. auntie / you spend a rainy Sunday in the Wilson's home. f!r - fluff
. jealously and kisses / Sam asks you to be his plus one on a wedding without telling you his ex will be there. f!r - fluff
. night talks / Sam comes back from running to find you in his room at night, waiting for him and ready to talk about your dreams. f!r - angst/fluff
. night in Vegas / part 1 and part 2 / Sam and you get a hotel suite after a mission that left you really shaken. f!r - nsfw
. happiness / since the snap that brought your love back to your life all you can feel is happiness. f!r - fluff
Kingo
. like the gardens of babylon / the eternals are regrouping after the attack from the deviants, Kingo is scare how the news about Ajak's death will affect his lover. f!r - angst/fluff
THE SANDMAN
Dream of the Endless
. the morning bliss he brings / Dream Lord guards your dreams in hopes of finding himself in them. f!r - kinda angsty
. the black cat / morning brings a strange sight out the window of the inn. f!r - fluff
. like metal and stardust / request / you realize you're pregnant, and the fears that comes with it. f!r - nsfw
. tragically earthbound (series) / chapter index / Dream Lord makes a desperate attempt to save you, his beloved raven. raven!oc - one fell first, the other fell harder
. heavenly boundless (sequel to tragically earthbound) / chapter index / a shift within you and Morpheus has been set in motion to the point when you can not remember where one begins and the other ends.
STAR WARS
Din Djarin
. SPECTRE 08 (series) / chapter index / in searchs for her lost starship, Adhara Cressida falls on Tatooine to find a force sensitive child instead. f!oc - slow burn
AVATAR (atla/lok)
Kataang
. absolution / Aang comes home to Katara with the weight of his grief. Established relationship - nsfw
English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!
Summary: Aang comes back home to Katara after grief takes the best of him in one of his travels.
Warnings: grief (genocide survivor), talks of depression, explicit sexual content, dry humping, unprotected sex, p in v, talks of pregnancy.
Word Count: 4.2K
Aang wasn’t sure if her touch was burning or relieving him— it was always hard to tell. Having Katara’s healing taking effect on him left him antsy, with a sensation one would try to shake off of themselves. Squirm under. Writhe as he thanks her, over and over.
The only logical answer to her healing touch was to, “Breath through it” there it was, her scolding. He bit his lip to not retort. Knowing better than that.
They were on the balcony of their city home, the one they shared when Aang wasn’t following his ghosts in the Air Temple or when Katara wasn’t trying to change the world teaching one waterbending girl at a time. It was an easy routine, really. One in, the other out— over and over again.
In all honesty, this time Aang did not feel as easy coming back in: he’s been gone for weeks— and something in the way Katara was treating his injuries told him she was kind of enjoying this.
“Admit it”
“Don’t talk. Breath” dry and unaccommodating. Oh, how he loved his girl.
She kept going, and Aang tried to ignore how much he needed to squirm under her absent touch— because she wasn’t touching him. How wasn’t she touching him? Doesn’t she feel the same desperation as he does right now? Weeks of separation— really, only fifteen days— and still, not even a caress?
“Katara” he calls softly, grateful he’s not facing her right now.
“Breath in” and Aang’s dumb enough to not take it as a warning.
Such a pressure, he squirms and yelps— arching his back away from her touch “Katara” he growls, not a real bite. Never a real bite. Aang knew she could try to bloodbend him off of this balcony and he would still climb into her bed like a lost bear-dog.
“Told you to breath through it” she begins again, this time softer— like some evil spirits were lifted from her at the small amount of pain she caused him “It’s hard, I know— to follow clear instructions”
Aang bites his tongue, again. Breaths in and out. Obeying her orders. He slumps back against the railing— arms dangling over it, and chin resting on it to the point his lips contort into a pout. The overlook to the city is breathtaking— sometimes it felt like they lived on the top of the world. Republic city had that effect. But his girl behind him seems too angry to even appreciate the beautiful sunset right in front of their eyes. He knows he’ll have to work for it, and it pains him because of all the ways he would have Katara contorted in right now if it wasn’t because he—
He needs to yelp again.
“Now you’re just enjoying this” Aang complains, and hugs the railing as he allows himself to feel sorry for how she’s treating him.
She keeps silent, and Aang does too. For only a moment.
“I thought you would be happy to see me” he talks over his pout— covering face even when he knows he’s in the wrong.
“A week and a half ago I would’ve been happy to see you, but you weren’t here a week and a half ago.” She lets out, dry still. And something inside Aang excited itself around the fact that at least, she didn’t sound hurt “Were you? When you promised you would be?”
“I didn’t promise—”
“You can go ahead and sleep with Appa tonight”
The water bubble breaks and falls straight to his back, and Aang is fast to turn around and grab her wrists before she can leave “Pretty—” he breathes in, filling himself up with patience.
“Let go”
“No”
“Let go”
He immediately corrects himself “I mean, if you want to— but—” he pouts up at her, hand slipping up to her forearm— looking up at her with the biggest lemur-eyed look he could master.
“I’m really mad at you right now” she takes a step between his open thighs, looking down at him.
“I know, pretty,” he whispers.
“You don’t desert me for two weeks and come back to me injured”
“I know, pretty— and I’m sorry” he nods, honest and serious. Because he wasn’t going to fool around with this “In all honesty, I knew full on I was doing you wrong— and I am sorry. You can stay mad at me, you treating my injuries does not mean I’m forgiven. I’m not assuming it is”
Katara keeps silent for a moment, then “Be good and turn back around”
“Right on, pretty” he sighs as he turns around, going back to his position.
He feels Katara filling herself with patience, and then let it all out in a sigh— her breath caressing his exposed back. She begins her work again, and Aang can already tell she’s going soft at her edges.
They stay silent for a long moment, her healing him more carefully this time— and him taking it like a champion. Aang keeps looking over at the sunset, pouty and feeling sorry for himself under her care.
“By the time I had to come back, I couldn’t get up from the bed,” he confesses softly.
Katara knows better than to stutter under his grief, he thinks— she’s good like that, she listens. And she’s learnt how different his grief was to anyone else’s… except, in some aspects, to hers.
“I assumed so. I worried”
“I know, you are right to worry” he whispers, wiping a tear before it falls.
They stay quiet for a while more, and Aang looks for the words— how hard it is sometimes. He doesn’t want his losses to define him, no. But here, with Katara, sometimes it’s all he can feel. It’s the comfort, he thinks— no, he knows. He can break down here, and no judgement will come his way. It overwhelms him, sometimes. Now. It overwhelms him right now.
He wipes more tears.
“You should’ve been home” Katara tries.
How he loves her for it.
“You don’t have to be there every time I fall,” he lets out.
Katara does not take a moment, “How do you expect me to live on knowing I wasn’t there when I should’ve”
Aang stays silent, because for once— he would allow it.
He tries hard to not put too much on her, to not let her think she needs to be his support all day everyday— he tries so hard to not need her, not as desperately as he did as a child. But sometimes, he noticed, she needs to be that for him. Badly.
“I know, pretty” he breathes out, shoulders slumping— “I should’ve been home” he nods, hugging the railing still “I promise, I know.”
“But this time you couldn’t?” She asks softly, “It was too much, Aang?”
She’s not careful around it, either.
“Yes,” he sighs. “It was too much.”
After a few moments, Katara’s healing waters let go of their hold on him— and it’s her who’s holding him. Her arms hold him from behind, and he shakes in a relieved sigh.
“You should’ve been here, taken care of” she whispers her lament to his ear, chin on his shoulder.
Aang stays quiet for a while more, pondering over the fact she was so willing and able to love him— to care for him. Almost as much as he was with her, which is saying a lot. He didn’t overcomplicate himself with questioning it— it was just a nice thought.
One that pulled him up from the ashes that the Air Temple was.
“I want to hold on to them too desperately, sometimes” he whispers, like he could not keep it in anymore “Especially lately.”
“Why lately?” She asks.
“Everything’s been quiet lately” he admits, looking over the city tableau before him "Everything just— settled. Everyone except my own” he whispers “I have more time to feel it now. Their absence.”
She hums, burying her face to his skin— breathing him in.
He continues, “It’s all gone”
She swallows, and he knows she’s already fighting tears— that’s his girl.
“Katara— pretty…” he sighs her name, already wiping his own tears.
“I’m sorry” she whispers “I just wish I could— have your twelve year old self and hold him through it all”
He snorts through tears, “You did do that, my love” he tries to turn around, but she won’t let him “Who held me steady all these years, Katara?”
“Sokka”
This time, he laughs. “My little love” he coos “Him, too” he nods.
Katara stays quiet for a while, just holding him.
Aang sighs, holding her arms around his waist— making her squeeze him “My whole foundation was gone— I took one look at you, and I knew I was safe” he whispers “We were the same.”
“We are the same”
He doesn’t argue, as much as he could. Because back then, they were far more similar than now. Aang and Katara were two motherless children, running away from the same enemy— the one that tried and annihilated their cultures. He remembers how he felt when she had poured her tribe’s story to him— how much he related to her.
Now, he was not so sure about that— and maybe that was the problem.
If he couldn’t relate to her, then who could he relate to?
“I’m a waterbender,” he sighs, taking her hand— inspecting it “I’m a firebender” kisses her knuckles “and an earthbender, too”
She had a nation she could rebuild, a nation he will rebuild for her.
Even if his was gone.
She sniffles against his neck.
“You’re your people, Aang” she whispers, “Hold on to them, as much as you need to” she kisses his neck “World owes you as much”
And how relieving it is when she sees him. Not the Avatar, not a master in all elements— but the forever haunted survivor, the one who is his people. The one who soars over the world she’s carrying.
He knows that when all it’s said and done, he will crawl back home to her— somehow, someway. With a different body, his soul will build itself around her element at her home downsouth.
Certainly like a mirror held up to her face.
He refuses to allow her to leave first.
He refuses that grief.
He sighs, pressing firmly against her chest— “It feels better, pretty” he whispers, talking about his back.
He found another place to be from.
Right here.
“I’m sorry” he whispers again.
“I know” she whispers, “I don’t care anymore, you are here. That’s all I care about.”
He sighs, feeling her lips play with his skin— her body mold against his back “Yeah? Feels good to be missed” He nods, feeling her hands caress his naked abdomen— teeth nibbling at his skin. He smiles despite himself— allowing himself to feel her attention.
After a moment of bliss, “Does my pain excite you?” He asks, cheeky— if a bit breathless.
“You have no idea”
“You like opening me up until you can fit yourself inside me, always have” he whispers, tilting his head to allow her more room to love him “Love my tears, love my sorrows”
She chuckles at his over exaggeration, “They’re a part of you, aren’t they?” She points out.
And it makes him bite hard at his lip, because of course she would love his grief— it was simply his.
“I missed you, as well” he whispers, softer “So— so much”
“Yeah? I’ve been here, waiting on you” she whispers, hands teasing around his front— squeezing his inner thigh “Imagine me, your poor girl— waiting like an idiotic love-sick puppy”
“I thought you weren’t angry anymore”
“Not angry, no— just resentful. Frustrated, incredibly frustrated”
And he feels himself twitch in his trousers.
“Let me know how I can help,” he teases still.
“Oh, screw you” she bites hard at his neck— he squeaks and laughs.
“You’re clearly trying!” He chuckles, turning around to look at her— not allowing her arms to fall from around him “Up, up” he pats his thigh “Let me heave my girl”
“Heave?” She scoffs, but moves nonetheless— straddling his hips and sitting on his lap, legs dangling off his sides. Her hands are on his abdomen as he leans back against the railing.
“There, look how pretty you are” his hands go to her face— cradling it for a moment before they go to his braid “Even when exhausted”
She hits his arm, “I work my butt off”
“I know” he nods, undoing her braids— wanting to massage her scalp.
She sighs, closing her eyes as his fingers work— a full body chill leaving her body from pure relief. He likes the sight, how he can undo her little by little. Her braids, her clothes— her control. He likes her bare and willing for him. Eager, and confident around his desire for her.
He bounces her in his legs when he notices she’s nodding off “Pretty” he warns.
She clicks her tongue, annoyed as she squints at him “Don’t be annoying”
“You’re falling asleep sitting up!” He scoffs, cupping her face— bringing her closer “Not even a smooch”
“You don’t deserve smooches” she lets out, but she’s already kissing him.
“Oh, I don’t deserve smooches” he scoffs into her mouth “Get over here” he brings her closer, sitting her where she’s pressed against her chest and over the bulge of his trousers. He swallows one of her sighs, hands squeezing harshly at her jaw— holding her close.
Katara is eager till the point she can not be anymore— she taps Aang’s jawline with a soft slap, and the only reason why he lets go is because he laughs “Asshole” she protests, breathing in deeply before Aang assaults her lips again.
He’s more playful this time, hands going down her body till they slip under her robes “What does my girl need?” He asks, letting her escape his kiss.
“To breathe” she lets out, swallowing.
Aang loves how her chest heaves, filling up with sharp breaths— loves how much she tries to take his love, even when it leaves her breathless. He slaps softly at the naked skin of her thigh, “You can take it” he goes in again, kissing her until she absolutely needs to part to breath— his hands slipping even further under her water tribe garments, squeezing at the soft skin of her ass “Look how well you can take it” he says as he lets her go, pecking at her lips.
This time she’s the one who looks for his lips again, not caring how much her lungs burned— moving her hips on top of his, the painful hardness of him exciting her to the point of grinding.
Aang hums into her mouth, grabbing her tighter, “Don’t spoil me before I get you out of this dress”
“Let us go inside and—” but Aang groans at her words “You won’t fuck me on this balcony” she parts from his lips.
“Why not?” he pouts.
“You won’t fuck me on this balcony again, Aang”
A shameless smirk contorts around his pout, hand squeezing her ass a bit harsher— “You’re still complaining about that?” He licks her kiss off of his lips, hands already bunching the fabric of her robes up past her hips.
“Aang” she warns, and he swallows it as he kisses her again.
“Stop being difficult” he scolds her into her mouth.
“Someone could see us”
“I wish” he scoffs, still trying to get her naked—
Katara bites her smile as she pulls away, “Get me inside” she chuckles, entertained by his neediness.
“Why?” he insists.
“Because I want to fuck here too, but I know better that to let the neighbors see my breasts bouncing for you”
“Spirits” he pats her ass, shaking his head and looking around her face “And I’m the one who’s accused of depravation”
“Wanting and doing are two different things”
“Fine” he thrust his hips, making her fall against his chest again “Then we don’t undress you”
“Aang” she starts giggling, going to kiss his cheek and jawline.
He’s so far gone, it’s crazy.
Katara doesn’t even attempt to move, as much as she likes to complain— her hips keep on grinding down on his lap, soft sighs leaving her lips as she kisses up his jawline.
Aang’s hands slip even higher up, and she allows it willingly “We can go inside, pretty, let me—”
She bites his neck again, “Just blow out the torches” she whispers, and he does it instantly— movements so eager she needs to take a second to laugh.
“Who are you laughing at, Katara?” He asks sternly.
Shooting him a look, she puts her arms up— and Aang complies.
Her skin’s golden under her robes, the summer sun makes miracles on her skin that only he gets to see— it’s almost a reward for everything he’s been through, or absolution for the times he ran instead of staying. His hands are pale and almost grotesque against her glory, pulling the clothes up and off of her. She’s bare under it except for some soft bottoms underwear, and Aang’s eyes are devouring her fullness. Makes him a bit uncertain where to touch first.
“Pretty girl,” he breathes out, hands kneading at the warm skin on her waist— she was always soft and round all over, which only made him want to have her naked all the time. He almost passes out when she keeps moving her hips on top of his— full breasts jiggling and soft tummy contorting to the pleasure she was taking from him.
When he looks up, she’s watching him with almost the same far gone look as he was.
Aang moans under her, and needs to keep away from the overwhelming thought of how desired he was by her.
It felt like a miracle all around.
“Aang,”
And he groans, “Literally shut up” he lunges for her lips as she giggles under his kiss, his overwhelming outbursts always endeared her.
Katara fumbles with his trousers, and suddenly he’s in her fist.
“Katara” he warns.
“Let me get you ready”
“I’ve been ready, you know I love your scolding a bit too much— oh, well” he moaned at the end, hips thrusting up into her warm hand “Pretty, I’m telling you—”
She has to use both hands, she just has to “Told you to be good.”
“Told you I missed you”
“Aang” she warns, but chuckles at the end.
Aang shakes his head, but let’s her have her way— trusting she would know when to push and when to pull.
There was a time, a few years back, when he used to be ashamed of his lust over her. It almost felt greedy, a one sided need to have his hands on her at all times— physical intimacy was always a second thought to their relationship, at least at the beginning.
Now, he did not feel as ashamed.
“You look so pretty, baby” he whispers, thrusting into her hands as he lays his back against the railing— watching her through hooded eyes. She hummed, standing up so he could take down the last of her underwear before sitting up on top of him again.
“Should’ve been home sooner”
“Should’ve never left home,” he sigh, thrusting pathetically into her fists “Should’ve been here all day, everyday, waiting for my pretty girl—”
Katara sighs, shaking her head as she slides herself closer so her willing cunt warms Aang’s cock— wet and ready.
“Be nice” she whispers into his mouth, when she goes straight for refuge against him “Yeah? I need it to be nice tonight”
Nice for them meant slow and caring— a contrast to the usual playful neediness they battled against each other with bites, grabs and squeezes. Nice meant Katara needed to feel him close, and allow herself to be taken care of.
“Feeling lazy, pretty?” He asks against her ear as she hides into his neck.
“Yeah” she breathes out in a soft moan as Aang begins to rock her up and down on the length of his cock— hands on her ass, kneading at the fullness of it.
“You get to be lazy, baby— you get to ask for whatever you want here, you know that” he whispers still “I can feel how much you’ve worked— you just want to feel full, that’s it?”
She nods, still hidden “Yes, baby” she whispers.
“Here,” he whispers, shifting so she slides down on his length— a broken moan falls from his as she stiffens for a second “Can tell just how much you need to have me here right now—”
“Aang” she protests when he starts making her grind against him with him inside of her— a circling motion that makes her gasp in delight and desperation.
“I can tell how much your bones ache for carrying the weight of me” he whispers “Why you keep doing it?”
She doesn’t hesitate, “You taught me to fly”
Aang is a bit breathless around it— he's squeezing at her skin, nibbling at the same spot of her shoulder over and over “Katara” he whispers against her skin “I’ve missed you.”
“You keep saying that.”
“You smell so good”
“You keep saying that” she chuckles, and his heart sings.
“How long till I marry you?” He asks, and she giggles— their movements never stopping.
“You’re asking?”
Aang chuckles now, shaking his head “Come on— up, up— want to see you” he pats her ass, too soft to be the playful spanks he always lays down on her “Let me see my pretty girl— there she is”
Katara sits back on his thighs, lifting from his chest— hands on his knees as she now takes control of their movements. Slow and consuming. Aang’s hands go to her thighs, opening them wider open to watch where her cunt is swallowing his cock “That’s it, use your hips— look how good you take me”
She’s looking down, too— and he can tell how much bothered she’s getting.
“Love” she calls for something Aang’s already giving her, so he just hums to her— still watching her expert movements, her hips circling and her feet dangling on his sides.
One of his hand goes to lay on her soft tummy, almost holding on as he feels the overwhelming pleasure she’s punishing him with. His other hand goes straight to her breast, squeezing hard at it— enjoying the feeling on the palm of his hand.
“Are you a bit sore, pretty?” He asks softly, noticing a difference in her body— edges softer, breasts fuller.
“A bit— your cock’s helping”
He twitches inside of her, “Katara” he scolds.
“Well, you’re fucking me good”
“Stop that”
“On our balcony”
“I know”
“For the neighbors to see”
“I sure hope so—”
Katara snorts, and then shakes her head “Work for it, come on” she makes emphasis to her complaint by a sharp movement of her hips above him.
“Hey— hey” he warns, making her still— his own hips stuttering at her movements, too much sensation “You asked for nice”
“Aang, you know just how good you are?”
He nods, a bit reluctant. He doesn’t feel good: he keeps thinking on her tits around his cock— pumping him. Or maybe her mouth on him, and his on her— spirits, maybe her grinding down onto his mouth? That’s definitely not a thought of someone good.
She’s talking again “You’ve always been good to me” she takes a bit of a shift, her hips moving a bit faster on top of him.
“I— I try, pretty” he lets out, sighing in pleasure as he keeps looking there where he’s buried inside of her.
Fucking herself with his cock.
“You’re so so good” she nods, going faster.
