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gardens-light · 2 years

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Honey I'm Home

After escaping his imprisonment from the Waking World. Morpheus returns to his kingdom, only to find it in ruins and his creatures gone. Vowing to rebuild of what was once lost, and turn his realm back into his own image. But before his kingdom can return to it's former glory, he must reclaim his queen first...

Content: Fluff/Smut. Fingering. Female reader receiving oral.

Grief struck his heart as Morpheus stood at the gates of his realm. His once beautiful world, now reduced to nothing but rubble and ash.

"What happened here? Who did this?"

"My Lord... you are 'The Dreaming'" Lucienne kindly spoke. "The Dreaming is you. With you gone as long as you were... the world started to decay and crumble."

"And the residence? The palace staff?"

Lucienne bit her lip before continuing, "I'm... afraid most of them are gone..."

"Gone?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Some were worried and went looking for you. Others believed... that perhaps you've... gone weary of your duties-"

"So they believed I've abandoned them? Do my subject's truly think that little of me?" Morpheus lowered his head. As he made his way back to what was left of his palace.

Standing in the crumbled remains of his thrown room. Watery eyes wondering at the broken stained glass pieces, rocks and rubble from the decayed arches above.

"I kept a journal for a while. Just a chronical of what had happened in your absence." Lucienne weakly smiled, as she stood proper with her hands behind her back. "But..." her smile soon faded, "after a while the words... faded. And soon enough, every book within our library became just empty volumes of blank pages."

"What felt like less than a day, I suddenly found the whole library gone. I... never found it again..."

Morpheus heard the hurt and pain in her voice, "and yet... you remained? While others fled. A royal librarian in an abandoned kingdom."

Lucienne weakly smiled, "I never said I felt abandoned, sir. I knew you'll return."

He lowered his head, not knowing weather to be thankful, or apologetic towards Lucienne. An ache throbbed in his heart, as tears built up behind his dark eyes. "And what about my wife, Lucienne?" it was a question he didn't want to ask, but it held the answer he was dying to know.

"I don't feel her presence here."

"Do not fret, my lord. My lady is still here. Just... not in the palace-"

His eyes flashed up at her, gleaming with hope. "Then where?"

Lucienne couldn't help but pull a slightly shocked expression. "My lady is within her gardens. She's staid there since you've left. It's... the only place that didn't fall to ruin. And a small handful of the residence took shelter there-."

"Take me there, Lucienne! She needs to know that I've returned!"

"Of course. At once, my Lord..."

Morpheus was indeed different upon his return, Lucienne could sense that clearly. She couldn't help but attempt to hide her smirk, when she saw him fussing over his own appearance, within her peripheral vision. From tidying up his hair, to adjusting his black trench coat. Brushing off the small specks of dust, upon his dress shirt.

Towards the inner wall of the city. Hidden behind vines and leaf's was a gentle yellow glow. Brushing them aside, Morpheus' heart fluttered. Before him was small stone steps, each lit with delicate iron lanterns which housed a singular firefly. As the lanterns rested close to the flower beds, beside the steps. Entering further into the garden, smooth sandstone beneath his feet, replaced the gravelled path. The path gracefully wind down the hills of luscious green grass, beautiful flowers adorned the surroundings with colours.

Although the sky was grey and murky, birds still happily chirped. Approaching the shallow stream of clear blue water, with rocks creating small ponds for the coy fish. Morpheus stepped forward onto the wooden arched bridge which crossed the river.

"My Lord! Wait!" Lucienne warned, as she quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Lucienne?!-"

A low rumble vibrated through the air, and shook the ground. A section of the ground broke away from the hills, on the other side of the bridge. Leaf's, trees and flowers broke away, as something rose. The pair was soon greeted by emerald green eyes of a dragon like creature. It's scales the same colour and texture as the nearby trees, small branches, moss and shrubs, camouflaged the guardian.

"Redwood, the Forest Guardian" Morpheus gleamed. But his smile faded, when the forest dragon growled at his second attempt to cross the bridge. "What's the matter with you? Do you not recognize your own king? I created you, Redwood."

Lucienne's hand slowly moved from his arm to his shoulder, gently pulling the king a little further away from the dragon. "Sir... he guards and protects, not only the gardens but the queen too. No matter whom approaches... Redwood wont allow anyone to pass, without her permission."

"Why?"

The librarian bit her lip and lowered her head, "b-because... Nightmares and demons tried to claim the queen, my Lord."

Morpheus' hands curled into tight fists, "claim?"

Lucienne hesitated before nodding slowly, "yes... my Lord-"

"Was any... did any of them?-"

"No, my Lord. She was never harmed or disrespected. All thanks to Redwood's devotion to loyalty and duty. But I'm afraid... regardless if friend or foe, familiar face or not. Nobody passes unless, my Lady, says so. After all, these gardens are her domain, I suppose."

To Lucienne's surprise, Morpheus knelt down against the sandstone path. Looking at Redwood with a hopeful gaze, "Redwood, Forest Guardian. Please tell Y/N, the Queen of Dreams, that her king has returned. Send this message, so I can be granted save passage-"

"It's ok, Redwood."

Morpheus' heart fluttered as you stood at the end of the bridge. Your gentle reassurance settling the guardian, "you've must of known it was only our king. Calm down, my guardian. Rest and not worry."

The dragon nestled back against the nearby hills, adjusting it's position and resting it's head upon the large rocks, near the river. It's eyes still locked on the Lord of Dreams.

"You've returned, my Lord. Just as Lucienne always knew." You shared the librarian's smile, before gazing at Morpheus whom still knelt against the ground.

"My wife. My light. My dream. Please allow me to enter your domain and embrace you." His voice was soft and almost pleading like.

You pulled a puzzled expression. Confused as to why he asked for permission, when he never done so. And not quite sure on how to answer, "um... yes?... You may cross."

You've never seen him move so fast, nor hold you so tightly. Morpheus wrapped his arms around you, feeling your body and breathing in your scented perfume.

"I apologize a thousand times, and a thousand times again for leaving you so long!"

"No need for apologies, my Lord" you formally spoke, still with a suttle hint of confusion within your tone. "I am aware of your imprisonment. I'm glad you've returned safely-"

"I've missed you, Y/N."

You froze. Throughout your arranged marriage, Morpheus has never called you by your name. Sure he greeted you with "darling", "my love" but mainly you both always dressed each other as, 'my lord' and 'my lady.' But he's never shown this much affection towards you. Something inside him has truly changed.

"You can leave, Lucienne. I wish to be alone with my wife." The librarian simply bowed and started to walk back up the sandstone path.

Morpheus guided you by the hand, leading you towards the nearby gazebo. The circular construction held by five thin pillars, holding up the arches that supported the dome roof. With a wave of his hand, the vines which crawled over the white gazebo, grew over the arches and openings. Creating a small place of privacy.

You stood with your hands behind your back. Sighing deeply, attempting to keep things proper. "And I have missed you, my Lord. Apologizes I could not uphold the rest of your kingdom. But Lucienne has been a great value to you and your people.-"

"Enough with the formalities, my darling. Indeed Lucienne has done well to upkeep whatever she can. But I'm just thrilled you're still here and alright. Did you... ever feel like I abandoned you?"

You could hear the sincerity within his voice. A genuine question which held worry within his heart.

"Sometimes..." you lowly admitted. "Despite how much Lucienne spoke of you returning... at times..."

"You didn't believe it?..."

"No... well not all the time. There were also moments where I felt... lost and alone. Sometimes I also thought you've may... have left me for another-"

"Never!-"

"Oh!"

Morpheus gently pushed you onto the seat behind you. He leaned into you, placing his hands on the back of the bench. "Nobody could compare to you. You've been more devoted and loyal to me, than you should have been."

"My Lord?-"

"No, Y/N. Please don't say anything, for we both know it's true. Our marriage has been nothing less, of a business deal between our parents. Only in order to reunite both kingdoms. And we've been treating this whole thing as such. A business deal."

Your bottom lips curled a little, "perhaps that's... indeed true. But you haven't been awful towards me. If that's what you feel guilty about-"

"I feel guilty of many things. And taking you for granted was one of them! But no more, my love. For I will earn your affection and love, instead of demanding it."

You blinked multiple times in confusion. "Earn it? My Lord, I have already grown to love you-"

"Then let's show it. Express it"

Your eyes widened as he got onto his knees, kneeling at the hem of your dress. Slowly removing his trench coat, as he reached for your dress. Realization begun to sink into you.

"Here?" You questioned, "b-but there's residents here! My Lord! People will talk if they hear, let alone see-"

"Hear and see what? That a king submits to his queen in her domain? That I will happily please you in your place of rule, like you've pleased me in mine?"

Your cheeks reddened as he lifted up the skirt of your dress, gently placing the gathered fabric at your knees. His hands moving from the skirts hem and onto your thighs, massaging your muscles while he leaned closer. Placing his lips softly against your skin, leaving delicate kisses.

A slow but deep breath left your parted lips, feeling the warmth building in your core. Your soft spot clenching around nothing, as Morpheus' kisses slowly edged nearer to your close. Only stopping when you placed a hand upon his head, fingers intertwining into his messy black locks.

"Do you want me to stop? Say it and I will." His voice spoke with a heartful promise.

You bit your bottom lip, "no Morpheus. I don't want you to stop. But I do want you to continue, only if you truly wish it. You owe me nothing, my love. Weather this marriage started off the way we wanted, or not."

His dark eyes softly gazed up at you, never have they ever shined with such love and passion. "Being imprisoned gave me time to reflect on past behaviours. Showing me the error of my ways. Reminding me of the times I denied you love, but only to demand such from you. Treating you as a second class citizen, rather than my equal."

Morpheus gently grabbed your left hand, brushing a thumb over the black diamond ring, which rested nicely upon your wedded finger. Placing a gentle kiss upon your knuckles before continuing, "but I've should of told you how much I adore you. How your loyalty and faith in me has left me speechless. How your beauty cannot be compared to anything, or to anyone. You are my light and my dream, Y/N. Please allow me to be the king. The husband you should of had, and more!"

A cheeky smile spread across your lips, your fingers tightening within his hair, gently tugging upon his scalp. "Then claim your queen, Lord of Dreams."

There was no hesitation. No holding back.

His hand reached for between your legs, grabbing the lacey fabric of your undergarments, and ripping them apart. His lips kissing and sucking onto your clit in such hunger, you never felt. The fire within your core erupting and bursting into ambers, as his sliver tongue plunged into your already wet centre.

Morpheus' hands reached up and cradled your bare ass. Squeezing your buttocks and thrusting you closer with gentle thrusts. Muffled moans and gasps of pleasure escaped him, as your fingers ran through his hair. Pulling him closer towards you, as he thrusted your centre closer to his mouth.

Muffled moans and gasps of pleasure left him, while you bit hard onto your bottom lips. Attempting to hold back your low whimpers, as you rested your head against the pillar.

His tongue withdraw from your wet pussy, and teased it along your clit, while two fingers thrusted deep into your centre. Your insides clamping tightly around his hand, as his peace quickened. Ripping a small moan from you that he's been begging to hear

"Allow me to please you, my love! I will not hold back regardless who sees!"

You placed your hand towards your mouth, muffling the moans which left you. But it was only for a moment, before Morpheus grabbed your wrist and placed your hand back atop his head. Encouraging your fingers to run through his strains again, and gently tug at his scalp.

