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pingguins · 2 years

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When Dreams Despair

||Ch. 1|| "Only you can see me,"

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Dream of the Endless x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: Cursing, drowning (kind of)

Notes: I'm backkk!! With the longest chapter of any fic I've written!! I worked hard on this y'all, I even made a schedule for it. I hope you guys like it, I would love to hear your thoughts!!

Summary:

After spending decades dreaming of the same man, who knew that a babysitting job would be the one thing she needed to end it?

However, a select few have gotten their dreams back, some even receiving them in the waking world. An air of mystery lingers around Y/N, and a recurring nightmare spanning decades might have just uncovered it.

"Have you got any information about the Burgesses? Fawney Rig?"

Johanna Constantine sat behind her desk, drinking tea while pondering over another email. Y/N called hours earlier, asking if she could visit. There had been something different about Y/N that night, acting more timid and getting stuck in her own mind more often than not.

Over the phone, she simply asked Johanna if she would be open to having some tea and catching up.

Y/N sat on a nearby couch, hoping to find some answers about Roderick Burgess by asking Johanna. She knew of her occupation, and wanted her consultation.

"Y/N, I don't spend my time dwelling on stories about devils in basements. Roderick Burgess has been dead a long time; the rumours died with him," Johanna replied, not looking away from her laptop screen as she took a sip from her cup.

Y/N sighed. "But his long life remains in question."

"I'm not denying that he was into occult shit; but the Burgesses are old news. Whatever magic Fawney Rig held went away a long time ago."

“You seem so sure. Have you ever paid them a visit?”

Johanna’s eyes flicked towards Y/N’s, and she saw it again. The distant look in her eyes, constantly lost in thought since the moment she stepped foot into her home. She went back to her emails, deciding that if her friend needed help with anything, she would ask. Until then, she would be keeping an eye on her.

“No,” she answered. “I have other things to do—it pays well to keep your focus on the important clients.” She smirked, hoping to start their usual playful banters.

Y/N paid her no mind, busying herself by turning to look at the window beside her, observing the passersby and stray animals that wandered the streets.

* * *

The water rippled beneath her fingers, her reflection looking back at her as if it was a creature of its own. Her outstretched hand was mere inches away from it, the fog engulfing most of her surroundings. Other than herself, Y/N could not see anything else in the water, only the mist that danced in the air.

Longing for a semblance of their lost monarch, the water accepted her. Her reflection reached out, tightly gripping her wrist, and pulled. The cold engulfed her body in a matter of seconds, millions of dreams and nightmares swimming around her as she sank lower and lower.

The depths of something so inhuman, so inconceivably omniscient pained her, the pressure building around her body and inside of her lungs. She did not have enough time to take a deep breath before she was under the water, her chest burned, and her head felt heavy as the images she saw became too much.

And so she awoke, finding herself back inside of her bedroom unharmed.

There was a harsh throbbing in her head, making her squint her eyes shut from the pain.

Years of being plagued by dreams you could not understand, that humanity was not meant to explore, would expectedly cause such headaches.

It troubled her that as much she frequented that place in her sleep, there were still some places yet to be discovered. Places like those waters—desperate for something she could not give. She groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples to try and tame the still-building pressure.

Nevertheless, she swung her legs off the bed. The shutters were left closed, keeping the light from entering the room. When one experiences such painful mornings, one tends to make adjustments around their sleeping quarters.

Under her bed, her hand clasped the wooden frame, careful of the soft white fabric that wrapped around it. It was her canvas, stored under her bed in case of mornings like these.

Y/N found that the best way to soothe an overwhelmed imagination was to paint what she saw—to get the images out of her mind and create something which she can touch and feel.

She was an artist—a storyteller of profound dreams and visions she knew not the value of.

Her easel and the rest of her materials were all set up, always ready in the corner of her room, waiting for her next tale.

She had dreamt of many stories and considered them a significant part of her sleep, though in the waking world, Y/N looked at them as an art she’d yet to master, looking no further for meaning or purpose that surpasses those of the mortal realm.

Whenever her dreams were brought and told to the many inhabitants of the waking world, she always relished in her decisions to remain truthful. She may not be the most honest person in the world, but her books and paintings accurately hold all the beauty and horrors that she witnessed in her sleep.

However, not all of her dreams make it to the human world.

There was one specific picture that she’d seen too many times to count. Canvas upon canvas were stacked and littered around her room just from the past month. The same dream over and over again, each one more vivid than the last.

She knew all the scenes well, her hand expertly guiding the brushes as she carefully worked on her latest piece.

Y/N basked in the nostalgia of the painting, having seen the same picture since she was a child. It had been too tragic, she refused to bring it to life.

This time, however, it called to her.

The sorrowful image, mostly of browns and blacks, held only one pale figure in the middle, seemingly glowing in the darkness he laid in. Aside from the man, unconscious and naked on the floor, the painting was barren.

Only he brought life to the painting; even though his story was one she shied away from throughout the years, thinking it too heavy on the soul to even think about, let alone tell. What happened? What had gone so wrong?

Y/N desperately wanted to know, but uncovering his narrative would take effort; maybe if she kept painting he would tell her. Maybe she’d hear him speak one night, if he even had a voice.

The story of Lord Morpheus, however, was not very different from hers. And it was not his story alone, but the tale of millions upon millions of dreamers.

Had Y/N known that, she would have been enthralled, yet heartbroken that a being such as him could look so small and evanescent on her painting.

The silence was interrupted by the shrill ringing of her phone, the high pitched tune extinguishing the haze over her eyes. She answered the call, carelessly placing down the brush onto the palette.

She had been stuck in another one of her trances, spacing out when utterly focused on her work. Though the painting was nowhere near finished, the painter had decided to turn her back to it, telling herself that it can wait.

"Hey, we're leaving in about 5 hours. You can come here any time before then. Amelia's excited to see you!"

The voice of her long-time friend, Maurice, was heard through the phone. And Y/N shook her head, rubbing the back of her neck to wake herself up.

"Got it! Tell little Amy I'll see her soon, be careful on your trip!" Y/N answered. A small, fond smile appeared on her face, voice sounding bubbly regardless of her drowsiness.

Amelia never seemed to run out of creativity, always telling her about the adventures she embarked on in her dreams. Her mother, Maurice, was one of the people whom Y/N worked with at the Inn.

Maurice liked to tease Y/N, always saying that in the almost two decades they’ve known each other, Y/N didn’t look a day over 25. All the while Amelia aged Maurice as time passed by, having worked above and beyond to be a deserving mother to her young daughter.

"Make sure to stay with her until she falls asleep. She said she gets better dreams when you're around. I swear she only gets a full eight hours when you're babysitting," Maurice chuckled before saying goodbye.

Maurice and her husband, Adam, were scheduled for a one-day business trip. And while Amelia surely loved her parents, she wouldn’t dare give up an opportunity to be with her favourite babysitter.

She was only seven, and having no siblings to play with, her time was usually spent burying herself in the variety of books that resided in their small library. The bookshelf in her room, though, sheltered most, if not all, of Y/N’s published story books.

Y/N placed her phone down, sitting at the edge of her bed, before browsing through her sketchbook which had always been placed on the bedside table in case of urgent matters. Those matters being rough illustrations for when she did not have enough time to paint.

The ache in her head came creeping back as she flipped through the drawings she made in the past few days. Graphite and charcoal sullied the pages, creating the image of the same subject over and over again.

These pictures were of the same man in her painting, who now was trapped inside of a glass sphere surrounded by a gold circle drawn onto the floor. There were runes, ones that only Johanna knew of. She referred to it as a binding circle, but the reasoning behind it was lost to Y/N. There was no fathoming why anyone would trap a man inside of such a cruel prison.

In the 32 years she had lived, the dream never changed. No matter the variety that visited her as she slept, the circumstances of the trapped man were substantially the same when his turn to visit her came.

It seemed, in a way, that she was trapped with him. Cursed to watch and feel him in misery for all those years without one person coming to his aid. She was but a helpless observer, never being able to touch or speak with him.