“Katara” he pleads, because he knows that it all it takes for him to crumble for her.
“Aang, please— please?” She almost pouts, and he needs to squeeze her harder—
Knowing exactly what she's asking for.
She won't allow him to come anywhere else but where he is right now.
“Please what— baby” he pleads himself, closing his eyes “Kat— Kat, pretty—”
But she doesn’t hear his pleads— just makes it harder for him to keep in control.
“Love, love— Katara” she’s relentless, moving up and down his length— squeezing him, clenching around him.
“Be good for me, Aang” she sighs, already trembling “Be my good boyfriend—”
Aang’s hips stutter under her, a guttural sound coming from the depths of the pleasure he only allows himself to get from her— never taking more than what she gives him.
“There, there” Katara trembles too, and her hips shake in delight as her orgasm comes tamed and steady— safe in his lap.
Aang pulls her from her waist, bringing her to his chest— sighing in relief.
It takes a moment to gather his breath, his eyes closing— the pleasure overwhelming him. He pulses inside her, her cunt taking every last drop he has to offer.
She's always been greedy with it.
“You shouldn’t have let me do that” he whispers, she hums.
“Won’t make much difference” she hides in his neck— and Aang takes a moment to think her words through.
“Katara” he whispers in her ear, pulling her slightly away from her hiding spot— looking around his face.
“I’m not sure” she whispers.
Aang gives her a weary smile, “Alright, pretty” he sighs, forehead falling to his “Alright”
“So if you’re asking for real— do it soon” she chuckles.
Aang pushes at her forehead with his, chuckling too “Silly girl” he whispers, “My forever girl—”
A confirmation that he will ask the question. Soon.
Katara bites her lip, looking around his face “Glad you’re home”
And Aang nods, “Glad I’m not sleeping with Appa”
“Aang—” she starts to giggle, and he follows.
It’s only a month later, Katara confirms her moon won’t be back for the next nine months.
English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!
Summary: Aang comes back home to Katara after grief takes the best of him in one of his travels.
Warnings: grief (genocide survivor), talks of depression, explicit sexual content, dry humping, unprotected sex, p in v, talks of pregnancy.
Word Count: 4.2K
Aang wasn’t sure if her touch was burning or relieving him— it was always hard to tell. Having Katara’s healing taking effect on him left him antsy, with a sensation one would try to shake off of themselves. Squirm under. Writhe as he thanks her, over and over.
The only logical answer to her healing touch was to, “Breath through it” there it was, her scolding. He bit his lip to not retort. Knowing better than that.
They were on the balcony of their city home, the one they shared when Aang wasn’t following his ghosts in the Air Temple or when Katara wasn’t trying to change the world teaching one waterbending girl at a time. It was an easy routine, really. One in, the other out— over and over again.
In all honesty, this time Aang did not feel as easy coming back in: he’s been gone for weeks— and something in the way Katara was treating his injuries told him she was kind of enjoying this.
“Admit it”
“Don’t talk. Breath” dry and unaccommodating. Oh, how he loved his girl.
She kept going, and Aang tried to ignore how much he needed to squirm under her absent touch— because she wasn’t touching him. How wasn’t she touching him? Doesn’t she feel the same desperation as he does right now? Weeks of separation— really, only fifteen days— and still, not even a caress?
“Katara” he calls softly, grateful he’s not facing her right now.
“Breath in” and Aang’s dumb enough to not take it as a warning.
Such a pressure, he squirms and yelps— arching his back away from her touch “Katara” he growls, not a real bite. Never a real bite. Aang knew she could try to bloodbend him off of this balcony and he would still climb into her bed like a lost bear-dog.
“Told you to breath through it” she begins again, this time softer— like some evil spirits were lifted from her at the small amount of pain she caused him “It’s hard, I know— to follow clear instructions”
Aang bites his tongue, again. Breaths in and out. Obeying her orders. He slumps back against the railing— arms dangling over it, and chin resting on it to the point his lips contort into a pout. The overlook to the city is breathtaking— sometimes it felt like they lived on the top of the world. Republic city had that effect. But his girl behind him seems too angry to even appreciate the beautiful sunset right in front of their eyes. He knows he’ll have to work for it, and it pains him because of all the ways he would have Katara contorted in right now if it wasn’t because he—
He needs to yelp again.
“Now you’re just enjoying this” Aang complains, and hugs the railing as he allows himself to feel sorry for how she’s treating him.
She keeps silent, and Aang does too. For only a moment.
“I thought you would be happy to see me” he talks over his pout— covering face even when he knows he’s in the wrong.
“A week and a half ago I would’ve been happy to see you, but you weren’t here a week and a half ago.” She lets out, dry still. And something inside Aang excited itself around the fact that at least, she didn’t sound hurt “Were you? When you promised you would be?”
“I didn’t promise—”
“You can go ahead and sleep with Appa tonight”
The water bubble breaks and falls straight to his back, and Aang is fast to turn around and grab her wrists before she can leave “Pretty—” he breathes in, filling himself up with patience.
“Let go”
“No”
“Let go”
He immediately corrects himself “I mean, if you want to— but—” he pouts up at her, hand slipping up to her forearm— looking up at her with the biggest lemur-eyed look he could master.
“I’m really mad at you right now” she takes a step between his open thighs, looking down at him.
“I know, pretty,” he whispers.
“You don’t desert me for two weeks and come back to me injured”
“I know, pretty— and I’m sorry” he nods, honest and serious. Because he wasn’t going to fool around with this “In all honesty, I knew full on I was doing you wrong— and I am sorry. You can stay mad at me, you treating my injuries does not mean I’m forgiven. I’m not assuming it is”
Katara keeps silent for a moment, then “Be good and turn back around”
“Right on, pretty” he sighs as he turns around, going back to his position.
He feels Katara filling herself with patience, and then let it all out in a sigh— her breath caressing his exposed back. She begins her work again, and Aang can already tell she’s going soft at her edges.
They stay silent for a long moment, her healing him more carefully this time— and him taking it like a champion. Aang keeps looking over at the sunset, pouty and feeling sorry for himself under her care.
“By the time I had to come back, I couldn’t get up from the bed,” he confesses softly.
Katara knows better than to stutter under his grief, he thinks— she’s good like that, she listens. And she’s learnt how different his grief was to anyone else’s… except, in some aspects, to hers.
“I assumed so. I worried”
“I know, you are right to worry” he whispers, wiping a tear before it falls.
They stay quiet for a while more, and Aang looks for the words— how hard it is sometimes. He doesn’t want his losses to define him, no. But here, with Katara, sometimes it’s all he can feel. It’s the comfort, he thinks— no, he knows. He can break down here, and no judgement will come his way. It overwhelms him, sometimes. Now. It overwhelms him right now.
He wipes more tears.
“You should’ve been home” Katara tries.
How he loves her for it.
“You don’t have to be there every time I fall,” he lets out.
Katara does not take a moment, “How do you expect me to live on knowing I wasn’t there when I should’ve”
Aang stays silent, because for once— he would allow it.
He tries hard to not put too much on her, to not let her think she needs to be his support all day everyday— he tries so hard to not need her, not as desperately as he did as a child. But sometimes, he noticed, she needs to be that for him. Badly.
“I know, pretty” he breathes out, shoulders slumping— “I should’ve been home” he nods, hugging the railing still “I promise, I know.”
“But this time you couldn’t?” She asks softly, “It was too much, Aang?”
She’s not careful around it, either.
“Yes,” he sighs. “It was too much.”
After a few moments, Katara’s healing waters let go of their hold on him— and it’s her who’s holding him. Her arms hold him from behind, and he shakes in a relieved sigh.
“You should’ve been here, taken care of” she whispers her lament to his ear, chin on his shoulder.
Aang stays quiet for a while more, pondering over the fact she was so willing and able to love him— to care for him. Almost as much as he was with her, which is saying a lot. He didn’t overcomplicate himself with questioning it— it was just a nice thought.
One that pulled him up from the ashes that the Air Temple was.
“I want to hold on to them too desperately, sometimes” he whispers, like he could not keep it in anymore “Especially lately.”
“Why lately?” She asks.
“Everything’s been quiet lately” he admits, looking over the city tableau before him "Everything just— settled. Everyone except my own” he whispers “I have more time to feel it now. Their absence.”
She hums, burying her face to his skin— breathing him in.
He continues, “It’s all gone”
She swallows, and he knows she’s already fighting tears— that’s his girl.
“Katara— pretty…” he sighs her name, already wiping his own tears.
“I’m sorry” she whispers “I just wish I could— have your twelve year old self and hold him through it all”
He snorts through tears, “You did do that, my love” he tries to turn around, but she won’t let him “Who held me steady all these years, Katara?”
“Sokka”
This time, he laughs. “My little love” he coos “Him, too” he nods.
Katara stays quiet for a while, just holding him.
Aang sighs, holding her arms around his waist— making her squeeze him “My whole foundation was gone— I took one look at you, and I knew I was safe” he whispers “We were the same.”
“We are the same”
He doesn’t argue, as much as he could. Because back then, they were far more similar than now. Aang and Katara were two motherless children, running away from the same enemy— the one that tried and annihilated their cultures. He remembers how he felt when she had poured her tribe’s story to him— how much he related to her.
Now, he was not so sure about that— and maybe that was the problem.
If he couldn’t relate to her, then who could he relate to?
“I’m a waterbender,” he sighs, taking her hand— inspecting it “I’m a firebender” kisses her knuckles “and an earthbender, too”
She had a nation she could rebuild, a nation he will rebuild for her.
Even if his was gone.
She sniffles against his neck.
“You’re your people, Aang” she whispers, “Hold on to them, as much as you need to” she kisses his neck “World owes you as much”
And how relieving it is when she sees him. Not the Avatar, not a master in all elements— but the forever haunted survivor, the one who is his people. The one who soars over the world she’s carrying.
He knows that when all it’s said and done, he will crawl back home to her— somehow, someway. With a different body, his soul will build itself around her element at her home downsouth.
Certainly like a mirror held up to her face.
He refuses to allow her to leave first.
He refuses that grief.
He sighs, pressing firmly against her chest— “It feels better, pretty” he whispers, talking about his back.
He found another place to be from.
Right here.
“I’m sorry” he whispers again.
“I know” she whispers, “I don’t care anymore, you are here. That’s all I care about.”
He sighs, feeling her lips play with his skin— her body mold against his back “Yeah? Feels good to be missed” He nods, feeling her hands caress his naked abdomen— teeth nibbling at his skin. He smiles despite himself— allowing himself to feel her attention.
After a moment of bliss, “Does my pain excite you?” He asks, cheeky— if a bit breathless.
“You have no idea”
“You like opening me up until you can fit yourself inside me, always have” he whispers, tilting his head to allow her more room to love him “Love my tears, love my sorrows”
She chuckles at his over exaggeration, “They’re a part of you, aren’t they?” She points out.
And it makes him bite hard at his lip, because of course she would love his grief— it was simply his.
“I missed you, as well” he whispers, softer “So— so much”
“Yeah? I’ve been here, waiting on you” she whispers, hands teasing around his front— squeezing his inner thigh “Imagine me, your poor girl— waiting like an idiotic love-sick puppy”
“I thought you weren’t angry anymore”
“Not angry, no— just resentful. Frustrated, incredibly frustrated”
And he feels himself twitch in his trousers.
“Let me know how I can help,” he teases still.
“Oh, screw you” she bites hard at his neck— he squeaks and laughs.
“You’re clearly trying!” He chuckles, turning around to look at her— not allowing her arms to fall from around him “Up, up” he pats his thigh “Let me heave my girl”
“Heave?” She scoffs, but moves nonetheless— straddling his hips and sitting on his lap, legs dangling off his sides. Her hands are on his abdomen as he leans back against the railing.
“There, look how pretty you are” his hands go to her face— cradling it for a moment before they go to his braid “Even when exhausted”
She hits his arm, “I work my butt off”
“I know” he nods, undoing her braids— wanting to massage her scalp.
She sighs, closing her eyes as his fingers work— a full body chill leaving her body from pure relief. He likes the sight, how he can undo her little by little. Her braids, her clothes— her control. He likes her bare and willing for him. Eager, and confident around his desire for her.
He bounces her in his legs when he notices she’s nodding off “Pretty” he warns.
She clicks her tongue, annoyed as she squints at him “Don’t be annoying”
“You’re falling asleep sitting up!” He scoffs, cupping her face— bringing her closer “Not even a smooch”
“You don’t deserve smooches” she lets out, but she’s already kissing him.
“Oh, I don’t deserve smooches” he scoffs into her mouth “Get over here” he brings her closer, sitting her where she’s pressed against her chest and over the bulge of his trousers. He swallows one of her sighs, hands squeezing harshly at her jaw— holding her close.
Katara is eager till the point she can not be anymore— she taps Aang’s jawline with a soft slap, and the only reason why he lets go is because he laughs “Asshole” she protests, breathing in deeply before Aang assaults her lips again.
He’s more playful this time, hands going down her body till they slip under her robes “What does my girl need?” He asks, letting her escape his kiss.
“To breathe” she lets out, swallowing.
Aang loves how her chest heaves, filling up with sharp breaths— loves how much she tries to take his love, even when it leaves her breathless. He slaps softly at the naked skin of her thigh, “You can take it” he goes in again, kissing her until she absolutely needs to part to breath— his hands slipping even further under her water tribe garments, squeezing at the soft skin of her ass “Look how well you can take it” he says as he lets her go, pecking at her lips.
This time she’s the one who looks for his lips again, not caring how much her lungs burned— moving her hips on top of his, the painful hardness of him exciting her to the point of grinding.
Aang hums into her mouth, grabbing her tighter, “Don’t spoil me before I get you out of this dress”
“Let us go inside and—” but Aang groans at her words “You won’t fuck me on this balcony” she parts from his lips.
“Why not?” he pouts.
“You won’t fuck me on this balcony again, Aang”
A shameless smirk contorts around his pout, hand squeezing her ass a bit harsher— “You’re still complaining about that?” He licks her kiss off of his lips, hands already bunching the fabric of her robes up past her hips.
“Aang” she warns, and he swallows it as he kisses her again.
“Stop being difficult” he scolds her into her mouth.
“Someone could see us”
“I wish” he scoffs, still trying to get her naked—
Katara bites her smile as she pulls away, “Get me inside” she chuckles, entertained by his neediness.
“Why?” he insists.
“Because I want to fuck here too, but I know better that to let the neighbors see my breasts bouncing for you”
“Spirits” he pats her ass, shaking his head and looking around her face “And I’m the one who’s accused of depravation”
“Wanting and doing are two different things”
“Fine” he thrust his hips, making her fall against his chest again “Then we don’t undress you”
“Aang” she starts giggling, going to kiss his cheek and jawline.
He’s so far gone, it’s crazy.
Katara doesn’t even attempt to move, as much as she likes to complain— her hips keep on grinding down on his lap, soft sighs leaving her lips as she kisses up his jawline.
Aang’s hands slip even higher up, and she allows it willingly “We can go inside, pretty, let me—”
She bites his neck again, “Just blow out the torches” she whispers, and he does it instantly— movements so eager she needs to take a second to laugh.
“Who are you laughing at, Katara?” He asks sternly.
Shooting him a look, she puts her arms up— and Aang complies.
Her skin’s golden under her robes, the summer sun makes miracles on her skin that only he gets to see— it’s almost a reward for everything he’s been through, or absolution for the times he ran instead of staying. His hands are pale and almost grotesque against her glory, pulling the clothes up and off of her. She’s bare under it except for some soft bottoms underwear, and Aang’s eyes are devouring her fullness. Makes him a bit uncertain where to touch first.
“Pretty girl,” he breathes out, hands kneading at the warm skin on her waist— she was always soft and round all over, which only made him want to have her naked all the time. He almost passes out when she keeps moving her hips on top of his— full breasts jiggling and soft tummy contorting to the pleasure she was taking from him.
When he looks up, she’s watching him with almost the same far gone look as he was.
Aang moans under her, and needs to keep away from the overwhelming thought of how desired he was by her.
It felt like a miracle all around.
“Aang,”
And he groans, “Literally shut up” he lunges for her lips as she giggles under his kiss, his overwhelming outbursts always endeared her.
Katara fumbles with his trousers, and suddenly he’s in her fist.
“Katara” he warns.
“Let me get you ready”
“I’ve been ready, you know I love your scolding a bit too much— oh, well” he moaned at the end, hips thrusting up into her warm hand “Pretty, I’m telling you—”
She has to use both hands, she just has to “Told you to be good.”
“Told you I missed you”
“Aang” she warns, but chuckles at the end.
Aang shakes his head, but let’s her have her way— trusting she would know when to push and when to pull.
There was a time, a few years back, when he used to be ashamed of his lust over her. It almost felt greedy, a one sided need to have his hands on her at all times— physical intimacy was always a second thought to their relationship, at least at the beginning.
Now, he did not feel as ashamed.
“You look so pretty, baby” he whispers, thrusting into her hands as he lays his back against the railing— watching her through hooded eyes. She hummed, standing up so he could take down the last of her underwear before sitting up on top of him again.
“Should’ve been home sooner”
“Should’ve never left home,” he sigh, thrusting pathetically into her fists “Should’ve been here all day, everyday, waiting for my pretty girl—”
Katara sighs, shaking her head as she slides herself closer so her willing cunt warms Aang’s cock— wet and ready.
“Be nice” she whispers into his mouth, when she goes straight for refuge against him “Yeah? I need it to be nice tonight”
Nice for them meant slow and caring— a contrast to the usual playful neediness they battled against each other with bites, grabs and squeezes. Nice meant Katara needed to feel him close, and allow herself to be taken care of.
“Feeling lazy, pretty?” He asks against her ear as she hides into his neck.
“Yeah” she breathes out in a soft moan as Aang begins to rock her up and down on the length of his cock— hands on her ass, kneading at the fullness of it.
“You get to be lazy, baby— you get to ask for whatever you want here, you know that” he whispers still “I can feel how much you’ve worked— you just want to feel full, that’s it?”
She nods, still hidden “Yes, baby” she whispers.
“Here,” he whispers, shifting so she slides down on his length— a broken moan falls from his as she stiffens for a second “Can tell just how much you need to have me here right now—”
“Aang” she protests when he starts making her grind against him with him inside of her— a circling motion that makes her gasp in delight and desperation.
“I can tell how much your bones ache for carrying the weight of me” he whispers “Why you keep doing it?”
She doesn’t hesitate, “You taught me to fly”
Aang is a bit breathless around it— he's squeezing at her skin, nibbling at the same spot of her shoulder over and over “Katara” he whispers against her skin “I’ve missed you.”
“You keep saying that.”
“You smell so good”
“You keep saying that” she chuckles, and his heart sings.
“How long till I marry you?” He asks, and she giggles— their movements never stopping.
“You’re asking?”
Aang chuckles now, shaking his head “Come on— up, up— want to see you” he pats her ass, too soft to be the playful spanks he always lays down on her “Let me see my pretty girl— there she is”
Katara sits back on his thighs, lifting from his chest— hands on his knees as she now takes control of their movements. Slow and consuming. Aang’s hands go to her thighs, opening them wider open to watch where her cunt is swallowing his cock “That’s it, use your hips— look how good you take me”
She’s looking down, too— and he can tell how much bothered she’s getting.
“Love” she calls for something Aang’s already giving her, so he just hums to her— still watching her expert movements, her hips circling and her feet dangling on his sides.
One of his hand goes to lay on her soft tummy, almost holding on as he feels the overwhelming pleasure she’s punishing him with. His other hand goes straight to her breast, squeezing hard at it— enjoying the feeling on the palm of his hand.
“Are you a bit sore, pretty?” He asks softly, noticing a difference in her body— edges softer, breasts fuller.
“A bit— your cock’s helping”
He twitches inside of her, “Katara” he scolds.
“Well, you’re fucking me good”
“Stop that”
“On our balcony”
“I know”
“For the neighbors to see”
“I sure hope so—”
Katara snorts, and then shakes her head “Work for it, come on” she makes emphasis to her complaint by a sharp movement of her hips above him.
“Hey— hey” he warns, making her still— his own hips stuttering at her movements, too much sensation “You asked for nice”
“Aang, you know just how good you are?”
He nods, a bit reluctant. He doesn’t feel good: he keeps thinking on her tits around his cock— pumping him. Or maybe her mouth on him, and his on her— spirits, maybe her grinding down onto his mouth? That’s definitely not a thought of someone good.
She’s talking again “You’ve always been good to me” she takes a bit of a shift, her hips moving a bit faster on top of him.