"Don't deny what I give you, my darling! Moan! Scream! Shout your pleasures till you can't no more. Cry till you have no voice! Cum so you cannot walk! Your king has returned, my sweet! And I promise to take such good care of you. That our time apart will feel like a distant memory!."

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#sandman x reader #sandman netflix #netflix the sandman #sandman x you #sandman x y/n #x fem reader #x reader #fanfic #gardens light #morpheus x reader #lord morpheus #morpheus sandman #dream of the endless

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kydrogendragon · 4 months

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Happy birthday!

I love Lucienne and Gault being sweet to each other, Gault and Jed having adventures together in the Dreaming, and Rose and Barbie if you want (I set them up as a pair in my fic, Life is But a Dream, but then didn’t go any farther with them).

Happy writing!

Sixth prompt of the day!

I initially tried to write a ficlet with all of the above, but couldn't figure out what I wanted to go with it. If you're curious, the general premise I had was Rose teasing Lucienne about when she planned to propose to Gault while they were all in the Dreaming. Gault was off flying around Fiddler's Green with Jed while Lucienne, Rose, and Barbie lounged on a picnic blanket on a hill.

But! Instead, I wrote a thing focusing on Gault and Lucienne since the words for that flowed more. I'd like to finish the other idea I had eventually since I do think it'd be cute, but hopefully this also works!

Thanks a ton for the prompt!!! This was a lot of fun to write. It's vaguely in the same universe as A Waking Nightmare, but just in the sense of "this is how these two got together".

Relationship: Gault/Lucienne Words: 1587 Warnings: None Ao3 Link

“When was the last time you left this place?” Gault asks, trailing behind Lucienne while the former raven snags the misplaced books from shelves and tables. The library of the Dreaming was expansive and ever shifting, though Lucienne never seemed to have issue navigating it. Even Gault, as a Major Arcana, a spot that put her as close to their Lord as a Dream or Nightmare could be, struggled with finding exactly what she wanted in this place.

Lucienne had explained it to her once. She claimed that her role as the Librarian of the Dreaming allowed her control over it to some degree. As Dream was the Dreaming, Lucienne was, partially, the Library as well. When she retired from her position as a Raven and took up the new role as Librarian, their Lord had bestowed upon her a small fraction of his powers so that she could wield this space to it’s fullest potential. And wield it, she did.

“Frequently,” Lucienne replies, pulling one of the misplaced books from her cart and slotting it between it’s brothers on the shelf in front of her. “I do often bring reports to Lord Morpheus, after all. I am not confined to this space, you know.” She hears Gault’s sigh behind her before she sees the flash of color to her side. Gault follows her, walking backwards beside the cart. Lucienne shoots her a look, raised brow and all, wile she continues her duties.

“You know,” Gault says, picking up one of the abandoned books and turning it in her hands. “Doing tasks for our Lord wasn’t what I meant. When what the last time you left this place on your own accord?”

The answer, Lucienne knows, is a very long time. So long, in fact, she’s unsure when exactly that was. Not nearly as far back as her position as raven, but not much sooner than it, either, she suspects. She blinks, refusing to look upon Gault’s knowing expression, and instead focuses on her work. She slots a book into position, her finger trailing along the spine as she pushes the hardback into place.

She just catches the roll of Gault’s eyes as she wheels the cart forward. They descend, expectedly for Lucienne, unexpectedly for Gault, who stumbles over her feet at the sudden shift in elevation. She falls over, her back colliding with the now stable flooring of the Library. Lucienne smirks as she wheels past the prone Nightmare.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Gault called from her spot on the floor. Lucienne looks over her shoulder, a face of perfect innocence.

“Me? Never. The floor was always that way.” She turns back as Gault huffs and pushes herself up off the hardwood floors. They’ve made their way into one of the offshoots of the main library. Here, the hallway is narrower and the ceiling reaches just a head taller than their Lord’s usual form size. Torches line the walls, illuminating the corridor in golden, flickering light. If Lucienne was being truthful, it was these smaller sectors of the Library that she enjoyed the most. They were rarely visited by anyone, dream and nightmares or dreamers alike. This particular hallway was devoted to the finished collections of Swedish Shower Thoughts circa 1940 to 2040.

“If I asked you to join me for a scroll through the gardens, would you say yes?” Gault’s voice echoed against the stone ceilings. The grip on the book in Lucienne’s hand tightened. She looks down, eyes trailing over the leather bound edges. A stroll through the garden, inherently, wasn’t a bad idea. The weather was fair as their Lord was in a decent mood as of late and she knew that Mervyn had recently completed the renovations to the pergola beside the pond which would make for a most excellent sitting spot. No, the garden wasn’t the thing that made Lucienne pause.

Gault was. Or rather, what Gault wanted was the cause for her hesitation. It was clear, after the numerous visits she had made to the Library in recent months, that there was something more than simple friendship under the surface. Lucienne wasn’t blind to the clear flirting or prolonged looks. And she would be lying if she said there weren’t times her own eyes lingered a touch too long. Mutual attraction wasn’t the problem. The problem was that it existed in the first place.

Lucienne was the Librarian of the Dreaming. She was a former raven to Dream of the Endless and, most critically, was kept nearly as busy as her lordship was. And Gault… Gault was a jovial spirit who completed her work with artistry and efficiency. She helped care and raise the young dreams and nightmares and saw such beauty and potential in both this realm and the Waking. Gault was worthy of her title as Major Arcana. She was the best of them. And what Gault needed was not someone who has been compared to Lord Morpheus in more ways than one.

No, she should deny her request for the stoll in the garden. She should deny any such requests in the future until Gault takes the hint and finds someone more compatible, more deserving of her. She sighs, slotting the book in place, before turning to meet Gault’s gaze.

“Okay.”

The gardens, as expected, were wonderful out. The flowers were just starting to bloom and the air was clean and crisp. Lucienne couldn’t help but notice the tension in her shoulders began to dissipate as they walked through the rows of flowering hedges.

They chatted while they walked, mostly of work, though Gault did tell stories of the most recent nightmares she’d partaken in. Apparently, there had been some debate on who was responsible for a string of serial nightmares: herself or the Corinthian. Lucienne did not envy Gault for having to deal with that mess. The Corinthian, while an effective Nightmare and particularly favored by their Lord (though Lucienne knows well he would deny such claims), was not fun to work with on a professional level.

Gault stopped just beside a section of flower, a variety of Daisy that exists solely in the Dreaming, and plucks one from it’s stem. Lucienne watches as she raises the golden flower to her nose and sniffs. She hums, clearly pleased by the scent, before turning to face Lucienne. She stares for a moment, her eyes flicking between the side of her head and back to her gaze.

Then, it clicks, when Gault leans forward and slots the flower between her ear. Lucienne can’t help the shiver that runs down her spine as Gault’s touch. She is warm. Her fingers are warm as they caress the side of her face once the flower is secured.

“There,” she says, letting her arm fall back to her side. “Something pretty for someone pretty.” Lucienne smiles, shaking her head as he looks away. She can feel heat in her cheeks.

“Is that the best line you have? You are trying to woo a librarian, after all.” She replies, gazing down at the junction of stone and grass beside their feet.

“Guess I’ll just have to study some more. Is there a book on good pick-up lines somewhere in that expansive library of yours?”

Lucienne looks up, her eyes meeting the soft gaze on Gault’s face. She feels her heart skip in her chest followed immediately by a heaviness, a lead weight of guilt inside her. She doesn’t realize she’s speaking until it’s too late.

“You should not want me,” she nearly yells. “I will not have the time to devote to you as I would like. As you would deserve. I will put our Lord and the Dreaming above us, above you and above me. I cannot be the spontaneous partner or even, truly, a most affectionate one. I have only know my work, my books, and my Lord for so many centuries that I do not know how to know another. You deserve more than me, Gault.”

She is silent, staring down at Lucienne with such sadness in her eyes that she is certain she has some to the same conclusion as herself. That a relationship between them would be pointless. Instead, she slowly raises her hands and cups Lucienne’s cheeks.

“Good think I’m more than fine with just following you around while you work,” Gault says, leaning forward to press a feather light kiss to Lucienne’s forehead. It is the most touch she has experienced in so long. She only realizes she has whimpered when Gault chuckles against her skin. “We have all the time in the world. I can learn to wait while you figure it all out. As a friend or as more. I just want you, Lucienne.”

She lets out a shuddering breath which quickly turns into a shaky, teary laugh. Gault wraps her arms around her form and pulls her close to her iridescent chest. They are a perfect height, Lucienne thinks, as she feels Gault’s chin rest on the top of her head. She winds her own arms around Gault’s waist, letting herself enjoy the moment. There’s a steady thrum from under her skin. Not a heart, not truly, for most of the dreamthings here do not have hearts, but rather the core of them. It pulses with power, hers even stronger than most for her status as an Arcana.

“Okay,” she finally says, her voice muffled against Gault’s body. “Just… be patient with me?”

“For you, my dear librarian? Of course.”

#gaultienne #gault the sandman #gault x lucienne #lucienne the librarian #the sandman #ky writes #Kydrogen's Birthday Prompts

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years

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Younger Gods: Chapter VII

Master List Chapter 6

Morpheus x fem!reader

The chaos of younger gods brings old horrors to the Dreaming.

Warnings: suggested PTSD triggers, the most awkward beans alive, Taliesin and Matthew being little shits

A/N: Getting this chapter on the page was like getting the last of the ketchup out of an old glass bottle - holy SHIT. I know the readership for this fic has dropped sharply, but I love each and every one of you (especially when you take the time to comment/reblog <3). Much love as we move towards the final chapter!

Chapter 7: Dangerous Thoughts

“Lucienne.”

She knew his voice, and she opened her eyes to see her lord returned, whole and hale. Alive. She could not remember being so happy to see him, not even after his imprisonment over the past century. While he was gone she had hope, but in the horror of the last hours her fears overtook all sense. Panic stole her reason and informed her the Dreaming had fallen, and she’d known it to be true – because she’d seen it. Heard it. Tasted it.

Her friends had abandoned all they held dear. Her king had perished.

A sob caught in her throat as she seized Lord Morpheus’s proffered hand, and though she’d come back to herself just enough to feel humiliated by her behavior, she hadn’t rediscovered enough pride to stop it. She needed that hand – alive, alive, alive – to anchor her.

“I am sorry, my lord.”

“There is nothing for which you need apologize.” Both of his hands closed over hers, hiding her trembling from the world. His aspect turned dark, and only that grip assured her his wrath had other targets. “You were attacked. Can you tell me what happened?”

“The Dreaming fell. My lord – you were – everyone had deserted the palace, and the gates had fallen.” She rambled, failing to stop for breath until Lord Morpheus set a hand on her shoulder, hushing the lingering panic with his touch, his clear and very real presence.

“How did it begin?”

He looked at her like she’d grown fragile in the hours since they last spoke, and she finally felt enough hurt pride to clear her throat and sit up. When she reached instinctively to straighten her spectacles, she found her face bare. That couldn’t be right. Had they fallen off? Were they broken? What would she do –

Merv – standing at her elbow – cleared his throat. “Got your glasses here, Luce.”

She cleared her own throat, banishing the sticky tears fogging her tongue, and swept the pair up to their right and proper position. The instant they framed her face, she felt better. The world looked correct, and she – and all she cared for – was well.

One deep breath banished the fading screams from her lungs. It brought balance, awareness, focus. A safe, important pattern. She was herself. She was Lord Morpheus’s royal librarian. There was a threat to her library, and she must inform her lord.

