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thepaintedlady00 · 1 year

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Burden

Part 6

Part 5 | Part 7

TW: fluff, a bit of pining, Dream fucks everything up like he does, arguments, depictions of violence, the glass cage is here y'all so buckle up, ANGST, betrayal, character death? This cliffhanger is one of my worst, like honestly I apologize in advance! 😅

“Try this one,” Lucienne suggested, setting the large book down in front of you.

With a soft sigh, you looked up at her and smiled. “We’ve tried this one before, my friend. It held no words then, I do not expect it to now.”

She quietly cursed herself, taking the book back and studying the cover until the memory returned to her. “One moment! I’ll find another!”

“Lucienne,” you replied quietly, reaching out to take her hand. “I greatly appreciate your efforts, but this is hardly necessary.”

“Reading is a beautiful thing,” she insisted. “And I am determined to find a book among these endless shelves that you, my lady, can enjoy.”

“I do enjoy them,” you insisted. “Lord Morpheus has been kind enough to read many of them to me.”

Lucienne gave you a quick, fleeting glance with that knowing smile of hers. “Very true, but it is different to be read to and to read with one's own eyes.”

You shook your head, laughing at her persistence. “You’re not going to give this up, are you?”

“Of course not!” She cried out, returning to her shelves. “I am the librarian after all. It’s my duty to ensure all in this place find what they’re seeking.”

“Very well,” you relented with a smile.

It had been nearly a year since the passing of Puck, and you’d spent more time within The Dreaming than anywhere else. It was nice to have others around to fill the hole left by the loss of yet another companion. The pain would never truly fade, it never did, but at least you did not have to mourn alone. Lucienne offered you friendship and knowledge without reservation. The handyman, Mervyn, was quick to fill your free moments with laughter and projects. Jessamy showed you the best spots to sit in for a moment of peace. Cain and Abel and Gregory provided enough company to make you feel like you were part of a family, even one as dysfunctional as theirs. The Corinthian had been distant, but he always accompanied you for a walk along the beach when you’d asked… though he was far quieter now, far less open with you than he had been in the past he remained your best friend. And Dream… he did everything within his power to make you feel welcomed and at peace.

He often reminded you of the last shaping stone that you wore around your neck in a beautiful necklace that he’d crafted for you. He assured you it would be different than the others, that its life would never fade as theirs had, but you were still afraid. What if your presence corrupted even that? What if you lost this final companion just as you did the others? No. Your heart couldn’t bear such a thing, not so shortly after Puck.

You and Dream hadn’t spoken of that day. Not of the way you’d held his hand or cried in his arms, and certainly not of the way you sought his hand out every moment after. If it bothered him, he hid it well, but part of you wanted desperately to believe he craved the simple act of affection as much as you did.

Jessamy flew beside you as you made your way to Cain and Abel's garden for afternoon tea. It had become a lovely ritual between you, one that had begun with an argument over whose house was best suited for tea and which brother had better cakes. Eventually, after Cain stabbed Abel once or twice, you all came to the agreement that tea in the garden would be just fine. You crossed the bridge and sadly smiled at the brother covered in dirt, beating his clothing off beside his door. “How deep did he bury you this time?”

Abel perked up at the sound of your voice. “Oh, not that deep! It was a small argument, so he just shoved me into the hole rather than buried me.”

“I am glad you did not have to dig your way out this time,” you said, quietly helping him.

“It wouldn’t be that horrible,” the man insisted, his smile never faltering. “Gregory would have helped.”

You heard the large creature leap down behind you, seeking to startle you as he always did. You let him, of course, the look of pride Gregory had was well worth the prolonged wait. He finally made a loud roaring noise and you jumped, twisting around with your hand over your heart. “Goodness! Gregory, darling creature I didn’t hear you!”

He huffed, rubbing his snout against you and sniffing at Abel with a light sneeze. Cain slammed his door shut and set the table without a word. Abel gestured to the plant you’d helped them with. “It grew another leaf!”

Bending over slightly, you examined the still small and frail plant with a silver stem and pale leaves. “That’s wonderful progress.”

“It’ll bloom in no time, I just know it!”

“Teas ready!” Cain hollered, dragging all of you over to the table. “It won’t be awful this time because it’s my tea we used.”

You thanked him as he filled your cup. The brothers used the same tea, though you weren’t going to be the one to tell them this. That certainly was a job for their king. “It’s lovely, Cain.”

Jessamy perched on the table, carefully dipping her beak into a cup of her own. “Tastes the same to me as the last one.”

Cain gave her a cold look. “It’s hardly the same! Your bird taste buds are just weak.”

“If you say so,” she mumbled taking a small piece of cake and eating it.

After drinking tea and having a slice of cake you always remained to play with Gregory. He tossed the ball high up into the air before bouncing it off his beak toward you. You weren't as good at the game as he was, but you both seemed to enjoy the company and simple rules.

When the sun began to set over the garden you bid your friends farewell and made your way toward the palace where Dream waited for you on the bridge. You couldn’t help the way your heartbeat stuttered at the sight of him, nor the way your cheeks burned and a smile formed. His head turned and one of the corners of his mouth twitched. “How was tea?”

“Lovely, as always,” you told him as the two of you fell into step with one another.

He hummed. “And the library? Did Lucienne have any luck finding you a book?”

You shook your head. “She did not, but it was still nice getting to spend time with her.”

“Shall we?” He gestured toward the path to the pier.

It had become a regular thing of Dream to accompany you through your work, one you appreciated greatly as he seemed to genuinely enjoy himself. “If you wish.”

“I do.”

You lifted your hand to him. “Then hold on.”

Things felt lighter with Morpheus beside you. The waters and those that dwelt within it felt warmer and safer. The dreams felt clear and your purpose felt almost good. There were nights when the darkness of the dreamer's fears was heavy, but on those nights you witnessed the mighty Dream of the Endless assert his power over his dominion to ease the shadow and dark.

The two of you walked hand in hand away from the pier, the soft quiet lapping of the water against the strong wood made you feel at ease beside him. The mist grew thicker and the familiar groans of the large trees echoed around you as your realm called you home.

“You can remain here,” Morpheus said, his hand softly squeezing yours.

“I know,” you said equally as softly. “But The Forest needs me, just as your realm needs you.”

He bowed his head. “I understand. Farewell, Daunt.”

You bowed in return. “Farewell, Morpheus. Will you visit tomorrow?”

“If that is your wish.”

“It is.”

He smiled. “Then I shall.”

The mist swirled around you, but your eyes never left his, not until he disappeared from your side completely. Back in the safety and quiet of your realm, you could let yourself feel the burning yearning that grew in your heart with each passing day. Here among the moss and the small flowers and trees, you could let yourself admit that you were becoming more attached to the being you once hated. Of course, you never let yourself think about it for long. You made your way back to your small hut and quietly shut the door, encasing the space in the heat from the fire.

Among your trinkets and the clothes Dream had made for you was an empty bed. You touched the stone around your neck as memories played in your head. Memories of Fern and Gaia and Puck and all the others that had warmed the bed while you were away and greeted you fondly when you returned. You missed each one of them so very much, and normally that would be enough to lead you to wake the stone, but now you had others to rely on. The Dreaming and those that lived within it were all you needed for now.

The Forest greeted you as it always did, with low groans and waves of mist. However, something felt different this time as you walked along the jagged path, something that became clear as you stopped at the bridge. The black-clad Endless stood looking out at the river, their blonde hair and gaudy shoulder pieces shifting in the light breeze. “Desire.”

“Finally! I’ve been waiting for ages.” They smirked. “Did you get enough beauty sleep?”

“What do you want?” You demanded, skipping over the fake polite conversation to get straight to the point and hopefully one step closer to their departure.

"You know how this will end, don't you Mistake?" Desire cooed as they looked back at you, their eyes cosmic blue and their hair messy and dark. "You will only ever be his consort, his whore, never his equal. Others far more beautiful and important have tried and failed before you. My big brother will never change."

"You're wrong." You said, ignoring the way your stomach lurched at the way their words. "He has changed."

Desire laughed and shook their head at you. "When my brother casts you aside, and he will cast you aside little Mistake, I hope you'll remember how I tried to warn you."

Just like before Desire left without another word, but the feeling of heaviness remained in your chest and lungs. The Forest still stank with their honeyed perfume and their bitter words. It only began to fade when another came, replacing the bitterness with sweetened ethereal stardust and citrus. Your heart felt lighter as you watched the thick trees bend their roots to forge a path for him.

Dream smiled, admiring the thick dark wood and emerald leaves. “It would seem your realm has at last taken a liking to me.”

“And to think all it took was a few hundred years and some good behavior.”

He tucked a strand of your hair back into place, his eyes sparkling as he gazed down at you. “Hello, Daunt.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of your name rolling off his tongue so sweetly. “Hello, Morpheus.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Is everything well?”

“It is,” you said, choosing not to tell him of his siblings' sudden appearance and manipulating words.

Like most times Morpheus visited your realm the two of you walked among the trees and you showed him things that had changed or appeared since his last visit. The two of you retired to your home where you offered him tea and he inquired about some of the trinkets you’d collected over the years. As you told your stories, his eyes remained fixed on you, shining and bright and full of something you did not want to name. His soft laughter was intoxicating and you found it harder and harder to deny the truth to yourself.

The two of you sat in your wilted garden as you looked over a pile of books Lucienne had sent with the Dream Lord to see if any held words you could see. “With the stories you hold, I doubt you’ll find a book more interesting.”

You smiled at him. “My stories are hardly more interesting than the words you inspire in your dreamers.”

“On the contrary,” he insisted, the closeness of him making it hard to ignore his strong jaw and his perfectly shaped lips. “I would rather listen to your stories than hear that of the greatest dreamers.”

“Is it my stories that interest you, or my voice?” You teased.

“Can it not be both?”

A blush rose to your cheeks as you glanced away. “I suppose it could be.”

His cold fingers stroked down your cheek and curled around your chin, carefully turning your face back towards his. Your breath caught in your throat as he watched you. Those beautiful eyes you’d come to love so much focused on every part of your face before he spoke, “You are beautiful, Daunt. More beautiful than any book or dream I could ever inspire or create.”

“You give yourself too little credit.”

“You are the one that is not given enough credit,” he replied as your faces drifted closer.

It was a featherlight touch of your lips against his, so light you couldn’t consider it a kiss. After the spark of the sudden contact faded, you found yourself being pulled in closer until Dream's lips pressed fully to yours. All the air left your lungs as you moved with him, your hands fisting in his dark cloak and sliding up to feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips. Dream released your chin, only to cup the back of your neck and angle your head up giving him the access he needed to deepen the kiss.

All around you warmth spread and the sound of petals opening echoed in your ears until you had to pull away. Breathlessly you looked around, eyes wide and nearly full of tears at the sight of your garden full of blooming flowers of every size and color. Dream chuckled, pressing his lips to your jaw for a short moment. “That was unexpected.”

You looked back at him and smiled, cupping his face in your hands. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

“I did nothing,” he replied. “This realm is yours. It is your power they bent to, not mine.”

Deep in your chest, your heart soared. Desires words were long forgotten as you curled into the chilled arms of the Dream King and admired your garden.

Weeks passed since you shared your first kiss with Dream of the Endless. It was odd, to say the least, but changed little between the two of you. Neither of you would admit that you craved to kiss again… that you craved to do more than just kiss, and so you spent your time together awkwardly talking about anything and everything else. The two of you had begun to spend more time among company to avoid things growing awkward, but this meant that you both had to suffer the looks from Lucienne. The ones that dripped with sarcasm and a silent but still somehow audible Are the two of you serious? Every accidental touch felt like fire on your skin and left you a blushing mess.

The only moments of reprieve from this were with The Corinthian, who’d heard of your kiss and immediately dry heaved. The two of you alone were fine, but when Dream joined the picture the tension between the two put both of them in a foul mood. For a split second, you’d entertained the thought that Dream was… jealous of your closeness with his nightmare, but that had dissipated quickly. Dream of the Endless jealous? Absolutely not.

In recent days Dream was on edge. He was constantly busy with work and often had no more than a few moments to spend with you before he had to leave. Those short moments were tense in every sense and made you feel guilty for being here and bothering him. No matter how many times he assured you that it was not your doing, you still felt this weight settle in your gut. You’d known the Endless being for a very long time, and for most of that the two of you were not exactly on good terms, so you were used to his short temper and the sometimes harshness in his words, but unlike before he always apologized to you. While he was busy you spent more time with The Corinthian, hoping if you kept the nightmare busy enough he’d not be able to contribute to Dream's stress.

“Stop that,” you scolded, picking the little flower out of The Corinthian’s hands as he tore the petals off.

He sighed. “It’s a flower, Daunty, not some little pixie.”

You settled back into his side. “Flowers are living things of their own. Especially the ones that grow here. I doubt Fiddler’s Green appreciates your manhandling of the flora.”

“Well it’s a good thing Fiddler's Green is nothing more than grass and dirt then, isn’t it?”

The grass bent away from him at his words and the ground beneath him puffed out, creating uncomfortable lumps where he sat. The Corinthian groaned and stood up, stomping the ground. You laughed running your fingers through the silky blades of grass. “I don’t think Fiddler’s Green appreciates your sarcasm.”

Once the lumps evened out The Corinthian sat back down. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Lighten up,” you said, bumping him with your shoulder. “If you’d be a little nicer then maybe you’d have more friends than just me.”

“Nice isn’t in my nature,” he insisted tilting his shades down.

You touched his cheek. “You’re nice to me.”

“You’re the exception, not the rule fair lady.” He turned his gaze away from you again and that wave of discontent washed over you.

Laying your head on his shoulder you sighed. “I adore you, Corinthian.”

He chuckled and laid his head on top of yours. “Yeah, me too Daunty.”

The two of you rested beneath the trees of Fiddler’s Green for a long while until The Corinthian had to return to his duties, or simply wished to cause trouble before night fell. This time, however, it was Dream that interrupted the two of you. His hands were clasped behind his back as he stood in front of his nightmare, eyes dark and body tense. “Corinthian, you have duties to attend to.”

“Do I?” Your friend questioned with a wide grin. “My apologies, your majesty. I shall attend them at once.”

He turned and smiled down at you, tipping his hat. “Lady Daunt.”

You pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Dear Corinthian. Do try to behave.”

Standing, almost toe to toe with Dream the nightmare laughed. “But of course.”

Dream did not relax, not even when the nightmare left the meadow. “You should mind him more carefully.”

“What?”

“The Corinthian is my most fearsome nightmare, not a pet for you to play with.” He hissed. “His duties and his function are more important than you know.”

You blinked, slightly shocked by his ornery behavior. “I do not need a lecture on the importance of one's functions. I’ve done nothing to disrupt his duties.”

“You’ve done more than you think,” he replied, looking away in the direction his nightmare left. With a sigh, he returned his gaze to you. “I have a meeting with an old friend. I trust you’ll be alright here while I am gone.”

Still slightly upset by his ever-darkening mood and flippant temper you merely nodded. “Of course, I will be.”

“I shall return soon.” He bowed his head and turned on his heel, leaving you behind and alone in the meadow.

As you remained the tension slowly drained from you and once again you were content to relax against the tree. It was difficult for you, seeing Dream in such a foul mood. Though you knew it was not aimed at you, per se, and was the cause of stresses he dealt with during his own duties seeing him in such a way always made you fearful. You heard the sharp sound of twigs snapping and there, across the way a tall buck stood watching you.

It was a beautiful beast, tall with ornate antlers and a deep rich coat of brown and tan. It sniffed the air of Fiddler’s Green for a moment before it bent its head down to nip at the grass below. A deep sense of wonder filled you, pulling you up from your spot and easing you forward, toward the creature. As you got closer it lifted its head up and huffed a hot breath in your face.

“Easy,” you whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”

For a minute the both of you paused, watching one another closely until you lifted your hand toward it. A beat passed before the buck lifted its snout to your open hand and a rush of joy filled your lungs. You laughed softly, stroking its snout gently as the fur began to turn white beneath your palm. As it spread, filling the coat of the creature you smiled. The buck settled onto the ground and laid its head in your lap, groaning in pleasure when you’d scratch a certain spot.

The sun had finally set and the stars filled the sky as you watched the gentle creature. “White looks lovely on you.”

Hours passed and the creature remained at your side. You were excited to show Dream that such a magnificent beast did not fear you and had relaxed at your side, but when The Dreaming quaked and the night sky clouded over with darkness and rain your excitement quickly shifted to worry. A few moments later you could see the blazing flames at his feet and the glowing eyes of Dream of the Endless fix upon you.

“What happened?” You asked, concerned that his meeting had gone poorly.

“What did you do?” Was his reply as his eyes fixed on the creature now looking up at him startled.

You stroked a comforting hand down its snout. “He came from the woods to graze and trusted me to come close.”

Shadow and flame seethed over his stiff form as his wide, watery eyes looked at his creation, now snowy white, and venom filled his voice as he stalked forward. "What have you done?"

"I did nothing," you whispered.

"Was it not your touch that did this?" He spat, gesturing to the buck, an action that caused it to rise from your lap and skirt backward.

You too recoiled slightly, before standing and reaching out toward him. “Morpheus I… I’m sorry I didn’t think-”

His hand gripped yours tightly, squeezing until you could feel the bones groan and grind together beneath the skin. “That is the problem! You didn’t think! It is your lack of thought that causes The Corinthian to act out, to challenge and defy me.”

The Corinthian? You shook your head as tears welled in your eyes. “I haven’t said anything to him about defiance. Morpheus, please let me -”

“No.” He said, voice low and rumbling like thunder. "Everything you touch spoils… Everything you speak to is corrupted by your words. All of this is your doing. Another burden upon my shoulders for me to remedy."

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you looked at him, regarding you with the same expression he had for so long before. Dream looked at you now as though you were nothing... Nothing more than a burden. You were prepared for this, weren't you? How many years had you spent by his side fearing this exact thing?

It wasn't real… And perhaps it never had been.

You bowed your head, steeling your emotions. "Fear not, Dream Lord, I'll not make such mistakes again."

His eyes softened slightly, but Dream did not relent, he could not. He kept his head held high as you turned away and when he felt you vanish from his realm he kept it there. Dream did not listen to Lucienne's quiet concerns, nor did he permit Jessamy to speak on the matter. Whether he believed it was your fault or not mattered little now. What was done was done and now there was only the way forward.

All while you walked alone to your hut you heard Desire's voice echo all around you, the forest darker than it had ever been, the restlessness within it unending as the tiny specks of sunlight vanished. "Never his equal."

The flowers that had begun to grow along the path and beyond it wilted as you passed by. "My big brother will never change."

The mist curled around you, heavy and cold. "I hope you'll remember how I tried to warn you."

Nothing felt like yours anymore, not The Forest, the paths he'd treaded beside you just days ago. Not your hut, the soft cushioned surfaces he'd sat by your side and stroked your cheek free of tears. Not your clothes, the multitude of soft clothes he'd made and gifted to you. Not your collection of trinkets, the ones you'd placed in his hands and shared your stories with him.

All of it everywhere was filled with echoes of him, his scent, his power, his lies. With a strangled noise, you tore it all apart, throwing every last trinket and piece of furniture until only the broken pieces lay around you. Your hand curled around the shaping stone, the last surviving thing that hummed with dreams.

You lifted your arm, anger and hate filling your lungs as you prepared to throw it, shatter it and free yourself from the torturous presence it held. The pulse of life in your hand stopped you. It was a piece of something young and innocent and new. A life yet unlived. And there beside that, it held a piece of him, of star-filled skies, of moonlight paths and music and dancing. The part of Dream that had made you feel seen… That made you feel beautiful and worthy. It held Morpheus the being you had foolishly fallen in love with.

With a harsh sob, you lowered your arm, cradling the stone to your chest as you fell to the ground and wept. Warmth filled your hand as the stone spurred to life. "You know how this will end, don't you Mistake?"

Dream looked at the stained glass depiction of his nightmare looming over his throne, holding his helm tightly in his hands. He’d spent months listening to The Corinthians ever increasing words of defiance and outbursts, but he never truly thought the nightmare would go so far. It was easy to pinpoint the event that resulted in such unruly behavior, the two were always close. Daunt had not returned to The Dreaming since that night in Fiddler’s Green. He’d not locked the doors or banished her from his realm, yet there was still no sight of her, not even on the beaches or the pier.

Of course, he hadn’t been looking for her. Part of him still felt so angry at Hob Gadlings' accusations of needing companionship and at Daunt’s unexpected changing of one of his creatures, however unintentional it was. But it was not his anger that barred him from seeking Daunt out, it was his shame. How long had he nurtured the trust between them? How long had he wanted for her to feel comfortable enough to reach out and touch his creations, interact with his world in full only to punish her the moment she actually did it? Shame disguised as pride was a dangerous and horrible thing.

“My Lord?” Lucienne’s tentative voice broke him away from his thoughts and brought him back to the matter at hand. The Corinthian loose in the Waking World. His grip on his helm tightened. “Could you not… perhaps call upon Lady Daunt to follow after The Corinthian? The two were friends-”

“No.” He ground his teeth together. “This does not concern her.”

“You are coming back, aren’t you?”

Jessamy cawed at his feet. “Why would I not return, Lucienne?”

“I don’t know, a presentiment. As powerful as you are here, in your realm, dreams rarely survive in the Waking World.” He donned his helm and poured the sand from his pouch into the palm of his hand, feeling it swirl at his feet as his librarian continued. “Nightmares, on the other hand, seem to thrive there.”

“Here in the Darkness.” The disembodied voices echoed through the darkness that settled over your realm as bodies of shadow, creatures of hollow dreams, and rouge nightmares roamed your woods freely. At first, you thought this to be some punishment of Dreams, but The Forest cried out louder. “Here in the darkness.”

A shadow lunged for you, caught by the vines of the trees and dragged away before it could touch you. Another followed, scratching at your feet for a short moment before a flash of white leaped down and the sharp teeth closed around its throat with a sickening crunch. The white wolf looked up at you, deep blue eyes wide with worry. “Are you harmed, my lady?”

“No,” you assured the creature with a gentle touch. “I am fine, Sirius.”

Blue eyes flared to the remained shadows that the mist held at bay. “What are these creatures?”

You shook your head, examining them from your safe place. “Old shadows, spirits that were lost to The Forest long ago… though some are Nightmares.”

“Nightmares?”

“Yes, beings belonging to The Dreaming and to the Dream Lord.”

“He dares invade our realm?”

A chill ran up your spine and the ground quaked beneath you. “Here in the darkness.”

“No,” you whispered. “I fear this is something far more sinister.”

You hadn’t planned on returning to The Dreaming, not this soon at least, but your realm cried out and writhed in pain. The only one that could be responsible was Dream and so there you were, standing before the Gates of Horn and Ivory. Something was wrong. The sky was dull and the sand felt like it was a breath away from falling into nothingness. You reached up, but before you could even touch the gates they shook and groaned, opening of their own accord to reveal the lush forests and beautiful trees dead. All green was gone, replaced by black decay and crumbling stone.

There were very few Dreams and Nightmares in the town, all of them growing void of color and joy. The bridge to the palace quaked beneath your feet as you strode through the front doors of the palace and looked upon the empty throne. “Dream Lord?”

Sirius fell into place beside you, looking at the dull blue room warily. “This is the great palace of Dreams?”

“Dream?” You called again, louder this time.

“Daunt?” Lucienne’s voice replied as she hurried around the corner and smiled sadly. “Oh, my lady!”

You caught her in a tight hug. “What’s happened?”

She shook her head, tears forming behind her glasses. “Lord Morpheus… He’s missing.”

“Missing?” Memories of Destructions unexpected departure resurfaced. “When? Where?”

“A month ago…” She bowed her head. “Everyone else has given up hope… they say he has abandoned us as Destruction did his realm.”

You shook your head, a soft gasp escaping from your lips. “No. He wouldn’t do that.”

Lucienne’s eyes widened as she clutched the book she held to her chest. “Do you suppose this has something to do with The Corinthian?”

“The Corinthian?” Pain filled every breath you took. “It is your lack of thought that causes The Corinthian to act out, to challenge and defy me.”

“Yes, Lord Morpheus went to the Waking World to retrieve him.” Lucienne grimaced. “He fled to the Waking World and began… overstepping.”

"Everything you touch spoils… Everything you speak to is corrupted by your words. All of this is your doing. Another burden upon my shoulders for me to remedy." He had been right. You had done this… Had twisted his greatest creation with your touch and words… had caused him to flee his role. Is this what happened to Destruction as well? Was this part of your curse upon the universe?

Sirius nudged you, a soothing gesture he often did when you froze. “My lady, we should return to The Forest.”

You shook your head again, fighting back tears. “No. If Dream’s disappearance has caused such a disturbance there it will not be remedied until he returns.”

“What shall we do then?”

“Where was The Corinthian last? If I can find him perhaps he will lead me to Dream.”

Lucienne nodded, quickly consulting the book in her hands. “London. Here is the address. Please, my lady Daunt…” She let loose a shaking breath. “Bring him home. I know the two of you have been… distant… but-”

You set your hand on her shoulder and smiled. “I will bring him back, I swear it.”

You’d spent weeks in the Waking World, searching the streets of London for The Corinthian or Dream, yet found nothing. Sirius had been traveling back and forth between London and The Dreaming and The Forest, as you tried desperately to keep things from falling apart. Without Dream, you could always hear the desperate voices of the dreamers crying out, pained and broken as they pleaded with any god or being that would listen. It made sleep elude you, made every waking moment a never-ending nightmare. You had to find him.

Sirius vanished into the mist, back to The Forest where more creatures tore down barrier after barrier and threatened to take over your realm entirely. Everything was twisted and mangled and reeked of Despair. Whether the Endless twins had anything to do with this you still didn’t know, but you would find out one way or another after you found Dream.

You’d traveled further out of the town than normal, and made your way to a bridge that by the look of it led to some kind of house, a manor perhaps. For a moment you stood still, resting your hand on the edge of the bridge as the water echoed through your ears. You should have felt him, his power or presence, something. But there was nothing, only the river, the bridge, and the breeze. Just as you were about to turn around you heard it, a distant caw and the desperate beating of wings.

A voice. Jessamy. “Daunt!” Another caw echoed as you lifted your eyes to the sky, hope unfurling in your chest. “Daunt!”

“Jessamy!” You cried out, taking a half-step forward.

“NO!” The bird called out, trying to fly faster.

You were about to ask her what was wrong, what had happened, and where Dream was, but a calm hand resting on your shoulder stopped you. “I was hoping you’d give up, Daunty.”

“Corinthian?” You breathed turning to face your friend, but it was not your friend you laid eyes on… only the nightmare. The sting of steel tearing through your chest was unexpected and far more painful than you thought it would be. Gasping you looked down at the blade, at the blood that now stained your white dress, and at the shaking hand that held the hilt of the knife.

"I'm sorry Daunt…" The Corinthians' lips quivered, and his blade dug deeper into your chest. "But I can't let you free him."

You cupped his cheek, tears streaming down your face as one last cold breath slid past your lips, "My dear Corinthian..."

Jessamy’s screams and desperate caws echoed in your ears as you stumbled back from the nightmare. You fell over the edge of the stone bridge and down into the cold depths below. As you sank further and further down the water turned red before your eyes and a strong current pulled at your limp body, dragging you back toward the surface. The familiar misty canopy of the great tree greeted you, but The Forest groaned and the ground shook beneath you. Your body burned as the frost-ridden mist settled lower and the water that now flooded the roots of the great tree began to rise.

A dark figure appeared in the mist, walking languidly toward you while clapping slowly. “My, my, what a sorry sight you make.”

Desire. Their golden eyes appeared first, then the wide red Cheshire smile you loathed so much. The Forest grew louder as the leaves on the trees began to shake and shift from their mystic dark emerald to poisoned, rotted scarlet. The Endless bent over and took your chin in their hand. “I did tell you this would happen, didn’t I?”

You drew a deep, stuttered breath, “Leave.”

“Oh, little Mistake,” they purred. “It’s not very polite to bite the hand that’s here to save you.”

Save you? Pain flared in your chest and the roots of the trees began to move, drawing you in. Desire made a face, shifting to accommodate the wood before returning their burning eyes to you. “I can heal you, take you far from this dying little realm of yours and give you all your pathetic little heart desires. All I ask in return is that when the time comes you’ll help me bring my big brother to his knees.”

Even weak, dying, you scoffed. “I… Would rather die than betray Dream.”

“He has already betrayed you, Mistake.” Their grip on your chin grew tighter. “You are nothing to him. A burden he must shoulder. I could give you a grand palace, subjects to rule and worship you, a crown of gold and rubies. Everything you desire can be yours.”

“No,” You whispered in response. No matter how grand a kingdom Desire gave you, no matter how many subjects they offered or gold or rubies it would never be what you wanted, what you craved and desired with all of your being.

