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the-darklings · 1 year

Text

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗𝐈.]

summary: "We begin... with a spin."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 16.2k+

warnings: gonna break your heart one last time, Dream is still Dream (reluctantly affectionate)

notes: all good things come to an end : )

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: Rule the World (Odyssey Version) by Take That

1:32 ───|────── 4:55

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART ELEVEN: BEYOND.

“Who are you?”

“I am Destiny of the Endless.”

“And who am I?”

“You are the one who wanders. You will do so until the universe ceases.”

“Why?”

“Because you have been cursed to do so. Because you chose no shackles, no roots. You wished, instead, to roam free. And now you shall.”

“Why?”

“Because all is as it is meant to be, Wanderer.”

“Why?”

“Because you wished to break your destiny. And so you did.”

“I knew a lad called Jack Constantine once.”

Book in hand, you step around Hob, licking the dryness from your lips. Copper lingers on your tongue. “Same family.”

He perks up at your subdued comment, arms unfolding from where they rested over his chest.

“Nah, really?” He mulls it over for a moment. “Wait, that actually makes a lot of sense. He was a bit of a twat.”

Johanna sniffs. “Piss off.”

Late evening sun streams through the blinds, bathing the dark wood office in syrupy, golden-brown light. Books and notes lay scattered everywhere you look, each inch utilised fully. Johanna leans her hands on the table, squinting at the grimoire laid open. She’s been chewing on her lip for the last five minutes. That doesn’t bode well.

“No can do,” Hob replies, hitching his shoulders with a proud smile. “I’m here on strict business.”

Dropping the grimoire Johanna requested on the table, you shoot them both a look, “Are you two done?” Your attention swivels towards the necromancer despite your trembling hands, finding her delicate features pinched. “Can you find Jed Walker?”

She huffs, her brows folding inwards. “You’re asking me to find a needle in a haystack of seven billion, give or take. I’m not a bloody witch. I don’t just cook up locator spells. I deal with demons and the dead.”

Bracing your hand on the table to mirror her, you soften your voice, “I understand what I’m asking for.”

“I’ll need time to figure this out,” she admits tightly.

Private displeasure colours Johanna’s voice, and you nod in defeat. It’s hard to admit any shortcoming, much less one rooted in one’s power. While Johanna may be more powerful than most mortals can comprehend, it’s not power without gaps. She’s still so young. But, as with all Constantines you’ve known, there now sparks that fiery, stubborn drive, seemingly blazing from within. This is a challenge and one she’s set to overcome.

“What about the other?” she poses abruptly, turning several pages in the grimoire. Her index finger trails over the yellowed pages, glued to another spell. “Do you have anything of theirs? You said this one has magical protection?”

“It’s conjecture,” you clarify. “But he’s been able to skirt me for over a century, so I’m left with one conclusion.”

Hob whistles under his breath. “A century? Bloody hell, you must be eager to find him.”

Memories flutter to life, birds caught in flight. A tall man with blonde hair, a dangerous smirk, and your blurred reflection dancing across his shaded glasses. Nothing more than a twisted memory that’s all fangs and blood. To file this want under ‘eager’ would be insulting. This specific longing comes with both elation and dread. Horror at what you might discover. This ignorance is no more than a flimsy illusion. You’ve spent the last century following Corinthian’s every crime, experiencing it as if he executed them on you instead.

“I can’t promise this will work,” Johanna continues, oblivious to your internal struggle. Your attention snags on Hob, who is watching you with deep creases denting his forehead. There’s old, shrewd awareness in how he examines your rumpled appearance. “At best, I might be able to cloak you. Again, locator spells are not my speciality. At all.”

You clear your mind, pushing away from the wooden fixture. “ What if I gave up an object? It’s old, full of history. Would I be able to form a tether?

You’ve seen such spells performed—you know they’re possible and incredibly advantageous when done right.

Johanna glares down at the grimoire for a beat, silent. Her chin lifts suddenly, her narrow-eyed stare harsh and biting. There’s digging intensity to how she inspects your appearance from head to toe, and you bristle at the probing check.

“You look like shit,” she says bluntly. “I don’t think you should be doing any tethering to anything.”

Your teeth gnash. “Can it be done, Constantine?”

Tension barbs through the room. Hob sighs, making you even more defensive because you can instinctively tell it’s about to become two against one. “We’re not daft, you know,” he says quietly. “It’s clear you’re unwell.”

Your eyes flutter shut. Forcing your jaw to relax, you mull over the most palatable way you can deliver this information to them. It’s clear from their wonderfully human determination that they’re not going to let this drop until they have more context.

“Fine.” Filling your lungs with oxygen, you hold your breath, gathering yourself. How difficult it is to draw oxygen should probably concern you. “Remember how I told you I’ve been experimenting? Well, I’ve exercised a degree of control over the curse. The travelling part, at least. I can force it to take me places I want, but it… costs me. Physically.”

Johanna folds her arms over her chest, humming in consideration. “Cost, eh? How steep?”

These damn Constantines.

The setting sun warms your cool cheek, and some invisible restraint in you loosens your invisible cast dropping. “Internal injuries. Bleeding, tissue tears, organ failure, haemorrhaging. It heals, but slowly. Excruciatingly so. If I abuse controlled travel too often, I can pass out. Slip into a temporary coma until internal damage heals. Vomiting, mobility issues, dizziness, hallucinations—take your pick.”

You’re avoiding direct eye contact, but utter silence encompasses the office when your words sink in.

Hob gathers himself first. “Jesus Christ.”

Shrugging, you say, “It’s fine. I’m getting better at controlling it.”

“Which part of that is fine?” Hob’s voice is barbed with horror. “None of that is fine.”

You wish neither of them were looking at you like this. Rattled, aghast, alight with shades of sadness. It's so much easier to handle this when no one is standing there reminding you of the ugly aspects of this curse.

“Can it be done?” you bite out.

Johanna wipes emotion from her face, stretching out her hand, palm up. “Show me this item.”

Without a preamble, you hand her the roughened wooden figurine. Your stomach roils at the sight. Desperately your fingers clench and unclench in the folds of your coat, blunt nails biting into your palms. The urge to snatch back the figurine is bone-breaking.

Johanna rolls the item in her hand, scanning it with eyes that see far beyond its material form. She’s digging deeper into what history—power—the object contains. “It might work,” she muses pensively. “I’ll cloak you, but the spell will have a time limit. The further away you are from me, the shorter the timer will be. Whoever it is won’t see you coming, but I can’t promise you the exact location.”

The grim determination bubbling in your gut answers: “Just get me as close as you can.”

Swirls of colours and shapes; loud, jarring noises, spinning, spinning, nails raking through the skin—

“Make it stop, make it stop—”

It doesn’t stop. There’s only colour—sound—sound—breaking—madness. And it doesn’t stop for a very long time.

A thousand reflections stare back at you.

“Coward.”

“Traitor.”

“Murderer.”

“I’m not,” you gasp. “I’m not.”

Do it, do it, do it—

A rat scurries past your arm, disappearing into the hoary mist, and you flinch.

No matter how loudly you plead for forgiveness, for relief, there’s only endless despair and glass cutting into your palms.

Flower fields. Sunshine. Peace.

A tall, pale, looming man with twin stars for eyes stands over you.

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

No reply.

But for the first time since you’ve woken up as you: hope.

A beautiful dream.

“Who did you say you were again?”

Mighty, leathery wings block out whatever light there once was, the newcomer’s pale hair shining like a halo around their fair face.

“I am an angel, here to save you,” a benign, soothing voice coos, followed by fingers tracing over your bloodied jawline. “If only you help me.”

“By doing what?” you slur, blood and sweat trickling down your split brow. “By spying on the Endless? On Dream?”

“Do not fear. I alone can protect you. Your purpose is to merely… observe.”

Demons hiss and growl around you, and you flex your newly healed jaw. They broke it four times in succession. So much for talking back. Scorched dirt beneath your feet stains with your congealing blood, and you chuckle. The croaking sound grows in volume until your throat bleeds.

It’s answer enough.

Your bones quiver under the sheer power of Morningstar’s displeasure. “Take this one away. Make sure there’s nothing left.”

The demons make good on that order.

Johanna pierces the world map with a letter opener, every inch cutting in with deliberate slowness. Candles flicker, settling after the spell, and you taste the magick at the back of your throat.

“Georgia, U-S of A,” the necromancer announces, loosening a breath.

“Great,” Hob chirps, his arm brushing against yours. “That’s just brilliant. It’s across the bloody ocean, that is.”

Johnna shoots him a venomous look. “Oh, sorry. Were you hoping for a nice trip down Brighton?”

Hob stares at her blankly in the shadowed office. He turns your way slowly as if mutely asking do you believe her?

You do. You’ve dealt with enough Constantines in your lifetime to ensure their sarcastic, surly nature is no longer a shock.

“You’re a highly unpleasant woman,” Hob concludes, though no real malice lingers in his tone or bearing.

“Thank you, Constantine,” you cut in before they can break into another bickering session. “There’s one more thing.”

The brunette rolls her eyes. “Is there now?”

“Magdalene’s Grimoire,” you begin deliberately. Johanna freezes. “I want you to locate it and retrieve it for me.”

Your companions speak simultaneously:

“Why?”

“You believe it has something to do with your curse, don’t you?”

Ignoring Hob’s incredulous outcry, you nod towards Johanna. Pain twinges suddenly in your core, and your breaths slow until you get a grip on yourself. But it’s slow. Numbing pain laps at your senses for a debilitating minute until it clears once more. The curse wants to drag you in a thousand directions, but you don’t permit it.

You right yourself again, swallowing over your dry tongue. Your temples throb insistently.

“I think it’s old—older than people assume and has spells that no mortal should have access to.” You lean towards the map, examining the range letter opener has offered. You’ve been to Georgia several times previously, but long ago. “Roderick Burgess might have gotten lucky, but the mere fact there’s a spell there that can help capture an Endless… I find that curious. Unlike what your records indicate, he was not the first Magus, but he was the last. This means the grimoire has to be with his family—likely his son—or someone relating to them. I’ll pay you.”

Somehow.

“Are you joking?” Johanna scoffs immediately. “One of the most powerful grimoires known to humanity? I’ll find it for free. Imagine what I could learn from it.”

Your stare glides to her unhurriedly, fixing on her fair complexion. She visibly falters at whatever she spies in your cool regard. “Within reason… and for the good of humanity. Scout's honour.”

Hob squints at her. “You’re not even American.”

“Shut… up,” she mutters, shooting him another nasty look.

You tug your coat free when it catches on a chair, slotting your hands in your pockets. “Thank you, both of you. Is the spell active?”

“Yes, but it won’t hold long at this distance,” Johanna warns.

Your attention latches on the wooden figurine on her desk. It’s wrong—it feels so wrong to have it out of your grasp, to feel nothing more than Dream’s pebble warming your hand. You try not to think about him now or your last conversation together. Instead, you focus on the thread woven around your heart, tugging you away and over the ocean.

“I won’t be back for at least two weeks, but see what you can discover in that time,” you tell them.

Hob balances on his heels, presenting Johanna with a charming grin. “Well, I guess I ought to help you.”

The sorceress scowls. “I don’t need your help.”

“Everyone needs help,” Hob counters.

Levelling them with a fond look, you wordlessly head towards the door while they verbally spar. Your hand briefly braces your chest, feeling the unsteady thud beneath your palm. You’ve been jumping too often, too far, and too rapidly for your body to recover. But just a bit more. Then you can rest.

You’re almost at the end of a darkened hallway before an urgent voice sounds behind you, accompanied by brisk strides in your direction.

“Wait, wait…”

You’re not even slightly surprised to hear Hob behind you or feel his fingers wrap around your bicep. Street light filtering through the window paints over his taut features, creating a pronounced tale of two sides. Light and dark. Young and older than anyone can comprehend. Quite fitting for both of you.

“Take me with you,” Hob says, imploring edge laced beneath his lighthearted manner. It pinches your heart. “You know what they say: two immortals are better than one, eh?”

If things were less dangerous, less volatile, if it were anyone but Corinthian, you would take him up on his offer. You would love nothing more—two immortals going on an adventure. Hob has known the same horrors, similar hardships, countless failures and highs. Together you’re as effortless as breathing, as familiar as old friends meeting after years apart. You’ve felt that kinship with him from the first moment you locked eyes in that overcrowded pub, sitting there soaked and miserable.

But this is the Corinthian. Even if Hob is the one human with nothing to fear from the nightmare, this goes much deeper. Soul deep. Perhaps deeper still. This conflict is between you, Corinthian, and Dream. It’s always been a tale of three parts, interwoven into a single, unbreakable thread.

“Hob Gadling, you are a gem,” you say softly, placing your hand on his warm cheek. An unsure smile forms across his mouth. “And maybe one day I will. But this… this is something I must do alone.”

“You don’t, though. You realise that, right?” Hob argues softly, fiercely. “There are people who care about you.”

You think about the Dreaming and its occupants, all the mortals and other beings you’ve encountered in your many travels. Friends and companions who have told you to visit, stay, there is always a place for you here even when they knew you could do no such thing without putting them at risk. You think about the Endless—your becoming and undoing.

Your hand slips away from him, your faint smile hollow. “I do. Two weeks.”

The Endless are formidable individually. The raw power holding this universe together, given form and reason. Their realms are kingdoms that put others to shame. You’ve visited plenty by now to draw the unsurprising conclusion. Dealing with each sibling is an exercise in patience, tact, and subtle respect in differing shades.

Sitting in the same room as seven of them makes you want to crawl out of your skin and run for the hills. You’ve met them individually in the past. There’ve been a handful of occasions where you encountered several simultaneously. But never all together in the same room like this.

They’re terrible and wonderful and so suffocating in their casual existence that every instinct in your mortal body warns you of one indisputable truth:

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Death shakes her head promptly, giving you a stern glance. “Nonsense, sweetheart,” she asserts. “You’re right where you belong. Isn’t that right, Destiny?”

Destiny of the Endless sits unmoving, only his mouth visible behind his flowing, beige hood. His hand rests on the Book of Destiny, pale but relaxed. Whenever Destiny does move, the chain connecting him to the book rattles through your bones.

He hosts these family gatherings, though all Endless have equal prominence in this universe and its continuous function. Despite it, from your angle, it appears as if he’s the one at the head of the table. Oldest and certainly the most overwhelming in his sheer aura. It took him a simple swipe of his hand for an additional chair to materialise at the table for you. For his fluttering, eerily silent attendants to lay a plate and glass on either side of you.

“All is as it should be, sister,” Destiny replies, his voice whistling wind through dry leaves.

Your pulse beats against the curve of your throat. If your stomach weren’t already empty, you would likely be throwing up right now.

Death grins brightly, pleased. Her smile is no doubt meant to be reassuring when she angles back towards you. “See, that’s a yes.”

Your words form clumsily on your tongue, “I didn’t mean to impose—”

Sitting on your left, Delirium tightens her grip on you, cutting your words short. Her chair had been dragged towards yours, your arms linked despite the uncomfortable angle. The scent of leather, sweat, and burnt sugar bites into your nostrils. Today, her hair keeps flickering between bright orange, yellow, and neon green.

“Uhm… impose?” she mutters. Her words flow so swiftly that it’s an effort to keep up. “No, no, imposing to be imposed on, and, um, imposing is impolite. What is impolite?”

“To impose would be impolite, yes.” Your words come out measured. “Like that man. You went into his home.”

“Well, he, well, he wasn’t a very good man.” Delirium’s voice thins, frustration biting into each syllable. On your other side, you sense Destruction turning in your direction. Tension blinks out from Delirium’s lovely features, her different-coloured eyes shining in the dimly lit room. “I made him see colours. Really pretty, pretty colours.”

Yes, she certainly did. You’re hopeful the man received a swift death via villagers, others having no doubt concluded him mad or consorting with devils and demons. As if to illustrate her point, Delirium lightly positions her thumb and index fingers together, forming an O. She giggles, blowing air, and much to your unspoken wonder, multicoloured bubbles float through the air. Some remain bubbles, bloated and bobbing. Others shape into animals and birds.

“I am not an Endless,” you remind, feeling foolish for doing so. As if anyone could mistake you for one of them. Your eyes briefly skim over each sibling, shifting in your seat for the dozenth time. “I don’t think it’s right for me to be here.”

Despair, sitting opposite to you beside her twin, hoods her eyes. The metal hook on her finger digs into her chin. Blood bubbles beneath the honed metal. “Yes. Mortal.”

Her whispering, thin voice blankets you, and your insides ball up.

Destruction chuckles on your right, deep and echoing in the dining hall, smoothing over your suddenly chilled, clammy skin. “Sister, do you meet many mortals who live over three hundred years? I see no harm in you being here, dear Wanderer.”

Desire stretches indolently in their seat, candlelight washing over their indescribable features. Scoff ripples from their chest, their chin dropping in their open palm.

“Right, is anyone else opposed to Wanderer being here?” Desire voices, sweeping a challenging look around the table. When no one speaks, Desire shrugs, arms open at their sides. “See, sweet thing, relax. Have some fruit.”

They pointedly push the fruit basket closer towards you. The fruit does look tasty, and you hadn’t eaten in two days, but don't think you can stomach it right now.

Dream casts an inpatient glance Destiny’s way. In extravagant robes, Dream Lord appears the most disgruntled with being summoned. “Why are we here, Destiny? You do not call upon the family without a cause.”

Destiny’s answer comes predictably vague: “You are here, brother Dream. That is all.”

Despite your unease to be dropped into their family meeting, annoyance pinpricks you at his words. Always the same ambiguity, always what the book dictates, and never what someone might feel. Destiny is not human. It would be unfair for you to hold any of the Endless to mortal standards. For you to expect them to comprehend sentiments that are so far out of their reach.

It doesn’t take away from the sting, though. At least this time, the curse was mindful enough to drop you inside Destiny’s stronghold inside the Garden of Forking Ways. Last time, you found yourself helplessly lost inside the boundless maze for weeks. Destiny did nothing to aid you—it was as it was meant to be. You associate him most closely with that wild animal fear and sheer helplessness. You can’t help it.

“Why the rush?” Desire calls out, interrupting your thoughts. “Eager to get back to another failed relationship, sweet Dream?”

Shadows coil around Dream Lord’s feet, seated between Delirium and Death. You silently question if it’s a purposeful partition.

“That’s enough from you, sibling,” Dream warns.

Desire’s lovely mouth spreads into a quick, beaming smile; all teeth bared and tawny eyes aglow with sadistic amusement. A predator having scented blood. “Oh, come on now,” they coo. “We all come here to talk as a family; even lovely Wanderer is present. Yet you think yourself above everything. Your realm, your rules—we’ve heard it all before! You’re oh so dull.”

Despair slumps beside her twin, face downcast. “Dull. Yes, rather dull indeed.”

“And are you perhaps bored, my sibling?” Dream returns, a slight pinch to his imperious features. His voice remains perfectly aloof. From this outsider’s perspective, it’s easy to see why Desire views Dream as supercilious. “Did you run out of adequate ways to amuse yourself?”

Momentarily swallowing down your fear, you slant your head over to one side, “Dream.”

Dream pauses at your drawn, anxious expression. The ignited stars dim, draining away, but the hard slant of his broad shoulders doesn’t drop.

“Oh, don’t run to his defence.” Desire’s voice is just edging on goading. Their nails tap on the wooden table when they cross their legs, leaning towards you. “This is quite characteristic. Surely you find him just as insufferable as the rest of us?”

Death’s retort is whip-sharp. “Desire. Shut up.”

Others around the table appear calmly accepting. They’ve seen this fight play out in the past a thousand times. While you’ve never demanded reasons for the bad blood between the two Endless, it’s clear it runs deep, a problem stemming from innumerable centuries long since past. And very clearly not a situation for you to get involved in. You’re not naive or arrogant enough to assume you can fix their problems for them. Neither Desire nor Dream seems particularly invested in settling anything, either.

But inciting like this is dangerous. Desire has never attempted to spark arguments involving you in the past, no matter how spiteful the mood.

As if mentally arriving at the same conclusion, Destruction’s rumbling words vocalise your unspoken plea: “Do not involve Wanderer in your quarrel, sibling.”

Delirium curls into herself, her legs raised on the chair and pressing into her chest. Her hold on your arm turns near painful. “Arguing, fights, it's not nice, but it… um… that’s not where Desire is supposed to be. It’s um… it’s somewhere else. It’s in Dreams.”

You’re not sure how to decode Delirium’s words. You once believed them to be mindless babbles. Then some phrases would come back to haunt you months or even years later. Whatever caused the turn in Delirium from Delight gave her foresight no other Endless seemed to possess. Save, perhaps, Destiny.

Desire’s fingers curl beneath their pointed chin. Desire surveys you, then his older brother, with a feline's slowness. “Well, well. Aren’t you two sweet on each other?”

This time, the darkness curling beneath Dream’s chair becomes physical. Visible even to your mortal eye.

“Cease your poisonous stipulations,” Dream says icily.

Desire scoffs, dropping back in their seat with a graceful, seductive stretch. Heat encompasses your being, pouring in the crevices of your skin. Desire’s effect is all but impossible to escape this close.

“Is it not my function, oh dear brother of mine, to sow desire in the hearts of all living things, mortal and otherwise? What are they without their desires?” The Endless straightens just as swiftly, their elbows digging back into the table while they eye you, chin back in their hands. Something cruel and fragmented, endlessly amused, slides through those golden irises—an intent you’ve never seen Desire direct your way until now. “Come, my sweet, doesn’t it get dreary? All those mortals set on your suffering? Surely you have missed the sweet, loving embrace of Desire? I could make you desire anything… even a kiss.”

And then…

The world melts away, and everything once making up your being bows and folds under the power pressing into you. You’re but a child. You are atoms. And you’ve forgotten how terrible their power could be once unleashed.

There’s only cocoon and darkness and golden, glowing eyes beckoning you, warming you, bewitching you. Your limbs are too far away to control, your will dulled into thin, worn paper—brittle to the touch. Your skin is too hot, and the air in your lungs is insufficient. It feels so good. So good, so good—

Even a kiss, even a kiss, even a kiss—

Your limbs are on strings, tugged in one direction, then another. Distantly, horror chokes you, and you scratch at the walls inside your mind, clawing for some semblance of control, but there’s only a sultry embrace of desire.

“Desire, no—”

“Stop—”

“Enough.” Something inside your chest trembles at that single word’s sheer, unbridled power. Your numbed senses are clear but not enough to free you. You're trapped, caught on the verge of awareness. “You dare.”

“Now, now, dear Dream. Did I get under your skin? It’s but jest. Lighten up.”

Few stars emerge in your blackened vision, guiding you closer. They urge you forward to safety, but you’re unable to move. It feels good to be here, so good and hot. There’s no pain, only desire and pleasure—

“We do not control mortals, sister-brother. Their will is their own. Release Wanderer.”

Destiny’s tepid command shreds through the heated, desire-filled veil. You return to yourself with a choked gasp, snapping into your tiny mortal body with a painful lurch. It’s overwhelming. Every sense was smothered to such a degree, it’s as if everything is twice as heightened now.

“Are you insane?” Death snaps. You’ve never heard her this angry until now. There’s always a smile on her face and a playful gleam in her eyes. But you’re too busy shaking to be afraid. “What was that, huh?”

Your hands convulse. Bloody indents line your palms. Your nails must have cut into your skin hard enough to draw blood. You fought. But what can a mortal do when faced with an Endless? You were erased, folded down to nothing. You are nothing.

Voices melt into one. You’re too shaken to separate them. When some semblance of awareness settles in, you realise how awful these… seconds, minutes, or hours have truly been.

You’re half straddling Destruction, arms half wrapped around his broad shoulders, your mouth near his neck. Horror liquefies your limbs, rooting you in your spot. Too much—it’s too much. Humiliation leaves you immobile, but Destruction rests his hand between your shoulder blades, his gaze kind and concerned beneath his bunched eyebrows.

“Are you well?” he asks quietly over the clamour behind you.

Your chin wobbles. Shame lashes your skin. You’ve been used as no more than a puppet to be thrown at him. On him. Like some mindless whore. A witless worshipper, begging for their chosen god’s favour, not understanding what they’re inviting. How the gods are never kind. How they only use and break for their amusement.

Even though Destruction doesn’t appear angry, you can’t stop yourself from croaking out, “I… I… I’m sorry.”

His sympathetic frown is visible even beneath his thick beard. He cradles you to him but with gentleness indicating how fragile he believes you to be at this moment. “Do not fret. It is quite alright, my friend.”

“Can you…?”

Your words splinter. The burn behind your eyes turns painfully prickly. Destruction’s handsome face creases further. He nods mutely, carefully manoeuvring your body to a standing position. His large hand presses between your shoulder blades, steading and hot through your thin robes. His fingers fold slightly, protectively. Your gratitude for his unprompted support is immeasurable. An anchor while your knees shake.

“It was a joke,” Desire calls out over his siblings. “Desire is who I am. It’s all in good fun. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

Your shoulders spasm, your back still to them. Your insides churn at the prompt, and you’re unsure if you’re about to be sick, cry, or some horrific mix of both.

You thought… you were foolish enough to assume…

How many times have you landed in the Threshold, thrilled to see Desire? How often have you shared jokes, laughs, and peaceful evenings and mornings in the twilight land? What other touch or embrace have you known over three centuries that didn’t end in agony but Desire’s? You’ve told them numerous times you have no preference for any sibling in their family—that you cherish Desire’s company as much as others, perhaps even more so. Because with Desire, you could remember what it’s like to be human—to want and need.

You had foolishly believed you were friends.

Now you see the truth. You feel the horrible, numbing heat licking across your flesh—the aftermath of this ultimate betrayal. Desire’s power shimmers on the outskirts of your mind, ready to devour you anew. Rob you of reason and choice.

“I—you… I trusted you.” Everyone falls silent at your frayed words, scraping through the eerily quiet dining hall. When you rotate clumsily towards them, you look only at Desire. You avoid others. Your humiliation burns too brightly for anything else. “You… just made me feel like nothing. You degraded me. I’m no more than a thing for you to play with.”

Some foreign emotion spasms briefly through Desire’s face—gone in a blink. Their answering smile is so patronising a deeper crack splinters your chest. “Wanderer. Be a good sport. It was simply a bit of fun.”

A bit of fun.

Desire can be fickle, and it can be cruel. But you’ve forgotten just how cruel they could be. To Desire, this is no more than a practical joke. You’re only a silly mortal. No wonder you don’t get the joke. You’ll get over yourself soon enough. But no one else is laughing or smiling, either. Even Despair in your peripheral remains hunched and mute, typically first to her twin’s defence.

“Fun.”

The word shatters something between you the second you voice it. You can see it on Desire’s face. The realisation settling in. There is no regret, no apology. Nor will there ever be. It’s clear from the dismissive curl of Desire’s mouth. They don’t see anything wrong with what just transpired.

It makes it worse. So much worse.

“Wanderer, brother Destruction. Sit.”

Destiny’s perfectly poised voice shreds whatever little composure you’ve been clinging onto.

“You knew, didn’t you?” The accusation rips through the room like wildfire. You shake off Destructions comforting touch, your lungs filling with air and spilling out fire. “You knew Desire was going to do that. That’s the only reason why you permitted me to stay. Do I not suffer every day? Or do you enjoy making me into your little plaything? Have I not been humiliated enough for your amusement?”

Destiny says nothing.

You shove away from the table with disgust. Your feet tangle before you command your sluggish limbs. Death rise after you immediately.

“Wanderer—”

You flinch away from her extended hand, from all of them. You don’t care what invisible line you may be overstepping. “Don’t touch me,” you spit out. “I never should have stayed.”

Your feet carry you several paces until another, more resounding voice calls, “Wanderer.”

A part of you doesn’t understand why you pause or look back. Dream’s gaze sears into you. Yet you can’t untangle a single thing you see burrowed there. He’s standing as well, his hand flat on the table. Foolishly, you hope he will come after you, say something in defence of you. But Dream is Dream. He’s likely just as clueless about why you took this so badly as others. Perhaps the fury you see glimmering in those starlit eyes is but your imagination. Another pretty lie your sentimental, human heart would be all too happy to convince yourself of.

He doesn’t move. You pivot away, your shoulders hunching.

Desire’s chuckle licks at your back, silky and smooth. “So tense, that one. It was only a bit of fun.”

No one laughs. No one responds.

Only a bit of fun.

“Take me away, take me away from here,” you sob, stumbling into a shadowed hallway.

For once, the curse listens.

Rivulets of sweat drip down your back. The puddle of blood at your feet is starting to go dark. These observations float from somewhere beyond the dense fog shrouding your mind. It’s so difficult to focus. Wiping across your sweaty forehead, you lean on your arm, breathing deeply. You’ve forgotten how suffocating the humidity could be here in Georgia.

Mercifully only heat-blurred fields surround you. The vast, open stretch of highway is all you see on either side.

Lights dance in your vision, your ears ringing. Maybe it’s the curse and not the heat. Your limbs obey no command, barely held together by sheer stubborn will to follow the tether pulsing in your chest. The spell’s power is already dimming. You have no choice but to jump. This is your only chance to get to Corinthian first.

“Come on… come on… I don’t obey you.” Your nails scrape on the heated metal, your head hanging low. “You obey me.”

Your tongue rolls the words clumsily. No matter how much you swallow, more saliva floods your mouth, causing your stomach to cramp. Your knees beg to fold beneath you. Lay down in this tall grass and wait for the inevitable that will never arrive. It’s foolish. Death is far from the worst thing that can befall an individual. It was the very first lesson you learned.

Digging deeper, you claw and yank on the curse’s power, squeezing it until the bleed becomes physical. Until your limbs rip from one place to another.

When you settle back into your body, skin stinging, your knees hit the ground immediately. Blood dribbles past your lips, your sweat-covered forehead pressing into the soft dirt. You pant loudly, blood trickling past your cracked lips. Pain is coming from everywhere. Sounds mangle into each other when you attempt to raise your head. Your stomach protests viciously, leaving you dry heaving. Nothing but more blood escapes your body.

A hotel sign. It’s the first thing you register. You’ve landed near one, practically on it. Your fingernails dig into the dirt as you stumble into a standing position. The tether Johanna’s spell has threaded pulses harder and faster in your chest. There. Corinthian has to be there.

Cradling your sore midsection, you painstakingly make your way towards the hotel. Relentless heat melts your already nonexistent strength reserves down to nothing.

Several people glance in your direction when you push through the reception door. In this climate, your attire certainly raises eyebrows, but you remind yourself there’s no way Corinthian can know you’re here this time.

“Can I help you?”

You stumble to a stop, breathing heavily. A man with a tiny hat and a nametag reading Fun Land sits behind a table, his annoyance palpable while he stares at you expectedly. It takes considerable effort to gather the strength required to speak.

“No.”

You turn to go.

“Hey, woah! This is a convention-only area. Can’t you read?”

Following the direction the man is gesturing wildly towards, you find a board reading Cereal Convention printed in large, bold letters. The rest blurs, sweat stinging your eyes. You work your jaw.

“No,” you repeat.

The man’s petulant glare would be comical if you were in a better mood.

“You can’t go here,” he declares stiffly.

Your fingers curl weakly, convulsing at your sides. You didn’t come this far to be precluded from finding Corinthian by a goddamn sign. By a cereal convention. Cereal convention. Cereal. At the back of your foggy mind, something nags at you.

Your brows dip inwards, your gaze slipping towards the man. His bravado stutters, washing away from him. He shrinks backwards the longer you stare at him, his throat working on a gulp. Your lips compress into a stiffer line. Someone brushes behind you, stepping up to the table. Fun Land exhales in audible relief, serving them, pretending he’s too busy to pay you further notice.

Fine. You’ll find another way.

Stalking outside, you keep to the shade, leaning into the wall for support. It doesn’t take long to track down the delivery entrance. Every hotel has one, and depending on the time of day, they’re not the best protected. Like right now, in the afternoon, after housekeeping has gone home, leaving only a handful of staff on standby.

He’s in here somewhere. The hotel corridors melt together. Beige walls and stale, humid air. They warp, smearing together into nothing but sensation. You’re a rat caught inside yet another maze. Sickness churns inside your stomach.

