#Morpheus / Dream x Fem!Reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-darklings · 2 years

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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attackurheart88 · 4 months

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Ooo if it’s okay, can I please request a Soft Yandere Morpheus x fem!innocent!human!reader where she somehow accidentally ends up in The Dreaming and Morpheus is fully ready to let out his wrath at her intrusion, but after talking to her spending time with her, he decides he doesn’t want her to leave, ever, and intends to make her his Queen

You weren't supposed to be here.

Morpheus watched in the shadows as the woman hummed peacefully to herself weaving flowers unaware of the danger lurking behind her. As soon as Mathew alerted him to your presence, Morpheus teleported over in anger. It was only a few months since his capture and his dislike of humans had increased greatly. The dreaming was the only place where he could live peacefully without any worries or fears he would not let a human ruin it.

The birds flew away and the deer and squirrels were quick to scurry. Once Morpheus made himself known the happiness in the air dissipated. He watched as you tensed finally feeling his presence and turned.

“Who are you?” his voice wasn't raised yet it carried such force you were quick to back up. “You're not supposed to be here.” he snarled.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn't know I just sorta appeared.” Your voice was so soft and sweet. It suited you. “I didn't mean to trespass, my name is Y/n.” Morpheus stared blankly at your outstretched hand. You were being kind? Why? You were clearly afraid so why go through the trouble? Was it a trick? A way to get into his head?

A small peep drew his attention behind you. There was a bird wounded by your feet. Morpheus anger sparked up again. “You dare come into this forest and harm its inhabitants.” A sudden force flings you back into a tree.

“Ow.” you slid down painfully watching in horror as he made his way closer. “Wait, please! I didn't hurt it. It fell from a tree I was trying to rebuild its nest.” your small hands were held up as you explained. Morpheus took notice of the small scratches and cuts on your fingers.

As quickly as that anger came it lessened.

One look at your doe eyes and tender expression had Morpheus’s head running. It contained glimpses of fear but no hint of lies. You were telling the truth.

Releasing you, Morpheus took a step back and waved his hand.

The bird flew in circles now fully healed and the scars that once littered your hand vanished.

“Incredible,” you whispered. “Thank….you.” But he was gone.

Morpheus made his way back to his palace. Scouring through the books of his library for information on you. He should have banished you, threatened you, captured you. But he didn't. He couldn't. Despite the way he acted he couldn't find any fault with you. Nor did you harbor any sort of anger, hatred, or evil in you. You were too kind. The animals of Fiddler’s Green were not welcoming to strangers and would have attacked if you held bad intentions. Instead, they danced and sang to entertain you, to please you.

Why? Why were you here? Why was the dreaming so welcoming to you? Why was it he found it difficult to hurt you? Why did he feel the urge to touch you, kiss you, devour you.

Morpheus wasn’t new to the feeling of love. But the emotions inside his chest were different. They weren’t pure or sweet or gentle. They were fierce dangerous addicting. It was only a few hours since he saw you. But his mind was flooding with images of you and impure thoughts. Thought to take you to own you to take your innocence and corrupt it. Your sweet voice will be for him to hear, your soft eyes his to gaze at, and your body? His to ravage.

You were a virgin he was sure of it. He could smell it on you, innocence and purity radiating in waves just begging to be taken away.

“Lucienne.” The woman walked over. “My lord. Have you taken care of the intruder?” “Just about to.” Morpheus smiled to himself. Lucienne furrowed her brows confused.

“Prepare a room. I want it fit for a queen.”

For the next few days, Morpheus waits anxiously for your return. He's made all the proper preparations for you transitioning as his queen. A large bed, mountains of presents, and in case there are any resisting, some lovely chains to keep you still. But he's sure he won't need them for long. Soon enough you’ll learn your place and accept your new role happily. Unlike his former lovers, there will be no mistakes as you’ll never be allowed to leave his side.

Your sniffles and sobs could be heard echoing throughout the room. Morpheus is there with his arms around you. Gentle rubs on your hair as he whispers in your ear to console you.

“I-I want to go home,” you repeated for the hundredth time. Morpheus only smiled and shook his head. “This is your home, now love.” he cooed. “There is nowhere else for you to be.”

You will soon love him and depend on him for everything. Morpheus would become you're only priority as you his. Anyone who gets in the way of that, friend or foe will suffer the consequences.

As his darling, be sure to be obedient and never escape or look in another person’s direction. The consequences will be severe. You could be starved for a couple of days or perhaps be delivered the bloody head of the man who dared to talk to you.

Morpheus is passionate about his love but is equally cruel. Slowly he’ll break you down with love and punishments until you're his perfect wife where he’ll be able to love you and cherish you to his heart's content.

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #my posst #yandere morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #obsessive love #yandere x darling #dream of the endless #yandere dream of the endless #innocent reader #fem reader #dream of the endless x reader #@attackurheart

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

Text

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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lady-phasma · 2 months

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Morpheus Returns

Part 1 of 2 (so far) cross posted from AO3

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, general smut and pretty fluffy, p in v sex. Written in first person fem!reader.

Summary a/n: Morpheus returns to find a favorite acolyte has waited 100 years for him. Also a bit of headcanon: I know he doesn’t sleep but the poor entity needs a break from time to time. No beta. 2k words

He lay imperiously on the black sheets of the bed. Their blackness swallowed light, no sheen like satin or silk. Draped over his bone-white body they gave the illusion that any light in the room came from him. The sheet fell across his belly and one leg. His arms spread out to his sides. His shaggy black hair shone with flecks of light as he turned his head in his rest. The King of Dreams sighed deeply.

My every action was imbued with the deepest reverence for Lord Morpheus. Each of us in The Dreaming had our roles and responsibilities, purpose and function. We were each created for a particular role. Although things had changed since his return, I had not. I had waited for a century. As Lucienne had waited. I didn’t leave The Dreaming when others gave up. I had one purpose and my existence was devoted to it. Much like gods and goddesses, the Endless enjoyed worshipers, human or otherwise. I was created to resemble a female human. Lord Morpheus had sculpted me to be perfect for him. Without him I had no purpose. So I waited.

When he returned most of us were gone. Lucienne encouraged him to rest but he had guilt and anger to assuage. I was patient. He saw me once before leaving to find his tools. How I had missed his expressive eyes and perfect mouth. I slid my fingers down his cheek.

“You look tired, my Lord,” I whispered.

“I am, Asteria,” he glanced down at me. “But I will return and I will make good use of our bed.”

My heart ached for his return but I busied myself with helping restore The Dreaming. I especially focused on his quarters. His palace staff gradually returned, as did his dreams and nightmares, but among them all I was cherished. He had given me my own personality, interests, abilities, but I was his design. My very being was sculpted to be his own dream. Each dream or nightmare in The Dreaming was his creation but created for others, for humans. I alone was formed for him, the physical manifestation of his desires. My limbs were long, my skin nearly as pale as his, and my body blessed with ample curves. My breasts were firm and high above a small rounded belly. My hips weren’t narrow but neither were they broad. My entire body was inhumanly hairless like his, except for long chestnut locks that fell, curling down my back. We only possessed human form, we were far from human. He had even named me in honor of the Titaness Asteria, the goddess of falling stars and oneiromancy. She had once had the ability to call him to her at will, Endless or not, to divine meaning from dreams.

I only slightly regretted disturbing his repose. He had previously promised me an audience and given me express instructions when to rouse him. My audiences with Dream were entirely selfish on his part. However, since I was created as a devotee there was immense pleasure in it for me as well.

