking her head out from the row of shelves across from me.
"Do you hear that?"
She paused, listening intently before shaking her head. "No, what is it?"
"Voices," I replied standing and honing in on them.
"You can do nothing," one said, dark and full of malice.
"I'll not let you use her as a puppet in your twisted whims." Destiny? He sounded weak, pained?
"Tell Dream I'll be right back!" I called to Lucienne before running through the door and into his garden. It was darker, deep storm clouds filled the sky and the hedges looked like they were withering.
I followed the thread, sprinting towards the center of the maze. "Destiny?!" No reply, just the whistling of the wind. I moved faster, a feeling of dread rolling over me. "DES?!"
As I broke through the maze and stumbled into the courtyard, blood coated the pristine rocks, leading over to the table where Destiny lay, clutching a hand over his side. "Penelope," he ground out. "Turn back."
I rushed to his side, pressing my hand to his. "What happened?"
"So this is the new favorite?" The voice, old and dark filled the garden. "I was expecting, well, more."
Turning my head toward the statues I saw her. Perched comfortably on a throne of black thorns adorned with rusted gold sat a woman. Her long red hair curled around her shoulder, the gold that speckled her skin shimmered in the dim light, but she was wrong. Black veins covered her arms, overtaking the faint black mark on her wrist. Beneath me Destiny groaned. "Leave her out of this."
The woman smiled. "Come then, little Weaver. Let's see if you're strong enough to best me."
"No," Destiny whispered, grabbing hold of my hand. "You cannot fight it."
"I don't think I have a choice."
The woman descended her throne and it crumbled beneath her. "You're nothing to them, the Endless. A pawn, a mortal. Join me and we can rise to our rightful place in this universe. No more rules, no more lies."
I stood, watching the careful steps she took as she walked closer. "I'm not interested."
A scoff, or perhaps a growl echoed from her. "You're a fool then. Just like Destiny. Just like Dream. Just like her."
"Her?"
She gestured to herself. "This vessel. Destiny's dearest. And, your predecessor."
"If you're not her, who are you?"
"I am just another nameless god that the Endless locked away out of fear."
Destiny laughed. "You were locked away because you threatened this world, not because we feared you."
"ENOUGH!" It screeched, dark tendrils pulling at its features, twisting to show the true face beneath. "I've waited eons for this. I'll not lose to a mere girl!"
I shrugged. "I'm a bit more than that."
Without warning it ran forward a golden blade in its hand and swiped trying to cut me. I dodged, moving high and low seconds ahead of its blows until an opening presented itself. With one quick shove to the shoulder I caught it off balance. Grabbing the wrist I slammed its hand onto the table over and over again, ignoring the way it clawed at my shoulder until the blade fell into the rocks.
Pulling my arm away I rolled, finding the knife easily and pointing it at the creature with a human face. "I'm not going to let you hurt him."
"Even after he lied?" It sneered. "Even after he withheld all the answers and knowledge from you."
"He's doing his job," I replied coldly. "A job I trust him to do, just as he trusts me to do mine."
"You are a fool!" It shrieked. "Just like she was!"
It lunged again, but as it came face to face with me, the golden blade at its throat the black of its eyes cleared, weeping gold shining through. "Kill me." The voice was soft, human, desperate.
"Lyria," Destiny breathed. "Please."
"Kill me, Weaver." She said again, pain filling her voice.
"No!" He cried out, desperately trying to rise to his feet. "Penelope don't!"
"KILL ME!" She wailed moving closer, pressing the blade deeper into her, drawing blood. "Please… I can't keep it… I can't…"
The black returned and with a bestial screech the creature was gone. The sky cleared, the hedges regrowing and everything returning to life. Destiny still lay on the ground, though his wound looked to be healing. Tears streaked down his cheeks.
I knelt down beside him. "Who was that?"
"The creature is an old I locked away in an old book of spells." Destiny said.
"And who is she?"
"Lyria," the way he spoke was pained, desperate. "She's my… She was.."
My eyes drisyed to the mark on his arm, the sane mark Dream and I shared and a wave of nauseous pain roiled through me. "What happened?"
Destiny sighed, his eyes closing. "The book changed and I did not heed its warning."
"What made it change?"
"You," he said so softly, remorsefully that it physically hurt.
I let out a shuddering breath. "I did this?"
His eyes opened again and he grabbed hold of my hand. "No. No you did not do this. I did." The tears in his eyes still shocked me. "I discovered a new Weaver had been born... You. I took you under my wing, all without telling Lyria. I was... I meant to..." He sighed again, tears sliding down his cheeks. "I was going to offer her my sister's blessing, at the price of her duties as Weaver. She and I could have lived together, here, forever."
"But you didn't?"
"I never got the chance," he admitted. "She returned from a journey, saw you... What you were and thought I'd intended to replace her. My mistake drove her to seek out knowledge, power, far beyond what she could endure. The being of darkness I trapped long ago twisted her, corrupted her and left nothing of my Lyria left but a hollow husk."
"I'm sorry," I whispered, knowing it wouldn't help. Nothing would.
He smiled at me. "Don't be, little one. The fault is mine and mine alone." After a minute he stood, holding his book and bowed his head. "You should return to The Dreaming."
I stayed still. "Do you need anything?"
"No."
"Will you call me again if it returns?" I asked gently. "I'll help you face it."
With a sigh he nodded. "If it is what you want."
"Thank you."
I left, following the butterflies in absolute silence. Destiny was living proof that my greatest fear was possible, that I could hurt Morpheus, The Dreaming, my newfound family. Even worse, the creature that had taken Lyria could find a way to hurt them… I could fail. As I opened the door back to the library, Lucienne embraced me, her eyes taking in my clawed shoulder and disheveled state before Dream came barreling into the room. Oh, Dream. My soul bound starry eyed Dream.
He was angry, speaking low and fast, but I couldn't hear any of it. I just saw him. He was alive, safe, they all were. As tears streamed down my cheeks I moved forward, burying myself in his chest. "I'm sorry," I wept.
Dreams arms curled around me, the cold sinking into my bones. "I was worried."
"I'm so sorry!" I pulled back and looked up at him. "I will never hurt you."
"What?"
"I swear on my life, on everything that I am, I will never hurt you or The Dreaming. I'll never betray you…" I was sobbing now. "I will always come to your aid. I swear it."
His cold hands cupped my cheeks. "Breathe, my love."
Dream pressed his forehead to mine, holding me securely against him. "Breathe. You're home, you're safe."
***
The Bull marched through the white hallways, undisturbed by the screaming and wailing that echoed from every room. Everyone moved around him, the nurses, the muscle, even the other hunters, he was above them - every last one. He straightened his shoulders as he came to the office door of the renowned Dr. Elias Shenton. Opening it slowly and entering even more so he bowed his head, folding his arms behind his back. "You called, Sir?"
The echoes of his machines filtered through the room with each breath he took. Where the broad desk should have been was now a bed, turned to face the window. All he could see of the doctor was one thin, sickly arm stuck with wires and needles. "Yes, Dominic, I called for you."
"How may I be of service?"
Wheezing breaths and light coughs met his ears. God he hated how pathetic they all sounded. "Give the order to begin construction of the cage and get me Ethel's book. Dream of the Endless may not be a player in this game she's built, but she was so desperate to protect him. He may still be of use to us yet."
The Bull nodded. "Of course, Sir."
"One more thing," he added as his voice faded into coughing. The Bull waited, tapping his foot impatiently. "I want The Marquis to be dealt with."
This time The Bull smiled. "I'll handle it personally, Sir."
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Hopes and Dreams
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Art from Danish School (19th century) 
Summary: you are a new Goddess: Hope. You were made for one of the Endless siblings if not all of them, and humanity. You must figure out which sibling you were made for. But what if they don’t want you? 
In this chapter you have an encounter with Death. Feeling defeated after Dream’s rejection her warm smile is more than comforting. Death brings the Goddess of Hope, Hope in a time where she needs it. 
Pairing: Dream of the Endless x F!Goddess Reader, Dream x OC Reader (Dream is not in this chapter, it is a somewhat slowburn) 
Warning: blood, death 
Word Count: 1498
Note: This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be 
Part One: Creation;  Part Three: Roomies with Death and a Deal with Dream; Part Four: Pain and Nightmares 
Part Two: Power 
As I passed back into the human realm a sense of defeat overcame me. What if all of the Endless siblings react the way Dream did? What if I am a gift that no one wants to receive? Anger quickly filled my mind; why couldn’t Destiny have been more clear? Why couldn’t my creator guide me in any way?
I shook my head, trying to clear the useless thoughts from my brain. Those thoughts were not productive; they lead me to anger and despair. Two emotions that will not help my current state at all. Instead, I decided to focus on the latter part of Destiny’s words. 
I can tell my power is vast, but every time I try and reach for it, it repels my hand like magnetic monopoles. Confusion fogged my brain. I could call to the power easily when Dream was opposing me as a threat. But now it seemed to reject me. 
“What was it Destiny said? I have to listen?” I muttered out loud to myself. 
I huffed as I sat down in the meadow, the grass tickling the backs of my legs and thighs. 
Listen, the old gob told me. 
I exhaled roughly and closed my eyes, and began to draw my attention inward. And I heard…
Crickets, bees, the wind in the trees, the woodpecker nailing into a nearby tree, raccoons cooing. I heard everything; I heard too much. Too much for me to focus, too much for me to hear beyond the mundane sounds of the human world. The human world was so loud. How could anyone focus on anything? 
I clenched my jaw and shook my head. My forefinger anxiously tapped my thumb as I tried to relax. It shouldn’t be this hard. Frustration ate at my skin as I tried again and again and all I could hear was the meadow around me. 
“Well this very clearly is not working, and I have resorted to talking to myself so my existence is clearly going well,” I quipped to the open air. 
Needing a change of pace I rose from the meadow and started aimlessly walking. It wasn’t long before a worn-down wooden cabin came into view. My body urged me to go in. Like a fish on a hook, I could not resist. 
Having some idea of politeness I rose my fist to knock on the door. The wood was so worn my soft knocks left indents in the door. I cringed and hoped whoever the homeowner was wouldn’t be angry. But no one came to the door. There was smoke coming out of their chimney, and chickens running around the house. There had to be someone home. 
So, like a Godly entitled creature I am; I let myself in. 
Inside the cabin was nicer than the outside. More care had been given inside the home. Herbs hung from the ceiling, and hand-carved rocking chairs furnished the home, along with a nice fur rug. 
“Hello?” I asked, my body still urging me forward, “Is anyone home?”
A sound so soft passed my left ear. My head turned quickly, my pupils dilating, like an owl. 
“H…el..p m…e,” a man whispered out. 
Instantly I inhaled deeply and walked toward the sound, my body grew hesitant, no longer a fish on a hook. 
“Sir?” I called out. 
“H…ere…” he could barely grunt the sound out. 
I found the man at the bottom of a ladder with a bookshelf on top of him. Instantly I gripped the bookcase and threw it off of him. The man’s breathing was uneven and staccato, he let out a sigh of relief as the weight was lifted from his body. 
Fear gripped my chest as I saw blood leak from the old man’s side. Quickly I grabbed my dress and ripped it with my teeth, wrapping the man’s side to best staunch the bleeding. 
Blood still pooled too quickly, too rapidly. Tears formed in my eyes. 
The old man’s leathery hands found mine and he gripped them harder than I would have thought possible. His face was heavily wrinkled, but his eyes were bright and young. I could tell just from one look that this man was kind. That he would have peace in the afterlife. He looked at me in awe. He took in my overtly large eyes and wings and did not flinch. 
“I prayed for an angel to save me. Are you my angel?” He asked, his leathery hand reaching up to brush against my cheek. 
Something deep within me clicked in place as he did. I smiled large and bright and pressed my forehead against his own. I saw each and every one of his memories: past, present, future, even his dreams. I saw who this man was inside and out. I listened to his life, his worries, his loves. And at that moment I knew what he needed to hear to give him something he desperately craved and Hoped. 
“I am your angel, and I came here to tell you that you will see your Jesabel again soon, my dearest Ron,” It was as though I was possessed by the bright sun of a summer's day. The feeling of sun-kissed cheeks, and cool bodies from swimming in the lake. Only coming out to eat a ham and cheese sandwich and then jumping back in. It was the feeling that brought Ron the most comfort, the most hope. He longed to feel that peace again. To feel that type of peace with his wife who passed two years ago. He didn’t want to be in pain anymore, he hoped for a life of peace with his Jesabel. He longed to feel her love again; it was his greatest hope, his deepest dream. 
Ron started crying, gently I wiped his tears. 
“These are happy tears, my angel,” Ron said smiling, brighter than he had been in months. Full of hope. 
I hummed softly as I traced a finger over his brow and his nose like I knew his mother used to do. Slowly I saw the brightness leave his eyes. My heart clenched in pain as I saw the life leave Ron’s eyes. 
“I will take good care of him,” a woman said behind me, holding Ron’s ghostly hand. 
She was the embodiment of kindness, pure selflessness, and beauty.
I knew her instantly, “Death.”
“Hello Hope, Destiny has told me all about you. I will be back in a moment, stay here for me, will you?”
Still cradling Ron’s dead body I nodded. Slowly, I released my hands from his body. Blood stained my pristine white dress. The urge to rip it off my body, and scrub until I was raw, crawled under my skin. I shook my head and quickly spread my hands as wide as they would and clenched them into fight fists, over and over. 
A flash of a shadow in my peripheral made me turn. 
“You handled him extremely well. He faced no fear or anger in the end; I have to commend you,” Death said, slowly smiling at me. 
I was no longer in the mood for smiling. Even though I knew he had his peaceful afterlife; I couldn’t help but feel…
“The first life I guided I felt empty too,” Death said, taking a step closer to me, “but know that you gave him hope and peace. He felt no pain, only relief.” 
Her hand was warm as she reached up and gripped my bicep. 
“It’s not just emptiness I feel, Death. At that moment Ron gave me a purpose. I knew how to use my gift. It was second nature like breathing. I finally understood the point of me living. But now he is gone and with him the understanding of how to use my power. For one moment I did not feel so completely and utterly alone and lost. I… I felt Hope, Death.”
Death shook her head, her curls bouncing as she did, “You will never be alone. It is as Destiny told you; you need only listen.”
Tears of frustration filled my eyes, “I might need some more instruction because I have been completely inept trying to figure it out on my own.”
Death laughed, “My goodness you are as dramatic as my brother. I like you, Hope. You brought comfort to a dying man who would have otherwise been alone and scared. I will train you to the best of my abilities. You will work by my side and live at my kingdom for as long as you want.”
Something bright rose in my chest, something akin to joy, “Am I meant to be your gift, Death?”
“Sadly, no. But I will steal as much time with you as I can, my Little Hope.”
My eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, I was at least a head taller than Death. But I did not want to question her just in case she took away the best offer I could have ever received.
Death reached out her hand, and I took it without a fear in my mind.
