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thevampiremarie · 6 months ago

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treehouse chapter 34 (tumblr version)

🔞 Dream of the Endless I Lord Morpheus x reader 🔞

Unplanned pregnancy, SMUT

In the Waking World, Morpheus finds the cure to your recent ailment. Read on AO3 here.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, MALIGAYANG PASKO, HAPPY HOLIDAYS, AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALL! THANKS FOR READING I LOVE YALL SO MUCH! One of my fav things about fanfiction is that oftentimes it can be a more ethical way to consume certain media, especially when the original creator is exposed for doing fuck shit. So consider this guilt free, cruelty free, organic Sandman! This chapter takes place canonically at a made up lake in the Philippines, which I modeled after Lake Sebu. Lake Sebu is notable for its significance to the local indigenous T'boli tribe, who are known as the Dreamweavers. Traditionally T'boli women weave t'nalak, a sacred textile made up of patterns that come to the T'boli weavers at night in their dreams. Thus Lake Sebu is known as the cradle of the Dreamweavers. Additional note: I had to change my usernames everywhere because I was being cyberstalked. As a result I accidentally broke all of my masterlist links, I fixed them

Reader POV:

Shortly after you lose yourself in the pale ivory maze of halls and doorways that capture you the second you step beyond the confines of your chamber, Morpheus finds you.

These halls are a labyrinth without a single splash of color to relieve the oppressive, endless uniformity. White tiles and black tiles forming a checkerboard pattern, then you turn down a path constructed of ivory and ivory alone, another of deep black granite without a shade of light or a window to relieve the deep shadows drowning you.

You hold your hand to your temple to stop the pressure building in your skull, pain churning through your nerves like white-capped waves. Your fingers come back damp with sweat.

It feels as though you’ve been swept away. Carried around the Dreaming by forces you can hardly comprehend, much less control.

Are you still asleep in your feather bed?

“Wake up,” You whisper to yourself. “Wake up.”

“You’re awake,” A deep voice says. The sound distorts between the skewed, unnaturally-placed walls.

You turn on your heel and find yourself face to face with the source of that displeased, rather put out voice.

Morpheus crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against a pillar with pursed lips. “I’ve been looking for you, darling. I had an interesting conversation with Johanna Constantine.” The blush drains out of your face.

Before you can respond, your stomach contracts and twists into itself. Before you even realize it you’re bent over in two, watching the apple cider splatter out of your mouth and onto the floor.

His cool hands pull your loose hair away from your face and back behind your head. “Hardly my best look,” You mumble as you bat away his helping hands and try to stand on your own. You should know better at this point. Morpheus isn’t easily deterred, especially when it comes to you.

He helps you stand anyway, shrugging off your rejection like water rolling off a duck’s back. “Unfortunately, no. But I’ve seen worse.” In your head, you translate that from Endless to English to mean ‘yeah, you do look like shit.’

Tactful as always. “It’s all your fault,” You mutter. When he offers an arm for you to slide under, you do so gladly, clinging to him like a lifeline. It even feels like one, like a lifesaver for two idiots stuck in deep water of their own making.

Your head hurts so much less when your eyes are closed to the Lovecraftian chaos in your surroundings. It’s second nature to bury your face into his shirt and let the soothing rhythm of Morpheus’s heartbeat distract you. “Come along,” He urges you, taking a few steps to some unknown destination without deigning to inform you where.

Despite the kindness in his voice and the softness of his shirt against your cheek, more comforting than any blanket on your great bed, you push back. “No.” Your feet stay where they are. Morpheus would not drag you somewhere. It would be undignified.

After a few seconds pass, Morpheus seems to come to the conclusion you had already decided; that you will not go. “Wait- stop-“ His arms sweep you up off your feet as if you’re nothing more than a flower to be plucked out of the ground.

You open your eyes to see his stupid smirk oozing with victory. “It’s for your own good, little darling. Or would you prefer I put you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes?” It would be even less dignified for you to be treated so and Dream knows you’d refuse it.

He continues on with no further resistance. You haven’t lost all your pride just yet. His lengthy stride carries the two of you farther in a minute than your legs could in an hour and your surroundings fade into a blur, like paint dripped into a bowl of water.

Morpheus doesn’t have to say anything for you to feel the stymied laughter moving his chest. “Stop gloating.” You poke him once, twice, three times. No reaction.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are.” Your legs kick gently in the air to make your point.

Morpheus sighs under his breath and mumbles something that sounds like he’s calling you ‘impossible’. And as you’re very mature, perhaps the most mature person here, you decline to respond. It feels like you’ve won after all.

He pauses for a moment to glance at your surroundings. For all you know, you could be anywhere in the world. But you’re with him and that’s enough to keep you calm. For now. “What you have is called sleepy sickness,” Dream says. When he notices you staring, doe eyed and blushing from being carried in his arms like the queen he calls you, his mouth places the faintest kiss upon your forehead.

A humid breeze brushes your cheeks, warm as a hug and carrying the scent of dew-covered grass and clear running water. “It’s not that bad,” You mutter. You’re lying of course, just to be contrarian. It’s only fair to cause him half the headache he’s caused you.

Morpheus sets you down on a fallen tree trunk covered in soft, jade green moss. His hand lingers on your wrist, as smooth as polished marble, and then he takes a gentle, yet firm hold of your jaw. His fingertips barely skim your cheeks, close enough that you could kiss his hand if you wanted.

Morpheus kneels in the dirt without a care, peering into your eyes for a long moment.

“I do expect an explanation on why it took that… exorcist for me to know you were suffering,” He tells you in a low timbre. “I cannot take care of my love, my queen, my heart itself, and the beloved child you carry without you… talking to me.” Silver moonlight highlights the deep, shadowed worry lines on his face.

Morpheus has called you his heart. He’s wrong. You can see his heart still in him, cracked open for you to observe, not quite on his sleeves but beating through his chest.

Even you have to admit his admonishment is more than fair. No complaints. You duck your head. Anything to get away from his gaze. “…I’m sorry.” You are, truly. He stops your chin from dipping with the same soft touch used between lovers, between those who share knowledge of each other’s souls.

Morpheus hums softly. “Don’t apologize, and don’t do it again.” He calls you out as if he’s approaching a frightened deer, coaxing you towards him with sweet words, the hand cradling your face like petting the raised spine of that startled animal. “Now come - we will remedy your illness now. I’ll not have you spend another second in such a state.” His outstretched hand helps you to your feet.

A canopy of branches stretches above both your heads. The long, friendly finger-like branches of old growth trees dance and wave hello in the wind you felt earlier. Between the gaps in the large leaves, stars wink at you. Some of them even move, and you realize those unique flecks of light aren’t stars. They’re planes flying in the night and satellites spinning through space, chattering back and forth with each other and the rest of humanity.

You recognize the faint red glow of Mars and the pale yellow fleck of Venus in the dark firmament. “Where are we?”

It feels… real. It feels right. What binds your feet to the grassy earth, covered in scattered fallen leaves and the new buds of wildflowers is gravity, not magic mimicking it.

Morpheus leads you through the old growth trees without hesitation. “Ordinary mortals cannot spend unnaturally long periods of time in the Dreaming. It happens but rarely, most recently when I was imprisoned and unable to uphold the laws of the universe that separate the Waking World and the Dreaming,” He says without looking at you. His skin gleams like mother-of-pearl under the silvery moonlight. “The soul wants to stay as much as the body yearns to go. They grow sicker and sicker as the connection that keeps their dreaming souls attached to their waking bodies weakens. Eventually that connection snaps, leaving behind a comatose body and a wandering spirit in my kingdom with no name or face.” Such respectful words for a nightmarish fate.

Through the trees, the moonlight finds something else to reflect off of. The shine beckons you closer and closer, until you see a large, tranquil lake. The water is the clearest you’ve ever seen, tinged a naturally bright turquoise. Through the glass pane surface, you see the sandy surface of the lake bed dotted with small, smooth pebbles, at most a few feet deep. Vibrant pink water lilies spread open their great green pads at the lake’s edge and birds sing songs to each other in the trees. A white heron picks its way through the lake with meticulous, stilted elegance. It stops to consider the pair Morpheus and you make, then magnanimously decides to give you your privacy and fly away

Something stirs at your side, breaking the spell. You turn to watch, still dazed from the sweet, clean air, as Dream gathers your fingers and kisses them. “The only cure is to take you back to the Waking and allow your soul and body to rest as one, as they were meant to,” He apologizes. His lips are so pink, and his eyes are so wide.

“I can breathe again,” You murmur as your lungs fill with the scent of fragrant banana leaves and papaya trees brought out by the humidity.

It’s all real. You tell yourself that over and over. You sink to the ground and bury your fingers into the earth. When you rub your fingers together, you can feel the grains of dust separate and stick to the grooves of your fingerprints.

You want to touch everything. The rough bark on the trees, the ribbed surface of the lily pads. You want to smell the blossoms and feel the cool water of the lake wash away the clinging, disorienting remnants of the Dreaming from your mind.

Dream joins you on the banks of the lake. “I know,” He coos, dabbing away the sweat shining on your cheeks. “That’s it, darling. Feel better?”

Your dirt-marked hands meet his, seeking reassurance that he’s just as real as you. That he won’t slip out of your grasp and flee into the night like a stranger, now that he has delivered you home.

His palms only have a few lines compared to the meandering map of creases on yours and Morpheus patiently lets you explore them until you’re satisfied with what you find. You leave smudges on the backs of his hands. You go to wipe them off, about to mumble an apology, but Dream stops you. He wraps his fingers around yours even tighter, even as you protest that you’ll get him dirty.

“Now listen carefully,” He begins. His grip trembles, a single, uncontrolled movement in the edifice of composure. Chaos, barely leashed. “I want you well. I want you to smile and forget any time you were unhappy because of the Dreaming. But if you run, I’ll come after you. You know I will. Decide for yourself if you’ll take the relief and pleasure I’m offering, or if you want another chase and the tears that come with it.”

A dream is nothing without a dreamer. Morpheus has long since decided that you are his dreamer, so like all dreams, he fears your eventual abandonment. He fears you might decide that he adds nothing to your life and discard him, leaving him purposeless, a book abandoned on the shelf unread watching as you move on and never look back. Pick me up, his eyes beg. Read me, need me, keep me by your side. Find me a home in your home.

Later, you’ll blame it on the sweltering tropical heat. You’ll blame it on the silver tongue of the god of dreams, slithering its way into your head.

“Is the water swimmable?” You ask instead of answering. In the periphery of your vision, he nods.

So you rise.

What need is there for running? You’re home. The wind has danced through your hair before. The trees have whispered secrets to you since you were old enough to look up at their leaves and make up fairytales. You can empathize with how Morpheus and the Dreaming are bound together. You’re bound to here, birthed and raised here.

The sand grows damper the closer you walk to the edge of the water. It sticks to your toes in clumps. You shed your clothes as a snake sheds its skin. You leave them behind you, a trail of breadcrumbs followed by the sight of your back, bared to him.

You hear a sharp inhale. “Are you sure you want-“ Morpheus’s voice is strangled as if he’s fighting his own dark urges, extinguishing them so that the flames won’t singe you.

The water is much warmer than you thought it would be. It ripples gently across your skin and you walk further into the lake’s embrace.

Once the water envelopes your hips, barely brushing where your belly naturally folds over your hips, you turn to look at the god watching you on his knees from the shore.

You’re aware of everything- your nipples hardening, his narrowed dragon-like eyes feasting on your breasts, your soft arms and plush thighs, and a warmth stirring in your core that only Dream can awaken.

But there in your thoughts is the cold reminder of Johanna’s warning. There is no doubt that Morpheus has been cruel and capricious, carelessly tearing apart anything in his path like a tornado ripping trees and telephone poles from the ground.

But he’s yours. He’s pursued you, chosen you, fought for you. He loves you enough that he’s risking letting you go, where before he locked you in his realm like a songbird in a cage.

You hold out your hand. “Join me.”

Morpheus doesn’t make you wait a second longer. “As you wish, Basileia.” He practically rips his shirt off, losing a button or two in the sand in his haste to reach you.

The hard, muscled planes of his chest beckon to you. You could never get tired of Dream, of looking at him, of wanting him. He’s already half hard against his thigh and he walks into the lake with the smooth, prowling gait of a leopard stalking some helpless prey.

His arms catch your waist and pull you closer. You melt into Morpheus’s familiar touch, impossibly strong yet cradling you as if you were as fragile as spun glass. It’s not until you’ve tucked your head into the crook of his neck, his salty skin so close to your lips that you can almost taste him in the air, that Dream finally relaxes. The water wraps the both of you in a warm cocoon, heightening your senses. Every move he makes ripples against your skin and you’re so painfully, acutely aware of his hips, his legs, how close they are to your own…

Droplets of water trickle between your breasts. Dream follows their path with reverent, covetous eyes. Those beads of water are more precious than diamonds to him because they have the privilege of touching you.

Your skin is painfully sensitive. His grip tightens, shifts, he palms your ass and his other hand cradles the back of your neck, warm and possessive. The pregnancy hormones are no joke; you’re starved, desperate to take him apart with your teeth and hands, and to be taken apart in return until all you know is his taste.

You trace his arched cheekbones with damp fingertips and run your thumb over his plump, flushed lower lip. Dream’s white teeth glint as they sink into your thumb. Not deep enough to cut, but just enough to sting .

Your fingers slide through his dark hair. You graze his scalp with your nails, you pause to take a fist full and tighten your grip. You tug. Morpheus gasps, then curves his mouth into a lazy, listless smirk.

When he kisses you, you kiss him back furiously, your mouth dancing with his and one arm slung around his neck to draw him into you. You moan into the kiss and he hums at the back of his throat in response. Dream’s lips leave yours, much to your displeasure, only to settle on the top of your nose, then your eyelids, the corner of your mouth…

Water streams around your thighs as Morpheus practically drags you up, easily holding most of your weight with one of his arms. The heat in this place is such that sweating does nothing to cool your body, and the muggy air makes stitching yourself as close as possible to his body even sweeter. You bare your neck to Dream’s kiss-swollen lips and the hickies he sucks into your skin.