I stood at the foot of the bed and let my nightgown fall off my shoulders. I climbed onto the bed. My eyes ran up the length of his body, along his exposed leg, his flat stomach, his taught chest, and his perfect collar bones. I sat next to him, my legs curled beneath me. I cupped his cheek in my palm and pressed my lips against his. He moaned into my mouth. His eyes opened just a fraction and he wrapped his long arms around me. I let my body sink into his embrace. This was the first proper kiss we had shared since his return. I wanted to touch every part of him at once. My hands roamed over his shoulders and chest.

“Time to rise, my Lord,” I mumbled into our kiss.

“Yes I suppose it is,” he sighed as he laid back. He placed one hand behind his head and let the other rest on my thigh, his long fingers almost brushing against my sex. His every movement was calculated. It was evident in the twitch at the corners of his mouth that he was enjoying teasing me.

Morpheus sighed again. He briefly closed his eyes. His hand moved slightly on my thigh. It was my turn to sigh.

I propped myself up on one arm and reached to stroke his chest, his arm, anything I could reach. This slight, intentional movement of my hips pressed his fingertips just against my lips. I shivered. He very nearly smiled at my urgency.

I moved to lean above him and began to kiss every inch of him that I could find. I kissed his neck, his chest, his nipples, under his arms, down his ribs. I gradually straddled him as I moved down his body. In doing so I pulled the sheet off of him. He had begun to grow hard at my touches. Oh how I had missed him! But I wanted to draw out my worship as long as possible. And worship I did. I slid my hands over his smooth, marble-like skin. I mumbled praise against his body, whispers of longing and adoration.

He had moved his other hand to rest under his head and lay almost perfectly still. There was a tinge of smile on his pouted lips. He was extremely satisfied. Anyone other than the two of us couldn’t possibly know the praise that was in that close, tight near-smile. It spurred me on. I had waited so long for this and I loved that I pleased him. I trailed kisses down his stomach.

“My Lord,” I said between kisses. “Mmmm… shall I leave you… mmmm… to continue resting?” My eyes shot up to meet his, my lips still on his skin. My grin was obvious.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled. He reached down, placing a hand on either side of my face, and guided me up to kiss him. I spread my legs wider to press our bodies together and he raised his hips up to meet mine. His fingers wound into my hair eliciting a moan from me. His tongue pushed past my lips and teeth. Everything about him was long: legs, tongue, fingers. Another part of him that was quite long pressed against my backside. He had grown harder as I rubbed against him. I pressed my wetness against his belly to force a moan from him.

Morpheus withdrew his hands from my hair and rose up. He lifted me off him, onto my knees. With his hands cupping my ass, he kissed my breasts and my neck.

“You waited,” he murmured. “All these years… you waited.”

“Mmmhmm,” I responded. I buried my face in his hair and wrapped my arms around his neck. I held him close to my chest. I breathed in deeply. “Yes, my Lord. The thought of this moment and memories of the many before kept me warm while you were away. I only wish I could ease your suffering, your hurt.”

He turned his face up to mine and I kissed him, deep and hard. He kissed me back. He maneuvered my hips so that he could guide me down onto his lap. His hardness pressed into me. No hesitation, no resistance, a perfect fit. I gripped and pulled at his hair as the pleasure swept over me. He guided and moved me where and how he wanted. I was attuned to the movement of each of his muscles. His skin against mine felt perfect.

With no warning he flipped us over. He let me down on my back gently but that was all that was gentle. I could tell how badly he had missed me. He never needed excess words or expressions of sentiment with me. Allowing me to touch him, to pull him into myself, to hold him, was evidence enough. As emotionless as Dream wished for others to think him he was in fact often brimming with emotion. He buried his face in my neck and breathed deeply. He pushed himself further into me. I gasped and threw my head back, clutching at his shoulders. I felt warmth and wetness on my neck. I stroked his hair. His rhythm slowed. He made no sound but I knew, I could feel the silent tears. His embrace tightened around me, crushing me into him.

I resisted the urge to shush and console him. For far too long his actions had been governed by others. I was created to be the sole entity in his existence that didn’t require anything of him. I loved it. I cherished that he could let his guard down with me, shed all pretense. His muscles flexed within the circle of my arms. His tears stopped as abruptly as they had begun, short lived and rare.

He raised his head to look at me. He cradled the back of my head in his giant hand and studied my face. His expressive, red-rimmed eyes searched my expression for judgement and finding none he kissed me.

He ran his other hand down the length of my body, down the side of my thigh, guiding my leg over his hip. I pressed my heel into the small of his back, taking him deeper. I purred and arched my back. My hard nipples brushed against his chest. With his elbow bearing his weight, one hand behind my head, the other kneading my ass, I was enveloped by love. I was safe, my Dream had returned.

“Oh Morpheus,” I moaned. I stroked his face, his jaw, his ears and neck. I drew my fingertips across his perfect bottom lip. He kissed them as they passed. He held my gaze with his dark eyes. I saw the universe flash in them. That energy, that power, loved me. His rhythm had never faltered. His strokes were small and intimate. He was savoring our time. That connection was secondary to the reunion he so deeply desired.

But the moment passed and his expression became impassive once again. His stern jaw and pursed lips drove me wild. My breathing was shallow and hot against his neck. My hands had found their way back to his shoulders. I moved my other leg to encircle him. His pace quickened. I clung to him as if even momentarily losing my hold would allow him to disappear again.

Dream felt my need.

His fingers twisted and pulled at my hair. He slid his other hand between us to my breast, kneading, and caused me to arch against him. I was breathless, the entirety of my senses were filled with Morpheus. I kissed his shoulders, his neck. I squeezed, tight, around him as he thrust into me. The blunt exhalations he made as I did this sent electricity through me.

I felt his resolve melting. His rested his head beside mine, his shallow breath hot against my ear. I thought I heard him whisper my name. I moved my hand up the back of his neck and into his hair. I tugged slightly. He groaned. His hand slid from my breast to rub circles around my clit as he pushed deep into me, synchronizing his rhythms. My grasp on his hair tightened.

He pressed his entire body against mine, nothing save his arm between us. The pressure on my clit increased. I dug my heels into his ass, demanding he go as deep as possible. I realized I had been holding my breath and as I exhaled, my face still pressed against his, I moaned his name in half a dozen languages. And came hard and wet around him.

“My Asteria,” he breathed against me. “My love, how I missed you.” So quietly a mortal may not have been able to hear him.

A shiver ran over him, beginning at his shoulders and radiating outward. He exhaled sharply and I felt his final thrust deep into me. His cum was warm and slick between us. Though I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew from experience that they wouldn’t show me the universe at this moment. They would be as black as a void. He almost purred into my neck as his body relaxed.

He slipped his arm from between us and let his full weight rest on me. I slid my legs down, still embracing my Lord. His hand in my hair loosened and rested on the bed beside us. He kissed my ear and began to raise his head.

“Please not yet, Morpheus,” I whispered. “We have spent so long apart.”

He raised his head to look at me and truly smiled.

“I will not leave you just yet,” he stroked my cheek and kissed me gently on the forehead. “I would imagine we need to do that a few more times before I do.”

Part 2

#dream of the endless #the sandman #the sandman netflix #sandman fanfiction #morpheus #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus x ofc reader #morpheus smut #fem!reader #morpheus x 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.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

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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slothgiirl · 2 years

Text

The Giving Dream

morpheus x reader. no use of y/n. smut. fucking w feelings. overstimulation. roughish. raw aka unedited w a dash of spelling mistakes probs. service top!dream.

“Lay back,” Morpheus states in a tone that brokers no argument. The self assurance of a King was clear though he never raised his voice. He appeared even more incandescent than usual in your bedroom. You see the night sky in the lining of his coat as it fans out around him, his pale skin practically glowing.

