Okay, but what happened to the baby??? Cults are fucked up at the best of times so I'm not entirely sure I want to know.
I would also like to wrap batmom in a blanket and make her hot chocolate ❤️
The greenhouse door creaked open and you don't look up, intently focused on your seedlings that aren't thriving like they should, considering starting over with them.
It helped, being distracted while you waited for the dust to settle so you could sift through it gently and begin to put the complicated feelings into their assigned little compartments.
You can't talk about it.
Not the way everyone seems to think you should.
Because there is no good way to say it. There's no way to make any of them understand. It's not grief but it hurts. It's not relief but it feels lighter. And you can't even call it closure because there's still work to be done and a price to be extracted.
A liminal space.
Limbo.
And until you can define it all properly- you're keeping your distance.
"Sweetheart," Bruce said softly, "what are you doing?"
You look up slowly and hold out soil-covered hands, "Groundwork for-"
"I can see that," he said, "But why?"
"Why not?" you answer, brushing hair out of your face with the back of you hand, frowning when you smear dirt on your forehead, "Knowing doesn't change anything, the garden still needs-"
"I can have someone else do it," Bruce offered, worry flitting across his face. He expected tears. He expected you to be almost catatonic- or murderous. He genuinely didn't know what to do with this.
You exhale slowly, grappling for words, starting and stopping half a dozen sentences before finally settling on one. "I think-" you say hesitantly, "That in the back of my mind I knew. I was young, malnourished, and had no real medical care to speak of- it's a miracle on it's own I didn't die."
Bruce opened his mouth to say something and shut it again quickly when you glance at him, realizing you had more to say.
"But- in those long, lonely years. And later- it- it helped, kind of. The idea that he might be out there somewhere. And when it didn't help I used it as another failure. Proof that I had to be a terrible person and if I was a terrible person, what did I have to lose?"
You shake your head and glance out the window, looking to where the sun was setting, "But now I know. Now I have proof. And for better or worse, I just have to come to terms with it- whatever those terms are."
Bruce nodded slowly and reached over to wipe the dirt off your forehead, "Are you coming in for dinner?"
"Maybe?" you allow, "But probably not. I'm not sure what's more frustrating, not being able to explain how I feel or being pitied."
Summary: “I have not heard these words in ages,” a deep, male voice says, and before you can answer, you wake up.Your dreams start changing once you realize that you’re not alone as you think. Who is this man and why does he know you? How do you know him?
Pairing: Dream / Morpheus x reader
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 My other fics / prompts
AO3: May everyone who leaves a kudo (or even a comment) awake well-rested.
Chapter 3
You wish you could say that you were ready to fall asleep, but you weren’t. You arrived at your home, your head full of questions, with your heart demanding answers.
Morpheus. The name has rung a bell, and one quick research later has revealed that in Greek mythology, he’s the god of dreams. You sat in stupor for a while, blankly staring at the screen. You managed to meet the god of dreams, and somehow share a profound history with him. A history you want to unravel.
You let out a long sigh as you pace around in your bedroom. You’re not stupid. From what he has told you, you have concluded that he has met several versions of you, each one unique, each one meeting him without any past knowledge. Incarnations. If you’re not completely wrong, this means that you’re the most recent reincarnation. This sounds like something out a supernatural tv show or book, and for your state of mind, you try not to think too much about it.
You grab a pillow and throw it up like a ball, eager to occupy your hands. You still have so many questions, but there is one only you can answer.
Do you want to get involved with him? You’ve always liked fantasy and know many stories of mortals giving their hearts to immortals. It often ended in tragedy, for the mortal and the immortal. Does he miss and mourn each incarnation? Wouldn’t it be a kindness to spare him the pain of losing you? Then again, you feel as if he remembers your past incarnations fondly. He had been nothing but kind and understanding as he answered your questions, a soft look on his eternal face as he seems to sink into his memories.
He may be fond of them, but will he be fond of you? That is another question that plagues you. Then again, if you don’t try, you will never know.
You squeeze the pillow, your mind made up. You’ve accepted this challenge, and you will see it through. Maybe the next dream can be something like a first date? You smush your face in the pillow, your cheek already growing hot.
Lying down on your bed, pulling your soft blanket over you, you are ready.
The beach is still beautiful, but you couldn’t care less as your toes sink into the white sand. Twirling around, you race towards the forest. This is a dream, your dream. You assume that it is Morpheus who intervenes, conjuring up the storm, but how certain are you? Maybe it is a part of being an incarnation?