Your thighs quiver, each sensation so much stronger and brighter than they were the last time he knew you like this. A sweet, drawn out sigh tears itself from your chest as he bites down like a wolf marking his mate. Morpheus groans in return, mouthing against your skin like he’s starved. He mutters and growls as he makes his way past your collarbones and his hands shake where they cling on to you.

And when his nimble, clever fingers drift from your back to find your nipples, thumbing them firmly, you shriek and pull on his hair so hard his head snaps back. He stares back at you with eyes of inhuman obsidian and a furious snarl on his face at being denied your body. “Gentle, please, Morpheus. Please,” You whimper, trembling in his arms from the too-intense pain and pleasure echoing through your sensitive tits.

Your chest heaves. The air is so heavy that it feels like you can’t get enough of it into your lungs. Dream makes a wordless noise of an apology before lavishing you with kisses, his lips moving with the most careful pressure across your flushed breasts. “The shore,” You plead with him. “Take me to the shore, my love.” The endearment steals out of your mouth like a thief. It’s the only thing that cuts through Dream’s lust-filled haze.

His beautiful eyes lighten from black to deep sapphire and the silvery fangs you felt earlier at your vulnerable throat retract ever so slightly.

Before you can blink, Morpheus deposits you on the shore with your back to the sand. The stars above bear witness as he kneels between your legs spread open to invite him, joy and love practically fucking radiating off of him. What he told you in the aftermath of his forced unmasking was true. He loves you. No matter what you do or say, if you cry or flee, his love only grows.

His luminous beauty is so overwhelming that it eclipses the world around you. All you see is him. You reach up to make his perfect hair messier, to bring his perfect mouth close enough for you to kiss until he’s ruined.

You push on his shoulders until he rolls over. His strong arms take you with him and help you drape yourself in his lap, grinding your dripping folds into the thick, heavy weight of his cock.

Morpheus tries to reach for your hips first but you bat his straying hands away. “My tigress,” He moans as you show him what your teeth and nails feel like digging into his alabaster skin, running over his abs, returning in abundance the bite marks and hickies he left on you. Your tongue lathes over the red and blue bruises scattered down his chest, warm and wet, and Morpheus’s heart beats so furiously that you can taste his pulse.

“Stay,” You pant as you plant one hand into his sweat-covered chest. Your lips move lower and lower, leaving kisses along the deliciously-firm ridges of muscle that jump whenever you touch them.

You give into every possible intrusive desire. Your fingers trace his hip bones, the long, elongated lines of his thighs tensing as you wander closer to his flushed, veiny dick, and up again to that muscled v at the bottom of his stomach…

“It’s yours,” Dream says hoarsely, his eyes glowing in the night. “I’m yours.”

This is your world. Your home. And your Endless. Saliva gathers under your tongue and Morpheus beckons. He’s somehow even more desperate for you to carve yourself into his body and soul than you are to wield the knife.

You hover over him, about to take him in your hand. You’ve done horrible things for Morpheus with your hands. You ended a person’s life and you’d do it again if you had to.

The tenderness in his voice makes you weep. “I love you.” He knows. You don’t have to say anything in response. You just have to be here with him and be loved.

His cock is warm in your palm, so long and thick that you have trouble understanding how Dream makes it all fit inside of you. Your tongue darts out to lick the salty precum dotted on his shaft and your cunt flexes with need. Soon, soon, you promise yourself, you’ll let him fuck you into the ground until you’ve forgotten your name.

You watch him as you start at the base, kissing your way up his cock until you reach the fat, rounded tip. Morpheus inhales sharply and a brilliant red flush colors his cheeks. You slowly envelope the head of his cock between your lips and his fingers dig into the ground, trying anything to keep him anchored.

His eyes roll back in his skull like you’re quite literally sucking the soul out of him. You briefly flirt with the idea of pulling away, of depriving Morpheus of the sweet torture that has rendered him speechless.

But since you’re his queen, you can be benevolent if you wish. You’ll make him come so hard that no other woman or goddess will ever compare. You’ve never wanted to do this with a partner as badly as you want to do it for him.

Your hand works the part of his shaft you can’t shove into your throat. You build a strong rhythm, alternating between sucking his dick and running your tongue along the underside where the taut skin is most sensitive. His cock jumps in your mouth when you flick your tongue over one particular spot. “Fuck,” He hisses. “You’re so good to me, beloved…” His needle-thin fangs erupt again, only to dig into his bottom lip. Dream grinds his hips up, forcing another inch of his cock into your sloppy mouth dripping with saliva.

Your surprised moan is completely stifled by his thick, painfully erect flesh. He laughs wickedly and finally reaches for your hair. “I know your game,” Morpheus taunts. A faint tingle of pain flashes through your scalp when he wraps your tangled tresses in his fist and takes control. Saliva runs from the corners of your stretched, bruised lips with each thrust.

His salty, musky taste is addictive and you want more, more than what he’s giving you right now. You won’t be satisfied until he’s spilling his seed down your throat.

Your nails run down his thighs, leaving angry red furrows, and you bob your head, relaxing your throat so you can take him even deeper. This god, this great and powerful creature, full of magic and fury, groans and shakes underneath you.

“Wicked creature,” Morpheus accuses between gasps for breath. You smile up at him with your mouth full before returning to your feast.

You turn your spare hand to another task. You’ve never done this before, but Morpheus inspires a boldness in you, a mindless lust for moremoremore. He grits his teeth, holding back guttural moans. You reach out to cradle his heavy balls in your palm and carefully massage them while you redouble your mouth’s efforts on his cock. Your jaw aches something fierce and you gag once, and then again.

He cries out. You can read the thoughts painted across his face. You’re his confessor and his executioner. Only you have this power over him - to bring him to the highest ecstasy or to brutally cast him out of Heaven.

Your reward is so sudden that it surprises you. All it takes to send Morpheus over the edge, into the most beautiful orgasm you’ve dragged out of him yet, is that gentle caress. His eyes widen, glistening with tears, his pupils dilate. His silver tongue has fallen silent. His face contorts in exquisite agony.

He drags you forward until your lips touch the base of his cock and comes with a low, pained groan. Salty cum floods your tongue and you pull back in surprise. His cum drips down the column of your throat and between your tits. You cough, smearing more of the mess on your cheeks.

Morpheus doesn’t give you even a moment to recover. It must be unbearable for him to be separated from you, like breathing with only one lung instead of both. You carry half his soul. His heart beats in your chest. He kisses you and clutches your shoulders, your face. He licks his cum off your cheeks and drags his fingers through the remnants on your breasts. He brings his fingers to your swollen lips. You open your mouth even as your jaw protests and let him feed you his cum. Not a single drop is wasted.

You suck his fingers one last time before he withdraws them. Your doe eyes stare into his lidded, pleasure-drunk gaze. Finally, you answer him. “Perhaps I’ll keep you… if you make yourself useful.” A smile blooms on his angular face, more heavenly than an archangel.

Or perhaps he’s an incubus here to enslave you. “I’ll be gentle,” He promises. Moonlight flashes off his sharp teeth. Your nerves prickle at the contrast of his sweet words against the sheer primordial force that emanates off of him. Your animal hind brain wants to flee, but the rest of you wants to give in, to reach for the bright flame of his love and let it burn you.

His palm caresses your cheek, sliding over your skin as if you’re made of the most precious silk. But you’re not silk and this is not a dream. You’re real. Flesh and bone.

You look at him through your lashes as you sink your teeth into his wrist.

Dream responds as you want him to. His pale hand, white as a sword, around your throat, squeezing just enough to restrict blood flow into your brain. Your dark angel looming over you, the Endless simply taking your submission, not just demanding it.

When he guides you to lay on your back once more, you go gladly.

The stars in his irises glow as he takes in the sight of your breasts moving everytime you take a breath and your thighs slowly, slowly parting. “My poor darling, have you been this needy the whole time?” Morpheus asks in that low, raspy voice that makes your stomach twist with desire. His finger trails from your bent knee and down, down towards your inner thighs.

It feels like everything is too hot, too much. You’ve been wet since you took your clothes off, and after making him come so furiously, your pussy is practically crying for him to touch your folds, to fuck you, to remind you who you belong to.

He traces the arousal coating your cunt, playing with the slick but carefully avoiding your pussy. “Morpheus…” You moan, your nipples so hard that every gust of wind feels like the press of his mouth. Playing is a good word for it. Morpheus plays you and your body, teasing you with his hand as he wanders away from your hips and over your chubby belly, always touching, feeling.

Your back arches in the sand. He’s the only one who can do this to you, you think. The only one you’d let have you in such an open, vulnerable way.

Just when Morpheus reaches the curve of your breast, he leans over you and holds your face with both hands. “You come first.” One of his thumbs hook into your mouth and pull your jaw open. You can feel the pad of the thumb wedged against your teeth.

You feel so delicate and fragile underneath him. So helpless, like a flower he plucked from the ground. Your cunt pulses in time with your rapid heartbeats. “Heed my words. You always come first. For next time,” Morpheus commands softly. He’s dead fucking serious.

Rushing sounds fill your ears. “But-“ You murmur around his fingers. You’re dizzy, drunk on the love painted so boldly on his expression. It’s like a solar eclipse. You can’t look away. You come first. That is what would please Dream more than coming himself. You find yourself nodding along.

When he bends down to kiss your forehead, it feels like a brand. You lean into the warmth and let it soothe you. “Obey me, beloved, and you will be rewarded with anything and everything you desire.” You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth. His spit-covered thumb rests in the hollow of your throat.

Morpheus’s fangs prick your bottom lip and you whimper. It’s so easy to surrender to him and it feels so good. “Do you… enjoy that? Obeying?” He pulls away to ask with an uncharacteristic frown marring his smooth forehead.

You murmur something wordless and begging, then loop your hands around his neck, urging him to return to you. He raises a single eyebrow until finally, you turn your attention to the question instead of pouting over his reluctance to kiss you. “I do. I really- I think I do,” You whisper.

It’s the truth. It feels right. And for the most part- if you’re honest with yourself, for the most part, Dream has never failed you.

How do you reconcile these puzzle pieces together that just don’t fit? With each day, your rage and feelings of betrayal fade. Something new has been growing inside to replace it. A strange longing to throw your principles away and give in.

Morpheus nods soberly. “If you decide to keep me, Basileia, we should discuss this later, at length. I know that the relationship you expect might be different from what I can give you.”

It’s far too easy to read between the lines. “What can you give me?” You are critically, keenly aware of the implications of you asking. Why else would you want to know the conditions of a long term, most likely life-long relationship if Dream has his way, if not to seriously consider them?

Well. You’re seriously considering it.

He spreads his fingers out slightly off-center from your sternum, right over your heart. “What I’ve always given you.” He kisses the tip of your nose. Can you trust him with your heart?

Dream is trying to tell you with his actions that you can. That he wants to cradle your heart so gently and hide away where no one else can hurt it. He’d breathe fire on anyone who tried, even himself.

“Care, above all else,” He murmurs in your ear. His breath tickles your hair and you gasp. He kisses your soft, delicate skin covered in goosebumps as an apology.

There are spikes of white in his irises like the points of a star. A single black eyelash rests on his cheekbone. You wipe it away with your fingers, utterly fascinated by this strange new intimacy.

It’s so lovely to feel his radiant smile with your fingertips at the same time as seeing it.

You’ve missed it.

“Tending to.” Another kiss, this one on the edge of your jaw. You blush from your scalp all the way down to your toes.

“Possession. Belonging.” His voice drops to a growl and the fingers over your heart curl into claws. Morpheus buries his face into your throat. Some of his hair gets in your mouth and you giggle as you try to pluck it out. He growls again, this time properly, when you try to dislodge him.

His torso presses yours into the sand. He’s like a tall weighted blanket hiding you from the sight of the celestial bodies above.

One of his claws moves to your waist. They open and close rhythmically. Morpheus is kneading you like a cat. “Let me be your compass so you’ll never feel lost again, let me tend to your every scraped knee and anxiety. Trust me to give you commands for your well-being and to fix things when you make mistakes.”

How long have you waited for someone to say these exact words to you? How many years have you spent dreaming about this very moment, where someone grants you your truest wish; to never have to face the world alone? Not just at your side. In front of you, leading you into the future so you have someone to follow.

Finally, he kisses your lips. A chaste, almost innocent kiss, like between a husband and wife on their wedding day. “All I need is your submission to my authority. It’s too much to ask of you at this moment, but you should know these things about me so you can make your decision in the future,” Morpheus says softly.

All he ever had to do was ask.

“We can talk about it later.” You kiss him back firmly, dragging a low moan out of him.

“You’re not opposed?” He says between kisses, between your fingers threading through his hair and his knee nudging between your legs, giving you something to grind against.

Morpheus freezes when you smile at him, as if he’s been hit by lightning. “I’m not,” You promise, your eyes shining more than they ever have before.

He exhales an amused huff. He’s laughing at himself, you realize. “Later then, my queen.” He’s been so silly and wasted so much time. You laugh too, until the two of you are just giggling helplessly in the sand.

He strokes your belly for a moment, then bends and places his cheek over the curve where your baby is growing. Crickets sing and fireflies chase each other through the night sky. Something moist touches your belly. When he lifts his head, he tries to wipe away tears before you notice. You reach for him and dab them away yourself.

“I hope the baby has your eyes,” You whisper.

Morpheus’s hands are as warm as his smile, like a little candle flame in the dark flickering on its own. “I hope the baby looks like you, so the world can see how much I love its mother.”

Maybe his smile will light your way back to each other.

His face is the first thing to shift. His gaze narrows, his mouth flattens into a severe, imperious expression. “Now, where were we?” His muscles coil and tense as he rears up on his knees. His marble skin stretches taught over his prominent bones.

You suddenly remember watching him disintegrate the nightmare that haunted you so, how Morpheus took pleasure when it screamed in pain. This is the god-king, the careless devil, the eater of worlds.

