please read this even if you're not indian. especially if you're not indian.
you've seen the jokes. india is "dirty", indians are "everywhere", why don't they fix their own country. ok. let me tell you why, and what's happening right now while nobody's watching.
first, the history you skipped: britain ruled india for two centuries and drained it. economist utsa patnaik's research estimates around $45 trillion in today's money was taken. the india that got independence in 1947 was one of the poorest countries on earth. every "why is india like this" question starts there. you don't get to profit off a robbery and then mock the crime scene.
now, what's happening RIGHT NOW:
in may the question paper for NEET leaked. that's the national medical entrance exam. over 2.2 million students took it. cancelled. years of studying, families' savings poured into coaching, gone overnight because someone sold the paper. students died by suicide after. these were kids who wanted to be doctors.
and out of that came a protest movement. a gen z group called the cockroach janta party, started by a 30 year old named abhijeet dipke, got 22 million instagram followers within DAYS. they've been doing a sit-in at jantar mantar in delhi demanding education minister dharmendra pradhan resign.
and then there's sonam wangchuk. if you've watched 3 idiots, he's the real engineer the character was based on. built solar schools in ladakh. invented ice stupas so himalayan villages have water. spent his whole life on education. he's 59 and he's been on hunger strike for 17+ days now. reporters went to see him this week and he was too weak to talk. and the troll armies are calling him "anti national" and "foreign funded". a man starving himself for other people's children. that's the thing here, anyone who asks a question is suddenly a traitor.
it's not one incident, it's everywhere you look:
• infrastructure worth thousands of crores failing within months of the ribbon cutting. tunnels collapsing in regions where heavy rain is a guarantee, not a surprise.
• youth unemployment near 10% for ages 15 to 29, 13.6% in cities. in a country of 1.42 billion where more than half the population is young.
• only about the top 3% of indians earn above 10 lakh a year. meanwhile billionaire wealth keeps ballooning and the headlines celebrate it.
• manipur burned for over two years. an ethnic conflict, tens of thousands displaced, and the prime minister barely said the word manipur while it happened.
• journalists raided. critics' houses bulldozed. activists sitting in jail for years without trial under laws like UAPA. our press freedom ranking has cratered.
• even the petrol is a fight now, ethanol blending pushed through while drivers complain about their engines and get no straight answers.
and through all of it, the PM, who came to power on religious polarisation (americans, sound familiar?), travels abroad for photo ops and has not held one single open press conference in over a decade. not one.
what i'm asking:
if you're not indian: share this. our media mostly won't cover any of it because the big outlets are owned by the same billionaires the government serves. the only reason wangchuk's fast is getting any coverage is people refusing to look away.
if you ARE indian: speak up even if you're comfortable. especially if you're comfortable. join the protests. add to this, correct me, translate it. staying quiet is a choice when nothing in this post touches your life.
india is not "dirty". india was robbed, and it's being robbed again, from the inside this time. but it's also the country where a 59 year old will starve for strangers' kids and 22 million young people will rally behind a party literally named after cockroaches, because cockroaches survive everything.
ok typically not one to talk ab politics or whatever or much ab myself on here, but AS an indian born and living in america I can tell you that wealth/power/status gaps are INSANE in india. they bleed into every facet of life and i honestly think it's the main cause for many of these issues.
the 10 lakh salary point is NOT a joke. that's around $13,000 btw.
this is coming from someone whose family had the privledge and status to immigrate to the US on a sponsored greencard. what's fascinating though, is that all that status comes from my dad's side, who are basically the definition of generational wealth. my mom's side? considered middle-class, but built everything from nothing after their father died and they lived off a widow's pension.
and the two sides are night and day. from education, to social connections, to "servants" around the house (yes, this is the messed up term used for maids, cooks, drivers, etc.), to clothes, and homes. if you think owning a house is hard in the us? owning one in india is practically impossible unless you're wealthy. if you've got the money, you can practically buy your degree. but if you don't? if you're putting every paise into your education just to have your exam, and future, canceled?
i could honestly write a thesis on how wild the disparity is bc of the way my mom's side / my dad's side is. but what it boils down to is: if you've got money in india, the world is your oyster. but if you don't, movements like the cockaroach party might be your only hope.
morpheus has this inevitable chemistry with any character that he interacts, I don’t know if it’s because he’s autistic and he doesn’t know how to interact with other person or he is just a weirdly charming man that flirts with everyone constantly even if he dosen’t realize
if you see me liking contradicting headcanons for the same character just know it's because I do not give a fuck and I have an active imagination #hewouldsaythat
Summary: A forced rest is thrust upon you following devastating news about your daughter.
Tags: pregnancy, angst, sexual content (MDNI, 18+), fluff, hurt/comfort
Series Masterlist
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A/N: This is a long-ass chapter. Sorry.
You blinked blankly as you considered the possibility.
“You’ve stayed here, despite what I’ve done to you, because you cannot bear to be without me, just as I cannot bear to be without you.”
“Not because I care for you or love you,” you laughed, bitterly. “Because I shall never again feel either of those things for you. I shall feel nothing but contempt and disdain for you from this day on.
“I suppose I did break that vow,” you breathed, before looking back up at him to find gentle reassurance in his eyes. And a shaky, scoff of a laugh escaped you then. “Of all the things to lose my divinity over,” you whispered, bitterly. “All these centuries of weathering this pain and heartache, only to lose it for… this,” you cried.
And the loss of your divinity, this last connection you had to your people was too high a cost for your love. So he knelt closer to you, placing his palms out before you as he spoke softly to you.
“Give me your hands,” he directed. You stared at his pale fingers, studying the lithe digits warily before placing your shaking ones atop his. His fingers closed around yours, and as his eyes fluttered closed, he poured himself, that indescribable, transcendental quality that made him Endless, into you.
You inhaled sharply, your eyes shooting open as the color and vibrancy of the realm seemed to return. You felt your magic well inside of you, and the ache from your fall dissipated instantly.
A breathy, unsure laugh left you then, and his eyes opened at the light sound.
“What did you do?” You asked, and he smiled softly at the sight of your relieved, renewed form.
“I’ve simply rendered you whole. As you were. As you are meant to be.”
But your smile dropped then, and you gripped his hands tightly as you spoke. “What about you? Are you alright? How did you –”
He silenced your worry by running his thumbs across your knuckles. “It is an ability of the Endless to raise mortals to the level of gods,” he explained. “Restoring a goddess to her former divinity is no great cost of my power,” he assured you. “Certainly not if said goddess is my wife, and her divinity was lost for the undeserving crime of loving me once again,” he added, with amusement twitching his lip.
“Well,” you began, a slow smile turning your lip, as well. “When you phrase it that way, I suppose it is the least you could do.”
His smile widened then, before he shifted beside you. He watched you carefully for a moment, recalling how you had recoiled from his touch earlier, before placing a delicate arm around your back to help you up. You pushed off the ground, but your other hand went to his arm for support and his breath hitched at the feel of your hand on him.
“Thank you,” you breathed, as you peered up at him. You were steady on your feet now, but you couldn’t seem to remove your hand from him. Just as he seemed unable to move his arm from you, his fingers lingering still at the curve of your hip.
You watched his gaze drift from your eyes to your soft lips, and as his fingertips pressed gently in the supple flesh of your hip, you knew what would come next.
So you slid out of his hold with downcast eyes as your hand fell away from his arm. He let you go, his hands and arms suddenly feeling useless without you in them. You spoke then, eager to avoid the tender act you knew you weren’t ready for, but your voice still shook from the gentle way he had held you.
“If you’re not here to punish me for my mortality,” you asked, quietly. “Then why have you come?”
And he swallowed thickly at your belief that punishment was the only reason he would seek you out.
“The physicians told me that you had thrown everyone out,” he explained, opening his eyes to gaze down at you. “That you refused them, your maids, even servers with your food. I came to convince you to let them see you. To let them help you.”
You swallowed thickly as you realized they had told him. They had told him how your daughter’s heartbeat was weak, thready. How in this time when you were her sole carer, when her health was entirely your responsibility, you had failed her. Failed him. You turned from him then, shutting your eyes and wrapping your arms around yourself.
“I wanted to be alone,” you explained, quietly, as you recalled their findings about your daughter and your resulting outburst. “I didn’t want all those people fussing over me when, when,” you paused, as a broken sob scraped your throat. “When it was my fault! It’s my fault her heart isn’t beating enough! It’s my fault she’s not breathing enough! It’s my fault –”
He couldn’t listen to this any longer. His hand landed on your shoulder before turning you towards him, and pulling you into him. You clung desperately to the fabric of his shirt, wailing your fear and guilt into his chest.