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mind-of-a-girl · 1 year
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Can someone please white Morpheus x reader where she makes him watch The Rise of The Guardians with her and he gets confused but intrigued about the movie's version of Sandman?
I have to see this!
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hoodievixen · 9 months
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With My Own Eyes - Part 8 (Dream of the Endless x OC)
Based off of this
Summary: Morpheus just wanted to keep his soulmate safe. She just wanted to make her own decisions. Doesn't help that he doesn't show her his face.
Words Count: ~ 2.7 K
Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, witchcraft, bad grammar and even worse spelling, !Comic Spoilers!
A/N:   This is it, the end. (Almost forgot to upload it today... oops) Prepare for some angst.
Tag List:   @intothesoul @  poemfreak306  ​
Master List
Her bed was too soft. Instead she clambered to the ground, curling herself into a ball, backed into a corner, walls pressing into both her shoulders. Sibyl mumbled descriptors of everything she saw, ignoring the tears running down her face. She should lose herself to her emotions, she might start another fire. She didn't need to deal with that at the moment.
Even her tactic of keeping in the physical and not the mental was not working. As she was describing any item she saw in great detail, more items appeared. She swear they came in puffs of sand. The first was her bag she had left in her room in the Dreaming, then the paintings she made in the Dreaming, and every sketchbook she dared scribble in. Even notes of grimores she left in the library. Anything that could remind him of her he sent away.
Soon Lily was clenched into as small of a ball that she could get. Her breathing out of control, as the only thing she felt was lonelyness, complete and utter lonelyness.
----
Johanna wasn't sure what she was expecting for the loud banging at her door in the middle of the day. Defiently not Lily, drunk off her ass and crying. "You do know it's only three," Johanna commented, letting the closest thing to a friend she had lean into her.
It wasn't strange for Lily to disappear for days on end without so much of a word. However returning drunk was indeed new. "Heart break knows no time but sorrow," the witch sighed.
Johanna hated how she'd get poetic when drunk. Luckily Lily rarely gets drunk. "Did you get back tk get her with Jerome?" she wondered dragging in the drunkard. "You know that never ends well."
With uneven balance Lily stood up straight staring at her arm. Rarely did Lily walk around with her arms bare. Johanna knew Lily got annoyed with how people would come and touch her cause of her tattoos, but also that she was hiding her soulmate's name, something the magic user hasn't even seen, until then.
Johanna felt pitty for her friend. There scralled on her arm in pretentious writing was Dream of the Endless. She felt bad for Lily, connected to that prik by date. Clearly she didn't have good feeling a about it either, as the skin it was on was red and irritated with small scabs developing. Lily had been vigorously scratching at it, as if to remove it. Even in that moment she dug her nails in the raw skin.
"I'm guessing that prick's the reason your like this," Johanna commented, bringing in the witch to have her sit on her couch.
Lily glared at her arm. "I don't even know what he looks like," she said softly.
Johanna sat down, letting her sad friend lay down in her lap. "You aren't missing much," she commented, picking at Lily's hair. By the looks of it it hadn't been washed in days. "His hair's a mess, eyes are creepy, and personally his cheeks are bit too sharp for my taste."
Lily looked up to her friend, wide eyed and with fresh tears. "You know what he looks like?" she asked in disbelief. Silent tears ran down her face.
-----
Lily woke up with a hwad ache and a show back. "How much did you drink?" a annoyed voice asked.
She peaked up to find a familiar person, and in a familiar place. "I think like... too much,"she answered, though mind elsewhere. While she had grown used to not having dreams with being in the Dreaming, sh hadn't had one since she got back.
Johana stoop up from her desk, coming to sit down next to her friend." Are you going to tell me what happened, or are you going to try and skin your arm again?" She handed back Lily's dager.
Lily took it back, before throwing it in the pile of her jacket and shoes. It was then she noticed she had a thick bandage over her arm, where her soul mark was. She hated it now more than ever. "What have you figured out from my drunken rambling?" she wondered, placing a cold hand against her forehead.
"Well the oh so lovely Dream of the Endless sis somehow your soulmate, and refused to show you his face," Johana explained, "Which confuses me."
Sibyl sighed. "Basically dude kidnapped me, and we made an agreement I'd stay in his realm for about a month, before deciding if I'd stay or go."
"Did you try the teleportation spell?" she questioned her friend. Sibyl didn't have a long streak of being the most clever.
"Oh yeah," Lily assured her, "And I should have just finished it.
But I stayed, begrudgingly at first. Then I grew to not mind being there, than I liked it that, and..." There were words Lily wanted to say but couldn't bring herself to. Her eyes stung and heart ached at the thought of it.
She let out a deep breath. "The entire time he had on this monstrous helm, like seriously, spine trunk. He refused to show me his face. I was patient, but I couldn't let him continue to do what he wants without showing me he trusts me. I went to remove it myself, cause it was either taking that thing off or being done with our relationship. I thought he'd see logic and reason. Instead he took ending it not his own hands, sending me away... I haven't even had a dream since."
Lily looked to the floor, meloncholic. By some miracle, or dehydration, she wasn't crying. "I'm angry, sad, and so frustrated," she groaned, finanly getting to voice her feelings. "I don't even want to acknowledge we're soulmates. I don't even want to be soulmates. I'd do anything to get this fucking name off of me."
-----
Ripples through the universe are not common, but they do happen. So two happening within such quick succession of eachother was something to take interest in.
The second one struck sunthing deep within Dream. Something he had long since ignored and tired to forget. No matter what he had to go a see what it was, knowing nothing good will come from the visit.
It had been centuries since he last visited the Mediterranean island. He had never thought he would step foot on it ever again. The care takers asked no questions, but kept their haze to the ground, moving out of the Endless' path.
Dream stepped into the small build that had been his son's home for most of his deathless life. Or what had expected to be deathless. The caretakers had already prepared the head of Orpheus for burial.
There was only a handful of being that could bring about the end of Orpheus. Dream knew it was no of his siblings, none would do such a thing. Even Desire, after all his son was a means to an ends for his sibling. He had to wonder who, no what has killed Orpheus.
It could have eazily been missed. Tucked in the corner of the window sill was a flash of reflected sunlight. It was a large metal knife, no dagger. Dream kne that Dager, from one side being solver while the other iron, the worn and loved leather gril, and the protective charm carved in the pommel. The fish time he had seen it, it had been pull on him, the next it was covered in it's owners blood. Now it was clean, not a single drop of crimson. Red however, there was a strand. Near the blade was a strand of red thread, cut red thread.
Sibyl had been there, and somehow involved with the death of Orpheus. While she had powers more so than the average human, no witch would have the power to undo the deal between Death and her nephew. Something wasn't right. Not in the slightest.
Dream pulled up his sleeve, and urge that pricked at the back of his mind. He hadn't known what feelings he felt anymore for that name on his arm. He once loved it, bringing him hope, and was something he protected. But now it left a sour taste in his mouth. He had believed that Sibyl had been different, different for his past lovers, different from all other humans. She was the same as the rest. He knew that the moment she tried taking off his helm. Dispite his best effort to forget them, her words of trust did ring in his ears, causing a sliver of guilt. Had she had a point?
It did not matter anymore, as his arm was baren.
-------
Johanna thought she was finally done with all that. It had been a couple days since Lily last called her in tears or in anger. She couldn't blame her, but it was getting to be a lot. When the magic user felt a precense in her flat, she assumed the witch had somehow gotten in on her own again. Turning on the lights revealed otherwise.
There ein the middle of the room was something she did not want to see again. Even if only in her dreams. "Why are you here?" she asked Dream of the Endless.
"Constantine," he said in a low tone. "I need your assistance with finding someone."
Johana gave him a look of questioning. "Can't you just wait until they fall asleep?"
Dream's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. "They have somehow managed to disconnect themselves for myself and realm entirely."
Johana noticed how his gaze lingered down at his arm. She scoffed. "If it's Sibyl Crow you are looking for," she started, "You entirely deserve what she's done."
Dream glared at the woman. "How do you know Sibyl?"
Johana rolled her eyes, "You really think a magic user and a witch living in the same city wouldn't at least be aware of eachother."
"You appear to be more than acquaintances," Dream continued to push.
"That's cause Lily's a clinging bitch," Johanna groaned, "She's so lonely she'd befriend a rabid dog..." No matter what she had tried, she couldn't get rid of the witch. She just gave up after a while.
She had already pulled out her phone to call the witch. Maybe he'd go away if Lily herself told him to fuck off. It went straight to voicemail. Johanna let out a sigh of annoyance, though not concerning.
"Have you tried her flat?" Johanna asked. It was still early into summer break, there wouldn't be a reason for her to be working yet.
"It is warded against my entry," he explained.
"Well lucky for you, I got a key," she answered, pulling said key from a drawer. Sybil had put it on a rediculous key chain of a pink puff ball, as to prevent Johanna from loosing it.
--------
Sibyl's flat was a mess. Not that it usually wasn't. However there was the makings of a pyramid of empty cans, both of energy drink and alcoholic. Lily wasn't much a fan of either, never consumes the in large quantities. Take out Containers filled the trash can, as well as plenty of counter space. Usually she kept her witchcraft neatly packed away in the small dresser that was her alter, yet scattered about her entire apartments were books on anything mildly unnatural in subject, maps of laylines and other things Johanna didn't understand.
Something caused her heart to stop. "She wouldn't," Johanna mumbled, grabbing at the pages of scarred notes about the apartment. She barely payed attention she Lily called her, thinking the witch just needed someone to rant to. Still Constantine caught it in bits and pieces, Sibyl was looking for a way to sever her fate from Dream's. "Lily's dramatic, but she wouldn't pay that price," she tried to reason with herself.
"What do you know Constantine?" the Endless demanded.
"Please tell me her names still on you," Johanna pleaded. She would deny it to anyone who asked, but Sibyl was her friend, someone she could trust her life with. She didn't want to loose her just like everyone else.
Dream looked away, giving the exrocist all the answer she needed. Johanna dropped the pages, which would take her too long to understand at all. "Fuck," she groaned, "Sibyl, what did you do?"
------------
Sibyl had severed her fate from his. It fit right in with all other failures of relationships he has had. This one had the most promise, but had lasted the shortest. Dream would teuely never love again. Still Sibyl payed a price because of his actions. If he couldn't pay part of it, he would at least want to know what it was.
Destiny may have had it written in his book, but he wouldn't share it with anyone, nor even his brother unless it said he would. There was a much more for sure way to learn what occurs in fate. To talk to the Fates themselves.
"I, Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, summon the fates," he called to the universe. He had gathered his offerings, prepared to pay the price. "The three who are one, the one who is three." Something was different, there wasn't the same reaction of the world around him to the called of The Three.
"I'm gonna stop you there," some called from behind him, "It's one who is one now."
Dream turned around not believing his ears. There stood Sibyl, though not the same as before. Her arms were bare, of both his name and her tattoos. Her clothes shifted colors like an aurora boreal is, her hair floating in a breeze that was not there. Her eyes....
-----------
Sibyl stood in the circle of her own making. Chalk of frowned calf bones, spores from a mushroom grown on the corpse of a deer, and the blood spilled from the womb. Those were just in the outline, Sibyl was not proud to tell what took her to gather everything for the spell. She held her bleeding arm out before her, calling to the universe. "The three who are one, the one who is three, the Hecate."
The wind and rain which had gradually grown around her was all but silent in that moment. "We haven't been summoned by one such as you in a long while, child," a voice beyond years croaked.
Sibyl turned around to find three woman standing before her. She was quick to fall to her knee, stoll holding the offering of her own blood to them. "Please I ask of you, sperate my fare from his," she pleaded, "I do not wish to be bound to someone who can't trust me with the most simplest of things."
"Child, raise your head," a soft voice called out to her. Sibyl hesitantly looked up.
"Oh lovely," the maiden cooed, "We gave you a hard fate, that would come with many reward of you shall over come it."
"We over you this advice for what you have given," the crone continued, "Have hope."
Sibyl gribded her teeth. She was sick and tired of supernatural beings thinking less of her. "I didn't ask for advice," she hissed, "I gave you a sacrafice, just get this name off of me."
The mother reached out and stroked Sibyl's cheek. "You know better than to seek tk your elder than that, your auntie taught you better."
The maiden replaced the mother, her had on the young witch's cheek. "Your blood may be special, but no amount of it will be the price to do what you want."
Sibyl let out a deep breath. "I will pay whatever price," she confessed.
"Your soul," all three said at once. The crone stepped away from the girl. "You're human soul." The wind started to pick up once again.
"It binds you to this world," the maiden said.
"It binds you to the ones you love," the mother.
"To unbind you, we must take it," the croan.
The wind had became much worse than it had before, picking up dirt and howling in the night.
"We three will become one, and you will become we," the unified voice of three bellowed over the wind. "All magic come with a price. You know that well. A price for a price, only for something great. What it will be up to you, and not me."
------
Her eyes held no color, just white. Though she was looking at him, she wasn't seeing him. "Do you need to ask?" she said sarcastically, "As you can clearly see what price I payed." Sibyl gave up her sight to become the physical embodiment of fate, which she did to sever herself from him. He wonders of that was the plan all along. Him fated to be alone, for ever.
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starlight-writes · 2 months
Text
His Ruby - Chapter 9
Summary: What if the ruby became a person, and Dream would stop at nothing to possess her?
Morpheus/F!Original Character
A/N: I have a longer note on AO3, but if you're coming back after such a long hiatus, I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart <3
Taglist: @gorgeourrific-nerd @dotieeee
Preview:
“Good morning,” Morpheus says when she opens the door. Ariel blinks up at him, having expected one of his servants instead. She’s used to Morpheus just barging into her room whenever he’d like, not knocking and waiting for a response.
“Hi,” Ariel says cautiously. It’s strange to see him standing before her after everything that has happened. She isn’t sure whether to be on her guard or to play nicely in the hopes he’ll finally let her out of this damn room.
“I would like for you to accompany me to the throne room,” he says, face blank except for the slightest bit of hope hiding in his eyes.
“Now?” she says, already eyeing the threshold to her room.
“As we had discussed, I will be attending to matters within the Dreaming so that I can work while keeping an eye on you,” he says stoically, then softens his voice. “You had also expressed a desire to leave your room.”
Ariel’s heart pounds in her chest. It’s nowhere near the level of freedom she craves, but it’s more than she’s had for over two days now.
Morpheus extends his hand over the doorway to her, leaving it hovering in front of her.
It’s more than just an invitation, but also a question - will she work with him? Try to meet him halfway?
Ariel doesn’t want to give him an inch. She doesn’t want to touch him, doesn’t want him to give him even the chance to take his power from her. She doesn’t want to feel the spark of electricity between them that makes her lust for him.
She wonders, would meeting halfway mean giving up her chance at freedom, at having her own choices, her own life? And would she sacrifice those things for the promise of happiness Morpheus has made to her?
Or, she thinks, would giving him the impression of cooperation grant her enough trust for her to finally break free of her bonds?
