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dotieeee · 2 years

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The Dream That Got Away

Chapter 1

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x You (no Y/N!)

This is a multi-chapter fic — updates will be erratic, but I’ve outlined almost everything in this fic, so you have my word I’ll complete this

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Link to the Masterlist

Overall Warnings!! Take heed:

Morpheus is DARK – in canon, he changes for the better (or at least, tries to – but we don’t do canon lol, so he goes even more batshit crazy) cue obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, powerplay

18+ ONLY – explicit scenes will be present, some explicit language

DUB-CON and NON-CON scenes

Character death (sort of)

Creator vs Creation drama

And other dark stuff that may be added in the future

This chapter’s warnings:

mild voyeurism

intense stares lol

reader hearing voices

You have been warned!! Proceed with caution!!!

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Chapter 1: The Firsts of Many

Link to the Next Chapter

It's your creator’s eyes that you first see when you open yours – eyes that seemingly contain the entire universe in them, so blue, so warm, so tender. They look at you with so much adoration, you couldn’t help but smile and lean to the warmth of his palm caressing your cheek. He returns your smile with equal fervor. The first time you hear his voice, so deep and velvety and hypnotic, he gives you a name, ‘Mera.’

“My little dream, you’re beautiful. You’re perfect.” You watch his lips move as he utters his praise to his own creation.

You bask is his touch, noting how you had no right to be called ‘perfect,’ when he stands, regal in his own beauty, breathtaking and ethereal. He gives you a function which you take by heart – you are to inspire mortals to put passion in what they do and help them find what they’re truly looking for in their lives while they sleep and roam in his realm, your home, which he calls the Dreaming.

“For I am Dream of the Endless, the King of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realm.”

Your first words are of utter reverence and gratitude. “My Lord and my King, I owe you my life. Do as you will with it.”

You watch as Dream’s eyes light up with an emotion you have yet to learn the meaning of. Unbothered, you place your hand on the one still cupping your face gently, as you quietly declare your devotion to the purpose he gave you for his realm and his dreamers. You decide to pointedly ignore that faint ringing in your ears, that voice at the back of your mind, quietly telling you that something was amiss and cautioning you to tread lightly in his presence.

***

You grow accustomed to your tasks in the Dreaming in no time. Like you’ve been doing it for millennia, Merv snidely remarks. You’ve gotten to know him, Lucienne, the royal librarian, and the other residents of the realm. When you weren’t attending to the humans in their dreams, you spent most of your time in the Royal Library, ardently absorbing every book you could get your hands on. Who wouldn’t, when every book that humanity has ever written and continue to write is there, waiting to be plucked from the tall, expansive shelves and perused by eager, hungry eyes? You have grown to love the humans, so in your wish to serve them better and inspire them even more in their dreams, you bury your nose in their creations, imagining yourself present in their victories and defeats, their lives, and their deaths.

This is how your master finds you one night in his library: lounging comfortably on one of the high-backed leather sofas, your back resting on one of the armrests and your legs dangling over the other, so engrossed in the novel you were reading you don’t register his presence. His eyes linger a little longer on the way your dress had hiked up to your thighs while you were so cosily reading – he hesitates, not wanting to disturb you from your book. He diverts his gaze away from your exposed flesh to your face, scrunched up in concentration. He notices the way your eyelashes flutter as you blink slowly, the way you lick your lips and rub your eyes, to him a subtle sign that you were trying to stave off sleep in favour of the tome. He needs to remedy this; he does not want you overworking yourself.

“You should be resting, my little dream.”

Startled, the book slips from your hand as you sit upright and adjust your dress – damn if he sees you in such a state, you can’t have a member of the Dreaming staff behave so uncouthly, and right in front of the Creator, no less!

“My lord! My apologies, I didn’t notice you enter.”

Picking up the book you dropped, you belatedly realize that you hadn’t even bookmarked the book! You couldn’t help the huff of annoyance that escapes your lips as you set the book down on the coffee table right in front of the sofa. You look to Dream’s face, expecting a reprimanding scowl to greet you, only to see mild amusement glinting in his eyes.

“You need not apologise. I did not mean to take you by surprise and tear you away from your reading.”

He takes a few steps closer to the other couch across where you’re perched, the ghost of a smile lingering on the corners of his mouth. “May I?” he asks, gesturing to the sofa.

You flash your own tired smile at him. “Of course. It’s your couch, My Lord.”

You watch him as he sits on the leather couch and lean back comfortably with the grace of a true monarch. He picks up one of the books piled high on the coffee table, ones you’ve already finished, observing the cover before setting it back down.