“I— I try, pretty” he lets out, sighing in pleasure as he keeps looking there where he’s buried inside of her.
Fucking herself with his cock.
“You’re so so good” she nods, going faster.
“Katara” he pleads, because he knows that it all it takes for him to crumble for her.
“Aang, please— please?” She almost pouts, and he needs to squeeze her harder—
Knowing exactly what she's asking for.
She won't allow him to come anywhere else but where he is right now.
“Please what— baby” he pleads himself, closing his eyes “Kat— Kat, pretty—”
But she doesn’t hear his pleads— just makes it harder for him to keep in control.
“Love, love— Katara” she’s relentless, moving up and down his length— squeezing him, clenching around him.
“Be good for me, Aang” she sighs, already trembling “Be my good boyfriend—”
Aang’s hips stutter under her, a guttural sound coming from the depths of the pleasure he only allows himself to get from her— never taking more than what she gives him.
“There, there” Katara trembles too, and her hips shake in delight as her orgasm comes tamed and steady— safe in his lap.
Aang pulls her from her waist, bringing her to his chest— sighing in relief.
It takes a moment to gather his breath, his eyes closing— the pleasure overwhelming him. He pulses inside her, her cunt taking every last drop he has to offer.
She's always been greedy with it.
“You shouldn’t have let me do that” he whispers, she hums.
“Won’t make much difference” she hides in his neck— and Aang takes a moment to think her words through.
“Katara” he whispers in her ear, pulling her slightly away from her hiding spot— looking around his face.
“I’m not sure” she whispers.
Aang gives her a weary smile, “Alright, pretty” he sighs, forehead falling to his “Alright”
“So if you’re asking for real— do it soon” she chuckles.
Aang pushes at her forehead with his, chuckling too “Silly girl” he whispers, “My forever girl—”
A confirmation that he will ask the question. Soon.
Katara bites her lip, looking around his face “Glad you’re home”
And Aang nods, “Glad I’m not sleeping with Appa”
“Aang—” she starts to giggle, and he follows.
It’s only a month later, Katara confirms her moon won’t be back for the next nine months.
Lord Morpheus x Fem!OC (Ophelia)
006: at the garden -> CHAPTER INDEX
sequel to tragically earthbound
English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!
summary: when your home's peace is being threatened, you try to find solace in the garden.
warning: suggestive, Morpheus and Ophelia get touchy.
previous: 005 / next: 007 (coming soon) / read it in ao3!
You know just how incredibly fragile this peace is— so you try to conceal it as best as you can.
The angels above you look as serious as they can be, patience reincarnated although a bit too delicate to seem unbreakable— and somehow that makes you feel better about it.
Just a few moments ago, Morpheus was welcoming their unexpected visit into the great hall— a white blinding light surrounding them as they float above all the guests claiming to just be here to observe and report on the Dream King’s decision over who will be ruler of Hell.
Your wings mirror theirs, but in darker and sharper ways, you’ve catched Numa staring at them unapologetically. Shamelessly.
You’d bet anything they reminded them of their fallen sibling.
They weren’t enjoying Cain’s show as much as the rest of Dream’s guests were, and somehow you felt at fault for it.
As if their entertainment was your responsibility as well.
Looking among the crowd, you search for the Dream King. The last time you saw him was disappearing behind his sand after inviting the guest to the theater— where you were sitting now, enjoying Cain and Abel’s show.
When you find him, your eyes look around his rigid figure— eyes glued to the angels above as he muttered words to Tamaris, his royal cook, behind him.
He looked paler, sharper in his own beautiful edges.
He looked too far away.
And as if he would’ve heard your thoughts, his eyes fall on you— quick and questioning.
You tilt your head, lifting an eyebrow as you try to look as indulging as possible.
Willing him closer.
And there’s a shadow of a smile in the corner of his mouth.
Claps erupt, and you look back at the stage where Cain and Abel were saying their goodbyes.
When your eyes go back to where you last saw Morpheus, you’re surprised to not find him there.
“Good guests, that concludes the evenings’ entertainment—” you turn back towards the stage, watching as Dream’s now standing on it. Dry and unhappy, “As for the matter that has brought you here, I have been given much to consider”
There’s a holding of breath in the room, and you find yourself mimicking the guests’ anxious temperance.
“I shall announce my decision tomorrow—” he continues “I would suggest to leave this room at this time— it will cease to exist shortly”
Then, the curtains of the stage are closing.
You don’t fail to feel the eyes of a certain demon on you.
It happens when you’re wandering away towards your tower, hugging yourself tightly as one of Morpheus’ dreams follow you around— making sure you get to your rooms safely.
It was told to make itself unknown, you are sure: a small fluffy blue fox jumped from pillar to pillar, hiding himself from your sight. Following you closely like a King’s guard would do if the Dreaming ever had a legion of protectors swore to Morpheus.
Which it didn’t.
For Morpheus himself was threat enough to any entity to ever consider attacking it.
But there it was nonetheless, slippery and elusive behind your every step.
You felt rather entertained by the thought of Morpheus putting you under his watch, even if it was a rather funny choice to make out for a guard.
And then, you feel grateful.
“We’ve met before” it’s a snarl, and it comes from one of the furthest corner of the hallway— making you freeze on your spot “Have we not, raven girl?”
You turn towards him, the Prince of Hell.
He was handsome in a threatening and brutal way: sharp edges and a scarred face— a body concealing a far more horrific and gigantic being for Azazel was never as one saw him.
He was more.
“Millennia ago” you nod, stopping on the spot— the fox hiding himself behind another pillar.
“Never with this face” he nods, hands intertwined behind his back as he steps closer to you. Clicking his tongue, “No, I would remember this face” he nods, looking around you— and there was hunger in his disinterest.
“I was no girl back then, Lord Azazel” you nod “And I was not Morpheus’”
“No” he sighs, bored “You were Lady Death’s then, I remember” he nods, pursing his lips “I was told my sovereign found your new form captivating— the tamer of Kings, they said” and there’s an amused smile on his face “He would give you the key if you would ask for it, will you ask for it?”
You frown, “I have no desire in Hell”
“No” he chuckles, and you realize just how much he’s enjoying toying with you “But you could— I would ought to follow you,” his hand is suddenly besides your cheek, and you need to fight the need to step away when his finger grazes your hair away from your face “Would you accept me, and my devotion? I could make a Queen out of you, little raven—”
You watch the fox stepping out of his hiding spot from the corner of your eye— sitting down a few feet from you both just to make itself known by Azazel.
The prince turns to it, flashing it a smile “Unsurprising” he takes a step back “If you were mine, I would not keep my sight off of you either”
“I would expect for your lordship to have more restraint when speaking his mind” you let out, dry and unamused.
“My tongue is a weapon” he nods, “Would you grant me a favor, my Lady?”
You look around his face, “It is my duty to serve our guests, for my King would always expect me to be a good host” and you made sure your tone showed how much you did not mean it.
He chuckles, “I seek an audience with his majesty” he tilts his head “I think I have a proposal he would feel rather inclined to hear” smiling now, “Would you tell him, my Lady, I have something that once was his— and now I’m ready to exchange back for what’s mine?”
You feel the coldness of the night dew below your feet, and your wings flutter behind you at the sensation of the sweet scent summer breeze caressing you— your arms suffer from goosebumps under the white gauze of your nightgown, and you crouch down to hug your legs to rest your chin on your knees.
The nape of your neck vibrates with impending doom as your brain pounds against the confines of your skull— all the defences against the evil eye exhausted thinly, for everybody was looking at you up until merely hours ago.
You did not know how to rinse it off your skin: the looks, the envy and the desire to which you’ve been exposed to— so you’ve decided to go on a walk in the babylonian garden, the only one that was left intact after Dream’s remodeling.
Standing at the edge of it’s cliff, you focus on the sound of the falling water. Eyes closed and forehead up towards the sky.
You smell stardust.
“Have you any interest in ruling Hell?”
And you smile despite yourself.
When you turn your head over your shoulder, you see him standing right behind you— pale skin shimmering beneath the moon’s bleeding light, bedridden hair and a small knowing smile.
“Are you offering?” You ask, turning away from him once again.
“You have the complexion for it” he rasps, and the feeling on the nape of your neck eases.
“Do I?”
“God’s most beloved and beautiful angel ruled it for centuries—” he says, and you feel like rolling your eyes at how your body reacts to it “if mine it's the choice, it would only make sense—”
“Do not try and mellow me” you interrupt him.
“Is it not working?”
You keep quiet, standing up and turning to him— back to the edge of the cliff, forehead up towards him “Hell’s the reflection of the wrong safe heaven, it would not come to use for me”
And he actually looks down and away, almost flustered.
“See? You’re far more easily mellowed” you mock lightly, and when you try to walk past him his hand is around your wrist.
“What kingdom would do the trick?” He asks, and he’s suddenly serious.
You sigh, taking a few more steps away from him— pulling softly at his hold as you sway on your heels “Could we have a non complicated conversation?”
He hums, pulling a bit harder until you’re standing straight right in front of him “I’m afraid every conversation I can offer is a hard one” he looks down at your hand being swallowed by his, suddenly a bit too interested in your skin “I regret I have not been the best company”
You look around his face, pursing your lips “This once I choose to not blame you”
“How kind” he breathes out, still not looking up at you.
Looking around his face, “Have you met with Azazel”
Dream breaths out, “I was reported about what's come to happened a few hours ago” he nods “It won't happen again”
He looks somehow older now, more tired now.
It softens your heart.
You step closer, “Rest on me” you whisper softly up at him, looking between his eyes as he looks up at you.
He sighs, disarming himself as he allows his forehead fall against your temple “I do not wish to overwhelm you”
You purse your lips, “It was a fleeting moment of panic, Dream— I could never break under your weight”
He nuzzles his nose against your cheek, “I do not like that”
You’re confused, “What?”
“How firm you can stand on your words, how easily they get to me”
You purse your lips, getting even closer to him— and his hand is fisting your hair in no time, almost as if this was all he needed. Breathing in, as you press yourself further into him “I stand firm on my devotion” you almost tease, only your words shake with raw honesty.
“Foolish girl” his other hand reaches between your wings, fingers loosing on your feathers as your hand pulls softly at his hair “Always wrenching me wide open—”
“Dream” you whisper against his skin, he ignores your plea.
You’re suddenly being trapped between his body and a column behind you— and you look up at him with wide blown pupils and a dry mouth.
And he looks like he could swallow you wholly.
“The meaning and the destruction of me—” he whispers, forehead falling on yours and lips caressing yours “how long until you stop drifting in disarray, little bird? Will your wings ever find stillness?”
“Is that what you need from me, my Lord?” You ask, “A proud bird perched at your right on your high table?” Your hand pulls harder at his hair, and you almost want to swallow the small sound that falls from his lips “Something for them to feast over?”
“They would not dare” he rasps, the hand on your back now grasping your jawline— forcing your neck to be craned back, his mouth pressing against yours as he talks “You think I would ever allow them to?” His other hand reaches down, bunching up the long skirt of your dress until one of his legs can fit between yours. The sensation of the breeze makes you shudder against him, and his hand on your hip tightens around the white gauze.
“You’re not answering my question” you let out, the muscles of your abdomen tightening as you feel him press himself flush between your thighs “What is it that you need from me?”
“There’s not a single thing I do not need from you” he lets out, “I want everything you have and what’s left after that, too”
You capture his jawline with your lips, and you feel him crumbling under your bite. He presses harder, and your body hurts as it molds itself against the cold stone behind you— but you could not care less with his leg between yours, obliging your hips to move in the search for something.
“Behave” he warns, and you click your tongue in annoyance.
“I’m burning” you whisper against his skin, pulling at his hair.
“You’ve been denying me for far too long, and decide to blame me for your own longing?”
“Yes” you let out, pulling your lips away from him “Stop antagonizing me, for once”
He scoffs as he reaches down to kiss your neck “You’re going to take what you want either way” he whispers against your skin “Every bit of my endless existence, if it’s what you need”
And you need to agree with him, for he would not deny any part of himself to you. He hasn’t been doing that for a while now.
“I do not—” but then you’re brought into silence when you see her silhouette over his shoulder.
At the same time Morpheus seems to sense her.
He lets go of you, dress falling into place as he gives a parting kiss to your shoulder— before fixing up your sleeve.
She looks stunned.
“Apologies, Lord Shaper— my Lady— ” she stammers out, and you need to take a deep breath to calm down as he shields you from her sight— you fix your hair and hide your wings, trying to look more collected as you face Lady Nuala.
Standing right on his side, you hear him mutter “Is your bedchamber not to your satisfaction?” He asks, and you look around the faerie’s perfectly put together front. You don’t wonder why Morpheus has not sensed her before, for her glamour magic was always presenting itself as what one would want to see— or not see.
“I— no, my Lord— I am sorry to interrupt, I assumed I was on my own” she insists in her apologies.
“I know you” you nod, looking around her face “I’ve talked to you, once”
“Yes, my Lady” she makes a curtsy, and you feel Morpheus’ anger deflate at the gesture.
You almost scoff at how easy it was for him to be pleased.
“Ophelia” you correct her “No need for a title” you see Morpheus’ lips purse in disgust to your correction, as he turns from both of you and stalks away. You keep on going, “I apologize for not returning to our conversation that time” you give her a small smile.
Nuala lights up, and you feel your heartstring being pulled at the tenderness she ignites with her soft features “No need for an apology, although I do owe you one for responding so—”
“Hearing someone else’s thoughts in one’s head is an unpleasant and unwelcoming sensation” Morpheus interrupts, “My ravens always knew better than to speak out of line, especially to someone who was unfamiliar”
You almost roll your eyes, “Should I ask for my Lord to grant me permission now, then? Am I allowed to talk to Lady Nuala?” You let out dryly, although teasingly.
“That is not what I intended to mean” he responds plainly.
Before you can speak, Nuala does “It was not unpleasant,” she smiles kindly “It was surprising—”
Morpheus hums, “I am sure Ophelia meant no offense,” he nods “to you”
And then he stalks farther away.
Oh, how much you longed to retort to the rage he was baiting out of you— but you could not with Nuala in front of the both of you.
Sighing, you turn back to the faerie “Would you like a walk through the gardens? It looks like I am not the only one restless in this night”
Nuala looks at Morpheus, and then to you “I do not wish to interrupt”
You click your tongue, linking your arm to hers “His majesty was just about to leave us,” you nod “he has plenty to reflect upon”
And when you both start walking away, you can feel his offense vibrate against the nape of your neck.
Can u do Morpheus x pregnant!f reader? If ur cool with it, if so thank u
Hi anon! I had a lot of fun writing this one, hope you like it! Thank you so much for the request, sending all the love.
Warnings: pregnancy, f!reader, nsfw, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, p in v.
like metal and stardust
You sigh and mewl, abdomen squeezing tight as you feel the fast ridden pleasure coming from within yourself— and then you moan louder “Love, love—” you call, desperate. Your planted feet on the mattress help to push your hips upwards, your thighs closing further around him.
His hand lays on top of your stomach, forcing you to quit moving “Behave” he warns, the word vibrating against your core as he devours you with a patience that he only shows you in these moments.
But it becomes too much , too quickly.
Overwhelmingly so.
“Morpheus” you scold, and he actually scoffs.
“Take it” he demands, kissing more hungrily down on you.
You bring yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him “I’ve been taking it” you point out, and gasp softly when he moves his tongue a certain way.
He gives you his eyes, and you need to calm yourself down— he looks so awfully pretty like this: between your lovebitten thighs, kissing you hungrily as he feeds from your sweet core. Pupils blown wide, responding with fervor at every whisper of his name you let out, each prayer crashing against him as if he was the only God you would ever ask for saving.
For mercy.
He sighs, a deep rumbling growl, as he leaves a parting kiss on your bundle of nerves before pulling slightly away— temple falling on your thigh “You must despise me” he rasps, feigning sadness.
You click your tongue, thigh pushing softly against him before you speak “I adore you”
“You cast me away every time I need you the most”
“You can not be denied, can you?” You shake your head, hand reaching for the one that’s laying on top of your stomach— squeezing it as you want his eyes.
But he keeps on looking at your hands, a frown appearing on his brow “Something’s changed”
You frown, looking around his face “My love?” You whisper, careful.
He shoots his eyes up, ready to calm the slight anxiety in your tone “I meant, in your body” he explains, “You’ve been more—”
You purse your lips, “I know” you whisper “It’s— I’m more sore lately, it is nothing to be worried about”
He hums, cheek squished against your thigh as he looks around your face “Am I overwhelming you?” He asks, worried.
Squeezing his hand, “You know exactly how to give it up when it’s too much” you whisper “You’ve been nothing but excellent”
He purses his lips, turning his lips to kiss softly at one of his lovebites. Then further down your inner thigh before he decides to slide upwards towards your pelvis— lips kissing your plump stomach, “You taste different as well”
You frown, “How so?”
“I can not explain it” he whispers, cheek laying on top of your abdomen as he rest his head on you “Cosmically”
You almost snort, “Love—” you call.
“Like metal and stardust”
You roll your eyes, hand combing through his constantly bed ridden hair “What an exhausting mood you find yourself in tonight” you let out, amused.
Silver stars shoot from his eyes as he gives you a glare.
You shush him, hand on his cheek “Would the Dream Lord ever allow me to jest without taking offense”
“I do not take offense from you” he manoeuvres himself and you until he’s surrounding you from behind— holding you close against his chest “Otherwise you would know”
You hum, “I am sure of it” you tease, allowing him to part your legs with his hand “My Dream never keeps quiet” you keep on going, and hiss slightly as he grasps at one of your breasts— soreness shining through.
But he acts unforgiving this time, “Just like you” he lets out against the skin of your neck “Who never quits your complaints” you gasp into a soft moan when he slides inside of you with ease, your core welcoming him.
“Dream” you whisper, breathless.
“Like metal and stardust” he reminds you, swallowing your moan as he kisses you feverishly.
You would feel sick, nauseous and even be disgusted by smells you would once crave for.
The fresh air of the gardens were your only friend when you got like this, the spring coated breeze helping you relax your stomach.
Like metal and stardust resounds in your head as you keep a small lavender under your nose, hugging yourself with your free arm as you wander around the Palace’s grounds.
You’re not oblivious, nor live up in the clouds: you know what these symptoms could mean.
And what would they mean for your life from now on.
Before you could ponder on it too much, you feel his stare before you can see him— turning to the exact direction he was watching you.
In a blink of an eye, he was already in front of you “I need to make my leave” he announces.
“Leave?” You ask “To where?” Completely lost.
“Destruction’s calling onto me, and I could not deny him” he sighs, annoyed as he looks around “I worry”
“Of?” You ask.
“Lately the dreams the mortals crave for are far more— soft” he sighs “They do not accept my nightmares as easily as they used to”
You tilt your head, looking around his face “Hard times?”
“Harder than any others” he looks back at you, and suddenly all the worry leaves his features “Will you wait for me?”
You take a step closer, and he takes your hand “Up and awake?” You ask, teasingly.
There’s a ghost of a smile on the corner of his mouth “Are you denying me?”
“I’m asking for the conditions of your request” you give him a smile, guiding his hand upwards— straight to your stomach and covered by your hand, hugging it against your as your other hand plays with the sleeve of his coat.
He looks around your face, “I do not have any requests, other than you waiting for me on my bed— the same bed where you chase me in my dreams”
“Is that what the Dream Lord dreams about?”
“Not the only thing” he shakes his head, “But I rather show you than tell you”
And with that, he’s gone.
That same night, he’s welcomed to his own bed by you: moonlight leaking it's showers on your figure, the gauze of your sheer nightgown flowing around you as a small summer breeze breaks his way in through the window of the tall tower.
You stir awake when his weight dips the mattress under you, and you look up at him— “My Dream?” You whisper softly.
He hovers above you, weight on his hands and knees as he examines your face “You were dreaming” he whispers.
You hum, “Was I?” You ask, feeling one of his hands gather the hem of your nightgown as he started bunching up the skirt— stopping once it was above your hips.
“You don’t remember?” He asks, his hand goes under the fabric and looks for one of your breasts.
You need to stop yourself from hissing, “Love” you call, as a small warning when the soreness overwhelms you.
He hums, dipping down and pecking at your lips “You were dreaming of something incredibly beautiful and impossible” he whispers inside your mouth, massaging softly at the sore skin.
“Was I dreaming of you?” You tease softly, smiling against his lips.
“No” he rasps out, “The best next thing” he shoots back as his hand goes down.
Spreading across your belly.
You open your eyes, looking up at him— swallowing “I think,” you cover his hand with yours.