Love. It was all you wanted since the beginning of your life. For so long all you’d desired was someone to love you as you loved them… though back then you didn’t know the true depth of it. Back then you couldn’t have known that it was Dream you’d wanted to love you. Desire scowled at you and gripped the knife, still lodged into your chest, twisting as they spoke. “Stupid, idiotic, pathetic thing! Who are you to refuse my generosity? You are nothing but a mistake! You are a burden!”

They pulled the dagger out of your chest and lifted it, poised and ready to deal the final blow when Sirius leaped from the mist with an angry growl, latching onto Desire's wrist and forcing them to the ground. You could hear the struggle between the wolf and the Endless being, but you were too weak to aid your companion. A loud whimper and a booming frustrated cry echoed in the air before you felt Desire’s foreboding presence vanish from your world. Sirius returned to your side, one of his bright blue eyes now marred with a deep cut.

“My lady,” he whispered, lifting himself up to press a paw to your still bleeding wound. “How can I help you… What must I do?”

Redwater sloshed beneath you as the roots of the trees continued to groan and twist around you. “Stay. Stay beside me until the end.”

Sirius curled into your side, burying his snout into the crook of your neck. “Always, my lady.”

Frost settled onto the trees and moss as snow began to fall from the darkened sky. The mist grew thicker as darkness descended on The Forest. Above the cracking of the tree roots and the rushing water and the sinister whispers the saddened, fearful whines of a loyal companion could be heard through every dream and nightmare. All would hear your quiet labored breaths and feel the cold overtake your skin. All but the man with stars in his eyes trapped behind the glass. All but Dream of the Endless.

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thebatshitcrazyfangirl · 11 months

Text

Sleep Of The Corrupt- Morpheus x Goddess!Reader

Hello all! Sorry for not posting in a while, I had some health issues and struggled to get back into my writing schedule. But I am back now!

Summary: “Sleep Of The Just” AU. While searching for your daughter, Elaina, you’re summoned and imprisoned by Roderick Burgess. Mistaking you for Death, he demands the resurrection of his son and other unworthy gifts. Instead of fulfilling his demands, you make him realize his horrific mistake.

TW: None really. Cosmic horror (heavily inspired by H. P. Lovecraft). Some fluff, some angst.

WC: 8.4k (Oof…)

Divider by: @firefly-graphics

“Ellie!” You shouted down the palace corridors and in every room, frantically scouring from top to bottom for your little girl- only to come up empty.

This wasn’t like her. Your daughter never ventured beyond Fiddler’s Green and the House of Secrets. No matter where she wandered, Elaina was always under the trusted supervision of dreams, while you and Morpheus tended to your realms and responsibilities.

An irritated huff heaved from your lips as you strode down another corridor. This stressful game of hide and seek was beyond exhausting. Alas, you and Morpheus have no choice but to play.

The abrupt sound of a slamming door clapped through the air like thunder, ascending into the rapid approach of Morpheus’s footsteps.

“Any sign of her?”

He shook his head. “None. The dreams and nightmares have found no sign. Even Jessamy has had little luck.”

“We’ve been searching for hours. How have we not found her?” You huffed in distress, wringing your hands as your thoughts spun in overwhelming worry.

If she was nowhere to be found, then wouldn’t that mean- No. Elaina couldn’t leave The Dreaming on her own… Not unless-

Your heart sank, crumbling into lifeless dust at the horrific possibility. Stressful tears glazed your eyes, lighting your nerves ablaze in a dreadful panic.

“Love, we’ll find her.” Hands warmer than sunshine caressed your shoulders in soothing circles. He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. Effective as always, your body slowly relaxed in his arms; against all maternal intuition blaring like an alarm, begging you to search for your daughter. “It’s likely she just wandered off farther than usual.”

“Beyond a dream’s reach?” You muttered dejectedly into his coat. “What if she’s not even here?”

“That shouldn’t be possible unless she had an escort. Besides, where would she go if she had the chance?”

Your eyes grew wide. There was a realm Elaina was highly affiliated with, one she loved to visit every chance she could.

Your birthplace. The Waking World.

“How did we forget?” You grumbled, suddenly pulling yourself from the embrace.

“Forget what?”

Unlike Morpheus and his siblings, your divinity was gifted to you nearly two decades ago, after the former Goddess of Chaos passed her crown and abilities down to you. The succession ultimately stripped you of most of your mortal life; all except your loving parents.

“If she could go anywhere, would it not be The Waking World? To my parents?” You asserted, turning down the corridor in bolting strides.

You both knew how much your parents adored Elaina. Since the day she was born, they were instantly wrapped around her little finger. They spoiled her rotten and treated her like a princess, showering her with new toys and pretty dresses every chance they could.

There was rarely a weekend or holiday where they didn’t invite you and your family over for dinner, or offer to keep Elaina for sleepovers and day trips. (Perhaps to give you and Morpheus some ‘alone time’; hopefully resulting in more grandchildren, you theorized.)

“It’s a valid theory, but an unlikely one,” Morpheus argued as he caught up to your hurried pace. “My dreams are always watching over her. They would’ve noticed her leaving with an escort.”

“Maybe, maybe not. It’s still a possibility, and far more favorable than others.” You paused your pace and spun to face him; already expecting the heavy skepticism gracing his features.

“One hour. Allow me one hour to search my old home, while you continue the search here. Please,” you negotiated and pleaded with a desperate look in your glistening eyes. “For the sake of my sanity. Before we consider the very worst.”

Morpheus sighed in thought, considering every outcome of your plan.

As much as he loves and adores you, you were still the embodiment of Chaos. He couldn’t deny the potential havoc your mere presence could wreak on The Waking World. Even with your totems, which stabilize and hinder Chaos’s effects, it was still risky. Especially during a world war.

However, if you remained true to your word and wore your crown and pendant, an hour in The Waking World would hardly cause any impact.

“One hour, and not a moment more.”

You smiled in victory, launching yourself to the tips of your toes, and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“I won’t be long.” You promised, before disappearing in a whirlwind of black fire.

You stood before your parents’ home, dark and eerily quiet; not a soul to be found.

Must be out at the tavern, or visiting a friend, you reckoned. An irritable groan rumbled in the back of your throat as you strode down the road with tears brimming in your eyes.

Every hope you had crumbled into dust. Your worst fear has come to fruition. Your little girl was missing; only protected by the Fates’ mercy, wandering whatever realm in careless adventure.

What if she’s hurt? What if I’m too late? What if-

Breathe.

You halted your feverish pace; standing in the gentle trajectory of a cool breeze. It whipped through the sleek satin of your crimson gown in flowing waves, effectively cooling you down.

It was oddly refreshing; recollective in a way. Your thoughts slowly simmered down into a hushed calm, refined to focus on your next move.

“Ellie!” A child’s voice echoed in the distance.

Your vitals halted, skipping several beats as your eyes bulged out of your skull. It couldn’t be, could it-

Your feet moved on their own, taking off into a violent sprint through poorly lit alleyways and side streets.

With every step, the distant, delighted giggles grew louder and clearer, filling the crisp air and echoing into the inky night. You rounded every corner frantically, chasing after the laughter like your life depended on it. Please be her, you prayed. Please be her…

The series of small streets led you straight to the laughing culprits- two young girls swinging on a swing set in a park. Of tangled midnight and sunshine tresses you could instantly pick out of a lineup.

You could finally breathe, praising all the stars in the sky that your daughter was safe. You should’ve known Shivering Jemmy was watching over her, upholding her role as Elaina’s self-sworn protector. The little Lord of Chaos has never left her side since she was born, destined to be her partner in crime from the very beginning.

“Where did you find this place? It’s amazing!” Jemmy exclaimed, thrusting her legs forward to swing higher.

“My grandma brought me here when I stayed over last week,” Elaina said, kicking a rock with her filthy slipper from under her lavender nightgown, thickly caked in mud and grass.

The little vein on your forehead was about to pop. You and that nightgown are getting scrubbed with a brush when we return home…

As quietly as you could, you approached the girls and leaned against the swing set’s A-frame with your arms crossed.

“A bit far from home, are we now?” You said suddenly.

The girls nearly jumped out of their seats. Jemmy dragged her bare feet against the gravel, sputtering to a halt. As white as phantoms, they slowly turned to face your impending wrath.

“H-hi, Mommy…” Elaina greeted in uncertainty with large (E/C) glossed over in a silent plea as her lower lip jutted out in a quivering pout.

“H-hello, Your Grace…” Jemmy muttered quietly with a bowed head.

“Are the play gyms at home no longer to your liking?” You asked with a stern edge to your tone.

“N-no, no, it’s not that!” Your daughter exclaimed, flinching at her loud, impolite tone. A solemn frown fell over her face. “It’s just… I had so much fun when Grandma brought me here, I wanted to show Jemmy. I won’t do it again, I promise! Please don’t be mad, I’m really sorry…”

A small, sad smile twitched on the edges of your lips. You should be angry, you know. You should scold her for disappearing from The Dreaming. You should forbid her from leaving the palace for at least 10 years; solely for the stress and upset her little adventure sparked.

No, you were far too relieved to be angry with her. Jemmy, on the other hand, was a different story…

“I’m not mad.” You shook your head as you settled in the empty swing beside your daughter, swaying back and forth in a gentle rock.

“However, you cannot wander off like this again, Ellie. Not even with Jemmy. Realms like The Waking World are not like The Dreaming, it’s very dangerous to be alone here. That’s why it’s important that someone like me, Daddy, Grandma, or Grandpa are always with you when you’re here. Do you understand?”

Elaina’s dark brows furrowed at your warning. “Why is it dangerous here? Are there monsters?”

Your gaze shifted, falling on the amusement gleaming in Jemmy’s eyes. Oh, if only Elaina knew the irony in her interest…

As products of Chaos, you held the ability to bend Reality itself to create unspeakable horrors and magnificence alike. Powerful in every sense, it struck fear in those who knew the vast scale of your prowess.

Because of this, you’ve been called a monster more times than you could count. Shivering Jemmy even more so. Often by those who were more monstrous than you could ever be, ironically.

“In a way… Most beings are friendly and kind, but some are cruel and monstrous. Some that wish to hurt others…” You said with caution, not wishing to scare her. “That’s why you always need to be careful here. Alright?”

“Okay.” She nodded through a yawn. “Can we go home now?”

“Of course.” You smiled as you stood, holding a hand out to her. “It’s far past your bedtime, sweetheart-”

Here in the darkness…

A chant echoed in the recesses of your mind, growing increasingly louder with every step you took. You froze, suddenly paralyzed by excruciating pain unlike any other. It felt like you were being ripped apart-

Here in the darkness…

You fell to your knees, eyes glistening in fresh tears, choking and gasping for air. What’s happening?

“Mommy! What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Elaina cried, crouching beside you, watching in complete terror as grainy smoke slowly engulfed you.

Here in the darkness…

It took all you could not to scream. The smoke was like a torrential current, pulling you under with unbridled force. You don’t know how much longer you can hold on…

With the last of your strength, your eyes locked with your most trusted Lord of Chaos. “G-get Mor-phe-us!”

You let go- suffocated in unfeeling darkness.

Here in the darkness…

“I give you a coin made from a stone.”

‘What is this place…?’ You stirred in the void.

Here in the darkness…

“I give you a knife from under the hills, and I give you the blood from out of my vein…”

‘Ugh…’ The void lightens in a crimson hue.

Here in the darkness!

“I give you a song I stole from the dirt, and I give you a feather pulled from an angel’s wing for you to lift up into the heavens…”

Slowly, you ascended from the depths, towards a growing light.

Here in the darkness!

“I summon you with poison!”

You choke; your floating body contorting in unbearable pain.

HeRe In ThE dArKnEsS!

“I summon you with pain!”

‘Yes. Very much in pain…’ You screamed silently into the void, thrashing against its soul-crushing depths.

HeRe In ThE dArKnEsS!

“I open the way, I open the gates…”

‘Let me out!’ The light grows brighter, blinding and burning…

HERE IN THE DARKNESS!

“I summon you in the names of the old lords. Namtar, Allatu, Morax… Maborym calls you. Horvendile calls you. We summon you together. Come!”

Cold and hard as Reality’s forge, you fall from your otherworldly prison onto stone tiles with a sickening thud. Your ruby crown slipped from its place atop your head, and your matching ornate pendant smacked harshly against your jaw and clattered into your tresses from the brutal impact.

A pained hiss huffed against the stone faster than you could stop it- a sharp ache erupted on the side of your skull in strong, harrowing waves. Faintly, you could feel blood seep in thick rivers from the fracture’s wound, tangling your disheveled strands and staining the tiles below.

You winced at every sharp shift of jagged bone mending back in place; slowly subsiding into a dull throb beating in sync with your pounding heart.

Had you retained your mortality, you would be lucky to be alive, or hindered with severe mental impairments. It was a wonder you were still conscious, even with your godliness rushing to your aid.

The room erupted in hushed whispers and startled gasps. You peeked under the strands of hair slipping over your face. Archaic summoning, based on the binding circle and sigils used. Black robes and hoods? Occult perhaps? Cold stone floor and no windows that you could see. A cellar?

“Alex?” The caster’s voice called out. You slammed your eyes shut as a shadow loomed over you. “Alex!”

You cracked an eye open, as small, timid footsteps slowly approached beside the caster. His face was hard to see, but from their stature, they were young. Perhaps five years older than Elaina, if you were to guess.

“Get that crown for me,” the man barked. “But be careful. Don’t break the binding circle.”

Heedful hands reached forward and gently untangled the woven strands around the crown’s ornate frame.

“Hurry, boy!” The boy gasped in panic, ripping the last few strands free with a sudden tug, and handed it to the man.

“Hmm. Gold and rubies.” The caster inspected it before handing it off to one of his disciples.

You repressed the urge to smirk. They must not know who you are, or the true purpose your jewels served…

“Now the jewel. There.” The man pointed to the dazzling gem around your neck. The child reached forward and snatched the ruby. “Good.”

Fools, you nearly broke your façade.

“Well, let’s see what other treasures you have for us.” The caster said with beaming eyes, as he reached forward and grabbed the neckline notch of your fiery bell sleeve.

“What barbarity…” Your amusement loomed through the air with the cold, harsh sting of venom. The grip on your sleeve was abruptly released with shaken gasps and scuffling footsteps. You couldn’t help but laugh, rolling over with a triumphant grin aimed at your captor. “Disrobing a vulnerable woman? What a disgrace you must be to your lover and mother.”

The man smirked, an unspoken equal to your taunting quips. “Awake, are we?”

You nodded, shifting to your knees under your crimson skirt. “I’ve been. Your spell work is impressive, however, flawed.”

His smirk fell with disdain, rousing your own. “Though, I suppose it performed as intended… Somewhat.” You rose to your feet, radiating the very essence of power- of a true goddess. “So, what do you want?”

“I captured you under the laws of magic. Therefore, I command you, Death, to return my son Randall, who died in the Gallipoli Campaign. If you give him back to me, alive and well, I’ll release you from this binding circle. A fair deal, wouldn’t you agree?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, suppressing every mocking quip running through your mind.

Oh, this is rich!

“Barbaric and benighted… I’m afraid your demands are impossible to fulfill.” You smiled, enjoying the fallen look plastered on his face. “Death cannot revive the dead. Especially souls long passed on and corpses reduced to dust and bone. Your efforts are fruitless, Summoner.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, nor the entire truth. There were other ways one could revive the dead- albeit at an extravagant cost, often a life for a life, or paired with severe consequences. Something he may have considered, given his talent in magic. Perhaps he refused to get his hands dirty or aimed at cheating the age-old rules of magic.

“Resurrect him,” Your summoner pressed with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “If you wish to regain your freedom, you’ll answer my command.”

Your jaw clenched in your simmering irritation. “Do we speak in different tongues? Death leads souls to the afterlife, not back. Therefore, your request demands what cannot be done. No matter how untimely, Death makes no mistake. Your son was destined to die that day, and you cannot change that!”

Your summoner reeled back in disbelief, abhorred by your words.

Calm down…You sighed deeply, recollecting yourself from your burst of anger. “Please forgive my harsh words, it was incredibly insensitive of me. You have my condolences, I cannot imagine the pain of losing a child. But death is never the end. When your time comes, you shall be reunited with your child on the other side. That’s the only solace I can provide.”

“So, what can you give me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Since you refuse to fulfill my request, I ask this in compromise: If I were to let you go, if I promise to give back your jewels… Power? Wealth? Immortality? Is there anything you can offer me?” The caster asked with a supercilious smirk.

Your lip curled in disgust. He’s demanding ransom for your tools now? Divine rewards for your freedom, for your totems’ theft, for ripping you away from your daughter?

“All I will offer is my word not to curse you and your followers.” You snarled in rising fury. “Release me and return my belongings and I shall forget this encounter ever happened. You’ll live out the rest of your days in peace, so long as you never cross paths with me or the Endless again.”

His eyes hardened at your harsh tone, visibly dissatisfied with your offer.

“Take the deal.” You hissed through gritted teeth. Your totems’ absence was taking its toll. Chaos’s full effect ran rampant in your veins like pure adrenaline, fanning the flames of latent corruption and masked madness, engulfing all semblance of morality and sanity in mayhem’s blaze. “It’s my most generous offer, given the circumstances. Consider yourself fortunate. Had you summoned any other member of my family, they would not be as kind.”

“Well, then. Make yourself at home in your binding circle. Until you are ready to comply, I’ll enjoy the gifts you’ve already given me.”

A cold, dark cackle echoed throughout the room, sending devastating chills down the followers’ spines. Many glanced at the exit, ready to sprint from your sinister presence at the drop of a hat. “You truly believe a chalk drawing will contain me?”

Scarlet lighting pricked along your fingertips and sparked the surrounding air ablaze in midnight cosmic fire. With each flicker, your power spun hazy tapestries of bleeding crimson stars and humming supernovas, emanating a horrific sense of fear your summoner had never experienced.

What fools they were, they realized too late.

This wasn’t Death. The caster realized in horror, unable to look away at the eldritch magic spinning from your fingertips in glowing waves. “W-what a-are you?!”

“Reality’s nightmare, so to speak.” You smiled darkly, watching the flames of Chaos roll from your fingertips in curling wisps. “You should’ve taken the deal, Magician. All this could’ve been prevented…”

With a twist of your wrist, the golden binding circle floated from its stone canvas and twirled around you at waist level. The gold cracked in a ruby-red glow, streaking slowly around the ring in lightning-like divots.

Your summoner stumbled back with eyes wide in disbelief, watching in horror as weeks of preparation fell effortlessly on the verge of destruction.

A devious, taunting smile curved across your lips, savoring the fear in his eyes.

With a flick of your wrist, the binding circle shattered.

“Why is it that when something goes awry in this prison, I’m somehow to blame?” The Corinthian huffed in disinterest, twirling his bloody blade while rocking lazily in his chair. His mud-covered heels propped up on the library table, dragging sludge in crusty streaks across the grain.

Lucienne wrinkled her nose at the mess, glaring daggers into the nightmare’s skull.

“Given your rogue nature and hatred of me, it’s hardly unreasonable to question your potential involvement.” Morpheus nearly growled from across the table.

The search in The Dreaming resulted as you predicted: Elaina was nowhere to be found.

Evidently, the Corinthian’s whereabouts were a bit of a mystery. Morpheus was aware of his murderous escapades in The Waking World; kidnapping, amongst other horrific crimes, was hardly beneath him.

Morpheus gritted his teeth and dug angry crescents into his palms. If possibility became reality, if the Corinthian hurt Elaina in any way, he wouldn’t hesitate to condemn him to fate worthy of his monstrosity. Morpheus already had more than enough reason to destroy his creation, why not make him beg for his demise?

“You really think so ill of me?” He chuckled, tapping the tip of his knife against his smiling lips. “See, if I truly hated you, I would’ve found some way to be rid of you once and for all, and kill that spoiled little brat. As for that powerful beauty you call a wife, I might keep her around for my entertainment… I’m certain she’s a screamer in more ways than one.”

“Do you wish to be unmade? Watch your tongue if you value your existence.” Morpheus hissed through his teeth as his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

A mocking laugh fell from the nightmare’s lips. “Is that your favorite threat? You’ve over worn its impact long ago. It’s just another one of your empty threats-”

“Enough!” His voice boomed in a burst of sinister rage, reverberating in powerful, poignant waves. The library shook with an earthquake’s wrath, toppling magnificent chandeliers and infinite bookshelves to the floor into crashing heaps.

“I’m in no mood to play games, Corinthian.” He warned in a dangerous tone. “Did you harm my daughter? Yes or no?”

All amusement fell from the nightmare’s face, slouching in his chair with a huff. “No.”

“Did you abduct Elaina?”

“No, I didn’t take your kid.” He asserted with an aggravated sigh as he lifted his feet off the table. “As much as I hate to rat myself out, I wasn’t in The Dreaming much today. If you don’t believe me, there are eyes all over your domain, right? Ask any of them if they saw me today; especially before your kid disappeared.”

“Where do you claim to be when Lady Elaina disappeared?” Lucienne inquired.

He smacked his lips together in thought. “Out.”

“So, The Waking World then? Indulging your bloodlust, no doubt-”

“My point is, I had nothing to do with Elaina disappearing. It may come as a shock, but the brat is terrified of me. Every time our paths crossed, she’d dart in the other direction. She’d never let me anywhere near her without screaming her head off.”

He chuckled to himself. “How ‘bout that… The King of Nightmares’ kid is easily frightened. Heh. What a treat...”

Silver eyes scanned the nightmare’s demeanor in harsh scrutiny. All taunting remarks had vanished (mostly) and his inflection felt genuine (for once!). Though he was a brilliant liar and skilled manipulator, Morpheus felt inclined to believe him.

And it drained him of all hope.

Perhaps he was too confident in the Corinthian’s involvement; too focused on ending this heartbreaking search.

He just wanted his little girl home; safe and sound.

“Daddy!” A child’s voice screamed at the top of their lungs, as the pitter-patter of tiny feet rumbled through the library.

Morpheus’s sunken heart leaped in his chest- whipping his head around with enough force to snap his neck.

Please be her…

Instant relief washed over him in icy waves; darting across the piles of strewn books and broken glass, with tangled midnight tresses, and speckled from head to toe in a thin layer of grime, was his missing daughter.

“Ellie…”

He fell to his knees with his arms extended wide in welcome, careless of the glass shards cutting through his pants. Tears streamed down the young girl’s face in trembling rivers. She sprinted as fast as she could into his outstretched arms, waiting to engulf her shaking frame in a bone-crushing embrace.

He could finally breathe, as mountains of stress and worry dissipated into thin air.

His hope was restored.

Elaina was home.

“I told ya it wasn’t me…” The Corinthian remarked snidely, shifting back in his seat with blatant disinterest and boredom written on his face.

“‘I’m sorry! I’m s-s-so sorry!” She sobbed in breathless heaves against his shoulder.

“Darling, you’re safe. That’s all that-”

“No!” Elaina cried, ripping herself out of his arms. “There-therewasthisstrangesmoke-and-and-Ididn’tknowwhattodo! Thisisallmyfault! WehavetogosaveMommybeforeithurtsher!”

“Take a deep breath and calm down.” He said in a soothing voice, wiping her streaming tears away with his thumb. “Now, tell me what happened-”

“Ellie!” Another child’s voice called from outside the library. “Where are you?”

Jemmy?

Ragged blonde hair scurried through the entrance. Her wide, mischievous eyes now shimmered in odd distress as they fell on the scene. Without a thought, she sprinted over the scattered mess at a frantic pace and latched a relentless grip on Morpheus’s coat sleeve.

“Come on! Let’s go! Let’s go! We gotta help her!” Jemmy exclaimed, tugging on the sleeve and dragging him towards the door.

Confusion distorted his handsome features. Never had he witnessed these girls behave so distraught and hysterical.

“Girls, tell me what has happened!” He demanded, tugging his arm out of Jemmy’s grasp.

Elaina sniffled. “S-Something took Mommy…”

And just like that, all sense of relief lit furiously ablaze once again.

He froze; stunned and dumbfounded, with wide eyes shining in panic. A deity’s capture was unheard of. Cosmic divinities, such as the Endless and unique gods like you, made virtually impossible prey; even by magical means.

Your captors were either formidable foes or fools graced by dumb luck.

A forced smile curved across his lips; despite his worry and rage crashing over his being in devastating waves. Despite every compelling desire to hunt your captors down like animals and inflict a hell worthy of their actions. (If you hadn’t already). Despite everything, the need to protect you and Elaina took precedence above all else.

“Elaina,” he called out softly. Her tearful (e/c) eyes gleaming with guilt and panic met his own, sending a twinge of pain straight to his heart.

“Don’t believe for a second that you caused this. In no way is this your fault. Dry your tears, darling. I’ll bring her home.” His hand wiped the lazy streams rolling over her cheeks and tucked her dark locks behind her ear.

“Alright.” The Corinthian huffed as he emerged from his seat. “You got what you wanted. The brat’s safe. Can I leave now?”

“You may,” Morpheus grumbled, glaring lethal daggers at the nightmare. “Leave The Dreaming again, and I will uphold my every threat. Remember, my dreams are always watching...”

The Corinthian rolled his eyes beneath his glasses; falling on Elaina with a sinister smirk.

The young girl squeaked in distress and cowered into her father’s chest. Morpheus wrapped a protective arm around her in a makeshift shield, glaring a look of a thousand threats at the nightmare.

An animalistic growl rumbled from The Lord of Chaos like ominous thunder; quick to root herself between her best friend and The Corinthian’s vile gaze like a defensive wall.

“Heh. See you around, kid.” He laughed as he sauntered out of the library.

In slow shifts, Morpheus relaxed; only daring to drop his arms from around the frightened girl when every trace of the nightmare’s presence had vanished.

The theatrics of his departure consumed more time than he’d liked. There was no telling what sort of torture you were enduring; or inflicting. He needed to leave soon. Your safety and Reality’s stability depended on it.

“Darling,” Elaina lifted her head with a frown at his gentle tone. “I want you to stay with Lucienne until I return with your mother. Alright?”

With a sniffle, she nodded; throwing her arms around him in one last hug. “Be careful, Daddy.”

He smiled, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “Always.”

Pain. Infinite agony.

Swallowed whole by the corrupted dark and vast emptiness, Burgess crumbled to his knees under the pressure of dreadful despair and maniacal lunacy. The vast abyss resonated in a tormented cacophony of his followers’ frightful screams and deranged cackles. Some begged for death, while others wreaked in its promise. What horrors could warp their minds to such a degree?

“How does it feel, Summoner?” your voice echoed beyond the distorted cosmos.

Burgess stared into the abyss with panic; all rational sense failing to comprehend this cruel reality.

“Confined in an endless cage of my creation…”

This shouldn’t be possible… This cannot be possible! How did it come to this? He followed the grimoire’s instructions down to the punctuation! How could the ritual mistake the Angel of Death for a Chaos Goddess?

With what little strength remained, he lifted himself to his feet. In his hurried desperation, he stumbled- trampling over his writhing followers, either falling into Death’s welcoming embrace or shoving them to their untimely end.

An extended hand shot out instinctively to catch his fall, colliding with the barrier’s edge. Burgess smiled, reveling in the faint glimmer of hope coldly brushing against his fingertips.

So even reality-manipulating deities have their limits, the man mused. How pitiful.

With the wall as his guide, he lurched into a sprint.

“Is this not the fate you designed for Death?”

Boom…

Colossal footsteps rumbled like a devastating earthquake. His teeth chattered and knees wobbled under its violent intensity, he clung to the invisible wall for dear life.

“Had you been competent enough to catch her?”

Burgess shuddered at the brutal chill in your taunts and ridicule. What had he done to be punished so harshly? He only sought after what any grieving parent dreamt of achieving by any means necessary. Any entity with a shred of decency or compassion would recognize this!

No, he supposed a chaos demoness like yourself could never understand. Your monstrosity was beyond mercy and reason.

“Ignorance is bliss, my foolish summoner…”

Boom…

Intense tremors reverberated in such ungodly strength, Burgess was surprised the vibrations didn’t shatter his bones. He needed to move; he knew. Your footfalls were drawing near, albeit at a sinister snail’s pace. Staying put was suicide, running away guaranteed grave injury in his old age.

As the rumbles died, Burgess bolted. He gritted through the strain ripping at his joints, desperate to get away. If he could somehow evade your wrath and wait out your patience, perhaps he had a chance of escaping with his life and sanity-

BOOM!

His balance rocked and wavered in a fatal stumble; stomach clenching in surprise, quickly throwing a hand out to catch his fall. But found nothing.

With a screech, Burgess fell.

The inky darkness faded into a spectacle of roaring colors and freezing devastation. He screamed, twisting and contorting in an oscillating tunnel of blue and purple clouds twinkling in stardust, plunging into the heart of the universe; the soul of reality.