“It’s not your fault,” he soothed, as he held you close. “And they’ve said nothing for certain, my love,” he added, as his hand moved to the back of your head. “There are more tests to run, treatments to consider. And whatever the case,” he pulled you away just enough to peer at you. “This is not your fault.”
But you couldn’t bear the sweet way he sought to console you after you had failed him and your daughter. So you pried yourself away from him, and moved past him towards your bedchamber.
“Isn’t it?” You wondered softly, as you returned to your bed.
He watched you pull the covers high around you, hiding your face and curling your legs as you tried desperately to disappear.
“No, it isn’t,” he insisted. He followed after you, sitting on the bed beside your turned back, and placed a steadying hand to your shoulder. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” he assured you, with a gentle squeeze to your shoulder.
“She’s my responsibility,” you cried. “She is growing in my womb, and it is up to me to ensure her health. If there is something wrong with her heart, it is my fault.”
He sighed deeply at the way you seemed determined to blame yourself for this.
“Since her conception, have you done as the physicians have instructed you?”
“Yes, of course,” you sniffled.
“You’ve eaten as per their instructions? And rested?”
“Yes, of course I have,” you breathed in irritation.
“You’ve submitted to their tests, listened to their results, and adhered to their advice?”
You finally turned then, incensed by the way he interrogated you, questioned your dedication to ensuring your daughter’s health.
“Of course I have, Dream!” You cried out. “I’ve listened to everything they’ve told me – eaten as instructed, rested as instructed – done exactly as told!”
“Then what more could you have done?”
Your anger stilled within you as you blinked blankly at him. And a deep exhale slacked your shoulders as you understood the rationale behind his line of questioning.
“Nothing, I suppose,” you realized, and as the corner of his lip turned at your apparent relief, you suddenly felt embarrassed by your outburst. “I – I didn’t mean to yell,” you added softly, with a darting glance up at him.
“I know, my heart,” he soothed, and his hand moved to cover yours. “Would you allow the physicians to examine you now?” He asked, carefully. “They have a few more tests to conduct,” he explained.
You pressed your lip between your teeth as you considered the possibility of receiving more devastating news. But with the way Dream sat by your side, and how he had reassured you, you found yourself nodding your approval.
“I’ll have them sent in,” he replied, before rising from your side to summon them.
You sat up against the headboard and toyed with the edge of your covers as you tried to comprehend the dizzying ordeal of the past few moments. Dream had learned of your mortality, and not only had he trusted that you hadn’t betrayed him, but he had restored your divinity to you. And he had understood why you had hidden your mortality from him. He understood how fundamentally his actions that night had affected you.
And he had consoled you and assuaged you of your guilt so tenderly. A soft breath of adoration slipped from your lips then, as you considered how gently he had cared for you then. And you couldn’t help the smile that brightened your eyes and eased your soul as he returned to you, despite the line of physicians who filed in after him.
They greeted you with the necessary bows and formalities before listing off the various tests and exams and samples they would take, and suddenly your heart began to beat faster. You had been subjected to various tests before, but never so many at once, and certainly not with the foreknowledge that your daughter’s heart may be weak.
Your eyes flickered over to Dream, who remained at the far wall, eager to give you and the physicians the room. But when he watched you swallow thickly with your brows knit together in worry and your eyes shaky with fear, he rushed forward, stepping through the team of physicians like a parted sea.
“It’s alright,” he soothed as he approached you, his low voice a balm to your worried soul. He knelt beside your bed, looking up at you with kind eyes and a reassuring smile. “You’ll be alright,” he whispered, before glancing over at your belly. “Both of you.”
Your worry eased then, your frightened eyes and wild breathing replaced by a hesitant smile. He relaxed at your relief, glancing once more at you before rising to his feet. He moved then to give you and the physicians some space once more, but you reached for him then and he turned expectantly at the contact.
“Would – would you stay?”
And the sweet way you looked up at him, the soft tremble to your voice, the dear way you clung to his hand – it was almost too much to bear for him.
“Of course,” he breathed, before returning to stand at your side. He offered you one more reassuring glance, and when you nodded with a wary smile, he turned to the team. “You may proceed.”
As they began their barrage of tests, you tried valiantly to avoid letting your fear and worry consume you. You maintained your strong façade all through their prodding and poking, invasive testing and sample-taking. But as they turned to discuss, and hushed whispers of “irregularities” and quiet murmurs of “deficiencies” filled your ears, you couldn’t help but turn away from the physicians and to Dream, who was standing beside your seated form. With a soft whimper of a cry, you turned your face against his leg, as you clutched desperately to the lifeline of his hand.
“Oh, my love,” he whispered, his hand moving to smooth your hair as you pressed your face harsher into his thigh. “It’s alright,” he cooed. “It’ll be alright. She’ll be alright.”
He heard you sniffle harshly and he hoped it marked the end of your tears, but his hand never strayed from your hair as he remained at your side, with your face still buried against his leg.
With an awkward cough and a hesitant step forward, one physician delivered their initial findings. You pulled away from Dream only slightly then, just enough to peer at the physician, but with your cheek still pressed to his leg and your fingers still desperately clutching his.
“Our initial results are greatly improved from the earlier examination,” he began, and you let out a heavy breath of relief as Dream squeezed your hand lightly.
“Perhaps due to the restoration of her divinity,” Dream realized, before glancing down at you. You looked to them expectantly then, only to find one physician smack another with her notepad.
“I told you,” she muttered, before stepping forward. “If your abilities havebeen restored, as some of us suspected,” she paused to glare at her competitor. “The child’s heartbeat may stabilize in time. If this rate of improvement continues, the princess should be in quite good health.”
You removed your face entirely from Dream’s leg then, to peer up at him with bright, teary eyes and shaky laugh at the news.
“But perhaps a few days of bed rest will encourage the healing,” her opponent added, rubbing his arm. The team turned to one another to discuss before deciding on three days of complete rest.
“In the meantime,” a third doctor stepped forward, between the two. “We shall run more tests to monitor the child’s health.”
They took their leave, with minimal jabs between the two warring physicians, and you were left alone with Dream at your side. He turned to look down at you with relief at the positive news, but he found you forlorn, with a vacant stare.
“If I had told you earlier, this wouldn’t have happened,” you breathed, in a daze. “You could have restored my divinity months ago and she never would have been hurt,” you realized, staring blankly at the wall. “She would have been fine, if I had just told you.”
“She will be fine,” he reminded you. “And you were frightened then. You weren’t sure what I would do after learning of your mortality, and after what happened in Faerie,” he sighed, recalling the fear in your eyes that day and just moments ago. “This is not your fault, my love. And as the physicians have said, she’ll be alright in just a few days,” he assured you.
You squeezed your eyes shut and let yourself cling to his words. “Okay,” you whispered. “You’re right,” you nodded, before forcing a smile.
He watched your hesitant contentedness with a careful eye. He laid his hand on the bed by yours, gently grazing your fingers as he proposed an admittedly bold idea.
“If you’re to remain here, in bed for three days,” he paused to gauge your initial reaction, wary of pushing too far as he had before. “Perhaps I could keep you company,” he suggested.
“For three days?” You wondered. You hadn’t seen him in three months, and even before that, you had only met with him for a few hours at the most.
“Did we not at one time spend entire days in bed together?” He reminded you, and blushing smile graced your face as you recalled the days you would spend in bed with him. Of course, much of it was spent in blinding pleasure, but it was the endless serenity of simply laying in his arms, speaking softly to him, tracing lines against his skin that you missed and longed for now.
“I suppose we did,” you replied, with amusement lilting your voice. “But this would be different,” you decided sternly, and he tensed in anticipation that you render this cold and necessary as you had your previous contacts with him. But then a playful smile crossed your face, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he sought to decipher your game. “Three days is an awfully long time to spend with a woman who is six months pregnant,” you warned.
“I had to weather three months without you,” he recalled, with a plaintive smile. “I would do anything to spend even one more day in your presence.”
You blushed a smile at his adoring words, and he squeezed your hand lightly before slipping his hand from yours to sit at the only chair in the room.
You blinked at his rigid form seated across from you. With a roll of your eyes, you let out a breath at his absurdity.
“You look completely ridiculous sitting there,” you huffed. You lifted the other side of the bed’s covers, before beckoning him over with the tilt of your head. “Come here,” you instructed softly, as a smile started on your lips.