“I thought I saw dreamfolk entering the palace after an attack.” She glanced at Mervyn, who’d been in the library when she first heard their guests. “Was that illusion or fact?”

“No one came in that I saw,” the pumpkinhead said. His sounded contrite, apologetic even. “The guardians didn’t see anything, either, but a couple a’ dreams said the sky went weird.”

Morpheus’s frown creased his entire face. “How so? What did they see?”

“More like what the didn’t see, boss.” Merv scratched the back of his orange head. “They said it moved, like they knew they should see somethin’ that wasn’t there. Kinda the way a mirror plays tricks on you. Sorry, like I said, I didn’t actually see anything.”

The King of Dreams sat back in his chair, going cold and still as his fury mounted. The tenderness in his eyes sank below a marble mask as his rage swelled like the tide. The nuisance had become a threat. The trespassers had drawn blood. Lucienne’s cuticles were ringed red, though someone had already bandaged her scalp.

“None of you are at fault.” Morpheus’s eyes flicked to the nearest window, a long slit in the wall offering a splendid view of the green hills and flowering fields rising behind the palace. But the bright sun did not warm his face. “They ride their father’s chariot. Even Aries hopes to see the Dreaming at war, even if it is only with itself.”

Merv grumbled under his breath, fidgeting, expressing all the anxiety his master could not. “What do we do?”

“Watch. Wait. They pile evidence against themselves by the day, and once I have seen them meddle in the affairs of my realm with my own eyes, I will have just cause to retaliate.” The lord of the Dreaming closed his eyes, resigning himself to an unpleasant decision. “The strategy remains. I must let them build their own gallows, though they grow more daring.” Outside, the sky turned dark, and the grey sky growled with the king’s displeasure. “To strike at my librarian within the palace… rest assured, Lucienne, they will be punished.”

He met her eyes as he made the promise, and she wondered if the world would soon be short two gods.

“I have no doubt, lord.”

Never a fan of tension, but still reluctant to leave the room, Mervyn crossed his arms and asked, “Where’s the new kid?”

Morpheus rose from his seat beside Lucienne, offering a final, reassuring touch to her shoulder, and turned away, summoned by all the chaos he must arbitrate, the defenses he must build.

“Matthew is with the bard and his storm god. There have been complications.”

“If I may be of any assistance –” Lucienne rushed to offer.

“You have more than enough work to consume your time.” The king made to leave the room. The burden of his title and crown giving weight to every resounding step. “And I would rather you rest. Recover, Lucienne.”

It wasn’t up for debate. He was learning to listen, yes, but he did not take threats well. He did not take loss well, and this came close. If she hadn’t collapsed, if she’d run into the waves instead, they might’ve never had this conversation. And in addition to all that, she couldn’t help suspecting he’d nearly lost something else. He would not leave Matthew to watch over the storm god in her own home if he wasn’t concerned, and Lord Morpheus rarely showed concern without great reason.

She wanted to ask, but she didn’t.

Once their liege had left earshot, however, Mervyn turned with squinted, hollow eyes. “Think something’s up with that?”

Lucienne tsked, brushing herself down as she swung her legs over the edge of the narrow bed. She would recover best on her feet. In the library. Surrounded by her books with a task or twelve in hand.

“It isn’t our business to ask.” It was never their business when their master lost his perfect control. It wasn’t their business when the stars glowed like proper suns or – later – when the clouds turned noon dark as night. Safer that way. Tidier, at least for his librarian. “If the situation with Matthew’s savior were to impact us in any way, I’m sure our king would tell us.”

“Yeah?” Merv’s eyes narrowed to slits. “How sure?”

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

After her flight from her home, the torturous months without sleep, and everything that happened with Dream while she slept, she found herself becalmed.

She’d been racing towards something – death and freedom sat shoulder to shoulder in her world – and now? Nothing.

The attacks on the Dreaming kept Dream busy in his own realm, and until he and Taliesin found a new approach to her problem, there was nothing to do.

Nothing to do, and nowhere she could run from her troubles.

So, she drifted. Picking up one project, then another, sometimes finishing a new scarf or improving on a potion before she moved on, sometimes leaving shawls half-knitted and cups of tea half-full around the cottage.

She felt adrift, caught in the vast nothingness between goals without a wind to propel her. Although she had a destination in mind, it was still much too far away to see, and nothing could close that distance unless forces outside her control made it so.

She hated it.

At least she wasn’t alone. Matthew stayed, and he got on alarming well with Taliesin. Thick as thieves, those two.

Minutes ago, the raven fluttered to the bard’s head and whispered in his ear. Then they both suddenly had somewhere else to be, and they rushed out the door like something was actually wrong. If it weren’t for the poorly-veiled smirk Taliesin worked too hard to wipe off his face, she might’ve been concerned.

She was still concerned, just for different reasons. Apart, each one was trouble. Together? The world wasn’t ready.

By pairing off, the two also made her a third wheel in her own home. Besides the uncomfortable stirring of unwelcome jealousy – Taliesin was her friend, damn it – their partnership gave her entirely too much time alone to think. And she mulled entirely too much about things she shouldn’t, things she’d never wrestled with before. If Taliesin wasn’t so busy conspiring with Matthew, and if Matthew wasn’t really Dream’s mobile spy cam, she might confide in him. But no. Not when someone might overhear. Especially him.

Sticky little visions and insidious questions spun through her head, and she found herself helpless to stop them as they hooked into interesting places where they could grow and blossom into something painful to ignore.

When she thought of their conversations, her imagination wandered to his pink lips, wondering they were soft, what they might feel like if she dared to brush over them with the tips of her fingers, whether they’d welcome her own lips – which she suddenly realized were NOT soft after all her nervous chewing and went hunting for balm.

Even memories of their early acquaintance took on new shades. He’d been frightening, but beautiful, too. Statuesque, a monument to things beyond desire. He contained worlds. Impossible and untouchable.

And yet.

He sat with her in the rain.

That night when things went so wrong, when she’d been so vulnerable she couldn’t stand her own skin, he showed her tender patience she could never have asked for.

When he might’ve handed the duty to someone else, given her orders, or simply left her to come back on her own, he chose to wait. He lowered himself and showed he was vulnerable, too. The Endless empathized with her suffering because he’d lived through his own, and in the tangle of wind and wet loam, he’d shared it.

There were few understandings so potent as showing each other your scars and discovering they matched.

He accidentally propped open a door that evening, and she stayed vulnerable ever since, against her wishes and better sense.

At least she didn’t dream. She shuddered at the imaginary horror of the Dream King sensing – or even seeing – the warm sparks glowing in new and strange places when she thought of his hands hold up her hair, brushing her neck, carrying her home.

Yeah.

No.

Taliesin was talking about brewing a milder version of the potion she took to avoid Dream in the waking world, and she was more than onboard with the plan. It was a temporary solution until they had time and opportunity to further investigate the curse, but she’d take it.

Dream must never know.

Never ever.

The kettle sang, and she lifted it away from the fire, muttering under her breath as she filled the two waiting mugs. She set it all up to share with Taliesin, and then he’d swanned off with the raven. Ungrateful shit. She could just put the tea bag back, but she was feeling left out and spiteful, so she set it to brew.

If he didn’t come back before it went cold, it could stand like a tepid modern art installation. She’d call it something melodramatic, like Forgotten Conversations or some such shit.

She was two sips into her own drink when a knock came at the door.

Her frustration popped like a bubble, and she sprang up in a swirl of skirt and shawl, mug clutched in one hand to let her friend back inside. Had the silly, over-protective thing tried locking it and forgotten his key?

She was safe here. He should know that by now.

Or maybe he was waiting on the other side with a funny face to try to scare her, or he had his hands full with a basket of blueberries he’d found growing in a swampy patch between the hills. Always a surprise, that man.

She yanked the door open, still trying to decide whether she wanted to chide or tease him more, and froze.

Dream stood there, eying the top of the doorframe, and every inappropriate thought she’d suffered in the past weeks crashed through her psyche at once, leaving no room for speech or movement or manners as his gaze dropped down to hers.

He had gorgeous eyes, even when he was pretending to be more human than he was.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, shit.

Had she even brushed her hair that morning? She’d gotten much too used to Taliesin’s relaxed approach to everything, and she was in full gremlin chic. Fucking hell.

And he was looking at her.

And there was no one else in the house.

Fuck.

What did one do when the object of their quiet fascination arrived unannounced?

“Would you like some tea?”

Yes. Tea was good.

Leaving the door open for him, she hurried back towards the table by the fire where the second mug stood in all its judgmental splendor. Still warm, too. Thank gods.

Having a task made it all better. She didn’t have to guess at what to say, how to behave. They’d officially reached a point in their acquaintance where her urge to be a good host outstripped any screaming anxieties by a mile. She would give him tea no matter what he said, and if he stayed too long, she’d start fussing over dinner, too.

“I was steeping this for Taliesin, but he wandered off with Matthew just a few minutes ago.”

“Thank you, but –”

She shoved the mug into his hands before he could refuse. Shrugging off the baffled eyebrow creeping up his face, she said, “It’ll just go to waste. Might as well warm your hands. If you don’t drink tea.”

He didn’t, she noted, immediately set the cup aside. He arranged his grip just so, long fingers arranging themselves to cradle the cheap porcelain like something that mattered, even if he clearly didn’t understand why. She could imagine him weaving a new dream like that, a small, shapeless thing held close as he spun it beat by beat from the first pulses of a warm heart.

She doubted he’d had much time for new dreams lately.

While he always looked a little gaunt by human standards, the Dream King looked haggard in the firelight, peering into his tea. Shadows hung in pockets under his cheek, ringing his eyes, even curling in little wisps along the fringes of his shadow. The pallor glowed at odds with his feverish eyes, and she wondered how long it had been since he had a chance to stop and breathe.

“You look tired.”

His gaze snapped to her, catching her watching, sending her rushing headlong into an apology before she could even process how the thought escaped her lips in the first place.

“I’m sorry.” She looked down into her brew, genuinely contrite. There were a thousand better ways to ask if she could lend a hand. This wasn’t something she knew how to do. It’d been ages since she developed any kind of relationship outside of her friendship with Taliesin.

And her traitorous tongue wasn’t through humiliating her yet. “Was that rude? I only meant – I mean, I know there’s nothing I can offer someone like you, but – The people you love are hurting. Someone attacked your home. If there’s anything I can do to… help? I’d like to. Help, I mean. I’d like to help.”

Her initial insult had startled the lingering frustration from his eyes, and she barely had time to notice how they warmed by inches throughout her stumbling explanation. He shook his head, nearly smiling through the faint haze of steam wafting from between his palms.

“Thank you.” He gave the words far more gravitas than she deserved, and the weight of his lordly gratitude dragged her low in her seat. “But I believe you’re right; there’s nothing you can do at this time.” Finally, he set the mug on the side table, still full and fairly warm. “I came to check on you. Has the collar caused any more problems in your waking hours?”

Ah, so it was a serious medical consultation. She couldn’t make it a social call even if she tried. At least she’d foisted the tea on him. Briefly. And with this clear purpose maybe she could keep all those dangerous dreams of hers safely locked down.

Setting her own cup aside, she traced the edge of her scarf. The bandages were long gone, but she had plenty of new scars. It was awful – to look at and to feel.

“My neck aches, but it’s healing, and Taliesin hasn’t found any fresh wounds, so… Looks like there’s nothing you can do at this time, either.”