It’s a fine line she would have to walk, to both try to earn Morpheus’ trust while also keeping her own goals in mind. The building attraction between them only makes it more difficult.
Ariel steels herself, then takes Morpheus hand, and he pulls her over the threshold.
[keep reading on ao3]
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alislandale · 2 years
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Morpheus x OC: So falls the world
Link to [Part 1]
A/N: I will skip any retelling of the series/comics that is not absolutely necessary to further the plot. Thanks to all of you who liked/commented part 1, Im extremely happy you enjoyed it!
Part 2: White Rabbit
She escaped from the Dreaming. Again. Morpheus clenched his fists in frustration, sitting on his throne atop of the stairs. He wouldn't have it.
Quick steps echoed through throne room's walls. He looked up to see his librarian approaching him at a fast pace with an intrigued look. She was probably alerted by the commotion. "My Lord?" Lucienne called. "My Lord, are you alright?" Dream averted her gaze. "She appeared again." A tinge of anger betrayed his unwillingness to emote anything other than righteous concern. "Oh" Lucienne paced among the debris of the palace. "And I presume the outcome was no different than your previous encounters, then?" "You presume correctly" He conceded. "Lucienne, while I was gone, did it ever…" "No, my Lord, no being entered your palace, let alone these halls. I'm afraid these… apparitions, only started after your return." A sharp cheek rested on his left hand. His gaze moved from his librarian to something far, far beyond as he recalled the times this woman had intruded his most inner sanctum. How many times was it now? Nine? Many humans had managed to break into his domain, but once they were in the Dreaming, they were his to command. No one left the Dreaming without his consent.If he couldn't manage to keep a single human in, then he was not fully the king of dreams. There was a blind spot in his otherwise all seeing eyes. He wouldn't have it. Lucienne's voice brought him back to the conversation at hand, one he would rather avoid. "How was it this time, my Lord? Were you capable of finding any clues on this… woman? That is if we can assume it is actually human…" "Human or not." Morpheus exclaimed. "This is my realm. My powers have returned. In full, Lucienne. No creature should be able to come and go as they pleased, they shouldn't be able to defy my orders. To defy me." He fumed in a low growl. "But, to answer your question, no… This is something akin to water, slipping down my fingers, just when I'm about to catch her." "Catch her?" The Librarian inquired. "May I ask, my Lord, what did you say to her this time?" "What I said? I doubt that's of any relevance, Lucienne. What I said is what I always say. I demanded that she tell me how she got here." A half smile hid in Lucienne's lips "And her response?" "She yelled she wanted to go home and disappeared right when I was about to grab her." "Grab her?" Lucienne questioned again, raising an eyebrow. Morpheus glanced back with annoyance in his eyes. "Of course. I need to interrogate her, and deal with this anomaly. It's my kingdom, it's in my right to demand answers from an intruder. " He sentenced, his voice no longer able to contain his exasperation. "I understand, my Lord, but if you allow me… May I suggest perhaps a different approach? Was this… an anomaly to happen again." The Dream King did not respond, he just held his gaze in place, signaling for Lucienne to continue. "Were this actually a human, fickle as they are, she just might be as clueless as to what is happening as us, my Lord." "Your point, Lucienne?" "Well, if I were to make a wild guess I would say she's acting like scared prey, my lord. No animal would just stay in place if they felt threatened, waiting patiently to be captured and devoured. If you want to catch, let's say, a rabbit, it would do well to close the distance slowly before trying to catch it, ``she explained, looking over her glasses. "Or so I have been informed. Never took part in such a practice myself." "So I'm hunting a rabbit now?" "Well, for the time being, you are 'chasing' a rabbit. Let us hope it doesn't come to hunting. But yes, what I'm trying to say is you might want to give the rabbit a warmer welcome… approach her in a friendlier manner, at least to get her guard down. And then, if you consider it necessary to draw your knife, well, then that would be up to you, Lord Morpheus." Morpheus hated the fact that Lucienne's words rang true. She was right more often than not in matters were he would only come to a dead end. He rested against his throne "I'll think about it. Thank you, Lucienne." “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, then. If you excuse me, my Lord.”
There was much of the dreaming to be rebuilt, three arcana were still missing, many nightmares and dreams to craft anew. He didn't have the time to deal with intruding humans, especially when they hadn't caused any damage to the Dreaming. Yet. Only to his pride, to his reclaimed power. Could he just ignore this unexplained phenomena, to let it be while more urgent matters claimed for his attention? He stared at the dome of his throne room, the first part he had rebuilt, painted with an ever changing cosmos of stars and shapes. A serpent floated by, chasing its own tail, and then dissolved in a nebula of light. Brightful colors reflected in his eyes. No, of course he couldn't. "Guess I'll be chasing a rabbit for now." And, just in case, he would keep a knife close to his heart, so to speak.
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kitkatpadywaks · 1 year
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In Another Universe
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Mini-Series: Part 6/?
Truth, Kisses and Getting Fucked Up
Pairing: Morpheus x Fem!Reader
Story: Dancing With The Devil (Alternate path from the end of part 2 of the story onwards)
Warnings: Third Person. Will Mostly Be Referred To As She (Called Y/N When Her Nickname Is Being Used and Will Occasionally Be Called By Her 'Angel' Name). A Short Version Of Her Life Story. Angst. Loneliness. MAJOR DADDY ISSUES. Death (not the Endless). Mention Of Kidnapping. Grief. Things Get A Bit Heated. Profanity. Shit Kicks Off. Mentions Of Violence Against Kids. Violence and Fighting. Morpheus Is Rendered Useless. Her Kids Are Threatened. She Gets Fucked Up (as the title says). Morpheus Panics?.
Word Count: 3.6k
A/N: Major Spoilers for the Story (Klaus Mikaelson fic), like this existing spoils the mystery of who my character is as well as her character arc.
This is also being posted to my Wattpad.
Previous | Masterlist | Next
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Her loose hair ruffles in the gentle breeze, cooling her unnaturally warm skin as she sits on the sofa of her room's balcony, fiddling nervously with her fingers trying to figure out where to start.
"You're under no obligation to talk to me about what ails you."
"I know. I want to tell you, it's just a long and painful story." Her knee brushes against Morpheus's as she stands up, leaning against the railing and digging her blunt nails into her palms. "I guess I'll start at the beginning."
And she does.
She starts with how her father created a soulmate for all of his children as a reward for being loyal to him and how excited she and her sibling were. How quickly that excitement disappeared when all of her siblings found their soulmates, except for her, Raphael and her twin brother Michael. Her father's most loyal children, their soulmates nowhere to be seen. How it stayed that way for too many years to count and how lonely that made her and her brothers.
Until Michael found his soulmate and how everything changed, but not for the better. She recalls the day it happened and how she covered for Michael, who kept neglecting his duties to see her, to see Aurelia. Who was an extremely powerful seer, like no being had ever seen before, and who her father wanted dead. As to why she didn't know and she wouldn't for a very long time. So she protected her twin and his soulmate, did his duties as well as her own, and covered for him when her father called for a private meeting. Taking it upon herself to attend the meeting herself, not knowing it would be her downfall.
It didn't happen straight away. It was ever so slow, digging deeper and deeper into her thoughts. Until one day, something came over her. Consumed her in her entirety until she snapped. She rebelled against her father. And she almost won. Almost.
Losing the war cost her everything. Her home, her siblings and her parents. Her father despised her and punished her mother for supporting her, locking her away in the prison Y/N was sent to rule over. And she didn't even know. She thought her mother abandoned her and hated her like the rest of her family did. And once again. She wouldn't find out the truth for a long, long time.
So she excepted her new duties. Rather begrudgingly. And, in turn, caused as much chaos as she could. Hoping desperately that whatever she did next would grab her father's attention, without much luck. Until she did, but not in the way she wanted. She did something she knew would anger her father. Something she had been avoiding doing as she didn't know what would happen, something she sometimes wished she never did, if only to stop her future agony. But she was ultimately glad she did as it allowed her to finally see who her father really was, and not the loving facade he made everyone believe was the real him. She would do it again. She would make immortality again.
Even if the cost was him cursing her. With what a lot of people would consider a good thing, and she would agree. It could be a good thing for a lot of people. Which she knew as she had given plenty of people that very gift. But it wasn't good for her. Her circumstances made resurrection very bad for her.
All of her previous chaos causing came back to bite her in the ass.
All the supernatural creatures she made. They were all drawn to her. But, unfortunately for her, she was mortal. Many thought their hunger was drawing them to her, and they killed her. This became even more of a regular occurrence when a powerful witch, Esther Mikaelson, used the immortality spell she had created to change her children into vampires. Including Niklaus, who, due to her curse, she grew up with. Who she loved and who loved her back until her untimely death at Esther's hands.
She never got to live past the age of thirty after vampires started to roam the earth. Not that humans were letting her live into old age or anything, but that was humans for you. She never expected much of humanity, even when she lived amongst them. It was one of the many reasons she never really made friends with the humans. She also didn't want to get attached and inevitably die on them. So the only friends she made were the immortal kind, one being Niklaus's younger brother, Kol, who she was able to meet up with every now and then, to the point where they had their own way of communicating as well as a code word so she could let him know it was her.
Part of the curse was the inability to talk about anything to do with it or who she was with anyone who didn't have pre-existing knowledge of the subject.
Something that became exhausting to deal with after two thousand+ years, so she ended up doing a lot of stupid things to cope with the seemingly endless pain she felt.
Eventually, she ended up in what would be her last life. She became Celeste Gilbert, the older sister of Elena and Jeremy Gilbert. Who was caught up in the supernatural world she created, not that they knew that even to this day. It was an okay life. She lived comfortably for the most part, even if the only people who liked her were Jeremy and the deceased aunt Jenna. Who, unfortunately, died at the hands of Niklaus, who was breaking his curse. Which was the beginning of the end for Y/N, or rather Celeste.
She ended up being dragged into the supernatural when Niklaus kidnapped her and took her on a road trip across America to find werewolves to turn into hybrids like him.
She knew something was up when they were on that trip. She knew she was missing something. And eventually, after arriving back in her home town, dealing with family drama and nearly getting killed by Niklaus's father, Mikael. She figured it out. They were soulmates. And it changed everything.
They embraced their bond. And for a while, things were incredible. Until Silas came. The first immortal, the lover of Qetsiyah, the woman she created the immortality spell for, was woken up. She talks about how he killed Jeremy and how her little brother's death broke her. She talks about much he tormented the people she cared about. How much he tortured Niklaus, and how scared the hybrid was for her life. Because, at that point, he knew about her curse and most of what it entailed, and he couldn't stand the thought of losing her.
But he did. Silas targeted and fatally wounded her, so she barely had time to say goodbye to her soulmate and reassure him that they'd see each other again one day. Except they wouldn't. She didn't know it at that moment. But she had broken the curse, or she should have. The only one who could pull her out of it, her father, had disappeared the second the curse had taken hold of her. So her siblings didn't have a choice. They had to pull her out as best they could. The Fates willed it. They knew if her siblings were given a choice, they would have left her in the curse, and the Fates couldn't have that, as her children had to be born.
The eldest, Evie, would be born and raised in Hell with her, and the youngest, Hope, would be born and raised by Hayley Marshall. A werewolf Celeste had befriended when she went to college in New York and who she reunited with in Mystic Falls, where Celeste had grown up.
So for the next few years, she waited. She bided her time, waiting for the day she would be with her soulmate and youngest daughter. She waited patiently in her prison, pulling strings and helping the Mikaelson family with their problems, earning herself the name 'the friend on the other side'. Watching from a distance as Hope grew older, Evie eventually watched with her, begging her to let her go meet her sister.
So she talked to Michael and made a deal. Evie could go to the Salvatore school for the supernatural, where her sister goes, but she couldn't tell anyone who she is; or who her real parents are. And so she was alone again. She watched from the shadows as her daughters became friends, became inseparable. For years.
And then the Hollow came. An ancient spirit who wanted to use Hope as a host. The Mikaelsons found a way to keep the Hollow away from Hope, but it meant they couldn't be near her. Niklaus couldn't be near her, so for years, it was just Hope and Evie in Mystic Falls, Hayley in New Orleans and Y/N scouring the world for a way for the Mikaelsons to defeat the Hollow. It caused quite a mess, resulting in Hayley's death. Though not for long, because as a hybrid, a supernatural creature, her soul came under the responsibility of Y/N, who gave her a choice. Stay dead, or live again but as one of her Demons. And so she chose to live again.
She couldn't help but wonder that if things had gone differently, she might have found something to defeat the Hollow. She had no way of knowing now. She honestly didn't even think she wanted to know. But if her father hadn't come back, hadn't played nice, and made her and her siblings believe they could be a family again. If she had realised that all he wanted to do was distract her. So she wouldn't be able to stop him. So Niklaus would die, taking the Hollow with him. Maybe Niklaus would have lived. And she wouldn't have fought her father, and Niklaus would still be her soulmate. Would her father have ripped away their soulmate bond? Would he have thrown it as far away as he possibly could without caring where or if it would land on anyone?
She can't help but ask herself as she recalls her denial. Not believing her father had taken him from her, she did the one thing she was never supposed to be able to do. She went home. She remembers how quickly she flew towards Heaven and the intense thunder and lightning that appeared as she got closer. How quickly her flesh burned and how slowly she healed. And most of all, she remembers seeing Niklaus again and how he didn't recognise who she was. He couldn't feel who she was. He didn't know she was the one he had spent the last sixteen years waiting for. How much that broke her, and how much she wanted her father to pay.
Y/N looks out at The Dreaming, staying silent as she lets her life story sink in for Morpheus, wondering if telling him was a mistake as she felt it had to be obvious who she was in her universe.
Morpheus stands, walking up next to her and resting his hands on the railing, "I understand why it's important for you to find your father."
She chuckles, "That's all you took from that?"
"I took many things. Your father is the most relevant at this time."
"I guess..." she sighs and looks at Morpheus. Taking in his features and the compassion on his face as he observes his realm. His brows furrow as a thought crosses his mind. "Ask."
He meets her eyes, "The soulmate bond, how does it work?"
"It chooses the person most compatible for the individual."
"Your father created it. But doesn't control it?"
She shakes her head, "No. Probably the one good thing he's done." She turns her body to face him, Morpheus mirroring her actions. "But that's not what you wanted to ask."
"No," Morpheus searches her face, "It landed on me, didn't it?"
"Yes, it did." She grabs his hand where it rests on the railing, "Are you okay with that?"
Morpheus offers her a soft smile, raising his free hand and resting it under her jaw, his thumb tracing it. He dips his head, stopping a breath away from her lips, his gaze flicking between her eyes and lips as he lets her decide if she wants what he does.
She doesn't hesitate. Both of their eyes flutter shut as she presses her lips against his. She grabs his face with both hands, heat lighting up every nerve in their bodies.
