Xlili-lyraterx - Oneirataxia

A Small Set of Agreements

Part 2 of A Small Act of Kindness

A DARK three-shot

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x you, afab reader

Warnings: dark!Morpheus, obsessive behaviour, dark!Dream won't take 'no' for an answer, disturbing themes like kidnapping, imprisonment, isolation, non-con/dub-con kissing and touching etc, 18+ only!!

Inspired by this ask for @roguelov See: https://www.tumblr.com/roguelov/721739134130143232/this-isnt-smut-but-dream-has-strong-miette?source=share

Officially now a three-part series!!! Masterlist here Part 1: Click here

Summary: You were imprisoned by a vindictive Endless, who will stop at nothing to win you over, including taking advantage of your forced vulnerability.

The grand dining hall of the Dreaming was empty, save the King of Dreams and you, his little plaything, the one he claimed to have caught his affections. Clearly, with this splendid display of all your favourite dishes, with the elaborate, ruby-coloured gown he said he fashioned from his own sand that you now wore, the miles and miles of red tulips he showed you during your walk with him on Fiddler's Green, he was trying to win you over.

Yet, despite the voracious appetite you had developed the moment you were free from your glass cage, here you were, toying with a slice of peach on your plate, very much not hungry and over all just about done with the way your jailer was unabashedly staring at you across from where he was sitting. The hungry looks you were getting from barely three feet away had absolutely nothing to do with food.

You tucked your fork neatly on the plate and pushed it away gently. Morpheus, who was leaning back on his dining chair like the king he was, tilted his head in concern. "Is there something the matter, my beloved? Is the food not to your liking?"

You gave a quick smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "The food was great, thank you. Is there, uh…" is there no end to this, you had meant to ask, but decided against it. "Is there anything more you'd like me to do?"

You didn't like the sly grin that followed your question.

"I can think of many things I'd like you to do," he said, his voice dipping dangerously lower.

Fidgeting in your seat, you fought the urge to glare at him, and instead looked daggers at the innocent, half-finished peach cake on your abandoned plate. “I’m just saying, it’s getting a bit late. Not that I had much to do anyway…” Your voice trailed off, your mind drifting off to simpler times: how, around five in the afternoon, you and a colleague would get some coffee from the bakeshop, then rush back to the office to finish wherever you left off; sometimes your boss would get a box of those fancy doughnuts delivered and all of you would share five minutes of the afternoon sugar rush and  bitching about the accounting department. Boring as it might’ve been in hindsight, right then and there, you would’ve given just about anything, including a limb, to be there instead of here as mere passing entertainment for an age-old nightmare lord.

Said nightmare lord leaned forward, still with that annoying smirk, and said, "We are in no rush, my love. The day is not over until I say so.”

When you offered no reply, he stood from his seat and approached your side, extending his hand.

"Come with me."

Taking a deep breath, you took his hand and allowed him to lead you away from the dining hall. Where to, you had no idea, and after several flights of wide, marble stairs you tried to pry your hand away, but he tightened his grip with a warning look in his eyes. Nowhere in the enormous palace did you see anyone else around, making you feel even more alone with him than ever before. After seemingly endless staircases, he pushed open a double door, revealing a massive, extravagant gallery of pristine marble and velvet tapestries. Hand in hand, albeit unwillingly, he led you to probably the largest balcony you’ve ever been, offering the most breathtaking sight you’ve ever seen in your life:

His kingdom in all its glory, basking in the orange-purple glow of the setting sun.

You sighed deeply, closed your eyes and let the glow of the sunset warm you up, pretending you were all alone in a five-star hotel enjoying the nicest vacation you've ever had.

Until you felt a pair of lips kiss your hand and ruined the fantasy.

Morpheus let go of your hand as you open your eyes in favour of wrapping his arms around your midriff from behind. Your back stiffened as he pulled you close to his chest and planted a soft kiss on your hair, just above your earlobe. You heard him hum in satisfaction as his forefinger lazily drew circles on your clothed waist.

“Morpheus, what are you doing…?” you whispered, your breath hitching as you felt him take an audible whiff of your hair.

"One of the many things I had in mind," he whispered.

You shivered at the rather vulnerable position you were in, but it wasn't like you could tear yourself away from his unwanted embrace. He had you trapped, just like the cage he'd be putting you back in if he senses just the slightest resistance from you, so you stood there, rigid as a board. You tried your best to concentrate on the view that lay before you, but it was made even more impossible with the way those lips brushed against your earlobe and then kissed the base of your neck.

“Please…stop…”

Morpheus only hummed in response. He’d been keeping you on your toes the entire day, but what he said next just floored you.

“Come lay with me, my beloved.”

“Wh-what? You mean, sleep with you?” You gathered strength to abruptly pull away from him in utter shock. He’s clearly lost his damn mind. Once free, you put enough distance between you and him and faced him with your cheeks flaring up. “I don't believe this…you can't be serious!”

Unfazed and clearly taking offence at the wide berth, he said, “Do you doubt my love for you? Have I not been clear with my intentions? I wish for you to be my lover. Do lovers not declare their devotion to each other by indulging in each other's flesh?”

“One. Date.” You said pointedly. “That was all we agreed upon. One fucking date!”

“That is why I am asking now. Will you lay with me?”

The audacity of this cosmic being had you reeling inside, close to tearing your hair out in absolute frustration. “This is crazy. I've done everything you've wanted me to do today, but you can't expect me to just go along with that!”

Still incensed, you watch him take a threatening step forward with hands clasped in front of him, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed slightly. “I am giving you a chance to recant your response. After all, I freed you from your enclosure in the condition that you will do as I ask.”

“You're fucking sick, you know that?” You backed away as much as the balcony railing allowed you to. “I'd rather rot in that glass cage than sleep with you. No way.”