And then, impossibly, you see him.

A pale head of golden hair illuminated by washed-out light, his back to you while he strolls ahead and away from you.

“Corinthian.”

The raspy exhale ricochets. The nightmare stops dead in his tracks. Until this precise second, he wasn’t there, wasn’t real, but with his name, the nightmare becomes a reality. Corridor may separate you, but the spell winks out, confirming your suspicion.

Aircon buzzes through the long, otherwise vacant corridor. Your heart thunders in your ears.

Then, Corinthian speaks: “You shouldn’t be here.”

A sob wells in your chest at his drawling, smooth words. Nearly two hundred years you haven’t seen him. Over a century seeking him out, having to live with the ramifications of atrocities he’s been inflicting. And now, here, it’s just you and him. You’re not sure which sensation pulses in you stronger: anger or relief.

Your mouth quivers, your tongue dragging across your dry, cracked lips. “I searched for you.”

“I know you did,” he replies listlessly, his back still facing you. It hurts, because you were right. He’s been knowingly avoiding you. As if reading your mind, Corinthian raises his hand, and your stomach shrivels when you spot your ring firm on his finger. “I have this to thank you for, but it would seem you found me out anyway. Shame.”

The ring. Of course.

A small piece of humanity for you to hold. I told you, they’re not all bad. I hope this can help you experience it.

And experience it he did. An essential part of yourself put away in that ring must have given him a sense of your presence nearby. He used your own present against you.

The Corinthian finally turns to face you, all but unchanged except for his modern hairstyle and refined round shades. You want to say so many things to him that your tongue refuses to work altogether. A great chasm yawns between you, and you have no idea how to bridge it.

“What are you doing?” you ask at last.

There’s no smirk or sly grin in sight. He’s as closed off as you. Despite his seeming indifference, you read the subtle tension lining Corinthian’s broad shoulders. He can hide from others, trick and lie to them if he pleases, but never you.

“What I was made to do,” he replies tightly.

“No. You’re hurting them.”

Corinthian’s jaw locks. “He made me in your image, Wanderer. Now I’m making the world in mine. I thought you’d be proud.”

A disbelieving scoff rips from your chest, burning your windpipe as if acid washed down it. “Proud?” you parrot. “You’re killing them.”

Your harsh condemnation dissolves whatever neutrality remains in the space between you. Prior uncertainty dashes beneath a strain of a century dripping in the blood of innocents.

“Did they do less to you?” Corinthian’s voice is all nightmare; honeyed, cruel, and seductive. His head tilts playfully to one side. “How often did they torture you? Shun you? Sought to eradicate you? Still you defend them as you did him.”

Your sight muddies, and it takes a shake of your head to clear it. “You can’t punish all for crimes of a few.”

A snarl twists Corinthian’s mouth, his feet carrying him towards you in a measured, prowling stalk.

“A few? They’re all the same: greedy, selfish, and cruel. The curse reveals. I reflect. They don’t change; they only learn how to hide better.” He pauses, licking his lips as he considers you. Something seems to occur to him, a faint laugh vibrating from his chest. “Do you have any idea how many times I stopped them? Punished them for hurting you? New Orleans in ‘31. Berlin in ‘43. Vienna in ‘55. Seoul in ‘62. Moscow in ‘71. Bangkok in ‘89. New York in ‘00. Why those were all me and then some. I was there. I’ve always been there.”

Each date punctures through you like a stray bullet. Honed and whetted for the single purpose of hurting you in a different sense. A fragmented nightmare. You’ve chased a mirage while the nightmare has spent a century mirroring your steps, keeping you safe from the shadows whenever your paths crossed unbeknownst to you.

There’ve been times—

You thought you’d caught glimpses of him in decades-long since lost. But unfailingly, you’ve only ever found empty alleyways when you pursued these figments. Eventually, you stopped chasing these mirages. The pain was too great. But it’s never been just your overreactive imagination, has it? He was real. He was there.

He’s spent a century killing indiscriminately while also keeping you safe. You want to scream at him for the evil he’s committed and cry from sheer relief he hasn’t forgotten you.

“Then why hide?” you croak, stumbling closer. “Why not speak with me?”

“Oh, come now.” Corinthian clicks his tongue. He turns away, nostrils flaring, then turns to face you again. “You know why. You would have asked me to come back, and for you, I would have.”

His features blur, your words barely audible, “And would that have been so terrible?”

“Come back to what? Dream’s ball and chain?” Acidic words, despite their softness. His rage deflates instantly, a huffing laugh escaping him as if he’s surprised himself with the lapse. “You think he gives a fuck about either of us? He threw you out. You left.”

Indignation flares in your chest. “Not by choice.”

“Then you should have taken me with you. But you left me. All you ever do is play by Dream’s rules. I figured out how to leave the Dreaming back during Dreamfall, but I stayed. Wonder why.”

You have no response to that. You’re left standing there, gaping. For you. Who else? He had no one else there; no other reason to stay other than your presence.

“So that’s it,” you begin shakily, your words rasping, sniffling. “All this because you believe I chose Dream and his rules over you?”

“What did you do to yourself?”

Corinthian’s voice has gone dreadfully quiet. Fiercely unhappy. Too late, you realise you’re sniffling because blood is dripping from your nose. Clumsily, you swipe the back of your hand over your chin. Crevices in your skin crack with dried blood.

“It was never a choice, don’t you get it?” you whisper, your words pouring out thick and wet with emotion. “It’s always been you. Always. I was terrified the journey would destroy you. Had I known, I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat.”

Corinthian closes the remaining distance between you, grasping you by the forearms. It’s such a relief to have him near again. You sag into him, trembling. You try to raise your hand to wipe beneath your nose, but your limbs are too stiff to obey.

“What did you do, Wanderer?” He sounds furious while he examines you, as if only now realising the extent of your deterioration. “What did you do yourself?”

“I had to get to you first,” you tell him. Blood smudges the lapels of his jacket where you grasp it. “Please, you have to stop. They don’t deserve this, Cori.”

He looks disgusted at your words, but your legs fail you before he responds. Corinthian catches you before your knees hit the carpeted ground.

“It hurts.” His words come out hissing, sharp with incredulity. “Why does it hurt?”

Your chin jolts upwards, your bloodstained smile trembling around the edges. “You know why. I’m inside of you. You can’t escape that.”

Neither of you can. You’ll carry him in you until your bitter end, as he will carry you until his.

“Shh. I got you.” Corinthian tucks you into him when a whimper of pain escapes you. His hand cradles the back of your head. “I’m going to set us both free.”

And then, through horror, darkness closes in.

Motion.

“Who is that?”

A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar.

“Oh, yes. This one is with me. Won’t you be a good girl and share that tidbit with others, so we don’t have any… complications. I appreciate it.”

“But I thought—”

Arms tighten around you possessively—the air coils, suffused with thick tension.

“Good Doctor. No one touches this one. Or they'll have to deal with me. Personally.”

Footsteps retreat near instantly, the atmosphere lightening in the absence. You’re resting on something velvety. You have no idea where you are, but you know you’re safe.

“Cori…”

“Shh, I’ll be back before you know it.” Cold glass touches your lips. When your lips part, soothing water slips into your awaiting mouth. After several mouthfuls, the glass disappears. A cool hand traces your face. “Things will be different real soon, you’ll see.”

You reach blindly, seeking. “Don’t go.”

“Oh, don’t worry. After I’m done, we’ll have a Dreaming of our own.”

Then nothing.

Anchor around your ankle. Plunging, bitter cold water, pressure, pressure, a hand reaching uselessly towards the shrinking light above, then nothing—

Ropes bite into your wrists, the pyre is tall, and the crowd jeers with open delight. They throw things at you; some hit, some miss. You don’t know if you hate them or pity them. Both, neither. Sahsin’s face is disgusted, filled with hate. She has positioned herself in front of the throbbing mob. When the fire comes, Sahsin enjoys it. When the fire comes, the agony devours all else—

Blank page.

And beneath, a faint, pulsing power of Endless Destruction.

“My lord.”

Urgent footsteps head in his direction. Morpheus raises his head, his grip on the tome in his hands white-knuckled.

Loyal Lucienne and a rather familiar figure a step behind her.

“I apologise for leaving, Lord,” Fiddler’s Green begins, flustered but entreating. “But you must help. He’s killing them.”

You awake with a pained gasp. Your head swims, your fingers clumsily seeking purchase.

An eerily silent hotel room greets you when your hiccuping gasps assuage into a steadier rhythm. Corinthian is nowhere in sight. You wrench yourself from beneath the comfortable covers, stumbling. You grab your carelessly thrown coat on your way out, shrugging on the familiar weight. At least your vision is clearer than earlier. Pain remains undiminished by your fretful rest.

The hotel is unnaturally quiet—your nerves prickle. Nothing good ever comes from places where there should be life, being devoid of it. Unease pools in your stomach while you stumble through winding corridors. Where did everyone go?

Outside, twilight has settled over the landscape. Your pace increases, your palms dragging across the walls to keep moving.

You find the reception empty, the convention table barren. Except…

“—a black mirror, made to reflect everything about itself that humanity will not confront. But look at you—”

Your body turns to stone mid-step. There’s no confusing that voice with anyone—the absolute power infused into every deliberate, low syllable.

With a start, you realise your knees have bent, your coat pooling around your ankles. You’re scared. Dream wasn’t supposed to be here. Not when you’re not there to mediate. Clawing at the walls, you force your legs forward. Your bones quake in protest with each step.

Shoving into the conference room, you find the room full. Hotel patrons sit in neat rows, their heads bowed and eyes closed.

Dream of the Endless and the nightmare make for a lonely, contrasting sight on the stage: dark and light.

Corinthian’s small smile is scornful. “I’m not the problem, Dream.”

“You’re right,” Dream Lord concurs quietly. “This is my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you, but I created you poorly then. So I must uncreate you now.”

Dream’s arm lifts in the air between them. You lurch forward, stumbling up the stairs.

“No!”

You let out a dry sob, pushing past Dream to get to the nightmare. The contours of Corinthian’s face have begun dissolving, singed red at the edges, disappearing back into the sand he was fashioned from.

Corinthian chokes out a breath, grinning widely, grasping your hand. “Hey, trouble—”

His hand in yours crumbles. A wounded, animalistic sound rips from you. There’s a futile, blind attempt to grasp onto his body as it slips between your fingers. Through your arms, and then out of your life.

“No! No, no.”

Your knees hit the stage so hard the sound is a thunderclap through the hushed room. Sand lays in a golden pile at your feet. A tiny skull containing teeth for eyes is all that remains and—

Your ring. Corinthian’s faint warmth still lingers on the metal. Wet dots fall into the sand. Only then do you register the tears dripping down your face. Followed by speckles of blood. It seems appropriate that, in the end, he should have your blood also.

Featherlight touch on your shoulder only registers after Dream’s voice floats through your agony: “Wanderer. I am sorry.”

Perhaps under different circumstances, you would have examined this moment closer—Dream Lord, an Endless, on his knees beside you, his voice impossibly soft. Instead, you want to disappear.

“I know,” you sob, shaking, half leaning towards the ground. If it weren’t for Dream’s grip on you, there’s no doubt in your mind you would collapse right where Corinthian has. Something mangles inside you, far beyond physical. “I know you had to stop him. I… to me… he… to me he’s…”

Everything.

Dragging your hands desperately through the slippery grains, you gather them in a smaller circle.

“What are you doing?”

Dream’s question is uncharacteristically gentle. There’s deeper awareness that a wrong question could shatter you completely.

Past your raw vocal cords, you only manage: “I—I can’t leave him. I can’t leave him again.”

You’re not sure if you’re coherent enough for him to understand. Each word borders on a pained howl. Black is rapidly devouring your fading vision. Too much. It’s too much. You’re about to explode. Collapse like the nightmare did, utterly undone.

Several scarlet drops drip into the sand, and Dream sucks in a deep breath beside you, his grip on you tightening.

“You’re bleeding.”

He doesn’t get a response. Blackness devours you whole.

Recovery takes three weeks. You’re unconscious for the first two. Another week crawls by until you can move again.

The simple fact that it takes you so long to become functional only confirms that Dream brought back a broken soul into the Dreaming. You’ve survived limbs being severed. Past incidents where your skin was peeled off. But this goes beyond skin deep.

You haven’t travelled since the incident. The mere thought induces a fresh dose of cramping terror through your system. The curse, wounded and worn, has retreated. Dormant. For now.

“You mourn him.”

You jump in your spot. Your fingers close protectively over the ring in your hand. Dream steps into your line of sight, his coat fluttering around his lithe figure. His face is slanted away from you, observing the waterfront. You try to hide your surprise at seeing him.

He’s been… distant these last three weeks. Not cold, but…

Sad.

There’s no other way to delineate the forlorn stares that seem to follow you.

“I’m not an idiot. What Corinthian was doing was horrific,” you say dully, tugging on stray blades of grass.

Fiddler’s Green has returned, taking his post once more. It should make you happy. He apologised personally for his departure, but you understood his reasonings for leaving. Without his creator, Fiddler’s Green wanted to experience what it was like to be human. What right do you have to judge him for such a wish? Yet memory is a cruel mistress—the recollections of the one whose absence is so torturously felt are everywhere.

“He took lives that were never his to take,” you continue. Anger bites into controlled syllables. “Not to mention his plan to have Rose become the new heart of the Dreaming. Did he realise the universe would have collapsed in on itself? He had to be stopped.”

It was what had awoken you back at the hotel. It’s only later that you learned the extent of Corinthian’s plan. Rose Walker was the vortex. Given enough time, she would have become the centre of the Dreaming, drawing dreams and nightmares to her. And collapsed this universe as a result. Dream would have killed her—it’s the only time the Endless are permitted to take mortal life, if they’re an active threat—but Rose’s grandmother had stepped in last second. A woman who should have been the vortex if it hadn’t been for Dream’s capture. If the sleeping sickness that swept through the waking world had not robbed her of life.

“But you mourn him still.”

Unequivocal insistence. Your composed mask cracks around the edges. Lying would be pointless.

“Of course I do,” you exhale, pained.

Dream’s fingers curl at his side, but he doesn’t look your way. “This was my oversight, Wanderer. Do not bear the guilt for those lost.”

Trees ripple and shiver in the faint breeze. Waterfall roars to your left, while to your right, the dark shores of the Dreaming reflect sunshine like the darkest obsidian. You consider the Dream Lord while he watches the beach with a stony expression. Utterly closed off—same old Dream.

Deflating, you struggle back onto your feet.

“Their blood is on my hands, too,” you say, turning to go.

Guilt will follow you no matter what he maintains.

“Are you departing once more?” he calls out, halting you in your tracks. He’s scrutinising you when you peek his way. “You are not fit for travel.”

Offering a throwaway smile, you shrug. “I’m a rubber ball. I bounce back quickly.”

“Stay until Dreamfall if the curse permits it.” Dream pauses after his brisk request, catching himself with a swallow. Awkwardness permeates the air. “It would mean a great deal to others if you celebrated with them.”

You loosen a reluctant breath, squinting at him. “Do you want me to stay?”

Something shifts between you at the forthright prompt; tightening, warming. Surprise collects in your chest at the fact you dared to ask. But you’re tired of feigning, acting as if you’re both not caught in some bizarre impasse.

Dream’s lips part softly, his answer a mere exhale, “I would.”

Light, tingling sensation webs through your chest. You hadn’t expected that. “Under one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Answer me something, Morpheus. Truthfully.” With deliberate slowness, you step into his bubble, so close Dream’s lashes flutter as he peers at you. There’s such unbearable weight to his gaze. There’s always been a raging storm brewing there, but this is more. Heavier. “Corinthian was convinced that you made him in my image. Is it true?”

Your jaw sets stubbornly, the nightmare’s name stinging your tongue. Dream’s eyes roam over your features, seeking some unknown truth. You’re not asking about physical similarities, but you permit him this moment. Because he digs deeper, because your heart is in your throat when Dream finally settles on his truth:

“While I did not recognise it as such at the time, I believe I did.”

You’ve known, been aware of this fact for centuries. Since Corinthian shared his hypothesis, you’ve been unable to scrub it from your mind. But to have confirmation from Dream himself paints many past events in a different light.

“I made you poorly then… a black mirror made to reflect everything humanity will not confront.” Recalling Dream Lord’s words, you stagger backwards, your mind whirling with thoughts. A startled gasp pushes from your lungs, your attention snapping back to the Endless. Suddenly all the puzzle pieces slot perfectly into place. “I had it all wrong. Corinthian was a manifestation of your anger for what humanity was doing to me. He was to be your mirror, your teacher, so humanity may choose to be better. So they may learn to overcome their darkest impulses.”

Staggering backwards, words escape you in a torrent, “But it went wrong, didn’t it? You gave him too much of that anger—the fury of an Endless and reckless, unshakable defiance of a cursed mortal. You created a masterpiece by giving him too much. By making something that is so much more than just a nightmare. A perfect hybrid between an Endless and a mortal.”

Dream says nothing in response. It’s the only confirmation you need.

In the end, you stay. But this time, you’re the one who avoids the Dream Lord.

“You’re always welcome in my chambers, sweet Dream. It’s lovely to see you. Can I get you anything you desire?”

Morpheus strolls through the glossy scarlet chambers of his younger sibling’s stronghold. Desire of the Endless curls with each word spoken, stretching indolently across their seat. Loving malice lines planes of Desire’s face, enigmatic and magnetic as their name suggests.

Dream moves closer. “I desire nothing from you, save some answers.”

Desire pouts, sitting up, their hands in their lap. “Oh? Do tell. I love a test.”

He’s never understood Desire’s love for games. Petulant slights or wish to inflict harm. To manipulate and use. Once…

He supposes it no longer matters what their relationship might have been once—too many years arc between them: too much history and bad blood. Morpheus prowls through the gallery, briefly flicking his attention towards his family’s sigils.

“Unity Kincaid should have been the vortex of this age. But someone saw fit to take advantage of my imprisonment and fathered a child with her, knowing full well that it would become the vortex and I would be left with no choice but to kill it.”

A mock gasp escapes Desire’s ruby-painted lips. Their golden eyes blow wide open, startled and innocent, while they monitor Dream.

“Are you implying I meddled with affairs of another Endless domain, dear brother?” Desire’s pout wobbles when Dream doesn't respond. The faux innocence melts away in a blink, leaving behind nothing but conniving malice, peering back through a hooded stare. “Oh, fine, was I really that obvious?”

A brief, cool smile touches Dream’s lips, his words coming out frosty, “No. You covered your tracks remarkably well.”

“High praise, coming from you,” Desire tuts, grinning sharply.

“What did you intend?” Dream heads towards the other Endless unhurriedly. “That I should spill family blood? With all that would entail?”

“This time, it almost worked.” Desire’s grin stretches wider, pleased. “I haven’t seen you this worked up since my little wrangle with lovely Wanderer. How is she, by the way? Still coughing up blood?”

His younger sibling adjusts their position once again, sitting up straighter. Bracing for a fight, Morpheus realises belatedly. This is a sore spot that always elicits a reaction. But this time, Morpheus will not be giving his sibling the satisfaction. He’s observed Desire’s and Wanderer’s relationship—or what little of it remains—long enough to draw his own conclusions.

“You do not fool me,” Morpheus begins deliberately. The corners of Desire’s mouth tilt downwards slightly. “I know your fickle heart, my sibling, and you resent the fact Wanderer forgives others but not you. But you fail to understand why that same forgiveness has not been extended your way. We of the Endless are the servants of the living, not their masters. We exist only because they know deep in their hearts that we exist. We do not manipulate them. If anything, they manipulate us.”

“Then perhaps I shall pay Wanderer a visit in person.” Desire drags their thumbs over the edge of their lips, sly in their wily deliberation. “I do, after all, wear your face now. But unlike you, I will endeavour to be a far more… devoted lover.”

Wrath kindles in his chest. Morpheus knows. He’s read about your and Desire’s encounter at the shores of the Dreaming while he was locked away.

He shakes his head. “Still, you fail to see. We are their dolls, Desire. You and Despair, and even poor Delirium, will do well to remember that.”

Desire presents him with a dismissive shrug, their nose wrinkling. “Maybe I don’t understand.”

“No, perhaps you do not,” Morpheus agrees softly. Circling, he slips behind his younger sibling. Desire’s head wrenches backwards, their gulping gasp nearly lost when Morpheus twists the other Endless’ head back, peering down at the blonde coldly. “Then let me tell you something you will understand: mess with me or mine again, and I shall forget you are family. You lay a finger on Wanderer, and I will make every circle of Hell feel like kindness by comparison. Do you believe yourself to be strong enough to stand against me? Against Death? Against Destiny?”

Desire forces down a gulp, their breath stuttering at the creeping wrath, “No.”

“No, indeed.” Dropping his hold, Morpheus straightens, his jaw rigid as he stalks away, adding, “Remember this next time you’re inspired to interfere in my affairs.”

And then he’s gone.

Translucent light kisses your shoulders as you stroll towards the looming stronghold, your hands buried deep in your pockets. Your fingers have turned numb from how tightly you’re clenching them. The impressive, stone-carved statues depicting the seven Endless guide your way. Well, six. You pause by Destruction, the only one facing away, unlike his siblings.

You don’t dare to stray from the path. The likelihood of finding your way out if you get lost in the maze again is non-existent.

The ruler of this sprawling, eerily silent domain greets you at the foot of the marble staircase.

“I welcome thee, Wanderer, Roamer of Realms, into my stronghold.”

Even at this distance, Destiny looms so impossibly tall, some forgotten human instinct sparks in a warning.

Undeterred, you halt before the imposing figure, bowing your head. “I greet and thank you for your welcome, Destiny of the Endless.”

Only Destiny’s lower face is visible behind his billowing hood when he speaks in a crackling rasp, “You have arrived here for a single purpose.”

No ifs or buts about it—he knows better than that, the book slotted neatly under his arm.

“And here I was, ready to ask if you’re surprised to see me,” you shoot back jokingly. Destiny does not smile or construe entertainment from your words. You sober, your attempt at levity now abandoned. “Guess we both know the answer to that. I’m here to share some theories if you have time to spare.”

To your surprise, Destiny slips past you, heading in the direction you came from, deeper into his garden. His footsteps make no sound. His cloak whispers behind him, shimmering in the dim, muted light. On equal footing, you have to crane your head to see him. The devouring dark pooling around the contours of his pallid face reveals nothing beneath the hood, even at your angle.

“You seek to ask questions for which there are scarce few answers, Wanderer,” Destiny says resolutely. “You are far older than most mortals can comprehend, yet your heart remains stubbornly mortal.”

You set out after him at once, your invisible hackles rising. “In what way? My defiance?”

Destiny does not falter, his pace remaining as steady as lapping waves. “That is not for me to judge.”

The garden is vast and a marvel to behold, but the temperature lingers on that unnatural lukewarmness that gives away how unorthodox this place is. The light is perpetually unfading, gauzy in the corners of your eyes. It’s a confusing, strangely profound place. It’s as if Destiny’s realm contains everything all at once but also nothing. A place of futures to come, lives unlived, and wilted pasts. There’s no point in attempting to unravel it. There’s only uncanny strangeness you’ve come to accept.

“You will spend time in the realm of each sibling—you will dream, despair, desire, destroy, delight and otherwise, and, eventually, die—but you were his from the very first page, and only he will read how your story comes out, a long time from now.”

Destiny doesn’t pause at your reiteration. There’s no indication he even heard you, but you’re a step behind him. A thousand years of trying to get answers have taught you he would not be entertaining you if this wasn’t heading somewhere. The thought of another scrap of information sets your heart thudding. Haven’t you spent the last two centuries piecing things together? Attempting to confirm your speculations before you came here to confront him with them. Your past attempts may have ended in uniform failure, but today is different. You can feel it.

“You told me that when we first met,” you continue, keeping your nonchalance. You’re no more than a child to him despite your millennia of existence—this is the only way to get him to take you seriously. “When I awoke in your garden, alone and terrified, with no clue as to who I was or what had happened to me. I’ve been thinking about those words ever since.”

Destiny slows, then stops altogether. Your heart climbs to your throat. You've paused by his statue, standing at the foot of polished, pale stone. Destiny’s cloak whispers when he hinges in your direction, anticipatory. He already knows what you will say.

“It was you. You’re the one who did this to me.”

The clarity that clangs through you with those words shakes your knees. Sucking down more oxygen, you add, “Not directly, maybe. I was cursed by mortal power. This much I know for certain. But you made it possible. You led me to this by the hand. Why?”

And like a dozen times you’ve tried in the past, you expect dismissal, or worse, silence with which he’s punished you often. Destiny would disappear from your sight altogether. His patience and unwillingness to give you clear answers are unmatched.

But not this time.

“Because you broke your destiny. Tore it to shreds. Painted it red.” Destiny readjusts the heavy book under his arm. “So you were allocated a new path. One of hardship and pain, but one that may lead you to salvation. Should you tread it mindfully.”

The roar in your head is so loud you barely understand Destiny’s low, equable words.

“You could have told me this a thousand years ago,” you choke out.

He remains a perfectly barren canvas, but in the tension pulsing between you, there now whispers a hint of displeasure. Sweat trickles down your nape.

“I did,” he replies flatly. “But you did not listen. You instead raged and ran, and what came of it?”

Madness and despair.

Stumbling forward, you bite out, “Why? What did I do? What could prompt eternity of this.”

All this pain for crimes you couldn’t so much as recall. Whatever it was, have you not paid back your dues? Have you not suffered enough to make up for your past?

“Forgetting is the only kindness you’ve ever been spared. Or ever will be. Treat it as such.” Cold needles your spine, and a terrible urge to fold yourself into a ball gnaws on your bones. Destiny’s pitch does not change, nor does his bearing, but it doesn’t need to. “In your quest to break, you reformed into something else.”

Your force down saliva, near choking. “Into what?”

“Challenger of the Unknown.”

Silence envelopes the garden. There’s little to no sound in the Garden of the Forking Ways to begin with, but those words blanket everything. Not even the wind seems to stir. No blade of grass moves. This means something; it means something crucial, but you have no idea what.

“What does that mean?” you beseech. Destiny doesn’t move, nor does he answer. Your voice cracks. “Please just tell me.”

But you already know it’s a lost battle. This is all too familiar—the cold, pitiless silence, utterly unmoved. He’s given you all he’s intended to.

“I used to think you hated me.” You’re not sure why you’re telling him this. Destiny won’t care. Your feet carry you past him. Briefly, you pause by Dream’s statue, then keep going. “More than anyone else in this universe. It wasn’t until Destruction left that I finally understood your position more. It is a burden to know what others don’t but be unable to speak that knowledge.”

There’s no doubt in your mind that Destiny knows where Destruction is.

The Prodigal’s statue pierces your vision, making you squint into the hazy skies above. Your following words slip out, each lilting with breezy ease: “But it doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive you for letting Dream rot in a cage for a hundred years when you knew it was coming, when you could have warned him somehow. I know you have a duty, but he’s your brother. However, indirectly you let Dreaming decay—my home. You let humanity suffer. I figured it out, by the way, why it’s a loophole. Why my book exists in the library, but nothing in other dimensions does. Why I can sleep in the Dreaming but not anywhere else.”

Destiny stands stock still, his bony arms close to his chest, clutching his book. He displays no outward reaction as per usual. It’s a relief to voice your thoughts. You’re utterly terrified of him, but he’s right—your heart is still stubbornly human, as brazen as the Fates accused you of being.

“Because if my curse was the will of the Endless, if my path—whatever it is—is so tightly bound to your family, then it only makes sense, right?” You’re not looking for a response because Destiny will offer none. “The Dreaming is the only place where aspects of each Endless manifest. It’s a loophole. The curse goes dormant when I’m in the Dreaming because the only thing more powerful than the curse is the combined power of the seven Endless.”

You’ve waited to voice your conclusions for so long, it’s surreal to have spoken them aloud. You might fear Destiny, but not enough to continue as a coward. He can deny it, but you’re confident that’s the reason. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

“My siblings have gained much from their companionship with you, Wanderer,” Destiny admits. You quell a flinch despite Destiny’s voice retaining its monotonous quality. “But you and I are antitheses of one another. My brother would not be who he is now had he not tasted that helplessness and sorrow. You are the ink and the quilt with which Dream will write his story.”

His words make little to no sense. Dream is… Dream. What could ever influence him? Much less you. He’s changed since his imprisonment, it’s true, but doubt still nestles in your heart. Had the situation with Gault not proven how those attempts to change come undone in a blink? Despite it, Dream is trying, and it’s more than enough. Change doesn’t happen overnight; not any profound version, anyway.

You wipe across your face, schooling yourself. “I won’t stop trying to save them even if I’m punished further,” you assert. “I’ll always fight for humanity.”

Even over his hood, you feel your gazes clash, burning into one another.

“I would expect no less,” Destiny assures.

Squaring your shoulders, you’re halfway between dimensions before a thought occurs to you. “Just one more thing before I go.”

Destiny is as grave as usual, entirely inhuman in his foreboding silence while he waits.

“It can be broken, can’t it?” you say, scrutinising him closely. “The curse. There are weak spots in its design.”

“That is for you to discover,” he replies, much to your surprise. It’s closer to a yes than a no. “But pay heed. This path will not be forgiving should you wish to pursue it.”

Icy trepidation creeps its claws down your spine. You don’t permit it to show.

“Nothing in my life has been forgiving,” you say curtly. “I bid you good fortune, Destiny.”

“And I you, Roamer of Realms.”

“Happy Dreamfall.”

Slanting your head, you let your chin dig into your shoulder, smiling. You hadn’t seen the Dream Lord since you snuck back into the Dreaming, seemingly no one having noticed your momentary departure. Normally, there are someone’s eyes on you. But only Dream can sense your appearance and disappearance inside the Dreaming itself. So you’ve taken advantage of his absence. You’ve had too much on your mind since your return from visiting Destiny to seek him out yet.

“Happy Dreamfall,” you say to the Endless, who comes to a halt beside you. “May Fates smile upon you, Dream Lord. And may your realm of dreams be aplenty.”

Behind you, the castle grounds buzz with activity. At long last, things were returning to normal. This is the first cause of celebration these dreams and nightmares had in over a century. Back home, safe and in a place where they belong. You hugged and drank sweet nectars with plenty, smiling and touching hands. Or claws. But it didn’t take long to slip away and settle out here.

Perched on the castle staircase, you must make for an odd sight, but Gatekeepers straighten back into their patrol positions with Dream’s arrival. You had left the castle to enjoy the darkening skies, the dreams swelling and blinking in the pitch-black canvas, ready for their journey. The Gatekeepers had clustered close, and you had spent a while simply chatting. You’ve missed them. It had been harrowing to witness them turn to stone while Dream was missing.

“Would you walk with me?” Dream asks.

Wetting your lips, you stand. “Sure.”

Without a preamble, Dream sets out. His gait hovers on ponderous this evening. You’ve gotten used to more hurried, curt interactions between you. Invisible tension stretched tautly. Will-o'-the-wisps dance and sway through the humming evening air. Flowers in your path bloom in different colours, fairy dust sprinkled through the air. You continue on the faintly lit path cutting through the heart of the Dreaming without a word.

“Are you well?”

Dream’s sudden question shakes you from your peaceful stupor.

“Busy, but good,” you answer. “And you?”

Dream halts abruptly. You pass him, then do the same, gazing back at him, confused.

Dream Lord’s pale eyes dig into you. They steal from you, and they give more than words ever could. But this once, Dream also uses his words: “I wish for us to talk as we once did.”

Anxiety pangs through your belly. You hadn’t expected him to point it out. Your lips compress into a stiff, bloodless line. It would be a bald-faced lie to insist something hasn’t broken between you. Corinthian’s unmaking has driven a wedge between you that neither can overcome. The nightmare had to be stopped, but it doesn’t take away from the grief festering in your chest. Most believe grief is an absence, but you’ve found the exact opposite is true.

Grief is a presence that should be there but isn’t. It’s a weight of memories, of possibilities, of life unlived. Corinthian has become your phantom limb, his absence invisible to all but you as is the bleed.