The corner of his lip twitched at your invitation and he rose elegantly from the chair, before moving to the other side of your bed. He pulled the covers open more, glancing shortly at you for further confirmation, and when your smile only widened, he slipped underneath the covers and settled beside you.
You turned to him then, unsure what to say in the quiet of your chambers with your worries now eased. There was no loss of divinity or your daughter’s heart issues to fuss about, nothing other to talk about than the two of you. So you watched the way he seemed to search your eyes, the way his lips parted despite not knowing quite what to say, and you couldn’t help but voice the sentiment that had you in tears everyday of these last three months.
“I’ve missed you,” you admittedly softly, before you even knew the words had left you. “These past three months, I’ve missed you so terribly, Dream,” you whispered, as your hand moved to lay over his. “I – I never wanted to avoid you. I wanted to see you every day, but –”
“I know,” he breathed, interrupting your worried guilt before it had the time to ache your throat and prick your eyes. “The physicians told me your mortality began three months ago. Just after we spoke in the dining hall and you stopped seeing me,” he recalled.
“I never wanted to stop seeing you,” you explained, leaning forward as you squeezed his fingers. “And I meant what I said that day. I wish to move forward with you, Dream. As we were meant to. As we dreamt we would,” you whispered, interlacing your fingers with his.
“Are you certain?” He wondered, observing the way you entwined your hand with his.
“Well,” you sighed, glancing down at your fingers interlaced with his pale ones. “Even if I’m not, it seems my divinity is certain of it,” you smirked. “It seems,” you continued in a playful tone, “I no longer hold any contempt for you.”
“And what of the other half of that vow?” He wondered. A smile twitched at his lips as he eagerly awaited the words you had almost uttered when you conceived your daughter.
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes then.
“I suppose,” you sighed, exaggeratedly. “I … might even love you now,” you conceded, leaning closer to him, as you bit your lip to keep from laughing.
But you as you peered up at him, your lip slipped from your hold and fell open as you watched the swirling blue of his eyes. And found nothing but unyielding love and devotion in them.
You leaned even closer then, and as your weight shifted to the palm you had pressed against the mattress, your eyes fell to his plush lips. He watched your tongue wet your lips gently, contemplatively, and his head dipped lower instinctively.
But he held himself just short of your lips, this throat bobbing under the apprehension and restraint. He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t deserve to.
Your eyes flickered up to his, and your eyebrows knit together slightly as you peered up at him in sweet confusion.
“Tell me to stop,” he begged you. His voice was a low rasp against his throat. A desperate plea as he waited for you to reiterate how unworthy he was of your love. “Tell me how I don’t deserve you.”
But you could never do that.
“Never,” you whispered, harshly.
You leaned up, clashing your lips to his in a rough, harsh motion that sent him reeling back. But his hands found their place at the sides of your face, and he leaned you back against the headboard to keep you comfortable. His lips never left yours, though; even as he moved to settle between your legs, he opened his mouth to taste you the way he hadn’t in centuries. And he groaned deep in his chest at the nostalgic taste of your love.
Your hands pulled desperately at him: his shirt, his collar, his shoulders, his neck. They moved wherever they could to keep the warm feel of him under your palms. You whimpered softly at the needy way he devoured your lips and he pulled away at the sound. He searched your eyes from any sign of discomfort or regret, but all he found were your pupils blown wide with lust.
His face hung just above yours, his nose grazing yours.
“Are you sure?” He panted, and your hands moved to the side of his head to tangle in his locks.
“Yes,” you moaned, before leaning up to take his bottom lip between your teeth. “Please, Dream,” you begged. “I want you.”
His lips moved back to yours slowly then, gently, as he realized he had all the time in existence to take you as he had wanted to. As he had fantasized for centuries. The way he longed to the night you conceived your daughter.
You sighed softly into his mouth and your hand fell to the side of his face at the feel of his caring pace. You found his tongue slowly, exploring the taste and feel of him once more. But he pulled away from your curious mouth then, and you frowned at the loss of him. He had thought of something, and it pulled a slow smile to his face as his head dipped lower and his lips ghosted over the side of your neck.
And of course, you didn’t stop him as you had last time.
He placed each kiss strategically, delicately, at every sensitive spot he knew laid along the column of your neck. And a cascade of giggles erupted from you at his feather-light touches. He pulled away then, enchanted once more by the forgotten sound of your joy, and he gazed lovingly upon your face as he worked to memorize every aspect of your delight.
“I’ve missed your laughter so dearly,” he whispered, and his hand moved to trace along the line of your cheek. “I’ve missed the warmth of your joy so terribly,” he added.
“Oh, Dream,” you sighed, as your thumb brushed gently across his cheek. But your smile turned playful then, and you continued in a low voice: “You’ll never miss it again if you keep this up.”
He shook his head lightly at you before returning to traverse the breadth of your neck. He traveled lower, his lips trailing over your collarbones, and you couldn’t help but arch your back to bring your breasts to his attentions. The move had his lips brushing against the top of your breast and his hands moved instinctively to slide the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders.
“I had considered leaving it on.”
He heard your timid voice from that night, and he thought better of his actions. He smoothed the straps back to their previous position, but you dissuaded him. Your hands left his locks to lay over his hands and pull the straps down once more. His eyes darted up to yours for reassurance which you gave in the form of a smile as you tried to shimmy out of your gown.
Your rounded belly proved to be quite the obstacle though. Pulling your arms free had been quite easy, and sliding the material past your bust was easy enough, but you couldn’t seem to move it past your midsection. You frowned and pursed your lips as you tried to shimmy out, but gave up with a grunt of frustration.
“Let me help you, my love,” Dream smiled, as his hands came up around your sides. He could have simply magicked the gown away, but he eagerly took the opportunity to trail his hands down your body.
“And,” you paused with a sigh, as you realized how helpless your next request would sound. “Would you lay me on my back?”
“Of course,” he frowned, confused by the embarrassment you felt at such a simple request. He placed an arm at the middle of your back and with his other hand at your hip, he slid you down the bed until you were lying comfortably beneath him.
“Thank you,” you blushed, your eyes sliding down from his. “I can’t seem to do anything myself these days,” you sighed, as his fingers curled around the material before he dragged it over your rounded belly. “It takes so many maids to dress me now,” you pouted. “And twice the time!”
“Beauty and perfection often take time,” he praised, as you lifted your hips as best you could for him to remove the gown from you completely. He stilled completely then, as he took in the glory of your body laid bare before him. “And you, my heart, are the personification of both,” he whispered, before dipping his head to lay a gentle kiss to the top of your breast.
His hand came up to cup your other breast and you gasped softly as he pulled sharply at your nipple.
“I’ve missed every soft, beauteous sound of your pleasure,” he sighed, just above the swell of your breasts. His hand continued to massage your breast before he dipped his head to take your other nipple into his mouth. He was rewarded by a sharp inhale from you, as your hands gripped his locks. “How I’ve missed the feel of you under my hands,” he rasped, as he continued his travels down your body. He kissed his path down past your belly as his hands found their home at your hips. “The taste of you on my tongue,” he whispered, and you whimpered softly as you felt his lips at your inner thigh.
You couldn’t see him any longer: your belly had obscured his face completely, save for a few unruly strands of dark hair. But your felt his hands at your hips, pinning you to the bed, his breath against your sensitive skin that only had you panting harder in anticipation, and his lips kissing soft, open-mouthed touches at the inside of your thigh, just short of where you needed him.
“My love,” he breathed, inching his way closer and earning another sharp inhale of anticipation. “My heart,” he whispered, as he neared your fold just to switch to your other thigh. You whined your frustration, rolling your hips slightly to get his attention, but he simply pressed his fingers harsher into your hips in refusal. He began another trail towards your core with light, nipping kisses to the softness of your thighs, just another appetizer in the fine meal of you. “My wife,” he sighed, as he tried to recall the last time he had held you open like this.
You leaned your head back with a soft whine, desperate for him to stop playing with his food and simply put his mouth on you. But you knew how he had longed for you, especially these past three months: you could feel it in the way his fingers dug into your hips, the way his lips tasted every part of your body, the way he hungrily took in the sight of you lying bare before him once again after centuries. So you resigned yourself to letting him taste you as he wanted, letting him take his time as he pleased.
He felt your body slack in his hold, and at the sight of your resignation, he decided to forgo the slow, tantalizing kisses he had planned in favor of granting you your pleasure. His lips reaching to latch around your clit in a move he knew would have you gasping in pleasure.
“Ah!” You hissed, sharply, pulling away from him instinctively. He withdrew immediately, moving to look you over with concern at the sound of your pain.