Morpheus just scoffed at you, his hands unfurling to his side. “Pride. I once recall being held captive in a prison not unlike yours. I could've been freed much sooner had I not been proud.”

Your eyes slowly widened as you observed fine grains of sand trailing upwards to his curled fingers. You’ve learned to fear his sand over time. It was a source of his immense power, and judging by the way he melted your glass cage that morning into sand with a single wave of his hand, he was more than ready to create another he could put you into. But, amidst the growing terror in you as his power, something else he said caught your attention.

“You, however, are human, and I, an Endless. Would you last a hundred years like I did?” he asked, his eyes flashing silver in contrast with the last dying embers of the sun.

Your captor was once captured for a century. But who would do such a thing to him? Was this why, even as an otherworldly being, he was so messed up and acting like he is?

“You…you were imprisoned,” you said in a hushed tone, suddenly finding yourself unable to meet his eyes. “And for that long? Ho-how did you get out? Why would anyone do that? How does that happen to…someone like you? I mean no offence, I’m just…uh…”

“Being compassionate.”

It was the gentlest tone you’ve ever heard from Morpheus since after your rejection of him. Glancing up at him, you were surprised how soft his facial features had become. Despite the circumstance, you were mesmerised by the way his eyes glistened in blue and all the stars it held. His hands relaxed and the sand gradually receded until it faded to nothing. Could you perhaps persuade him to have a change of heart?

“You are concerned for me,” he said. "It is an admirable trait you cannot help but display, even in duress. Your heart is good. All the more reason for me to possess it."  His tone shifted, and in a split second, the galaxies in his eyes vanished, consumed by the pitch-black abyss that could destroy anything in its path. "My human captors paid a hefty price for their transgressions against me. I do not wish the same on you." 

It was then you knew that whatever happened to him in his capture, there was no saving him from it, there was no change possible in him. There was no hope for you.

“I have, not once, ‘transgressed’ against you, and you know it, you fucking cu-”

“And yet, here you are,” he interrupted through gritted teeth, “Refusing me the only thing I have dared to want since your kind has wronged me.”

“Then why would you want anything to do with me, if 'my kind' offends you that much?” you spat back.

He paused at words as if contemplating them. You could tell by the way his expression faltered a little that they had an effect on him. He turned away from you to stare into the skyline, now void of the warm sun you were starting to miss.

“Those who trapped me sought those which do not belong to them. Their actions caused the collapse of the Dreaming.” He eyed you sideways, and continued, “Your actions on that fateful day of our meeting, however, led me to a better understanding of my responsibilities to my realm. Do not associate yourself with their sins.”

It took him only a few steps to finally close the distance between you. He was barely a few inches away from you now, no longer able to hide the look of longing in his eyes. He dipped his head so close to yours you could feel his breath fan your cheeks, and if you leaned any further against the balcony railing, you risked falling over.

“I see you as you are, so pure and selfless, someone who has so little, yet deserves everything she dreams of. I can give you that, and more, my precious little saviour. You need only say the word.”

But you saw him as he was, too: he was a monster; your abductor and tormentor, and you, a mere human, meant to be kept in a cage in this sick game only he knew how to play. You’d never give him the satisfaction.

“No.”

“'No?’ I suggest you reconsider.”

“Alright, give me a moment.” You followed that with a short pause, crossing your arms, then continued, “There, I've thought of it. Still no. Put me back in my cage, lock me up for ten, twenty, fifty, years – hell, make it a hundred so we're even, I’d be dead by then – I don't care. I am not sleeping with you.”

You matched his reproachful and hurt look with an unyielding expression, bracing yourself for the consequences of your words. He withdrew from you with a slight curl of lips, and the sand that had once receded whirled itself around the both of you.

“Have it your way.”

As you closed your eyes, the floor beneath your feet shifted, and you were lifted to your feet momentarily before setting you back down on a cold, uneven surface. When you felt the sand around you disappear, your eyes were greeted by the familiar sight of a spherical glass enclosure. You placed a palm on the clammy surface and moved closer so you could better see where he had brought you.

It was an enormous chamber, more opulent than anything you’ve ever been in the entire day, yet somehow emptier, darker, more foreboding. Right in the middle of the expanse was a massive four-poster bed covered in midnight, silky sheets. In the dark, you could barely make out a symbol carved on the headboard: a helmet of some sort, akin to a gasmask, with an odd spinal vertebrae sticking out at the end of it. This wasn’t the artificial space he had constructed – it was his room. 

He brought you to his room so he could watch you perish.

“Judging by your expression, you already know where you are.”

The ruler of nightmares stepped out of the shadows to reveal himself. He strode with dawdling steps closer to your cage with arms behind his back and stopped only a few inches away from your glass prison.

“You have no idea how displeased I am with your actions today, my little saviour,” he spoke, slowly placing his hand on the glass directly over your palm. “You shall be punished as I see fit. Death will not come for you. You are mine for eternity.”

You shivered, but not from the cold, as he withdrew his hand from the glass and turned around, presumably to leave.

Morpheus turned his head to the side and said with a final tone, “Should you seek my forgiveness, you need only call upon me and say the word.”

The King of Nightmares then left for good, his long cloak billowing behind him, leaving only the resounding bang of the giant double doors as they closed. Left entirely to yourself, you had only one thought as you curled in a ball inside your prison:

You weren’t going to last much longer.

***

The first few days trapped in your sphere inside his room had its ups and downs.

On a positive note, you were no longer floating in artificial space and can now tell between night and day by the light streaming from his tall windows and perpetually open balcony. On the other hand, you now had company night after night, in the form of a nightmare personified, with his eyes glowing in the dark as it focused only on you. Although he’d occasionally leave, presumably to attend to his duties as a king, he always came back, sat on his royal, high-backed chair, and observed you, without a word, in captivity. It was deeply unsettling. Both of you had not spoken since, but there was no need to. 

