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itskindofidontknow · 3 days

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What dreams know about love?

Chapter 5

Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC

Summary: The Queen of Love has grown used to the absence of her husband, the Dream King. After banning her from the Dreaming, they only saw each other when Morpheus summoned her for social or marital duties. He would go decades without calling for her, enamorated by a variety of mistresses. It broke Love's heart. Not that her husband cared. However, after being imprisioned for a century, The Dream King wants to regain his Queen's love. She doesn't believe him, not after centuries of neglect. The question is: Can dreams repair a broken heart?

Tag: Established relationship, arranged marriage, regency romance, eventual happy ending, angst, morpheus is a dick prepare to hate, love is eoster from west germanic mythology, typos are to be expected

TW: Wet dreaming, fingering, self-pleasure

A Bath. A nice warm bath, that was all the Eoster could think. Some people clear their head under cold showers, Eoster liked to soak her head under a nice milky warm pink water and let the smell of a variety of flowers fill her head. She barely stopped to talk to any subject besides a polite acknowledgment nod, here and there, going straight to her bedroom, calling for the maids.

The bath was quickly fixed, and in no time, Eoster's entire body was immersed in the water, only her eyes and nose peaking out. A mix of flower petals danced around her moving in a slow and directionless pace. At first she tried to tune out everything related to Morpheus and his return, resting her head against the cold white porcelain, trying to relax, leaving the worries on the other side of the door. A few moments passed before she realized that she was getting a headache trying to convince herself not to think about their reunion. It was like telling someone not to think about a pink elephant, it becomes impossible not to think of anything other than a pink elephant.

If Love couldn’t turn off her thoughts, she decided to turn her attention to something else. A game she always liked to play: Guessing from which flowers the loose petals belong to.

Half an hour went by, as she lazily watch the petals and made lwaves pushing away those that she identify. Love manage to name roses, peonies, some lotus and a few rosemary’s petals. There was still some left, but the distraction didn’t prove enough to keep her mind away from her apprehensions.

This rare alone time was a small pause that allowed to forget she was a queen, that she had countless romances to supervise, marriages to bless, entities to teach, concerts and poetry readings to endure. A moment where she could inhale the sweet and healing smell of flowers and welcome the watery warmth, letting her mind go numb and her thoughts run free.

Some days, when she felt loneliner than most, she would check if there was any maid around, and if there was none, Love would remedy her loneliness herself. Gently sliding her fingers through her thighs, shvrieng from delicate touch, dwelving in that feeling that was scarying and exciting. Fingers dancing, enticing her flesh, until meting her core.

She shyly let her fingers touch the sensitive skin, sliding between her folds, experimentating with touches that provoke more delicious shrivels. Sliding a finger inside herself, thinking of no one in particular, just the touch. How she longed for someone who would want to touch her, to crave her flesh, to see her body curve and hear the whimps of pure lust.

A few years after her king absence, maybe her stupid heart started to forget about how her husband really was, because during those alone moments, she often began to think about Morpheus and imagine being one of his mistresses. Both in a hot bath, she laid against his wet chest, synching the beat of their hearts. A peaceful silence, enjoying a moment where they were not queen and king, husband and wife, but simply lovers entangled in each other arms. His hand would travel through her body, lightly caressing her lily white skin, caressing her breasts, the tip of his fingers playfully brushing against the sensible nipples, making his wife melt under his touch, humming in a languily approval. His hand would travel lower until reaching the bottom of her belly, cruelly teasing her, before pulling her closer by the waist. They would stared at each other, Love lost in his deep blue gaze, as he asks a silent consent, and reached for her lips. An innocent kiss that deepens as he would slide his fingers between her folds, slowly working on her, nourishing in her pleasure.

Love would indulge in her imagination thinking about his lips against the soft skin of her neck, not being able to contain himself, leaving love marks along her neck, marking Love entirely as his. The gentleness of his hands in her breasts, not squeezing them hard to over stimulate himself in coming faster, but to entice her, nipples aching for his mouth, his hot breath against them. How he would curl his fingers inside her, adding one after the other, revel in hearing the sweet whimps and pleads, seizing the chance to steal sloppy kisses from her, feeling her body tremble but cruelly keeping a slow pace. He would not just put himself inside her and pushed it until finished, avoiding at all costs looking at her. Not in her imagination. He would slowly stretch her out, while sweetly kissing her, dwell in her needy moans, whispering promises of love and other unpoetic secrets woken by their carnal union. Sometimes when almost reaching climax, she could imagine hearing the sound of his low sultry voice against her ear, a tone she imagined he would only use in private, asking her to come for him, to wake up all their realms with her lustful pleas.

She always felt ashamed of the inappropriate thoughts after relieving herself. Knowing that those imaginary scenarios were foolish fantasies of a lonely wife. Even though she couldn’t help but keep turning to them again and again. It was her pink elephant.

