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the-darklings · 2 years

Note

Matthew calling Wanderer "Lady Dream" killed me dead and the only thing that can resurrect me is a drabble of Dream himself saying it (please)

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 1.2k+

warnings: jealous!Dream if you count that as a warning.

notes: got an idea that's too potent when I saw this, so LETS GO!!!

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

“I messed up.”

Dream Lord doesn’t pause in his measured stride at your edgy words, his flame-kissed coat trailing after him. The Dreaming castle is abuzz, accommodating additional visitors from different domains, and you can’t recall the last time everyone was this frazzled. Everyone has come together as a well-oiled machine would, but tension hangs thick in the air. No one is happy about the new visitors or their purpose for being at the Dreaming. Dream himself hasn’t had a free second since; indeed, neither have you.

“I highly doubt it,” he replies.

“No, Dream. I did mess up.”

“You have wandered realms for millennia, Wanderer,” Dream reminds, slowing to peer at you over his shoulder. His features soften a touch from their near-permanent rigidity lately. His voice, too, eases into a husky, gentle drawl, “You are familiar with royalty and courtiers from countless kingdoms. A great number of them regard you highly. Your insight and advice in navigating this situation have been greatly appreciated.”

Your unease quells briefly, soothed by his sincere comments. It’s still too easy to be caught off guard by Dream’s attempts to be more open, more appreciative of those around him.

“You’re welcome,” you say softly, forcing down a gulp. “It's hard enough to remember a dozen different customs not to insult the guests. But I wanted to bring this to your attention first. Personally. So you don’t hear it from someone else first or, worse, the narrative gets twisted.”

Dream Lord rotates your way fully, moving closer. You’ve paused in a gallery. A new addition to the castle with multiple tapestries stitched from thick, luxurious cloth that hang across previously barren walls. Each one depicts various panoramas from different domains across the cosmos. It’s been a small, self-indulgent project you’ve undertaken in between travels, but given your recent company, it has gone down better than expected. Everyone relishes their kingdoms being paid homage to in the land of dreams.

“What happened?” Dream questions somberly. “Did someone hurt you? Threaten you?”

Your hands wring together at the seeping darkness in Dream’s voice, fingers knotting. You swallow under his steady, hard scrutiny.

“No, nothing like that. Certainly not with Cori around. It’s just… Cluracan invited me for a walk in Fiddler’s Green and, well, you know how he is. A flirt and an outrageous one.” A forced chuckle escapes you. Dream doesn’t smile or laugh with you. Some emotion pulses through his regal features, tucked from sight in seconds. “He’s a bit odd for a fae, if I’m honest. Surprisingly, he wasn’t drunk this time. So we got talking, and he was rather charming. It took me too long to realise he was, you know, hitting on me.”

You clear your throat, dragging your stare from the walls back to the Dream Lord standing in front of you. Dream’s bearing is stony, tense, his gaze hooded and mouth flat. Those pale irises seem to glimmer in the dusky light of the setting sun.

“Hitting on as in… courting,” you rush ahead, examining the strain in his jaw. “He asked if we were mates. And I think I’ve spent too much time around Hob because I figured he meant pals, you know? Friends. I forgot fae have a different definition of ‘mates’. So I immediately laughed and said: Well, of course, Dream and I are mates. We’ve been mates for centuries. So Cluracan got this intense look on his face—I mean, he gets under peoples’ skin even more than Cori—then actually bowed. And then, well…”

Dream seems to glide closer—close enough to touch, to breathe in, his words a cold caress, “Then what?”

You swallow. “Cluracan said: I must apologise, Lady Dream. I meant no insult with my offer. I now understand why Lord Morpheus refused my sister. I would appreciate it if you did not mention this to him. I would not wish to complicate this matter further.”

A shiver races down your spine when Dream’s arm slips lightly around you, settling on your lower back. “And then?”

His words are impossibly soft, but there’s something about the way shadows pool around Dream’s sloping, sharp features that set shivers skittering down your spine. His hand seems to burn through your coat. There’s something about the tension you discern in each digit, as if he’s holding himself back from dragging you nearer and pressing you to him. He’s done so in the past numerous times, tucking you from sight in the folds of his starlit coat. Quiet, peaceful, cold and hot like those raging stars you sometimes glimpse in his eyes.