“We’re getting there,” you say lastly.

His wild hair covers his eyes when his head lowers. Subconsciously, you find yourself stepping towards him, folding your hand around his. Cool and silky to the touch. A breath, and then you feel Dream’s hand curl around yours. He doesn’t move otherwise, muscles sitting in rigid mass beneath his pale skin.

“Dream,” you call his name gently. “You’re trying. I see that. We’re finding new ways. Now tell me why we’re here.”

Because this path is familiar to you as your own hands. Just over the dark treeline lays the beach. The docks you’ve visited every night in his absence. This path had been your pilgrimage once, and now he’s returned. The fingers folded around yours tighten. Dream wordlessly tugs you with him until soft sand cushions the soles of your shoes.

“It is a night where anything is possible,” he says knowingly.

Your heartbeat jumps when he leads you towards the pier, wood creaking under your combined weight. “What are you doing?”

Dream draws you both to a stop halfway across the pier, something close to mischief sparking in his gaze. It’s so bizarrely unwonted you do a doubletake.

“Giving you my present.”

With that, he strides closer. Your mouth dries when he gently curls his arm around your waist. He raises your joint hands, spinning you to the side slowly. Clumsily, your legs obey, your breaths escaping uneven gulps.

“Are we dancing, Dream Lord?”

Dream bows his head closer to yours, his voice velvet, “We are dancing in starlight, you and I.”

It’s then you feel the tingling, reverent whisper of his power over your body. Your eyes widen when you see faint light needling the sturdy fabric, as if your coat has become no more than a window into the raw cosmos. Galaxies swirl in raging spirals across the once-dark material. Your head snaps to the side while Dream continues spinning you unhurriedly. Your coat is shrinking, reshaping to fit your body even better than it did up to this point.

“Dream this is…”

The coat settles into actuality. Sparkling dust spills from the material when you shift. Your overcoat has shrunk to kiss just above your knees. More fitted but no less comfortable. And then there’s the way it glimmers like a precious jewel whenever moonlight hits it.

“I had hoped to give you something more… fitting,” Dream murmurs. You look up at him, your noses almost touching. “It is only right for the one who roams the stars to wear a coat of pure starlight.”

“Thank you,” you whisper shakily. “It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful doesn’t do it justice. The midnight material shimmers with your movement, liquid starlight captured into tangible fabric, and your throat closes up as you examine it further. Dream slips his arm from your waist. He lifts your joint hands, comfortable in his own, and lays a light kiss on your hand.

“It becomes you,” he compliments quietly, releasing you. “Now… it’s time.”

Your brows crease. “Time for what?”

Was this not it? Thick emotions still coat your tongue, lodged deep in your windpipe. But Dream only devours you with quiet intensity.

Above your head, dreams start raining down in shining beams of light.

“We begin… with a spin.”

Your heart stutters to a stop. Water roars behind Dream, wild spray flying through the air. The faint drizzle beats against your face, leaving you gaping.

“Dream. I…”

He extends his hand your way. “There is no Dreaming without Wanderer Island. Should you wish it, I would like us to create another.”

Your features crumble, the ball in your throat robbing you of your voice. Indecision holds you captive—on the one hand, you want nothing more, but on another, you’re too afraid. What if it all ends up in the same place? You watching yet another part of you sink into those inky depths.

But there’s something cautious, near vulnerable, to be found in Dream’s guarded features. It’s an effort for him to open up, but you can see the unsure way his hand hangs in offering between you. He’s bracing himself for rejection, for you to leave him alone on this pier.

You grasp his proffered hand, fingers winding cautiously around his. Dream’s shoulders slump slightly from their rigid slant, relaxing at the contact.

He guides you to an all too familiar position. You standing at the edge of the pier, him behind you, a hand on your shoulder. A disconcerting sensation of deja vu falls over you.

“Describe it to me,” he prompts.

Black, foreboding waters of the Dreaming spin in ferocious whirlpools. Dream’s elegant hand pierces your line of sight, primed for creation.

“There’s a small island.” Your voice trembles. You haven’t forgotten anything, down to the exact words used. You conjure the Wanderer Island in your mind’s eye as it once stood; brilliant and shining. The visual blooms bold and alive in your mind. “The grass that grows there is the greenest there’s ever been. And it tastes like sour apples.”

Dream’s hand on your shoulder squeezes lightly. Same amusement, even centuries later. You’re both changed, but a familiar outline of an island starts taking shape on the horizon.

“The sun that shines on the island is never too hot. The air is sweet and light. The flowers never wilt, and trees never shed leaves.” It’s pouring from your mouth now, an avalanche of memory. You’ve missed the island so dearly, and details from five centuries ago come readily. “The sky is an endless periwinkle shade. There’s always food and drinks. Books and games. And…”

Your heart bleeds, fresh wounds gushing. But you push on because it’s not about you.

“And an old friend waits at the beach to greet you with a patient smile whenever you arrive. Because not everyone has a family, and not everyone needs a lover, but everyone should have a friend. The island will be there whenever someone feels lonely, lost, or desperate for an escape. It’ll be there to welcome you. To give you a corner to hide. There is no sadness there. No loneliness or confusion. Only…”

Dream’s lips tickle over the shell of your ear. “… hope.”

And then stillness.

The water settles in a gurgling slosh. In the distance, a patch of land once again floats. There to welcome new dreamers. Wanderer Island blurs. The heel of your hand presses over your eyes, overwhelmed.

Blindly, you tug on Dream’s coat; a mute request. Between one inhale and the next, wood underfoot is exchanged for sand.

Everything is the same down to the last blade of grass and tree composition. Either your vision was so clear Dream could pluck every last detail from your mind or…

Or he remembered the Island with the same clarity as you.

You sink to your knees. Sand crumbles around your digits when you dip them into the pliable sand.

“Hi. There you are.”

Nothing, then…

Grass sprouts unprompted around your hand, tiny daisies twining across your thumb. Utterly impossible, yet tonight, here, anything is possible. A choked laugh escapes you. Your cheeks ache from your beaming smile.

“She’s missed you,” Dream reveals quietly.

Your head lifts in surprise. You stroke the miniature, perfect blooms. “I missed you too.”

With another tickle, the flowers and grass retreat, shrinking into the golden beach. Several moments pass by until you unearth the strength to stand. Dream’s profile greets you. He’s turned away, giving you privacy, but subtle uncertainty lines his features. Sensing your attention, he peers towards you, then past you.

“Thank you,” you breathe. Despite your verbal gratitude, Dream’s attention remains fixed over your shoulder. “What?”

His low words reach you over the sound of lapping waves. “Are you not going to say hello to an old friend?”

You follow his line of sight. Behind you, at a distance with falling dreams as his backdrop, stands a tall, pale-haired figure.

Everything inside you falls very, very quiet—all those tumultuous emotions freeze. Your head snaps back to Dream with a stifled gulp. It can’t be real. Surely it’s some mirage, a feedback loop, a ghost conjured from your love for the now-gone nightmare.

But Dream only slants his head in a marginal, affirming nod. You dare to peek behind you once more. There he stands. The nightmare. Not a twisted joke.

Your feet carry you towards him without conscious thought; half-running, half-walking, stumbling all the while. Corinthian stands with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders in a slight slouch. His nude-coloured slacks and white shirt shine like beacons in the pale moonlight. Round shades cover his eyes, his blonde strands fluttering in the light breeze.

He's a figment. Not quite tangible until your body crashes into him, your arms scrambling to hold onto him. “Oh, God!”

Dry, humoured, “Not quite.”

Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can feel it, if not hear it. A pained, whining sound bubbles up in your throat, gripping him closer.

“I… how…” You wrench yourself back, a horrible thought occurring. You search his handsome features. That infuriating smirk always curling his mouth is absent. “Do you remember me?”

Corinthian stands there, not moving, with no real emotion on display, either. Your heart sinks. Could it be that he—

Dull throb flares across your forehead. He’s flicked you—

A wide, toothy grin stretches across Corinthian’s mouth. “Gotcha.”

With a choked laugh, you punch his shoulder, hugging him close with a wide smile. “I hate you.”

A pleased hum. This time, the nightmare’s arm settles around you. “Hate you more.”

You’re not sure how long you both stand there. When you do part, reluctance keeps your hand on him. Fingertips connecting to some part of him. Remembering the Dream Lord you came here with—who gave you this, his present—you find Dream no longer on the beach. Or anywhere in sight. He’s given you privacy and time. Your heart softens further.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Corinthian’s subdued question tugs your attention back towards him. You almost wish he didn’t remind you. Because now you’re faced with the reality that even though he’s been returned to you, there’s much you both need to overcome and fix. That losing him did not magically wipe away the wrongs he’s done. If you hope to return to the relationship you once had, you’ll need time.

You consider him for a moment.

“You’re always forgiven,” you tell him honestly.

Standing in the moonglow, you pretend you don’t notice how something coiled tightly seems to loosen inside him at your reassurance. Instead, you reach for his face. Your fingertips brush over Corinthain’s glasses, and his hand snap out, wrapping around your wrist tightly. Bones making up his jaw roll beneath the skin. Tension throbs between you while seconds tick by. Through clenched teeth, Corinthian unwraps his hold finger by finger.

You tug his shades away from his face. He’s tense as a bowstring, his head slanted at an angle. The same jagged teeth sit where most have eyeballs. They’re hooded, though. His discomfort—and anger at said discomfort—couldn’t be more perspicuous.

His shades close as you fold arm temples one at a time. You hold his stare, staring right at those jagged teeth with a slight frown. You extend his shades back to him mutely.

“But my trust is something you will have to earn back,” you state earnestly.

The nightmare hesitates halfway to reaching for his glasses. Those pale fingers dance over them before he plucks them from you.

“Sounds like a fair deal,” he muses absently. You expect him to put the shades back on, but instead, Corinthian hooks them on his shirt pocket. Turning to go, he calls out a honeyed, “You coming?”

He gazes at you over his shoulder, jagged teeth on full show, and you feel yourself smile.

“Always.”

Sun shines luminous and warm today. The Wanderer Island stretches as far as your eye can perceive, teeming with life and greenery around every corner. Flowers and trees bloom everywhere—an awe-inspiring marriage between tropical and temperate climates. The Island once again oozes a sense of magick and wonder that was once so prominent here. No place in the universe can compare.

“Rebuilding is almost complete,” you begin conversationally. “The Dreaming is more beautiful than ever.”

The Endless keeps pace beside you, a pensive sound rumbling from him. “It was not without aid.”

A smile twitches your lips upwards. “You’re welcome.”

Two weeks have gone by since Dreamfall. Things have mended—between you individually and the atmosphere around the Dreaming. While Corinthian’s return was met with some side glances, no one discussed it further. Dreamfolk trust Dream to make the right decision. Or perhaps Gault was right; they’re wiser than to outright question.

“The Corinthian has also been making progress,” Dream says. “I am hoping to place him under supervision and monitor his conduct. To make sure what happened is never repeated. Should the need arise, he will be allocated duties back in the waking world.”

Joy flutters in your heart. “Yeah? That’s great. Someone you trust, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“And?” you probe. “Are you going to tell me who or not?”

In your peripheral, Dream inclines in your direction. “Yours.”

You nearly trip. “Dream, I—” You clear your throat, pausing. “Are you sure? It didn’t exactly work out last time.”

Dream’s intent scrutiny slides over your facial features. “It was due to no fault of yours. And this Corinthian is the same in all but one function. He will not fail again. He has a different purpose now.”

There’s a solemn sort of finality about the way he articulates those words. A tiny shiver skitters down your spine. He will not expand further upon those words. Whatever that purpose is, you imagine time will reveal it.

You chew on your inner cheek. “Okay. I would like that.”

You smile at him. But Dream’s expression stutters, overcome by some foreign emotion. His mouth parts, then closes, his fingers folding into white-knuckled fists.

Just as you’re about to ask what’s wrong, Dream speaks: “Wanderer. Stay.”

You muster up an uncertain, perplexed smile. “I’m right here.”

Dream marches closer, sunshine caught in his onyx hair.

“Stay however long you want,” he insists softly. “Stay forever if it should so please you.”

Shock envelops you, freezing you in your spot. You’ve told him, didn’t you? That you would stay forever by his side if only he asked. Now he’s asking. Except confusion and unease battle in your chest. Can you trust his word? Did Dream change enough? He brought back Corinthian. He freed Gault from the Darkness. He insists this is a new age. But…

“And if I wanted to leave?” you question. “If I chose never to return, what then?”

“It would sadden my creations—”

“I’m asking you.”

Dream falters, shackled by your insistence. His lashes flutter, his head lowering in near palpable struggle. You’re challenging him, but you refuse to continue with the charade. If he wants forever, you can’t live with the fear he might change his mind about it.

“It would pain me, also. A great deal.” He hesitates again, and it’s bizarre because this degree of uncertainty is not something you associate Dream with. “But you are free. You've always been free. The Dreaming is your home. Should you wish to return, its gates will always await you.”

Doubt twists your mouth downwards. “I thought that once—”

“I swear it. No matter what the future may hold. No matter how angry I get, I shall never again take the Dreaming away from you.” Sheer power woven into those words leaves no room for doubt. It’s a vow. He will not break it. There would be a price to pay if he did. Dream’s fingertips ghost over yours, a graze leaving fire in its wake. “I read your book in the library. I did not wish to tell you sooner because I worried you would leave. Because… you were right. I could never understand the sheer devastation. Or the harm I inflicted.”

You drag your hand back, stepping away from him. Dream’s features fall subtly. You face away, giving him your back while you process. Raising the hand he was caressing seconds prior, you cradle it to your chest. Sunshine prickles your cheek, but you ignore it.

“I’m not ashamed of my past,” you tell him, turning back to face him. “I always knew there was a chance you could read it. So, what did you think?”

He appears pained. At least now you know why he’s been so melancholy these last several weeks. “That I should wish for nothing more than for you to stay by my side.”

Those unadorned words devastated you.

Smiling through your inflated, overjoyed heart, you mumble, “Stay forever… I can’t technically do that.”

But Dream is unruffled. If anything, you glimpse the beginnings of hope starting to take root in him.

“I’ll seek a way,” he avows.

“To what?” An incredulous chuckle escapes you. “Break the curse?”

Destiny’s warning jump back to the forefront of your mind, and you swallow thickly. You don’t dare to ponder freedom for longer than an indulgent moment.

“Yes,” Dream replies.

You stare at him. Tall and dark, sunlit and more open than you’ve ever seen him. Determined and golden. Your Dream Lord. He terrifies you. You love him.

“You can’t interfere,” you remind him emptily. “And I might die.”

“Or you may live,” Dream argues. “Freely. And choose for yourself. Always.”

“Trying to bait me, Dream Lord?”

Sudden tension between you loosens around the edges. Once more, the susurration of the trees trickles into your mind, elevating the brewing anxiety.

A thousand years. The curse has defined your existence and has kept you alive this long. What are you without it? There’s always been an unspoken acknowledgement that you could never break the curse without dying. Simply too much time has passed. No mortal vessel can survive over a millennium otherwise. When you asked Destiny, it was only to understand more about the nature of the curse. Not because you ever assumed you could survive breaking the curse.

Dream’s mouth compresses as if he’s attempting not to smile. “I would never.”

“Stay by your side, huh?” you mutter, looking away while you mull over your conversation. “And what exactly would that entail?”

His response is immediate, smooth, “Whatever you wish.”

“A companion, then?” Your words pitch lower and silkier while you close the minimal distance with relaxed, unhurried steps. Dream’s eyes darken a shade. “An emissary? A consort? A queen?”

His black-clad shoulders lift with his inhale.

“Those are but words,” he murmurs silkily. “For you would be all those things, and more.”

You examine his profile, those starlit irises, the doubt swimming there. Does he doubt you would stay? After such long years harbouring this affection for him? Silly, wonderful anthropomorphic personification. “I’ll stay, but only if you answer a question.”

“Even if the price were a hundred thousand questions, Wanderer, I would pay it gladly. What is this question?”

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinise him. Dream does not balk under your exigent examination, waiting patiently. Biting back a smile, you permit your features to relax. He’s unfairly fun to tease.

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

Relish bubbles in your chest at the way Dream’s expression comes undone. As if from a thousand questions he was bracing for, nothing could have prepared him for this. Birds chirp a merry tune somewhere in the tree line, a warm breeze ruffling Dream’s dark hair while he gazes at you with utterly confused wonderment. A slight, fond smile curls his lips.

“A thousand years,” he begins in a bewildered drawl. “And still, you ask the same question.”

You laugh faintly, shrugging. “Well, in all fairness, you never answered me the last time. Which was very rude, by the way—”

In an inhale Dream of the Endless materialises in front of you. His hands slip to hold your face, cupping it with delicate hands as he tugs you closer. His kiss falls over you like stars. Silky, gentle warmth that washes over you with such fervent passion you gasp against his mouth. Your hands grasp onto him blindly. You part only long enough for you to gulp down oxygen before your mouths meet again, and again, and again, burning with need unquenched. Heat spreads through every inch of you. A thousand years being cold, floating unearthed, but now someone is holding you.

Dream presses another kiss to your mouth, desperate and hungry, gentle in his handling, and you return it with equal enthusiasm, equal need. Dizziness envelops you, and Dream pulls back, his forehead resting against yours. You shudder, a delicious heat licking up your senses. This closeness hurts better than anything ever has. You remind yourself to breathe, to remember this is real, he’s here, holding you, and nothing matters in this moment. Whatever the future holds, you do not fear it. Because Hob was right: there are people out there who love, and that makes all the difference.

Dream’s thumb grazes over your bunched-up cheek. Your smile is wide enough to light your entire face.

It continues with a gentle, rasping: “I’ll tell you one day, stardust.”

an:

Never apologise, never explain.

I set out to write nothing more than a fun little story that I expected to have maybe 3-4 parts max. Something entirely self-indulgent and fun for no one but me and maybe one or two mutuals. I never quite expected it would become as beloved as it did. I suppose here, in the end, I would like to take the time to thank everyone who read this and supported it. Be it by commenting, making edits/art for it or just sending me encouraging/funny messages. You guys are the reason this story became what it did. I'm immensely grateful for each and every single one of you. It was a rough month, but I'm glad I could offer you this conclusion at long last. Thank you for being here, thank you for being kind, and thank you again for reading.

Goodnight, and see you all in dreams, wanderers ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #the sandman netflix #sandman imagine #morpheus imagines #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #sandman fic #fanfiction #sandman netflix #sandman neil gaiman #morpheus fic #dream fic #tom sturridge #fic: today i bury you in me

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

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ɢʀɪᴇꜰ | ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴘʜᴇᴜꜱ

GIFs not mine!

Lord Morpheus x Deity!Reader (Goddess of Nature and Music)

summary: In the wake of his own capture, his queen was imprisoned too.

word count: 971

warnings: angst, seriously, this is angsty, blood, Morpheus wants to burn the Waking World to ashes

author’s note: My first Morpheus work, and we’re directly starting with something short and angsty xD I’m so unhappy with how this turned out, but I’m pushing myself to upload these types of works anyway because I’m my biggest critic and all that. Plus, I’m shitty at writing pure angst. But we’ll deal with this for now before we’re gonna turn to the fluffy part of writing for this god of a man <3

»part 2? part 2.«

;

His eyes were trained on the woman lying next to him on the solid, cold ground. His hand outstretched, his fingers twitching desperately in order to reach her. Only mere inches parted them, but the existence of the laughable distance was mocking him in its impossibility to overcome. Not in his current state.

Dry lips moved slowly, forming words without letting a single sound escape; the agony too consuming to mutter a single syllable. Morpheus was not even convinced she could hear him if he would succeed in calling her name, trying to nudge her mind back into consciousness with the power of his voice. A helpless sound was the only audible thing escaping his parted lips.

And then, abnormal darkness engulfed him once more.

—

His returning consciousness let him move his hand again, but instead of finally palpating the silk-like skin of his wife underneath his fingertips, the Lord of Dreams touched icy cold glass. Unsteadily, he opened his distinct blue eyes, which once held the entire universe in them, but now only pictured the void of a pitch-black night sky. He felt so heavy, his mind slow, his body not responding the way it was supposed to. The loss of his powers was something he almost missed because his tired eyes suddenly rested on red droplets scattering the dirty stone floor.

With a silent groan, Morpheus pushed himself up on his bare knees, blinking rapidly to sharpen his eyesight in the dimly lit basement. Suddenly, he wished he had not done it as every single ounce of air was pushed out of his lungs as if he had fallen from a high looming tower and crashed onto the ground. He felt as if he would suffocate in a matter of fleeting moments; his eyes trained motionless on the pool of blood surrounding a body he knew better than his own.

YN’s eyes blinked slowly, her chest rose barely perceptible for a human’s eye, the fingertips of her outstretched arm trying to find a hold of this realm. Morpheus knew she made an effort to anchor herself so Death could come and bring her back into the Dreaming before every ounce of life had left her body. But he could feel with every agonizing piece of his soul how life slowly faded out of her bright shining eyes, forever reminding him of Fiddler’s Green and every single vegetation that grew in their realm. His heart ached heavily in his chest, tears blurring his sight, and both hands were pressed onto the glass, trying to push through it to get to her, to protect her just as she obviously had done for him.

“YN.” His voice broke in the middle of her name, unable to speak it out, to taste every syllable of it on his lips, letting it flood his mind to ease a pain he had never experienced, never had suffered before. The salty lakes his eyes had turned into overflowed, and still, he didn’t dare to move his gaze from her, not even as his capturer stepped into her blood. Raging fury and hatred burned his insides as the human closed his hands around her throat and neck to lift her off the ground, pressing her body onto the sphere, facing lover to lover. Her eyes, which tended to change their colors frequently, stared dull and lifeless into his own, and despite her dying state, YN managed to grant him the sight of the attempt of one of her beautiful smiles, which always illuminated his life and the Dreaming, bringing comfort and joy.

“Poor little thing. You see, she tried to save you, and I cannot let that happen. So… Her pitiful death is practically your wrongdoing.” Morpheus almost did not listen to the echoing voice, instead holding the last remnants of her gaze captured in his, salty crystals flowing over both faces, connecting them in their pain and loss though separated by sorcery. Her lips gently moved, only visible to his eyes, and he started to make out her words as her eyes lost the last specks of life and her body went limp. The man only let her drop to the floor, where she landed in her own blood, shedded in her attempts to protect him as they had promised one another on the night of their wedding under the darkest but most ethereal firmament ever seen by the eyes of humans, deities, and endless.

With burning rage in his now flaming blue irises filled with a darkening void that swallowed every other emotion in its wake, the Lord of Dreams slowly stared up at his jailer, his heart only knowing hatred anymore. He wanted to see this world burn, but in particular, he craved to see this human burn—the one who had robbed him of his wife and queen, the love of his existence. He wanted to hear him beg for mercy. He wanted to listen to his piercing screams filled with agony, and he would not even stop when he was certain the man had learned his lesson before ending his life with his own bare hands. Morpheus would relish in the afterglow of his glorious vengeance before turning his gaze to the rest of this degenerated order to end every single life himself.

And maybe, after the last scream had faded, he would be satisfied to finally mourn the only woman he had ever wanted.

His gaze settled back onto her body after their capturer left him with her; tears continuing to cover his skin and drowning his soul in anguish and torment which didn’t leave him—

Not even after a century of imprisonment and her gentle voice wandering through his mind, repeating her last words to him over and over.

I will find you in my next existence, my love.

;

I kinda don’t like it, but hey, it’s my first time writing for my baby, so that’s okay. Hope y’all enjoyed it anyway. As usual: Comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated! <3

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roguelov · 1 year

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Cat’s Cradle

Summary: You were crafted by him, crafted to serve the Dreaming and dreamers of all kinds. You were granted the ability to alter your appearance, to the feline variety, to hide in dreams. You, however, never imagined falling in love with him. But, when he left to take care of a rogue nightmare, only to never return, your heart broke. So, you ran to the Waking and soon met someone new. But, when Dream returns, how will he react to find you missing?

Word Count: ~5.2k

Reader: Fem

Warnings: Some angst (abandonment and heartbreak), fluff, pining

Requested by the magnificent @chainsawsangel

Part 2

A curious question to ponder: do animals dream? And if so, what do they dream of? Do dogs dream of chasing squirrels? Do cats dream of hunting in a jungle? Do snakes dream of being ginormous and slithering about?

And the answer to all of these: yes, yes they do.

Far before humanity was where it was today, animals were the first to flock to the Dreaming. They were the first dreamers. Although their dreams may be plain, or simpler, compared to humans; they were still dreams. They were still precious, still hopeful.

But, as humanity evolved and grew, the Dreaming started to accommodate for humanity more. The Lord of Dreams and Nightmares had to turn his attention to those with far more complex dreams, to those impacting the Waking world with each breath and decision. In order to do so, he created his dreams and nightmares.

He created you.

You were one of the first dreams, and dare say the oldest. However, you were unique compared to the others. Your purpose was to oversee all dreams, and more specifically the dreams of the vast amount of creatures. When Dream could not lend his attention to the dreams, you were there.

In disguise, of course.

Dream not only created you for this single purpose, he also granted you the ability to alter your form. You could change into any feline creature from an average house cat to a vicious cougar.

And so it was for years, centuries. Your days were spent doing your duties and whatever you pleased. It was simpler in those earlier days, easy to seperate yourself from Dream. Creator and creation. However, as years passed those strict lines, those boundaries drawn, shifted.

Under the shade of a tree, in Fiddler’s Green beautiful picturesque forest, Dream lounged in the foliage’s shade. Books, taken from the library for his various researches, surrounded him. He needed a change of space and air to think.

You, on the other hand, were slinked away in the nearby bushes, quietly stalking him.

“Hello, my dream.” Dream’s eyes flickered up, catching yours.

But, Dream always spotted you, always knew when you were around. You walked out on paws while your silted, seemingly glowing amber, eyes stayed locked on to his dazzling oceanic blue. Reaching the edge of the tree’s shade, you calmly sat down in front of him, with your tail curled around you.

“And what can I do for you, (Y/N)?” Dream asked.

It started with your body, it stretched and elongated. Next was the fur, its cotton like texture retracted, leaving only soft skin. Then there were the fine details, from the tail vanishing with a flick, to your ears once pointed rounded out, to fingers growing as claws became dull nails, to your eyes more natural color for a human. It was intriguing to watch how quickly you changed. In a blink of an eye, you stood tall before Dream on two feet. You bowed your head slightly, “Apologies, my lord, for interrupting.”

Dream brushed off your formalities. “There is no need to apologize. Speak, what is it that you need?”

“Only to give my daily report, sir.”

Ah, yes, how could he forget. “Proceed.”

Reports were a necessity to ensure prosperity in the Dreaming. Any one wrong detail, any confusion, would mean possible devastation for a world crafted on such complexities. Luckily, you recounted all the dreams you saw and nothing out of the ordinary, for dreams that is. Dreams were chaos, but the Dreaming controlled such chaos.

“Thank you,” Dream said with a nod of his head.

“Of course.”

Normally, you would leave. But, this time your feet were rooted in place. Your eyes darted around to his stacks of books, then to the empty forest surrounding him. The quiet, hushed breeze blew past your ears, and it carried no other voices. It was Dream and Dream alone. And in this moment for some reason, your heart broke. A tiny fissure, truly, but a fissure which in time would grow.

He is always alone.

“Is there something else?”

Your attention snapped over. Dream’s eyes, typical pale blue, were nearly black for a fleeting moment, blending into the shadows. A midnight sky that twinkled with endless stars and universes. Cold, lonely.

You were not sure how to word it. You appear lonely, my lord. Do you wish to have company?

His pride was a fickle thing. One word could offend him. You, thankfully, knew how to navigate it fairly easily.

“May I stay?” You asked.

If I can help it, I don’t want you to be alone.

Dream cocked his head, curious by your question. He paused, considering it then spoke. “If you wish.”

With a single nod, you leapt into the air, changing back into a small house cat. You swiftly and easily climbed up the tree and splayed across a branch directly above Dream. Your eyes dropped down, catching Dream peering up at you. He quickly looked away and returned to his studies.

That.

That was when the boundaries shifted and soon you became friends. Eons, you grew closer and closer. But, the line was pushed further in the recent centuries.

To be fair, it was never your intention to fall for Dream. You knew of his previous relationships, you knew of the pain that somehow inevitably followed - such devastating heartbreak.

But, you did.

You fell.

No, not a dramatic fall such as one falling from grace. No, not all at once. It wasn’t as poets described as a burning flame that blazed into an uncontrollable, all-consuming fire.

No.

It was unknowing, it was subtle. It was like walking down stairs, just one step at a time. It wasn’t until you reached the bottom and was face to face with him, and reality, that it finally dawned on you what had happened.

His plain pale eyes were now the morning sky guiding you from the chilly night, bringing you hope and awe. With a simple glance, your heart now skipped relentlessly in your chest, sending you into a dizzying state of infatuation. His messy unruly hair now tempted you to run your fingers through it, to have his head on your chest and whisper poetry of your love and playful secrets into his hair. His lips - the prettiest pink like fresh spring flowers - now beckoned you forth to taste, to hear his velvet voice sing your name.

Your heart was completely given over.

You only hoped he would care for it.

“My dear (Y/N), my sweet dream, there you are.”

You, in feline form, laid sprawled in the sun, tucked - hidden from all except him - in the palace’s garden. It was your place of solitude, your place of peace, your place to untangle your thoughts.

A place Lord Morpheus showed you, and his presence rippled throughout here.

You saw his twinkling eyes in the blue sunny sky, or in the dark starry night. You heard his voice on the wind, whispering through the branches and bushes. You smelled him in the flowers, and morning dew. You felt him in the warmth of the sunlight, constant and never changing. He was always with you. You would ever escape him. Your mind could never untangle him from your thoughts. But, like a fool in love, you locked yourself in this beautiful gilded cage, happily tossing away the key.

You peered up at him from your patch. Your heart soared. His eyes, however, flickered with minor confusion. “Where have you been? I have not seen you for days.”

A twinge of guilt rose up.

Your features shifted and grew. Instantly, you were on two feet again, standing before your lord, your friend, and your infatuation. “Apologies,” you dropped your head, “I didn’t mean to cause you any worry.”

He gently, with his thumb and forefinger, tilted your head back up. A small frown tugged on the corners of his lips. “I only worry for you. Please, tell me, what has troubled you?”

A heat flushed over your chest. Eons spent together. You had always been close with him, but now since this startling revelation nothing had been the same. Steeling your emotions, you snipped the wings of those pesky butterflies fluttering inside your chest. You smiled easily. “Nothing to worry you, my lord.”

Please, I told you to forgo such formalities, he thought.

His frown stayed. He searched your eyes for any tells. Seeing none, he sighed, dropping his hand from you. You desperately fought back from chasing after his delicate, comforting touch. “If you say so,” he muttered. “You just seem distracted lately; and dare I say avoiding me.”

You swallowed down your nerves. “Never, my lord.”

“Are you unwell? Perhaps, displeased?”

“Displeased?”

His frown deepened. “With your duties? Your life?”

“What? No, no, never.”

“Then why do I not know what you are thinking of anymore? I prided myself in always knowing what thoughts were behind your clever eyes. But, now? I feel as if I am looking at a stranger.”

You were a stranger.

You were a different person now. You had to hide your truest self. You always spoke freely with Dream. One of the few who did not fear his wraith; the others being Lucienne, Merv, and Jessamy.

You stepped back, pulling away from him.

“Lucienne, I - I don’t know what to do with myself.”

You snuck into the royal library, pulling Lucienne aside to speak with her. You needed to tell her what you had been feeling lately - confide in her. Hopefully, she can shed some light on this developing situation. She was your oldest friend, you trusted her and hid nothing from her.

Lucienne smiled to herself, shaking her head. She peered over the rim of her glasses and cocked her brow. This certainly was amusing for her - as if she didn’t already didn’t deduce your feelings for the king. “I believe you know exactly what you must do.”

I can’t, you vehemently thought. “But what if -“

“I never thought there would be a day you would fear him.”

You huffed. “Fear him? I do not fear -“

“I am only teasing you,” she said, sensing your displaced hostility.