After running down the path, you take a deep breath. Part of you wonders what will happen if you continue without saying the phrase, but you have a hunch that it won’t work. Moreover, it would be boring and anti-climactic.
“The path before me doesn’t frighten me, I want to forever walk beside you.” You don’t wait for the storm to start, you just walk. You walk until every step feels like you’ve run a marathon, your lungs heaving for air as you walk inside the eye of a storm.
Enough of that. Time to take control and make some progress. Will it work? Hopefully. But right now, it’s your best shot.
You close your eyes, comfortable in the darkness that seems to drown out everything else. You picture a meadow, the grass soft and swaying in the faint breeze. Red, blue, white, yellow, purple, pink, every color you like fills your vision as flowers, from simple daisies to fancy orchids, bloom. You see it so vividly that you can almost smell the floral fragrance.
You open your eyes, and the storm is gone as you’re standing inside that meadow.
“Wohoo!” you cheer, savoring your victory. For a moment, you think that you hear a deep chuckle. The meadow really is lovely, and you’re almost tempted to stay for a while, but you have places to go. The palace and Morpheus are waiting.
To your surprise, you see one path leading you away from the meadow. You don’t know if you have been walking for a minute or for hours; time is weird anyhow in dreams. You walk through a desert, scrambling up and down the dunes. You walk over a snowy mountain, the snowflakes melting on your cheeks. You walk through a big city, feeling almost back in reality, if it weren’t for the fact that there is not a soul around you.
How big is the dream world? It feels endless, and you can’t even see the palace. But you know that if you stop, even just for a little break, that it will be hell to get back. So you suck it up and march on.
You arrive at a massive gate, stretching as far as you can see. Fantastic beings, animals, and figures are carved in awe-inspiring detail, gleaming like finest ivory. If this is another challenge, you’re going to force yourself to wake up and come back the next night, you decide as you carefully knock three times.
“You have made it. Impressive.” You hoped that he would appear, but seeing Morpheus appear at your side still startles you. You lean over, your hands resting on your knees as you take a deep breath. As you stand up straight, you see something almost like pride gleaming inside these fathomless eyes. He still looks like a dark vision, messy inky hair matching his black clothes. His face is hard to put into words, and you suddenly understand why ancient artists spend centuries trying to capture the splendor of the gods.
“I could have done it in my sleep,” you say with a nonchalant shrug. After that journey, you deserve to brag a little. You wonder how long the other incarnations have taken to reach the castle, before stopping that train of thought. You’re not comparing yourself.
“You did well.” It’s easy to miss, but there was a small smile on his lips, and it makes your heart skip a beat.
“Allow me to bring us into the palace,” Morpheus asks, extending his hand. You give him high credit for asking, for letting you choose. You figure that a god isn’t used to considering other people. You nod, laying your hand on his, feeling his long fingers hold onto you.
The next moment, you’re standing inside the palace, a long staircase winding upside to a platform where a dark throne stands. You’ve been in churches and cathedrals, but their windows can’t hold a candle to these three massive glass artworks. Each time you blink they seem to change: a sky of twinkling stars, a garden full of roses, the northern lights, your favorite picture of you and your best friend. It is almost fascinating enough to rip you away from the man next to you.
“This is a palace worthy of a god,” you whisper, before covering your hand with your mouth. You meant what you said, but you don’t know why you said it out loud. You don’t want to reduce Morpheus to his palace or his godhood.
“I am not a god,” Morpheus states, and yet you feel his power, the core of his limitless force vibrating in this place. You have no doubt that he’s the ruler of this palace, of this realm.
“Aren’t you Morpheus, the Greek god of dreams?” you ask, your curiosity boundless and you self-preservation non-existent. In this moment, you choose to ignore all the terrible fates you’ve read about mortals who offended or defied gods.
“No. I am older than your gods. Morpheus is only one of the many names humanity has given me: Kaikul, Oneiros, Tutu, to name a few. I am Dream of the Endless.”
You open your mouth, and close it again. He’s more than a god. What kind of being stands over gods? You swallow thickly, wishing for a moment that you had never brought up the subject. You like to believe that this is normal, that your mortal mind just needs time to come to terms with that. You think that you will stick to calling him Morpheus, since that name suits him.
He’s standing still, his arms crossed, seemingly waiting for you to react. How often did he have that conversation? Did the other incarnations react better or worse than you? Questions upon questions, and you want to scream into the abyss.
“Great boss, I think you broke her,” a voice snarks, and you latch onto that comment, eager for some diversion. A familiar raven soars above the throne before flying down and landing one the bottom stair.