You could see a chair piled high with clothes from the corner of your eye.

He runs his hands down your sides. His touch is a gentle caress. Morpheus hooks his thumbs in the waistband of your silky shorts and tugs them down.

You’re not wearing anything underneath.

In a mesh black bra that’s sheer, ribbons crossing over your rib cage from the band, you feel more bare than if you had been naked. It was the dark look in Morpheus’ eyes. Your entire body flushed, nipples hard.

He made you feel seen.

It’s a heady feeling that goes right to your core, knowing you held all of the Dream Lord’s attention.

The shorts pool at your ankles.

“Must I repeat myself,” Morpheus asks with his usual brand of arrogance which was infuriating, but in these circumstances, incredibly hot.

There was mirth in those glacier blue eyes.

He knows you well.

“No,” you shake your head, leaning forward, your hands on his chest. “My lord,” you whisper sultry near his ear, before sucking on his earlobe.

His breath hitches.

Then you lean back, propping yourself up on your elbows: your feet hang off the bed.

Anticipation curls your toes.

Holding your gaze with his fathomless eyes, Morpheus sinks to his knees. In a fluid motion, he discards his coat, leaving him in a black t-shirt. His arms are all corded muscle.

“Well then,” you ask him with an arched brow. Your voice is steady though the warmth under your skin grows. It’s a rush of blood to the head.

It never got old to see a King on his knees for you. It never got old to see him between your legs.

“Patience,” Morpheus utters, wrapping his hand around your ankle, “I wish to try something.”

You swallow. “Alright,” trusting him implicitly.

He lifts your leg, exposing your pussy to him. He rubs his cheek up your calf, his breath tickling your skin.

You left your other leg, resting your foot on the edge of your bed.

Morpheus kisses the crook of your knee: once tenderly, then again, pressing an open mouth kiss to the same spot.

You sigh, smiling placidly when he grips your thighs, ducking his head down low to suck a kiss on your inner thigh. His wild hair brushes against your skin. He nips at your skin before soothing the indents of his teeth over with his tongue.

The warmth of Morpheus’ breath so near your slit is dizzying. Teasingly close to your core, your cunt throbs with need.

You run your fingers through his hair, laying back entirely. The effort to hold yourself up wasn’t worth it, not when heat coiled deep in your belly. You wanted his mouth against your pussy already.

Shamelessly wanton, knowing how good he could make you feel, you cultch his hair and pull him where you need him.

Morpheus chuckles lowly. “Patience, I will take care of you.” He nuzzles his face against your mound.

Bucking your hips, you whine, “I need you now.” You needed him. Your cunt aches. Both hands curled in his dark locks, you wank him forward again.

You were wet where he’d littered your skin with kisses; you were wet with pooled desire.

“Careful,” he tells you quietly, the self-satisfaction evident in his voice. Morpheus loved having you splayed before him, entirely his. “Be careful what you wish for,” he says with a smug smirk. His hands hold you still against the bed.

The Dream Lord possessed an inhuman strength.

“Morpheus,” you plead, squirming on the bed.

He is unmoved.

“You’re wet,” he observes, nosing at your slit.

“More,” you try canting your hips again but his grip is unmalleable.

“Very well.”

And finally, your toes curled tight, Morpheus drags his tongue up your center.

You suck in a breath.

He slides his tongue into your folds, tasting you. Wetting his fingers in your juices, Morpheus opens you up even more, kissing your core while caressing your folds with his elegant fingers, he eats your pussy proving to be just as needy as you.

You moan his name, “Morpheus!”

Taunt, you arch off the bed when he swirls his tongue, teasing your entrance.

You wrap your legs around his neck, pulling him close, chasing the heat that only he could give you. You burned for him. Your body was a live wire, reacting to his electric touch.

The pressure-pleasure builds.

Morpheus points his tongue, sliding into your wet pussy.

“oOH.” Fuck, you pant. You squeeze your eyes shut. Your thighs bracket his head; he doesn’t complain.

Finding your clit with ease, Morpheus rubs his finger around your bundle of nerves, smearing your own juices around.

Your head is stuffed with cotton. There’s nothing. No one-

Just your pleasure, the tight coil in your core about to burn like a white hot blue giant.

“Morpheus!”

“That’s it my love,” he mummers against your core, “come for me.” Then Morpheus shifts, his tongue finding your clit and fuck-

You’re gone.

The mewls you make, filling the room with the most obscene moans. Your thighs tremble as you break apart for him. The white hot pleasure transforms, leaving you heady and boneless.

You card your fingers through his hair.

Still wacked out, riding the feverish post-orgasmic warmth, you shudder when Morpheus sucks on your clit. It’s too much too soon.

“fuck.” Every ministration runs down your spine like a jolt; his tongue on the bundle of nerves; the pull of your oversensitive clit as he sucks; his teeth grazing such an intimate part of you.

You throw your head back against the bed, unable to move. You can only continue to take the pleasure Morpheus gives you.

“Too. . .it-much,” you gasp.

You try to close your legs, squirming. It’s an impossible task with Morpheus there, between your thighs.

With a wet pop, he lets you go.

When he speaks, his voice is utterly wrecked. “Once more my love.” And he slides two fingers into your soaking cunt.

Your brain short circuits.

Morpheus curls his fingers inside you, before sucking on your clit again.

You bite down on your lip. It was stifling. Every touch a spark of electricity. He thrusts his fingers in and out of you, relentlessly working you into another orgasm.

“I-” you shake your head, unable to form a coherent thought when you feel this amazing, boiled down into a pearl of need. You keen.

“Please,” the King of Dreams requests, “come for me,” as he kneels between your thighs. His grip on your leg is hard. He maneuvers your knee open, no longer clinging to him but giving him ever more access to you.

The change in angle when he strokes your velvet walls with his fingers steals your breath.

Fuck.

Your fingers twist into the bedsheets, holding on for dear life. Your body is aflame.

Morpheus overwhelms you.

His larves through your folds, encircling your clit. It’s a suffocating heat that you can’t get enough of. His touch is unlike any other. His fingers forever cool in your warm wet cunt, your skin buzzed where he gripped your leg, keeping your leg open. The inherent temperature play was delicious.

When he drags his tongue over your clit, fingers stretching your pussy, it becomes too much. Your vision implodes into white nothingness.

You tremble, letting the crashing wave of pleasure drag you under.

“oOHh,” you arch your back off the bed. You tremble as Morpheus continues to work you through your orgasm.

His fingers continue to stroke your walls as your pussy pulsates.

Morpheus leans forward, trailing kisses over your abdomen as you tremble under him.

You let the pleasure course through you, nothing more than a conduit.

He curls his body over yours, meeting your lips with a deep passionate kiss. You taste yourself on his mouth, whimpering when Morpheus pads his thumb over your clit, his fingers curling inside of you.

“aA-” Coherent thoughts are beyond you, let alone speak.

He drags your lip between his teeth.

“Sh,” he soothes against your lips, “you still need to take my cock.”

His words don’t even register.

When he stands, pulling his shirt over his head, an action so mundane it catches you off guard every time you fuck in the Waking World where he can’t pull dream tricks, your legs collapse. Thighs trembling, your legs dangle off the edge of the bed.

Through half lidded eyes, barely able to make sense of anything, you watch Morpheus undo his jeans.

Your skin remains feverishly warm.

“I can’t,” you whine, catching your breath while you watch him pump his cock with his hand.

“You will,” Morpheus states, his voice like the crackling of firewood. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand. You sigh at his cool touch.

Then he slips his fingers into your mouth.