“Wandering blindly into the dark unknown, far beyond this vast and magical reality…”

Fearful eyes widened as the screech of rushing comets and planet-sized meteors whistled past him in blazing intensity. Stars around him buzzed and blazed in a sweltering dance of dust and light, raising thick beads of sweat on his brows.

Burgess couldn’t move, barely able to shield himself from the bursting blaze of dying stars. Fiery cinders seared like blazing bullets through clothes and bones alike. His cries of excruciating pain and babbling pleads fell on deaf and uncaring ears.

Utterly helpless, an unfortunate victim of reality’s wrath, he plummeted further into the maddening dark.

“Stranded before otherworldly truths and horrors mankind was never meant to witness…”

Swirling galaxies and glittering supernovas warped into a scarlet hollow faintly cracking in thunder’s roar. It emanated a heinous stench- something akin to burning brimstone and rotting meat. It seemed to loom in thick, noxious billows, weaving through the bloody chasm with strange sentience.

A living creature this far down?

Through watering eyes and bile burning his throat, he observed the strange fog dancing in helical patterns through the void. They seemed to move with purpose; for what, he did not know. Besides spreading its horrendous funk.

An improper omen, Burgess realized quickly; a vague warning of what waited in the darkness below. Nothing could’ve prepared him for what real horrors lingered beyond the shadows of time and space.

His eyes widened in their behold, witnessing firsthand the unholy creatures of madness and nightmares.

Beyond misty trails and beats of thunder, the raucous, high-pitched cries of a thousand broken flutes blared in a toneless tune. It was deafening- maddening; ringing in his eardrums like amplified tinnitus.

To his right, short humanoid creatures with pale gaunt faces and fibrous bat wings swarmed a twister-covered islet. They flailed in a strange dance, almost mindlessly, to the blaring broken wail. The rampant vortices easily swept their fluttering bodies in their currents- even that failed to hinder their ridiculous dance.

To his left- may the gods have mercy- colossal tentacles coated in thick scales and blister-like pustules emerged from the dark in sluggish sways. Their scale was incomprehensible; one languid swipe could destroy planets! The godless beast could swallow entire star systems, he feared.

“Lest what semblance of sanity rots into chaos and madness.”

Burgess’s eyes fell forward, to his sanity’s dismay.

Before him was the center of it all. The creator of beasts. Primordial madness.

It was an eyeless cyclopean entity; a bloated and unsightly mass of bulbous knots covered in leathery tendrils and mucus-like sludge. Rows of razor-sharp teeth lined the infinite orifice masking its featureless face; ready to devour any careless creature that fell into its jaws.

Much like Burgess.

His lips peeled back in a hopeless grin under his powerful sobs, cachinnating in a crazed chorus under the flutes’ insipid tune.

So this is the truth behind madness? Behind reality itself? He wondered in chortling delight, falling straight into the jaws of fate.

Oh, he couldn’t wait to tell Randall of this wondrous truth! Of all the majestic, abominable marvels lying dormant at reality’s edge!

This truth… Reality’s glorious truth! It was far superior to power or wealth, beyond the hollow values of humanity and sanity’s restraints.

Here, he was a tiny insignificant speck about to be swallowed by a cosmic leviathan, and never felt more doomed and freed.

***

You hummed with a smile, hovering above the crafted reality with amusement in your fiery eyes. The nonsensical ramblings of madmen never ceased to amuse you. Especially those driven to the brink by your own hand.

A low chuckle spilled from your lips. Oh, how you missed this! Basking in chaotic corruption was such an invigorating thrill! You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so free; so unhinged.

Fiery darkness danced at your fingertips in weaving flicks, fabricating every twinkling star and horrid monstrosity alike. This reality is becoming one of your favorites, you think. It was inspired by the terrifying dreams Morpheus had created for an aspiring writer in America. You were captivated by the concept of unfathomable deities from the depths of the cosmos, able to influence sensitive minds through dreams and evoke chaos and madness with their presence alone.

You wonder what inspired the idea…

Screams of pain pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced into the void- oh, how wonderful! Your summoner impaled himself on a colossal tooth in the monster’s gullet.

You laughed in sadistic delight, watching him wriggle and writhe in his last heaving breath.

Well, that’s no fun…

With a jerk of your finger, Burgess slid off the tooth in a sickening squelch as the gaping cavity in his chest laced back together like a corset- just enough to keep him alive a little while longer.

Much better! Now then, what else could you inflict on your pompous captor-

“Love, that’s enough.”

You froze; paralyzed by a voice softer than silk. All baleful thoughts halted in their fiery rant, instantly snuffed out by calming tidal waves.

A gentle hand slipped past the cosmic flames’ flicker and curled over your own- silencing every violent and vengeful desire Chaos had spurred in an instant.

His joy clashed with your rage. His hope battled your despair. His light defeated your darkness.

Regretful tears rolled in rivers down your face and fell into the corrupted reality below. How could you have strayed so far? How could you abandon all the goodness that he taught you?

How could you let yourself become the monster so many believed you to be? Including yourself…

You gripped his hand as tight as you could, clinging to the warmth of his touch, terrified of letting go. Of losing control again.

Guilt washed over you with a hurricane’s wrath. Your actions reverberated like a torturous echo; the screams of terror, the pleas for death, the horrific pain your rage created…

What have I done?

In resisting flickers, the blazing black flames slowly suffocated into a dying hush, compelling Reality’s unravel.

***

“Argh-”

THUD!

“Ugh…” Burgess stirred in the bone-shattering pain coursing through his body. He groaned into something cold and hard like concrete- The belly of the beast? The bottom of reality?

He lifted his head with a sharp jerk, his forehead gleaming in a sheet of sweat and eyes wide with madness- darting in hyper dashes all over the room.

How odd… Wherever he was, it took the likeness of his cellar. No- that can’t be right! Perhaps his new surroundings were so unfathomable, his mind replaced its nonsense with memories.

His thoughts cackled as he rolled onto his back in a careless flop. How curious… The clarity of his memories was exquisite! Insignificant details seemed to burst off of the constructed reality his memories painted. Every speck of dust and cobweb beamed with undeniable certainty; even his (surely) deceased followers writhing and groaning in their stupor beside him seemed too real.

“Love, it’s alright,” Morpheus whispered softly over your muffled cries.

“I-it happened a-again… It’s a-all m-my f-fault…”

A furrow creased Burgess’s white brows; he didn’t recognize that voice. This was a memory! He was certain! Who was this man? How did he get into his head?

Burgess turned his head towards the voice with a twitch in his neck and sparkling paranoia in his eyes. The man was tall like a tree with a face paler than snow and dressed in a black darker than the night sky. He nearly towered over a woman dressed in red, wrapping his arms around her in a protective embrace and holding her close to his chest.

Another entity perhaps-

That woman! The ethereal goddess of Reality’s truth! Is she an alternate version of the other deity? Was this still a memory, or did she submerge him into another reality? One with secrets that demanded to be explored?

No! No! No! His mind still spiraled in the truth of his former plane of existence!

His sanity would surely combust if he faced another truth!

“…let’s go home,” Morpheus said, and you pulled from his embrace with a sniffle.

“M-my totems…” Your tearful eyes glanced at Burgess with strange sorrow.

What for? He should thank you! Praising you, worshiping the ground you walked on for opening his eyes to reality’s wonderful truth!

The man’s steel eyes followed yours, hardening instantly with contempt.

“I’ll handle it.”

Burgess jumped back with a trembling hiss like he had been burned by the entity’s searing stare. His eyes of steel seemed to pierce far beyond flesh and bone, beyond the blood pumping erratically in his veins, and the fluttering ventricles beating out of his chest. He pierced something much more hallowed and precious. Cold and relentless, it intended to punish several lifetimes over.

Billows of fine sand suddenly engulfed the entities into a grainy vortex. His trembling arms were quick to shield his face from the sand’s whipping wrath.

As quick as it appeared, the wind died down- and the entities had vanished.

Burgess did not sleep that night.

He couldn’t- he wouldn’t. No- they’ll be waiting for him in his dreams! Those eldritch monsters beyond reality’s veil, lingering in the chaotic dark… Waiting. Biding their time for God knows what.

To swallow the universe whole? Wreak chaos and destruction to every plane?

He paced his study in a hysterical flutter. The pleas of his followers and physicians, even the desperate cries of his son couldn’t reach him. Their voices were all drowned out by the blaring sound of cracked flutes.

It was stuck in his mind, playing on a relentless loop like a tortuous record. Ear-splitting and harmonious, a monotonous symphony!

No! He refused to let his guard down. The dark couldn’t be trusted!

Burgess halted in his pace; dashing to his desk and grabbed a pen from its well.

Godless. He sprawled messily over a loose page. Those abominations were far beyond any god’s reach. Perhaps they were gods themselves…

“How could I be so blind? Randall-” He spun from his desk, facing a cheerful young man in military attire sitting comfortably in an armchair across the room. “My boy, don’t you see? Those monsters must be gods! Everything- molecules, elements, magic!- it all stems from them somehow-”

Meow…

For one blissful, merciful moment of clarity, the consuming madness within him froze in dead silence. A small sense of rationality glimmered in his eyes like diamonds, turning cautiously towards the subtle mew.

Black as night, sat a cat in the lurking shadows just beyond his study’s threshold. Its slitted eyes shone like a freshly minted sixpence in the moonlight. What a magnificent little creature.

Burgess approached the dark feline slowly in cautious measures. His canines pierced the thin delicate tissue of his lips with more force than he knew. Faint crimson streams trickled undetected down his chin in lazy rivers, too immersed in the creature before him to notice.

With a lithe leap and a skip of the man’s heart, the mysterious feline pranced with grace down the corridor. Burgess stuttered in his dash, nearly tripping over the ornamental runners striping the hardwood as he staggered into the hall.

The cat seemed to wait for him; patiently perched on the ornate curtail of an iron-wrought spiral staircase. How odd…

“Wh-what d-do yo-you want?!” The feline only blinked its moonish eyes; unfazed and uncaring, it ascended the staircase.

Every few steps, it would cast those strange eyes over its shoulder, as if it was assuring he followed into the attic space. A sweat broke over the old man’s brow, he heaved in anxious whimpers as paranoia hindered his every step. It was impossible to think; the thunderous pounding of his heart muffled his thoughts, fanning an overwhelming sense of fear like a rousing fire-

Perhaps this was an envoy of sorts from Reality’s Protectress; perhaps to open his eyes once again.

What was there to be afraid of? He knew the Truth; the Goddess protects the Truth; Therefore, She will always protect him!

Anticipation outweighed anxiety; he dashed up the stairs behind the cat with a maniacal smile smearing his face.

His eyes locked on the cat’s back, watching in wild mania as it strutted towards a black ornate chair seated in the corner of the circular attic. It hopped and circled the cushion, sitting powerfully tall in its center; somehow radiating the elegant essence of a king. The feline flashed its silver-slitted eyes in its rest, blinking at Burgess in a torpid blink.

“Hello.”

A dark voice suddenly called out, inciting a surge of fear and dread within the madman. His eyes grew wide and tumbled back in shock, mumbling incoherent huffs and babbling nonsense. Sitting before him sat a shadowy man with eyes of angry white stars burning into his skull.

The man from before, the one that comforted the Goddess. The one that embedded unwavering fear into his soul.

“N-no…” The man shook at the shadowy man as tears of terror rolled down his cheeks in trembling streams. “Please! Have mercy! I beg of you!”

“Have you any idea what you have done? The torment you inflicted on your own mind and to her?” The dark deity asked calmly, with striking eyes sharpened in rage. He rose from his black throne to his full intimidating height, slowly approaching the whimpering madman sobbing on his knees. “Can you even fathom the damage you could’ve done to your world?”

Those eyes… Colder than ice and sharper than a knife. Utterly relentless in slashing his delicate soul into ribbons! What had he done wrong to deserve his wrath? She gave him a gift! The gift of sight, of freedom, of Reality’s Truth- the glorious Truth!

Burgess cackled through his tears; all fear dissipating under the blissful warmth of this bestowed knowledge. This painful, burdensome, unholy knowledge.

“It was a wonderful mistake! I sought the Angel of Death- instead I gained something much, much more valuable! That woman- that Goddess! She opened my eyes and showed me horrors I can never unsee! They live in my mind now and feast on my brain- how incredible! It hurts! It hurts… Her reality is too cruel, too monstrous to bear. Please, have mercy on me!”

Morpheus frowned at his ramblings, cocking a brow in confusion.

What Chaos ravaged his mind? What reality had you created for this man?

“If her Reality is too cruel, perhaps my Dreams will be kinder.” The deity said as a sudden gust of wind whipped through the room. Through wide, fearful eyes, Burgess watched as wisps of dark thundering clouds emerged from the attic’s shadows, splitting the air in storming light.

The man shrieked as the looming storm drew closer, throwing his arms over his head in panic.

“Don’t fret. Your punishment shall be a gift…” Morpheus reassured, lowering himself before the cowering madman. “I give you this… The gift… of eternal… sleep.”

A hand unfurled before the entity’s lips, blowing sparkling waves of golden sand across Burgess’s eyelids.

Eyes of lead drooped in slumber’s dark embrace, screaming in a nocturnal silence that stirred his raging mind. With no fight left, Burgess surrendered to his nightmarish fate.

***

“Father! Father! Please wake up! Please!” A hysterical child cried, shaking Burgess’s arm as he whimpered and thrashed in his sleep.

“Doctor, what’s wrong with him?” A blonde woman asked, dabbing the chilled sweat from the man’s wrinkled brow.

“Blood pressure is normal, lungs are clear, no fever, no signs of trauma… His coma has no apparent cause, I’m afraid.”

Morpheus loomed like a shadow in the bedroom’s threshold with a cold glint in his eyes as they fell upon the sleeping man. His punishment was kindness; entrapped within the darkness of sleep, he was free from the Chaos that ravaged his mind, unable to hurt or capture another soul ever again.

For targeting Death, for ripping his wife from the arms of their daughter, all in the name of a reckless endeavor- this was the most compassion he could muster for this horrid man.

Neither in Dreams, nor in Reality, will you ever know peace again, Roderick Burgess.

He slipped down the corridor like a thief in the night, set to reclaim your stolen jewels.

Luminous moonlight streaked The Dreaming’s sky in pearlescent radiance, shining brightly in harmony with twinkling stars on the midnight canvas. Most nights, the cosmic brilliance elicited a sense of wonder and happiness; even more so when wrapped in Morpheus’s arms.

But tonight, it felt cold and empty; a terrible reminder of the horror you conjured.

You leaned on the balcony’s stone rail, bathed in the silver light with a cheerless frown aimed at the stars. Harsh thoughts swarmed your head like berating bees, slowly eating you away into an emotionless husk, numb to everything around you.

“Love?” A warm hand brushed over your shoulder, hardly shaking you out of your thoughts.

“Did that man lose his mind?” You asked in a sorrowful voice, eyes still pinned on the vale below.

“He did.” Morpheus said reluctantly as a sad frown claimed his features. “However, from what I gathered, grief and obsession has taken a drastic toll on his sanity. Madness was destined to claim him with or without your hand.”

“And what of the others?” Your question quivered over a lump in your throat.

His hand fell from your shoulder, gripping your fidgeting hands, and tracing soothing circles into your skin. “Flustered. But they’ll recover. They’ll only remember what occurred as a harmless nightmare.”

Your brows twitched in a brief crease, a faint twinkle glossing over your eyes, but only for a moment. So distinct, but unmistakable under his observant gaze; the faint embers of hope flickering in Chaos’s torrential gale.

“Here.” A hand slipped into his coat pocket and retrieved your pendant, glinting in gilded opulence under the silver moon. A sigh of relief fell from your lips with a thankful smile. Morpheus stepped behind you, looping the necklace over your front and fastening the clasp behind your neck.

You closed your eyes as the pendant fell over your heart, basking in the waves of relief flooding through your chest, washing away every speck of dread and despair weighing you down.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, (Y/n). After all they’ve done, they were more than worthy of your wrath.” He said, spinning you around to face him as he pulled your crown from his pocket. “In this instance, your corruption was just.”

He gently placed your crown atop your head with his hands falling to cradle your cheeks. He placed a loving kiss on your forehead, sealing it with his own.

Your eyes fluttered shut with a smile, as all turbulent thoughts fell in peaceful silence. Numbness and despair melted away into joyful warmth, as all you could feel now was Morpheus.

Your light in the darkness. Your hope in despair. Your Dream in this chaotic nightmare.

Feedback is always appreciated. I hope you enjoyed!

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inkymagpie · 2 years

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The Book Keeper Pt 1: The Dream is Crumbling

Summary: You are the daughter of Thoth, Egyptian God of knowledge and writing. Three centuries ago you were appointed to the head of the New Alexandria library; once thought burned in a great fire it now holds all of the knowledge that was ever written by man. But when books start to go missing, and even worse are found burned beyond repair you realize something sinister is occurring.

Pairing: Morpheus x f!reader

Chapter Rating: General

Overall Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Angst

Chapter Summary: Days went by, and then weeks and then months, Dream of the Endless did not return to the Dreaming; and you began to get more and more concerned letters from Lucienne. Her normal pristine penmanship becoming more scratchy, fear evident in her writing.

The Library of Alexandria…a pinnacle of knowledge, a testament to the wisdom that the Gods bestowed upon humans through their scholars, their muses; a bastion for all those that sought out the unknown, the lessons of both the Heavens and earth. A gift so generously given only to be squandered by human folly and greed.

Mortals can be such fickle creatures.

It is said that the Library burned to the ground over two thousand years ago; the casualty of humans and their need to conquer their need for power. Razed in a war brought on by an Emperor from a foreign land; and it was thought that the books that had burned and the knowledge that they contained was lost forever. And it was…at least to mortals.

As the fires spread and scholars wept, the Gods had predicted this and had delivered the scriptures from the mortal realm back to the kingdom of the Heavens. New Alexandria, a beckon of knowledge now reclaimed and protected by its benefactors; and its caretaker, Thoth, God of the Moon, of scriptures and writings.

For more than millennia and the better half of another Thoth watched over the Library; its corridors and sections ever growing and expanding as time went on…But then Thoth was gifted a child from his devoted wife Ma’at.

Most Gods were known to have many sons and daughters, who then in turn had sons and daughters of their own and so on and so forth, but you, you were the only daughter of Thoth…His only child.

He watched as you grew, taught you of his realm, the realms of others, of humankind; and of the ancient ever presence of the Endless. He taught you the gift that knowledge was, how it shaped both past, present and future. And he taught you the importance of protecting it, so that it might be forever preserved.

However despite his teaching you viewed the importance of knowledge somewhat differently from your father, and at times it brought about tension between the two of you.

You became a Goddess of curiosity, of inquisitiveness finding more in common with mortals than Thoth would care for you to have and you spent much of your time cavorting about on earth, partaking in human customs and curiosities. And with your inquisitiveness and witnessing of the tribulations that man faced you also became a creature of compassion.

Thoth supposed you must have gotten some of that from your mother, though you were definitely more of a handful than she. He deemed that it was high time that he appointed you to a station, and perhaps that would settle you down some.

Around the turn of the century of 1600 to 1700 he gifted you with one of the most important appointments of all: Head Librarian of the Library of New Alexandria. At first you had been disgruntled by the fact you would be spending most of your time in relative solitude, no longer able to have the freedom to galavant around in the mortal realm with such frequency. But as the first decade went by you realized how much you loved being the caretaker of the knowledge that spanned all the way to the dawn of man.

You had always loved to read, how could you not? But the books and scriptures that had always been read to you or presented for you to read had usually been about great events in history, famous ballads and sonnets; epic tales of trials and tragedy. But now as the curator you had access to every story, large and small and you found yourself more fascinated by the very human stories; like a friar that had lost his sandals in the river while washing them. Or a man in a dimly lit tavern that said that he would never die.

The day to day life of mortals was fascinating and they all were so different, no two were exactly alike and you find that to be just as interesting if not more than the rise and fall of an empire. It was just so…human.

During your first century as Librarian you got to see a great number of important visitors; some other Gods, ones that you knew since childhood. Others were fae folk and beings of various magical prowess. But the most interesting guest to grace the halls of New Alexandria was an Endless.

He had arrived with your father one morning and you had watched with great curiosity as your parent spoke in soft tones with him; your father had eventually beckoned you over and you obeyed eagerly.

You had never met an Endless, though you had read about them and of course heard tales. You observed him keenly, non too covertly which had caused your father to scold you for being rude. But the Endless had gazed upon you with a look of amusement, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. And when he spoke his voice was as warm and as rich as honey and just as soothing.

“So you are the keeper of the books.” He had asked.

“Y/n and yes I am,” you bow quickly, watching him still. “Who are you? What realm are you from?”

“I am the King of Dreams and Nightmares and as my title would suggest my realm is The Dreaming.” He replied with a subtle fondness.

“Are you here for knowledge? I have a strict return policy.” You reply puckishly.

Thoth gave you a pointed look, and tapped his quill on the lip of the parchment board in his grasp. Ah, another warning.

“I like to make sure that the books are cared for, looked after.” You corrected hoping to appease your father.

“More should follow that practice.” The Endless nodded his head sagely. “And in a way, yes I am here for knowledge.”

You cocked your head at this, curious.

“The Dreaming has a vast library of its own and I believe it would be beneficial to share that knowledge across them.” He said.

You had heard of the Library of the Dreaming, after all Gods were born in the Dreaming, originally stories themselves brought to life by humankind.

“Might I see it?” You had barely been able to contain your excitement, the idea of seeing the stories yet untold by all living things, what a treasure that would be to witness in person.

“Perhaps one day my child, when the time comes.” Thoth spoke and gave a small nod to the Dream Lord.

“A raven will be in contact with you.” The Endless continued before you had anytime to pout. “They will bring you news of the Dreamings collection as well as ferry desired literature.”

“I will allow you one of my Ibis to do the same Y/n, until your sacred animal manifests.” Your father added.

You had gazed at the ground somewhat ashamed; your sacred creature had still not come to fruition, your worship still young and growing had not yet bore you a beastial symbol.

“I will take my leave Thoth, God of the Moon and Scripts.” The Endless said before he turned to you. “Y/n”

You bristled at that, your station as a goddess was rather small this was true, but he seemed to disregard it entirely.

“And you Morpheus, Shaper of Forms, King of Dreams.” Thoth nodded.

And as the being called Morpheus began to disappear into a cloud of white gold sand his gaze landed on you again.

“I suspect Lucienne will be most interested in speaking with you.” He commented.

“Who is Lucienne?” You called out but he was already gone, sands disappearing into the ether.

You had blinked, thinking for a moment before crossing your arms with a huff.

“He seems a bit-“ your father quickly interrupted you with a look. “…lovely.” You gritted out instead; insufferable you’d rather say.

“This will be a great honor, a partnership with one of the Endless.” Your father turned to leave. “I have the utmost trust that you will face the task with diligence and logic.”

You had watched as your father left the Library, heading back out into his kingdom.

You of course were diligent about your work…but you couldn’t help but take great pause with logic…

____

The smell of weathered pages, bound in leather and pressed paper and permeates the air; a comforting, familiar scent that you had come to love since childhood. The golden light of sun cast through the stained glass windows, casting rivers of iridescent colors across the worn limestone floors of the vast library. When you were given the appointment of head librarian of New Alexandria, Ra had bestowed upon you a gift that while the Library was in your father’s domain of the Moon, a kingdom ever beneath the star sky of the cosmos, you would always have the light of sun grace the halls of your station.

You sigh happily, a thermos of hot tea with milk and sugar in your grasp; you had popped into your favorite tea shop in the mortal realm; you didn’t think your father would be too upset with just a little visit; and innocent one no less! They also made the most delightful breakfast foods there and you took another bite from the pastry you had purchased as well; whoever said the God’s dined on ambrosia had never had Welsh cakes.

You walk further into the expanse of the ever growing library, enjoying your morning treat as you wait for your tea to cool. You hear the flutter of wings and you watch as a kingfisher flies overhead chortling at you, a rolled up parchment paper in its grasp.

You had been expecting a list of possible Gods from Lucienne. While most were never more than dreams, some came to fruition and would be more than figments of imagination and become beings of history.

The kingfisher drops the scroll on your very messy (though you insisted it was organized chaos) desk and lands on a tall reedy piece of drift wood you had set up as a perch. Next to them stands a large ibis, ever watchful of the recent addition to the library.

It had been over two centuries now that the ibis your father had bestowed upon you had aided you in your task, now more of a sentinel, ever keen and observant. Your worshippers had finally bestowed upon you a sacred beast. And while not as prominent or as distinguished as perhaps your fathers ibis or Anubis’ jackal, the kingfisher was a delightful creature that many mortals associated with the freedom and curiosity you so possessed.

You trill gently to the bird and tap their beak affectionately as you come to your desk, it trills in return and ruffles their feathers. You bow to your father’s ibis who ducks their head to you and begins to walk out into the library having completed its duty of making sure you hadn’t gotten lost gallivanting across the realms.

You sit down and begin to unravel the parchment paper, the kingfisher preening themself as you start to read the list from Lucienne, ready to document everything for the Library records.

Being a relatively new Goddess yourself having only come about during the time of the printing press it was still strange to see the concept of potential additions to new and old pantheons. Mortals were always coming up with new concepts to believe in, to worship; some more prolific than others.

Not too long ago you had seen ideas for gods and goddesses of steam after the industrial revolution had spread across the globe. Now it was electricity with the invention of the light bulb (something that you heard Thor was a bit sour about).

You laugh as you read some of Lucienne’s little quips and notes in the margins of her list as you document the ideas formally to fresh pressed papers. It was something that you had both started to do; an entertaining thing to lighten the mood, that and your frequent book exchange you had started doing for the past hundred years. In fact you were almost done with the last book she sent over, perhaps you’d finish it up tonight and tell her about your thoughts in your next letter.

Shortly you come to the end of the list. It didn’t appear that any of the new potentials were manifesting yet past dreams, though you think that perhaps something might happen with the idea of electricity since mankind fancied it so.

You sort the notes and give the stack to the kingfisher to take to the record's section (which now had sprawled far beyond their initial wing of the library). As you hand the papers over, twine forms along the left edge of the papers binding them together, the date appearing at the bottom right of the first page's corner. You would set them in the proper records book later.

As the kingfisher takes off into the belly of the library, you quickly gather up the personal letter that Lucienne also included with the list. You always took great joy in reading about the happenings of the Dreaming. Gods did dream but they didn’t enter the kingdom unless invited, or so your father said. Lucienne had visited you far more times in your realm than you had ever visited her in her lords (which you could count the total on one of your hands, and on one of your fingers). And you hadn’t even seen the Dream King himself while you had attended.

You begin to read through Lucienne’s letter, smiling at the mentions of Mervyn and how he always managed to strike a nerve. You had decided long ago that you would very much like to meet him in person as he sounded like quite the character. You flip the page and continue to read.

You frown at the mention of something more sinister than usual. A rogue nightmare…while it was true that Luceinne had told you about how colorful and at times creepy the Shaper of Forms creations could be, she had always said that they remained in the Dreaming. But here she was saying that he was out in the world of men, preying upon them. You made a note to check the stories of life to see if you could find anything more about this creature and if he had affected the history of man.

You breathe a small sigh of relief when you read that the Dream Lord had left just this morning (or perhaps it was night? Hard to tell sometimes when dealing with the mortal realm) to deal with the matter. You are sure that with the quick intervention that the stories of men will not be too affected.

However you could sense some sort of apprehension in the words that Lucienne wrote. You grab a stack of fresh papers and a fountain pen and begin to write back to Lucienne, hoping to ease your friend's worries. Perhaps you would send back a book as well; a favorite of yours to give some comfort.

Surely it would all be fine…

Days went by, and then weeks and then months, Dream of the Endless did not return to the Dreaming; and you began to get more and more concerned letters from Lucienne. Her normal pristine penmanship becoming more scratchy, fear evident in her writing.

And you yourself began to fear as well…the mortal world was suffering, even the other Gods whispered of a sleeping sickness that plague mankind. Your father continued to bathe the night sky under the light of the moon, but there were no dreamers to be found in its beams.

The library was changing…the stories of mankind becoming something that you feel they never should have been. Countless books now filled with the same suffering; from the pages of a young girl that could no longer find sleep to the pages of a doctor overwhelmed and doing anything they could to find a cure… an answer.

But the thing that scared you most was the pages of those that didn’t wake up; day after day the papers remained blank. Thousands upon thousands of mortals' life stories filling with blank chapters.

Your father had told you that Destiny had a path and to not interfere; if this was the history that mankind must write then it must be written. You had been quite angry with him and whoever this Destiny was…cruelty like this was not something you could bear to see. It was then you also realized that if mankind was suffering then what horrible fate was the Lord of Dreams facing; what horrible cruelties were befalling him that the whole of humanity ailed.

This had to end…

But it didn’t and months then turned into years.