He nodded slowly, a thousand tasks and anxieties rushing behind his glittering eyes.

“Then I will not disturb you.”

“You don’t disturb me.” She said it so fast she nearly yelped it, and he looked at her so sharply, so attentively, it was like he’d never been tired at all. A hint of burning stars flickered in his blue eyes, and she a jolt of fear interrupted the butterflies that had been so merrily swarming her gut. Her secrets weren’t safe at all. If she kept holding his gaze…

She looked down – coward – into her empty hands and wished she hadn’t given up her tea. Now she had nothing to fiddle with, no excuse to fill her mouth with drink and buy herself more time to think of a suitable, reasonable, and not at all embarrassing explanation.

He held the silence. She couldn’t even see if he was breathing, and in the end she had to keep wading across the river she’d so blindly jumped in.

“I’m glad to see you,” she said, oh so carefully as she met his eye, “and I wish there was something I could do. You’re always welcome here, just so you know. If you ever need a quiet moment, my home isn’t grand or inspiring, but it’s a good place to rest.”

This time, she saw when he smiled. Barely more than a smirk, it lifted his eyes as well as his lips, and the butterflies escaped her stomach to swarm her chest.

“Thank you, little storm god.”

A deep breath pulled in all the smells of home. Woodsmoke and drying herbs. Fresh tea and bread baked early in the morning. They told her more than anything that she was safe, no matter how embarrassed, and that confidence gave her a little power.

“I’m serious you know.” She pulled herself up straighter, wanting to be believed, not pitied. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to be what you are, to manage everything you shoulder, but I understand exhaustion. If all I can ever offer you is a quiet place to gather your thoughts, I’m happy to keep the door open.”

Ah – she’d nearly forgotten. She’d talked it over with both Matthew and Taliesin, and they’d enthusiastically agreed with her. Very enthusiastically. They almost made it weird.

“I even –” She wrestled through her pockets, remembering slipping it into one after she added a black ribbon the day before. Heaven help her if it fell out and the couch ate it. But – no – there it was. Cold metal touched her palm, and she triumphantly yanked out a delicate silver key strung on a long ribbon for safekeeping. It twinkled in the firelight, as she held it up for her guest to take. “I made you one, like Taliesin’s, so you can come and go with a little less effort. Consider it an official invitation. You’re always welcome, Dream.”

The Lord of the Dreaming accepted her gift, studying the craftsmanship. When he peered back at her, he looked through his lashes. She was sure he didn’t do it on purpose, but her stomach flipped, and she wondered if she hadn’t set herself up for trouble with this offering.

“An invitation from the master of one realm to another?”

The tension burst again, and she laughed in relief. “I’d hardly call this a realm.”

He tucked the key inside his coat, in some pocket or universe hiding behind the left side of the fabric, around the height of his heart. He finished his task with care before returning all his attention to their conversation.

“And yet, without you, it would cease to be. Perhaps you do not give yourself enough credit.”

She felt the heat bloom over her entire face, and looked desperately for an excuse to busy her hands. “I don’t know about that.”

No excuses presented themselves, and she was trapped in the full power of the Dream Lord’s stare as it wandered from her eyes to her neck. He couldn’t see through the scarf, but she was sure he remembered the damage he’d seen that night in the rain, when he sat beside her on the couch and helped Taliesin stitch her back into a single, functioning piece.

He was invested in her problems, but she wasn’t sure if he cared beyond that. She was careful with her life because she knew Taliesin would grieve if she lost it, and he’d lived so long, he’d lost enough. The Dream Lord was different. Would he be hurt if this went badly? Would he blame himself if he couldn’t fix her?

What, if anything, did he want from her? Did their connection begin and end in the collar?

She swallowed, and he met her eyes again. Something new hid there, but he masked his emotions so well she couldn’t read him. All she had were his words. His actions. Her choices were her own, and she knew her life hung by too fine a thread to let him even imagine he was responsible for them.

“You can’t save me, Dream of the Endless,” she murmured. “I saved myself a long time ago.”

His eyes flicked to the scarf. The barest glance. It spoke volumes. Regret and hope effused the concentrated frown his face fell into when he thought too deeply.

“Not entirely.”

His voice dropped into a rumble, and it nearly distracted her from her goal. But he was the focus of that goal for the moment, and her blooming affection for the Endless brooked no risks she could divert. She’d said she wanted to help, and despite his insistence, this was something she could do. Fresh resolve stiffened her spine.

He had enough burdens at the moment without trying to struggle under her own struggles. His guilt wouldn’t protect her, but it would sap his strength, pull his attention from critical matters of the Dreaming. That would hurt them both in the end.

She heaved a sigh big enough to lift her shoulders.

“I hope I escape the collar someday, but even if there’s no solution, even if I never dream peacefully, I’m content with my life. I might be miserable sometimes, but I learned to live with it before you decided to… what? Rescue me? If I’m content, why can’t you be?”

Dream took one step towards her. There wasn’t much space between them to begin with. Her home was cozy, not large. Celestial fires raged behind the thinnest scrim of blue, evidence of a struggle against passions he wouldn’t share, and his expression shifted like his sand. Determined and stiff, soft and nearly open.

He took another step, and she feared if she breathed too deeply, she’d touch him by accident. He was, by virtue of his nature, intimidating, but it felt like she’d grown a magnet in her chest that begged one of them to close the delicate gap, like it was the most natural thing in the world to plunge headfirst into danger.

Decisions yet to be made fluctuated in the pull of his lips, trembled along his tense jaw. His hands clenched and stretched open at his sides. But none of that was for her, only the starlight that called across endless miles and lifetimes with a song she’d echoed in a bower of saplings under the storm.

When he spoke, his voice was the softest she’d ever heard. It still filled the room, but the fire and the light from the open door dimmed so the shadows could swaddle his words, keep them for her and her alone.

“Maybe I am not content to see you miserable.”

The stars swept her face like searchlights, looking for something, or gathering a sacrifice she gave without knowing. The gap between them no longer mattered. It wasn’t there. Not really. He stood in her space, and she welcomed him, every dream and terror he possessed. She met him with hurricanes and gentlest showers under soft grey skies. They saw. They understood.

A thread stitched them together, the ties still loose, but undeniable.

This was more than pity. It wasn’t guilt or grief or the mere drive to cut out the foreign magic from her dreams.

It… he might –

“We’re back, darling! Why is the door open?”

The moment shattered, and they both turned to see Taliesin and Matthew sweep inside. The bard’s face lit up when he spied their guest, and he hurried to throw his wet coat on the rack as the raven shook himself dry.

“Hello, Lord Morpheus! We had no idea you were coming today.” A touch too excited. A little too loud. Projecting, like he was performing on stage.

Matthew croaked. “Hey, boss.”

Dream’s eyebrows crept up as he stepped back from the warm place in front of her. She mourned the loss, but schooled her features, because Taliesin was in the room, and he’d never let her hear the end of it.

“Did you not?” Dream asked. He addressed Matthew second. “Since all is well here, and you’re struggling to maintain your post, I think it best you return to the Dreaming.” He looked at his raven with the stern eye of a ruler. Or a disappointed parent.

Matthew ducked. “Of course, sir.” He only sounded a little ashamed.

Dream slipped his hands into his pocket as he circled the couch, his wry voice trailing after him like a cloud.

“Thank you again, little storm god, for the tea.”

He strode through the open door, into a misting rain, down the path, and through the gate with Matthew flying over his shoulder. The sand consumed him as he climbed the first hill, and both entities of the Dreaming were gone.

It took Taliesin less than a second afterward to pull her back, push her down in a chair, and set the kettle to boil again. He didn’t stop to refill it, and he didn’t give her time to warn him. With a clap of his hands, he squatted to her level and pinned her with a wild, delighted glare.

“Spill. I want to know everything. Right now. Spill the tea. Please. Or I may cry and it will be all your fault.”

She puffed out her cheeks, gripping the arms of the chair against his onslaught.

She didn’t know what to tell him. She didn’t really want to tell him anything. After all, it wasn’t like he knew her feelings, the little whispers of fantasy and possibility that plagued her, and he’d missed the rest of the show because he preferred the bird’s company.

Fine then. That’s what she’d say. Nothing.

“I think,” she said slowly, leaning into his desperately curious gaze, “that you’d better not burn my kettle, bard.”

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

A month. Two.

But when the moment came, no one had to bring a report.

Dream knew.

Before the screams and the creeping shadow, he felt the two intruders descending over his palace. Their call to panic pricked over his skin like needles, pressing on his equilibrium with the unspoken demand that it crack, that he let his unrestrained essence flood his realm, drown it with every dread collected over eons of existence. But their flimsy hooks couldn’t pierce deep enough to draw more than his ire. They didn’t touch his mind or strike his heart. It would take power beyond their fantasies to lance his bones and make him scream.

He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and breathed in the rising stink of fear as his people’s terror curdled the light of his throne room. It was a terrible thing, but beneath his frustration and pain for his dreamfolk, an ember of satisfaction smoldered.

At last.

He rose from his throne, descending the twisting steps with dark intent.

Already, he could feel their suggestions, their subtle magic twining close, seeking open wounds and half-forgotten agonies. But he was King of Nightmares, and he’d long since tired of their games. He’d send Ares’ children crying back to their father. The Dreaming was no chessboard, no gaming green or bright field for challenges of skill, and they would regret mistaking it for such.

They would bleed for Lucienne’s tears and for every whimper they inspired from one of his creations.

Time to end this. And then to rest with the rain on the window and –

He quickly banished the thread of longing.

The little storm god had been right; he was tired. Remaining on guard over so many weeks, with so many of his creations in need of care and restoration wearied him. He had no doubt the invaders planned it that way. But they had grossly underestimated their opponent.

He must focus.

Stepping outside, he found the sky as Mervyn had described. A warped reflection of the clouds hung over the palace’s spires, and all the dreamfolk fled from it, all but the gatekeepers. Even as panic crackled into madness, they could not leave their posts. The Griffin tore at his own feathers, shrieking against something he imagined under his flesh. The hippogriff screamed and bucked, striking at imagined enemies with its hooves, and the wyvern mistook its master for an intruder. Dream pushed the snapping jaws aside, incandescent with rage.

They would not trick him into harming his own. He’d repay every broken wing, bruised face, and quiet limp the refugees had brought to his attention on Phobos’ hide. He’d gift Deimos with the cost of shattered hands and mangled bellies carried to his palace by weeping friends who blamed themselves for the horrors inflicted.

Beyond the gates, he saw baskets upended, a few dreams who’d fallen or stood in the way of giants pulling themselves to illusory safety behind trees and carts and houses. The gates stood fast, keeping the desperate crowd locked away from the greater danger of the seas beyond.

Matthew, shuddering but still sane, alighted on his shoulder.

“What now, boss?” The raven twitched, dodging something only he could see, and Dream ran a hand down his familiar’s back – from the crown of his head, between his wings, to the base of his tail. His loyal friend, determined to do his duty even in the face of his greatest fears. Matthew cawed, shuddering under the second pass of his master’s fingers, and Dream glowered at the ___ in the sky.

“Now, I give them reason to regret ever setting foot in my realm.”

But he would not risk his raven. Not again.

“I need you to stay here. Guard those who’ve lost themselves, and inform Lucienne that I have left for battle when you find her.”