He grabs her hip, pulling her flush against his chest, his fingers digging into her flesh as he moves his hand from her jaw to the back of her neck and threads his fingers through her hair. Their lips move in sync as he deepens the kiss, their tongues intertwining. One of her hands shifts to his hair, pulling on the silky locks and making him groan. Morpheus pulls back from her lips and leans down to press kisses against her neck, enjoying her moans as he nibbles on her skin.
She pulls on his hair, forcing his head back so; he's looking at her and gives him a soft peck on the lips. She grabs his hand, leading him into her room and over to her bed. He presses himself against her back, brushing her hair off her shoulder to press his lips against her neck again. Her head rests against his shoulder, letting his take control for a moment before she grabs his arm and, using her strength, manoeuvres him onto the bed. She winks at him as he stares at her in shock, looking at her with excitement she's never seen before in his eyes. His hands go back to her hips as she climbs onto his lap and brings him into a kiss.
A slam makes her jump.
She breaks away from the Dream Lord to see Raphael barge through the door.
"Luci? Have you seen... Oh, fuck off!" Raphael slams his hands over his eyes.
Y/N sighs, falling onto the bed next to Morpheus. "What do you want, Raph?"
"Lucienne's looking for both of you." He peeks through his fingers, dropping his hands when he sees they've separated. "She seems worried."
Morpheus rises to his feet, "What happened?"
"I don't know, she didn't say."
Morpheus extends a hand towards Y/N, pulling her up from the bed when she takes it and leads her out of the room, following behind Raphael.
They enter the library, following the sound of Matthew and Lucienne's voices.
"Lucienne? What happened?" Y/N asks as they turn the corner to see her frantically flipping through a book.
"It's blank!" Caw! Matthew replies instead of the librarian.
"Blank?" Morpheus squeezes Y/N's hand, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
Lucienne looks up from the book, "The child. The one belonging to Daisy, whose dream you investigated and found your father in," her eyes flicker between Lord Morpheus and Y/N, "she's no longer dreaming."
Y/N stiffens, not liking what that could imply. She looks at Morpheus, "What do we do?"
He looks at her before grabbing the book from Lucienne, "We go to her last dream and find out what happened."
She lets go of Morpheus's hand, "I'll grab my sword."
Let's hope I don't need it. She thinks as she runs into her room, grabs her sword and rushes back to the library. Morpheus only just finishing examining the lack of content in the book by the time she gets back. "Ready when you are."
Raphael touches her arm as she stops next to him, "Are you sure about this?" he whispers to his sister, "The state of his realm and subjects isn't our problem."
She steps away from her brother, "It is if we have something to do with it. If Father has something to do with it." She waits for him to nod and walks the short distance to Morpheus. She grabs his extended hand and ignores the shiver that goes down her spine at his touch, the sensation more intense now that they're embracing their bond. She hopes that she'll get used to the feeling one day.
The sand obscures her sight of the library and then dissipates, revealing the park they visited in Daisy's dream. But different, as it was being viewed through the eyes of a child. She looks around at the bright scenery, the vibrant colours of the park swirling together like a Van Gogh painting as she slowly turns on the spot, trying to take in as much as she can at that moment. She stops, facing Morpheus again as he fondly takes in her joy. "Does every child's dream look like this?"
He nods, "Yes. At least, they should."
The smile on her face drops slightly as she grows solemn, remembering all the times she witnessed and experienced firsthand how much children should suffer at the hands of humanity.
"Where's the kid?"
They both scan their surroundings, quickly realising that there's no one around. Not a single person.
The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, making her roll her shoulder as she tenses. She draws her sword, exchanging a look with Morpheus as their surroundings ripple and darken. The swirls of colour and life she had been admiring a mere moment ago rot away, turning grey and black. A breeze sends a shiver down her spine. Whispers fill the dark. Her ears strain to understand what they're saying when she feels it. That pain. She grips the sword with both hands, preparing herself.
She swings. A wave of power explodes from the hand it collides with. Her father's hand.
Her grins cruelly at her, a look of madness in his eyes that she had only seen a few times in her long life. Her father lunges at her, his hands reaching for the sword.
She's vaguely aware of Morpheus as he realises what's happening. Who she's fighting. And how little he can help.
Y/N spins out of her father's way, swinging her sword in his direction. He blocks it, hitting the blade with a strength she had forgotten he possessed, so used to seeing him make others do his dirty work. She fights her panic as he comes towards her, making eye contact with Morpheus over her father's shoulder as she leads him away from the Dream Lord. Whose eyes scream with his panic, the Endless struggling against an invisible wall, making her realise her father had trapped him in place. Which would explain why he wasn't using his powers against her. He was using most of it on the dream and Morpheus.
"Something wrong, child?" He chuckles. His voice grating, like nails on a chalkboard.
She growls, her canines elongating and her eyes turning blood red in response to his taunt. Time slows as she swings her blade, her father grinning as his hand comes up to meet it, but rather than deflecting it, he grabs it between his palms so, the edge doesn't cut him, no doubt because he had sensed the spell Evie had put on the blade. She doesn't even have time to blink before he's backhanding her across the face, her grip on the sword loosening enough for her father to rip it from her grasp. And drive the blade through her stomach.
"Y/N!!" He cries, a boom echoing across reality as the Dream Lord's power regains control of the dream. The surrounding scenery ripples and then slowly returns to its previous state.
Morpheus's voice is faint to her despite its power. She chokes; on her breath as she feels the sword's power flow through her, attacking her every cell. She looks down at where it protrudes from her stomach, taking in the white veins flashing under her skin as she grabs the sword's blade.
Her father's breath brushes against her face as he leans in to whisper in her ear, "Your children are next."
Red, blinding rage fills her body and fogs her mind. Hope. Evie. No. A gust of wind knocks against her and her father as her power surges to the surface, her head lifting to meet his gaze, and ignoring the pain, she thrusts her leg into his chest, a brief look of shock crossing her father's face before he surges backwards, disappearing from her sight, the sword going with him. She collapses to the ground, fire burning more intensely under her skin as the sword's power lingers, attacking her power, her life force.
"Shh, shh. You're okay. You're okay."
It's not until Morpheus's arms wrap around her that she realises she's screaming. She falls into his embrace, trying to control her breathing as she looks at the bright sky. The sound of people's laughter reaches her ears, the dream restored to what it should be now that her father's influence is gone.
Morpheus cups her face with his hand, white veins continuously flashing under the surface of her skin, almost blinding him as he meets her eyes, tears escaping them as he watches the fear grip her. He looks down at her wound, his hand following his sight. His hand shakes as it hovers over her injury. Not sure if the lack of blood is a good thing; or a bad thing.
"Raph..." she whispers, catching his attention once again.
He cradles her to his chest, nodding frantically and summoning his sand to take her to her brother. She falls limp in his arms, passing out as they materialise in the Ghost Library, and ignoring his confusion at why they were there as he screams, "RAPHAEL!!"
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Thanks for reading!
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igotanidea · 1 year
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The perks of injuries : Morpheus x reader
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Request: Reader is able to enter the dreaming physically, not just while asleep. Time pass, she starts to feel comfortable around lord and acting like they're friends (she thinks they really are, but we know Dream and his "I don't need anyone"). One day something awful happened, maybe reader was being followed in the night on her way home or some natural disaster appeared, so she went to the dreaming out of fear, but Morpheus being his moody self with a lot of work thought she would just get on his nerves or something like this and just sent her back to earth, maybe with saying about her being too loud/clingy for him to normally work. In the real world she got badly hurt and the only person who helped her out was Hob/Matthew/Death. The same day or the next dream found out about it from her saver (if it's hob maybe during their meeting which was due the same day everything happened, matthew when he came back, death when she was just passing by his realm). Ending with guilty, comforting Morpheus.
Oh, hello there. I haven’t seen you lurking  in the shadows.
I don’t think we’ve meet before so let me introduce myself. In this story my name is irrelevant and it’s better if you only know me by my function.  I am the spirit, that little spark that lives inside every human and stays there even after people die. Of course, I am dressed in human form but you should not be tricked with that outside.
Because of my purpose and abilities, during my lifetime I have already met a lot of different creatures, god, embodiments of human believes. Funny how their faith and imagination brings all of them to life and keep them that way.
The Endless are the ones I have to work with most of the time. I already mentioned Death – surprisingly she is the sweetest girl you have ever met, full of optimism and joy but there are another 6 of them. Destiny, Destruction, Desire, Despair, Delirium and Dream. I purposefully left Dream at the end since I have the strongest relation with him. He rules the sleeping domain, but even when people dream their spirit stay active so it’s my job to ensure nightmares or dreams do not become too vivid. It’s my duty to watch over them all the time, much to Dream’s displeasure.
Despite his attitude during the years we were able to make this relation work without interfering too much with one another and that required my presence in the Dreaming from time to time to check out if everything was going smoothly.  Therefore I was granted the ability to project myself in his Kingdom not only while sleeping (since I was still a lot like human) but also in my psychical form. At some point I started considering Dream as my friend, but he was far more reserved with the use of such word.
***
It was heavy day. October mood started to settle in and people were slowly indulging in their autumn sadness, sleepiness and weariness. Focusing only on the most important things, rarely leaving homes and spending days in front of TV, tucked in blankets. Lack of sun and happiness could be felt by everyone and Despair slowly started to pull her claws on those who were prone to seasonal mood swings and depression. I would lie if I said it all had no effect on their spirits and in result – on me. I was losing energy and focus and motivation to do anything and it was not good. Definitely not. Despite my best efforts I felt all the emotions and instead of acting like a spiritual being I was behaving like human. Which also meant I was more vulnerable than usual.
“Heading home?” my friend from work stopped by my desk on her way out, worry all over her face
“Sorry?” I raised my head from the pile of documents, not sure of the day or even the hour
“It’s late” she said “you should finish for today. You have been working too hard lately.”
“Yeah, maybe you are right” how could I even begin to explain that work helped me get my mind busy. And being a scientist required constant focus on the experiment and researches so it really helped “but you know how it is, if you don’t keep up the pace you will be left behind and we don’t want another team to outrun us, do we?”
“Nope. But we also don’t want a member of the team to die on the shift, so try to remember that. Team, right, we are all in this together so no reason to  act like a martyr.”
“I don’t….” I started but she cut me off
‘You do. I don’t know what’s been going on with you lately, but something’s different.”
“Must be the weather.” I smiled innocently not revealing the true reason behind it all.
“Right. Lame excuse. Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow” she fastened the belt and I waved her goodbye.
Honestly, deep inside I knew she was right. It was almost 7 p.m., the streets were dark and deserted and I was in need of rest. Even if I hated it. Reluctantly I stood up, turned off the lights, closed the door and started walking home. But as soon as I stepped out of the office I felt something was wrong. Seemingly quiet and dimly lit street, instead of radiating calmness and peacefulness was eerie and terrifying. I felt it in the pit of my stomach and my heart instantly started beating faster. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a coward and I’ve seen a lot of dark, scary things inside humans souls, but this…. This feeling was something different. Something more primal, carnal and definitely not coming from Earth.
“Come out now, show yourself!” I spun around searching for the threat. Yes, I know I’ve learned nothing from the horror movies. I should have run the other direction instead of walking straight into the arms of it.  “Are you chickening out now?” I mocked, using all the efforts to make my voice sound firm and confident.
There was no response but the lights flickered slightly and out of nowhere the wind broke off.
“Oh, great” I mumbled “someone needs some demonstration of powers. Why not bring the earthquake or a hurricane.”
“If you wish so, I can make it happen.“
“Desire” I hissed while spotting black-dressed, thin and high figure moving in front of me “are you alone this time?”
“Hello, spirit. Despair sends her regards, but she could not visit this time.”
“Such a shame.” I pouted “but her presence seem to be …. Pervasive, lately. I suppose she is in high spirits?”
“My dear, you can’t even imagine.” Desire purred “and what brings her the most pleasure is you suffering because of your beloved humanity.”
“I bet it is” I groaned as a sharp sting run through my stomach “do you have a business with me, Desire? It’s not often I see you in the Waking.”
“This is an exception from a rule. I know you’ve been suffering lately and I came for the aid.”
“Aid?” I raised an eyebrow “Did you bump your head, Desire?”
“You misunderstood me. My aid is more like ending your suffering”
“I don’t suffer” I folded over in sudden pain and started catching my breath rapidly.
“Liar” Desire put on the widest smile and took a step forward
“What are you doing to me?” I was  now kneeling on the ground, feeling worse and worse with its proximity.
“You should know better, spirit. Desire is something that is detrimental to the …. Metaphysical aspects of human existence. Don’t you ever read any religious texts?”
“I know them too well, actually” I gasped
“Good. Then you will know what is coming next for you” Desire popped a squat next to me and grabbed my chin forcefully causing me to look at them. “You are going to suffer, a lot. I will make you beg for …..”
“Why?” I groaned trying to yank myself.
“Because you are a nuisance. You make people better, more noble and gentle. I don’t like that.”
I hissed in pain once again, not able to hold it back.
“Yes.” Desire purred full of vengeful satisfaction “ it hurts, doesn’t it? And there is nowhere to run.”
“That’s where you are wrong, Desire” I looked them straight into the eyes, sudden crazy though popping inside my mind.
“What? What are you talking about?” their smile slightly dropped
“Goodbye, Desire. I would say it was a pleasure to meet you, but as you know I am not the best liar in the world” I said and hissing and pain gathered all my power to transport myself to the only place that could possibly ensure my safety from one of the Endless.
***
The portal I opened was so powerful that it made me lose my balance and fell onto the sandy shore by the Dreaming’s gate. Coughing and panting I used my hand for support before my head got injured due to the impact.
“Shit! Shit, shit!” I really hoped I would be able to get straight into the castle but apparently the stress influenced my focus. Even though I was safe now and Desire could not get me here without invitation to Dream’s realm (which was never happening) I jumped and rushed towards the entry. “Please, open up” I put a hand where normally the doorknob would be and whispered silent pleas. I was lucky enough to made it move, in painfully slow and glitzy way. I was not patient enough to wait and slipped through the gap running towards the palace.
“Dream!” I panted running straight into the throne room catching my breath
“Spirit.” His cold voice made me straighten up immediately to safe the rests of the dignity, but my messy hair and reddened face did nothing to help me. “Why are you here?”
“Oh, you know, I was just nearby and decided to pay you a visit.”
“You were not invited. Your unexpected visitations are becoming a bother to the Kingdom”
“Morpheus ….” that was painful “you surely don’t mean that…..”
“What seems to be the matter this time?” he raised his gaze and looked at my messy figure. “Did something happen?” the last question was barely a show of acknowledgement more
“Yeah, just your sibling came at me trying to destroy my inner peace. No biggie.” I fixed a single strand of hair trying to give shaking hands something to hold on to.
“Desire?”
“Who else?”
“I shall deal with my sibling soon then, if you were not able to do so. Anything else?”
“Yes, actually” I started fiddling with my fingers nervously
“What is it?” the way he was towering over me made me feel weak an completely at his mercy. As much as I hated begging there was no other option.