The dreams were frantic now, though, and they pestered her to no end. Every night she could see him. Same place, same fire in his eyes that would put the biggest star to shame. No other dream dared to compete.

How long has he been there? Was he still there? Did he even exist?

Questions that have long been unanswered were now occupying her mind. Questions she tried to forget ever since they woke her in the late hours of the night, crying out to her father several times a week.

He would soothe her back to bed, filling her mind with positive thoughts and reassuring her that no , that man would not come for her. He was a mere nightmare and nothing else.

There was a time when she wondered if the man was angry at her, furious that she would not set him free. She wanted to tell him that if it were up to her, he would have been out of there long, long ago.

Her five-year-old brain had not processed the dream well, and years after, she would continue to be haunted and disturbed by the dream’s air of resentment unmatched by anything she’d seen in the waking world.

* * *

The time flew by fast, and soon enough, Y/N was sat by Amelia’s side, tucking her into bed an hour before her curfew.

Determined to focus on taking care of Amelia, Y/N purposely distracted herself when the opportunity presented itself, letting her mind drift away from her recent dreams. It was not an impossible feat, though from time to time, she would find herself beginning to wander back to the thought of her unfinished painting, to which she turned her back and left all alone in the corner of her room.

Only to be reminded that she was at Maurice’s house by an energetic Amelia or a barking dog outside of the house.

“Can you tell me a different story tonight? I’ve read all the ones I have.” Amelia pouted, her eyes pleading as she tried to convince Y/N.

Y/N went along, making a face as if she was in deep thought. “Hmmm, I don’t know…thinking of stories on the spot is no joke, you know?” she teased, keeping her tone playful.

“Well…” Amelia dragged on, and her babysitter stayed silent, giving her time to think. “Tell me a dream. Your dream. The ones you have when you’re asleep.”

Y/N chuckled, caressing Amelia’s hair. “Why would you want to know about my dreams? If you go to bed now, you get to explore yours.”

“You said you wrote books about what you dream of. I reckon you have some unwritten ones.”

“Uhmm, I don’t know, Amelia. Maybe I don’t have any more dreams to tell,” she baited.

Amelia whined, kicking her feet in protest. “But you always have dreams! They’re always so good! Especially when you turn them into stories!”

Y/N laughed at the little girl beside her, who was clearly determined to get a bedtime story. Who was she to deny her?

“You know, Amy, dreams are the stories. They’re the only place where you can truly experience the most fantastic fairy tales. A place where you can truly be free,” Y/N trailed off, but only for a moment. It was a lie, at least to her it was. But for Amelia, she could pretend, bend the truth for her peace of mind.

After all, how do you tell a child that not all dreams are realms in which you can control? That sometimes, there are things you are only meant to observe, no matter how painful?

To Y/N, there was already enough of that in the waking world. Amelia did not need to know that dreams could be just as terrible.

“I don’t need to turn them into stories, Amy. They already are, and when I feel that the world deserves to know of such wonderful places and inspiring creatures, I write them. To help people like you, who may need a reminder that dreaming is free, and that all you need to do is get a full night’s rest.” She smiled, winking at Amelia.

It was Y/N’s way of getting her to go to bed early, and for a while, it worked.

When Encephalitis Lethargica befell the world, not all could dream. And not all could get out of dreams, either. However, as Y/N brought the adventures she saw in her sleep to the waking world, dreamers became just a little bit more hopeful, and a little bit more rested.

This time, though, Y/N had no story to tell, as all her dreams had been the same. She was a vessel, a writer who retold the stories she saw in the dead of night. The years she spent being an author had certainly made her a master at conjuring up tales in an instant if she wished, but when her mind was clouded with the same images and the familiar feeling of anguish from seeing the trapped man every night, it was not so easy to think of happy tales that Amelia deserved.

The little girl was hoping for another adventure-filled fantasy. One that would act as a send-off before she walked the realm of dreams.

The efforts Y/N made at trying to form the perfect story for her had become futile. Only one dream, one story stayed in her mind. Scenarios of what could have happened to the man, stuck in a cage he had filled with endless indignation, were at the forefront of her mind: images of him getting hurt and beaten just to get him inside of the sphere.

But perhaps it did not need to be that way.

“I…guess I do have a story for you,” Y/N said reluctantly. It was a stretch, but in the end, all stories, no matter how sad, could be adjusted to fit a happier narrative.

There was only one who had the power to command dreams and stories to venture on a different path. But on that night, for one little girl, Y/N would dare change the story of one such as the Dream Lord himself.

Routinely, she took the small vial of sand placed on Amelia’s nightstand, stationed there for the days Y/N would stay over to babysit. The little girl beamed, her wish coming true before her eyes as Y/N sat up from the bed and poured the white grains on the table.

She kneeled in front of it as Amelia moved to lay on her side, watching intently.

With the sand, Y/N drew, her story coming to life in mere seconds. The small grains of white followed her fingers ever so slightly, seeming to follow every movement of her hand to create any image she wished to show.

In that moment, in the darkness of Amelia’s bedroom, the faintest hint of light radiated from the sand like the moon covered by clouds. Barely there, only seen when one looks for it.

“Somewhere dark, somewhere hidden, there is a man.” On the nightstand was the image of a figure, enclosed within a sphere. “His eyes hold the universe, his skin as white as paper, his hair like the feathers of ravens.”

She drew a circle, encasing the sphere inside as she drew the runes she could remember. “And he’s trapped. No one knows how long, and no one knows how much longer.”

Now, there was an image of a raven, flying while its beak touched the glass sphere. “His raven had gone a long time ago, a victim of the man’s captors, leaving him truly alone.”

Amelia’s face showed a deep frown as her young brain comprehended the tale.

“He never speaks, never asks for help. But he lets you see, he lets you observe his pain as if even he thinks he deserves to be caged as one would a rabid animal.”

With precision, she added more detail to the image, using one of her better drawings back home as inspiration. “He’s known not the kindness of humans, not for a long time, but perhaps, one act of true humanity might give him all he needs to be free.”

In one swoop, Y/N cleared the drawings with her hand, turning them back into messy piles of sand before putting them back in the vial. She pushed the sand off the corner of the table, effortlessly catching them with the glass container and closing it with its cork-made seal.

“One act of true humanity,” she booped Amelia’s nose, snapping her out of her trance. “That’s where you come in.”

Interested, Amelia sat up as Y/N went back to her place next to the little girl. The painter pushed back some of the girl’s red locks behind her ear before continuing. “He appears in dreams. He only shows himself to me, and now to you through my story. It’s our duty to dream of his freedom.”

“If I dream, will you make it come true? Will he be freed?” Amelia asked, eyes pleading for a positive answer.

The worry that showed on the girl’s face was vehement, her empathy swam within the confines of her room.

Though all dreams could be felt by the Dreaming, there was something about children that fueled the realm of stories. There is an intrinsic ability for a child to dream, unafraid and untainted by the horrors one would face in a world such as theirs.

“Promise,” Y/N whispered, leaning down to kiss Amelia’s hair before tucking her back into bed. “Sweet dreams, Amelia.”

She stood, walking to leave the room, the little girl’s gaze following her. Y/N held the doorknob and spoke just before she closed the door. “And remember, you don’t need to be asleep to dream.”

In the guest bedroom, Y/N stood by the window, observing the quiet street and the clear skies. There were no traces of pollution, only stars that twinkle light years away. It looked serene, and she’d hoped that maybe somewhere out there, maybe in another universe where dreams really do come true, the man would roam free.

The man that held the cosmos in his eyes. The man who had started as her nightmare, and whom she had come to understand and sympathize with.

Y/N wondered if Amelia could do it—change her dream. It had been a long-standing one; the only place she had no control over while she slept.

The air was calm, much like how it felt whenever she was in the middle of writing or painting one of her dreams. Dreams that, if only she knew, were more palpable than she nor her father ever thought.

Remembering her dad, she dialed his number, waiting to hear his voice on the other side.