Perhaps he said it too carefully, too gently. Matthew shook himself so every feather stood on end. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

“I will not leave the Dreaming for this fight.” He pet the tuft of feathers at the top of Matthew’s beak, assuring them both that the raven stood there in one piece, unbroken and breathing. “Do not fear, Matthew.”

A tall order, but the bird rallied to meet it. Dream’s request cut through the phantoms, sharp with purpose. Matthew scoffed, fluttering down from Dream’s shoulder only to stare up with every bit of force and determination a raven could contain. “Be careful, okay? Lucienne will turn me into a feather duster if anything happens to you on my watch.”

Dream did not smile, but Matthew’s faith swelled within him, a boon to arm him against the greatest terrors – which he would face alone.

“My brave raven.” Once again, he must order him to stay. Once again, everything that made Matthew a good and reliable aid also complicated Dream’s plan. He buried his affection deep, letting the cold authority of his office shade his next command: “Do not follow me.”

Matthew croaked, lifting his wings to emphasize an impending retort, but Dream didn’t wait for disobedience. He donned his helm, lifted a handful of sand, and left his subject cawing at thin air.

He saw the chariot, a shivering blight in the blue sky, eating up the sunlight with its invisible shadow. More realm than transport, it could house an army. Or a single room. Whatever a visiting mind feared, the space held. Once Deimos and Phobos knew a victim’s weakness, it became their world.

He moved into the stolen space over his palace where Aries’ chariot hovered. It came to his kingdom without invitation, and therefore he needed none to enter.

As his sand bore him across the short distance, he wondered what horrors the invaders might summon to save themselves. When the shimmering grains fell away, however, only darkness greeted him, a consuming silence echoing itself into infinity.

Terrifying for a mortal, perhaps, but he didn’t even need light to see within the bounds of the Dreaming. He, like the night sky, was as much depthless shadow as starlight.

Such a meager effort to unbalance their opponent. He must teach these younger gods the meaning of panic and fear.

Smirking, he strode into the emptiness, searching for the brothers who surely recognized their error now that he stood in their haven.

What had the King of Nightmares to dread?

He paced deeper into the hollow realm, empty hands closing into fists as he summoned to mind all the harm the feckless immortals brought to those in his care – to dreams and dreamers alike. This ended here. Now. They may delay their fate by minutes or hours with their games of hide and seek, but retribution came for them with the inevitable draw of the cosmic tide. The eyes of his helm glowed, and the dead air warmed in lurid shades of red.

“You cannot hide from me.” He watched simple shapes appear as from a black fog. Walls and ceilings manifested from the floor upon which he stood. Doors grew along them and empty arches promised new spaces beyond. “I am the Dreaming, and you intrude in my realm.”

He sensed them – waiting below. He must go to them. They would not be called.

One door, firmer and brighter than the rest, creaked open, inviting him down a flight of stairs. It had the grandiose showmanship of an obvious trap, but Morpheus had no fear of any surprise the two may spring, and he stepped through, pulsing with malicious intent.

He wouldn’t deny the fools his attention when they courted it so eagerly.

The steps led deep, past logic and into something more akin to nightmare than reality. Dreamers sometimes encountered stairs like these – an endless descent they followed in desperation and confusion. The ultimate liminal space they raced through en route to a destination they’d never reach.

At first, he didn’t notice his footfalls growing heavier. The echo and shock of his feet against stone crept over him like the daybreak, a rising and unwelcome awareness. More of his anthropomorphic body burdened his hunt than he’d intended, and he felt his power drawing in, wrapping close. It left him feeling strangely small as he lowered himself a step, a step, a step at a time. Though he could see far more than he had at the top of the stairs, some senses dimmed, went blind, and his waking sense of caution whispered in alarm.

But he continued.

He had faced far worse than this mild discomfort – his people had – and these invaders must be stopped.

Deeper still he trod, and then deeper again.

Cold, musty air enveloped him. He tasted the stale rot of forgotten centuries and smelled a blend of old candle wax and lingering mildew. Artificial light in a place that never escaped the damp.

A basement.

He hesitated. Only for a moment, but long enough. The waiting claws of Deimos’ and Phobos’ power pierced his defenses, hooking deep in his marrow with a surge of anxiety beyond fear. His corporeal body’s heart stuttered, and he fell to a knee as the stairs folded up into a familiar room. The walls feel back into endless pillars, studded with lights too dim to combat the shadows beyond the golden circle.

Collapsing, he felt his power drain away as the shackles of ancient magic bound him once again in his weakest state. A prisoner. Physical anguish warred with his distress, and he groaned, reached for the edge of the circle with a shaking hand.

A sandaled foot pinned his fingers to the stone, almost gently, and Dream looked up through the eyes of his helm to find Deimos and Phobos towering with sated grins. Deimos – easy to mistake for a human youth – crouched down, following the bidding of Dream’s fears. As his brother – Phobos, identical to his brother apart from his leonine head – kept their hostage from breaking through his terror, Deimos plucked his bag of sand out of his grip, tore away his cloak, and seized the helm with the same awkward malice Roderick Burgess employed.

He had no ruby to lose, but Deimos stole everything he had including…

Deimos lifted the key to the storm god’s cottage, examining it in the harsh white electric lights the younger Burgess installed many years after he failed to keep his promise. “What does this open, I wonder?”

A knot seized Dream’s stomach, and he curled in on himself, gasping against the wave of piercing terror conjured by the mere idea of the brothers using that key, slipping into the storm god’s home and taking her apart through the horrors of her past. As he once had. But worse. Without escape. Without a hand to pull her back out of the nightmare. It would destroy her.

He groaned, and the sound reverberated.

Flinching upright, he reached for the edge of the circle, frantic, only to crash against glass. The lights danced in his eyes, mockingly bright when the rest of the world was so dark.

They’d put him back in the glass cage. Or his fears had. It didn’t matter. Now as then, he was powerless. And this time his captors knew their work, had access to realm, and would not need any gift from him to achieve their aims.

It was everything he feared, the worst thing he could imagine.

Deimos moaned, pressing his hand flat to his belly as his eyes rolled back in his head. “The fear of an Endless truly is a potent thing. Bless the fool mortals who taught you such dread.”

Phobos rumbled, his lion’s voice filled with impressions and sensation rather than words. It rang in Dream’s ears like a chant.

Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

It wasn’t true. It wasn’t real. But he felt the cold, curved floor sapping heat from his bent legs, smelled the cheap coffee the guards used to wash down their damned pills. More solid than any nightmare. And he did not dream.

Sighing, like he’d finished a grand meal or enjoyed an orgasm, Deimos said, “Facts don’t change fears.” He looked around the room, eating it all with his gaze. Gloating. Sated. For the moment. “You are the Dreaming, but it’s taken so long to taste your fears, Lord Morpheus. Your creations only held whispers, full of their own worries and visions of darker days. But those tastes sustained us. Strengthened us. And they told us much in the end.”

They told his absence, of the slow rebuilding. Some of his own hopes and fears always went into his work, and his new creations sang of freedom, whispered of imprisonment.

He closed his eyes, trying to think, trying to call for help – from Lucienne, Matthew, Death, anyone. It would not, could not happen again. The Dreaming would not survive it. He would not survive it.

Phobos took the bundle of clothes and tools from his brother, rumbling the worst promises with the voices of the dead as he retreated from the illuminated circle.

Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

#morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x oc

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catcher11 · 2 years

Text

Morpheus having a S/O with anxiety

I...trully did not expect to be back into the world of writing fanfiction like this. I actually have a Dream piece just wating to be posted but I'm making editing way more harder than it should be. Also yeah, anxiety took the best of me today and my acting powers are not strong enough to turn it into something usefull yet. So, without further ado, let's fucking vent.

Also, every single person regardless of gender is included into this.

● For many years you just thought you were very good at exagerating things.

● And quite frankly, apocalyptic movies were nothing compared to what your lovely, catastrophic mind could do.

● But ever since you took the bull by the horns and started going to theraphy things made more sense. Yes, the beast was there. Yes, sometimes you didn't felt strong enough to face other demons. Yes, starting to take care of and loving yourself felt strange and the guilt of repeting all patterns was a pain. But it also made you apretiate your past vertions and the brave, amazing person you always were.

● The beast however, loved to stir things up when you were happier or more stable than usuall.

● And you hated how it went straight for all the things you care about.

● One moment you were acing your job, feeling like the most badass, smart and skillful person, celebrating with your loved ones and the next something small caught your atention. Some little pattern that came back, or a work colleague's feedback (mean or constructive, you didn't remembered), or a thought that didn't really belonged to you remained there.

● It stood there. Just watching. Eating. And growing.

● More things were added into that inicially small pile: represed feelings, old habbits, more catastrophic ideas, fear of loneliness, insecurities, you name it. It just spiraled from then on. Became a snow ball going down hill.

● You didn't give back the love people gave you. You weren't smart. You didn't have enough courage to separate truth from mind tricks. Your friends are just waiting to leave you. You weren't qualified for your job no matter how much you love it. How were you so unable to get rid of your enviousness? You weren't pretty nor interesting. Morpheus was just waiting to depart from you and find someone better suited for him.

● And the worst part is that you knew it was all bullshit.

● The smallest part of your mind that catched all the practice you gain in therapy knew it as well. But on moments like this, it felt like that piece was numb, quiet and unexisting.

● And Morpheus noticed. Of course he did.

● Your dreams lured him to meet you, to build this lovely bond you now have; but your nightmares showed him your true self once you were together. They were the first sign of anxiety pre therapy and one of the main reasons you decided you wouldn't let your mind get the best of you. But on moments like this they came back harsher than ever, more ruthless. And for a few days, it was enough for you how Dream would melt your night fears away, hold you while listening to you and giving you the advice you asked to your friends and family as well. It was enough to cry by his side and let it all out until there was nothing else to face.

● And then it would all come back again.

● Growing desperate from seeing you suffer so much, the Endless divided his time on taking care of his realm and learning how to help you. You both knew it was more something you had to figure it out on your own, but asking and receiving help was someting you didn't strugle with (or at least not as much as before) anymore. And besides, the spiral you were facing this time was...well, tougher than usual. Not entirely for what it had, but because of its way of coming and going.

● And then, Lucienne proposed a game changer.

● "How about using the word game you challenged Lucifer with, mylord? Why not aplying it on their fears?" She asked as they strolled through the library.

● "How so?"

● "For every hurtful, horrific thing they can think about, give them something equally delighful. Something peaceful for every monster under the bed".

● Morpheus stopped, then, as he considered her idea. He wondered...and decided to give it a shot. Your anxiety didn't play fair. And if the Dream Lord was able to play dirty (without hurting you, of course) then why not use that?

● So he asked you. And you said yes.

● You prepared together one night. Set everything as comfortable as posible and he asked again if you were willing.

● And the answer was the same. Yes.

● You stood face to face. The rules were simple. You had to start with the frase "I fear..." and mention any worry that plagued your mind. You felt self concious, tiny and nervious. But one steady look from him was enough to take a deep breath...and let everything go.

● It stared small. Insecurities about yourself came first. And just like a game of chess, for every fear, something hopeful came along; so certain and sincere you were almost hesitant to keep going, feeling like there was nothing to be scared about. Your ideas about the future along the fear of being left behind were the hardest to face. All the posible and imposible things that were out of your control became myst so heavy that there seamed no way to scape at all no matter how badly you wanted to. You called for Morpheus, blind and shaking. Screaming. Helpless.