Your letters to Lucienne became so commonplace that one of the Dreaming ravens and your kingfisher had started passing by each other while delivering notes. You had begun to slack on your own duties as a curator and instead of simply documenting and protecting the vast wealth of knowledge you began to pour through it. You looked for anything you could find, hints in the life books of mortals of where the Shaper of Forms had gone. You had also started to disobey your father more and more as well…traveling to the mortal realm in the light of Ra so that your father would not see you in the path of the moon.

And then one day…

“Miss Y/n!” You hear a frantic voice, it’s oddly familiar and you rapidly look up from your research. If you hadn’t been sitting you would have fallen on your behind.

Lucienne stumbles towards you, a waning portal flickering weakly behind her as she gains her footing.

“L-Lucienne?” You are still shocked she’s here in person; she never left the Dreaming to enter your realm unannounced.

“Please Y/n, I know that I did not send word but-“ she ducks her head.

You’ve never seen her so distraught and your heart aches as you worry she might begin to cry.

Quickly you stand and rush to her side.

“What is it, Lucienne, please what’s wrong?” You beg her to tell you, placing a warm hand on her shoulder, urging her to look at you.

“The books… they are all disappearing.” She says her eyes watery as she looks up at you and you feel her hands shake as she takes your other hand in hers. “Whole sections of the library; they are gone.”

Behind her the portal flickers and dissolves into the air. She drops to her knees and you follow, easing her to the cool stone of your own library.

“I used the last of my magic to get here…to seek your aid.” She says.

“Can the books move realms?” You ask quickly.

“I believe that they can, there are millions of them though.” She replies, brow furrowing.

“Can we gather residents of the Dreaming to help us bring the books here?”

“The residents have all left, save for myself and a few others.” You stiffen; they’ve all gone?

You knew that dreams and nightmares had been abandoning the crumbling realm but you didn’t know it had become such a mass exodus.

“We’ll gather those that are left.” You turn your head and whistle to the kingfisher that is by your side in a quick beating of feathered wings. “Gather your friends from the mortal plane please, bring them here and ask them to make haste.” You whisper to them and kiss their soft head.

The kingfisher coos and with the flutter of its wings takes off.

Slowly you stand, facing where the portal Lucienne came through had disappeared; you close your eyes and focus. Plucking at the threads within the ether, pulling them taught, weaving them together until a golden path is spun before you that leads directly into the library of the Dreaming. Lucienne watches, eyes softening and tense posture easing slightly.

“Thank you Y/n.” She says looking up at you, the thankfulness clear in her deep brown eyes.

”You are my dear friend Lucienne, I would do anything for you.” You reply and hold your hand out to her. She takes it, a soft smile on her lips as she stands.

You look to the glittering pathway, you wonder briefly if your father would be displeased with this action. You are, after all, interfering with another realm, however you doubt he would want to see a millennia of knowledge decay… you decide that you’ll deal with it later.

429 notes · View notes

deliciousbasementtrash · 2 years

Text

Hopes and Dreams

Art credit: https://hear-the-voice-of-my-soul.tumblr.com/post/159573635579

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?

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x F!GoddessReader, Dream x OC Reader

Word Count: 1285

Warnings: Somewhat harsh language, meanish Dream (let me know if I should add more please)

Note: Sorry this is a little choppy because I hate writing beginnings and want to dive right in. That being said there will be more chapters in the future (not sure how many). Also please, please leave comments.

Part One: Creation, Part Two: Power, Part Three: Roomies with Death and a Deal with Dream; Part Four: Pain and Nightmares

I started existing on March 25th, 1801.

I do not know when nor how I was created. I simply was. As humans live and breathe and love, so do I. My power is them, and they are my power.

And I adore them so.

They are very adorable creatures, and they refer to my gifts, they refer to me, as Hope.

I am Artemea, Goddess of Hope.

My purpose in the human world was unclear at first. Humans naturally have an innate gift to hope. I wondered what I was here for if they could manage it fine on their own. I had no guidance when I came into the world. I only knew three things:

My name

My purpose

My gifts

But I did not know how or why. That was until I meet Destiny the eldest of all the Endless.

I was sitting in a meadow when Destiny arrived. He appeared to me in a large and worn brown cloak. A strange chain around his wrist bound to a large leather-bound book. His face was melted with age, his eyes milky-white.

He told me of Gods and Goddesses; he told me of the Endless. All of which is information of the past. But then he opened his large-leather bound book, and the meadow went silent as he spoke.

“Child, you wonder about your existence. You know you are the Goddess of Hope, you know your purpose is to serve the humans, and you know the plentiful gift of your power. But you do not know why you were created, and you do not know how to use your power. I am here to tell you. Heed my words. You were created as a gift to mankind and to one of my siblings. You will find the sibling and you will devote your power to them. In doing so, both of your power will grow, and mankind will be better for it. To access your power you must listen.”

“What do you mean I am a gift? What do you mean by listening–” I rose quickly, but it was too late. Only a moment, a breath had passed, but Destiny was gone. And I was left with more questions than answers.

Destiny told me he had six siblings: Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair, and Delirium. I just have to figure out which one I am a gift for, and with luck, my existence will fall into place after.

Perhaps, I should just check them off the list from eldest to youngest. Death could not be so hard to find. But I was so–so tired. The sun was warm, and a nice breeze swayed the trees. Suddenly I grew so exhausted it was though sandbags weighed down my eyelids. I had no choice but to sleep.

“What are you doing in my realm?” A man with fluffy dark hair and a harsh expression asked.

I blinked repeatedly, whipping my head around. I was no longer in the meadow. I was in a large throne room with three stained glass windows, and a large grey staircase that lead to a throne; who sat a man ghastly pale, dressed in all black.

I smiled large and bright at him, “You must be Dream. Your brother told me about you.”

“I have many siblings you will have to be more specific. Tell me quickly or I will have you removed.” His voice was as dark and cool as the deep depths of the ocean.

“Forgive me, Dream of the Endless,” I said in a sweet voice as I bowed low, “I am new to my gifts and living. I do not quite understand the etiquette of living beings just yet, and I am unsure how I got here. The sibling I speak of is Destiny. He told me I had to find which of the Endless I am a gift for.”

“Destiny,” the God who was not a God seemed utterly shocked, “What did my brother tell you exactly? Who are you?”

“I am Artemea; Goddess of Hope. Destiny told me I was made for one of his siblings, that whoever I am made for, both of our power, both of our gifts will grow exponentially.” I said, no longer bowing. I looked Dream in the eyes as I said it.

His eyes flashed bright white as the rest of his body was encompassed in a dark shadow, “And why would you be a gift for me? What would I want or need from you?”

The smile left my face as I fanned out my wings and called to my power. Dream of the Endless was angry, and it set my power, my very being on edge. But I continued.

“I cannot explain it, but I must be drawn to you and your realm. Why else would I be here? I cannot tell you how I will be of help to you. I cannot tell you how my power works. All I can tell you is what Destiny told me. I am no liar, King of Dreams.”

Some of the shadows receded into his body, as he slowly looked me up and down, “Why would you be created for me? Why would it not be any of my other siblings? Who said I wanted you? Who created you?”

“I…I do not know; I wish I did,” I said, my large grey eyes finally breaking eye contact with the Endless.

“I do not know what kind of game you are playing, but I will not have it. Leave now and I will not harm you. Come back uninvited again and I will kill you, Little Goddess.”

I shook my head in anger, “That’s it? You do not heed Destiny’s words?”

Dream’s lips perched into a sneer, “I will not take the word of some trespassing stranger, who appears to know very little. I will not ask again. Leave, Goddess.”

“As you wish, all-knowing, all-powerful, King of Dreams, King of Nightmares, The Sandman,” I mocked and perched my own lips into a sneer. My white feathered wings fanning out behind me. I wanted to look beautifully intimating, so I let some of my power bleed from my skin. The dark room now glowed with a heavenly gold as my light burned the rest of Dream’s shadows away.

A look of shock passed on his face just before I spread my wings and flew away from his realm. I couldn’t help but feel lost. His realm, whether he acknowledged it or not, calls for me. And I don’t think I was imagining the sadness the realm felt when I left.

I looked at the beautiful landscape beneath me of ever-changing greens, waters, and florals. I saw how my shadow crossed over the realm and the creatures seemed to reach for it. I shook my head. That couldn’t be.

A flap of wings and a caw at my side drew my attention.

A raven with a white chest flew side by side with me.

“You are no normal bird are you?” I ask, looking her in the eye.

“No, miss. His highness wanted to verify your exit,” the raven said with a soft voice.

I smiled at her, “I see. What’s your name?”

The bird squawked like she was confused, “Jessamy, miss.”

“Hello Jessamy. I am Artemea. Care for a race?”

I could have sworn a smirk passed on the bird’s face as she flapped her wings harder, flying far faster than I was.

I laughed hard, a free and joyful sound. As I raced Jessamy out of Dream’s Kingdom.

I was breathless as I reached the gate to the human world. I looked at Jessamy and nodded my head.

“Until we meet again,” and with that, I went through.

#the sandman #dream x reader #dream x fem!reader #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #morpheus x original character #netflix sandman #king of nightmares #dream x goddess #fanfiction #neil gaiman

228 notes · View notes

melancholypancakes · 1 year

Text

The Sandman Incorrect Quotes

Morpheus: Gods, you’re so annoying.

Witch! Y/n: then stop holding my hand!

Morpheus clearly holding Y/n’s hand

Witch! Y/n:....

Morpheus:...No.

{...}

Desire: Oh, Y/n! You can take my sand whenever you like! I just want your love~

Delirium and Death trying not to laugh

Morpheus blushing red angrily

{...}

Death: I know you like her.

Desire blushes and gets defensive

Desire: I don’t like Aphrodite!

Death: I didn’t say who~

{...}

Witch! Y/n: is there a word that’s mix between Angry and Sad?

Morpheus: Malcontented, Disgruntled, Miserable, Desolated-

Matthew: Smad.

Morpheus looks at Matthew weirdly

{...}

Aphrodite: Did you know that kissing reduces stress and anxiety?

Adonis is concerned with what Aphrodite just said

Adonis: Uh…Okay, Aphrodite?

Aphrodite: You look stressed~

Aphrodite flirting with Adonis as he looks at her

{...}

Hob: Bro! Close your eyes!

Morpheus: Huh? Why?

Morpheus proceeds to close his eyes

Hob: What do you see, Bro?

Morpheus: Nothing, Bro

Hob: That’s my life without you, bro

Hob tears up and Morpheus starts to tear up too after opening his eyes, and looking at Hob

Morpheus: Bro…

{...}

Aphrodite: Wait…You like me for my personality??

Desire: yeah, I was surprised too.

{...}

Desire: Go on…Apologize.

Desire gets underneath Morpheus’s skin, knowing he has too much pride to apologize to anyone, especially his girlfriend Y/n.

Morpheus is struggling and clearly angry

{...}

When Aphrodite was only a few months old

Artemis: Little girl-to-Girl Advice…

Aphrodite looks at Artemis

Artemis: If you weren’t always trying so hard, you wouldn’t be in the way~

Aphrodite growls

54 notes · View notes

iznsfw · 3 months

Text

Lucid Dream

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

8,525 words

Categories | married man!You, wife!Wonyoung, daddy kink, degradation, rough sex, OC is not a good person

Content warning | cheating, humiliation, Wonyoung slander (it hurt to write but I read "Gone Girl" by Gillian Flynn recently so I guess that went into the whole wife-hating thing)

Skipping again a bit (still will do Chaeyeon and Chaewon and everyone because IZ*ONE best girls). Expect a commission and an IZ Days of Xmas fics this month again <3 I love you all, you make me happy. And as always, sorry for the inconsistency!

Wonyoung is beautiful.

You stare at her as she undresses in front of the full-length mirror. She’s the kind of woman whose vanity seldom rolls eyes because her adoration for herself—smoothing down her dark hair, strictly adhering herself to that keto diet, doing her skincare with the dedication of one who prays nightly to god (pick any)—is wholly justifiable. Look at her. Anyone would understand.

The dress she wore for her hosting show slips off her body. Her abs reflect in the mirror, the result of hard work in the gym. Wonyoung’s waist is impeccable. Magazines have written over and over tips to attain it but it seems that the signature Bratz doll feature can only belong to Wonyoung. The makeup was cleaned up by her stylist but her eyes still shine, her lashes are still long, and her lips are still plump.

Wonyoung is standing there in nothing but her underwear, an attractive set of lace.

Wonyoung is the perfect female form, a goddess from above choosing a man from below.

Wonyoung is beautiful, a feat that no matter how amazing besides true, she remains the same old fucking bore.

“Did you like my MCing, babe?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

Her legs, long and thin, move in planned strides down the room. To the bed. You know where this is going.

Your feet are killing you. Recline, welcoming yourself into the softness of the expensive mattress and pillows your wife paid for all in all. “Wonyoung, I’m tired.”

She’s a celebrity. Of course, endless days filled to the edge with schedules chase after her. She ought to understand. The nights are her only rest hours, yet with this energy, it’s like Jang Wonyoung never gets exhausted. Always bubbly, always sweet, always so seductive.

All these are positive traits that any other man would adore and own had you not married her.

Wonyoung makes an adorable sigh. “But you say that everytime,” she replies sullenly.

She’s pushing her lips out into this cute pout while her brown puppy eyes beg you to give in like you used to. Once upon a time, you were putty around Wonyoung. Never could give an answer without your voice shaking. Never could come near her without blushing.

She’s the prettiest woman in the world.

You’re the most awful, undeserving man in the world, for all you could think, as you look at her, is: Fucking bitch.

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m always tired.”

“How about,” she puts a finger on her chin, “I do the job for you?”

Her knees are bruised. You notice this when she drops to them so she could pull your pants to the ground. So she’s been doing this for so long? Lowering herself for you? Sucking you off? You thought that she’d get the hint by now: you don’t want to have sex with her.

So instead, she uses her mouth. Better than her pussy anyway. What are you saying? She’s a tight woman. But it’s the same thing everyday: she gets on your cock and you hear her annoying voice straining as she rides you. Her cunt, soaked and useless, makes you want to call her its name. She’s always needy. It isn’t flattering when you don’t reciprocate it.

It’s a goddamned chore. Wonyoung’s throat welcomes you. The other way around, actually: your cock welcomes a claustrophobically closed passageway and has to deal with it until you cum. It’s an unwanted visitor. She rang the bell, said hi, and you let her in. Doesn’t mean you like her there.

“Doing so good, baby,” you say. Oh, yeah, doesn’t mean you mean it either—although you do feel Wonyoung smile happily. She’s happy when she makes you happy. When she makes you give her the illusion that you have any happiness in this worn-out marriage.

Her lips seal around you. You can feel them suckling. Your knees are tense. The moans are forced, though. Hearing them come out from your own mouth makes you want to place a pillow over your face and press it down as hard as you can.

She slides you down her throat. Admittedly, you love the way she chokes. Her eyes get all watery, like she’s crying from pain. That sounds appealing.

You’re a critically messed up man, you know. But they’re what make the world go ‘round. Why do you think they write romance books about them—the bad boy, the mafia boss, the killer? Plus, one of those “terrible” people inspires the biggest Korean celebrity to continue hosting, dancing, and singing. So who’s so terrible now?

To conclude, if anything, you’re the one responsible for Wonyoung’s success.

To conclude, you groan as desperately as you can then release in her mouth. Wonyoung gags. Another pretty sound. Her eyes look up while she attempts to swallow. Saliva sticks to her chin. Semen floods up to the roof of her mouth. It reminds you of how it ends up there more often than in her womb.

You would’ve made beautiful children with Wonyoung in another world where she wasn’t famous and you actually loved her. You would have been a softer, kinder man. She would have been a person who’s easier to love and make love with.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, that… was incredible.”

If you weren’t a director, you’d be the one on camera. You’re a great actor when it comes to your wife. Your incompetence in the house is masked by husbandly exhaustion; an artificial gaze of attentiveness hides your indifference to conversation.

She smiles coquettishly. “I try.”

The wide closet parts. She chooses a pair of silk pajamas that hang around her thin frame. She climbs onto the bed and wraps an arm around you. Her skin is always cold to the touch. Like she’s dead or something. How interesting.

You stroke her hair. “I’d return the favor but… I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She kisses your forehead. Wonyoung’s a sweet girl. “Good night.”

You smile. Say it back. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her palms are flat against each other and are placed under her cheek. Cute, you guess. She sleeps.

You don’t.

You should have—nothing good ever happens after midnight.

2:05 a.m., more specifically.

Amazing how time slips through your grasp like air. You reach and reach, desperate for a return, desperate for a flash to the past. As always, your efforts aren’t fruitful. The seconds pour through the pinched waist of the hourglass and you can’t stand it on its other head. You’re unable to revert back to the moment you took your arm from underneath your wife’s skull. The moment you opened your phone. If you hadn’t, maybe things would have been different.

But it’s past two, and you’re resting your back on the pillowy headboard with your phone in your hands. The circumstances just play right into danger: Wonyoung’s asleep, the night is eerily quiet, and the screen is there, awaiting the secret routine. Which girls would you cum for today? Why aren’t your thumbs clicking over censored sites?

Your feed shows a naked woman, her eyes staring up and her mouth wide. Scroll past that—you prefer the amateur videos, where the expressions balance between exaggerated and naturally provoked. A ton of videos could help in the bathroom where you take your nightly “shower,” and it’s not one of those.

Maybe you need the real thing.

Look at Wonyoung. Perhaps you should have let her ride you just so you could cum in a warm pussy again. After all, it’s the least you could do when you were once a fan of her. That’s how everyone starts: puppy-like adoration. But she doesn’t have the star quality she once did onstage; the coy thoughtful princess you envisioned her as. That’s why you haven’t fucked her in weeks.

You’re about to wrap your hand around your cock and ready yourself for another night of conflicted pleasure. This video is perfect for that already. You could jerk yourself off then get a good night’s sleep. Simple. This is the safest option for a dangerous want. By just watching, you’re not cheating on your wife. It’s just porn. Jerk off, cum, cum again probably, then sleep. Nobody gets hurt.

“Fuck me… please,” whimpers the woman in the video. Her legs are spread open. Her partner’s swiping his cock at her lips while she looks at him with equal hunger, equal desire. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Then, a text message notifies you, peeking from the top of your screen. It dares you to click it.

And it says the exact same thing.

fuck me please, i cant take it anymore.

i miss you

You look around, like you’re afraid someone might see it. There’s only the dimness of your bedroom that greets you. It’s safe, but this message isn’t.

The number is familiar. Has one of your friends gone crazy? Or did they send a text to the wrong person? Take it for spam, a perfectly coincidental one, or a scam, a typical, preying-on-the-married, pwning message.

But why would a contact spam you at a time so strangely perfect?

Don’t bother. Your fist works on your dick as you watch the video. The woman’s so wet that although she isn’t squirting, her juices start to stick to the man’s thighs. Her mouth is wide open as he finally pounds her.

What you’d give to have good sex like that again.

XXX-XXX-XXX sent a video message.

Fine. Click it, you’re curious.

Oh, so apparently, the answer is your marriage.

The video shows a face that’s more intimate than familiar. The ebony-black hair already tells you who she is, as does her body. Her form is encased in a floral tank top and nothing else. Although her chest is covered, she’s still a little daring with how her nipples stamp the fabric. She turns herself around to let you admire the curve of her wide hips and her round butt.

There’s only one woman with a body so perfect. And she’s the one and only Kim Minju.

There are reasons for everything. This is yours for why you didn’t give this number a name:

No one needs to know just from a text that you cheated on Jang Wonyoung.

That was so long ago, back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend. You were drunk and missed Wonyoung’s old self. Why did she have to be such a bitch? Why did she dedicate herself to work and leave you dry? It’s not like the industry would go bankrupt without her. Minju came over, listened to your complaints—every little whine about Wonyoung being busy, every little jab at her workaholic character—then said something along the lines of, why don’t you have a little fun while she’s away.

And you thought… yeah, that was a really great idea.

That was the beginning of the end. After multiple secret meet-ups and raunchy sex in alleyways, you didn’t contact Minju again. You forgot her. You thought she did, too. She should have understood that your infidelity, albeit alluring, would be a thing of the past.

But here she is, in your messages, with a pornographic clip of herself in a round-cornered bubble. She’s waiting for a reply.

Although you’ve long lost your aspirations to be a better husband, you type what a good man should. This man is proper, faithful, and loving. He loves his wife only and the only other people he loves with this deep of a bond is his family.

Stop texting me or I’ll block you.

It’s not enough. You’re not a good man. You aren’t proper or faithful or loving or any of that shit. You were about to masturbate to an internet celebrity after turning down sex with your wife. What about that makes you a good person?

:( you miss me sooooo bad it’s pathetic, Minju replies.

You look at her again. You may not be able to turn back time with your metaphorical hourglass, but you can turn this hourglass body into any position you want. You could push her against a window for all to see, perhaps fuck her to the floor, or slam her on a desk like a teacher would to a test paper. Minju would let you do anything to her.

Stop it.

She really has to. As much as you dislike Wonyoung, she’s your wife, and you vowed on your wedding day to only have eyes for her.

But you’re only one man against a body like Minju’s that curves in every right place.

Three circles float up and down in a contained bubble before she texts you back:

alright…what a pity :( i’m already outside!! i guess ill have to go back…

You’ve never bolted out of bed so fast.

You look back at Wonyoung as you stand in the doorway. She’s still in deep slumber. Now, are the curtains closed? The entrances locked? Scan the house thoroughly, until you inch your way to the front door.

Hesitate. You didn’t know you had a conscience but here it is. It tells you to wonder if Minju really is behind it, like she said. She knows how to use the privilege of being Wonyoung’s close friend. That’s how she came to your house like she used to with no worry for paparazzi or suspicion. Best friends don’t fuck their best friends’ husbands, right?

Open the door. This one did.

Minju grew more beautiful in her absence. Her hair is silkier this time and her shy smile is brighter. The long coat is smoothed by her fingers, and you wish you could be the brown piece of fabric her pale hands run down. What makes you guilty for thinking it, even when you’ve done it, is the fact that she looks so innocent. It’s like it would be a crime to even buy her a drink.

How could she be innocent with that photo she sent? The time you spent together: you folding her over a table and promising to fill her up? Fucking her while Wonyoung is busy and counting on you to welcome her home? Sending nudes like there’s no tomorrow? Nothing about Minju is pure, yet she acts like she could do no wrong.

“Minju,” you say. Your voice sounds fragile. She has a way of breaking you befote you’re breaking her into breaking another bed.

She blinks theatrically. Everything she does is angelic. “Glad you opened the door.”

The knob is cold in your fist. It chills your animalistic brain and urges you to consider the consequences. Right, it says, here’s what a human—a good one—would think. If Wonyoung wakes and sees you with Minju, she’d have a lot of questions. If paparazzi are somehow hiding in the forest that extends to acres before your house, everyone would know you’re cheating on her. Most of all, you’re married, monogamy and everything.

So what will it be? This is your last and only chance to send her away.

You know what you have to do. Take a few breaths. “You have to leave. I’m not joking, it isn’t right.”

In response, Minju unravels the ribbon of the layers sealed around her waist. It falls apart. You do, too.

She’s a real danger. As it turns out, the girl isn’t wearing anything underneath that trench coat. She’s an artist’s naked muse—bare long legs, wide hips, and a sizable bust that has sculptors carving something else.

The cold hardens her pink nipples. You notice how her breasts are much bigger than your wife’s. How her hips are more tempting to grab, so you do. How her body is meatier, a lot more enticing that you wouldn’t refuse a day without touching it.

Minju fuels your infidelity, and you won’t stop for it if it kills you.

She simpers, fingers curling into your work shirt. “Still wanna make me leave,” she asks, “when you can breed me all night long?”

You laugh, huffing it out as you pull her inside and close the door behind her. Minju looks gorgeous pressed to it. She looks gorgeous in whatever situation, actually. Her thighs squish against the carved design and look thicker as a result. More reasons to dive into that shaven cunt and abuse it.

“You’re not leaving until we make a fucking mess, Minju.” You take your shirt off. Throw it on the ground. “And we better make it quick.”

“Of course.” She nods. She’s slyer than a fox, but she submits to you without a second thought.

You lean in to kiss her. The heat is unbearable. You can feel it from Minju’s body transferring to yours. It’s the effect of her natural skills as your personal slut: trying to fit her tongue deeper in your mouth while you pull her close like she’d dare to run away.

You haven’t gotten this hard for anyone else. It’s always been Minju you fall for. You miss the way she kisses, the way she roams her hands all over your torso, the way she’s goddamned insatiable. Feeling it all now in one, heated moment makes you dizzy. You’re taking in too much of her, but without her, you’d go thirsty again.

Your fingers are in her hair; hers are on your waist. Your teeth are clamped down on Minju’s bottom lip; hers are apart and allow soft moans to pass through—one, two, three. You fit each other in so many wicked ways. They did say misery loves company.

Open your eyes. The dream doesn’t stop. Minju’s still pushing her mouth in your face and you’re letting her. You don’t know if you ought to be relieved or downright horrified. You’re cheating on Wonyoung again with a woman whose body is just a bit nicer. You should be furious at yourself. You aren’t.

You’ve made out with each other on the way to the dining room. You and your wife worked hard for its designed walls and sturdy, well-furnished ornaments. A lot of money was raked out to make this house the best place to call home. So, why do you want to ruin it?

Well, because of her.

Minju leans on the dining table with a funny smile on her face. “She really doesn’t do it for you, huh?” she asks.

It makes you wince how you know who she’s talking about. Who else is she referring to other than poor Wonyoung? Poor, skinny, ugly Wonyoung?

Nibble at her earlobe. Hear little gasps come out of her. “Don’t talk about her,” you say.

You don’t want to have any afterthoughts about fucking Minju. Besides, being reminded that you’re disloyal to a woman who loves you very much is painful, even to a man like you.

Wonyoung is an angel. Minju isn’t—but you run after her to darkness.

“Ohh, come on, I know I’m better than her.” Minju squirms with erotic moans. Your kisses are going south, and she loves their little detour. “You don’t fuck her like you fuck me.”

When was the last time you worshiped Wonyoung? Like what you’re doing to Minju now? Your lips haven’t passed over it in ages that you probably wouldn’t know where the bigs and smalls of her body are. Like there’s anything to know.

“Actually,” you snort, “I don’t fuck her at all.”

You stop chuckling. That was the wrong thing to say. That was the wrongest thing to say out of the millions of other cocky phrases you could’ve thrown to Minju. The look on her face, the one that’s of pride and submission and dangerous knowledge united, tells you to watch your mouth.

You’re five seconds minimum too late to listen.

Minju grins. There’s the answer she wanted. “That’s how it is? Just looking at a girl and thinking you wanna stamp a divorce approval on her forehead? Jesus. This is why I never got married.”

“First off, nobody put a ring on you because you’re a slut, Minju.”

“That’s only the third reason.” Her fingers drape the sides of your face and tugs you in. You’re invited to the sight of her infallible tits. “These are the first two.”

The girl isn’t as busty as that woman Wonyoung likes to call her industry mom, but you bet they’re better. No, it’s a matter of truth. Minju’s boobs aren’t too big or too small; just the perfect, filling size to hold onto when you’re railing her from behind.

You choose to suck on them for now. It’s like a trip down memory lane when you kiss down her neck and collarbone. You remember how good her smooth, soft skin feels beneath you, how her moans are a favorite tune. Minju bites her lip while you do so to her shoulder.

It’s crazy to think that she just so happened to be born with this. She was born to be a pretty face with a sex-defined body that you pull and push and pry apart. Best thing is, she’ll lay back down and beg for more. It’s like she knows her purpose, which would’ve shot down her dignity and humanity.

Her nipple pops in your mouth. Your sucking guarantees its hardness, and Minju starts whining. She arcs her body, wanting something rougher. Thus, you seize the span of her hip to rub her pearl with fierce speed.

“Oh, fuck, god—” What others might take for blasphemy, you take for praise. Minju’s already soaking wet. She would have had embarrassing laundry to do if she wore panties. Maybe it’s a good thing she arrived wearing nothing.

She’s still so sensitive. You caress her clit after a few kisses down her midriff. She fidgets needily like you aren’t already touching her. You’re nearly right—this touch is nothing when she needs something harsher. That something involves you treating her less than a human being, putting her down and tearing at her hair.

“Please just fuck me,” she whispers. “Breed me, breed me, breed me—”

Yeah, that’s what she wants.

You don’t need further motivation, not when you’re presented with the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen. Her fat lips are soaked. They frame the clitoris you’ve been stimulating that shines with slick. Then there’s the tiniest hole below it that begs to be used.

