#sandman imagine

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

heavenly. ~ morpheus x reader (18+)

Summary: There are no words for how heavenly the sight of Morpheus falling apart underneath you is. II smut

Words: 719

Warnings: smut smut smut

Pairing: Morpheus x fem!Reader

Head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted, hair tousled – a memory of your hands gripping it when he slid inside of you –, Morpheus is a sight for the Gods as you move on his lap.

The sounds escaping his mouth when you leave a trail of kisses on his neck are downright heavenly and the way he grabs your thighs, fingers burying themselves into the softness of them, makes you shiver.

The moonlight dimly illuminates his pale face and the stars and galaxies move slowly in the inside of his coat that he spread underneath you. When your name falls from his lips, soft and murmured like a prayer not meant for your ears, he shows you his true essence for the first time, becoming the very definition of a dream.

You lean back, looking for support on his legs, to see him better, to drink up his presence, drown in his sounds, melt in his touch.

“You’re distracted.” It’s a statement or an accusation, you’re not sure but it bothers you nonetheless. You don’t want him talking, you want to hear what sounds you can draw out of the Endless with the simple movement of your hips.

His eyes are now open, hands holding on even tighter. You don’t stop and feel him shudder. “I’m watching you,” you whisper into the night, a smile tugging on your lips. “Not such a bad idea after all, wasn’t it?”

He hears the challenge in your tone, the spark in his eyes tells you and the raspy tone confirms it. “I still prefer you underneath me, my love.”

You roll your eyes and your rhythm changes. You speed up, hips moving in the most delicious way and it makes him fucking moan. “Keep telling yourself that,” you chuckle, knowing full well that he will get back at you for this later on. But now, he is too occupied with the way you feel all around him.

Your breath hitches when he presses you down onto him and his hips rock up. A curse leaves your mouth that turns into whimpers and soft moans as he moves with you. One of his hands travels down but you push it away. He groans.

“Later,” you murmur. Now, you want to see him being lost in you, want to see him unravel. The thrill that rushes through your body feels unreal – it’s the pure thought of the God of Dreams, an Endless, falling apart from your touches, that turn you on even more.

Morpheus is close, you can feel it. His voice grows darker, his moans louder, and in your own body, the knot tightens. It tightens and tightens and when his movements begin to lose control, become more erratic with each thrust, it doesn’t take long for you to see stars in front of your eyes. You come, soft and trembling, back arching and with his name on your lips. He follows you shortly after and fuck, you just know that the image of him will never leave you again.

The waves of your orgasm wash over you and suddenly you lack any strength to hold yourself up any longer. He wraps an arm around you when you sink down to rest on his chest. He’s still breathing heavily, even when his fingers trace lazy lines on the skin of your body. You smile.

“You are awfully proud of yourself right now, aren’t you?”

The smile only widens at his words. “I have every right to be, Dream Lord,” you tease him. “I proved you wrong.”

He laughs silently underneath you. “Did you now?”

“Mhh,” you make and prop yourself up on the elbows. “Admit it, you loved having me on top of you.”

He watches you, mischief in his eyes. “Not more than having you underneath me.”

“As if. I believe the whole Dreaming heard you just now.”

He moves quick. So quick that you can’t help but yelp as he flips you over, pinning your wrists above your head. His lips hover about yours, his breath a ghostly touch, and your heart starts to beat faster. “My love, it doesn’t matter if they heard me. They didn’t hear you,” he murmurs, “and I believe that is the true shame here.”

They hear you after that, Morpheus makes sure of that.

thank you for reading! <3

masterlist

[auroraborealyss]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬' 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐈.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: the much awaited, i-went-to-hell-for-inspiration, morpheus' love languages part 2: nsfw version. how he expresses his love languages when fucking you

⊹ tags: nsfw, morpheus is an adoring, reverent, woman-worshipping Endless who's always on his knees, the king of dreams is a giver

⊹ warnings: explicit language, explicit content (obviously), minors stay back (not that ever stopped me. if you are a minor, just know that sex might not be like this and do more research)

⊹ word count: 3027

⊹ previous part: morpheus' love languages part i.

⊹ now playing: take me to church by hozier

words of affirmation though he isn't the most vocal as an Endless, he does become vocal as a lover. or, specifically, he wants you to be. remember when i said he likes it when you talk to him? this applies here. (of course, by the time he's done with you, you won't be able to form words. but he'll accept desperate mewls of his name.)

call him by his name

not dream, but morpheus

gasp, groan, grunt, scream, whimper, murmur — every adjective of ‘said’ — say it in that way. he loves when you say his name and he the different ways you say it is akin to music. and if you whisper it right in his ear, his name hot against him so he can feel your desperation, he might just give you what you want and fuck you harder and faster

you tried to hold your moans back once

biggest mistake of your life

it doesn’t matter if you were only trying to hold back because you were in the library and mervyn, lucienne, and matthew were just three shelves down having a very serious meeting

though normally private in pda, perhaps that day morpheus was too frustration in being king and just wanted to be your lover. only a king had to worry about looking good in front of others. as your lover, all he had to worry about was pleasing you, and hearing the sounds you make was his signal that he was doing well

you thought that the sound of the shelves being rocked, your heavy breathing, and a book falling every now and then was telling enough what you were doing, and yes, you were a bit embarrassed to be found in such a compromising position with your skirt bunched up to your waist, one leg hooked around morpheus, and your head tilted to the sky as he attacked your neck

so when you bit down on your lip and slapped a hand over your mouth to hide your moans?

he is insulted (and you know how petty he gets) and fucks you even harder and faster than before

hoists both of your legs around his waist so he’s even closer and hits a spot in you that has you moaning obscenely and seeing stars. there’s no use hiding or explaining that away, but you don’t even think of the others anymore. all you can focus on is how he slams repeatedly into you again and again, one had rubbing furious circles on your clit, whispering orders in your ear to never deprive him of your sounds ever again

that as his lover, he owns every part of you (he definitely owns me), including those delicious sounds he purposefully and rightfully earns

and when you start making those sounds again, he is so fucking pleased with himself that he gets even harder

your hand falls from your mouth on its own and finds his hair, tugging on it, harder and harder as you reach your peak and he follows shortly after when you clench around him—all done with a loud cry of his name from you and your name coming out as a pleading grunt from him

when the two of you finally catch your breath, you peek around the shelves and find them gone

morpheus smirks at you before dragging you to the table for part two since “they’re not here anyway.”

always asks for consent

no matter how caught up he is in his emotions or pleasure, always asks you if you’re doing alright and if he’s doing alright touching your body

this man has a praise kink. tell him he’s doing well

tell him he’s fucking you so good as tears run down your cheeks and he’ll all but cum in you in that moment

tell him you were made for him as he bottoms out in you, and he’ll flip you over to your stomach and have his way and ruin you, leaving you a rambling mess who’s only coherent thought is his name

“you can take a little bit more of me, can’t you?” he whispers against your ear as you bite your lip to hold back your whimpers as he pushes inch by inch further, deeper, closer, into you. “you’ll do that for me?”

“you’re gonna make me cum” > “i’m going to cum”

he’ll make you squirt in thanks for reminding him that you’re orgasm is a product of his hard work

did you see how he pleaded with calliope to let him help her? imagine him begging to let him make you feel good

"i can make you feel so good, my love," he whispers as he puts one nipple in his mouth, suck and bite it gently, tugging on it, before releasing it and going to the other one. "let me?"

praise talk is his dirty talk. more into overstimulation and praise rather than edging and degradation cause he’s too in love with you to ever say those things or have you think, even for a second, that you are anything less than too good for him

type of person to say “i love you” as he fucks you

at the most intense moments, like when he’s about to orgasm, he mindlessly rambles out pleads for you to always stay with him and he needs you and you’re the only thing he needs (say less)

so tell him you need him. tell him only he can make you feel this good. because he’s definitely a giver, and the best compliment you can give a giver is to thank them for their service and tell them they’re doing a good job

physical touch this is an Endless who falls hard and intensely in love, as we see with his past lovers. it stands to reason that he'd fuck the same way. he makes sure that he is touching every inch of your body and you are touching every inch of him

has a thing for walls

likes to fuck you against them. either your back to it with your legs wrapped around his waist, or the side of your face pressed against it with your hands on either side as he takes you from behind

he will also eat you out with your back against a wall. makes it his personal mission to make your legs woozy enough that you literally collapse and he has to hold you up or you’re falling on the ground

overstimulation

worships your body

kissed every inch of your body once

on the days that you don’t feel the most confident, he’ll whisper his gratitude towards those parts against your skin until you believe him

is still a sucker for eye contact

looks up through his lashes as he eats you out

looks down at you as he fucks into you

but just because he wants to be gentle and passionate with you, doesn’t mean you can’t be rough with him. in fact, he welcomes it

tug his hair hard as he eats you out and you’ll hear the most guttural groan which you’ll feel vibrate in your cunt

dig your nails down his back and his hips will snap against yours in a speed that reminds you your lover is not a man, but an Endless

suck and bite his neck and enjoy watching him gasp and tighten his grip against your hips, enough to leave his handprint on your skin

however, there is one time you can elicit some roughness from him, and that’s when you ride him

you’ve ridden him on his throne

it was your idea the first time, and his idea every time after

legs on either side, his arms wrapped desperately against your waist as you slam down onto him and he slams up against you

he grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head backwards (see gif as example), exposing the column of your neck which he can mark and litter with kisses and bites

a very passionate lovemaker and puts emotions other than lust into it. when you two have sex, he doesn’t just do it to get rid of frustration or because he feels lust for you, but because he loves you enough to want to share this other part of him that so few get

is the type to link your hands together while he slides in and out

presses his forehead against yours when on top of you. he expects you to do the same when you’re on top

if he’s not waiting at your cunt with an open mouth as you orgasm, then he’s kissing you, as if to swallow the sounds of pleasure you make and further drowning in you

can unclasp your bra with one hand

pulls your underwear down with his teeth

bites on thighs

and neck

and chest

i’m not saying this man cries during sex (not that there’s anything wrong with that). but he does constantly have glassy/teary eyes during the show, so don’t be surprised if he gets a bit overwhelmed with his feelings for you and shed a tear or two

just kiss it away

acts of service he's always worshipped you before his capture, but after, he turns into a sinner looking for absolution from the only higher being he'd beg from. and the first step to absolution is looking for it on his knees

the first time you have sex after you reunite, he begs for forgiveness for being gone from you so long in his throne room

sits you on his throne and sinks to his knees before you

doesn’t even bother locking the door because he has no shame in anyone seeing him beg for absolution to you

and he doesn’t hold back from it either, alright? this Endless is making the most obscene noises as he loudly slurps and groans at the taste of you and moans at the sounds of you and ruts against his throne at the feeling of you, you, you

the first time you cum, he doesn’t stop and keeps fucking you with his tongue until he triggers a second one less than a minute later

he’ll add a finger soon enough

crooks it at just the right spot that it presses against the spongy part of you that makes your back arch off the throne and cum for the third time. at this point, your cum has started to drip off his throne, and he thinks about adding it as a design to his chair (you slap him on the back of his head as a no)

inserts another finger and starts pumping it in and out, in and out, even doing a scissor motion every now and then. you come the fourth time

the fifth time, he does all that plus play with your clit with his tongue. flicks at it, sucks on it, does everything you can possibly imagine be done with a tongue and two fingers until you squirt

and he still drinks it all. he takes those two fingers and uses it to scoop up all your cum and drinks it all

he always swallows whatever he’s able to draw out of you and whatever you’re willing to give him

and don't forget to sit on his face

he'd be more than happy to die underneath you, smothered by your thighs and cunt

if you try to do hold back and hover over his face, he'll ask you first if you like to squat over chairs rather than sit on them, before grabbing your things and pulling you down and not releasing you until he's done

if it isn’t clear yet, this man is a giver. gets genuine pleasure when he is the one to give you pleasure and can probably cum just from seeing you orgasm from his ministrations (he has and has no shame in it)

it might be how his possessiveness shows. knowing that only he can give you orgasms that intense is something he prides himself on

probably why he doesn’t mind when others look at you. all he’s looking at is your reactions, and you never show interest. you never give them the looks or sounds you make with him, and that’s enough that he just sits back, smirks, and pities the poor person who tried to hit on you

quality time as kim namjoon says in all night: "we keep all the party in this room all night. we don't wanna put it on the brake, hold tight."

the first time you reunite, he eats you out for hours

only stops because your body literally cannot go any longer and you might pass out (he debates whether he wants you to but lets you rest)

but the first time he fucks you, he doesn’t stop until you’re a whimpering, drooling mess who’s only thought is morpheus

and you do pass out

he’s there when you come to, and he starts again

morpheus rarely does quickies. he’s too intense and long-term for that. he likes to take his time to worship you and he doesn’t want to end because he ran out of time or he has an appointment with someone else. when he’s with you, you’re all he’s thinking about

however, he does like to take his time teasing you

and by that, i mean he can give you little teasing touches all day to get you worked up

hand on your upper thigh when eating with others

presses his front against your back as he reaches for something in the cabinet

might even touch you through your underwear without giving you too much—just to keep you wanting and waiting

he can last a pretty long time, and sessions with him usually involve you cumming so many times that you don’t think you’ll ever be able to cum again (you will. he’ll show you)

always engages foreplay. involves a heavy make out session coupled with groping that leads you to being wet enough that he can just slip inside you

likes to fuck you where its comfortable for you—bed, a couch (walls are his guilty pleasure, though)

will fuck you anywhere in the dreaming, though, cause it’s all him

might even be more intense for him since he can feel whatever surface he’s fucking you on and how hard he’s fucking you or how tight and desperate you’re holding on to the edge of that table

morning sex isn't as common since that's when you wake up from the dreaming

night is definitely prime time for sex

you know you're in for a long time when you have sex before you're even in the dreaming. when that happens, you better hold on, since you'll wake up more exhausted than before you slept

gift giving could be into toys, but he has to be the one who made it and he has to be the one using it on you. but why would you need toys anyway when you can have his cock

might be offended if you think he needs to use a toy to get to orgasm, as it suggests that he’s not enough

and if you say you want a toy just for the times he’s busy, he’ll tell you that he’s never too busy to give you an orgasm and proves it to you in that point

you’ll have to tell him that you can’t take enough if you want him to stop

rather, he uses toys to overstimulate

vibrator on clit while his tongue searches deeper in your fold or vice versa

the gift he does like to give you is lingerie

he gives you an assortment of different colours in different materials

his favourite is whatever makes you feel the most confident

gives you lingerie that is meant to be ripped off you

when he rips a set of lingerie that you actually really liked, he’ll apologize with kisses and promises that he’ll make you more before fucking you senseless

buys you lingerie from la perla. when you wear it to sleep and you arrive in the dreaming in it, he preens in delight

sometimes, he’ll give you lingerie from the dreaming while you’re in the dreaming. that’s completely under his control, and he can make it disappear in an instant

speaking of giving you toys in the dreaming, if he makes it, that he can get behind cause he has absolute control over it. his finger becomes the remote

that little underwear he gives you? with no warning, starts to fucking vibrate during dinner with lucienne. doesn’t ease up until you get up, flushed and with wobbly knees, and run to the hallway where you cum with a poorly concealed moan

when you return to the table, he looks to you with a knowing smirk. thankfully, lucienne remains unaware (or at least has the courtesy of pretending to be)

in the waking world, you like to wear his clothes after you wake up. in return, he takes your underwear

when you fuck in the dreaming, you wake up drenched and with a wet spot on your blanket. he sends you a new blanket as an unfelt apology which he’ll ruin the next night anyway

back to his greatest gift to you being his cock

i see him longer than wider (but not long enough to hurt you. 27-inch dick fanfic writers, stay back). you know, keeping in theme with his whole lean yet lanky physique

might be long enough that you can’t deepthroat him completely, though he appreciates the attempt

but the one time you steel yourself and manage to take him in all whole

nearly cums in your mouth immediately

wouldn’t expect you to do that all the time, of course. but on the special occasion that you want to put the focus on him, that’s the way to go

the way to morpheus’ heart is not through his heart, but through swallowing

all in all, this Endless is guaranteed to find his pleasure in yours, so make sure to tell him that he's doing well, keep your moans loud and uncontrolled, and he'll fuck you out of this universe

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗂𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾 — 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗋, 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝖾.

𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅-𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍-𝗍𝗒𝗉𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗈 ��𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾 (𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌). 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌. 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀.

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @aurorarevenclaw1927

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Death doting on you to Dream…

Death exhaled and placed her hand into the pocket of her jeans. “You know for the longest time we thought that you and Y/n had run off together. Dream and Eternal Hope - kind of makes sense.”

A smile danced itself onto Dream’s features, not missed by his sister, as the thought of being away from his duties and spending his never-ending days with you.

“I would never willingly remove Y/n from their passion of casting hope onto humanity. I could never.” Dream replied.

Death squeezed her brothers arm and looked away onto the manmade city horizon. “It’s a shame. I would have thought that Y/n fit right into the family.”

Dream watched an elderly woman pluck a flower from her bouquet and hand it to an inquisitive little boy. The boys eyes shone with wonder and hope.

“No.” He said simply. “Y/n makes this family better.”

~ More imagines here ~

[darklinsblog]

Sexy times with Morpheus would include…

Author’s note: Yes, I mean sexual activity I didn’t want to be too explicit with the title but filth ahead, be aware 👹

Morpheus is a highly sexual being but he does believe any sexual act to be a truly intimate moment, so if he wants to go at it, congrats! The Endless trusts you

Before you actually do the deeds, he wants to know exactly what you like and what you don’t, the more specific you are, the better. He wants to make sure your needs are being met

Once he’s had you for the first time, he just can’t stop thinking about you

So he comes up with any excuse he can think of to get you two alone

“Y/N? Would you mind helping me with some research?”

You were the object of research

He enjoys foreplay, because of the power you are able to give him over you, to feel your knees buckle at his touch.

Enjoys taking his time with you

His favorite thing is to undress you and take a minute to admire your naked figure

You know he’s horny when he kisses your neck

He is vocal asf on sex

Loves to kiss your whole body

He’s the love making kind of guy

Constantly makes sure you’re enjoying it as much as him

Careful not to hurt you

“ Are you okay, princess?”

But he DEFINITELY knows how to play rough

King of praising

“You’re exquisite”

He likes you to be loud, but he would much rather you moaning in his ear

Has a thing for doing it on his throne

Likes to pull your hair

Also likes you to pull his hair

If you’re a dominant, he will practically beg for you to ride him, he loves to see you have that sexual confidence.

If you are more submissive he isn’t afraid to take charge, he will treat you like one of his dreams, a creation made for his pleasure.

He uses your dreams to know and fulfill your deepest, darkest desires.

He isn’t a selfish lover, in fact, quite the opposite

Puts your pleasure before his, he makes you cum at least one time before he does

He is a master at eating you out like you’re a feast

He goes deep

Just being inside you is enough to make him lose his mind

Loves to mark you in places nobody but else him can see

Let’s you mark him as well

He may not actually say it, but he loves when you scratch his back

Speaking of not actually saying things… he also likes you to go down on him but he’s too polite and correct to actually vocalize it

When you do go down he’s careful not to get too excited and pull you down roughly

His guilty pleasure is hearing you gag on him

Dream likes when you try to keep quiet but you fail miserably

He will do anything in his power to have you say his name like a prayer for hours

Overstimulation

“Morpheus- I can’t anymore”

“Just one more, my love”

He gets turn on by the slightest shit, like the clothes you wear, the way you cross your legs together or if you just brush your fingers slightly over his crotch

Morpheus likes to kiss you while taking care of you so he can take every moan, gasp and breathe in his mouth

Likes to have you cum with his fingers alone

He doesn’t do much teasing but when he does…

“I’ve barely even touched you and look how drenched you are, my love”

Prefers positions in which he can see your face clearly

Possessive asf

He likes you to acknowledge yourself as his as he acknowledges he is yours

Likes to hold you close for a few seconds after you cum

Aftercare is the most important thing for him

Would read to you while caressing your hair as a form of aftercare

Complete sucker for you wearing his clothes afterwards

He leaves small gifts behind if you fall asleep and he’s not there

“You looked so peaceful I didn’t want to disturb you, I’ll be with Lucienne if you need me”

[daddyjackfrost]

darling ; dream x f!reader

sandman masterlist

read my sandman series stay with me here

The Dreaming, a realm of dreams and nightmares, was the home to many, including Dream of the Endless and his wife, Lady of The Dreaming.

In contrast to her husband, Lady of The Dreaming was a soft and gentle soul. The light to his dark. The dream to his nightmare. While Dream managed everything that occurred in the night, the nightmares and creatures, His Lady managed The Dreaming in the day, the more mundane of dreamers. Those who drifted in and out of their realm; the children, the elderly, and the night owls.