● For a solid minute, nothing happened. Everything stilled and became quiet enough to hear your pulse, how your head buzzed.

● And right on your own world or chaos and fog...Morpheus found himself once again in front of you, smiling. He held a cristal ball on his hands.

● "You are not your thoughts. And as long as you believe in yourself even if it's a lie, my dearest, no one and nothing will hurt you. We won't let that happen".

● He held the sphere with his right hand and with the left he created light. Bright enough to gently lift the myst. Bright enough to engulf you and look around clearly for the first time in weeks. Bright enough to treasure what he made for you.

● All around you, all the people that you loved and would love stood around in this world of yours. This new universe in which all the things you wanted for yourself materialized: the home you would build, the career path you would make with your own bare hands, both worth while harships and victories. Your friends and family by your side. Morpheus' love clear as day, not leaving you unless you desired it. Every single honest wish and heartfelt dream was there.

● Dream gave you the orb then. Something material whose content would change depending on the path your life took. Something for you to take to the Waking World when things felt bigger than you.

● Even if you were emotionally exhausted or dispair came to get you, all it took was a look at the ball to at least feel the reminder that you deserved all those things. And you would get them some day. By your own. Helped by someone. But never out of loneliness.

● The battles with your mind would come back from time to time. The beast still thought they knew better than you. But each time, you rose. Victorious. Capable. Brave.

● And each time, he would be there. Always with his open arms and a gentle, firm hand.

Damn, okay. That felt nice. Been dreaming about Morpheus helping me out emocionally speaking for a while. AND I'M BACK IN THE GAME, BABY! Feedback is always apretiated and if I ofended or tr!gered anybody, please let me know in the coments. Yes, this drabble was very self indulgent but that doesn't mean I can get away with the right of hurting someone. That is the last thing I wish to do with my writing. Also, this was based on my own personal experience and I'll always say that every experience is valid. I really hope that anyone who related has found a comfort fic and/or a safe space. Thank you so much to all The Sandman fic writters out there, you are literally feeding me and many others since the show ended and I'm always gratefull for your skills and creativity. Gonna post the spanish version at some point after sleeping a bit. Hope you liked it!!! 💖💖💝

#morpheus #the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #dream x you

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mariocki · 2 years

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Queen Mother: Henry! I bore the weight of state affairs longer than you ever have. I have been your queen and I am your mother. You are answerable for the interests of a great Kingdom, not for your moods. You already gave far too much away to the King of France, at La Ferté Bernard. It is England you must think of, not your hatred - or disappointed love - for that man.

King: [in a fury] Disappointed love - disappointed love? What gives you the right, Madam, to meddle in my loves and hates?

Queen Mother: You have a rancour against the man which is neither healthy or manly. The King your father dealt with his enemies faster and more summarily than that. He had them killed and said no more about it. If Thomas Becket were a faithless woman whom you still hankered after, you would act no differently. Sweet Jesu, tear him out of your heart once and for all!

Jean Anouilh, Becket (tr. Lucienne Hill, 1960)

#100plays #becket #jean anouilh #lucienne hill #theatre quotes #modern drama #theatre #french theatre #having already rambled a little in other tags about the various historical inaccuracies in this play it would be remiss of me not to #mention that the antagonistic relationship as depicted between Henry and his mother‚ Empress Matilda‚ has no basis in #historical fact as we understand it. on the contrary‚ she was a close advisor to her son and attempted to mediate during the Becket crisis #(she also predeceased Becket by three years). she serves a crucial purpose in the play however‚ as perhaps the only foil to the king #willing to comment directly on his relationship with Becket and the debilitating effect of their estrangement #this is also one of the most direct allusions in the play to a potential homoromantic element to their relationship #perhaps unsurprisingly‚ the play has attracted queer readings and analysis fairly regularly since its publication #the 1964 film adaptation is often credited with this subtext but quite honestly it's all there in the original text #to Anouilh's Henry‚ the ideological conflict with Becket is entirely secondary to the personal betrayal of a love spurned #whether that love is inferred to be romantic or brotherly or chivalrous is dependent on the reader (or viewer)#regardless of its exact nature‚ it's a love that Henry is willing to sacrifice a great deal for: politically‚ personally‚ perhaps even #spiritually.#the part of Matilda may be relatively small but its importance to the plot‚ and the power of her lines‚ were reflected in the casting of #legendary stage actor Gwen Ffrangcon Davies in the first english production

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clickbait-official · 1 year

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Cordolium

noun

english translation: heartache

masterlist

Prompt from @honey-writes:

“You were good to me. You were kind. You were kinder than I ever deserved.”

~~~

The pain reverberated throughout my body. It felt like I was breaking, shattering into a million pieces.

I almost wished I could rip my heart out, just to make the pain bearable.

But how else was I supposed to react when the one I pined so endlessly for was with someone else? When he was happy without me?

How was I meant to continue like nothing was wrong? How was I meant to pretend like my heart wasn’t breaking?

Despair clawed in my throat, and I swallowed it down. Not now. I can’t cry now.

It feels like drowning. It feels like suffocating. Which way is up? How do I get the breath back in my lungs?

They sat together on a park bench under a tree, talking and laughing. How I wanted to be her. How I wanted to be seen by him.

A hand on my shoulder brings me out of my thoughts, and I turn.

They wear a wicked smirk adorned with red lipstick.

“What’s wrong, darling dreamer?” Desire asks, knowing full well what happened. I stifle a sob as despair wells up inside my chest again.

“Sister, you wouldn’t know the reason, would you?” They call for Despair in a tone of faux concern. Their sister slinks out, eyes centered on me.

“Hmmm…I’m tasting the bittersweet heartbreak from here.” Despair hums as she closes in.

“Awww,” Desire pouts. “The poor thing.” Their golden eyes shift to me once more. “We ought to make them feel a bit better, isn’t that right?”

They share a look, and mirroring the other, step forward. Closer and closer.

I try to scream, but the world blurs before I can.

The first I see when I wake is him. Him with her. They still sit on the park bench, now playfully whispering. He has a glint in his eye, just for her.

For a moment, I see myself in her. She‘s just like me…except so much better.

“Looks like she got there first.” Despair murmurs beside me. “A shame really. If only our dearest brother knew that she was put there by Desire.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, we’ll take care of you.” Desire purrs, and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"But we'll let you go, for now, little dreamer." Desire says. The twins giggle, eyes dancing with mirth.

~~~

The Dreaming was a familiar place. I knew the ins and outs, and loved every last bit. The dreams and the nightmares, the hills and the valleys.

But sometimes it hurts to love. And how do I erase the pain of something that will last forever?

The Dreaming was familiar. The castle, the heartbeat of the Dreaming was even more so. It was where I appeared, as much as I didn‘t wish it to be so.

And there he sat, with … the one he wanted. Morpheus stood up, a welcoming look in his eyes. He welcomed me warmly, and it made my heart patter in my chest.

But I wasn‘t what he wanted. I wasn‘t good enough to be what he wanted. I was suddenly possessed with the need to get out.

My smile tightens as he continues talking. My gaze wanders to the girl, who looks like the cat who caught the mouse.

”If you’ll excuse me.” I interrupt Morpheus. “I need to talk to Lucienne.”

They watch me leave.

Lucienne was a comforting presence for many, and I was no exception. I had told her about many things: my favorite food, a strange dream, and my adoration for her master.

A shame I wouldn’t see her again. I would be undoubtably cut off from the Dreaming - but it was the price of loving someone a little too much.

I just wanted to say my goodbyes.

“Lucienne.” I murmur, and she turns. A gentle smile forms on her face.

“Hello, dreamer. I hope you’re well?” Her smile falls at my expression. “Ah. I see.”

I step towards her, pulling her into a hug. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

“I…We will miss you, dreamer.”

I give her a wistful smile. “So will I.”

I walk out on my favorite balcony, staring out at the gorgeous view. I reach my hand out as if to grasp it. To feel what built it, the sands and atoms of time slip through my fingers.

I draw my hand back, not wanting to risk heartbreak. I hear shoes tap on the stone.

“Morpheus.” I say as he approaches me. “We’ve known each other for quite some time, hmm?”

“Just this once,” My voice shakes. “And perhaps never again - Would you kiss me?”

He jerks back, stepping away startled. Then his eyes narrow. Anger burns through them.

“You dare suggest I am so low as to love another than the one I am with?” His voice is like ice - maybe even colder. “You have never known me, have you?”

That rejection hurts more than any pain. I bow my head, turning away from him.

“I thought I did.” I take a deep breath in, rehearsing my final words to him. “You were…good to me. You were kind. Kinder than-“ My voice wavers.

“Kinder than I deserved.”

I swallow, attempting to hold off the waves of despair flooding me. “I won’t come back into your realm again.” I won’t dream again.

He steps forward again, shoes clicking with the stone below. “You wouldn’t dream? For anything?”

I smile, but it wavers again. “It’s hard to dream when your heart’s broken.”

Shock seems to go through him, and he takes a step back. His lips move, forming words, but I- I can’t hear what he’s saying or what it means. I can’t hear what he’s saying -