“Please, don’t make me go back to waking. At least not straight away. Let me stay, Morpheus”
“I’m busy, spirit. I don’t have time for that. And I see no reason to do so. “
“You know well enough I have no power against Desire, Morpheus and if they are after me, Waking is not safe. I’m really scared, please. I thought as my friend you would help me.” Oh, forget the dignity, fear got the worst of me.
“Waking is your realm and you should go back there immediately. Dreaming has its own affairs and it’s not a hideout for you, spirit. Go back to your Realm, protect it and I will take of Desire after I’m done with my duties.”
“Morpheus, please…. I….”
“That’s all, Spirit.”
“Fine. Thanks for your help, Dream. Hope everything works well for you here. I suppose I see you when there’s another vortex or some other threat to your Kingdom. You never had any inhibitions to ask for my help."
I marched out the palace and with still shaking hands returned to the same place in the Waking. Luckily, Desire was out of sight, for now, but knowing them, this was far from over.
***
I had a sleepless night. After my little banter with Morpheus no dream came to me and obviously I did not even enter the Dreaming. He was either acting like a child or was truly busy with some serious and urgent matter, most probably both those reason combined. So when the morning came I was even more tired than before. And there was one more thing, just a little something that normally would not get my attention but since I knew that I was on Desire’s radar I was far more alert. I was becoming paranoid and there was no way I could go to work like that, so the only option was to call in and excuse myself with being sick. The last thing I needed was ending up in the mental hospital or someone discovering my true identity. Muttering some protective spell I walked round the apartment searching for the source of something dark and evil I could clearly feel. It was not Desire, for sure. This was more… infernal, cruel and  well, less sly than Dream’s sibling. Suddenly, the though dawned on me. They send a demon after me. The worst kind of the Hell’s servant, known as Hellfire. Talk about a threat to a spirit. This one could crash me with a single snap of his fingers.
“Spirit.” he spoke contently “such a pleasure”
“I did not expect you in my flat.” I trembled “what brings you to me?”
“A debt to Desire. Seems like today I will finally be able to pay it.”
“I’m not going down willingly.” I raised hand creating some sort of shield between us
“Funny, I was not asking” he looked at me and I felt this kind of pain that really make you wanna give up and die. My whole body was on fire, my insides being twisted and turned and I could only see the blackness. My light and soul power was still there, but it was not enough to go against the demon. Darkness slowly started to creep in, every positive though I had gone and suppressed by negativity, sadness, evil. There was no good in the world, people were ungrateful, greedy creatures, life was meaningless.
“Death….” I whispered faintly before losing conscience and giving in to the devilish powers.
***  
When I opened my eyes I was lying under cover, the demon gone and my flat looking like nothing happened. Was that a dream? But why would Morpheus allow something like that? Was he really that mad at me for seeking his help? I tried to move but my whole body was aching and even breathing was problematic. I also felt some pressure on my abdomen and after lifting up the shirt I discovered some dressing across my stomach.
“Who’s here?” I screamed at the space once again alerted. I was in no condition to fight but I would if I had to.
“Hey, no! Lay back down” black-skinned woman came running off the kitchen forcing me back onto the cushions. “You got pretty badly hurt, dear. You need rest.”
“Hello, Death” I closed my eyes, enjoying her warm hand on my forehead “What happened?”
“How much do you remember?”
“I remember Hellfire coming after me. “
“That is not something you can forget" she muttered” you called for me and that was good decision.”
“Guess my human instincts kicked in. Thank you. Amongst the Endless you are the only one I can count on.”
“How so?” she raised an eyebrow “Actually, wait. I was a bit surprised when I heard your voice. I mean, usually you are rather more fond of collaborating with my brother, so why me?”
“I did ask Dream for help, but he….”
“Wait.” She raised hand stopping me from talking “He denied you?”
“He was busy.”
“He is always busy. And his affairs are usually about him sulking and going through something. I love my brother, but he is an idiot. This could have ended up so bad….” She shook her head and the curly hair bounced around emphasizing her annoyance. “Did you tell him Desire was after you?”
“How do you know that?” I propped myself on the elbow but the injuries made me fall back hissing. “Shit!”
“It does not take a genius. Only Desire would send a demon after you. unless you also have some affair with Morningstar I should know about?” I shook my head denying that “Good. But Dream…., I think I will need a word with him.”
“The boss is already on his way. Will you let me in?” familiar Raven perched down on the sill looking through the raked window.
“Sure, come on in, Matthew” I sighed reaching for the handle and letting him in.
“Are you all right?”
“Besides dizziness, third-degree burns and scarred pride I think I will pull through. Not thanks to Dream, though. “
“He is ……” Matthew started but quickly stopped
“Do not speak in my name Matthew.”
“Oh, hello brother. Seems like you and I have a  lot to talk about” Death smiled at her younger sibling appearing in the room, but tone of her voice was far from happy, rather reprobative.
“Guys” I captured their attention “as much as I appreciate you all coming here, can a girl get some peace and calm to heal? You know, you don’t confront a demon every day. Death, thank you for your help, truly, but can you and your brother get your little fight somewhere else?”
Death eyed her brother carefully while he was hunched, his gaze focused on the floor.
“Sure” she shrugged “you need peace, you are right. But I think Dream might have something to tell you, so I’ll leave you two alone. Matthew, care to join me outside?”
“Sure thing, Lady Death.”
“We will have this conversation, brother, just later. What comes up must go down” she went to hug him and whispered into his ear “tell her!” then the older endless turned back to me, still in bed “see you soon, dear, take care of yourself and if you ever need something don’t hesitate to call me. Bye.”
Without her presence the atmosphere in the room suddenly became more tense. Dream was standing in the same position, his feet rooted to the ground, while I was just biting my lip and trying to look everywhere but on him. Awkward.
“Dream…..” I spoke
“Spirit……” he said at the same time and this made us silent once again.
Finally, after what seemed like eternity he came closer and sat down on the edge of the couch making me move away instantly.
“Please, don’t” he whispered
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t …. Run from me.”
“Run from you?! Are you serious Dream? I run straight into you when I felt the danger coming. And what was your response? I am busy. Isn’t that what you said?” the anger and hurt found the way out at last.
“I did….I…..I….” he stuttered
“What?”
“I apologize, spirit. I should have taken you seriously.”
“You should have.” I agreed looking away, still hurt. “Well, apologies accepted I guess.”
“No.” he grabbed my hand gently
“No? I don’t understand.”
“You should be mad. You should scream and shout and call me an idiot. But you are just too good for me, aren’t you?” he searched for my face and as our gazes met I finally came into realization
“Morpheus?” I coughed out “what are you…..”
“When you came to me…. I panicked. You make me…. Feel things and that is something I haven’t experienced in some time. “
“Is that bad?”
“It’s dangerous. Every woman I loved, every feeling I held for anyone always ended up badly.”
“Loved?” I opened my eyes in surprise “Dream…..”
“Yes. It’s true. I love you, spirit. And now I feel so guilty for letting you get hurt. And ‘m terrified for your safety. We still have joint affairs and business and I don’t know if I can keep it up like that. Maybe it would be better and safer for you with me gone”
“Shut up, Morpheus!” I interrupted his teary confession unable to take it anymore. “Your sister is right, you are an idiot. Why do you think I came to you in the first place? Why do you think I project myself in the Dreaming every time I get the chance? Why do you think I meddled with humans mentality so they would get your attention and you would come to me for change. Did you believe it all to be coincidental?”
“I…” oh, now he was speechless “I never ....”
“Well, now you know.” I looked down, my cheek turning red. “It’s your decision what to do with it. You can leave but you can…. you know, stay.”
“My love” he whispered and before I realized what was happening he was kissing me gently and mindful of all the injuries  “I am sorry. I’ll stay with you as long as you’ll have me.”
“Then you are up for a long ride. But I believe you have a word to exchange with your sister first.”
“She can wait” he whispered moving in once again but I stopped him by putting hand on his chest.
“She cannot. Before this gets serious you need some sense knocked into your head. Go talk to her and be quick. You made me wait for you long enough.”
“Anything for you, love. “ he kissed my temple and reluctantly, yet obediently left to be scolded by Death.   @somest1 @pinksirensong  
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pandoraboxsblog · 8 months
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Sleepy time
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cuckoo-on-a-string · 8 months
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Hello, Mr. Monster (Six. Somnolence)
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Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader
Masterlist
Chapter warnings: trauma, A/N: This is literally half of what I planned on for this chapter. Soooo. Yeah. One of the teasers for this chapter applies to chapter seven, lol. But the wait will be worth it! Thank all of you who've stuck around. <3 You are all dears and deserve big cups of tea and cuddles. Dream’s creations brought him stories.
6: Somnolence
They groveled before his throne by the dozen, sharing tales of the child Aisling – in need, protected by his arcana as she moved through the mortal plane, jetsam in the wake of a better life she should’ve lived. Hundreds more, many of them nightmares, told epics of the woman Aisling – tearing their anchors from the dreams of innocent mortals, protecting the most fragile dreams from harsh reality in quiet corners of the world where fantasy still thrived.
His creations brought these stories to trade for forgiveness the subject of their tales had already secured. Only a few shared their memories because they cared for her. They wanted their lord to see her as they’d found her, and how could the Prince of Stories not love a timely hero in a grand tale?
Some told him what they thought he needed to know. Facts about the mortal with his name and power etched in her soul.
He had his own story, one of a cage and a strange woman with true sight and curious magic. A woman who looked too hard at all the wrong things and freed him without promise or threat.
When he first saw her from his prison, when his restraints shattered and he could see properly for the first time in over a century, hope and loss nearly consumed him. He’d been aware of the place in his essence where a mark might grow before Earth gathered into a planet. Every time he fell in love, he waited for the name to appear. Trapped in his glass prison, cut off from anything that made him more than a fragile facsimile of a human shape, he hadn’t felt anything fill the empty space. He lacked the awareness.
How had he imagined meeting a soulmate? Not like that. Not as that – a nameless monster in a cage. She fled the moment she found him, and he imagined he could see Nada’s footprints in the sand as his true soulmate’s steps echoed over stone.
Perhaps it was for the best. The quaint hell of Burgess’s basement was no place for introductions, and he brought all his bereaved fury to bear in his escape. Even as he found his freedom, he found yet another treasure the magus and his son had stolen from him.
She had been hurt. Badly. And he had not been there. If Alexander Burgess hadn’t already earned his punishment, seeing the crude letters cut into Aisling Hunt’s heart over her own mark clinched his doom.
When she finally slept, he showed himself as everything he was not upon their first meeting. Her clever eyes, blinded by fear and expectation, did not see him. Did not know him.
Though he ached to be with her since the moment he truly saw her, though he yearned to repay her for ending his captivity, a hundred years of helplessness festered like a dark canker in the depths of his passion.
When she did not recognize him in that first dream, he did not rush to correct her ignorance. He welcomed it, and with her oblivious naivety, he took control. In the second dream, it was even intentional. So long as she did not know him, he was… safe. So was she. Or he liked to believe so. Safe from fear and confusion at the clear weft of their wyrds knotting them together through actions she believed entirely her own.
But now she knew him.
She’d seen his face, and the budding trust he’d savored as she came apart under his hands and tongue shattered like the finest glass. He imagined it like shards coursing through her blood. He’d seen as much in her eyes as she looked up from the hand of her captors, brought in silken chains to her monster, the entity she’d readily freed from Fawney Rig. Her growing faith, possibly even affection, cut her from the inside out, glittering in her eyes as she fought against the pain his face brought her.
Once again, he was shown to her as a monster, as a frightful king who might accept such a gift from the unseelie court. His lip curled at the thought.
He could not bear it. Though the two parts of him stood at war – the lover and the wounded king – neither exalted in her fear. Deep within, the mark cut him, too. Soothing her pain when she fell into his hands in their first dream together was far from selfless.
He wanted to chart her, like a star-filled sky, or an endless ocean reflecting those stars. He could sense the elements in her, the base reality of every living thing bound up in her tattered mortality. Wildfires and oceans. Sweeping winds and green fields.
And beyond that? She’d done more with the powers the fae cursed her with than he would’ve thought to ask. A touch of eternity beyond anything human tangled so deep in her soul he could never take it back, not without killing her.
He wanted to do terrible things. To pluck out her heart and wear it in a locket, sundering her from the waking world forever. To wrap her up in splendid charms and spells to make her forget anything she might miss outside the bounds of the Dreaming. To pull her deeper and deeper into himself until they were truly one, until she became a part of every aspect, even if it would destroy her. His desire ached to maul her in some way, to sate his hunger and leave a mark even mortal eyes could see.
At the same time, he’d gladly hand his nightmares the broken remains of any other – mortal, god, or angel – who threatened so much as the ease of her smile.
He yearned for her entirely, and he was not all light.
She felt so right in his grasp when he caught her up in the throne room. safe at last in the circle of his arms. But he was not free to hold her. He required her permission, her clear consent, a reciprocal yearning in word and deed, and until he had that, he must prove himself. He could not fail her again.
And so Lord Morpheus, dread King of Nightmares and ruler of the Dreaming slouched low in his seat, watching Aisling Hunt breathe, at rest in the perfect silence of oblivion as he waited at her side.
He hadn’t brought her to the rooms he began crafting as he rebuilt his kingdom from ruins. The bed was no less grand, the space fit for a goddess, but it was a thoughtless grandeur. Perhaps it was selfish, but he did not want her fear to spoil the joy he’d hoped she’d find… in her home. He did not want her first memories there to echo with terror and doubt.
“My lord?”
Lucienne hesitated in the doorway, hands clasped behind her back and brow furrowed with care. Though he wanted to close the doors and keep these quiet moments entirely for his own, his librarian had been the one to remind him of his soulmate’s fragility, and although she often provided insights he did not like, they were all the more invaluable for his distaste.
“I do not know what to do.” He looked from his love to his librarian, nearly as lost as he’d been when he first returned from his imprisonment, sitting below a throne governing nothing but broken glass and crumbled stone. Then he’d had a course to follow, a realm to repair, even if he hadn’t known where to begin. “There is no quest to fulfill. No correction to make. She is not even mine to repair, even where I am at fault.”
His former raven watched, shifting in place, but never taking her eyes from her master and the mortal he would love.
“Perhaps…” She paused, and Morpheus looked to her searchingly, grasping for hope in the wake of this latest failure. Taking it permission, she continued delicately, handling her ruler like the delicate pages of the library’s oldest tomes. “Perhaps a king is not what she needs at this time.”
He already knew that, but he could not accept it.
“Is my name not carved on her heart?”
“Morpheus, my lord.” Lucienne offered the correction like a balm to a blistered wound. “Not Dream of the Endless. You assume you know what her reaction will be when she wakes, but how can you predict someone you barely know? She knows even less of you, and I’m sure she has plenty of assumptions.”
He bristled. He already knew her, as he knew all dreamers. The facts of her life flowed through the Dreaming, but he only understood them as a mortal would know printed words on a page. They’d shared precious little time. Three dreams.