By your seventh day stuck in your glass cage, you woke up to a different sight: he had taken you to his throne room. The sphere was floating just a few inches from the ground at the foot of the pristine stairs leading to his throne. Your increasingly pale pallor looked terribly out-of-place in a hall surrounded with colourful glass panels that seemed to shift its display of images, plus the enchanted ceiling made to look like the night sky. You looked around to see where he was, but he was absent. He may have gone off to wherever the hell his attention was called for.

But it didn't take long for you to have company. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that one of the massive double doors to the hall had opened. Thankfully, it wasn't him you saw. It was a tall, bald woman with pointy ears, wearing a fine-looking suit taking long strides towards you with an alarmed expression, mouthing something you couldn't hear.

Maybe she could free you!

Getting up and kneeling on the curved glass, you rapped the glass with your knuckles with urgency and for the first time in seven days, you spoke, "Help! Help me, please!"

The woman crouched down to touch the glass and said something, but you couldn't really concentrate on reading lips now, given how stressed you were getting. Was she mute? Maybe she didn't hear you the first time. You shouted, "Please, let me out! Help me!"

But then she motioned to her ears, and then mouthed, slowly this time, so you could read what she was saying through her lips:

'I can't hear you.'

"Lucienne."

Your heart jumped at the suddenness of the Nightmare King's voice booming inside the hall. You could hear him just fine. What the fuck was going on?

"There is no point engaging her in a conversation, Lucienne. She can only hear my voice, and only I can hear her. That is her punishment. I suggest you leave her be the next time you see her."

Morpheus appeared in your line of vision, locking his cold, pitiless eyes on your wide, bewildered ones. Turning to the woman named Lucienne, who got to her feet and bowed slightly to him, he said, "There is a new island that emerged northwest of the Land of Unfinished Inventions. Have someone survey the island and list its inhabitants. I shall be at the library to fetch the report by sundown."

Whatever Lucienne replied was to anybody's guess. With a final bow and a sympathetic look at your direction, she exited the throne room and left you alone with him. He gave you a searing look just before he climbed the stairs to his throne, fluffed his long black coat and settled down on his royal seat. You shot back a reproachful glare before turning your back to him, hugging your knees and completely ignoring him.

Several more of his subjects dropped by that morning, presumably to seek his counsel. A raven even tried to peck on your glass cage, but Morpheus, who called the raven Matthew, basically told him to ignore you, then sent him away. He spoke to all them with an authoritative tone, but by then you had learned how to block him out so you never really understood the conversations. Anyone who approached his throne had a clear view of you, displayed like a prize won from the spoils of war. Everyone ogled at you, some even gave looks of pity, but there wasn’t anything they could’ve done in the presence of their ruler. You had never been so embarrassed in your life, but you tried ignoring these looks as best you can, seeing as your captor had planned this so he could break you and force you to do his bidding. By midday, the slew of Dreaming subjects seeking their king’s presence had waned, and once again, you were left alone with him in total silence.

He broke the silence blanketing the throne room by calling your name. You heard it loud and clear, but his call was completely and deliberately ignored. He decided to call your name once more, this time with a tone of slight warning.

You gingerly sat up to see him standing before your cage, his hands behind his back and looking down at you with a disapproving look.

“Shall I take your voice away, as well, seeing as you refuse to use it in my presence?”

“Go to hell,” you replied flatly as you met his stare head on. It was getting exhausting, trying to put on a brave face, especially after he just threatened to take away your ability to speak, but you did so anyway.

“I have been there, my beloved,” he said with a slightly amused tone. “That does not insult me.”

Great, why couldn’t he have just stayed there?

“Frankly, I don’t care where you’ve been.”

His smirk only grew wider, and he started circling your cage at a leisurely pace. "Oh, but you'd care where I am going."

Why would I, you thought to yourself, and you couldn't help but raise a curious eyebrow.

"I will be at the library."

Part of you knew he was baiting you, but at that point, it couldn't hurt hearing him out, would it? Truth be told, you were dying for anything to do. Anything.

So you asked, "You have a library?" You recognized the flash of victory on his face.

"I do," he replied, crouching down on his knees to better look at you. "It contains everything humanity has ever written, including those that it has yet to finish. There is none like it across all the realms in the universe."

A library. The last time you had been to a library was about three months ago (if your calculation of your time spent in his realm was correct) and it was because of work. You hadn't had a time to even enjoy the place, and given that it'll be a long time before you even go back there (if he'd even let you), you now regretted not checking out a few books you had meant to borrow.

"I am aware you are partial to Mary Wollstonecraft. There is but one novel of hers she left unfinished when she passed."

Of course. The Wrongs of Woman.

"It lies in my library, completed, and it awaits you," he goaded on with that infuriatingly smug expression. "You only have to say the word."

As tempting as it was, you knew that by agreeing with his proposal, you would be giving away any remaining dignity you had left. Between a book and your autonomy, it was an easy choice. You withdrew as far back as you could in your cage and shook your head once.

"I can't."

Morpheus seemed genuinely taken aback by your resistance. "You would keep yourself from reading your favourite author's work in favour of refusing me?" He asked incredulously.

"I don't want it," you whispered, trying to keep your voice from breaking. "Just leave me alone. Please."

Your captor clenched his jaw and fists and said nothing, but guessing from how his knuckles turned white, he was furious. You couldn't care less if he was, though. Maybe you'd make him angry enough to kill you instead – that way, you wouldn't have to put up with all this anymore.

You hugged your knees, buried your face in them, and finally started to cry.