I wake up in a cold sweat.

~~~

requests and asks are open!

(request here)

#the sandman x reader #the sandman #x reader #morpheus #morpheus x you #lord morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream #dream the endless x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #sandman x reader #sandman

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thepaintedlady00 · 2 years

Text

Library

Chapter 12 Smut Only (contains spoilers for The Sandman and The Girl Without Dreams)

TW: smut, oral (female receiving), fingering, penetration, fluff

They walked across the bridge, the stones humming with every step she took, and back into the palace. Every room lit up brighter, the colors of everything popping in a way they simply hadn't before, in a way that the human eye couldn't possibly detect. As he watched her talk to Lucienne his eyes drifted to the stained glass window noting that even it had changed, the image of butterflies and hills of lilacs filling the space and glowing. Penelope's face was now illuminated in a soft, rainbow of ethereal light. It was beautiful, just like her. Dream couldn't help the way his eyes slid down her body, the form fitting gown he'd made her hugging all the right places. He found it ironic that when designing her clothes he would spend hours imagining what she'd look like in them, but now that she wore them all he could imagine was what she looked like without them.

Her eyes caught him staring and she smiled, finishing her conversation with Lucienne and returning to his side as his librarian disappeared into the maze of bookshelves. "What's going on in that Endless mind of yours?"

"I am simply appreciating your beauty," he admitted with a reverent smile. The blush that rose to her cheeks flooded him with the insatiable urge to be closer to her, an urge that had become far too normal between them as the months had passed.

"I'm just having a conversation with Lucienne. It's not like I'm naked and twisted up in your sheets." Now that was a sight he'd never grow tired of. The light from the windows casting kaleidoscopes of light and color across the skin of her back. The pale purple sheets wrapped around her, leaving just enough of her body exposed to capture his gaze for far too long. She caught the familiar glint in his eyes and swatted his shoulder. "Stop it!"

"What?" He asked flatly. "I'm just standing here."

A delicate finger stuck in his face. "No, you're looking at me like that! And that look always leads to the same place."

Dream tilted his head down at her, something she hadn't expected judging by the quiet gasp she made. "If I'm not mistaken that place is a favorite of yours."

"Oh I'm very fond of it," she said, eyes flashing to his lips for a split second before she shook whatever thought was coming from her mind. "But this is Luciennes library. It'd be like smoking in a church."

"Luciennes library?" His voice was low, soft, just the way he knew she liked it. With a powerful step forward he'd forced her back into the table. "This library is part of The Dreaming and The Dreaming, my darling, is my domain."

"You'd take me here then?" Though there was a flicker of nervous doubt in her, he could feel the want in her, raging and filthy like his own. "In some darkened corner of the dusty library where anyone could happen upon us?"

Her chest was now flush with his as he gazed down at her, hungry and impatient. "I would."

The wicked gleam in her eyes sparkled. "Then do it."

Dream needed no further prompting as he grabbed her by the waist and picked her feet up off the floor, moving swiftly through the shelves deeper and deeper into the farthest corner of the library. Though it was his by right, he'd not disrespect Luciennes' claim to it after all her years of loyalty. The least he could do was take this sinful business of theirs far from her. He willed a thin veil to close around them in the small section of the larger room. The thrill of being caught tantalizing as it was, could not become a reality. Dream would never allow any the privilege of seeing his lady so exposed, such was for him alone.

As he set her feet back on the ground, keeping her close, Penelope looked left and right before pushing back against his chest and smiling wide. "Now what, oh mighty Endless?"

The surprised squeak she made as her back hit the bookshelf caused a ripple of pride to flow over him. Her legs squeezed together as he dragged his nose along her jaw. "Now, I believe the plan was to take you. Though it appears I'm spoiled for choice."

"Dream of the Endless uncertain of what he wants now?" She teased. "How unlike you."

"I want you," he clarified, pulling away to look into her eyes.

The ache in his chest lessened, almost vanished completely as she touched his cheek with her warm hand. "You have me."

The words, soft and earnest, stilled the fire in his veins. His lady's moonstone eyes sparkled up at him and for a moment Dream felt entirely consumed by the love she bore him. Even as he stood here, shielding the ugly twisted jealous ache in his chest, something he knew she could feel her love did not falter. From the start Penelope had loved him with no expectations or conditions. She'd loved him through years of silence and unimaginable pain. Loved him even when she thought she meant nothing to him. Loved him enough to attempt to come for him, not once or twice but many over years. And now that she was here, in his arms, pushed against him looking at him like he was perfect and worthy of happiness, of her… For the first time in days the ache in him was gone.

As tears welled in his eyes she brought her other hand to his face. "You are magnificent, Penelope."

She tried to hide her face, hide the blush of her cheeks and the flustered batting of her eyelashes but Dream moved quickly, securing his fingers under her chin to keep her face turned up. He wanted to look at her, to see the innocent way she reacted to his words. "You flatter me, Dream Lord."

Flatter. The word was far too tepid to describe what he wanted her to feel. No, that wouldn't do. "I do not wish to flatter you, my lady. I wish to worship you."

"You have," she giggled back at him. "Many times."

"Not enough, he insisted, pulling from her touch to fall to his knees. "I will worship you until the end of all things… Until the darkness closes in and engulfs me and then in whatever existence waits beyond this I will continue to worship you."

Her breath stuttered as he began lifting her dress. "Morpheus…"

"Shh," he squeezed the soft flesh of her thighs, gently easing them apart. "Just moan for me, my love."

The sound of her laughter was far more beautiful than any symphony. "Back at it with the commands I see."

"It's not a command," he corrected, halting his movements. "Rather a humble request."

"Humble isn't a word I'd use to describe you, Dream," she said with another laugh as she opened her mouth to speak more. He ran his thumb across her covered mound and watched all thoughts fade from her as she gasped.

Dream wasted no time, pulling her panties down her long legs and chuckling at how she eagerly moved out of them. He lifted her dress up into her already waiting fingers and ducked his head down to press a kiss to her thigh. He sunk his teeth into her flesh before soothing the bite with his tongue, kissing his way to her core.

The sweet taste of her filled his mouth as his tongue slid through her slick folds, lapping up the wetness of her. As he worked his tongue with the experience of thousands of years he focused solely on the sounds she made. Penelope was exquisite in every situation, but in these intimate moments this fact was amplified. She always started out so soft and quiet, every moan and gasp barely audible, but the longer he pushed her the louder those sounds became until The Dreaming itself shook around her.

"Morpheus," she whined as his tongue circled her clit. The way she said his name was angelic, addictive. He'd had worshipers before, but no prayer, no gentle murmur of his name had ever sounded as perfect as hers. His hands squeezed her tighter, pulling one of her legs over his shoulder to open more of her to his mouth. A wave of fabric washed over half of his head as one of her hands abandoned holding it in exchange for tangling in his hair. "Fuck."

He could hear her head hit the shelf and in the back of his mind he imagined her, head thrown back and chest heaving, the thought alone spurred him on setting a grueling pace with his tongue before sliding a finger into her, moaning greedily at the way her cunt squeezed around him. Dream added another finger and listened to her moans grow louder. "Oh, Morpheus!"

Yes, he thought to himself, ignoring the uncomfortable strain of his cock against his pants. Give me more, my love. Moan louder, scream until the whole of The Dreaming hears you. She'd heard him, he knew she had by the desperate whine that left her throat and the way her blunt nails dug harsher into his scalp. Her legs trembled around his face as her orgasm grew closer and closer. He focused on her clit, sucking it and twirling his tongue over the abused little button until finally she came on his fingers.

She pulled his hair, forcing him from the folds of her dress in a demanding request that he was well familiar with. Rising to his feet he barely had time to lick the remnants of her release from his fingers before she greedily pulled him into a searing kiss. As always she was impatient and needy and desperate as she tried ridding him of his clothes and god did he love every second of it. Her moans as he dug his hands into her hips, the way her fingers twisted and pulled at his shirt or his hair, the frustrated whines she made when she struggled to free him of his pants. He loved every moment.

"Take your clothes off," she uttered with a pout.

Dream chuckled, running his thumb over her bottom lip. "Is such a pitiful face truly necessary?"

Her lips twitched, almost smiling. "That depends, will it make you move faster?"

"Oh I fear I cannot resist giving into your whims with such a sad display," he played along.

"Then yes, it's necessary."

He chuckled at her but waved his hand and rid them both of their clothes nonetheless. His eyes trailed over her bare skin, want and hunger and appreciation filed him. No matter how many times he saw her like this, naked and trailing kisses over his skin, he'd never grow tired of it. He lined himself up with her entrance, easing inside as he pressed his mouth to hers, tangling their tongues together. She was always so warm and inviting, even in these moments of pure bliss her body pulled at him.

The library filled with her labored breaths and wanton moans as he gently eased himself out and then back in. Dream was not the most vocal lover, but he always found himself purposely holding back noise just so he could hear her. As her nails dug into his shoulders he couldn't help but moan at the feeling and quicken the pace of his hips, squeezing her thighs tighter as they lost themselves in one another. He lost count of how many times he made her come before she desperately pulled his hair and kissed his throat, mumbling near incoherent pleas against his skin until he finally came, buried deep inside her pulsing cunt.

He watched her regain her breath, head set back against the bookshelf, skin glistening in the light and a faint blush spread over her breasts and neck all the way up to her cheeks. As she looked up at him with her blissful smile he moved them to the bedroom, settling her back against the sheets and pressing his head to her neck. This was all that mattered.

#morpheus smut #dream of the endless smut #dream of the endless #the sandman series #dream of the endless x reader #sandman morpheus #sandman netflix #the sandman fanfic #morpheus imagine #dream the endless #morpheus x reader #morpheus #dream of the endless imagine #the sandman x you #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x oc #morpheus fanfiction #the sandman smut

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themirokai · 1 year

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Chapter 2 of Seven

After Dream gets stuck in a nightmare of the Fawney Rig basement, Hob and Matthew help him get back to himself.

Read Chapter 1 here or on AO3 first.

Chapter 2 is up on AO3 and below the cut.

Thanks so much for the warm reception to Chapter 1! I hope you like this next installment.

Dream had spent two days in the Waking at Hob’s flat, not returning to the Dreaming even when Hob slept.

Need a break from yourself? Hob had asked him. Dream had just huffed and pulled himself tighter against Hob’s side.

On the second night Dream had accompanied Hob to the Dreaming and they had entered on a hill near the palace. Hob had held Dream’s hand as he stood very still and closed his eyes, the air shimmering around him.

After a minute Dream opened his eyes and brought Hob’s hand to his lips to kiss.

I must return to my duties, and I’m sure you’ve had enough of me these past few days.

Hob had wrapped him in his arms. I’ll never have enough of you. You could spend every moment with me, waking and sleeping, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Dream had extricated himself from Hob’s arms. Be that as it may. I have work to do.

After that things had been … normal. And if Dream didn’t feel like taking off his clothes, that was just fine with Hob. And if he was a bit more brittle and prickly than average it was still within the standard range of his moods.

“RAWK! Did he tell you?”

Hob looked around quickly to see if anyone in the university courtyard had noticed the large raven land in front of him in broad daylight and start speaking. He didn’t see anyone staring but still jerked his head to the side, then led Matthew to a secluded area behind a bush.

“Tell me what?” Hob asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“He’s doing it tonight. Deleting the cage dream.”

Hob reeled back. “What? No, he didn’t say anything to me. I guess he’ll just do it when I get to the Dreaming.”

Matthew fluffed his feathers. “He wants me to monitor all seven of them and let him know when they’re all in the Dreaming. I think he’s going to take it from all of their minds at the same time.”

Hob shook his head. There was a lot there. “Can you do that?” he asked first. “Monitor seven people at once?”

Matthew shrugged. “Yeah. It’s a lot of flying and I’ve enlisted some other dreams to help me, but it’s doable.”

“Do you think the dream will be stronger if it’s coming from all seven of them? Or is that better than having to touch it seven times?”

“I don’t know.” Matthew dragged a claw through the dirt. This was clearly something he had wondered too. “I could ask Lucienne, but ultimately if that’s how he wants to do it, that’s how he’s going to do it.”

Hob scratched his cheek with a grimace. Matthew was right: it didn’t matter. The only person who really knew how this was going to work was Dream, and he would be completely uninterested in Matthew or Hob second-guessing his methods.

Which left Hob with one last question. It was equally irrelevant but he still had to voice it.

“Do you think he’s ready?”

Matthew blew out a long breath. “I mean… I guess? He’s been… okay… right?”

“Yes?” Hob squinted. “I suppose basically normal since he’s been back in the Dreaming?”

“It’ll be okay,” Matthew said, trying to reassure them both. “We’ll be there and you can do the sledgehammer trick if things get dicey.”

“Right.” Hob nodded. “Right.”

That night, Hob entered the Dreaming directly beside Dream’s throne. Dream was sitting with one knee tucked up against his chest, hunched over a book, his long coat spilling like shadows around him.

“Thanks for the lift,” Hob said, aware that Dream must have pulled him into the throne room, since it was impossible for anyone but Dream or a vortex to enter directly from the Waking.

Without looking up from his book, Dream held out his hand. When Hob took it, Dream gave a gentle tug and kissed Hob’s fingers, then let go.

“I wanted to tell you that I must work tonight.” Dream turned a page in his book.

Why was he phrasing it like that?

“Yeah, you’re going to destroy the cage dream.” Hob frowned.

Dream’s head dipped and he closed his eyes then gave a wry chuckle. “Matthew told you.”

Hob felt his brow wrinkle. “Of course Matthew told me. Why wouldn’t he?”

Dream closed the book but kept his eyes on the stairs in front of him. “I did not want you to worry.”

Hob took a step closer. “I’m not worried because I know that Matthew and I will be able to make sure you’re okay.”

Dream shook his head and stood, dropping the book on the seat of his throne. When he had drawn himself to his full height - tall tonight, tall enough to loom over Hob but not tower - he finally met Hob’s eyes.

“You will not be accompanying me.”

Hob felt his jaw drop. “Dream-”

“I do not require a minder to perform my function.” Dream clasped his hands behind his back.

“A minder? I’m not your minder and this isn’t just performing your function!”

“It is eliminating a dream. Something I have done countless times over the millennia.”

“But this is a dream that can - that has hurt you! And you’re exposing yourself to it from seven people at once!”

Dream’s chin tilted up a fraction and his lower jaw pushed slightly out, but he was otherwise as still as stone: every inch the imperious king.

Bile rose in Hob’s throat as the image of Dream stalking away from him in 1889 came unbidden. He took a step back, raised his hands placatingly.

“Please,” he whispered.

Dream’s eyes softened and he opened his mouth to speak when Matthew flew through the ceiling.

Dream immediately turned away from Hob and held up his hand for Matthew to perch on.

“They are here?” Dream asked when Matthew had landed.

“Yep! All seven. They’re being guided to Fiddler’s Green like you asked.” Matthew turned to Hob but his words died on his beak and he looked between the two of them quickly. “Uh. Is everything okay?”

Hob forced himself to take a steadying breath. “Your revised plan at least includes Matthew, doesn’t it?”

“Revised plan?” Matthew cocked his head to the side then looked at Dream. “Boss?”

Dream’s nostrils flared a millimeter as he looked at Hob, then he turned back to Matthew. “You have done well to monitor that many dreamers at once, my raven. You may rest now. Either here or at the cave.”

“Dream,” Hob groaned.

“Wait, what?” Matthew said. “Boss, I don’t need to rest. I’m fine. I’m going to be with you while you touch the cage dream.”

“That is not my wish,” Dream said, extending his arm toward the throne with a clear intent that Matthew leave his hand.

“But that's the plan.” Matthew said as he hopped onto the arm of the throne. “Me and Hob will be there to back you up in case you start getting stuck in the dream.”

Dream clasped his hands behind him again. “I realize that both of you have witnessed me in a very… compromised state. And I am… grateful. For your support during that time. The last time this dream occurred I was unprepared and was caught unawares. That will not happen this time and I do not require supervision to perform a task that is part of the reason for my existence.”

Hob felt his jaw tighten as anger bubbled up inside him. “Don’t be an idiot, Dream.”

“I don’t know that I would put it like that,” Matthew glared at Hob, “but no one’s talking about supervision, Boss. I work for you, remember?”

Dream turned to Matthew. “Then as one who serves me, you should obey my order to return to the cave, should you not?”

Matthew started to respond but Hob plowed over him.

“You’re not sending him away.”

Dream’s jaw tensed as his eyes snapped back to Hob. “You presume to tell me how to manage my servant? You forget yourself, Hob Gadling.”

“I don’t forget shit, Dream. Matthew is here because he cares about you. I am here because I love you. No one is questioning your power or your authority or your- your bloody sovereignty. We’re here to support you.”

Dream’s eyes blazed and he raised his hand in a familiar gesture. “This dream-”

Quick as a wink, Hob’s hand shot out to grab Dream’s wrist. “No,” he said, stepping into Dream’s space and staring into the inky blackness of his eyes. “No, you will not send me away. You’re not going to push me away again for the crime of loving you. You can’t.”

Dream wrenched his wrist out of Hob’s grasp. “You should know,” he hissed, “that here in my realm I can do almost anything.”

He took a step backward and disappeared.

Hob sagged, shoulders hunched and head bowed.

“He doesn’t mean it,” Matthew said after a moment. “He’s just-“

“I know.” Hob held up his hand. “I know.” He scrubbed his hand over his face and took a deep breath. “He’s done this to me before. And I know he’s scared and probably embarrassed. But being on this end of it-“ Hob sought more eloquent phrasing but it didn’t come and he gave a wry chuckle, “- it sucks.”

“Yeah.” Matthew hopped down from the throne to stand in front of Hob. “I’m going after him. Are you coming?”

Hob took a breath and squared himself up. “Course I am.”