Would she ever trust him like that again, or had he lost her entirely in his carelessness?
He didn’t wish to agree with his librarian’s suggestion, but he had no ideas of his own, and he would not fail his little hero once again. Could not.
“What do you suggest, then?”
Drawing herself up, Lucienne unclasped her hands and folded them anew in the front, clearly itching for a book or ledger to occupy herself. “I don’t know her any better than you do, sire, but there are some who do. Why not… invite them to share their insights?”
Morpheus closed his eyes, calling to mind the many subjects who flocked to offer pieces of Aisling’s story. Most clasped nothing but small gems, scattered fragments of a grander jewel. But the ones she called friend, that walked the Waking world beside her…
He opened his eyes and looked through the Dreaming, reaching to the shores of Nightmare, where a beast with pretty manners turned at his call.
“Fine Gentleman. I summon you. Come to me.”
The nightmare followed his order, appearing in the room at the foot of Aisling’s bed as the shape of the realm bent to accommodate Dream’s will. Despite his decades in the Waking world, the nightmare had taken up his old duties admirably, and Dream expected Fin, as so many called him, would return the loyalty Aisling had shown him. She risked her freedom to safeguard the nightmare’s path home, after all.
Fin knelt, bowing to his king, but his eyes flicked to the bed, and Dream dismissed his respects. “Rise. You have leave to speak. There are answers I would have of you.”
The nightmare didn’t need to be told twice. Back on his feet, he gingerly touched the edge of the blue coverlet, and asked, “It’s true? The unseelie, they – Is she alright?”
“In body, yes.” Lucienne approached the far side of the bed, closing a semicircle around the sleeping mortal who’d caused so much concern. “But she had an attack of some kind, and none of us are sure what to expect when she wakes. Perhaps you have some experience with similar episodes?”
“I do.” The nightmare kept his attention on Lucienne and his hand a few inches from Aisling’s feet. History and affection bound them closer than oaths and debts. Rot green ghosted through Dream’s thoughts, and he wrestled the specter away as the nightmare explained. “She hasn’t had one in a long time, but she used to have panic attacks when she was younger. Bad ones.”
“And how did she treat them?” Morpheus demanded his creation’s attention. It would do the nightmare well to remember whose soulmate he’d been called to aid. It would do him well to remember his king.
Nothing of the beast faced the King of Dreams, only the gentleman, and though he kept his head down, his gaze fixed on Morpheus with iron determination.
“My lord, I have a suggestion you won’t like.”
There was much in the past hours Morpheus had not liked. He’d cut his throat to ease her thirst if need be or burn every star in the Dreaming’s sky to keep her warm. Sitting up in his chair, he prepared himself to bleed.
“What is it? What does she need of me?”
The nightmare didn’t hesitate. Didn’t flinch.
“Your distance, sire.”
Morpheus recalled the scene in the great hall. His destined soulmate. Alone, collapsing on his throne room floor, shaking and afraid. He wouldn’t have it.
“I will not leave her. She will not be alone.”
Her friend, the nightmare, shook his head. “She wouldn’t be alone. Any of us she knows could stay and mind her, but…”
Ah. Morpheus sat back in his seat, expression cooling as he realized they had only just reached the part of the suggestion he would not like.
“Speak.”
The nightmare took a deep breath, set his shoulders, and forged ahead like a soldier facing down a dragon.
“She was never afraid of you because you were powerful. She lived in fear that you’d take her choice.”
He gave his king a moment to consider the revelation, though even in his brief acquaintance, Morpheus had learned that much. But it was only a reminder, and he spooled out deeper knowledge like a bandage he could pull his friend together with.
“When she wakes up,” he said, “she’ll need to feel in control. Even in the Waking she took space for herself – to find the truth, redraw the borders around what she’d chosen and what she’d been told to choose. The greatest gifts you can give her are time and space.”
Drawing his hand back, letting his fingers drag over the covers, the nightmare bowed. Morpheus read more than respect in his creation’s bent spine. This was the obeisance of a supplicant, one begging for grace rather than offering fealty.
“She’s resilient, but give her a chance to find her feet before you ask her to be brave again.”
Dream of the Endless did not smile down on his creation. The nightmare had been right. He did not like this plan at all, but he had asked, and the nightmare spoke truly. As a true friend.
Loathe as he was to banish himself, he would abide by the counsel of one who knew his soulmate well in the hope that he, too, may someday be allowed to know her.
“Very well.” He rose, and the chair crumbled to sand. “You and those of your choosing will serve as companions, guides, aides. The One Beneath will guard her.”
The nightmare took his orders and departed to gather his fellows. Lucienne waited for her lord, offering him silent company and support as he pulled himself from his little hero’s side.
He craved her faith. Her willing trust and all that would follow. It seemed, however, that he must first give her his own.
“When she is ready, she will come to me.”
.O.O.O.
She roused from the dreamless ocean to meet a crush of memories.
The fae delivered her. Morpheus took her. And now she woke in a bed she didn’t recognize.
He’d watched as the fae threatened to strip her of her own mind. And he’d ��� he’d always been –
She ripped the sheets back and fought her way off the plush mattress. Not awake enough to land on her feet, she fell to all fours, and the impact jarred her knees, sparked little agonies up her wrists. She dropped flat, belly-down beside the impossibly soft sheets and a blanket that looked like rolling waves caught the threads. She looked at the wonderous bedding with dull eyes. Then closed them, so she wouldn’t have to.
Everything here was his. Even… even she was. Now. Maybe.
She hated every beautiful thing in the room, but she hated herself more.
It was her fault. She let herself believe she was safe, and she paid in flesh and scars.
How many years of her life would she voluntarily trade to the fae to erase the past… however long they kept her, from the moment she passed through the mirror til now? And how long was that? Did she sleep for a few hours? Days? Had the Waking world seen a hundred years as her monster bundled her up in his castle?
Her breath caught like a sleeve on a doorknob, sudden and jarring.
It hadn’t really happened.
It had.
He’d promised her he wouldn’t steal her away or exploit what she offered. He helped with her pain and brought her pleasure, and she’d –
A cold hand with scabby skin and broken nails wrapped around her fingers.
She didn’t need to open her eyes to recognize Jeff.
She rubbed her thumb along an exposed tendon to assure him she was alive, and he squeezed back to prove he was listening, that he had her, that he would stay. That everything was alright and nothing truly terrible had happened as she slept.
That all was still as she remembered.
Despite what she’d seen.
Maybe it meant something that her monster let her oldest friend comfort her instead of demanding the burden of care himself.
But if the first promises had been lies, and his excuses for the mask must’ve been, then she couldn’t trust any peace offerings, either.
The nightmare held her hand, but he couldn’t ground her. She refused to settle in her skin. She knew what would happen when she did. Whole people wore skin – filled with pain, and regret, and longing. Nothing hurt more than that.
She’d been here before. Not on this floor, in this plane, within her monster’s domain. But a floor, and in the end, polished marble or scratchy, threadbare carpet, it didn’t matter once she landed. A floor was a floor. She became hollow enough to forget she was alive, bleeding from a war no one else could see or save her from.
She had to get up. Had to move. Had to save herself. No one else could, not even Jeff, or Fin, or Gault, or
– Morpheus.
The floor had warmed under her cheek, proof of a beating heart she didn’t want to feel, and she turned to press the other side of her face to a new, cooler patch of marble. Maybe the stone floor could leach enough heat to freeze her mind. Numb it. So she could forget.
Forget his face. His expression when she broke the seal in the basement of Fawney Rig and the way he looked down from his throne as the pansy swung above her eyes.
Forget his careful, beautiful hands, and how it felt to dissolve with him between the stars.
Forget the smell of earth. The feel of claws. Of spider silk… The dress. She was still wearing the damn dress.
Inspiration couldn’t lift her from the floor, but fear and disgust launched her upright as she sank her fingernails into the delicate lace and pulled.
The left sleeve tore from her shoulder like tissue paper. Just as it was meant to. A pretty thing for her soulmate to rip off her body. Titillating scraps of fabric that wouldn’t impede a lover. That offered even less protection than she’d thought.
She froze again. Her breath caught on a lump in her throat as visions of another destiny crept like a snake through her thoughts. One where the graceful fingers she was coming to adore destroyed the dress. Where she’d lost herself entirely. Where her monster became everything she feared.
She blinked furiously. Her wet eyelashes stuck together. The air in her lungs turned thick with agony she wouldn’t voice, and the elegant room turned to a blur as she crashed to her knees, clutching her arms close to keep from shaking apart. To protect herself. To hide the body the fae tortured into gleaming perfection for a monster’s pleasure.
She wanted the dress off.
She couldn’t stomach the thought of baring any more skin.
She couldn’t think beyond the tearing pain in her chest.
This is what came of leaving the floor and becoming a person again.
Hands cut through the fog, urgently curling around her shoulders. She jerked back, shouting wordless protest, and a voice reached out to find her where the hands could not reach.
“Aisling, you’re safe. We’re here. Can you hear me?” The voice plucked on memories. Dust and sunshine and green stains on her skin from cheap jewelry stewing in sweat.
“Gwen?” She only realized she’d asked when she heard her own voice. It didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right.
“Yes.” A smile behind hands offered in support, palms up, begging to be accepted. “It’s just me and Jeff. Can I – Are you…” The dream looked her like she was holding a knife to her lover’s throat. “Can you tell me what you need?”
No. She really couldn’t. It wasn’t safe, and she didn’t know.
But the fucking dress…
She pulled at the fabric. Carefully. Trying to express herself as words failed to coalesce.
“I want it off. I feel…”
She felt like she needed to scrape her skin off all over again, but even in her confusion, she knew Gwen wouldn’t help that far.
But Gwen knew her, and Gwen knew how to listen, even when dreamers struggled to speak. “I’ll draw a bath and find you something to wear.”
Aisling knelt where she’d landed and swallowed down rising bile. Even she forgot, on her better days, how physically painful fear could be. Jeff took her ankle, so she knew she wasn’t alone as Gwen swept out of sight to do as she’d promised. Her most loyal nightmare.
She didn’t mean to scare him.
Her chest ached with an old burn, and she knew she couldn’t turn to the same cure that soothed it last time.
Gwen returned swiftly, before Aisling even had time to miss her, offering her soft hands again for her friend to accept.
She still couldn’t stand the idea. Jeff was different. Jeff needed the comfort as much as she did, and there was no mistaking his hand for anyone else’s.
She found her feet on her own, still hugging herself, eyes on the floor. Her stomach ached. Her skin crawled under the sticky lace. As she followed Gwen into a side chamber, she couldn’t help noticing the view outside the great, arched windows. A whole world stretched beyond the glass – worlds upon worlds, even.
Her ordeal wasn’t over.
She couldn’t just jump in her van and leave the Dreaming. Boundless as the fears and fantasies of every living thing, aware of her presence as its monarch, it would hold her until he gave her permission to leave. As she walked through her – ostensibly – private rooms, she might as well be sitting in her monster’s palm again.
Gwen showed her to a sunken tub behind a screen, an indoor pond that scented the air with clouds of lavender. An indistinct set of clothes sat on a low table beside a stack of towels, and a small collection of soaps and bottles stood within reach of the water.
Gwen wrung her hands, fighting to smile. “Would you like help? I can wait outside if you prefer.”
“I’ll be fine on my own. Thanks.” Getting the dress off would end in a fit. Big, ugly tears and hacking sobs. She just knew it. She couldn’t stomach someone sitting beside her, trying to comfort her as she came to terms with everything the fae had done.
She had to wash this new skin alone. She needed to mourn. She needed to figure out which way to swim before she drowned in aimless grief, and worrying what she looked like or how she made a loved one feel would only pull her deeper. Fortunately, Gwen understood.
Her friend left. She stood alone in the opulent ensuite, pulling apart what was meant to be her dreaded wedding gown, trembling as she tried shielding herself from eyes that simply weren’t there.
She took her bleeding heart into the bath, and the warm water tried to swallow her pain. Washing and scrubbing until she couldn’t feel the faeries’ touch under her raw flesh brought a little relief, but missed her scars. The little marks on her fingers from careless accidents in the kitchen, places she cut for spell work, and a hundred incidental bumps and nicks. It looked alien now. Too smooth. Perfect in a way even a birth-bruised baby’s wasn’t. Her true sight detected residual magic that wouldn’t fade in her lifetime from the unicorn’s horn. It made her beautiful. The kind of beauty she could use as a weapon if she wanted. If she was dealing with a lesser creature than an Endless.
When her cuticles bled, she gave up trying to erase the potion’s effects.
And she cried.
She cried so much she was surprised the water level didn’t rise. The bath stayed hot and fresh as she tried flaying herself, and she wondered if had some secret healing power. Hardly shocking, all things considered, but she wished it was plain water she could turn pink with her human blood.  
She stayed too long, cleaning her hair, her face, the spaces between her toes. Her intention worked the scrubbing into a ritual. Not all the magic would leave, but she banished the traces of her captors’ essence. She peeled away their staring eyes and casual violence.
She was her own self, and she would make it so.
At last, cleansed in body if not in mind, she climbed out and began the process of becoming a whole person again, with feelings and all. Feelings, and legs, and wet hair.
The towels were so soft she nearly cried again, but she felt ridiculous enough to sniffle down her hysterics and start getting dressed. Gwen had brought something like elegant loungewear. Better than any sweatpants or old t-shirt, they draped around her without clinging or threatening to fall off. Comfortable. Woven from some fabric she’d never touched before but maybe dreamed of, like the plush toy she slept with as a child and the silky ripple of a stream over her fingers. A shawl waited at the bottom of the stack, and she pulled the extra shield around her shoulders like armor. Everything fit. Nothing pinched, or chafed. It couldn’t be the most attractive ensemble, but it felt like a promise. Reassurance stitched into the loose fit that covered her so well.
It wasn’t for display. She wasn’t for display. It was consideration. Patience. A tender embrace offered from a safe distance.
And she was beginning to doubt Gwen had chosen these clothes at all.
She shivered, pulling the shawl tight across her chest, and returned to the bedroom. Gwen rose, uncertain but ready for anything. Aisling waved her down.
“I still… I’m going on a walk.” The world beyond the windows was all Dream’s, but she needed an open sky and a breeze on her face. The screaming child in the back of her head wailed the polished marble felt like raw slate and the close air smelled like soil and mildew. It didn’t, but she wanted to break the association before it took root.
Twisting her hands again, Gwen nodded, and Aisling didn’t wait for someone to tell her she wasn’t allowed, or that she really needed to stop and put on shoes, or that she should act like a delicate lady and keep to the garden. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.
So many of her friends told her stories about the Dreaming. She wanted to love it.
She would outrun her fear, literally if she had to.
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alteon77 · 11 months
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The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 3
It's a tale as old as time.
Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.
Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.
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Chapter one here, AO3 here, Masterlist here
Chapter Summary: Morpheus discovers they're having a baby. He's not quite sure how to feel about it.