“I’m sorry,” he rushed, removing his hands from you as well. “I didn’t mean to –”
“No, it’s alright, Dream,” you assured him with a forced smile. “I just – I um,” you paused, your skin warming and your gaze dipping from his as you tried to explain the indecent issue. “I – I’m quite sensitive there now,” you muttered, with a quick glance at him.
And he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your shyness, and how it brought him back to the night of your wedding, when the thought of baring yourself to him burned your cheeks.
“Of course,” he realized, letting his fingertips ghost over your cheek. “Perhaps we should stop,” he suggested. “Or perhaps something else –”
“No, please,” you pled, gripping his wrist. “I want this,” you assured him. “Just slower,” you murmured, turning your face slightly. “Gentler.”
“Alright,” he agreed, leaving a feather-light kiss to your lips before resuming his previous position.
He blew gently on your cunt, pausing at the sound of your sharp inhale. He tried it again, and when a broken breath came from your lips, he laid an open-moth kiss to your opening. Your soft moan had him smiling, and he leaned closer to flick his tongue along your folds. You strained against his hold on your hips in anticipation and he continued by letting the tip of his tongue run along the inside of you.
“Oh, Dream,” you breathed softly, and he rewarded you by letting his tongue run flat against you. “Oh,” you moaned lowly, your eyes fluttering closed as you scrunched the sheets at your sides. He licked again, faster now, testing you with a new speed before delving inside of you. You let out a whimper and he paused, but you rolled your hips against his face, moaning when his nose brushed against your clit. The corner of his mouth twitched to a grin at your desperate act and he began his work in earnest.
He played you on his tongue perfectly, as though it hadn’t been centuries since he’d worked you open like this. He licked and sucked your sensitive flesh in just the right way, and just when his ministrations had coaxed your wetness, he would dip inside of you sate his thirst for you. He groaned deep in his throat at your taste: an incomparably sweet nectar that he had been deprived of for centuries.
On the previous two nights he had you – half a year ago now – he watched you slick his cock with your arousal. Your glistening wetness had coated his length as he watched himself disappear within you. He had become mesmerized by the shining sight of it, the wet, slapping sound that it produced, and the sweet smell of your sex that had his mouth watering.
So despite the gasping cry that echoed through you chambers as you came on his lips, he continued to lick and suck and nip at your flesh as he tried to slake his insatiable thirst.
You bit your lip to keep from crying out, and squeezed your frustrations into the sheets to keep from bucking your hips against his face. You knew how he was enjoying this, and the last thing you wanted was to deny him, but you weren’t sure how much more you could take.
“Please, Dream,” you cried, finally, your abdomen aching at the approach of another climax. “I – I can’t,” you wept, nonsensically, as you tried to communicate the devastation another orgasm this soon after the last would cause you.
He licked one final stripe against your core, his tongue curling to collect as much of your ambrosia as he could before pulling away from you. He leaned over you then, his thumb moving to the corners of your eyes to brush away your tears.
“Are you alright, my love?” He asked, as his nose brushed gently against yours. You simply nodded, before glancing up at him through your lashes, far too exhausted to speak. “Would you like to rest now?”
“No,” you whined, before tilting your head to press your lips to his. “I want you inside of me, Dream. Properly, this time,” you added, with a soft smile. “Where I can see you,” you explained, your hands moving to flank the sides of his face. “Where I can kiss you,” you murmured, before leaning up to taste him. “Please?” You asked as you pulled away with the bat of your eyes, knowing he could never deny you when you were asking this sweetly.
“I could never deny you, my heart,” he breathed, his lip twitching at your act.
He settled back between your legs with his hands at your hips. His right hand dipped then, a single finger circling your entrance carefully, delicately, as he assessed your sensitivity. He glanced up to find your eyes closed, your bitten lips parted and dispensing soft breaths in time with his circles. So he pressed his fingertip lightly inside of you, pausing when you gasped a beautiful, breathy noise he immediately longed for.
“More,” you whispered, your hip rolling gently against his hand as you tried to coax him in further. “Please,” you begged, but it was entirely unnecessary with how eager he was to please you. He pushed further, one knuckle, then two, watching with fascination as you leaned your head back, with your back arched and your breasts pushed high in the air.
He leaned forward then to take one pert nipple into his mouth and you rewarded him with a wide-eyed gasp. Your hands rejected the bed sheets for the silky feel of his strands beneath your palms. You tugged lightly as his tongue flicked over your hardened peak and his second finger entered you. You fell back against the bed as he began to massage inside of you with a determined pace.
He watched your face turn against the pillow, your brows creased as you greedily took the pleasure he granted you, your eyes shut as you felt your climax build, and your hips rocking in time with his pumping fingers. The thought of you working in this way for your pleasure seemed to displease him though, so his thumb moved to ghost over your clit, tapping the enlarged nub with a feathery touch. You gasped a broken, gorgeous moan then, and as he repeated the motion, you tightened around him and soaked his hand with a desperate cry.
You panted wildly as you melted back into the bed, and he ignored the painful hardness trapped within his pants to offer you some respite. He leaned over you instead, leaving kiss after kiss over your face, across your cheeks, upon your closed eyes. He left each adoring touch as an offering across the planes of your face, then your neck, and he aimed to move lower, but your hand moved to palm his length and a startled breath left his lips at the unexpected touch.
“Are you certain, my love?” He asked, gazing down at you before nipping lightly at your jaw. “Perhaps you should rest,” he suggested. “And we could continue this some other time,” he offered, before sucking at your pulse point.
“No,” you whined, your fingers closing around his clothed length. “Now,” You demanded, as your other hand tangled in his hair to pull him off of your neck so you could convey your need for him. “I want you inside of me now.”
His clothes disappeared in an instant, his eyes never leaving yours as he knelt between your legs and brought your thighs over his.
“As you wish, my queen.”
He entered you in a single move that was slow enough for you to adjust to, deliberate enough to account for your sensitivity, but unbelievably possessive all at once. He hungrily watched as you took him, all of him, as though you were meant only for him. Only for his pleasure, his relief. His fingers drifted along the curve of your belly and his eyes softened. As though you were meant to carry his child. To bear his love. To be adored by him. Worshipped, even.
He listened to every strangled whimper, every soft moan, every mewling whine that seeped from your lips as he buried himself deep inside your warmth. And every beautiful noise you made was overshadowed by the low groan that reverberated through him as he bottomed out within you. You clenched around him, testing the size of him against your newfound sensitivity and he grit his teeth against the tantalizing motion.
He filled you completely and this angle was perfection with the way his tip brushed against that spongy spot inside of you. But there was something missing, you realized, as you felt the silky touch of your bed sheets instead of his skin beneath your palms.
You reached up, your hands stretching out for him, but you couldn’t quite reach with the way he was kneeling. At the sight of your desperate need for him, he smiled softly before adjusting his position and shifting your legs upon his hips so that he could lean closer to you.
Your hands moved immediately to his arms and you sighed at the feel of him everywhere at once. A pleased smile spread across your lips and you peered up adoringly at him.
“Better?” He smirked at the way such a simple touch brought you such visceral bliss.
“Much,” you breathed, your smiling etching deeper onto your face as you squeezed his biceps lightly.
He left a gentle kiss to your lips before leaning slightly back to pin your hips in place. He withdrew from you achingly slow, so hesitant to leave you in any way. But his hips found yours once more and he pressed delicately against that spot inside of you that had you seeing stars.
“How long I’ve waited to hold you underneath me like this,” he gritted out, his fingers pressed in your supple flesh as he longed to etch the memory in his mind.
You moaned lowly at the contact and he smirked. You didn’t bother censoring your pleasure as you had the previous two times he made you feel like this. Instead, you gave him more: you forced your heavy lids open, left your mouth open to utter its incomprehensible, unintelligible fragments and moans.
“Dream,” you breathed, your hands tightening around the corded muscle of his arms. “My love,” you gasped, your eyes shooting wide as his pace quickened.
He couldn’t help it. He wanted to continue slowly, to pay close attention to your sensitivity and remain vigilant of any ache he could leave you with. But the way you said his name. The way you moaned it as though that was the way it was always meant to be spoken. The way you deemed him yours with the simple pet name, the way you seemed to finally voice what he thought you had permanently lost for him.
So he continued his pursuit of your warmth, plunging himself within you and masterfully striking the deepest part of you in an endless barrage. If this thrusts were bruising or aching you, neither of you seemed to notice as your mutual pleasure built so exceedingly.