“Then he, uh, left.” You don’t dare to move, curious to see what Dream Lord will do next. “And tripped in a creek. Which is weird because I’m certain there’s never been a creek there to begin with. It’s like it appeared out of nowhere. But anyway, I just… I thought I’d better tell you personally because Cluracan seems set on calling me Lady Dream now, and I don’t want you to overhear and take offence to it.”

“Why would I take offence to such a thing?”

You blink at his unhurried, probing question. Dream’s thumb strokes gently downwards—it’s so light, the contact, a mere graze, but there’s such potent power imbued into it you’re as good as naked beneath it, sensing the gesture through clothes and down to your marrow. Your breath wobbles before steadying. “Well, the implication…”

“Implication.” A deep, considerate hum vibrates from Dream’s chest, followed by a weighty, “Does this implication bother you?”

Does it? You’ve never cared for labels. Dream, to you, is everything. Those who matter most are aware of that, so why would anyone and their opinions matter? But they do. Deep down, you’re well versed with power that comes merely from what names you can evoke—whose favour in this vast cosmos you hold. But deeper than that lays a simpler sentiment: if you are his, in soul and name, you cannot be anyone else’s. Until you declare you are taken, then you are open. The brimming, dark scowl and icy, caressing whispers from his lips are displays of discontentment but not at any misstep on your part. But, rather, at the thought of another holding you so close. Another leaning down to touch their lips against yours. At the idea that you would permit anyone else this intimacy.

But there’s a more reticent sentiment to be read in the ancient, weary lines of his unchanging face: if you wanted another, he would not interfere. He would not hinder your happiness if you moved on and found someone else. He would not hinder you even if he wanted to.

You slant yourself closer. “No, I suppose it doesn’t bother me.”

As if you could ever want anyone else but him. Sullen, stubborn, flawed, but yours despite it.

Old ghosts flee from his regard, the weight on his shoulders lightening—a tiniest of smiles curving one side of Dream’s mouth.

He slants closer, his breath fanning against your ear. “Good. Because the title rather suits you, Lady Dream.”

an: Cluracan is a canon character that should appear pretty early on in S2 once Netflix stops being cowards. anyway, here's to hoping and hope you enjoyed : )

#the sandman #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #sandman fic #morpheus imagines #dream imagine #sandman dream #sandman corinthian #dream x fem!reader #morpheus x fem!reader #sandman x reader #fic: today i bury you in me

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the-darklings · 2 years

Note

I saw Cori and Wanderer went to the Dreamfall for a bit, do you mind writing a drabble for that? I think it would be so cute.

If you don't have time is ok

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dreamfalling into nightmares.

pairing: the corinthian & f!reader (wanderer), background dream of the endless x f!reader

summary: “We’ll remember each other forever at this rate.”

wc: 1.9k+

notes: been missing them hours, so this was a joy to write.

series masterlist | ao3 |

The knock comes promptly after sunset.

Tugging the door open to your private room, you discover a tall, handsome, grinning nightmare in your doorway, a hand propped against the frame. Corinthian’s appearance has not changed since earlier this afternoon when he found you napping in Fiddler’s Green. Pale clothes clad his body, and dark glasses conceal his eyes from everyone, even you.

“Why, hello there,” he greets in a drawl, a dimple creasing his cheek.

Your grin matches Corinthian’s—sly, biting, certainly fond in your case.

“A punctual nightmare,” you say playfully, opening the door wider to permit him entry. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Oh, I’m full of those,” Corinthian retorts, strolling inside.

He examines your room methodically, everything from the bed to the wooden table slotted in the corner, halting only once, on the windowsill. No—he snags on the object placed as a silent protector over your space. His figurine of himself. His Dreamfall present. A nightmare watching over someone’s dreams. Perhaps ironic—no, certainly ironic, but you don’t dare to speak while he ambles over, his finger lightly brushing over the figurine’s head.

“Ready for the celebration, I assume,” he voices suddenly. “You dressed up. That’s nice. He’s going to love… that.”

“It was implied I should,” you reply. “Something about being the guest of honour.”

Corinthian steps away, his arm dropping back to his side with a faint hum. “More than that, troublemaker,” he says, turning to face you with a crooked grin. “Why you’re the first ever.”

Your brows wrinkle. “First… guest? Wait, you mean no one has been invited to Dreamfall before?”

Corinthian huffs a breath as if your lack of knowledge is deeply amusing to him. “Do you imagine Dream has many friends? His family has attended in the past, or so I heard. Predates you or me, though.”