Viego pulls another blanket up to cover May where she's dozing on the couch, his mind whirring with the implications of the mess she's now in.  
And he discovers pretty quickly that he's fucking terrified for her.
His little sister is going to have a baby, and his stomach twists with worry as he processes this. She'll be almost completely stripped of her magic soon and unsafe as shit because of it. A powerless maker, he knows, is a dead maker. Without her magic, she could very well end up as just another casualty, as just another of their number that is dwindling more and more with every decade that they're relentlessly hunted. 
The rest of the supernatural world believes it's humans and magic users doing this, but Viego knows better. It's their own kind that are responsible for the deaths, the civil war from their home realm spilling out into every world connected to it. Those that fled the persecution and fighting are given a single choice when they're found: to join the war effort or be executed.  
Some choose to go back, but most others would rather die. And so they do. Horribly. Brutally. With no mercy. 
Viego scrubs a tired hand over his face, his ever present paranoia making him weary as he walks to the front door. They can't stay here. They'll need to go to ground again, and right now his sister looks so sickeningly frail that he worries to even shift her through this world, much less to take her to another. He steps out onto the porch for a bit of fresh air, resigned to talk with her about this when she wakes up. She's probably going to be pissed, but he doesn't know what else to do, doesn't know how else to protect her. And truthfully, he thinks that he shouldn't be managing her safety on his own while she's powerless anyway. That Endless bastard had been the one to knock her up, and part of this responsibility should absolutely rest with him too.  
And Viego thinks the love-struck personification would probably gladly take it on if only May would fucking tell him that she was pregnant. Not for the first time, he curses her stubbornness even as he knows there's nothing to be done for it. It's her choice. All of it. And he won't take that from her. He won't… won't allow that to be taken from her by anyone.
He'd vowed a long, long time ago that he would never let her be hurt like that again. 
The leaves on a tree near him rustle, and he panics for a split second, a swell of crackling red power materializing in his hand. Are they here already? Have hostile makers already found them? He'd thought for sure they'd have a little longer to get everything in order before they left, a necessity if him and May wanted to avoid causing any suspicion with their neighbors or the townspeople as they fled.  
"Whoa! V! It's just me!" the voice calls from a nearby branch and Viego frowns in confusion. When the bird lands on the porch railing in front of him, Viego thinks that he really shouldn't be surprised at all to see him.  
This raven, this little servant of Dream's, used to devotedly follow May around like some sort of avian puppy dog. Of course, that had been before Dream had cast May out like she was nothing to him, a turn of events that both infuriates and baffles him. As much as Viego has always disliked the anthropomorphic personification of dreams, any idiot could have seen that Dream had loved May with a nauseating fervor. The idea of him just tossing her from his realm doesn't track with that tenderly affectionate sentiment he'd had for her. Like, at all.  
"What are you doing here?" Viego growls out. The fist that isn't burning with his magic clenches tight at his side as if to stop himself from grabbing the creature and throttling him in a rage. He forcibly reminds himself that he's pissed at Dream, not at the damn raven, and it settles him a tiny bit. 
Matthew's wings visibly ruffle. "Calm down, man. I'm just checking on her." 
He says this so simply, so easily, like Viego isn't right to be suspicious that the bird could have came on that Endless asshole's orders. "Did he send you?" They both know who he is, but Viego won't say his name aloud, half afraid as he is to accidentally summon him.  
The raven scoffs. "Are you kidding me? He'd pluck out all my feathers out if he knew I was here." 
With narrowed eyes, Viego studies him. Matthew sounds honest enough, or at least as honest as a talking bird can sound, and if he really isn't here on Dream's command then maybe Viego might be able to get some real answers from him as to why May was banished. "Do you know what the hell happened between them?" 
"Boss man, he… uh… he found out about the grimoire," Matthew nervously relays.  
"What about it?" 
"Come on," Matthew huffs in disbelief. "You know what. That she wrote it." 
Viego closes his eyes for a moment, the power in his palm fizzling down to nothing as pity and frustration wash over him. Their past always seems to catch up with them in some way or another, and what else is that damn book but one of the biggest fucking remnants of their horrible history? Viego thinks then that he understands what's going on here more than he wants to. May had indeed added spells to that universe-forsaken book. They both had as children, but neither of them had had any real choice in the matter. Torture, he'd learned at a too-young age, was a very effective tool of persuasion. "And I guess he won't forgive her." 
Matthew hesitates. "He asked her about it, and she… she wouldn't answer him." 
"No," Viego supplies tonelessly, his own guilt a vicious, gnawing thing inside of him. "She probably couldn't." He's all too aware that even if she had tried to access those memories, she'd likely been blocked, making it so she wasn't even capable of giving Dream any explanation at all. The facts are that she doesn't remember the details of it, the terror of their ordeal having long since been... hidden in her mind with very few traces left behind for her to draw from.  
Blinking, the bird asks, "That's a weird thing to say, Viego. What do you mean? Why couldn't she?"
"It doesn't matter," Viego tells him as he waves his question off. "Look, he's not welcome here. Either in her home or her life. Not right now, at least." After all, he's not quite sure whether or not May will actually ever tell Dream about the baby or if the bastard will actually want anything to do with it if she does. 
"Yeah. I, um… I kinda figured that." And with his tone, it's almost as if Matthew... agrees with him, almost like he would forbid Dream from seeing May too if he was in Viego's shoes.
An idea comes to him as he looks at the raven, though, something in him softening at the clear affection this creature has for May. His sister had spent decades in the Dreaming, making friends there as she always tended to do, but unlike the mortals that she would sometimes grow close to, she'd been expecting these particular entities to be in her life for the rest of it. She'd been excited at the prospect of getting to keep them forever, at the prospect of being able to set down roots in a way that she and Viego had never been able to do. On the occasions that Viego had visited her in the Dream King's realm, he had been happy to see her so happy, had felt his heart go tight to see her settle contentedly into the sort of life that she'd always wanted and that he'd never been able to give her.  
A life where she was allowed to belong. 
She was too used to her and Viego having to continually move, too used to their constant running in an effort to stay one step ahead of the makers on their trail. Dream had given May calm and peace, had given her the possibility of permanence.  
And then the selfish git had yanked it right out from under her, rescinding his offer of marriage and her new home and apparently even her friends in one fell swoop. Viego's anger at this roils inside of him. "Does anyone else know you're here?"  
The bird lifts his wings, flapping them once before bringing them back at his side, and while Viego isn't an expert in avian body language by any means, this strikes him as a nervous gesture. Matthew looks down and reluctantly mutters, "Lucienne." 
Viego's eyes widen, his whole body going rigid at this piece of information, and he can understand the raven's unwillingness to admit this to him. Lucienne is Dream's right hand man, or… well, er… woman. "Is she the one reporting to him then?" 
Matthew shakes his head almost frantically. "No! Not about this. She's just worried too, V."
The raven seems genuine, and Viego finds himself gentling at this. He can imagine that they are worried, that they had grown as attached to May as she'd grown to them, and he feels his chest tauten at the thought. For far too long, he had been all May had, and despite that he had tried to give her as much companionship as he could scrape together, she'd never really had enough. Sure, she'd collected a few mortals over their many millennia like petals falling from a wilting flower, but their shortened lifespans meant that they could never stay with her the way that these immortal Dreaming creatures were able to. He knows that his sister is probably as heartbroken at the loss of them as she is at the loss of Dream. And while he can't fix the divide between her and that Endless fucker, he can try and make sure that she at least gets to have her friends in her new life. With this in mind, he comes to a decision.  
"I don't want him near her," Viego starts roughly, knowing that when or if May decides to tell Dream, it needs to be on her terms. "But you and Lucienne can see her if you want. I know she misses you two." 
Matthew noticeably perks up. "Really? She'd be okay with that?" 
"Yeah. Stop spying on her though. It's creepy as fuck." 
"Sorry… It's just habit these days." Excited, the raven readies himself to take flight when he, almost as an afterthought, adds, "I'm going to go and tell the boss lady. We'll be back... probably in a couple of minutes." 
And as he flies up and away, Viego can't help but to huff out a laugh at Matthew's obvious elation before he heads back into the house to wake his sister. He's relieved that May will have something to lift her spirits in the coming months, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, she might not fight him so much about going back on the run if he can offer her something like this regardless of where they end up. 
It might not be a marriage with the love of her life and a place to call her own, but he knows that she'll nonetheless be grateful for the chance to have the companionship of those she loves. Well, the ones she loves who will actually stick by her side, anyway. And really, in the coming months, that might just be the only kind of friends she truly needs. The ones who will stay. The ones who will love her no matter her past. The ones who wouldn't ever think to banish and leave her alone.
"Sir," Lucienne greets while Morpheus sits on his throne, poring over the census register that his librarian had brought him the night before.  
He doesn't even spare her a glance as he informs her, "There is an entity missing from this." 
"I sought out all the dreamfolk, sir." When he does lift his eyes to look at her, there's a confused frown on her face. "They should all be in there." 
Thoroughly perplexed, he studies the last page of the tome again. He can feel there's a name not listed here, though for the life of him he can't seem to pull it up in his vast awareness. This sense of not knowing is wholly unsettling to him, but he forces his attention away from it for the time being. "Do you require something, Lucienne?" 
"My lord, the Dark Forest is acting up again." 
"Acting up?" he questions, his brow creasing in puzzlement at the odd statement.
"It's started swallowing up the dreamfolk that reside within it and… relocating them to various parts of the realm." 
"Ah… I will see to it then." He's been slowly easing back into managing his duties, trying to ignore the ever-present pang in his heart at May's betrayal. The transition has not been an easy one, but he knows that he will not be afforded the opportunity to neglect his function for much longer, no matter his grief. 
Before him, his librarian hesitates, clasping her hands together as she usually does when she's preparing herself to broach a subject with him that she'd rather not. "Sir… if I might." 
He nods slowly, tensing for whatever she will say. "Yes?" 
"There have been many... upheavals in the realm of late. I believe the forest is only reacting to the… changes." 
He stares blankly at Lucienne as if he does not understand what meaning she's trying to impart, a trick of impassivity he had learned ages ago but which he finds himself using more and more since his separation from the woman he'd sought to make his queen. He thinks he knows exactly what his librarian is attempting to relay to him, however, exactly what she is trying to communicate to him without directly speaking it aloud. 
The forest misses May.  
It makes sense, he supposes. She had been more skilled at soothing the temperamental woodland than he ever was, taking over its care almost immediately after she'd come to the Dreaming. May's touch with the realm was secondary only to his, and he's not fool enough to think that she hadn't possibly been more adept concerning some aspects, given that she was a maker and better suited to such things. The Dark Forest, in particular, had always preferred her to him.  
He stands and makes his way down the stairs leading away from his throne until he's only a few steps above Lucienne. His tone cold, he asks, "Are you pleading mercy on its behalf?" 
She doesn't blanch at his icy fury, doesn't flinch away from the possibility of his temper. "I am merely… suggesting that you keep this in mind while you interact with it." 
She means to say that he shouldn't burn it to the ground in a fit of rage as he's often threatened to do. He doesn't understand why this should be so. May was attached to that wretched creation of his, but he has no such sentimentality towards it. "I am aware that she held affection for the forest, Lucienne, but I do not, and as such I will handle it as I see fit." 
"My lord… if she were to ever be allowed to return here, she would never… forgive such an action on your part."
His chest aches with loss, and the pain of it drives him further into the throes of his anger. "A moot point since she will never be allowed to return here." 
"Of course." Her eyes flick to the floor, a clear attempt at avoiding his glare, but he thinks he catches something in their brown depths before she hides her face from him. Hope, he thinks, and… and guilt. What cause would she have to feel either of these things? Morpheus moves closer to her, and when he reaches the bottom step, May's scent flits across his senses. Recoiling slightly from this, he scrutinizes his librarian anew. Why would she smell like May? Furthermore, what transgression might she have committed to make her avert her gaze from him? 
Realization slams into him with all the force of a hurricane, the treachery of it almost agonizing. "You've been to see her?" he breathes out.  
Lucienne… doesn't deny it, but she does inhale sharply. "She is banished from the Dreaming, my lord. You never specified that we might not visit her outside of this realm." 
"That forbiddance was plainly implied," he bites out.  
"My apologies then, sir." 
She doesn't look apologetic in the slightest if he's being honest. If anything, she appears frustrated with him. How can she not understand that he will not risk any of his creations to May's likely duplicitous intentions? He opens his mouth to explain it to Lucienne, to tell her why this is as it must be when he thinks on how May had looked when he'd last seen her. She had been pale, worn, as if she carried some great burden on her shoulders. Morpheus thinks that he should be pleased by this, should take joy in her suffering as thoroughly as she had taken joy in lying to him, in playing him for the fool. 
But he cannot. 
He hates that he cannot. 
The fury in him evaporates, and fear takes its place, swelling within him so suddenly that it's nearly staggering. "Lucienne," he starts, his throat suspiciously dry as he tries to swallow down the lump there. "Is she… well?" 
His librarian seems surprised by his question, but her features melt into an expression of worried bleakness. "No, sir… I do not believe she is." 
He means to demand that she elaborate on this, that she explain to him what's affecting May so grievously, but he does not get the chance. Something tugs on his mind, the sensation one he's grown all too accustomed to these weeks past.
May is drowning.  
When last he'd pulled her from the Dreamer's sea, he had threatened to let her die if she found herself in these waters again, and yet he knows that he is no more capable of that then he is of forgiving her for her betrayal. His pride burns at this. Morpheus has always considered his decisions final, his word immutable, and yet he doesn't think twice about going back on his oath as he shifts to her, as he dives into the water and saves her yet again.  
He hauls her from the sea and onto the pier, his anger rising as he stands back and waits for May to settle. She coughs out great quantities of water and tries to relax the way her chest heaves in its desperation for air. Her shoulders shake with cold, and he clenches his hands into fists in an effort to stay himself from doing something foolish like warming her with his power or stripping off his coat to drape about her.  
She deserves no more kindness from him than he's already given her this night by rescuing her from an early death. 
Trembling, she gets weakly to her feet, seemingly preparing herself to have an argument with him.  
"How?" he demands for the seventh time in as many days.  
May closes her eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. "I really, really don't know. Trust me, this is just as annoying to me as it is to you." 
Trust. Trust? He feels himself go rigid with his rage, his murderous incredulity no doubt showing on his features as she takes a step back from him.  
"Trust you?" His tone is a roaring inferno set atop a solidly frozen glacier. "You would dare to request such a thing in my presence?" 
She puts her hands up, obviously frightened. "No… Look, I just… It's a figure of speech, okay? Just calm down." 
"Do not order me to calm," he growls as he advances on her, and she takes another step back. When she does this, she finds herself teetering on the edge of the pier, and it's instinct for him to reach out and pull her more surely back onto it, to yank her to safety. 
His hand around her upper arm, he tugs her into his chest without meaning to. Her breathing seems to come faster at this contact, and where she's pressed against him he can feel the rapid beating of her heart.  