You grumbled, but with Lucienne you could never stay mad at her. Your lips already twitched upward, showing her your anger was more for show and dramatics.

She gently took your hands. “Tell him. You know it is the right thing to do.”

She knew your feelings of Dream before your own realization. She knew you the best. You were always the closest to him, but she noted all the subtle changes in your demeanor. And so, she only waited for this day to happen, for you to come to her with your own revelations. Of course, she would never admit it to you, but her and Mervyn may or may not have placed bets on you.

You glanced down at your hands in hers. “I … I don’t want to lose him.”

“You won’t.”

You wanted to scoff. Dream’s past lovers did not end happily. Heartbreak and ruin seemed to follow him like a leech sucking on any joy he may have.

“It’s not easy, but to say nothing would be worse.” Lucienne squeezed your hands, giving you a douse of courage to act. “Would you truly be happy saying nothing?”

You paused. Would you? You sighed heavily, “No, I don’t think I would.”

“Then tell him.”

You agreed, almost hesitantly. “I will.”

Now, Lucienne’s words tossed around your head, that simple question which cut directly to your core: would you truly be happy saying nothing?

You looked to Dream, meeting his gaze once again. Just as easy as he could read you, you could read him. Confusion and worry plainly written in his dazzling eyes. Taking a deep breath, you started to unveil the truth, “I am truly sorry for making you worry, it was never my intention.”

“And what was your intention?”

You thought about it for a moment, considering the correct word then said, “Self-preservation.”

Dream’s eyebrows knitted together. “How so?”

You took a tentative step forward back towards him. “In a way, you were right that I am a stranger. I have discovered something about myself recently.”

Dream stayed quiet, letting you speak without interruptions - letting you come to him.

“It was scary, and I never expected it would happen, yet here I am.” You stepped closer. Your heart raced frantically in your chest. “I hope you do not hate me for what I am about to say and allow me to stay here in the Dreaming.”

Dream tilted his head. “I have never found myself hating you for any reason, nor do I think such a thing would happen. And I would never banish you from the Dreaming for it is your home, but you do have me slightly more worried now.”

You reached out. You hooked your index finger around his pinkie, slowly drawing him to you. “Centuries, eons, spent together and I have adored every second. I love my life, I love everyone here, and - and … I’ve always loved you, a platonic love. However, it has changed recently.”

Dream’s eyes fell to your finger hooked around his. Slowly, unsure if was hearing you correctly, his hand turned and his fingers threaded in between yours. You didn’t move, you didn’t run.

You let out a shaky breath, relieved but absolutely frightened.

“If I am wrong, tell me.” Dream said as he met your eyes again. “Although I have said you have become a stranger, that was not quite true. It was I who had also changed. But -“

Your heart constricted.

“But, I feel as if I should warn you.” He grabbed both of your hands, ensuring you listened fully to him. “You know of my past for you were always part of it. You know of my relationships and the inevitability which always seems to follow. I am telling you this to ask you now: is this what you want?”

You gazed into his sky blue eyes. Trepidation evident in his eyes. Tears prickled in the corner of his eyes, tears of fear and potential heartache. He tried desperately to hide it, but nothing could be hidden from you. You reached up, cupping his face and carefully brushed away the tears. “If you will have me, then yes.”

“You will always have an out, the door will always be open for you to leave.” He said it, but he did not wish it to be true. He wanted you here, he wanted you by his side for eternity.

“I’m not afraid.”

“You should be.”

“Possibly.” You brought his face closer to yours. “But, would I be happy if I left now without trying? No, I don’t think I would be.”

You kissed him. His lips were like petals, soft and warm; like a fresh spring flower after a terribly rough winter. You exhaled as your heart swelled up in your chest. However, his lips moved slowly, methodically.

Measured and unsure.

Scared.

But, quickly, his restraint melted. He grabbed your waist, flushing your bodies against his. He was feverous. He tilted his head, and parted his mouth. His tongue slipped inside. Oh, all the years he wished to taste you. And now he has. So sweet, so delectable.

You hummed.

Oh, he loved that noise.

He pulled away, and pressed his forehead against yours. Hearing your breathlessness, his heart fluttered. He did this. It was his doing. And now, only he could conjure it, only he could steal your breath. And in turn, so can you. You could steal his attention, take his breath as your own, draw out desires and sinful sounds.

You were his.

And he yours.

Initially, you thought yourself a fool, locking yourself in the gilded cage of blind love.

No.

Morpheus, finding your key to your gilded cage, unlocked it. He guided you out, meeting you halfway. You would not be trapped, confined, to him, but his equal - his partner. And if you still saw yourself bound to a cage, he would step inside locking said door behind. The two of you locked together, either until the universe collapsed or maybe - and unlikely in either of yours’ eyes - until one of you moved on. But, until then, it would be beautiful. Each of you would lead with your heart, each of you would bare your soul, each of you would love each other wholeheartedly.

So, you thought this was it.

You and Dream. And the Dreaming.

Your combined love was limitless. He was the world: the sky with its assortment of colors, the sturdy ground providing its nurture and care, the bottomless oceans with its secrets, and the rising mountains reaching unknown heavens. While you were the important details: the intricate woven web of animals and balance, the imperfections from nature adding to individuality, the innate curiosity and creativity of people and their arts and inventions, and the unbelievable hidden wonders in an expanding world.

You gave life - purpose - to his world.

However, as you each predicted, it did not last. Trouble stirred off in the distance. Your world would soon shatter. A nightmare, one you knew fondly, escaped to the Waking, and Dream must retrieve him before the damage becomes too much. When Dream told you he was going to the Waking, a horrible feeling sunk to the pit of your stomach. You wanted to grab him and hold him close, forbidding him from leaving. You wanted to beg and tell him to forget about the Corinthian. You wanted to lock him away. But, there was nothing you could do. You couldn’t stop him, even if you fell to your knees pleading with tears in your eyes. Although you loved him and all his imperfections, his senses of responsibility and pride knew no bounds. He had to do this. So, you wordlessly watched as he walked away - walked out of your life.

Days passed.

Slowly, painstakingly slow.

You mostly kept busy with your duties, much like all the dreams and nightmares during this period. You all worked as if nothing has changed: overseeing dreams, ensuring order in the chaos, and documenting anything unusual.

Weeks then crawled by.

The first whisper of doubt started: Dream would not return, Dream had abandoned his duties. Yet, as quickly as those whispers started, they were silenced. Dream will come back. Everyone believed he would, and so did you.

How naive.

Months became years.

Fiddler’s Green vanished. He took his greenery - all those lush fields and extravagant flowers - and left to go to the Waking. And not knowing, he also took all your precious memories of Dream with him. Moments under the shade of a tree side by side, moments of strolling along a worn down path, moments of soft unspoken love ripped away like a weed.

“I wish to see the Waking for myself,” Fiddler told you before he left. “I do not know if Dream has abandoned us or not, all I know is I wish to see other worlds, to hear others’ stories. If he does return, then maybe one day I will too.”

You smiled, despite the heartbreak. “And I wish you the best, Fiddler.”

He returned the sorrow filled smile, and kissed your forehead. “Do find me when he comes back. I will miss your presence amongst my trees.”

The next to leave was Gault. She slipped away, like a shadow slinking back into the darkness. She was one to always keep to herself. She didn’t speak to anyone about her leave; she simply left, taking her nightmares with her.

As years passed - decades - the Dreaming started to crumble piece by piece and most left seeking refuge elsewhere or looking for new purpose. Dreams and nightmares gone. While the poor dreamers could not pass into the Dreaming anymore, the doors shut until its lord returned.

If, he returned.

“Our lord will return,” Lucienne said to you.

You were both in the library. You sat on top of a long barren table - one which used to hold multiple dreamers who would read side by side or possibly write out their own stories - while Lucienne stood on the end scanning through her own notes and hand drawn maps. Books were disappearing and she was trying to make note of it all from what books, in what section, and so forth. Even now parts of the library were beginning to be blocked off. She needed to write everything down, she needed to do her duties for the library - for the sake of the Dreaming.

“I’m not so sure,” you muttered. Your gaze was ahead directed on a stained glass window, one of the many in the library. The beautiful mosaic had a notable crack running through the middle and splintered out. A strong wind could blow through, sending shards everywhere.

Lucienne peered up from her work. This was the first time you had ever spoken your doubts out loud. But, she knew you had lost your faith long ago. A frown had permanently etched into your face since Dream left. Your eyes once bright were now awfully dull.

“I believe it.” You lazily looked over, meeting Lucienne’s determined eyes. She continued, “Lord Morpheus will return. He would not abandon us.”

“I fear you are the only one who believes that.”

“Do you truly think Morpheus has left? Do you believe he has left the Dreaming, all his responsibilities- you? You are the closest to him, surely you would have known something if he were to leave indefinitely?”

You dropped your head. “I have known Morpheus for eons, but that does not mean I understand him completely. He withholds many things from me. If it may cause me any distress he will not say, and although I appreciate the concern and sentiment in the end he only closes himself off. The distress unfortunately always comes from him, from his duties, from holding the collective unconsciousness. His pride does not allow him to burden others -“ you sighed -“ no matter how much I used to tell him otherwise.”

Lucienne frowned. “So, you truly don’t know where he may be?”

She assumed you must know something. But, she was terribly wrong.

“No, I do not.” You leaned back on your hands, staring back at the cracked window. “And in a strange way, I hope he doesn’t return.”

Lucienne blinked, stunned. “What? Why?”

“He deserves to rest, Lucienne. If the Dreaming stayed, and if other realms were not affected, then yes I would wish for him to venture off to other worlds, to run from all of this.” You hopped off the table. “I wish I could take away all his responsibilities, all his worries. He always carried so much.”

Lucienne was unsure how to respond, but a question did strike her. “Do you not wish for him to come back? To not come back to you?”

“Of course, I do.” You spun around, facing her. For the first time, Lucienne finally noted your watery eyes. “Of course, I want him back. I miss him dearly, and my heart breaks constantly. But, if he is happy elsewhere, then why am I to deny that for him?”

“You would compromise your own happiness?”

“I would do so much more for him.”

“And what of you? Who looks after you?” Who looks after your happiness, she thought.

“… myself.”

“(Y/N) -“

“I think I will leave to go to the Waking.”

She closed her mouth. Her concerns and questions were now redirected: you were leaving. “The Waking?”

“Yeah,” you crossed your arms over your chest, “and I think you should come with me.”

“Go with you?”

“Yes.”

“But, the Dreaming?”

“I cannot stay here anymore, Lucienne. Like I said, my heart breaks constantly. I cannot stay in our bed any longer, I cannot escape this vast bitter coldness. I have to leave.”

Lucienne frowned. “I understand.”

You walked towards her and grabbed her hands. “Please, you should come with me.”

Lucienne smiled, a beautifully regrettable smile. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

You nodded, trying to hide your pain. You swallowed down the swell of emotions. “I figured.”

Lucienne gently squeezed your hands, reassuring and loving. “Go,” she whispered, as she battled her own emotions.

‘Don’t worry about me’ was the underlying message.

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I will not forget you, Lucienne.”

She laughed, despite tears springing from her own eyes. “I would hope not.”

You smiled as tears slid down your cheeks. You yanked her forward, throwing your arms around her. “Please, I hope you are not angry with me.”

“Never,” she whispered.

“If you ever need me, find me - call for me. I will do whatever you want.”

“I know.”

She didn’t say ‘I will’. She didn’t wish to call upon you, to drag you back here to your misery. She wished for you to prosper, to smile joyfully again.

You needed to live for yourself. No longer were you an ethereal dream aiding the Dreaming, no longer were a loving partner to Morpheus, no longer were you a kind and endearing friend, you were now on your own. You were on a journey of self discovery.

You tightened your arms around her once more, before reluctantly releasing her. Your eyes shone with tears and smiled through the heartache. “I love you, Lucienne, one day we will see each other again for that I am certain.”

“I will await here to see you both return. And I wish you the best, (Y/N).”

Your heart broke. “Goodbye, Lucienne. Please tell those left I wish them the best.”

“I will. Goodbye, (Y/N).”

You left rather quickly, briskly walking away and not daring to look back. You didn’t wish to see Lucienne’s tears, see the now dusty library with cracks in the foundation; you wanted to preserve all the memories, cheerful and happy.

Standing outside the gates of the Dreaming, you stared off across the vast, empty grey beach. You had nothing on you, for there was nothing you could carry. In the distance, a call hummed - a tug of the universe ready to open to other realms. You tentatively glanced over your shoulder. The grandiose gates of the Dreaming were closed, locked behind you. You sighed. Memories of all your life spent in the Dreaming rushed by: memories of your friends, memories of Morpheus. So bittersweet. “May we meet again … hopefully.”

You leapt into the air.

When you landed in the soft sand, you landed on four paws and with a tail that swished back and forth. Without looking back again - knowing you may never leave if you did - you calmly strolled forward, letting the sand swirl around you. It completely clouded your vision. Yet, you kept walking, drifting away from your home to an unknown world. The soft uneven sand under your feet became rigid and sturdy. The dark cloud of sand faded, revealing a bright sunny afternoon filled with countless faces and colorful structures. The once deafening silence, and chill, of the Dreaming replaced by a chorus of chatter and buzz of life. As the last drop of sand vanished, you found yourself in an alleyway in a bustling vibrant city. People passed by, living their lives. While you, an unsuspected dream, was now amongst their population.

Or in their eyes, a simple house cat.

For the first time in years, you were thrilled with the uncertainty and possibilities to come. You had a glimmer of hope fluttering in your empty chest, you had a joyful twinkle slowly returning in your hardened eyes.

It was a fresh start.

But, you were woefully unprepared for what the fates would send your way.

It had been years since your arrival to the Waking. You traveled, walking among the humans as one. You tasted exciting new dishes, learned different languages, visited amazing places, and met interesting people. However, you met people, you did not let them in. No friends, no relationships of any kind. Your heart could not bear it. So, you only watched humans and life from a safe distance, skirting its edges to save your heart from any trouble.

He, on the other hand, disregarded any and all barriers you put up.

“Well, hello, look at you.”

You - in feline form this late morning - perked up from your spot, sunbathing in front of a cafe. The owner, a sweet elderly lady, was always pleased to see you and left treats out occasionally. However, it wasn’t the owner who greeted you, it was a man. A man wore a tweed jacket, black turtleneck, and glasses perched on his nose. He had a kind, gentle face - one found in stories of princes and heroism. His eyes held worldly knowledge and strangely bountiful hope.

The man crouched down in front of you, extending his hand out as a greeting. You wanted to turn your nose away, but something told you not to. Curiosity? Possibly. To ease your burning new curiosity, you accepted his hand and sniffed it: dried ink, old papers, coffee, old cologne, mixed with potential and nostalgia.

He certainly was a strange one.

The man smiled excitedly, elated to see you have accepted him. He slowly scratched the top of your head and soon behind your ears. You unconsciously pushed your head into his hands. So kind, so comforting. A part of you ached deeply over his simple touch.

“Do you have a family? A home, little one?” He asked out loud.

“No, she doesn’t.” The man perked up, looking at the cafe owner. She smiled at the man and you. “She just appeared one day. She comes and goes as she pleases, but she always comes back.”

The man turned his gaze back onto you. A frown tugged on his lips. “So, no home?”

“No home.” The owner confirmed.

The man continued to scratch at your ears. An idea slowly pieced together in his head. “Do … do you think I could take her?”

You flinched, surprised by his offer.

“Well, that’s up to her now, isn't it?” The owner chucked. “You can try, but if she runs off then do not run back here to me to complain.”

The man wasn’t sure why he wished to take this random cat. Possibly to fill a void, fill a space in his vacant apartment. There was a draw he couldn’t quite place or understand. He glanced back down at you, while you stared up with wide eyes. “Would you like that? A home?” He asked with that lovely smile.

Home.

Oh, how you ached for the Dreaming, for Dream. Your wondrous Morpheus.

You had no where, and being free meant no home. And deep down, you craved it. You craved a home, but your only home you ever had was one you could go back to. At least, not now or maybe ever. You needed a new home. And maybe this insane encounter with this stranger could be that. Not permanently, but for just a few years. A few sweet years. You purred. The man smiled bright and wide, taking it as a ‘yes’. With a helping hand - and a warmth you haven’t felt in ages - he delicately scooped you up.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispered.

#the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless #dream #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #hob gadling #hob gadling x reader #fem!reader

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colorfultyrantearthquake · 2 years

Text

Of Nightmares and Darkness | Morpheus x fem!reader

Description: your infatuation with Morpheus starts with a nightmare, how will it end?

Warnings: +18, Filthy SMUT, angst, nightmare description, claustrophobia (confined spaces), nyctophobia (fear of dark), praising kink, degrading kink, fem!masturbation, oral (male receiving), Dom!Morpheus, sub!reader. Fluff at the end.

Words: +5k! Got extremely carried out, felt Tumblr needed much more Morpheus smut.

Song suggestion: Crazy in love - Sofia karlberg.

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Every night, falling asleep was the hardest thing you had to do. Not because you had trouble sleeping, but because of the nightmares that haunted you.

Every. Single. Night.

Sighing, you plopped on your bed staring at the ceiling, you fell asleep easily every night worn out from work, but you always woke up in the middle of your sleep panting, heavily sweating, clutching your chest to ease the tightness that's crushing your lungs. It could happen several times in one night. Different nightmares. Different stories.

You -like many of other people- suffered from some phobias, but you bet not all people dream about them.

In your room you always had a small light on, you didn't dare sleep -or sit- in a completely dark room. Your room was noticably wide, making the rest of the apartment look small, but you also couldn't bear the idea of staying in a small or closed space. You felt like you couldn't breathe or think.

Trying to stay awake, you grabbed your phone and started to look up "Dreams". Every other night you choose a topic to read about, and today was dreams, since you scarcely had a nice one.

Link after link, site after site, there was one thing that caught your attention as you yawned, a quote, or rather a poem? You didn't know, it said:

"Call for Morpheus,

He shall save you from the dark,

Call for Morpheus,

He shall guide you to your light"

Sitting upright in your bed, your stomach churning, you didn't know why you had this feeling in your gut that you were meant to see this.

Hesitating, your fingers hovered over the search bar, you took a deep breath then wrote: Morpheus.

Morpheus

God of dreams and nightmares, king of the dreaming.

God of dreams? And nightmares? You didn't want to believe this. No, you really didn't. But we all know the saying.

Curiosity.

You started digging more into the matter, searching deep, you found a sketch drawn, you didn't know to whom it belonged, if it's real or not. A sketch of a slender, pale man, high cheekbones, ruffled black hair, long black coat with a raven on his shoulder, a ruby adorning his neck, and a leather pouch in his hand. Underneath the image you saw the name: Morpheus.

Checking the time you found it nearing midnight, you exhaled loudly, closing all the tabs, not wanting to read anymore or let the matter get into your mind. Switching on the little lamp, you pulled up the covers and slept on your side, facing the window in your room.

Darkness. Tight space.

You felt trapped in a coffin. It was pitch black, you couldn't see your own hand, your breathing quickened, feeling your hands tremble and your legs shake, you started gasping loudly, feeling the adrenaline going so high you thought you'd pass out. That'd be more merciful than what you're feeling now. You knew it was a nightmare, but you could feel it in every sense of the word, as if it was really happening to you. Your bones weakening, hands grasping your shirt fighting to breathe. Suddenly you remembered the words you read:

"Call for Morpheus,

He shall save you from the dark,

Call for Morpheus,

He shall guide you to your light."

Fighting to speak and breathe, you started saying his name as much as you could.

"Morpheus." Gasping.

"Morpheus." Panting.

"Morpheus."

You felt darkness swallow you until you couldn't breathe anymore, your sight fading...

************************

Morpheus opened his eyes abruptly, sitting on his throne, he heard his name being called. He thought it was chanting or, perhaps, someone praying. But then he heard the desperation in the voice, the pants, hard intakes of breaths. Morpheus found himself in your nightmare, everything dark. He saw you struggling to move, clutching your chest desperately, your other hand on your imagined coffin trying to steady yourself, you kept calling his name until he thought you'd faint. Swaying his coat, stars littered the darkness around you, small light dots swirled around you, the darkness lightening bit by bit.

Swiping his hand, galaxies and bright, big stars erupted in fire works as the coffin turned into a vast space, the universe itself surrounding you, you almost felt like floating..

Eyes watering from the intensity, your breathing evened, your lungs were full of oxygen again, adrenaline lessining, you sat upright looking in front of you, seeing a hazy figure, no matter how hard you squinted you couldn't see him...

You woke up with a startle. Looking at the clock you saw it was nearly 5 in the morning. For your usual non-existing sleeping program, that was progress.

Pulling off the covers, you went into the kitchen to prepare some breakfast, you weren't used to sleeping for long periods anyway. Having eaten, you took a bath to relax, today was your day off anyways and you didn't want to waste it moping at home. Wearing your sneakers you went out for a run. Mind wandering to Morpheus, you remembered your nightmare, the words you read, the name you called for and the epic change from the worst nightmare to the most beautiful of dreams. You remembered the hazy figure you saw in front of you. Passing the library you halted your tracks. Entering it, you started searching through the books, not really knowing what you're searching for. Passing by Greek Mythology books, you saw a dark blue cover, golden letters carved into the leather: Morpheus.

Your breath hitched and your pulse quickened, your shaky hands extended to get the book. Opening it, you found some pages in Greek while others were in English, which was probably impossible to find.

Sitting, you started reading:

"In the darkness, Morpheus, the God of Dreams, awakened to a world where he and only he wielded power. As the Son of Hypnos and Pasithea, Morpheus is very powerful. The fact he was able to put the Gods of Olympus and most of Greece to sleep with little effort, he is a force to be reckoned with. Morpheus is able to put mortals and gods to sleep. As the God of dreams, Morpheus has the power to manipulate the dreams of others, both Gods and mortals. Morpheus creates both dreams and nightmares. Everything in the dreaming world is under his command. In your sleep, you belong to him."

Your body shivered to the words, other pages had sketches to what Morpheus might look like, some sketched him as a demon, some with wings, but the most fascinating were his sketches as human. His face was sharp, body covered in his black coat, eyes shining with golden specks, similar to the sketch you saw yesterday, you suspected he was the one in your dream.

Weeks passed by as your infatuation with Morpheus grew heavy, by the time you almost had no nightmares, all your dreams were about him and him only. You knew you had gone insane, all this sleep loss made you obsessed with the God of dreams. When you slept, you pictured him standing in front of you, tormentingly close, his cool breath almost fanning your face, plush pink lips hovering slightly over yours. Every time you move to touch him, you wake up.

The lights went out one night, the whole street was dark, moon light wasn't that strong.

You were so restless you couldn't close your eyes, you started writhing in the bed, what if you're late to work tomorrow? Will they finally fire you? How will you find another job? Are you always gonna be this lonely? When will the light return? Why is it so dark? Why does the room feel so small?

Thought swirled quickly in your mind, panick immensed inside of you, making it hard for you to lay on your bed, you got up feeling light headed. Your head pounding, legs weak, you didn't know what to do.

"Morpheus" You panted in the air as you leaned into the wall, your lungs collapsing as anxiety took over you.

"Look at me" A deep, rough voice echoed through your room, barely reached your ringing ears. Arms held your hands as you clung tightly to the man in front of you. Feeling yourself being seated, your hold tightening on the man's arms.

"Look me in the eyes." You raised your head slowly, gasping softly as you were met with the face that conquered your dreams for many nights.

He sat you on the bed, kneeling in front of you, holding you in your place, his hands leaving your arms to plant themselves on both sides of your bed.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked. His voice melody to your ears, raspy and deep, it shook your heart violently. Your head spinning, not knowing how to answer you nodded, way too slow for him to believe so. He kept his gaze focused on you, your eyes studying him, his features, his hands, long fingers graced the bed sheets, marble white body clad in black clothes, the famous black coat that you dreamt of countless times.

He noticed your eyes travelling all over him. Standing up, he walked around your room, studying it. His eyes fell on a book, Morpheus.

He glanced at you, watching you fiddle with your hands in your lap, biting your lip nervously. He almost smirked, but he wouldn't yet give you that satisfaction. Morpheus knew how infatuated with him you were, your dreams of him, your fantasies of his coat, his body. He saw it all and he knew you knew that. Skimming the pages of the book, he wondered if you'll ever break the silence.

You eagerly eyed him, his stance powerful in the dark room, now lit by a small white lantern in the corner, which you were sure belonged to Morpheus. Your heart beat rapidly, you remembered your dreams. There's one sinful dream you were ashamed of.

His coat splayed on the bed, you sleeping naked over it, your legs wide open, you were so horny and wet that you had floods between your legs, covering your folds, your clit, dripping down your inner thighs. You were in your room, dimly lit, a scent of magic and stardust in the air, your hands moving from your neck down to your breasts in a teasing motion, your fingers twirling both your nipples making your pussy gush juices, you moaned at the feeling, you wanted them to be Morpheus', not yours. You sighed as your right hand moved down your waist, gripping your hip bone making your back arch, knowing this is a soft spot. Travelling lower, your fingers started massaging your folds agonizingly slow, imagining them to be Morpheus' fingers teasing you, edging you. Picturing his face between your legs, you entered one finger into your cunt, followed by another, wanting to feel full to the brim, you started imagining his throbbing cock, tip red and swollen, you moaned at the thought. You brought your other hand to play with your clit as you started moving your fingers faster, circling your clit in rhythm with your fingers.

"Oh, God yes." You panted, feeling your walls flutter around your fingers. "Morpheus" you moaned loudly, "Morpheus, please. I need you." You whined loudly, feeling your pussy clench. "Need your mouth on my lips, my tits, fuck yes," you arched your back as you felt his coat brush against it, intensifying your pleasure. "Need to feel you inside of me," you sigh dreamily as you felt your pleasure coming to an end. "Need to feel your mouth between my legs, fuck me raw until I can't breathe. Ruin me for all men." You gasped as you started rocking your hips into your fingers. "Morpheus, fuck yes, Morpheus please." You moaned sinfully as your orgasm washed over you, your body shook over the coat, your fingers thrusting inside of you helping yourself ride your orgasm, the finger on your clit moved to your left tit to grip it tightly. Your body stilled, heavy breaths filled the air as your room screamed sex.

Blushing furiously after remembering your dream, your eyes followed Morpheus' every move, until he turned to face you, walking to where you're sitting, coming to a stop directly in front of you. He was very tall, compared to you sitting, he hovered over you, your face meeting his torso, you felt ashamed you couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

"Eyes on me." You heard him. He wasn't asking, it was an order.

Your eyes travelled slowly up until they fell on his.

"Isn't it rude not to greet who you've sinfully longed for?" He looked down at you, feeling his breath fan your face your body shuddered in delight.

"It is." You answered.

"So you can speak." He said, faking amusement.

"I wondered when will that pretty voice of yours come out, considering that day my whole realm heard you screaming my name. Begging for me." His voice lowered even more, eyes daring you to deny. Your cheeks fired, hands felt sweaty, you felt trapped. His gaze was a hunting one, a predator's gaze to his prey.

"I'm sorry" you said, feeling nervous but aroused, your wetness soaking your shorts.

He clicked his tongue, fingers grazing your cheek. "That's not the answer I am looking for." The back of his hand travelled down to the side of your neck, feeling your pulse. Your skin lit fire in the places he caressed.

"What was it the answer you're looking for?" You asked. His eyes snapped up to yours.

"This." Lips dipping to the curve of your neck, he kissed you very lightly, then he started sucking the spot making your body jerk towards his as the loudest of moans left your mouth. Your moans were slutty to say the least, and he didn't even do anything to you yet.

"So eager. So hungry for me. Tell me, what is it you crave in me?" He leaned back, standing straight as he looked at you. You were breathing heavily, chest heaving as you felt your blood raging to your core.

"I," you shut yourself. This was your chance. Choose your words wisely. "I need all of you. I want you to give me everything you have." You said as excitement filled your eyes.

He chuckled.

"You can't handle that."

"I can. Try me."

"Are you daring me, mortal?" Challenge covered his eyes. You felt your nipples harden, your hands shaking as you felt the seam of your shorts against your clit, you craved friction.

"Yes." You hoped you won't regret that.

In a second, you found yourself spread on the bed, completely naked, all your clothes lost. You gasped, mind clouding with heat, needing friction between your thighs, you rubbed them.

Morpheus hands came down on your knees, pushing your legs apart so wide to the point you felt them strain, you felt his long coat under you, as he rolled the sleeves of his black shirt up.

"You. Need a lesson in discipline." You instantly moaned at his words.

"Such a dirty woman." He said, eyes hungry.

Morpheus licked his lips eagerly, eating your body with his eyes.

"Lay down on your front, ass up." Commanded his voice. Your core was dripping by now and the position you're about to take will make you completely exposed to him.

You did as he asked feeling shy all of a sudden, you kept squirming under his gaze, trying to close your legs so he won't see how wet you are.

You felt his heat behind without him touching you, so close to you feeling the ghost of his pants.

You felt one of his hands caress your inner thigh.

You felt him lean forward until his mouth was beside your ear, his breath fanning your neck.

"Open those legs for me, this position was not made for you to hide from my eyes." Each word felt like a sin coming out of his mouth, you kept from moaning as you nodded your head. His right hand caressed your ass gently, travelling up to squeeze your hip, waist, reaching the curve of your breast, Morpheus caught your tit in his hand kneading it slowly feeling you shiver under him, his eyes glued to your side as your mouth hung open, eyes closed.

"Looking so good for me" he said almost lovingly, you whimpered as his fingers took turns rolling your nipple and rubbing it, God you could cum like that.

"Please" you whispered trying to buck your hips backwards but the hand on your inner thigh gripped it painfully.

You felt his hand leave your breast, coming in contact with your ass. Feeling the pleasure your head rolled back to look at him. You saw his eyes turned to the darkest shades of green with a rim of gold.

"I will punish you first, then the rest comes, if you deserve it." He said as his hand left your inner thigh making you whimper in pain, only for it to grip your neck, choking you softly making you gasp.

His hand slapped you in the same spot making you wiggle touching his pants.

"Now you wouldn't want to ruin my pants, do you?" His face came so close to yours as his hand kept choking your neck, craning it backwards to meet his gaze. You shook your head, tears of frustration brimming in your eyes, feeling your cunt burn for the King who's handling you too good for your mortal brain to comprehend.

"Choose your punishment"

"Slap me"

"Where?"

You move your pussy back to touch him making him exhale at your wetness.

He flipped you around, hands hovering over you, eyes boring holes into yours.

Morpheus smirked as his hand slapped your pussy hard, making you buck your hips up, moaning loudly.

"Count for me"

"One"

Slap. "Two"

Slap. "Three"

You felt your core weeping, feeling your wetness on the curve of your ass, your legs inhumanely wide just to please him.

By the time he hit the tenth slap, you were a shivering mess below him, tears streaming down your face, hands grasping his coat tightly, whimpers of his name leaving your lips like a prayer.

Morpheus' hand came up to caress your cheek tenderly, his face coming so close, his lips brushed against yours. "What was it you said? Ruin me for all men?" He asked, your eyelids fluttering shut at the proximity of his voice, his warm lips.

"I think, I'll ruin you for all gods."

Morpheus' cool hand cupped your core making your eyes snap open, gasping softly, his cool hand a relieving contrast to your burning core.

"I thought I told you to keep your eyes on me."

"Yes, m-my Lord." You struggled to say as you tried to buck your hips into his hand.

"Someone's seeking relief and being obedient."

Standing up, Morpheus unbuttoned his shirt, your eyes following his every move until it ended on the floor, your mouth agape at the heavenly sight greeting you, he belonged with marble statues not your bedroom.

His hands went lower to his pants, unbuttoning and discarding them, you can see now how hard he is, his cock straining hard against the fabric, you crawled to him, face level with his boner, you looked at him for permission.

His jaw went tense before nodding. Sitting up on your knees, you caressed his chest with your hands, feeling every ridge and every muscle, his skin soft and cool to touch. Your hands reached the hem of his garment, you felt his pulse beneath your hands, breathing softly you undressed him, watching his swollen cock spring free, your mouth watered involuntarily wanting to taste him, feel him throbbing against your tongue as you lick the vein on his base.