“It gives me great pleasure to see you’re living up to your name, my Mera.”

You shoot him a questioning look, but his eyes just twinkle with fondness and pride before he gently amends, “Lucienne has told me how you have been ardently immersing yourself in the dreams and works of the dreamers in your desire to improve your craft. I expect no less from my own creation.”

At this praise you beam shyly, fidgeting at one of the sofa’s armrests.

“However, I should also like my little dream to take sufficient rest and look after her well-being.”

You are touched at his tender reprimand – despite his often-intimidating nature, you know that deep-down, he genuinely cares for his subjects. You, however, can’t find it in you to give in to his request just yet – you had only a few more pages left of the chapter you were reading! So you muster up the courage to ask, “Please, my Lord, can I finish the last pages of the chapter, at least?”

“Just a few more pages?” He replies with a tiny smirk, raising an eyebrow.

You give him a tiny nod, your own smile growing, already knowing that he’d relent at your small behest.

Morpheus knows all too well that he will never be able to resist granting you whatever you wished for. How could he when you’ve been so gracious to his precious little dreamers? When you were pleading him in this demure way he finds so endearing? A few more pages were nothing compared the burden he has given you and will be giving you in the near future.

“Very well. Just a few more pages.”

He sees the way your eyes light up in pure joy as he gave you the permission to continue with your book. He would give anything within his power if it meant that light would grace him for eternity.

“Thank you, Lord Morpheus. And thank you for your concern for my well-being, I shall try not to overwork myself too often.”

The last part of your sentence barely registers to the Endless, as he relishes the feeling of his name on your lips, fighting the sudden urge to kiss them until they were numb and raw. He thanks the Fates you were once again lost in your book, for he’s sure the look on his face would have surely betrayed the whirlwind of emotions he’s feeling at that very moment. Feigning interest on the book he picked up earlier, he props it open on his lap, lifting the pages every now and then, pretending to read – all the while observing you, listening to your breathing, taking you in, revelling in the comforting silence that now permeated the library.

It isn’t long after he notices that your breathing has gone deeper and more relaxed. He rises to his feet and walks over to your form hunched on the sofa, removing the book now covering your face. He smiles to himself when he sees you, fast asleep, noting how exhaustion finally took over your determination to finish whatever was left of the chapter you were on. He remembers to mark the page with the bookmark attached to the book’s spine, then sets it on the coffee table. He stares at your sleeping form for what seems like ages, debating whether or not it’d be acceptable at this stage to pick you up and transport you to his chambers where you’d rest under the warmth of his own bedcovers. Deciding it was far too early and far too bold a move, he conjures a soft, woolen blanket out of thin air and drapes it over you, making sure it warmed your entire form. Longingly, he traces your lips ever-so-gently with his fingers, then your cheeks, before placing a soft, chaste kiss on your forehead.

“Sleep well, little dream of mine.”

With that soft farewell, he leaves the library quietly so as to not rouse you from your dreamless slumber. One day soon, he pledges to himself, you will fall asleep in his arms under the endless expanse of stars that littered the universe.

***

Your day was just as eventful as any day in the Dreaming. You had finished attending to your duties, conjuring inspiring thoughts in the dreamers you graced your presence with. You take a walk in one of the many gardens within your King’s palace, finally deciding to pause and take a breather by sitting on one of the benches overlooking the breathtaking sunset now gracing the entire realm.

Out of the many gardens within the palace grounds, this is your absolute favorite. Not many residents of the Dreaming frequent this garden, with the exception of Merv occasionally tending to the flower beds; it offers one of the best views of that orange-purple sunset under which you love basking in the glow – it makes for the perfect place where you can reflect on the dreams you have helped the humans form in their sleeping hours. You allow your thoughts to drift from the beauty of the garden to the memory of the first dream, the first human you helped inspire.

The Dream Lord had just created you then. After showing you around his realm, he walked with you to the ocean of dreams, where all his little dreamers dreamed their little dreams. Your breathing quickened at the sight of the vast waters, not wanting to find out what would happen if you got lost in them. Lord Morpheus, sensing your apprehension, took your hand in his.

“Fear not the waters, my little dream. I am the master of this realm, and you, my beloved creation. No harm shall befall you in my own kingdom.”

You remember looking to your lord’s face, soft and reassuring. You didn’t want to disappoint him on your first day, so you steeled your resolve. You gave him a firm and determined nod, and with that, hands still interlocked, you dove headfirst.