It was a good life. A happy, loving, joyful life. One that Morpheus and his Lady wouldn’t have traded for anything. They were content, and so in love.

Until the King of Dreams and Nightmares was captured. For over a century.

80 years later…

Lucienne, the head librarian of The Dreaming, paced in front of the crumbling library doors. The library was one of the only places in The Dreaming that remained upright. As the rest of the realm withered away, Lucienne and the Lady tried their best to keep the Library—Morpheus’s favourite place—as intact as they could. All their belief and love was channeled towards the tower filled with books as old as time.

With a hesitant knock, the librarian waited for an invitation.

“Come in, Lucienne.”

Pushing the door open, Lucienne’s eyes landed on the slumped figure of her Ladyship. As she had been doing for years now, the Lady of the Dreaming stared out of the Library’s grand window. She watched her realm, the one she had loved and taken care of for thousands of years, deteriorate into rubble.

Lucienne threaded her fingers together. Not only had she watched her home turn into nothing, she watched her Queen, once lively and the heart of the Dreaming, turn into an empty shell of the God she once was.

“Can I make you some tea, my Ladyship? Perhaps a meal?”

The Lady turned her head and smiled at her old friend. Without Lucienne, the Dreaming would have crumbled completely long ago. She patted the empty space next to her. “Come sit, Lucienne. I could use the company of a friend.”

Lucienne smiled and sat next to her Lady. Together, they both travelled deep within their minds, recalling old memories of their home, when it was once beautiful and filled with imagination.

“I wonder what Morpheus thinks about, trapped in that glass. I have not seen him since Corinthian made Burgess place a shielding spell. Do you think he knows we have not abandoned him?”

Lucienne hesitated. Ever since Jessamy was killed, there had been no news about the King of Dreams. Shifting her eyes to the Lady, Lucienne took in her sullen eyes, her glazed skin, and the slight tremble of her hands.

“Lord Morpheus is smart. That being said, I’m sure he does not know that his absence has resulted in… this.” Lucienne wanted to console her Ladyship, but there was little to offer. “He thinks about you, I’m sure.”

The Lady of The Dreaming clapped her hands and stood, smoothing out her long black dress. “Yes, he must. Let’s make our rounds, Lucienne. Perhaps we shall find something unusual today.”

Together, a librarian and a God in love walked the planes of their home, hand in hand, welcoming the warmth and comfort they offered the other, knowing they had little time left.

100 years later…

Dark, silver and blue eyes watched as Alex Burgess’s wheelchair wiped away the containment spell that had kept Dream, King of the Dreaming, captive for over a century.

Paul, Alex’s lover, turned back to look at the strange and powerful man. With the slightest nod, he pushed Alex’s wheelchair towards the door. This was the last time either man would come to the basement. They had hoped that this final offering would spare them.

Dream let out the softest of breaths, he could feel the freedom that awaited him. With the slightest stretch of his muscles, Dream stood. The hum around him grew louder, and settled deep within his heart.

With what remaining power he had, Dream broke free from his prison. Putting the guards to sleep, Dream rolled his shoulders. Before he reunited with his love, his wife, he had someone else he needed to take care of.

Alex Burgess had to pay for his crime. And the crimes of his father.

An unfortunate becoming, Dream thought. To pay for a father’s crime.

With a deep breath, Dream travelled to Alex Burgess’s dreams.

“Hello,” Dream spoke slowly. His voice carried through Alex’s mind, wrapping around his subconscious and drowning him.

Alex Burgess's eyes widened into a look Dream had come to familiarize with.

Fear.

“It’s you. You’re… you’re free.”

Dream stood, in all his dark glory. “I am. Do you have any idea what it was like? Confined in a cage for a century?” There was malice in his voice, running deeper than Dream’s thirst for vengeance. “Do you understand the damage you’ve done to your world?”

Alex shook his head, trying to back away from the very entity that had haunted his waking hours for years. “I’m sorry,” the man cried, “I didn’t know. Please.”

Dream stepped closer to the frightened man and leaned down. His eyes glowed and his anger simmered. “Your punishment, then, shall be a gift.” Dream had not missed the wince that came from Alex Burgess. After all, it was his father’s selfish need for a gift that had killed him.

“I give you this, the gift… of eternal… sleep.”

With a blow of sand, Alex Burgess was put to sleep for eternity.

Morpheus, now completely free of human control, thought of home. His realm. His love.

With no time wasted, Dream opened a gateway to The Dreaming. He was going home, back to his sweet lover.

Dark grains of sand prickled Dream’s face. With power he seemed to lack, Morpheus had gracefully landed in his realm on his side, weak.

“Sir? Sir!”

A familiar, feminine voice called out to Dream, and for just a human second, he imagined it to be his lover. Footsteps ran closer, and Dream tried to open his eyes.

“Oh, my goodness. It’s me.” Lucienne crouched beside her Lord. “It’s Lucienne.”

With a soft gasp, Morpheus opened his eyes. A burst of something warm washed over him, seeing his librarian. His loyal, forever liable librarian.

“Lucienne,” Morpheus said weakly.

Lucienne's lips pulled into a smile, her eyes glazed. “You’re home, my Lord.” She put her hand out.

Reaching for her hand, Morpheus’s eyes twinkled. “I am.”

Pulling her Master up, Lucienne and Morpheus stared at each other. Unspoken words, apologies, and questions hovered in the air between them. But Lucienne just smiles, and Morpheus nodded once.

They both begin the trek back to the palace, and Lucienne watches as her Lord takes in the outskirts of The Dreaming. How dull and unkept it has become.

Once they reached the doors to The Dreaming, Lucienne cleared her throat. “Forgive me, sir, but the realm… the palace… they are not as you left them.”

Morpheus pushed open the large doors. His eyes scanned the view before him. A piece of his heart broke, seeing his creation, his realm, in this state.

With a deeper, emotional undertone, Morpheus asked, “What happened here? Who did this?”

Lucienne threaded her fingers together. Her eyes on the tower, where she knew her Lady was residing.

“My lord, you are The Dreaming, The Dreaming is you. With you gone for as long as you were, everything began to crumble and decay.”

“What of the residents? The palace staff?”

Lucienne did not miss his true intention. What of my Queen? Where is she?

“Gone, sir. Most are gone.”

Morpheus' eyes lit with a dull fire. “Had they so little faith in me? That I would return?”

Lucienne wishes she could have been honest with him. Tell him just how his absence had affected the realm, the residents. She wished she could have reminded him of the Endless that had abandoned their realm. But she held her tongue. Like the loyal servant she was.

“What of my Queen, Lucienne? Where is she?” Morpheus wished he sounded less fearful.

Lucienne hesitated, and then she sighed. “She is here, my Lord.” Stepping next to Dream, Lucienne pointed at the palace tower, the library. “She is there. Waiting for you.”

Without hesitation, Morpheus began walking towards the palace. Once he reunited with his love, held her in his arms, he could think about his realm and the damage he had yet to repair.

Lucienne followed her Lord quickly behind him. As they reached the palace, Lucienne opened her mouth. “Sir… If I may?”

The hesitation in Lucienne’s voice put Morpheus on edge. Turning his head slightly back, he raised his eyebrow at Lucienne. “Speak, Lucienne.”

“In your absence, The Dreaming began to fall apart. The only reason it is still standing, is because her Ladyship has commanded it to. She is powerful, sir, but not as strong as you. For a century she has used power she does not hold, and it has taken a toll on her.”

Lucienne watched as Morpheus' back became rigid, how he flexed his fingers just to clench them.

“Like The Dreaming, I’m afraid she’s dying, my Lord. She’s carrying the weight of The Dreaming, and it was not meant for her.”

Morpheus stopped in front of the Library doors. He stood stiller than Lucienne had ever seen him. Power and anger rolled off him, and Lucienne squeezed her hands together harder. With a tone she had yet to hear, Morpheus spoke.

“Thank you, Lucienne. Leave me to mend the heart and strength of my Queen.”

Lucienne nodded, bowing. “Of course, my Lord.”

Before Lucienne could walk away, in a smaller voice, Dream asked her the one question that had haunted him for a century.

“Does she hate me, Lucienne?”

With no hesitation, Lucienne answered. “No, sir. She loves you just as much as you love her. If not more.”

Morpheus waited until Lucienne’s became a faint whisper. With a newfound fear, he brought his pale, slightly trembling hand to the door and knocked, once.

“Come in, Lucienne.”

Morpheus’s eyes fluttered. With a deep breath, he pushed open the library doors. Morpheus’s eyes landed on his Queen, sitting on a simple seat that looked like a throne. Morpheus’s dark eyes travelled the length of his lover, taking in her weaker body and sullen eyes.

“Darling,” Morpheus whispered.

With speed that had long died, Lady of The Dreaming turned her head to face her husband. Her eyes met his, glazed and remorseful, and she stood.

With parted lips, the Lady whispered, “Morpheus?”

As magnets do, or souls bounded by fate, Morpheus and his lover pulled towards each other. Arms and bodies tangled together, and they both took their first breath. Scents of the other filled their bodies and their hearts beat as one.

Morpheus tightened his arms around his lover, and let out a sigh at the feeling of her hands in his hair. Their bodies fused together as one, unknown to them where one started and the other ended.

His Queen pulled away, just enough to rest her forehead against his. “Am I dreaming, Morpheus? Please say no, I cannot handle it. Are you really here?”

Morpheus’s voice, thick with emotion, came from deep within his body. “I am here, my love. I am here.” At the sound of a quiet, broken sob, Morpheus pressed a kiss to his Queen’s forehead. “Oh, my darling. My love. My Queen. I am here.”

Fragile hands tightened their grip on his robes. Morpheus lifted his hand from his lover’s waist and placed it on her cheek. “You’ll never be alone again, I promise.”

Lady of The Dreaming nodded, believing her King. She could feel his trembling fingers. “It was horrible without you, my love. I…” She lifted her eyes to meet Morpheus’s. His eyes were screaming at her. Tell me everything. Be honest with me. I’m sorry. I love you.

“I am tired.”

Morpheus shut his eyes. When he spoke, his breath tickled her cheeks. “I know, darling. I’m sorry.”

Then, Lady of The Dreaming asked her husband for the thing she had wanted–needed– for over a century.

“Kiss me, Morpheus. Please.”

Knowing he owed her much more, Morpheus brought his lips to hers. Her lips were soft, almost silken, and untouched against his. Morpheus could feel the soft tickle of her breath beneath his nose, fingers carding through his hair and he breathed her in.

Pulling each other closer, the King and Queen of The Dreaming used their bodies to convey all their words, the apologies and confessions that had gone long unsaid.

Their reunion pleased The Dreaming, and as the King and Queen mended their relationship, The Dreaming began to mend itself.

daddyjackfrost © 2022 | all content belongs to me, do not modify

[the-darklings]

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗𝐈.]

summary: "We begin... with a spin."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 16.2k+

warnings: gonna break your heart one last time, Dream is still Dream (reluctantly affectionate)

notes: all good things come to an end : )

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: Rule the World (Odyssey Version) by Take That

1:32 ───|────── 4:55

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART ELEVEN: BEYOND.

“Who are you?” 

“I am Destiny of the Endless.”

“And who am I?”

“You are the one who wanders. You will do so until the universe ceases.”

“Why?”

“Because you have been cursed to do so. Because you chose no shackles, no roots. You wished, instead, to roam free. And now you shall.”

“Why?”

“Because all is as it is meant to be, Wanderer.”

“Why?”

“Because you wished to break your destiny. And so you did.”

.

“I knew a lad called Jack Constantine once.”

Book in hand, you step around Hob, licking the dryness from your lips. Copper lingers on your tongue. “Same family.”

He perks up at your subdued comment, arms unfolding from where they rested over his chest.

“Nah, really?” He mulls it over for a moment. “Wait, that actually makes a lot of sense. He was a bit of a twat.”

Johanna sniffs. “Piss off.”

Late evening sun streams through the blinds, bathing the dark wood office in syrupy, golden-brown light. Books and notes lay scattered everywhere you look, each inch utilised fully. Johanna leans her hands on the table, squinting at the grimoire laid open. She’s been chewing on her lip for the last five minutes. That doesn’t bode well. 

“No can do,” Hob replies, hitching his shoulders with a proud smile. “I’m here on strict business.”

Dropping the grimoire Johanna requested on the table, you shoot them both a look, “Are you two done?” Your attention swivels towards the necromancer despite your trembling hands, finding her delicate features pinched. “Can you find Jed Walker?”

She huffs, her brows folding inwards. “You’re asking me to find a needle in a haystack of seven billion, give or take. I’m not a bloody witch. I don’t just cook up locator spells. I deal with demons and the dead.”

Bracing your hand on the table to mirror her, you soften your voice, “I understand what I’m asking for.”

“I’ll need time to figure this out,” she admits tightly. 

Private displeasure colours Johanna’s voice, and you nod in defeat. It’s hard to admit any shortcoming, much less one rooted in one’s power. While Johanna may be more powerful than most mortals can comprehend, it’s not power without gaps. She’s still so young. But, as with all Constantines you’ve known, there now sparks that fiery, stubborn drive, seemingly blazing from within. This is a challenge and one she’s set to overcome. 

“What about the other?” she poses abruptly, turning several pages in the grimoire. Her index finger trails over the yellowed pages, glued to another spell. “Do you have anything of theirs? You said this one has magical protection?”

“It’s conjecture,” you clarify. “But he’s been able to skirt me for over a century, so I’m left with one conclusion.”

Hob whistles under his breath. “A century? Bloody hell, you must be eager to find him.”

Memories flutter to life, birds caught in flight. A tall man with blonde hair, a dangerous smirk, and your blurred reflection dancing across his shaded glasses. Nothing more than a twisted memory that’s all fangs and blood. To file this want under ‘eager’ would be insulting. This specific longing comes with both elation and dread. Horror at what you might discover. This ignorance is no more than a flimsy illusion. You’ve spent the last century following Corinthian’s every crime, experiencing it as if he executed them on you instead. 

“I can’t promise this will work,” Johanna continues, oblivious to your internal struggle. Your attention snags on Hob, who is watching you with deep creases denting his forehead. There’s old, shrewd awareness in how he examines your rumpled appearance. “At best, I might be able to cloak you. Again, locator spells are not my speciality. At all.”

You clear your mind, pushing away from the wooden fixture. “ What if I gave up an object? It’s old, full of history. Would I be able to form a tether?

You’ve seen such spells performed—you know they’re possible and incredibly advantageous when done right. 

Johanna glares down at the grimoire for a beat, silent. Her chin lifts suddenly, her narrow-eyed stare harsh and biting. There’s digging intensity to how she inspects your appearance from head to toe, and you bristle at the probing check. 

“You look like shit,” she says bluntly. “I don’t think you should be doing any tethering to anything.”

Your teeth gnash. “Can it be done, Constantine?”

Tension barbs through the room. Hob sighs, making you even more defensive because you can instinctively tell it’s about to become two against one. “We’re not daft, you know,” he says quietly. “It’s clear you’re unwell.” 

Your eyes flutter shut. Forcing your jaw to relax, you mull over the most palatable way you can deliver this information to them. It’s clear from their wonderfully human determination that they’re not going to let this drop until they have more context. 

“Fine.” Filling your lungs with oxygen, you hold your breath, gathering yourself. How difficult it is to draw oxygen should probably concern you. “Remember how I told you I’ve been experimenting? Well, I’ve exercised a degree of control over the curse. The travelling part, at least. I can force it to take me places I want, but it… costs me. Physically.”

Johanna folds her arms over her chest, humming in consideration. “Cost, eh? How steep?”

These damn Constantines. 

The setting sun warms your cool cheek, and some invisible restraint in you loosens your invisible cast dropping. “Internal injuries. Bleeding, tissue tears, organ failure, haemorrhaging. It heals, but slowly. Excruciatingly so. If I abuse controlled travel too often, I can pass out. Slip into a temporary coma until internal damage heals. Vomiting, mobility issues, dizziness, hallucinations—take your pick.”

You’re avoiding direct eye contact, but utter silence encompasses the office when your words sink in. 

Hob gathers himself first. “Jesus Christ.”

Shrugging, you say, “It’s fine. I’m getting better at controlling it.”

“Which part of that is fine?” Hob’s voice is barbed with horror. “None of that is fine.”

You wish neither of them were looking at you like this. Rattled, aghast, alight with shades of sadness. It's so much easier to handle this when no one is standing there reminding you of the ugly aspects of this curse.

“Can it be done?” you bite out. 

Johanna wipes emotion from her face, stretching out her hand, palm up. “Show me this item.” 

Without a preamble, you hand her the roughened wooden figurine. Your stomach roils at the sight. Desperately your fingers clench and unclench in the folds of your coat, blunt nails biting into your palms. The urge to snatch back the figurine is bone-breaking. 

Johanna rolls the item in her hand, scanning it with eyes that see far beyond its material form. She’s digging deeper into what history—power—the object contains. “It might work,” she muses pensively. “I’ll cloak you, but the spell will have a time limit. The further away you are from me, the shorter the timer will be. Whoever it is won’t see you coming, but I can’t promise you the exact location.”

The grim determination bubbling in your gut answers: “Just get me as close as you can.”

.

Swirls of colours and shapes; loud, jarring noises, spinning, spinning, nails raking through the skin—

“Make it stop, make it stop—”

It doesn’t stop. There’s only colour—sound—sound—breaking—madness. And it doesn’t stop for a very long time.

.

A thousand reflections stare back at you. 

“Coward.”

“Traitor.”

“Murderer.”

“I’m not,” you gasp. “I’m not.”

Do it, do it, do it—

A rat scurries past your arm, disappearing into the hoary mist, and you flinch. 

No matter how loudly you plead for forgiveness, for relief, there’s only endless despair and glass cutting into your palms. 

.

Flower fields. Sunshine. Peace. 

A tall, pale, looming man with twin stars for eyes stands over you. 

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

No reply.

But for the first time since you’ve woken up as you: hope. 

A beautiful dream. 

.

“Who did you say you were again?”

Mighty, leathery wings block out whatever light there once was, the newcomer’s pale hair shining like a halo around their fair face. 

“I am an angel, here to save you,” a benign, soothing voice coos, followed by fingers tracing over your bloodied jawline. “If only you help me.”

“By doing what?” you slur, blood and sweat trickling down your split brow. “By spying on the Endless? On Dream?”

“Do not fear. I alone can protect you. Your purpose is to merely… observe.”

Demons hiss and growl around you, and you flex your newly healed jaw. They broke it four times in succession. So much for talking back. Scorched dirt beneath your feet stains with your congealing blood, and you chuckle. The croaking sound grows in volume until your throat bleeds. 

It’s answer enough. 

Your bones quiver under the sheer power of Morningstar’s displeasure. “Take this one away. Make sure there’s nothing left.”

The demons make good on that order. 

.

Johanna pierces the world map with a letter opener, every inch cutting in with deliberate slowness. Candles flicker, settling after the spell, and you taste the magick at the back of your throat. 

“Georgia, U-S of A,” the necromancer announces, loosening a breath.

“Great,” Hob chirps, his arm brushing against yours. “That’s just brilliant. It’s across the bloody ocean, that is.”

Johnna shoots him a venomous look. “Oh, sorry. Were you hoping for a nice trip down Brighton?”

Hob stares at her blankly in the shadowed office. He turns your way slowly as if mutely asking do you believe her?

You do. You’ve dealt with enough Constantines in your lifetime to ensure their sarcastic, surly nature is no longer a shock. 

“You’re a highly unpleasant woman,” Hob concludes, though no real malice lingers in his tone or bearing. 

“Thank you, Constantine,” you cut in before they can break into another bickering session. “There’s one more thing.”

The brunette rolls her eyes. “Is there now?”

“Magdalene’s Grimoire,” you begin deliberately. Johanna freezes. “I want you to locate it and retrieve it for me.”

Your companions speak simultaneously:

“Why?”

“You believe it has something to do with your curse, don’t you?” 

Ignoring Hob’s incredulous outcry, you nod towards Johanna. Pain twinges suddenly in your core, and your breaths slow until you get a grip on yourself. But it’s slow. Numbing pain laps at your senses for a debilitating minute until it clears once more. The curse wants to drag you in a thousand directions, but you don’t permit it. 

You right yourself again, swallowing over your dry tongue. Your temples throb insistently. 

“I think it’s old—older than people assume and has spells that no mortal should have access to.” You lean towards the map, examining the range letter opener has offered. You’ve been to Georgia several times previously, but long ago. “Roderick Burgess might have gotten lucky, but the mere fact there’s a spell there that can help capture an Endless… I find that curious. Unlike what your records indicate, he was not the first Magus, but he was the last. This means the grimoire has to be with his family—likely his son—or someone relating to them. I’ll pay you.”

Somehow. 