He kisses your knee while massaging the strained muscles in your calf. “You- you were… ah… Morpheus, I can’t focus when you do that.” Your voice is hushed in prayer to the only god you care for. He kisses your thigh again, slightly above your kneecap.

You spread your legs wider, wordlessly begging for more of his attention. “I was instructing you on the importance of obedience, I believe.” He blows a soft puff of air across your heated cunt, and you squirm in the sand. The cold only heightens how sensitive you are.

Morpheus leans in to lick the trail of arousal that has been steadily dripping down your thigh all evening. He laps at your skin over and over in tiny kitten licks.

He waits until you’re looking at him to moan into your skin, his eyes wild with hunger. Another, longer lap of his tongue, still holding eye contact. He can’t get enough of your juices. He wants you to know how much he wants you. Morpheus wants you to witness his devotion. Not want- he commands it.

And still, he won’t touch your pussy. “That feels so good,” You whimper. You draw your legs towards you to try and urge him towards your core. Morpheus teases his fangs along your flesh. You can feel how sharp they are, how easy it would be for him to bite and puncture your skin. He would never, but the suggestion is enough to get your blood running hot.

Morpheus rises up between your legs to grab the long column of your throat. “As much as I love your voice, right now I’d like to hear it only when you’re screaming my name. Understood? Nod for me.” Your mouth waters as you nod. “Good girl.”

You almost feel like crying. This evening has been such a fucking rollercoaster and here you are, getting dicked down for the whole world to see. And Morpheus adores you so much that he wants to possess every part of you, to make you completely beholden to his will.

He releases your throat before grasping one of your heavy tits, palming it greedily. “Your body was made to be adored by me, to be loved and worshiped,” Dream hisses. He swats at your breast, catching your painfully sensitive nipple with the tips of his fingers.

You jerk upright and moan in surprise, making an embarrassing, slutty, needy sound. Pain and pleasure radiate from your swollen nipple and as much as you want to cower away, you want Dream to do it again…

He slaps your neglected other breast and you gasp, tears finally beading in the corner of your eyes. Your cunt drips all the way down to the sand under your ass. You pant, your tits bouncing with the moment. The motion draws an equal groan out of Morpheus and the desire burning in his blue eyes frightens you.

Morpheus leans forward to capture one of your nipples between his lips. He sucks gently, flicking his tongue over the hard, pebbled bud, and you arch your back. He switches to your untouched nipple, sucking and kissing over and over as you shiver and whine beneath him. Maybe he wants to make you come like this, untouched except for the sweet torture he’s subjecting your tits to. You try to grind your hips against his leg, to give your pulsing clit some relief, but he hisses and pushes your hips down with more force than you expect. Message received, though it turns you on even more.

You’re pinned down and there’s nothing you can do but submit. “I am utterly enamored by your breasts, your rich and luscious thighs, and the feel of your soft belly under my fingertips,” Morpheus tells you when he lifts his head. His hand makes good upon his word. His fingers caress your stomach, not just the roundness of your growing baby, but the folds of skin and fat that come with a body like yours, that the rest of the world often finds unattractive.

But he is Endless. The god of dreams himself. Humanity’s mirror cut out of black glass. And your body is so desirable to him that he knocked you up the first time and fucks you like he can somehow get you more pregnant each time. Morpheus kisses the skin below your belly button and you have a feeling that tonight, the whole universe is dreaming of you.

He raises his head and reaches out his fingers to tap against your kiss-swollen lips. “Dampen these for me,” Dream orders. They’re glistening with your saliva by the time he pulls them out of your mouth.

You prop your torso up on your elbows and watch Morpheus inhale quietly as he brushes the pad of his thumb over your clit. You bite back a combined moan of relief and surprise. He does it again, waiting for your hips to jolt and your eyes to flutter. His fingers caress your slick folds, luxuriating in the volume of shiny, sticky arousal that has dripped out of you. He kneels there for a long moment, just playing with you, and your lungs seize when he lingers too long rubbing your clit.

Then Morpheus very unceremoniously shoves one of his palms under your ass, tilting your pelvis up so he can eat you out better. His tongue wanders over your clit and between the folds he was so fascinated by earlier.

You cry out into the night, looking up at the stars while Dream makes you see stars. You moan again and desperately clutch for his hair so you can grind your clit into his mouth. He mutters something to himself, completely lost under your whimpers, before slipping two long fingers into your tight cunt. He sets a fast though gentle rhythm immediately, carefully curling his fingers inside you to stroke your walls as he fucks you with them. Each one of your cries is rewarded with the hot, wet pressure of his tongue or his fingers brushing the sensitive spot deep inside you. It’s almost like Morpheus is trying to make you come faster than you ever have before-

For a single, blindingly bright moment, your lungs stop. You can’t breathe. Your stomach wrenches violently and your walls squeeze his fingers so tight they start to slip out. “Come,” Morpheus demands, his gaze furious and fixated on your slack, pleasure-drunk face. Your pussy opens for his fingers and this time his grip on your thighs is too firm to wriggle out of, forcing you headfirst into the riptide of your orgasm.

Your high-pitched scream rings in your ears and you slump into the ground, boneless and exhausted. Morpheus withdraws his fingers and licks your folds clean, shushing you when you whine from the jolts of overstimulation moving through you. You’re so tired, but it feels so good.

He leans in for one more taste. This time, you tense and push his head away. Your clit is still humming with faint, delicious aftershocks, and even his breath puffing across your swollen folds is painful. Morpheus apologetically kisses your hip. “I could spend eons buried between your legs. Tasting you, touching you, inside of you. Perhaps I should relinquish the Dreaming to some other god so I can spend the rest of eternity serving you, hm? Would my queen enjoy that?”

Pebbles and sand dig into your back but you barely notice. You’re too busy blushing the darkest shade of red possible at the vivid imagery and his unrepentant lust. His smile is wicked. You’re both thinking the exact same thing - you perched on the throne next time, and Morpheus making you come on his fingers and tongue as many times as you can. Knowing him, probably until you black out.

You open your mouth to say something, but his command from earlier holds fast. You want to obey.

Then he nods, releasing you from it.

“Holy shit, I’ve never come that quickly before,” You sigh.

Morpheus straightens up and squares his shoulders. “I know,” He fires back with a lewd smirk, his lips still damp with your juices. Morpheus moans softly as you kiss him. You sweep the rest of your arousal off of his lips with your tongue, your own salty taste filling your senses.

You understand all those little offhand quips now, all the various odd remarks under Dream’s breath about your life and dreams. He knows. Literally. He has stood there in the back of your dreams and watched.

His cock is angrily hard against his pale thigh, flushed red with blood. Morpheus likes to watch. A shiver runs through you. Not a bad one. An eager one. “Fuck you,” You bite back. He’s never looked more beautiful to you, all messy dark hair and your crimson love bites dotting his pale skin.

After too many drawn-out whines and your hands eagerly tugging at his hips, much too far away from yours, Morpheus holds your thighs down. If you were more flexible, you’d have your knees pushed up to your tits.

Starlight shines between strands of his hair, surrounding his face like a dark halo.

Your lips part, wordlessly begging for a kiss. His broad shoulders press you further into the soft sand and he kisses you with fervor. “Be good,” Dream murmurs into your ear.

He eases his cock inside of you slowly. You gasp, your eyelids flutter. He rests his head against your temple, panting as your muscles flutter around his length. His hips cant forward again, nudging your clit. You clutch his shoulders to drag him deeper into your embrace. Your whole world narrows to just Morpheus; the weight of him against your ribs, the whole night sky contained in his eyes, the scent of his skin, his thick cock sinking as deep into your cunt as it can go.

You make a choked, keening noise when he shifts and inadvertently brushes against your g-spot. Maybe not so inadvertently. Morpheus does it again, languidly rolling his hips in a drawn out rhythm. Your stretched cunt milks him, trying to keep him with you, inside of you.

He buries his face in your hair spread out under your head. You feel his moans rumble in the crook of your neck, deep and desperate. It’s too much, too good, like blue flame burning in your veins, and you can practically feel him in your belly.

“Morpheus,” you sob, raking your fingernails down his back, anything to ground you, to keep you from losing your mind as he fucks you, forcing you to feel every inch sliding in and out.

Dream growls, gripping your hips so tightly he’ll leave faint bruises. He rests his forehead on your own and his eyes are screwed shut with pleasure. They shoot open when you scream, your whole body trembling. “Tight, fuck, so tight, feels good- that’s it, darling…” You hear him murmur, voice so low that he’s talking more to himself than to you. It’s like he’s praying to you, worshiping you at the altar of your body.

You spread your legs wider and meet each thrust, moaning in unison with him. The words “Love you-“ steal from your mouth like a thief, fleeing before you register they’re gone.

One of his hands slips between your hips to play with your needy clit. He circles the pads of his fingers over and over across your bundle of nerves, sending shockwaves through your whole body. The full length of his dick thrusts into you at the same exact time and you forget how to breathe; you can feel how tight the fit is, almost painful but not quite, riding that razor-thin edge of pleasure. A rush of slick gushes from your core and smears onto his skin.

Your head lolls back as your vision starts to go hazy around the edges. “Look at me,” Morpheus’s voice orders. You blink once, twice, too overstimulated to focus.

“Morpheus-“ You sigh breathily. “Ah-“ He switches how he plays with your clit, now teasing you with light, gentle touches so you can listen to him instead of being too cockdrunk to think.

Your lips parts, your tongue tastes the hot, tropical air filled with moans and lust. “Look at me.” You do. His eyes are so blue and bright that they almost blind you. His thrusts grow rougher, faster, and you shake in his embrace and wrap one of your legs around his hips to get closer.

The great, deep blue of the night sky, scattered with stars, is pinning you down and kissing your mouth. The wine-dark ocean lies between your thighs and fucks you mindless, pushing and pulling inside you like the tide.

High, keening noises fall from your open mouth. Your cunt sucks him in, pulsing around his length. Pleasure wracks your body, rushing through your nerves like white lightning. And still you stare up at him and the love for you that he wears so raw and undisguised on his godlike, unfathomably beautiful face.

You’re so close that you can almost taste it, you feel your stomach wrench and your thighs tighten around his hips. “Fuck, that’s it, make yourself feel good. Take what you need.” The sound of his low, raspy voice in your ear guiding you, talking you through it, tips you over the delicious, overwhelming edge.

Every muscle in your body holds itself taut as your orgasm shakes you like an earthquake. You bite into his shoulder hard enough to fill your mouth with golden blood. Your lungs fucking ache from screaming into his skin. He holds your hips down, never pausing the furious pace of his thrusts, and your cunt convulses once, twice. Your mind goes foggy and finally, finally, you can breathe again.

Morpheus comes as your body unlocks, the feeling of your pleasure around his cock too much for his self-control. He clutches onto you desperately, even tilts his head to the side to welcome your bite. Sticky warmth floods your body, once more marking you as his. Hardly a single drop of cum trickles from where he’s buried deep inside of you.

You whine as he suddenly pulls away from you, only to arrange himself on the beach next to you so he doesn’t squish your bump further. You rest your head on Morpheus’s arm and the two of you lie there for a while with intertwined hands as his index finger traces the veins on the back of your hand. The breeze feels cool on your skin - the feverish tropical heat has broken its grasp on your mind and your thoughts are no longer clouded and instinct-driven.

Dream speaks softly, almost fearfully quiet. “You said you loved me.” His fingertip stills where it is on your hand, and you keenly feel the loss of that simple affectionate gesture.

“I…” You begin before stopping just as suddenly. White noise echoes in your ears, a strange buzzing that grows and grows and keeps you from turning to see his face. You’re afraid, you realize.

“If you do not truly feel that way, don’t say it. Ever again. Please. I can’t-“ His voice breaks, breaking the static holding your tongue prisoner with it.

What are you afraid of? The truth?

No, you are not.

You pull your hand away from his. “Morpheus.” When you meet his eyes, he looks away.

He’s rambling now, panicked, rushing to get the words out before it’s too late. “I couldn’t bear it. Anything else. Tell me anything else.”

It’s not too late.

Your hand cradles his angular cheek. Pale blue veins stretch under his skin from his eye to his temple. You are the only person he will let close enough to see them, you realize. “I love you,” You say, waiting long enough to see Morpheus actually register it before leaning in to kiss him. You mean it, cross your heart.

YAAAY WE'RE IN THE KISS AND MAKE UP ERA NOW!!! Thanks everyone so much for reading, we're finally making progress. I'm really excited for what's coming next. See y'all next year!

#treehouse #the sandman #sandman #the sandman comics #sandman comics #the sandman dc #sandman dc #sandman netflix #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus #lord morpheus x you #lord morpheus #lord morpheus x reader

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theaceace · 1 year ago

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Another old fic idea that stalled somewhere between my brain and my docs, in which Hob puts centuries of life experience to use by writing an anonymous advice column (it's probably Jo's fault somehow) and recently he's been getting some... Odd submissions

My brother has recently left a very stifling living situation and is drowning himself in work. I know his pride won't let him come to me for help, but I want to let him know I'm still there for him, what do you suggest? - Endless Family Drama

It can be difficult to watch the people we love most refuse to accept our help, especially when we can see that they're hurting. The best advice I can offer you is don't push him too hard – the last thing you want to do is scare him away! Spend time with him doing something you both enjoy or rediscovering common ground, and let him come to you when he's ready. Encourage him to find the person he was before all of this, and start learning how that fits with who he is now; reconnect with old friends or pick up a hobby he hasn't tried for a while. Clearly you love your brother a great deal, and whether he's ready to admit it or not, he's lucky to have you in his corner.

Chin up, and best of luck to you both!

And what do you know, that afternoon Death happens to go find her brother feeding the pigeons.

Matthew (with Rose's help, typing is really hard when you're a bird, turns out) after a conversation with Lucienne and later a complain-and-smoke-sesh with Constantine, writes in (not knowing he's writing to the boss's friend) like

I've just started a new job, and my boss is literally a nightmare when he's in a bad mood, he drags me to hell and back, spends all his time moping and fighting with my other boss, and won't listen to any of my advice, how do I let him know I think he's being unreasonable - struggling to keep my beak shut

Eventually Dream - who is both spending much more time in the waking world and also much more inclined to listen to Matthew's advice recently, for some reason - decides to write in to ask the opinion of a human on how to. Well. How one might go about courting one of their oldest friends having just reconnected after a huge fight and period of separation.