“I know,” he whispers.
Beautiful and impossible, he said.
Hormones, simplistic as it was, did not match with you.
You would spend days crying, hiding from him— and days craving and feeding off of his love.
Restless and incredibly needy, you needed him to reassure you this was alright.
This was meant to be.
This would be easy.
This would not kill you.
And you barely believed him.
“Quit it” he warns, and you pout at him through the mirror.
“I do not want—” you try to force it to close.
It does not.
“I could have them make you this exact same dress in an instant—”
“I do not want another dress, I want this one” you try to close the buttons once again, but they won’t resign.
He gives up at that point, stalking away towards a window.
Which makes you go nuts.
“Are you walking away from me?” You turn to him, dress still open on your side as you look at him utterly offended.
“I offered a solution—”
“You leave me like this and then you walk away?” You huff out “You did this to me! I am growing out of my size because of you!”
He looks around your face from his position, “I think we could skip tonight festivities—”
You turn around and go straight to the large room besides your bedroom, filled with dresses “Can not believe—”
He calls your name, closing his eyes as he gathers patience.
He could not believe how incredibly quick you were to anger lately.
“Or—” he keeps going “we could announce it tonight, in front of my court”
You stop going through dresses at that, pursing your lips “Do not start with that” you let out in a whisper as you feel him come closer now, stepping into the room.
“You’ve started showing” he points out.
“Barely”
“Beautifully”
You stop— sigh, try to calm down.
When you turn back to him, your lips tremble into a pout.
He crumbles and envelopes you in his arms, hiding your against him “I would want you to stop worrying about discretion” he whispers against your hair, kissing it “and start enjoying”
“Enjoying what?” You let out, almost sobbing “That my whole body is turning against me?”
He scoffs, “That I am trying to fill myself with the most caring and persistent patience, the one I have never believed myself capable of”
You chuckle at his jest, looking up at him with tears in your eyes “I’m afraid”
He looks around your face, then purses his lips “I would not allow anything to happen to you, and what’s ours” he promises, hand slipping down to the small swollen part of your stomach “Will you believe me, this once?”
You swallow, nodding “Fine” you whisper.
He leans down, kissing you softly “My beautiful shooting star” he whispers, “You have made the most precious of my wishes come true”
And you chuckle against his lips, “Cheeky little God”
He smiles against yours now, and you finally relax under him.
Maybe you could cut him some slack.
Especially after he makes a bigger replica of the same dress appear out of nowhere.
Lord Morpheus x Fem!OC (Ophelia)
005: the baquet -> CHAPTER INDEX
sequel to tragically earthbound
English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!
summary: dazzled away by you, Morpheus' guests try to find a way to keep Hell to themselves.
warning: not really
previous: 004 / next: 006 / read it in ao3!
Lady Nuala heard about the Dream King's raven companion turned human— she also had met her once back when she was still a cadet in Titania's army.
The night of Midsummer Night's Dream was the Lord Shaper's own way to show tribute to Faerie and respect to its monarchs. They were all gathered in front of a stage filled with the mortal’s whimsical and greenish scenography— sitting on the comfortable theater seats on a beautiful warm afternoon.
The faerie was distracted, her eyes were following the figure of the actress playing Titania when—
“I like your ruffles” a voice giggled in Nuala's mind, warm and slippery. Filled with the feeling of wonder and spontaneous vigor “And your rose” it adds, and leaves Nuala’s heart reeling.
She looked all around, her frown deepening as her hand reached for her brother's, when she finally met the darkest eyes in all over the room— for the Dream Lord's raven was looking straight at her with her head turned away from the stage.
Perched on the Dream Lord’s shoulder as it was her rightful place.
At the question in Nuala's eyes, “I can not read your thoughts, do not worry. My voice only echoes in your mind, for you're the one I want to talk to at the moment” the giggle ever present in her one sided playful banter “Everybody ever worries about the same, as if my Lord would ever need me to get into the people's heads— don't they know he's already in the deepest ends of their consciousness?"
Now there's another question in Nuala's eyes.
“Oh, I'm just speaking to you because when I tried talking to the fae besides you he started panicking” she explains, as if she could truly read her mind “I am utterly bored— the Dream King seems in love with Shakespeare's plays but I consider them rather—”
There's something that catches the raven's attention, interrupting her. Nuala can see the Dream King's hand coming up to ruffle her feathers— calling back for her attention.
“Oh well, I'll speak with you after we are done” she almost sounds like sighing with reproach upon the unwanted interruption “My King does not like me distracting people from his spectacles” there's a glint in her eyes before her head turns, and Nuala catches herself smiling.
The faerie remembers this, and as she sits now on her designated seat in the Great Hall— she considers those words further from the truth.
Because when Lady Nuala and the rest of the ambassadors first stepped foot in the Great Hall, Ophelia's the first thing that called for their attention: she sits high and tall in the Dream Lord's table, and apart from her star knitted gown and striking face paint— what's more calling to her figure are her wings. Even when bent, they look gigantic and magnificent. Raven-like black feathers cover them and shake with her movements like when a breeze caresses the grass of a midnight meadow— slow and almost too divine, a centerpiece worthy of the Dreaming itself.
“Incredibly distracting, isn't she?” Cluracan's voice is in Nuala's ear, and she sends her brother a warning look “No wonder why the Lord Shaper has decided to keep her”
“Cluracan, do not make me remind you who's home we are visiting” Nuala hisses softly, entirely done with her brother's obnoxious behavior.
Cluracan clicks his tongue before taking a few more gulps from his bottle of wine “Sweet sister, have you not noticed how everyone—” he twirls his finger around “have their eyes on her?” He points out, “And,” his pointing finger goes up “where is the Lord Shaper?”
Nuala frowns, for the first time realizing her brother's observations. Looking around, Lord Morpheus' nowhere to be found— and nobody seems to be looking for him either.
The faerie frowns, and her eyes go back to the striking figure of Ophelia. Squinting her eyes, as if they could reveal some hushed secret in her beauty “She is not wearing any glamour—” Nuala whispers, confused.
“Oh, she does not need it,” Cluracan chuckles. “The sight of her is enough to make one’s mouth water.”
"Cluracan" Nuala warns.
Her brother roll his eyes, "You know pretty well she is not of my taste—" Clarucan scrunches his nose "too feathery"
“Is there any other of our hosts’ you’ve got left to insult?” Her sister reproaches, lifting an eyebrow.
“The other raven’s too chatty,” Cluracan complains.
Nuala purses her lips and when she looks back at Ophelia, her deep glinting eyes are already looking straight at her. A knowing smile's on her lips, but no words of her make themselves known in Nuala's mind— for this time, the raven had a voice of her own.
Ophelia puts her cup of wine up, and Nuala nods at her.
Then, the raven girl’s attention goes back to the librarian at her right.
Nuala breathes again.
“Do not falter, my dear” Cluracan mouths, his canine teeth showing “The Dream King's Queen just turned all the eyes on you,” he grits out, putting his own cup up towards the rest of the room as well “how did you even manage?”
“I've met her” Nuala words, voice quavery at the attention everybody's bringing upon her thanks to Ophelia “We met once”
“Oh,” Clarucan's interested “then the Dream King may hear our plead— well done”
Nuala shoots him a look, he snickers.
He goes slow, sure and soundless— for he had to not be heard nor seen.
Matthew lurks in the shadows as his master does, surfs between legs and feet and listens.
For you whispered to him while he was perched on your shoulder— tall and proud as you always allow him to be: “We are his spies, sweetheart” you nod “His eyes and ears— all his ravens are”
And as he hops off of you, he takes his mission to heart.
It takes a long time for him to catch something interesting, and when he does it comes in a serpentine and cocky male voice— for he reached the table of the Nordic Gods.
“The Dream King’s little savior” Loki snarls, talking to Odin and paralyzing their unwanted interloper under their table and away from their sight “Would you look at the little raven?”
Odin scoffed a shush, grabbing his cup “The King of Dreams has never denied himself the most of shiny things” he rasps “Always allowing himself the indulgements”
“He seemed none the happy to see me” Loki pointed out, contradicting Odin’s statement.
“That is because you have uncovered your true nature to him” the old man points out “Perhaps his bird has not done the same just yet”
“You can not trick the King of Dreams” Loki contradicts him again “I do not come of use for you here”
“You better” Odin warns “I did not freed you for nothing”
Loki scoffs, eyes falling on your figure “You will have to offer him something he wants” the Lord of Mischief lets himself fall on the back of his chair, eyeing your wings “But what does someone give to the King who’s got everything?”
“I can not bribe him into giving me Hell, boy” Odin reproaches.
“Everybody here’s planning on it—” Loki points out “You would be a fool to not find something he wants”
Odin keeps quiet, looking back at you “I could not offer one of my daughters this time”
“Nor mine,” Loki scoffs, snarling— “Seems like we do not have something as lovely back home, old man”
Odin grimaces, “Better get to thinking”
Matthew jumps away when Thor's feet comes to close to him, scoffing softly as he keeps fortifying his dislike for the Nordic God.
But then, he sees his next opportunity.
Confusing himself with the skirts of one the faeries, he walks fast from table to table... and ends up mingling with demons.
The demon prince was impatient and hungry— rather ansty.
Matthew could tell.
For Azazel was suddenly facing the divine figure of the Dream Lord’s desire in the form of a raven turned human girl.
He was vibrating with the need to do something more than just stare at her, to go after her King and demand Hell back— even if the leverage he had to bargain with seemed rather useless right now.
“Mazikeen said the Lightbringer admired her wings” Merkin says, her sharp eyes on the figure of the ravengirl “Did not believe her when she said the girl looked like the Queen of Nightmares herself”
“Well you believe her now” Azazel rasps, scoffing in displeasure and contained anger “And what the Lightbringer opinions are, do not matter to me”
Merkin hums, grabbing her cup of wine and taking a sip “Seems that our chip of bargain is not as valuable as we thought”
The Prince shows his teeth, “The King will listen, do not fret” he shrugs off “He went down to get what’s ours anyway, he’ll still want it once it’s in his reach”
Merkin chuckles, “How is she bearing?” The demon asks.
Azazel tries to ignore the sobs resounding in his ears, the cries of grief and immensely force of nature the Queen Nada was inside of him “Annoyingly”
Matthew feel an uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach at the riddled conversation, and just when he's about to jump out from under the table— all chatter goes to silence.
And then, the echo of your heels.
The raven knows, his time of eavesdropping is done.
Once you’re out of their sight, your head stops hurting from the bad eye they were pounding into you— like daggers pointed at the top of your head, lightly pinching as a threat to fall violently and swiftly into your brain. You could’ve swore some of them did not take their eyes off of you the whole evening once Morpheus made his exit from his seat at your left.
Lurking and observing from the shadows of the room.
Walking up the stairs, you sigh as you hide your wings— tired of their weight on your back.
And feel him before you can see him.
“My Lord” you call, opening your eyes and looking up at him— reaching one of the landings of the stairs from where he was waiting for you.
“Faring it well enough” he rasps, both his hands motionless at his sides— his eyes travelling around your face.
For he made you beautiful for them, on this night. Your gown, a deep raven black flecked with glimmers like starlight, clung to your silhouette with effortless elegance. Every movement left behind a whisper of mystery, and the light seemed to linger in your fathomless eyes, gleaming with suspicion under the glimmering paint. Your hair cascaded in gentle waves over your shoulders and tickled the soft skin of your back thanks to the long cut of the dress.
You just wished you felt as secure as you portrayed yourself.
“You left me with the wolves” her lips, tinted in a deep maroon, showed a fleeting smile.
“They would not bite,” there’s a slight smirk in Morpheus’ mouth— greedy and ready.
You stop one step under him, craning your head back as you look up at him— eyes shining with silver paint and cheeks kissed in stardust. It left him a bit breathless, which made your stomach twist on itself “I take it you were stalking them the whole evening” you whisper softly to him.
“Actually, that is my job description” Matthew’s voice is heard from up ahead, and you bend your waist to one side to look behind Morpheus “His ears and eyes” he reminds you what you’ve taught him as he hops off the stairs one step at the time— and you purse your lips so they won’t show a smile when you see the blue balloon’s ribbon tied to the raven’s claw “They all had plenty to say”
You hum, straightening up as you take the last step towards the landing, “What have you gathered?” your body almost pressing into Morpheus.
“Well, for starters, the princess of chaos is mean and I do not have thumbs” He jumps up, his wings lifting him up until he’s right in front of you.
“Oh, Matthew” you shake your head, untying the knot and letting the balloon float away “Do not fret, I could never go past her either for eavesdropping is a for of chaos on itself”
And Shivering Jemmy, the sweet child looking Goddess, was always craving off of it.
“I wanted red” the raven complains as he perches himself on your shoulder as you resume your walk upstairs.
“Poor sweetheart, would you like me to go and fuck her up?” You threaten in a soft and sweet tone, mocking the sulky mood he’s in “Once I took one of her eyes with my claws—”
“Behave” Morpheus warns you both, swiftly following you up the stairs.
You reach the gallery that looks down onto the Great Hall in no time, the three of you quietly observing from above.
And you understand now why he lurks from above: the vast chamber stretches below, bathed in flickering candlelight, hums with the need of revealing secrets and natures. The murmurs of the crowd reach your ears like a distant tide, carrying a tension that prickles the skin. From this vantage, every gesture seems magnified and deliberate—the arch of a shoulder, the tilt of a head, even the hush that falls over some of his guests. You notice the subtle interplay of their power.
“The Faerie Delegation came in late” you point out to Morpheus, standing right besides him “I’m surprised by their interest in Hell, but not their involvement” for Titania was always keen to dramatics.
And that included Dream, King of Melodrama.
“They asked for Hell to remain empty” Morpheus nods, hands on the railing “Plead for the souls of the fae they had to offer Lucifer over centuries”
You turn to him then, “Surely they know it is not possible,” you tilt your head.
“Why not?” Matthew asks.
“Because my sister has to take the damned somewhere” Morpheus sighs “Tourturers have to be tortured, is their penalty for using his free will in such horrendous ways”
“Sweet” the raven nods.
You huff a soft laugh at Matthew’s interruption, then “What of Odin?”
“Showing up here with Loki allows me to see he’s desperate for something I can still not reach” he sighs, eyes on the Lord of Mischief.
“And Azazel?” Matthew wonders “I mean, if demons live in Hell— should they not govern themselves?” He asks, unsure.
“Sweetheart, you’re pleading democracy for a kind who’s solely mission it is to corrupt—” you point out “they won’t stop with Hell”
“Azazel plans of bargain with you” Matthew informs Morpheus “And Loki advised the same to Odin”
“Lovely” you huff out.
“And— the fae are strangely drawn to you” Matthew tells you.
Morpheus is quick “They can not resist beauty, is it a source of admiration and envy for them— two of their most beloved emotions” he rasps, ever the unconcerned.
You feel your insides churn.
“I am not sure it is that” you let out, a bit shy “I’ve met Lady Nuala” you nod “Or— I rather talked to her back when I was still your raven”
“You got to talk to people?” Matthew complains, “He told me to just observe” he mocks Morpheus’ voice.
“Ophelia had a habit of not following instructions well enough” Morpheus points out.
“I followed my gut” you defend yourself “And it has never failed me”
“What is your gut telling you now, then?” He asks, turning to you.
Eyes earnest, truly curious. A bit too affected.
“That your majesty will have the best answer to this crisis, do what he must to ensure Hell is in the hands of someone capable and honest—” you nod “for your majesty has my wholeheartedly and undoubtedly faith in him”
Morpheus sulks, “Barely of any help”
You feel like smiling.
“Matthew” he calls, “be my eyes and ears for a while more, come back to me is something interesting happens”
“You got it” the raven ruffles his feathers.
“Leave us”
“With pleasure” and then, he’s off flying downstairs.
Morpheus turns away from the railing, eyes on the glass colored windows— and his shoulder's brushing yours.
“Is my Lord exhausted?” you tilt your head, still looking down at his guests.
“It is just a matter of time before something breaks” he lets out.
Turning only your face to him, you purse your lips “Your majesty will ensure a harmless evening” you whisper softly, still drowning in formalities “make sure no one steps out of place”
“I am out of place” he raps, turning his face to you now “I am not meant to have this task up on my head—”
“And yet you have,” you go easy, calm “it is your responsibility—” and when you catch him almost scoffing, you’re taken aback as he walks away from you “My dream—”
“I can not withstand your formalities, just to be struck down with your niceties once I straighten up under them—” he turns to you “how much more I’ll be punished?” His chest's heaving with his breathes, and his face in contort in pain.
You frown, “I am not punishing you” you sound insistent.
“You get sick at the sight of me” and as soon as his anger was built, he deflates “I push you to the point of panic”
You step closer to him, “It panicked me a great deal when you came back home and not straight to see me” you nod, a visceral pain cutting through your heart at the confession “I did not— I couldn’t force a bite down”
“Little bird,” he calls, stepping even closer to you know.
You look around his face, going back to your interrupted moment in his rooms— to the blatant offering he’s made you, the reproach in his voice when he accused you of not accepting what was rightfully yours.
When your hands reach for his jawline, his body gives up to the tension. Eyes closing and forehead falling against yours. You nuzzle against him until your lips touch the dip of his ear as he hid on your shoulder “I'll be your eyes and ears, my Lord” you whisper against his skin “And your lips and tongue” you can feel him go a bit breathless at the subtle declaration, face burrowing against the nook of your neck— and you let this feeling invade you.
His silent plea for you to share his will. To bend his weapons.
To share what's his.
“What's on your mind?” He demands in a soft whisper.
Always so unsure as to what you desired from him, and what he’s forcing out of you.
Deciding to go easy on him, “You” you give him, lips falling under his ear “And how little attention you've spared me” you kiss his skin there, hiding the playful tone against his warmth.
He pulls away slightly, lips carrying a smile from your neck to the corner of your mouth— “You have most of my days, and all of my nights”
You give him a pointed look, “Do I chase you in your dreams, my Lord?”
His smile falls a bit too wide, “And reject me in my nightmares”
Pursing your lips, looking between his eyes— “You are forgiven” you reassure him, “I’ve longed for you too much to be mad anymore”
He sighs, forehead falling against yours once more.
And he remembers a time when he asked you to not lay your faith on him so freely.
Hii again, did u saw season 2 yet? If not maybe little spoiler, so ignore it if u want, but there is a scene where morpheus is doing some paper work so I wanted to ask for something where Ophelia Is bored and go to dream to annoy him when he's working
I was scrolling through my requests and found this one! Sorry it took me so long but imagining them in this situation made me giggle like a little girl.
So here's a little itty bitty drabble, and I promise next time I'll come back with another part!
parchment
His scent was alluring tonight, more than ever before— maybe it was the way he was thinking; furrowed brow and pouty lips, eyes casted down on the paper so hard they could burn holes in the parchment. Maybe he was imagining new constellations, designing new nebulas.
Or maybe it was the way he was wearing just a tight shirt, black as his hair— soft as a whisper, warm under your touch.
In his study, you step quietly towards him from behind. The candlelights are low and you don’t really understand how is he reading, how he manages.
But he does.
He looks too much into whatever demand from the Dream Village he's reading, and in his posture tension and focus reign over him— incredibly concentrated in whatever he was putting his mind on.
“Do not” he warns, and you’re already giggling in his ear— chin on the back of your hands as they lay on his shoulders, on your tiptoes as you brace your weight against him.
“Do not” you mock him softly, hushed as your cold nose burrows itself against his neck.
“I am working”
“And I have eyes”
“I do not want distractions—”
“And hands, and a nose—” you interrupt him, nuzzling further against him.
“Ophelia—” he warns.
“Dream King” you giggle softly.
“Aren’t you a bother?” And you can hear the smile on his lips.
“I am your bother” you counterpart.
“Don’t be vulgar”
“It is the only way to warrant your attention, my sweetest of Dreams”
He sighs, and then he’s moving to turn his upper body as much as he can to face you— and oh, did he look handsome.
“You have my attention—”
“Not right now” you point out.
“—most of my days—”
“Not right now”
“—and nights—”
“Not right now” you puff out again, pouting at him.
He looks around your face, pursing his lips in the kind of impatience he only ever reserves for you: the one that makes his eyes look at you like they’re in front of the most endearing but annoying thing in the world.
“My little bird” he calls, and his voice is deep and so alluring.
You felt like you might actually explode.
“My little Dream” you defy softly, smiling with your lips pressed against each other tightly— refraining from a chuckle.