“Hey! Everything okay? How’s Amelia?”

Y/N smiled, eyes trained to the stars and the moon outside her window. “Hey dad. We’re good, she’s asleep.”

She spoke softly, not wanting Amelia to be distured in case she could hear them. Y/N loved her father dearly, and he would certainly be over the moon to know that perhaps she could finally get a good night's rest—one that did not require his comfort.

“What story did you tell her this time? She usually gushes about them when she visits the inn.”

“I, uhm, I told her about the… that dream.” She waited, but no response came. The dream was a topic to avoid, Y/N knew how much her father would chastise himself for not being able to make the nightmares go away, especially in the days when she was much younger.

There was no sound, only silence. One that Y/N took the first step in breaking. “I toned it down, obviously. I thought that maybe if I…made it a little more hopeful, maybe it could change.”

“Right,” there was a pause, concern dripping from his voice. “how do you feel?”

“I think—I think I’m going to have good dreams tonight.”

“That’s good!” he responded, the volume surprising even himself. “That’s great. I’m proud of you.”

Night after night his daughter would wake, crying about a man in her dreams. He was a good fighter, vowing to protect Y/N all throughout her life from any danger that dared to go near. He could give her knowledge impossible to acquire in her generation, and wisdom from years before the birth of their oldest friends—most of them, at least.

Of all he could protect her from, Y/N’s worst nightmare had to be exactly that—a nightmare. One that never seemed to fade away, one that haunted them for years.

Her because of the sheer weight of what could be seen during her slumber, and him because in his lifetime, there had never been such an unreachable feat.

He couldn’t walk her dreams, he could only hope to alleviate the sorrow that came after.

And for a man like him, for one who had steered clear of Death herself, no wound or hunger could feel as painful as the ache in his chest when he could not chase away the man that plagued her daughter’s sleeping mind.

“Yeah, it is. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you for letting me know, my little daydream. Sleep well.”

“Sweet dreams, dad.”

As a child, after she wrote down each and every one of her nightly adventures, her father claimed that her dreams never seemed to stay put in her unconscious mind, but rather, spilled into her creations during her waking hours.

“My little daydream” he would call her.

After she dozed off in the guest room, the next thing she could remember was the feel of soft, powder-like material under her feet. The sound of the ocean reached her ears in a melody of waves, alternating as they touched the sand before going back into the water.

She welcomed the smell of salt and the breeze that graced her skin, the wind moving in time with the ocean. Y/N felt herself relax, finding that her mind was quiet here, as opposed to the burden she would carry in the waking world.

The beach, the sun, the sand—they were all hers. Her territory in the realm of the sleeping. Though she was none the wiser, all aspects of the Dreaming would bow to her in a heartbeat if she wished, following her orders to the best of their abilities as they would their missing monarch.

“Y/N!” The voice of Amelia shouted, running towards her, leaving her footprints on the soft sand. She hugged Y/N tightly, wrapping her small arms around her waist before looking up at her eyes. “Are you here to save the caged man? The one with stars in his eyes?”

The breeze stopped, their hair no longer blowing in the wind. The sound of waves could no longer be heard.

Everything stopped, no grain of sand gave the slightest bit of movement. Only she and Amelia existed in this plane, their surroundings a mere image of the life that once fueled the beach.

Y/N donned a black coat that reached her ankles, her feet clad in a pair of Doc Martens. She wore a black shirt and a black pair of jeans instead of the pajamas she slept in. To her, there was no meaning behind her clothing and why she wore them in her dreams.

However, as Amelia mentioned the Dreaming’s absent King, the realm seemed to have recognized what Y/N’s purpose could be that night. The land had stopped to listen, straying from their function to hear word of the man who could very well be their master.

The change in the atmosphere was stark, heavy on Y/N’s heart. She only had a moment to herself, thinking that maybe she could roam aimlessly without bearing the weight of that man’s anguish.

She was no longer trapped with him, but perhaps, she must fulfill her promise to Amelia.

She cleared her throat, glancing at their surroundings before stroking Amelia’s hair. The world began to move once again; the waves were loud, the sand moved by the wind, and Y/N’s coat billowed from the breeze.

“Yes, I am. But I’m afraid I don’t know how to do that—”

The waves reached their feet now, and from the corner of her eye, as she looked down at Amelia, she saw the water glow.

It shimmered when it covered her feet, electric and familiar, but remained a normal shade of blue when it hit Amelia’s.

“—but I think I might have just figured it out,” she spoke slowly, her eyes glazing over as she looked at the distant shoreline. It wasn’t the endlessness of it that caught her eye, rather, the blue vortex several feet away from them.

Amelia followed her gaze, seeing the same bright light. She beamed, looking excitedly up at Y/N. “What are you waiting for, then? I think that’s for you!”

Other than an unwavering smile, she offered Amelia nothing else before running off towards the portal, the sand glowing a bright blue every step she took.

Without so much as a second thought, she jumped, feeling herself get carried away by the vacuum before violently landing on black sand.

It was harsh, unlike the smooth, white sand on the beach. Here there was no water, no sound but the rush of stale air. The ground was coarse, small stones and pebbles pricked her skin as she tumbled.

Behind her was a gate—the entrance to the Heart of the Dreaming.

She felt no surprise, finding herself in a place she had been to many times before. She walked towards it, touching the grand structure gently before the Gates of Horn and Ivory opened to welcome her in, revealing the ruins of the palace.

It was a sorrowful sight. The castle broken and abandoned by most of its inhabitants. To her, however, the scenery looked the same as the first time she saw it.

She still wondered, though, about what the kingdom used to look like with its walls intact and cared for. Was the land bustling with life? Did they celebrate their own holidays?

Or was it tranquil? A calm paradise in which everyone basked in their people’s company with no need to gather?

The kingdom had long passed its golden years, but how could something devoid of life seem so…out of place? As if it couldn’t be anything other than alive .

Without the presence of their King who functioned as the heart and soul, the Dreaming could not be called a kingdom, but only a spectre that lingered in the space between realms.

It was barren, and had been for more than a century, but the ghostly structures—to her— felt unnatural. As if, instead of the ruins of a once thriving paradise, it was dying . There was a missing piece, an absent force that drained the realm of its life.

She kneeled, grasping a handful of sand that glowed with her touch. She opened her palm, blowing on the sand as it flew toward the palace, swirling around the broken walls and pillars, repairing the cracks and missing pieces.

There was no bringing back its prior beauty, however, she will do what she can, aiding the land while it still stands.

There was no telling how long it would last without Y/N before it turned into dust, turning into a vast desert where the grieving dreams and nightmares may wander, wishing for their King to give them back their home.

The black grains delicately fell back down onto the floor, barely doing enough for the castle. Only a small measure had been mended, but it would do.

It was as much as she could do no matter how many attempts. Whether she rebuilt it by hand or by sand, it would never go back to its former glory. It refused .

And though it denied her help, the Dreaming was, in essence, kept alive by the thin thread that had attached itself to Y/N when she was born, her care and love for it keeping its foundation intact no matter how battered it may seem.

Since her first visits, Y/N endeavoured to heal the land in hopes that some of its inhabitants might return to help. There was Cain, Abel, and Gregory, but they had insisted there was nothing to do for their home, yet keeping all other details hidden as per Lucienne’s request.

Contented with her work, knowing she had done all she can, Y/N entered the palace. Even in its broken stature, there was a memory of brilliance and power that lingered in the air, one that greeted her its fleeting welcome as she walked the halls.

She had explored all there is that surrounded the palace, though Y/N rarely ever stepped inside. And whenever she did, she would not stay very long. It was clear to her that the realm embraced her presence with open arms, but she did not feel comfortable roaming around inside.

She felt at home there, yet a part of her could sense that she was crossing into someone else’s territory—one that showed no malice, but deserved deep respect.

The inert landscape was a tragic sight. But within the palace walls was a kind of suffering she could not describe. It yearned for something, longed to thrive like it once had, but unable to do so with its throne lying empty, the broken seat of an absent ruler sat atop a regal set of stairs. The presence of Merv and Lucienne, though, told her that their history was not as simple as a runaway monarch.