***

It stung. Your words actually felt like a whiplash to Morpheus's heart. He was seething, true, but everyday without you in his arms wounded him further, it was getting more strenuous for him to reel in his frustration without further taking it out on you. Your heart was farther out of reach than ever before, and nothing he could offer you seemed to work.

And then, he heard you sob, just as he was leaving to blow off steam and attend to his kingdom. It pained him to leave you in such a broken state, but you left him no choice. He had to keep you there until you saw your error. He knew the moment you said the words, he would take you in his arms and give you all the stars in the universe, should you ask him.

But even when he had finished all the work he had intended to do, even when he had already obtained the report he had asked Lucienne to make, that piteous weep plagued his mind. In all the days he's had you inside your glass enclosure, he had never heard you cry like so. He was always aware of your inner strength – your display of backbone in your imprisonment was nothing short of admirable. But you were wasting away the longer you resisted him, and he could not have that.

Despite all these conflicting emotions stirring up a storm inside him, what he desperately needed was to just spend precious time with you, to feel your soft touch, and to have you fall asleep in his arms as he read you poetry from a long-forgotten era…

The last thought brought forth a rather inspiring notion. He had distractedly drifted to the bookshelf that held the book he had taunted you with that morning. He hated having to deprive you of reading the book he thought you'd adore, but perhaps he could make a compromise.

He pulled the book out of the shelf without wasting time, and willed himself inside your cramped glass cage. You were asleep, it seemed, as far back as you could, with your head resting uncomfortably on the glass. There was not much space so he had to be careful and sat with his legs crossed. As he did, however, you had chosen to shift in your sleep and your hand had hit his leg lightly, stirring you awake. Even with your tear-stained cheeks, he found it adorable how you blearily rubbed your eyes to better focus on what exactly you had accidentally touched.

The sun had long since set, so Morpheus used his sand to transport the entire glass enclosure to his bedroom. This was an intimate moment he felt should remain away from prying eyes. Once the sand had cleared, he softly said your name out loud. His voice instantly jolted you alert, your eyes growing wide, and he knew that if you had room you would get as far away from him as you could. He was quite thankful he had created such a constricted space.

"What are you doing here?" You asked. Your voice sounded strained, probably from crying, and your eyes were red and puffy. He hated how you looked so forlorn, he had to stop himself from taking you in his arms, whisking you to his bed and kissing all your troubles away. He had to remind himself that there would be a time for that once you had ultimately, utterly surrendered to him. He had to concentrate, not on your supple, slightly trembling lips, but on what he truly came here for.

"I have in my hand the book I have told you about." He held the book up so you could better see it and know he was not trying to trick you. He saw your eyes light up momentarily at the sight of the tome, and that delighted him immensely. It had been a while since he had seen your light. He needed more of it.

"I would like to read it to you."

Your innocently confused expression was nothing but endearing. "I can just read it myself," you said.

"And you shall – once you have accepted my terms. Until then, you will have to get used to my story-telling," he countered, slightly teasing you. Morpheus had been told many times how alluring his voice was. Perhaps it would have the same effect on you. You seemed to weigh your options and tried detecting deception from him. He was starting to lose hope that you didn't want him with you, so he was relieved when you finally nodded.

Morpheus had almost forgotten how to smile after your refusal at his balcony, but the one he showed you was genuine, nonetheless.

You were quiet the entire time he read from the book, but the way you were so focused on him and hung onto every word made his heart flutter. He was halfway through one chapter when you started to shift just a little bit closer to him, your head leaning on the glass as you took to his storytelling. Just as he reached the end of the chapter, your eyes were already trying to stave off sleep and your head was falling to the side, but the limited space in the glass sphere he already occupied prevented you from laying down.

Momentarily pausing his reading, he said, "You can rest your head here, if you'd like." He tapped his thigh lightly, urging you to use it as a pillow. He knew how uncomfortable it was to lie on cold glass, and you had not slept on a proper bed since your arrival to his realm. If he had his way, he lamented, he'd have you in his arms and on his bed, the both of you stripped of all your clothing, yet draped in the most luxurious silk sheets his kingdom could offer. He hoped you would accept his invitation of resting on his lap just so he could have your bodies touch again, to feel your warmth, to be connected with you in any way once more. To his absolute delight, you did, and he happily continued to read from the book until he heard your deep, rhythmic breathing.

You had fallen asleep on his lap.

It was nothing compared to the kiss he had shared with you in your home, of course, but it was enough for Morpheus to cry a small victory: you had trusted him enough to fall asleep with him, on him, in his presence. He smiled to himself, sighing minutely, as his fingers traced your exposed cheek with a longing even he could not describe. He hardly dared move in fear of waking you up and you recoiling at your closeness, so he found contentment in stroking your hair with all the gentleness he could muster.

There, in the glass amidst the stillness provided by your hushed breathing, he resolved to be more patient: if this was how being with you made him feel, then it would be worth the wait.

***

The sun was streaming through your eyelids when you came to, but you didn't want to wake up just yet. You just had the best, albeit dreamless, sleep you've ever had in a long while, owing to that pillow your head had been resting on. You were hoping you'd be able to squeeze in five more minutes, until it struck you:

You never had a pillow in your glass prison.

Your eyes immediately shot open, greeted by a multitude of swirling galaxies that seem to float in deep blue waters. You just slept on the lap of Dream of the Endless, him and that soft, radiant smile and those long, fluttering eyelashes. You knew that stare perfectly well even when you haven't been at the receiving end of until now: it was the gaze of a lover.

He was anything but.

"Good morning, my precious little saviour."

You sat up at once, trying to assure yourself you couldn't have slept anywhere else due to the limited amount of space in the glass cage. Nevertheless, you automatically muttered an apology under your breath for falling asleep on him.