"Lay back."

You looked up at him, worried that he won't let you taste him. He smirked knowingly.

You crawled back up the bed until your head hit the pillows, he came after you, straddling your torso, legs resting on your sides, his hand leaning on the headboard for support, his cock directly in front of your face.

Everything disappeared at this moment, you felt like cumming on the spot.

Morpheus leaned down and captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth with ease, you couldn't fight him. His other hand went down to your breast, kneading it softly, thumb again brushing your nipple.

You whimpered against his mouth, feeling flushed all over, extremely weak in his arms.

"Morpheus." You panted looking at his eyes, your hand coming up to touch his on your breast.

"I want to taste you." You said looking at his cock. He let the headboard free along with your breast making you miss his touch immediately.

He readjusted your head on the pillow, giving you more space.

Morpheus' hands grabbed each of your tits, pushing his cock between them, he started thrusting slowly, feeling your soft flesh caress him, he threw his head back sucking in a breath. You watched him with awe, he could never be more beautiful, hair tousled, lips parted, neck flushed with heat. The feeling of his thick, long dick between your breasts made you look, pleasured noises leaving you. You opened your mouth, wanting him to thrust his tip in it. Knowing your need, Morpheus put his hand at the back of your neck, supporting it, he thrust his tip into your mouth. You sucked at it slowly, rolling your tongue around it while looking up at him with wide eyes. Seeing you like this, spread out for him, so hungry and willing to take him whole wherever he wants, Morpheus felt a fire ignite in his soul, his eyes burning with desire for you.

He kept thrusting his tip teasing you, making you more desperate for him, by this moment you no longer cared what you wanted, you just needed to please him properly.

You put your hand on the back of his, behind your head, guiding more of him into your mouth. Morpheus exhaled loudly, whether of relief or pleasure you wanted to give him your best.

Sitting a bit up, you adjusted so you can suck him better, you started swirling your tongue around him, doing cat licks at the tip.

Morpheus let out the first moan, one of pure ecstasy. The voices he emitted ignited you more, bobbing your head faster, taking him deeper, he wrapped your hair around the hand holding your neck, roots tugging softly you moaned around his cock making it jerk in your mouth. Morpheus head hung low looking at you in the eyes, mouth hung open in awe at your face stuffed with his cock, he thrusted deeper, feeling your throat close around his tip, you evened your breathing to prevent gagging. Letting you breathe, you took more of him until you reached his base, hugging his thighs with your arms you drove your head deeper until your nose was so close to his skin. Morpheus was a gasping mess, his pale face turned red, plump lips biting themselves to hold from filling you with his cum. He wanted to fuck his cum into you, feel it mix with your wetness as your pussy took all of him greedily.

He groaned at the thought, tugging you off him, you were gasping for breath.

Morpheus travelled down your body, lips nipping at your neck, hands holding your waist, he started marking your stomach, down to your lower belly.

Hovering over your now flooded pussy, he looked up at you and what a sight it was.

"Do you want me here?" He asked as the slightest of smirks graced his face. He was well aware of your dreams both in the dreaming and waking worlds, he was sure you needed him most there.

"I remember you needed my mouth on your lips, breasts and between your legs. Is that right?" Morpheus teased your slit with two fingers running up and down agonizingly slow , wetness collecting at the tips of his fingers. You looked him in the eye, you knew you played a game you'd definitely love to lose, but you were so turned on you didn't want to back down, you only wanted to spur him further, you wanted him to take you until you collapsed.

"I also said I wanted your majesty to fuck me raw until I can't breathe."

Sensing the sarcasm in your voice, Morpheus' face hardened. Oh fuck.

Cupping your clit with his lips, sucking at it wholly, you arched your back off the bed as you started shaking. Gasping his name you clawed at his coat under you, wanting anything to hold you down as pleasure shot straight to your nerves. Your hands tugged at his hair. You felt yourself tightening with searing hot pleasure coursing through your body, so close to cum.

Suddenly everything stopped. Tears streamed down from your eyes, your breath unable to reach your lungs properly. Morpheus took your hands off his head, pinning them above you.

"Disrespecting Morpheus and his powers. Making fun of Morpheus while your body begs for him in the most shameful ways." Morpheus moves up your body until his lips are against yours, his achingly hard cock touching your inner thigh. Fingers brushed against your lower lip, the rest of his hand on the side of your neck squeezing lightly.

"Shall I be your never ending nightmare? Everytime you close your eyes to sleep I'll be haunting your dreams, edging you, tasting you, riding you, then you'll wake up with no release. Would you want that?" You whined in protest as he entered his thumb in your mouth, holding your tongue.

"That's what I thought."

Freeing your hands, Morpheus lifted one leg on his shoulder, the other wrapping around his hips. This is it. Morpheus is gonna fuck you into oblivion.

You felt his cock at your entrance, his angry tip teasing you, going up and down your slit, he caught his cock and slapped your clit making you mewl in pleasure. Not able to take it any more, you waited until he adjusted at your entrance slowly pushing in, you bucked your hips forcefully driving his cock deep.

Both of you erupted in sinful moans, your eyes fluttering shut, feeling your soul leave your body.

Morpheus gasped, going all the way out, slamming into you feeling his tip brushing your cervix.

"Do you like it that way? Do you?" Morpheus started moving into you, slow, deep, strong thrusts driving you up the bed, his hands came to your waist holding you in place.

" Faster. Morpheus. Harder." You begged him. You were two thrusts away from cumming, being so worked up. Morpheus started moving faster, fulfilling your desires, he drove his hips harder into you, feeling you clenching around him made him growl in an animalistic way. His primal need taking over his mind, Morpheus felt your pussy tighten around him, your coil so tight it'd snap any minute, he wanted to please you and show you love at the same time.

He pressed one hand onto your lower abdomen.

"Can you feel me? Am so deep in you, ruining you for other men. Fucking you raw until you can't breathe." You were a shaky, sweating mess, all words in your brain lost, all thoughts incoherent.

One thing only vivid in your mind. Morpheus.

"Morph-eus, p-please. I n-need to c-cum for you." You begged quitely, unable to form a sentence.

"Will you be a good girl and scream for me like you did in your dream?" Morpheus rolled his hips swiftly, touching every spot that drove you absolutely wild.

"Morpheus! Fuck" you screamed so loud feeling every vein in his cock pulsing against your walls.

Groaning each time you scream, Morpheus opened your legs wider, you hugged his hips with your legs, caging him to your body, letting his weight fall over your body, he took you in his arms, your hands instantly gripping his shoulders.

The new angle made him hit your spot better, eyes seeing stars you felt your orgasm so high up you thought you'd faint. His hand came down to your clit, rubbing circles with each thrust of his.

"Let go, darling. I've got you. Give me all you've got." Morpheus' voice promised against your ear.

Screaming his name, your body convulsed in his muscular arms, feeling your orgasm shatter in pleasurable ways you couldn't imagine.

"You're doing so good for me, taking me so well like you were made for me." Morpheus praised you, chasing his own high, feeling your aftershocks against his cock, he felt your fingers holding his back, hot and needy. He drove faster into you, your second orgasm already at your door.

"Morpheus, Morpheus fuck." You moaned shamefully.

You felt his cock twitch inside of you. Your chanting of his name driving him wild. Biting his earlobe, you sucked on his pulse, your hand travelling down to caress his balls.

Morpheus groaned deeply in your ear, snapping his hips roughly, you came in his arms, convulsing like mad, feeling his hot cum fill you up to the brim.

Morpheus came and for seconds kept fucking his cum into you, listening to the noise you both made with your need for each other.

You struggled to breathe as you tried fanning yourself, coming down from your very pleasuring high.

"Was that as good as the dream?" Morpheus asked, face resting on your chest as he looked at you, still inside of you.

"Morpheus, I-" you hesitated. You didn't know what to do or say. You felt love swell your heart. You thought it was lust but now you know, you've fallen for the King of dreams.

" I've never felt this beauty, this pleasure, this love and desire." You whispered softly.

"Love? You haven't seen any love." Morpheus said. "Yet." He added quickly making your eyes snap up at his.

Slowly, his coat started surrounding you both, shielding you from the outside world, getting darker, you were starting to feel scared.

Morpheus' eyes vowed to make you safe, as the coat started shining very softly, stars with dim light shone around you. Just like your first dream of him.

The feeling was more delightful than anything you've ever felt, you felt..... Whole.

Morpheus body connected with yours like you were one, it was indeed lust-driven, but you knew you couldn't deny the flame that burned deep inside you once you found his book, you knew you'd fall for him.

"Morpheus." You whispered, playing with his hair.

"I am here, love. No need to call for me." He kissed your sternum softly you barely missed his lips.

"I feel safe." You admitted.

Morpheus' eyes shone in adoration, possessiveness and the instinct of protecting you multiplying inside of him.

He moved to your side, holding you close to his firm chest, face buried in your neck, he pecked it softly rubbing small circles on your shoulder.

Your mind wandered, what if he leaves? He has to go somehow, sometime. You felt your heart tug at the idea, picturing yourself without him.

"No need for these doubts. I am not leaving you, if I ever shall not be here, all you have to do is just call the name. Call my name. I have came to you every time you called for me, not even knowing I was there. I will always be here." He pressed a long kiss to your shoulder, your doubts faded, you wanted to feel warm and safe for once in your disturbed life.

Holding his arm tighter against yours, you relaxed into his body.

"I am crazy for you, Morpheus." You admitted in the air, coming out from you almost a whisper.

"I call it love." A rare, earnest smile adorned his lips.

You were crazy in love.

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

Tell me what you think! Hope you enjoyed it xoxo

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writing-fanics · 2 years

Note

hihihi can i req a morpheus x reader when he gets mad at his wife (reader) for doing something he specifically told her not to? then he gives her silent treatment until she starts crying bc i KNOW that man is not forgiving to people he loves a lot

morpheus x f!reader

a/n: what y/n did is up to you to speculate

“I-I’m sorry.” (Y/n) said, looking down at her hands. Fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. As her husband glared at her with anger in his eyes.

“I specifically, told you not to interfere. Why cant you my own wife listen to me?” He asked, as he glared at his wife.

“I-I only wanted to help.” She said, looking up at her husband for whom she loved dearly.

“I’m not in need of your help.” He says, and he walked closer to her his tall form towering over her.

“I’m not weak like I was after my imprisonment. I’m more powerful than I’ve ever been.” His voice deepened, and she stared into his eyes he was mad at her for interfering.

“Don’t ever interfere again.” He says, her lower lip began to quiver. “I’m sorry.” She said, as quickly backed away and left him alone in the throne room.

Hours passed and (Y/n) was getting ready for bed. When Morpheus entered the bedroom to get something. She turned towards him, “C-Can we talk?” She asked, he didn’t even acknowledge her, “Morpheus, can we please talk about it?” She asked, watching as he ignored her as he got what he needed.

“Love, please talk to me.” She pleaded, walking closer but by the time she reached him he’d already exited the room. Did she really do the wrong thing? Did he hate her now? Was he going to leave her?

So many thoughts rushed through her head. She knew he’s had many past lovers all of them went sour. Was she next?

She didn’t want to be she loved him more than anything. When he asked her to marry her it was the happiest moment in her entire immortal life. Being able to be with the love of her life. He was her dream.

And now for her that all felt like it’s all coming to an end. Falling to the ground tears brimmed her eyes as she cried; hugging her knees to her chest.

As the days went by Morpheus continued to ignore his wife. Was he going a bit too far yes. He’d admit that. But he was letting his ego get the better of him.

“Morpheus, darling. Please talk to me.” She pleaded, and he ignored her not listening as he read through the books. “I-I know I shouldn’t of interfered. But please don’t punish me with your silence.” She begged, while walking up the stairs towards his throne.

“Please, I love you.” Her voice broke as tears rolled down her cheeks. He looked up at her hearing her voice crack. He stayed silent and she looked down, turning around and walking down the stairs.

Sniffling as she exited the throne room. Seeing tears in her eyes broke him, he really messed up. Closing the book in his hands placing it by his throne, he walked down the stairs.

Making his way to their shared bed chambers. He could hear her tiny sniffles as he entered the room, he turned towards the bed.

He saw her curled up figure hiding under the sheets as she cried. He sat down on the bed, “My love,” He said, and she shuffled under the blankets.

“I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.” He says, and she stayed under the blanket. Knowing she was paying him back with the silent treatment he continued.

“I didn’t want you getting hurt my love. I know you’re only trying to help. Even though you’re immortal I can’t bear the sight of seeing you in harms way.” He says, leaning down laying beside her form.

“I’m sorry my love.” He says, lifting up the blanket and he saw her looking at him. Face red and cheeks puffy, wiping away her tears.

“Just talk to me.” She says, and he nods as he went under the blankets with her and held her close to his chest.

#fanfic #x reader #angst #headcanons #fluff #morpheus x fem!reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x y/n #the sandman x y/n #the sandman x you #the sandman x reader #morpheus #tom sturridge x you

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alexander-arcturus-black-lupin · 6 months

Text

Morpheus is intrigued

Part II

The smell of your arousal must have been the cause. That's all he could say to defend his actions.

"Hello starlight," you jumped out of bed, your face hot with embarrassment.

"Morpheus," He noted how shrill your voice went. How you clenched your legs together. He noticed how you had inched far from the bed aswell.

"It seems you are in-"

"Nothing! absolutely nothing," you shaky legs howwver denyed you the pleasure of walking as you stumbled back from the bed. Morpheus on a hunch entered your thoughts. He was well....intrigued.

To see a retreating imagery of him in you fucking your brains out.

"Tell me starlight, do you want my help?" Morpheus was in love with you, you knew this, you were in love with him too but you were scared.

A mortal and an Endless.

So you always kept him close but not too close. As you stared into his eyes you wondered.

This could change everything...

Do I want to change everything.

No.

Maybe

Fuck yes

You bit your lip.

Yes.

"I want more than your help Morpheus," His eyes glimmered. He knew what you meant. He knelt down and took up your hand in his. Kissing it softly he smiled.

"It would be my honor," He pulled you towards him keeping eye contact.

He leans in and you feel yourself float as his lips gently graze yours. He kisses you so softly it feels like a dream. You notice how brighter the sky becomes through your lashes. A small smile crosses your lips. You bring him closer and sink into the kiss.

"I promise to give you the world in the palm of your hand. The stars dangling of you like jewelery, everything and everyone bowing at your presence, just say the word" he said.

And you knew he meant it

Morpheus got me Feral bro i need a sabbaticals of two weeks to properly write the smut bro cus i keep sidelining and avoiding. My brain moves faster than my fingers. Y'all be patient for me yeah. I promise I'll write you proud. Also if you want something custom check my asks and dms <333

Mrs. Black signing off <333

#morpheus sandman #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus x oc #morpheus x reader #morpheus #lord morpheus #morpheus smut #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x y/n smut #morpheus x you #morpheus x female reader #Morpheus x fem!reader #Morpheus x f!reader #i should really do kinktober #kinktober 23 #Morpheus x black reader #!!!BlackReader!!!

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preciouslandmermaid · 2 years

Text

|throne| - morpheus x reader

Note: All kinktober content is mature/explicit. Fics will be posted on Tumblr first, then transition over to ao3. All fics will be reader/canon-character with no use of Y/N. I will do my best to include additional warnings, but most should be self explanatory in the prompts.

prompt: face-sitting | pairing: morpheus/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His long, ivory fingers unlace the front of your dress with methodical care. You are here, in the Dreaming, resting upon his black sheets of an entirely too-large bed. Your palms twitch at your sides and your chest flutters like a hummingbird when Dream pins you with his eternal, heated gaze.

He says, “You are doing so well, my love.”

His touch is gentle and fleeting, peeling the thin, white dress off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor with a whisper of silk. Your thighs squeeze together beneath his appraising look. Every glance, every faint touch, burns into your skin like wildfire. He has asked you not to move, not to touch him, and you have obeyed for what feels like centuries.

Morpheus drops his lips to yours, kissing you slowly, and you feel his hum of pleasure reverberate through his chest. You arch your back, fingers clutching the sheets, and your peaked nipples scrape against the soft wool of his sweater. You gasp at the new, delicious sensation and Dream takes the opportunity of your parting lips to delve his tongue between them. He kisses you like it is the last thing he’ll ever do. His tongue strokes into your mouth with languid, playful motions, sucking your lower lip between his, and drinking in your soft mewls.

Your cunt throbs, your body writhes with longing, as he braces himself above you.

“I want to touch you.” You whine when you have a moment’s reprieve. His lips quirk into a semblance of a smile. You are in the Dreaming only until your alarm jolts you awake. You don’t want to waste any time.

“I know.” He breathes, his hand traveling from the side of your ribcage to your hip, before he parts your legs with a single, large hand. His knuckles brush along your clit in a faint, barely-there touch and you whimper.

“There is something I want as well.” He drops the mental image—his fantasy—into your mind like a coin tossed into a wishing well. Your body prickles with heat and awareness and desire. You nod slowly in consent.

His lanky, dark body prowls over you, his hands light and tempting, before he rolls onto his back with glimmering, mischievous eyes. You nervously bite your lip, heartbeat hammering in your ears, and straddle Dream’s narrow hips.

He nudges you with his palms flat on your ass, “Higher, love.” His deep, rumbling voice causes a shiver down your spine. You shuffle forward until his head is between your thighs and you wrap your hands around the twisted, ivy-shaped iron of his headboard. You tentatively lower yourself and his breath ghosts across your sensitive skin.

“Here?” You rasp, nerves and excitement bubbling in your veins like fine champagne.

“Here.” He hums with contentment. The first touch of his tongue along your folds makes you gasp, and you jump, surprised, but Dream’s hands are on your hips and refusing to let you go. He starts slow with teasing, warm licks across your lips. You quiver above him with your hips jerking involuntarily.

You peek down at him and discover his eyes are closed, dark eyelashes kissing his pale cheeks, his wild hair like a shadow of dark feathers tickles your thighs. His hands drift from your hips to the swell of your ass, kneading and squeezing, keeping your cunt pressed against his mouth. His tongue slides into you and you both hear and feel his groan of wanton enjoyment.

Dream speaks directly into your mind; ‘I will never tire of the taste of you.’

Your eyes roll back into your head, seeing stars, and the Dreaming deepens with a rich, silver color—like moonlight. Morpheus works his mouth over your clit, sucking and laving, feasting on you with rumbles of pleasure. He holds you firmly in place as your knuckles whiten around iron-wrought leaves. Your thighs and arms tremble, shaking and pulsing with need, chasing that inevitable, brilliant release that only he can give you.

You are panting, glistening with sweat, and resisting the urge to hump into his face. His mouth draws away from you and a soft, begging “Morpheus,” slips from your lips. He does not verbally respond and nibbles along your inner thigh. Fine. If he is going to play games, then you are going to break his rules.

Selfishly, you plunge a hand between your legs, and fist a handful of his inky, soft hair. His eyes snap open and they burn with white-hot heat.

“I’ve been good.” You say with a pout. You card your fingers through his hair, stroking him like a big, predatory cat. It is such a marvel that the Lord of Dreams has such gentle, tender places. His hair, the curve of his throat, the space between his long fingers. You long to discover them all.

He hums, “You have.”

He returns to his ministrations between your legs with fervent intensity. His tongue works over you in restless, determined strokes and your spine buckles forward and you tighten your grasp in the root of his hair. The Dreaming ripples with molten, gold light and it glistens on your sweat-soaked skin. Your heart pounds, roaring in your ears, as your stomach clenches and your thighs quiver.

You come and a raw and guttural cry is ripped from your throat. Morpheus drinks in your sounds, your release, his hands pinning you to him and squeezing your buttocks. You sag, boneless, pressing your face into the cold metal of his headboard. Dream moves you with gentle, yet strong hands, guiding you to nudge your leg aside and lay on your back against the comfortable, silk sheets. You blink blearily up at him and your skin prickles at the sight of his mouth and chin shiny with your release. He strokes his fingertips along your temple to the curve of your jaw. His eternal blue eyes regard you with open affection.

He says, “Do you wish to continue?”

You nod almost drowsily, “Yes, please.”

His gaze stokes a new, hot flame inside your abdomen. This a dream you never wish to wake from.

#morpheus x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #dream of the endless fic #kinktober 2022 #dream of the endless x you #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman x reader #sandman fanfic #kinktober2022comp

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dreamdaddymorpheus · 2 years

Text

love made me do it | dark!morpheus headcanons

pairing: dark!morpheus x human!reader warning: dark!morpheus ig, yandere behaviour, dark themes, still no beta we die like jessamy. heed the warning, it gets pretty dark– don't let the fluff fool you. a/n: requested & continuation of don't blame me headcanons.

Should you return to the Dreaming know that you are unlikely to ever leave it again. Morpheus would absolutely make certain of it. Letting you go the first time was a like an experiment for him, and he learned he simply wouldn’t do without his wife and queen.

Morpheus wouldn’t punish you, no, what you went through was punishment enough. His heart ached watching you endure your trial and though he admired your perseverance he wished you asked for his help much, much earlier.

Without your family and friends as his leverage Morpheus will be forced you give you more space in the Dreaming, will try to be as less needy as he possibly could, and will leave you to initiate physical contact. He would visit your rooms every day, of course, just to get his daily dose of you, but he won’t be as pushy as he was prior to your little adventure in the waking world.

In the Dreaming you’re just…numb. Unable to process whether to be miserable over your fate with Morpheus or the betrayal by your loved ones. So much to process that your mind just completely shuts down. You ignore the issues and just keep to yourself in your rooms or in Lucienne’s library. Sometimes you’ll speak to Matthew about the human world and what you both miss about it. Like, pizza. Or Game of Thrones. But you both ignore the elephant in the room.

When loneliness starts to creep in, you’ll approach the other residents in the palace for quick conversations until eventually it develops into friendships. They’re sympathetic to your cause, but you understand there isn’t much they can do for you.

Morpheus will continue to give you whatever you want – even things you never asked for. Books, trinkets from the waking world, clothes, takes you to wonderous places in the Dreaming for dates or just to take you out of the palace. He once mimicked the Paris from the waking world for you, thinking it would cheer you up, but it only made you cry instead – knowing you’ll never see the real thing. Morpheus was at a loss at this point.

Morpheus will 100% ask Lucienne for advice. Lucienne would be 100% tired of his shit, but what can she do? She’ll advise him to continue giving you space as, quote, “you’ve done quite enough, your majesty”

When one day you approach him of your own accord while he’s moping on his throne it’ll be comparable to the sun shining upon him for the first time in centuries, “I was wondering…” You’d start, eyes on the ground, not seeing the hopeful look on his face. “Matthew said it’s December in the waking world. So—so, I was wondering if we could decorate the palace for Christmas?”

Oh, the look this man will give you. It’ll be a mixture of surprise, love, and relief, all because finally, finally you asked him for something he could actually grant you (and that didn’t involve you leaving). “Of course, my love.” This man will be so utterly smitten. “Whatever you want, you need only ask.”

There will be a very awkward pause between you afterwards, but Morpheus won’t let it get to him. You approached him. You spoke to him. You wanted to decorate the palace, your home, for Christmas. This man was high, and he relished every second of it.

He will go all out. He will put Father Christmas and all his elves to shame with how merry and jolly he’ll deck the palace and the Dreaming for Christmas, complete with snow and everything. He’ll grill Matthew on Christmas traditions and the poor raven will be at a complete loss because what the fuck.

You’ll throw a Christmas dinner for all the people at the palace as well as Cain and Abel – turkey, roast potatoes, pigs in blankets, even brussels sprouts. Of course, there’s presents! At first you thought it was one sided, but it turned out everyone was also familiar with human traditions, and they also got presents for you and everyone else. They knew you were not here of your own volition and though they couldn’t rectify that they wanted to make you happy and make things easier for you.

Morpheus will briefly make an appearance at the dinner to give you his present – a snow globe that’ll take you wherever and whenever you want in the waking world, but it’ll automatically take you back to the Dreaming after 5 hours and you must stay in the Dreaming for at least a day before you can use it again. “I know it is not what you want nor is it the true freedom you deserve, but I hope…this will give you some comfort.” Then he’ll greet you a warm Merry Christmas before making his excuses to leave, thinking his presence will only make everyone behave too formally.

“Wait— maybe you can join us for pudding?” You don’t know whether it was the look of resignation on his face or your own feeling of resignation that made you ask, but you stood by your words.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.” He’d say, but his eyes glistened with longing.

“This is your home; you wouldn’t be intruding.”

You haven’t seen him smile like that in a long time, you’d think to yourself. “I hope it’ll be your home one day too.” You’d hear him say, but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you take his hand in yours and lead him to the long table where the others were conversing and taking turns teasing Matthew about being the centre piece next year.

Matthew’s “screw you guys” and everyone’s laughter was the last thing you remembered clearly before turning your mind off and drowning yourself in the moment.

There’s a tentative peace in the Dreaming afterwards, a mutual understanding between its rulers. Morpheus doesn’t push and neither do you.

When the King of Dreams asked to join you on your daily walk, he steeled himself for disappointment, but was pleasantly surprised when you obliged him.

As you both followed the well-kept trail in the garden, Morpheus used the silence to ponder over your relationship. Though he regrets the actions he has taken, he knew he was well past the point of no return.

He thought back on happier times – before he broached the subject of marriage, a time before you broke his heart by hastily refusing.

“It is my fault, I know—” His sombered voice broke the peace and made you both pause in your steps to stand stiffly next to each other. You wanted to keep walking, to keep pretending, to live in your little bubble. “I should have walked away the second I realized I would fall for you.” You turn to look at him, your eyes full of resentment. Why didn’t you, you wanted to ask. But that wouldn’t have been fair – for there was a time when you also loved Morpheus, when you would have happily chased him until you broke down his walls and loved you back.

Morpheus dared to step in front of you, hands reaching out to hold both of yours in his, a look of absolute desperation and yearning etched across his face, “I have hurt you, I hurt you still, I know, but I—” The unspoken words hang in the air, I can’t let you go. “I can make you happy, I can make the Dreaming a home for you…if you but give me a chance. You loved me once; you can love me again.”

HAPPY ENDING (?):

Try as he might, Morpheus couldn’t ignore the ache in his chest as he waited for your response. Your sentence upon his soul.

You pull your hand from his grasp and reached up to cup his jaw, watching curiously as he sinks into your touch, eyes fluttering close to savour the warmth of you, lips parting as though hungry for more, both his hands holding onto your wrist for dear life – fearful you might end the moment too soon.

“I don’t want to hurt anymore.” You whispered tiredly, “I don’t want to keep hurting each other.”

“Then let us heal together, my love.”

DARK ENDING (TW):

You could only stare at him in disbelief, “How—How can you think we could ever go back?” You shove his hands away, back taut like a bowstring just shy from snapping in two, “Did you think because I have not actively fought you that I wish to be here? That I have magically forgiven you for what you’ve done?” You could almost see the regret wash over your former love.

“You have made certain I will never have a place anywhere else but by your side.” You were exhausted, resigned to your fate “I will sit tight. Sit pretty. But know that I will never love you again.” You felt powerful, felt in control for the first time since he brought you here against your will. Morpheus could direct his subject and even you to a certain degree – but he could never direct your feelings. That will always be your leverage over him.

You watch the tears well up in his eyes, the same resignation you felt painted inside them. “Everything I do—it is only because I love you. And I want you to be happy, here, by my side.” His words doesn’t move you and you waste no energy to hide it.

Your brows furrowed in confusion as he begins to approach you, single-minded and resolute in his steps. “What are you doin—” Just as the words left your mouth, Morpheus reached for your temples with both hands and though gentle and kind in his touch he was unyielding in intent. “Morpheus, what—”

“I’m sorry, my love.” were the last words you heard before a screeching sound filled your ears and an excruciating pain shot through your head. The feeling felt as though it lasted forever that when it was finally cleared it left you gasping for air. “W-What was what?” You asked brokenly, eyes aimless and tearful.

You felt the familiar arms of your lover engulf your form, his fingers brushing through your hair as a silent offer of comfort. “What happened, my love?” You relished the tenderness in his voice, pressing yourself closer into to him.

“I-I don’t know. It—It felt like a nightmare. It hurt so much, but—was I sleeping?” You were dazed and confused, words slurred and in fragments.

“Perhaps a loose nightmare. They are known to misbehave. I will have Lucienne look into it.” He assured you, tightening his arms around your quivering form. “I do not know how many times I must ask you to stay by my side so such things doesn’t happen.” He chides softly, but you smile knowing there was no bite behind his words. He loved you far too much to not indulge your wandering habits.

You’re certain all will be well.

a/n: I didn't want the happy ending to be too happy considering the context of their relationship. So that's all you get, I'm afraid. But it did get pretty dark at the end there–😳

#morpheus x reader #dream x you #this header is making me feel things #morpheus x you #morpheus imagines #dream x y/n #dream imagines #dream x fem!reader #dream x reader #netflix the sandman #the sandman imagines #sandman x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #tag:my work #tag:headcanon

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alittlepunkrock · 2 years

Text

where you go (i will go) — i

Summary: A threat to your realm inspires an unlikely collaboration.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

Words: 3.9k+

Notes: After binging the Sandman, my heart went out to our favorite mopey, gothic dream prince. This will be a full multi-part fic. Set in the Netflix series universe. I haven’t written anything in a hot minute, so any feedback is appreciated - thanks!

series masterlist // mood board // ao3

. . .

“It starts at night when I close my eyes,

I still see you.

I drown my cries in some brand new lies,

I don’t see you like I used to.”

- I Don’t Miss You Anymore, loveless

. . .

Part i.

True peace is found in the still moments between dreaming and waking. Those moments in which the body and mind seem to exist on separate planes of existence. The body, just awakening to sensation; the mind, being coaxed back to reality after the uninhibited freedom of slumber. The infinite possibilities found in the realm of dreaming.

As your body calls your mind back home, you cling to the last remnants of your dream. A field of wildflowers, bursting with red poppies, purple bellflowers, yellow lady’s bedstraw. Standing tall before you, your love takes your face in his rough, calloused hands. You lean into his touch, relishing in the thought that tomorrow, your hands will be joined in the sanctity of marriage within this very field. Your heart flutters at the thought.

Your love’s dark eyes gaze tenderly into yours. You open your mouth to state your vow, one you’ve surely told him a thousand times, “I love you.”

Suddenly, there is a sharp tug within your chest. You’re yanked back, the scene before you fading to a pinprick. Your mind collides with your body with a force that is physically painful.

The first sensation you register is a pair of rough, calloused hands gripping tightly around your windpipe. Pushing, pressing.

The second is a pair of familiar dark eyes hovering over you.

There is no tenderness there.

. . .

Consciousness can be an alarming thing. While it has been many hundreds of years - or perhaps thousands, you’ve begun to lose count - since you’ve dreamed, even deities must rest. Your mind recoils back into the Waking World as your eyes snap open with a gasp. On instinct, your hands fly to your neck, hastily prying away a grip that’s not there.

No one is here. Your bedroom is quiet and empty. As always.

Heart hammering in your chest, you run your fingers along your scalp, peeling away the strands of hair plastered to your skin with sweat. Breathe, you tell yourself, inhaling deeply. Just breathe. Exhale. You relish in the feeling of air flowing in and out of your lungs, uninhibited and free. You are alive.

Well, sort of.

The end of your bed dips lightly, and you open your eyes. Your foster pup, Theo, peers up at you attentively. He places one white paw between your feet, his dark eyes twinkling with reassurance. You smile at him and lean forward, ruffling the mop of brown fur between his wide ears. “Good morning, my friend. Checking on me, are you?”

Sunlight streams through the thin curtains of your bedroom window, bathing the room in a golden glow. Your peace lily by the windowsill reaches for the sun, craning its green stems and white blooms toward the glass. A fantasy novel lays on your bedside table, colorful bookmarks denoting all your favorite passages.

And there, just under your bedroom door, is a stack of papers.

Slowly, a bright smile pulls across your face. Your rude awakening retreats to the back of your mind, waiting to strike again with a new dawn.

It’s time to start a new day.

. . .