“Oh, Dream!” You moaned once more, and he buried his face in your neck at the way you tightened around him. “Oh, how I love you, my husband, my love!” You cried out, drenching the base of him with your final word.
“Oh, my heart,” he praised you, as his hips stuttered against yours. You felt his cock twitch inside of you and a soft gasp fled your lips as you waited in eager anticipation.
You turned your face against his, your eyes closing at the feel of his cheek against yours and lifted your lips to his ear to whisper, “How terribly I love you, my husband.”
He came with a satisfying groan, his throat bobbing under the force of it, as he shot rope after rope of his essence deep within you. You reveled in the feeling, a smile ghosting over your features as you longed to commit the inexplicable feeling to memory.
“Say it once more,” he panted against your neck. “Please?”
“I love you,” you smiled, with a hand running through his unruly locks. His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed a deep, resounding breath at your simple words. “I love you, my husband,” you breathed, as you pulled him down to lay his head against your chest. “I adore you, my king,” you assured him, as he settled beside you, his eyes closing as he listening closely to the beating of your heart and allowed himself to be comforted by your sweet words.
“I worship you, my lord,” you soothed. “I cannot bear to be without you, my love,” you sighed, as you reveled in holding his face in your hands once more. “I shall never again leave you,” you promised. “I shall never have to go without the feeling of you in my arms,” you realized, with a smile. “I shall never have to hide the words ‘I love you’ again.”
You were so serene. His fingers sifted through your hair, reveling in the softness of your strands as they fell through his fingers. His fingers moved to your face then, leaving your hairline to trace along the line of your jaw, all the way down to your chin. He paused there, unsure which direction to go from there, but you lips proved far too enticing, and his thumb pulled gently at your lower lip.
So soft, so full, so sweet. He just had to taste you once more.
So he ducked his head, capturing the sweet petals with the utmost gentleness before letting his tongue flick out against your teeth. You made a soft noise, something between a whimper and a moan, before opening for him. And he smiled; even deep in your slumber you longed for him.
His fingers returned to your hair, using their vantage point to lean your head back for him as he continued to taste you. There was something sweet, honey perhaps, and something bitter, balsamic even. It was a curious mix, one of the strange combinations your daughter had undoubtedly forced upon you.
But he pulled away with a sharp inhale then, before moving to wake up. A soft breath of laughter left him though, as you frowned deep in your sleep at the loss of him. He placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing gently as he called your name, unfortunately, to no avail. He shook harder then, calling you once more, but you simply grumbled and squeezed your eyes shut before burying your face in his chest.
At least as much as you could manage with your belly in the way.
“My love,” he laughed softly at your act. “You must wake,” he urged you, squeezing your upper arm. “You haven’t eaten,” he reminded you.
“Oh!” You groaned, with your eyes still shut. “I don’t want to, Morpheus! She’s going to make me eat something truly disgusting,” you whined.
“I know, my heart,” he soothed, as his hand cupped your face. “But you must eat.”
“I know,” you sighed, before pulling apart from him and to sit up against the headboard. “But I’m not leaving my bed,” you decided.
“Alright,” he agreed with amusement twitching his lip as he rose from the bed. “I’m sure you must be very exhausted from earlier,” he insinuated, his voice dropping low with suggestion, as he clothed himself.
You blushed deeply then, the suggestiveness of his words leaving you wordless for a moment. “I – Would you just go get me something to eat?!” You rushed, before reaching over to swat his arm. “And hand me my nightgown,” you commanded, as you pulled the covers up around you and stuck your arm out expectantly.
“Well,” he began, as he moved to retrieve your clothing. But the teasing tone he employed had you pursing your lips and watching him carefully. “I could, but you wouldn’t be able to put it on without my assistance,” he reminded you, as he returned with the nightgown in hand. “So, if I pleased –”
“If I pleased, I would kick you out of this room right this second!” You chastised. But your threat was rendered entirely powerless by your uncontainable smile.
His lip twitched further then at the sight of your light scolding. “Here,” he whispered, as he brought the material over your head and you slipped your arms through. He pulled the hem past your belly and down to your ankles before smiling softly at you.
“Thank you,” you whispered, before flanking his face with your hands and pulling him down to your lips.
He pulled away after a fleeting taste of you as he remembered that you would soon be tasting something far worse. He rose then, with a sigh and a question.
“What would you like to eat, my love?” He asked, as he pulled your hands from his face and held them safely in his.
“Well, I would love some pasta. Perhaps with a white wine sauce,” you smiled, at the thought of such a dish. But your gaze lowered to your belly, and your smile soured to a frown. “But she seems to want something different,” you huffed. “A sandwich. With fig jam. And anchovies,” you muttered.
“In the sandwich?” He checked, slowly.
“Unfortunately, yes,” you sighed, and with a slow nod, he placed a kiss to your cheek before leaving you. “And on the side!” You called out, as your daughter now seemed intrigued by the idea.
Dream appeared in a cloud of sand before Taramis only a moment later.
“Oh! My lord,” She greeted him with a short bow, before wiping her hands on her apron. “What may I get you?”
“A sandwich of fig jam and anchovies,” he answered. “For the queen,” he added.
“Ah, a number 6,” Taramis nodded, before moving to the pantry.
“Does she eat this often?” He wondered, curiosity twitching his lip, as he followed her.
“At least once a week,” she sighed, pulling a loaf of bread from the box. “Hates it with a passion though,” she muttered, with a glance at him before slicing the bread. “Can’t say I blame her. Turns my stomach every time I think about it,” she shivered in disgust.
“Our daughter seems to have an… interesting palate.”
“I’ll say,” she laughed, as she spread the jam across both sides of the bread. The anchovies came next, layered neatly atop the jam, and Dream interrupted, recalling your parting request.
“She’d like some on the side, as well,” he added. Taramis quirked a brow but laid the tiny fish in a line beside the sandwich with a shrug.
“This child is going to make quite the picky eater,” Taramis shook her head lightly, before raising the finished plate in hand. “Should I have this sent up to her?” Taramis asked carefully, with a knowing glance at him.
“No,” he replied, his lip twitching to a smile, as he took the plate from her. “I shall take it to her.”
“Oh,” she nodded in deep thought, before letting her smile through. “You two are talking again, then?”
He considered everything else you had done, and worked to keep his smile from turning to a smirk.
“Yes, we are.”
You were properly famished by the time Dream returned, finishing the salty misfortune of a sandwich in four bites. Dream watched with wide eyes as you devoured the thing, listening politely as you complained about the nauseating taste of the meal your daughter seemed to enjoy.
“Truthfully, I believe it’s your fault,” you remarked, reaching for an anchovy.
“My fault?”
“Well, you hardly ever eat,” you began, before swallowing the fish down. “So perhaps she’s simply trying to work with the lack of taste you gave her,” you shrugged.
“‘Lack of taste?’” He wondered, with a half-smile. “I may not eat often, but I certainly wouldn’t choose that,” he denied, with a nod to the quickly-emptying plate in your lap.
“Well, clearly none of these monstrosities are to my liking,” you maintained, as you gulped down the last two anchovies. You let out a disgusted shiver before shoving the plate into Dream’s hands. “So you must have had something to do with it,” you accused, before sliding out of the bed with a groan. “And now I must use the washroom for the fifteenth time today,” you muttered. “Which I blame you for, as well, Morpheus!” You called out, before slamming the bathroom door.
A soft breath of laughter left him at your lighthearted anger. He placed the dish aside before returning to his side of the bed and waiting patiently for your return.
You returned in an entirely different mood: you climbed into the bed with a soft smile and pulled him down to your lips for a long, lasting taste of something far sweeter than your previous meal. You brushed your nose against his as you pulled away, pausing just short of his lips to tell him how you adored him. He returned the sentiment with his fingers grazing your cheek but he stilled when he heard you gasp.
“What is it?” He frowned, but you simply grabbed his hand from the side of your face and placed it against your belly with a grin.
A tiny foot made contact with his palm through your skin and a soft gasp fled from him. He stared in wonder at his hand before his gaze drifted up to you.
“She is… quite strong,” he breathed in awe. He shifted then, his face level with your belly as he stared in wonder.
“She had better be,” you breathed in faux-outrage. “With all the terrible food I am forcing down for her?” But your smile peeked through as your hand went to your side, and you couldn’t help but continue in a soft voice. “I can’t wait to see her,” you sighed.
“Three months more,” he counted. You smile only widened as you found him mesmerized, stupefied by the miracle that was your daughter.
Your hand moved to tangle in his locks, and you used your hold to entice him to your lap. He laid his head down without a word, reveling silently in your adoring touch.