"My love, there is nothing to apologise for," he said gently as he watched you pull your legs close to your chest. "It must have caused you great discomfort to have been sleeping on such an unfriendly surface for so long."

And whose fault is that? You thought wryly. Your eyes landed on the book he had propped against the glass. The book he had been reading to you just before you fell asleep. This didn't escape his ever-observant eyes.

"Should you like to continue where we left off, I am willing to relinquish the book…release you from this glass sphere, let you peruse other books in my library..."

He picked up the book and waved it lightly in front of him.

"For a price, of course."

Ah, there it was. He wouldn't be offering you anything for free at this stage, Hell would freeze over first (which is apparently a place that actually exists). He drew closer to you, his hands leaning against the glass on both your sides to trap you.

"Kiss me, my beloved," he whispered. Thankfully you still had your knees to your chest or your noses would've already touched. His heavy gaze focused on nothing but your lips, he continued, "Grant me a kiss, and I shall allow you unfettered access to a library like no other."

You calculated your options. While you were grateful he hadn't asked you to sleep with him, a kiss was still a form of contact with a being keeping you against your will you'd much rather have nothing at all to do with. Still, you couldn't help but look at his slightly parted lips, and a memory of you kissing them in your home surfaced. Had it really been that long ago? It wasn't bad, if you tried being objective. Plus, you'd finally have something to do outside your sphere. It's just a kiss, nothing more.

You gave him a single nod.

Delight washed over your captor's features as he touched your knees lightly, urging you to lower them and allow him to get closer. You could feel your skin tingling where he touched them, but that was soon forgotten the moment you shifted to a more relaxed pose. Without an ounce of hesitation, he cupped your face and pressed his lips on yours.

Reluctant as you were, he didn't seem to mind, for he gripped the back of your neck and changed his angle, his tongue prying your mouth open. Within seconds, his tongue danced with yours, and you were struggling to keep up. His other hand gripped your waist and pulled you closer to him as he bit your lower lip gently, and the surprised gasp you let out only made him deepen the kiss. An eternity seemed to pass before his lips withdrew from yours, but to your horror, he started caressing your jaw, dipping lower into your neck and suckling your skin. You placed a hand on his chest and tapped.

Breathless, you said, "Don't…please, you said it was just a kiss – "

You felt a rumble from his chest, and he harshly yanked your wrist away, effectively cutting off any complaint you had.

"The kiss will be over when I say so," he growled against your ear, before nipping on your earlobe and planting open-mouthed kisses on your neck once more.

Dear heavens, his mouth scorched your skin, and you knew the way he sucked on it would leave bruises. You wanted to break free from his death grip and scream, but you took his thumb placed on your pulse point as a warning, so instead you gripped his coat and closed your eyes tight with a whimper. You felt his teeth scrape your collarbone before he pulled the neckline of your dress so he could bite down on your shoulder.

Just as you were about to cry, Dream pulled away, gave you one last peck on the lips, and nudged your chin a little. When you opened your eyes at last, you found yourself sitting on the floor of his room and the glass you had been encased in nowhere in sight. He helped you to your feet with his arm still around your body.

"I will have an attendant help you with your preparations," he said as he let go. "You will meet me at the dining hall."

The kiss he left you with on your forehead did not help your shaking and the shame you felt at what you just did for this little bit of freedom.

***

Morpheus said you needed to meet him in the dining hall, which meant fuck-all because you had absolutely no clue where it was. His palace was an elaborate maze of rooms and galleries, hallways and staircases, and the occasional dreamer wandering around, lost just like you were. You tried asking one of them where it was, but the response you got didn't make sense at all (to them it probably did, as dreams often were; when they wake up from it, not so much).

A loud crash and a string of curses interrupted your musing, so you followed the sound, and after two right turns and a left, you found a woman at the end of the hallway kneeling on the floor, fussing over a broken dish and the spilled contents it once held. You were on her side at once, picking up the broken ceramic as carefully as you could.

"Oh, this is so embarrassing," the woman whined, fishing out a cloth to wipe the mess off the floor as best she could. "I'm sorry you had to see this, I'm not normally this clumsy…"

"It's okay, I'm happy to help," you brushed her off as you began picking up the smaller bits and piling them on a corner. "Besides, I'm kind of lost, maybe after we clear this up, you can help me find the way to the dining hall?"

You looked at her expectantly, but she had already paused at cleaning the mess in favour of ogling at you.

"I know you, " She exclaimed. "You're the girl he put in the glass cage!"

Distracted by her reaction, you let out a soft, pained gasp; a tiny piece of the ceramic had pricked your finger.

"If you don't mind my asking, are you alright?" The woman asked hesitantly with a concerned expression.

You nodded. "It's just a nick, I'll be fine."

"No, I don't mean your finger, dear," she whispered as she drew closer to you. "How did you end up on his bad side?"

"Oh." The question had taken you aback, but you weren't sure how to respond. Maybe if she knew the truth, she could help? "I didn't –"

A firm call for your name made you freeze midspeech. It was Dream, striding purposefully to where you were. It was clear with his expression that he wasn't happy.

"You were to meet me at the dining hall. What kept you?" he questioned as soon as he reached you.

"I got lost," you defended as you got up to your feet. Not wanting to upset him any further, you tried to hide your bleeding finger behind your back, but it was too late; he grabbed your wrist and brought it to his view. If he was unhappy then, he became furious in an instant.

"What have you done to yourself?" He asked through gritted teeth, his grip on your hand tightening, his eyes blazing and demanding answers.

Your heart was beating wildly as you tried to explain, "N-nothing, it-it was just – "

"My Lord, if I may."

The woman you just met interrupted and stood calmly even under the scrutiny of her ill-tempered king. That took courage, which you found yourself being drained of every single day with him.