The moment you were fully submerged in the cold, dark sea, you were hit with a violent wave of emotions and vivid visions – the dreams, you reminded yourself. You were in the dreams of hundreds of millions of sleeping beings of all sorts. You could hear them, feel what they were all feeling, see what they were seeing in their sleep – flashes of love and hate, of rage and joy, bitterness and jealousy; glimpses of their pasts, present, and imagined future. In a daze you saw thousands upon thousands of unfamiliar faces of the people in their lives: enemies, friends, lovers, family – all passing you by at a speed you could barely comprehend. You felt as if your body was being intensely pulled in all directions. You found the entire universe’s collective unconscious suffocating you, swallowing you whole, so you close your eyes and let it take you.

Until you felt a pair of strong arms gather you close their body and their lips whisper in your ear.

“Careful not to let them consume you, my little dream, and concentrate. Now, let your intuition guide you and draw you to your first dreamer.”

Clinging unto him like a lifeline, you took a deep breath and looked to the seemingly unending streak of ideas, sounds, events, sensations, faces - of everything humanity has to offer – and hone in on the quiet bubbling of a pot over a crackling fire. The moment you willed yourself to the sound, you felt a tug in your belly button, and you fall, fast. The fall was dizzying, endless – but so was the hand holding yours, you reminded yourself. Just when there seemed to be no end to the fall, your felt your feet touch solid ground. You would’ve fallen unceremoniously to it, too, had your creator not anchored you on the waist with his hands and held you still. Mind still fuzzy at your journey which seemed to last for mere seconds and eons at the same time, you looked up to him, marvelling at how he seemed unmoving, unfazed, unbothered with all that you’ve just witnessed.

Is this how he feels all the time, cradling the entire Dreaming in his wake? It was then that it dawned on you the burden he bears, which he bears alone, until the universe passes and is no more. It was then that you understood how his responsibility was infinitely greater than the mere purpose he has given you.

“You did well, my Mera.” His eyes bore into yours, twinkling with great pride.

Not knowing what to say – you’ve just peeked into all of humanity’s dreams for the first time in your existence, no big deal – you manage a small “thank you,” still feeling hazy from…whatever that was you just experienced.

Mentally shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you looked around the place, the dream, you just brought yourselves to. You were in the corner of a large kitchen, facing a long table that was filled with an assortment of fresh vegetables, fruit, and meat, waiting to be cooked. A huge chopping block with neatly cut beetroots laid at the far corner of the table, a sign that someone was just there cutting away and had left momentarily. Your eyes found the pot that drew you to this dream, hanging from a metal beam in the large cooking hearth to your side, its contents happily bubbling away. The kitchen was bright, homely and inviting. It also seemed like it should have been teeming with life, full of people bustling about, trying to get their own cooking done and getting errands out the way. Oddly enough, it was empty, save for a little girl quietly ogling at the sizable collection of dried spices and herbs in tiny glass jars arranged tidily in a cabinet twice her size.

“I see you’ve brought us to the dreams of Lavinia Baxter.”

Dream of the Endless let go of his hold on you, keen to see you perform for the first time. With his hand, he motioned to the little girl, about 10 years of age, who seemed oblivious to your presence.

You walk leisurely around the kitchen, taking in every detail of the little girl’s vivid imagination. Without making a sound, you both watch Lavinia as she opened the spice cabinet. She took one little spice jar out at a time, opening them and taking in each of the smells, seemingly trying to take her pick. She finally decided with two of them, clutching them in her small hands and walking to the pot of stew on the hearth. With practiced dexterity, she placed some of the herbs in her palms, rubbing them together before they fell in the pot. She then stirred the pot with a wooden ladle and, looking around her like she was making sure no one else was there, put the ladle to her lips to taste the stew. The door to the kitchen suddenly bursts open, and out came a short, plump woman in her late 40s, who, upon laying her eyes on the little girl who looked guilty at getting caught, burst into a jovial laughter, and strode over to where little Lavinia was.

“Well, well, caught red-handed! How does it taste, my sweet?” the woman asked her, hands on her hips.

Lavinia let out an adorable giggle and handed the ladle to her, urging her to have a taste. She accepted the ladle and tasted the sauce still coating it, while the little girl watched with anticipation. The woman’s expression changed quickly from curiosity to one of delight.

“Why, I see you have made some adjustments to this! It tastes absolutely fantastic,” she exclaimed, which made Lavinia smile so broadly it seemed to brighten up the kitchen even more.

“I added some of these,” she quips, showing the woman jars she took out from the spice cabinet.