But now, after reuniting with her actual real husband, she doubted she would ever indulge in her immaculate fabrications ever again. His return, his whole presence, was a constant reminder that her fantasies were not only products of imagination, but impossible ones. That thought grew a bitter feeling inside her. One more thing Morpheus took away from her. Nothing ever would be safe from him. And if that was not enough there was the whole present situation.

He said her court could go to the Dreaming.

A court that was not fond of him.

He said the Solstice Festival could be held at the Dreaming.

He agreed to the stupid idea of inviting his Endless siblings.

His ruined realm would hold the most important festivity of the season.

And on top of it all, the cherry on top of the cake: Eoster needed to move back to the Dreaming.

Just the thought of it, made sour memories come back to hunt her. Sleeping alone in a cold room filled with blueish light that penetrate through her curtains; pillows wet from tears; hearing footsteps outside her room, and thinking, hoping, that maybe it was her husband. That maybe he would bust through the door and fall in his knees, repenting of all his sins, asking, begging for her forgiveness. Foolish dreams. She could live with a terrible marriage while in the Garden, it was her realm, her people, and she could bury all her misery deep inside her heart and fill the days with nothing but a blissfull routine, applauding harp solos, enjoying afternoon quadrilles, accompaning mortals through their love journeys. But in the Dreaming, everything was foreign and cold, she felt like a naive deluded young queen again. Loneliness and tears filled those palace halls.

Eoster let her body smoothly submerge, closing her eyes. If only she could disappear. Maybe if stayed hidden in her bath long enough, Morpheus would forget about her, and his sister, Lady Death, would come visit her. A much pleasant company. The thought was appealing, if not for knowing that Elijah would probably start a war in Love’s name against probably, due to his dramatic nature, all Endless siblings, and would most likely destroy her realm and everything dear to her heart.

Elijah needed Love, the lovefolk needed her, mortals needed her. She could deal with her husband. Today, she lost her temper, but it was their first encounter. She would regain her calm composed demure. And Morpheus would not get a single tear from her. He would have her back. An uncaring, vague, passionless wife. Just like he always wanted her to be. He would not get through her.

A shiver ran through her spine. The Dream King. Was it time already? She tried to ignore it, maybe he did summon her by mistake, but the tingles continued. She grunted in a very unlady like manner, emerging to the surface, clearing her eyes with the back of her hand. Eoster jumped when she saw Elijah with her fluffy tower next to the bath.

"My Queen, I believe the water is already cold. I can ask to heat more, if that is your wish." He politely said it, eyes upfront, a posh way of saying that she was taking too long. "Thank you, dear cupid, but there is no need for it. I-" Another shiver, more intense. Eoster even had to stop talking after the cold feeling took over her body.

True Marriage’s callings is one of the things that she really wished somebody could've explain it. One can not ignore the calling. It only grows stronger, more annoying, a literal pain. "As you see, the king is calling." She got up, some petals stuck in her skin. She wrapped herself in the fluffy towel, as her cupid helped her to get out of the bath. "I am afraid there is no nuptial’s nightgown ready for you, my lady. All the tailors and seamstress were full, and none wished to help their queen." The brown haired cupid accused bitterly. Elijah and the old tailors and seamstress had an ancient feud. Love didn’t meddle in those, preferring not to ask, avoiding picking sides.

She lightly scold him, knowing nothing would change. "Don’t be villanous, Elijah." He bowed his head respectfully. She had a hint the feud was something about the cupid undecidedness and impatience for immaculate perfect clothes. The old cupids are known for being stubborn and workers of their own pace and schedule. One could have the most beautiful original pieces by their hands, however it could take an eternity. And if rushed, it would take double the eternity.

Nevertheless, they were not fans of the 'stuck-up cupid’ (as she heard one of them called Elijah). Even Love had to be patient and careful on how to speak or demand anything from them. They could simply ignore it, or do it slowly as a cupid could, taking a millenia to finish an easy task. An delay entire operations. Nothing in the universe, expect a good cup of lovers' tea, biscuits with pure nectar, and a very convincing apology, would, maybe, in a good day, be enough for them to forgive an insult.

As they entered Lady Love's bedroom she saw three dresses perfectly laid in her bed. "I took the liberty on selecting a few options that might please the Dream King." Elijah went by the mattress, deciding which to show first. The chosen first option was a long silk golden dress with a bare back. It could pass as nightgown. Love glanced at it, not in the mood for gold. "We could try the lilac one, maybe some violet petals in a loose braid to match it." The cupid suggested, understanding the look as a disapproval of the first choice, taking the second option, a delicate tulle lilac attire, loose fitting but lots of transparency.