He sighs, “You can sit with me as long as you promise to not mess with my stationary”
“Where?” You ask, looking around for a chair— pretending to be conflicted by the lack of one.
“Do not make me ask you” he warns, and you give him your chuckle this time.
“Your legs’ll get tired” you nod, rounding him and sitting on one of his legs— his arms coming around you and back to the paper he was reading.
“They won’t”
“Mine do”
“Who are you allowing to sit on your lap?” He demands, a bit estranged out.
“Mostly Matthew— sometimes Daniel Hall” you sigh, shifting until you’re utterly comfortable “He’s a chubby little baby”
He hums, and you lull your head on his shoulder, arms surrounding his torso as your sit more sideways on top of him “You spend a lot of time with those two”
“And now who’s being a demanding little thing?”
Dream smirks down at you, and you feel the need to bite his smugness away.
Lord Morpheus x Fem!OC (Ophelia)
004: fear -> CHAPTER INDEX
sequel to tragically earthbound
English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!
summary: Both Lucienne and Death call your bluff, and you fear his return won't allow you to stay mad at him.
warning: descriptions of panic!
previous: 003 / next: 005 / read it in ao3!
There’s a silence that comes with his absence that you only get to notice when the tiniest noise presents itself— that’s how loud it is.
It reminds you of the first day you realized he wasn’t coming back one hundred years ago, the day he refused your companionship and embarked to the Waking World as if no harm could come his way.
Only, harm did come his way.
And back then the villain was a human, now— it was the ruler of Hell.
And they were thirsty, you weren’t sure of what but you felt it back in their realm. The lack of splendor, of grandeur: Hell was empty of amusements, hungry for some inspiration.
The night stretches on, and all you can focus on is in the slightest of shifts in the air— waiting and craving the sparkle and ring that would come with his sudden appearance. Lord Morpheus was slow, stern and shiftier than a shadow for his homecomings were always unnoticed by everybody.
But you could tell, you were always aware of him.
Every time he collided against the fragile fabric of the Dreaming, there was a humming— as if it was welcoming him. If you were attentive enough, it felt almost like it was singing.
And, even if your last encounter was a heavy one— you know you would sing too.
If eternity taught you anything, that was not taking it too seriously.
For you would always forgive and forget.
But tonight, as you walk mindlessly towards Lucienne’s rooms, nothing was there for you to cling to.
Not his presence, not his arms nor his indulgences.
Just this silence.
And oh, you missed him.
“Lucienne?” you whisper against her door, knocking softly. There was a soft glow coming from underneath it and you knew she was awake.
It only takes a second for her to open the door softly, “Ophelia?” She asks, frowning and looking at you up and down with the same worried gleam in her eyes only a mother could bear in them “Is there something wrong?”
“Plenty” you nod, whispering as you hug yourself “He made the astronomy tower far too big”
There’s a knowing smile, and an amused look in her eyes “You could’ve asked him to keep things as they were—” she lets you in and Lucienne’s warmth surrounds you.
Is quite more intimate and small than her book nook in the library, but just as cozy and welcoming— a round window is leaking moon showers as it casts a spill of light across her sanctuary of solitude, framed by a wall filled with books. Dust dances in the silver beams, a quiet constellation drifting through the air across the room that is shaped as a giant bird house. Heavy curtains frame the bookshelves in burgundy that match the deep maroon wooden floor that creak with memory.
Her home in the Dreaming makes you want to keep hush just to not break the peace she crafted so carefully.
Falling into the armchair that was not her favorite, you ride up you silk nightgown slightly up so your heels root themselves on the velvety red cushion “You know I hate to be alone” you whisper, watching her walk towards her own seat— she’s still in her plaid trousers striped in gray and black, and her dress shirt it rolled up to her elbows.
“You are always welcome here” she lights up a match and gets it closer to a candle on the small table beside her before giving you a pointed look “Where are your wings?”
You hum, laying your cheek on your knee as you hug your legs “They got in the way of tossing and turning in bed”
She smiles, almost snickers “Much on your mind?” She asks.
“Him in my mind” you counterpart, pursing your lips as you look away from her seeking eyes— an untold but known truth always at the tip of your tongue every time you would be in her company.
She stays silent at that, and you make a point to not look at her.
Too much honesty promised to her from you to do so.
“It is prudent to worry, and choiceless” she starts, softer than before “But I do trust our King will be home in no time”
You give her your eyes then, “There hasn’t been this much silence in a while”
She gives out the tiniest of smiles at that, looking down as she plays with the golden rings on her fingers and the movement leaves you wondering at the lack of ornaments in your own skin. “It’s been quieter” she nods, and sighs as if she’s lost faraway— completely engulfed by the feeling some distant memory brings to her.
She carries centuries and millennia on her back, seeing most of the world’s beginning on Morpheus’ shoulder and then on the far deep ends of the library he built for her— for her marvel and amazement over stories.
His first raven.
“You’ve been with him since the beginning” you give in a whisper, eyes falling on your feet— staring at the scars of your two lost fingers “Did he hesitate ever before?”
She sighs, and you watch her reclining on her armchair “Very few times” she nods, “Lady Death’s always been capable of stopping him on his tracks”
You hum, looking up at her as you tilt your head, “Then, why now?”
“You do have the tendency of asking for answers you already know” he muses, smiling at you softly.
You give her a reproachful look at that, “Loosh” you whisper softly, insisting.
“He’s known torture, Ophelia” she points out, “He’s been kept away from us”
“And still just now he’s—” you sigh, a bit helpless “It has to get done, I know that— I want that, it is incredibly unfair—”
You stutter in your conviction out of the need to justify somehow why it is affecting you so much, why this decision from him feels strangely definitive. Impending doom makes your bones feel like they’re filled with air, and you know this new fragile and delayed blooming is being somehow compromised by his sudden resolution to go after her, by the regrets upon her punishment.
“Calliope was a wake up call, if I may?” Lucienne tries “I think watching her trapped against her own will sparked something within him—”
“Do they always end up like that, Lucienne?” You ask him.
The ones that love him, the ones that he claims to love as well— all trapped. All in a cage.
“Could we stop tiptoeing, my dear friend?” She asks, and you close your eyes “It is quite tiring to measure my words around something when all you do is hint at it”
You shake your head, “Lucienne—” sighing, pursing your lips and looking up at her “I do not think I can bear the humiliating position I am in, not if we spoke about it head on”
“I do not know the—” she starts, tilting her head “extent—” you cringe inward, face contorting in embarrassment “Ophelia” Lucienne reproaches your reaction, a bit exasperated.
“Is it that obvious?” You ask, ignoring her reproach “Has he said anything?”
Lucienne looks around your face, “He did not need to say anything— like you said, I have been there since the beginning”
Of course all knowing and mighty Lucienne would know, for Morpheus was to her like a small child running barefoot around her legs: endearing and in need. She’s always been the best at anticipating his needs, what song his heart sang.
Morpheus was hers in a way you could only begin to understand now, when your memories about your babybrother Elijah were clearer and clearer everyday.
“Am I making a fool out of myself?” You ask, small and blind in shame.
She sighs, “My dear girl,” she starts, “you are as careful as he is demanding, and even then— some more” you look away, pursing your lips as you listen to her “I am grateful you chose to stay with us after you found him, I am happy your devotion blinded you to the point of bending to his will that day— for there after all you’ve been doing is defying him. His design is his own,” she nods “but he’s never been this inspired to do more than just create”
“Lucienne—” you try.
But she ignores you “You’re teaching him to see”
“To believe I am bending him is foolish”
“You’ve asked if those who love him always end up the same way,” she keeps on going “To that I remind you: he’s given you a ceilingless throne room, he’s given you wider rooms— he left you get away, and patiently waited until it was your choice to have him back”
The Sunless Lands, his sister’s realm.
The wings you dreamt of.
“He sees me as a scared little bird, that is all”
“And how do you see him?” She counterparts “Can you not see how scared he is sometimes? Have you not learnt him enough?”
“I’m afraid he won’t get what he’s looking for” you whisper out, like undressing the deepest part of your soul “I’ve seen her— he terrifies her”
“What is it that you supposed he’s looking for?” Lucienne asks.
Your heart skips a beat at that, the corner of your lips falling down into a pout before you can correct them— emotion making your skin crawl in sorrow “Her”
Lucienne hums, “That is it then” she nods, “You have not learnt him enough”
You decide to give in what she's saying simply because, she is Lucienne.
And Lucienne's the face that comes to mind everytime you try to picture your own long lost mother.
You click your tongue, “Hope brings out eternal misery” you nod, sighing softly as you look up at her. After a bit of analyzing her, “How much do you know?”
A small smile creeps in her lips, “Whatever you have on Matthew, it is working” she nods “The boy won’t let any of your secrets spill”
You shake your head, feet on the floor as you let yourself fall from the armchair and slide until you can rest your head on her lap— the carpet under you is soft. “Read to me?” you ask sweetly.
Lucienne hums, “Very well” she reaches for a book “Have you’ve got the time to read Rose Walker’s newest book?”
You wake up with the feeling of things being in place.
Nuzzling your head on the pillow, you cast away the sun coming through the glass doors to the terrace of your tower— sighing dreamingly.
Then, the bed dips right beside you “Scoot over, love—” you hear her say.
Taking your face off the pillow, you gasp softly “What are you doing here?” you chuckle, looking at the immense beauty that is Death “Have you missed me?” you tease lightly, scooting over until she’s sitting more comfortable right beside you.
“I always miss you” she shoots right back, watching you as you sit up “Gosh, this bed’s nice” she delights “my brother likes you, huh”
You shake your head, “What are you doing here, Death?” you ask.
“He invited me in” she reaches for your face, combing the hair out of your eyes.
“So he’s back” you hum, your heart suddenly feeling lighter— only for a second.
Why has he not come straight to see you?
Have you wounded him?
Is he wounded?"
“He is fine” she touches the frown between your eyebrows, easing it “I can see your little gears working nonstop”
“Alright, so he's alright?” you insist.
“Oh, so you keep up traditions” she nods, teasing “When will be the day you both actually talk?”
You look away, sighing softly “There hasn't been a lot of talk—” you let out, letting yourself fall back on the bed, looking at her from your pillow.
She squints, and then— “You’re joking”
You frown, “What?” You ask, confused.
“Don’t—” she puts a hand up “Is this why Desire’s been especially giddy lately?”
“What are you even—?”
“Little raven” she chastises “You’re a smart girl”
You keep quiet at that, looking away “Have they said anything?” you ask, knowing Desire.
“They said plenty” she nods “Oh, God! I was so dense! I just came to realize!”
You feel flushed, and your stomach drops “Is this why Dream came changed back home?”
Death gives you a look, and you’re not sure what it means “What’s been happening?” She asks.
“Plenty” you whisper, fingernail digging at your cuticles “I can not really bear to talk about it—”
“Where are your wings?” She asks, and you frown.
“Why does everybody keep asking that?”
“You look trapped without them”
You give him a look, “Is this what they’ve been saying? That the Dream Lord has trapped me?”
She tilts her head, “Desire’s teased him” she nods “Have you sentenced any new girlfriend as of late?” she repeats their words “I thought he was talking solely about Nada—”
You purse your lips, “Dream has not trapped me, Death” you defend.
“Of course not, my love” she shakes her head “I just— I supposed I am worried about your inability to fly away” she explains “You have your wings, but you can not wander around planes no more— I wonder if this is where you want to be”
“The only place I want to be is where he is” you let out, still a bit defensive “Dream’s been through enough to have his siblings questioning him in matters that don’t concern them” you keep going “Especially when him himself’s been feeling at fault for something he’s not doing”
Him asking you if you felt in obligation to stay, his own insecurities about how real and not forced your attentions were—
Death keeps quiet at that, and now there’s a glimmer in her eyes you do recognize: pride.
“Stop that” you confront.
“Stop what?” She asks, “My little raven—” she sighs, hand caressing from your hair straight to your cheek “You have exceeded any expectations I had for you”
“Do not mother me” you turn away from her touch, acting annoyed.
“I gifted you to him because I thought he needed a friend” she nods, and you purse your lips “Someone to be always on his team, if you may— how relieved I am that you are in, even more so than himself”
“You all seem to think my devotion is blinded” you accuse.
“No” she shakes her head “I think your devotion inspires him”
You click your tongue, annoyed at her everlasting wisdom— and how easily flattered you felt by her favor.
She chuckles, her eyes traveling around your face for a few moments in adoration and contemplation. Then, “He is back” she resumes your previous topic “And there’s plenty on his plate”
You look around her face, then away “Has he found her?”
Found her rage, her anger— maybe her love.
“No” she sighs, and your eyes shoot up “No, love— I’m afraid Lucifer’s laid all the vengeance they had left on him”
You tilt your head, “What has happened? Is Queen Nada alright?”
“We do not know” she stands up, “Lucifer has abdicated— they have left Hell”
“What?” You shoot up, sitting on the bed “What do you mean?”
“I am being literal, Philly” she almost chuckles “And who do you think has the key to Hell now?”
Oh, my poor Dream sings your heart.
“Hell is his now?” You run your fingers through your hair “All the demons—”
“Not them, no” she shakes her head “That’s why I am here” she sighs “I’m afraid this will be the last meet we'll have until a couple of months from now, maybe even years”
“Oh, how I’d loved you did not talk in riddles” you stand up, annoyed.
She snorts “Hell’s empty” she explains “I have to collect every single soul back and make room for them back home until Dream decides what to do— in addition to my already too-busy schedule”
You stay silence at that “So they—”
“Empty house and throw away the key? Yes” she nods “And they made it Dream’s problem— and mine, I guess”
“Could I help you, my friend?” You ask, a bit surprised still.
“Dream will need all the help you can offer him”
You hum, “I am your help” you point out “Don’t you remember?”
She named you so—her aid, her Ophelia. The faithful raven poised upon her shoulder, etched into mortal memory for endless years. For where Death wandered, a raven lingered close. Ready to feast over her claim.
“Philly” she retorts, tilting her head in a knowing look.
“I’ve got wings too, I am your own” you point out, ignoring her eyes “And I’ve seen what you do, I could help you”
“It is not your place” she shakes her head.
“What it’s my place?” You defy before you can stop yourself.
“Queen Consort?” She asks, a small smile brightening her face.
“Quit jesting, Teleute” you reproach, annoyed, using her own Greek name.
She chuckles, leaning down at kissing your temple “My sweet, sweet raven” she cups your face, looking between your eyes for a moment “You are more than my help, you do know that. Don’t you, babysister?”
You sigh, nuzzling into her palm for a second “I do know that”
“You are the satellite that keeps us in our own eternal spring” she boops your nose before straightening up “Always helping us flourish”
And then she’s gone in a blink of an eye.
You keep on thinking about her words, about satellites and planets when you walk yourself down your tower and up his own— thinking about what you’ve inspired and what he created after you.
Thinking of promised princesses and moons as well as paintings and sculptures.
How you've help gravitate his giant blue planet.
Hugging yourself against a lace scarf around your naked shoulders, you walk into his rooms without even knocking and walk straight towards his daybed when you notice he is nowhere to be found. Your new dress pressing hard around your torso, for the corset was tight.
His new rooms were— empty. The walls are smooth and pale, their muted tones catching the glow from a large fireplace that spills warmth. Overhead, a chandelier hangs and the room opens into a receding sequence of arches until there’s a bifurcation.
No windows.
Pursing your lips, you wait and fight the urge to go further into the space— straight towards his dreamroom.
Laying on the velvety daybed, you let out a soft and shaky sigh as you close your eyes, trying to push back the swirl of unease that aches in your chest. Your thoughts spin and overexhaust yourself, dragging your stomach into a knot of nausea. Lately, a light tingling spreads across your arms, a subtle electric warning that comes when your mind stretches itself too thin. Your bones ache under the sudden weight of tension, your breath shallow and uneven, as if the air itself has grown heavy. Every sound becomes sharper—his voice breaking the silence, the faint creak of the floorboards—and your heart jerks in your chest, skipping beats that shouldn’t be skipped.
This time, you almost gave in.
“Little bird?” Is breathless and it surprises you how close it is.
Opening your eyes, you frown as you see him kneeling right next to you on the floor— eyes travelling around your face “Dream” you whisper, sitting up before his hands can reach you.
“Are you unwell?” He asks, and you shake your head.
The panic hovers at the edge of your consciousness, a rising tide you cannot hold back, and your mind races for an anchor that feels impossibly far away.
“No, no” you whisper, shaking already “I was just waiting for you—”
There’s a silence that comes after that, and you need to fight the urge to make him stand up “Sit down with me” you whisper softly, desperate.
You can not see him like this, you can not bear his knees touching the ground.
“Are you quite sure there’s nothing of the matter?” He insists, looking around your body for something.
“Dream—” you warn softly.
“You should tell me—” he interrupts you, but you keep going.
“Sit down with me—” insisting as you scoot further away from him.
“Ophelia—”
“You should not be kneeling” it comes out rushed and nauseous, your voice breaking as you try to fight back your shame.
He doesn’t hesitate when he answers “Nonsense” his hand reaches yours and you stand up, walking away from him and away from the fireplace.
The nausea hits you full force “God, why don’t you have any—” you need to swallow, trying to wet your dry mouth as you fan yourself with your hands “any windows” you stutter, and you feel him right behind you in no time.
His hands are around your neck, and you thank his cold skin— “Hush” he whispers as you try to breathe and focus on the comfort he is providing like a wake up call.
“You are a King” you grit out, breathing in and out in an attempt to control the tachycardia— trying to bring it down “You shouldn’t be kneeling—”
One of his hands slides down, and in rushed and angry movements he unties the knots of your corset— freeing you from it’s pressure to help you breathe “There” he whispers behind you, closing a fist around your hair and holding it up and off your neck and back “There” he repeats softly.
You breathe in shakily, eyes in tears as you let yourself fall back against him— his chest meeting your back as you try to calm down “Dream?” You whisper, not really knowing what it is you’re asking for.
“Here” his lips ghost over the scar on your exposed shoulder, and his hand rests on your lower belly “Right here”
The storm inside you slowly gives into calmness, like a tide retreating from jagged rocks. Your chest loosens it’s tightness, and each breath comes a fraction steadier, a soft whisper of relief. Your heartbeat softens its frantic drum into a muted rhythm, and your body, heavy, sinks deeper into his chest as if being cradled by the world itself.
A quiet warmth spreads through you, a reminder that the tempest was merely temporary. That even in fear, the body remembers how to return to itself.
Especially when you have him right behind you, safe and soundly.
“Why did you not come to me?” You ask selfishly, letting your tears fall.
“I can not tell when is it that you want me or not” he whispers against your skin “I will not force my company upon you simply because I need to—”
“You’re a fool” you interrupt him “You can see that, can you not?” You ask him “When have I ever turned you away?”
He breathes out against your skin, and it’s warmer than you anticipated “You could” he whispers, as if it meant something.
“I could, what?” You cry out.
“Turn me away” he explains, sounding far too affected for your poor heart to take “You could turn me away any second, you could devastate me to the point of no return—”
“Stop”
“You could tell me to go away and I would do it, I would pay the price gladly if it meant I did not cause you any distraught—” he keeps on going.
“You are a King” you insist, as if it meant everything for you.
As if it would make a good argument against his words.
“—I would take the heartbreak over your unhappiness”
You tear yourself away from him, hugging your dress up as you hide your eyes behind one of your hands— shoulders trembling as you try to control a sob.
When you turn around, his eyes are cast down and there’s this emotionless look in his face. Like all emotion was drained away from him, little by little.
And you realize something:
“You are tired” you whisper, stepping closer “My love, you are tired” at the tender tone his eyes come up to meet yours, the corner of his lips brought down.
“I am” he rasps “I am—”
You nod, offering him your hand as you get closer to him “I know”
Scared.
You guide him towards his daybed, signaling him to sit down— he falls on it like his legs gave up under his weight, and you need to cradle his jawline just to keep reassuring him you are here.
“I am sorry” he whispers, hand coming to your wrist and lips kissing your palm “I should have come to you— I know you worry”
It's so soft, you're afraid you did not hear it at all.
When you go to kneel in front of him, his hands shoot to your elbows— silver stars in his eyes “You should not kneel either”
You tilt your head, “Dream” you whisper in slight reproach, but he’s already guiding you up— his forehead falling against your sternum, temple nuzzling against hard bone.
“Will you ever accept the position that’s yours?” he asks in a rasp whisper, eyes closing as your fingers run through his hair.
You shake your head, “Quit it” you whisper softly, thumb on his eyebrow “Death’s told me what happened” you change the topic to something more tangible than his promises.