You lick your juices, swirling your tongue over his digits. You suck at his fingers lazily, staring into his clear eyes. Morpheus had such lovely eyes with thick lashes, his pupils blown wide with lust.

“You are exquisite.”

He rolls his hips against yours. You feel his hard cock against your core. You quiver. Overly sensitive, you were an exposed nerve.

Morpheus rubs his cockhead against your entrance, “Look at you,” he groans, taking his fingers from your mouth so he can hear you moan for him, as over sensitive as you are, “I could not have created a better dream.” His touch is sweet relief against your hot skin. “Will you take my cock?” He squeezes your breast.

A tremor runs down your spine.

His ministrations keep you intoxicated with your own pleasure. Even your orgasm had only been temporary relief when he kept stimulating you with a gentle passion: a velvet noose.

“Use your words my love.” Smugness laces his tone.

You whine, biting your bottom lip when his cock nudges against your entrance. It’s all you can do.

Morpheus tweaks your pebbled nipple. “Answer me,” he growls.

“Yea-,” you nod, unable to finish the thought.

It’s all he needs.

The King of Dreams sheaths himself inside you.

You moan, “oOH god,” his cock stretching your pussy deliciously. Having him inside you, his cock twitching as he leans his head back exposing the pale expanse of his neck looking like a living breathing Canova sculpture, pushes you over the brink of another orgasm. Your mind blanks.

It’s just Morpheus: in you, above you, nothing else matters.

Breathily, he notes, “I’m not a god.”

Your toes are curled, you arch further into him, mindless with pleasure. Your cunt flutters around his cock, gripping him tightly as you come.

He fucks into you, his pace hard as always. The extent of his desire for you was on full display when he took you. It wasn’t enough to just fuck you. He had to make you come undone for him; seeing you fucked stupid because of him; knowing it was his touch that left you breathless; that the sight of you nude and tears leaking from your eyes as he thrust into you was for him alone.

You gleamed with sweat, shining brighter than any jewel.

Morpheus drives his hips against yours, bending over your body.

He trails open mouthed kisses over your collarbones.

His cock fills you up, leaving you gasping.

You can’t think.

The pleasure hurts. Your pussy throbs with scorching heat as he drives into you.

Morpheus winds his fingers into your hair, yanking your head back against your bed. He licks a stripe up the column of your neck.

“Ah,” fuck, you moan. Morpheus.

You writhe under him, lost in a haze.

That’s fine with him.

“No clever words,” he utters hoarsely, fingers digging into your scalp. “Have I rendered you speechless?” The Dream Lord savors the words, taking his time on slow deep thrusts. He almost pulls out entirely before pushing in once more.

“You take my cock so well,” he whispers against the crook of your neck, nuzzling you.

Morpheus buries himself inside you, clutching you against him, his hands imprinting themselves into your sides.

He comes inside you.

Hot cum fills your cunt. His orgasmic fever is contagious; he drags you along with him.

You quiver, spent.

Your body sinks into the mattress.

You can’t move, let alone think. You're heavy and hot. Tears continue to stream from your eyes.

Morpheus soothes you, “rest my love.” An attentive lover, he slides his hand under your back and gently settles you further on the bed so your legs no longer dangle limply.

You curl into him, burying your face against his chest.

You’re still trembling.

He rubs your back, “you were so good for me,” he kisses your temple, “rest.”

Dream of the Endless leaves his responsibilities on hold to lay with you.

You give into the the exhaustion lulling you to sleep.

#morpheus x reader #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x you #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman #dream x fem!reader #the giving dream #dream gives good head; i kno this in my heart #it wouldve been fun if i had them continue in a dream once he fucked her asleep

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dreamdaddymorpheus · 2 years

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Don't Blame Me | Dark!Morpheus Headcanon

pairing: dark!morpheus x human!reader warning: dark themes, yandere tendencies, major gaslighting a/n: a continuation of this request and an actual attempt at a headcanon this time. honestly idk how i got here lmao i was trying something new but the writing style is just all over the place :'D i might just stick to what i know but it's done so have it anyway fml you can actually pinpoint the exact moment i gave the fuck up lmao

Morpheus, true to his word, will never refuse you – bar leaving him. That isn’t to say he won’t bargain with you in exchange for your affection. You want freedom to explore The Dreaming? Sit on lap for an hour every day. You want to visit your friends or your family through their dreams? Grant him a kiss. You want to visit the waking world for a day? Spend an entire day with him.

You are to address him as ‘Husband’ or ‘My Love’ at all times. He won’t accept any other terms and if you don’t want him pouty and sulky for days you will learn to oblige him.

He will never force you to lay with him against your will. He will be very tactile with you, of course, run his fingers through your hair, brush his thumb over your lips, pepper your shoulders with innocent kisses – but he will heed you without question as soon as you say ‘No’.

You will never escape him. The sooner you realize that the sooner you’ll see you are, in fact, the one with power over him. He will do anything to please you and gain your love again.

If you have yet to accept him, he will be extra possessive of you and any being he sees to be closer to you than him will be perceived as a threat to his position in your heart.

You learned this the hard way after visiting a friend through their dream and openly expressed how much you missed them. It wasn’t particularly intimate or affectionate, but Morpheus had been most displeased.

“What more must I do to gain even a sliver of your affection?!” He roared then. You remember walking into the heart of his palace to see him sat at the bottom step of his throne, eyes shining with resentment and his lips pursed petulantly. “I have disappointed you, I admit, in keeping you here but what can the waking world give you that I cannot?”

You stared at him in disbelief. Disappointed? Does he truly think you are merely disappointed? “You know what will make me happy.”

Rising to his full height to tower over your from, Dream of the Endless hardens his countenance as well as his heart in the face of his love, “Freedom? You think freedom will make you happy?” You hated the clear mockery in his voice as though you were asking for the impossible. “Very well then, my love.” That should have been the first red flag. Morpheus has never once relented when it came to the subject of your freedom. He bends down to plant an open-mouthed kiss on the top of your hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

The King of Dreams then moved his open palm close to his mouth. He merely returned your look of confusion with a small smile before he exhaled a deep breath, sending a flurry of sand your way. The last thing you heard was “I exist only to serve you.”

Then…freedom. You remembered waking up in your bed, in your room, in your flat. It was bliss. Things were as you left them. You had your friends and your family. At first you feared Morpheus would make himself known to you again and rob you of the joy mundane life brought you. But he never came. Not even in your dreams. That should have been the second red flag.

Things remained the same for a long time – until it wasn’t. It started with little things, like your friends having dreams of you being unkind or inconsiderate. Silly things like that. At the beginning they would share it with you, and you’d all laugh about it. But the dreams would persist, later extending to you being violent to them. Then they’d wake up with physical evidence. What if they weren’t just dreams? They’d all wonder to themselves.

It wasn’t much different for your family – only their dreams would be memories of you. At first, they’d recognize the little changes made in the dream, but they’d experience it each night that eventually it would subconsciously replace their memory and perception of you.

Like that time you went swimming with your cousins when you were all teenagers and one of them almost drown through no fault of yours. Well, now it was your fault.

Or that time your grandmother fell down the stairs and you were definitely at work when it occurred. Well, someone recalled seeing you at the top of the stairs, looking down in delight.

In time your family and friends would slowly turn against you no matter how many times you would try to refute their claims. No, you did not try to seduce your sister’s fiancée. No, you did not hit your nephew. No, you did not kill the neighbour’s cat.

You felt everyone’s stares and heard their whispers, in your hometown; at work; in your building. You felt the weight of their judgement.

“I didn’t do it! I didn’t do any of it!” But the more you insisted the more it sounded like the ramblings of a mad woman. “You have to believe me!” They didn’t believe you.