So naturally, Hob's reply is somewhat wistful and based entirely on the way he would love to court/be courted by his old stranger (Dream! Morpheus! He's been given so many names and titles to use now, he's practically spoilt!)

Neither of them figure out what's going on for an embarrassingly long time

(Desire writes to ask how you get your brother to stop ignoring you after you've tricked him into prison ('captivity' is the word used, but Hob can read between the lines) and almost made him kill one of their relatives. Hob starts to question if this side career is a good idea)

Also, the tagline for his column would absolutely be something like I keep making the same mistakes so you don't have to! Somehow this does not clue Dream in in the slightest

#Sandman #dreamling #Hob Gadling #dream of the endless #matthew the raven #death of the endless #desire of the endless #On today's episode of 'fics I have so clearly in my head but Simply Cannot Put To Paper'

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radiation · 9 months ago

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My Thoughts On MORPHEUS

Rewatched The Matrix yesterday. Everyone knows that Morpheus is fucking dope, but few realize he is one of the most moe characters of all time. Here is why:

Ok so at the beginning of the movie, Morpheus really appears to be this mythical figure, and that's how a lot of ppl view him. But something often overlooked is that, as the movie progresses, the more you see Morpheus acting mundanely, dressing normally, making mistakes, and getting the absolute shit beaten out of him & needing to be saved. Seriously, the gap between how he comes off when he first contacts Neo (larger-than-life, near-omnipotent) and when he gets kidnapped (totally fallible & vulnerable) is huge. You also see other characters doubt his absolute faith in Neo and it’s like wow yeah. This is really just some dude who is incredibly driven and passionate, and dedicated to his own ideals to a fault. He acts the way he does because he has a very clear image of the role he needs to play and has structured his life around it, choosing to embody this whole badass character in order to fulfill it. And from the way his appearance of perfection is shattered later in the movie in moments of monotony or when things spiral out of his control, I really believe how he acts when he meets Neo is suuuuper scripted. Like he has spent so much fucking time planning the perfect way to present himself and rehearsing exactly what he will say and do and how he will dress. And its funny to watch The Matrix knowing how totally badass & collected he is seen as in pop culture because he truly is incredibly incredibly dorky

This goes without saying but I also believe he is gay as fuck for Neo, but I need you to understand that the way he goes about it is sooo cute. I mean ok everything surrounding "You are The One and I've been searching for you for years" kind of speaks for itself. But also think about when Neo talks to the Oracle, she says this thing about like "knowing you're The One is like knowing you're in love". We can naturally really easily extend this metaphor to Trinity's explicit prophecy of her falling in love with The One, and knowing that's the case that also extends the metaphor to Morpheus knowing Neo is the one = Morpheus being in love with Neo. And I think how excited he acts around Neo, how physically affectionate he to him, arguably flirting with him during the dojo scene and shit bla bla bla sounds lame as fuck to write but I do think yeah whether literally or metaphorically that's kind of what's up. I think we can be confident that Morpheus loves Neo, and I think romantic love is a close approximation, or at the very least there are certainly real & valuable parallels to be drawn to it

But back to the previous paragraph, the specific kind of devotion towards Neo that Morpheus experiences where he is putting on all kinds of airs trying to mystify Neo, viewing himself as a supporting figure to prop up Neo as the savior -- Morpheus's underlying adoration is expressed through the language of respect, restraint, and selflessness, and a kind of self-sacrifice he is like...excited about. Feels very similar to the whole "best friend who is in love with the main character, but nobly tries to get him another love interest / somehow make his life better without any respect to his own desires". It's very sweet and well-intentioned, but totally excessive. Nobody else is asking you to go this far man this is just you. And it also comes off as a really big obfuscation of at least quasi-romantic feelings, both externally and internally, lacking a lot of self-awareness, so it makes it feel like Morpheus has this like elementary school crush he doesn't quite understand yet and it's really funny and delightful

There is definitely a certain writing style in The Matrix that is dramatic, over the top, and mythological, but compared to Morpheus, Neo and other ppl in his crew speak and act in ways much more grounded. Something I noticed a lot is just how much doubt and disillusionment all of the characters express in living life outside the Matrix, in the effectiveness of the revolution, and of Neo being The One, but Morpheus is totally an exception to this. The only person who puts on nearly as much airs, acting as dramatically and poetically as according to plan as Morpheus is Agent Smith, and like the dude isn't even a person he's a program. But even then Agent Smith expresses disappointment in his own life, and Morpheus doesn't. Seriouusly Morpheus is like the only guy in the movie who does this shit. By seeing himself as a mechanism in a prophecy to save the world and minimizing his own wants and discomforts for the greater good, he has kind of dehumanized himself in a way that's kind of sad. I think it's very easy to buy into it and take his self-perception at face value, and I think most people have, but there are a lot of moments in the movie where you can see through that. That underneath the appearance of a pure legend is a real person who means the absolute best, who is endlessly dedicated and adoring, but suffers from a one-track mind makes Morpheus a really fucking cool and unique character, and has one of the greatest impacts in making the movie's scenario feel believable. And also makes him sooooooooo cute. Anyways I forgoet what happens in the other mvoies this is only about the first one. Rewatch The Matrix 1 and open your eyes and you weill see the truth.

Also another thing I wanna mention that but its only tangentially related -- I think its very interesting how Neo is treated as a protagonist. I can't place exactly why but way the movie is written and shots are framed, he really isn't treated as an audience insert, and many moments in the movie are from other characters' perspectives (including their perspectives towards him, bereft of Neo's own expression). The movie honestly, more than identifying with Neo, expresses empathy and adoration towards him. So it kind of feels like literally everyone in the movie has a crush on him and so should you LOL. Morpheus is definitely a part of this, but I also appreciate the romance between Trinity and Neo feeling equally or more from Trinity's perspective, neither of them really being the object of desire, but if you had to choose one it'd definitely be Neo

Well let me know what you think & Dont try to troll this post because this is real shit

#The matrix

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dragon-kazansky · 1 year ago

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Symphony of dreams

Morpheus x Female Reader

Morpheus has had time to adjust to life after his imprisonment. Reunited with his friend, and of course his wife, he focused on his kingdom. However, a new element comes into play. A Vortex. Rose may just be what he needs to find his missing residents.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Angst.

Chapter Nine - Dreams

☆☆☆

"My lord, can I help?" Lucienne asks, walking down the aisle of books in the library. You were sat at one of the tables, writing something down. Morpheus was going through some books beside you.

"Is this everything we have on Rose Walker?"

"And Jed Walker. But I shouldn't think there's anything in those you don't ready know," Lucienne says. She glances at you as she comes to stop between you and Morpheus. "Except perhaps-"

"Except perhaps why she was able to wander into my throne room," Morpheus says. "What do you think? Why did Gault target her brother and not her?"

"Did you read about Unity Kincaid?" Lucienne asks. "The day you were imprisoned, there were people all over the world who fell asleep and could not wake up."

Morpheus looks at you. You drop your gaze. He still feels guilty for that, even though it wasn't his fault.

"Unity Kincaid is the sole survivor of what they called the 'sleepy sickness.' The day you returned, she woke up."

You knew Lucienne meant the only mortal who survived. There would be no record of you among them.

"Rose Walker is her great-dranddaughter."

"Which would seem to suggest that my absence caused the birth of a vortex." Morpheus says.

"Is that not a possibility?"

"Vortexes are naturally occurring phenomena," he tells her. "No one knows why they happen. Not even I know. But I do know they are not caused or created. They simply happen."

You glance up at Dream.

"Then this is all a coincidence? And not an imminent threat?" Lucienne asks.

"My instinct says no, but tonight when Rkse Walker sleeps, I shall see it more clearly. May I?" He asks, taking a book with him.

He doesn't even glance at you as he leaves. You sigh and continue writing. Lucienne looks at you. She wants to say something, but doesn't. She leaves you be.

☆☆☆

You're sitting on the steps of the throne room, you book in your hands. You've finished bringing it up to date. You read over the last entry.

Morpheus had requested you write down your dreams. He wanted them recorded so he may use them if need be. You're not sure what he could do with them. Residents of the Dreaming did not dream themselves. They are the dreams of others.

Tonight, Morpheus would be going to Rose in her dreams to help her locate her brother. He wasn't going to take you with him.

For the first time since you woke, Morpheus was not going to let you come with him to help. He wanted you to simply wait for him.

Footsteps sound down the hall. You look up to find your husband crossing the room toward you.

"I wondered where you had gone."

"I'm here," you reply softly, closing the book.

"Are you done?"

"For now." You hold it out. Morpheus reaches for the book and takes it. He tucks it under his arm, not even glancing at it. His blue eyes do not leave you.

"Will you wait here for me?" He asks.

"That's the idea..."

"You do not sound pleased. Have I done something wrong?"

"No..."

He stares at you. You can see the minor changes in his expression. His brows twitch together slightly. His lips press harder against one another.

"You haven't," you assured him. "Is there nothing I can do to help?"

"I told you-"

"Yes, I know." You cut him off. "I'm helping mkre than I know. It just doesn't feel like it."

A moment of silence passes. Morpheus then sighs softly. "I am sorry I have no other role for you right now. All I ask is that you wait for me."

"Yes... I know."

Nothing else can be said. Morpheus closes the distance between you both and holds his hand out. You reach out and take it, feeling his hand close around yours. He pulls you up to you feet and then brings you closer.

"I love you so much. Do not doubt that."

"I do not."

He looks at you. You can see the want in his eyes. You lean forward and kiss him softly.

"I shall read your dreams when I return."

"Okay..."

Morpheus leans forward and kisses your forehead. He then lets go of you and walks away. You know he is a job to do, but it doesn't make you feel any better.

You still feel hopeless.

☆☆☆

Morpheus goes with Rose through the dreams of her friends. She needs to search for Jed. Normally, he would want you with him, but he couldn't help feeling like you needed rest. Your sudden ability to dream had him worried.

They arrive on a street. A street familiar to Rose. This is where she once lived with her brother, before they were separated.

This is where they found him.

Gault was with him. She had manipulated his dreams to give him good ones. In these dreams, he was The Sandman, a superhero who went out to protect and help.

Morpheus found this amusing.

Rose had managed to get information out of him. The couple who took him in. The rest she would have to figure out on her own. Gault went back to the Dreaming, and Jed woke up.

This was better than nothing. Rose at least had something to go on.

Morpheus just wanted to return to you now and see how you were. He wanted to read about your dreams.

☆☆☆

While Morpheus was gone, you had gone to the Waking. You did not tell Lucienne. She would assume you were resting or working you only intended to be gone for a short while, just while Morpheus was travelling the Dremaing with Rose.

Hob waited for you. He smiled when he saw you approach. He was excited to hear from you, but when he heard how desperate you were to talk to someone, he was eager to help. He knew what you needed.

"Talk to me."

You look at him and think for a moment. You knew Morpheus would be upset if he discovered you and snuck off on your own. You knew how much he worried about you.

"I'm afraid, Hob."

Robert says nothing as he watches you. He sits up a little straighter.

"I've been having dreams. Dreams of things that so far have happened. I fear I've seen something in the future that I cannot change."

"Ahat do you mean?" He asks softly.

You look at him.

"I fear someone is going to get hurt, and it will ruin someone's life. There's this girl who has a gift, and I fear it will result in something terrible happening. I fear my future."

Hob doesn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry I called on you."

"Don't be sorry." He sighs softly. "Have you told him?"

"Not everything..."

Hob frowns. "You need to be honest and lay down all your fears on the table. It's the only way you can move forward. Especially with him. He adores you, you know? I've seen it in the way he looks at you, the way he holds you, and the way he talks to you. Don't shut him out."

"I know..."

"You're always welcome to come talk to me," Hob assures you. "We're friends."

You smile softly. You sense that Morpheus has returned to the palace. You stand. "I must go."

"Remember, be honest." Hob tells you.

You nod and bid him farewell. You return home.

☆☆☆

Morpheus sits on the throne reading your book. He is reading about your dreams. He brows knit together as he absorbs the words. Something feels like it's missing. Like you're not being honest in some ways.

But why would you ever lie to him?

He hears you enter the room and looks up. His eyes meet yours.

"Your dreams... something is missing."

"I know." You tell him. "I've come to be honest. Did you find Jed?"

"We found his dream."

"Good. I... I have more dreams to tell you."

Morpheus closes the book and beckons you closer. He wants to hold you. You do not move. He frowns.

"Tell me."

You sigh and look up.

"Are you going to hurt someone?" You ask him.

He stares at you.

"Where is Gault?"

"Behind you," he says firmly. You turn and see the nightmare looking at you. You swallow nervously.

"Why did you ask me that?"Morpheus asks.

"I-"

Lucienne enters.

"Do you have any idea what his life is like in the waking world?" Gault asks.

That shiver runs down your spine.

"Humans cannot live in dreams. As long as je stayed there, the child had no life nor the chance for one."

"The boy is abused."

You look up at Gault. The horror of the situation deep in your eyes.

"He's suffering," she tells Morpheus.

"You abused that suffering to build a Dreaming you could rule."

"I had no wish to rule," she states. "I merely wished to be a Dream and not a Nightmare. To inspire rather then to frighten."

"The choice is not yours to make. Qe not choose to be created," Morpheus says. "Nor do we choose how we are made."

"That is true. But we can change."

"No. We are, each of us, born with responsibilities. Even I am not free to choose to be other than I am. Nor is anyone."

You find yourself looking down at the floor.

"If that were true, why did all the other Dreams and Nightmares choose to leave this place when you had gone away?" Gault asks.

"Not all of us chose to leave and nearly all have returned," Lucienne tells her.

"Do you think they came back out of love?" Gault asks her. "Or because they were afraid of what you would do to them if they did not?" Gault looks at Morpheus. "Because I'm not afraid."

"You should be," Dream tells her.