"I tripped over myself and made a mess of this dish I was supposed to bring to the dining hall," she began. "The good lady, seeing my distress, temporarily abandoned her search for her destination and only tried to assist me, injuring herself in the process."

Morpheus turned to you, his features softening a little. "Is this true, my beloved?"

All you could do was give him a shaky nod. You felt relieved when his anger visibly dissipated and his grip on you softened, his expression turning apologetic. Without looking at the woman, he ordered her to fetch someone named Mervyn to clean the spill on the floor, to which she simply bowed and left.

"Then, there is no excuse for my harshness," he said, before bringing your injured finger to his lips. The cut healed itself in a matter of seconds, much to your astonishment. "I should be grateful that you were willing to put yourself in harm's way to help my palace staff."

He went further by placing your palm on his cheek and then kissing it, his stare darkening as he did. You fought that nagging urge to yank your hand away, fearing that his anger might resurface.

"I could not have chosen better."

You averted that increasingly heated gaze of his, but it was too late to avoid the other thing you had been dreading: he pulled you by the hand to him for a kiss on your lips.

Dream pinned you in place with a firm grip on your waist and another behind your back, which then travelled to the back of your neck. Struggling was futile, so you did your best to hold it all in as he suckled your lower lip and drew in all your gasps, leaving you close to suffocating, just like the way he spirited you away. With every motion you allowed his tongue on your mouth, he syphoned away whatever self-respect you had left.

Will he leave you with anything?

It didn't take long before a sob began to form at the back of your throat. Perhaps he heard it, or felt it, for he let go with much reluctance. Instead, he settled with bringing your foreheads together while you composed yourself. It wouldn't do you much good if you suddenly lost your mind right in front of him, right?

"Have I told you how much I am in awe of your beauty, my love?" He whispered against your lips. "You prove to me time and again that your heart is just as beautiful, if not more so."

You offered no words while he stroked your cheek with his forefinger and he placed his lips over your ear.

"As such, I will prove to you just how much it belongs to me."

He will take everything from you, even after you have nothing left. *****************************

Thank you for reading!!!! Please engage and all that. it's really appreciated :)

Part 3 in the works and will contain smutSMUTSMUT---

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yes, I'm self-aware thank you

Citrus blues.

-------------

I climb mountains.

A resting place near a fountain

Under the willow tree.

Where you hear the shallow sea

Which scrubs the stony shore

Where sea urchins find home.

I have poppies around me

I snap their stalks and drink the milk.

The cobweb which is like the silk that stones me

Sometimes i have to.

Sometimes i don't.

But it's always there.

My flask with the teardrops for tomorrow. Sometimes worry, sometimes sorrow.

So may i borrow your time.

And put some lime in my eyes.

Until another day dies.

So I'm not saying goodbyes.

Im saying hello to your beautiful eyes.

And im asking for citrus blues.

Because i already have salt and tequila.

Hunches and cues with clues.

Left with tobacco crumbs and Shangri-La cruise.

-------

Poem by Marko Tivanovac

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Whale Shark Gliding Through Bioluminiscent Algae _ Mike Nulty

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"I just wish people would be more careful what they post here" AO3 is a site where lots of lots of people have written dark variants of good people/beings, and even more people read them and enjoy that stuff.

I wouldn't take the comment too hard, love and I wouldn't take is as criticism either. Good criticism sees what's in the story and helps you enhance or improve it (even things such as dark elements).

I think the commentor might have just been a poor pure soul who stumbled across the fic, for whatever reason decided to read it and didn't like what they read, which is down to just their interests.

They're on AO3 and you were very, very clear in the tags with what was expected in your story (reread those tags just to confirm that).

If you want to make people extra aware, maybe put a warning/disclaimer underneath your summary like: 'This story contains dark elements, please heed the tags.' because sometimes people for whatever skip over the tags. But see tags they like so they decide to read the story but don't see other tags which would warn them about things they may not like.

This commentor:

everyone else:

Dotie Rambles

I got an AO3 comment today on my fic A Small Act of Kindness that said "why would write Dream this way he is a good character, and I normally don't leave comments if I don't like the fic, I don't read it, but this fic upset me and this is not an attack on you, I just wish people would be more careful what they post here" those are just some of the things I could remember because I removed it immediately lol and one other thing where it was a waste of my writing abilities etc

Listen I know Dream of the Endless is a beloved character and despite his many flaws, he is in his heart, a character that cares deeply and tries to do good especially after that 100-year-long confinement.

That being said, I am torn between thinking ah maybe I didn't put enough tags on or maybe I could've been more specific with my summary and on the other hand, thinking I write what I want to write and I'm not at all attacking his character, that's just how I wanted to write him because...I can???

I like writing dark fics and dark characters, and maybe this type of feedback comes with the territory?

Like, is that a bad thing lol and no hate to that commenter and those who don't like their beloved characters portrayed in a darker manner, I get her point, I just want to know what I missed here because I'm new to writing fanfiction and this is the first comment I got in that vein...I'm probably not handling it too well either, am I?? 😅

Promises Six: The Patron

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Chapter warnings: language, violence, (temporary) character death A/N: You're all fucking fabulous. 💖Aiming for another update next week. Wish me luck.

Only two thrones waited in the main tent. The king’s servants rushed to move a third chair to a place of honor beside them, layering it in swaths of silk and velvet designed to hang over the canvas walls, like they could veil the differences in quality and size with a few curtains.

They needn’t have bothered.

Lord Morpheus refused to sit as his sibling lounged on their impromptu throne with the grace of a cat and a shark’s smile. Familial enmity crackled around the two like a storm, and Desire basked in the attention. The King of Meiren hovered, clearly aching to take his seat, but anxious should he disrespect the guest who would not.

Quite a tableau. If only the bard could paint.