“Are you joking?” Johanna scoffs immediately. “One of the most powerful grimoires known to humanity? I’ll find it for free. Imagine what I could learn from it.”

Your stare glides to her unhurriedly, fixing on her fair complexion. She visibly falters at whatever she spies in your cool regard. “Within reason… and for the good of humanity. Scout's honour.”

Hob squints at her. “You’re not even American.”

“Shut… up,” she mutters, shooting him another nasty look. 

You tug your coat free when it catches on a chair, slotting your hands in your pockets. “Thank you, both of you. Is the spell active?”

“Yes, but it won’t hold long at this distance,” Johanna warns. 

Your attention latches on the wooden figurine on her desk. It’s wrong—it feels so wrong to have it out of your grasp, to feel nothing more than Dream’s pebble warming your hand. You try not to think about him now or your last conversation together. Instead, you focus on the thread woven around your heart, tugging you away and over the ocean. 

“I won’t be back for at least two weeks, but see what you can discover in that time,” you tell them. 

Hob balances on his heels, presenting Johanna with a charming grin. “Well, I guess I ought to help you.”

The sorceress scowls. “I don’t need your help.”

“Everyone needs help,” Hob counters.

Levelling them with a fond look, you wordlessly head towards the door while they verbally spar. Your hand briefly braces your chest, feeling the unsteady thud beneath your palm. You’ve been jumping too often, too far, and too rapidly for your body to recover. But just a bit more. Then you can rest. 

You’re almost at the end of a darkened hallway before an urgent voice sounds behind you, accompanied by brisk strides in your direction. 

“Wait, wait…”

You’re not even slightly surprised to hear Hob behind you or feel his fingers wrap around your bicep. Street light filtering through the window paints over his taut features, creating a pronounced tale of two sides. Light and dark. Young and older than anyone can comprehend. Quite fitting for both of you. 

“Take me with you,” Hob says, imploring edge laced beneath his lighthearted manner. It pinches your heart. “You know what they say: two immortals are better than one, eh?”

If things were less dangerous, less volatile, if it were anyone but Corinthian, you would take him up on his offer. You would love nothing more—two immortals going on an adventure. Hob has known the same horrors, similar hardships, countless failures and highs. Together you’re as effortless as breathing, as familiar as old friends meeting after years apart. You’ve felt that kinship with him from the first moment you locked eyes in that overcrowded pub, sitting there soaked and miserable. 

But this is the Corinthian. Even if Hob is the one human with nothing to fear from the nightmare, this goes much deeper. Soul deep. Perhaps deeper still. This conflict is between you, Corinthian, and Dream. It’s always been a tale of three parts, interwoven into a single, unbreakable thread. 

“Hob Gadling, you are a gem,” you say softly, placing your hand on his warm cheek. An unsure smile forms across his mouth. “And maybe one day I will. But this… this is something I must do alone.”

“You don’t, though. You realise that, right?” Hob argues softly, fiercely. “There are people who care about you.”

You think about the Dreaming and its occupants, all the mortals and other beings you’ve encountered in your many travels. Friends and companions who have told you to visit, stay, there is always a place for you here even when they knew you could do no such thing without putting them at risk. You think about the Endless—your becoming and undoing.

Your hand slips away from him, your faint smile hollow. “I do. Two weeks.”

.

The Endless are formidable individually. The raw power holding this universe together, given form and reason. Their realms are kingdoms that put others to shame. You’ve visited plenty by now to draw the unsurprising conclusion. Dealing with each sibling is an exercise in patience, tact, and subtle respect in differing shades. 

Sitting in the same room as seven of them makes you want to crawl out of your skin and run for the hills. You’ve met them individually in the past. There’ve been a handful of occasions where you encountered several simultaneously. But never all together in the same room like this. 

They’re terrible and wonderful and so suffocating in their casual existence that every instinct in your mortal body warns you of one indisputable truth:

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Death shakes her head promptly, giving you a stern glance. “Nonsense, sweetheart,” she asserts. “You’re right where you belong. Isn’t that right, Destiny?”

Destiny of the Endless sits unmoving, only his mouth visible behind his flowing, beige hood. His hand rests on the Book of Destiny, pale but relaxed. Whenever Destiny does move, the chain connecting him to the book rattles through your bones. 

He hosts these family gatherings, though all Endless have equal prominence in this universe and its continuous function. Despite it, from your angle, it appears as if he’s the one at the head of the table. Oldest and certainly the most overwhelming in his sheer aura. It took him a simple swipe of his hand for an additional chair to materialise at the table for you. For his fluttering, eerily silent attendants to lay a plate and glass on either side of you. 

“All is as it should be, sister,” Destiny replies, his voice whistling wind through dry leaves. 

Your pulse beats against the curve of your throat. If your stomach weren’t already empty, you would likely be throwing up right now. 

Death grins brightly, pleased. Her smile is no doubt meant to be reassuring when she angles back towards you. “See, that’s a yes.”

Your words form clumsily on your tongue, “I didn’t mean to impose—”

Sitting on your left, Delirium tightens her grip on you, cutting your words short. Her chair had been dragged towards yours, your arms linked despite the uncomfortable angle. The scent of leather, sweat, and burnt sugar bites into your nostrils. Today, her hair keeps flickering between bright orange, yellow, and neon green. 

“Uhm… impose?” she mutters. Her words flow so swiftly that it’s an effort to keep up. “No, no, imposing to be imposed on, and, um, imposing is impolite. What is impolite?”

“To impose would be impolite, yes.” Your words come out measured. “Like that man. You went into his home.”

“Well, he, well, he wasn’t a very good man.” Delirium’s voice thins, frustration biting into each syllable. On your other side, you sense Destruction turning in your direction. Tension blinks out from Delirium’s lovely features, her different-coloured eyes shining in the dimly lit room. “I made him see colours. Really pretty, pretty colours.”

Yes, she certainly did. You’re hopeful the man received a swift death via villagers, others having no doubt concluded him mad or consorting with devils and demons. As if to illustrate her point, Delirium lightly positions her thumb and index fingers together, forming an O. She giggles, blowing air, and much to your unspoken wonder, multicoloured bubbles float through the air. Some remain bubbles, bloated and bobbing. Others shape into animals and birds. 

“I am not an Endless,” you remind, feeling foolish for doing so. As if anyone could mistake you for one of them. Your eyes briefly skim over each sibling, shifting in your seat for the dozenth time. “I don’t think it’s right for me to be here.”

Despair, sitting opposite to you beside her twin, hoods her eyes. The metal hook on her finger digs into her chin. Blood bubbles beneath the honed metal. “Yes. Mortal.”

Her whispering, thin voice blankets you, and your insides ball up. 

Destruction chuckles on your right, deep and echoing in the dining hall, smoothing over your suddenly chilled, clammy skin. “Sister, do you meet many mortals who live over three hundred years? I see no harm in you being here, dear Wanderer.”

Desire stretches indolently in their seat, candlelight washing over their indescribable features. Scoff ripples from their chest, their chin dropping in their open palm. 

“Right, is anyone else opposed to Wanderer being here?” Desire voices, sweeping a challenging look around the table. When no one speaks, Desire shrugs, arms open at their sides. “See, sweet thing, relax. Have some fruit.”

They pointedly push the fruit basket closer towards you. The fruit does look tasty, and you hadn’t eaten in two days, but don't think you can stomach it right now. 

Dream casts an inpatient glance Destiny’s way. In extravagant robes, Dream Lord appears the most disgruntled with being summoned. “Why are we here, Destiny? You do not call upon the family without a cause.”

Destiny’s answer comes predictably vague: “You are here, brother Dream. That is all.”

Despite your unease to be dropped into their family meeting, annoyance pinpricks you at his words. Always the same ambiguity, always what the book dictates, and never what someone might feel. Destiny is not human. It would be unfair for you to hold any of the Endless to mortal standards. For you to expect them to comprehend sentiments that are so far out of their reach. 

It doesn’t take away from the sting, though. At least this time, the curse was mindful enough to drop you inside Destiny’s stronghold inside the Garden of Forking Ways. Last time, you found yourself helplessly lost inside the boundless maze for weeks. Destiny did nothing to aid you—it was as it was meant to be. You associate him most closely with that wild animal fear and sheer helplessness. You can’t help it. 

“Why the rush?” Desire calls out, interrupting your thoughts. “Eager to get back to another failed relationship, sweet Dream?”

Shadows coil around Dream Lord’s feet, seated between Delirium and Death. You silently question if it’s a purposeful partition. 

“That’s enough from you, sibling,” Dream warns. 

Desire’s lovely mouth spreads into a quick, beaming smile; all teeth bared and tawny eyes aglow with sadistic amusement. A predator having scented blood. “Oh, come on now,” they coo. “We all come here to talk as a family; even lovely Wanderer is present. Yet you think yourself above everything. Your realm, your rules—we’ve heard it all before! You’re oh so dull.”

Despair slumps beside her twin, face downcast. “Dull. Yes, rather dull indeed.”

“And are you perhaps bored, my sibling?” Dream returns, a slight pinch to his imperious features. His voice remains perfectly aloof. From this outsider’s perspective, it’s easy to see why Desire views Dream as supercilious. “Did you run out of adequate ways to amuse yourself?”

Momentarily swallowing down your fear, you slant your head over to one side, “Dream.”

Dream pauses at your drawn, anxious expression. The ignited stars dim, draining away, but the hard slant of his broad shoulders doesn’t drop. 

“Oh, don’t run to his defence.” Desire’s voice is just edging on goading. Their nails tap on the wooden table when they cross their legs, leaning towards you. “This is quite characteristic. Surely you find him just as insufferable as the rest of us?”

Death’s retort is whip-sharp. “Desire. Shut up.”

Others around the table appear calmly accepting. They’ve seen this fight play out in the past a thousand times. While you’ve never demanded reasons for the bad blood between the two Endless, it’s clear it runs deep, a problem stemming from innumerable centuries long since past. And very clearly not a situation for you to get involved in. You’re not naive or arrogant enough to assume you can fix their problems for them. Neither Desire nor Dream seems particularly invested in settling anything, either. 

But inciting like this is dangerous. Desire has never attempted to spark arguments involving you in the past, no matter how spiteful the mood. 

As if mentally arriving at the same conclusion, Destruction’s rumbling words vocalise your unspoken plea: “Do not involve Wanderer in your quarrel, sibling.”

Delirium curls into herself, her legs raised on the chair and pressing into her chest. Her hold on your arm turns near painful. “Arguing, fights, it's not nice, but it… um… that’s not where Desire is supposed to be. It’s um… it’s somewhere else. It’s in Dreams.”

You’re not sure how to decode Delirium’s words. You once believed them to be mindless babbles. Then some phrases would come back to haunt you months or even years later. Whatever caused the turn in Delirium from Delight gave her foresight no other Endless seemed to possess. Save, perhaps, Destiny. 

Desire’s fingers curl beneath their pointed chin. Desire surveys you, then his older brother, with a feline's slowness. “Well, well. Aren’t you two sweet on each other?”

This time, the darkness curling beneath Dream’s chair becomes physical. Visible even to your mortal eye. 

“Cease your poisonous stipulations,” Dream says icily. 

Desire scoffs, dropping back in their seat with a graceful, seductive stretch. Heat encompasses your being, pouring in the crevices of your skin. Desire’s effect is all but impossible to escape this close. 

“Is it not my function, oh dear brother of mine, to sow desire in the hearts of all living things, mortal and otherwise? What are they without their desires?” The Endless straightens just as swiftly, their elbows digging back into the table while they eye you, chin back in their hands. Something cruel and fragmented, endlessly amused, slides through those golden irises—an intent you’ve never seen Desire direct your way until now. “Come, my sweet, doesn’t it get dreary? All those mortals set on your suffering? Surely you have missed the sweet, loving embrace of Desire? I could make you desire anything… even a kiss.”

And then…

The world melts away, and everything once making up your being bows and folds under the power pressing into you. You’re but a child. You are atoms. And you’ve forgotten how terrible their power could be once unleashed. 

There’s only cocoon and darkness and golden, glowing eyes beckoning you, warming you, bewitching you. Your limbs are too far away to control, your will dulled into thin, worn paper—brittle to the touch. Your skin is too hot, and the air in your lungs is insufficient. It feels so good. So good, so good—

Even a kiss, even a kiss, even a kiss—

Your limbs are on strings, tugged in one direction, then another. Distantly, horror chokes you, and you scratch at the walls inside your mind, clawing for some semblance of control, but there’s only a sultry embrace of desire. 

“Desire, no—”

“Stop—”

“Enough.” Something inside your chest trembles at that single word’s sheer, unbridled power. Your numbed senses are clear but not enough to free you. You're trapped, caught on the verge of awareness. “You dare.”

“Now, now, dear Dream. Did I get under your skin? It’s but jest. Lighten up.”

Few stars emerge in your blackened vision, guiding you closer. They urge you forward to safety, but you’re unable to move. It feels good to be here, so good and hot. There’s no pain, only desire and pleasure—

“We do not control mortals, sister-brother. Their will is their own. Release Wanderer.”

Destiny’s tepid command shreds through the heated, desire-filled veil. You return to yourself with a choked gasp, snapping into your tiny mortal body with a painful lurch. It’s overwhelming. Every sense was smothered to such a degree, it’s as if everything is twice as heightened now. 

“Are you insane?” Death snaps. You’ve never heard her this angry until now. There’s always a smile on her face and a playful gleam in her eyes. But you’re too busy shaking to be afraid. “What was that, huh?”

Your hands convulse. Bloody indents line your palms. Your nails must have cut into your skin hard enough to draw blood. You fought. But what can a mortal do when faced with an Endless? You were erased, folded down to nothing. You are nothing. 

Voices melt into one. You’re too shaken to separate them. When some semblance of awareness settles in, you realise how awful these… seconds, minutes, or hours have truly been. 

You’re half straddling Destruction, arms half wrapped around his broad shoulders, your mouth near his neck. Horror liquefies your limbs, rooting you in your spot. Too much—it’s too much. Humiliation leaves you immobile, but Destruction rests his hand between your shoulder blades, his gaze kind and concerned beneath his bunched eyebrows.  

“Are you well?” he asks quietly over the clamour behind you.

Your chin wobbles. Shame lashes your skin. You’ve been used as no more than a puppet to be thrown at him. On him. Like some mindless whore. A witless worshipper, begging for their chosen god’s favour, not understanding what they’re inviting. How the gods are never kind. How they only use and break for their amusement. 

Even though Destruction doesn’t appear angry, you can’t stop yourself from croaking out, “I… I… I’m sorry.”

His sympathetic frown is visible even beneath his thick beard. He cradles you to him but with gentleness indicating how fragile he believes you to be at this moment. “Do not fret. It is quite alright, my friend.”

“Can you…?”

Your words splinter. The burn behind your eyes turns painfully prickly. Destruction’s handsome face creases further. He nods mutely, carefully manoeuvring your body to a standing position. His large hand presses between your shoulder blades, steading and hot through your thin robes. His fingers fold slightly, protectively. Your gratitude for his unprompted support is immeasurable. An anchor while your knees shake.

“It was a joke,” Desire calls out over his siblings. “Desire is who I am. It’s all in good fun. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

Your shoulders spasm, your back still to them. Your insides churn at the prompt, and you’re unsure if you’re about to be sick, cry, or some horrific mix of both. 

You thought… you were foolish enough to assume… 

How many times have you landed in the Threshold, thrilled to see Desire? How often have you shared jokes, laughs, and peaceful evenings and mornings in the twilight land? What other touch or embrace have you known over three centuries that didn’t end in agony but Desire’s? You’ve told them numerous times you have no preference for any sibling in their family—that you cherish Desire’s company as much as others, perhaps even more so. Because with Desire, you could remember what it’s like to be human—to want and need. 

You had foolishly believed you were friends. 

Now you see the truth. You feel the horrible, numbing heat licking across your flesh—the aftermath of this ultimate betrayal. Desire’s power shimmers on the outskirts of your mind, ready to devour you anew. Rob you of reason and choice. 

“I—you… I trusted you.” Everyone falls silent at your frayed words, scraping through the eerily quiet dining hall. When you rotate clumsily towards them, you look only at Desire. You avoid others. Your humiliation burns too brightly for anything else. “You… just made me feel like nothing. You degraded me. I’m no more than a thing for you to play with.”

Some foreign emotion spasms briefly through Desire’s face—gone in a blink. Their answering smile is so patronising a deeper crack splinters your chest. “Wanderer. Be a good sport. It was simply a bit of fun.”

A bit of fun. 

Desire can be fickle, and it can be cruel. But you’ve forgotten just how cruel they could be. To Desire, this is no more than a practical joke. You’re only a silly mortal. No wonder you don’t get the joke. You’ll get over yourself soon enough. But no one else is laughing or smiling, either. Even Despair in your peripheral remains hunched and mute, typically first to her twin’s defence. 

“Fun.” 

The word shatters something between you the second you voice it. You can see it on Desire’s face. The realisation settling in. There is no regret, no apology. Nor will there ever be. It’s clear from the dismissive curl of Desire’s mouth. They don’t see anything wrong with what just transpired. 

It makes it worse. So much worse. 

“Wanderer, brother Destruction. Sit.”

Destiny’s perfectly poised voice shreds whatever little composure you’ve been clinging onto. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” The accusation rips through the room like wildfire. You shake off Destructions comforting touch, your lungs filling with air and spilling out fire. “You knew Desire was going to do that. That’s the only reason why you permitted me to stay. Do I not suffer every day? Or do you enjoy making me into your little plaything? Have I not been humiliated enough for your amusement?”

Destiny says nothing. 

You shove away from the table with disgust. Your feet tangle before you command your sluggish limbs. Death rise after you immediately.

“Wanderer—”

You flinch away from her extended hand, from all of them. You don’t care what invisible line you may be overstepping. “Don’t touch me,” you spit out. “I never should have stayed.”

Your feet carry you several paces until another, more resounding voice calls, “Wanderer.”

A part of you doesn’t understand why you pause or look back. Dream’s gaze sears into you. Yet you can’t untangle a single thing you see burrowed there. He’s standing as well, his hand flat on the table. Foolishly, you hope he will come after you, say something in defence of you. But Dream is Dream. He’s likely just as clueless about why you took this so badly as others. Perhaps the fury you see glimmering in those starlit eyes is but your imagination. Another pretty lie your sentimental, human heart would be all too happy to convince yourself of. 

He doesn’t move. You pivot away, your shoulders hunching. 

Desire’s chuckle licks at your back, silky and smooth. “So tense, that one. It was only a bit of fun.” 

No one laughs. No one responds. 

Only a bit of fun.

“Take me away, take me away from here,” you sob, stumbling into a shadowed hallway.

For once, the curse listens. 

.

Rivulets of sweat drip down your back. The puddle of blood at your feet is starting to go dark. These observations float from somewhere beyond the dense fog shrouding your mind. It’s so difficult to focus. Wiping across your sweaty forehead, you lean on your arm, breathing deeply. You’ve forgotten how suffocating the humidity could be here in Georgia. 

Mercifully only heat-blurred fields surround you. The vast, open stretch of highway is all you see on either side.

Lights dance in your vision, your ears ringing. Maybe it’s the curse and not the heat. Your limbs obey no command, barely held together by sheer stubborn will to follow the tether pulsing in your chest. The spell’s power is already dimming. You have no choice but to jump. This is your only chance to get to Corinthian first. 

“Come on… come on… I don’t obey you.” Your nails scrape on the heated metal, your head hanging low. “You obey me.”

Your tongue rolls the words clumsily. No matter how much you swallow, more saliva floods your mouth, causing your stomach to cramp. Your knees beg to fold beneath you. Lay down in this tall grass and wait for the inevitable that will never arrive. It’s foolish. Death is far from the worst thing that can befall an individual. It was the very first lesson you learned. 

Digging deeper, you claw and yank on the curse’s power, squeezing it until the bleed becomes physical. Until your limbs rip from one place to another. 

When you settle back into your body, skin stinging, your knees hit the ground immediately. Blood dribbles past your lips, your sweat-covered forehead pressing into the soft dirt. You pant loudly, blood trickling past your cracked lips. Pain is coming from everywhere. Sounds mangle into each other when you attempt to raise your head. Your stomach protests viciously, leaving you dry heaving. Nothing but more blood escapes your body. 

A hotel sign. It’s the first thing you register. You’ve landed near one, practically on it. Your fingernails dig into the dirt as you stumble into a standing position. The tether Johanna’s spell has threaded pulses harder and faster in your chest. There. Corinthian has to be there. 

Cradling your sore midsection, you painstakingly make your way towards the hotel. Relentless heat melts your already nonexistent strength reserves down to nothing. 

Several people glance in your direction when you push through the reception door. In this climate, your attire certainly raises eyebrows, but you remind yourself there’s no way Corinthian can know you’re here this time.