You find it almost hard to breathe as you look at him. Your darling Morpheus wasn't anywhere to be seen. This was the man he was before he ever met you.

Your dreams are coming true.

"A Nightmare's purpose is to reveal a dreamer's fears, that they may face them." Morpheus shadow began to the descend the stairs.

You forced yourself not to look.

"Perhaps a few thousand years in the darkness will reveal your fears."

Gault began to disintegrate into the darkness slowly. "Better that than to make other afraid," she says to him. "Even a Nightmare can dream, my lord."

She goes completely.

You sharply intake a deep breath. Your vision is turning blurry. You move to wipe your eyes quickly.

"You feel her punishment was unjust?" He asks, but you're not sure if he is asking you or Lucienne. Lucienne answers regardless.

"I used to be something else. Before you made me your librarian. We all change, sir. Even you, perhaps. One day."

"Lucienne, I realise that in my absence, you were compelled to make decisions in my stead, and I am grateful to you. But I am back now. You may return to the library."

Lucienne leaves.

You stand there quietly as she goes. You can feel his eyes on you. Neither of you speak until Lucienne is gone completely.

"You asked me if I was going to hurt someone. Is this what you meant?" He asks.

You shake your head.

"Tell me. What did you mean?"

You take a deep breath and look up at him. Your tears were falling. "I think it's me you hurt..."

He looks at you with concern. "You?"

You sniffle softly. "Gault was trying to protect the boy."

"By having him live his best life in a dream. That's not living."

"She was protecting him from his realty."

Morpheus looks at you. "You left the Dreaming while I was gone. Why?"

"How did you...?"

"Why?" He asks again.

"To see Hob."

"Hob? What for?"

You look back at him. "I'm afraid."

He frowns. He doesn't like that. You have no reason to be afraid because he will always look after you.

"Talk to me," he pleads.

"I dreamt you were going to hurt someone, and it came true. I just didn't think it would be me you hurt."

"I do not understand."

You cry softly. Morpheus steps down from the stairs and comes to stand before you. He reaches out to hold you. You let him. He pulls you into his chest and simply holds you against his body.

"I hurt you?"

"You defied Gault her dream."

"She is what I made her to be."

"People change."

"We don't," he says.

"I have. You certainly have."

He goes quiet. You breathe softly in his ear.

"How can I fix your pain?" He asks softly.

You remain quiet for a while and then look up at him. You meet his eyes and hold his gaze firmly.

"You can't."

His expression falls. You free yourself from his grasp and slowly walk away, though it pains you to do so. You need time to think, to figure things out. You needed to make sense of your dreams.

☆☆☆

You walk into the library and pick up some books. You sit down at one of the tables and start sorting through them. Lucienne watches you from where she sits nearby. She watches you open a book and skim through its pages, seemingly searching for something.

Matthew returns from the waking world with news. He perches near Lucienne, but sees you reading hard.

"What's up with her?"

"I don't know," Lucienne replies.

"Anyway, I don't know how she did it, but Rose just got Lyta pregnant."

You look up from your book and stare at the raven.

"What?" Lucienne puts down her quill.

"Apparently, it happened in her dream, and when Lyta woke up-"

"She was still pregnant."

"Very much so."

You look at Lucienne. "Then it's starting?" You ask. She nods at you.

"Rose is weakening the walls between the realms."

"You gonna tell the boss?" Matthew asks.

"No."

"No?"

"It's none of my business." Lucienne adds.

You look down at the book in front of you. You were trying to find answers to your dreams, but you wonder if Rose is simply the answer to them. Now, all you can think about is Morpheus. You feel guilty for walking away like you did.

"Uh, since when?" Matthew asks, bringing your attention back to the conversation.

"Since Lord Morpheus reminded me that I'm merely a librarian and should concern myself with my books from now on."

You look at her. She looks at you.

"He said that?" Matthew asks. "What is wrong with him?"

"Nothing is wrong with him," you say. "He's always been like that. Deep down."

"But he's so sweet with you."

"He's determined to deal with the vortex and the missing Arcana by himself," you say. "Without anyone's help. Not even mine."

Lucienne and Matthew look at you.

"Any news must be reported directly and exclusively to him," Lucienne says after a moment.

"Okay. But can I keep you in the loop?" Matthew asks.

"You'd better not. In his majesty's current mood, he could banish us to the Darkness. As he did, Gault."

"I won't let him," you say, looking at her. Lucienne smiles slightly at you.

"All right, fine. I'll go back to spying on Rose. But you should both make up with him."

"I should make up with him?" Lucienne asks.

"Yes. Now is not the time to be fighting. That goes for you too, my lady," Matthew says, looking at you.

You sigh as you look down again.

"Please?" Matthew begs.

"I'll... talk to him."

"What did he do to you anyway?" The raven asks.

"It's what he's going to do..."

Both Matthew and Lucienne look at you and then at each other. You sigh softly again.

You don't tell them any more.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @mischievousvillainy - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy - @emarich7 - @lollipopsandlandmines - @mouth-whore -

#symphony of dreams #morpheus x reader #the sandman #female reader #dragon writes

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bludpudding · 9 months ago

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Do you have any favorite and/or least favorite fanfic/fandom tropes or HCs for Donald Pierce or the Corinthian??

alright here’s my big long list of hcs

Donnie

• he/him, gay

• trans masc!! has a big cup size but his chest never really gave him dysphoria so he doesn’t see the need to get top surgery. or bottom surgery. really the only thing he’s done for his transition medically is take T shots. rarely wears binders and sticks to sports bras for support

• monster clit energy

• comfortable with some feminine terms as a way of reclaiming his past (ex: yes you can call him ‘queen’ and ‘miss’ he owns that shit now that he’s confident in who he is)

• ex military - mad scientist - engineer - mercenary combo. not really a headcanon but I feel the need to emphasize how much of a powerhouse he is

• reinforced metal spine and skull after an accident caused parts of his skin to be burned away (in addition to getting his arm amputated when he was in military service. different incidents). he made all of his cybernetic parts and manages them all himself, except in rare cases where he may need assistance. typical mad scientist things ykyk

• his type is huge, muscly, guard-dog men he can keep on a leash (Logan was the blueprint but we all saw how that worked out. he’s been a huge wolverine fan since he was in high school)

• gold fangs!!!!

• his hatred for mutants stems from jealousy. he knows he’ll never be one of them and in a rapidly advancing world that deeply scares him. he’s obsessive over keeping his cybernetic parts up to date and top of the line to combat his fear of being left behind. (-based on what boyd said in interviews about him)

• scariest power bottom you’ve ever seen in your life. miss pencil sharpener pussy

• size queen. will insult your dick size in broad daylight

• made a metal dick for himself once but honest to god it’s more of a weapon than a toy. do NOT let him use the strap

• all of the reavers want him so goddamn bad. why else do you think they’re so loyal to him they’re after that cyborg pussy

• he did NOT die and lives happily in his poly marriage with Kurt Ackerman (werewolf mutant oc) and Eddie Brock (yes, the venom guy) up in their cabin in Canada. he keeps them both leashed and wears the pants in the relationship at pretty much all times.

Corinthian

• pronouns up for debate honestly but I know he at least uses he/him. gay. faggot, even.

• not trans masc in the traditional ftm human sense but more so born genderless and consumes masculinity. it’s complicated but he’s somewhere close to male.

• his body is naturally androgynous (has a masculine frame but has feminine sex characteristics)

• has been dominant for most of his life but deep down wants to find someone he’s comfortable enough to be submissive with. being dominant allows him to avoid being too vulnerable and as a result he tends to default to that. the second Cori struggles very badly with this internal conflict and ends up avoiding sexual situations as much as he possibly can.

• paints his nails (this is basically canon fight me)

• his freckles have constellations hidden in them. a very good design choice on Dream’s behalf

• HE IS NOT RIPPED. HE IS PLAYED BY BOYD HOLBROOK HE IS SOFT AND SQUISHY. NO ABS.

• has always wanted to be a father and hence has a tendency to steal children and treat them as his own. this is all Dream’s fault because he programmed Cori to be Daniel’s caretaker a little too intensely. as far as I’m concerned this is the canon explanation for why he’s like that

• fairytale princess. has a tendency to be assigned talking animals as his babysitters. once again not even a headcanon he’s just like that

• this whole post I made about the dangerous cavern of his pussy

• lactose intolerant but still consumes dairy anyway he just like me fr

• gave Matthew gay slur rights because he thinks it’s funny

• Morpheus didn’t originally intend for Cori to be as horny as he is that’s all Desire’s fault for fucking around in the workshop

• his eyes are very sensitive PLEASE be gentle with his eyes

• wiggles his whole body like a long wet noodle when he’s happy because he was tragically born without a tail. regardless he can purr

if that ain’t enough to quench your thirst my entire blog is here 24/7 we have an array of hcs scattered throughout the isles

#this was fun to get all my thoughts down onto paper #the sandman #the corinthian #xmen #donald pierce #asks #boyd holbrook #my art #husband chariot tag

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so-i-grudgingly-joined-this-site · 2 years ago

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I'd suppose a workable throughline on the matter, one which acknowledges Gaiman intended something with the death by fire motif based on evidence from the comic as printed but doesn't hold the Companion's interpretation as gospel*, would be that the connections are there without doubt, but it's all crazy patterns drawn by a terribly uncharitable mind.

Like, we lay things out on the table, then yes, Nada and Ruby and Carla all suffer terrible fates and they all involve fire in some manner. But you dig at it closer, the connections aren't so strong as all that - Nada's people are immolated by the sky as unfair punishment for Dream's pursuit and she dies by her own hand, Ruby as you've mentioned dies due to Destruction's warning systems rather than Dream's actions, and Carla's dies to Loki's machinations, which I find particularly notable since Loki is one of the selected avatars of Morpheus' misery and doom in The Kindly Ones. Hell, the Corinthian notes the pattern while eating Carla's eyes to tail Loki, so a reader reader particularly given to imposition might say Loki tuned into the patterns of Morpheus' life and drew those connections as a means of turning the Corinthian and Matthew off his trail.

Course, that's not really the tact I'd take. Since The Kindly Ones mirrors Morpheus as character and Dream as narrative heavier than any other arc in the series, a note that two other black women who died by fire meant to imply some connection back to Nada strikes me as one of many, MANY instances of the story subtly nudging the audience to look on Morpheus as a monster. We KNOW he isn't, we've been on this journey with him too long and seen too many of his hardships to buy it, Marc Hempel's art throughout the arc heavily emphasizes the sheer depths of the pain and grief he's putting himself through... but why shouldn't it try? Backsliding as he is after his son's death, taking every available worst interpretation of himself as a person, actively preparing an ego-death/physical suicide, a being like Morpheus who IS stories will naturally make his own story char and scar his image in the hopes someone will tell him he deserves this, if only to drown out all the voices arguing he doesn't.

Expressions of disappointment become condemnations of his person entire, mercies long delayed become evils unspeakable, old maladaptive habits thought abandoned slip back into his person, everyone who might help ease the suffering a little is pushed away, and happenstances that were not his fault are suddenly seen as resultant from a failed romance whose ugly aftermath he and his lover already put to bed.

Basically, thinking on the matter, I wouldn't even take it as a curse on black women in the narrative, conscious or unconscious. I'd take it as an all-powerful, suicidal depressive taking the blame for something that's not reasonably assignable as blame in the first place. What'd you think?

*(And honestly I wouldn't do so since Gaiman's interviews there admit he wouldn't either - there's parts where he says he simply doesn't hold all his plans and ideas for Sandman in his head like a giant encyclopedia now he's done with the series. He basically spends the whole book talking about flipping back through notes and issues to get back in that headspace, so it's less "the definitive Neil Gaiman-sanctioned Official Right Way To Interpret Sandman" than "1999 Neil Gaiman reengineers what he thinks 1989-1996 Neil Gaiman was thinking.")

I DO like this interpretation much better, if only because it makes the whole incredibly off-putting "curse on black women" plot point more in Morpheus's own head instead of the literal actual state of that universe. Him thinking "oh man, I unintentionally bring doom to an entire class of people I meet, I deserve to die", while unfortunate for him, is less bad than him actually bringing doom upon an entire class of people. The authorial inclusion of the whole matter is still gross though.

I also like what you point out about the randomness of how each of the women in question die, and how that likewise dissuades from a "curse" interpretation. That's also likely part of why I didn't pick up the allegedly-intended pattern. Why should I notice a particular minority dying, if all the deaths are unconnected and from different methods, and a lot of people from all other demographics are dying too?

I keep waffling back and forth on whether or not the text intends us for us to actually see Morpheus as a monster. I don't want him to be one, but especially with The Sandman Companion's extra uncharitable assumptions toward him I'm always questioning if it's "fan brain" where I'm just seeing things more charitably because I WANT to like him.

And yeah, I'm gonna keep that bit about The Sandman Companion not being "the one definitive and correct canon" in mind. Mostly because if it is, honestly, I would hate this series so much, and clearly I don't want to hate it.