"I wasn't… ordering you. I… I'm sorry. I didn't think."
"Not thinking seems to be an all too common occurrence for you," he rumbles out harshly, her proximity to him making his heart throb in pain and longing. He should release her, he knows, should move away, but he… he thinks that he's not even capable of doing so in this moment. 
The insult registers, and she glowers heatedly at him for it, her earlier fear forgotten in her fury. "Oh, fuck you," she snaps. 
"What did you say to me?" His tone drops dangerously low at her response, at the disrespect with which she's addressing him. 
As utterly uncaring of his quiet menace as she always used to be, she snarls, "You heard me. I said fuck you." 
"You will leave this realm and never return," he commands, an icy edge of finality to his voice. How dare she speak to him in this way. How dare she even think that she has a right to show anger at him after the offense she's committed, after the act of treachery she'd so effectively wielded and run him through with. 
"That's what I'm trying to do!" May yells in frustration. "Maybe you should do your actual job and make it so I'm not drowning in this fucking sea of whatever every night." 
"My job?" Warningly, his grip on her arm tightens enough that she winces at it, and he has to force himself to loosen his hold and temper his strength. 
"Yes. Your job. Craft the banishment more thoroughly or reinforce it or something. I'm done with this." 
"I reinforce it every time you enter in this way," he hisses. 
At his admission, he witnesses her heart break before him anew as if she's only just understood they they are, in fact, finished with one another. Her face drains of what little color she'd had, and she stiffens in his hold, her jaw clenching. Her eyes well with tears before she glances away.  
"Let go of me," she demands, a sorrow to her voice that cuts at him. 
"If I release you, you'll fall into the sea, and I'll be forced to pull you out yet again," he grits out through clenched teeth. 
She tries to get free of his grasp on her regardless, and when she finds it unrelenting the fight seems to go out of her. Softly, brokenly she requests, "Then… just send me home. Please." 
"I will personally escort you there." It's a calculated offer on his part. He needs to see what it is she's doing to get here, needs to get some idea of the exact magic she's working to break through his banishment so he can more thoroughly strengthen it against her. For the sake of his sanity, he cannot continue being forced to interact with her so regularly.
Alarm washes over her features, and he narrows his eyes warily at this abrupt difference in her demeanor. "No. Just send me there. I'm not welcome in your home. What makes you think that you're welcome in mine?" 
"I will go where I wish." Morpheus regards her as if he's amused by her audacity, as if she's nothing but a particularly annoying fly that's just ordered him to keep his hands out of a fruit bowl.  
But then, in an instant something seems to change with her. She's heavier in his hold suddenly as if he's the only thing keeping her upright, and her eyes go out of focus, distant. He's seen this before, remembers it once from many years past when her magic had faltered after she'd used too much of it at once. Reaching out with his power to examine her, he's unnerved when he feels… nothing. There's naught but a void where her magic should be.
"Not to… to… my home." Her voice is barely there, and she unexpectedly tips back slightly, as if she's unsteady, as if she's dizzy. Using her free hand, she tries to push away from his chest anyway. "Let go…" she slurs.  
"May?" he questions, concern flooding him. And then, before he can even say another word, her eyes roll back in her head and she collapses completely.  
Panicking, his terror a living, biting thing inside of him, he gathers her up more surely in his arms and lowers her to the wood planks of the pier. "Beloved," he calls and shakes his head at the idiocy of his unthinking endearment. "May," he tries again more firmly this time, all the while loathing the rough hint of fear for her he can hear in his voice. 
With hands that feel as if they might be shaking, he checks her over, relieved to find that she seems physically fine save for her missing magic. She has simply… fainted. It worries him still, and this worry, he knows, is misplaced. They are nothing to one another now, and as such he should not care. The only correct thing for him to do in this moment is return her to her home. He lifts her back up and with a thought, he reluctantly does just that, shifting them both straight to her room in the Waking.  
It's uncharacteristically chaotic in here, filled as it is with a great quantity of boxes, but her bed thankfully remains intact. He dries her with the lightest touch of his power before gently laying her atop it, pulling the covers up and over her so that she won't become chilled as she sleeps.  
His hand twitches with the urge to brush her hair back from her face, but he stays it. She is no longer his, and such an intimate gesture is no longer his right. It doesn't stop him from watching her as she slumbers, though, that endless pain in his chest piercing him with every beat of his heart as he does so. He hates himself for this emotion where she's concerned, hates himself for this weakness. There's a part of him that wishes for nothing more than to crawl into bed with her, to enfold her in his arms and never let her go.  
Tearing his attention away from her, he looks around the room instead in idle curiosity. He had sought answers as to what she was doing to allow her passage into his realm, had he not? At this remembrance, he studies his surroundings more carefully. It appears as if May will leave this place soon given that most of her belongings are seemingly packed away. There is a stack of books on the table beside him, though, and he thoughtlessly picks the top one up to peruse it. The title makes him frown in confusion. What to Expect When You're Expecting. There's a woman on the cover, her belly swollen with child, and Morpheus feels an odd thrum of confused panic nearly overwhelm him. Why would she have something of this nature? He snatches up the next book and his stomach twists viciously. Your Pregnancy: Week by Week.  
His heart, that poor battered organ that has been bruised and damaged far too many times, thuds loudly enough in his chest that he fears it might rouse her from her rest.  
The bottle beside the books seems almost as if it's calling out to him, demanding his scrutiny, and so he plucks that up as well. Feeling unusually faint, he reads the label. The words Prenatal Vitamins make his vision blur. Removed as he can be from humanity, he still knows exactly what these are and what their purpose is. 
Morpheus thinks that he might very well be sick.  
This cannot be. This should not be. They are no more, their relationship set ablaze by her lies and left as naught but ashes.  
Understanding cycling through him almost violently, he tries to remember how she'd appeared the last few times he'd seen her, how pale and fatigued she'd seemed. His hand opens, and before he even has time to think on what he's doing, he pulls the blankets from her and sets his palm atop the very, very slight hardness he can feel on her lower abdomen.  
The spark of life growing there reaches out towards him enthusiastically.  
His stomach swoops, his mind blanking out for a moment. A child. There's… there's a child there. His child. Their child. 
In this tiny being, he can feel his own essence twined with that of May's, can feel the mixture of maker's magic and Endless power within it. He sits on the edge of the bed, his legs feeling strangely as if they might go out from beneath him. 
Stunned, he almost withdraws his hand away from her belly, but… but the baby seems… excited to sense his presence. Its power stretches out to brush against his fingertips, and he can feel everything that it does. Its thoughts are scattered, barely formed, and fragmented, but it clearly communicates that it's been trying to get to him. 
May had told him that she wasn't responsible for her ending up in the dreams of others, and with a sinking feeling in his gut, he understands that she had likely been truthful in that. This… little one of theirs had been attempting to get them both to the Dreaming and to him. His eyes well with wetness at this, his emotions overcoming him. He swallows thickly. Their baby. 
They're to have a... baby. 
Absent-mindedly, he strokes his thumb over May's stomach while he attempts to process this, and she twitches sleepily in response to the caress.  
He's uncertain of what to do, of how to handle something of this magnitude. Months ago, this news would have been welcome, would have been happy even. But now… 
Now it is decidedly less so.  
The realization that she had lied to him again is like a pail of ice water being dumped on his head, and he carefully suppresses his quickly rising anger, unwilling to allow this new little one of his to sense his wrathful rage. May's had numerous opportunities to inform him of this… development, and yet she had not. She hadn't breathed a word of it in his presence, and the awareness of that stings. He tries to calm himself, tries to tell himself that he will speak to her and demand the truth when she awakens, and that settles him slightly.  
He will grant her a single chance then, he decides with grim resolution, a single chance for her to give him honesty.  
A single chance, he thinks, and nothing more.
Next Chapter here
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thepaintedlady00 · 1 year
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Lake (chapter 13 Smut)
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TW: Fighting, smut, rough kissing, ripping clothes, biting, penetration, a surrender of control (just a little tiny one), spoilers for chapter 13 of The Sandman and The Girl Without Dreams
The door didn't budge when I tried to push it open. Dreams' power filled the room, dark and heavy mist slithering from his shadow. "We are not finished talking."
I turned and met his dark eyes, grabbing the threads that made the door and pulling until it tore off its hinges and clattered to the ground around me. "Yes we are."
"Fuckin hell," Merv muttered.
"Sorry about the door," I said as I turned on my heel and stormed off.
I avoided all the main roads, following my feet through the tall grass and thicket of trees until I stood in front of the gemstone lake. The setting sun cast over the water and lit up the jewels at the bottom beautifully, but the sight didn't ease the painful burning in my chest as tears streamed down my cheeks and a loud, angry scream tore through my throat. The ground trembled and my scream seemed to make the leaves on the trees curl. For a while I sat in the grass and cried quietly as the sun continued to set.
Watching the water ripple with the orange light was relaxing and the chilled water seemed to lull my anger. I swam through the slightly chilled depths, letting it sink beneath my skin letting the water of the gemstone lake help cool the burning in my chest as I sank lower and lower to the bottom of the lake. My lungs burned for air, but I ignored them just a minute longer, two, not ready to let go of the quiet the water provided. The gemstones glistened as I slowly rose back to the surface, smoothing my hands down my face as the fading sunlight warmed my cheeks. 
The feel of his tempered anger filled the meadow long before he came into view, and with a soft sigh I let my own anger refill my lungs with the deep breaths of air. If he wanted a fight then I'd give him one. "I do not like leaving our conversations unfinished."
I looked at him over my shoulder, his stiff figure standing just at the edge of the lake. "Well sometimes it's best to take a step back when the conversation isn't going anywhere."
His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. If I hadn't known better I would have thought he ran here. I turned toward him and his eyes slowly slid down my body, his hands clenched into fists at his side. What is his problem? I questioned quietly as I moved closer to the edge of the lake, the white material of my dress growing heavier and heavier as I rose out of the water. 
Looking down to gather some of the soaked fabric in my hands, an attempt to make moving easier, a blush rose to my cheeks as I found the wet material stuck to my form was now completely sheer. The chilled air caused my nipples to peek beneath the thin material and the way the dress hugged me left nothing to the imagination. Oh. Still knee deep in the water I looked back up to Dream, the steady sharp tug of both our anger was joined by that familiar hungry need to feel each other's skin. It had been weeks since the apologies, weeks since I'd healed, weeks since we shared a bed or felt the intimate touch of the other's hands.
Our eyes locked for a moment, both of us still angry but now we had to decide which we wanted more. To continue our argument or… As I swallowed thickly at the thought of his hands on me, Dream seemed to make the decision for us. He strode forward into the lake, not bothering to strip himself of his boots or his coat, not caring about anything as he grabbed my face and pulled my lips to his in a searing hot kiss.
I whined into his mouth as he forced my lips to part for his tongue. My hands fisted into his sleeves, both pushing him away and pulling him closer. One of his hands moved to my throat, holding my head in place as the other moved to my back. His blunt nails dragged down the wet material for a moment before deftly undoing the buttons. His lips pulled away from mine, the hand at my throat squeezing a little as he breathed out, "Don't ever walk away from me like that again."
"I wouldn't have to if you'd stop being such an asshole for one second." My hands pushed the coat off his shoulders and into the lake. I pulled his hair, forcing our lips back together, roughly biting and tugging them between my teeth.
The cold of his hands on the bare skin of my back sent a shiver up my spine and a soft mewl out of my throat and into his mouth as he roughly pulled my arms free of the sleeves and forced the top of the dress down to my hips. He lifted me out of the water, turning us quickly back onto solid ground. His hand fisted in my hair, tugging my head back and opening up my throat to the onslaught of his lips. It felt good to finally feel something other than his annoyance or my own frustration, and I cherished every second of it. 
When the scratchy tree bark clawed at my back I gasped, arching into Dream. He panted against my skin, biting into my neck and down my chest, swirling his tongue and fingers over my nipples. "Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?"
My hands grabbed the collar of his shirt, tearing it open and forcing it off him. "Stop. Talking."
He growled at my command and tore the rest of my dress off me, moving me away from the stability of the tree and lowering me to the ground, a soft blanket meeting my skin instead of the damp grass. When his body draped over mine he was completely naked, biting and kissing up my stomach, tugging one of my nipples between his teeth harshly before my hands dragged him back up to my lips. God this felt good.
Wasting no time with words he pushed into my wet cunt, one thrust bringing his hips flush with mine and seating himself snugly inside me. I moaned loudly at the sudden burn and stretch of him, my nails digging into his arms as he set a fast and rough pace that left me breathless. I could feel the smug satisfaction in him as he watched me, hands gliding against my wet skin and squeezing my hips tight enough to bruise. It wasn’t a surprise when I came, nor was it one when he didn’t relent in his movements.
I lifted my hand to his head, trailing my fingers over the crown of his thread. Dream groaned into my mouth, every inch of him tensing and slowing as he tried to calm himself down from the sudden pleasurable feeling. Taking the opportunity I squeezed his hips with my legs and rolled us over, the ground startling him as it met his back. He sat up against me, hands digging into my flesh as his wide, wild eyes looked up at me, an uncomfortable feeling smoldering in his chest at our position. We stared at one another for a moment longer before I rolled my hips down, his eyes shutting and a blissful expression replacing the furrowed brows and tight lips.
He kept his hands firmly on my waist, holding onto a tiny shred of control as I continued to move against him. I’d rode him before, but it had never been like this… he had never let me be this in control before. That feeling alone lit a fire in my core, pushing me to move faster, to nip and suck marks into his neck as he threw his head back with a moan. It wasn’t the control that made this moment, this feeling, so intense. It was the warm feeling of trust that hummed through him. For the first time in months I could feel him put his trust in me. For the first time in months I felt like his equal. His breathing grew heavy as his shining starry eyes met mine, the anger and annoyance and everything in between fading away with each snap of our hips. We came together, foreheads pressed to one another's.
Dream had collapsed back, his arms keeping me firmly locked against his chest as we both caught our breaths. For a moment we were just content to hold each other, to feel the love that had been smothered and covered up by everything else. I set my chin on his chest, looking at him bathed in the moonlight beneath me. “I missed this.” His eyes opened and he looked at me. “I missed you.”
With a gentle breath he pulled me even closer. “I missed you as well.”
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
“There has been a lot to do.” He shook his head a little. “I have been frustrated and angry with everything as of late and I did not want to risk taking it out on you again.”
I set my head in the crook of his neck and pressed a light kiss to one of the hickeys I’d left. “While I appreciate the gesture, avoiding me doesn’t feel much better.”
Dream kissed my head. “I realize that now.”
Lifting my head and looking down at him I spoke, “Let’s make a promise then. No matter how angry we are, no matter how busy things get, we’ll always go to bed together.”
He smiled. “That sounds like a good promise.”
“I love you,” I said, stroking his cheek.
“I love you too,” he replied, leaning into my touch.
As we lay together, curled up in each other I sighed. “How mad is Merv about the door?”
Dream chuckled. “Quite.”
“Fuck.”
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