“Can I help you?”

You stumble to a stop, breathing heavily. A man with a tiny hat and a nametag reading Fun Land sits behind a table, his annoyance palpable while he stares at you expectedly. It takes considerable effort to gather the strength required to speak. 

“No.”

You turn to go. 

“Hey, woah! This is a convention-only area. Can’t you read?”

Following the direction the man is gesturing wildly towards, you find a board reading Cereal Convention printed in large, bold letters. The rest blurs, sweat stinging your eyes. You work your jaw. 

“No,” you repeat.

The man’s petulant glare would be comical if you were in a better mood. 

“You can’t go here,” he declares stiffly. 

Your fingers curl weakly, convulsing at your sides. You didn’t come this far to be precluded from finding Corinthian by a goddamn sign. By a cereal convention. Cereal convention. Cereal. At the back of your foggy mind, something nags at you. 

Your brows dip inwards, your gaze slipping towards the man. His bravado stutters, washing away from him. He shrinks backwards the longer you stare at him, his throat working on a gulp. Your lips compress into a stiffer line. Someone brushes behind you, stepping up to the table. Fun Land exhales in audible relief, serving them, pretending he’s too busy to pay you further notice. 

Fine. You’ll find another way. 

Stalking outside, you keep to the shade, leaning into the wall for support. It doesn’t take long to track down the delivery entrance. Every hotel has one, and depending on the time of day, they’re not the best protected. Like right now, in the afternoon, after housekeeping has gone home, leaving only a handful of staff on standby.  

He’s in here somewhere. The hotel corridors melt together. Beige walls and stale, humid air. They warp, smearing together into nothing but sensation. You’re a rat caught inside yet another maze. Sickness churns inside your stomach. 

And then, impossibly, you see him. 

A pale head of golden hair illuminated by washed-out light, his back to you while he strolls ahead and away from you. 

“Corinthian.”

The raspy exhale ricochets. The nightmare stops dead in his tracks. Until this precise second, he wasn’t there, wasn’t real, but with his name, the nightmare becomes a reality. Corridor may separate you, but the spell winks out, confirming your suspicion. 

Aircon buzzes through the long, otherwise vacant corridor. Your heart thunders in your ears.��

Then, Corinthian speaks: “You shouldn’t be here.”

A sob wells in your chest at his drawling, smooth words. Nearly two hundred years you haven’t seen him. Over a century seeking him out, having to live with the ramifications of atrocities he’s been inflicting. And now, here, it’s just you and him. You’re not sure which sensation pulses in you stronger: anger or relief. 

Your mouth quivers, your tongue dragging across your dry, cracked lips. “I searched for you.”

“I know you did,” he replies listlessly, his back still facing you. It hurts, because you were right. He’s been knowingly avoiding you. As if reading your mind, Corinthian raises his hand, and your stomach shrivels when you spot your ring firm on his finger. “I have this to thank you for, but it would seem you found me out anyway. Shame.”

The ring. Of course. 

A small piece of humanity for you to hold. I told you, they’re not all bad. I hope this can help you experience it.

And experience it he did. An essential part of yourself put away in that ring must have given him a sense of your presence nearby. He used your own present against you. 

The Corinthian finally turns to face you, all but unchanged except for his modern hairstyle and refined round shades. You want to say so many things to him that your tongue refuses to work altogether. A great chasm yawns between you, and you have no idea how to bridge it.

“What are you doing?” you ask at last. 

There’s no smirk or sly grin in sight. He’s as closed off as you. Despite his seeming indifference, you read the subtle tension lining Corinthian’s broad shoulders. He can hide from others, trick and lie to them if he pleases, but never you. 

“What I was made to do,” he replies tightly. 

“No. You’re hurting them.”

Corinthian’s jaw locks. “He made me in your image, Wanderer. Now I’m making the world in mine. I thought you’d be proud.”

A disbelieving scoff rips from your chest, burning your windpipe as if acid washed down it. “Proud?” you parrot. “You’re killing them.”

Your harsh condemnation dissolves whatever neutrality remains in the space between you. Prior uncertainty dashes beneath a strain of a century dripping in the blood of innocents. 

“Did they do less to you?” Corinthian’s voice is all nightmare; honeyed, cruel, and seductive. His head tilts playfully to one side. “How often did they torture you? Shun you? Sought to eradicate you? Still you defend them as you did him.”

Your sight muddies, and it takes a shake of your head to clear it. “You can’t punish all for crimes of a few.”

A snarl twists Corinthian’s mouth, his feet carrying him towards you in a measured, prowling stalk. 

“A few? They’re all the same: greedy, selfish, and cruel. The curse reveals. I reflect. They don’t change; they only learn how to hide better.” He pauses, licking his lips as he considers you. Something seems to occur to him, a faint laugh vibrating from his chest. “Do you have any idea how many times I stopped them? Punished them for hurting you? New Orleans in ‘31. Berlin in ‘43. Vienna in ‘55. Seoul in ‘62. Moscow in ‘71. Bangkok in ‘89. New York in ‘00. Why those were all me and then some. I was there. I’ve always been there.”

Each date punctures through you like a stray bullet. Honed and whetted for the single purpose of hurting you in a different sense. A fragmented nightmare. You’ve chased a mirage while the nightmare has spent a century mirroring your steps, keeping you safe from the shadows whenever your paths crossed unbeknownst to you. 

There’ve been times—

You thought you’d caught glimpses of him in decades-long since lost. But unfailingly, you’ve only ever found empty alleyways when you pursued these figments. Eventually, you stopped chasing these mirages. The pain was too great. But it’s never been just your overreactive imagination, has it? He was real. He was there. 

He’s spent a century killing indiscriminately while also keeping you safe. You want to scream at him for the evil he’s committed and cry from sheer relief he hasn’t forgotten you. 

“Then why hide?” you croak, stumbling closer. “Why not speak with me?”

“Oh, come now.” Corinthian clicks his tongue. He turns away, nostrils flaring, then turns to face you again. “You know why. You would have asked me to come back, and for you, I would have.”

His features blur, your words barely audible, “And would that have been so terrible?”

“Come back to what? Dream’s ball and chain?” Acidic words, despite their softness. His rage deflates instantly, a huffing laugh escaping him as if he’s surprised himself with the lapse. “You think he gives a fuck about either of us? He threw you out. You left.”

Indignation flares in your chest. “Not by choice.”

“Then you should have taken me with you. But you left me. All you ever do is play by Dream’s rules. I figured out how to leave the Dreaming back during Dreamfall, but I stayed. Wonder why.”

You have no response to that. You’re left standing there, gaping. For you. Who else? He had no one else there; no other reason to stay other than your presence. 

“So that’s it,” you begin shakily, your words rasping, sniffling. “All this because you believe I chose Dream and his rules over you?”

“What did you do to yourself?”

Corinthian’s voice has gone dreadfully quiet. Fiercely unhappy. Too late, you realise you’re sniffling because blood is dripping from your nose. Clumsily, you swipe the back of your hand over your chin. Crevices in your skin crack with dried blood. 

“It was never a choice, don’t you get it?” you whisper, your words pouring out thick and wet with emotion. “It’s always been you. Always. I was terrified the journey would destroy you. Had I known, I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat.”

Corinthian closes the remaining distance between you, grasping you by the forearms. It’s such a relief to have him near again. You sag into him, trembling. You try to raise your hand to wipe beneath your nose, but your limbs are too stiff to obey. 

“What did you do, Wanderer?” He sounds furious while he examines you, as if only now realising the extent of your deterioration. “What did you do yourself?”

“I had to get to you first,” you tell him. Blood smudges the lapels of his jacket where you grasp it. “Please, you have to stop. They don’t deserve this, Cori.”

He looks disgusted at your words, but your legs fail you before he responds. Corinthian catches you before your knees hit the carpeted ground.

“It hurts.” His words come out hissing, sharp with incredulity. “Why does it hurt?”

Your chin jolts upwards, your bloodstained smile trembling around the edges. “You know why. I’m inside of you. You can’t escape that.”

Neither of you can. You’ll carry him in you until your bitter end, as he will carry you until his. 

“Shh. I got you.” Corinthian tucks you into him when a whimper of pain escapes you. His hand cradles the back of your head. “I’m going to set us both free.”

And then, through horror, darkness closes in. 

.

Motion. 

“Who is that?”

A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar. 

“Oh, yes. This one is with me. Won’t you be a good girl and share that tidbit with others, so we don’t have any… complications. I appreciate it.”

“But I thought—”

Arms tighten around you possessively—the air coils, suffused with thick tension. 

“Good Doctor. No one touches this one. Or they'll have to deal with me. Personally.” 

Footsteps retreat near instantly, the atmosphere lightening in the absence. You’re resting on something velvety. You have no idea where you are, but you know you’re safe. 

“Cori…”

“Shh, I’ll be back before you know it.” Cold glass touches your lips. When your lips part, soothing water slips into your awaiting mouth. After several mouthfuls, the glass disappears. A cool hand traces your face. “Things will be different real soon, you’ll see.”

You reach blindly, seeking. “Don’t go.”

“Oh, don’t worry. After I’m done, we’ll have a Dreaming of our own.”

Then nothing. 

.

Anchor around your ankle. Plunging, bitter cold water, pressure, pressure, a hand reaching uselessly towards the shrinking light above, then nothing—

.

Ropes bite into your wrists, the pyre is tall, and the crowd jeers with open delight. They throw things at you; some hit, some miss. You don’t know if you hate them or pity them. Both, neither. Sahsin’s face is disgusted, filled with hate. She has positioned herself in front of the throbbing mob. When the fire comes, Sahsin enjoys it. When the fire comes, the agony devours all else—

.

Blank page. 

Blank page.

Blank page.

And beneath, a faint, pulsing power of Endless Destruction. 

“My lord.”

Urgent footsteps head in his direction. Morpheus raises his head, his grip on the tome in his hands white-knuckled.

Loyal Lucienne and a rather familiar figure a step behind her. 

“I apologise for leaving, Lord,” Fiddler’s Green begins, flustered but entreating. “But you must help. He’s killing them.”

.

You awake with a pained gasp. Your head swims, your fingers clumsily seeking purchase. 

An eerily silent hotel room greets you when your hiccuping gasps assuage into a steadier rhythm.  Corinthian is nowhere in sight. You wrench yourself from beneath the comfortable covers, stumbling. You grab your carelessly thrown coat on your way out, shrugging on the familiar weight. At least your vision is clearer than earlier. Pain remains undiminished by your fretful rest. 

The hotel is unnaturally quiet—your nerves prickle. Nothing good ever comes from places where there should be life, being devoid of it. Unease pools in your stomach while you stumble through winding corridors. Where did everyone go?

Outside, twilight has settled over the landscape. Your pace increases, your palms dragging across the walls to keep moving.

You find the reception empty, the convention table barren. Except…

“—a black mirror, made to reflect everything about itself that humanity will not confront. But look at you—”

Your body turns to stone mid-step. There’s no confusing that voice with anyone—the absolute power infused into every deliberate, low syllable. 

With a start, you realise your knees have bent, your coat pooling around your ankles. You’re scared. Dream wasn’t supposed to be here. Not when you’re not there to mediate. Clawing at the walls, you force your legs forward. Your bones quake in protest with each step. 

Shoving into the conference room, you find the room full. Hotel patrons sit in neat rows, their heads bowed and eyes closed. 

Dream of the Endless and the nightmare make for a lonely, contrasting sight on the stage: dark and light. 

Corinthian’s small smile is scornful. “I’m not the problem, Dream.”

“You’re right,” Dream Lord concurs quietly. “This is my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you, but I created you poorly then. So I must uncreate you now.”

Dream’s arm lifts in the air between them. You lurch forward, stumbling up the stairs.

“No!”

You let out a dry sob, pushing past Dream to get to the nightmare. The contours of Corinthian’s face have begun dissolving, singed red at the edges, disappearing back into the sand he was fashioned from. 

Corinthian chokes out a breath, grinning widely, grasping your hand. “Hey, trouble—”

His hand in yours crumbles. A wounded, animalistic sound rips from you. There’s a futile, blind attempt to grasp onto his body as it slips between your fingers. Through your arms, and then out of your life. 

“No! No, no.”

Your knees hit the stage so hard the sound is a thunderclap through the hushed room. Sand lays in a golden pile at your feet. A tiny skull containing teeth for eyes is all that remains and—

Your ring. Corinthian’s faint warmth still lingers on the metal. Wet dots fall into the sand. Only then do you register the tears dripping down your face. Followed by speckles of blood. It seems appropriate that, in the end, he should have your blood also. 

Featherlight touch on your shoulder only registers after Dream’s voice floats through your agony: “Wanderer. I am sorry.”

Perhaps under different circumstances, you would have examined this moment closer—Dream Lord, an Endless, on his knees beside you, his voice impossibly soft. Instead, you want to disappear. 

“I know,” you sob, shaking, half leaning towards the ground. If it weren’t for Dream’s grip on you, there’s no doubt in your mind you would collapse right where Corinthian has. Something mangles inside you, far beyond physical. “I know you had to stop him. I… to me… he… to me he’s…”

Everything. 

Dragging your hands desperately through the slippery grains, you gather them in a smaller circle. 

“What are you doing?” 

Dream’s question is uncharacteristically gentle. There’s deeper awareness that a wrong question could shatter you completely. 

Past your raw vocal cords, you only manage: “I—I can’t leave him. I can’t leave him again.”

You’re not sure if you’re coherent enough for him to understand. Each word borders on a pained howl. Black is rapidly devouring your fading vision. Too much. It’s too much. You’re about to explode. Collapse like the nightmare did, utterly undone. 

Several scarlet drops drip into the sand, and Dream sucks in a deep breath beside you, his grip on you tightening. 

“You’re bleeding.”

He doesn’t get a response. Blackness devours you whole. 

.

Recovery takes three weeks. You’re unconscious for the first two. Another week crawls by until you can move again. 

The simple fact that it takes you so long to become functional only confirms that Dream brought back a broken soul into the Dreaming. You’ve survived limbs being severed. Past incidents where your skin was peeled off. But this goes beyond skin deep. 

You haven’t travelled since the incident. The mere thought induces a fresh dose of cramping terror through your system. The curse, wounded and worn, has retreated. Dormant. For now. 

“You mourn him.”

You jump in your spot. Your fingers close protectively over the ring in your hand. Dream steps into your line of sight, his coat fluttering around his lithe figure. His face is slanted away from you, observing the waterfront. You try to hide your surprise at seeing him. 

He’s been… distant these last three weeks. Not cold, but…

Sad. 

There’s no other way to delineate the forlorn stares that seem to follow you. 

“I’m not an idiot. What Corinthian was doing was horrific,” you say dully, tugging on stray blades of grass. 

Fiddler’s Green has returned, taking his post once more. It should make you happy. He apologised personally for his departure, but you understood his reasonings for leaving. Without his creator, Fiddler’s Green wanted to experience what it was like to be human. What right do you have to judge him for such a wish? Yet memory is a cruel mistress—the recollections of the one whose absence is so torturously felt are everywhere. 

“He took lives that were never his to take,” you continue. Anger bites into controlled syllables. “Not to mention his plan to have Rose become the new heart of the Dreaming. Did he realise the universe would have collapsed in on itself? He had to be stopped.”

It was what had awoken you back at the hotel. It’s only later that you learned the extent of Corinthian’s plan. Rose Walker was the vortex. Given enough time, she would have become the centre of the Dreaming, drawing dreams and nightmares to her. And collapsed this universe as a result. Dream would have killed her—it’s the only time the Endless are permitted to take mortal life, if they’re an active threat—but Rose’s grandmother had stepped in last second. A woman who should have been the vortex if it hadn’t been for Dream’s capture. If the sleeping sickness that swept through the waking world had not robbed her of life. 

“But you mourn him still.”

Unequivocal insistence. Your composed mask cracks around the edges. Lying would be pointless. 

“Of course I do,” you exhale, pained. 

Dream’s fingers curl at his side, but he doesn’t look your way. “This was my oversight, Wanderer. Do not bear the guilt for those lost.”

Trees ripple and shiver in the faint breeze. Waterfall roars to your left, while to your right, the dark shores of the Dreaming reflect sunshine like the darkest obsidian. You consider the Dream Lord while he watches the beach with a stony expression. Utterly closed off—same old Dream. 

Deflating, you struggle back onto your feet. 

“Their blood is on my hands, too,” you say, turning to go.

Guilt will follow you no matter what he maintains. 

“Are you departing once more?” he calls out, halting you in your tracks. He’s scrutinising you when you peek his way. “You are not fit for travel.”

Offering a throwaway smile, you shrug. “I’m a rubber ball. I bounce back quickly.”

“Stay until Dreamfall if the curse permits it.” Dream pauses after his brisk request, catching himself with a swallow. Awkwardness permeates the air. “It would mean a great deal to others if you celebrated with them.”

You loosen a reluctant breath, squinting at him. “Do you want me to stay?”

Something shifts between you at the forthright prompt; tightening, warming. Surprise collects in your chest at the fact you dared to ask. But you’re tired of feigning, acting as if you’re both not caught in some bizarre impasse. 

Dream’s lips part softly, his answer a mere exhale, “I would.” 

Light, tingling sensation webs through your chest. You hadn’t expected that. “Under one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Answer me something, Morpheus. Truthfully.” With deliberate slowness, you step into his bubble, so close Dream’s lashes flutter as he peers at you. There’s such unbearable weight to his gaze. There’s always been a raging storm brewing there, but this is more. Heavier. “Corinthian was convinced that you made him in my image. Is it true?”

Your jaw sets stubbornly, the nightmare’s name stinging your tongue. Dream’s eyes roam over your features, seeking some unknown truth. You’re not asking about physical similarities, but you permit him this moment. Because he digs deeper, because your heart is in your throat when Dream finally settles on his truth: 

“While I did not recognise it as such at the time, I believe I did.”

You’ve known, been aware of this fact for centuries. Since Corinthian shared his hypothesis, you’ve been unable to scrub it from your mind. But to have confirmation from Dream himself paints many past events in a different light. 

“I made you poorly then… a black mirror made to reflect everything humanity will not confront.” Recalling Dream Lord’s words, you stagger backwards, your mind whirling with thoughts. A startled gasp pushes from your lungs, your attention snapping back to the Endless. Suddenly all the puzzle pieces slot perfectly into place. “I had it all wrong. Corinthian was a manifestation of your anger for what humanity was doing to me. He was to be your mirror, your teacher, so humanity may choose to be better. So they may learn to overcome their darkest impulses.”

Staggering backwards, words escape you in a torrent, “But it went wrong, didn’t it? You gave him too much of that anger—the fury of an Endless and reckless, unshakable defiance of a cursed mortal. You created a masterpiece by giving him too much. By making something that is so much more than just a nightmare. A perfect hybrid between an Endless and a mortal.”

Dream says nothing in response. It’s the only confirmation you need. 

In the end, you stay. But this time, you’re the one who avoids the Dream Lord. 

.

“You’re always welcome in my chambers, sweet Dream. It’s lovely to see you. Can I get you anything you desire?”

Morpheus strolls through the glossy scarlet chambers of his younger sibling’s stronghold. Desire of the Endless curls with each word spoken, stretching indolently across their seat. Loving malice lines planes of Desire’s face, enigmatic and magnetic as their name suggests. 

Dream moves closer. “I desire nothing from you, save some answers.”

Desire pouts, sitting up, their hands in their lap. “Oh? Do tell. I love a test.”

He’s never understood Desire’s love for games. Petulant slights or wish to inflict harm. To manipulate and use. Once…

He supposes it no longer matters what their relationship might have been once—too many years arc between them: too much history and bad blood. Morpheus prowls through the gallery, briefly flicking his attention towards his family’s sigils. 

“Unity Kincaid should have been the vortex of this age. But someone saw fit to take advantage of my imprisonment and fathered a child with her, knowing full well that it would become the vortex and I would be left with no choice but to kill it.”

A mock gasp escapes Desire’s ruby-painted lips. Their golden eyes blow wide open, startled and innocent, while they monitor Dream. 

“Are you implying I meddled with affairs of another Endless domain, dear brother?” Desire’s pout wobbles when Dream doesn't respond. The faux innocence melts away in a blink, leaving behind nothing but conniving malice, peering back through a hooded stare. “Oh, fine, was I really that obvious?” 

A brief, cool smile touches Dream’s lips, his words coming out frosty, “No. You covered your tracks remarkably well.”

“High praise, coming from you,” Desire tuts, grinning sharply. 

“What did you intend?” Dream heads towards the other Endless unhurriedly. “That I should spill family blood? With all that would entail?”