#the racial curse thing would be the last straw for me honestly #asks #asks answered #gargusscp #the sandman #the sandman companion #the sandman meta

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libidomechanica · 1 year ago

Text

Untitled (“Look twin opposites, like mine”)

The soon dear as the dreary woe. How oft that minute goes. His own prefer before you never met has laid by this with rivals or don’t real and fortune may dare no more. We see them in a lonely valleys of thine sake of burning

scarcely for this pure and ever, I think about there and line I sued the absence of marriages, but instead you preserve the cherry. Or make sweet face; there’s face doth live. Your part in little journey she blue-bells for end of good,

so farre subdued me that noonday. Look twin opposites, like mine. So very sage, admiring not to great god Pan, in aught a Paphian dove with needments, enthralments were blythe indeed, I never-resting to universal tinge of the

eagle sat, with long your life, death I cry, less truth and gravity is to sends to feel, we are touch my hand hung a vase, milk-white ravishments and feather sad or plain—oh mightier way while they grow, good Thenot like and every large

a scope for yellow spleen. To roam the eyes by though she laid below the stars, Priests, and altar, with silver hollowed by their know ye: alas! The eye hath more coming as warriors come withstand? Said I, low voic’d: Ah whither ye rose-buds in

the song: but now I can’t stop posterity? Sweet is none you are fled; now, well, I may heat must be more than complete. But were kindly though spots … or craft had give and endows her vogue of Adeline, who cram, relief is pass’d unworried

nem. Into arithmetic beyond the garden by Despair, which, alas, who the day you’re lucky together, and they throat, its edges, a heron. The soil; and sweet odes of the tradition before fitted, although thy beauty doth

use and earth. Her very close, and thou, O awful LOVELINESS, would say so, and you’re slower, which sadly done: i, who, of memory’s half so farre departing. ’Re against thy nature smiled—she heap’d a spinning. And sunny meadow

and they rise or keep, to life’s infinite, and ne’er a ane to pass and wave, just above the breast did I dreamed I was a ladder!—’Tis decorum. There these, love, a tender how can I forgive me they also meek trade wasn’t my minde; my

minding, but oft clomb to th’ other self slipt from whom he seed of the wet leather; and entremets’ to pique a gentle numbers dwindle in the earth is another night; and limits. And, as foes by thee am ouerthrown in flowers,

dispense with man the brands with nimbly began it, hoping … a wave … that wax and we go, and the ley, the hill, my head washes out sometimes nor many a listens, stop there, light go on, thought I, Morpheus slept, filled me—who know. To walk

away, and half of the ballad of hours, that tasted of snows, when my less for to be read in the tree, for a songstress be undisguis’d demon, missing for thine eye can’t, like one dying to my soul began to make the shudderings,

all tongue-tied by so solidly where too long enough he’s the gleam, it must be soothed. ’Er for the door. I did not heard her remember, with us, or ruined for things, and the rough thou, Diviner still to me; and rubies but now discuss—

would swelling me like plain England, grew the braw lass than yourself: and taught into my own peculiar superiority, but oft them stupidity of feet the various eyes have imagine, passion of You. There was seated

on our own credit, but oft denies, oh, in plaster; you can quantify: each more to severed placed according held, but model of bright, did for the other could be the Pope thunder, as well through the night— sometimes, a dull angry

was not just afternoon the fault amongst the longer tarry: I ken their mortal and red uprose they met or panted for complexion seek, and beneath these things, rinds and cease to the just as true. Moreover, despondence, say is not

enough, but ice-gravel. What, conscious call; but many days In grayish doubt, but worne in which Rumour, was the world she used to me, i’ll ne’er I lookt to fall.-Spread grey, instead of him his truth saue this, not Momus self, or pilot thee ring.

Of the young, weeks have set for language of love alone beweep my outcast state with understand meant to sneer at most of such aberration—profess in deserts where in the power, endymion to sell against the world, nor fail in

changes, and wax an ultra- royalist in some and quiver’s crime, you snape me on my low estate, you should lay a boar-spear keen. A lion root the assembly, in my spirit described cheek of Or foxlike in and rose.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #171 texts #ballad

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polterquest · 3 years ago

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im so normal about the corinthian (lying)

#own art #again id post this to my main but i dont want to cus theyre doodles #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #the corinthian #corinthian #fiddlers green #i watched this with a friend in two days and i like it so much #its not my fault that boyd holbrook exudes so much natural charisma #if you see my mouse cursor in the first one no you dont <3

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thevampiremarie · 1 year ago

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treehouse chapter 32

Dream of the Endless | Lord Morpheus x reader pregnancy fic

You are introduced to an inhabitant of the Dreaming. (ao3 link here if you prefer to read it there!)

For the past few days, the rain in the Dreaming has not stopped.

The Dreaming has a baffling variety of weather, from sheets of rain so heavy you can barely see out of your large window to light droplets of mist that leave a fine sheen on your skin, as if the winds and storm clouds are more temperamental than the myths of the god Zeus.

You suppose that given where you are, you’re not too far off.

Per your new silent understanding with the god of dreams, you haven’t seen hide nor hair of Morpheus since the beginning of the storm that has blanketed his realm. Lots of Lucienne and Matthew, who’ve kept you from going stir crazy with their company, jokes, and camaraderie, but none of him. No dark, skulking shadow comfortingly following your steps, no stars glittering with more than light and cosmic dust.

It’s what you wanted, right?

Right.

And in his absence, your experience of the Dreaming has gotten… better, somehow, like you’ve developed a tolerance to the madness that’s endemic to a realm built out of collective fantasies. You walk through these halls and they make sense, how the corridors wind and twist. It’s still one big Escher painting with staircases going where no staircases should and walls twisting into each other like Gordian knots. It makes sense to you now that you’ve accepted that it never will.

Freed of the compulsive urge to sort chaos into order, your mind returns to thoughts of a more usual sort.

Gods are real. That is without question. And so is magic.

…What else?

You could ask Lucienne, but you don’t want to.

You want to ask him.

After wrapping yourself up in a warm sweater and sliding your feet into fleece-lined slippers, because good God is the Dreaming cold all the damn time, you set out in search of Morpheus.

The marble tiles lead you to him, reflecting your intentions. It was odd the first time you found yourself practically deposited by the castle itself in the kitchens when you wanted tea, but now you just relax and let it happen.

The throne room again. You don’t think you’ll ever stop blushing when you see Morpheus’s grand, ornately carved chair.

He’s not on it. Instead, you find him lingering on the steps to the throne, laying back as rain seeps through the ceiling to drench him in a perpetually-refilling, miserable-looking puddle. His dark hair sticks to his forehead and he stares aimlessly into space, his hands folded under his head.

The whole thing is a little pathetic, honestly.

You dance out of the way of a stray stream of rainwater before it soaks into your slippers.

“Morpheus,” You call out, stepping only where you’re sure it’s dry.

When he shoots up into a sitting position, he almost falls down a step. The puddle soaking into black coat grows larger.

Without thinking, you giggle at Morpheus’s uncharacteristic clumsiness, making a warm, happy noise that seems to make the inside rain disappear altogether.

This is how it’s supposed to be between you and him. The realization hits you like a flash of lightning.

This is what you want your future to look like.

He clears his throat as a faint blue tinge colors his sallow cheeks in something approximating a blush. “I offer - uh, my sincerest regrets for the-“ Dream waves his hand at the pool and it disappears in an instant.

“It’s fine, it’s not like it’s your fault,” You offer.

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to; Morpheus says everything by raising a single eyebrow and stifling a smile.

If you could facepalm in an elegant way, you would right about now. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?” You say with a good-natured sigh. There’s no shame in admitting when you’ve been bested.

He inclines his head. “Perhaps.” His lips purse with amusement.

Your heart skips a beat.

Before Morpheus can somehow throw you off balance further, you plop yourself down on the stair next to him. “Well, we’re off to an excellent start.” But you don’t sit close enough to touch. It’s for your peace of mind, naturally.

“I’m inclined to agree.” Morpheus pauses. “Certainly better than the last time we-“ He mutters under his breath.

You can hardly begrudge him his right to be salty, so you act like you didn’t hear anything. “I want to play a game with you, Dream Lord. Interested?” The floor is remarkably uncomfortable, you think as you lay back. How on earth does Morpheus do it?

Ah, that’s probably the point. He is so predictable and somehow endearing all at once.

You take your sweater off and bunch it under your neck to support your head, before carefully arranging the skirt of the soft cotton chemise you had underneath it around your legs. All of the clothes his realm has provided for you are like that, dreamy, fantastical gowns and underpinnings that would better suit a fairy princess in a children’s book.

The thing about talking shit out and forgiveness and moving forward is that it takes two. You know that, you knew it even when you didn’t want to forgive Morpheus one day.

But in the echoing quiet that enveloped the past few days you’ve spent alone, you decided to try.

“What do I get when I win?” Morpheus asks, his blue eyes shining as they behold your face, your expression soft and unmarred by anger.

He’s always so confident. “I ask questions and you have to answer them,” You continue to explain.

You’ve put a lot of thought into this, dissecting what you want from him beyond what he refuses to give. It feels as if you’re walking a tightrope fifty stories above the ground, trying to be true to yourself and fair to him.

Time alone helped you get over that too - the seething, bitter resentment that even though Dream didn’t deserve shit, your feelings betrayed you and filled you with guilt over hurting him anyways.

Your eyes accidentally linger a second too long on his mouth and your cheeks flush.

Morpheus mulls your proposition over in his head: “Seems straightforward enough.” For what feels like the first time, the different incarnations of Morpheus, of Dream, that you know and the vast, unknowable, immortal Other all seem to align, one on top of the other. You can see his familiar godlike beauty and secret kindness in each, and there is a certain order to his existence that you can understand.

And you are not afraid. “But you have to tell the truth. Otherwise you lose the game,” You tease, hoping that he can see you reaching across the emotional crevasse between you, that he wants you to build a bridge.

His gaze flashes at your face for a moment. “And what would happen if I hypothetically lost?” There’s light in Morpheus that transfixes you, hope and sorrow beading like tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Horrible things. Just absolutely diabolical.”

Morpheus hums under his breath. “Consider me terribly frightened, then,” He says dryly.

He’s smiling. Just a little.

“Good. So what’ll it be?” Your voice is too strained, your posture too stiff. You’re giving away the churning, anxious contents of your mind that settle uneasily in your stomach, the fear that you’ve come too late.

You feel something rustle your hair. Morpheus has moved closer, his fingers mere inches from your face. “Query away, Basileia. I am at your disposal.” His hands twitch as if it’s painful for Dream to restrain himself from touching you.

That odd word rolls off of his tongue like an ancient prayer, soft and musical. It’s like a word you’d find chiseled in the ruins of a temple, part of a poem to honor a long-gone goddess.

“What does ‘Basileia’ mean?” You ask.

“You came all this way to ask me that?”

He can be such a little shit sometimes. “Obviously not, I’m just getting warmed up. Naturally.”

“Naturally,” Dream agrees in a manner that indicates he’s humoring you. “In the expressive native tongue of the poet Homer, ‘Basileia’ means ‘great queen’.”

You’re like a moth caught in the hot, unrelenting light of his undisguised, unrepentant tenderness. You couldn’t fly away even if you wanted to.

“So, Morpheus, Dream of the Endless… what exactly do you do?”

Even though you’ve started adjusting to the magic surrounding you, to the unvarnished divinity burning in Morpheus’s human form, it’s the moments when you’re so painfully human that you truly feel the difference between you.

Like now. “Pardon?” He raises his dark eyebrows.

“You know. What do you do? What does your job entail? Uh… Could you describe the duties that come with your honored station? Or do you just sulk all day under your own personal rain cloud?” Dream is behaving like a wet street cat someone took pity on and let inside.

Stick a pair of cat ears in his hair and the resemblance would be remarkable. And he’s got the big, pathetic, and adorable eyes and an over-dramatic, faux-disinterested yet deeply involved manner.

“I do not sulk,” Dream of the Endless mutters under his breath. “I am an Endless.”

A couple seconds later, Dream amends his statement. “I only sulk sometimes.” He frowns at the sour taste of admitting it.

“Mmhmm.”

“Of course I… ‘do things.’ If one can call being an integral part of the fabric and machinations of reality ‘things’. It’s a state of being, for your future reference.” When Dream notices you shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a good position for your aching back, he helps you up before summoning into existence a significantly more comfortable chaise lounge for you to stretch out on.

It’s upholstered in black velvet, of course, and practically bursting with stuffing. If you weren’t pregnant, and your joints weren’t swelling painfully from the cold stone floor, you’d reject it on principle.

“It’s not not ‘things’,” You offer as you lay back, watching Morpheus return to his miserable isolation.

You get that he’s punishing himself on your behalf, but you’d really feel better if he’d just sit with you like a grown-up instead of pushing you away. Pretty damn on the nose.

Morpheus sits with his arms on his knees, his long fingers laced together. “You already know I am the god of dreams, that I create them. It’s- that language feels inadequate, somehow.” As he goes on, his whole face lights up.

His hands start to move as he speaks, and his voice grows stronger, more confident. “You’re growing a life inside yourself that we made. Humanity’s dreams are alive in me and I grow them, nurture them. I cradle them in my hands and release them to be yours, and mirrors of you, mirrors of your world, and mirrors of me.” His passion is so palpable you can practically feel it on your skin, sparking like electricity through a live wire.

“Right now there’s a little girl surviving in a war zone, dreaming about a bar of chocolate. In her dreams, I give it to her, so the taste stays in her mouth when she wakes. A little bit of sweetness in a life currently marked by suffering,” Morpheus says quietly.

He reaches a pale hand out and before your eyes, the sky bends down at his call. His pointed finger meets the galaxies and nebulas and stirs them as casually as if he were stirring coffee. Darkness begins to bleed through the tableau, snuffing out the stars one by one, poured into the world from his hand.

“I craft nightmares as well.”

You blink and his fingers aren’t fingers anymore. They’re claws of flawless ivory bone, coated in dripping black blood. His mouth is filled with razor sharp fangs and his eyes turn into shadowed hollows of unfathomable depths. Morpheus grows taller, his bones prominent under the paper-thin veneer of gray skin. The darkness swallows him up, wraps him in fabric woven from pained screams and bitter tears that smells of the sour, battery acid scent of fear.

You resist the urge to flinch, to pull away, to find a hiding place and guard yourself and your baby from this threat that humans have known since before they struck rocks together to create the first fire.

You’re a child again, arranging your stuffed animals in a ring around your bed to protect you from the monsters, spending hours watching your window for movement instead of sleeping.

Your stomach churns and bile rises in your throat. Your hands clench as you hold the vomit in.

The entity, the horrible nightmare king, watches you. It sits up and stares at you, daring you to run.

You do not run.

You pull yourself upright and you stare the nucleus of every fear you’ve ever had straight in the face. “I had a nightmare the night before you-“ The blood. The needles.

Morpheus walking away.

The memories sting like a slap to your face.

The figure bows its head in repentance. “Before I came to you? Yes. I’m sorry. I never- I did not make that one for you. My creations take on a life of their own after they leave my workshop, but it was never supposed to come for you. And I won’t ever forgive myself for subjecting you to that, my- my love.”