“Three months more,” you repeated with a contented smile.
You settled into an easy silence then, humming softly, just enough for the three of you to hear, when something occurred to Dream.
“Why do you call me ‘Morpheus’ when you’re upset with me?” He wondered, softly, before turning his head to look up at you. “And ‘Dream’ when you’re pleased with me?”
You let out a breath as your fingers paused their motions. You recalled the night he smugly identified your tell and how you had responded defensively in an attempt to disprove him. You peered down at the curiosity that swirled in his eyes and you sighed with a sweet smile.
“Well,” you began, and your fingers resumed their sifting. “I suppose I call you ‘Dream’ most of the time because I find the name quite apt,” you smiled down at him. “You’re ethereal and far-fetched, like a dream. You’re sweet and loving, and everything I’ve ever dreamt of when picturing my husband,” you explained, as your touch left his silky strands to trace along the soft plane of his cheek.
“But,” you continued, and your tone shifted, a dark aching that pulled your voice low and had you swallowing thickly. “When you’re cruel, when you hurt me so deeply I think I could not bear another moment of existence, I find the name Morpheus more fitting.”
His face turned in your hold then, unable to look upon the memories of pain he had scarred you with. You sighed softly at his shame before continuing.
“You change into someone I never thought you could be. Someone other than my husband. Someone so different from my Dream that I no longer recognize him.”
You felt him shift in your lap, but with a steady hand to his shoulder, you kept him in place. Your fingers traveled down to his chin and you turned his face back to you.
“But I haven’t had to call you ‘Morpheus’ in quite some time now, haven’t I?” You questioned with a kind smile. “Except for the times in jest, when you've gotten on my nerves,” you added. “You’ve been the man I’ve always dreamt of – my husband, my Dream – for months now.”
“Dream?” You wondered softly, as your hand smoothed over your belly. He hummed in acknowledgement from beside you and found your eyes fixed on your belly. “When she’s born, I – I’d like it if you were there for all it. For us to raise her together, I mean,” you explained, shyly.
“Of course we will,” he agreed, turning to you with a smile then, as his hand moving to interlace with yours over your belly.
“I don’t want you to miss a single moment,” you added, your gaze still distant from his as you uttered the words you truly meant to say. “After Orpheus’ death, I’m sure you’ll want to spend every minute watching over her.”
There was a tense silence as he pondered your words and you worried that you had ruined whatever growing amicability you had now.
“Orpheus isn’t dead.”
Your other hand pressed flat against the mattress as you pushed to sit up against the headboard.
“What?” You frowned, as you pulled your hand from under his hold. “You said that he had died. When we were in your study, months ago, you said he was he was dead,” you breathed, fury burning deep within you at the uncovering of another one of his lies.
“In many ways, he is,” Dream replied, desperate to quell your anger. “He had made a pact with my sister. He asked her for passage into the Underworld to rescue his wife, Eurydice. But it meant she would not come for him when it was his time.”
You exhaled softly, letting the violation of his lie slide momentarily as you tried to understand in what state this deal would have left him now. Especially considering what you had heard about his attack by the Maenads. “But if the Maenads did as they always do –”
“They left only his head,” he whispered, his vision filled with the sight of his son remains on the sandy shore where he saw him last.
“Oh, Dream,” you breathed, watching his eyes fills with dread and grief. You reached for his shoulders then, pulling him into you. His fingertips pressed into your skin as he fell against you, and you sighed a soft breath as you felt his eyes water against your skin. “I’m so sorry, my love,” you soothed, as your hand rubbed up and down his back. “How is he?” You wondered.
“I – I do not know,” Dream admitted. “I have not seen him since he called to me shortly after the attack.” You pulled back from him then, with your hands at his shoulders and a frown on your face.
“Dream, it’s been almost a year,” you counted. “You’ve not been to see him even once in all this time?”
He watched the judgment in your eyes that soured your voice against him. “He said he no longer considered me his father.”
“What? Why would he say that?” You shook your head.
“He asked that I aid him in retrieving Eurydice. That I bargain with Hades on his behalf. But I refused. Such bargains come at steep costs, most likely at his expense,” he recounted. “I explained this to him, and he announced that he would no longer consider himself my son.”
“So, you refused to see him or speak to him after that?” You repeated. “Refused him any comfort or support?” You exhaled in disbelief.
“He severed any connection between us with that declaration!” Dream breathed in frustration at your repugnance. “Why should I help him if he no longer considers me his father?”
“Because he’s still your son, Dream!” You cried out. “He lost his wife! He was distraught, in pain! He didn’t mean what he said!”
“Then he shouldn’t have said it,” he hissed.
“Right,” you nodded, as you folded your arms. “Because you’ve never said something cruel to someone you loved when you were upset.”
He set his jaw at your words. “That was different,” he insisted.
“Was it?” You breathed an incredulous laugh then. “Perhaps the difference is that he didn’t mean his words, when you did,” you scoffed, bitterly.
“I was upset,” he gritted. “I thought I had lost you to Oberon and I allowed my jealousy and fear of losing you to overwhelm me,” he explained. “But I did not mean what I said to you that night.”
“You couldn’t exactly think straight when you thought you might lose your wife,” you nodded, reiterating his words. “So how do you think your son felt after he lost his wife?” You asked, gently.
He sat in silence then, peering at you as he realized the scheme you had played. “He didn’t mean it,” he breathed, with a distant gaze.
You placed your hand over his, you thumb brushing gently over his pale fingers.
“You should speak to him, Dream. You should see how he is, at the very least.”
“I – I cannot,” he sighed. His hand moved to curl around your fingers as he clung to you. “He asked me something that day he called to me. Something I cannot grant him,” he whispered. He watched you purse your lips and wait, so with a deep breath, he forced himself to continue. “He asked that I, that I kill him,” he breathed, finally.
You simply stared at him – blinking eyes and parting lips, but nothing to say. Orpheus’ wish for release was understandable. And true enough, he would need a powerful being to perform the act and overcome whatever magic the Maenads could not. But to expect Dream to do it? You let out a broken breath, wondering if Orpheus simply thought Dream wouldn’t be bothered by committing such an act. That the mere thought of granting such a request would destroy him.
“You don’t have to grant him that, Dream,” you sighed. “And if he were to ask once more, perhaps you could dissuade him or, or, I don’t know,” you breathed, shaking your head as you tried to consider the possibility. “But you should still see him,” you urged.
“What if he does not wish to see me?” He wondered softly, and his head hung low. “I – I said something truly unkind to him before I left him.”
”Your life is your own, Orpheus. Your death, likewise. Always, and forever, your own. Fare well. We shall not meet again.”
“Something no father should say to his son,” he realized, his shame lowering his voice to a barely audible level.
You watched his guilt mix with his shame and pursed your lips. You were quite well-versed with Morpheus’ unkind words, but if you could forgive him, you hoped his son could, too.
“I admit that I do not know much about Orpheus,” you began, your gaze falling low. “That I did not want to know,” you confessed. “But you’re his father,” you reminded him. Your hand moved to Dream’s chin then, lifting his head and forcing his gaze to connect with yours. “I’m sure he wants to see you,” you assured him. “And if you show him how you regret what you’ve said, I’m certainly he’ll forgive you,” you added, with a hesitant smile, hoping it would convince him.
You had held him then, with sweet reassurances and soothing touches that left him determined to make peace with his son. And you had shifted to a lying position on the bed as the moonlight streamed in and beckoned you to sleep. But despite the moon’s lullaby and your heavy eyelids, there was something that lingered still on your mind. Something that had been on your mind ever since you had lost your divinity.
“Vantaros will be mortal any day now.”
Dream tensed behind you, his arm over your waist stilling as his head rose to peer at the side of your face.
“What’s happened?”
“He’s met someone,” you recounted, with a fond smile on your face. “A mortal whose love has compelled him to cease exploring. To build a life with her where they are now.”
Dream laid his head back against the pillow as his fingers traced patterns over your skin.
“And as he stops exploring, he will lose his divinity,” he realized.
“He will become mortal and he will die,” you whispered. “And I will be alone.”
“But I will be there,” he thought. “Will that not be enough?” He wondered, but he pushed aside his hurt to offer a suggestion.
“Perhaps I could restore his divinity as I have yours,” he suggested. “Or ask my sister not to take him, as she has agreed with Hob Gadling.”