Your digits shove past all tightness. Her wetness allows a deeper exploration, so you curl your digits like you’re beckoning the orgasm forward. You know how easily you can get it out of her. All it needs to get Minju cumming around you is a slap, roughness, and giving her what she wants anyway. You know your methods, she knows hers. It’s a recognizable cycle that despite this, you can’t break.

Part your fingers widely to spread her. She’s so wet that she soaks your knuckles. There’s an ocean inside her waiting to be waved to shore. A storm, too, brews from the base of her throat as Minju whimpers. Her body lifts off the table but you force her down on it. She isn’t going anywhere, not without a fight.

Oh, and fight she does. She was an idol before an actress, so her muscles still memorize the circling motions that repeat on your fingers rather than move onstage. She sang once. That was a long time ago yet her voice sounds perfect as it strains her moans. Every little thing she does is a reflection of her past.

That’s why when she leans back, pupils dilating north, and says “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you get deja vu.

Your palm hits her clit, adding impact to your strokes. “There you go, little slut,” you snarl. “Are you happy now? Maybe even a little grateful?”

If Minju’s ass isn’t pressed down on the glass mantling your dining table, it hovers so her pink little hole receives you better. It’s not without the help of her weak hands clinging to the table for dear life, but she seems to be losing her balance. Her hips are shuddering. Her beautiful face is squeezed up into a blissful wince. Her breaths are becoming blunt little gasps that say none of the gratitude you want to hear.

You slap her boob. Red blooms from her pale skin that deepens when another impacts her bosom. The recoil dizzies you. If anyone’s getting the impression that you’ll slap her bouncy tits until you hear a proper word of thanks, they’d be right. First impressions are right just for once.

“T-thank you—” Her voice cracks, breaking like her. “Fuck, shit, thank you, thank you.”

Squeeze her cruelly and pull on the perky nipple. Your thrusts become mindlessly paced. Your hand returns to your cock while the other ruins her pussy. The pleasure is telepathic. It’s connecting you; her screams and squirms make you do the same. The electricity firing up in your veins is a shared network. When you point your fingers to her spot, she arcs her back in the same direction. How beautifully fucked up is that?

“That’s not enough. You didn’t come here for nothing. What do you want, Minju?”

Minju babbles. You got your gratitude but not a proper answer. To be fair, she can’t speak when you’re fucking her like it’s your dick inside her, and when your lips are all over her collarbone.

“And you better keep quiet,” you add, curling your thrusts, “or Wonyoung‘s gonna hear. Do you really want her to know her precious friend is a big slut?”

However, despite the rumors she starts, Minju could be a very good girl when needed.

“Need you to make me cum,” she whispers. Her midriff is fluid as water with the way it rolls, showing off the hourglass shape of her waist and a soft tummy. “Do everything to me you can’t with Wonyoung. P-please, I can’t take it.”

Even if she can’t (wrong by the way), you’ll make her. She asked for it. She walked up to your house with a purpose: to be used, to be treated like less of a human being. So it’s understandable that you slam her down the table and seal a hand around her neck.

She’s so light that the forceful push doesn’t break the fragile glass. But there’s something of hers instead that’s going to be broken.

“Oh fuck! It’s so–” Minju’s eyes roll back. “Ohh… oh!”

Little sparks of wetness shoot in the air. Your pace turns merciless. With just three fingers, you puppet her body. Strings are pulled—her arms raise and her long legs strain to pull you in. You push and she keens, you pull and she yells. You’re making her desecrate the place with her water.

“C-can’t breathe.” A squeeze of her beautiful features—eyelids wrinkling, mouth parting, cheeks filling with scarlet—occurs before she squirts again. She whimpers pathetically, sounding so pitiful you want to laugh. “Ah, fuck, daddy—”

Something stirs inside you. When men hear that name, it ought to feel purely platonic and familial. They’d hear it from their daughter and feel compelled to protect them from men who’d do to them what you do to Minju. But you much prefer hearing that two-syllable word when it comes from a naked woman squirting all over the floor, from whom once you register it, you’re urged to pin her down, tie her down, hold her down.

Ironically, you release her. That isn’t because it’s over though. “On your knees. Follow me.”

Minju releases a gasp, grateful for the oxygen. The color returns to her face yet she barely has the energy to get off the table. You’re a generous man, and hey, it still counts as helping. So you yank her hair and force her on the ground. She fucking moans, a feat deserving of a healthy spank to her ass.

You walk to the living room. She follows you withher hands and knees bearing the cold tiles. You lead her to the place where you spend your time watching movies, rehearsing, and hanging out with Wonyoung if she’s ever home.

Speaking of, glance at the door of your bedroom. It’s still closed. It’ll stay that way.

Look down after wondering why Minju’s noisier. She’s playing with herself on the floor with no care for the cold chill of the tiles or the little dirt wedged between them. She lightly rubs her abused clit, quivering at the contact. You expect that from her—she’s corrupted, an irredeemable cause. She’ll get herself off anytime anywhere.

But what’s unexpected is what those watery eyes are focused on: you, in a framed picture on the wall. You look younger, happier. You’re in formal garments standing next to Wonyoung in a church.

It was you on your wedding day.

You spit on Minju. “Filthy cumslut.”

The drool slides down her cheek like a tear. She darts her tongue out and licks it. One could’ve thought it was candy considering the lift of a smile.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she says resolutely. Her fingers still toy with her entrance. They won’t serve her well when there’s a bigger, better thing behind your pants to do it for her.

Your pants are already off. “Get up. Get the fuck up,” you command, but you do it for her.

You grab her neck and force her up. The look on her face is addicting, the way the shock turns into carnal need, the way she bites her lip. You press her to the wall, right under the framed wedding pictures, and finally plunge yourself inside her.

“Oh, oh, oh!”

What did Minju do to get this tight? Her walls are squeezed closer around you than you remember. They’re still wet from her squirting, easing your burden of fighting against the tautness of her core.

Her groans are pitched just like how you pitch yourself in her and make her fight for it. She tries everything: gathering the strength she has to push her ass into your crotch, rolling her body, looking back to watch your cock disappear between her lips.

“So big, daddy!” she cries. With a lick of her lips, she turns to face you. “Mmm, d-do you ever get this massive when you’re fucking Wonyoung?”

That seals it. There’s no restraint in using her body. Her plump ass leading to her toned back is a temptation by itself. You’d burst all over it (maybe in it) if you weren’t already firm in breeding her. But dear god—it rises and descends into your angled pumps so effortlessly that you aren’t afraid to spank it like you’re angry at her.

“Keep your whore mouth shut.”

Spank after spank you bestow and you realize, oh, you and Minju are really made for each other. The more her ass reddens, the more hot pain sparks on your palm. She throws herself back hard, you piston her harder.

Your puzzle pieces stick together so perfectly that it’s a shame you didn’t meet under different circumstances. She could’ve been an adorable girl next door and you could have been a guy looking to slip her a love letter. She would’ve been your loving girlfriend, a beautiful wife, someone you’d actually enjoy touching, so different from the woman asleep in the bed upstairs.

But that’s never happening. Minju’s a slut through and through, and she’ll forever be a sin you won’t go to confessions for. She was made to be fucked then discarded of when she’s no longer of use. You see it in the way she’s in a mantra of craziness, the way she yells, the way she looks back at you like she’s daring you to hurt her.

You choose the dare rather than to tell her the truth. You curl her hair into a fist and pull her into you.

“God, I’m so close.” Minju’s trembling body grows warmer in your touch. “I’m gonna cum all over your big gorgeous cock. I can’t hold out longer, daddy.”

Your teeth dig into her earlobe. You could make her bleed and she’d still find a way to make the pain heavenly. “I thought I told you to be quiet. Is Wonyoung waking up and ending your life worth it for this?”

“What if I say yes?”

“Fuck.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice, making her see you’d give her away to get a night with me? You’ll give up all this stupid shit t-to be my daddy. Because Wonyoung’s just sooo worthless, isn’t she?”

Savage her cunt and shove your fingers down her mouth just so she could shut up. You love this. Minju’s always so ready for you.

No, actually—now that you think about it, you hate it. You hate how she’s curvier than your wife, how she’s more alluring than she could ever be, how she moans despite the blockage in her throat. Everything about her is so sexy that the sound of her choking up spit makes you throb.

This is the wrong time to have a conscience. You’ve already split her apart. You’ve already got your fingers in her hair that pull hard to the point that damage is highly likely. You’ve already—

—got Minju screaming, biting down on your skin as her legs spread. What a strange thing to have as a natural reflex. That’s all she knows to do: spread her legs, hope her innocent face attracts a guy into her home and his dick into her pussy. Her skin, white as snow, has become impure with red blemishes. You see her purple-bruised neck flex when she yells into your hand.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Minju yells. Her fingernails leave fine scratches on the wall. “Fuck, I’m squirting so much I don’t know what to do—oh fuck!”

You bump the manic girl up on your knee before spreading her legs. A godless squirt of her juices hits Wonyoung’s face, the savior being the glass protecting the picture. Others bless their homes with water blessed by esteemed priests; you like to stand out. Choose to have Minju’s unholy juice flood the photo you once held dear.

Did something possess you? An evil spirit, a god of fertility? All are clichés but you can’t help but think so when you notice how fast you’re pumping Minju. It’s like greed’s finally reigned you. It’s difficult to resist. Minju just wrings your cock perfectly dry with her tight cunt, keeps you speedy with her desperate moans. You’re vandalizing her with your climax and she doesn’t want to be clean ever again.

“You think you’re special, Minju?” You press her to the ruined picture. Her side profile mashes on the glass. “You’re nothing, only a useless hole, just like that bitch. Now clean it up.”

Her eyes light up in shock. Excitement? “What?”

You pull her head back in order to have her full lips pressed against Wonyoung’s face. The clear squirt is still dripping from it. Minju’s face is red, and although your cock left her moments ago, she insists on tensing like it’s there. Is that how she lives? Her way of bonding is riding on the high she got the night before and the night before that. She always has sex in her mind that thoughts of it occur to her as they would to an animal.

That’s right; she’s an animal. Perhaps even a dog would have more self-control than her, ironically.

“Lick your mess,” you command. “Now.”

Minju whimpers. You bury your fingernails in her scalp until she loses her fake hesitance. Her tongue glides on Wonyoung’s face and relieves her of the mess. Her lips part and close, taking in her own taste.

She looks like she’s making out with your wife. Her pretty face smudges the other pretty face in the picture and it’s so much hotter than it’s got the permit to be. Wonder how it’ll look if she’s actually kissing the real Wonyoung—picture them with their legs locked together and tongues coming out to play—and you’re hard enough for another round.

“That’s right. You want to be Wonyoung so bad? You want to be the one I drive into the bed everyday? So fucking make out with her.”

“Y-yes, daddy. Oh.” Minju’s moans fog the glass. “I taste delicious.”

It’s probably a hygienically reprehensible thing to do. But her mouth is dirtier than the picture anyway. You force her lips deeper into it until you pull her away, satisfied.

Not quite.

Rub her clit a few more times. Hose her squirt all over the floor. You’ll have a mess to clean up. Oh, there’s all the evidence: her squirt on the floor, her lipstick in the shape of a languid kiss on the picture frame, the mess she made in the dining table where you ate her rather than your food.

But it’s all worth it. An evil idea plants and sprouts in your mind. “Bedroom.”

Minju pants. Her hands are flat on the wall. She turns to you, saliva and lipstick smeared on her chin, and asks, “W-which one?”

“You know exactly where.”

Her wide eyes tell you wordlessly that she got the point. She’s well aware of what room you want to use her body next. It’s not even supposed to be a question given the ways and moments you fucked her there.

“But daddy—if, if she hears us?”

You grin. “Then you’ll have to be pretty fucking quiet.”

The best thing about Minju besides her body is her passiveness. She may act up sometimes but she still needs your cock, and she’ll do anything to get it. So when she hangs her head to hide her smile, you spank her. It speeds her steps to the staircase. Continue doing so all the way.

It’s funny how she struggles to even lift a foot. Streams of your cum and hers slide down her legs, staining the carpet. You’ll have to wash that out, too. If you have the maid do it, she’s likely to put two and two together.

Even from the back, Minju’s body is beautiful. Her reddened ass twists from side to side and brings attention to her wide hips. The deep line on her spine is a path you trace your fingertips on. She quivers.

“Daddy,” she whines.

Hit her butt. Let it fill your palm. “Keep on walking.”

It’s borderline dehumanizing. You’re treating her with a ferociousness a woman like her should never have to go through. The eyes of the painted men and women on your walls lock on her. It’s like their hard stares are real. Minju bears the blows to her cheeks during her walk of humiliation up the stairs. Tiny yelps are caused by each one. It’s in her to be quiet now that Wonyoung is quite near, although not as close as she is to another heavy orgasm.

You slap her pussy, making her shake, then lead the juices mingling in it up to her asshole. She chews on the inside of her cheek to hide her moan. She reaches the last step with a huge sigh of relief.

The finality of the torture doesn’t last long. Fuck, it doesn’t even exist. You collect the semen and wetness from her legs, then drag it right back to her pussy.

You shove your fingers deep in her cave. There. Now your cum stays inside her. After that, it’ll drip all the way to her womb. She screams through pursed lips.

Push her hard against your bedroom door. Her stomach’s flatness goes up to the point that it’s the only thing engendered into the wood. Minju’s tiny gasp is already loud for you. Her beautiful side profile is mashed deep into the solid barrier between the two women.

Minju whimpers. Is she scared or heavily turned on? The thing with her is she likes both. So, yeah—she’s wet at the thought of being caught with you, being fucked within a distance of your wife wherein she could finally pin down your infidelity.

The little angel closes her eyes when your words hover near her prone ear. “Shut up,” you warn, “unless you want to lose your career. Or this dick.”

You slip your shaft between Minju’s shapely thighs. A friction is nurtured and grown into rough, pant-accompanied humping that leaves both of you breathless. Her pussy lips splay warmly on you and you’re allowed to rub yourself on her clit.

Minju tenses up. Her breaths are kept to a hummed volume yet their huskiness gets you to fuck her legs faster. The core between them is so warm and you haven’t even welcomed yourself in it again.

You carefully open the door. You don’t know what you’re expecting: Wonyoung crying with her face in her knees? An anger you never knew she could have? But what shows calms you. There’s your wife who remains asleep on the bed. From the soft snores, it’s easy to tell she’s deep in a dream.

“Wonyoung’s so pretty, daddy,” whispers Minju. You push her to the footboard where she holds on tight. “Do you think she’ll want to join if she wakes up? Or she’ll leave you for me?”

“Are you sure you want to act like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Depends on what you’re gonna do to me.”

Everything. You’re planning on doing everything to her.

Push her to the small pole of the wood. You’re forced to shove your fingers in her mouth again to keep her from yelling. The contact it makes to her clit is already overwhelming. But she’s all for overwhelming—she wants the kind of sex that leaves her beaten and bruised, the kind that leaves her sore and not knowing if she should tell you to keep going or halt.

You know what she’d choose.

Minju grinds on the pole. She’s dancing her hips again. Somehow, things of the past don’t leave her. Her idol days still leave an impact on her. The guy she made cheat on his wife a long time ago returned to her life to cheat again.

No, you’ve never been one for sentimentality, but things have somehow stayed the same. The slut that is Minju today was a slut all those years ago, too.

Grab her hips and force her to hump the ball of the pole. She soaks it instantly. Minju is corrupted to no hope of return. There’s your cum, leaking from her pussy and to the bedsheets. Her juices wet the pole and increase the creaking noises that would wake Wonyoung up if not for whatever dream she’s having.

“Oh, daddy! Oh, daaaddy—” she stammers, words bitten and broken in the major need to be quiet. “Just… fuck me. Please?”

“As long as you—”

“Be a good quiet girl, yes. I’ll do anything, daddy. Anything for this cock.”

She kneels down. Her tender mouth seals around your left testicle. You nearly shout right there and then. Minju’s running her lips on the underside of your swelling dick. She feels so good, and she is so good. She has all the tips and tricks to keep you hard memorized, if her brain wasn’t too full of other dirty thoughts.

The rasp in your throat materializes and makes her squirm her legs together. She puckers her lips then slips your cock through their joined entrance. Her almond eyes look wider tonight. Your tip pokes the back of her throat. She lets it rub there for now. You find pleasure in the texture that makes you leak. No, you can’t cum. Not yet.

Take a last look at Wonyoung before diving your rod to the depths of Minju’s throat.

It’s funny that the girl still has a gag reflex. Sucking dick is second nature to her. So is getting throatfucked. The walls of her oral hole flex to keep you in. She makes sharp inhalations only to take in the musky scent you thrust on her. In her?

Choking comes after. The orifice grows tighter which makes you fuck it harder. Saliva’s slick liquid state sheens your erection. Minju’s lost her breath a long time ago but she’s lost more than that now. The regular beat of her heart is gone. You can’t search her face for any color other than the palest white.

“You have to stop gagging, Minju,” you say. Don’t help her though; keep ruining that throat. “Maybe you really do wanna get caught. Makes you really wet, doesn’t it?”

She nods. Your hard tip bobs in her mouth as she does. Her pretty eyes, with their long lashes and big pupils that always seem to gleam with innocence, fill with watery tears.

“How cute.” You’re surprised that her hair is intact to her scalp after you pull it back. “But I make the rules around here. And I need you to seal that mouth shut and use it for good.”

There’s a possibility that, like Minju, you’re a dancer as well. But the upward grind of your body has no grace in it. It’s a rough, punked up beat that renders the girl humming and screaming. This roughness is nowhere close to natural.

You dip your cock in her just to see how far you could go, how far is needed to keep her quiet. Feed her more than she could suck. Every sensitive spot of yours is on fire thanks to Minju’s dutiful tongue and hard sucking. Your sack slaps her chin so hard it’s surprising it doesn’t hurt.

But, like you iterated, Minju isn’t normal. She takes the pain for pleasure and doesn’t give a damn if she gets wounded because of it.

The tears finally fall from her eyes.

The lines blur. Who is she—the woman asleep on your bed or the woman you fucked to be disloyal to her? Minju’s beautiful; so is Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung is beautiful but there’s a category of beauty wherein the girl you’re destroying right now falls in. That’s the section for women who look pretty when they cry, who’ve accepted they’re as fucked up as whoever finds them and takes them in for who they are.

Your wife is pretty. You guess. But Minju is a beauty who lets you do everything to her, and that makes her a little bit more important.

Defile, defile, defile. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you get cum in her hair—(”I have a photoshoot, babe, you can’t!”). Semen sticks to Minju’s locks right now. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you be this rough with her—(“And what if they see? I shouldn’t look dirty to the fans.”) Minju is sitting there taking it like she’s just a cum dump. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you tear off her clothes because “they’re couture so it’s not really mine.” The coat Minju wore coming here lies discarded on the first floor.

Wonyoung doesn’t let anyone defile her. It’s her most fatal flaw. It’s the flaw that makes her husband see all the tiny imperfections she doesn’t allow the camera to see and chase highs in another woman’s throat.

So when Minju cries, gags, chokes—you realize it’s all so simple.

Slip out of her. The delusions clouding your head make you steal a look at the bed. Oh, now it’s unbelievable. Wonyoung is still asleep.

Not that it’s any inconvenience to you.

You prop Minju up to the vanity table. The counter carries the heave of her small chest. She can barely lift her head up. It makes her carry a look of humiliation that’s not at all true. She’s the most shameless woman you’ve ever met.

“Daddy… daddy…”

Twist her chin so she can look at herself in the mirror. Her body is amazing despite the handprints and bruises peppered on her stomach, butt, and neck. She flusters but your finger presses on her lips before she can look away.

“Not a single sound,” you remind her.

She nods. Good girl.

Minju’s a capable girl. Well, mostly. She offers those amazing dicksucking lips, shapely curves, and sometimes, her ass for ruining its own tightness. But nothing beats the feeling of her cunt. It’s all the right things: wet, tight, and perfectly quivering as they wrap around your shaft.

Minju closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. She fights to be true to her promise of silence. Being a good girl and bad girl simultaneously is one of her versatile traits. The table creaks louder than expected. You would’ve shot another look at your spouse again, but Minju’s pretty face is in the way. Her cheeks are scarlet and her brows bead with sweat. She really is a beauty.

Your strokes are ceaseless. The thing that shocks you the least is the fact that her legs look as if they spread wider and wider. She splits while you split her apart. Place a hand on her tummy to muffle the sounds of skin colliding and wood creaking, and reach a better end: your cock is hitting her guts, making a bobbing print on her flat stomach.

“Look how deep I am, Minju.” You grin wickedly at her reflection. “You call me daddy anywhere, don’t you? How about I become a real one?”

Minju bounces herself on you. That’s a yes. A definite, enthusiastic yes.

Your penetration is rougher, gliding on places she can’t even imagine. If you cum right now, and this far in, you’ll live up to your name of “daddy.” Minju isn’t the only one who has to keep promises.

Corner a pulse point on her neck. Her core squeezes and although its resistance is tough, your pumps are more so.

“You’ll be my secret good girl. Daddy’s gonna put a fucking baby in your stomach, and no one has to know it’s mine. No one has to know you’re mine.”

Minju pouts, not out of sadness but of the orgasm that’s creeping from her feet to her center. It’s so close she could reach for it, taste it like a strong wind. You allow the tiny breaths and pants that leave her to be exemptions from your bedroom law.

“Wonyoung would be so happy for you.” You lick the sensitive spot behind her ear. “‘That’s so great, unnie! Come on, tell us who’s the lucky guy.’ And you’ll have to stop yourself from telling her that I did it. Can you do that?”

Minju emphasizes each repetition with a responding throb and push of her cunt. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Allow that, too. Burst inside Minju. Flood her insides with cum that shall infiltrate her fertile womb. Soon, that tummy would be round rather than flat. It’ll be your baby.

Minju got what she wanted in the end.

The next day, Wonyoung will wake up crying.

It’ll happen early in the morning, when the moon is still up and sheets still wrap your exhausted form. But she’s sobbing so loud that it’ll rouse you.

“What’s wrong?” you’ll say.

She’ll tell you about a dream she had. Wonyoung’s going to narrate a complex dream of Minju, her beloved former member and best friend, seducing you. It happened right in the house and in front of her. You dared to do it to her while she was sleeping and thought she didn’t know.

And you?

You’ll take her in your arms, kiss the inside of her trembling wrist, and say, “Oh, honey—it’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”

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blkgirl-writing · 8 months

Note

Hi, I saw your smut requests post and was wondering if you could write one about touch starved Gale finally being alone with reader/Tav and getting his satisfaction? (Yeah, I got inspired by your nsfw headcanons about him, how could you tell?) Please and thank you!

PS Can I be 🧀 anon?

What happened at the moon lit pond

Gale X Fem!Reader

Baldurs gate 3

It’s been, probably three years since I’ve written a full fanfic? I’ll admit I’m probably a little rusty. Thank y’all for hanging in, and I hope this fulfills our nerdy wizard boy needs. thank you so much 🧀 anon for the request! I hope you stay and request some more.

Important tags: lots of pining, some angst (no sad ending), smutty (male and female Masterbation, male giving female oral), spoilers for gales mid game story, romance, Gale is an anxious mess, The thought of gale brushing his hair from his face got me GOING 😩

Word count: 1.9k

(Part 1.5 HERE) (PART 2 HERE)

(Gale headcanons that inspired this here)

Gale didn’t know how to handle these new feelings for you. He makes a fool of himself everyday, it seems. He always offers you a slice of his bread, even if you gave your own, he saves some of his own morning coffee for you, since he wakes up earlier, and even warm it up for you with a spell.

He simply wanted you to like him. That would be all he needed, but anything else that may follow that would be a true blessing. Gale wanted nothing more than to make you laugh, to see your smile and know he was the reason why, to camp and be the first and last person you’d speak to before sleep.

Gale wouldn’t let his mind wander much past that, or he tried to not let it. The occasional dream would slip through where you were his, and he was yours. It simply put him in panic mode In the waking hours, trying to not be obvious, scared you’d find out, what exactly? He wasn’t sure. You were too kind to break his heart so effortlessly, like he feared you would.

Endless scenarios danced in gales head of rejection, humiliation, and what would happen if he let himself go, life he was tasked to do. It wouldn’t take much, to convince him to live. Friendship, a place to call home, even if it was ever moving. Company he could entrust his life to. It was all so appealing. Luring him into life, breathing a new passion into his purpose, one he’d lost many years ago, sometime when he was alone for so many years.

Those thoughts seemed to linger on forever, sweeping over his barely conscious brain to awaken him again, rustling him from what could be a good nights rest. Eventually, Gale decided to just get up and go for a walk.

Camp had been set up in one of the most beautiful places any of you had seen. Waterfalls tinted emerald green, sand fine and shimmering in the light, may it be sun or moon. I’m one of those waterfalls, he found you.

Waist deep in the pond. Skin and hair dripping wet, shining more than usual water would, adding a silver glow to the night. You looked better than a goddess could ever imagine, and still, his eyes never dipped below you shoulders, even though he deeply wanted to look lower. Instead, he stood there, looking like a fucking idiot, gods know how long. Maybe a tree branch snapped, or maybe you finally snapped out of your trance, but your head whipped in his direction, eyes darting across the small beach, only relaxing when you realize only gale stands before you.

“Oh, Gale, it’s just you…” you let out a deep, jagged breath, the anxiety flowing out of your body just as quickly as it racked through it.

“Just? Are you disappointed?” Gale smirked, although his heart raced in his chest, one word and he'd sulk back to camp, but gods he wanted to stay and spend the whole night with you under the stars.

“Far from it, really. I was just thinking about how much you’d enjoy this view if you were here” you tore your eyes away from Gale, focusing on the stars. “I thought it may remind you of waterdeep. You paint a very beautiful picture of home.”

“I can think of a few things much, much more beautiful than Waterdeep,” his voice low, raspier than usual. Easily explained away from the lack of sleep or old sleeping bags, not for what it really was. Deep yearning, wanting, needing.

“I’d love to see them someday, then.”

“We’ll just have to get you a mirror, then,” “All the beauty in the world would reflct

"Gale, I-" You finally looked into his eyes, he wore his heart on his sleeve, at least for a moment. Those puppy eyes, dark bust glistening in the full moonlight, his hair messy from turning in his sleep, he wanted you, in many more ways than one. Gale's emotions could never be that simple, of course.

"Well," you walked towards him, water inching lower and lower, revealing more and more of your body, yet gales eyes stayed on yours. "Why don't you join me for a swim. It's a beautiful night."

"an offer I could not refuse." Gale's face was plastered with that cocky smile, the one that could melt anyone into a puddle in seconds.

He might have been a gentleman and kept his eyes upwards, but you were not so much, Gale untied his robes, gods why were there so many damn layers? It was quite a sight, his little mannerisms that showed more of him to you than he had shown to you. He was nervous, his fingers missing the simple ties frequently, he got annoyed by his hair getting in his eyes, a grimace appearing before he swept his hair behind his ear.

Your eyes lingered on his circle smoke tattoo, his toned arms, his downright massive hands. he was more tan than you realized, To be fair, he's always covered in those loose robes, leaving you to wonder what was underneath. You were more than happy to finally be finding out. But not below the waist.

"Isn't it a bit cold to be this naked?"

"The water is warmer than the air, I promise." You extended a hand out to Gale, even though he was feet away from you. "Come on, Gale from Waterdeep being afraid of some cold water? Sounds redundant."

"You got me there." He finally stepped into the glimmering pond surrounded by rocks and sand, enough to have your own little corner, to lessen the echo if it was needed. The whole camp didn't need to know all of your business. It must've been a magical lake, as both you and Gale noted separately. Unnaturally still, even when you moved freely, small glowing lights pooled at your sides, occasionally bubbling into the air once you leaned against a large, bright rock.

"May I ask what you were doing out here at this hour?" Gale spoke, still much further away from you than he wanted to be,

"Can I not take a mid-night swim?" You raised your brows in a questioning glance his way "A woman needs time to herself. These days and nights have been very stressful."

Gales very audible oh, slipped through the silence. "You don't have to relax alone." His eyes finally gave in to the need, scanning your body with a low moan slipping past his lips. His excitement was immediate, brushing against your lower stomach all the way past your navel.

"You've wanted this." You stated, brushing your hand against his thigh.

"There's plenty of magic around us, I want the Gale right in front of me." You dared to inch even closer, his thigh fully slipping between yours, inches away from touching your pussy. His hands floated inches from your waist, "Let me give you everything"

"Give me everything" With that, Gale's hand grabbed your waist, gently guiding you onto his thigh, motioning your hips down and swaying only him. The sensation sent sparks flying through his body, you were right in front of him, completely bare and rocking with pleasure onto him. Better than any dream he'd thought up, any fantasy that ran through his head even at the most inappropriate of times. Yes even during the throws of battle. Even in hard times like that, he was so drawn to you.