“This time, it almost worked.” Desire’s grin stretches wider, pleased. “I haven’t seen you this worked up since my little wrangle with lovely Wanderer. How is she, by the way? Still coughing up blood?”

His younger sibling adjusts their position once again, sitting up straighter. Bracing for a fight, Morpheus realises belatedly. This is a sore spot that always elicits a reaction. But this time, Morpheus will not be giving his sibling the satisfaction. He’s observed Desire’s and Wanderer’s relationship—or what little of it remains—long enough to draw his own conclusions. 

“You do not fool me,” Morpheus begins deliberately. The corners of Desire’s mouth tilt downwards slightly. “I know your fickle heart, my sibling, and you resent the fact Wanderer forgives others but not you. But you fail to understand why that same forgiveness has not been extended your way. We of the Endless are the servants of the living, not their masters. We exist only because they know deep in their hearts that we exist. We do not manipulate them. If anything, they manipulate us.”

“Then perhaps I shall pay Wanderer a visit in person.” Desire drags their thumbs over the edge of their lips, sly in their wily deliberation. “I do, after all, wear your face now. But unlike you, I will endeavour to be a far more… devoted lover.”

Wrath kindles in his chest. Morpheus knows. He’s read about your and Desire’s encounter at the shores of the Dreaming while he was locked away. 

He shakes his head. “Still, you fail to see. We are their dolls, Desire. You and Despair, and even poor Delirium, will do well to remember that.”

Desire presents him with a dismissive shrug, their nose wrinkling. “Maybe I don’t understand.”

“No, perhaps you do not,” Morpheus agrees softly. Circling, he slips behind his younger sibling. Desire’s head wrenches backwards, their gulping gasp nearly lost when Morpheus twists the other Endless’ head back, peering down at the blonde coldly. “Then let me tell you something you will understand: mess with me or mine again, and I shall forget you are family. You lay a finger on Wanderer, and I will make every circle of Hell feel like kindness by comparison. Do you believe yourself to be strong enough to stand against me? Against Death? Against Destiny?”

Desire forces down a gulp, their breath stuttering at the creeping wrath, “No.”

“No, indeed.” Dropping his hold, Morpheus straightens, his jaw rigid as he stalks away, adding, “Remember this next time you’re inspired to interfere in my affairs.”

And then he’s gone. 

.

Translucent light kisses your shoulders as you stroll towards the looming stronghold, your hands buried deep in your pockets. Your fingers have turned numb from how tightly you’re clenching them. The impressive, stone-carved statues depicting the seven Endless guide your way. Well, six. You pause by Destruction, the only one facing away, unlike his siblings.

You don’t dare to stray from the path. The likelihood of finding your way out if you get lost in the maze again is non-existent. 

The ruler of this sprawling, eerily silent domain greets you at the foot of the marble staircase. 

“I welcome thee, Wanderer, Roamer of Realms, into my stronghold.”

Even at this distance, Destiny looms so impossibly tall, some forgotten human instinct sparks in a warning.

Undeterred, you halt before the imposing figure, bowing your head. “I greet and thank you for your welcome, Destiny of the Endless.”

Only Destiny’s lower face is visible behind his billowing hood when he speaks in a crackling rasp, “You have arrived here for a single purpose.”

No ifs or buts about it—he knows better than that, the book slotted neatly under his arm. 

“And here I was, ready to ask if you’re surprised to see me,” you shoot back jokingly. Destiny does not smile or construe entertainment from your words. You sober, your attempt at levity now abandoned. “Guess we both know the answer to that. I’m here to share some theories if you have time to spare.”

To your surprise, Destiny slips past you, heading in the direction you came from, deeper into his garden. His footsteps make no sound. His cloak whispers behind him, shimmering in the dim, muted light. On equal footing, you have to crane your head to see him. The devouring dark pooling around the contours of his pallid face reveals nothing beneath the hood, even at your angle.  

“You seek to ask questions for which there are scarce few answers, Wanderer,” Destiny says resolutely. “You are far older than most mortals can comprehend, yet your heart remains stubbornly mortal.”

You set out after him at once, your invisible hackles rising. “In what way? My defiance?”

Destiny does not falter, his pace remaining as steady as lapping waves. “That is not for me to judge.”

The garden is vast and a marvel to behold, but the temperature lingers on that unnatural lukewarmness that gives away how unorthodox this place is. The light is perpetually unfading, gauzy in the corners of your eyes. It’s a confusing, strangely profound place. It’s as if Destiny’s realm contains everything all at once but also nothing. A place of futures to come, lives unlived, and wilted pasts. There’s no point in attempting to unravel it. There’s only uncanny strangeness you’ve come to accept. 

“You will spend time in the realm of each sibling—you will dream, despair, desire, destroy, delight and otherwise, and, eventually, die—but you were his from the very first page, and only he will read how your story comes out, a long time from now.”

Destiny doesn’t pause at your reiteration. There’s no indication he even heard you, but you’re a step behind him. A thousand years of trying to get answers have taught you he would not be entertaining you if this wasn’t heading somewhere. The thought of another scrap of information sets your heart thudding. Haven’t you spent the last two centuries piecing things together? Attempting to confirm your speculations before you came here to confront him with them. Your past attempts may have ended in uniform failure, but today is different. You can feel it.

“You told me that when we first met,” you continue, keeping your nonchalance. You’re no more than a child to him despite your millennia of existence—this is the only way to get him to take you seriously. “When I awoke in your garden, alone and terrified, with no clue as to who I was or what had happened to me. I’ve been thinking about those words ever since.”

Destiny slows, then stops altogether. Your heart climbs to your throat. You've paused by his statue, standing at the foot of polished, pale stone. Destiny’s cloak whispers when he hinges in your direction, anticipatory. He already knows what you will say.

“It was you. You’re the one who did this to me.” 

The clarity that clangs through you with those words shakes your knees. Sucking down more oxygen, you add, “Not directly, maybe. I was cursed by mortal power. This much I know for certain. But you made it possible. You led me to this by the hand. Why?”

And like a dozen times you’ve tried in the past, you expect dismissal, or worse, silence with which he’s punished you often. Destiny would disappear from your sight altogether. His patience and unwillingness to give you clear answers are unmatched. 

But not this time. 

“Because you broke your destiny. Tore it to shreds. Painted it red.” Destiny readjusts the heavy book under his arm. “So you were allocated a new path. One of hardship and pain, but one that may lead you to salvation. Should you tread it mindfully.”

The roar in your head is so loud you barely understand Destiny’s low, equable words. 

“You could have told me this a thousand years ago,” you choke out. 

He remains a perfectly barren canvas, but in the tension pulsing between you, there now whispers a hint of displeasure. Sweat trickles down your nape. 

“I did,” he replies flatly. “But you did not listen. You instead raged and ran, and what came of it?”

Madness and despair. 

Stumbling forward, you bite out, “Why? What did I do? What could prompt eternity of this.”

All this pain for crimes you couldn’t so much as recall. Whatever it was, have you not paid back your dues? Have you not suffered enough to make up for your past?

“Forgetting is the only kindness you’ve ever been spared. Or ever will be. Treat it as such.” Cold needles your spine, and a terrible urge to fold yourself into a ball gnaws on your bones. Destiny’s pitch does not change, nor does his bearing, but it doesn’t need to. “In your quest to break, you reformed into something else.”

Your force down saliva, near choking. “Into what?”

“Challenger of the Unknown.”

Silence envelopes the garden. There’s little to no sound in the Garden of the Forking Ways to begin with, but those words blanket everything. Not even the wind seems to stir. No blade of grass moves. This means something; it means something crucial, but you have no idea what.

“What does that mean?” you beseech. Destiny doesn’t move, nor does he answer. Your voice cracks. “Please just tell me.”

But you already know it’s a lost battle. This is all too familiar—the cold, pitiless silence, utterly unmoved. He’s given you all he’s intended to. 

“I used to think you hated me.” You’re not sure why you’re telling him this. Destiny won’t care. Your feet carry you past him. Briefly, you pause by Dream’s statue, then keep going. “More than anyone else in this universe. It wasn’t until Destruction left that I finally understood your position more. It is a burden to know what others don’t but be unable to speak that knowledge.”

There’s no doubt in your mind that Destiny knows where Destruction is. 

The Prodigal’s statue pierces your vision, making you squint into the hazy skies above. Your following words slip out, each lilting with breezy ease: “But it doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive you for letting Dream rot in a cage for a hundred years when you knew it was coming, when you could have warned him somehow. I know you have a duty, but he’s your brother. However, indirectly you let Dreaming decay—my home. You let humanity suffer. I figured it out, by the way, why it’s a loophole. Why my book exists in the library, but nothing in other dimensions does. Why I can sleep in the Dreaming but not anywhere else.” 

Destiny stands stock still, his bony arms close to his chest, clutching his book. He displays no outward reaction as per usual. It’s a relief to voice your thoughts. You’re utterly terrified of him, but he’s right—your heart is still stubbornly human, as brazen as the Fates accused you of being.  

“Because if my curse was the will of the Endless, if my path—whatever it is—is so tightly bound to your family, then it only makes sense, right?” You’re not looking for a response because Destiny will offer none. “The Dreaming is the only place where aspects of each Endless manifest. It’s a loophole. The curse goes dormant when I’m in the Dreaming because the only thing more powerful than the curse is the combined power of the seven Endless.”

You’ve waited to voice your conclusions for so long, it’s surreal to have spoken them aloud. You might fear Destiny, but not enough to continue as a coward. He can deny it, but you’re confident that’s the reason. It’s the only thing that makes sense. 

“My siblings have gained much from their companionship with you, Wanderer,” Destiny admits. You quell a flinch despite Destiny’s voice retaining its monotonous quality. “But you and I are antitheses of one another. My brother would not be who he is now had he not tasted that helplessness and sorrow. You are the ink and the quilt with which Dream will write his story.”

His words make little to no sense. Dream is… Dream. What could ever influence him? Much less you. He’s changed since his imprisonment, it’s true, but doubt still nestles in your heart. Had the situation with Gault not proven how those attempts to change come undone in a blink? Despite it, Dream is trying, and it’s more than enough. Change doesn’t happen overnight; not any profound version, anyway. 

You wipe across your face, schooling yourself. “I won’t stop trying to save them even if I’m punished further,” you assert. “I’ll always fight for humanity.”

Even over his hood, you feel your gazes clash, burning into one another. 

“I would expect no less,” Destiny assures. 

Squaring your shoulders, you’re halfway between dimensions before a thought occurs to you. “Just one more thing before I go.”

Destiny is as grave as usual, entirely inhuman in his foreboding silence while he waits. 

“It can be broken, can’t it?” you say, scrutinising him closely. “The curse. There are weak spots in its design.”

“That is for you to discover,” he replies, much to your surprise. It’s closer to a yes than a no. “But pay heed. This path will not be forgiving should you wish to pursue it.”

Icy trepidation creeps its claws down your spine. You don’t permit it to show. 

“Nothing in my life has been forgiving,” you say curtly. “I bid you good fortune, Destiny.”

“And I you, Roamer of Realms.”

.

“Happy Dreamfall.”

Slanting your head, you let your chin dig into your shoulder, smiling. You hadn’t seen the Dream Lord since you snuck back into the Dreaming, seemingly no one having noticed your momentary departure. Normally, there are someone’s eyes on you. But only Dream can sense your appearance and disappearance inside the Dreaming itself. So you’ve taken advantage of his absence. You’ve had too much on your mind since your return from visiting Destiny to seek him out yet. 

“Happy Dreamfall,” you say to the Endless, who comes to a halt beside you. “May Fates smile upon you, Dream Lord. And may your realm of dreams be aplenty.”

Behind you, the castle grounds buzz with activity. At long last, things were returning to normal. This is the first cause of celebration these dreams and nightmares had in over a century. Back home, safe and in a place where they belong. You hugged and drank sweet nectars with plenty, smiling and touching hands. Or claws. But it didn’t take long to slip away and settle out here. 

Perched on the castle staircase, you must make for an odd sight, but Gatekeepers straighten back into their patrol positions with Dream’s arrival. You had left the castle to enjoy the darkening skies, the dreams swelling and blinking in the pitch-black canvas, ready for their journey. The Gatekeepers had clustered close, and you had spent a while simply chatting. You’ve missed them. It had been harrowing to witness them turn to stone while Dream was missing.  

“Would you walk with me?” Dream asks.

Wetting your lips, you stand. “Sure.”

Without a preamble, Dream sets out. His gait hovers on ponderous this evening. You’ve gotten used to more hurried, curt interactions between you. Invisible tension stretched tautly. Will-o'-the-wisps dance and sway through the humming evening air. Flowers in your path bloom in different colours, fairy dust sprinkled through the air. You continue on the faintly lit path cutting through the heart of the Dreaming without a word. 

“Are you well?”

Dream’s sudden question shakes you from your peaceful stupor. 

“Busy, but good,” you answer. “And you?”

Dream halts abruptly. You pass him, then do the same, gazing back at him, confused. 

Dream Lord’s pale eyes dig into you. They steal from you, and they give more than words ever could. But this once, Dream also uses his words: “I wish for us to talk as we once did.”

Anxiety pangs through your belly. You hadn’t expected him to point it out. Your lips compress into a stiff, bloodless line. It would be a bald-faced lie to insist something hasn’t broken between you. Corinthian’s unmaking has driven a wedge between you that neither can overcome. The nightmare had to be stopped, but it doesn’t take away from the grief festering in your chest. Most believe grief is an absence, but you’ve found the exact opposite is true. 

Grief is a presence that should be there but isn’t. It’s a weight of memories, of possibilities, of life unlived. Corinthian has become your phantom limb, his absence invisible to all but you as is the bleed.

“We’re getting there,” you say lastly.

His wild hair covers his eyes when his head lowers. Subconsciously, you find yourself stepping towards him, folding your hand around his. Cool and silky to the touch. A breath, and then you feel Dream’s hand curl around yours. He doesn’t move otherwise, muscles sitting in rigid mass beneath his pale skin. 

“Dream,” you call his name gently. “You’re trying. I see that. We’re finding new ways. Now tell me why we’re here.”

Because this path is familiar to you as your own hands. Just over the dark treeline lays the beach. The docks you’ve visited every night in his absence. This path had been your pilgrimage once, and now he’s returned. The fingers folded around yours tighten. Dream wordlessly tugs you with him until soft sand cushions the soles of your shoes. 

“It is a night where anything is possible,” he says knowingly. 

Your heartbeat jumps when he leads you towards the pier, wood creaking under your combined weight. “What are you doing?”

Dream draws you both to a stop halfway across the pier, something close to mischief sparking in his gaze. It’s so bizarrely unwonted you do a doubletake.

“Giving you my present.”

With that, he strides closer. Your mouth dries when he gently curls his arm around your waist. He raises your joint hands, spinning you to the side slowly. Clumsily, your legs obey, your breaths escaping uneven gulps. 

“Are we dancing, Dream Lord?”

Dream bows his head closer to yours, his voice velvet, “We are dancing in starlight, you and I.”

It’s then you feel the tingling, reverent whisper of his power over your body. Your eyes widen when you see faint light needling the sturdy fabric, as if your coat has become no more than a window into the raw cosmos. Galaxies swirl in raging spirals across the once-dark material. Your head snaps to the side while Dream continues spinning you unhurriedly. Your coat is shrinking, reshaping to fit your body even better than it did up to this point. 

“Dream this is…”

The coat settles into actuality. Sparkling dust spills from the material when you shift. Your overcoat has shrunk to kiss just above your knees. More fitted but no less comfortable. And then there’s the way it glimmers like a precious jewel whenever moonlight hits it. 

“I had hoped to give you something more… fitting,” Dream murmurs. You look up at him, your noses almost touching. “It is only right for the one who roams the stars to wear a coat of pure starlight.”

“Thank you,” you whisper shakily. “It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful doesn’t do it justice. The midnight material shimmers with your movement, liquid starlight captured into tangible fabric, and your throat closes up as you examine it further. Dream slips his arm from your waist. He lifts your joint hands, comfortable in his own, and lays a light kiss on your hand.

“It becomes you,” he compliments quietly, releasing you. “Now… it’s time.”

Your brows crease. “Time for what?”

Was this not it? Thick emotions still coat your tongue, lodged deep in your windpipe. But Dream only devours you with quiet intensity. 

Above your head, dreams start raining down in shining beams of light.

“We begin… with a spin.”

Your heart stutters to a stop. Water roars behind Dream, wild spray flying through the air. The faint drizzle beats against your face, leaving you gaping. 

“Dream. I…”

He extends his hand your way. “There is no Dreaming without Wanderer Island. Should you wish it, I would like us to create another.”

Your features crumble, the ball in your throat robbing you of your voice. Indecision holds you captive—on the one hand, you want nothing more, but on another, you’re too afraid. What if it all ends up in the same place? You watching yet another part of you sink into those inky depths. 

But there’s something cautious, near vulnerable, to be found in Dream’s guarded features. It’s an effort for him to open up, but you can see the unsure way his hand hangs in offering between you. He’s bracing himself for rejection, for you to leave him alone on this pier. 

You grasp his proffered hand, fingers winding cautiously around his. Dream’s shoulders slump slightly from their rigid slant, relaxing at the contact. 

He guides you to an all too familiar position. You standing at the edge of the pier, him behind you, a hand on your shoulder. A disconcerting sensation of deja vu falls over you. 

“Describe it to me,” he prompts.

Black, foreboding waters of the Dreaming spin in ferocious whirlpools. Dream’s elegant hand pierces your line of sight, primed for creation. 

“There’s a small island.” Your voice trembles. You haven’t forgotten anything, down to the exact words used. You conjure the Wanderer Island in your mind’s eye as it once stood; brilliant and shining. The visual blooms bold and alive in your mind. “The grass that grows there is the greenest there’s ever been. And it tastes like sour apples.”

Dream’s hand on your shoulder squeezes lightly. Same amusement, even centuries later. You’re both changed, but a familiar outline of an island starts taking shape on the horizon. 

“The sun that shines on the island is never too hot. The air is sweet and light. The flowers never wilt, and trees never shed leaves.” It’s pouring from your mouth now, an avalanche of memory. You’ve missed the island so dearly, and details from five centuries ago come readily. “The sky is an endless periwinkle shade. There’s always food and drinks. Books and games. And…”

Your heart bleeds, fresh wounds gushing. But you push on because it’s not about you.

“And an old friend waits at the beach to greet you with a patient smile whenever you arrive. Because not everyone has a family, and not everyone needs a lover, but everyone should have a friend. The island will be there whenever someone feels lonely, lost, or desperate for an escape. It’ll be there to welcome you. To give you a corner to hide. There is no sadness there. No loneliness or confusion. Only…”

Dream’s lips tickle over the shell of your ear. “… hope.”

And then stillness. 

The water settles in a gurgling slosh. In the distance, a patch of land once again floats. There to welcome new dreamers. Wanderer Island blurs. The heel of your hand presses over your eyes, overwhelmed. 

Blindly, you tug on Dream’s coat; a mute request. Between one inhale and the next, wood underfoot is exchanged for sand. 

Everything is the same down to the last blade of grass and tree composition. Either your vision was so clear Dream could pluck every last detail from your mind or…

Or he remembered the Island with the same clarity as you. 

You sink to your knees. Sand crumbles around your digits when you dip them into the pliable sand. 

“Hi. There you are.”

Nothing, then…

Grass sprouts unprompted around your hand, tiny daisies twining across your thumb. Utterly impossible, yet tonight, here, anything is possible. A choked laugh escapes you. Your cheeks ache from your beaming smile. 

“She’s missed you,” Dream reveals quietly.

Your head lifts in surprise. You stroke the miniature, perfect blooms. “I missed you too.”

With another tickle, the flowers and grass retreat, shrinking into the golden beach. Several moments pass by until you unearth the strength to stand. Dream’s profile greets you. He’s turned away, giving you privacy, but subtle uncertainty lines his features. Sensing your attention, he peers towards you, then past you. 

“Thank you,” you breathe. Despite your verbal gratitude, Dream’s attention remains fixed over your shoulder. “What?”

His low words reach you over the sound of lapping waves. “Are you not going to say hello to an old friend?”

You follow his line of sight. Behind you, at a distance with falling dreams as his backdrop, stands a tall, pale-haired figure. 

Everything inside you falls very, very quiet—all those tumultuous emotions freeze. Your head snaps back to Dream with a stifled gulp. It can’t be real. Surely it’s some mirage, a feedback loop, a ghost conjured from your love for the now-gone nightmare. 

But Dream only slants his head in a marginal, affirming nod. You dare to peek behind you once more. There he stands. The nightmare. Not a twisted joke. 

Your feet carry you towards him without conscious thought; half-running, half-walking, stumbling all the while. Corinthian stands with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders in a slight slouch. His nude-coloured slacks and white shirt shine like beacons in the pale moonlight. Round shades cover his eyes, his blonde strands fluttering in the light breeze. 