Warm heat unruffles inside your stomach, a sunbeam crawling through your body and heart. A tiny smile graces your face, and Corinthian appears all the more amused for it. His arm slots behind his back, extending another your way, bent at the elbow.

“My mission is to escort the honoured guest tonight.”

Grinning, you reach to hook your arms, falling to his side effortlessly as he leads you across the room and outside. “Here, I reasoned you enjoy spending time with your favourite mortal.”

His scoff is scornful, biting but amused. “Perish the thought. I can’t stand you.”

Chuckling, you shove your shoulder against his. Evidence of his smirk gets swallowed by shadows as you walk together. Cutting across the winding, silent corridors, you can’t help but be grateful for his presence. For the way, he’s a treacherous, conniving shadow a step behind you at all times.

“Thank you for coming with me,” you whisper. “Even if you didn’t want to and Dream ordered you.”

The golden-haired nightmare glances your way, says nothing, and then continues your steady trek. You're about to question him on the odd behaviour when he speaks:

“He didn’t order me,” he responds, pursing his mouth to a point his nose wrinkles. “Dream asked the pumpkin to escort you. As if I would let that happen.”

Floaty smugness swells in your chest, your features alighting with barely suppressed glee. He’s as good as admitting the notion of anyone else escorting you is some imaginary slight against him. There’s no doubt in your mind it’s a matter of pride. Merv and Corinthian had never gotten along, much the same way Lucienne and Corinthian have never seen eye to eye. Now that you consider it closely, you realise you’ve never seen the nightmare getting along with anyone. Ever. Others tolerate him, but Corinthian carries himself with unbridled air of self-importance and haughtiness. With each step taken, Corinthian asserts he’s the best, most masterfully crafted, and he’s not even slightly modest about being Dream’s most superlative creation.

“How sweet. I’ll be sure to ask Merv a dance to make sure he’s not feeling left out.”

Corinthian’s expression rearranges into a slight grimace at your nonchalant words. He makes a point of not gracing that with a response, and you have difficulty biting back your gleeful grin.

Outside the castle, the views are otherworldly. Magical doesn’t do it justice. Dreaming has always had a life of its own; a beating, pulsing core of pure imagination, making anything possible here. If you can only think of it, it’s real. There are no limits, no too much, only freedom.

But Dreamfall…

A gasp slips past your parted lips the second you exit the castle. Preparations have been ongoing for three days now—with most bustling activity stretching from dawn to nightfall—but seeing it upon completion now robs you of breath.

Will-o’-wisps float aimlessly through the pleasant night air; trees, paths, buildings and most available surfaces sit covered in warm, gauzy lights. Flower blooms have been twined around bannisters leading everywhere, and you spot tiny fae-like creatures napping and playing on the bright, lustrous petals. Dust sprinkles from their wings while they dance, and you chuckle under your breath, eyes skipping everywhere so you don’t miss anything.

Corinthian slowly leads you to the castle courtyard, letting you absorb the magnificent sights as you go. But when you finally arrive, you hardly recognise what you’re looking at. What was once the courtyard has now become an open-air ballroom. Hundreds of dreams and nightmares have packed into the space; outside the castle parameter, you see thousands more: bonfires and glowing tables as far as the eye can see. Birds and winged creators take up celebration in the starlit skies above. And it is when the music hits you; light, dreamy, joyful. Tonight there are smiles and drinks everywhere.

Dream’s creations are here to be celebrated—to celebrate themselves, and your heart inflates with happiness for them, soft and warming from within. Some are horned, winged, or scaly. Creatures that barely resemble human shapes are wherever you glance. Their skins vary from white to purpose to yellow and all the hues between. Their eyes are many, few, or none in sight. They communicate in growls, high-pitched whispers or companionable silences. Some resemble wraiths, others merfolk, while several take on faery forms. There are females and males and those who hold no gender, for they come from realms even you have not broached yet, where mortal logic does not apply or is necessary.

This is a mirror of life. Dreams and nightmares reflect the universal whole. And you’re helplessly in love with everything within the vicinity.

“Don’t you look besotted,” Corinthian draws, making you jump from your musings. “Shouldn’t you be running screaming?”

As if.

You squeeze his arm closer. “This is incredible.”

Corinthian follows after you when you drag him towards the buzzing crowds, weaving in between different dreams and nightmares. Tables litter the courtyard, drinks and food laid for all to feast upon. Half of it looks foreign, and the other half you would worry about putting in your mouth were you not cursed.