Gales other hand came up to your jawline, tilting your head so he could latch his mouth around your neck. Deep marks left behind while he inches his way in hickeys up your neck, jaw, and finally to your lips. Any semblance of anonymity flew out the window, not a single person could miss what he gave you, artfully placed dark spots painting your skin. "I have never seen such a beautiful being in my life"

"I could say the same about you gale," You said betwixt breathy moans, picking up the pace of your grinding hips against his thigh, his hand on your waist moving between a tight grip on your ass, and a light but so effective caress of your clit. Every time you got so close, his fingers moved, he was teasing you. His cocky smirk felt even through his kiss.

"I want you to come on my mouth." As if he was reading your slightly frustrated thoughts, "I want to taste you in my dreams."

All you could manage was a frantic nod, a mumbled yes, and shakily hoisting yourself up onto a rock that was perfect for gales pretty head to be between your thighs. Gale pushed your thighs apart with one hand, which stayed firmly grabbing onto you. The other sneaked up your thigh, tracing patterns along your skin. "Gale, please," you whispered out of pure desperation. The only warmth coming from your feet still in the water, otherwise your skin exposed to the biting air.

"All you had to do was ask, my lady" Gales fingers easily slid into you, curling up and pumping in and out, while he leaned into your pussy, maintaining eye contact as he placed one kiss just to the right of where you needed him to be. All he needed was to be touched, to touch you. Your legs wrapped around him to get Gale even closer, urging him closer.

"Touch yourself" Barely a whisper, but Gale caught it, and certainly didn't need to be told twice. Secretly, he could cum from this alone, your taste, how soft you were, how loud you could get. It was more than enough to orgasm right there with you, however, that is not exactly how he wanted your first sexual experience to go. His hand clutching your thigh came to his cock, rubbing much faster and harder than he was fingering you. he was eager. He wanted this to last forever, he wanted you to cum again and again and again into his mouth. He wanted his face even more dripping from your juices.

"Gale I can't hold it-" You nearly screamed, his tongue swirling and sucking, lightly biting, it was almost too much. Then, he moaned. A loud, deep moan and that was it. Vibrations running through your body from his mouth. there noise that left your mouth could've been heard across Baldurs gate, you silently thanked this magical pound for being so secluded, as you would be borderline embarrassed if people heard. Gales didn't come back up for hair until he was sure you were finished, getting every last drop of you.

"You certainly are loud" Gales tone was so smug it almost made you laugh. You gripped onto his shoulders as he swept you down from the perch, pressing his whole body to yours. After all that, after her definitely came, he was still so hard, and so pressed against you that you couldn't help but gasp. "I want to hear that again."

"Hear what, exactly?" you teased, lifting a finger to trace his chest.

"To hear you cum," his lips dipped down to your ear, slightly nibbling on it, before he rasped "and to feel you on my cock."

Part two, here

(Requests Open)

#x reader #smut #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #gale x tav #gale x reader #gale x reader smut #gale smut #gale of waterdeep smut #gale dekarios smut #gale dekarios x reader #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 smut #baldurs gate 3 x reader #tav #requests open #astarion x reader

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 8 months

Text

You guys really got me to one thousand likes in less than two days.

I don't even know what's happening but it's pulling me out of a really awful writer's block.

I have more ideas than I know what to do with so expect a good bit of content in the future.

You're all incredible 💗 ❤️

Have some Shanks headcanons, ranging from fluffy to spicy. As a treat.

I was a little iffy about Live Action Shanks at first, since he was literally my first manga/anime crush ever. But he grew on me more with every scene.

Especially that final scene where he saw Luffy's wanted poster. I mean....

Lookit that smile 🥹

So anyway.

LA!Shanks X Fem!Reader

Shanks A — Z

A — Afterglow (How are they after sex?)

Holding you close and telling you how much he adores you.

He's going to give you anything you want. Anything.

"Do you need anything, sweetheart? I've got you."

You want a bath, he's going to run it for you, carry you there once it's ready, and help you bathe.

Food or a drink, you just lay down, he's got it.

Shanks is completely and utterly devoted to making you feel like a goddess after sex.

Showering you with soft, tender kisses and caresses and endless praise, rubbing his fingers between your wet folds to prolong your pleasure as long as possible.

If it seems like he's trying to coax you into another round, he probably is. Your're going to have to outright tell him you're if spent, because he can't get enough of you.

B — Backrubs? (Do they like them? Like giving them?)

You can expect it nightly. You're his princess and he's going to pamper you.

He might only have one hand, but dear gods those fingers are magic.

He's not asking anything in return, but if you're offering then he isn't going to turn you down.

Closing his eyes and groaning as your fingers work through the tension in his muscles.

"Oh, you're too good for me, love."

C — Cuddling (Do they enjoy cuddling a lot ot only at certain moments?)

If you're within arm's reach, then Shanks has his arm around you.

His main mode of affection is physical.

Pulling you you to his side, resting his head over yours, tugging you down onto his lap.

He wants you close, as much and as often as you're willing to be, and he does't give a damn who sees.

D — Dance (Are they good at it? Do they enjoy it?)

Not really big on dancing, but if you want to he isn’t going to turn you down.

He'll take any excuse he can get to hold you close.

Tucking your hair behind your ear so he can rest his temple against yours.

His arm curled loosely around your back.

E — Extravagant Gestures (Things they do to make you feel loved)

He would literally move mountains for you if he could.

You tell him your dreams, well now they're his dreams too.

Anything you accomplish, whether alone or with his help, warrants the most lavish of celebrations.

He isn’t particularly materialistic, but what his princess wants, she gets, no questions asked.

"If you wanted the moon, I would make this ship fly so you could stake your claim."

F — Fighting (How do they hand arguments/apologies?)

All puppy-dog eyes and pouts.

Shanks makes it impossible to stay mad at him for any reasonable length of time. He's just too damned adorable.

Wrapping an arm around you and laying his head on your shoulder, refusing to let you go until you listen.

Even if it's a serious argument, the look of utter heartbreak on his face makes you cave every time.

"Come on, sweetheart. Just name it, I'll do anything."

He isn’t too proud to apologize—he knows when he's in the wrong, and he'll do anything in his power to make it up to you.

G — Going Out (What do they do for dates?)

If Shanks is the one doing the planning, you can expect to end up one of two places.

You might be at the nearest tavern, going shot for shot on rum until you can't see straight, singing sea shanties into the dark hours of morning.

Or laid out on a secluded stretch of beach in the moonlight, sharing a bottle or two, wrapped up in each others' arms and lips and forgetting the passage of time entirely.

He's happy doing anything that means he gets to spend time with you, though, so he's fine with going out of his element if you have something else in mind.

H — Heartache (How would they handle it if you broke up with them?)

Don't. Please. Just don't. He'll be inconsolable.

He'll cry. Don't make Shanks cry. That's just heartless.

He won't show it in front of his crew. He'll keep up his usual carefree and aloof facade.

But once he's alone, he'll be in complete shambles.

He'll probably drink himself senseless.

He loves hard, with every fabric of his being, and losing you would utterly destroy him.

I — Intimacy (When are they intimate with you? And how often?)

Literally all the time.

Shanks always kisses you like no one's watching, pulling you flush against him and delving his tongue between your lips and squeezing your rear.

In his eyes, there's no wrong time to show how much he treasures you. How much he wants you.

His ship could be under fire by a full Marine armada and he would still pull you in for a slow, sweet kiss if the mood struck.

In fact he'd probably do it just to show the Marines how completely unbothered he is.

J — Joker (How do they make you laugh)

If Shanks isn't cracking some stupid joke, you're worried something is wrong.

He loves making people laugh, loves seeing people laughing and enjoying life.

And making *you* laugh? That gives him life.

He's gone far as to pull your panties on while you're alone together in the captain's cabin and imitate you being dramatic about something until you're begging him to stop before you choke to death on your own giggles.

K — Kissing (How good? How often?)

If you're within eyeshot, he *has* to kiss you.

He knows that his crew will roll their eyes and tease him about it, but he doesn't care. Your lips are like a drug and he simply can't get enough.

His kisses tend to be light and plauful.

Lightly biting and pulling at your bottom lip.

Flicking his tongue across lips to coax yours out.

Letting his tongue swirl slowly around yours before pulling back and leaving you craving more.

Pulling you into his lap when he deepens the kiss.

Lifting his hand to flip off anyone with the audacity to tell you two to get a room.

"Don't pay them any mind, princess. They're just a bunch of jealous pricks."

L — Lay down (How do they sleep with you? Are they a cuddler or do they prefer their space?)

He has to be against you in bed.

If you roll away in your sleep, he will subconsciously shift closer to you.

Spooning is definitely his favorite—your back and your ass pressed up against him, his arm draped over your waist so he can caress your stomach or lay his palm over one of your soft breasts...absolute *heaven*.

M — Making babies (Do they want to settle down and have kids?)

Shanks is good with kids, being that he's practically an overgrown kid himself half the time.

All the same, he just...isn’t sure.

He loves you to death. Having a family with you would be a dream come true.

But if he had to leave his ship, his crew behind? He just isn’t sure he could do that.

Because he loves them to death, too.

N — Nervous? (How confident are they when it comes to romance?)

Shanks posseses the positively deadly combination of being unnecessarily charming and handsome, and incredibly aware of it.

Thus, his confidence is through the roof.

He knows he doesn't need anything more than a cheeky grin and a soft carress or two to get you in bed.

That being said, he'll spend all day subtly teasing you to the end of your sanity to make sure you want him as much as it's possible to want another person.

O — Oral Fixation (Giving or recieving? And how good are they?)

Absolutely a giver. He's incredible at it and he knows it.

And he's a terrible, terrible tease about it.

Taking you to the edge, making your thighs tremble...and then pulling away to brush his lips to your thighs and give you a cheeky grin.

"Oh, not yet, love. I love hearing you beg for it."

Keeping you on the edge until you're begging to come in complete and utter desperation before he finally lets you.

And then he isn't going to stop until you're begging him to.

He loves recieving just as much.

Really loves it when you pull him down an empty alley and get on your knees.Curling his fingers in your hair, groaning quietly and praising you endlessly.

His breath shaking as he resists the urge to thrust his hips forward and fuck your throat, wanting to enjoy the slow build-up.

"That's it, sweetheart. Look at me. I want to see those pretty eyes while you suck my cock."

P — Pet Peeves (Things they don't like in a partner)

Taking things too seriously. He's always joking around and having a good time, and all he wants is for you to do the same.

The silent treatment. It drives him absolutely insane. Just talk to him if there's something wrong, he wants to fix it.

Flirting with other men to make him jealous. Just don't. It's the one thing that truly gets under his skin, that could actually get him honestly angry with you.

Q — Quiet Time (How much alone time do they need, or do they want to be with you 24/7?)

Gives you your distance if you need it, but he does so begrudgingly.

He knows life is short—he got his arm bit off by a giant sea monster, for gods' sake—and he wants to spend as much time as he can with you.

Whether you're out having fun, fighting alongside each other, or curled up together in a hammock sharing a bottle of rum and enjoying a lazy afternoon.

He loves being with you, and he'll take any excuse he can get.

R — Romance (How romantic are they? Do they have to force it or does it come natural?)

Shanks's version of romance isn't fancy dinners and extravagant date nights.

It's lying on a beach watching the sunset with you.

Pushing you into the water and diving in after you, kissing you while you're both sopping wet.

Making love under a full moon.

Telling you every opportunity he gets how much he adores you.

"You know you're my greatest treasure, don't you, sweetheart?"

It's hard not to know when he tells you at least three times a day.

But the way he looks into your eyes when he says it still manages to melt your heart every time.

S — Spending Money (How much do they like to spend on you?)

Shanks isn't really much for materialism or consumerism.

You'll have to tell him if there's something you want, and he's not going to have any oroblem with getting it for you.

Every so often, something is going to catch his eye at some market in a port town.

Something that reminds him of you or that he thinks you'll like.

And he'll buy it without hesitation and give it to you with a big, goofy grin the second he sees you.

It's not all the time, but it makes it that much more special when it does happen.

T — Trust (Are they trusting of you? Jealous?)

He absolutely trusts you—that's how love is supposed to work.

But he can get a little jealous.

You wouldn't know it from the way he carries himself and jokes about it, but he does get a little insecure about missing an entire limb.

This can lead to him getting a little defensive and possessive if other men approach you—he's going to make sure it's known that you're his lover, and he'll always fight for you.

U — Underwear (What kind do they wear, and what kind do they like on you?)

Loose-fitting boxers are more comfortable.

He doesn't care what kind of underwear you wear, as long as it comes off easily.

And if you whisper in his ear that you're *not* wearing any?

You'd best buckle up, because he's putting you over his shoulder and carrying you off to the nearest private, or even semi-private location he can find to take advantage of this information.

V — Vulnerable (How vulnerable are they with you? Is it easy for them to open up to you?)

He is one hundred percent an open book with you.

You know everything about him. His life, his secrets, his aspirations.

He doesn't want anything to ever come up that could frighten you off, so he lays everything on the table surprisingly quickly.

W — Wine and Dine (Do they prefer meals at home or going out with you? Who does more of the cooking?)

He would much rather cook, preferably with you. He's not the best at it, but he's not awful either, given that he's had to be self-sufficient for a good bit of his life.

And if you're good at it, he's not to proud to take advice.

Any time spent with you is a wonderful time to him.

If you go out, it's probably going to be street food or tavern fare—fancy restaurants aren't his forte, and he's frankly not sure he would even have anything appropriate to wear.

X — X-Rated (How good are they in bed? What do they like?)

Hopefully you like being teased literally to the edge of sanity.

Major kink for edging you, making you beg for it.

And dear sweet fuck, is he good at it.

Whispering all the things he's going to do to you throughout the course of the day.

Pulling you down an alley or into a broom closet, pinning you to the wall and teasing you through your panties, stopping just short of letting you cum.

Subtle glances and touches.

He *loves* seeing you writhing in his bed, desperate for his touch while he kisses your neck, just trailing his fingertips up and down your inner thigh.

Holding you down by your hips so you can't even grind against him.

"Such an eager little thing. Just be patient, princess. You're going to get what you want."

Kissing down your breasts, taking time to stop and tease your nipples.

Pushing your thighs apart with his knees so he can circle a finger around your entrance, chuckling a little at your moans and whimpers before finally pushing it in.

Sitting up on his knees to watch you arch your hips, rubbing against your g-spot just long enough to get you gasping.

Pulling his finger back out and slowly circling it around your clit instead, before shifting back between your thighs and giving the sensitive bud a few teasing licks, watching you shiver in anticipation.

Keeping it slow and sensual, enjoying every second of being between your thighs, building your pleasure at a slow and steady pace that drives you crazy.

Holding onto your hip keep you from grinding against his tongue.

Pulling back the second you crest toward orgasm, chuckling at your whimpering and begging as he trails his lips across your inner thigh.

"You're just so adorable when you're desperate for it."

Keeping it going for what feels like hours, before finally tugging you in close and not relenting until you're trembling and falling apart beneath him.

Feeling you throbbing under his tongue and tighten up around his fingers is like a high for him.

Not stopping until your body goes limp and the only sounds you can make are a few little whimpers.

Soft, tender kisses amd whispered praises at your neck and lips and shoulders, his fingers combing through your hair, letting you recover for just a minute, even though he's aching for you.

Grinding his cock against your wet folds a few times before sliding slowly into you, groaning quietly in your ear.

"Oh, fuck, you're tight, love..."

Absolutely savors every second of being inside you, moving in long slow strokes, brushing his thumb across your cheek while he kisses you.

If you ask for it harder, he's going to give it to you—he's done with teasing you now. This is about you now, about what his princess wants.

And if you want it rough, then you're coming out of it with your neck and chest half-covered in hickies, and he's not stopping until he's sure you won't be able to walk tomorrow morning.

Holding back just long enough so you can climax at the same time, grunting out a quiet swear and pulling your hips flush against his to come deep inside you.

Slow, deep kisses while you both catch your breath and come down.

But don't be surprised if he's gearing up for another round soon. He really can never get enough of you.

Y — Yearning (How long will they pursue the person they're interested in before losing interest?)

It depends. If it's purely lust based, he's not going to pursue it very long and just move on.

If the feelings run deeper, though, he's absolutely shameless about it.

Relentless flirting and corny pick-up lines.

"Pardon me miss—do you have a map? It seems I've gotten lost in your eyes and I can’t find my way out."

Will absolutely get on his knees and beg you to give him a chance if he has to.

Puppy dog eyes in full effect.

It's pretty much pointless trying to resist.

Z — Zen (What do they do to wind down and relax? Do they prefer to do it alone or with you?)

A bottle of rum, a hammock stretched between a couple palm trees on some remote beach only he knows about, and his arm curled around you while you lie back against his chest.

Kissing your temple and playing with your hair.

He's always more relaxed when he has you with him.

#shanks one piece #opla #shanks x reader #smut #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #one piece headcanons #shanks opla #one piece live action #fluff

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jgracie · 1 month

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WHO’S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME?

masterlist | rules

♡ dedicated to giselle @pinkdiorluvr <3 our leo/ttpd/aphrodite parallels resulted in this epic crossover... love u sm !

in which leo was tame and gentle ‘til the circus life made him mean (alternatively, the one where you teach a son of aphrodite how to love again)

pairing son of aphrodite!leo valdez x roman!reader

warnings self-loathing (happy ending tho dw), ooc / dark!leo? idk tbh but this is a deep dive into his mind lowk 😭 also this is kinda long sorry in advance LMAO

on the radio . . . who’s afraid of little old me? (taylor swift), the only exception (paramore)

an aphrodite cabin leo my beloved… read the comments under this for a bit of context :) also in this they know the ghost of the battery is venus cz it fits w the story ok

If you looked up the word ‘tragedy’ in the dictionary, Leo was convinced you’d find his whole life there. It’d take up half the book, listing every event that’s ever happened in his life from the moment his mother died in that fire, her body so charred there was nothing to bury, until present time

It would talk about how after that, social services arrived, and how his aunt had refused to take him in, calling him a diablo and shouting at the social workers to take him themselves. It would talk about how none of his other relatives wanted him. It would talk about all the foster homes he’d run from, both the okay and the ugly (because they were never good. They didn’t want him either) opting to sleep under the Houston bridge for months instead. It would talk about how Leo was completely and utterly unloveable

Years of his life being this endless cycle of misery resulted in Leo toughening up. He was no longer the sweet boy who’d sit on his mother’s lap as she worked with pieces of metal, who’d run to get her a hammer or a screwdriver before she even asked for it, his heart so full of love for her he was close to exploding. No, this was a new Leo. This Leo learnt to deal with the bullies and the streets and everything else life decided to throw at him, his skin calloused and his heart cold. Sure, he was still elvish and scrawny, but he wasn’t afraid. That alone was enough

Eventually, he befriended Piper. She was nice. For once, he was around someone who didn’t seem to mind his company. But no matter how much Piper liked him, she still liked Jason more. Leo wasn’t an idiot, he knew from the moment Piper laid eyes on the perfect blond that this was her dream guy. And he was happy for her, she was his friend after all! However, he couldn’t help but resent her feelings towards him. He found himself left out again - unloveable Leonidas Valdez, that’s who he’d always be, now that his mom was gone

Then, he discovered a whole new world of Gods and monsters and for a moment in time, Leo thought everything might finally begin to click. He never fit in with the other kids in his foster homes because he wasn’t like them, he was a demigod, of course he couldn’t fit in. For the first time since his mother’s passing, Leo became an optimist. Maybe things would turn around? He’d get to meet his second parent and they’d explain it all, possibly even reward him for his perseverance? Leo toyed around with the idea, replaying the fantasy in his head. In the end, to him, just getting a glimpse of them would be enough

He got claimed as soon as he arrived. Usually, that would be considered incredibly lucky, and Leo really tried thinking of it in that way. Annabeth had told him some campers wait years for that symbol to float over their heads, to finally be able to move out of the crowded Hermes cabin and have people they can genuinely call siblings, a place they can genuinely call home

Leo would’ve been happy if his Godly parent wasn’t her. Aphrodite. What a sick joke. How could the Goddess of love be his mother? No one loved Leo, even Piper and Jason saw him as a nuisance at times. They tried to disguise it, but Leo knew. Years of being bullied had given him excellent training in reading the emotions of others. He knew that whenever the three of them were together, they wished they could be alone. He’d almost refused to sleep in cabin 10, but his new siblings grabbed him by the arms and dragged him over, excited to meet a fellow child of their mother’s

Luckily, it didn’t take Leo very long to get a quest. He, along with Piper and Jason, left Camp Half-Blood to go find and save Hera from the cage she was trapped in. Although the quest was hard and there were many times he’d come close to death, Leo was happier away from the cabin that reminded him of everything he should be and was not. The trio came back to camp just in time and immediately started planning their journey to Jason’s home, Camp Jupiter

The days Leo was building the Argo II were some of his happiest. He had an excuse to not sleep in his cabin (the Hephaestus cabin had kindly offered him bunker 9) and he was around the one thing he truly did love - machinery. The smell of oil and clang of metal reminded him of his mother, the one person who’d truly ever loved him. Sure, Leo did occasionally find himself yearning for human interaction, but every time he felt that ache in his chest, his fingertips longing to touch another, he’d push it down and continue his work. Just because he was a son of Aphrodite, doesn’t mean he deserved love. If he did deserve love, surely, he would’ve gotten it a long time ago

Soon enough, the ship was finished and Leo, Jason, Piper and Annabeth set sail for Camp Jupiter. On the boat, he felt less pressure to fit into the constraints of the stereotypical role of a child of Aphrodite, consequently becoming more like one. Away from land, he could shed the Leo Valdez who was tough and hard as stone, becoming as fluid as the sea instead. He wasn’t anywhere near as social as the others, but this time, he didn’t lock himself up in his room. He taught Annabeth about the mechanisms of the ship and teased Piper and Jason whenever he caught them kissing

From above, Aphrodite watched and hoped the Fates were feeling kindly towards her baby boy. It broke her heart watching him lose faith in love, but she couldn’t do anything about it - not with Zeus keeping a close eye on her

“Okay, I’ll show you the ship. Come with me,” Leo told Octavian - Camp Jupiter’s joke of an Oracle. The boy annoyed him, reminding Leo too much of some of the manipulative bullies he had to learn to fight back, but he knew giving him a tour of the Argo II was essential for gaining the Romans’ trust. Surprisingly, it was going well. Octavian was quiet as he examined it all, only making a few snide remarks about the ‘obviously Greek methods’ Leo had used

Then it happened. Leo felt his mind go blank and his limbs move against his will, heading for the ballistae. He tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t. He fired on Camp Jupiter

Other than Jason, who had gotten hit by a brick and was currently passed out, everyone was fine. What wasn’t fine was the fact that the Romans were no longer on their side. The others gave him accusatory glances, even though he’d insisted didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Only Piper seemed to be on his side, but even she was a little hesitant, a little confused

You were the anomaly. Leo didn’t notice you - quiet and observant, wanting to see how this would play out - until you spoke up to defend him. You, a Roman who’d just had the only home she’s ever known destroyed, who’d just been labelled an outcast by all her friends and family thanks to him, had defended Leo

“Guys, I don’t think he meant any harm,” you said, immediately silencing the other six members of the Great Prophecy. Leo’s mouth was agape, unable to say anything as you continued, “why would he fire on Camp Jupiter on purpose?” You asked, “isn’t he a part of this eight, one of us?” Then, turning to Annabeth, you said, “isn’t he your friend? Why aren’t you defending him?” She blushed and looked down at her feet, unsure of what to say

You smiled, happy that another problem had been solved, “let’s not ruin this quest before it even starts, okay? We can’t save the world from Gaia if we don’t act as a team.”

For the first time since his mother’s death, Leo felt loved. However, he knew all too well how good things never last

Leo distanced himself from you, as well as everyone else on the ship. After that day, he’d decided to coop himself up in his room and work on upgrading the ship instead, only coming out when absolutely necessary. Meanwhile, you eagerly got to know everyone else who was part of the prophecy, intrigued about the differences between Greek and Roman demigods. The one person who you desperately wanted to know, though, was Leo

No matter how hard you tried, he always seemed to escape your clutches. You’d been worried for him ever since that first day on the ship, and after finding out he built it, you were dying to know more

“Venus only appeared when Reyna was alone, so I don’t think any men can come along,” Jason said. Yet again, you were splitting up for another quest. This time, it was seeking the ghost of the Battery, who you’d deduced was Venus, the goddess of love. Suddenly, you had an idea

“Shouldn’t Leo come along? He’s her son, isn’t he? She’d show up for him,” you said, giving the boy a kind glance, which he averted. He really didn’t want to meet his mom. She didn’t care for him, so neither did he for her. If she cared, she wouldn’t have left him to fend for himself all those years. She was no better than his Aunt Rosa

Unfortunately, everyone on the ship agreed with you. Venus would probably be more helpful if her son was there. It was settled, you and Leo would go find the ghost of the Battery

The walk was awkward. This was the first time the two of you had been together since the first day on the ship. You made small talk, asking him about the ship and Camp Half-Blood. He thanked you for that day, and when you’d given him a toothy grin, your eyes sparkling, Leo felt as if Cupid had shot an arrow right through his heart. He couldn’t breathe. He’d never been more overwhelmed with love

“Lady Venus?” You said, your voice tentative as you looked around, suddenly doubting your plan. Immediately, she appeared in front of you. She was beautiful, with curly brown locks and fiery brown eyes. Her smile was kind, making you feel a warmth spread throughout your body. Then she noticed Leo. Instantly, her fiery eyes became sad, and… were those tears?

She floated past you and towards Leo, cupping his face in her hands. He flinched, about to pull away before remembering she’s a Goddess and could easily smite him if she were in a bad mood. His eyebrows remained furrowed, the crease in his forehead only deepening when she said, “my boy, my Leo. You’ve grown so beautifully.”

You could tell Leo’s relationship with his mother was strained, despite never meeting her. He scoffed, gaining the courage to remove her soft hands from his rigid face

“I am not your Leo. I am Esperanza Valdez’s Leo. She’s dead, in case you can’t recall. She died and you did nothing to stop it, nothing to ease the pain. I will never be your Leo. I’m only here for the sake of the quest, so please just tell us what we need to do and we’ll be on our way,” with every word, you could tell Venus’ heart shattered into several tiny pieces. Never in a million years did you think you’d see a Goddess look so heartbroken

She tried to reach out for him again, but this time, Leo didn’t let her, inching closer to you instead. Sighing, Venus opted to use her words, “look, I’m really sorry. You have no idea how bad I feel. I wanted to help you, really, but Zeus–”

“It’s always Zeus with you Gods, isn’t it? No, you don’t get to tell me you feel bad. You wouldn’t have survived an hour in my childhood. Do you know how horrible it felt, being wanted by no one? Do you have any idea how much it hurt finding out your own mother, the Goddess of love, didn’t do a single thing to help, choosing to leave you feeling unlovable instead? If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have given up just because of Zeus.”

Venus was quiet after that. You looked up at the sky, afraid Jupiter would strike you with his lightning bolt at this very moment, but he didn’t. With tears in her eyes, she said what was necessary and as soon as she was done, Leo got up and began walking away. You, however, stayed. You couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the Goddess, even though Leo was in the right

“He likes you,” she said, breaking the silence, “but he thinks he’s incapable of love, and it’s all my fault, I know, but I beg of you, please save my son before it's too late.” Her hand was tightly gripping yours, and you gave her a sad smile before going to catch up with Leo

You found him crying behind a bush. He had his face in his hands and sat with his knees touching his chest as horrible, gut-wrenching sobs left his open lips, desperate for some air. Calmly, you sat next to Leo. You didn’t do anything - no stupid words, no trying to fix his issues, you knew that wasn’t what he needed. Leo just needed some love. So you wrapped an arm around him and let him let it out on your shoulder

With the grass leaving indents on your skin and the light breeze cooling your bodies, Leo opened up. He didn’t say everything, but you got the gist of it all. You also got that seeing Venus face-to-face and crying afterwards had taken a load off of his back. With every word he said, Leo’s face seemed to brighten, his curls gaining shape and his eyes becoming a warmer shade of mahogany. The realisation hit you like a truck: he looked just like his mother

As the days passed, you paired with Leo for quests more often. He was more comfortable around you than any of the other crew members, which didn’t go unnoticed by them. They were glad Leo had found someone he could let loose with. Your journey across the Mediterranean continued and your friendship blossomed and bloomed, every late night conversation proving to Leo that maybe love was something he could achieve in this lifetime after all

Despite this, he kept his distance. A part of him was scared you stayed out of pity. As a son of Aphrodite, he knew that wasn’t true - he could read people like a book, after all. But he would never forget how his life is an endless loop. Just as he’d think he was finally getting a break, the universe would greet him with the worst event he’s ever experienced. Soon enough, something awful would happen. Something that’d push you away. You should be afraid of him, an unstable boy with extreme detachment issues and a history of bad relationships. What was there to love?