“Oh please, Theo, don’t look at me like that,” you groan as you walk into the kitchen, shimmying into a pair of dark jeans as you go. Theo sits regally at your feet, eyes wide and gleaming, eager for a lick of the cream cheese warming on the kitchen counter. You drop to the floor to tie your sneakers, eyeing him carefully.

He stares at you. You stare at him. After several long moments of watching you tie your shoes, he sticks his pink tongue out and grins.

Your heart grows two sizes as your tough act breaks. “Oh, fine. How am I supposed to say no to that face?” In a jiffy, your toasted bagel has been slathered with cream cheese, and an extra dollop has been added to the rim of Theo’s food bowl. He sits triumphantly by the bowl and grins as you dip to rub him behind the ears. “You be a good boy today, okay? I’ve got a busy day ahead, but I’ll drop in at lunch. And please, no chewing on the trim. We really can’t afford another maintenance charge. Got it?”

Theo pants and gives your palm an appreciative lick. You grin and kiss him between the ears. “That’s my boy.”

The tender autumn sun warms your cheeks as you step out of your townhouse and onto the sidewalk. It’s a Wednesday morning and the streets are busy, everyone shuffling to jobs, school, daycare. You make the brisk walk to the small mom-and-pop coffee shop a couple blocks away, hoping to beat the line that is sure to be forming soon. The shop owner, an elderly gentleman with a shock of white hair and a kind, wrinkled face - Cliff, you remind yourself - smiles kindly at you as you walk in. “G’morning, miss. You’re off to an early start today, aren’t you?”

“The sun is awake, so I’m awake,” you reply jokingly, placing the exact change for your beverage into his waiting hand at the counter. “We’ve got a busy day ahead, Cliff. Your coffee is going to carry me through.”

“Good thing I’ve got it ready for you, then,” Cliff jests, sliding a to-go cup across the counter. “Have a g’day, miss.”

“You truly are a lifesaver, Cliff. Mankind thanks you for your service,” you say as you take the first sip. The dark brew slips down your throat, warming your insides as it goes. Nothing refreshes the immortal soul for a day of work quite like a good coffee.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” you call with a grin, turning on your heel to head back out the front door. As you approach, a young man carrying a backpack, likely a college student, prepares to open the door. The street outside is busy, easy to disappear into. You turn over your shoulder to ensure Cliff is looking away. His back faces you, busying himself with cleaning the espresso machine behind the counter.

Turning to the young man in front of you, you slip through the door as he opens it. He makes eye contact with you, opening his mouth to give a greeting. You smile and, reaching out, touch your fingertips to the soft gray hoodie over his heart. You close your eyes, reaching out, reaching through. A warm breeze whistles through your hair. And when you open your eyes, you’re in to vasíleio tis proskóllisis. The Realm of Attachment.

It is an absolute kaleidoscope of colors. The most stunning masterpiece you have ever seen. Hundreds, thousands, millions of threads bursting forth from the hearts of the mortals surrounding you. Some are linked to an individual beside them, some halfway across the city, some halfway across the world. Each thread thrums, alive with the promise of connection, of attachment to another individual. Each thread glows with the promise of what bond these two mortals are to share.

Gazing around this masterpiece, your masterpiece, your chest grows tight with emotion, heart warm, mind buzzing. This is your purpose. This is what it means to be Agape, the Deity of Love.

You turn to the young coffee shop customer you passed through, who is now glancing around, looking quite dazed and confused. “Well,” you say, knowing full well he can’t hear you, “I suppose I should get to work, shouldn’t I?”

You pull the folded pieces of paper from your bedroom floor out of your pocket, unfolding them carefully. The first names on the Fates’ list are alight with a purple halo. You smile fondly. Erotoropia - playful, flirtatious attachment. These are always fun. You close your eyes and skim your fingertips over the words, reaching out for the attachment there. When you open your eyes, you find yourself in a high school hallway crowded with shuffling bodies. The air is thick with a heady combination of cacophonous chatter, cheap body spray, and raging teenage hormones.

A thick web of attachments surrounds you, burning brightly with reds, purples, blues, and whites. A combination of romance, flirtation, self-love, and friendship or romantic soul ties. Ah, to be a teenager, you muse, overwhelmed by the sheer number of connections around you. You inhale deeply and wade through the crowd, honing in on the attachment you have come to foster.

Ah, there they are - a young brown-skinned girl with hair the shade of night and a fair-skinned boy with bright blue eyes. They stand side by side at their lockers, the boy rummaging for books, the girl applying a thin streak of eyeliner to both eyes in her small mirror. A faint purple thread connects them at the heart, yearning to be established. You feel it call out to you, tugging at your heart, drawing you closer.

You smile, running the purple strand between your fingers. Let me see what I can do for you.

To your right, a stocky boy in a football jersey barrels down the hall, clearly late for some type of practice. You incline your head toward him and lift a hand, crooking your pointer finger ever so slightly. At your gesture, the boy’s shoe rolls over a pen on the hallway tile and he stumbles, shoulder colliding with the back of the brown-skinned girl. Her eyeliner careens across her temple, leaving a dark line in its wake. She gasps, rearing backward.

“Hey, watch it!” She calls out to the football player as he scurries away, too concerned about being late to pay her a glance. She leans back into her locker, examining the damage in the mirror. “Aw, shit.”

The fair-skinned boy glances at the girl to his side, glances away, glances back again. Obviously weighing the pros and cons of speaking up. You place an encouraging hand on his back. Go on.

“Sorry about that,” the boy finally says, briefly pausing in his quest to find his books. “Jocks, am I right?”

“No shit,” the girl groans. She pulls a Q-tip from her purse and leans in close to the mirror, trying to salvage her look. “This was the worst possible day for this to happen to me. I’m supposed to audition for Catswith the drama club after school.”

The boy grins, turning to face her more fully. Gaining courage. “What , a cat eye wasn’t what you were going for?” he prods, eyebrow raised.

The girl pauses in her wiping to return his friendly gaze. A playful twinkle lights in her eye, dancing as a smile pulls across her face. “How do you even know what a cat eye is?” she laughs.

The boy shrugs, closing his locker with a stout clang. “I may or may not have three older sisters. My knowledge of makeup is vast and, quite frankly, a little embarrassing.”

You glance down at the thread between your fingers as the two chat. Once pale purple, the thread now glows brightly. You smile with satisfaction. Your work here is done.

. . .

The Fates know how to keep you busy, and you thank the powers that be for the millionth time that you love your work as much as you do. By lunch, you’ve traveled halfway across the world, fostering a rainbow of bonds. Theo gets a quick check-in at lunch, something that lifts your spirits as much as it does his, before you dive back into the fray. By dusk, there is only one final set of names on your list.

As you lift your fingertips from the page, you find yourself on the landing at the top of a staircase. A large window to your right reveals the quiet cul-de-sac outside. The hallway is dark with shadows, every door lining the corridor closed firmly. All is silent.

And then, a sniffle. You turn to the first door down the corridor to your left. While no light peeks through the crack at the bottom of the door, the sound of quiet sobbing is unmistakable. The pitch and tone tells you that it is the crying of a young girl. Through the door pass two distinct threads; one faded and green, the other a pulsating black. At the sight of the black thread, you grow very still, a lump forming in your throat.

Desire the Endless has been here.

You take the threads in your hands and follow them down the staircase, moving quickly. You find that the threads trail into the heart of a middle-aged man lying on the couch. A comforter has been thrown onto the floor beside him; he tosses and turns in his sleep, restless.

You swallow quickly and close your eyes, gripping the black thread tightly. Show me, you command. In response, dark images flash through your mind: A family of three, happily moving into their new home. The father taking a new job. Casual glances at a co-worker turning into sly ones. Desire boiling until the pot overflows. One early morning run turning into multiple. The fallout. A wife working late to push the pain away.

A daughter crying in the room upstairs. Your heart sinks, forming a pit in your stomach.

Slowly, you shift your hands to grip the green thread. Gazing down at the restless face of the adulterer below you, you can’t help but wonder whether he deserves your gift. Whether he deserves you re-enforcing his family’s unconditional love for him. You can’t help but wonder whether, with Desire around, he’ll make the same grave decision again. You almost let the thread go. And then, you remind yourself, You don’t decide who or what. You are here to choose the how and to ensure that all proceeds as it is meant to.

“You will awaken and call your wife at work,” you command slowly, voice barely more than a whisper. “You will grovel at her feet. You will do marriage counseling, family therapy, anything that she requests. You will become a father that your daughter can be proud of. All of this will be as I have spoken it.”

You pause. In your hands, the green thread solidifies and glows, warm and alive. As you turn to leave, you whisper one final wish, “And you will shut Desire out of your heart from this point onward.”

It’s the only thing out of your control. The only thing you can’t guarantee.

. . .

You step through an evening jogger and onto the sidewalk in front of your townhome, back in the regular Waking World once again. The colorful threads of the Realm of Attachment no longer leap into view. The street is quiet, dark, and mundane. Admittedly, after a long day of work, it’s a sight for sore eyes.

As you fumble through your pocket for your house keys, a bright bubble of laughter rings through the open window of the townhome next to yours. You can’t help but smile softly and take a slight step back, craning your neck to peek through the open curtains. Inside, a young husband and wife - Ava and Matt, you think fondly - sit on the couch watching a game show rerun on TV. Ava throws her head back and laughs, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Matt places an affectionate kiss on her temple. His broad hand shifts to rest on her stomach, cradling the small bump that has begun to rise there.

Your heart flutters at the sight. You’ve been guiding their love story for a long time. You were there for their first meeting, first date, first kiss. Blessing their vows, inhaling in excitement when they learned that they were pregnant. Some were moments the Fates required you there for, while others were for your own satisfaction. While you cared for all mortals that crossed your path, there was something special about these two. In retrospect, you suppose they were the closest thing to family that you had.

Well, besides for Theo.

“Theo!” you call as the front door squeaks closed behind you. At the jingle of your house keys falling into the catchall by the door, Theo rushes to your side, pawing at your ankles. “Hello, little love. How was the rest of your day?” You lift his tiny body into your arms, and he gives your cheek a long, rough lick. “That’s my boy. Let’s get cleaned up, shall we?”

You pad quietly through the living room, down the short hallway, into your bedroom. And nearly bite your tongue at the sight of a dark silhouette standing stark against the streetlights streaming through your curtains.

“For the love of -” You slap the lights on with one hand, gripping Theo a little tighter with the other. As light floods the room, your adrenaline rush halts, energy suddenly pent up with nowhere to go. “...Death?”

Death of the Endless turns from looking out your window, offering you a sweet, toothy smile. “Hello, Love. Long time, no see.”

You breathe out a laugh, setting Theo down on the floor. He promptly runs to lick at Death’s ankles, and she crouches to scratch behind his ears. “Yeah, long time no see. What has it been? A hundred years, at least?”

“More, my friend. Unless you count our brief encounters on the battlefield,” Death says, lifting Theo into her arms. He nudges his nose into her dark curls and licks her cheek. “You grow stronger with each passing century, Love. You’ve progressed so well. You should be proud.”

You think back on the past hundred years, remembering the wars, sicknesses, and tragedies that occured in that time. Certainly, it was a busy time for humanity. In those days, you and Death often worked side by side. The sight of her sweeping wings was well known to you then. You think of those she carried to eternal peace, of the battles that ended in the name of love. You tuck your chin, smiling sheepishly. “Thank you. Surely you didn’t serve me a heart attack simply to flatter me. What brings you here, Death?”

Death quirks an eyebrow, her dark lips dropping into a playful pout. “What, an Endless can’t drop in to see an old friend? And her adorable dog?” At your laugh, Death smiles kindly and sits herself and Theo down on your bed, patting the spot next to her. “But you’ve caught me. There is something we need to talk about,” she murmurs.

At her change of tone, your throat tightens with nerves. You breathe in deeply as you sit at her side, gazing at her expectantly. Your anxious fingers shift to scratch Theo’s head absentmindedly.

Death’s lips part slightly. She seems to contemplate for a moment. “I’ve spoken to my brother recently. Destiny. As well as the Fates,” she starts quietly. Another pause. “They seem to be worried about your scales.”

“Ah, I see,” you say, your throat suddenly dry. Your fingers move more quickly, and Theo inclines his head to peer up at you. You give him a half hearted smile.

Death leans in closer, eyes asking questions before her mouth does. “What’s going on, Love? Share with me. Let me help you.”

“I’m afraid it’s nothing you can help with,” you say quietly. “Desire and I have never seen eye to eye, but lately it’s become more and more difficult to keep up with their work. They’re moving more quickly, becoming more ambitious. They’ve been disrupting my romantic attachments and soul ties, in particular. They know what they mean to me.”

“As do I. Which is why I don’t want to see you lose them.” Death places a comforting hand on yours atop Theo’s head, stilling you. She dips her gaze to make eye contact, eyes searching yours. “I’ve come to warn you of this as your friend. You know I care for you. But if you are unable to keep your side of the scales balanced, I’m afraid of what may happen. Nothing is guaranteed for gods and goddesses. And your kind is not so easily replaced as the Endless.”

The lump in your throat rises higher. You swallow thickly. “I know. And thank you. I appreciate your friendship, appreciate everything that you’ve done for me, more than you’ll ever know.” You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. Grounding yourself, gathering your thoughts. The beauty of the Realm of Attachment burns brightly in your mind, a kaleidoscope of color that you created. “I won’t let them take it from me. It’s all I truly have left.”

Death feigns a gasp. “All you have left? What are we, Theo? Chopped liver?” You laugh, the weight of your heart becoming a little lighter in your chest. She elbows you in the ribs softly. “I’m kidding, of course, but I love the sentiment. Any thoughts on how to tip the scales back in your favor, my friend?”

One idea does immediately come to mind. Whether it’s a good or bad one, you’re not sure. You start to rethink it, but it’s evident when you lock eyes with Death that she’s already seen the thought register on your face. You smile hesitantly. “The last time we spoke, truly spoke, I did mention one idea of mine. However, you weren’t much for it at the time-”

“Ah, Dream! My dear, mopey brother,” Death exclaims, remembrance dawning on her face. “Of course I remember. Granted, at the time, I did not think it was likely to be successful. Dream was, well… being Dream, which does not mean much in the way of collaboration.” Her bright smile softens into a wistful one. “However, much has changed for Dream in the last hundred years. He’s gained a new perspective on things, I think. And Desire has done quite a bit of meddling in my brother’s affairs lately. He might be open to a partnership.”

Your heart rises, chest fluttering with hope. “You think so?”

“I think it’s worth a shot, if nothing else,” Death states matter-of-factly. With a loving pat on your hand, she rises, walking to the window. “And after all, you and my brother are not so different. You’re certainly the brighter ray of sunshine, but neither of you are much in the way of getting out. You spend all your time with mortals, and he spends all his time with - well, his librarian. And his raven. Perhaps this arrangement will be good for the both of you.” You open your mouth to protest, and she gives you a playful shh. “You know it’s true, Love. Now, I wouldn’t waste any time. The faster you can work to balance your scales, the better. And if my darling brother gives you any trouble, do let me know, yeah?”

You shake your head incredulously, giving her a small smile. “Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

“You can thank me later, when your scales are balanced. I’ll be seeing you, Love.” And with a grin and a swoop of black feathers, Death is gone.

All is quiet in your townhome. You release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, falling back onto your pillows. Your hand trails over Theo’s fur absentmindedly as your mind races with possibilities. Besides Death and Desire, you’ve never associated with an Endless in person before. Despite his influence on your work, you’ve never met Destiny in the flesh, receiving your assignments through the Fates, instead. In fact, you rarely associate with any other deities at all. Let alone one with a reputation such as the Dream Lord’s.

You take a calming breath, closing your eyes. There’s no doubt in your mind that rest will elude you tonight.

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mentality-project · 3 months

Text

Carry Me Home - Part 2

Morpheus x fem!reader

While being tucked into bed by the King of the Nightmare Realm was lovely, waking up with a hangover from Hell was not.

A pitiful groan works its way up your throat as you roll over to the cool side of your bed, trying to find relief for your overheated skin. You kick off the blanket as you snuggle into the cold, trying to will your body back to sleep as you chase after the last scene of your dream.

After a few more moments of tossing and turning, you admit defeat and blink open weary eyes. Once the waking world comes into focus, the sight of painkillers and a tall glass of water on your beside table greet you.

It could only be Morpheus’ doing. You weren’t capable of such forethought last night. With a grimace on your face, you drag yourself upright enough to pop the pills in your mouth and chase them down with a gulp of water. Its at the temperature of ice water despite the lack of condensation and you could cry from the relief it brings your parched throat.

“Fuckkk…I love you, Morph.” you mumble against the rim of your glass as you lean back against the headboard.

“He loves it when you say that.”

The speed at which you turn your head towards the raven perched at the end of your bed nearly gives you whiplash.

“How the fuck did you get in?”

“The bathroom window was open.”

“Oh.”

You and Matthew sit in comfortable silence as you continue to sip your glass of heavenly water.

“What did you mean by that?”

“What?”

You shoot Matthew a death stare over the rim of your glass.

“Oh, the boss loves it every time you say you love him. Makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

You nearly snort water out of your nose. “Dream? Warm and fuzzy? Seriously?”

“I am being serious!” Matthew’s feathers puff up with indignation, "Every time you say those words, Dream becomes a much more lenient boss. He takes whatever opportunity he can get to be close to you." "That's..." you clear you throat, wishing there was some water left in your glass, "That's a lot of information before breakfast."

"Sorry, kid. Rough night?"

"Fun night, rough hangover." you manage a grin as you set the empty glass back down, "Wanna stick around for a cuppa tea, Matthew?"

"I'd love to."

"Cool. Be a dear and boil the kettle for me, would you? There should be enough water in it. I'm gonna have a quick shower first, feel free to help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

Matthew swoops out the door as you drag yourself off to the bathroom.

--- You hear the sound of the kettle switch flicking off and the rumble of boiling water as you round the corner, drying your hair off with the towel draped around your shoulders.

"Feeling better?" Matthew asks from his spot on the kitchen counter.

"Definitely," you sigh as you hang the damp towel over the back of one of the chairs, "What kind of tea do you fancy today, Matthew?"

"Earl Grey, please." "Milk, sugar?"

"Yes to both." You take two mugs out of the cupboard, pausing as you notice the small parcel by the kettle. It has your name on it.

"What's this?" you ask as you tug at the string to unwrap it.

"Hangover cure from the Boss."

"Dream was here?" you blink over your shoulder at Matthew.

"Nah, he had me send it over. Under strict instructions to make sure that you drink it. Not allowed to come back until you do."

No wonder Matthew agreed to stick around for breakfast. You almost snort with laughter as you unfold the wrapping, which turns out to also be a handwritten note from Dream. Upon seeing the size of the cloth teabag, you swap your mug for a tea bowl and begin to read as you pour the hot water into it.

Your Grace,

The corners of your mouth creep up into a smile. Could it be? Do you share an inside joke with the Dream Lord now?

According to the dreams of the best apothecaries in the Waking World over the last millennia, this tea contains the best herbs to help alleviate the aftermath of overindulging in alcohol. I hope it is of use to you. - Morpheus

You are practically glowing as you lift the note to your lips and press a kiss to the parchment.

"I love you." your whisper, watching in amazement as the note dissipates into sand and stardust.

You lift the bowl to your lips, taking care to blow a couple of times before taking a careful sip, eyes widening in surprise.

"Huh...not bad."

"Where's mine?" Matthew squawks in an accusatory tone.

"Sorry, sorry."

You get to work brewing Matthew his cuppa, changing your mind about the kind of mug you originally picked and deciding on a wide teacup to make drinking more convenient for him. You ratio the water and milk out so the tea is at the perfect drinking temperature before placing the drink in front of him and heading over to the toaster.

"Would you like some toast, Matthew?"

"Sure, I'll have a slice."

"What do you want on it?"

"Got any butter?"

You retrieve the tub of butter from the fridge, along with some avocado and smoked salmon for yourself - that combo with a sprinkle of black pepper has you in a chokehold lately. After you butter Matthew's toast accordingly, you rip it up into bite-sized pieces before sliding the plate towards him. Matthew murmurs his thanks before digging in with gusto. You lean your head against your palm as your elbow presses into the countertop, watching Matthew as you chew your own mouthful of toast, contemplating. Eventually, you're brave enough to break the silence.

"Why'd you tell me all that stuff?"

"Hmm?" Matthew buries his beak in his tea, the hum being the only indication that he heard you.

"About Morph, and how...how he feels about me...?" "Honestly?" Matthew stares you down and you stare back at him, "there's only so much one can take of watching the slowest slow-burn ever." You gulp down on your tea so fast you start to choke on it.

"C'mon kid, between you and me, you know you've gotta be the one to say something. The Boss has all the time in the world. He's Endless. By the time he works up the courage to make first move, you'll be dead and buried. No offence."

"None taken." you mumble around a mouthful of toast. There's not much conversation after that and you're quite content to eat the rest of your breakfast in silence. Matthew's given you a lot to think about. -- "Hey Boss, how's it going? (Y/N) drank that tea you sent her, all of it. And...Boss? Hey, you okay? Boss?"

Matthew tilts his head at the sight of Morpheus on his throne, but for all his trying, Morpheus doesn't appear to hear the loyal raven.

No, he's far too occupied with the lingering feeling of your kiss pressed into his cheek from his stardust, fingertips still on his cheekbone as if he's trying to keep the feeling there. In his other hand, the parchment materialises, your words scrawled in the smallest print as if it is a secret:

'I love you.'

#not my gifs #the sandman #netflix the sandman #morpheus x fem!reader #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless #lord morpheus

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writethrough · 1 year

Note

feel free to imagine a sexy interpretation. Also, I'm going to add a loss of virginity here just for fun. In this scenario, Dream is finally willing to admit to himself that he loves the reader, but he's still not willing to confess (and he's also still a possessive/obsessive jerk), so instead he chases after the woman's dreams, especially until even your wet dreams. And 2 possible catalysts here, either Dream sees that the reader is dreaming about having sex with someone else and becomes insanely jealous or he sees someone flirting with the reader in the waking world and becomes insanely jealous XD. This is so Dream, like a king, he feels entitled to the reader and his time, and while he's trying to work up the courage to confess, he makes sure the reader can't hook up with anyone else.

I Am Yours, But Are You Mine

(Morpheus x Female Reader)

Warnings: Minor language, suggestive situations, kinda possessive Morpheus

Word Count: 1651

A/N: Oh my goodness, thank you so much for being so patient! Unfortunately, Morpheus has been one of those characters that I haven't been as motivated to write. And I hate forcing myself to write when I'm uninspired. Thankfully, I found sparks of it here and there.

I tried to follow your request as truly as I could (the lost of virginity didn't quite make it), but I ran with your possible catalyst options! I do think I need to work on my jealous/entitled Morpheus, though. I think he could've turned out better.

Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it! And thank you for requesting it!

Images of you and that human haunted him. It was all he could think about as he sat on the staircase to his throne. How that man approached you. How he smiled, and you returned it. How he made you laugh, soft and delicate.

Morpheus’ jaw tightened, and he snapped his book shut.

Was it too late?

Had he lost you before he could have you?

He closed his eyes, trying to fight those thoughts with the ones of you and him.

How, when Morpheus appeared, you greeted him with warmth and tenderness. How you touched his arm in reassurance or when you were startled. You knew he would protect you. It was instinctual how you moved closer and tucked yourself behind him.

He had never felt more vital.

And yet, earlier, you had that same kindness for that man.

How long had you known him? When did you meet him? What was he to you?

You would have told Morpheus about any romantic partners.

His fist clenched as his arm hung off his knee.

To think, mere days ago, he had realized that he loved you. He would have been content to dedicate himself to you silently. An ever-present confidant for his heart’s deepest desire. How quickly things could change.

He had to do something.

—

Morpheus had grown more agitated throughout the day. The more he thought about you and that man, the darker his mind became.

He had finished crafting new nightmares when he sensed you had entered the Dreaming.

He had to go to you. He needed to know what that man wanted from you—and if you wanted anything from him.

You didn’t need anything from that human.

He was quick to find you within your dream.

A replica of your home, which he found strange. Rarely did your dreams play out here. You were usually conscious within the Dreaming. And his heart went out to you, knowing your day must have been stressful.

He peered into your room and nearly unleashed every nightmare in his realm.

You were laid bare with that man hovering over you.

Morpheus’ knuckles whitened. And before he could think better—before he could calm himself. He swiped the dream away and sent you into the Waking World.

—

You woke with a frustrated groan.

Of course. Of course, you had to wake up when things were getting good.

You scrunched your nose when you recalled who had been in your dream.

You sighed. At least your subconscious knew not to dream about Morpheus in his kingdom. You might actually die if that happened.

Though, the replacement for him wasn’t all bad. You had noticed the similarities when you met him right away. Tall, black hair, lithe, but his eyes were brown and not the blue you had come to love. And where Morpheus’ presence held authority and power, the stranger’s had a shyness, a quiet confidence that you may have been attracted to in a different time. However, you only wanted one being.

You stretched before climbing out of bed.

You weren’t sure when you realized you loved Morpheus, but after you internalized it, you promised to never act on it.

There had to be hundreds, if not thousands, of creatures who had fallen for the Dream King. And yet, you had only heard of two that captured his attention. Who were you to think you stood a chance of being his? He was one of the most important beings in existence. You were a measly human—here and gone before he could blink.

You shook your head.

You were grateful for Morpheus’ friendship. He listened and held an interest in you that you couldn’t understand. You would gladly take whatever relationship you could have with him.

You slowly got ready for your day. You had more time with your early waking and decided to do more with your makeup. It had been years since you applied makeup for someone else’s benefit. But you wondered if Morpheus would notice anything different.

Scrunching your nose again, you rid that thought from your mind. Morpheus didn’t care about how you looked. He’d told you appearances meant little to him, that it was dreaming that held someone’s true soul.

You wished you could know his.

—

Morpheus would’ve broken his teeth if he were human—and perhaps his wrist, too, if he squeezed any tighter.

He stood with his hands behind his back, staring out the stained glass windows in his throne room.

He had stopped your dream from continuing, but the reality was different.

His entire arsenal of power was at his disposal. Morpheus could do whatever he wished to that human, but that would only end in you being upset with him—or furious if extreme enough.

No, Morpheus had to prove himself. He had to make you see that he was the only one for you—that only he could provide for and protect you—stand by you in the way you deserved.

And he’d do so tonight.

—

Morpheus appeared in your kitchen doorway, mind racing. Anger and fear and uncertainty beneath a stony exterior.

And then he saw you. As stunning as ever.

And it all vanished.

All except his desire to tell you.

Your kindness and strength had lured him to you the moment you met. He’d come to know how closely you held those you cared about, and somehow, he was one of them.

And the thought of letting you go, of you choosing someone else…he couldn’t fathom that.

You brought him so much peace.

You spun from your refrigerator to your island, produce in hand, and finally saw him.

“Shit, Morpheus!” You held a hand to your heart. “Give me a warning next time.”

His face remained as still as ever, but you swore you saw a passing gleam in his eyes.

“My sincerest apologies,” he said, stepping toward you.

You waved it away, half believing him.

“Want anything to drink?” you asked, chopping the first ingredient.

He scanned the food, but you weren’t entirely sure he was seeing it.

“I must ask something of you,” he said.

“Okay.” You placed the knife down. “What is it?”

“Have you found someone?”

You tilted your head, brow pinched. “Found someone?”

Morpheus never hesitated when speaking—and you weren’t sure that was the word for it now—but something made him consider his next question carefully.

“Are you spoken for?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, slowly connecting the dots.

“Are you asking if I’m dating anyone?” Your heart picked up. He had never asked something so intimate before.

“Yes.”

“No.” You licked your lips. “No. What brought this on?”

The faintest pink graced his cheeks. His eyes shifted to the side, then back.

“...You dreamt of him.” He breathed like something terrible would happen if he spoke louder.

Your heart clenched at his look of betrayal, trying to recall what he meant. Then, your eyes widened. He must have seen what happened at the coffee shop.

“Are you talking about that guy who came up to me?” you asked.

Morpheus shifted his chin downward, the most movement he used for a nod, and didn’t break eye contact.

“Morpheus…I don’t even remember his name,” you said, being as gentle with him as possible.

The space between his brows twitched. “You dreamt of him.”

Your head dropped in embarrassment.

You shrugged. “It’s been a while.”

It wasn’t much of an explanation. Although the guy had been attractive, you weren’t interested in him when he spoke—something unnecessary in dreams. All he had to do was get the job done, but with Morpheus' attitude, you could guess why that dream ended before anything could happen.

“Are you…jealous?” you asked.

“I am a king. I do not experience jealousy.” His head lifted ever so slightly.

“Historically, you do,” you said pointedly, trying to hide your smirk.

He hummed as if annoyed, but you knew better. You had stumped him.

“You are fortunate I hold you dear,” he said. “Not many can speak to me as such.”

You laughed breathily and stepped forward, grateful your answer pacified him.

You regarded him carefully. The smooth plains of his face, the sharp lines of his jaw and nose, his blue eyes. His lips. Your feelings for Morpheus were bubbling to the surface in a way you couldn’t ignore, and to think he possibly returned them? It nearly sent your head spinning.

“You know…I wouldn’t mind if you were a little jealous,” you said.

“And why is that?” He arched a brow, trying to remain composed.

“Because then it would mean you share my feelings,” you whispered. “It would mean I could kiss y—”

Lips were on yours—warm and powerful, a surge of pent-up passion. He’d waited far too long to taste you, to know the curves of your hips and the dip in your spine.

Your body melded into his as if he was the lock and you were the key. You opened him up to things he never thought he’d want to experience again. And you kept his secrets. You protected him. Made him feel safe. He was desperate to do the same for you.

You pulled away, but Morpheus followed, giving you quick kisses until you put a hand on his chest, laughing.

“Just…give me a second.” You inhaled. “One of us needs to breathe.”

The faintest pink graced his cheeks, and you grinned.

“I apologize. It slipped my mind,” Morpheus said.

You shook your head. “Don’t. Never apologize for doing that.”

You pecked his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and lingered just beyond his lips.

“Guess I have someone else to dream about,” you whispered, each word brushing your lips against his.

He let out a low rumble. “There is no need to dream.”

His hands grasped the back of your neck and pulled you into him. You moaned when his sand whirled around you, knowing exactly where you were headed.

Taglist: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on.

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the-darklings · 2 years

Note

Matthew calling Wanderer "Lady Dream" killed me dead and the only thing that can resurrect me is a drabble of Dream himself saying it (please)

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 1.2k+

warnings: jealous!Dream if you count that as a warning.

notes: got an idea that's too potent when I saw this, so LETS GO!!!

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

“I messed up.”

Dream Lord doesn’t pause in his measured stride at your edgy words, his flame-kissed coat trailing after him. The Dreaming castle is abuzz, accommodating additional visitors from different domains, and you can’t recall the last time everyone was this frazzled. Everyone has come together as a well-oiled machine would, but tension hangs thick in the air. No one is happy about the new visitors or their purpose for being at the Dreaming. Dream himself hasn’t had a free second since; indeed, neither have you.

“I highly doubt it,” he replies.

“No, Dream. I did mess up.”

“You have wandered realms for millennia, Wanderer,” Dream reminds, slowing to peer at you over his shoulder. His features soften a touch from their near-permanent rigidity lately. His voice, too, eases into a husky, gentle drawl, “You are familiar with royalty and courtiers from countless kingdoms. A great number of them regard you highly. Your insight and advice in navigating this situation have been greatly appreciated.”

Your unease quells briefly, soothed by his sincere comments. It’s still too easy to be caught off guard by Dream’s attempts to be more open, more appreciative of those around him.

“You’re welcome,” you say softly, forcing down a gulp. “It's hard enough to remember a dozen different customs not to insult the guests. But I wanted to bring this to your attention first. Personally. So you don’t hear it from someone else first or, worse, the narrative gets twisted.”

Dream Lord rotates your way fully, moving closer. You’ve paused in a gallery. A new addition to the castle with multiple tapestries stitched from thick, luxurious cloth that hang across previously barren walls. Each one depicts various panoramas from different domains across the cosmos. It’s been a small, self-indulgent project you’ve undertaken in between travels, but given your recent company, it has gone down better than expected. Everyone relishes their kingdoms being paid homage to in the land of dreams.