He's a figment. Not quite tangible until your body crashes into him, your arms scrambling to hold onto him. “Oh, God!”

Dry, humoured, “Not quite.”

Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can feel it, if not hear it. A pained, whining sound bubbles up in your throat, gripping him closer.

“I… how…” You wrench yourself back, a horrible thought occurring. You search his handsome features. That infuriating smirk always curling his mouth is absent. “Do you remember me?”

Corinthian stands there, not moving, with no real emotion on display, either. Your heart sinks. Could it be that he—

Dull throb flares across your forehead. He’s flicked you—

A wide, toothy grin stretches across Corinthian’s mouth. “Gotcha.”

With a choked laugh, you punch his shoulder, hugging him close with a wide smile. “I hate you.”

A pleased hum. This time, the nightmare’s arm settles around you. “Hate you more.”

You’re not sure how long you both stand there. When you do part, reluctance keeps your hand on him. Fingertips connecting to some part of him. Remembering the Dream Lord you came here with—who gave you this, his present—you find Dream no longer on the beach. Or anywhere in sight. He’s given you privacy and time. Your heart softens further.  

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Corinthian’s subdued question tugs your attention back towards him. You almost wish he didn’t remind you. Because now you’re faced with the reality that even though he’s been returned to you, there’s much you both need to overcome and fix. That losing him did not magically wipe away the wrongs he’s done. If you hope to return to the relationship you once had, you’ll need time.

You consider him for a moment. 

“You’re always forgiven,” you tell him honestly. 

Standing in the moonglow, you pretend you don’t notice how something coiled tightly seems to loosen inside him at your reassurance. Instead, you reach for his face. Your fingertips brush over Corinthain’s glasses, and his hand snap out, wrapping around your wrist tightly. Bones making up his jaw roll beneath the skin. Tension throbs between you while seconds tick by. Through clenched teeth, Corinthian unwraps his hold finger by finger. 

You tug his shades away from his face. He’s tense as a bowstring, his head slanted at an angle. The same jagged teeth sit where most have eyeballs. They’re hooded, though. His discomfort—and anger at said discomfort—couldn’t be more perspicuous. 

His shades close as you fold arm temples one at a time. You hold his stare, staring right at those jagged teeth with a slight frown. You extend his shades back to him mutely. 

“But my trust is something you will have to earn back,” you state earnestly. 

The nightmare hesitates halfway to reaching for his glasses. Those pale fingers dance over them before he plucks them from you.

“Sounds like a fair deal,” he muses absently. You expect him to put the shades back on, but instead, Corinthian hooks them on his shirt pocket. Turning to go, he calls out a honeyed, “You coming?”

He gazes at you over his shoulder, jagged teeth on full show, and you feel yourself smile.

“Always.”

.

Sun shines luminous and warm today. The Wanderer Island stretches as far as your eye can perceive, teeming with life and greenery around every corner. Flowers and trees bloom everywhere—an awe-inspiring marriage between tropical and temperate climates. The Island once again oozes a sense of magick and wonder that was once so prominent here. No place in the universe can compare.  

“Rebuilding is almost complete,” you begin conversationally. “The Dreaming is more beautiful than ever.”

The Endless keeps pace beside you, a pensive sound rumbling from him. “It was not without aid.”

A smile twitches your lips upwards. “You’re welcome.”

Two weeks have gone by since Dreamfall. Things have mended—between you individually and the atmosphere around the Dreaming. While Corinthian’s return was met with some side glances, no one discussed it further. Dreamfolk trust Dream to make the right decision. Or perhaps Gault was right; they’re wiser than to outright question.  

“The Corinthian has also been making progress,” Dream says. “I am hoping to place him under supervision and monitor his conduct. To make sure what happened is never repeated. Should the need arise, he will be allocated duties back in the waking world.”

Joy flutters in your heart. “Yeah? That’s great. Someone you trust, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“And?” you probe. “Are you going to tell me who or not?”

In your peripheral, Dream inclines in your direction. “Yours.”

You nearly trip. “Dream, I—” You clear your throat, pausing. “Are you sure? It didn’t exactly work out last time.”

Dream’s intent scrutiny slides over your facial features. “It was due to no fault of yours. And this Corinthian is the same in all but one function. He will not fail again. He has a different purpose now.”

There’s a solemn sort of finality about the way he articulates those words. A tiny shiver skitters down your spine. He will not expand further upon those words. Whatever that purpose is, you imagine time will reveal it. 

You chew on your inner cheek. “Okay. I would like that.”

You smile at him. But Dream’s expression stutters, overcome by some foreign emotion. His mouth parts, then closes, his fingers folding into white-knuckled fists. 

Just as you’re about to ask what’s wrong, Dream speaks: “Wanderer. Stay.”

You muster up an uncertain, perplexed smile. “I’m right here.”

Dream marches closer, sunshine caught in his onyx hair. 

“Stay however long you want,” he insists softly. “Stay forever if it should so please you.”

Shock envelops you, freezing you in your spot. You’ve told him, didn’t you? That you would stay forever by his side if only he asked. Now he’s asking. Except confusion and unease battle in your chest. Can you trust his word? Did Dream change enough? He brought back Corinthian. He freed Gault from the Darkness. He insists this is a new age. But…

“And if I wanted to leave?” you question. “If I chose never to return, what then?”

“It would sadden my creations—”

“I’m asking you.”

Dream falters, shackled by your insistence. His lashes flutter, his head lowering in near palpable struggle. You’re challenging him, but you refuse to continue with the charade. If he wants forever, you can’t live with the fear he might change his mind about it. 

“It would pain me, also. A great deal.” He hesitates again, and it’s bizarre because this degree of uncertainty is not something you associate Dream with. “But you are free. You've always been free. The Dreaming is your home. Should you wish to return, its gates will always await you.”

Doubt twists your mouth downwards. “I thought that once—”

“I swear it. No matter what the future may hold. No matter how angry I get, I shall never again take the Dreaming away from you.” Sheer power woven into those words leaves no room for doubt. It’s a vow. He will not break it. There would be a price to pay if he did. Dream’s fingertips ghost over yours, a graze leaving fire in its wake. “I read your book in the library. I did not wish to tell you sooner because I worried you would leave. Because… you were right. I could never understand the sheer devastation. Or the harm I inflicted.”

You drag your hand back, stepping away from him. Dream’s features fall subtly. You face away, giving him your back while you process. Raising the hand he was caressing seconds prior, you cradle it to your chest. Sunshine prickles your cheek, but you ignore it. 

“I’m not ashamed of my past,” you tell him, turning back to face him. “I always knew there was a chance you could read it. So, what did you think?”

He appears pained. At least now you know why he’s been so melancholy these last several weeks. “That I should wish for nothing more than for you to stay by my side.”

Those unadorned words devastated you. 

Smiling through your inflated, overjoyed heart, you mumble, “Stay forever… I can’t technically do that.”

But Dream is unruffled. If anything, you glimpse the beginnings of hope starting to take root in him. 

“I’ll seek a way,” he avows. 

“To what?” An incredulous chuckle escapes you. “Break the curse?”

Destiny’s warning jump back to the forefront of your mind, and you swallow thickly. You don’t dare to ponder freedom for longer than an indulgent moment. 

“Yes,” Dream replies. 

You stare at him. Tall and dark, sunlit and more open than you’ve ever seen him. Determined and golden. Your Dream Lord. He terrifies you. You love him. 

“You can’t interfere,” you remind him emptily. “And I might die.”

“Or you may live,” Dream argues. “Freely. And choose for yourself. Always.”

“Trying to bait me, Dream Lord?”

Sudden tension between you loosens around the edges. Once more, the susurration of the trees trickles into your mind, elevating the brewing anxiety. 

A thousand years. The curse has defined your existence and has kept you alive this long. What are you without it? There’s always been an unspoken acknowledgement that you could never break the curse without dying. Simply too much time has passed. No mortal vessel can survive over a millennium otherwise. When you asked Destiny, it was only to understand more about the nature of the curse. Not because you ever assumed you could survive breaking the curse. 

Dream’s mouth compresses as if he’s attempting not to smile. “I would never.”

“Stay by your side, huh?” you mutter, looking away while you mull over your conversation. “And what exactly would that entail?”

His response is immediate, smooth, “Whatever you wish.”

“A companion, then?” Your words pitch lower and silkier while you close the minimal distance with relaxed, unhurried steps. Dream’s eyes darken a shade. “An emissary? A consort? A queen?”

His black-clad shoulders lift with his inhale. 

“Those are but words,” he murmurs silkily. “For you would be all those things, and more.”

You examine his profile, those starlit irises, the doubt swimming there. Does he doubt you would stay? After such long years harbouring this affection for him? Silly, wonderful anthropomorphic personification. “I’ll stay, but only if you answer a question.”

“Even if the price were a hundred thousand questions, Wanderer, I would pay it gladly. What is this question?”

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinise him. Dream does not balk under your exigent examination, waiting patiently. Biting back a smile, you permit your features to relax. He’s unfairly fun to tease. 

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

Relish bubbles in your chest at the way Dream’s expression comes undone. As if from a thousand questions he was bracing for, nothing could have prepared him for this. Birds chirp a merry tune somewhere in the tree line, a warm breeze ruffling Dream’s dark hair while he gazes at you with utterly confused wonderment. A slight, fond smile curls his lips.  

“A thousand years,” he begins in a bewildered drawl. “And still, you ask the same question.”

You laugh faintly, shrugging. “Well, in all fairness, you never answered me the last time. Which was very rude, by the way—”

In an inhale Dream of the Endless materialises in front of you. His hands slip to hold your face, cupping it with delicate hands as he tugs you closer. His kiss falls over you like stars. Silky, gentle warmth that washes over you with such fervent passion you gasp against his mouth. Your hands grasp onto him blindly. You part only long enough for you to gulp down oxygen before your mouths meet again, and again, and again, burning with need unquenched. Heat spreads through every inch of you. A thousand years being cold, floating unearthed, but now someone is holding you. 

Dream presses another kiss to your mouth, desperate and hungry, gentle in his handling, and you return it with equal enthusiasm, equal need. Dizziness envelops you, and Dream pulls back, his forehead resting against yours. You shudder, a delicious heat licking up your senses. This closeness hurts better than anything ever has. You remind yourself to breathe, to remember this is real, he’s here, holding you, and nothing matters in this moment. Whatever the future holds, you do not fear it. Because Hob was right: there are people out there who love, and that makes all the difference. 

Dream’s thumb grazes over your bunched-up cheek. Your smile is wide enough to light your entire face. 

It continues with a gentle, rasping: “I’ll tell you one day, stardust.”

an:

Never apologise, never explain.

I set out to write nothing more than a fun little story that I expected to have maybe 3-4 parts max. Something entirely self-indulgent and fun for no one but me and maybe one or two mutuals. I never quite expected it would become as beloved as it did. I suppose here, in the end, I would like to take the time to thank everyone who read this and supported it. Be it by commenting, making edits/art for it or just sending me encouraging/funny messages. You guys are the reason this story became what it did. I'm immensely grateful for each and every single one of you. It was a rough month, but I'm glad I could offer you this conclusion at long last. Thank you for being here, thank you for being kind, and thank you again for reading.

Goodnight, and see you all in dreams, wanderers ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

[bowieandqueen11]

Dating Dream of the Endless Would Include...

Thank you all so much for being so sweet about my last two Dream headcanons, here are the dating ones to complete the set (and also the longest ones)!

Also shock horror I know, but I still have about three episodes of the show left so sorry if this is suddenly very out of character lmao I just love him to the moon and back my petty king

This got much longer than I thought it would oops, so any and all comments are much appreciated!! Thank you ily guys I hope you liked my silly similes lmaoooo

(I do not own the Sandman or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @thekingofkawaii.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Since people seem to love these opening sentences so much and I adore writing them lmao... Dream you pathetic ass cape draping eyeliner scrungle of a wet hissing cat, living for the drama dumbass with the smile of a brick I literally love you in every single way you are impeccable. He’s so stupid bless I want to bonk him with a baguette and give him a big ‘ol hug until he awkwardly shoves me off and mopes away. Well guess what sir, this time you are NOT running away from your feelings you’re happy and in love now biss so guess what you’re getting ALL the fluff ‘cause it’s what y’all deserve.

Dream introduced you to everyone as fellow ruler of his realm pretty much straight after your first kiss (my man intense). As soon as he took you by the hand and led you back to the throne room, his hands settled on your shoulders and turned you to face the erratic shards of the stained glass windows. ‘Everything I have’, you feel him whisper against your ear as soft as mist, ‘everything I am... it is also yours.’ He reaches round to tilt your cheek up, until the back of your head is flush against his chest and he’s able to run his finger down the curve of your neck. ‘If you so wish. I will be yours forever... in both dreams and the waking world. Wherever you need me, or want me. I will be there.’ 

To be completely honest, too many times he’s been afraid that you’ve still left him, so overwhelmed by everything. All that panic twisting in his gut, only to find you talking over Rose Walker’s dream journal in the library. You’re standing near ear to ear with Lucienne, the two of you bumping fingers and pouring over the contents to understand where exactly her poor brother is, the whole time Mervyn yapping at your side. I mean, they all adore you from the get go: they’ve seen over the last few decades how the mere thought of you has been the only thing stopping Morpheus from spiralling too far into despair. As soon as your feet stepped down onto the whirling sand, you were marked as a pretty integral part of the dreaming, human or not.

Plus, all the ravens that you’ve found encroaching on your roof and landing to hop on your shoulders in the waking world finally make sense. Lucienne was under strict orders to keep an eye on you, to make sure you were safe at all times.

Or you’ll wander off, and Dream will come sauntering away from the palace and down the winding path towards the House of Secrets, knowing from instinct that it’s where he'll find you. That same tide tugs him forwards forward into the suffocating mists, until he emerges in front of a pile of crumbling dirt and sees your smile alight the dusk, as piercing and ruinous as the sun. Goldie is perched upon your shoulder, squawking and sneezing into your eyes from time to time. You just laugh, and the sound is enough to double Dream over in grievous endearment. Abel is sitting by your right, still half-leaning in the pit as he giggles and continues his wild story about the King of Dreams from long ago. You turn around only when you hear a rare chuckle, finally spotting Dream standing with his eyes crossed behind you, and an amused eyebrow raised at you and your friends’ antics. 

You expect him to ask you to leave, or to at least lead you inside, but to your surprise he sweeps his coat behind him and takes a seat on the squishing dirt beside you. He doesn’t settle until he feels his knee rest against your own, doesn’t feel comfortable while Abel continues spouting his story, until you take his hand and cradle it in your lap. It’s cold, almost contorted like the first dawn’s mist against your skin, but even now it shakes in your hold. It almost makes you laugh: the mystical, awe-striking, beyond marvel King of Dreams so terrified of loving you that he’s shaking like a barn mouse hiding from the overwhelming world around it. The same man who had spent over one hundred years locked like a Greek statue behind solid glass, only to be finally brought to his knees by the one thing he could never escape: his soul’s serendipity. 

Eventually the clouds begin to roll over the stars, as if the sky’s painter had thrown buckets of brown paint over her canvas and left the streaks of ribbed sand to sparkle across the gloominess. Yet the King of Dreams just sits there, still as stone, not even daring to look down at you despite how much fondness tugs him too. Sometime during the night your head has fallen against his shoulder and you’ve fallen asleep against the warmth of his coat. He doesn’t want to move you, until eventually he leans down to kiss your head. He joins you in some of the sweetest dreams he can muster: the two of you lounging out amidst a field of flowers on the eve of spring. The firecracker reds and warm sugar plum violets frame his smiling face and the glimmer in his eyes as he lies admits the reeds, gazing up at you. He begrudgingly allows you to weave daisy petals into his hair, after a while of him running after you through the meadows and picking you up, holding you hostage in his arms until you promise not to tell his family about it.

Speaking of, when you eventually get to meet his sister Death, she loves you just as much (or even more) than her brother does straight away!!! She just immediately wraps you up in a big, excited, squealing, full body hug before tugging you off by the arm and leading you off towards the coastal market. She leaves a very confused and huffy Dream to fend for himself for a while, or perhaps gives him the time to visit his old friend Hob at the New Inn. She leads you to her favourite quaint ice cream parlour, where the two of you spend the afternoon sharing a sundae as siblings do, out on the arching thatch seats. Eventually she squints through the sunlight to look at you a little more seriously. ‘That’s the happiest I’ve ever seen my brother, like... ever I think! Thank you. No, seriously, thank you. He’s had enough time to sulk about, it’s good to see him look himself again.’

You and Dream reconvene in the square and spend the rest of the day feeding his treasured pigeons. He keeps looking at you out of the corner of his eyes with that twitching-lip smirk, with all the stars and constellations in the universe burning in them. He tries to be smooth, stealing a pinch of your baguette and throwing the crumbs at you, just to be able to wipe them off. His slender fingers brush over the pulse point on your neck like butterfly wings flitting over the dawning petals of a blooming rose. Then up to your chin, then gliding upwards till they’re hunched, tracing over the outline of your lips. Your heart fizzes as he leans down to kiss you for the first time ever in public, his frame shadowing you, yet bottom lip so welcoming and caressing as he brushes between your own. 

Too often has Lucienne walked into the throne room, only to have to clear her throat to try and get Morpheus’ attention. He has his coat wrapped around the two of you like an inky bat like cocoon, sitting together on his throne as you read through the latest census. He stops every so often out of wild amusement when you gasp and point out a new entity. In pride at how well accustomed you’re becoming to his work that he carefully kisses your forehead and leans his own against it. 

When it’s raining he’s the type to look confused at first as to why you’re shivering under your jacket and trying to run under London arches. Eventually it finally clocks in his head and he takes his coat off, holding it over your head during the whole journey to your destination, getting soaked himself by the smacking downpour nonchalantly. It’s a kind of second nature, to protect you, that he doesn’t even bat an eyeliner lined eyelid anymore. It’s innate and as natural, easy to him as dreaming.

Sometimes you’ll find Dream skulking around the palace steps like a disgruntled skunk recently kicked out of a bin, still upset after the events with John Dee. Lucienne and Matthew have attempted every possible solution to talk him out of it, but you’re the only one who can bring him back round. The only presence in any realm that feels more like himself than he does. The only one that understand his every idiosyncrasy, every twitch of his face, until you’re sitting by his side as one entity.  He’s too stubborn to ever admit it, but he does indeed like it when you trace your pointer finger down the tip of his nose before tapping twice against his lips as if mockingly chiding him. He always peers down above his bottom lashes with wide, almost crossed eyes as he tries to follow you, but it does ground him again. Eventually, without anything even being said, he groans and jumps up to a stand with a ‘thank you, you’re right... of course... my dream’, and then saunters off again as if he owns the catwalk.

He tries to take you out to visit other dreams, even though you’re still terrified of the waters. He slides his fingers between your own, pulling them up to rest above his heart on the docks. He carefully and calmly talks you through everything that’s about to happen, and how he will be in control of every whiff and whim that could occur. He’s still a dramatic ass though, so before he’s even finished counting down to one he’s pulled you off the decking and into the swirling depths. In the darkness, you grasp onto him like a lifeline as he pulls you further down into the macrocosm than you ever thought possible. 

It is worth it though... perhaps after a lot of snuggling and apologies from Dream. You end up in the dreams of young Irish man: one who hopes to become a zoologist after his time at university. You get to enjoy a peaceful night in a canopy beneath the stars, lying side by side with Dream as he points out the constellations that swirl gold like koi fish in the grand pond of the sky. He’s still not quite used to physical touch, which is why he seems to start and flinch back when you wind your arm to rest and rub above his abdomen. He’s spent so long... so so long never really getting much attention, or care from his family, so you’ll have to coax him into realising he can trust and relax in your presence. He does eventually let his guard down after a few hours of cuddles, until he eventually slides to sit up and falls dramatically over your knees. It’s the first time he’s ever allowed you to play with his hair, lying there in the darkness as normal lovers set alight do.