Your family later institutionalised you, thinking it for the best. Poor Y/N. What happened to her? They’d gossip amongst themselves.

It was when you were sitting in the middle of a padded room with a straight jack forced upon you, a punishment for your misbehaviour, that you finally called out to Morpheus. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”

“Oh, my beloved wife” you heard him say not long after, voice far too sweet to be genuine but you didn’t even care to notice in your grief, “What have they done to you, my sweet” you’d feel a ghost of a hand brush down your cheek, “The Dreaming weeps for its Queen, as do I. Mortals do not deserve you.”

“Please, Morpheus, I want…to go home.”

You thought you heard him purr, but Morpheus had yet to show himself. “Is that truly what you want, my love? I do not want to deprive of you of your…freedom.”

“I was wrong.” You could only continue to sob, so utterly betrayed, “I-I thought they cared…I thought they loved me.”

He materialized in front of you then in a swirl of sand, clad in his glorious robes of black, “Oh, but none could love you as much as I.” He bent down to cup your face in both hands, “Let me worship you, my Queen, as you rightly deserve.”

If you enjoyed this you might enjoy Fire on Fire, a Morpheus and Scarlet Witch!Reader. Very 'you and i against the world' with a dash of 'villain will sacrifice the world for you' vibes lmao (morpheus is not a villain, but he could be for you 👀)

#tag:my work #tag:headcanon #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x you #morpheus imagines #morpheus x reader #dream x y/n #dream x you #dream imagines #dream x fem!reader #dream x reader #netflix the sandman #the sandman imagines

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hunny-beann · 7 months

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You Can; You Will...

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi! This is my first time ever writing for Dream, so if anything seems a bit off or if there are any minor lore issues, please do your best not to pay them too much mind (although absolutely feel free to point them out). That said, I had a lot of fun writing this fic, and I really hope that you enjoy it!

Warnings: Uh angst(?), is Dream himself a warning? Because he should be.

Word Count: 2,644

This had to be torture, surely.

Some evil method of malice created by some long forgotten god of pain.

Why else would Dream have been looking at you so?

Here, sitting in his rotting throne room, upon his crumbling dais, his expression as close to pained as you had ever seen it before.

"You have returned."

He stated matter of factly, though his eyes betrayed the solemn tone that his voice held.

It had hurt him to come back to his realm and find that you had gone with the others, more so than you ever could have anticipated or imagined. You could see it in the way that his fingers gripped at the arm rests beneath them, and in the way that his all encompassing presence seemed to shrink slightly, as if the very particles of him and his power that made up the world beneath your feet were attempting to flee from you.

You swallowed thickly, but managed a nod in spite of your nerves and the heavy weight that bore down upon your heart at the sight of the being before you.

"I have. I did not anticipate it, but I found that I was suddenly overcome with the urge to..."

The words 'go home' died upon your lips before you could say them, because in truth, you were not entirely sure if this realm truly was home anymore, not just for you, but to anything besides the endless sitting before you and his most loyal of dreams and nightmares.

His own creations.

Dream let out a soft hum in response to your words, before he carefully rose into a standing position, his coat swishing at his feet in that familiarly dramatic way that you remembered so painfully at present, and had once recalled so fondly in the past.

Now though, after over a century of having it as only a memory, a longing lodged deep within the confines of your soul, you found that it almost hurt to bear witness to his familiarities again.

You had buried the Morpheus you had once known in all ways but the physical sense, mourned and grieved him as if you had watched his demise with your own two eyes, never having a day pass you by where you did not think of him and the way that his voice had sounded, or that his hands had felt.

And now, he was standing before you so casually, and you could not help but view this figure before you as a caricature, some imposter sent to cause you even more pain than you had already endured.

Being an immortal human was a burden in and of itself, because it meant watching nearly all those that you loved die in the span of a lifetime, which to you, had long since started to feel like nothing in the grand scheme of things.

You had begged Death to take this weight from you, to let time have its way with your body, bones, and soul, but Destiny had seen to it that his sister knew better than to meddle with this particular affair.

A long dead family member had blessed you with what they perceived to be a "gift" long ago.

And now, you suffered while they lay buried in the ground in lands you had not seen nor touched in centuries.

So, once upon a time, Dream had meant everything to you.

Ever since the day you had met him, after once again grovelling with Death to let you go, he had become abundantly special in your eyes.

Because unlike almost everyone else around you, Dream could not die, not from the ticking of any clock, nor the feebleness of his own body.

He was the one thing you believed to be permanent.

And certainly, it had taken quite a while to warm up to the man, and far longer still for him warm up to you, but after enough impromptu meetings in Death's domain over multiple centuries, he had eventually indulged you when you asked hesitantly if you could see his realm, 'the dreaming' as he so fondly referred to it, for yourself.

And oh, what a sight it had been.

Lush rolling lands, fields upon fields of flowers, a palace so tall it seemed possible to view it from miles and miles away...

You had never wanted to leave.

And eventually, you would not have to anymore.

Not after you had fled to the dreaming after losing your very best friend to disease, her death so dirty and without dignity that you could scarcely bare to even consider it.

He had sensed your arrival, of course he had, for the realm was made of the very power that he possessed, but he had not sensed your woes, nor had he anticipated your sudden presence in his crowded throne room, searching for any familiar face that might serve as a reminder that you were not without some semblance of certainty, to prove if nothing else that you were not yet alone.

You had all but collapsed at the foot of his throne, eyes bloodshot and cheeks wet with tears as you regarded him with a pain he was all too familiar with, but had no clue how to comfort you about.

Loss.

'I can't do it anymore.'

You had told him with absolute certainty, hands clenched into fists as you struggled to hold back sobs,

'I can't endure this torture, I feel as if I have died a thousand deaths without ever having experienced even one.'

Morpheus reached forward, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, before he sat back once more, taking note of the way that, simply due to his touch alone, you were now giving him your entirely undivided attention, breaths shaky but eyes wide and trained on him, as if you had never been touched before, or maybe as if you had never expected him to touch you in the eternity that you would experience.

'You can.'

He said, voice steady and eyes cold, though almost determined looking as he spoke.

'You will.'

You felt your eyebrows crease at his words, but Dream simply shook his head slightly before you could even open your mouth to reply.

He watched you for a few moments, before finally, he decided that enough silence had passed.

'If it is easier, you may remain in the dreaming as long as you please. All I ask, is that you do not make me regret my kindness.'

Shocked, you had nodded, before finally mustering up the strength to respond.

'But why?'

You had asked, watching as the being sitting before you sighed, his gaze traveling up toward the ceiling as he spoke,

'You will not have to watch nearly as many crumble to dust here in my domain, and I can see the toll that your immortality is taking on your feeble human mind. My sister has taken a liking to you, and I do not doubt that she would want me to take pity upon your unfortunate circumstances. To preserve someone she calls a friend, I will allow you to reside here until you give me a reason not to.'

And you never had.

For so very long now, hundreds upon hundreds of years, you had remained almost entirely within the dreaming.

You had friends here, nightmares and dreams alike, although truthfully, none captured your attention in the way that Morpheus did.

And none captured his nearly as much as you somehow managed to.

You were close, bound by some firm understanding of one another that never ceased to solidify the fact that the dreaming was your home, the place where you belonged, and Dream the very host that so effortlessly kept you rooted.

Before, there had been almost nothing for you in the way of consistency or rhythm, and now, there was an ebb and flow, a push and pull, a beat to follow, and the biggest surprise of all was that you made up half of each of these things.