Some dreams are dancing to your left. Instinctively, you almost skip towards them, loosening your hold on Corinthian to grasp his hand instead.

“Come on!”

His grip constricts, making you glance towards him, but he only nods his head to your right. You follow his line of sight.

Dream of the Endless sits on a makeshift throne of carved alabaster, Jessamy perched on top. It may not be as exquisite as his throne inside the castle, but he is nevertheless a sight to behold. Dream fits it perfectly, regal and subtly imposing the way only Endless could be. Tonight his black robes seem blacker than any ink, blacker than the darkest edge of the universe. Stars glimmer inside his collar, flickering flames licking the blackened material where his coat pools by his feet.

His attention is already on you when your eyes meet, piercing and hooded, honing in on you through the busy throng of his creations as if you’re the only one present. Over Corinthian’s body, you offer Dream a subdued but warm smile, inclining your head, giving tribute to the Dream Lord on the night all living beings capable of dreams do.

His head lowers marginally in your direction.

Pressing closer to the nightmare you’re still holding onto, you prop your chin against his chest. “Dance?”

Corinthian’s head falls back towards you, listening, but his attention does not stray from his foray into observing his indirect kin surrounding you. It’s then you notice the cold, sneering way his face has contorted. Several individuals in the crowd are eyeing you with subdued suspicion and dislike.

No, eyeing him. You with him. Many in the crowd are known to you—through association or because you were there for their creation. Even more are known by name, by their stories. But it’s then, holding onto your friend, that his earlier words crawl back to the forefront of your mind.

Surely you’ve noticed? How many others around here look like me? Like you?

None. In a crowd of thousands—each more fantastical than the last—you two are the most unconventional sight. You stick out due to your sheer humanity. Due to your curse and wrongness in a land of plenty and wonder, but Corinthian…

The first time I became aware of my existence, I saw two things. Him, Dream of the Endless, my creator, and… you.

Crafted for humanity, a macabre reflection of them, a masterpiece for you.

“Let’s dance,” you say, curving your fingers tighter around his. “It would be a shame not to give them a show with all their ogling.”

Corinthian perks up at your quieter addition, his fingers curling near possessively around yours in return. Cool but firm to the touch.

“Now, that doesn’t sound very nice,” he hums, tugging you towards the dancing crowd. “Whatever would Dream say?”

I don’t care. No one looks at you like you’re wrong. Like you shouldn’t be here with me. You were the first—the first I saw made, the first I said ‘hello’ to, the first one I loved. You’ve always been mine, and you belong here, with me.

An airy laugh slips free from you, “Don’t care.”

His eyebrows jump up, wiggling. “Rebellious.”

He sounds far too delighted by the notion. He lifts his arm, and you hold onto him, spinning in a slow, uncoordinated circle.

“Says you. You’re the worst.”

He drags you closer, chest to chest, his teeth bared in a wicked, feral manner. He’s a nightmare. He will always be an entirety of chaos when left unchecked. But right now, Corinthian is merely here, celebrated and deserving of celebration the way all of Dream’s creations deserve tonight.

“Oh, I know,” he exhales, dragging out the words with deliberate slowness and a guileful grin.

You quirk a challenging brow just as another melody splits through the Dreaming, spinning a new dream for all those celebrating.

“Remember the steps?” you challenge. “Just how I taught you.”

“I remember everything,” he reminds, a touch sardonically.

“So do I,” you shoot back bitingly. “We’ll remember each other forever at this rate.”

The nightmare’s arm settles around your waist, his hair glowing from the hazy lights and the dreams appearing in the inky skies above—ready for their fall, their journey here, back home.

Corinthian doesn’t smile this time. In his dark sunglasses, you only glimpse a ripple of yourself reflecting from him. “I’m counting on it, trouble.”

And then the nightmare spins you into a dizzying, euphoric circle that’s all but endless.

an: I have such a deep-seated fondness for them. hope you enjoyed this. it's nice to write something happy after the last two chapters & overall a very meh day dealing with ten different mentally and emotionally draining things. hope this was able to give you all some much-needed comfort, and I'm sending anyone having a hard time rn all the love in the world 💕

#the sandman #sandman corinthian #corinthian x reader #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #sandman dream #sandman netflix #the sandman netflix #netflix sandman #dream of the endless #sandman imagine #the corinthian #dream x fem!reader #morpheus x fem!reader #sandman fic #fic: today i bury you in me

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