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“Is it not to your liking, darling?”
“It’s… alright, I guess.” You gently let him down, trying to accept the gift. But his hands are already enveloping your own, pulling the box back. All you can suddenly feel is the tingle of his warmth traveling up to your elbows and shoulders just from that touch, and he must know, but he’s sweeping away with a disgruntled flutter of his wings anyway.
“You needn’t conceal your true opinion from me,” he proclaims, setting the box on a dresser to be disposed of later. It’s a waste, such a beautiful dress with such quality materials- but the style really isn’t… you. It’s definitely flattering and perfect for your size, but it’s obvious you don’t want it. “If I cannot satisfy you, then I would like to know.”
“Dream, you don’t have to-” he tilts his head and gives you a coy look, lidding his eyes. That damnably handsome smile plays on his mouth, and you huff. It’s so annoying, how your soul stutters for a second the moment he glances your way. You don’t like how he always knows, always feels when you can’t control the stupid, swooning reactions of your heart when he comes around. Ugh, it’s all so… so typical and cheesy, and it’s exactly what he wants. You wish that you could say it’s just a product of his weird mind-control happy magic, but it clearly isn’t. Just the other day, you were thoroughly upset with him over his flirtations in public, so you’re not tranced.
It’s just… it’s nothing!
He slips your hands into his gloves, holding them daintily as if you’re a noble. His voice lowers, softens. “I would like to.” Dream sincerely responds, rubbing his thumbs over the knuckles of your fingers. He watches your expression as you squirm under his intense focus, smiling away at the way you react. He leans down further, his smile tender. “I would like to see you wear my gifts, and it matters that you like them.”
It’s hard to read him as the smiling mastermind behind high society’s slow devastation when he acts so earnest, making a fool of himself just to see you smile. He preens at the smallest scrap of your attention, regardless of whether it’s positive or negative. It’s undoubtedly empowering, but it’s also… frightening, because his reactions to any shred of your upset or discomfort involve immediate, cruel violence. Never inflicted upon you, of course, and not in front of you- but you will receive the aftermath of his bloodbaths in beautiful packaging. It’s only the lengths of your previous occupation that prevent you from flinching at a detached finger.
Yet… he does these things.
Dream looks as if his tail could be wagging a mile a minute, elating in your reaction and quiet.
With a sigh, you disturb the mind-melting sensation of his touch to pull away. He lets you, watching you raptly. “I get it already, so… what else did you want?” You rub your arms, before folding them over your chest. You try not to look directly at him, especially when he’s exuding all of that puppyish adoration.
“It would be a pleasure to have tea with you again, this afternoon.” He offers, standing up straight and folding his wings against his back. Betraying his nerves, they puff up slightly. “You may don any attire you so desire, it will only be the two of us this time.”
“I was going to wear whatever I wanted, anyway.” You flippantly say, turning away to open your stupidly massive wardrobe (everything in this palace is large for no reason.) You don’t need to look at him to feel how his magic flares with his giddiness, and it’s… it’s endearing, in the way you can’t help smiling at a very clumsy teenager scoring a date with his crush. You go through the various outfits he’s bought for you, just so you don’t have to look at him while he stands there.
“I will eagerly await your presence, darling!” He trills, clapping his hands together. With a flurry of feathers and the flare of his coat, he quickly leaves your room so you can change. You can almost hear the giggling in the hallway, and have to bite back a snort at the mental image of that feather duster of a man going ‘tee hee’ in his lonesome.
The vast array of pastries this time is much less overwhelming for you to pick through. You hum in appreciation around one of the cakes. Dream’s wings shift behind him as he anticipates your verdict, giving you big ol’ puppy dog eyes. His hands are even very politely in his lap, as if he were the one invited to the tea party and not you.
“... It’s pretty good.” You pick up another bite, savoring the flavors. Not too sweet, not too overwhelming… Each bite is just right, and the textures don’t bother you the way a lot of things do. It’s rare that you find a food that’s safe to eat, so you take your time enjoying it. Normally you’re not as inclined to try so many new foods, but his pleading looks successfully move you to eat at least one. Just so he’ll stop being so pathetic about it.