You smiled softly at his sweet offer before pulling his hand from your side to raise it to your lips. “No, my love,” you breathed, as you left a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “That’s very sweet of you to offer, but that would not be his wish,” you explained, before closing your fingers around his hand and pulling it to your chest. “He wants to be mortal. He could not bear to outlive his love,” you recalled. “I am lucky then, that my love is not mortal,” you sighed, contentedly, before leaning back against him. “That I shall live, all our lives, in his loving arms,” you smiled, as your eyes closed and you melted in his hold.
But his body went rigid then, and you felt his throat bob behind you. And you knew exactly what was on his mind. So you spoke softly, but assuredly, squeezing his hand tight against your heart as you removed every ounce of pain from him.
“Those centuries do not count, Dream. Not when all of existence lies before us.”
The next morning arrived like a fairy tale. The sunbeams filtered in through the billowing curtains, birds chirped their morning songs, and you woke in the arms of your love – the perfect picture of the words “happily ever after.”
Your lady’s maids let themselves into your chambers, as they usually did: one shuffled off straight to your washroom, two to your dressing chambers, and one poor soul to your bedchamber to rouse you for the day.
Unfortunately for her, Dream was entirely captivated by the beauty of you asleep. His fingers traced over the line of your jaw, the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hip. His hand drifted further then, his fingers sliding over your mound until his was cupping your cunt in his hand. He sighed softly at the warm feel of you, and though his fingers ached to plunge inside of you, he forced his hand back up to your hip. His eyes worked to memorize every inch of you with his nose pressed against your neck to determine the exact notes of your enchanting scent.
So he hadn’t noticed the line of maids entering your chambers or the meek young one at the entrance of your bedchamber now.
Her eyes shot wide at the sight of her lord above your sleeping form and her throat ran dry as the bedcovers slid down past his waist, past his lower back, and –
Thee poor maid turned her back with a short gasp as she covered her eyes. Certainly both tactics weren’t necessary, but with what she had almost seen, she was sure it wouldn’t hurt.
“I – Apologies, my lord, my lady!” She squeaked out.
Dream turned at the sound, peering at her over his shoulder. But you made a soft sound as you rustled beneath him and he turned his attentions back to you with a smile.
“Good morning, my love,” he whispered, before placing a kiss at the tip of your nose and moving to sit beside you. You giggled softly in response, but as his body cleared from your view, you stilled and a gasp fled from you at the sight of your lady’s maid seemingly frozen at your chambers’ entrance.
“I – Um, I came to wake you, my lady,” she explained, with her back still turned to you both. “Shall I go see if Imogen requires any assistance?”
“Yes, of course!” You rushed. “I – I am so sorry, Alice. Please excuse us,” you breathed, your heart beating in your ears.
She offered a short curtsy before quickly scurrying off to aid her companion.
“Oh,” you groaned, as you covered your face with your hands and fell against Dream’s shoulder. “That was mortifying!”
He placed an arm around your shoulders, soothing you gently, as he spoke. “I’m sure they won’t speak of it,” he assured you, with an amused smile at your shyness.
“I know they won’t,” you sighed, as you shifted to exit the bed. “But I still feel terrible,” you grumbled, as you removed the covers from your body.
You glanced down at your partially clothed form and pursed your lips without looking at Dream.
“Why is my gown pulled well above my waist?” You wondered, knowingly, as you turned slowly to eye him.
“You were tossing quite a bit as you slept,” he murmured, innocently.
“And why is my neckline pulled this low?”
He was quiet for a moment.
“You were tossing and turning quite fiercely,” he maintained.
You turned to him completely then, tilting your head as you stared at him.
“‘Quite fiercely,’ I’m sure,” you deadpanned. The laughter eventually bubbled out from within you and you shook your head lightly before leaning over to kiss him. But you stopped just short of his lips, reveling in the way his eyes fluttered closed and his breath hitched in anticipation of your taste. “You love me quite dearly, don’t you?” You smirked.
“More than anything,” he whispered roughly, before closing the distance.
Dream had made it known through the palace that he would conduct any necessary duties from your chambers. You had assured him that the act wasn’t necessary; he could, and should, go about his duties as he normally would.
“I have no duties greater than this,” he responded.
And so you had accepted his decision, returning to the safety of his arms and sighing you happiness as you closed your eyes against the warmth of his chest.
You tried to enjoy it. But you couldn’t help but think of the other woman who had lain in his arms like this. You squeezed your eyes shut, tried to listen to the beating of his unnecessary heart, settle further into the comfort of his arms, but you couldn’t seem to shake it.
He felt you tense in his hold, your whole body running rigid, but before he could question it, you spoke the question he had hoped never to answer.
“Why her?”
You were so quiet, so soft with your concise question. You couldn’t bring yourself to expand or even utter her name, to speak more context to the affair you had tried so desperately to ignore.
“She was there.”
He wasn’t sure if it would ease the blow. It was simply a matter of convenience. An arrangement born of ease and mutual need.
“So, it could have been anyone,” you realized. “There was nothing… unique about her that you preferred to me?” You asked, softly, with a hesitant glance at him.
“No,” he breathed, his finger curling under to chin to direct your darting eyes to his. “I did not prefer her to you. I did not want her more than you. I always wanted you,” he assured you. “I always loved you.”
“If you loved me so much, why did you keep going back to her?” You asked sharply then, your hurt turning to bitter pain. “How could you go back to her? If you loved me as you say, how could you ever be with someone else?”
You didn’t mean to ruin the delicate adoration that had grown between you two, but you could no longer ignore this nagging question.
“I knew you would have nothing to do with me,” he explained, recalling how his arrangement with Calliope had begun. “You would love me no longer, despite how I still longed for you. So, I sought physical relief from her.”
You had your suspicions that it was something of this sort. And certainly it was better than hearing that he had loved her. That he found something far more satisfying in her arms. But it didn’t ease the heartache you had experienced in those centuries or now.
“I spent centuries mourning our marriage after that night. Mourning our love. Mourning every beautiful moment we had envisioned of our future. And I spent it alone,” you explained, before glancing anywhere but him. “In this very bed,” you noted, as you gaze landed beside you. “In tears for days on end. Unable to, to, eat or sleep, or even move!” You recalled with a gasping breath. You shuddered a deep exhale then, closing your eyes against the memory in favor of one far more painful. “And you spent it with her. Inside of her,” you spat, and he swallowed thickly at the vulgarity of your words.
You were never one to speak so crudely, yet if you had, he knew it was your deep heartache that prompted the words.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, but you just shook your head. He thought of pulling his arms from you. Of sliding out of your bed and leaving your presence in shame and disgrace.
“I know,” you sighed, with your eyes squeezed shut. “I know you regret it and – and I know you cannot change it, but,” you couldn’t seem to continue, and he considered every possible ending to your sentence.
“I cannot forgive it.”
“I cannot love someone who could hurt me in such a way.”
“Would you go back to her now?”
He blinked at you then, and you took his speechlessness as contemplation, in a heartbreaking misunderstanding. The thought that he needed time to carefully assess your question had a dejected breath falling from your trembling lip.
“You think I would go back to her?” He breathed, as his brows knit together. “After all this? After,” he swallowed thickly, as his gaze drifted down your body. “After our daughter?”
“Well, I – I don’t think so, but,” you drifted off then, as you curled in on yourself and dipped your head low.
“Never,” he vowed, and the resolution in his voice had you peering up at him. “I’ve vowed this to you before, and I’ve broken these words in such an unforgivable, inexcusable way,” he recalled, and paused as he recalled how desperately you had begged him to truly mean his words that day. “But I shall never want or love anyone but you, my heart. And I will never again leave you stranded and heartbroken.”
You searched his eyes, studying the gleaming ponds and their endless swirling. But you felt the way he held you then: his hands firm, unyielding, unrelenting. And you considered his tone: timbre steady, sure, and convinced. You placed a slow hand to his chest, feeling his breaths, his heartbeat – they were both for show, of course, but they still provided important metrics.
Your hand slid from his chest upwards, feeling along his neck, with your thumb running over his throat and assessing how it bobbed under the weight of his truth. You continued further, up to his face, with your thumb taking the scenic route of his plush lips. You reached your final destination of his cheek, holding his face steady before you as you gazed deeply at him.
“I accept your vow,” you breathed, softly. “And I shall cherish it with all that I am,” you assured him, before leaning up to taste him so gently, so reverently that it seemed more an act of devotion than love. His hand went to your back then, pulling you closer to him as he intended to return his devotion to you in kind. But you pulled away then, keeping him at bay with your hand once again at his chest.