It was not the dresses she disapprove, but the fact that she had to wear them to please a king that could not be pleased. "Let's do hair first." Love turned away from the bed to her vanity, siting, while taking the hair pins off. Elijah dropped the fabrics, and quickly was behind her, brushing the long curls, untangling and smoothing them. "Did Lucienne talk to you?" The cupid didn’t take his eyes of the hair while responding. "Yes, my lady." He paused for a moment, and Love thought he would not give her the details, but this was Elijah. There were always details. "Poor thing, I only explained half of our traditions for the day, and what she would have to take care of" Places at the table, dinner options, color palettes, entertainment, appropriate topics of conversations, who to invite, who to avoid… "She looked as lost as a little lamb. I told her we could revisit everything tomorrow, but I am afraid she might resign." Both shared a complicit giggle.

At the same time it was a ludocris idea to resign over a simple party execution, it seems quite fiting for the librarian. Librarians are not versed in the practice of entertaining. Yes, Lucienne was more than a simple librarian and would do her best, of course. The woman never escaped duty, she was too loyal to her lordship for it. But Love feared her best wouldn't be enough for the Solstice Festival. "If the burden becomes too heavy, ask the Emissary to assist you both, but don't bring him into the Dreaming. Like a...Distant consultant." Love didn't mind her cupid's lover. Not at all. The Emissary has been around for years, he was as much part of her court as any other, and had quite an eye for anticipating crises. His clever wits also amused the Queen, and he had that daring nature that reminded her of Desire without the bad parts of trickery. Dream, on the other hand, would become insufferable if he knew Desire's creation was thinking of freely walking in his realm.

"Before fallen in desperation, Lucienne also mentioned that I am to have a private audience with Lord Morpheus." He glimpse at the queen in the mirror, she turns to face him, confused. "A private audience with you? Why?" Morpheus didn’t mention this to her. Why? If he wanted to discuss the Solstice Festival it didn’t need to be a secret from her. Maybe he was ashamed of not knowing about the traditions of his own wife realm? That never bothered him before, besides he has a librarian, she could do the search. "Did Lucienne mention the topic of discussion?" Love inquired trying to make sense of that strange meeting. "She did not. Lucienne only said that the king needed to finish some pending business, and he would summon me right after." Love fell silent, turning to the mirror, frowning, as Elijah returned to her hair. Dream needed to rebuild the Dreaming, that was the ‘pending business’, but what was Elijah’s part in this puzzle? she didn’t have the faintest clue.

After finishing a loose side braid tied with a piece of lace fabric in a small bow, Elijah had to tap the brunette on the shoulder, for she was lost in her deep trail of thoughts and theories trying to make sense of Morpheus’ plans. It’s not intending to meddle and ruin his plans, truthfully, although he would never believe her, it was the other way around. Love wanted to know his real intentions so she could dodge them and not be blamed for trying to ruin it.

Eoster lightly shook her head, as she got up, and stopped, looking to the dresses in the bed. Three perfectly beautiful and appropriate choices. Any husband would be delighted to see a wife dressed in any of them. ‘It is a mockery’ She thought. Why would she dress beautifully as it was their first night of honeymoon and they were a loving couple, when Dream would rip them off, and not even look at her face when finding his pleasure? Love doubted he would notice if she was dressed in a carefully made nightgown or a simple rag. He did not care. The only care he had was to roughly touch her body to entice his manhood, until he was ready to penetrate her. Any clothes she wore were only a reminder of her shame. Especially when destroyed and cast aside on the floor. A cheap but precise metaphor for her own self.

Love turned to her wardrobe, opening the white doors engraved with small flowers hand-painted in great details in each corner. She scanned through the beautiful gowns, formal attires and seasonal frocks, each more unique and ravishing than the last. It was until the very end, her fingers brushed against a thick long cotton fabric, an old camisole, that left all for imagination. Shoulders were only exposed thanks to the off-shoulder neckline. "Our king never really cared for them, did he? We might learn something from his never ending wisdom." Eoster didn’t mean to sound as sarcastic as she did, but after saying it, she did not regret it. How can she regret the truth?

Not once in centuries he complimented her, or spent more than a second looking at his queen before commanding her to lay down. So why should she care? Eoster took the rustic gown off her hacks, and happily gave it to Elijah. The cupid looked at it, and back at the determine look at Eoster’s face "Indeed, my queen." If Eoster didn't know better, she could swear Elijah gave her a proud look with a little smile in his lips. A small inculpable rebellion. An implied message that she might attend to her marital duties, as expected, but it was nothing more than a barely tolerable obligation. One that she was tired of dressing up, pretending it was her duty to sweet her husband's eyes. When in fact, Love was lying to herself, trying to ease the pain. Maybe wearing those nighgowns, it would feel like a happy wedding.

It never did.

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