The woman nods in approval, praising her, “You have a fine sense of smell, my lady. I think we oughtta add that to the recipe book, don’t ya? Where’s a quill when you need one…ah, right over there!” She pointed to the quill and the bottle of ink on a small desk by the window.

From her apron, she fished out a black, leather-bound book the size of her palm, while Lavinia retrieved the quill and handed it to her. She proceeded to tell the woman how much she added to the stew while the other wrote it down on the book.

This is a memory, you realize. Lavinia’s memory, unfolding right before you, moved you so deeply you almost forgot you were there to work. She seemed to have so much passion for cooking at a very early age, for you felt within your bones the sheer elation that never left her eyes as she interacted with the woman with the black book.

“Little Lavinia has fond childhood memories of Millie, her household’s head cook.” Dream mentioned, breaking his silence, and striding over to where you were. “She spent more time with her, more than she did her own mother.”

The woman called Millie leapt to her feet all of a sudden. “My dear God, look at the time. You better hurry, my sweet, your husband might be waiting for you.”

Lavinia, nodding with a put-out expression, took dainty steps toward a door on her right that wasn’t there before. You and your master followed her as she led you to the next room, where, as you gleaned, the next part of her dream was to take place.

“Husband?” You turned to Dream with a puzzled face, walking together to the room Lavinia just entered. As the door closes itself behind you, he gestures around the room.

“Observe.”

And you did. The room you were in now was rather dark, with the thick brocade curtains drawn over the windows to block the sunlight. It was a study, it seemed, filled wall-to-wall with books, not unlike the ones you can find in the Royal Library. The study itself was rather small and bare, with a desk in the middle and a singular lamp illuminating the entire place. The desk was almost empty, except for a single, framed photograph. Behind the desk sat Lavinia, staring blankly to the wall – except she was no longer the 10-year-old girl from the other room, but a young woman, face forlorn and tear-stained, far too weary-looking for someone of her age.

“In the waking world, Lavinia, barely twenty-three, lost her husband to a shipwreck not a mere three weeks ago. Misfortune has seemed to follow her since then, for not a week after, she finds out her husband’s estate has left her barely nothing to live by. She has not only found herself to be a widow, but one doomed to poverty.” Dream’s words echoed in the study hauntingly, adding to the melancholic atmosphere.

You glanced at the photograph of a finely dressed young man with kind, smiling eyes. Your heart hurt for Lavinia. You moved to reach for her hand to comfort her, but Dream shakes his head.

“You are meant to inspire, my dream, not provide solace to the mourning.” Dream gently reminded you.

“Where can I begin, then, My Lord?” your whisper. You wanted with all your heart to help Lavinia, but you to be honest, you were quite lost.

With a knowing sparkle in his eyes, he waved his once more around the study. “Begin here, where she has brought you. You need only trust yourself.”

You stifled the huff you were sorely tempted to let out. Your master obviously wasn’t willing to provide you anymore hints than the rather vague one he just gave you, so you wracked your brains for something, anything, that might help the grieving young woman before you.

Come on, Mera, think. What does Lavinia love so much, one that might prove enough to at least bring back happiness to her life and help her get her shit together?

You knew the answer even before you finish the question in your head. With a steely look on your face, you strode over to the walls lined with books, caressing their spines, eyes scanning the shelves until you found just what you were looking for: Millie’s little black book. The leather was peeling off in small patches at the corners, the pages were browned, and it needed some dusting, but it looked like it was rummaged through many times and handled with so much love and care.

With deliberate force, you threw the book across the room, hitting her squarely in the face. You hadn’t meant for it to land there, but before you could say something to apologize (forgetting you hadn’t appeared to her yet), Lavinia, cursing with surprising ease, takes one look at the book and lets out a light chuckle which comes out hoarse, a sign that she hadn’t let one out since the news of her husband's passing.

Before you could celebrate your success at making her laugh, your expression turned to mild horror as she broke down into tears, hugging the book close to her heart.

“L-looks like you caught me red-handed again, M-Mi..Millie,” she choked between her sobs.

You looked to your Lord, who was taking in the scene before him with mild mirth. “I made it worse!”

“You think?” vaguely he gestured once more to the weeping widow. “Look at her again.”

This time, you paid closer attention to her face. She was crying, that’s true, but now a wide smile graced the corners of her mouth, and in your relief, there was a tiny hint of that twinkle in her eyes you saw light up the kitchen in Millie’s presence. It was a small spark, but you knew with every fiber of your being that that was the spark she needed to get her life back together.