“What happened?” Dream questions somberly. “Did someone hurt you? Threaten you?”

Your hands wring together at the seeping darkness in Dream’s voice, fingers knotting. You swallow under his steady, hard scrutiny.

“No, nothing like that. Certainly not with Cori around. It’s just… Cluracan invited me for a walk in Fiddler’s Green and, well, you know how he is. A flirt and an outrageous one.” A forced chuckle escapes you. Dream doesn’t smile or laugh with you. Some emotion pulses through his regal features, tucked from sight in seconds. “He’s a bit odd for a fae, if I’m honest. Surprisingly, he wasn’t drunk this time. So we got talking, and he was rather charming. It took me too long to realise he was, you know, hitting on me.”

You clear your throat, dragging your stare from the walls back to the Dream Lord standing in front of you. Dream’s bearing is stony, tense, his gaze hooded and mouth flat. Those pale irises seem to glimmer in the dusky light of the setting sun.

“Hitting on as in… courting,” you rush ahead, examining the strain in his jaw. “He asked if we were mates. And I think I’ve spent too much time around Hob because I figured he meant pals, you know? Friends. I forgot fae have a different definition of ‘mates’. So I immediately laughed and said: Well, of course, Dream and I are mates. We’ve been mates for centuries. So Cluracan got this intense look on his face—I mean, he gets under peoples’ skin even more than Cori—then actually bowed. And then, well…”

Dream seems to glide closer—close enough to touch, to breathe in, his words a cold caress, “Then what?”

You swallow. “Cluracan said: I must apologise, Lady Dream. I meant no insult with my offer. I now understand why Lord Morpheus refused my sister. I would appreciate it if you did not mention this to him. I would not wish to complicate this matter further.”

A shiver races down your spine when Dream’s arm slips lightly around you, settling on your lower back. “And then?”

His words are impossibly soft, but there’s something about the way shadows pool around Dream’s sloping, sharp features that set shivers skittering down your spine. His hand seems to burn through your coat. There’s something about the tension you discern in each digit, as if he’s holding himself back from dragging you nearer and pressing you to him. He’s done so in the past numerous times, tucking you from sight in the folds of his starlit coat. Quiet, peaceful, cold and hot like those raging stars you sometimes glimpse in his eyes.

“Then he, uh, left.” You don’t dare to move, curious to see what Dream Lord will do next. “And tripped in a creek. Which is weird because I’m certain there’s never been a creek there to begin with. It’s like it appeared out of nowhere. But anyway, I just… I thought I’d better tell you personally because Cluracan seems set on calling me Lady Dream now, and I don’t want you to overhear and take offence to it.”

“Why would I take offence to such a thing?”

You blink at his unhurried, probing question. Dream’s thumb strokes gently downwards—it’s so light, the contact, a mere graze, but there’s such potent power imbued into it you’re as good as naked beneath it, sensing the gesture through clothes and down to your marrow. Your breath wobbles before steadying. “Well, the implication…”

“Implication.” A deep, considerate hum vibrates from Dream’s chest, followed by a weighty, “Does this implication bother you?”

Does it? You’ve never cared for labels. Dream, to you, is everything. Those who matter most are aware of that, so why would anyone and their opinions matter? But they do. Deep down, you’re well versed with power that comes merely from what names you can evoke—whose favour in this vast cosmos you hold. But deeper than that lays a simpler sentiment: if you are his, in soul and name, you cannot be anyone else’s. Until you declare you are taken, then you are open. The brimming, dark scowl and icy, caressing whispers from his lips are displays of discontentment but not at any misstep on your part. But, rather, at the thought of another holding you so close. Another leaning down to touch their lips against yours. At the idea that you would permit anyone else this intimacy.

But there’s a more reticent sentiment to be read in the ancient, weary lines of his unchanging face: if you wanted another, he would not interfere. He would not hinder your happiness if you moved on and found someone else. He would not hinder you even if he wanted to.

You slant yourself closer. “No, I suppose it doesn’t bother me.”

As if you could ever want anyone else but him. Sullen, stubborn, flawed, but yours despite it.

Old ghosts flee from his regard, the weight on his shoulders lightening—a tiniest of smiles curving one side of Dream’s mouth.

He slants closer, his breath fanning against your ear. “Good. Because the title rather suits you, Lady Dream.”

an: Cluracan is a canon character that should appear pretty early on in S2 once Netflix stops being cowards. anyway, here's to hoping and hope you enjoyed : )

#the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #sandman fic #morpheus imagines #dream imagine #sandman dream #sandman corinthian #dream x fem!reader #morpheus x fem!reader #sandman x reader #fic: today i bury you in me

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

Text

“ɪ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ.” | ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴘʜᴇᴜꜱ

Lord Morpheus x Deity!Reader (Goddess of Nature and Music)

summary: After being killed by Roderick Burgess during her attempts to free her husband, YN returns to Morpheus shortly after he himself reincarnated (kind of pt. 2 to »this one«)

word count: 5k oooops…?

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of the Afterlife, reincarnation, angst, but super fluff, like, seriously, this is a fluffy cloud of cotton candy, Death, Lucienne, Mervyn, and Matthew as trusty wing people

author’s note: This idea is presented to you by a comment written by @writing-fanics under my first ever Morpheus work: “we meet him again but when he’s reincarnated as Daniel Hall 👉👈 that’s my headcannon to make me happy after reading this the third time”. I could not not write this one out after I succeeded in breaking my own heart with the first fanfic for my baby 🥺 We imagine that Morpheus looks the same and has kept every memory after his reincarnation, but they have to be triggered, thank you, bye

Disclaimer: I have never read the comics (yet), and I’m still watching season one, so this is just my take on it. Please, don’t come for my head, would be much appreciated 👉🏻👈🏻 But I deliberately changed the happenings of episode 1 in order to let my baby have his vengeance. So, that’s on purpose!

;

“Okay, scenario time,” Matthew’s voice reverberated through the soothingly lit library in the Dreaming and called Lucienne and Mervyn to attention. The librarian peeked expectantly over her round glasses while Merv turned away from the stack of books to eye the flying raven cautiously. Recently, the bird had acted weirdly every time he had returned from the Waking World, and every time it had gotten more and more concerning. “What is it this time, Matthew? The beheaded ghost of Anne Boleyn?” Lucienne exchanged glances with the pumpkin head, suppressing a barely noticeable grin before cocking both eyebrows at the black bird.

Matthew groaned—he wished he hadn’t spoken a word about that incident—but flapped his wings to detangle the ends of his feathers. He still wasn’t used to those either. “Very funny,” he seethed and tickled a rumbling chuckle out of the pumpkin’s mouth. Sometimes he wished he would’ve landed in hell instead of the presence of these two buttheads who never faltered to tease him. “Anyway,” the raven continued with a warning glare out of his black eyes, “Back to my totally hypothetical scenario. Is rebirth a thing? I’m still new to this stuff. Hadn’t had the time to read through every book.” To be quite honest, Matthew hadn’t touched a single book in here, not even those which Lucienne had put on a stack on one of the tables, just for him. He hadn’t been a big reader back in his days; he should be damned if he would start with it now.

Lost in his thoughts, Matthew didn’t realize the awful silence settling over the duo in front of him. Confused, he looked from one to the other. “What have I said or done now?!” Lucienne was the first to speak up. “Why are you asking, Matthew?” Her voice was laced with earnestness, and the raven stepped from one talon to the other. “No reason?” He didn’t sound convincing, even he heard that. “Matthew,” the librarian spoke in one of her warning tones, and the bird knew he couldn’t joke around anymore. “Fine! There is this teeny-tiny portrait Morpheus is carrying around with him. Like, all the damn time. And over which he is so protective, I wasn’t allowed to take a look or even ask him who that is. But…” Again, he stepped from one toe to the other before jumping from the stack of books he had landed on. “But?” Now even Mervyn urged him with the same unnerving tone Lucienne owned. “But a few weeks ago, he forgot to put it back in his pocket, and it lay open on one of the steps. So, yeah, I took a glance. Don’t give me that look, you two would have done the same!” Lucienne stood from her chair and moved closer to him. “Stop weaseling around the point, Matthew!”

The librarian knew whose features were depicted in the locket the lord carried around ever since Lucienne had handed it over to him. The thought alone of Lord Morpheus’ still lingering pain—even though he couldn’t put it to the proper memories connected to this feeling—made her heart ache as well—especially because she had known her as closely as one could know the former Queen of the Dreaming. They had considered each other dear friends, sharing the same passion for the written word and wisdom.

“Good lord, let me take a breather! Why are you so eager all of a sudden? Sheesh.” Her patience with this creature was almost depleted, and she would have loved to just shake a bit of sense into him. Instead, the librarian was content with using threatening words. “If you are not willing to tell me right in this instance what this nonsense is about, I will shake some sense into your feathery body!” Matthew stared up at her and took a small step back, putting some distance between them, but maneuvered him closer to Mervyn, who definitely wouldn’t help him if Lucienne decided to strangle the life out of him. “Okay, Okay! I’m sure I saw her wandering around in the Waking World! Happy?”

The bomb blew up and silence once more settled over the library. Lucienne continued to stare down at the raven, face unmoving and lacking any expression, while Mervyn plopped down onto one of the chairs standing next to the long wooden table. Matthew glanced from one to the other. “Why? Who is she? Someone important? Like his queen?” A chuckle escaped him at the thought of Morpheus being married and having a loving wife somewhere hidden in this palace. But at the sight of hurt and grief on the pumpkin’s face, even the cheeky raven grew quiet.

“She was his queen, yes,” Mervyn mumbled, leaning back in the chair. “She is his queen,” Lucienne corrected him, not having accepted the cruel fate her friend had endured. Merv sighed long and deep. “Her name was YN, and she was the only being he had ever wanted.” Matthew perked up. “YN as in YN, the Goddess of Nature and Music and all that?” Both nodded simultaneously. “She was killed by the same man who had captured our lord. And you are sure you saw her? Not some mortal only resembling her?” The raven nodded without a second thought after digesting the new information and the even more depressing backstory of his boss. “I’m pretty sure. She looked… lost. And I’m sure she saw me. Not only the raven but me.” And that had unsettled him so much that he had fled every time she had found him again. Yet, Matthew always returned to keep an eye on her, unable to stay away from her because somewhere deep down, he knew she was somehow different.

Lucienne exchanged glances with Mervyn. “Is it possible then?” The pumpkin head asked the librarian without hesitation, and she nodded equally as fast. “Reincarnation? Yes. Resurrection? Possibly? Death is the expert on the latter.”

And as if she had only waited for the perfect moment, Death of the Endless appeared in the middle of the library, displeasure evident on her face.

“Who of you found it screamingly funny to mingle with a soul?”

Now it was Matthew and Mervyn who exchanged glances before turning their eyes to Lucienne. “Seems likely possible,” the raven announced before the trio moved to look to the Endless, still waiting for an answer, arms crossed in front of her chest.

;

“Why the sudden need to visit the Waking World?” Morpheus’ soft voice asked Death, an edge of curiosity to it nonetheless, blue eyes resting on the passing people who didn’t heed the Endless’ existence nor presence entirely. His sister hummed shortly, but no word left her mouth—for now. Minutes passed by just like humans passed by. They stood on this spot on the street silently, right opposite a flourishing park, facing the lush green grass, the flower bushes, the high, looming, almost ancient trees.

“Death,” he warned lowly, not feeling pleased by this game she seemed to play with him. Impatience spread in his body, letting him experience the usual unresting feeling crushing into his muscles and bones, urging him to do anything. He had learned to despise this feeling. “The locket you carry.” Her sudden turn to face him surprised even him, and a black brow arched over his eye. “What about it?” He felt rather protective over the little piece Lucienne had handed him over, and he remembered the memory rising at the gesture vividly. The agony connected to it was something he had never experienced before. But instead of fading over time, it had manifested as a brick in his soul and heart; unwavering and unstoppable as soon as it once had taken hold of him.

Death observed him closely, witnessing the change in his eyes and the emotions dancing over his face. She was sure the memories were somewhere buried in his soul, and they only had to trigger them. It surprised her he didn’t unlock any of them at the first sight of her face after Lucienne had given him the small portrait right after he was reincarnated.

“You do know who she is, do you, brother?” Morpheus furrowed his forehead in concentration, trying to understand the meaning behind this—but a conclusion was nowhere to be seen. Death seemingly caught up to his train of thought because she slowly pointed in the direction of the blooming park opposite of them without letting him out of her sight. “I hope this will answer everything,” she mumbled, watching Morpheus as he slowly turned his head to watch the greenery and people passing. It was nothing out of the ordinary to see.

Not until she stepped out of the shadow of a willow tree into the beaming sunlight.

She strolled through the grass seemingly without a care in the world, face held upwards in the direction of the warming sun, eyes closed. He somehow knew that they were of an ever-changing color, always capturing him, even after eons of being his companion as soon as he had stepped into a room she had occupied, following him with an expression he only could describe as never-ending and undying love.

Morpheus could feel how his heart ached bitterly and agonizingly at the sight of her.

He watched her fingertips dance over flowers in full bloom, tickling an even brighter color out of their petals which stretched desperately in the direction of her life-gifting touch, craving her attention, constantly repositioning to her, as if she was the compass they had searched for decades without success. As if she was the sun to the sunflower in them. But not only the flowers reacted to her; even the grass seemed more green and lush in its color.

Morpheus wasn’t able to take his eyes off her—neither physically nor mentally. Not with the deeply felt emotions crashing against the high walls around his mind like a strong and wild tide, resembling her being. She might look like the damsel in distress, but all of a sudden, the Lord of Dreams knew with shocking clarity that she was anything but the damsel in desperate need of an assisting hand. And not just that.

He knew her.

A change within him followed this realization.

He felt the moment in which every single memory returned to his soul unscathed. Morpheus could flick through them like the pages of a book, and every picture was as clear as the sky of the Waking World above his head. He could remember their wedding vividly—remembered her smile as radiant as the stars above them while they promised to protect, cherish, and love one another.

Forever.

Whatever might lay ahead of them on their path through the centuries and eons.

Both brows softly rose over the pair of eyes, always lacking something in their depths which they held once without any doubt. The spark was there again, though—Death could see it clearly, could even feel it. The stars inside the blue seas attempted to return, but the hesitation of the Endless still too powerful to let them have their way.

Morpheus watched the woman, the goddess, his wife, with growing desperation from afar, feeling agitated. His only desire was to cross the street, to put the humans in his line of sight and Death behind him, wanted to pull her into his arms after he had stopped right in front of her. He wanted to see her face, to hear her voice, to feel her soft touch which had always reminded him of water gliding over stone, of a breeze caressing through the tall-growing grass and wheat in the Dreaming, of raindrops stealing daringly kisses and touches of petals and leaves.

He wanted everything from her she once had given him without so much as a fleeting thought.

Unbeknownst to himself, the King of the Dreaming and Lord of Dreams had taken a step closer to his very own dream, not paying any attention to his sister in his back or the raven that had landed on a branch next to the goddess. His black eye observed his boss looking dumbfounded over at the woman who resembled the most beautiful blooming flower ever seen by mortals and otherworldly beings.

And though she was above the Waking World, once a ruler of the Dreaming itself, she slowly sank down in front of a little girl, a tender expression settling on her face. The girl held a dying flower in her open palms; the stem snapped off the remaining plant and looked equally as crushed as the petals. Matthew smiled—as good as possible as a bird—at the picture of her softly raising her hand and returning the flower to its once beautiful existence, making the girl giggle and smile widely. YN smiled back—Morpheus felt as if his heart missed several beats at once—before resting a finger against her lips, and the girl nodded in understanding before rushing over to her mother, showing her newest possession proudly.

She raised back to her feet, and without a glance over her shoulder, she spoke up. “You can come out, raven, whose name I still do not know.” Matthew felt exposed but followed her words and landed softly on her shoulder. “Goddess,” he mumbled, and YN chuckled gently. “Ah, I see. And there I was, wondering why you did not leave just yet. Someone told you, I suppose?” He was able to take a glimpse of her eyes, and the raven would have to lie if he told the world they weren’t as mesmerizing as Lucienne had described them to him. Nodding, the raven made himself a bit more comfortable on her shoulder—if he had to choose, he would take her shoulder over his boss’s every time. He hoped no one would ever find out about that. A heavy sigh left her parted lips. “Then you surely must know that I am of no use anymore.”

Ever since she had awoken in the Waking World, YN had tried to find a way back into the Dreaming, back home. Before her—obviously not definitively—death, she had had the powers to come and go as she had pleased, but now, all there was left was silence and coldness. She couldn’t even feel the Dreaming anymore, which only let appear one conclusion in the front of her mind, and she didn’t dare to think about it further. In the first hours and days of her awakening, she had cried enough tears to form an entirely new river—unpurposely, of course.

Matthew cocked his head and tried to stare into her eyes. “No use?! What are you talking about? I call bullshit.” YN now herself cocked her head, mirroring the raven on her shoulder what he didn’t like, but was humored nonetheless. “So, you are a funny one. That did not happen in a very long time. Usually, ravens tend to be so earnest.” The raven had to chuckle at that. “I’m unique. But stop honey-ing me, missy! Care to enlighten me why you think you are useless?”

Now, every lightness was gone from her face, eyes, and body language. He could feel her muscles tense under his talons. “I cannot return. I cannot return to the Dreaming, not even after offering my powers. I cannot feel it.” I cannot feel my home, she thought to herself before continuing. “And if I cannot feel the Dreaming, the only possible reason is…” YN couldn’t speak it out loud but had to, so she took a breath. “The only reason is that he is dead. And without him, I cannot return home.” I do not wish to return home. Because what was a never-ending existence without the one she loved more than every flower, leaf, and music tune?

Matthew raised his head slowly, looking from the profile of her breathtakingly face over to his boss, still standing there like a damn tree growing roots. He saw how Death softly nudged him in their direction, and if he had a saying in this, he would’ve shoved him like there would be no tomorrow. Instead, he himself gently nudged her jaw to make YN turn her head. “But what if he is still here?” Matthew asked at the exact moment her eyes had found the man of her dreams.

And suddenly, everything stopped. There was no movement, no breathing life, no growing life. Only stasis. Except for them. In a very long time, YN hadn’t felt this much alive, not even in the wake of her awakening a handful of months back.

Morpheus could see the movement of her lips, letting no sound escape them—the sight of it brought him back to the memory of her last breath he had been damned to only observe instead of trying to save her. But other than a century before, she didn’t lose the spark of life in her eyes, didn’t go limp, didn’t show any signs of injuries or blood consuming the fabric of her clothes before it dripped onto the grass beneath her feet.

No, she was the epitome of life, and her light fueled him with something he hadn’t felt in a very long time: Hope. Happiness. Love. And he should be damned if he didn’t get to her only because he feared that this was his very own nightmare which he had conjured himself to torture his already tortured soul. He couldn’t lose her a second time. He wouldn’t lose her a second time.

With slow steps, even though he ached to stride over to her as fast as possible, he put the grey world behind him and stepped into the green paradise he yearned to have back in his life, in the Dreaming. His realm wasn’t itself, not without its queen. The soothing calm wrapped itself around him and his mind, caressing him softly with every step he took. It resembled her touch, but he knew that her skin against his was something even more glorious and ethereal. Something divine beyond comprehension.

None of them broke the contact of their gazes; they revolved around one another like planets in the grand universe, interdependent, as if one was the source of gravity of the other. Morpheus wasn’t sure if he should reach for her, if he should let his fingertips glide up her bare arm. But she took the burden of said decision upon herself as YN reached out for him, desperation and fear written all over her beautiful face, crystal tears burning in her eyes which just changed their color from the light blue of a summer sky to the evergreen of a dark forest. He felt as if his heart stopped beating entirely the moment the tips of her fingers were able to reach the back of his hand.

Both sucked a deep breath into their lungs, and while YN’s lips softly parted in utter surprise, Morpheus’ steps faltered. Inches still separated the couple, but he slowly turned his hand under her fingertips, moving it to let his palm face upwards, to feel her touch there because he suddenly remembered particular scenes throughout their existence. He was faced with the feeling of tender touches and the feeling of home; her fingertips following and drawing the lines on his palm, always while they lay together in their shared bed during the early morning hours, before she would press a feathery kiss to it and laid his hand atop her cheek to close her eyes for only a few more minutes. He felt the adoration swirling through him, knew that he had craved those moments every morning—even after centuries, after eons of their loving routine.

And even now, after everything that had happened to both of them, Morpheus felt his heart jumping in his chest as YN let her fingers glide over the upwards-facing palm. He watched her as closely as she watched him, her touch moving over the tender skin of his wrist before they lost contact again due to the fabric parting her touches from him. The woman in front of him took a last step in the same heartbeat as he took his last step toward her, not holding back anymore.

His hands cupped her neck lovingly, his long, elegant fingers reaching to the back of her head, his thumbs tenderly brushing over the line of her jaw. In the same instance, YN had buried the fingers of her left hand into the fabric of his black coat while her right hand cupped his cheek, the pad of her thumb caressing the skin above his cheekbone. Their gazes were still connected, diving into the deep seas, yearning for every emotion swimming in those dark pools.

“Morpheus.”

Her unbelieving whisper of his name—as if it was a prayer—was his downfall. Without wasting another second, another breath, another heartbeat, the Lord of Dreams bent his head and eyes closed at the mere anticipation before their lips collided in softness and loving movements. The desperation and urgency needed to wait for a different moment in the confinements of their private rooms in the Dreaming. Their passion had never been secondary, they had always heavily indulged in it, even if the timing was anything except perfect, but now, neither of them could think about something more important as the realization that this wasn’t another dream—or nightmare—that this was reality instead.

The reassurance of this fact in the form of tender kisses they shared without stopping to take a deep breath was more than enough. But even they had to part at some point—foreheads softly pressed against one another, fingers tangled in silky strands, chests fitting perfectly together, eyes still closed, savoring this existence-altering moment.

“I thought…—” YN’s voice was quiet, breathless, filled with fear and agony. She didn’t need to complete the sentence because he figured what she was trying to say. So all he did first was move his head to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I am here,” he whispered against her skin, feeling her body relax under his hands. He would never leave her again or let her leave, even if he had to fight every single creature the world had to offer. “I… I am…” YN’s mumbling almost got lost between the shake of her voice and Morpheus wrapped his arms around her, pressed a hand to the small of her back while the other buried itself in her long curls, pulling her closer to his chest, enveloping his wife in the most protective hug. “Do not apologize. There is nothing to apologize for, love. I am just glad I have gotten you back, gotten another chance to spend eternity with you. I am beyond grateful to finally have you in my arms again where you belong, my dream.” His whispering was as tender as the leaves around them, and YN felt her heart flutter like an excited bird shortly before it rose into the sky at the sound of the endearment reserved explicitly for her.

YN let her eyes fall shut, savoring the long-missed and lost feeling of his incredibly soft lips, remembering the Afterlife filled with the same sensation but different all at once. It had been insipid; a weak, dull equivalent to his counterpart in reality, and she had missed him there even more fiercely as if it would have been the case if the Afterlife hadn’t been so cruel to her soul.

Her fingers tenderly caressed through his night black strands, hearing and feeling him sigh in utter contentment. “Morpheus,” she whispered his name again, this time with her lips almost at his—already touching them with every syllable of his name. “I told you I would find you.” The corner of her mouth slowly raised at his deep but quiet chuckle, feeling his arm wrapping tighter around her, pulling her even closer to him, if that was even possible. Their eyes met again after a short but equally as lovingly, and heartwarming kiss as the ones before, and the Lord of Dreams pushed a curl behind her ear, caressing her cheek with his knuckles. YN looked up to him almost pleadingly, even though they both knew that Morpheus could never refuse anything his wife asked of him.

“Bring me home.”

;

Morpheus had his eyes closed, breathing slowly, while every sensation was heightened, beginning with the familiar heavy feeling of her head lying on his shoulder and ending with the tickling touch of YN’s fingertips following slowly and reverently the lines in his right palm. They lay like this since they returned to the Dreaming, immediately strolling through the palace and into their rooms, ignoring everyone around them, only having eyes and a place in their minds for each other.

They had to wait if they wanted to see their queen again. It was his turn now.

“What happened?”

Her voice was as soft as it usually was but held an edge of curiosity and resentment. Her fingers didn’t stop even as YN turned her head to look up into his face, and the man opened his eyes to watch her, though he felt the memory rising behind his eyes and in the front of his mind, unable to unsee it. And she had a right to know.

His hand, which had rested on her bare shoulder where he had caressed her skin with tender strokes, moved up to her head and started to brush through her hair. It had always soothed him and his mind, and he felt relief flowing through him at the realization that it was still the case. “It took a century before I was able to escape, but… I could not leave without seeking vengeance for what he did. Not to me, but you.” YN was quiet, but her eyes told him she listened intently to his every word. So he continued. “My ruby brought him immortality for the time in his possession, and it was the first thing I took back from him. I watched him starting to wither in his sleep, knowing that his dream had changed with the sensation of something happening to him. I waited until he awoke, waited until he realized it was my doing, and watched with satisfaction the moment he realized his end was coming. I promised him eternal torture and started with it myself.”

Morpheus knew that he had been cruel to this human, but he also knew that he wasn’t as cruel as he should’ve been.

YN stopped caressing his palm, and the Endless watched her face, not moving his gaze, not even as he felt her hand move upwards to cup his jawline. He slowly let his eyes fall shut only at the feeling of her thumb brushing over the skin of his cheek, leaning his face into the touch he had longed for over a century. “I really thought I could save you, my love,” she whispered and leaned her forehead against the other side of his face, nuzzling her nose against the skin of his neck. Morpheus pressed a loving kiss to her hairline. “I know, my dream.” He fell silent for a moment before speaking up again—pain audible in his voice. “Do not dare and try it again. Will you promise me that? I cannot watch you die right in front of me again. I would not survive it.”

His queen softly pushed herself up with a hand resting on his chest, right above his strong beating heart. Her eyes—morphing from an emerald green to the shades of the morning sky after the night retreated—watched him with the softest expression while she nodded, barely visible. “Will you promise me not to find yourself in situations and positions which require my unintentional sacrifice again?” A smile started to tuck at the corner of his lips, and YN gently chuckled at the sight of it. “I will promise you that, my Queen,” Morpheus smiled nonetheless up at her, covering the hand still resting over his heart with his own.

He looked down at the missing feeling of something pressing against his palm. YN seemed to notice his changing expression and looked at her bare ring finger as well. “I woke up without it,” she whispered, sadness etched into her tone at the memory of the missing ring her husband had given her. It had been the most beautiful ring ever made, decorated with two beautiful gemstones—a dark blue sapphire, reminding her of his eyes, and the other the darkest emerald ever seen because it had been the color of her eyes at their first encounter. YN didn’t know where it vanished.

He got a hold of her bare hand and pressed her fingertips onto his lips to pepper gentle kisses on them. “I will make you a new one,” he vowed with the soft tone reserved entirely for her ears.

But he didn’t need to because only a moment after the words had left his mouth, a knock interrupted their peace and tranquillity. YN was quick on her feet and crossed the grand room to open the door, facing a wide-eyed Lucienne. “My Queen,” she bowed her head, but both women searched for their hands, and YN gently squeezed her friend’s fingers. “Lucienne,” she smiled, and the librarian couldn’t contain her smile as well. “I apologize for the intrusion, but Death found something I suspect you missed.” And with that, she opened her other hand in which laid, atop a velvet piece of fabric, her missing ring. “Where…?” Her friend only shrugged gently. “She didn’t tell us.” Nodding, YN took the ring and pressed it against her chest. “Thank you, Lucienne.” Her voice was laced with joy and longing, and the librarian bowed again. “I will leave you, but don’t hesitate to visit the library. The books miss you dearly.” With that, Lucienne turned and left, and the woman closed the door again and walked back to the bed with Morpheus still atop the covers.

She opened her hand after settling back on the mattress next to him, letting him see the ring resting on her palm, and the Lord of Dreams smiled down at it. He took the delicate jewelry between his fingers and slowly pushed it back into its place, back home on her finger, so everyone could see to whom she belonged—though nobody in the Dreaming needed a reminder of that.

“Welcome home,” Morpheus mumbled, lips against lips, and enveloped his wife once again in his loving embrace to hold her as close as possible, not thinking about letting her leave his arms anytime soon.

;

Okay, so, I hate the end, but I’m really bad at writing endings naturally, so we have to deal with this one. Hope y’all enjoyed it tho :3 As usual: Comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated! <3

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roguelov · 2 years

Text

Mine, Ours

Summary: A mortal, an aspiring artist, captured the heart of a muse, a Greek goddess, and an Endless. Soon these deities became entangled in your life. Their love surrounded you. And you always assumed they were unaware of the other, oh how wrong could you be. Now they wished to show you how much you mean to them.

Word Count: ~7k

Reader: Afab/fem

Warnings: Smut (threesome, oral (fem!receiving and fem!giving and faceridding), unprotected sex, fingering, voyeurism, minor dirty talk, minor praise kink), fluff sprinkled throughout

MINORS DNI/ 18+ ONLY

To create.

To dream.

To inspire.

You called them, and they answered.

You met her first, under the warmth of the guiding sun, by the park near your apartment.

Children laughed. People chattered. Fresh goods, from a bakery across the street, wafted on the gentle breeze. The late summer days still warmed your soul, while the creeping chill in the air nipped at your skin warning of colder days to come.

And here, you sat tucked in your corner, under a changing tree, watching the bustling life - recording it.

A worn sketchbook rested in your lap with a short, dulled pencil behind your ear. Your fingers smudged in graphite. Shavings littered over you and your blanket. New doodles filled the pages: drawings of the elderly couple on the park bench feeding the birds across the way, drawings of the dog zooming around chasing after a chewed up frisbee, drawings of a bird nest directly above you, drawings of kids on a quilt playing with their variety of toys.

Drawing after drawing.

Sketch after sketch.

And you somehow will never have your fill.

Yet, nowadays, you craved something more. Ideas tingled in the back of your mind, desperate to escape. However, they were fleeting and hazy, ones you could never quite grasp to put pencil to paper.

But, they were there. Somewhere.

“What are you doing?”

You languidly glanced up. Immediately, your breath was stolen.

An absolutely stunning woman stood over you. She wore a white floral dress which cascaded down her body, hugging her curves. Her chestnut hair flowed down over her shoulders, framing her exceptionally warm and kind face. It glowed like a fire in the sunlight. Her eyes the color of roots of change, of the earth beneath your feet giving the courage to keep moving forward.

Her rosy lips curled into a dazzling smile.

Her mouth moved.

You blinked, snapping out of your racing thoughts. “I’m sorry, what?”

Her smile widened. “What are you doing? Or I suppose, what are you drawing?”

Your thoughts slipped away. She pointed down at your closed sketchbook in your lap. You perked up. “Oh, oh! Yes, right, I’m sorry,” you cleared your throat trying to ease your rising nerves, “I was just sketching some of the people in the park.”

“How lovely.”

“Yes, well, people are more interesting than a basket of fruit.”

She chuckled.

You smiled. It was such a sweet melody.

“If you don’t mind me asking, and I hope it’s not rude, but may I see them?”

Hesitancy flickered.

But, you nodded.

You started to lift your sketchbook for this wonderful stranger to take when you realized she floated down, sitting next to you on your blanket. Her shoulder bumbled against yours, such a small act sent sparks over your skin. Her eyes focused on your sketchbook in your lip.

You stared, transfixed and in awe. Who was she?

Her eyes trailed up, connecting with yours. She was so close. Her beauty was the type found in centuries old oil paintings, utterly ethereal and needed to be captured. She smiled softly, her eyes crinkled. “May I see them?”

Your eyes widened. “Yes! Sorry.”

You flipped open your sketchbook to your most recent additions. She leaned forward. She tucked her hair behind her ear. Her fingers skimmed over the page, feeling the grooves, the scratched and erased lines.

“These are beautiful,” she commented.

“Oh, thanks,” you blushed, “they’re just random sketches, there’s places where I could improve and -“

“Do not belittle your talent.”