Everything. To you, there was everything to love about Leo. From the way he always had a piece of scrap metal to fiddle with in case he got nervous, to the way his nose would scrunch up when he’d laugh. Leo Valdez had ripped your heart out of your body and decided to keep it, and you were okay with that

Your confession had happened after Percy and Annabeth fell into Tartarus. Everyone was absolutely gutted, of course, but no one more than Leo. He blamed himself for their descent into the deep pits of hell, and you began to see him slowly go back to the Leo he once was, the Leo he was used to being. The difference was that this time, you were there

You forced him to give you and the others some of the watch shifts he’d assigned to himself. You made sure he ate and drank water and took care of himself. You were there to pick the pieces back up again

One night, it was just you and him

“Why do you do this? Am I not a burden to you?” Leo had asked, just as you were about to leave his room. After finding him half asleep at the wheel, you dragged him to bed, tucking him in yourself and making him swear not to leave until the morning

You turned, your eyes holding a mix of fondness and hurt. Not for yourself, but for the boy who has never looked into the mirror and seen a person worthy of loving. Your voice as clear as the sky above, you said, “because I love you. You could never be a burden to me, because I want to do this.”

“Why? Why do you love me?”

Making your way over to his bed, you sat on the edge, cupping his face, just like his mother did during your first adventure together. This time, he didn’t flinch. In fact, he seemed to melt under your touch. You felt anguish in your heart at this - no matter how much Leo insisted he should be alone, he still craved another

“Because you’re you. You’re sweet and you’re loyal and most of all, you’re so deserving of love. That’s more than enough reason for me.”

As Artemis rode her moon chariot across the starry sky, you shared a tender kiss. You saw Leo for everything he was - a black dog, a broken boy, the definition of the word ‘tragedy’, and chose to love him anyway

You weren’t afraid

#leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez #leo valdez x fem reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #leo valdez fanfic #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfic #leo valdez drabble #aphrodite leo valdez #son of aphrodite leo valdez #aphrodite pjo #cynwrites

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zanarkandskylines · 2 months

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delicate (isn't it?) ꒰ tangled hearts series - kiribaku x fem!reader ꒱ ⇢ the three of you passionately spent an entire night together, unable to keep your hands off one another. the next day, things are...different, to say the least. you're nervous about what your "friendship" looks like from here onward.

꒰ tags & content ꒱ hints of past abuse (emotional/physical) in a relationship | fluff & emotional comfort, establishing a relationship ⋆ ˚ʚɞ — takes place after the first night spent in their home. ｡‧˚ʚ cross posted to ao3 | wc; ~1.4k ɞ˚‧｡ ✿ tangled hearts masterlist ✿

A soft peck to your forehead stirs you from slumber, fluttering your eyes open to the beautiful blonde before you. You’re about to slur his name in confusion when Bakugo put his finger to his lips, silently telling you to stay quiet. He points behind you to a sleeping Kirishima, blissfully snoring as the sunlight highlighted his features through the sheer curtains of their bedroom.

Bakugo bends over to your face, whispering as quietly as he can manage in your ear, “Makin’ breakfast, I’ll come get ya when it’s done.” He leaves another kiss on the shell of your ear before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

The night’s - ahem, activities - replay in your mind like a pay per view movie. You’d never been touched like that before in your life, desired and worshipped like a goddess gracing their presence. It was the perfect mixture of passion and lust, pure euphoria from start to finish.

Exactly how many times did you cross said finish line?

…You lost count after three.

You had not expected to be waking up in their bed, nestled between the two of them - to have Bakugo making you and Kirishima breakfast in the afterglow of your amorous affair. Had you wished for it? Absolutely! Did you think it would ever come true? Not in your wildest dreams.

It was a silent pining, something you didn’t assume either of them reciprocated. They’d been married for years, how were you to know they’d be open to accepting you into their relationship? It wasn’t something you talked about, it was spontaneous.

Well, you haven’t actually talked about it…yet.

Would it be awkward to bring it up over breakfast? Bakugo didn’t seem phased at all this morning. He’d assumed you’d stay asleep when he kissed your forehead, simply admiring you curled up beside Kirishima. Did he do that because he wanted to? Does he feel obligated because you stayed the night and slept together?

Endless intrusive thoughts are cycling through your head when Kirishima stirs next to you, silencing your inner critic when he throws an arm around your waist, tugging you into his heated body. He nuzzles his nose in your hair from behind, sighing contently.

“Mornin’ darling,” he mumbles, voice groggy with sleep. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah, thank you.” You don’t think your cheeks could flush hotter than they are now, especially after the ‘darling’ pet name in his husky ‘just woke up’ voice. Kirishima’s yawning behind you when Bakugo re-appears in the bedroom doorframe.

“Breakfast’s on the table, get your asses down there while it’s hot.” He smiles at the two of you before turning to head back downstairs. Wiggling out of Kirishima’s grasp, you swing your legs to the edge of the bed, the aroma of whatever Bakugo’s made lingering in the air. Kirishima trails behind you lazily as the two of you tread downstairs to the kitchen. Bakugo’s finishing pouring coffee into three mugs as you sit at the table, eyes widening at the buffet he’s managed to prepare in such a short amount of time.

“Holy shit, Katsuki!” you exclaim, blinking dramatically to convince yourself it’s real. “What’s all this for?”

He smirks proudly. “‘s nothin’. I enjoy cooking for people. Usually it’s just Ei, so I might'a overdid it.”

The table is full of options - a full dish of baked eggs, a stack of homemade pancakes, a plate of bacon and sausage links, a bowl of roasted peppers, another plate with cooked salmon, and three small servings of rice.

How long has this man been awake?! It’s only - you take a quick glance over at the stove to confirm the time - 8:15am.

He hands you one of the cups of coffee and ruffles your hair playfully.

“Are ya cold?” Bakugo asks, motioning to your bare legs. “ You can grab a pair of my sweats from upstairs. I tossed your wet clothes into the wash this mornin'.”

You’d forgotten that you’re only wearing one of their t-shirts and underwear. Oops.

“Oh, thank you! I’m alright, it’s warm enough in here,” you say quietly. “But, uh, if you want me to wear pants, I-”

“Oh no, sweetheart, no one said that,” Kirishima chimed in cheekily. He takes a sip of his coffee as your cheeks grow rosy.

The three of you enjoy the breakfast spread in silence. The unknown anxiety in your gut is growing, afraid that this means you've somehow tainted the friendship you've built with them.

"Somethin' wrong?" Bakugo questions, eyes narrowed at your visible worry.

Wow, he catches on quick. You nervously fidget with your shirt, eyes locked onto your plate. "Umm...no? Well, not wrong. I'm just...confused," you begin to say.

Kirishima gently interrupts you by outstretching his hand to your wrist across the table. "Everything's okay!"

"It's...been awhile since I've dated, let alone slept with someone. I don't wanna make this weird."

Bakugo can't help but roll his eyes at your assumption. "It's not weird. We've never done shit like that before, either.”

That makes you feel a touch better, easing your worries enough to continue the conversation.

"Okay, so then...what, uh...what are we?"

Both boys simultaneously roseate as they look at each other, exchanging a silent conversation with their eyes.

"What do you want us to be?" Kirishima proposes, giving you the option of choice. "No pressure at all. It doesn't change a thing."

What exactly did you want? This was a foreign situation - to all three of you, of course - but did you want something more than just friends with benefits? To date them, or keep it at a one night stand with your best friends?

"To be honest, it felt nice to be wanted again. My ex was never...actually, we don't have to talk about that."

The two of them shifted their expressions into concern as you've never mentioned your love life before. Your change in tone hinted that it wasn't a happy experience.

"You don't have to tell us about 'em. It's in the past and that's where it can stay if it's what's best for you."

Bakugo's reassurance makes your heart soar, not expecting such a kind understanding with little insight. Taking your inflection as a clue was more than enough for him to understand the delicate, and potentially painful, memory. You finally look up from your plate and nod in thanks.

"This is different, but it's...comfortable. I don't know what to call it, though.”

“Jus’ keep it simple,” Bakugo asserts, shrugging his shoulders. “We can hook up or date. Or none of the above, once an' done deal.”

Even though his words are bold, his face is redder than the tomatoes in his garden. Kirishima's biting his lip, head turned away from the conversation to hide the heat creeping across his face. It’s honestly adorable how flustered they both are about this - about you.

"We don't need an answer now, either! We can table -," Kirishima begins to explain as you interrupt him.

"I want to be with you two."

Both of them trade stares once more. It was impressive how well they could communicate without words. Bakugo snickers, grin settling on his lips. Kirishima's toothy smile appears when he sees his husband's joy.

"Wanna be our girlfriend?" You can't help but laugh at their dual question, comical how they happened to ask at the same time.

It was an easy answer. "Yes, I'd love that - both of you."

They get up from their seats at the table and rush over to smother you with kisses and hugs, excited for this new stage in your lives. Bakugo halts for a second following the whirlwind of affection, kneeling down to be at eye level with you.

"Fuck whatever his name is and how he treated you, alright? We'll treat ya like the goddess you are."

You can feel the tears welling in your eyes at his words and bite the inside of your cheek, praying they won't fall. All you can respond with is a soft 'mhm.' He brushes your cheek with his thumb, pinching it lightly before returning to his seat.

The silence no longer feels heavy as you finish breakfast, enamored with your newfound relationship. Who would have thought you'd find not one, but two people who want to shower you with love?

Taking that job transfer was the best decision you've ever made.

⋆ ˚ʚɞ — the triad is a-go!! 💜🌟 ✿ wildflowers; @maddietries ↶ | previous entry (a quiet life) ↷ | next entry (twisted in bedsheets)

#kiribaku x reader #bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader #kiribaku #kiribaku x y/n #kiribaku imagine #kiribaku fluff #katsuki bakugo #eijiro kirishima #bakugo imagine #kirishima imagine #☆.tangledhearts

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thepaintedlady00 · 1 year

Text

Burden

Chapter 8: The Mist Waits

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

I finished earlier than I thought I would, so enjoy the early chapter release y'all!

TW: Violence, confrontations, The Fates, Desire, blood, Dark Daunt, cliffhanger

Rose Walker was having an odd day. So much had happened in such a short time, and the girl wasn’t sure whether the appropriate response would be to cry in joy or to scream in frustration. She had family left, a Great Grandmother that seemed to want the same things that she did. Jed back home and safe, and them to all be a family once again. Now she had the resources to start truly looking for her brother and, hopefully, to bring him home once and for all.

“I’ll just get Lyta. Be right back,” Rose said in answer to one of the new people added to her odd little circle.

“Rose,” a voice called out to her, soft and young.

She stopped walking for a moment, quietly questioning whether the voice was in her head or actually coming from within the home. “Rosebud,” another voice said, maternal and warm.

“Rose Walker,” a third replied, cold and older.

She felt afraid and uncertain for a moment as her feet carried her forward to the closest door, the only logical place one could whisper to her from. Once she opened the door, she was greeted by three figures clothed in black.

“Hello, Rosie,” the youngest said.

The second smiled. “Come in, my butterfly.”

“You are at a crossroads, Rose Walker.”

She tilted her head slightly. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”

“Names, names, names,” the eldest among them said, waving her question away.

The youngest smiled sweetly. “Each name is but a single aspect of the whole.”

“Be satisfied by the trinity you have, love. You wouldn’t want to meet us as The Kindly Ones.”

“We can only caution you, sister.” The youngest looked darker. “We can’t protect you.”

A chill ran up Rose’s spine as she asked, “Protect me from…”

A maternal laugh echoed around her. “From life, my posy.”

“And the things that hover beyond life.”

“Thrashing themselves against it,” the eldest finished.

“Beware dreams,” the youngest whispered. “And houses. And trees.”

The cold voice sighed. “You ask the wrong question.”

“Had you asked the right one, we could have warned you against The Corinthian and the ghost of mist that haunts his steps.” The warm voice said.

“Told you about Jed,” the young voice continued.

“And about Morpheus.”

The light turned on, and the figures vanished before Rose’s eyes, almost as if they’d never been there… and maybe they hadn’t.

He stood in the center of the throne room, staring at the steps that Daunt had stood on. Dream had spent every free moment searching for The Forest, to no avail. The realm had either vanished entirely or closed itself off from him, as Daunt had after that day in Fiddler’s Green. Sadly, he was more inclined to believe the latter to be true. His head spun with the sheer number of concerns plaguing him, awaiting to be addressed. Dream of the Endless felt like he had back in the Burgess basement, only somehow worse. He felt he was being pulled in every direction, forced to split his focus between dire events, and feared no matter what he did, one or more would slip through the cracks and result in yet another loss for him to bear.

“My lord,” Lucienne’s soft voice called him from the dark corners of his mind as she approached with a book. “Forgive me for intruding, but I have the volume you requested.”

“Yes,” he sighed, taking the heavy leatherbound book from her hand and moving to sit on the bottom step of the stairs, hoping the vision of her bloodstained gown would fade from memory if he was not looking at them. “I assume it holds nothing of use as all the others.”

His librarian nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid so.”

“Jed Walker is still in the realm of the living, but I cannot find him.”

“No. Nor I, my lord.” She answered.

“All humans are connected to The Dreaming.” He shook his head. “They spend a third of their life here. Breaking that connection would require knowledge. And power.”

“Then it may interest you to know that the last nightmare Jed Walker had before he disappeared was of Gault.”

“You think she severed him from The Dreaming?”

Lucienne nodded. “I do.”

“Why?” He questioned.

“Because he’s not just any child, is he?” She replied. “He’s Rose Walker’s brother. She is the Vortex.”

Quiet footsteps echoed in the empty throne room as a dark figure walked toward them. “Excuse me. I am Rose Walker. What do you know about my brother Jed?”

Lucienne turned to Dream with wide eyes and an open mouth. Daunt’s words echoed in his ears. Sight alone will not tell you her secrets. He stood and smiled. “You are welcome here, Rose Walker.”

She looked around for a moment before asking, “Who are you?”

“You have somehow dreamed your way into an audience with Lord Morpheus. The King of Dreams,” Lucienne answered sternly. “And now you must go.”

“Lucienne.”

His librarian sighed. “She shouldn’t be here.”

He tilted his head slightly. “No, but I should like her to stay.

Rose Walker was indeed the vortex. Dream could feel it swirling around her. Power and mystery and something else, something that felt familiar. Lucienne’s apprehensive demeanor did not shift while Rose stood in his realm. He could not blame her. After all, a Vortex was a volatile and uncertain thing. Matthew agreed to watch over her in the Waking World, and as Rose Walker returned to her bed, Lucienne gave Dream a look. “Are you certain this is wise, my lord?”

“Gault must be found one way or another,” he answered carefully. “Leave Rose Walker to me, Lucienne. In the meantime, continue your search of the library for anything that may lead us to The Forest.”

The Corinthian enjoyed tea. He enjoyed the smell of the soft floral notes and earthiness and found the taste to be almost comforting. Though he’d never allow himself to linger on why he enjoyed such things, a lingering nagging voice in the back of his mind told him repeatedly. It reminds you of her. This was, of course, a voice he smothered when he was able. Instead, he smiled beside Unity, listening to her so easily give up the information he needed. It was inconvenient that Rose Walker had returned to America, but The Corinthian didn’t mind much.

If she was the key to his permanent freedom, he’d go to the ends of the earth to find her. Daunt’s white form stood before him, bathed in the light from the window, but that light did not touch her. Instead, she dampened it with her presence alone. “What do you fear more, I wonder? Not finding your vortex in time or having her deny you as all others have.”

As he walked out of the old home, he clenched his jaw at her presence beside him. “Answer me, nightmare.” She insisted. “Answer me, betrayer.”

“I’m not scared of anything,” he spat at her. “Not some fuckin kid, not Dream, and certainly not you.”

Laughter echoed around him as the sky grew dark with storm clouds. He turned to face her, to find her gone once again, but before he could even breathe, he felt her cold hand wrap around his neck. Long nails bit into his skin as she leaned in closely and whispered. “You should fear me, dear Corinthian.”

He tore himself away from her, searching for the white maiden in the open streets. “Mine will be the last face you see.”

“My lord,” Lucienne called out as she approached with confident steps. “May I help?”

Hunched over the table, he glanced up at her. “Is this everything we have on Rose Walker?”

She nodded. “And Jes Walker. But I shouldn’t think there’s anything in those you don’t already know. Except perhaps-”

“Except perhaps why she was able to wander into my throne room.” Dream sighed. “What do you think? Why did Gault target her brother and not her?”

“Did you read about Unity Kincaid?” She asked, turning away from him to fetch another book. “The day you were imprisoned, there were people all over the world who fell asleep and could not wake up. Unity Kincaid is the sole survivor of what they called the “sleepy sickness.” The day you returned, she woke up.” She set the book down in front of him. “Rose Walker is her great-granddaughter.”

He hummed. “Which would seem to suggest that my absence caused the birth of a vortex.”

“Is that not a possibility?”

“Vortexes are naturally occurring phenomena,” he stated with a smile. “No one knows why they happen. Not even I know. But I do know they are not caused or created. They simply happen.”

Lucienne’s eyes narrowed as she thought about his words. “Then this is all a coincidence? And not an imminent threat?”

Dream sighed. “My instinct says no, but tonight, when Rose Walker sleeps, I shall see it more clearly. May I?”

Lucienne held up a hand to stop him. “There is something else, my lord.”

“What is it?” He asked, reading the way her face tightened as she spoke.

“I know every book in this library,” she began, turning away from him and retrieving something from a nearby shelf. “I know this library and these books and… yet…” she returned, holding a pale book in her hands and offering it to him with a saddened face. “Somehow, this one has been hidden from me for eons. It should not be possible.”

“And yet it is,” he said, gently running his hands along the white bindings, glistening with jeweled leaves of green. On the first page, The Great Tree was illustrated in deep tones of brown and emerald, surrounded by the smaller trees covered in mist. It was almost as if he could feel the leaves beneath his fingertips and the cold mist caressing his skin. It was almost as if this book was alive.

Lucienne looked at the beautiful thing with fondness and apprehension warring in her eyes. “I’ve tried to read it, but it’s… Incoherent.”

“How so?”

“Most of the pages are blank. There appear to be remnants of words written on some, and other pages or paragraphs are perfectly legible. The words, however, make little sense given all that is missing.” She shook her head and sighed. “Only the illustrations remain intact.”

As Dream flipped through the pages, studying the little words scribed here, he stopped at another picture. Daunt, or rather a drawing of her, white amidst a sea of dark colors. His heart felt heavy in his chest the longer he looked. “This will not tell us where she is.”

Lucienne’s soft eyes met his as she spoke, “No, my lord, it won’t. But…"

“What is it, Lucienne?”

“One of the illustrations seems to depict what happened to her… What kept her from reaching you the day she left.” He handed the book to her instantly. If there was a way to learn what befell her on his behalf, he had to see it. He had to know.

The librarian quickly flipped through the pages before holding the book back to him with downcast eyes. There on the red-stained page were three words… Daunts last words. “My dear Corinthian.” The image showed her standing on a bridge, holding his nightmares cheek as The Corinthian pushed his blade into her chest.

Dream drew in a deep breath as The Dreaming rippled with the rage that filled his heart. “The Corinthian…”

Lucienne bowed her head lower. “It is my fault. I should not have given her his location nor asked her to seek him out.”

“No.” He breathed out, tears welling as his finger glided across the worn page. “The fault lies with me. She would not have been vulnerable had I failed my duty to retrieve the nightmare.”

“My lord…” she whispered. “If this image is corrected, then… is Daunt not… dead?”

“No.” Dream looked up at her, meeting her wet eyes with his own. “Death told me she’d not been called to The Forest for Daunt. Daunt herself told us she was lost.”

Lucienne shook her head. “My lord, that… vision… that apparition spoke in naught but riddles. If it was truly Daunt, then she is not in her right mind.”

“Perhaps she is not,” Dream replied solemnly. “But the fact still stands that she lives. She lives, and I will find her if it is the last thing I do in this existence.”

That night he accompanied Rose in her dreams to search for Jed Walker and Gault. That night he had the chance to examine the vortex up close. Dream had expected Rose Walker to be impressive, but the way she adapted to her newfound abilities as a Vortex was surprising, even to him. She found her way through the dreams of those closest to her, following his advice and asking questions, seemingly wanting to learn from him. Most impressive was her ability to stay focused through each dream, never losing sight of her purpose within them and never seeking to abuse the power she held.

She led him to Gault with ease, and once his nightmare was back within his grasp, he ensured she would not be free to defy him again. He did not regret his harsh punishment of the shapeshifter, but he did feel an unpleasant knot form in his stomach after his less-than-kind treatment of Lucienne after the fact. Still, he moved forward. Too much demanded his attention to focus on keeping his realm safe. The notion of that seemed simple enough until a crack appeared in the stained glass window above his throne, and the entire palace shook violently around him. After that, all he could do was watch in horror as the cracks grew before his very eyes.

“Loosh? You in here?” The pumpkin head made a quiet noise of apprehension. “Sorry, boss, I was just looking for Lucienne. See ya.”

“Wait.” He ordered. “Why were you looking for Lucienne?”

“Oh, well, we just had some minor seismic activity and a little, you know, damage I wanted to report.”

“Then why not report it to me?” He asked.

“Uh, because you’re busy?” Mervyn offered. “While you were away, Lucienne started taking care of that stuff, so I figured why bother you when-”

A dark feeling curled around him, nearly squeezing all the air as he said, “Mervyn if The Dreaming has been damaged in any way, I will be the one to address it.”

The floor shook, and the cracks spread throughout the windows and up the stone walls. “Oh, for crying out loud. Do you want me to fix that for you? Or will it just keep happening?”

“It will not keep happening because I will find the cause of the disturbance, and I will eliminate it. Thank you, Mervyn.”

“Uh, you’re welcome,” the handyman replied before turning and hurrying in the opposite direction.

Dream returned his eyes to the glass as it continued to crack. He would not watch his realm crumble again. The halls shook around him as he made his way to the library with hopes Lucienne would be able to provide him with some information on these tremors. “Lucienne?”

She stood off to the side, re-shelving books with a slightly pensive face. “My lord.”

“I have come to return these.” He handed her the books, their eyes meeting in an awkward stare. “And to assess the extent of the damage from the recent disturbances.” She said nothing, merely watching him as he bent down and picked up a stack of fallen books. “Have you any idea as to what caused them?”

“I assumed it was you, sir,” she said almost coldly.

“Me?”

“Making further improvements to the realm… now that you’re back.” She clarified as she brushed past him.

Dream sighed quietly. “Lucienne, when we last spoke, I did not mean to imply that your efforts beyond the library are without value.”

“Oh?” She questioned, clearly frustrated.

“I merely wish to relieve you of responsibilities with which, had I been here, you would never have been burdened.”

“I see.”

“And in that time, did you experience any… similar seismic disturbances?” he inquired offhandedly, looking at the book he still awkwardly held, only peeking up at her.

I did not.”

“Have you any… theory as to their origin?” He pressed cautiously.

At last, Lucienne set down the stack of books she held and turned to him. “Speaking strictly as a librarian? I do. But you won’t like it.”

“Go on.”

“I know you’re waiting to see if the vortex will lead you to The Corinthian and Fiddler’s Green. The way she led you to Gualt.”

“She may yet still.”

She scoffed. “Yes, but while you’re waiting, she’s putting cracks in the foundation.”

“Rose Walker has visited this realm before and done no damage,” he pointed out. “This is something else, something new.”

“Perhaps, but if there is something new in The Dreaming and you did not create it, how did it get here?” She asked. “This is the vortex. I assure you.”

As soon as he could, Dream found Rose Walker’s dreams and watched her closely as the landscape marred with cracks and the house he’d not built appeared before him. Lyta Hall was indeed pregnant; by the look of it, she and her dead husband had somehow managed to find a way inside his realm in secret. He would be furious. How could he have been so blind? How could he have allowed a vortex to cause such chaos just to aid him in mending his own troubles?

Matthew cawed beside him. “So, what do you think?”

“Tell Lucienne she was right about the source of the tremors.” Dream ordered. “And that I am taking care of it.”

The raven took to the skies quickly as he moved forward, entering the house with ease and staring down the spirit that had found its way here. He knew, without Dream having to say a single word, the spirit knew that his time here was up.

Lyta and Rose entered, laughing with one another. “Hector, look who’s here.”

Both women slowed as they looked at him. Lytas face was drained of the happiness that had been there moments ago, while Rose looked confused. “Lyta, you remember I told you about Lord Morpheus, the King of Dreams?”

“What do you want?”

“He wants us to leave,” the spirit answered.

Rose looked at her dead friend and then back to him. “Why?”

“Because a ghost cannot escape his fate by hiding in The Dreaming. Nor can a living human being escape her grief here.” He shook his head. “Do you not see the damage your presence has done to this realm? I cannot allow you to stay.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“You belong with the dead,” Dream answered. “You must go to the place appointed for you. I’m sorry, but you must say your goodbyes now.”

Lyta exhaled a shaking breath and shook her head. “No. I’m not losing you again.”

The spirit approached her with a sad smile. “I love you so much.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” the woman insisted, pressing a kiss to her lover’s lips. “Get out of our house!”

“Lyta-”

A soft chill stilled the harsh words on his tongue as mist swept across the floor. Dream turned to look at her lithe figure standing in the room with them. Daunt did not acknowledge him or Rose or even Lyta, only the spirit once named Hector. She raised a pale hand, covered in frost and frozen vines, toward him as she whispered, “Come.”

“Hector!” Lyta cried out, taking hold of the spirit’s arm as he began to turn toward the specter.

“She’s here for me.”

“You can’t go with her. You can’t go!” Lyta cried. “I can’t… not again.”

“What is lost will always be found.” Her words were cold, carrying the chill of the mist and frost. Dreams’ heart stuttered at the sound of it.

“Daunt,” he whispered her name like a desperate prayer, a plea to her. Hear me... Look at me.

Her head turned in his direction, and even from behind the veil that shrouded her face, he could feel her eyes. He almost dropped to his knees then and there in the crumbling dream Lyta Hall, and her dead husband had built, but she turned away from him and once again beckoned the spirit to her.

Hector spared Lyta a look before pressing a kiss to her lips and cradling her round belly in his hands. “Tell the baby I love them. Never let them forget just how much I love them.”

With a weak sob, she nodded. “I won’t, not ever.” She sobbed as she cupped his cheeks. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” the spirit whispered. “Goodbye.”

He turned and lifted his palm into Daunts. A wave of mist and distant wolf howls echoed all around them. Dream took a half step forward at the familiar sounds of The Forest’s call - of Daunt’s call. The spirit let the mist wash over him with a content sigh before he vanished from sight. Rose held her friend closely but never looked away from Daunt as she remained.

“Child born of death and dreams,” Daunt said, her voice echoing like ocean waves. “Evil will seek it out to steal its power.”

“No!” Lyta shouted, turning her head toward the white figure. She shook her head, holding her stomach tighter. “No.”

Rose rubbed her arms. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep them safe.” She looked at Dream desperately. “Right, Dream?”

He was frozen for a moment, still looking at her, before he nodded stiffly and looked at Lyta. “So long as I live, no harm shall befall your child. Not in the Waking World and not in dreams.”

The woman didn’t look convinced, but after a moment, she nodded and eased into Rose’s arms.

“We are running out of time,” Daunt said to him.

“Then help me,” he pleaded. “Open your realm and let me in.”

She tilted her head. “Only you hold the power to do so, Dream of The Endless.”

“What do you mean?”

“My realm was never closed to you,” she answered.

Dream sighed, stepping closer to her. “I do not understand.”

Daunt lifted a frozen hand to his face, her thin fingers traced over his eyes. “You do not need to understand. You only need to see.”

Mist slid through his fingers and smoother gently across his cheek. Gone again from him, the crumbling dream was all that remained. The two looked sad when he turned back to Lyta Hall and Rose Walker. Sad for him. Lytas’ eyes held an understanding beneath her deep anger and loss. Rose spoke, “Who was she?”

“An immortal being,” Dream answered simply. “One that is not your concern.”

“You care for her.”

A painful longing exploded within him as he turned away from them and said, “This dream is over.”

When he finished repairing the damage to his realm, he sought Lucienne out. Matthew would have already delivered his message, but Dream owed his librarian an apology. “Lucienne?”

“My lord. There’s something I must tell you,” she said as she hurried out from around the corner.

“And I will listen. But, first, you must let me tell you that… you were right.” He said softly, noticing immediately how her eyes looked up at him with light and hope renewed inside them. “The vortex was responsible for the damage to our realm, and I was… wrong to risk our safety in the hope that she would locate the missing Arcana.”

“You were not entirely wrong, sir. She’s found them both.”

“What? The Corinthian and Fiddler’s Green? Where? How do you know?”

“Fiddler’s Green told me.” She looked over to the shelves at the man… at Fiddler’s Green as he emerged from behind the racks.