You looked at your master directly in the eyes, wanting validation. Dream, his smile now as wide as yours, stares back with pride at your first successful dream, and with the same intense emotion he looked at you with when you first declared your life was his. He drew closer (how is he this fast) to you, never breaking eye contact. Face mere inches away from yours, he spoke with all the authority only an Endless can possess.

“You did well today, my Mera. You make a fine addition to my Realm.” His fingers ghosting over your cheek, he asks you, “Can I count on you to continue fulfilling the purpose I gave you for the Dreaming, and for me?”

Savouring your master’s praise of your first handiwork, you responded without hesitation: “Yes, my King.”

Dream of the Endless seemed to relish your words. His gaze grew more intense and you felt engulfed in it. Without warning, that voice at the back of your head let out a resounding screech, so loud in your brain you flinched, breaking your eye contact with your Lord.

Morpheus seemed to recognize this momentary slip. In a split-second, he waves his hand and declares, “This dream is over.”

With no time to ruminate on your subconscious’ reaction, you felt that all-too-familiar tug in your bellybutton, signaling your return from the ocean of dreams.

***

“Hey, kid! Are you gonna be there for longer? I got work to do there!”

Merv’s voice is enough to shake you from your musings. Finding the sunset’s glow a little too bright to look to see his form, you turn to your left you where his voice came from, squinting.

“Are those new flowers, Merv?” You call to him.

“Yeah, boss said this garden needed new ones.”

You get up to leave Merv with his gardening, but not before something black moving out of the corner of your eye catches your attention.

It’s him, that voice in your head whispers. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you get this strange feeling that you’re being watched.

Heart pounding, you inspect the area where the flash of black should’ve been, but you find nothing there. The voice is making you unnecessarily paranoid. You really shouldn’t be entertaining this.

Wanting to soothe yourself from that mentally induced little fright, you walk back into the palace, your feet automatically going for the Royal Library.

The library is quiet today, as any day. You wave ‘hello’ to Lucienne, who greets you with a grin and a nod in your general direction. You originally wanted to make a conversation with her about anything just to get your mind off your frazzled nerves, but she seemed too busy with sorting what seemed like new books that appeared in the Realm. You decide to spare her from listening to your pointless ramblings, and instead go to the L section. You pull up Lavinia Baxter’s books from the shelf and make a beeline for your favourite reading spot. Curling into a ball on the leather couch and setting the other book down, you flip through the pages of the one you’ve read probably a dozen times.

You may be biased, but your favorite dreams of Lavinia’s were the ones after your unconventional visit. Since then, she has renewed her passion for making sumptuous dishes, spending her almost all of her waking hours experimenting with new ingredients and coming up with recipes of her own. Her dreams have since reflected this wonderful turnabout, prompting you to visit her again multiple times to help her with desserts, something you noticed she struggled with. It wasn’t long before the other book you grabbed from the shelf materialized in the realm, with bold letters on the cover that read “Lavinia Baxter’s 19th Century Guide to Household Cookery.” Your heart sang with delight at its appearance, knowing you inspired her well enough to publish her own cookbook, without even showing her your true form.

Setting aside Lavinia’s book of dreams, you pick up the cookbook and flip it to the dedication page.

To my dearest Millie,

Thank you for visiting me in my dreams and smacking me in the face with your little recipe book. You have no idea how that saved me.

You trace the words on the page lovingly. Suddenly –

Watch out. The voice is back.

Shut up! You hiss back at it.

Great. There it is again, that sensation of being watched. Cursing mentally, you close Lavinia’s recipe book and hold it close, hugging it like it could help that uneasy feeling disappear. Closing your eyes, you will yourself to succumb to your fatigue and fall into a blissful, dreamless slumber.

Yet those normally blue eyes, almost silver now with the barely restrained need to take, never leave your sleeping figure.

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Link to the Next Chapter Author’s note:

I know this chapter was exceedingly long and I can’t guarantee that the next ones will be as long as this, but I can assure you I will do my very best to make it as engaging as I can. As a first-time fic writer, now I know how other fic writers feel when a fic consumes their entire soul and refuses to leave your thoughts until it gets written lmaooo

This chapter is just trying to establish how Mera’s life is like after being created by Dream. More Dark!Morpheus to come as he shows his true intentions to you!

Please comment, reblog and engage!! I’d love to hear your feedback, predictions, violent reactions lol

Special shoutout to @queenshelby @endlessdreamqueen2 encouraging me to finally pen this, as well as to other Dark!Morpheus fic writers whose fics I’ve had the pleasure of reading (and rereading!)

Thank you!

Post date:10/23/22

Edited: 10/23/22

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