“Would you like the rest of the cake?” He offers, and you feel your brow twitch… though your stomach says you should absolutely accept. It’s likely this will become another part of your rotation of things that you will never stop eating forever.
“You mean you bought the whole cake without knowing if I’d like it or not?” You raise a brow. He grins, sheepish as he shrugs a shoulder.
“In the off chance you did like it,” he looks at you with that same, earnestly adoring expression. “I’d want to see your happy reaction.”
You sigh, exasperated, but the small upwards curl of your mouth brings him more joy than you could ever know.
Dream toys with the rest of his own food, his plate occupied by a slice of strawberry cake. The sponge is perfect, light and fluffy and delicious. The whipped cream is equally so, but the carmine syrup that pools under the dessert is reminiscent of that bloody package he gave you. Not that he really cares, he just keeps on breaking it into smaller and smaller pieces with the two-pronged fork. “I don’t need to eat, anyway, so I like watching others enjoy their food instead. It helps me feel full.” Like some kind of food voyeur.
You hum in consideration as you look at the way he holds his fork, disinterested and loose about the handle. “Have you already tried this cake? Or any of the ones here?” You gesture at the wide array on the table. His shoe nudges your own on accident as he adjusts in his seat, before playfully tapping once more. You squint at him, and he smirks back, before tilting his head from side to side in a ‘so-so’ motion.
“I’ve had all of them before,” he admits. Dream leans back in his chair, stretching his obnoxiously long legs out and nudging your chair. With a nostalgic tone, he scoops up the pink sponge and peers down at it. It drips off his fork. “I used to be a gourmet. I loved to eat new things, to experience the history and love each chef put into their food. I wanted to collect the stories of each dish. I traveled the world to try anything, from home cooking to odd wilderness crock pots. It was one of the only things that still made me happy even after I left my home.”
“I’ve had so many different meals over the centuries that I can’t seem to care much for any dish anymore. They all become so bland and tasteless after a while, just different textures that pass through me. I became tired of eating, drinking, anything… It isn’t as if I need them to survive, anyway, so I’ve moved onto a different cuisine. One that needs careful cultivation and time to bloom, but can be tasted throughout the process.”
You furrow your brow, trying to imagine what kind of alcohol or wine he means, but he just laughs. “Ah, I was carried away.”
“What did you move onto?” You ask.
He takes a sip of his tea, ignoring the steam wafting off of it. It must burn his tongue, but he swallows anyway, wordless and unbothered. “People, my darling.” Thoughtfully, he muses. ”It took only… two or three centuries to move onto them. I can’t believe it took so long, and I missed so many opportunities to taste different people…”
You stare at him, suddenly very aware of the things he’s given you in the past. Parts of people, remnants of their clothing or personal belongings. Evidence of their disappearances, that they ever existed before being spirited away.
Dream pouts. “Oh, please don’t look so disgusted. I won’t eat just anybody, I have standards. And before you get any ideas, I don’t bother with consuming flesh.” He makes an ‘ick!’ face, before playfully continuing. “It’s just another kind of meat, anyway. Monsters were interesting for a while, but they will always turn to dust in your mouth.” He sticks his tongue out. “But anyway, no one is hurt, and I get to eat something that substantially sustains me, isn’t that nice?” He peers over his tea cup at your frozen expression.
A moment passes, and he breathes in. It's odd, watching how smooth the transitions between his faces are. The carefree and ravenous thing he can be, the comedy mask that he has become to the masses- and then there is your Dream, who begs for your attention and pouts. The Dream who can't bear the thought of you disliking any facet of himself.
His tone changes, softening with insecurity. “Does it upset you? My diet?” His brows lower. In this moment, it’s as if he hadn’t just admitted to cannibalism and eating people of your species. He looks so awfully normal and unbothered by the weight of his sins that it’s hard to believe what he just said.