Where Dream would ebb, you would flow, where he would push, you would pull, and you so very easily followed along with and eventually even progressed and changed his rhythm in a way that almost made the dreaming feel as if it had two rulers.

The dream lord,

And his once missing other half, the muse of the very land beneath your feet, and of the wind within your hair.

Until one day, that all came to an end.

The king of dreamers left and did not return.

And you could not even dare try and pick up the pieces of his realm that he left behind.

It had been a shameful abandonment, one full of pain and grief, but only a few short years after Dream's disappearance, you grabbed the scarce few items that did not remind you of him or the family that you were leaving behind, and you vanished just as he had done.

At that point, the slow but sure crumbling of the dreaming had only just begun, but your cowardice had won out over your strength, and you'd quickly found that you could not bare to see it shrink into nothingness.

'You can.'

Dream had once told you.

'You will.'

He had assured.

But you could not this time.

You likely would not ever again.

You were not the first to leave the dreaming, not by a long shot.

But your absence and the meaning that it carried rang out loud and clear for all of those who had chosen to remain.

The once so honored and beloved guest of their lord of dreams had chosen her painful mortal world over anything that the realm had left to offer...

And for many, that was all the proof that they needed that their creator would not return.

You were far from the first to leave.

But you were even further from the last.

"Did you lose faith in me?"

Dream asked suddenly, and you felt yourself gasp slightly at the question.

Lose faith in him?

Was that what you had done?

With almost no consideration for the question, you shook your head.

"No."

You said firmly, watching as the endless in front of you tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes boring into your own even from across the room and down the ruined steps,

"Never."

Morpheus took a few steps toward you, and almost instinctively, you moved to lessen the space that lay between before forcing yourself to stop, hands clenched into fists at your sides, the pain of seeing your friend, who you had believed to be dead just hours ago, too great even for longing to overcome.

Dream seemed to notice this, and stopped in his tracks, though he was now far closer than before, only a few short steps away.

"Then why did you leave so easily? Why did you abandon the life that I offered you here if you had the faith required to know that I would someday return to the dreaming? Return to you?"

Your breath shuddered at the implication that he had come back in any part for you, but you chose to ignore his words in favor of fighting off his accusations of faithlessness on your part.

"I left because I could not bear to see this world that you created fall apart around me while I did nothing. It felt as if I were watching another loved one die, and I could not deal after believing that someone had taken your life as well. I was hurting, and I found that it was easier to hurt in the waking world, where pain was familiar, than it was to hurt here, where it never seemed to bite so hard. That is why I left. But I never once lost faith in you."

Dream raised a brow at that last part, and you were quick, to clarify,

"I may have thought you dead, but I did not once believe that if you were alive, you would not come back. My belief that you were dead, my certainty in that regard, came from the immense faith that I have in you, Lord Morpheus, because I could not fathom that you ever could have abandoned us or the dreaming... After years, I ceased being capable of thinking that you were somewhere out there anymore. I did not think it possible for anything to bind you so tightly away from your duties, if not for death herself."

Dream stared back at you in response to your words, as if taking them in for several long moments, before finally he nodded,

"I see. Though I do wish you would have considered the fact that I never would have allowed myself to die knowing what I would be leaving behind."

You sighed exasperatedly,

"But we know that you would not be the first to abandon your post, my lord, not the first to leave something as fickle as your universe given duties behind. Who could have blamed you if you died in spite of these things if others were able to willingly leave them?"

Your voice was small and quiet as you spoke, unsure of how Dream might react to the mention of Destruction, even when the wound was not necessarily new anymore.

You watched as the being before you stiffened, his gaze growing ever so slightly colder, before he spun around and began making his way back toward his throne, his tone firm and serious as he replied, still facing away from you all the while.

"I was not speaking of my duties to the dreaming."

He stated simply, though you could tell by his cadence that his words were anything but.

You sighed, exasperated and fragile after all that had been said thus far,

"Well what else was it that you were leaving behind that was so important that I should have known it would keep you alive then, Dream?"

The lord of the dreaming locked eyes with you as you finished asking this question, cold piercing gaze filling you with a deep regret and an immense longing as he sat upon his throne once more, one long leg crossing over the other as he all but stared into your very soul.

"You."

He said simply, voice low and gaze unwavering as he spoke, watching as that one word alone sent you staggering several steps backward, one hand clutching lightly at your chest as your feeble human mind tried to comprehend all that had happened to you in this one day alone.

"Me?"

You whispered, voice echoing slightly throughout the empty throne room in spite of how quiet it was.

"But I am not-"

"You are everything."

Dream cut you off before you could finish, eyes still boring holes into your own as he continued to watch you from his seat, as if knowing that if he moved any closer now, that you would run, run and likely never return for fear of what any of this meant for you and for the once permanent seeming fixture that Dream had so easily played within your life for so long.

You floundered at those words, vision growing bleary and spotty as you turned to rush out of the room, to be anywhere but this pale comparison of the dreaming, the once beautiful world that you had known for so very long.

You fled your home with tears in your eyes and a hand at your heart.

Dream stayed where he sat upon his throne, and watched your fears consume you again until you faded from view.

He did not try to stop you.

A broken home like this was no place for a fragile soul like yours.

And he could offer you no better than the very world he had once so kindly rescued you from.

#morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #dream x reader #dream the endless x reader #morpheus x y/n #sandman x reader #the sandman x you #dream x y/n #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless fic #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x you #morpheus x f!reader #sandman x female reader #dream x fem!reader #the sandman fic #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus fic

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roguelov · 1 month

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Crimson Stained Petals (Chapter 4)

Summary: Set in the 1880s, rumors and mysteries swirled around a quaint town, mostly about a lord tucked far into the woods. Arriving in town, you could not deny your curiosities, but you were not here to stay. Or so you thought. Low on funds, and a job for a live-in servant advertised in the paper, you now found yourself in the home of Lord Morpheus - the source of all rumors. Passions and tensions will grow. Questions will be answered, but may come at a hefty price. And a promise may be broken. But, is Lord Morpheus, and those few residents, truly as scary as they seem?

Words Count: ~3.4k

Reader: Fem

Warnings: minor angst (dealing with nightmares and depression), mostly fluff, pining, blood (reader gets minor cut)

Chapter 3 and more chapters to come!

Over the few days, Morpheus had noticed a dreary cloud forming and seemingly growing over your head. It casted its gloom and rain dampening your radiance. Your smile was not quite as bright, it barely reached your now sullen eyes. Your presence was no longer felt in every room. Your laughter, your occasional humming, your musical-like steps were gone. You were a shadow, a husk. And big by bit, you retreated from him; you actively avoided him, or so he believed.

“Lucienne,” Morpheus asked one evening.

The pair was in the study. Papers littered all over the desk along with uncapped inkwells and used fountain pens. They poured and poured over the dull necessities of maintaining the bookshop - going over profits, bills, shipments, and new orders.

Lucienne peered at her lord over her glasses quizzically. “Yes?”

“Have you spoken with our dear mortal recently?” Morpheus still stood over the desk and continued to scan over documents, trying not to look bothered by his inquiring question or your sudden change.

“No, I haven’t.”

A tension set in his jaw. “I see.”

Lucienne quickly picked up on Morphues’s displeasure. A smile tugged on the corners of her lips. She was not oblivious to her lord’s far more chirper attitude since welcoming you into the manor. “May I ask what brought up this question?”

“Curiosity,” he replied nonchalantly.

Lucienne hummed, unconvinced. “Curiosity? Or concern?”

Her question stirred a reaction out of him. Morpheus whipped his head, now facing Lucienne directly. “And if I am, is there anything wrong in worrying about her?” His question was one of concern for you, yet his tone in which he spoke was biting - what exactly was Lucienne implying?