Your mouth closed.

She peered up at you through her dark lashes. “You have a gift, one you are developing. It is perfect now and will be perfect later.”

You tilted your head. A smile tugged on your lips. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

She raised her chin, smiling. A secretive one, full of knowledge you weren’t privy too. Yet. “And I think you will do great things.”

“Thank you.” You glanced away feeling hot under her intense gaze. Questions stirred. Where did she come from? Why did she come to you? But, you supposed you could start with who, who was she? “I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“Calliope.”

Calliope.

“That’s a beautiful name.”

She dropped her head, smiling to herself. “Thank you, and you?”

“(Y/N).”

Her eyes locked with yours again. “It is lovely to meet you, (Y/N).” A warmth spread over you at the sound of your own name rolling off her tongue. It was if you were hearing for the first time. As if it was poetry and not a word you carried with you all your life. “I hope I am not too forward, but could we meet here again?” She asked.

Your heart skipped. “I would love that.”

“Tomorrow? Same time?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled.

You met him next, under the veil of night, when fears and nightmares overshadowed your dreams.

Your eyes snapped open.

Blood pumped feverishly through your veins. The sporadic uneven pounding drowned the silence. You leapt up, clutching the front of your shirt. Your heart thudded dangerously under your fingertips.

You closed your eyes, exhaling slowly. “It’s was just a nightmare, just a dumb nightmare.”

Opening your eyes, darkness swallowed you.

Your heart rate spiked.

Every shadow crawled with monsters, every object morphed into horrendous, veil faces screaming out in terror.

Fuck.

Throwing back the sheets, you stumbled out of your room. The moonlight, and faded streetlights, offered very little. Even in your bare living room, things moved out of the corner of your eyes. You tugged on the collar of your shirt. Your clothes constricted, suffocating you. The walls loomed over and began to close in.

Run.

Fueled by the simple thought, you rushed over to the front door. You shoved on shoes and jacket with the collar flicked up, jammed your keys into your pockets, then sprinted out of your claustrophobic apartment. Your footsteps echoed in the quiet hallway, your untie shoelaces clacked against the ground.

Each sound sent a jolt through your scattered mind.

Ripping open the apartment complex door, the bitter air wiggled underneath your coat. You shrugged it closer. Your feet carried you, sticking to the streetlights. Your eyesight locked to the sidewalk.

The shadows still called out to you.

Unknowingly, your feet took you to a place you knew well. A place you knew you could navigate with your eyes closed: the park.

Crossing the empty street, you walked through the park and picked a vacant bench among the many. You sighed, flopping down. You craned your head back, letting the world turn upside down. You inhaled deeply. The crisp air was a shock to your system. A reboot. Your mind and body shifted away from its fears and focused on the ice filling its lungs. You exhaled loudly. The air fogged up.

It will be fall soon.

“What brings you out here?”

You jumped, sitting straight up. Your head snapped up to see a man in a dark coat standing a few feet back. Meeting a stranger, or any, at this hour should have frightened you. And although his initial presence did, once your eyes locked with his you felt oddly at ease.

“Apologies,” he dropped his head slightly, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“No, no,” you adamantly shook your head, “it wasn’t your fault, I was just lost in my thoughts and I didn’t hear you approach.”

His lips twitched.

You cleared your throat, “But, I, uh, couldn’t sleep.”

You skirted around the truth.

He hummed.

“And you? What are you doing out here?”

“Someone called.”

Your eyebrows knitted together at his vague wording. “Like, a friend of yours? Are they okay?”

He nodded, “Yes, and it is all taken care of.”

“Wow, must be an important person if you crawled out of bed this late.”

“You could say that.”

You smiled softly. “That’s good. Your friend is very lucky to have you.” You pointed to yourself, “I’m (Y/N) by the way.”

“(Y/N),” he repeated, trying your name. It was like a gentle song, a steady beat, to lull you to a peaceful slumber. “I’m Morpheus.”

“Morpheus.” You smiled at him, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“And to you.”

Your heart skipped. Under his unwavering gaze, a fuzzy warmth spread over your chest. You looked away, dropping your head. Somehow riddled utterly bashful from a stranger.

“It was a nightmare,” he said. “That is why you’re out here.”

You tensed. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. One with the utmost conviction, as if he knew all along. You chuckled nervously, “Was it really that obvious?”

He shook his head. “An inkling.”

You sighed, “Bit childish, isn’t it? To run away from an idiotic nightmare.”

“No.”

You cocked your head at his quick response. “No?”

“Nightmares make you face your deepest fears, and sometimes you’re simply not ready for them. But In time you will conquer them.”

You blinked, stunned, but then you slowly smiled at him. “How wise.”

A silence fell over you, comfortable and peaceful. Like two old friends enjoying each other’s company.

Morphues shifted his attention up to the starry night.

So, you studied him.

He glowed in this haunting lighting. He was made for the night, molded by it. His hair was elegantly messy, like ruffled raven feathers sticking up at odd ends. His lips, a dusty pink, puckered slightly in thought. His eyes the color of the morning sky uplifting you to wonders above the clouds. And he carried himself like royalty, shoulders back elongating his perfect posture.

A dark prince - no, king. A king of shadows and wonders.

He was captivating, memorizing.

You shook yourself from your wondering thoughts. “I should probably go.”

His eyes fell to you.

You stood up, wrapping your jacket around yourself, and started to walk pass him. He watched your every movement. As you brushed by him, drawn in by his magnetizing presence, he followed your figure.

Your eyes flickered over barely meeting his. “It was nice meeting you, Morphues.”

“That nightmare shouldn’t bother you anymore.”

Your footsteps halted. You peered over your shoulder, confused. “What?”

He turned, facing you, giving you all of his full attention. “Your nightmare won’t bother you anymore.”

You laughed once, cocking your eyebrow. “Really? And how would you know?”

A smile tugged on his lips. “A hunch.”

An idea took hold, one to promise another encounter with your new dark friend.

You smiled. “Well, if that’s true then let’s meet here again at the same time a few nights from now, and we will see who is right.”

He matched your smile and reached his eyes. “Okay.”

“Until then, Morphues.”

“Until then, (Y/N).”

Soon, these two figures became the center of your small world. You enjoyed each of their company greatly. They brought you comfort and newfound joy. They expressed interest in every aspect of your life. Even when you believed you rattled on about everything, your personal life and other mundane topics, to art from who inspired you, your favorite pieces, and your growing knowledge.

They never silenced you. They smiled and encouraged you.

And ever so slightly, you tumbled. You fell wholeheartedly in love with each of them. It almost felt wrong to love two people so deeply, yet your heart had decided. Both Morphues and Calliope. And you would give it over again and again.

You swore to yourself that you would tell them eventually. It didn’t sit right to keep the truth of either of them, even if you might lose one or both in the process. Yet, all of it rid on the notion that neither was aware of the other.

Oh, how wrong you were.

In the distance, you passed through the flow of people. Calliope, hiddened, watched intently as you began to shrink from view. A figure appeared beside her: Morphues. His eyes followed Calliope’s line of sight. He hummed, “So, I see you have laid claim on that mortal.”

Calliope barely turned her head. Her eyes were still on you. “Claim? I do no such thing.”

“Perhaps, but she certainly has caught your eyes,” he pressed. His eyes were also on you, completely transfixed. “A task very few have done.”

You vanished. A sorrowful ache sung in their empty chests.

Calliope faced Morpheus, looking up at him. “Is that a crime, Oneiros?”

“No, it is not.” He said, looking at his former love.

“Then why do you treat it as such?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Because she too has caught my eye.”

Calliope blinked. “And what does that mean?”

“I’m not quite sure yet.”

“If you think I will -“

“I think nothing. I am only sharing since it might interest you.”

Her lips thinned. Her eyes searched for an answer, one that was more clear, but Morphues would not give it. “I will not stop.”

“And neither will I.”

A promise lingered in the air. One that prompted something, something sinful, something sweet.

“Then good day to you, Morphues,” Calliope nodded.

“And to you, Calliope.”

Time blurred.

Time filled with a blossoming love.

You savored their individual time. And in turn, they inspired you. Their beauty was captivating. Your sketchbooks were quickly filled with their faces, and soon their faces haunted your dreams.

But, pencil and paper wasn’t enough.

You wanted to paint them, to give color and life to one of your sketches, to show how their eyes twinkled with love, to show how their lips curled into a heartwarming smile, to show how their hair framed their face down to the strands which could never be tamed, to show how -

To show how much they mean to you. To show them how you see them.

You decided you would ask Calliope first. She seemed she would be more open minded to the idea, and somewhat less intimidating than the king of night, Morphues.

“Calliope?”

The two of you were side by side, leaning against each other underneath the tree where you met. It felt like years ago, like she was always a part of your life.

“Yes, my love?” She answered.

Your heart skipped at the endearing name. No matter how many times it rolled off her tongue, it still gave you butterflies. Clearing your throat, you said, “I was wondering if you could model for me - and! And before you say anything please don’t feel obligated or anything, this is whatever you are comfortable with.”

She twisted, looking directly at you. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and excitement. “Would it be presumptuous to ask if it’ll be a nude painting?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with that,” you spilled out. “You wear whatever you want, or we can drape sheets over you to keep you covered.”

She cupped your face. “I would be honored.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really?”

“To inspire you is my greatest gift to you, and it would fill my heart with joy to be the muse of your next painting.”

You beamed. You buried your face into your touch, trying to hide your growing excitement and dopey smile. She laughed and brought your face to hers. She picked your lips. Pulling back, she gently held your face for a moment. She thought you looked adorable with your giddy smile, a smile she always wished to see.

“Okay, uh, how about Friday night? I’ll have everything set up and we’ll do it for just a few hours, nothing too long.” You suggested.

“Perfect.”

An idea stirred.

Calliope smiled to herself.

Oh, yes, this could work, she thought. An unspoken promise may be fulfilled.

Days later, right after sunset, you stood in your living room. Chairs and tables were pushed up to the wall. A cream sheet hung precariously from the ceiling, draping across the floor. The couch sat on top with a hand full of sheets for Calliope to cover up or use however she wished. A few dim lamps scattered around pointed at the couch to get the best lighting. Your easel, with a prepped canvas, and a cart, filled with all necessary supplies, was positioned a few paces back.

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t a high grade studio, but it was enough.

You adjusted your stool in front of the canvas. You tightened your stained smock. Your heart, however, buzzed. Glancing down, your hands trembled. Fuck. You clenched and unclenched your fists trying to calm the tremor.

Knock! Knock!

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

You rushed over to the front door and flung it open. Almost off the hinges. Unbothered, or unaware, of your nerves, Calliope smiled at you. “Hello, (Y/N).”

“Hi,” you whispered.

“May I come in?”

“Oh! Yes, right.” You moved aside letting her through. Her eyes scanned over your makeshift studio setup. “I hope this is okay.”

“It’s perfect.”

You smiled, calmed a little by her words. “Okay, good, uh, well, please do whatever you want to get comfortable. I’m going to finish my setup, okay?”

She nodded.

You spun around, walking back to your canvas. Behind it, you couldn’t see her move. But, you certainly heard her. Fabrics fluttered. Some fell to the ground with a thud. With each drop, your heart jumped. I can do this. You let out a low shaky breath and began arranging your paints in color order on your palette.

“I’m ready.“

You scrunched up your face. So quickly?

You peered out from behind your canvas.

Draped over the couch, she laid on her side facing you. Naked, bare. An arm propped up her head, while the other rested on her side extenuating her curves. Her legs bent a little to fit onto the couch. Her fingers played with the thin sheet covering her thighs and part of her lower half. Only her lower half. She left her top untouched and exposed.

You tried not to stare.

You visibly swallowed. “Will you, uh, be comfortable to stay in that position for a while?”

“I can manage.”

You nodded. “Okay, um, would you like some music? Or anything?”

“I think I’m good, my love.” Her lips curled into a smirk.

Why did that send a spike of fear through you?

“Okay,” you mumbled. “I just have to finish my paint setup and we can start.”

You squeezed out the last few paints. You capped the tubes and reached for a paintbrush -

“I see you have started without me.” A voice, one you recognized instantly, said from the darkness.

You whipped around, startled.

Calliope, however, was unaffected. “You are late.”

Out of the shadows, Morpheus appeared. Your eyes widened. “Morphues - wh - how -“

“Do not worry yourself.” He calmly stated as he walked forth. His eyes focused solely on you.

You should have been frightened. He appeared out of nowhere, instead confusion settled over you. Your eyebrows knitted together as Calliope’s words tossed around in your head again.

Late?

You looked over your shoulder. Calliope smiled softly at you, trying to ease any worries. “You called him here?” Another thought popped up. “Wait, you two know each other?”

Fingers wrapped around your chin, guiding your attention back to Morphues standing directly in front of you. “We do.”

“But, how and - and what -“

“You have questions, and we can answer as many as needed.”

Sheets rustled. Light footsteps crept closer. A hand lightly touched your back, drawing your attention. Looking over, Calliope smiled at you.

Your heart thrummed.

The air sparked with something sinful with both of them here. You desperately kept your gaze on Calliope’s sweet, warm eyes. She floated over and behind Morphues. Her hands wrapped around his waist. Morphues turned his head, acknowledging her. They touched their foreheads, taking a moment.

Then both of their eyes flickered over to you.

You instantly felt small. Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Do you know of the Greek Muses? Of any mythos?” Calliope began.

You stared blankly, then gave the tiniest nod. You had some understanding of Greek Mythology, but just broad strokes.

“I am one of the nine muses, my love. A Greek Goddess.”

What?

“And Morpheus was once my husband.”

You tensed.

“Careful, you might frighten her,” Morphues said with a slight tease.

“I am only speaking the truth, one she should know if we continue down this path.”

What -

“And - and you?” You asked, finding your voice, and gestured to Morphues.

He smiled, a small tug. “I am no god. I am an Endless. Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares.”

Your hands dangled at your sides. “I’m sorry, a goddess? And - and an Endless?” They simply nodded. “What do you want with me? Why me?”

Calliope saw the fear rising in your eyes. She peeled away from Morphues and placed herself behind you. Her arms circled around you as she pressed a gentle kiss on your shoulder. Her warmth immediately comforted you.

“You needn’t fear us, we don’t wish to cause you any harm,” she whispered into your shoulder.

“Then what?” You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye.

“We want you,” Morphues answered swiftly

Your eyes snapped back to Morpheus. “Me?”

“An artist who dreams of inspiring others to create, or to inspire others to dream of a new world; you called out to us.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Yes, well, I, uh -“

“Do not be embarrassed.” Calliope whispered. “It is endearing and we soon both found ourselves falling in love with the artist who summoned us.”

“I - I don’t know what to say.”

“You needn’t say anything.”

“Right now we only wish to inspire you,” Morphues said. “If you like.”

Your eyes flickered between the two of them. Two of the most beautiful people you’ve ever laid your eyes on. And to think you called them? To know they became infatuated with you in return? It was almost beyond your comprehension. Now, they were both here. They both expressed their desires and love.

So, why say no?

It’s just for a painting.

You nodded, trying to catch your breath.

Morpheus hummed. He stretched his hand out, and Calliope graciously accepted. He led her over, and out of view, to the homemade stage.

You let out a shaky breath.

Breathe. Focus.

Morphues and Calliope each had captured your heart. It was an unfiltered love, it was a rose-hued world, it was constant butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

But, with them both here it called something darker within you. That sinful spark from earlier still lingered in the air. It was an insatiable hunger, it was a red haze fogging your consciousness, it was a wildfire coursing through your veins.

You flopped down on your stool. Closing your eyes, you continued to inhale and exhale in even, steady breaths.

“Are you ready?” Calliope asked.

“Yeah,” you murmured, opening your eyes.

You glanced over your canvas to your two new models. The air was knocked out of your lungs. Both standing, Morphues, now bare, held Calliope in his arms. Calliope, her back pressed into his chest, leaned her head back resting it on Morpheus’s shoulder.

They certainly hid nothing from you.

Your face was hot.

“Will this do?” Morphues asked, teasingly.

“Fuck.” It tumbled out of your lips before you could stop it.

Morphues smirked. He bent his head down, pressing his lips into Calliope’s shoulder trying to hide his growing amusement. Calliope chuckled, smiling widely.

You ripped your gaze away as your ear ignited.

“So? Will this not do?” Morpheus repeated.

“It’s - it’s fine.” You muttered.

“Have you not painted nude models before?” Calliope mused. Her tone was more sweet, but it didn’t hide all of her taunts.

“I have,” you said firmly.

“Then there should be no problem,” she chirped.

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, my love, we are ready when you are.”

You closed your eyes once more and exhaled slowly. Focus, just focus. You’ll be fine. Opening your eyes, you picked up a brush dipping it into a light brown.

Your eyes slid over.

They melded together, like pieces from a forgotten puzzle. Somehow alway meant to be. His arms - muscular and taunt with its harsh lines - circled around her waist and contrasted against her soft, delicate curves. Her hand splayed over his, desperate to have more skin to skin contact. He kissed her shoulder, his messy locks blocked out most of his face and barely brushed against her skin. Her head was turned, staring lovely at him. Her slim fingers caressed the side of his face, drawing him in.

A lovers’ embrace.

Your lips twitched upward.

You leaned back over and began to sketch out basic outlines: the line of action, the curves, the building blocks of anatomy, and a basic, sloppy shading to remind you of your light source. Soon, you forgot who you were painting and fell into the flow. You built up each layer of paint, slowly adding color, and carving out their bodies and background.

You knew it wouldn’t be finished tonight, but you enjoyed the process.

Until, it was broken by giggling.

Your eyes snapped over. Calliopes was laughing while Morphues lifted his head looking directly down at her, directly into her eyes. He smiled as she laughed.

You smiled, genuinely. Although they spoke of their former love, you could still see it. It still lingered. You returned back to your painting feeling lighter. However, you had forgotten who you had invited into your home, neglected their true intentions for this night.

“Shall we?” Morphues whispered into Calliope’s ear.

“Sweet Oneiros, I’ve been waiting for you.”

He chuckled.

You hunched forward, tongue poking out, when a soft hum broke the silence. Curious, you leaned over.

You inhaled sharply.

Morphues’s hands crawled up Calliope’s body. His firm hands cupped her perked breasts, and began to knead and play with them eliciting low sensual noises from the goddess. She sighed, closing her eyes. Morphues, however, looked directly at you. His eyes hooded, filled with desire as his lips curled into a devilish smirk.

You dove back in front of your painting. Your smock was now impossibly tight around your flushed skin.

“Morpheus.”

You flinched in your seat.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t -

Curiosity pulled. You cautiously peered behind your painting. Morphues kissed and nipped at Calliope's neck. Love bites began to cover her skin. His hands gripped - white knuckling - her hips, desperate to keep her in place, to keep her from moving. Her lips fall open, sighing dreamily. She wiggled her hips, rubbing against him. Morpheus groaned. Its deep vibrations echoed throughout the spacious room. He dropped his head onto her shoulder. Calliope glanced over to you. Her eyes half opened, filled with pure lust. You instantly looked away, somehow embarrassed as if you caught them.

“Morpheus, we may have frightened our friend here,” she smirked.

Morpheus looked up to see you hiding behind your canvas. “We may - oh.”

Calliope rubbed against him again making him moan.

You fidgeted. You crossed your legs trying to alleviate some of your growing needs.

“(Y/N),” Calliope cooed.

You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Yes?”

“Look at us, my love.”

Fuck.

Obeying her command, you leaned over. “Oh dear god.”

Morpheus’s fingers slid down Calliope’s chest, down the valley between her breasts, and further and further. Goosebumps followed his delicate touch. Your eyes widened. He slipped two sinful fingers between her folds. Calliope moaned, falling into his touch. His fingers started slowly, stroking her walls. It was pratically pornographic: how his fingers pumped her, the wet sloppy noise, how Calliope mewled and how each sound went straight through you.

“She feels divine,” Morpheus purred.

“Fuck me,” you mumbled, clenching your thighs together.

Morpheus curled his fingers.

“(Y/N),” Calliope moaned, grinding down on his fingers.

Your paintbrush clattered to the ground. Your hands covered your hot face. Your ragged breathing barely drowned out their sounds.

Be professional, be professional - but how can I when they’re acting like this?

“Oh, darling,” Morpheus called out.

You peaked through your fingers. Morpheus slipped his fingers out of Calliope, she whined at the loss of friction. Staring directly at you, Morpheus stuck his fingers in his mouth tasting Calliope. His perfect lips wrapped around his fingers as his eyes fluttered closed, moaning deeply.

“Let me,” Calliope murmured.

She gently removed his fingers from his mouth and cupped his face bringing him down to her. Her tongue slipped between his lips tasting herself on Morpheus’s tongue. She hummed.

“Love,” he murmured against Calliope, “we mustn’t forget someone.”

Calliope pulled away, lips swollen. Their eyes darted over locking onto you.

Your hands fell down.

Calliope moved first. She glided across the room. Standing in front of you as you sat on your stool, she titled your head back. You peered up at her with glassy eyes and parted lips. In seconds, you relinquished all control.

The painting can wait.

Her thumb ran over your bottom lip. Electricity crackled over your needy body. She bent down, and finally kissed you.

You sighed, closing your eyes.

She guided you up onto your feet. Her hands skimmed up and down your sides, learning your curves. She tilted her head, moving her lips deepening the kiss. Your heart skipped. Her tongue begged for entrance. You happily obliged. A moan rumbled in the back of your throat as she explored your mouth. Every touch was a fire across your skin.

Hands, rough and stern, landed on your hips.

You broke away from Calliope. Craning your neck back, Morpheus loomed behind you. He smiled at you. Calliope did not let this deter her. Her lips skimmed over your neck, making you shiver. Morpheus gripped your chin to keep your eyes on him. He leaned in to kiss you. While Calliope was sweet and fire inducing - a dangerous nectar injected into your vines setting your skin ablaze; Morpheus was an icy chill leaving you gasping and clinging - an all consuming blizzard trapping you.

Calliope nipped you, and soothed the pain with her tongue.

You moaned into Morpheus’s mouth.

Their skillful hands wandered over your body. Bit by bit, one article of clothing after the other fell off your body. Their hands skimmed over your hot skin: over the valley of your breasts, curling around your neck, through your hair, and down your sides. They mapped your body. They touched everywhere, except for where you wanted them the most.

Frustration built. A roaring fire in the pit of your stomach.

You groaned and whined.

They chuckled.

You huffed. Taking each of their wrists, you led them to your bedroom. You were done wasting time, done with their teasing.

Letting go of them, you pushed Calliope towards the bed. The back of her knees hit the bed and she flopped backwards with excited giggles. You licked your lips, then slowly sank to your knees at the edge of the bed. You dreamt of this, dreamt of this moment ever since you first laid eyes on her. Your fingers trailed up and down your legs. Taking one of her legs, you hooked it over your shoulder.

Your eyes looked up at her, and kissed her inner thigh.

Calliope hummed, tilting her head back.

You bit her.

She gasped.

Morpheus smiled deviously. He fell into a lone chair in the corner of the room. The perfect position. He slowly stroked himself, watching intently as this unfolded.

Smirking, you started marking her thighs. Marking everywhere, and purposely avoiding where she needed you the most. Your eyes flickered up. Her eyes were closed as her chest heaved heavily in anticipation.

A goddess - a Greek goddess - was turning into a mess because of you. Because of your touch.

You wouldn’t - couldn’t - wait any longer.

You dived into her dripping folds.

Calliope moaned. Her hands immediately latched into your hair, desperate to find grounding in this high.

She tasted, oh so, sweet. Divine. Morpheus was right, she is divine. You ate her as if it was her last meal, worshipping every moment. You hummed. She bucked her hips. You did it again. She moaned, “(Y/N).”

You clenched your thighs together. You were wet and needy. But, you wanted to feel her pleasure more than anything right now. You moved, sucking on her clit. She instinctively yanked on your hair, crying out. You moaned as pain quickly turned into pleasure.

“Morpheus,” she whimpered.

“Yes, darling?” He hummed, absolutely amused.

“She is heavenly.”

Pride swelled within you.

“I have no doubt.”

Calliope buried her face into the bedsheets. “Love, (Y/N), I -“

You groaned.

You wanted nothing more than for her to come in your mouth. You became more feverishly knowing she was at her end. Your tongue swirled around, you hummed and moaned pushing her further and further towards the edge, and your fingers dug into her thighs no doubt bruising her.

She gasped. She yanked on your hair drawing you impossibly close, as she bucked and rid your face.

Her walls fluttered around your tongue.

You eagerly lapped up her juices. She wriggled and squirmed, crying out in pleasure and overstimulation. You pulled away, breathless. But, a hand raked through your hair and forcibly yanked your head back. Morpheus mouth latched onto yours tasting Calliope on your tongue. You whimpered, clinging to him.

When he broke apart, his lips glistened.

His lips stretched into a playful smirk

There you were on your knees with hearts in your eyes. Your swollen lips parted, and your breath erratic and fleeting. His hand slid down, cupping your face. His thumb traced down your cheekbone down to your lips. He dragged his thumb across your bottom lip. Without thinking, you wrapped your lips around his thumb and gently sucked on it.

“Love, come here.”

Popping out Morpheus’s thumb, you glanced over to Calliope who laid out on the bed. She pointed at you, then slowly curled her finger beckoning you forth. You didn’t hesitate. You crawled onto the bed and over top of her.

She drew you down to her. Her lips brushed over yours and murmured softly, “I wish to return the favor.”

Excitement coursed through you. You nodded shyly, biting your lip. You moved to lay down, when she grabbed your wrist. She shook her head. “On top, my love.”

You blinked. Oh!

You smiled sheepishly then moved up.

“Oh, sweet Morpheus,” Calliope cooed.

“I am here,” he chuckled. He knew exactly what to do without being told a word. He hopped onto the bed, and grabbed her hips. His cock poked at her inner thighs.

But, he patiently waited, waited for you.

You situated yourself over Calliope’s face. Your knees on either side of her face, digging into the pillow her head rested on. You laid your hands flat against the wall. You needed something to keep you upright. Your heart skipped as you peered down at her snug between your legs. She simply smirked up at you. Her fingers reached up grabbing your hips, then slowly dragged you down.

You threw your head back as her mouth delved in.

Morpheus smiled, at the sight of you on top of Calliope. He then teased Calliope’s entrance, barely rubbing the tip of his cock between her folds.

She hummed.

“Fuck,” you muttered, squeezing your eyes shut.

Morpheus chuckled then slipped in. Calliope’s grip tightened. Her nails buried into your skin. Her tongue swirled as she moaned into you. Your taste was sweet and tempting like a forbidden fruit. One that should never be consumed, and one two ethereal beings will happily break time and time again.

Morpheus steadily began to rock his hips. Tantalizingly slow and nearly losing himself. The feeling of how Calliope wrapped around him, how he watched his two loves cry out in pleasure, how you squirmed, and how you peered over your shoulder looking back at him with a sweat forming on your forehead.

You leaned forward, your forehead pressed into the cool wall. You opened your eyes, daring to look down. Calliope’s eyes were closed as she worked you. However, feeling your gaze, her eyes flickered open. Her dark eyes, practically black and devoid of anything but lust and pleasure. She moaned into you. The vibrations were dizzying. You whimpered as your first orgasm built in the pit of your stomach.

You unconsciously began to grind down on her. Desperate to reach your end.

Calliope’s walls fluttered.

Morpheus grunted. “Do that again, (Y/N).”

Morpheus lifted Calliope’s hips. He snapped his hips, setting a new fast pace. You grinded down on Calliope. “Calliope,” you moaned.

You rocked your hips. Pleasure built and built.

Calliope hummed, ready for anything.

“Calliope,” you whined, warning her.

She worked you, while Morpheus worked her. The sinful noises filled your ears. The way Morpheus pounded into her, with his soft sweet grunts, the way Calliope sloppily ate you out, the way your strained moans combined with it all.

“Come for her, (Y/N),” Morpheus groaned.

You moaned, throwing your head back as your orgasm crashed through you. Calliope desperately held you in place as she continued to work you through your high. Morpheus moaned, feeling Calliope’s walls clamp around him as they reached their own highs.

You squirmed, and cried out. It was too much, and somehow not enough.

Calliope finally released you.

You fell onto your back, breathless. You glanced over to Calliope. Your juices covered her lips. Her tongue ran over her lips. You squirmed at the sight. She smiled lazily and reached out, stroking your cheek. You hummed. However, someone wasn’t done with you.

Hands yanked on your hips.

You yelped.

You soon found yourself in Morpheus’s lap staring directly into his eyes. Your breath was stolen. He kissed you, gently and sweetly. You exhaled through your nose, and cupped his face. Your fingers curled into his hair. He hummed. Soon he lifted you up, guiding you, and slowly sunk you down on his cock. You moaned into his mouth. He filled you and stretched you in a way you’ve never felt before.

He pulled away peppering kisses down your neck.

You craned your head back, and began to move up and down. Slow and languid movements as you wanted to draw out this moment. Morpheus groaned, as his arms tightened around your waist, desperate to have you closer. And with every movement, Morpheus met you, bucking his hips up. Every movement left you feeling lightheaded in the best way.

Calliope asked, watching the two of you, watching her two loves, “How does he feel, my love?”

“Good,” you breathed out, unable to process any sentences, “Really good.”

She chuckled.

Morpheus nipped at your neck, making you gasp. “Fuck, Morpheus.”

His lips curled over your skin. He lifted his head and pressed his forehead on yours. “You are being so good for us,” he whispered.

Your heart fluttered.

Biting your lip, gaining more and more confidence, you slammed down on him. Faster, more demanding. A vein popped in his neck. He clamped his mouth as a moan rumbled in his throat, and his eyes squeezed close.

An Endless, a cosmic being, was at your mercy.

You bounced up and down, loving how Morpheus’s face twisted in pleasure. “(Y/N),” he moaned.

Your heavy breathing and his filled the close space between you. He opened his eyes, peering up at you through his dark lashes. He bucked his hips, matching your pace. You whimpered, tugging on his hair. Your walls fluttered, warning him. Morpheus groaned. You rolled your hips, sending a new wave of pleasure. Morpheus chuckled, pulling you close. His hands trailed down your back, grabbing your hips. He guided you, helped lift you as you started to stutter in your pace. Your legs burned but you desperately wanted to continue. Your head fell to his shoulder. Your hands traced over his back muscles, feeling as they flexed under your light touch.

“Ah, look at me, darling.”

You lifted your head. Your brain hazy as pleasure built clouding your senses. His everlasting, all consuming, blue filled your vision.

He grounded you.

He bucked his hips, hitting the right spot.

You moaned, and you saw stars.

He smirked to himself repeating the action. Desperate for release, you grinded down. Your breath hitched. Your end was soon.

“Come for him, love.” Calliope hummed.

Your heart rate spiked.

At her simple words, your walls clamped down. Your lips fell open, as you fought to keep your eyes directly on Morpheus. He groaned, seeing you in absolute bliss and bucked his hips once last time, finding his own release. His forehead pressed to yours, kissing you feverishly one last time.

You hummed.

Breaking apart, you smiled at him. Breathless. And now utterly exhausted.

Calliope’s gentle hands guided you backwards into the softness of your bed. You fell back. Instantly, Calliope and Morpheus positioned themselves on either side of you.

“You were lovely,” Morpheus mumbled in your ear.

Calliope caressed your cheek, lulling you. “And so patient with us.”

You laughed once through your nose. “Thanks.”

Inhaling, you yawned. Your eyelids weighed down and thoughts of sleep tugged at the back of your mind.

“Rest,” Morpheus whispered.

You whined quietly. Not wishing for the night to be over.

Calliope laughed. “Rest, we will be here in the morning.”

Yawning once more, you reluctantly agreed.

You turned, snuggling into Morpheus’s side. Your hand splayed over his chest, feeling his calm heartbeat. Your chin propped on his shoulder as your steady breaths blew through your parted lips. Morpheus tilted his head resting it on yours. Calliope looped an arm under your waist, drawing herself close. Her lips pressed between your shoulder blades. She reached over you, and Morpheus intertwined his fingers with hers.

Warm. So warm.

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