He stops for a second, allows himself to breathe against your indulgences “She visited you” he acknowledges “Has she also told you she denied my offering?”
“What offering?”
“Hell”
“That is not an offering, that’s you trying to dump a problem onto your oldest sister”
He hums, “Perhaps” his hands comes up from your thighs to your hips— bringing you closer “She denied me still, her own babybrother”
You smile softly at his attempt of jesting, “What are you going to do?”
“My best”
“Oh, your majesty’s full of amusements this morning” you roll your eyes.
“And you’re finally breathing normally” he pulls slightly away, looking up at you “Would you mind helping me through my panics now, little bird?”
You look between his eyes as his hands reach up to clean your cheeks from any and all tears.
Caressing his lips with your eyes, you're about to lean down when—
“Uh, boss?” You jump in place at Matthews’ voice behind you.
“Not now, Matthew” he rasps and you're not sure when he closed his eyes.
When you turned, the raven’s on the floor a few feet from you, tilted head and the hairs of his feathers up like electricity was running through his entire body.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt, believe me. But we, uh—”
There’s a loud thud coming from somewhere under the floor, the palace shaking slightly at it’s force—
“We’ve got visitors” Matthew’s voice is followed by a loud thunder.
“Is that—?” Morpheus starts, standing up and starting to walk out of his rooms.
Matthew turns to you before flying directly to your shoulder, “Do you need help with those knots?” He teases.
“You’re so not funny, sweetheart” you follow Morpheus as well, fixing up your corset on the way.
Before you can say anything else, the three of you are surrounded by sand.
You land on his grand foyer, new and incredibly extravagant— and the door in front of you shakes by the brute force that is Thor Odinson.
“I can not believe this guy” you hear Mervyn’s voice right behind you.
When you turn, him and Lucienne are rushing towards you and Dream.
“What is he even trying to do?” You huff out.
“Fucking hate ‘im” Mervyn crosses his arms, stopping right beside you.
“How many are there?” Lucienne asks Matthew.
“Too many, like— a small country many” the raven responds “And most of them are ugly scary—”
“Dream?” You try, “Are you sure these doors will hold?”
“No” he rasps.
“Not sure or no, they won’t hold?” Matthew asks.
You sigh, biting your lip in a nervous attempt to hold your ever rising panic.
“Sire,” Lucienne starts.
“Allow me to think” Morpheus rasps, annoyed as he gets closer to the door.
“Allow me to offer a solution” Lucienne follows him, and he turns with silver stars shooting from his eyes “Invite them in”
“Are you nuts?” You almost shout.
“Loosh’s going coo coo” Mervyn shakes his head, speaking at the same time you do.
Morpheus eyes shine with something “Lucienne, as per usual, is right” he nods, turning back to the door “We shall invite them in— Mervyn, ready the great hall”
“For what?” Mervyn’s scandalized.
More pounding on the door is heard, and you scrunch up your face.
“A royal banquet” Morpheus nods, “Let them be our guests, we shall bend their will under ancient rules” when he turns, a large and rusted key is in his hand “and perhaps, one of them can be entrusted with the key to Hell”
You swallow as the pounding becomes more insistent.
finally got a version of this ficlet that i liked! i’ll do another round of edits before i post it to ao3 but, for now, here it is :)
Deep in the Dreaming, a raven mourns another raven.
•••
A beeswax candle. A brass candle holder carved in the shape of a tree. A sprig of fragrant jasmine. This is what Lucienne lays on the small round table in her chambers.
Once they’re arranged precisely so, Lucienne lights the candle and takes a seat. She’s careful, but the rasp of chair legs against the floorboards still makes her flinch. She watches the curl of smoke as the delicate scent of the beeswax settles deep into her lungs.
“Jessamy,” she starts, the exhalation of air from her mouth sending the flame flickering. And then Lucienne doesn’t know what to say next.
Frustration seizes Lucienne, easier to confront, easier to sink talons into than the anguish turning her body into an ocean: Lucienne has lost so many people in her immortal life, and yet sometimes her hands still do not know how to hold the shape of her grief. How can her shoulders still buckle under its weight? How can her bones, having had so much time to grow steely against pain, still betray her so bitterly?
Jessamy had children in her first life, Lucienne remembers. Three of them. With her bright eyes and ferocious spirit.
You were not the last people to love your mother, Lucienne tries to tell their far-flung ghosts. She knew Jessamy for centuries and it still was not enough. You were not the last people to lose her.
Lucienne has gotten along well with each of Morpheus’s ravens, has considered all of them to be competent successors to the role she herself used to fulfill. But she loved Jessamy. Jessamy was no mere amicable compatriot; she was a friend, confidant, someone Lucienne would choose for her flock every day until the stars blinked out and the moon fell from the sky.
But it was Jessamy who fell before the moon did.
Lucienne feels a sharp pang of self-reproach. Doesn’t Jessamy deserve more than a dignified grief, sterile sorrow? Even if Lucienne learned how to shore herself up against loss over the years, would that truly have been better? They all deserve more than that, the countless people Lucienne has loved and lost while her ever-beating heart continued on. Jessamy is worth every twist of the knife, every ocean waded through on shaking legs.
Lucienne looks up at the shifting cosmos swirling across her bedroom ceiling. “The sky has taken you home,” she whispers, voice cracking. “May you be well in its embrace. Fly safe, dear friend, and fly strong.”
Tears burn like novas, streaking down her cheeks, and splatter onto the smooth dark wood of the table.
No matter what form Lucienne wears, some part of her will always have wings. Somewhere, in another universe, in a kinder timeline, she is flying beside Jessamy.
Just last night I was pondering about Lucienne losing ravens over the centuries and was so disappointed we didn't get to see her mourning Jessamy— especially since she was a raven herself. Today I found this little drabble about it and now my heart sings, thank you so much for these words.
Lord Morpheus x Fem!OC (Ophelia)
003: hell -> CHAPTER INDEX
sequel to tragically earthbound
English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!
summary: The Dreaming's envoy goes to hell to break the news to Lucifer Morningstar.
warning: descriptions of wounds and vomiting. this is a long one!
previous: 002 / next: 004 / read it in ao3!
Hell is the same as it always is and it welcomes you as it always does, with insufferable fervor and a beating ground under you— insatiable for all the secrets you could reveal just to use it against you if it only got the chance to keep you forever.
You remember flying overhead, looking for Morpheus in the eternal sulfur and stupor of the land of the damned years ago, when you had the certainty Morningstar had something to do with his disappearance— fruitless and pointless.
It’s doors present themselves in front of you— tall and impenetrable, and their guards look down on you with the suspicion only a demon can grant you: cold eyes and hungry breath. They open at your call, and a giant waits on the other side.
“Who stands at the door of Hell?” his voice rasps, a soft and dry rustling like a snake slithering through sand “A thief, thug or whore?”
You square your shoulders, breathing in softly “Does my face not seem familiar, Squeatterbloat?” you ask the demon, watching him move slowly closer to the opening of the gates in his grotesque and gluttonous glory “You have granted me entering so many times before, thought you would once more”
He sniffs in the air, looking down at you “You smell of wonder and amazement” he responds “Not death”
“Oh, believe me— Death’s always by my side”
His eyes roamed over you, up and down, as if trying to place where he had seen you before. They lingered on your bent wings, and for a brief moment, a sparkle of something rotten flickered in his dark gaze as it fell over the shimmering expanse of your stardusted dress. It was a marvel, truly. The fabric seemed almost alive, holding constellations and comets in its ruffles, as if the skirt itself were a fragment of the night sky. Like you were a fragment of the night sky, roaming the Earth. Lace crept delicately upward, tracing the line of your chest and shoulders with intricate, ethereal patterns. Your eyes were darkened with black powder, lending depth and shadow to your gaze, while your hair was swept into a high coiffure, completing an image that was celestial as well as slightly dangerous. Every detail worked together to create a vision that dazzled and unsettled, impossible to forget.
A gift of beauty to the Lightbringer.
“You look different, little raven” he rasps, “But you feel quite the same”
He turns then, and you know he’s granting you allowance.
“I am not riding on your shoulder this time, then?” you ask, following him inside the gates and onto the bridge of the tortured souls.
You were familiar with this one particular demon, you remember evenings combing Hell with him: Squatterbloat was the herald of the gates, the one who guides— and he loved company, when company meant a soul tormented enough to keep up with his machiavellian antics.
“Last time the Dream King came into our home, he made a point in humiliating our Lightbringer” the demon declares “Why has he sent his raven now?”
“As an envoy, demon” you nod, “Diplomatic mission, here as a friendly hand for your monarch— I seek audience with Lucifer Morningstar”
The demon in front of you chuckles, “Has he told you to hide behind ancient rules?”
You purse your lips, “No” you deny “He has told me to remind you lot: I am not under his protection— my eternity is a gift from grandmother Death, my destiny’s hers and her vengeance will rest upon those who interfere with her plans”
The demon hums, “Let me guide you then, little raven— and see how much consideration the Lightbringer has upon their grandmother’s pets”
He seems to actually guide you straight to the palace, which is new for him— often he would go disarray, showing off Hell’s most tormented souls in penalty. Showing off how disruptive and agonized eternal suffering could be for a soul who would only want rest.
“You’re out of amusement, demon?” you ask, curious.
He growls, “The Lightbringer’s out of amusement” he declares, and you frown “The landscape of Hell” he extends an arm, as if showing you all there is.
“What of the forest of the damned?” you ask, “Or the river of heads?”
The demon in front of you shakes his head, “No more games in Hell, little raven” he rasps.
“Must be torture for you, friend” you give in.
He chuckles, “How well you have learnt me, friend” he gives in too.
With the certainty that at least your guide would not murder you in cold blood, you dare to look around you— apart from the large bridge there was an awfully long wide expanse of nothingness. It was rather strange, for the Mornignstar was always the maximalist: their excess would always show a new mechanism of affliction for the souls under their care, haunting instruments of malevolent invention to guarantee the worst of tortures.
But now, Hell felt strangely empty, stripped of its former grandeur— plain in a way that was almost more unsettling than it’s previous chaos. Beneath your feet, the massive stone bridge stretched into the void, its pillars humming with a low vibration, like the groan of something alive. The pillars themselves were not smooth; carved into their flanks were rows of cages, prisons gouged into the rock itself. They were colossal, thick and towering, descending downward into the mist. You could not see where they ended, for an impenetrable fog wrapped around their depths, swallowing them. And yet, you knew what lay hidden there. You knew the souls were piling into those cages, stacked one over another in a design of punishment that seemed to stretch forever, as if Hell had no bottom— you knew the special attention Dream had to spare for them, for their sleeping hours were the only time they got any rest from this eternal torture.
And even then, it was never enough.
The palace is open for you, and it’s the first time Squatterbloat stops his march— when you reach his side, you look up at him “That was the shortest path you have ever guided me through” you nod.
He turns his face to you, snickering “Words fly, little raven” he rasps “Even all the way down here”
You purse your lips, “What have you heard that made this change of heart happen?”
He bows his head, curtsying you “I shall not take more of the King’s favorite’s time” he turns around, getting on his way already.
You shake your head, focusing on the welcoming party coming through the palace doors instead on the imminent mockery from your former guide “Greetings, Mazikeen” she stands tall, striking, and terrifyingly beautiful right in front of you— with sharp features and part of the skin of her face rotten away, showing off her skeleton under it.
“Has this new face granted you entrance that easily, Ophelia?” She asks, “Beauty always helps demons soften up”
You tilt your head, “Squatterbloat was kind enough to guide me straight to you, yes— although I think is the urgency of my message and the one I seek to give it to the thing that guaranteed my swiftly course through Hell” you walk up, stopping right beside her “I seek audience with your monarch”
“In the name of the Dream King, or your own?” She’s curious.
“I only serve the monarch of the Dreaming”
“As to what we’ve heard of late, is as if you would be serving yourself”
You stay quiet at that, watching her start walking further into the palace— not even waiting on you to follow her. The doors close behind your back, and your fate is sealed in sulfur and flames.
With trembling hands and made up bravery, you follow her up.
The way to the Lightbringer’s rooms is long and tiring, and totally unknown to you. You have never had the privilege of a private meeting with the sovereign of Hell, your messages were always interjected before by someone else— but this time, it seems like they were eager to meet with you.
Climbing the spiral stairs all the way to the palace’s grandest dome, you emerged into a room that took your breath away. It was perfectly circular and impossibly open, a suspended world unto itself. The balcony ran along the circumference, offering a view of the central garden below, where fountains glimmered and shadows stretched between hedges. Massive pillars of gold and black marble rose from the floor, their polished surfaces catching the light and reflecting it in fractured patterns across the room. Above, the painted ceiling drew the eye upward—a macabre tableau of angels being impaled by demons, wings spread wide in silent agony, expressions twisted in horror. Straightforward, you think— and in the center of it all:
The Lightbringer.
Tall, regal, and commanding. A mountain of pale skin, sharp features, and dark piercing eyes. Their presence is magnetic, simultaneously alluring and intimidating— their beauty has no parallel, you could bask in it and feel as attracted as any poor mortal soul who would come their way. Lucifer was the Lord’s most beautiful angel, his most powerful creation.
Fallen, stroke down.
And yet, such a handsome allure to them.
“Oh, sweet vision” They greet, their white dress shimmering as they walk up towards you. Rounding the centerpiece —an elegant fire pit of eternal flame— they come face to face with you “Who would this marvelous creature be, Mazikeen?”
“The raven Ophelia, Lightbringer” Mazikeen stalks away, towards one of the pillars for a better view “Dream Lord’s companion”
Lucifer’s eyes light up in golden flakes of stars, “Sweet Dream’s favorite little creature coming to us as an envoy, then? ” they get closer, looking down at you “We have met before, haven’t we? Your soul was not promised to me, no— but what a sensational resemblance we’ve got here, don’t you think?” Their wings expand, unbend and cast their shadow upon you— big and solemn, but featherless.
“I’ve dreamt of them, your majesty” you nod, expanding your own to let them have a view “They were a gift” your hands are strongly interlocked in front of you, trying to stop their trembling as fear claws at your skin.
They were a terrifying sight.
“From the Dream Lord?” they ask.
“From the Dreaming”
They hum at that, pursing their lips as their hand come up— two fingers under your chin, tilting your head upwards “How marvelous form you have taken” they sigh, uninterested eyes caressing your face “Striking beauty, captivating even for the hardest of hearts I hear”
You make a curtsy, “I am flattered, Lightbringer”
They click their tongue, stepping away and walking towards their balcony— you stalk behind them “Have you got a message from me, my sweet?”
“I have, yes” you nod, stopping a phase behind them when they do.
“Go on, then” they nod.
You stop at that, thinking for one more second before continuing “I am obligated to remind your majesty— I am not friendless”
You hear Mazikeen’s sword being drawn, but don’t turn back “You dare to remind the Lightbringer—”
“Mazikeen, my dear” Lucifer lifts a hand, without even turning around “We do not harm our envoys, nor we threaten them— especially not when I am curious about Dream’s little message” when they turn around, their eyes are on you “You, my sweet, have nothing to worry— for Death’s the fuel to my kingdom, and you’re very dear to her”
You look around the monarch’s face, your anxieties brought down a bit now that you’ve heard what you already knew— what Dream already knew: it would not matter how important you were to him, the Lightbringer would only care for your link to one of the oldest of the Endless.
That’s why he could not dare to send anyone else.
“Yes, sire” you bend your head “Your mercy will be remembered by my friends forevermore”
The monarch hums, looking down at you “How incredibly rude of the Dream Lord, won’t you agree?” they sigh “Sending his most precious asset to my realm, hiding her behind ancient laws expecting no harm to come her way—” their eyes travel around your body, bored but hungry “Tell me, Ophelia: is it fair to have you welcomed into my kingdom, marked by him as if you were the Queen of Nightmares herself?”
You feel your stomach drop, “I did not mean any offense to your majesty”
“Of course not, little raven— you’re not the master of your destiny, after all” they nod “I am obligated to ignore your position, if that’ll guarantee you’ll give me your message without fear of any consequences”
You curtsy, “I am grateful, Lightbringer” straightening up, you clear your dry throat “My Dream Lord will arrive shortly, your majesty”
There’s something rotten and incredibly wrong crawling its way into Lucifer’s eyes— amusement, defiance…
A flicker of hope.
“He will not ask for permission, although he hopes you’ll give him access”
“Access” the Morningstar echoes, rasping and curtly “To what, sweetling?”
“The once mortal Queen Nada, your majesty” you nod, and it felt like vice was rising up your throat “But— whether or not the infernal majesty would help him— he is coming” you finish, squaring your shoulders— a weak attempt to feel secure.
“Ah” they let out, as if this surprise was a small one— as if it was expected.
You feel like squirming under their gaze, a feeling of dread making home in your aching chest. Not secure, not confident— not safe. And yet, you took up this mission for him.
The things one would do for love.
That simple expression is the only answer you receive for a while.
Then, a huff of a laugh “The last time Lord Morpheus was in Hell, he was not with you” they nod “Has he told you what happened then?” they step closer, and heat climbs up your body “Has he been engulfed in giddy joy at the way he publicly embarrassed Hell?”
You look away and down, “No, your majesty”
“Has he told you we swore to destroy him?”
You keep still, fighting the urge to gag at the vice you felt crawling up your throat “No, sire” you manage out.
“And now he is coming to Hell with or without my permission” they scoff, “Isn’t that wonderful”
You stay quiet, looking down and filled with paralyzing fear “He makes no apologies, your majesty” you nod “But I do make mine, imploring in his name for mercy”
The Lightbringer sighs, “Should that bring me any comfort?”
You purse your lips, looking up at them “I shall wish at least it’ll bring some”
They study you for a second too long, “What a beautiful display of loyalty— tell me, little bird: have you ever met Queen Nada?”
And before you can reply, you’re engulfed in darkness.
It’s dark, and cold— and it feels as if you’re laying in the morning dew grass of the Dreaming, but it was a far harder ground. Sitting up, you can only hear your own panting as fear fills your every sense. The air clings damp to your skin, heavy and metallic, as though laced with sulfur. Shapes shift at the edge of your vision—never there when you turn to look, yet pressing in closer with every heartbeat. Your breath fogs before you, but the silence devours even that small proof of life. Cold runs up your spine, as though unseen eyes are grazing over your every movement, patient and unblinking, waiting for you to falter.
“No” you whisper, desperate “No, no— Lightbringer!” you call to the darkness “I am under the protection of—”
“Who is there?” a voice comes to you from not that far away, wavering and scared “Who are you?”
You freeze, and need to scramble into your two feet as you back up all the way until a pointy rock wall presses against your back— and it suddenly hits you, the sense of where you are “Do you have any light?” you ask softly, pretending to be calmer than you actually are “Have you got any source of light?” you almost cry out, the sensation of nausea coming back to you as you feel her getting closer to you.
“Who are you?” she insists, and you need to close your eyes so the shadows in the darkness won't cause you more dizziness.
There’s more movement, sounds of scrambling and then— light.
It blinds you for a while, for it’s white and potent. It comes straight from a breakthrough in the rock wall. She was the one to uncover it, making a boulder of her same height roll away from it— and you know exactly where you are: inside of one of the pillars of the same bridge you walked on earlier. Inside of a chamber of torture by Lucifer’s own design.
You blink a few times, looking around you before your eyes focus on her. Tall and lean, she looks hungry. And you're sure she's feeling hungrier than you've ever felt before, even when hunger was the thing that killed you. Her skin is dark, smooth as obsidian beneath the light, gleaming despite the years of undernourishment and mistreatment. Her eyes, vast and deep, hold the sorrow of a fate long sealed and her hair falls like a midnight cascade, the perfect frame for a face sculpted with the delicacy of a sacred idol.
A dead God.
“Who are you?” She demands once more, and you feel pathetically fragile under her unyielding sobriety. Her eyes travel around your garments, and focus on your wings— full lips opening to let go of a gasp before she steps closer with urgency “You’re his” her hands are in your arms, squeezing them in desperation.
Cold and stronger than you would've thought.
“Queen Nada” you breathe out, miserably weak at your own loss of words.
He did this to her, echoes in your mind.
“He sent you in— he—” her eyes are crazy, and you know the hope you’re filling her with is completely pointless.
“Queen Nada” you insist, not quite sure what for. There’s this impossible smell, these despicable cold— her prison is pure torture and darkness.
He did this to her, it echoes.
Marks in her skin, old scarring— dry blood in her knuckles, nails bitten away.
“Has he changed his mind?” She demands, getting even closer— and you realize what you’re smelling is the odor coming from her “Is he freeing me?”