Lucienne’s smile only grew. She calmly responded, “No, sir.”

Upon seeing Lucienne’s calmness, Morpheus’s shoulders instantly dropped. His anger was misplaced. All the fight was drained from him, and soon the truth spilled out. “She -“ he sighed - “she does not seem happy and … and I do not know if it is because of living here or because of troubled nights.”

Lucienne thought of how there was an easy solution to his conundrum: he should speak with you. However, she held her tongue this time and instead opted to ask a question regarding you. “Troubled nights?”

“The other night, she spoke of having a nightmare.” Morpheus’s eyes shone with a heavy sorrow. “She … she was utterly frightened, Lucienne. Her fear nearly choked me.”

Lucienne frowned. “I was not aware, but a nightmare is a nightmare. There is not much one can do.”

Morpheus sighed, dropping into his chair. He tipped his head back and stared blankly up at the high ceiling. His heart - ancient and heavily barricaded - ached to see you smile. Just once more, just for a moment. In such a brief period, you had invaded his thoughts. He did not realize he craved it, sought it out, until it was taken from him.

Taken.

It seemed many things were taken from him in recent years. He pushed aside those thoughts and painful memories. He ran his hands over his face then through his tousled hair. Such complex feelings swirled inside his chest and constricted his heart.

“You care for her.” Morpheus lifted his head, looking towards Lucienne. She continued, “Which is never a bad thing, sir. She has brought new life here.”

And in you, she thought.

“I care for all of you,” he answered, dismissing her comment.

“You do, and we appreciate it.”

He raised an eyebrow at the weighted pause at the end of her sentence. “But?”

She smiled to herself. “I believe the care you feel for us and her are different.”

Morpheus frowned. Was he truly so easy to read? Did he truly become enamored with his housekeeper so quickly like a tale of forbidden romance? Did he truly want a partner … or did he want something else? He turned his head away, grumbling to himself.

Care? If one could call it such.

Does a farmer not care for his slaughter? Care, hunger, desire, it all can twist together. They can form into complex knots, making it impossible to tell where one may begin or end.

“For you, my lord.”

A beautiful picturesque rose dripping in a passionate red appeared in front of Morpheus’s face. He was working tediously in his study, and surprisingly failed to hear him. He just appeared, a magical and strange habit of his.

Morpheus blinked, gently taking the rose out of his hand. “Oh, uh, thank you.”

He smiled warmly like a sunny day. His wondrous new grander had already made such a change in the once dismal manor. Colors of all sorts were injected into the very foundation. Flowers bloomed wildly and freely, life blossomed with a new fever. “I thought you might like it, sir. Red suits you perfectly.”

”How do you do it, Lucienne?” Morphues whispered softly, changing the conversation. His voice was filled with sorrow as memories resurfaced. Sweet, painful memories, ones he wished he could forget yet also wouldn’t trade anything in the world for they were more precious than any gold or jewelry.

“Meaning what, sir?”

”To be close to her, to not be affected by her?”

Ah.

”Well, someone taught me control.” Lucienne slowly organized papers. “Someone had once found me in an awful state and was able to bring me back to my senses. Now, part of me cannot bare the smell of human blood without my stomach twisting into disgust.”

Morpheus’s eyes softened.

Lucienne gathered up the papers, ready to part of the night. “A solution to your problem: perhaps you can try to talk to her and cheer her up, sir. I’m sure she would appreciate the gesture.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And how would I do that?”

She chuckled, almost in a knowing way, and strolled out of the study. “I believe you will figure it out, sir.”

The soft click of the door echoed in the now quiet, lonely space. Morpheus peered over to the window with its curtains drawn. Even drawn closed, the setting sunlight streamed through the cracks trying to warm the earth in its last moments. Tilting his head, he saw the surrounding woods fade in the dying light. As his gaze darted around taking in the surroundings, it landed on a corner of dark greens and deep reds. Lucienne’s words replayed in his head. He was on his feet, already looking for you before he fully understood it himself. His feet carried him downstairs towards your room, however he stopped in the dining room. Looking ahead, he instead saw you sitting in the sun room. You were on the couch with your back to him and your head bowed. He immediately changed course.

Quietly, he opened the door. The potted trees and fauna stretched its shadows and created unique jagged shapes. A soft orange bathed over the room. The fractured soft light shone through the glass and casted you in an ethereal halo of twinkling gold.

You were a goddess of light.

As he walked towards you, you did not stir. You had heard him by the high pitched squeak of the door and the faint clacking of the heels on the tile floor. He stopped by your side, peering down at you. “I see you are still reading that book from before.”

You laughed, a quick huff through your nose, and closed the book in your lap. You glanced up at him with a forced smile. “Trying and failing, sir.”

His eyes swept over your face. Gaunt was the first word to come to mind. You appeared gauntly and ragged. Bags were carved under your eyes, and your skin had lost its glow. He pushed on, trying not to dwell and stare at your new appearance. “And what has your mind occupied this time?”

The other night. The nightmares. An unpleasant past. You.

“I suppose a lot of things,” you answered with a heavy sigh.

Morpheus frowned slightly. Yet, he quickly wiped it away, replacing it with a small endearing smile. He extended his hand down towards you. “I know a place to help clear your mind, would you care to join me?”

Your eyes flickered up. His dazzling blue eyes - contrasted against the golden dazzling air - only showed kindness and a hint of concern. You should refuse, you should stay or perhaps return to your room for the night, but … but how could you say no? Not when he looked at you in such an alluring way, and not since he piqued your deep rooted curiosity. You carefully set the book aside on the plush cushions, and placed your hand in his. “I would love to.”

Morpheus’s smile grew as he drew you up to your feet. “Wonderful.”

He hooked your arm through his and guided you forward. Together, you walked out through the back entrance of the sun room, heading directly for the rose maze. The sun had dipped below the horizon, however its last bits of rays faintly colored the sky. Oranges and pinks still stained the vast canvas known as the sky. They desperately clung behind as rich purples, dark blues, and an all consuming black began to drip down coating all corners. The moon, perfectly sliced in half, already shone in the dimming sky. Its companions, stars, began to twinkle and fill the empty space for the moon was never alone. The rose maze, under this changing light, was mysterious. The greens almost appeared black, while the reds were embers of a dying fire. Excitement buzzed across your skin. Your heart flipped, nearly dropping into your stomach. It was all so thrilling to finally set food inside, and to be by Morpheus’s side as your guide.

Even if you shouldn’t, even if a logical part scolded you.

Morpheus drew you close as you approach the entrance of the maze. “Now, stay close. At night, it can be tricky to navigate.”

There was a hint of humor in his voice as if he was trying to spook you. You chuckled, shaking your head, “Really? Is that your plan? To take me in and do what you want without anyone seeing?”

He laughed, a deep rich laugh that vibrated in your own chest. “You have me figured out.”

You smiled, a true genuine smile. It returned as if it never truly left. It was nice to be joking and laughing with him. It was surprisingly so easy, like two friends and nothing else.

No titles, no past.

Stepping into the maze was stepping into another world. The maze hedges were easily seven feet tall and two or three feet wide, it fully blocked out the world the further you walked in. The hedges were cut and trimmed to perfection. No branch stuck out, only roses. And the roses? Gorgeous with no flaws. There were full roses with their petals spread out to greet you, there were buds still closed waiting for their time, and there were roses in every stage of blooming covering almost every inch of the hedges. The sweet floral aroma tickled your nose and filled the air.

You hummed, pleased by the scent.