“Birdie?” you ask, taking one step forward to give the raven an inquiring look. You’re no expert on ravens, but this one really looks like the one from the previous days.
“It’s Matthew, thank you very much. Oh, and thanks for the treat,” the raven answers. Even while dreaming, talking animals remain amazing, and you let out a stupefied laugh.
“Do we know each other?” you ask Matthew and Morpheus, only for both to shake their heads. You deflate a little; having somebody other than Morpheus to talk to would have been nice.
“Sorry, I am very new at the job, and this is just as exciting to me than it is to you. I didn’t know that the boss had…” His answer was cut short by a withering glare from Morpheus, and you grin. You need to have a solo conversation with Matthew.
“Matthew’s predecessor, Jessamy, used to know some of your incarnations. Most of them considered her a friend. I think she would have liked you,” Morpheus explains, his voice filled with sorrow, the grief almost palpable on his face. Matthew lets out a doleful caw.
“I am sorry,” you say, hesitantly reaching out to hold his hand. He lets you, and you circle your thumb over the smooth back of his hand. You hope that you didn’t overstep, but as you steal a glance at him, his expression a little less pained, you think that you didn’t.
“So am I.” He squeezes your hand before letting go. The moment has passed, but you know that there will be others.
“There is a place I would like you to see,” Morpheus says, and once again your reach for his extended hand.
This time, you find yourself in the center of a great library, bookshelves upon bookshelves stretching far and high, the scent of paper and leather filling your nose.
List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! Learn to know your mutuals and followers! 💕
Okay, the apprentice fics are absolutely killing me. How's Bruce going to react when he finds out about the baby 😭❤️
"What the-"
"You asked her if it was yours?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Steph and Cass rounded the table, fixing him with near-identical looks of disgust and Jason rubbed the arm Cass had punched him in.
"We talked okay? Fuck-"
Bruce looked up from the briefing he was reading, prepared to lecture them all about swearing when several gears clicked into place.
"And?" the girls demanded in unison. They liked you. You were great fun at parties and your weird tended to fit very nicely in with their weird when it came to swapping (not as exaggerated as they sounded) stories about fights and horrible dates.
"It's fine," he mumbled, ears turning red. This was NOT how he'd wanted the rest of the family to find out and he made a mental note to break into Dick's apartment and steal all his chargers after he put the toilet paper in the shower- maybe if he paid you in sexual favors you'd hex him so his back always itched somewhere he couldn't reach.
"Wait-"
"No."
"Are you gonna name it after me?"
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "Jason," he sighed. Not really sure what to say. He supposed it was bound to happen with someone at some point. But did it have to be you? He exhaled slowly and amended that thought. You weren't the issue. You might be brash and a little... less polished. But. You came with Constantine. And the thought of having to do a family party with him made his eye twitch.
"It's not like I did it on purpose," Jason said rubbing the back of his neck, looking away.
"At least the baby will be cute," Barbara said, smirking.
"Only if it looks like its mother," Damian scoffed. "Good going, Todd."
And Jason sunk down in his chair wondering if this was a circle of hell.
Is it possible to get a follow on for this batmom part (https://xxgoblin-dumplingxx.tumblr.com/post/691303279947399168/batmom-having-alfred-hand-bruce-an-envelope-with)???
I really want to know what happened 😭❤️
"What-"
Bruce held up his hand for silene and looked at the kids who were waiting for orders. "We need to stop Y/N," he said quietly.
"Why?" Dick huffed, "What's she leave to do? Go shopping?"
"She left to go murder someone," Bruce said harshly. Years ago in Morroco, he had promised you that there was enough blood. That there was another way to stop them- And he'd failed. They were free and your little sister was still dead. Her ghost still haunting you, dodging every step.
Dick, Babs, and Tim's eyes all widened. You had a short list, in your head of people it was acceptable to just murder. In your mind, the number of killers in the world can stay the same- as long as those bastards are dead.
"You two need to suit up. I know she won't listen to me but she might-"
"Father!"
"No, Damian, you're not going."
"If she's a threat to the mission-"
"She's not a threat to the mission," Bruce said, trying to be patient, "But she is a danger to herself."
Dick's eye narrowed and Bruce put your rings, the ones you'd left. The ones your boys had picked out for you, on the table gently. And Dick nodded slowly, turning to go get his gear. Your will left them to him, now that Jason was gone. But he didn't want them. He wanted you home and wearing them.
"Who is she hunting?"
"Her Father's lieutenants; specifically her sister's murderer."
"Shouldn't we-"
"There's enough blood on her hands," Bruce said. "We have to stop her."