He did this to her, breaking through you— unbending in it’s truth.
Your eyes fill with tears, hands grasping her arms just as hard as she’s clinging to you “I was sent by him, yes—”
“You’re his raven” she breathes out, looking at your wings “Lucienne, is it? Is this you?”
You need to close your eyes, shaking your head “No, no— I am not his— I am not Lucienne” you shake your head “I am Ophelia—”
“Are you his Queen?” She demands, desperate as something in your ear breaks— panic filling you in as sorrow echoes until a high pitch is all you can hear “Has he imprisoned you here as well?”
“He is coming, Nada” you ignore her question, shouting against her desperation “He is coming, and he is freeing you— Nada, I—” you’re interrupted by your own gasp for she becomes dust in your hands as you’re back in the Lightbringer’s quarters— breathless and affected.
They look down at you, looking down at the pile of dust on the floor.
“Now you’ve met her” they snarl, with pleasure in every syllable “Tell me, little bird— are you ready to go back home?”
When you arrive back home, sent away by the force of Lucifer— you fall on the floor of the foyer gasping and crying. Using your wings to lift yourself up, you hear the scrambling of feet and a hand on your back.
“Lady Ophelia?” asks Annet, one of the Palace’s attendants, “Are you alright?”
“Where’s the King?” you ask under your breath, taking her wrists and squeezing it in reassurance.
“His majesty is in the library, with Lucienne— Lady Ophelia, is there anything I could do—?” She asks, and you nod.
“Are you familiar with the layout of the new Palace yet, Annet?” you ask.
“Where do you need to go?” She asks, certainty in her kind face.
She accompanies you straight to the closest bathroom, and waits outside as you give out every bit of vice crawling up your throat— sickness and sorrow make their way out of your system, trying to calm down your outburst. Sobs break through, combined with the forced gags and tears. Your throat is sore in no time and you need to find the strength to stop so you can breath.
Once you’re done, you feel her calming hand on your shoulder— only tears running down your face.
It takes a while for you to recover from the nausea, for you to clean your face and wash your mouth— but when you do, you walk towards the library.
Their voices come to you filtered through the tall walls of books— your feet carrying you straight towards the desks where the librarian takes up her work. Lucienne’s book nook feels like an island within the already vast, dream-woven halls of the Dreaming’s library. This corner is softer, more intimate—a space carved out for the librarian herself rather than the dreamers. It feels lived in.
You try to not think in the state you would find yourself in— try to not let the aggravating feelings show in your face. Annet convinced you that you looked fine, really. Helped you to compose yourself before sending you their way.
“Philly” Matthew calls as soon as he sees you, and your lips pull downwards without you even letting them to— so you try to fix your temple as soon as the raven lands on your shoulder. Both Lucienne and Morpheus look back at you from their spot, and you focus on the librarian “Please, you have to hear what the boss—”
“Matthew” Dream rasps, and the raven is brought into silence.
You purse your lips, looking at the King from where you stand— he looks stern, unbending. Aggravated as well, for his skin was somehow paler than usual “You are back” he rasps,
And you try not to let the ghost you’ve been carrying show.
Especially when he extends a hand towards you.
Walking towards him, you accept his hand “They’ve received your message, Dream Lord” you pronounce, and you can see Lucienne’s head bow down in the corner of your eye.
You need to let go of his hand as quickly as possible.
“Wait, back?” Matthew interjects “Boss, you sent Philly?”
“Matthew” Lucienne calls, fruitless.
“To Hell” the raven continues “There where Lucifer lives?”
You sigh as you sit down in one of Lucienne’s soft armchairs, spine keeping straight and wings hiding away in a blink of an eye—
“Ophelia is no mere mortal, Matthew” Lucienne, who just found out of your involvement seems to be taking this better than the raven “She is a gift to us from Lady Death of the Endless” she nods “If anyone would go to Hell and back without a scratch—”
“I offered” you let out, and Matthew jumped from your shoulder down to your knee.
“Lovely” Matthew ruffles his feathers.
Lucienne’s hands are interlocked behind her back, and her refusal to look at you or Morpheus is clear as day— she does not want to seem disrespectful, nor incite her Lord’s anger by an unwanted comment.
“Lucienne” Morpheus calls, and you reach for Matthew’s feathers in an attempt to look for some kind of comfort.
“My Lord,” she nods, and then tries to look up— knowing he wanted the piece of her mind she was hiding from him “I think your self imposed quest to be a rather admirable one, but—”
“You do not think of it as being responsible of me” he finishes her thought.
She fills herself up with a breath, “I think it prudent to ask,” she begins, “Is the rescue of a single soul worth risking the safety of your entire kingdom?”
You click your tongue, “He did a wrong, Lucienne” you chirp in, dry and unamused “he must make it right”
Lucienne shoots her eyes at you, surprise gleaming through as Morpheus seems to grow still in front of her— not really trying to turn to you.
After a beat, “Ophelia is right,” he gives in, and Lucienne’s shoulders relax when she understands he did not take offense by your comment “What kind of King would I be if I did not risk everything to right a wrong for which I am responsible?”
Matthew sighs, jumping onto the desk “Like every other king” he points out, filled with sarcasm.
“Send someone else” Lucienne tries, soft and trying to coax him into listening “Send me”
“Send me!” Matthew chirps in, “No offense, Philly— but I was supposed to go there from the start—”
“Matthew, sweetheart—” you plead, and he huffs out as he stops his ramblings for your sake “Nobody else will do,” your voice is definitive “the Lightbringer isn’t happy as it is—”
“It would not be honorable” Morpheus walks away, stalking towards the window “Sending Ophelia was already stretching their patience thin—”
“I am coming with you” Matthew insists, fierce and incredibly stubborn as he flies towards the window sill in front of Morpheus.
“It’s too dangerous,—”
“It was too dangerous the first time, and I came anyway!” The raven protests “I was incredibly helpful!”
“Which is why I need you to remain here and be helpful to Lucienne” Morpheus nods “You will answer to her during my short absence—”
“She will need the help” You try to convince Matthew as well.
“She’s got you to help” he points out, turning to Morpheus “Philly’s just as helpful as I am if not more” then he insists “You will need help in Hell”
And Lucienne’s not content either, “What if something happens, what if you get captured or—”
“I am making preparations before I leave,” he turns to the rest of you then “Ophelia will fill you up in the case of what happened last time happens once again, I trust you will respect my wishes and listen to her— as she has promised to be faithful to my design”
Lucienne turns to you then, eyes questioning. You give her a reassuring look, as best as you can muster one.
“I will embark alone, and make sure I return as soon as I am capable of doing so” he nods, looking down instead of the rest of you.
“What of—” Matthew starts once again.
“I need a moment” Morpheus announces, gaze on you all of the sudden and his resolute unchanging. Curtly and decisive.
Lucienne makes a small curtsy before starting to walk away, but Morpheus hesitates and gives into a small tilt of the head “Little bird” he rasps.
Pursing your lips, you nod with a slow movement before standing up and walking out of Lucienne’s workspace— knowing he would be following closely behind.
The new layout of the palace made more sense than the last one, for the Library was closer to the Throne room.
It’s big, spacious— ceilingless.
And you have your neck craned back, looking up at the stars as you try to ignore the sinking feeling of this dreadful silence.
“You have changed your mind” he rasps from behind you, and you need to ignore the urge to look back at him.
“I did not” you respond.
“It looked painful to you, defending my resolute in front of the others”
You hum, “I did not change my mind” you insist “I am convinced now, my Lord, that it what you must do— for Queen Nada’s sake—”
“Ophelia, turn to me” he interrupts and you need to close your eyes— the nebula you were watching directly at left it’s patterns painted in your eyelids.
You deny him, and suddenly you have him right in front of you when you open your eyes— ferocity gleaming blindly in his eyes, and his frown deepening until you understand his own offense can not be kept inside for longer.
“I’ve seen her” you let out, aggravated and affected.
And suddenly, his face is blank as a canvas once understanding crept in.
“I’ve seen what’s come to her” you whisper forcefully, feeling your empty stomach cry at the nausea that was attacking you once more.
“Have I horrified you, little bird?” He rasps, pursing his lips as he gets closer— as his head bows down and his lips ghost over the scar tissue on your shoulder, where the old wound of the day you’ve found him has left a mark.
“Do not—” you whisper, trembling under his touch.
“What?” He rasps, anger seeping through.
“Do not try and make this easy, it is not easy to be this scared” you force out “You had her defiled—”
“Ophelia”
“Dream Lord”
It’s like you physically stroke him, he stumblers back— eyes on the floor and face contorted in pain “I am going to make a right of my wrong”
“One hundred years” you grit out, “they have devastated you, devastated your kingdom— we were barely standing without you” you get closer to him again, talking desperately in whispers— trying to make him see “What of one thousand years?”
He’s still not looking at you, which makes you feel as dignified as one could feel crazed eyed— shaking in fear and anguish.
“Could there truly ever be a right to this wrong?” you ask the question that’s been echoing ever since you’ve seen Nada in that torture chamber.
It stays quiet for a while longer, his eyes still cast down in shame— shame! you think to yourself.
You’ve never seen him in this state before.
“I shall only try” he whispers, “And ask for her forgiveness”
“The same forgiveness your majesty gave to Alex Burgess?” It comes out before you can stop yourself.
His eyes look up at you, sober and drained out of any kind of feeling “I shall trust Queen Nada’s far more generous that I’ll ever be in your eyes, my raven”
You shake your head, hands hurrying up as you cradle his jawline— and his resolve crumbles as soon as you touch him, shoulders slumping as his forehead falls against yours. A sob strokes your soul, singing out against his cheek when you get even closer in your desperation to tear this sour taste his actions have left in your tongue.
“You make it so complicated” you whisper out, his arm around your waist while the other goes straight to the nape on your neck— fingers getting lost in the base of your hairdo.
“How could I make this more simple for you?” He asks, and he almost sounds desperate “How could I keep your heart intact after I have appalled your mind to this extent?”
You almost cry out for him to stay, for him to not go. For him to keep himself safe and soundly right here, to keep on attending to his kingdom— to you.
“Bring her home” you whisper, because this was also the song your heart was singing “Set her free, Morpheus— prove yourself capable of kindness beyond your needs”
His forehead falls until it touches your shoulder once again, and you entangle your hands in his hair.
“Will you do as I asked, little bird?” He asks, and you press yourself further against him— your lips falling against his exposed collarbones.
“He will be ready” you whisper, “I’ll see he’s ready, my Dream, yes”
“Good” he whispers against your skin “He will need you”
And before you can do anything about it, he tears himself away from you— cold and sharp, not even sparing another look as he walks towards the grand doors out of the throne room and straight towards Hell and hopefully, back.
Leaving for his love, underground— all the way down towards her, to bring her back to life.
Like father, like son you think to yourself.
“Ophelia?” sounds behind you after what it felt like ages, you’re still hugging yourself in his throne room and the nebula is still working non stop up in the nightsky—
“Lucienne” you call, reaching up to dry your tears.
When she sees you’re not turning to face her, “Is there anything I should know now that the Dream Lord’s gone?”
You swallow, “He made me promise not to let you know unless it was strictly necessary—”
“Alright” she sighs, then “Is there anything you should want me to do now that the Dream Lord’s gone?”
You turn slowly to her then, breathing in air “I think—” you start softly, “Do you still work on looking for my brother’s dream book?” you ask.
Her temple softens, and her smiles lights up her face “Yes, my dear, I still look for it— I promise, I will find it”
You nod “Good” you whisper “I need to remember”
“Remember?”
“Yes,” you start walking towards her “how to care for a small boy”
And, without even realizing it your feet carried you all the way towards Daniel Hall’s dreamroom— now up in your astronomy tower.
Lord Morpheus x Fem!OC (Ophelia)
002: midnight meadow -> CHAPTER INDEX
sequel to tragically earthbound
English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!
summary: his fears are a mirror of his faults.
warning: not that I can think of
previous: 001 / next: 003 / read it in ao3!
It started with a suggestion. A small, insignificant suggestion about how you wished the stained glass skylights on the ceiling could disappear for a moment so you could witness the nebula birthing new stars all across the Dreaming— the light outside projecting shadows all over the floor, tinting the throne room in blues, violets and greens. Creation casting bruises all over the plane, the mountain at the distance looked like a painting in oil that an artist was taking their time with for the colors would constantly change.
By the next morning, he pressed everybody out of the palace to start renovating— every member of his staff was gathered on the bridge that connected the palace with the rest of the housing in the Dreaming, looking up at the workings of their King.
“This is a bit much, even for him” you complain, perched on top of the shoulder of a stone statue knight guarding the long bridge. Your cheek was being squished by the heel of your hand, your elbow on the cold head of the sculpture. Lucienne was reclining back on the railing beside it, looking up at the blue, silver and gold fabric of magic he was wielding all around his home— face serene and a dreamy kind of look in her eyes.
Pride, you would guess, for her King’s large display of magic. Something sweeter in her eyes, almost too nurturing for you to stare at it and not feel caught up in her softness. Like a blanket of care and warmth.
“If I knew he was going to make a whole new palace, I wouldn’t have spent so much time repairing the old one!” Mervyn protests, arriving from the fields further away from town— turning to him, Matthew flies away from your shoulder onto his.
“But then you’d have nothing to complain about” the raven speaks with a sharp and measured tone of sarcasm, and you snort as your wings flap. You fly down from the stone statue and sit on the railing besides Lucienne.
“Quiet now, do not distract him” Lucienne warns, and you hum.
“Loosh’s worried he’ll mess up the layout of the library yet again” you nod, smiling as your head falls on her shoulder.
“He is working” she insists in your silence.
The bridge’s shaking and the water is filled with ripples underneath all of you— you wonder how the people of the water were braving this up. Apart from the town on the surface, Dreams and Nightmares made home on the vast river of the Dream Land that surrounded the Palace and disembarked on the sea further up north— where beaches clashed with forest. They had submarine neighborhoods. Coral houses and gigantic sea anemones, colorful and filled with life.
Energy is thrumming all around you, “Have you ever noticed there are anemones in river waters?” you ask your companions, “All because he likes it’s colors” you sigh.
“This is the Dreaming, Ophelia” Lucienne reminds you.
“Synonym of dramatics” you joke.
The librarian clicks her tongue, “Synonym of possibilities” she counterparts, and then her tone goes a bit quieter— almost a bit too conspiratorial. “Did you not ask for a throne room with no ceiling?”
Your face flushes, “No, I merely implied how nice it would be to be able to see the night sky” you straighten up, trying to not let her see how embarrassed you were by her implication “Also is his throne room, I should not see how my opinion is of the matter on it” you decide on.
Lucienne hums, “Maybe you do not,” she gives “but he most certainly does” she nods “and he, as per usual, is not alone in it”
Before you can ponder on the meaning of her words, something— stops. Your ears finally rest from the constant pressure of having his power working in such a scale so close to you, now that the magic around the Dream palace stopped on it’s tracks.
Hopping off the railing “Matthew,” you call, urgent.
“On it” and he’s gone before you can even tell him what to do.
“What’s going on?” Mervyn’s scratching his pumpkin head, looking how all the magic around the palace drains itself on thin air.
“I do not know—” Lucienne starts, the staff of the Palace quickly gathering closer to where the three of you were standing.
“His majesty has finished his rebuilding?” Rook asks, the palace’s Master of Keys.
The Dream Palace looks—different. Almost as if it’s not yet done. It stands high and proud either way, and you’re sure what’s missing are only minor details. There are new towers now, more numerous than before, the tallest crowned with an open roof where a great space telescope stretches upward, drinking in the stars. Its walls are built of a bronze-colored stone that seems to catch the light and shift with it—and you wondered if it would be burnished gold at dusk and deep copper at dawn. Around its base, new statues rise: guardians carved from pale marble and dark obsidian, their expressions caught between serenity and sorrow. Windows glitter like fragments of crystal, some arched, some narrow as slits, giving the impression the palace is watching both the heavens and the earth below. The air around it carries a faint hum, as though the structure itself is alive, still growing, waiting to become whole.
Murmurs among the residents of the Palace start, and you look at Lucienne— who’s already looking back at you “I guess it’ll be better to wait on him?” you venture, only for her ears.
She purses her lips, “Shall I tell the staff that?” she asks, and you frown.
Estranged by the fact she’s seeking answers from you.
Flattening your long skirt before speaking up “The royal raven is already on his way to figure out the Dream Lord’s wishes— we shall all go down into town, to the House of Secrets so Abel can delight us with some tea while we wait on him”
They blink a few times before nodding and walking to the opposite side of their home, downtown.
Mervyn rasps, “I have a bad feeling about this”
“Have you ever had a good feeling about anything?” you counterpart, and the scarecrow shrugs before walking away as well.
Lucienne looks back at the Palace before she looks back at you, “Shall we go, then?” she asks, and you purse your lips.
“Our man’s already on the job” you sigh, interlocking your arm to hers. “Let’s wait on Matthew in town for news— plus, Cain’s been dipping his harvest of strawberries in chocolate”
Lucienne smiles, “Those are good news indeed”
It's hours after and no news from him— you wonder where he could be, so you go where you would most likely find him this time of day: Daniel Hall’s dream room. It took you a bit more time to reach it, for the layout of the whole palace changed under his will.
It is not unusual for him to wander off into mortal’s dreams, for there’s where you both would spend your days for hours on end back when the world around you did not know more than your black wings and royal messenger's duties. For when he saw you overworked, he used to put his own work in a pause to give you some relief.
And now, when no responsibility nor purpose were held over your head— well, it was his excuse to stray after you for longer that it would seem appropriate for his and your position.
The first few weeks after your return from the Sunless Lands into the Dreaming were spent in bed, recovering from the surgery in which the medics took out your frostbitten toes— but after you were cleared to walk again… you asked for dreams again.
It was an interesting choice, the one he did that night: both of you wandered into the dream of a coming of age girl. It was incredibly vibrant with color, light and warmth. A night in the forest where a tavern welcomed people dressed in the seventeenth century fashion— where she would drink and flirt her way into free beers.
“This is rather odd” you nod, sitting down beside him on a table at the farthest corner “Isn’t she a tad too young to even know what a kirtle is?” you accept the beer as one of the tenders’ offerings.
“The girl’s been feeding herself fantasy books filled with romance and passion,” Morpheus informs, watching around with disinterest “a book of her authorship has appeared in my library this morning, this same dream has inspired it”
You hum, a sly smile coming out of your mouth “You just can not help yourself, can you?” you take a sip of your beer “Prince of Stories” you mock him lightly, knowing how much he liked to be there in the beginning of things— be the first one to witness the creation of something his realm inspired.
He shoots you a warning look behind his long dark hair, the strands curling at the ends— his attire counted on a loose linen shirt, broad at the shoulders and narrowed at the waist, and a pair of dark trousers. He never looked so… common. Unimportant. He was definitely matching with what you were wearing: a white chemise under a light green kirtle that came sleeveless just so the wide linen sleeves of your undergarments could be free.
“I was merely curious as to why this novelty over a time they do not have any nostalgic claim over,” he explains his mind “she has not lived in this age of hunger and violence— it’s illness would’ve crawled into her skin and my sister would’ve taken her in no time has she lived here”
You hum, looking at the carefree girl, pursing your lips “That’s a way of putting it, for sure” you tilt your head “Nostalgia, nostalgia, nostalgia” clicking your tongue “I would not love to be back in the century when I was born, but I would not mind knowing what it was like before me”
He turns to you, interested “Before you?” he asks.
“Yes” you nod “When Gods roamed the Earth and temples would be built for them”
He almost shrugs, “It was nothing special”
You chuckle, “I think some Gods might disagree” you point out “How many have been long forgotten when you still linger?”
“I am an Endless” he reminds you “No end will come my way as long as I keep performing my responsibilities”
“What a relief, Dream” you nod “Imagine me, your poor lost raven without you”
There’s a flickering of a smile on his lips, “I thought you were not my raven anymore, as much as you like to insist”
Your eyes wander away, looking at the faces of the people around the tavern. Their laughter and conversation stood out from the faint music that seemed to be coming out of nowhere “I understand it” you nod.
His eyes study your profile, looking for more than there’s to the eye “You do” and it’s not a question.
“It’s a mind’s trick” you purse your lips, resting back on the chair “A sense of… longing” you try to explain “They’re not mine— but somehow one feels we are theirs, for they came before”
“Mortals seem to transfer all responsibility of their calamities to the ones that came before” he nods, reaching for your own wooden mug. He inspects the contents before giving in and taking a sip.