Morpheus peered over at you, taken by your wide curious eyes. Your eyes darted all around, fascinated by it all, memorized by its beauty. Strolling further in, he followed the correct path leading to the center of the maze. His stride did not hesitate, but only slowed when your eyes longingly lingered back on all the passing flowers.

Best of all, and to your surprise, there weren't only red roses.

No, the deeper you walked the red stayed, yet yellows, pinks, and whites were slowly incorporated into the mix. A beautiful blend, and various shades, of warm inviting colors. It was like a storybook, a scenery plucked from a far off prosperous kingdom. Tempted by their beauty, you reached out, running your fingers along the soft petals. It was fine silk, or like a cloud.

“Careful -“

You hissed, stopping in place. A thorn had pricked your thumb.

Morpheus instantly frowned and moved in front of you. He carefully took your hand, examining your thumb. It was nothing to be concerned about. An insignificant prick, no worse than a paper cut. A small dot of blood began to well up. The dot sparkled like a certain ruby pinned to his tie. Before he could stop himself, Morpheus brought your thumb up to his lips. His lips - soft and gentle - pressed into the pad of your thumb kissing it.

Your heart flipped in your chest.

Morpheus’s eyes glanced up, locking with yours. A look flashed across his eyes, a look which could only be described as hunger. He nearly knocked the wind out of your lungs by such a simple look. He pulled away and dropped your hand. Turning his back to you, he mumbled, “Apologies for my behavior.”

He licked his lips, tasting the tiniest bit of your blood. He had to suppress a groan. It was truly addicting, like a newly discovered liquor he could happily get drunk off of each and every night.

“I have an older sister who used to do such a thing if any of us were injured. It’s a habit I unknowingly picked up,” he explained.

No, not explained but excused. It wasn’t necessarily a lie. However, it was a lie he told himself and you, rather than admit the aroma of your blood tempted him to act.

“It’s okay,” you muttered, feeling your heart skip in a way you had never felt before. “I should have known better.”

Morpheus wanted to say something, wanted to do something. He wanted to draw you close, he wanted to wrap his arms around your waist, he wanted to nuzzle his face into your neck, he wanted to hear you say his name over and over, he wanted to -

“Please,” he cleared his throat, “I would refrain from running your fingers over them. The thorns are quite sharp, and we needn’t any more accidents. Come, the center is up ahead.”

He walked - no, marched - ahead, and did not bother looking back to see if you were following.

Your lips thinned in thought. You silently followed him as this bizarre tension hovered in the shared space. The only sounds were the crunching of both of your shoes against the pebbled path. You eyed Morpheus’s back curiously and with some trepidation. He had once again pulled away from you. He showed you such kindness, yet almost scared by something he backed off. Why? What frightened him? What thoughts floated around in that head of his?

Why do you care, a voice called out.

You tensed a little. Why did you? It was so pointless and idiotic, especially when -

“We’re here,” Morpheus said. He rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

Skirting around the hedge, you let out a small gasp. The pebbled path opened up. The space was carved into a perfect circle, with patches of lush full grass that tempted any tired feet to rest. One could lay and gaze up at the stars, or have a picnic in the high sun. However, most would turn to the concrete benches that surrounded the showstopper: a fountain at the very center. The fountain - smaller than the one in front of the house, yet had four tiers compared to the three - had dozens upon dozens of rose petals floating across the surface. Peering up, the moon looked back down at you in this secret oasis smiling. Its light rippled in the water, scattering its reflection. With the various colors from the roses, and the moonlight’s, it glittered here like a treasure trove.

It was breathtaking.

Morpheus glanced over his shoulder back to you. His heart lurched forward. You looked so beautiful under the moonlight. You slowly approached the foundation, dipping your fingers into the cool water. You picked up a petal, admiring it before setting it back into the water. A smile never left your lips. Any issues, any problems from before, were gone. Each of you solely existed in this moment. Morpheus felt his heart being drawn to you, bound to you. Anything you wanted, anything to keep you smiling, he would do.

What a frightening and thrilling feeling, so familiar yet so foreign to him.

You moved and sat down on the bench, watching as the water spilled over the tiered edges and as petals spun and danced on top of the water. The sounds of the water splashing, and trickling, was hypnotic and soothing. You sighed dreamily and murmured to yourself, “What a beautiful place.”

“It is.” You turned your head, looking up at Morpheus. His eyes were directly on you as he spoke, you always seemed to get his full attention. He smiled softly. He produced a rose from behind his back - a pure white rose that glittered like snow under the moonlight. He sat beside you on the bench, “May I?”

“Yes.”

He leaned forward, tucking the roses behind your ear. As he drew back, his nimble fingers skimmed along your jaw. His eyes softened. You truly were a fresh change in his life, a well needed change. You had taken his heart in the short time you worked here with your humor, your wit, your curiosity, and your kindness. He was smitten for deep in his heart he was a hopeless romantic.

He turned away from you, looking to the fountain. Your heart skipped. His touch burned across your skin. You reached up, touching the soft pure white petals. A smile crossed your lips as you stared at the multifaceted lord.

“I suppose I have to admit I do have an ulterior motive for asking you to join me,” he began.

“Oh?” You titled your head. “And what would that be?”

To see you smile again, he thought.

“I have a question to ask, a request, and I did not want anyone else to listen in.”

You leaned forward, silently waiting.

He bowed his head, and dare you say appeared to be almost shy. It surprised you to see him in such a way. He peered up at you with a cluster of unreadable emotions on his face. “I would like to ask if you would join me to attend my dear friend’s party.”

“What?” You breathed out.

“I want you to accompany me to Hob’s party, if you so wish to join me.”

“I … I am unsure. I am just taken back by your offer.”

“Do you truly find it so surprising?”

“Given my employment to you, I suppose I do,” you joked lightly.

“If you wish, think of it as a bonus for your wonderous upkeep of the manor.” He searched in your eyes hoping to find his answer. “So? Do you accept?”

You smiled softly, “How could I pass up such generosity? Yes.”

Lucienne was right. Morpheus knew exactly what to do.

Shortly after his surprising offer, Morpheus explained he will take care of anything. He will find a dress for you for the night, and pay all expenses - you reluctantly agreed after much arguing.

Soon, arm in arm again, he guided you out of the maze, and towards your room for the night. He paused in front of you, hovering slightly as if something weighed on him, as if he wished to say something else. His lips parted, but he just bowed his head. “Goodnight, I hope you have sweeter dreams tonight.”

“Thank you,” you bowed your head.

Say something, do something.

Instead, you just simply smiled. “Goodnight, sir.”

You twisted around to go into your room when a hand latched around your wrist. You suppressed a shiver at his cool hand. You peered over your shoulder looking down at the hand then slowly your eyes trailed up to see Morpheus’s wondrous blue eyes.

“Please,” he whispered softly, “when it is just us, call me Morpheus. No need for such formalities.”

Your heart fluttered, like a hummingbird. “Of course. Morpheus. Goodnight.”

His eyes twinkled, utterly overjoyed. A smile spread over his lips. He gently let go of your wrist and stood back with perfect posture. He bowed his head again, “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

You turned, finally stepping into your room. You gently shut the door as a giddy feeling washed over you. Morpheus’s footsteps soon faded away. You sighed, dreamily. Taking the rose from behind your ear, you floated over to the nightstand by your bed. You gently laid it down. Your fingers traced over the petals, unable to stop smiling. Maybe later you will get a cup and water for it. Your eyes, however, soon caught a folded piece of paper on the stand. Your smile faltered. Picking it up and unfolding it, your mother and father smiled back up at you. You folded the picture again. You tucked it under the beautiful white rose.

Just a little longer, you thought. I promise.

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