She saw her patrons settled before she went to study the drama unfolding around the two Endless and the king who would dare consider himself an equal. Even the most delusional suitors kept their distance now. Alluring as Desire may be, they did not hem in the waves of power as their siblings did. The bard recognized the overwhelming presence of an Endless even when they tried to shutter the worst of the tidal crush when walking among mortals. She’d felt it with Death. She felt it with Dream. But Desire didn’t even pretend to care for the humans’ comfort.

Every scent was sweeter in their presence, every whisper of taste carried on the smoke of the outdoor cooking fires a draw to addiction. The company looked finer. Everyone murmured about the heat and struggled to meet each others’ gaze as they shifted in their tight clothes, fanning away glittering drops of sweat that drew the eye down, and down, and down to the curious places hidden from view by cloth and lace.

Plenty of mistakes would be made that evening. More than the usual wild carousing inspired by fantasies of bloodlust in the woods. She’d already advised her friends and supporters to avoid as much of the spectacle as possible. To keep a hair pin in their pocket to prick themselves and their loved ones back to good sense if needed. She pointed out the horse troughs and water buckets, and reasoned the king couldn’t complain if a few members of his court felt poorly and left before dark after such a long day.

She couldn’t follow them back, of course. Her curiosity forbid it, and she wanted to be near if a spark caught that might ignite the entire kingdom.

Desire made no effort to hide their conversation from the fragmented assembly. Most were too busy wrestling with their influence to take notice, but the bard knew Desire’s family, and – what was far more important – she knew herself and her desires too well to be so easily swayed.

“I heard you’d been offered a bride, and I simply couldn’t help myself.” Desire treated the seat more as a kind of low couch, spreading over the arms in a pose to draw the eye to their long limbs and fiery eyes. Their red lips looked bloodstained as they grinned. “And a mortal at that. What could have possessed you?”

The king stuttered to join in the conversation, his eyes so dilated even the bard could see the dark hollows swallowing his mind. “I-I offered, your… grace? A bargain for the King of Dream’s aid some years ago. He has not chosen, but there are still many days…”

“Hmmm.” Desire dismissed him effortlessly, not even bestowing a wave. Their eyes never turned to his face, and the king finally slumped into his seat, unseen and unheard by his betters. The bard had never seen him so cowed, and gods knew she’d put in the work.

“An offer only.” The Dream King’s hands flexed into fists. Although the bard had thought he couldn’t grow any paler, his knuckles looked deathly white against his pallid skin. “I have accepted no one, and no one in this host has so inspired my attention or affection.”

Somehow, Desire’s smile grew wider, and as they let their head fall back over the arm of their throne, they chuckled through their teeth. “I wonder, big brother. Really, I do. Ah, well.” They straightened, spinning with unnatural fluidity to properly face their kin. “At least I didn’t miss the hunt.”

The close air within the tent fostered the unnatural heat. It stuck to the roof of the bard’s mouth, and she licked her teeth to scrape it off her tongue. The warmth ached where it dripped into her chest, clenched and hungry for every good and wicked thing she could not or should not possess. Her dead mother’s hand to hold. A good cup of tea in a quiet place beside a trusted friend. Wind in her hair, songs in her throat, and someone –

She left the tent.

Out of sight, the waves of Desire’s power didn’t strike with such force, and the bard walked with her hands on her hips, taking deep breaths of fresh air to clear the scent of longing.

A breeze cut through the clearing where the king’s court set camp, and she imagined it cleaned the stench of foiled passions as it combed through her hair, that it brushed aside the bitter shards of unshaped dreams from her mind.

Sometimes she forgot how much harder intrigue and politics were to wash off than dust from the road. It worked into crevices and scars, surprising her with old filth every time she thought herself free of it.

Her time with the Endless would stain her, surely.

Her mother’s acquaintance with Death left more than a mere mark. If she wasn’t so proud of her own legacy and legend, she’d say it defined her. If she had any sense, she would’ve stayed with the dragon and sung him pretty songs until the Endless had fucked off back to the realm he governed. When Desire appeared, she should’ve turned her mare around, packed up her things at the castle, and left a note of apology. But she hadn’t. Couldn’t, honestly. She wanted to know. She wanted to see. She wanted to witness history – or add a few lines of her own.

Really, what was the worst that could happen? She had manners and a frustrating inability to die, so the chances of lasting consequences for her recklessness were slim.

Gradually, her hands slipped off her hips, and she felt she could breathe easily again. The world wore familiar shades, and no one’s power but her own threaded through her blood. Half finished stories and snarls of old songs half forgotten filled her head. The air tasted of dirt and smelled of sweat. All good and human things.

Strolling through the camp, she found an old fortune reader laying out her tools on a red blanket. The woman chose her spot well, a patch of shade that would only grow as the sun set, just beside the smaller tents where the noble families rested.

The bard nodded in passing, but a wizened hand seized her wrist, bringing her up short. Stumbling to a halt, she blinked down, bemused, but only a little surprised. The woman didn’t have many other customers passing at this hour, when most were resting or preparing for the hunt, and plenty of folk stopped the bard in the street.

All her cards, bones, and runes sat in tidy piles and dishes, untouched, but the reader glowered at the bard with a fortune on her lips.

“You have already caught your doom’s eye.”

Smiling, twisting her wrist in a vain attempt to thwart the old woman’s grasp, the bard said, “You must be mistaken, mother. I have no doom.”

Ridged nails sank into the bard’s palm as the fortune teller squeezed.

“Just because you are deathless does not make you fateless, girl.”

A presence too much like the ones she’d left in the king’s tent coursed like deep roots through the old woman’s words. They tapped unseen waters and sprouted a gravity beyond the woman’s ken. Her glare cut across realms, and the bard’s hair stood on end.