You search for the answer to his question in yourself, and reluctantly respond truthfully. “... No.” You don’t like that it doesn’t bother you as much as it should. But he isn’t currently hunting people and eating them, he’s just… ‘cultivating’ them to taste them. Somehow. Does he feed on their souls? Or maybe he saps away their emotions, like some kind of vampire?
His relief is palpable. His wings slump, the beautiful feathers scuffing against the pristine marble tile of the greenhouse as he sighs. “That’s good. I’d understand if you didn’t like it, though.” Dream's eyes widen in realization. He scrambles to add, “and I’ve not had you yet, darling, so please don’t misunderstand!”
You’re not sure if you’re glad he hasn’t, or a bit… disappointed that you’re not ‘tasty’ enough. Your conflict passes without a comment from him, thankfully. Then, your brow furrows- 'yet'?
"I was hoping to ask you after we got to settle in more." Dream bashfully answers, without a word from your mouth. His face glows a little, and he giggles, twiddling with the fork. His gaze lowers to the plate, where the cake has become meaningless, pink slush. You think of brain matter. He smushes it flat while chattering. "I think it's much more romantic if-"
"Was that why you took me in?" You hear yourself ask, staring at his cravat. The ruby brooch pinning it in place glints as he shifts, the sunlight catching beautifully in its unfeeling eye.
Dream's wings dip. A tint of embarrassment colors his face, and his eyes waver from yours. "Well... partially, but I..."
You stand, and he stops you with a hand on the crook of your elbow. Just like that, your whole body responds happily, purring away at his touch, and you jerk back. So starved are you for any kind of social interaction, any touch at all, after all the time he's held you captive in this forsaken gilded palace. Dream croons softly, bowing to meet you, his arms wrapping around you and caging you in. "Don't be so reckless, darling." He scolds, pulling you closer to himself and away from the table. "You could have dirtied your pretty garments with the food."
"Dream..." You trail off, staring down between you both. He tilts your chin up delicately, his silk glove cupping your cheek. You're forced to meet his eye, and the unwavering affection within makes you want to lash out and push him away. But you don't. Your throat is tight, and you feel like your head will begin to spin if you move. You lay your hands on his chest, and feel his breath stutter just from your touch. He tenses against you, mouth parted and anxiously in wait of your next words. He's so utterly in love with you that it's easy to string him along like this. He trails along regardless of how much you give him.
It's really too bad that he can do the same to you. Already, that expression he wears, so stupidly besotted... breathless from your focus, his hands holding your hips... You can feel it from the tremble in his fingertips, he's actively restraining himself from grasping you like you'll run away. You can't fight his influence. He's already wormed his way into your heart, and nestled there. It didn't even take his magic. You hate it, and hate the way you know it's all authentically you.
"I love you." He murmurs, and you swallow roughly. Your soul beats furiously in your chest, and you wish, so, so desperately that it wasn't for him. "It was my original plan to feed on you, but I swear I will not without your consent."
He's holding you captive, you repeat to yourself. You may have gotten to visit many new wonderful places with him, but it was all under his watchful supervision. You're not free. You're only falling in love because he's the only person to fall for. No matter how kind he is, no matter how genuine his reaction, he's still... You waver as he strokes your back. "Alright," you mutter, squirming away. His grip flexes. "Just let go of me, already."
Slowly, he pries each digit off of your arms. Dream bows his head, this all-powerful angel, bending to your demands. His eyes plead with you even though his mouth moves without a sign of his hurt. "Anything you say, darling."
You can't brush off the imprint of his hands on your body, even if there's no markings. You still feel the lingering warmth from his body on you, mapped out. The weight of his despair makes the room dimmer. He even seems to shrink a little.
"I'll see you at dinner." You tell him, and he lightens instantly, his smile returning to light the greenhouse. It's so visible what effect you have. You run away from the scene before he can say anything else, your head spinning as you try to process it all.
Clearly, he cares enough about you now to abandon his previous plans. But it doesn't help that it was his original intention in the first place.
You curse under your breath as you unwillingly think again about the thing he said, about it being more romantic to agree to a feeding- what is he even thinking of? Dracula? You huff, shutting the door behind yourself.
You know you'd let him if he asked you right now.