"I can stop her," Damian said confidently.
"Yes. Because you're 7 and she doesn't fight children," Bruce said harshly, losing his patience. "Stay here."
Damian scowled and folded his arms, "I could-"
"No," Alfred said carefully, "It really is best that you stay home. Your mother was absolutely correct when she told you Y/N is dangerous- It's bad enough Master Bruce feels compelled to take Richard and Tim. But he is correct when he said that she may stop if only to prevent them from seeing her kill someone."
"I'm calling Clark," Bruce said, "There's no telling where she went and we don't have time to waste- she got a bigger head start than I'd like."
I missed TTT so please forgive me 😭 but would it be possible to get sugar baby!reader and Bruce's first time??? I literally sit waiting for your next post, I love them so much 😭❤️
"Don't be nervous," Bruce said, capturing your chin in his hand. "It's not an audition."
"I'm not I just-" You break off and exhale slowly. He's not the first person to pay you for 'private time'. Usually, the people who pay you don't... well frankly they don't want companionship. They just want to sleep with you. To use your body for their own ends.
Bruce Wayne isn't that way. You've never been a body to him. He saw you as a person. A whole person. One that had passions and ambitions. Little hopes and favorite colors.
He smiled a little and pulled you closer, kissing you softly, "I'd like you to sleep with me, but you don't have to. We can just- well we can just make out for a while. See where it goes."
When you nod, standing on your toes to kiss him, he sweeps you up into his arms easily, chuckling when you yelp in surprise. You knew he was strong but- not sweep you off the floor like a rag doll strong. And when he put you on his lap. Not straddling him to give you an easy way to get off of him if you needed to.
And when he starts kissing you- not the chaste little kiss hello or the teasing kisses he'd stolen over drinks and dancing, you melt. This is a man who knows what he's doing. Not surprising, but. You appreciate the lack of slobber and say a silent thank you to whatever lover broke him of that habit.
You nip his lip gently, testing the waters and he responds, sliding his tongue gently into your mouth, shifting you slightly to lay you back on the sofa, sliding a hand down your body hungrily. Inviting you to relax for him if you felt good. A negotiation, then. And you responded by reaching up to start unbuttoning his shirt.
Sure. It's not an audition. But if he's strong enough to pick you up like nothing- you'd love to see what he looks like. And when he grins, obliging you, you take a moment to admire him.
His cheeks darken at your appraisal and he smiles a little before coming down to kiss you again. Hungrier now. And when his hands find the zipper on your dress and he shimmies you out of it, he quirks an eyebrow at seeing you bare.
"Can't have panty lines if you're not wearing any," you say shrugging.
He chuckles and feathers soft kisses down your body, enjoying your little shiver of pleasure. "Can't argue with that logic," he hummed, turning his head to nip the inside of your thigh. "God you're beautiful" he murmured.
Slowly, carefully, he slid a hand down to palm your cunt, giving you time to protest or pull away. But when you didn't, arching into the touch, he smirks and rocks back to get off the sofa. Picking you up to carry you to the bed. He was going to take you apart. As beautiful as you were now, he'd love to see you with your toes curling and your hands gripping the sheets. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman in his bed and he was going to enjoy this.
Okay, less angsty batmom, how and when did they decide their relationship was more than a contract??? (The last one absolutely killed me) ❤️
In the dark, Bruce watched you hold out a hand for the firefly that had drifted in through the open window. Letting it light on your outstretched fingers and he smiled a little.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked softly, tucking the sheet around you when he noticed the gooseflesh on your body. He hadn't meant to put you in his bed. But when you'd been willing, making the softest, sweetest little noises; he'd not been about to turn you away.
"No," you murmur, watching the firefly drift away again, following the breeze back out the window.
When your arm dropped, he pulled you close. Letting you snuggle into his arms. He knew, logically, that your quiet was just- emotions. A cocktail of hormones and endorphins that made you want to be close to him. To be held. He didn't want to call it love. Not yet. But. It was more than a partnership.
"I suppose," he rumbled, adjusting to hold you closer, "6 months to consummate a marriage isn't that bad."
"It took Louis XVI 7 years," you snort.
Bruce chuckled and brushed a kiss against your temple, "Six months was long enough," he huffed.
"Bruce-"
He kissed you quiet tenderly and shifted you over so you could lay on him, your weight on his chest. And when you sit back, looking down at him, he smiled, holding his wrists out. "Have your way with me?" he asked, smirking. "I didn't give you much of a chance to show you what you can do."
And when you quirk an eyebrow, returning his smirk, he felt a little thrill.