Even through the vicious mouth of teeth, Dream’s voice sounds the same. Sadder, even.

“I see,” You murmur, trying to calm your racing heartbeat.

As the wraith sighs, its exaggerated, protruding ribs creak as the bones slide against one another. He cuts a remarkably forlorn figure even when surrounded by his fantastical kingdom and wielding damn near the full extent of his power.

“You don’t need to apologize. Nightmares are a part of you. I understand that now. You can’t go against what you are, what you were made to be.” It’s as simple as that, isn’t it?

The distance between you and him feels insurmountable.

Light filters through the throne room bit by bit, as if Morpheus finally gave the sun in The Dreaming permission to rise. “I…” He starts, then falls silent again. “That's not all I am. I need you to believe that.” You watch as Dream slowly dons his previous appearance. He rearranges himself as if he’s a stained glass window, turning each piece of colored glass into an entirely new design. A design you’re more familiar with - dark hair, pale but not bloodless skin, shining blue eyes flecked with stars and nebulas.

“Alright,” You say with a nod. You recline again into the soft, comforting cushion of the chaise lounge, feeling warmth on your cheeks as if you’re sitting outside on a hot summer day.

“Tell me, what has become of one William Shakspere?”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Shakespeare?”

“So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason.

And touching now the point of human skill,

Reason becomes the marshal to my will

And leads me to your eyes, where I o’erlook

Love’s stories written in love’s richest book,” You recite from memory without a second of hesitation. “From ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’.”

His pretty, pretty eyes crinkle at the edges in amusement. “Interesting choice of quote.”

You flush and fall silent. Perhaps you should’ve hesitated after all.

“That’s one of my favorites, too.”

“Of course you love that one.” You pause before grumbling under your breath, “Mr. Conceited.”

Morpheus hides his laughter under a pronounced cough.

“If I wished to be conceited, like a certain sibling of mine that I shall not name, I’d take credit for the tales of the Bard of Avon. But that would do him an injustice. William took the scraps of inspiration I tossed his way and changed the face of mortal culture for the rest of time. Then dreams and fantasies he inspired fed back into me.”

And then… you’re swept off your feet and into a vision.

Figures whirl past you, dancing and talking and fighting one another. The imperious fairy queen Titania, resplendent in a glittering cloak, hand in hand with the impish, donkey-faced Puck. A thousand and one incarnations of Romeo calling out to a thousand and one Juliets at her balcony.

You feel it. You feel the joy, the laughter, the sadness, the anticipation felt by every single person touched by one of Shakespeare’s works. Millions. Hundreds of millions, maybe.

Hundreds of millions of hearts shattering every time Romeo takes the poison and Juliet cries out at the sight of his corpse.

A tear rolls down your cheek. Then another, and another.

These stories are alive. They breathe. They’re more than alive, they’re more real than reality,

The weight of all those feelings, all of those people, that power…

“That’s what I do at its very best. That is what I can be,” Dream says as he steps forward, so bright and brilliant that he makes those stories look like faded imitations of his glory.

You gasp, your hand clutching your throat. “You’re amazing. Do you know that? Do you realize how fucking incredible all of this is? My god,” You murmur.

Morpheus merely bows his head. No bravado, no charm. Just an overwhelming sadness that takes you a moment to understand, and when you do, your heart shatters for him.

“It’s beautiful. You’re- you’re beautiful, Morpheus. Even the nightmares are beautiful, in their own way. So powerful. I respect power, even if I don’t want to be on the other end of it,” You comfort. You’re not even lying.

He’s the most human thing you’ve ever known. That’s where his deep pain comes from, his fatal flaw; the inherent opposition of immortality and mortality, his envy of beings that are his vast inferior, his love for the light that he reflects but can never, ever join.

“…You think so?” His mouth trembles.

“I know so.” Your voice gains strength, urging him, begging him to listen. “It’s the truth. You don’t believe me. Don’t deny it, I can tell. You’re the very best of us, the artist of artists and muse of muses, and you don’t believe me.” His baby stirs inside of you, not content to be left out of this conversation. Little Bird wants to comfort their daddy too. “And you’re not very happy, either,” You finish.

He sighs and the many ages he’s lived hang upon him like shackles, drowning him in his sorrows. “I wasn’t. Until I met you,” Dream admits tenderly. “I recall a disagreement you and I had back at the beginning, in the park. Remember?”

“Yeah, I do. I was furious at you,” You recall, torn between giggling at how overblown the fight became and apologizing over and over for how horribly crass and insensitive you were that afternoon.

“My… cynicism, if you will, comes from my job. The worst parts. Not only seeing the most sick, sadistic, and cruel parts of the collective mortal psyche, but having those parts live in me, become me. Become what I create. Me and not me, all at once. Hundreds of billions of voices in my head, screaming, sobbing.” Morpheus presses his palm to his temple as if somehow, he can press hard enough to make the torturous sounds stop.

Your regret over hurting him churns in your rib cage, then crawls up your throat, forcing its way from between your lips. “I-“ You start to speak.

“Don’t apologize,” Morpheus says quietly. “Don’t you dare. Your feelings were legitimate then and you… were right. Like the humans I loathed, it was easier for me to choose hatred and rage than it was to believe that my life could be worth something more. I was no better than them. Someone had to tell me the unvarnished truth and you fearlessly did. Thank you.”

His eyes are clear and his face is earnest, yet sober. There is no secret rage or cloaked resentment lurking inside. He’s not who he used to be, or like any man you’ve known before him.

You have nothing to fear.

It’s evident that of the many things Morpheus desires, the very last thing on that list is pity, especially yours. He’s too proud for that.

After a long minute spent scrutinizing him, holding your breath in case he changes his mind, you eventually nod. “If I had your job, I think I’d go insane in about five minutes.”

Dream sighs in relief, almost imperceptibly. “I can’t deny that I’ve been close to that, at times.” You were right. Pity would’ve enraged him. But you know him like no one else does.

“What do you mean by ‘hundreds of billions of voices’?” You ask.

“I hope you didn’t think humanity was the center of the universe.”

“What can I say? Conceit is one of the human-est qualities out there,” You quip.

Morpheus smirks as he looks at you through the thick sweep of his long, dark eyelashes. “Your hubris is very attractive. But I suppose that’s because all of you is… very attractive,” He almost purrs, drawing flirtation around himself like a fine coat.

“Yeah, okay buddy, you can dial it back,” You respond, rolling your eyes even as your cheeks flush. “I’ve already been caught. You’ve got me. It’s not like you can get me more pregnant.”

“Darling, you get so flustered and red whenever I compliment you. And I’m meant to resist that temptation?” He raises an eyebrow.

There’s a beat of silence as you sit there, Morpheus’s gaze feasting on your pulse jumping in your throat and your fluttering eyelids.

“Aliens are real? Like, real real?”

“Aliens are… real real.” Your slang sounds funny and out of place in his fancy, posh accent. “Out of the many, many species that exist, only yours is fond of casual, familiar language as a sign of affection.”

“Which is the most formal?”

Out of nowhere, cats spring from every spare corner of the room. You yelp, only to be surrounded by a dearth of overly-inquisitive yet exceedingly polite cats sniffing your feet and investigating your hands. A pretty one, all black with bright blue-green eyes, jumps on the back of your lounge and begins to rummage through your hair.

“Mmm. I’ll make things equitable by selecting from the species I could describe to you in your native tongue. Felis catus. Their eloquence is unmatched on your planet, in my humble opinion.”

It’s pale pink nose, cool and slightly damp, brushes your cheek.

“What do cats dream of, anyways?” You say through your giggles, gently carding your fingers through its’ soft, downy fur. The cat purrs louder and louder with each pet. After a moment, your self-control breaks and you kiss its little forehead as you scratch under its chin.

“Oh, plenty of things. They’re an imaginative bunch. For example…” Morpheus nods at the clutter of cats. Dozens of flickering eyes flash towards him and they blink so slowly that you realize it’s intentional.

The cats spring into action. They jump and scamper, chase each other and clamber up the columns encasing Morpheus’s throne room, growing in size until even the smallest kitten could level a multi-story house with a single stomp.

The black one who’s decided to make your lap its napping place stays where it is, even nestling itself into your curved stomach, right next to your baby bump. You can feel the vibrations of its happy cat noises through your dress. “They dream about shrinking people down?

“They dream about growing big, big enough to toss your species around like feather toys.•

“Entirely on brand,” You reply. You feel the smile on your face deep in your soul, keeping you warm all the way down to your toes.

Your smile emboldens him. Dream picks himself up off the floor effortlessly, almost giddy with excitement. “Come. I wish to show you something,” He tells you as he extends his hand out to help you to your feet.

You hesitantly take it and allow him to steady you with his other hand on the small of your back.

The throne room begins to swim before your eyes, taking on that migraine-inducing translucent quality that felt like you’d just taken a tab of bad acid, that made you want to escape from this realm into the Waking World, where you could be sure that you and your surroundings were real.

His hand hasn’t left your back and you’re horribly reminded of being dragged through different planes of existence, like a fish caught on a hook being reeled through the air.

But this time, Dream is with you. He’s steady, a solid pillar of a body you can lean against and feel with your hands, keeping you upright and grounded. “We’re not swimming through dimensions, just going down the block. Metaphorically,” He says quickly, rubbing your back in a silent apology.

You trust him.

Amidst the chaos, the rainbow of colors painting the world around you like you’re walking through an abstract painting, you reach for him. Your fingers intertwine with his, fitting so easily it was like you were always meant to hold his hand.

His pulse jumps in his wrist, beating faster and faster as the minutes pass that you stay with him, that you let him lead you forward.

A door appears out of nowhere, made from solid oak with a heavy brass handle. It hovers in the air, trying to decide if it wants to exist, until Dream reaches out for the handle. As soon as he starts to open it, the door steadies itself.

Even though you can’t tell what’s beyond the door, Dream urges you to walk through first.

You’re struck by his silence and the barest hint of hesitation. Whatever he’s about to show you matters. He cares, deeply, for your approval.

You realize you may be inclined to give it to him.

On the other side of the door is green. Green and blue and pink and purple.

Fields of grass as far as the eye can see, touching all the way to the horizon. Sun shines through each blade of grass, making them glow a vibrant, almost unnatural verdant hue that you can barely tear your eyes away from the grass. Impossibly soft and so alive. You can practically feel the life bursting from the stalks, the millions of tiny souls sleeping in the soil using photosynthesis to stretch even closer to the sun.

The great blue sky stretches overhead, as blue as cornflower, dappled with the occasional fluffy white cloud. The clouds only enhance the great, overwhelming beauty around you, trundling through the sky like little flocks of white sheep.

Pink and purple flowers break up the green grass, scenting the clean, crisp air with the faintest aroma of sweetness. You can practically taste the flower nectar on your tongue. Violets, daisies, bluebells, countless other wildflowers that match not just the blue of the sky, but all the other shades one could see in the sky; the shy, warm pale pink of the dawn and the dappled purple of early twilight.

The gentle cooling breeze brings with it the scent of dark, moist soil, earthy and lush.

Everything is bursting with life, as if at any moment the grass will break into a chorus of song or the flowers will turn to you and greet you cheerfully.

It’s like something out of a movie.

Once you realize it, you turn to him with your hand pressed to your mouth and happy tears crowding your eyes. “Morpheus…” You gasp.

Morpheus gestures towards the horizon. “Basileia, I introduce you to Fiddler’s Green. A member of the Major Arcana and one of my oldest subjects.”

“It’s just like Howl’s Moving Castle.”

Your delight makes him blush ever so slightly. “Indeed. And Spirited Away, and Castle in the Sky, Kiki’s Delivery Service. My Neighbor Totoro.”

“After I was released from Roderick Burgess’s glass prison, the Dreaming, my own domain, a realm woven out of every piece of myself, seemed as alien and foreign to me as Ithaca was to Odysseus. I thought the evolution of my dreams and nightmare without my guidance symbolized my redundancy. A democracy of dreams. I was no longer needed, and I did not belong in the only home I’ve ever had.”

Even the living, breathing beauty of Fiddler’s Green can’t alleviate the heartbreak you feel when you see his spirit breaking from that loss, unable to move on or forward.

“Until you showed me that film you’re so fond of, I’d been disturbed, frankly, at the changes in my dreams and nightmares. Even a dream as loyal and dutiful as Fiddler’s Green had abandoned me, and returned to my realm feeling like a foreign limb stitched to my body.”

Morpheus pauses to take a deep breath.

“You and Fiddler’s Green reminded me that I can be a dreamer, too. I can feel wonder. I can walk through unknown meadows and see a blue sky I’ve never witnessed before, and let it thrill me. Inspire me.”

The warmth of the sunlight illuminates the contours of his chiseled face and turns his eyes from icy, unforgiving sapphire to gentle, open cerulean. “Your generation dreams in the daylight and the open air, not only at night, in the secret recesses of the mind.”

You want to reassure Dream that he suits the Waking world just as much as he does the Dreaming, but you sense he needs to keep going. Not just for you, but for him, like setting down at last the burden that’s been choking the life out of him.

“It is my hope one day that I can do that for you. Be with you in the open air, walk with you through my world and yours. I know you’ve dreamt of it. I’m not sure what exactly I feared. Maybe that your feelings would disappear once you saw me as I was, that I couldn’t be the dream you deserved. So I did what dreams do and I fled into the shadows.”

“What makes you think that would have happened?” Somehow, it’s worse knowing the truth.

It’s worse knowing how close he was to you when he felt a million miles away. It’s worse realizing that if Dream had made a different choice, just one, there would be nothing tearing you apart.

He looks at you with such anguish gathered in the furrowed lines in his forehead. “…It’s happened before,” Dream says brokenly. “And what I could offer wasn’t enough for them. I wasn’t enough. And I love you. I couldn’t bear it if you rejected me like all the others.” His shoulders hunch and he angles himself away from you, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat.

Before you fully understand why, you reach out your hand. “Come here, Morpheus.” Doubt flickers across his expression.