You hum, “Are you suggesting it’s someone else’s fault?” you venture.
He gives you a pointed look, “There are things that corrupt them, things out of their control— dreams, fantasies and most of it all their desire”
“So you’re deeming yourself not blameless” you give him a sly smile.
“It is my responsibility, is it not?” he points out.
“I would argue that there’s free will alongside their corruption” you nod, “Calamities still break through, and destruction was ever present in the last century of their existence—” wars, horrendous weapons claimed to be built in self defense “even when there’s no one in your brother’s realm to incite it”
He keeps quiet after that, looking at you with that faraway look of his.
When you turn to him, “Have I touched a nerve?” you try to light up his stance.
“Do you ever not touch a nerve, little bird?”
It’s a few moments later when you both step out of the tavern and into the forest, walking mindlessly until you find yourselves out in an open field.
The meadow is dotted with forget-me-nots and white lilies, like water mirroring the midnight sky above. You rest on the grass, watching him walk among the field— picking up a bouquet. Petals float freely in the air tracing his movements. He looks faraway in his own thoughts, lips pursed as he wanders around like he’s bored out of his mind.
There's no end here, where no path leads and no one can find you.
“Dream Lord” you call under your breath, and when his eyes meet yours with that sparkle of the oldest stars in them— you know he’s not as faraway as you think.
He looks away when he notices the amusements in your eyes, and crouches down with his back to you.
You smile despite yourself, huffing as you stand up and make way towards him with the flowers parting at your wake— right until you’re behind him. Crouching down as well, you let your weight on his back with your chin resting on his shoulder and your chest flushed to his shoulderblades.
Your arms embrace his chest around and under his arms as you watch closely the delicate movements of his hands as they arrange the flowers he picked up “Lillies” he rasps, and you hum. His fingers will a silky ribbon out of thin air, and tie the stems together “Are these of your preference?” he asks, handing you the bouquet.
You take the bouquet, smiling softly down at the flowers “Should I answer that?” you ask, teasing.
You note how the corner of his lips lift up, his profile ever so handsome “No” he mouths, “You prefer poppies” he clicks his tongue.
He secures your wrists, and stands up— taking your weight on his back before slowly letting you slip down, your feet on the grass. As he turns around, he doesn’t let your arms unfold away from surrounding him. He looks down at you, his eyes casting warmth wherever they touch.
“So many years in between and you still feel the same to me,” he whispers, his knuckles caressing up your jawline “will there ever be a day when I won’t count in that certanty?” Is needy in it’s own rawness.
“Is it reassurance what you’re looking for, my Lord?” you ask softly, a ghost of a smile on your lips.
His hand squeezes your waist as he looks away, pursing his lips— and you know he was trying to not give into your teasing.
“Because there are not enough words in every single language in existence, nor in the ones that will exist later on the line—” you start “to make sure that your majesty will trust against his loneliness”
The hand on your jawline crawls up until his fingers entangle in the hair behind your ear, “Would it be unfair to ask for you to try?” he breaths out, taking a step closer.
Your throat goes dry, and your lips purse downward “Dream” you whisper softly.
“I beg of you,” his forehead rests against yours “do not drift away from me”
You begin to shake your head, hands coming up from his waist to cup his jawline— and his lips find the palm that’s not holding the bouquet, like a heartbeat against the hush he forces himself into.
“What’s gotten into you?” you mouth softly, tilting his head slightly upwards so that he can meet your eye “My Dream?”
You can feel him stand still under your touch, eyes turning into something far more vulnerable and turbulent— you barely registered your words when his fingers pull a bit harder at your hair, and your core trembles with an insatiable need unknown to you in every sense. Eyes closing, you mumble “Pardon me”
“No” he pushes out, lips almost pouting at the emotion he’s trying to contain “Promise me, I beg of you”
You open your eyes, and look between his “I know I’ve made myself unreachable at times, my Lord” you whisper “But it was out of hurt, not out of need”
He closes his own eyes for a few seconds, and you feel the need to give him exactly what he’s asking for.
Although, you’re not quite ready yet to make that promise.
“Lay down with me, Dream” you whisper softly, thumbs caressing the apple of his cheek “Rest with me, my Lord— I won’t ask for more”
“You can ask for that, and everything you desire after” he rasps, opening his eyes to look at you through his eyelashes “And I’ll still feel at fault with you”
Laying down on the meadow, you both keep your eyes on each other— and there’s silence for a while.
It’s been months since that moment, and you still crawl back into that memory like it was yesterday— the beginning of his pleas for you. You would never deem your King from being filled with insecurities until now, for he was the ever unbending type.
But he was in some degree scared, you were aware of that now. He’s scared of asking you to stay in risk of a refusal, but furthermore— he’s scared you’re staying out of him forcing his will upon you. Your suspicions over his feelings were always confirmed by the words he would grit his teeth to let out: and yet, you needed him to spill them out.
Because for you, this was not as easy as going blindly after him— not now, not like this.
Not like before.
Daniel Hall had a big imagination for a seven month old babe. He was dreaming himself laying back in a mountain of clouds— trapped between his chubby hands there was a small stuffed toy mouse that squeaked for it was pretty much alive. The room around him appeared to have no boundaries, for you were walking among clouds up in a pale pink sky— the puffed condensed air tinted in yellows and oranges all around you.
To approach him, you had to fly straight to him, kneeling right beside his tiny form on his cloud. His eyes land on you and his mouth falls in an almost toothless smile if it wasn’t for his front top teeth— the small mouse running away as soon as he let’s it go without even realizing as he does grabby hands at you.
“Hello, friend” you smile, hovering over him. Happy he recognized you “Have you seen the big bad Dream Lord?” you ask as his hands grab at your hair “Perhaps lurking in the shadows, watching over you in pitch black?”
The babe mumbles and his little arms waggle slightly, eyes looking behind you— directly to your wings.
You hum, “Curious little thing” your left wing goes down, reaching for him with your down feathers— the ones underneath, the fluffiest and softest “Not afraid of a thing” you mumble “Must be so incredibly freeing, living without learning what fear is yet— could you share some of this bravery with me, little Daniel Hall?”
“If an answer’s what you’re waiting for, I’m afraid he’s far too young to grant you one” you hear behind you, and you scrunch your nose still looking at the child “I’ve already tried to ask for that bargain”
You chuckle, looking at him standing beside you as you tilt your head “Of course you did” you boop the baby’s nose before straightening up and crawling off the cloud “Where were you off to, my Dream?” His eyes go around your face as he stays silent for a bit, and you can read a bit of discomfort in the curve of his lips— anxiety crawling upon you “Have I—?”
“No” he rasps, knowing you were at the feet of an apology “It is not you, sweet Ophelia— it is my siblings”
You tilt your head, “Siblings, so— more than one?”
He looks away from you, directly at the child “All five of them, yes— prodigal still nowhere to be found”
“A family reunion” you breath out, completely amazed “Gosh, to be a raven on your shoulder” you joke, and a small smile creeps into his lips when he turns to you again.
“If it’ll console you, Matthew was not invited either”
“Oh, I know” you nod “He went looking for you everywhere, my poor sweetheart— so stressed when he could not find you, reminded me so much of myself”
“Aren’t you relieved, then— away from your responsibilities?” He asks, implying your hypocrisy.
You purse your lips, “We were talking of your family reunion” you remind him “Please, my Lord, don’t spare details”
He looks at the babe for a longer second, before turning to you once more “I feel like— I haven’t been fair”
And you tilt your head, knowing this as a textbook “What has Desire said?”
He stops, eyes cast down, looking at your collarbone instead of your eyes “When have you learned me so well?”
“I’ve had plenty of time” you take a step closer, “Dream? Have you allowed them to get under your skin yet again?”
He purses your lips, “Death agreed with them”
That brings silence to you, looking a bit shocked “Oh?”
“And I’m afraid— I haven’t been fair” he nods carefully “Unjust beyond repair”
You frown, and your hand goes to his colder one “Please, Dream— whatever it is, let me help with it”
He looks up at you now, “I will need you to support my decision— for I will find resistance once I tell the rest of them”
His ambiguity exhausted you.
“Please, Dream” you insist “What have you done that’s so terribly wrong in the last two thousand years that we couldn’t fix?”
“It’s what happened ten thousand years ago that concerns me” he reveals “I’ve hurt the one I claimed to love, little bird— and I can not ignore it no more”
There’s something sour rising up from your stomach, and you fight the feeling of impending doom crawling back into you— his claws making you bleed inside.
It’s later in the night when you crawl back into the newest astronomy tower, ignoring it’s shiny new things— the poured out love he put in your new rooms.
Walking straight towards your small bookshelves, you take out one book with beautiful gold letters over a deep blue velvet binding— it’s title is “Midnight meadow”. You open it up in the page marked by two dried up white lilies, straight into chapter seventeen— the one that described the main character and her lover resting under the stars in a magical meadow.
Feeling your tears gather up, you need to crawl into bed and disappear for a while.
I want you all to know I'm incredibly happy with the support and comments in my series about Morpheus, I had a few very difficult days and coming back to your words has really helped me sit down, relax and write.
Lord Morpheus x Fem!OC (Ophelia)
001: forget-me-nots -> CHAPTER INDEX
sequel to tragically earthbound
English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!
summary: the bond between your Dream Lord and you is still a bit fresh in it's novelty.
warning: not really
previous: prologue / next: 002 / read it on ao3!
With both fists around your skirt, you walk out of the maze to become face to face with just a few of the Dreaming habitants— Lucienne is standing right besides Fiddler’s Green, hands behind her back as she listens to him with a smile, the crooked flower crown you gave her was on her head still.
Matthew flies overhead and lands on your shoulder, “Any chance you know where the boss’ at?” he asks just as the rest notice you coming up the stairs to the terrace, your hand goes to his neck and you scratch his feathers.
“He’s gone to his business” you nod at the rest as well, “Will be back shortly” you give Gilbert— how your friend’s calling himself now— a quick smile before passing them both towards the high table.
“What are we to do, then?” You hear him ask, as you pour some wine on the glass you were using before— when you were sitting at his majesty’s right earlier in the evening.
When you don’t hear Lucienne answer, you turn to her— and you’re surprised when not only she’s looking back at you waiting for an answer, but so were the few Dreams and Nightmares still in the garden as well.
You purse your lips, “He did not specify” you begin, unsure as to why it was you they were seeking answers from “But I do not think the King would want to let this display to go to waste”
Lucienne nods, bows slightly out of custom and turns to the rest of the people “As you were, then— everybody” she nods, and the rest go back to what they were doing.
You lift an eyebrow at Gilbert in questioning and he smiles back and easy at you, “Lucienne, Ophelia” he nods “If you’ll excuse me I’ll go back to my place of rest” he announces “It’s been quite the lovely night”
You smile at your friend, and nod as you sit down.
Once is just Matthew, Lucienne and yourself— “Should I go into the maze and wait for the winner?” the librarian asks, walking up the last steps and back towards you both.
“Did Morpheus instruct you to do so?” you ask, a bit confused.
She tilts her head, “He was supposed to be waiting inside himself” she nods “I’m offering instead”
You sip at your wine, “Wasn’t it weird?” you ask, changing the topic and frowning as you look up at her “How they waited for an answer as if Morpheus’ leave ever stopped us from doing whatever we wanted” you chuckle, shaking your head.
Lucienne looks at your profile closely for a second, before speaking once again “That is a beautiful crown you’ve got on, Ophelia” she nods, “I’m sure everybody thinks the same thing” before she starts walking away, she gives you a knowing smile.
You touch your fingers to your head, and your face contorts into surprise as you feel a brand new flower crown on your head— when you take it out cornflowers, daisies and forget-me-nots are staring back at you surrounded by fern leaves.
It vibrated with his magic.
You hum, smiling softly and putting it back on.
Matthew snorts on your shoulder, “Were you and the boss smooching again?”
Your belly was aching from wine, and your shoulders were cold because of the summer breeze coming straight from the opened window. Sleeping on your stomach, your silky nightgown was nothing to conceal the goosebumps on your arms and the ruffle of feathers that came with the air kissing your skin.
The astronomy tower suffered a cozy and warm transformation in the past few months since you’ve claimed it yours: for starters, a bed was brought up with big puffed pillows and silk sheets. The space shaped under Morpheus’ fingertips one morning when he decided your arrangement was a matter to take into his own hands.
Rooms were created for your own amusement, commodities clad in softness. A place to rest, to make home out of.
You sigh softly when you feel the light caress of the back of his fingers going up your spine, right between the begining of your wings— fight against the sun stinging your eyes for morning was rising up on the Dreaming. Opening your eyes, you give into a light yawn as you slowly wake up.
Looking up at him, you gift him a soft smile “You’re back”
“You were dreaming” he mutters lowly, his fingers now brushing your hair with the tenderness you came to know he was able to provide— he was standing besides your tall bed, looking down at you with that faraway look in his eyes.
You close your eyes, nuzzling your face on the pillow before weighting yourself on your shoulder as he sits down on the edge of the bed— back against the headboard, hand coming to caress your cheek before falling on the pillow in front of you.
And it was as if he was always meant to be there, laying with you.
“It was crystal blue water, and there were plenty of little fishies” you nod, recalling your dream “I was sunbathing on a piece of wood, and your sister was there”
“My sister,” he mutters, a question behind it.
You hum, nodding “Delirium, of course” sighing “She was going on and on about the different colors of their scales, handpicked a few to make them bigger— one almost swallowed her”
There’s a ghost of an amused smile, his eyes still so far away— and you knew he was not here to ask about your dreams.
“Dream” you call, tilting your head “Can I ask about it?”
“You can ask about anything and everything” he reposes, his hand reaching for yours— eyes watching them closely.
“Well, yes” you nod “But since you had to go on your own—”
Your voice dies down, and you look down at your hands too— his fingers play with yours softly, mindlessly. They were cold but welcoming to the fullest, especially when it came to you.
“I was asked by Calliope to come aid her—”
You tried for your fingers to not mimic the way your heart stopped it’s movements— tried to not look up at his eyes.
“I had no way of knowing it would be safe for you to roam in the Waking World with me if she was in need of my help”
“The Waking World?” You ask, looking up at him now as confusion crept in.
“She was being held captive,” he explains “a man trying to kidnap her inspiration and genius, to keep her all to himself”
And something in his voice makes you want to crawl inside of him, to mold your body at the curve of his— hold him across and through this pain, this reminder.
“How is she?” You wonder, worried and touched.
The ever kind, loving and angry Calliope. The one who received Dream’s letters with the same disinterested pout in her mouth, but the same warm hands that would put you on her shoulder and wander alongside the riverline of her home for hours on end— just asking about her son, and how he was enduring his time in Naxos in between her visits. Back then, you were Dream's link to the rest of the realms. Contantly flying out and back from the Dreaming, reaching whoever he needed to reach. Mostly his own family.
Dream’s eyes wander around your face, and you cave in. You rise on your knees, crawling closer to him until his arms mold themselves around your waist and your side is pressed against his body— climbing on top of him like a grapevine, all eveloping and entangling limbs. He lets go of a breath when your temple rests against his collarbone.
“She was kept away for sixty years”
Pursing your lips, you lull your head back to look up at his profile— you came to realize something quite concerning about these news: Orpheus was right to be worried about his mother. You visited the demigod every couple of years while Dream was gone, hoping he would abandon everybody but his own son— hoping it would only be matter of time before the priests heard something, knew something.
Back then, you would not discard the possibility of him leaving instead of being held captive.
He must've seen the doubt in your eyes, so his own became colder.
“Will you keep your words from me just as everybody else does?” He inquiries, and you note the edge in his undertone.
“That’s hardly fair” you protest softly.
He purses his lips, and looks away.
“Dream” you call “you know your temper’s not trustworthy”
“Speak freely” he insist, and he sounds tired “All I ever want is to know”
You look away for a second, “Even if I speak of Orpheus?”
Is the first time you've said his name in front of the Dream Lord.
His arms go slack around you, and he looks at you like you just crossed his face. Before he can fade away and hide, “I won’t ask you to speak of him if you do not wish to do it”
“What is it that you wish to discuss?” He's biting his words so hard you wonder if it'll draw blood.
You look around his face, “He mentioned—” you start “he mentioned Calliope missing visits… how much time she kept away from him” you tilt your head “He said—”
“I do not wish to listen to my son’s words”
You keep quiet for a few seconds, then you sigh “I just think, it adds up— and it’s a good thing you came to her aid when no one else would… I was so caught up looking for you I didn’t even—”
“Her well being is not your responsibility”
You need to bite the words that shoot in your mind, because if he came to aid her— did it mean he still felt some sense of responsibility towards his past wife? Even after two thousand years of separation.
Jealousy grows inside yourself into rotten fruit, something Desire would surely look at and decreet it to be perfection. Only, the shame that poisoned it was too much for you to take. These feelings were uncalled for, and useless in the face of the deep devotion that drove your love for Morpheus.
For your bond was not the same as the one he shared with Calliope.
Doesn’t matter how much liberties your hands would allow themselves with his body; doesn’t matter how welcoming and willing he was with your small indulgences, those he took pleasure in when your shyness didn’t make you turn him away.
You think back to those moments now— and fail to notice when exactly the allowances started. Maybe right after you wings tore your skin from inside out, when his need to touch you and make sure you were real had been beaten with urgency within him. Or when you needed his body close to you to make up for a century of not being able to rest upon him.
But there was something more now.
Something needy, ferociously hungry in the way you both would seek each other: secrecy and discretion became of the matter as well, a development you would’ve never expected. They were some kind of makeshift trysts, stolen and more often than not unplanned moments; a surprise rendezvous everytime his majesty felt especially wanting and unwilling to tolerate his longings.
Except that one time Matthew actually saw you both, sharing an embrace that was anything but friendly.
Then came the death threats to the raven, and he would never allow you to forget that he was in fact already dead.
You’re brought out of your thoughts by something incredible: Dream hesitating.
When you look up at him in question, his hand is on yours again— “I was just wondering,” he rasps, low and doubtful “I’ve been tempted” and it’s so incongruential, you need to squeeze his hand.
“Dream?” filled with confusion.
He looks up at you, pleading for you to understand him without words— to spare him from speaking his mind when he feels it so unfit.
“Ever since you’ve brought me home,” he starts “you’ve inspired me far more than anything else in the last millennia” he rasps, hard and difficult “and I’ve been tempted to keep it all to myself”
“Dream” you insist, because you know where his mind is wandering.
“I can not help but wonder, have I not done the same to you?”
His silence, his unbending scrutiny when you would not share yourself with him— the rain keeping you inside his palace walls for days before you decided to break free.
You look around his face, “No” you let out.
“Have I not bound you here, kept you all to myself?”
“Is it my freedom the thing that’s troubling you, my Lord?”
And he almost winces at the formality.
“Because I do not want it if it means you’ll be kept away from me”
“Do not speak like that”
“Dream” you insist again, “I’ve flown the world— soared heaven, hell and hades looking for you” you point out “Do you think I would doubt it for a minute? To give all of that time up in exchange of you being free from that cage?”
“You did doubt it”
And he was right, for you begged him to be taken by his sister in the form of a raven— to not allow you wander around as a girl. To let you bleed out in his hands, safe and sound there where nothing could ever hurt you again.
And he denied you.
You stutter “That was before”
He looks between your eyes “Before” he rasps out.
“Yes” you nod, looking away “Before I knew what was to come”
He looks around your face, and you know by now you’ll never decipher what he's looking for.
“Foolish” he mutters.
And the temperature of the room shifts into something lighter, something warmer.
You need to smile, “Am I foolish?” you look up at him, amused.
“Senseless” he nods, a ghost of a smile as his forehead comes to rest against yours.
“I would not know about all that” you push back at his forehead.
“I would”
It leaves you a bit breathless, and he knows it.
Which makes this all the worse.
“You liked your gift?” He wonders.
You frown, and then you remember “Daisies and cornflowers” you smile at him, “Forget-me-nots” you hum “Is there something you were trying to tell me, my Lord?”
He huffs out, pursing his lips in annoyance at the formality “And here I was, deeming you careless enough to forget about the meaning of flowers”
You gasp in offense, “Careless!” you’re scandalized, and it brings out a smile out of him.
“Utterly unattentive”
And when he kisses your nose, you’re sure all past of his can be put aside for his future was all you were expecting to cling to.
Hiiii i wanna ask if you have an AO3 account? abd if you have whats the user?
Hi! I'm actually working on that! I'm planning on publishing my series about Morpheus first and then the rest of my work! I leave you my user and dashboard linked here: frostbitten_x