He bowed. “Apologies, lord, for having left.”

“Why?” He asked, desperate to understand what he’d done wrong. “Why did you leave? I trusted you. You were the heart of The Dreaming.”

“No, sir. You were the heart of The Dreaming. And you were gone. I was curious. And it turns out that life as a human contains substance I never even imagined when I was here.” He sounded so vibrant. “Which is why I’ve returned because… he’s murdering them.”

“The Corinthian?” It wasn’t shocking to learn of his nightmare’s recklessness.

Fiddler’s Green nodded, face twisting in disgust. “He appears to have built up a cult of worshipers who kill for pleasure, endangering the Waking World and the life of a friend called Rose Walker.”

“The Corinthian has found Rose Walker?”

“Yes.”

Lucienne shook her head. “Can you imagine the damage he could do with someone like Rose?”

“You must tell me where they are.”

The Corinthian stood at the podium, delivering a confident and proud speech inspiring the room of pathetic and deluded humans to imagine their atrocities. Dream stood in the aisle, watching his creation with ill-tempered rage swimming in his chest. The nightmare noticed him quickly but did not stop his speech until he’d finished. Always doing things on his own terms, Dream thought silently, for a brief moment admiring the determination he had forged. But was it not that determination that led him to plunge that knife into Daunt’s chest? To betray the one he called friend?

“You disappoint me, Corinthian,” Dream said through tight lips. “You and these humans you’ve inspired and created… disappoint me.”

His words visibly struck his creation as he bared his teeth. “I’ve done my best to be what you made me.”

“No,” he replied with a slight chuckle as he walked toward the stage. “You’ve done your worst, which was in so many ways what I had hoped. You were my masterpiece. A dark mirror made to reflect everything humanity will not confront.”

“That’s what I am,” The Nightmare nodded, straightening his back as he turned to face his creator. “That’s what I’ve done.”

“No. Look at you, walking this Earth for over a century infecting others with your joy of death, but what have you given them? What have you wrought?” His anger began to seep into his words. “Nothing. Just something else for people to be afraid of. That is all.”

The Corinthian scoffed, cocking his head ever so slightly. “So what now? You send me back into their dreams?” He pulled a knife from his jacket, a knife not unlike the one he’d used on Daunt, and shook his head. “Cause I won’t go willingly.”

“A knife against a dream?” His voice was dark wind and shadow as he stepped towards his creation slowly.

“You don’t think dreams can die? Let’s find out.” The Corinthian insisted.

Dream held his hand out, drawing upon his power. “Enough.” The sand moved at his feet as The Corinthian stabbed his knife into his outstretched hand. The pain startled him back and to his knees as he looked down at the wound. “How?”

“I’ve got Rose Walker getting stronger every second while you get weaker,” The nightmare said with a wide grin. “She’s taking your place at the center of The Dreaming. She’s bringing the walls down between the sleepers’ minds, and now they’re all dreaming the same dream. A dream that I inspired.”

“No.”

“It’s already happening. There’s nothing you can do. She’s asleep and dreaming.”

“Then she’s not beyond my reach.”

The Corinthian shrugged. “Oh, I think she is. Now that she knows you’re planning to kill her.”

Dream pushed himself into the horrific visions molding together just as she and her brother turned towards him. “You need to wake up!”

“Don’t listen to him, Rosebud. You’re the one with the power now, not him. This is your dream.”

“It’s his dream for your world,” Dream corrected.

The Corinthian smiled at Rose. “Then let’s make it yours. Whatever you want, Rose. A blank canvas!”

The dreams of her brother and the other humans vanished, and Rose’s eyes went wide with fear. “Where’s Jed?”

“Jed’s fine. He’s upstairs, asleep, he’s right next to you. This dream is yours now. The Dreaming is yours now!”

“The Dreaming is yours? Is that what he told you?” Dream demanded coldly.

Rose looked up at him, confusion evident in her eyes. “He told me you were gonna kill me.”

“Did he tell you why? When a vortex brings down the walls between dreams, she creates a single volatile dream that will collapse in upon itself, and take the waking world with it. Your world. Everything and everyone will die.”

The Corinthian bent down to Rose’s ear. “Don’t believe him, Rosie.”

“It’s happened before. I failed in my duty, an entire universe was lost.”

“He can’t kill you if you kill him first.”

“Killing me may save your life, but it won’t save the lives of those you love.”

“I’m tryin’ to keep you alive here!” The nightmare growled, the playful mask he bore slipping at last.

“I’m trying to keep your world alive,” Dream argued.

The Corinthian growled, “You have to choose one of us, Rose!”

“Enough!” She shouted above their noise, waves of power rolling off her and amplifying her voice. Rose Walker looked to The Corinthian. “If I’m as powerful as you say I am, then I will find my own way. In the meantime, the walls go back up.” She lifted her hand, willing the walls between the dreams to return.

A loud groaning sound echoed all around them as the mist began to overtake the room. Rose drifted back closer to Dream as everything around them changed. “What is this? What’s happening?”

Trees, gnarled and dripping with blood, surrounded them as dark figures moved in the woods, and all manner of noises surrounded them. The tree roots wound around The Corinthian’s limbs as The Nightmare tried to take a step back from the figure in white that now stood at the treeline. “Daunt.”

Dream wanted to reach out to her, to speak to her, anything, but Daunt was not herself. Her blood-covered form was no more than mist and bitter frost. Instead, Dream took hold of Rose’s arm and pulled her behind him. “At last,” Daunt said softly, but her voice sounded anything but. “You have come to see the damage caused by your hands.”

The roots of the trees began to squeeze the nightmare tightly. He groaned as his bones began to creak beneath the wood. “This is still your dream Rose.”

The figure in white turned her head, and ice crept along Dream’s form under her gaze. “No.”

Rose shivered from behind him and quickly uttered the words she’d heard him say, “This dream is over.”

“NO!” Daunt screamed, lunging forward as the dream vanished.

Standing back in the hotel, his nightmare breathed a relieved breath and stood once again as Dream looked down at his now-healed hand. His nightmare removed the dark shades that shielded the rows of teeth from view. That anger that filled him became unbearable as he looked over at the nightmare with watering eyes. “She trusted you, loved you, and you betrayed her.”

The Corinthian sneered. “You, of all people, have no right to judge me, Dream. After all, you drove her away in the first place! If you think I’m going back to The Dreaming with you-”

The floorboards beneath their feet began to tremble and crack. Mist filled the room as tall trees tore through the floors, and The Forest started to bleed into the Waking World. The Corinthian looked around him with stoic features as roots quickly began overtaking everything in the room. Standing in the crowd, Daunt breathed heavily, the veil gone, revealing her bleeding chest and wide eyes. “You do not get to leave me again, Corinthian.”

“Daunty,” the nightmare said softly. Roots twined around him as she walked up the stage and past Dream to stand in front of his rouge creation, the creation that had betrayed her.

“Have you any idea what it was like?” She demanded. “Knowing all this time that it was you that plunged the blade into my heart. That you… my friend… would doom me to this.”

For the first time, Dream could see the sorrow and pain in the nightmares eyes as he looked up at Daunt. “I’m sorry.”

A sob escaped her throat as everything in the room grew colder. “LIAR!”

The roots stabbed through The Corinthian in various places, digging deep into his body. He took it all with a sheer grit of his teeth, never looking away from Daunt as she stepped closer to him, a blade… the blade poised in her hands and pressed against The Corinthian’s chest. “Do it.” He told her. “I deserve it.”

Dream moved closer to her, ignoring the way it stung his skin. “Daunt…”

“No,” The Corinthian told him. “Do it, Daunty. Finish me.”

“Was it worth it?” She demanded, her gaze shifting to the humans that sat in the crowded room. “Was all this worth it?”

“The only thing I regret is what I did to you,” The Corinthian said carefully.

“Regret?” She questioned, deathly quiet. “You do not know regret… not nearly enough to satisfy me.”

“Daunt,” Dream called out, hoping to pull her from the darkness that echoed in her words.

The blade flashed in the dim light as she drove it through The Corinthians ribs, twisting it as she knelt down, leaning her head closer to the nightmare and listening to his pained noises. “Look into my eyes, betrayer. Look and see what you wrought.”

He seemed to shake the longer he met Daunt’s gaze, the stoic features of his face twisting into pain and sorrow. The trees closest to her caught fire, and the sounds of fear and screaming. “Daunt…”

“You did this!” She screamed, tearing the blade from his ribs and stabbing him again.

The Corinthian bowed his head, pulling the blade from his flesh and holding it out to her. “Please.”

A sharp and pained scream echoed around Dream as Daunt fell back slightly, holding her chest as the wound began to bleed once more. She sobbed quietly, holding her hands to blood and crying as she looked to The Corinthian. “I trusted you…”

“I didn’t mean for this,” he whispered. “I didn’t…”

Daunt wept, “I cannot kill you, dear Corinthian. No matter how much you deserve it. Our fates are sealed, yours and mine.”

The Corinthian’s lips quivered as he looked back up at Dream. “Finish it, Dream.”

His voice was low, nearly hoarse, as he spoke, “I brought you into this world to serve humanity. Not to feed upon it.”

“I do it to taste what it’s like to be human.” The Corinthian admitted. “You don’t care about humanity, none of them. You can’t even bring yourself to care about her. You only care about yourself and your realm and your rules.”

“I contain the entire collective unconscious. Without my rules, it would consume me. Humanity would be consumed.”

“Or you might actually feel something. I am not the problem, Dream.”

With a look to Daunt, whose form slowly began to be overtaken with frost, he replied, “You are right. This was my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you, but I created you poorly then. So I must uncreate you now.”

The sand swirled, glowing red as it ate away at his masterpiece. Daunt lifted her hand to his cheek, and he looked down at her as the last remnants of him faded. The Corinthian smiled at her, a soft smile, one he’d never known the nightmare to show before now. “Yours is the last face I will see.”

Daunt held the tiny skull of his nightmare in her bloodstained hand, standing slowly and turning to face him. More blood streamed down her cheeks as she cried tears of red. She placed the skull in his hand, and she whispered before he could even utter a word. “Find us, Dream. Please.”

And just as suddenly as she’d appeared, Daunt was gone again from his sight. His hand curled around the skull as he turned to the crowd of his creation’s flawed inspiration and shook his head. “And you… who call yourselves collectors, until now you have sustained fantasies in which you are the victims, comforting daydreams in which you are always right. But no more. The dream is over. I have taken it away. For this is my judgment upon you, that you shall know from this moment on exactly how craven and selfish and monstrous you are. That you shall feel the pain of those you have slaughtered. And the grief of those that mourn them still, and you shall carry that pain and grief and guilt with you until the end of time.”

They all rose from their seats and walked, dazed, out of the room. Dream looked around him at the lack of trees, mist, and all Daunt had brought with her. He closed his eyes and silently swore he would find her.

Rose Walker was not only the vortex but the child with the blood of an Endless. A child born of his sibling’s games. As soon as Dream had laid eyes on the dark heart she’d pulled from her chest and given to Unity Kincaid, he knew it. With a swiftness powered by his rage alone, Dream entered his gallery and grabbed the heart on the wall. “Desire. I stand in my gallery, and I hold your sigil. Talk to me.”

The faint image of his sibling’s wide red grin shinned from within the stone. “Why, sweet Dream. This is a surprise. Almost an event, I might say.”

“Good. I’m coming through,” he bit out through clenched teeth.

“You are?” They questioned, a slight pitch of fear entering their voice before they chuckled. “But of course. You know you’re always welcome in my chambers.”

The glossy red of Desire’s realm was hideous. He’d forgotten how much he detested the vivid color and how pungent the sickeningly sweet smell of summer peaches was. Dream took slow, deliberate steps closer to his sibling, who lounged in a chair in their gallery. “Lovely to see you,” they purred. “Can I get you anything you desire?”

“I desire nothing from you save some answers,” he replied tensely.

“Ooh, is this a test?”

“Unity Kincaid should’ve been the vortex of this era. But someone took advantage of my imprisonment and fathered a child with her, knowing full well that it would become the vortex, and I would be forced to kill it.”

Desire’s smile widened. “Was I really that obvious?”

“No,” Dream answered, circling them. “You covered your tracks remarkably well.”

“Well, that’s high praise coming from you.”

“What did you truly intend? That I should spill family blood? With all that would entail?”

They laughed. “This time, it almost worked.”

It was no secret that he and Desire loathed one another, but Dream hadn’t thought they would stoop to such drastic whims to see him dead. With a scoff, he shook his head. “My sibling, we of the Endless are the servants of the living, not their masters. We exist only because they know deep in their hearts that we exist. We do not manipulate them. If anything, they manipulate us.” Standing behind them now, his voice lowered, threatening and dark. “And you and Despair, and even poor Deliruim would do well to remember that.” He pulled their head back by their light hair and looked deep into the golden eyes that now flared with anger and fear. “Mess with me or mine again, and I shall forget you are family. Do you believe yourself strong enough to stand against me? Against Death? Against Destiny?”

“No,” they said in a trembling tone.

“Remember that next time you’re inspired to interfere in my affairs,” he whispered to them as his eyes trailed away from their golden irises to the red bitemarks that marred their hand. His hands tightened in their hair. “Where did you get those marks?”

“Is it not obvious, big brother?” They sneered with a smile. “Our lovely Mistake sends her regards.”

“What have you done with her?”

Desire’s smile widened. “So predictable, big brother.”

Anger laced deep into his voice. “What did you do?”

“I merely gave her what she always wanted.” Their golden eyes flared. “An end to her pitiful excuse of an existence.”

“You would dare to raise a hand against her?”

Desire scoffed. “She is no Endless. She is a Mistake. One that refused to see reason.”

“Where is she?”

“Right where I left her,” they answered. “In that pathetic little forest of hers with that stupid mutt.”

“How did you find it?”

Desire’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, you still haven’t been to see her? How sad. From what I hear, she doesn’t have much time left.”

Dream released their hair, practically throwing them forward as he turned and strode back down the hall he’d arrived in. “If Daunt dies, I will be back for your head.”

“Give her my best,” they called after him. “She looked rather ill when I last saw her.”

Daunt was alive, he reminded himself. She was alive, and he would find her. He would not lose her again.

It had been weeks since he’d finished his business with the Vortex and Desire. Months and still, there had been nothing to help him find her. He scoured every book and dream, desperately searching every corner he could reach for her to no avail. The ember of hope he’d held all this time slowly began to dwindle as the days passed… as he grew closer and closer to facing the horrible reality that he’d failed her.

Matthew had followed him to Fiddler’s Green, as the bird was known to do now that he was no longer shadowing Rose Walker, making comments on his incredibly sullen behavior, but Dream didn’t care enough to answer him. Instead, as he stood among the green fields and the flowers and the memories of their moonlit dances and conversations, Dream cared about nothing else but her. He wanted to see her again, to hold her in his arms and to beg for her forgiveness… to tell her, the real her, that he loved her and that he had for quite some time.

He stared out at the peaceful meadow for a moment longer before turning to leave. There was nothing for him here. Or was there? He halted almost instantly at the sight of white standing in the trees in front of him. The white stag stood between two large trees, watching Dream. Matthew looked over to where his master was staring and quietly asked, “What’s that thing?”

“A creature I thought had long abandoned this realm,” Dream answered as the stag turned away and began walking into the forest. Something inside him forced his feet to move, to follow the creature into the dark woods.

“Oh! So we’re following the weird lookin thing?” Matthew cawed loudly, taking to the sky to fly after them.

The trees grew closer and closer together, and darkness began to make it difficult to follow the creature forward. Mist rolled over Dream’s boots, and a chill seared his skin, forcing him to halt. This was not Fiddlers Green. This was nothing of his realm. “The Forest.”

A few steps ahead of him, the stag looked back and huffed, its breath visible in the frozen air, before it continued forward, stepping over the gnarled roots. Dream moved, too, a newfound desperation in his steps as they emerged from the thick trees into a small glen of frozen moss. Death and blood hung in the air all around them. The hollow resembled that which he’d seen in the short dream Daunt had influenced.

The stag took a half-step forward, a small frozen twig snapping beneath one of its hoofs. The sound echoed far louder than it should have, filling the silence with it. A heartbeat passed before a black shadow lunged out of the trees and dug its claws into the stag’s back, clawing and biting until the poor creature collapsed and its blood coated the white ground. Dream stood perfectly still as the beast tore into the stag’s flesh and devoured the steaming meat.

“Holy shit,” Matthew breathed from a branch beside Dream. The beast’s head turned, revealing two grey eyes locking onto Dream. It turned, claws clutching the stag’s body tightly, and let out a loud screech. Blood and spit coated its sharp teeth as its foul breath wafted to Dream’s nose.

The beast gave little to no warning before it pounced, claws tearing out of the carcass and slicing through the air as it made its way toward him, ready and willing to take the killing blow. White shot out through the forest, slamming into the black creature and forcing it onto the other side of the clearing. Growls and barks echoed through the trees before suddenly all grew silent. Matthew flew down from his perch, hopping toward the stag cautiously. “Where the fuck are we?”

Before Dream could answer the birds’ quiet question, the white blur returned. It leaped from nowhere and pinned Matthew to the snowy ground by a wing. The bloodstained teeth of the white wolf, marred with scars both old and new, chomped as he raised his head to look up at Dream. One eye was blue, crystal, and starry, while the other was faded gray and scarred. “What manner of demon are you?”

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withoutyouimsaskia · 3 months

Text

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 1)

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

GIF: Originally posted by @tavners

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Wow, this took way longer to finish than I had originally planned. My head's been all over the place with trying (and thus far failing) to find a new job. The themes are very different to what I've written before; I hope it reads okay. Please let me know what you think. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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Fate.

A phenomenon that governed every particle of matter within the known universe and even those beyond.

Some considered it a comforting concept that excused them from the burden of decision making, citing: "I'll leave it up to fate." For others the phrase was a cursory, throw-away comment or a romantic line they heard in the lyrics of a song.

The real truth of the matter was that Fate was a trio of immortal beings, goddesses, with sight so potent that they knew the past, present and future of every individual to have lived. The mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse hadn't been too far off with their stories of the Moirai, Parcae and Norns but of course, no humans really believed there to be any realism in myths. They were just stories. It didn't matter either way; they existed and had influence regardless of what the majority believed.

For beings such as The Endless siblings, the presence of Fate in the cosmos was not only real, but also something that affected even themselves.

For the King of Dreams, an eventuality had been prophesised long ago by The Kindly Ones that spoke of a bond that was to be forged between himself and a mortal.

Lord Morpheus, in his pride, had tried to be above such a foretelling, even questioning its validity because the notion of a mortal accepting his version of the universe seemed wholly implausible.

But he could not truly stop himself from wondering about you, reaching out to see if he could feel your presence in the minds of the dreamers he hosted.

It wasn't something he indulged in with frequency. More of a once-in a-decade interval. Enough to appease his curiosity.

Of course, this was put on hold during his imprisonment at Fawney Rig.

Morpheus had had much to contemplate during this period. The damage his absence caused to the collective subconscious, the decay of his realm, the loss of freedom and dignity. There was also a chance that you had been born and died in the 106 years he spent in captivity.

What if he was too late and had lost the chance of discovering who you were?

It was a nauseating prospect that scraped and scratched a space deep within his being; bleeding him of his remaining stores of hope that were so significantly depleted after the death of beloved Jessamy.

Despite the nasty emotional wound, finding you was a charge that he assigned at the end of his priorities after his escape.

Recovering his scattered tools, restoring the Dreaming, locating his absent creations, unravelling the mystery of Rose Walker and confronting Desire all had needed to come first.

The latter interaction had left Morpheus with a seething rage that was currently propelling him down the boards of the dock that sit above the Ocean of Dreams.

The dense mist in the air is buffeted by his movements and the only sounds are the tread of boots, the creak of wooden slats and the lap of water.

With each step, the liquid becomes choppier as it reacts to its master's mood and by the time he has reached the end of the dock, the surface of the water roils fervorously, completely in line with Morpheus' dangerous temperament.

The words of Desire's final silken-toned taunt echo in his mind with grating persistence.

"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn't I?"

He is loathe to admit there is truth in the question.

There are moments where Morpheus ponders the turn that the relationship between them has taken. How Desire went from being his favourite sibling to someone one shade shy of an adversary. Their faultless adeptness at provoking his temper and manipulating the events that encircle him would be impressive if not for the danger posed to humanity.

The agitated water eventually draws focus to how out of control he and his emotions have become. Morpheus knows he must get them in check, and quickly, for he knows the consequences all too well should he ignore it.

He clenches his fist and swallows it all down, pushing it deep inside his belly until the crackling entropy of the anger is fully dispelled.

Morpheus then sweeps his coat out behind him as he sinks lithely into a crouch. Trepidation nips at his heart and tugs his attention to a sobering thought.

This foray into the water may be fruitless.

You may be long gone and there would be no way of ever knowing you.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath; he has run out of excuses to not look, even if he is afraid of the outcome.

Long, delicate fingers dapple the surface of the inky ocean. The waves still at the touch, obedient to him with instancy.

He repositions to full height and reaches into his coat to find the pouch of sand stashed in the pocket. A handful of twinkling grains slip off his palm into the ocean, lighting the water it touches to a luminous green.

"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.

The intention is set. He steps off the dock into the water.

At first, like every other prior attempt, there is no sign of you. Morpheus floats submerged in the tepid liquid, filtering through the hubbub of countless other dreams and nightmares.

Then there is a pull.

It is faint yet indisputable. Warmth explodes in his chest and he groans inwardly from the delicious sensation of relief.

You are alive, and you are dreaming.

A path of radiance appears in the water, a line that shows your connection, and provides a location for him to hone in on.

Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.

As he reaches the edge of your subconscious, he rejoices that he got a handle on his emotions. He wouldn't want your first perception of him to be one tinged with rage, however unaware you were of him, with your soulmate being the source.

He hesitates for a moment before entering the dream you are in and is somewhat taken aback by what he finds.

A room comprising of four blank walls, a floor, a ceiling and a door. There is but one other feature; a window, and its view is as non-descript and inoffensive as the internal space.

You stand by said window, head turned from him.

Despite being unable to see your face, he sees your anxiety with immediacy. It is an aura hovering about your body, being sucked into your lungs with every fast-paced breath.

You begin to throw glances towards the door. Morpheus filters through the layers of the dream. No one is scheduled to come across the threshold.

The more he observes, the more questions arise in Morpheus' mind.

What was making you so affected? What were you expecting to happen?

There's nothing in the scene that is intended to be unpleasant yet you are reacting in a way that most observers would characterise as unsettled.

Morpheus, despite not yet knowing you, doesn't like to see you this way. His dominant instinct is to end the dream but he quashes the desire to review the bigger picture.

The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.

It clicks into place.

What you were feeling, even if on a purely instinctual level, was the anticipation of meeting your soulmate and starting your new life.

Morpheus steps into the frame, just a couple of paces behind you.

You feel his presence instantly, eyes full to the brim with tears as you whirl around with a soft gasp.

You see him.

The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.

Morpheus reaches out, overcome by his need to provide comfort.

You disappear.

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Morpheus is sat on his throne. He pores over the book he had located in the Dreaming's library a little over a week ago that contains the details of your life. It is something he has taken to doing when the impatience of waiting for you to fall asleep becomes too keen.

Your subconscious has him enraptured, watching it every night as if it is a stage show. Each dream he delves into is like the tug of fingers on a loose thread, your psyche has begun to unravel before him.

Everything from whims to cravings, hopes to fears. Your temperament, the things that delight and irk you. What drives you and demotivates you. He consumes it all with an insatiable hunger.

Based on the projection of yourself that he sees, there is no doubt that he is attracted to you.

All that prior haughty disregard for the Fates' prophecy has been cast aside like a negative thought in a meditation session. Morpheus is a romantic. A believer. He is ashamed to have even doubted your coming.

He wonders if it would vex Desire to learn of him finding his soulmate and by extension, the prospect of companionship, perhaps even physical intimacy or love.

It is all too easy to imagine the sickly sweet grin they would smile at him, shown to be fake by the almost imperceptible contempt glinting in their golden eyes.

Would his triumph drive them to distraction?

It is this smug sentiment that spurs his next decision. He wants more. The next logical step is to find you in the waking world.

He rises from his throne, a sure hand ready to bring forth his pouch of sand when he falters.

Tears pool in his eyes.

His mind is suddenly marred with the memories of what happened in 1916. The agony, mortification and rage that followed. He couldn't go through that kind of treatment ever again and the waking world expanded the risk of it transpiring.

"No," he says resolutely. His sadness turns to resolve, the hard line of his grimace matching those set in his brows.

He will not let the actions of a group of mortals dissuade him from going to you. And besides, he has researched everything he can about you from within the safety of the Dreaming.

He takes a measure of sand and uses it to materialise within your bedroom.

It is obvious from a quick scan of it that deliberate attempts have been made to ensure the space is cosy and calming.

Two marshmallowy pillows support your head. The cotton sheets have been meticulously tucked to avoid drafts. A lavender reed diffuser fragrances the air with a subtle scent. There are no devices or screens visible.

Everything has its place. A coaster supported glass of water within reaching distance. Touch activated lamp in case of emergency. The diary lined up with the back left corner of the bedside table, pen placed parallel in the spine dent. All clothes are in the wardrobe or stashed in the laundry basket.

Morpheus moves to the curtain-shrouded window and delicately moves the dark, heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

The scene is sepia stained from an old streetlight positioned right outside your home. It explained the choice of curtains.

You stir slightly from the change in environment and Morpheus allows the curtain to fall back in place. He remains stationary until your breathing returns to its previous pace. It is imperative that his presence remains undisclosed. He knows that mortals do not take well to home invasion.

Then, your right hand slips out from the duvet cocoon revealing a cushion cut ruby ring on your middle finger.

He smiles exultantly. The similarity between the jewel and his own now-destroyed dreamstone was undeniable.

The Fates were making it transparent.

You were the one.

Morpheus approaches the side of your bed now. In your momentary discomfort, you had moved your head, making your whole face visible to your uninvited guest.

He bends gracefully so his face is closer to yours and observes you with an intent fascination.

Even in the gloom, Morpheus asserts that your features are even more captivating now that he is able to look upon them in person and is certain that if he could guarantee an absence of fear then he would fall to knees and worship you right there.

Fingers stroke a lock of hair splayed across the pillow and his thoughts turn darker still, imagining what he would do with you if he could get you alone in the Dreaming. How he would seduce you with words, and then pleasure your body with his own until you were senseless.

Getting you there would be so easy, all he needed to do was move his hand up and touch your skin and -

Morpheus stops himself, deciding that now is not the time for an introduction. He will wait until tomorrow. You need to rest. It will be quite the revelation for your sweet mortal heart.

Morpheus whispers a promise, "We will be together soon, my precious soulmate."

He leaves after taking one last look at your peaceful form.

When he returns to the Dreaming, Morpheus discovers that the visit has riled him way beyond what he thought possible.

It was supposed to sate his curiosity and answer some questions.

It has done the opposite.

His craving for you is sublimely intense, opiate-like in its ensnarement.

He needs to possess you. To have you all to himself. Everything would fall into place. Loneliness, disillusionment, jealousy; they would never darken his outlook again. You would heal him, he is certain of it.

He paces restlessly in the low light of his private chambers as heat ripples beneath the surface of his being, charging him with pure sexual lust.

He hungers for the moment when you feel the same about him.

For now, all he can do is stand and touch himself while thinking of your face, an act that has been carried out repeatedly in the days since he found you in the Ocean of Dreams.

An erotic idea enters his mind.

Your subconscious is still in the Dreaming; he knows the feeling of it intimately.

Perhaps he could bring you a dream mirroring his own current fantasy.

To give you a taste of what was to come.

A gift that only he could bestow.

The mere thought of it turns him on even more. His back arches and his eyes roll back as he choses the words through which he would deliver the offering.

"Dream of me," Morpheus murmurs breathlessly. "Dream of me."

He repeats the phrase until he is unable to continue, moans taking over the darkened space around him.

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It is dusk the next day when Morpheus returns to the waking world.

The instant he touches down on the Earth's surface, he knows exactly where to go. The metaphysical connection between you is as strong as the energy pulsing through a ley line.

The city he is directed to is thrumming with life but the side street he stands in has been spared from the furore.

It is fortuitous that he is permitted to be unobserved for Morpheus is struggling now with the urge to get closer.

Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.

He walks up to the door and then an invisible force makes him back away.

He doesn't even try to fight it.

The Fates hold all the cards. Morpheus is beholden to their each and every whim.

It is surprisingly liberating.

He is dancing in the cross hairs. Blinkered by the tie the universe has fashioned for you.

All he has to do is wait.

The door to the building is pushed open.

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Taglist: @herfantasyworldd

"Fate. Up against your will. Through the thick and thin. He will wait until you give yourself to him."

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