“Perhaps I should make a vow of my own,” you wondered, and amusement turned your lip in a quiet move that brought him relief. “We shall never again part, my love,” you promised him. “From this day forth, we shall have the life we dreamt of, so long ago.”
when someone is completely fucking wrong about your blorbo but you don't want to argue about what basically boils down to opinions about shit that doesn't matter so you just sit there like
You can tell I modelled a lot of my personality after Skulduggery Pleasant because I too say "ah" and not much else when faced with devastating new revelations
all a girl wants is to bathe in rivers & waterfalls, sit & read beside mill ponds, gather wildflowers, eat fruit under the sun, walk barefoot on grass, collect medicinal herbs, read under a tree, listen to the birds, wear cotton & linen.
How can I get a full time job as the wandering stranger that comes into town and gets by on odd jobs and has their face partially obscured by a hood and/or cowboy hat
A/N: dream strikes me as such a touch-starved, praise-desperate being that im sure he turns to his feline form to experience such simple forms of affection.
Just a short drabble that stemmed from this observation.
You weren’t one to collect strays. Feed them? Of course. Tell them how much you loved their tiny little faces? Absolutely. But to gather them up into your arms and delicately carry them into your home? Probably not.
But this was different, you told yourself. You had never seen such a docile cat before. You were gathering your mail when you first spotted him through the glass door. A gasp fled your lips, then a grin spread across your face as you whispered a soft “Hi!”
He stopped then, pausing to sit on his hind legs as he peered at you. His tail flicked behind him in fascination as you left your mailbox, spam and bills entirely forgotten, and pushed the glass door open to step outside cautiously.
“Hi, there!” You gasped, inching closer to avoid spooking him. To your surprise, he took an equally hesitant step towards you. Kneeling down, you placed the back of your hand before him, allowing him to study your scent and lower what limited defenses he seemed to have. When he deemed you no possible threat and lowered his nose from your hand, you placed a slow palm to his back and stroked him gently. “So soft!” You gasped, exaggeratedly. You knew he would be: he was all shining black fur, fine silky hair.
He turned then, making a tight circle to have you pet his other side. “And someone seems to love his pets,” you teased, before obliging him. You watched him as he moved, noting how docile he seemed and well-fed, you realized. “Did you run away from home?” You wondered, before moving your hand gingerly to the top of his head. Your hand came down softly, and his bright eyes closed to thin lines at the touch. “Do you live here?” You asked, with a quick glance back at your apartment building.
But he was far too preoccupied by the warm hand you had placed upon his head. Although, he most likely couldn’t have answered you, anyway. He was a cat.
So you rose then, and you knew you probably shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t seem to help it. You started with another gentle petting, slowly adding your other hand, before tensing your fingers slightly and raising him from the ground.
If he was displeased by the act, he didn’t show it.
Instead, as you cradled him in your arms, he peered up at you for only a moment before laying his head against you.
“Aw,” you sighed, as you looked down to find him with his eyes closed. “Such a sleepy baby,” you cooed, before opening the door, and bringing him inside.
You had gone to the building manager with the soft kitty in your arms, but she explained that no resident had declared a black cat or that one had gone missing. She asked if you planned to keep him, and you frowned before peering down at him once more.
He gazed back at you as if he were trying to decipher the very nature of your soul.
“I don’t know,” you answered, distantly.
The shelter was next. Plenty of orange cats had been reported missing. Two black cats, but one was a tuxedo cat and both were short-hairs.
He wasn’t chipped either, you found out after the volunteer checked him over for any sign of malnutrion or disease. He proposed leaving him at the shelter; perhaps his owner would come looking or someone would like to adopt him. But you made the mistake of glancing down at him once again and frowned.
He was closer to figuring out the exact nature of your being with this next piercing gaze.
“I don’t know,” you murmured, still transfixed by his bright, golden eyes. “Maybe I could take him home, and if his owner comes looking for him, they could contact me.”
The volunteer simply shrugged before accepting your number.
After a short stop at the pet store, you were both home.
You unlocked the door and pushed it open, but before you could gently lower to him the ground, he leapt from your arms and landed gracefully on his paws before inspecting every inch of your home.
“Eager little guy, aren’t you?” You chuckled, before setting out his food and water bowls. You emptied out the bag of toys, but when you turned, he was nowhere to be seen. Your head whipped around to the door, but thankfully, it remained closed. You moved through the apartment then, checking around for him. And of course, you found him atop your bed.
He sat directly in the middle of the bed, lying on his side as his tail flicked out over the spread.
“Well, now, where am I supposed to sleep?” You asked, in exaggerated outrage as you folded your arms.
He rose then, before shifting to the right side of the bed and resuming his previous position.
Your brows rose then in surprise at his response, and you muttered under your breath, “Wow, okay, very smart kitty.”
You stretched over the side he had deemed yours, turning on your side to lay your hand against him. You pet him gently, soothingly, curiously, as you wondered how no one could miss such a sweet, intelligent little kitty.
He seemed to respond to your languid petting and the easy smile on your face as he shifted to his paws and took some careful, but determined, steps closer to you. He settled underneath the arm you had propped your head against, laying his tiny, impossibly soft head against your bicep before gazing up at you.
He was trying to steal your soul. You were certain of it.
You let out a soft laugh, before resuming your pets and sighing softly.
“Aw, I love you, too.”
He wasn’t there when you woke. Perhaps he had gone in search of his breakfast, you realized, but he wasn’t at his food bowls, either.
Despite a thorough search of your apartment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found.
You had gone to your building manager once more, this time in your pajamas, as your haste had you running out the door before you could change. You had called her memory of the cat you came to her with last evening and asked if she had seen it again. No, she had told you, and that if you planned to keep the cat, you would paperwork to file.
You weren’t sure how he had gotten out, but you returned to entrance of your building with a can of wet food and your pockets filled with treats as you tried to entice back to you.
You made the typical kissy noises, the harsh pspsps, but to no avail. You went to call his name, but frowned as you realized you had none for him. So you resorted to the clichéd, “Here, kitty, kitty!”
You searched through the surrounding parking lot and street in your pajamas, calling out for a cat with your hands full of canned wet food like a stereotypical crazy cat lady.
But your efforts proved fruitless and you resigned your efforts with a deep sigh as you returned to your apartment.
The work day had been miserable. You couldn’t possibly continue with your work when you had lost the smartest, softest, sweetest kitty you had ever had the pleasure of holding before. But by the time it was over, and you returned to your building, a spark of hope lit within you that he may be waiting for you.
He wasn’t outside your building as he had been the evening before. You sighed in disappointment, but you continued up to your floor; perhaps he had simply found a very good hiding place in your apartment. Maybe he hadn’t left at all – he was just tucked away somewhere in your home, safe and sound.
The optimistic thought left a smile on your face as you neared your door. You looked down as you fumbled with your keys and as you straightened to place the correct one in the lock, you startled with a gasp.
Your keys fell to the floor with a resounding clink and the stranger who had been the cause of it reached down to retrieve them for you. He straightened up before holding them out for you and you stilled at the sight of his piercing blue eyes.
“Thank you,” you blinked, after a moment. Your hand hovered over his palm, your fingers grazing the soft heel of it as you closed around your keys. His fingers seemed to curl upwards then, instinctively, unthinkingly, as he ached to keep your touch. Your heart fluttered at the strange contact, but you brushed it aside with a strangled, embarrassing noise as you tried to clear your throat. “Are you moving in there?” You asked, with a delayed nod to the apartment next to yours. You had noticed your previous neighbor moving out last month, and weren’t surprised to hear that it had been filled so soon.
He turned to follow your gaze, and as soon as he put the pieces together, he found the word spilling from him before he could think.
“Yes.”
He blinked then, surprised and confused by his own actions.
You smiled politely at his succinct response. Perhaps he liked to keep to himself, you realized. You turned back to your door, inserting the key and unlocking the door before you thought of something.
“I seem to have lost a cat,” you began, meekly. “Black fur. Very friendly and very smart,” you chuckled at the thought of him shifting over on your bed. “Would you let me know if you see him?”
He peered at you for a moment and you frowned. Piercing. Bright. As if he were trying to steal your soul.
“I shall,” he responded, and between his piercing gaze and the elegant grace of his tone and posture, you couldn’t help your light breath of laughter at the sight of the familiar. “Is something the matter?”
“No, nothing,” you stifled your laugh. “You just… remind me of someone,” you explained, distantly.
You took one last parting glance at him. Assessing. Considering. Shaking your head as you thought better of your sanity.
And you frowned at the sight of him. For a moment, it almost seemed that he had smiled at some hidden joke.
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