It had been years since she went back inside, the last time being when she was still a teenager. She neared the throne, daring to get halfway up the stairs before she heard familiar footsteps.

Y/N grinned widely and eagerly turned around, rushing down the stairs as she engulfed Lucienne in a tight embrace.

The librarian tensed, stunned in place as she calmly held Y/N’s arms and gently pushed her away. “Uhm, pardon my ignorance, but I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before. Are you lost, perhaps?”

“Oh, uh,” Y/N stepped back, awkwardly shifting her feet, but her smile was as wide as ever. “I guess my father was lying when he told me I barely aged. Did I really? To the point of unrecognition?” she chuckled, hoping to refresh Lucienne’s memory.

The librarian studied her carefully, taking in her appearance and the uncanny similarities towards the Dream Lord. Finally, it dawned on her.

“Miss Y/N!” She held Y/N’s shoulders, stroking her hair with one hand. “Oh how you’ve grown!” She awed, this time, opening her arms to embrace Y/N. “Your father is no liar. I have not seen you in the Dreaming for so long, your visit was merely unexpected.”

Y/N’s shoulders tensed, Lucienne pulled back with a confused expression. “Is there something wrong, miss?”

She beamed widely at the librarian. “The Dreaming. Is that what this place is called, Lucienne?”

Hesitancy lingered in the air, silence invaded the palace as Lucienne contemplated her next words. In the years Y/N has visited the Dreaming, she took it upon herself to keep quiet about their affairs and the tragedy that befell the once prosperous realm.

The last that Lucienne knew of Y/N, she was blissfully unaware of the depth of their troubles. Lucienne had caught her trying to repair the palace walls by hand, finding materials around the Kingdom or borrowing from Cain and Abel to do so.

Gregory had been with her, and they were flying around to the tops of the castle in a misguided effort to rebuild.

Lucienne did not have the heart to stop them, only informing her that they had done what they could, but the Kingdom remained broken. No other information was disclosed, most questions were redirected or dismissed.

Nonetheless, they remained friends. The librarian adored her love for their realm, having not seen any other creature care for it besides a select few. At the time, Lucienne took her for a lost dreamer, finding their way to the Heart of the Dreaming because there was no one left to keep them away.

They were familiar with lucid dreamers, some better than others; she assumed that the young Y/N might have been one of the better ones.

Her visits started when she was only 12 years old, and she frequented the realm on most nights. Lucienne read all she can, attempting to decipher their mysterious guest. However, when more and more of the library vanished, she laid her investigation to rest.

In some respects, those who stayed in the Dreaming saw the curious little girl grow up.

She rarely visited the palace, where Lucienne spent most of her time, so they have not bonded the way Y/N and the others have. Moreover, that did not take away from their friendship.

The librarian liked to monitor her, though, for any other strange happenings. And in the process, she had started to care for her the way she does for the rest of the realm. Y/N had become more of an honoured visitor than an uninvited guest.

“Yes, miss. You are in the Heart of the Dreaming,” Lucienne answered, abstaining from revealing any and all other details.

No malice could be felt when around Y/N, she has crossed the gates many times on her own and has acted with good intentions—there was no doubting her kind spirit.

Nevertheless, as a loyal subject of Morpheus, she was unsure of how to go about telling a mere human about the existence of the Dreaming. There was no confirming that Y/N knew about their realm’s true nature, for all she knew Y/N thought this was all a strange dream regardless of the recurrence.

“That’s…nice,” Y/N replied, her smile turning mellow. “My second home finally has a name.”

Lucienne was touched. Most of the Dreaming’s inhabitants are long gone, losing their trust in their missing monarch. But no matter how broken, how unfixable their Kingdom was, someone had managed to find a home in it.

However, there was no denying that she did not belong there, and no one knew of any consequences that might occur due to her visits.

“With all due respect, you belong to the waking world, miss Y/N. This is merely another destination you venture to in your sleep,” Lucienne said, empathetic as ever. She did not want to deter her from coming to the Dreaming.

Y/N walked towards the bottom of the steps, taking in the newly-named palace. “I am dreaming, Lucienne,” she spoke, elegantly waking up the stairs.

Lucienne was frozen in place, watching as the girl walked up towards their King’s throne. It wasn’t her actions that baffled her, it was the semblance of power. Something seemed to have shifted in their realm every step she took, as if there was a low rumbling coming from deep inside the palace.

“My mind conjured this up a long time ago, and it is not willing to let it go so easily,” Y/N continued. “This is my realm. I belong here.”

Her voice grew more confident as she neared the broken throne. “They say that names are powerful—and I do believe they are. The Dreaming has become my refuge, and I hold you all dear to my heart.”

She arrived at the top, gently touching the throne. Light emitted from beneath her fingers, black smoke radiating from them as Lucienne let out a quiet gasp.

Y/N looked at the librarian, “I have tried to fix this place long ago, and now I think I finally can. For now, at least.” She looked around the room, broken pieces of the palace rising from the ground, going back into their rightful place.

The cracks and rubble from the bottom of the throne healed, becoming an almost-perfect image of its former self.

“This is impossible,” Lucienne whispered, overcome with gladness and fear at seeing her home be restored by such a display of power that she had not seen in over a century. The palace shook, but she kept in place, stunned in silence.

When the rehabilitation of the palace halted, Lucienne looked up at the girl in her master's clothing.

The throne room could not be revived to its former glory. However, all that was left were cracks and chipped pieces on the walls. It resembled a restored renaissance painting—alive, but never as beautiful as the days it spent with its creator.

Unfortunately, the sight did not last. It took only a few moments before the colour drained from the walls, the structures crumbling once again, but thankfully, not to the state Y/N found it in.

Y/N’s stature could not help but falter, discouraged that her efforts remained futile despite the power she could feel flowing within her veins.

Lucienne, however, staggered. She cleared her throat, straightening her posture while clasping her hands formally. “I mean no disrespect, ma’am,” she hesitated for a moment. “But what are you? ”.

She almost seemed afraid, and Y/N took notice, going back down the stairs as she stood in front of Lucienne. “I-I am human, and this is my dream—” she chuckled nervously. “There’s no need to worry—”

“The Dreaming is not your realm, ma’am. It is not yours to take,” Lucienne defended, her voice apprehensive but nevertheless defiant. “I mean no offence, but you do not belong here . I think it is best you go back—”

“No,” Y/N interjected. Lucienne’s words sparked a memory—her duty and purpose in the Dreaming coming back to her. “I need you to take me to the water. I don’t recall how I arrived there the first time, but I—”

“My apologies, ma’am, but it is not my place to show you where it is located.” Lucienne stood her ground, her voice wavering ever so slightly regardless of her efforts to stay professional.

“I have good reason to be there. You can trust me, Lucienne. I would never do this place any harm,” Y/N spoke, bringing down her voice to a softer tone.

Lucienne kept silent, and Y/N’s heart broke. “Ma’am, I do not take you for a liar, which could only mean that you do not know of the power you possess. No matter your purpose here, this realm cannot take any more damage in the instance that you might harm it unintentionally.”

Y/N swallowed, unable to hide her sorrow as the woman she once knew to care for her, now looked at her in fear. But she could not deny that she understood Lucienne’s apprehension. What she could do in the Dreaming was natural to her, she was sure of the fact that she could never bring any harm to it.

If she could not see that, Y/N did not have the time to convince her.

The man was waiting, and he had been for long enough.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, sand swirling around her figure, growing thicker until Lucienne could no longer see her.

In her mind she focused on the water, not having a single recollection of how she wound up being pulled into a sea of different worlds. Regardless, she remembered how it felt, and she held onto it, letting it take over her body before she was violently tossed onto the wooden floor of a foggy pier.

Y/N was thrown across the wooden planks, covering her head with her arms as she stumbled, stopping right at the edge where she could see herself in the water. She kneeled on the wood floor, staring into the white, beady eyes of her reflection.