~~~

Thanks for reading! Hop into my asks or DMs with questions or comments!

Update: Chapter 3 (the final chapter) is up now!

#matthew the emotional support raven #dreamling #dream of the endless #matthew the raven #hob gadling #the sandman #the sandman netflix #mirokai writes #miro does sandman

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cosmictapestry · 6 months

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Ok, so for your morphienne smut prompts, do you take special requests? Because I want to see them fucking on Morpheus' cloak-you know, the one with flames on the hem. THAT cloak. Because I maay have a wee obsession with that idea.

special request 4. sex on the flame cloak

lucienne has an obsession with it too, i think

morphienne prompt fill list here

Lain out on a hill in Fiddler's Green, surrounding by open blooms in color and sweet scent, Lord Morpheus cuts a stark black and white figure. Lucienne lifts herself up off his chest just to see him better, and he blinks his eyes open with a displeased hum. "No, come back," he mumbles, reaching out to touch her face.

Lucienne grins, turning her cheek into his hand to brush her lips against his wrist. "Let me look at you," she murmurs. The breeze is soft and cool and the setting sun is warm and when he smiles it crinkles the corners of his eyes. His cloak pools around the two of them, a great shadowy halo that flickers at the hem with cool firelight.

"You're golden," Lord Morpheus says, and his thumb strokes her cheek. "You're all light."

"Does the Prince of Darkness approve?" she rests her hand not propping her upright on his chest, tugging suggestively at the neckline of his shirt.

Her teasing spreads his smile wider. "He does." The licks of flame climb from his cloak, cool and airy where they touch her skin. "You may ask a boon, if you so wish."

"Oh, a boon," she murmurs. He should know better than to say such things. Lucienne swings her leg over his own to straddle his hips, her knees creasing the spread cloak. She slips her hand up to his throat and holds him there, a collar in function. "Lie still for me, then. Do you think you can do that?"

Her lord swallows visibly, his lashes fluttering, his hand sliding down her own neck. She's wearing little more than a deep-necked camisole and loose slacks, and his fingers draw down the ridge of her collarbone to the dip of her cleavage. "With great difficulty, perhaps," he allows.

Lucienne takes his hand from her chest and pins it beside his head by the wrist, resting her weight on it rather than his neck. Again he swallows, and his chin tips up, baring his throat. The flames flicker around the two of them and reflect back through the dark of his pupils. He, too, is gilded by the sunset, made soft by it. She leans down to steal a kiss and lick a sigh from him. When she pulls back he is smiling, dazed. "Shirt off for me?"

In the space of a blink his shirt is gone and his chest is bare to her. He preens under her approving hum, and the hand she doesn't have pinned squeezes her thigh. It can stay there, she decides, so long as it doesn't try any funny business. She descends on him again to lay her lips to his arched throat and hold his pulse in her teeth for just a moment, just long enough to drive herself wild. "Alright? she asks him, a whisper on the skin she's wetted, and he shivers and manages a quiet yes.

Lucienne drags her hand down his neck, then, scratches her nails light down his chest, feels him arch up into the touch. She cups one pec, thumbs over his nipple, and he breathes sharp and heavy, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Easy, baby," she murmurs. "Feels good?"

"You know it does," he mutters, a little petulantly, his face flushed and eyes glazed, and Lucienne can't help but coo. He's terribly cute. "Am I being punished?"

Now Lucienne snorts, and she scratches his nipple, and he gasps. "You are being devoured," she corrects. The flames around them flare a little higher at that. The sun has nearly sunk below the horizon but Lucienne feels hot. He's hard, straining up against her, and she grinds down on him to see the way he throws his head back and gasps. "Trousers, please."

He whines and closes his eyes, the shadows of his lashes flickering over his face, and his trousers melt away. She doesn't pay any attention to his cock yet, too preoccupied with his flexing abs, twitching hips, the heave of his belly when she grips his tiny waist. "Lucienne," he mumbles, fingers tensing on her thigh, wrist flexing under her hand. "Lucienne, please."

Her heart kicks and jumps. "Please what, love?"

He shivers and blinks his eyes open and looks so dazed and rosy and content even in his desperation. "Let me see you. Please."

She cannot very well deny him when he asks so politely. "Alright," she murmurs, and she kisses him to soothe. "Disappear it all, then. But no touching."

She feels it all turn to sand and then wisp away and practically feels his eyes wander over her skin, over the firelight dancing on her sweat in the gathering dark. He is speechless, apparently, and his cock twitches where it lays flat on his belly, dribbling steadily. Lucienne lowers herself down, drags her slick heat up and down the full length of him, and he whimpers and writhes so prettily that she can feel herself gushing on him. "Lucienne—oh—"

She looks down to watch herself slide over him, her dark lips spread by him, slick and soft and sounding so lovely, a long full drag on her clit that electrifies and thrills. "You feel so good, love," she tells him, and he twitches and leaks even more and makes a noise, high and bright and sweet. "So hard for me, so beautiful."

"Lucienne," his chest heaves and his nails dig into her thigh and his fingers curl into a fist. "Lucienne—"

Her grin is triumphant, and she thinks she will never be used to the thrill of having him this way. "It's alright, baby, go ahead, give it to me."

Her lord's back arches and his head tips back and he is still for several more long grinds and then he groans, and she watches him come across his abs, watches it dribble down and drip onto the deep black of his cloak. The remaining wetness on his belly and cock gleams gold in firelight, gleams gold as Lucienne rises up and takes him in hand and guides him inside her.

Lord Morpheus cries out, his hand flying from her thigh to fist tight in the cloak, the hand in her hold fighting her for a second before he goes still, eyes shocked open and glazed with tears, chest shuddering. She stays very still, pets his flank, waits for his hips to fall gently back, waits for him to start breathing again. "Good?"

He swallows and blinks and his lashes clump, and he nuzzles into her hand when she brushes his tears away. "You are very good at surprising me," he tells her.

In all fairness, Lucienne thinks it is probably not difficult to do at all, at least in this context. He is not good at giving over control. Still, his appreciation thrills her, makes her clench on him. In answer she begins to ride him slow and grinding, taking her pleasure the way he prefers while he stares with eyes all heavy-lidded and firelit. She rocks forward on his pelvis, drags there, grinds her clit and sighs and lets her breasts swing, watches him struggle with not being allowed to touch.

His breath begins to quicken again soon, and he whines, and she growls. She takes his hand from her thigh, pins it beside his head parallel to his other, holds him down completely. He gasps and whispers nonsense and glows with sweat and the fire rises high around them, cool wisps on her skin that can't touch the heat inside her. His eyes slam shut and he bows, and she feels him pulsing, hears him sob quick and sharp.

She needs only watch him for several more seconds before the tension snaps and she comes, hard, squeezing him until he writhes, until his knees draw up behind her as though trying to dislodge her, but well-behaved as he is, he doesn't move further, just stays rigid and teary while she bounces through the last throes of her pleasure.

Eventually she is satisfied, and she stills, sweating and shivering. She releases his wrists, but they stay where she placed them, and he smiles up at her, tiny and sweet, the flames dimmed down to little blue licks that dance and cradle the both of them. Lucienne leans in to kiss her lord, and for just a moment the flames burn bright again.

#the sandman #morphienne #lucid dreaming #morpheus #lucienne the librarian #dream of the endless #x #minors dni #being laid up makes me horny. just like everything else. can i get an amen

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