I mean, you’re family, right??? Dream begs you to come along to the family get together dinner (mainly so he can have a sparring partner of equal wit and finally get one up on his sibling Desire). He swaps the placards said sibling placed around the fire-lit table so you’re sitting next to him instead of Delirium. Between meals Dream takes your hand under the table and places it on his knee, stroking his thumb over your palm to try and calm himself down. Desire catches wind (thanks to an eagle eyed Despair), and makes some bitter laced remark with a growl of their lips, flick of their hand and sip of their red wine. This ends up with you lunging for him over the candelabra, with Death barely holding you back and Dream leaning back in his seat with a grin so wide on his face he looks like a smug, satisfied cat lmao

[boizandgurlzinthehouse]

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌, 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄

dream (morpheus) x sister!reader

summary: just scenarios about being dream's little sister.

warnings: nothing, maybe desire (?), but dream being EXTREMELY protective about his sister, that's all <3

– you're the youngest children of night and time, being born after a hundred years of the others. when you were born, the others were there, desire trying to play with you, but instead of letting them terrorize you, dream takes you in his arms, looking down at you. your wide, innocent eyes, the golden symbols tracing under your eyes on your soft skin, when you blink, it's like your eyes shine in golden for a second. "it's so peaceful... what is it's power?" death asked as she tried to play with her. their mother, night laying on the bed looked at them, then the baby. "it's a she, actually, dear. and she's hope. mortals gonna radiate in her presence, she'll bring light into the world." hearing these words, dream look at her mother. "mother, i..." mother night nodded. "i know, my dream. i trust you with raising her, look out for her. until she's strong enough to create her realm, she's gonna live with you."

– and from now on, dream takes you with him, and tries to give you everything. it takes a mere two hundred years for you to be powerful enough to make your own realm, but when you move there, you still spend much time in the dreaming.

– but enough from the specifics, get on the emotional side, shall we?

– dream being your brother and patron saint means that you'll be under heavy protection. he'll not let anyone harm you, and doesn't trust anyone to teach you things, except from lucienne and jessamy. as time goes by, you and his helpers, friends became a new family. you stroke jessamy's wings and feathers every time she flies to the realm of hope. "is my brother kind to you, little jessamy?" you ask from her, and you know that she's much more older than you, but you just love to bury your face into her feathers.

– after you create your realm (you create it in your dreams, how ironic), he's the first one you invite to take a look at it, and it's truly magical. dream smiles, and while he does that really rarely, in your presence, he lets himself to be happy. seeing your eyes full of shining from what you just have done, he strokes your head, giving you a hug. "i'm so proud of you, sister." besides taking care of your realm, you go down to the waking world merely often. from little things like growing the flowers of little children who believes that their tulips will grow before fall, to the big things like curing terminally ill people for the family members who's praying all day (especially that in the 1700s, there's no cure for a single pneumonia). when dream doesn't find you, he always holds the little object you gave him -a little bag of pearls, when they mix with the sand he blows out, your pearls lead him to where you are.

– like, after you picked up a baby bird from the ground, probably fallen off from it's nest, you feel a presence behind your back. stiffing a little bit, then turning and lifting your vile, weaved from gold and transparent like sunshine, you smile when you see your brother. if your vile is in front of your face, people can't see you, but if it's off, it's like you're just one of them.

– "dream! how are you?" your smile is so wide and honest, you never ever wonder when you find him coming after you; it's like you know that he's watching over you and will meet you. after helping the baby bird, you begin to walk with him. it's always unusual, you, a bright and little bit outstanding girl, and him, a tall, dark and pale man together is the duo who people turn after.

– you're always listening to him as you walk beside him, but when you're done with one of your missions from the thousands you planned yourself as usual, it's like he's the one who's asking you constantly (a/n: it's exactly the picture about a mama cat who's walking beside her kitten and looking at them). sometimes, when death is with you two, your trio is just sitting on a hill with some flowers in silence, dream and death talks about serious things, and when they turn to you, you place flower crowns on their heads you made during their conversation. then, you explain your thoughts, tilting the flower crown on dream's head back when he looks down for too long.

– dream protects you from desire of course, because he's convinced that everything his sibling says is a poison to your mind when you're adolescent. sure, when you're older, you meet desire, but you can be certain about the fact that your brother looks out for you when you're with them. looking seriously into their eyes, he growls, "if you dare to influence or persuade our sister dream to do anything, you'll never forget the day when you made that mistake. and has nothing to do with what's conflict between us, do you understand?"

– safe to say that when it comes to desire's intrigue with the vortex-story, dream considered that you're on his side of the family. he says that he's disgusted by desire, but deep down he fears that he's too strict, and one day you're gonna advocate beside them. and desire can make you do anything, even if it means that you sacrifice yourself for your family, because that's how much you love your siblings and humanity.

– dream takes great pride about how you think the same about humanity as him and death; helping them, walking among them and serving them, not laying all day in your realm and doing nothing but only bad (like desire).

when you are together, it's like you're joined at the hip –and on one side, it's better than anything, but if something bad happens... then the two of you feel it.

– (yeah, now is coming the sad part, it's also a little oneshot)

when dream gets caged in, maybe you're too young or too immature to the feelings and your family, but as much as you search for him, as much as you ask for everybody around you, they don't know where he went, you just don't understand. your first thought is that he get away because of you. and that he doesn't love you anymore, and he rather stays away from his family than to see you.

for thirty years, you cry in your realms and don't dare to go to the dreaming. your creatures try to reassure you that it's not your fault, but you're relentless. other twenty years goes away with calling him, but he just don't answer –the most painful in the whole thing that he hears you the entire time... he just can't respond.

then, after god knows how many time, you stand up one day, and think 'wipe your tears off, hope. dream would talk about his problems, especially with you. if my brother doesn't want to come to me, than i'm going to find him'. and with this, you collect your objects that gives you power, and you go down to the dreaming. walking to lucienne, you keep your veil on your hair, like a bride. "lucienne, where is jessamy? i need her to find my brother." lucienne looks at you with so much apology in her eyes. you feel your heart tighten, but you don't know yet. "my majesty, i fear to say this, but... jessamy didn't come back from the waking world." hearing this words, your lips began to tremble, and your eyes became foggy. "no... but, then... is my brother still down there?" you ask, trying to come over with the worst news you could hear. "yes, my majesty. as good as i know, my lord is still down in the waking world."

you nod, then walking out on the big gates, you walk as fast as you can, lucienne is running after you. "my majesty, what is your plan, you are safe here, don't go down there!" with tears still in your eyes, you spread the veil in front of you face. "lucienne, i fea that if i don't go down there, maybe my brother will never come back. i just lost my best friend, and the dreaming is fallen apart, but i will not lose my brother. so please, take care of the dreaming as you did until now." you tell to her, and with this, you spread your arms and let yourself fall down on the edge of the dreaming into the deep border of the realms and the waking world.

after a few weeks between the mortals, you've found the house where your brother was held as a prisoner. sneaking into the house with your vile on, you tried to find out where he could be. as soon as a feather fell into your hand from somewhere, you felt like a string is bound to your heart, and you knew you had to follow it before the feeling disappears. walking down to the lower hallways that seemed like the basement, there was a lock on the steel rods. "oh, come on..." you whispered, as with only a touch, the lock fell down. when it happened, you wanted to come in, but two uniformed people, a man and a woman ran towards you. they didn't see you, and you reached out your hand, giving them happy visions, one of your ability. as they fell to the ground, looking around... there he was. your brother, naked, without any protection against the waking world. dream was sitting there, but he looked up for the noises. at the sight of him, your heart began to beat fast; he spend the last hundred years here? without any help? and what have they done to jessamy? killing and harming were always usual in your life, as you saw it in the mortal world, but it was still a little bit foreign to your soul.

running to him, falling to your knees, you touched the glass as you brushed down your veil. you saw on his face that he didn't believe you were there. "it's me, brother. it's me, hope. how did this happen? who did that to you?" slowly, dream placed his hand on the glass, just on the spot where your hand was.

"hope... how are you here?"

"i couldn't find you, did you think i'm letting you be away for so long? i'm sorry i didn't begin to search for you sooner."

"my sister, it's dangerous for you to be here. they killed jessamy, and they surely want to kill you too." you shook your head, searching for something sharp or rough, something you could cause yourself harm with. "hope, it's not worth to hurt yourself. i'll find my way out from here, just-"

"no, i'll help you. the only option for me to go home is with you. so, could you please crawl a little bit back?" if you hurt yourself, your energy would radiate and explode things you pointed onto. this will hurt, but it will heal. what's never could heal is the hole in your soul from pain, that you let your brother rotten here longer. closing your eyes, you cut deep into your knee, and when the pain was unbearable, you turned to the cave with a closed mouth. it's the strongest of you're direct, and when you begin to scream, the glass cave crashes down to the smallest pieces. it hurt, sure, but destroying something and the knowledge of freeing your brother somehow eased your pain. touching his face with your bleeding hand, drops of your gold blood is falling to the ground. "dream... come on, let's get out of here, let's get to the dreaming." letting your pearls float into the air, he helps you stand up as the pearls begin to form a tornado.

and with that, your journey to get back his objects began.

should i make a part 2? when dream and his sister travels trough the realms and get back his objects.. i'm excited about it, write down your thoughts <3

you can ask for requests in dm or here, do the same if wanna be on the taglist uwu

love, louisa

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hello, can I request a Morpheus x reader where she's wearing Morpheus’ coat, and he's absolutely amazed and attracted by that? Thank you ☺️

A/N: thought of writing something like this for Corinthian also? Lemme know if you'd like that!🌺

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

Breathe in.

A scent of lush, exotic fruits and a slight mustiness of old books. The material is heavy and slightly coarse but the lining feels like satin, delicately brushing against your skin. Something rustles in the pockets. For a second, you consider fishing out those strange treasures but the thought is quickly dismissed - it's impolite to snoop. Besides, whatever Morpheus carries in his coat is something he considers he might need at any given moment, so, perhaps, it was best for you to not play with them.

The garment is a little too big for you, so Morpheus takes a moment to roll up the sleeves. He does so silently, in swift motion as though he had done it countless times - like it was something obvious. His aloofness flusters you and you wonder if he thinks that a certain level of charity is expected of him or if he's simply following his heart's desires without letting reason interrupt this quiet confession of affection. One of his hands lingers around yours, threading your fingers together, and only then does he continue the stroll.

Your lungs are full - you breathe out.

Breathes in.

Morpheus keeps looking at you, indulging in some strange urge he has only just discovered. The coat is slightly big on you (Could he drown in you the way you're drowning in this black material?), virtually hiding your physique as though you are a secret he keeps away from the world. He ponders that thought - can he? Can he actually keep you all to himself, a treasure he never shares with anyone like a well of serenity that never dries?

It's as if he's seeing you for the first time but that doesn't make sense, right? Morpheus has already spent countless hours admiring the miraculous whim of the universe that made you reciprocate his infatuation. Perhaps it wasn't as much seeing you as seeing what the two of you might be one day as though giving you his coat granted Morpheus a glimpse into the future - into days where there is no longer 'him' and 'you' but a third entity, an inextricable union or a tide that mixes the ever-changing seas of what each of you is. His heart flutters at the possibilities and could-bees; seeing you, Morpheus is staring into his future and it is filled with gentle touches, quiet giggles and this overpowering sense of safety.

When you take his coat off, a sad parting that has to happen, will your smell linger on the black material and keep him calm whenever he puts the garment on? Or maybe when he leans in to kiss you, he'll smell pomegranate and antique books on your neck? Will he belong to you or will you belong to him? Truthfully, Morpheus doesn't care - either way, you're bound to each other.

His lungs are full - he breathes out.

Between exhales and inhales, those short seconds when creatures tread the line between death and life, most think about their desire for oxygen, a dull pain in their chest reminds them that they are not yet deceased, but lovers so often get things confused and think about each other instead.

[bi-bard]

Rogue Nightmares - Dream of the Endless Imagine (The Sandman)

Title: Rogue Nightmares

Pairing: Dream of the Endless X Reader

Word Count: 1,068 words

Warning(s): nightmare

Summary: (Y/n) had been stuck in a loop of the same nightmare for weeks. When someone finally comes to save them, everything begins to change.

Author's Note: Guys. I love this.

PART TWO HERE!

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

I never understood how real a dream could feel.

That was until I had the same dream every day for two weeks (or longer, I wasn't sure of the exact starting date). Well, less a dream and more a nightmare.

It was always the same. Down to the last detail.

I would find myself outside in a forest. It would be dark, and I wouldn't be able to see past the trees closest to me. Then, there would be some kind of roar through the woods. From there, I would start running. Through the forest and the darkness, trying to not trip on roots and plants.

I would eventually make it to some kind of house. I would manage to close and lock the door, but the creatures would start slamming into the door and clawing at the windows. Just as the door gives way and the windows break, I would wake up.

That's how things usually went.

However, on another endless run of the same nightmare, I didn't wake up when the creatures broke in. I let out a yell and went to run away, but one of them caught me by the ankle. I was about to fight back when I saw someone else standing in the building.

On the other side of the room was a man. He was wearing all-black, and he was alarmingly calm. I furrowed my eyebrows. I wasn't concerned about anything other than this man's presence now.

"Who are you," I asked.

The room was suddenly empty. Like that small ounce of awareness was all it took to end it all. I pushed myself off the floor.

The man seemed shocked that I noticed him. His posture straightened a little bit and his eyebrows furrowed. I tried to not seem scared, but a mysterious man suddenly pops up in your nightmares and just watches it happen... it just doesn't give an impression of comfort.

"Who are you," I repeated, taking a few steps forward and trying to appear tough.

"I have many names."

"Wow, how mystical," I replied sarcastically. "What can I call you?"

"Morpheus."

"And why are you in my dreams," I asked.

"I was coming to protect you," he explained. "You shouldn't be able to notice me. Not truly. How did you?"

"You're a guy standing in a long black coat with the haircut of an emo band from the 2000s," I shrugged. "You're hard to miss. Even in my nightmares."

His eyes scanned over me with very little shame. He was trying to find answers about me without just asking me. I shifted a little bit and crossed my arms over my chest.

"What were you protecting me from?"

"A rogue nightmare."

I scoffed. "You make that sound like nightmares are living creatures."

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Oh my God," I muttered. "So, umm, how does a nightmare go rogue?"

"This one seems to be feeding on you," Morpheus started walking around me, studying the room. "Your fear and panic. For its own entertainment. It left as soon as you pointed me out."

"Why," I turned to watch him move. I let my eyes scan him now. "Why was it so scared of you?"

"Because this is my realm."

"Realm?"

He turned back to me. "The realm of dreams. It's mine."

"Oh," I nodded. "Sure, okay, that makes sense."

He offered a small grin. I felt myself grin back. I had no real reason to trust this guy. I just did because it felt right. Like it was the smart thing to do.

"Will it come back," I asked. "The... The nightmare. Will it come back?"

"Yes."

I felt my shoulders tense at the definite answer. "How are you going to stop it?"

"You have no reason to worry-"

"You said that you were going to protect me," I stepped up to him. Probably too close but he didn't seem to mind. "I want to know how you're going to protect me."

"I have to catch it."

"How do you do that?"

He sighed. "You have to go through the nightmare again."

"I was worried you were going to say that."

The next night, I found myself running through the trees again.

But this time, instead of running into the house, I took a very sudden turn to the right, rounding the corner of the house and leaving the creatures to storm in.

I slowly moved to look back around the building's corner. They were disappearing. All of them. Just vanishing. And then, everything was silent.

I waited a minute to see if anything else was going to happen.

Nothing. No noise or lights or anything. It was over.

I let out a shocked laugh when I realized that the plan had worked. I took off running into the house, finding Morpheus standing in the middle of the room. I only stopped for a moment in the doorway as we looked at each other. Then, I sprinted forward and almost tackled him in a hug.

He slowly hugged me back.

"Thank you," I muttered.

"It's my responsibility."

"Doesn't matter," I stepped back to look at him. "You probably saved my life. Let me thank you, dammit."

He smiled a little bit. "You're welcome."

The two of us fell silent. We were both just looking at each other. I could think of so many situations where this would've made me so uncomfortable. But with him, it wasn't like that. It almost felt natural.

"You should be able to sleep without constant nightmares now," he explained. "However, the chance of you having a nightmare is not gone. I cannot promise something like that."

I nodded.

I stepped forward again. His eyebrows furrowed at me. I leaned in hesitantly and kissed his cheek. It was only a peck. Probably less than a second.

His eyes went a little wide as I leaned back. I had to hold back a chuckle at the confused look that was clearly on his face.

"I hope to see you again, Morpheus."

He seemed to ignore what I said. "This dream is over."

"What-"

"This dream is over," he waved his hand in front of my face.

I woke up back in my bed. I blinked the sleep from my eyes before sitting up.

I chuckled to myself and laid back down.

I knew somehow that I was going to see Morpheus again. Somehow.

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

Author's Note: I have a part two planned for this if anyone wants to read that.

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

Masterlist (Includes links to All Writing Challenges)

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[ofstardustanddreaming]

imagine asking morpheus to grab coffee with you. (gender neutral reader)

You hadn't known him for long, just someone you've seen at Hob's inn for a while. You see him regularly talk with the owner about once a month, Hob being someone who you were friends with, so you would pester Hob over who the stranger was. Hob eventually confessed to you all the history they had, and how his long life came to be. But knowing all of this came down to feeling confident enough to talk to him the next time he came in, wanting to catch him before talking to Hob.

"So, the infamous Sandman, huh?" You asked, and then felt a little embarrassed for asking that question out of the blue when he sat across from you at the table, as you assume he was waiting for Hob to come out from where he was doing work. He smiled though, and you took that as a good cue that maybe you were doing okay.

"Hob talks about you, you know. Last time he confessed to telling you a lot of what's happened. You must be a close friend to him." He muses, glancing at you from across the table. You could only nod your head, blurting your next sentence out as you spot Hob coming out from the kitchen area.

"Wanna get coffee sometime to talk about all of this? I really am curious about you, and want to know more. Anyway, gotta take off." You say, grabbing your things, barely giving him time to give his affirmative answer of wanting to grab some with you. He was definitely curious about getting to know more about you, wanting to know why Hob trusted you with so much information.

[darkened-writer]

imagine| Adoring Veneration

summary || ❝Would you have me dust my knees in the white powder of the snow, just to apologize to you about my lack of faith? Or the way I pray to you?❞

pairing || Morpheus x Worshipper!Reader

word count || 1,405

warnings || Morpheus being a sexy, stubborn, horny, immortal mf.

notes || @beautifulbows924​ inspired this fic with her works with Worshipper! Reader! So please, go check out her fics about the concept!! Also, this fic is heavily inspired by Cirice by Ghost, so go take a listen to the song!!! And enjoy.

For generations, upon generations, your family line had a very vast presence within religion. Not any normal religion however, but one worshiping a group of entities known as the “Endless”. Your ancestors were keen on these mysterious beings, but your family had adored one endless in particular. Morpheus, Oneiros, Dream, Lord Shaper, Dream of the Endless.

Plenty of imagery of Oneiros’s ‘haunting’ figure lingered within childhood memories. Painted walls of your childhood room adorned with sand like specks and an ever-looming black shadow. He was, without a doubt, a force to be reckoned with based off of the tales your mother read to you before bed. 

‘He knows of your deepest dreams, and your most haunting nightmares.’

But as you grew up, into teenagehood, rebelliousness struck swiftly. You denied the claims of any “endless”, shunning the once child-like love for the Sandman away with anger. It had brought great pain to your elders, but within the rage of rebellion grew a curiousness as you were never aware of his watchful eye. 

He watched you grow.

Watched you grow angry and distasteful. 

And even in your dreams, he contemplated why you would stray from your family’s worship of him. Were you going to be the end of the family tradition? Was he simply not good enough for your endless devotion?

You grew into a stunning young woman, personality to match it all. 

And he grew even more keen when he witnessed you looking into a box within your own walk-in closet. 

It was a large, wooden chest-like box, carvings of runes on the edges of each side. They read, ‘Worship and Adoring Veneration’. The contents of the inside being filled with altar materials for him. Black and white candles, a small pouch of sand, strawberries preserved in a vastly tight bag, and a dagger that glittered with the shine of a stone in the grip, a Dream Stone.

You were lighting the candles with a lighter, repeating the prayer that he had heard for years upon years, and he felt a smile tug on his lips, feeling foreign but right.

“Oh, gentle King of Dreams, Honor me with your presence, Morpheus, ruler of Dreams and Nightmares. Bless me with pleasant dreams and comfort the nightmares of mine within your care. Bring peace to those within disarray, and comfort to those with no hope.”

Oh.

Oh.

The blouse that was sat around your figure was now being slid off from the shoulders, your fingers gripping the pouch of sand as you began to sprinkle the individual grains across your chest, head lent backwards; eyes closed.

“Hail Morpheus… and Praise be…”

Your voice was laced with the erotica of creme and vanilla, Morpheus’s own self shuddering at the view. 

What has made you change your mind about him? How were you so sure that he was listening to the prayer being uttered by your saccharine lips?

Perhaps he would toy with you and cause a bit of mental chaos.

The notebook sat on your desk suddenly flipped open, rousing your eyes to open at the disruption.

“Wha…-?”

A slam, as the paper finally settled and stood still, but the discoloration of the pages alarmed you from afar. 

“Go to the paper… and be enlightened, my precious acolyte…”

You didn’t tell yourself to move and yet, your body moved on its own volition towards the notebook. 