If she hadn’t been so entranced by it, she would have found it familiar.

She held her hand out, carefully reaching for the water, but pulled back right as she was about to make contact.

Instead, she dove in.

The water splashed around her as her body was engulfed by it, and she continued to go farther down.

Shadows and scenes of hell and paradise and domesticity swam around her, and she flailed the deeper she got, having regretted her decision to enter the treacherous water. Unfortunately, before she could try swimming up, something had caught hold of her foot, dragging her further down the deep blue.

Y/N screamed, air bubbles rapidly flowing out of her mouth as she aggressively kicked her foot, trying to loosen the hold of her captor. When she looked beneath her, there was nothing. The space where she could feel the pressure on her ankle lay empty.

Her hands stopped flailing, and her feet stopped kicking, feeling her lungs a second away from being filled with water.

Then, she was on a yacht. Clean and luxurious. Mountain tops could be seen in the distance; her clothes were dry and her breathing as light as ever. The familiar scent of the ocean reached her nostrils, and she breathed in, taking in lungfuls of the fresh air.

Her black coat billowed in the wind and she looked around. Other than the yacht she stood on, nothing could be seen for miles besides the silhouettes of mountains and the clouds that floated above her. She could hear seagulls, some landing beside her feet, and some placing themselves on the metal railing in front of her.

She clasped the handrail, looking down at the ocean. The waves obstructed the mirrored images of herself and the yacht, however, she recognized those same white eyes that gazed back at her.

In spite of the clear skies and the sun that burnt her skin, the water had no shimmer on its surface. No light bounced off of the ocean, and it remained as dark as she saw it on the fog-covered pier.

There was a depth to it, an endless dark blue inhabited by strange movement and worlds that seemed to pass by.

Her eyes squinted, noticing the circular shape surrounding her reflection. Everything moved slower, her coat floated as if she were in space instead of the quick flutter from the breeze. There were no seagulls in the reflection, but rather ravens accompanied her second self.

Then, just as she saw the familiar shape of the trapped man behind her reflection, she jumped in once again, pushing herself upwards as she held the steel bars tightly, swinging her legs over them and landing into the water once more.

The pressure in her ears was instant, and her body felt ice-cold—but only for a second.

When she landed on the other side, the air no longer smelled fresh, but stale and musty, old and worn. Her lungs felt heavy instead of refreshed.

Her clothes were still as dry as ever, but they no longer moved. There was no wind, barely any ventilation.

Y/N stood on the battered cement floor worn by time. Tall pillars held up the room and wooden arches supported the ceiling, but all were void of life. The colours they once held were now faded, barely visible in the darkness.

There was a door, next to it a man was sat on a chair with his eyes to the floor, glazed over in thought.

He was daydreaming, and it provided a dangerous path for Y/N to embark. She paid him no mind, as her presence was fairly obvious, and yet he failed to notice the stranger standing mere feet away from him.

Y/N knew where she had arrived, her gaze landing on the attenuated gold circle on the floor. Slowly, she looked upwards.

The man inside the sphere with his back turned to her, sitting motionless with his head bowed down. His alabaster skin glowed with the singular light placed above him, illuminating him as if he were a museum piece, bare and presented for everyone to see.

For a long time, this man haunted her dreams. Years of countless nights she was awoken by her own screams, the burden of sharing a fraction of his torment scarring and embedding itself into her childhood years.

But as she approached the glass sphere, silent tears fell from her eyes, weeping for the man who had been trapped here for far longer than she could imagine

There was an inkling of doubt that yearned to be acknowledged, crying for denial, telling her it was all a dream, and that when she wakes, it will all be a figment of her imagination, a memory from a place fantastical and unreal.

However, as she mourned his lost freedom, the doubt could not rise.

Her foot stepped beyond the circle, uncaring about its importance—after all, what good purpose could it have if it was created by his captors? She reached forward until her palm was only a few inches away from the glass.

The man turned to Y/N when her hand touched his enclosure, expression cold and shoulders broadening in an attempt to show power. Even now, with him as helpless as one can be, he commanded the room with only his eyes.

Upon seeing her tears, he turned his body to face her, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly at the sight. He had not known empathy in a long time, decidedly untrusting of it after Jessamy’s passing.

What Y/N could not see in that moment, were the eyes that Lord Morpheus himself was gazing into.

A pair of dark orbs, the cosmos within them as they shed tears—as if the galaxies beyond her eyes were weeping for him. The clothes she wore did not go unnoticed by the Dream Lord, nor the small but significant smudges her shoes had inflicted upon the circle that bound him.

Knowing he could not lose any more than he has, his palm touched hers from the inside of the sphere, their hands a few inches from one another. His expression remained stoic, but his fingers gave the slightest twitch.

Deep within Y/N’s soul, she knew she had found what the palace was searching for. And she had discovered what the man had been missing in the years he spent inside of the darkness.

They both turned their heads toward the door when another guard entered, their hands still barely touching.

Y/N remained looking at the guard, observing to see if they would notice her. Morpheus tore his eyes away from the door, jaw clenching and the hand that stretched to be near Y/N’s tensing, fingers almost clawing at the glass.

When Y/N turned back to him, she smiled delicately.

“Only you can see me,” she mouthed.

The newly arrived guard turned to their coworker, shaking his shoulder. “Spacing out again? Enough of that. It’s my turn to get a bloody rest,” they said, crossing their arms as they went to their seat.

When the resting guard awoke from his daydream, he sat up straighter, clearing his throat as he tried to get ahold of his surroundings.

Meanwhile, Morpheus briskly placed his other hand next to the one on the glass, tilting his head downwards, his eyes sharper than ever .

Y/N placed her other hand on the glass, growing anxious as she saw them begin to fade.

The daydream has ended, and so has hers. She was no longer tethered, and he was no longer undiscovered.

Y/N sat up, feeling the bed below her as she clutched her blanket. She was in no distress, and there was no perplexing want to paint. There was no headache present. A heavy heart took their place, and now, much like the Dreaming, she felt herself wanting to call for something missing.

And somehow, that feeling was much worse than the pain she used to wake up to.

In the darkness of the guest room, swirling black smoke emanated from her eyes. And as she brought up a hand to rub the sleep away from them, she felt a sprinkle of sand on her fingers then onto the blanket that covered her legs.

The glow in her eyes vanished, as did the smoke. But the sand remained, and while she took them between her fingers…

The Dream Lord had been busying himself with putting a certain man to sleep.

***

“I think they’re true—the rumours.”

Johanna looked up from her laptop for the first time since she sat down, furrowing her eyebrows at Y/N’s bold statement. “Since when were you into this? You never liked meddling with anything that came close to my job.”

Y/N held her cup in both of her hands, one leg resting on the couch as she looked at the window pane. There they were again—her eyes that shone brighter than the stars in the night sky. They weren’t as vast, nor were they as celestial as the man’s, but they were surely noticeable.

And Johanna was not one to miss such a detail. Her friend’s image in the window pane blended almost completely with the buildings and the lights outside, but her eyes reflected back two white orbs that could almost be mistaken as distant suns.

“Have you heard of the Sandman?” Y/N turned to look at Johanna, who tore her gaze away from the reflection and to her friends’ eyes. She closed her laptop as she sat up straighter.

“He’s a fairytale,” she shrugged it off, albeit her voice was just barely above a whisper. “With all the dreams you’ve had, you might as well be him,” she chuckled apprehensively. Something had changed in Y/N, but being the busy woman that she is, she overlooked it until she had seen the window that reflected her friend. “Are you alright?”

Johanna had never been very good at caring, jumping from one relationship to the next without so much as a goodbye. But Y/N had been a long-term friend, never expecting anything out of her other than a bit of her time.

Though she would not admit it, her first meeting with Y/N had intrigued her. She originally engaged in conversation due to her suspicion that she might not be human. Maybe a demon? An angel?

And when she learned about Y/N’s father, her interest grew. Her investigations proved to be futile, learning that her friend was no more than any other mortal that walked the Earth.