“You are become an ache that preys on the heart. A yearning made flesh. And your doom will tear you from the world if you continue this way in the Garden of Forking Paths. Heed my warning.”

A shadow cut across the sun, and the bard looked up, expecting a thunderhead. That sort of fortune ought to be followed by forked lightning and rolling thunder. But as the light returned and the shape passed through the sun’s glare, it roared, and the bard cursed, ripping away from the fortune teller even as the old woman released her grip.

“Fucking hells!”

She tore through the camp, running before she thought to move, knocking guards and bemused nobles out of her way as they stared up at the great, winged beast above. A dragon. A dragon had come to the king’s hunt.

And the bard knew just which idiot dragon it was, too.

She recognized his scaled bulk. His petulant, flaming rumble.

The absolute twat.

What did he think he was doing?

Time rushed against her, precious seconds slipping beneath the soles of her boots as she found her horse, fumbled on the bridle, and swung onto her back. By that time, knights and hunters had stirred themselves. The bard cantered between men-at-arms rushing to their mounts and young archers half-armed and eager.

She flew by the entrance to the king’s tent where the two Endless stood observing the chaos like it was so very far below them. Fair enough. But at the moment, the bard couldn’t care less. Kingdoms and fates be damned. Her patron was going to get himself killed. She barely felt their gazes wash over her, burning like molten gold, sharper than diamond stars. After a life of dragon’s fire and executioners’ blades, they did not make her tremble like a sensible mortal.

Out of the camp, into the woods, galloping along the path in the direction the dragon wheeled. A goodly field stood some distance away, and it was the nearest place her patron might land without risking his wings on the treetops. So she rode, aware the crash of arms and hooves behind her was growing.

She hadn’t stopped for a saddle. Her thighs clenched tight around her mare’s heaving ribs, every bit of energy and intent straining forward, trying to yank the distant break in the trees closer with sheer force of will. The woods pressed too dark and thick, and she couldn’t tell if the crush of noise in her head came from her heart or the dragon ahead.

The ride lasted half an age, but she cleared the tunnel of trees at last, and blinded by sun, she heard rather than saw the huntsfolk who’d gathered from where they kept the caged beasts and dogs. A dragon was much better quarry. As the glare faded, she wheeled her mare between the humans and the fiery beast. They stumbled, clutching weapons and glaring as she swung down, facing the thing they’d planned to capture.

Hands raised, seeking to draw his eye, she marched towards the dark gouges in the earth where her patron landed.

“Glistiven!”

He turned from the lancer he’d been snapping at, flaring his nostrils wide to smell as well as see her. The wind carried her scent across the field, and he lowered his head, creeping low to be on her level.

She hissed at the hunters as she passed, “He’ll burn you all if you scratch him. Your lives aren’t worth the coin the king will forget to pay you.”

A few, convinced, moved back into the trees. The rest at least backed away, cautious, ready to see if the beast would incinerate the bard before they pushed their luck.

Glistiven stood taller than an oak, and his wings could shade a whole village. He looked a fine prize with his glittering scales – and the gold trapped between them – but he’d not grown to such a size for his tame love of humanity.

He’d burned the bard to ash three times before his curiosity won over his bad temper.

A month of stories, songs, and negotiations convinced him that it may be easier to let the local villages sell him their sheep. It was easier than dealing with unwanted visits from every bounty hunter and monster slayer in the kingdom. Every year, she carried his order down from the mountain, and the farmers let the chosen sheep run wild into the dragon’s territory.

He ought to be in the mountain now.

“Why are you here?” she demanded, marching through the tall grass and struggling to look dignified. As if she didn’t have enough to worry over. Two Endless, a fool of a king, and families looking to her for protection she was wholly unqualified to promise. Just because she was old didn’t mean she was powerful. “You great, flaming… Why are you here?”

Though still many yards away, his great sigh sent ripples through her clothes. “You have not finished your story.”

Hells above and heavens below. The petulance in his voice. She noted the remaining huntsfolk shift even further away from the corner of her eye, disturbed by the voice like a landslide in a wildfire. Crackling, and rumbling, and doubtless inhuman. A voice they all felt rattle in their bones. It reminded them that though they be hunters, they might yet be hunted. Many of their kind fell to dragons’ appetites. This one may yet have them.

The bard dropped her hands, forcing her way through the swaying weeds. She’d give her patron a piece of her mind and sort out this mess. He ought to fly home, but if he didn’t, she could tell him where to hide, where to sleep away from the hunter’s hooks and the castle’s ballistas.

A sharp twang cut the words she went to speak from the air.

Pain struck. It pierced through and out, scattering thought and breaking breath. A strange weight sat in her flesh, and as her mouth fell open, desperate for air that would not come, her hands rose to find the wound, the hurt, and the thing that made it. An arrow tip sliced her fingers. A bolt from some great weapon meant to take down boar and the scaled wyverns that sometimes came this far north.

It had taken her heart out of her body. She could feel it with her bleeding fingertips, fluttering around the wooden shaft, half-pinned by broken ribs.

She fell. To her knees. To the grass. To the waiting arms of Death. Her blood pooled ruby over her hands, her body shuddering and jolting with the determination of a broken clock still trying to tick.

The ground shook with Glistiven’s rage, and the heat of his fire curled over her like a blanket as the last heat of waning life bubbled onto the grass.

Here you are again.

A gentle touch settled over the crown of her head. Cold, but soft. A familiar companion she hated to bother. The bard relaxed into the entity’s hold as she lost all sense and feeling, swaddled in the dark.

What have you gone and done to yourself this time?

My new favorite genre of picture is a very special thing that most animals (and humans!) do: face nuzzling as an act of greeting/comfort/intimacy. thank God that this is happening all over the world right now

Isn’t it wonderful?!