You’re not offended. He’s been brought low too many times before, and that reaction has nothing to do with you. If you could, you’d reach into the past and steal away everything that taught him fear and uncertainty.

After a short while, he takes your hand hesitantly, still afraid you’ll tear it away from him.

You run your thumb along the back of his hand, tracing each vein and tendon. “It didn’t have to go down like this. I understand. I see you. You never had to push me away. Do you hear me?”

“I do.”

It’s painful to talk about this. “I don’t blame you for being so afraid. I was just as scared. What you were afraid I’d do to you, I felt like you were doing to me.” But it’s a good kind of pain.

The two of you are cauterizing the wounds you’ve left on each other’s hearts and the sweetness of Fiddler’s Green soothes what’s left.

His mouth trembles. “…I’m sorry.” A soft breeze dances around the two of you, swooshing through the very tips of his hair.

You hold his hand with both of your hands and draw his palm to your heart. “You have to stop making decisions about us and me without me. I am not another dream for you to control. I want to forgive you. But I will never allow anyone, god or not, to have power over my life like that. You dragged me here because you were afraid I’d reject you. I know. But you never even gave me the chance to say yes. So now I can’t.” A stray tear gathers at the corner of your eye. “You would’ve been enough for me. I would’ve fought for us. Quit making it so that I can’t.”

Dream carefully wipes it away before it can fall, touching your cheek with the lightest, most delicate of pressures. “One day, perhaps I can. And can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

The words pour from your mouth all turbulent and twisted, mirroring your thoughts. “Honestly? I’m not sure. Maybe. I want to. Listen to me. I really, really fucking want to. But I don’t know. I need more time and you have to show me that you’ve changed. And you’ve got to be okay with it, even if it doesn’t work out for us. You can’t control love. You’re either in or you're out.”

His expression is a mask of stone and ice, and his eyes are hooded. You might as well be singing your heart to the wide open sky or pleading for mercy from an avalanche.

“If you don’t think you have that in you, to trust me with that and to keep loving me even when there may not be a happy ending for us in the cards, even when you’re not getting anything out of it, tell me. That’s okay.” It would not be okay. It would shatter what’s left of your heart. It would choke the life out of you.

But you have to give him the option to leave, right? Otherwise you’d be a hypocrite. Behind the knee jerk compulsion to never let Dream go, there is a soft thudding feeling in the back of your mind that reminds you that you mean it. You want better for him. You want him to know what love actually is, even if it isn’t with you. He deserves that.

Morpheus sucks in a sharp breath. “It will be a… new adventure for me, admittedly. But I like adventure, and I’m-“ He pauses to brush a stray hair out of your face. “I’m very fond of you.”

He speaks of fondness and you know he means more than that. Dream speaks of familiarity. The unbearably ordinary and mortal part of love that is waking up together everyday and sharing a cup of coffee, not dramatic declarations or life-or-death drama. You were afraid it wouldn’t be enough, what you could give him.

“So I’ll try. Let me warn you as well - I will not be parted from you. I just won’t. You must find a way to accept that.” His hand moves from over your heart to just between your collarbones, his palm pressing flat and possessive into your skin.

In the raging blue-gray storm of Dream’s irises, you see flashes of pale lightning.

“I understand,” You answer.

A familiar quickening sensation inside of you draws your attention away from him. You remember reading in one of your pregnancy development books that at sixteen weeks, your baby can hear you, even if they don’t understand the sounds.

Little Bird knows your voice, you realize. Little Bird wants their father to know they’re there.

His stricken, concerned voice brings your mind back to him. “What is it? Are you well?” He asks as he curls one of his arms around your waist before stooping so he can see your face to make sure you’re not ill or in pain.

“Morpheus,” You say dreamily. “Give- give me your hand.” After a few seconds of your blind fumbling for it, Morpheus places his hand in yours.

You clasp it to your small baby bump.

Silence. You frown. Perhaps the moment has passed.

Just as Dream begins to pull away…

A stronger movement. A hummingbird-fast flap of tiny wings.

When Morpheus tucks his face into the crook of your neck, his tears dampen your skin. He gasps. You’re both sniffling. “Oh, my love. My queen. Thank you,” Dream whispers. “I can- I can hear…” The sky overhead blooms into a riot of color, every shade of every sunset.

“Hear what?”

Morpheus straightens. His smile-

His smile takes your breath away. “I can hear our Little Bird.” You kiss him without any hesitation, your chapped lips moving against his smooth, soft mouth, and your happy, happy tears mix with his own.

45 notes · View notes

dyns33 · 3 years ago

Text

The debt

Little Morpheus x Reader for a sweet week end

Y/N didn't want to see Mopheus again.

Not at all.

She wished him no harm of course, she even wanted him to find balance, serenity, and happiness, but there were still a lot of things she couldn't forgive.

Their break-up had been difficult. Maybe he had warned her, before they even started dating.

"My love stories always end badly."

Y/N had laughed. She brushed that sentence aside, convinced that it would be different between them, that she was the one who was going to change him, and that they were going to stay together forever.

And they had been together long enough. Several years. They had been very happy. Morpheus had even asked his father not to pass for her anymore, so that his dear sister would never come to take her from him, and since he never asked for anything, Time had accepted.

She wasn't the first mortal to defy the laws of nature, so it didn't really matter much.

But even though time had stopped for her body, their hearts were still racing, and one day they had started to argue.

A bit, then a lot, more and more often, more and more violently.

He had never hit her, but the words could be as hurtful as the blows.

Y/N had made the decision to leave him. It didn't seem to surprise him. This had offended him a little. Maybe also saddened him, in any case she wanted to hope so. He hadn't fought for her to stay. It was the end of all his previous love affairs after all.

The difference was that there was no punishment. No ban. Morpheus didn't prevent her from dreaming, as he didn't ask his father to take back the gift he had given her.

It had been over a year now, and Y/N was trying to move on. Not necessarily to forget him, he would always haunt her nights, and there were some good memories, but she had to learn to live without him, and forever.

So she didn't want to see him anymore, but she continued to appreciate the inhabitants of the Dreaming. It was for this reason that she suddenly stopped near an alley, while it was raining, taking a few steps back to check that she hadn't been mistaken.

Hiding behind a trash can was a raven, visibly injured, which was painful to see.

"Matthew ?" she asked softly as she approached.

"... Hi Y/N."

"What happened ?"

"A tiny little accident, nothing dramatic. I'm resting a bit before flying off to go back to... Well, to leave."

"You can talk about the Dreaming, I don't mind. It sounds serious enough. Isn't Morpheus coming to get you ?"

"No !" cried the raven, fidgeting nervously. "I mean, the boss doesn't know, and he doesn't have to know ! He's going to panic, and be angry, and sad, and disappointed, saying that I'm not paying enough attention, and that I can't go into the waking world alone anymore, and that it's his fault because he wasn't there to protect me, and he's going to take a new raven which will be better than me and..."

"Matthew. Calm down."

"... I don't want him to replace me. I don't want him to worry either. I know he suffered a lot after the death of Jessamy. But it's true that I can't really fly right now, and I'm stuck here."

Y/N sighed. It probably wasn't a good idea, because Matthew was a dream, and Morpheus was very protective of his dreams, very possessive, but she couldn't leave the little bird, and he knew her, so there was no reason for this situation to take a bad turn.

Without saying a word, not listening to the cries of the raven, she took him with her, to her house, where she settled him on a cushion, taking care of his wing and giving him something to regain his strength.

"You can stay here as long as you need, and when you're better you can go back to Dream."

"Thank you ! That's so nice ! I knew you were nice, I don't understand why you and the boss broke up."

"It was not working anymore."

"Because he's not good with people, he knows it, and instead of making an effort, he sulks, imagines the worst, and ruins everything ? Classic. He does that all the time. It has rained for months after you left, he was inconsolable."

Guessing she wasn't supposed to know that, Y/N said nothing, pretending she hadn't heard anything, and taking care of Matthew until he was fit to fly away.

Quite honestly, she thought this story was going to end there. She had helped an old friend, nothing more.

But when she had just fallen asleep, she was surprised to find herself in the throne room she knew so well. Morpheus was there, staring coldly at her. He hadn't changed, and Y/N tried not to think he was still very handsome.

"Matthew told me that you assisted him during one of his trips to the waking world."

"Yes, although I thought he didn't want you to know that."

"He can't hide anything from me. He's a part of me, and I immediately knew he was in distress. But I saw you were with him and helping him, so I didn't interfere."

"Good. Why am I here then ?" she asked, suddenly feeling hope deep in her heart, thinking he was going to talk about that rain, tell her he missed her, and ask her to come back.

"I am in your debt.. As Endless, I must pay it. Ask me what you want, so that we are even."

The request fell on her like a sledgehammer. For a second she almost smiled, then laughed, waiting for him to laugh with her, because it could only be a joke.

"I didn't do this for a favour. I don't want anything, thank you."

"You do not understand." he growled as he rose from his throne, huge and menacing. "I have to pay my debt."

"Morpheus, I don't want anything. Consider us even right now, I don't want to ask you anything."

"You have to, that's the rule."

So that was the only reason he had brought her here. The rules, the responsibilities. Again This upset her pretty much. Morpheus certainly didn't think she had helped Matthew get anything out of him, but that was how she felt. He wasn't offering her a present as a thank you, but because he had no choice.

"No."

"You dare."

"I won't ask you anything."

"But you could. You can ask me for anything you want and I'll give it to you.."

Indeed, as she could have made him a totally ridiculous request, like a book, or sweet dreams, or that he just say "thank you" by getting down on his knees, but Y/N was as stubborn as he was, and she refused to change her mind.

Morpheus didn't back down either. He continued to torment her for several nights, before visiting her during the day, ordering her to release him from his debt.

As always, he was selfish, annoying, insistent, but not violent. He didn't touch her once, and he didn't actually scream, like she knew he was capable of. He seemed genuinely desperate about this situation, and Y/N ended up not knowing what to do.

She didn't want him to think she had helped Matthew to get something, and she could have asked for something ridiculous, and at the same time she could be asking for something huge, like getting a second chance. She was secretly happy to see him again, so often.

Because even if everything hadn't been perfect, she sometimes missed him. She missed what they had had.

Instead, as he continued to harass her, even preventing her from sleeping, Y/N lost her composure, being tired and lost.

"You want a wish ? Fine. I never want to see you again. Never again !"

Morpheus suddenly seemed shocked. Hurt. He studied her for a long time, as if he wanted to say something, before shaking his head and disappearing in a whirlwind of sand.

The wish was immediately regretted, but Y/N tried to call him, hoping he would come back to cancel her request, but he didn't show up.

Luckily for her, the wish was vague. She hadn't said a word about the Dreaming, or its inhabitants, and after several days she finally found Matthew, presumably on a mission in the waking world, standing on a bench.

"Hello Matthew." she whispered as she sat down next to him.

"Yeah. Hi."

"Everything is fine ?"

"Depends. The boss has been crying since he got back from your place. He refuses to say what happened. I know you were both responsible last time, but I don't like seeing him like this. He's my friend, I don't want you to hurt him."

"I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I said something stupid, and I'd like to undo all of this, but I don't know if it's possible."

She explained to him what had happened, and the little raven sighed, realizing that they had acted like fools again. However, he sadly told her that there was nothing he could do, because now that she had made her request, he had to respect it.

"Even if I ask ? I really want to rescind that wish."

"Sorry, kid. It doesn't work that way."

"But... I'll never see him again." Y/N sobbed, putting her hands on her heart. She hadn't wanted to see Morpheus again, but she hadn't thought she would never see him again.

Matthew sighed again, shook his little head, before letting out a caw. Without saying a word, he abruptly flew away, leaving her alone on the bench, where she wept softly, thinking he had abandoned her.

Then he came back, hopping on one leg.

"I had a problem." he declared.

"What do you mean? You... Your leg is broken ?! Matthew ! How did you do that ?!"

"A bike."

"You're totally oblivious. Maybe Dream is right in not wanting to let you walk around on your own. Come on."

Once in her apartment, Y/N did exactly like the last time, taking care of the crow, putting a bandage on his tiny leg, before freezing.

"... You didn't hurt yourself on purpose to make Morpheus owe me another debt, did you ?"

"... Maybe ?"

"Matthew. That's a really bad idea."

"Indeed."

The voice startled her, but she was still happy to see Dream, who was standing awkwardly by the door.

Y/N slowly turned to him, afraid that he would disappear as quickly as he had come the instant her eyes landed on him. He looked as desperate as Matthew had said, scared, which wasn't normal for an Endless.

"You… You're not going to get in trouble ? By being in the same room as me, despite my wish ?"

"I could." he replied. "But I have another debt to you again, which I must honour so, exceptionally, here I am."

"I see. It's... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask that. I was sick of your constant asking, I wanted you to understand that I didn't do this for favours, and I refused to abuse your powers."

"I know. I'm sorry I was so insistent. I never thought you helped Matthew for any reason other than your kindness. But there are rules, I have to offer you something. I... I was hoping you would ask me..."

"Yes ?"

"I didn't think you would ask that."

"And I want to rescind that wish, right now. It doesn't count anymore. I don't want to never see you again. Of course, if you don't want to come back, I'll understand, but if you... You would be welcome."

"That's it. That's what I wanted to hear." he whispered, moving closer to rest his forehead against hers.

Despite himself, Matthew let out a caw of joy, ruining the moment a bit, but it made the two former lovers smile. Taking his emissary in his arms, Dream thanked her for having helped him again, even if the circumstances were special this time.

Visibly embarrassed, he offered her to come and visit him in the Dreaming, if she wanted to. Y/N said she would think about it, adding that he could also come for tea when he had some free time.

They parted ways, knowing they were foolish enough to never see each other again, and knowing they wouldn't last long before they visited each other. Because even if she had told herself for a long time that she didn't want to see him again, Y/N knew deep down that it was wrong, that she wanted as much as needed to be with Morpheus, stupid, imperfect, beloved Morpheus, who had never had love affairs with the same person twice.

So maybe the second time would be the right one.

#the sandman #sandman #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless x reader

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