But perhaps she was wrong.

“I am,” Y/N answered. “I’ve actually been feeling much better since last night.”

Johanna cleared her throat, finding the haze in her friends’ eyes strange and a tad uncomfortable. “Did Amelia ask you to tell her another one of your bedtime stories?”

Y/N nodded gently, “Yeah, she did. It was a bit different this time, though.”

“Yeah?”

“I told her about the man. The one in the glass sphere?”

Johanna leaned back into her chair, not knowing what to say. She had known about the recurring dreams, but when she asked, Y/N had dismissed it, saying that it was nothing more than her imagination. A part of her wished she had not settled for such a simple answer.

“Isn’t that a little…scary? For a seven-year-old?”

“I changed it.”

Something in the air shifted, and Johanna felt it. Her job was to know when something otherworldly was afoot, after all.

There was more to Y/N's answer than what meets the eye, and Johanna knew that maybe she hadn't been wrong to investigate when they first met.

Unlike Gods and Endless, Y/N was not born into her function; she was hardly supposed to be anything else but human. And in a way, her purpose had been deeply rooted into her humanity.

Everyone else could feel it whenever she tells a story, that warmth that only a dream could bring, but Y/N firmly refused to acknowledge it.

She knew of impossible things, and yet she denied being one herself, even after discovering her father's long-kept secret.

Y/N turned to look back outside, staring at all the houses where people slept soundly in their beds, wondering what kind of adventures or horrors they were facing behind their closed eyelids.

She wondered if she could see them someday.

"I promised Amelia a good story, Johanna. I saw to it that I spoke true."

Notes: Chapter one's done!! Again, I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on it!

#When Dreams Despair #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman netflix #lord morpheus #morpheus x reader angst #morpheus x reader fluff #sandman netflix #the sandman #the sandman fanfic #the sandman imagine #dream of the endless imagine #morpheus x you #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x you #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus imagine #dream x reader #morpheus x reader

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bellaxgiornata · 10 months

Text

Caught in the Undertow [Chapter Four]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Original Female Character

[You can find the full summary and chapter list for this series here]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains fluff, angst, domestic violence, depression, PTSD, smut

Word Count: 4.7k

a/n: This one is a bit of a cute fluffy chapter--where Matt confesses something. Gasp! Feedback is always appreciated!

Three loud, energetic knocks came from my front door. The noise startled me, causing me to jump and knock my elbows onto the island countertop I'd been leaning on as I scrolled through an email from a client. I set my phone on the counter and hurried over to the door, swinging it wide open to reveal Foggy and Marci. Marci was standing there beaming as she held up a bottle of wine.

“Happy housewarming!” she exclaimed.

"Eight and a half months late!" Foggy added.

“Hey, you didn’t have to bring anything,” I greeted the pair with a light laugh as I stepped aside, waving them in.

“You can’t invite us to a housewarming and expect us to show up empty-handed,” Marci told me as she entered. Her eyes widened a little as she took in the space. “But also–holy shit, your apartment is beautiful !” She threw a hand to Foggy’s shoulder as her eyes darted around the open living space and the large windows overlooking the city, the sun almost setting just behind the towering buildings. “Foggy Bear, we need to get a place like this.”

I shot Foggy an apologetic look, accepting the bottle of wine from Marci. “Well come in, make yourself comfortable. Or…snoop around,” I said, my eyes knowingly shifting to Marci who shot me a grin. “As I know you want to do.”

"I definitely do," she agreed, dragging Foggy helplessly behind her.

I chuckled as I headed to the fridge and placed the wine bottle inside. My phone vibrated on the counter behind me and I turned, picking it up. Ezra's name was displayed across the screen. I slid the button across and answered the call.

"Hey, what's going on, Ez?" I asked him.

"Hey, sis, just letting you know Karen and I are running a bit behind," he told me. "We sort of…got stuck in traffic."

I grinned wide, raising a brow. "Hmm, traffic ?" I asked him slyly. "Is that what we're calling it?" I heard Karen's audible gasp followed by a nervous laugh in the background and I stifled a laugh. "It's fine, I was going to order the pizza in a bit so you guys have time."

A knock came at my door and my stomach fluttered with nerves. It was obviously Matt since I was on the phone with Ez and Karen and Foggy and Marci were currently touring my walk-in closet if Marci’s loud commentary on my shoe storage was anything to go by.

"I think Matt's at the door, hang on," I said over the phone.

I headed over to my front door, pulling it open to indeed reveal Matt's smiling face. He was dressed in dark jeans and a tight black tee-shirt that hugged the thick muscles of his upper body, my gaze lingering along his biceps. I swallowed hard and had to actively force myself to remember I hadn’t greeted him yet.

"Hey, Matt, come on in. I'm just getting off the phone with Ez," I said nervously, stepping to the side as Matt entered, his cane sweeping across the floor as my attention briefly returned to Ezra. "You guys going to be here soon?” I asked over the phone.

“Uh, yes…we should be there in a few minutes,” he answered slowly.

I snorted, closing my front door. “Just keep it in your pants until after you leave my place. I'm sure you can manage that, right?"

"Shut up before you make Karen uncomfortable," Ezra whispered harshly over the phone.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, just don't fuck in my bathroom."

I laughed when he grumbled and hung up on me. I stepped over to my counter, setting my phone back on it as my attention shifted towards Matt. I could hear Foggy and Marci loudly discussing my en-suite bathroom in the distance.

"Hey, sorry about that," I said, my hands nervously sliding into my jean pockets. "Karen and Ez are just running late."

He chuckled lightly. "I gathered as much from your uh…interesting parting words."

He held out something in his left hand, his cane still in his right. The movement caught my eye and I looked down.

"Don't know if they're still your favorite now that you're out here," he said awkwardly as I accepted the bag of coffee. "But I know how much you loved them when you were in Hell’s Kitchen."

"I–you…you didn't have to bring me anything," I said quickly, feeling a warmth flood me as I stared at my favorite roast from my favorite coffee shop. "But thank you, Matt. They are in fact still my favorite," I told him in a small voice. "I never have time to get out there to get coffee anymore, though."

He smiled softly back at me. "Glad I could help your caffeine addiction then," he said gently. "I usually frequent them all the time. It…still reminds me of all the times we went there."

I swallowed hard as my breath came in quick and shallow. "Yeah?"

He shifted on his feet nervously, his mouth opening like he was going to say something, but no words came out.

"I can uh, give you a tour?" I offered anxiously as I turned to place the coffee on my counter.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "Might help me to avoid running into all your furniture."

My eyes darted up to his face, noticing the bruise on his cheek now that he'd pulled his glasses off. I winced, audibly hissing as I set the bag of coffee on my counter and rushed over to him.

"Shit, Matty, how'd you get this?" I asked, my fingers lightly grabbing his chin and turning his face towards me in the light to examine it better.

"Elevator was out the other day," he said sheepishly. "I uh…was trying not to be late to work."

My thumb slid upwards, carefully tracing the warm, stubbled skin just below the bruise. Matt's throat bobbed with a perceptibly hard swallow that drew my eyes down to his Adam's apple. Realizing just how close I was to him and how intimately I was touching him, I cleared my throat and reluctantly dropped my hand to my side. Taking a half-step back from him, I reached down and grabbed one of his hands and placed it in the crook of my arm. His fingers immediately curled around it, his hand warm against my bare skin.

"You should really be more careful," I whispered. "But uh…I can give you the grand tour. This is my kitchen," I said, leading us towards the table as I continued. "You've got a table on your right." I paused, watching as he reached his hand out while still holding his cane, his fingers brushing the surface. "About seven feet to your left is my uselessly large island." I led us over towards it, taking Matt's cane so he could use a free hand to touch the items and continue to orient himself in the space.

"Your counters feel expensive," he said with a grin.

"Quartz. White with some black veining," I told him. "Almost everything is white," I explained, my eyes darting around the space. "Except the floors, they're a dark wood."

"Sounds modern," he commented as I led him around the island, his hand gliding along the smooth surface.

"Which translates to cold and sterile," I joked.

He laughed a little as he walked beside me. "Do you not like this place? From the sounds Marci is making it sounds nice."

"No it's…it is nice," I agreed slowly, stopping us in the middle of the kitchen. "I uh…I'm fortunate to be able to afford something like this, I know. I should probably sound more grateful it's just…"

My voice trailed off as Matt's head tilted to the side, his sightless gaze looking questioningly back at me.

"It's what?" he prompted gently.

"It just feels…empty. Cold," I admitted. "I don't know, maybe it's just me." I roughly shook my head, ignoring the downturn of his mouth. "So this is where the fridge and stove are. The fridge is pretty much always empty."

Matt's eyebrows drew together at my words, his hand lightly touching the surfaces as he walked. "How do you have an empty fridge? You're always cooking."

"I don't really have time anymore," I answered him. "I'm always running from one shoot to the next, or I'm gone days on end photographing weddings. And when I'm home I just have so many emails and calls to return. And never-ending editing." I sighed. "I barely have time to get groceries. I try to do deliveries but I never have a chance to finish the list before I just put it through."

I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my face as I led him to the living room. Matt may have been blind, but I swore he could always see more than most people.

"My living room," I told him, ignoring the feel of his eyes on me. "I have a big white sectional sofa, just to your right. There's a coffee table about a foot in front of you. The sofa wraps around it."

His hand reached down, running along the armrest beside him. He smiled as he did. "It's soft."

"Yeah, I thought so too," I told him with a smile. My mouth opened, about to say something more, but I briefly hesitated. And then I shook my head and just admitted, "I actually wondered what you'd say about it when I bought it."

His eyebrows rose, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "Did you? Well…I approve."

"Not scratchy like sandpaper?" I teased, knowing Matt could be sensitive about some things.

"No, definitely not," he agreed.

I led him down the hallway next, pointing out the half bath for him. Foggy and Marci appeared out of my bedroom as we headed down towards it.

"He gets the special guided tour?" Foggy asked, feigning offense.

"Well I’m blind and quite literally need a guide, so…" Matt said with a shrug.

“You can join my tour if you’d like,” I offered. “Though judging from the sounds of it Marci already did some very thorough snooping. Otherwise you can get comfortable in the kitchen or living room. There’s wine on the island, some wine glasses I pulled out. Karen and Ez are running late,” I explained.

“So they were screwing and lost track of time?” Marci said, raising a brow at me.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Already called him out on it, Marc,” I assured her.

“At least we managed to keep track of time,” she muttered as she headed down the hall with Foggy.

I snorted, rolling my eyes. Matt shifted beside me as I led him into my bedroom.

“What?” he asked in amusement.

I shook my head. “Nothing. Anyway, this is my room. Not super exciting–dresser just there on your right. Bed is uh…” I paused, swallowing before my voice came out with a faint waver. “Just across the room.” I cleared my throat as I led him towards my closet, sliding the door back. “Walk-in closet, filled with clothes and shoes that I’m sure you could care less about,” I told him. “And then over this way,” I said, guiding him towards my en-suite, “is the best part of this entire place. Walk-in shower over on the far wall, just to your right is a soaker tub and then to your left here is a very oversized vanity for one person.”

I watched as Matt’s fingers slid along some of the surfaces, a soft smile on his face. He was quiet for a long moment before he stopped, turning back towards me.

“It seems you’ve done very well for yourself,” he said quietly. “I’m proud of you.”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks and I nervously tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Wouldn’t have gotten this far without your help putting together those contracts two years ago.”

He laughed, the sound echoing in the bathroom and warming me from the inside out–it had been far too long since I'd heard him laugh like that.

“Those were…pretty atrocious" he admitted, grinning.

“Well not all of us went to law school and know how to write up contracts, Murdock!” I shot back with a matching grin.

The wide smile on his face remained as he wandered carefully back towards me. “Yeah, well you’re lucky someone who did reworked them for you,” he teased me as he took my arm.

I led him out of the bathroom, still feeling the burn in my cheeks from his earlier comment. “I uh…I appreciate how much help you gave me,” I confessed awkwardly as we re-entered my bedroom. Matt stopped walking, his head turning towards me as I spoke. “You were a big part of me getting to this point.”

He shrugged lightly, dropping my arm and turning so he was standing in front of me. “I just helped you write up some contracts and work up a good business plan,” he said. “You did all the work.”

“Well those were quite important parts to getting this business up and running better,” I said.

I bit my lip, my eyes lingering on his face as he gazed back at me intently; his head was cocked to the side, his eyes scanning around where I stood. He always gave me butterflies when he looked at me like that; it always made me feel like I was the only other person in the room to him.

“You also encouraged me,” I reminded him. “I struggled so hard in the beginning.”

“Easy to do when you’re blind,” he joked. “I can’t tell if you were actually any good or not.”

I laughed, playfully pushing a hand against his chest as he smiled back at me. “Ass,” I joked.

“Well clearly you’re good otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” he said, his hand gesturing around us. “But I knew you’d do well. You’ve always been so driven and passionate about your work.”

His expression softened as he stared at me across the small distance between us and I felt my hands begin to shake a little. I slid them back into my jean pockets, hoping he wouldn’t notice when I led him out of the room in a moment.

“Thanks, Matt,” I said softly.

“I uh…” he began, pausing immediately and then looking down at the floor as he slowly shook his head. “Sorry,” he said lightly. “I just…”

My eyes narrowed curiously at him. He was quite obviously nervous and flustered, something Matthew Murdock never was. But here he was before me, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact even though he couldn’t actually see me, and–blushing?

“Matt, what’s up?” I asked, taking a tentative step towards him.

“There’s…something I want to say and I just–just want to say it before I talk myself out of it,” he answered quickly, his gaze slowly rising to meet mine.

My stomach twisted at his words, my pulse quickening. “Uh, okay. Sure.”

“I’m sorry about the other week,” he said in a rush. “At Josie’s. I–I shouldn’t have been flirting with you, I should have known better. I knew you were going through something and it wasn’t right–it wasn’t the right time for that.” He licked his lips, his tongue darting out and drawing my attention to his mouth. I felt like I couldn’t breathe as he continued, his earnest gaze focused on my chin. “It’s just, you’ve been with that asshole since I’ve known you, Em. Even whenever you two broke up you were still with him. And I respected that even though I hated that guy and how he treated you. I respected that you weren’t available.”

My mouth had dropped open as he spoke, my eyes going wide in surprise. Was he saying what I thought he was saying?

“And then you moved out of Hell’s Kitchen,” he continued in a rush. “And we didn’t hear from you for months.” His face twisted into a mixture of pain and sadness and my chest ached at the sight. “I missed you,” he whispered, the intensity of his admission causing tears to well in my eyes. “I didn’t think I’d see you again, Em. So the other week, knowing you and him hadn’t been together for months, that it was final…I just wanted to find a chance to tell you how I feel before I never had another chance. And I fucked it up, Em.” The way he was looking so ardently at me had me feeling like I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. “I wasn’t laying some moves on you like Foggy said,” he confessed. “I was trying to work up the nerve to tell you that I…” His voice trailed off, his jaw tightening as he ran a hand over his mouth before he inhaled sharply and tried his best to meet my eyes. “Emily, I’ve wanted you since that day you walked into Nelson and Murdock with all forty-seven dollars and thirty-two cents in hand to have me look over your contract.”

My breath caught in my throat at his confession; I never would have guessed that all this time Matt had actually felt the same way. All those times we spent playing pool and drinking at Josie’s, the times we were getting coffee at Mad Goat and chatting while focused on our respective work, the times he'd come over for dinner at my place and the two of us would lose track of time talking. Through all of that Matt had been sitting just right there, within my reach, wanting the same thing I had been wanting. My world felt like it had just been turned upside down. I felt a tear run down my face and I wiped it away, staring back at Matt in utter disbelief.

“I…I…” I stuttered, unsure of how to respond.

I felt dizzy and giddy and confused all at once. I had wanted this for so long even though I’d always told myself it was a stupid crush and nothing more. That we’d always be friends. And yet here Matt was saying the things I’d always dreamt would come from his mouth.

The sad smile that broke across his face brought me out of my thoughts. “I get it,” he whispered. “We’re friends. I just had to say something–”

“No, Matt,” I said firmly, stepping towards him and reaching a hand out. "I've…felt the same for a long time,” I admitted nervously, my hand still hovering just before him, too scared to actually touch him in case this was all a figment of my mind. His expression softened in surprise at my words. "You were just…always sleeping around," I said carefully. "I figured you weren't interested in relationships. Weren’t interested in me like that."

He grimaced at my words before quickly shaking his head. "I was lonely," he admitted awkwardly. "Was hoping maybe I'd eventually meet someone who would make me feel like you do. Or at least someone who’d make me forget about those feelings but I…didn't."

I heard Marci’s loud laugh carry from the living room and my eyes darted to the door. I sighed, my shoulders sagging a little as my hand finally fell to my side. "We should…probably discuss this when I'm not about to have an apartment full of guests," I said gently.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought this up right now," he agreed.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I hesitantly stepped towards him and closed the distance between us, snaking my arms tentatively around his neck. His arms immediately wrapped themselves around my back and I smiled. Closing my eyes and burying my face into his shoulder, I inhaled the comforting scent of him.

"I'm glad you did," I whispered. "But maybe we should talk later? After everyone's gone home?"

"I'd like that," he whispered back.

"There's some other things I should probably tell you," I admitted quietly. "If you're…if you're still willing to listen I might be ready to talk to you about it…"

Matt stepped back from the embrace, one of his hands reaching up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. The tenderness of his touch and the gesture had my heart stuttering in my chest.

"I've always been here when you needed to talk," he assured me.

"Thanks, Matty," I murmured, reaching down and grabbing his hand before pulling it to the crook of my arm again. "We should probably head back out there though."

Matt nodded, smiling at me as his fingers on my arm squeezed gently. My stomach somersaulted inside of me at the affectionate touch, still in disbelief that that had all just happened.

I led him down the hall to my living room where Marci and Foggy were seated on the couch, wine glasses in their hands. I opened my mouth to apologize about how long I’d left them out there, but Marci was already ahead of me.

“What were you two doing taking so long in the bedroom, hmm?” she teased.

My cheeks flushed instantly and Marci noticed, her eyes narrowing at me as a corner of her lip quirked upwards.

“Sorry, we uh, just sort of lost track of time chatting,” I deflected quickly, my attention shifting to Matt beside me. I was surprised to see a slight pink to his cheeks as well. “Hey Matt, do you want some wine? Or I have some of that German beer you like?” I asked him, my voice strangely rising in pitch under Marci’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Beer would be great, thank you,” he answered with a tight smile as if he could also feel Marci’s eyes dissecting us.

I led him closer to the couch, directing him to the sofa so he could sit. His hand slid down the length of my forearm when he released my elbow, his fingers leaving a slow burning trail in their wake that I continued to feel the ghost of even as I made my way towards the kitchen.

I still felt faintly lightheaded as I opened the fridge, pulling out a bottle of beer for Matt and opening it before grabbing an empty wine glass and pouring a drink for myself. With a shaky exhale, I made my way back to the living room with both drinks in hand. My palms began to sweat when I handed Matt his beer and he smiled warmly at me, his hand brushing over my fingers as he accepted the bottle.

Bringing the wine to my lips as the three of them finished their discussion on a current case Foggy and Matt had been working on, I took a deep drink hoping to calm my nerves. Marci’s eyes shifted towards me and then slid to Matt before returning towards me again. One of her brows shot up curiously before she grinned wide, leaning forward onto the couch, her mouth opening.

But then a few rough knocks and Ezra’s loud voice cut off whatever she’d been about to say and I abruptly rose to my feet, grateful for the interruption.

“I’ll go let them in,” I said quickly before ducking into the living room.

Opening the door, I greeted Karen and Ezra, stepping aside and letting them enter. I heard Karen make a small noise of surprise.

“You’d make the same sound if you saw what her rent was,” Ezra told Karen.

I rolled my eyes at my brother as Karen turned, holding out a potted aloe vera plant.

“Thank you,” I told her, “But you guys really didn’t have to bring me anything. I just wanted to invite you over for pizza and drinks.”

“Then we’d have just showed up with pizza and booze!” Foggy called over the back of the couch at me.

I grinned, shaking my head before focusing on Karen and Ezra. “You want anything to drink? I’ve got wine and beer.”

“Wine sounds great,” Karen answered.

Ezra made his way around the island, heading straight for my fridge as I began to pour Karen a glass of wine.

“You need to buy some groceries, sis,” Ezra called over his shoulder towards me. “You just have an abundance of cheese and apples in here.”

“I’ve been a little busy,” I called back, handing Karen the glass. “Would you like the brief tour?” I asked her.

She grinned before taking a sip of wine and nodding. “Yes, please. This apartment is beautiful.”

I gave Karen a quick overview of the main living space before bringing her down the hall, Ezra following along with his arm around Karen’s waist. The sight made me smile; things seemed to be going well between them.

I showed Karen the rest of the apartment, her eyes growing wide at the soaker tub and walk-in closet. When we made our way back to the living room, Karen and Ezra sat down on the couch as I headed back to the kitchen to grab my drink. I paused at the large island, my elbows resting along the smooth surface as I watched the group talking and laughing animatedly on my couch. My heart warmed at the sight–I had really missed them over the past eight months I’d been in the Upper West Side.

Matt’s head turned over his shoulder towards the kitchen, his sightless eyes quite obviously searching for me in the room behind him. There was a bright smile on his face, one that had the corners of his eyes creasing and the lone dimple in his right cheek visible. Making my way back towards the couch, wine glass held tightly between my sweating palms, I felt weightless. Matt’s eyes silently tracked my movement as I moved which only further made my knees tremble slightly. His ability to once again make me feel like I was the only one in a room always had my heart skipping a beat.

I sat down on the couch beside him, tucking my legs up underneath me. Matt shifted beside me, one hand coming to rest on the sofa cushion just inches from my thigh. My eyes were glued to it until Ezra barked out a loud laugh and I jolted back to the present. I smiled, my attention returning to the group.

“So what’s the game plan, Em?” Marci asked, her head turning towards me curiously.

“Well,” I began, settling into the couch, eager to have the next few hours to enjoy with my friends for once. “I figured I’d order us some pizza, we’d get drunk, and maybe…fight over a game of Monopoly?” My eyes landed on Ezra and narrowed dangerously. “Because I know how competitive you get over Monopoly, Ez.”

“Because you totally cheated when we were kids!” Ezra cried out.

“I was eleven !” I rebutted. “Of course I cheated!”

Foggy clapped his hands, rubbing them excitedly together. “Sibling rivalry and alcohol is only going to make this that much more fun to play.”

“I’ll go grab it and order the pizzas,” I announced, uncurling my legs from underneath me. One of my hands dropped down to the hand Matt had just beside me, my fingers lightly wrapping around it. “And I ordered a braille addition earlier this week just for tonight,” I told him, lightly squeezing his hand and enjoying the way his face lit up. “Because I’m going to kick your ass at something since I can never beat you at pool.”

“We’ll see about that,” he teased back.

A smirk grew along his face as he brought the bottle of beer to his lips and took a long drink. His confession from just a few minutes ago echoed through my mind again and I felt my face flush. But as I rose to my feet, heading to my bedroom to grab the game, I knew there were things I still needed to be open with Matt about. I was still struggling with the emotional turmoil that had resulted from my breakup months ago and he deserved the truth about that. No matter how much I cared about Matt, or how much he made my pulse race and my knees weak, I needed a bit of time to work through things before easing into a relationship and he needed to understand that if we were going to potentially be more than just friends.

#matt murdock x ofc #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x oc #matt murdock series

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