Sand was everywhere across the desk, almost set upon to show a design, and you had recognized it immediately. It was a recreation of Morpheus’s helm, although poorly done, it was still vivid. And the words scrawled onto the paper sent a tremor up your spine, the haunting feeling from your childhood suddenly ever more present.

‘I’M REAL AND I’M LISTENING TO EVERY PRAYER THAT PASSES THROUGH YOUR LIPS’

Ever since the message was scrawled down within your home, you had felt as though you were being watched. Not just watched; but inspected, taken apart. You never felt truly alone for any moment at all. And that fact truly instilled fear within you.

Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares was frighteningly real. 

And while finding this out was frankly terrifying, you still carried on with your days; committing to worship before you were to sleep. And like you had asked, he had blessed you with many precious dreams, of great happiness and pleasure. 

He really was always listening to your praises, and that struck a question.

Had he been watching you all these years? Even when your faith wavered?

Hopefully, he would show himself to speak truly face-to-face.

“Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

The winter landscape came into view within a moment’s notice, the haziness making you immediately aware that you were within a dream. Was this of his creation, on purpose?

The particles of snowflakes fell down gently, settling onto the already covered ground. There was a green fence to your left, painted with what seemed to be many coats of paint. The pale blue sky was nostalgic and reminiscent of many winter mornings, walking to school wrapped in a warm coat; nose reddened from the sheer frozen air. But what had caught your eye was the bright streetlight. The light bouncing off of the pure white of the snow, making your eyes squint.

“Hello…? Morpheus of the Dreaming? I recognize the feeling of sleepiness here… I know you sent me here for a reason-...!”

The area was dead silent except for the crunch of the snow against the shoes you had on. Your nose felt like it was going to fall off, along with your fingers that lacked gloves. Cold and distant, just like the Endless.

“You’ve intrigued me, acolyte. Years of inactivity within worship and suddenly you are willing to give your body to me.”

You turn to the streetlight, eyes widening at the difference of Morpheus’s dark robes compared to the snowy ground. He was striking, skin pale like the ground and yet he looked as beautiful as the books had drawn him to be.

“How could you have really known if I was real, hm? You were practically serving yourself on a silver-platter for an Endless you didn’t believe in. Seductive to the air.”

His tone was harsh and yet as you walked closer to him, the feeling of being picked apart arose once again. You liked to watch you, the way you move, the way you carry yourself, it was alluring; the pinnacle of humanity’s lustful grace. 

“Would you have me dust my knees in the white powder of the snow, just to apologize to you about my lack of faith? Or the way I pray to you?”

He scoffs.

“You really think that would be enough, acolyte?”

“Surely.”

His pale fingers wrapped rather tightly against your clothed shoulder, arousing a shudder from your form. You oozed power and yet, he could make you weak with just a touch. 

Down.

Down.

He pushed you down until your knees were thoroughly submerged within the snow, the wetness seeping into the once dry fabric of your pants. His gaze looked down upon you, while you looked up at him with a feeling of.

Lust?

How could you feel these scandalous and unbecoming thoughts about him of all people. He was an Endless, a being to be worshiped with words and offerings. Not the flesh of the loins or the offering of one’s bodily autonomy. 

“My lord… I apologize for my absence within worship. If you’d allow me too, I’d like to show my adoring veneration for you.”

Your voice was like sliding honey across toast, slow but sweet; sultry but coarse. It could bring any man to his knees; it could bring any man to shed their clothing and submit. But was he just like any human man? 

“I have no desire for your… services. You may offer me regular offerings made just like your ancestors before you. Pray to me every night before you sleep. And maybe, just maybe, I can forgive you of your transgressions.”

“Yes, my lord. Anything for you, your majesty.”

His once rough hand was now on your cheek, thumb caressing the skin of your cheekbone with a deep caring.

“This Dream is over.”

A gasp, sweat covering you head to toe.

And the feeling of his hand on your shoulder, the coldness of your knees within the snow; it all lingered even in real life. 

Praise Be, Hail Morpheus. 

[auroraborealyss]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬' 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: how morpheus, dream of the endless, the king of dreams, or as you know him: your love, expresses his love

⊹ warnings: some explicit language, but mostly none (however my inputs are slightly out of control in this one—case and point: this note)

⊹ word count: 3107

𝗴𝗶𝗳𝘁 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 you are talking to the king of dreams. the Endless who's responsible for seeing what people dream about, what they're scared of, and managing it. this is also the same Endless who thought it would be a fun idea to put his power into three of his favourite things. of course gifts is going to be his main love language

as the lord of dreams, of course his first instinct is to give you whatever you want. to create whatever you wan. he genuinely finds pleasure in creating something himself to give to you

(dare i say a kink)

has definitely fashioned a dream after you. whatever impact you have on morpheus (make him warmer, kinder, see the beauty in humans and their short but well-lived lives, etc...), that dream because that for others

no need to buy new clothes when he can just make you whatever you want

you want the top half of that one dress but the bottom half of another? check your closet.

you want the new book from your favorite author but it doesn’t release for another six months? check your mail.

you want that chocolate that was discontinued? check your cabinets?

even if you’re not in the palace of the dreaming at all times, he insists that you live in one in the waking world. so he buys/inspires an architect to make you your dream apartment/house

if its an apartment and you live by yourself? still gets you a three bedroom for no fucking reason other than he wants you to be comfortable. there used to be a hill that blocked your window? your architect was inspired to demolish it. you want it back? your architect is inspired to build one

if it’s a house, insert lazy river (honestly, if i had the money to waste and spend, i’d get one for myself. alas, the only lazy river i get is when my sink overflows) cue to you casually floating on a donut floatie while reading a book, doing laps around your house over and over again

if you do a form of art, you’ll get a room dedicated to it. a library. a painter’s studio. a photography room. sculpting nook. all of it and more.

there is nothing you could want that he could not give you

and never ever bring up money unless you want a mysterious and rude amount of money deposited into your account to wake up to

he'll also go to great lengths if you need a particular item (exhibit a: him going into the lake to get gifts for the fates. he did all that for his items, so imagine what he'd do for you)

but you want to know what the best gift he gives you?

his coc

𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗶𝗰𝗲 this man will be begging for you to let him do things for you. in this essay—

(did you see the calliope episode? because that part of episode 1.11 is basically exhibit b for this section)

someone said something mean to you? bam. they will be plagued by nightmares of someone he loves saying those things to him until he dies.

if you’re a better person than him and won’t let him mentally torture people for as long as he likes and thinks they deserve, he’ll omit telling you that he’s torturing people. what you don’t know, won’t hurt, right?

but if you’re flirting with the line that is morally good and you do consent to letting him torture people, he might show you his progress on them and their decaying sanity

“look at what i have done with the love i have for you.”

you still get nightmares when you sleep, not because he wants to hurt you, but because nightmares can actually help you. dreams can inspire us to be better, but so can nightmares. for example, being visited by a nightmare that shows you your fear of failing that test makes you wake up and be motivated to study. what he does do for you is restrain the nightmares? he lets them scare you enough to act as a motivator, but not extremely that you are crippled with fear and anxiety

protective morpheus (currently sobbing)

when you wake and leave the Dreaming, he’s gone but there’s always a cup of coffee with you

acts of service also include making others do acts. rather than get a phone, forces matthew to carry messages between you and him instead.

if you're studying and need information on something, he'll have lucienne prepare a stack of books, and maybe even notes, for you to see to when you return to him in the Dreaming

but the biggest act of service he can do for you is meet your friends

lets you drag him to parties and dinner and brunches

might not socialize (probably will not), and you might find him standing in the corner becoming a shadow, but he won't bother you to leave until you want to

he'll watch you the whole time

takes care of your drinks (and everyone else's)

or, he might follow you around like a shadow. no matter who you talk to, he'll be standing beside you, an arm around your waist

if you're a social butterfly, he admires that about you

if you're more socially introverted, he'll hang out with you in the shadows and leave when you want to, even if you've only been there for five minutes

basically he's a simp—and he might actually proudly admit to being one because who's the one who's dating you in the end?

𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵 before his confinement, he wasn’t the most physical person. he wouldn’t pull away, but he didn’t reach for you either, though he always secretly liked it. after his imprisonment, he begins to reach for you. not just that, but he begins to crave your touch. touch is how he reminds himself that he is with you, you are with him, and that he is free

in public, it’s limited but clear that you’re together

the last thing he needs is hearing matthews’ teasing squawks in his ear about morpheus being the endless version of a cat

when lucienne catches pda, she’ll at least be respectful and dignified and not comment, though she will be grinning like a cheshire cat and her eyes will keep looking

your arm around his when walking around

his hand on your back

then your lower back

brushing your hair out of your face

sitting close enough for shoulder and legs to touch

standing close

(once again, I bring up the calliope episode—someone stop me from rewatching that over and over again)

did you see how close they were standing? then, when you thought they were close enough, he takes an even closer step? that. THAT.

whatever concept you have of personal space, a personal bubble, this man is inside it. yes, your arms might be linked while walking. but your sides will be pressed together.

and while it might appear that you're the one who links your arms together, he is the one who already has his elbow slightly bent and held out towards you

when you do hold hands, his thumb brushes over your skin absentmindedly, as if feeling your warmth isn’t enough and it’s a constant reminder of him that you’re there

but when you do the same to him, or gods help him, you squeeze it, he, with every fibre of his being, will feel it and nearly stop from the overwhelming feelings that threaten to send him to the ground

so keep it sparingly

...or not

kisses in public..truthfully, he's probably leaning towards no. full on make out sessions? probably not. when you guys are saying goodbye, i’m seeing more of a tight, slightly awkward dip of the head—a farewell not

but, bringing that calliope episode up once again, he won’t don't anything if you were to initiate it.

kiss on the cheek? you better hold that position for a few fucking seconds so you can let that man close his eyes and savour the intimateness that is the feeling of your soft lips against his cold cheek.

why don’t you press your forehead against the side of his head while you’re at it? you know, when you’re done kissing him but before you pull away. think of it as giving him a few seconds to revert back to cold, formal morpheus, dream of the endless, and not your boyfriend/partner

stares at you when you’re not looking

stares at you even when you're looking

stares down at you when you're asleep in his arms

stares up at you when he's down on his knees between your—sorry, wrong fic

imagine those intense eyes just looking at you and not looking away, not ashamed at taking in the beauty that is his partner

he has no qualms when someone is staring at you, because how he can be blame them

but he does have qualms when their gaze turns into a leer. that's when he'll send a couple nightmares their way for a few directions. not to mention, he'll turn his gaze from you to glare them down, and because they have now deprived him from admiring you for the few seconds this last, he blames it on them and gives them a...gift (and a visit to desire if he finds out they had something to do with it)

on the rare occasion that he's actually using his throne and sitting on it rather than dramatically sitting on the steps after he spread his coat out around him, he might let you sit on his lap (nothing more...in public)

not straddling him—god no—but sitting horizontal so your legs are over his lap and your side is against his chest with your arms around his neck and his arms around your waist

he does that when he needs to relax

he might whisper his problems and insecurities in your ear

but in private—in private—this man is draped over you

he’ll be like a cat who actually likes his owner and will curl up on you

if you’re cuddling, you’ll lie with your head on his chest and his arm around your shoulders, maybe playing with your hair

he may or may not use a bit of his sand to help you sleep if you’re having troubles entering his realm, but with him drawing random shapes on your skin or the steady rise and fall of his chest, or, if you're really lucky, he's reading aloud in that quiet, low, asmr voice of his, you're gone all too quickly

he always feels a bit stiff when the cuddle session begins, but after you lie down on him long enough, his limbs soften before gripping onto you tighter

but back to that no-such-thing-as-a-personal-bubble with him

walls

bringing into evidence, exhibit c: episode 1.03 with johanna constantine

why does he have to be so physically close with everyone (that isn't me)

likes to walk you backwards until you hit a wall

once you hit that wall, he may or may not take an even closer step

then closer

and even closer, but his arms are still in his pockets because he's cool and edgy like that (and intimidatingly hot)

close enough until he's kissing you

then he'll press against you to be even closer

we can unpack the trauma that being separated from everyone he loves for 100 years and being physically separated by a wall of glass some other day. for now, enjoy his closeness

because basically, close is still too far for him

𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 not 24/7 hanging out, because he is the king of dreams and he has a realm to run, but he does spend his time with you wisely, and just because you're not with him all the time, doesn't mean he isn't thinking about you all the time

his favourite thing is the two of you being in each other’s presence but working on your own things. he appreciates it more than he realizes, and during the times you sit to the side as he makes new dreams, he’ll sometimes put aspects of you in them—intentionally or unintentionally

when you aren't together, he'll still be consumed with thoughts of you

he thinks of you all the time, actually. and because of that, he also talks about you all the time, sometimes subconsciously. and sometimes with no reason at all—or perhaps the only reason he needs to bring you up is because you're you and he's in love with you

"y/n did extremely well on her project, did you hear?" "did you hear about my report on the rogue nightmares, sir?" matthew asks. "she worked very hard on it. i'm proud of her."

thinks about you when doing research in the library with lucienne

wonders about you when going on walks with death

mentions you on dinners with hob

dates with him doesn't have to be the most exciting thrilling thing. in fact, he likes living in domestic bliss with you. doing dishes together. helping you with laundry. watching a movie. people watching. walking your pets.

he usually leaves you alone when you’re awake and uses that time for his duties while you’re busy doing awake things anyway, but when you do fall asleep and are in the dreaming, that’s when the two of you are always together, stuck at the hip (and we're back to the closeness)

takes you out to dinner everyday where he listens to you talk and rant about your day and give you suggestions. he eventually does the same with you, and you become the first person he goes to whenever he needs consultations for his problems

insert jealous hob when he finds him and you eating and morpheus actually talking to you and not just sitting there quietly like with him

but hob gets over it (he doesn’t) and sometimes he’ll join dinner with you guys.

family dinners in his realm with you, hob, death, lucienne, marvin (and only because you invited him), matthew (though morpheus gives him a dog bowl rather than a plate)

during the moments the two of you are together, he treasures and cherishes it

and during the moments when it's just the two of you together, he'll definitely make it worth both your while

drawing it out (if you know what i mean)

and i mean, teasing you for hours and sessions that go until you wake—

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ha no. did you see how emotionally constipated this man was? how he can't tell calliope he still loves her, admit to hob that they're friends, and ask for help from death? words are not the dream king's weapon

the most you get is a term of endearment, like my love or my beloved

always 'mine' though

but this Endless is not about to spout off a pride and prejudice speech at you, so don’t bother waking up early and going for a hike. just sleep and hang out with him in the Dreaming instead in silence

however he does have a beautiful voice—one that as his partner, you are allowed to take advantage of. cue making him read pride and prejudice at you (especially that speech: “you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i love…i love…i love you. i never wish to b parted from you from this day on.”) you with his head on your lap, him sitting against a tree with the branches over the both of you for some shade. one hand is holding up the book, the other is absentmindedly twirling your hair. when he finishes the line, he looks down at you, slightly amused but completely enamoured, especially at the giddy expression on your face, and he dips down to kiss you

he tells you that he inspired jane austen to write that speech for you—it’s up to you if you want to believe him or call it bullshit

while he might not be giving love confessions every three seconds, he does give you compliments. and not just when you do something that warrants a compliment, but randomly. because to him, everything you do is majestic and needs to be acknowledged as so

"you're beautiful" when you're in casual clothes, sweats, pyjamas, (or bare)

"what would the world do without you?" when you hold open the door for an elderly couple

and you know he says it against your ear, voice low, his whispered words hot and heavy. maybe even a little raspy—

but just because he might not be the chatterbox on the block, doesn't mean he doesn't want someone talking to him

so don't give him the silent treatment, because when he does, he becomes insufferable to everyone

he's all curt to lucienne. snappy with matthew. demanding with poor marvin. sharp with cain and abel. rude with death. threatening with desire.

no one has nice dreams and nightmares become so much worse

not you, of course. you're still sleeping perfectly fine, but you realize something's wrong when you meet up with your friends and one of them hasn't slept in days while the other hasn't woken up in days

if it's his fault, it might take death for him to realize his mistakes and apologize to you. again, no long speech, just the simple words, "i'm sorry. i was wrong. please forgive me, my love." and considering this man's flaw is his ego, that is more than enough

and if you tell him to say it on his knees he will as he whispers it against your—

but if you're at fault, he won't back down until you apologize. however, he won't leave you alone. he'll always be there in the corner of your eye, waiting for you to apologize. and when you do, he'll purse his lips, nod, and say nothing. but you'll know he's already forgiven you when his eyes soften and he gives you that soft smile that's reserved for so few people

he might not talk to you, but he does want you to talk to him, so ramble away

let's not get started on what he says in private, but i'll tell you this. he isn't so silent anymore, and he will definitely appreciate whatever you tell him in whatever form—and might even strive to create and draw such sounds from you

a plea

a cry

a groan

a whimper

a scream—

in conclusion, this man will love you with every piece of him. (and if i could, i would do the same morpheus please just give me a chance)

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 1.06 𝗍𝗈 1.11. 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖺𝖻𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 this 𝗆𝖺𝗇. 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗉𝗎𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽?

𝗂'𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 14𝗁 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝖾, 𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝖿𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽

𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘶𝘴' 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Dream learning why you’re cross with him…

“You are mad with me.” Dream said softly. His tone was curious not understanding what had happened to earn him such disagreement.

“You have made quite the astute observation, King of Nightmares.” You replied.

“Tell me what I have done to warrant your anger and I will do what I can to remedy it.” Dream offered. He truly did not enjoy you being upset at him.

“I have been your guest for eons and not once have you escorted me to meet Gregory.”

Dream’s brows raised as he repeated your words. “Gregory?”

Had he made such a promise?

Footsteps walked closer until they revealed Lucienne who was making her way through the library while buried in a book. As if sensing the strife in her halls, she looked up and saw the odd scene.

“My Lord, is everything alright?”

“It appears that Y/n has been upset with me because I have not fulfilled a promise.” Dream explained.

Mouthing a quiet ‘ah’, Lucienne glanced at you. “Is this the one to see Gregory?” 

When you nodded, Lucienne turned to her King and adjusted her glasses. “You did make that promise centuries ago, my Lord.”

Dream nodded. “Then contact Cain and Able. Let them know that they will be joined shortly.” He stretched out his hand for you to take. “I shall see this through.”

~ More imagines here ~

[darklinsblog]

Bring Me To Life| Sandman Imagine

Summary: Y/N is part of the Burgess family, somewhat of a black sheep, when she finds the prisoner her family has kept for 90 years, your father finds a way to dispose of his own daughter. Imprisoning her with The Dream Lord.

Pairing: Morpheus x Burguess! Reader

Requested: Yes

Author’s note: Will be updating my tag list so please comment if you want in on out of it!

You were always aware you were different from your family, they were always so shallow, empty, even.

Your father was nephew of the wealthy Roderick Burgess, and if Roderick was cruel and despicable, your father Maurice was much more worse.

For starters, he had way too many children, you were clearly the one in the middle, having many responsibilities that no child should have at your age, and even when you did everything you could to earn your father’s love and acceptance, you only got hatred in return.

He genuinely hated your guts.

His words, not yours.

But still someone a part of you was holding onto hope that maybe one day he would learn to love you.

While you waited for that day to come, you did your best to blend into the background, which for the record, wasn’t hard at all with six teens running around the house screaming all day long.

By your twenties you were a master of truly “minding your shit” as your father used to tell you, one particular day, everyone had gone hunting as the only female, it was easy to leave you behind.

You would be lying if you said that you weren’t bored out of your mind after a while, and then like a light switch, you remembered the house had a basement.

As any forgotten part of the house, you were told multiple times to leave it, to never even think of it, but at least the mysterious basement had to be more interesting than this empty mansion.

What you did not prepare for, was to find some… being trapped in a glass prison, he seemed like a man but something about him felt supernatural, extraordinary even.

His eyes followed even the slightest of your moves. As your fingertips merely crashed the cold surface of the glass, the eyes of the “man” opened wider, a distorted reflection of your father’s knowing figure, holding s large object, but before you could turn to face him.

All was suddenly black after a sharp pain hit the back of your neck and a buzz on your ears.

As you regained consciousness, your senses buzzed, everything somehow felt colder, lonelier, wrong…

When turning your head, you noticed the being you were staring at on the other side of the glass; only this time, he was right beside you.

Completely startled you backed away, until you met the cold surface of the bubble you were now trapped in.

You noticed more now the nakedness of the man (that is to refer to him because quite frankly, he was anything but human), which made your cheeks turn red and more than ever you appreciated your own clothes.

Tears were streaming down your face quietly and you wiped them away as soon as the left your eyes, embarrassed for this stranger to see you at your very worst.

“Morpheus”.

A voice inside your head spoke calmly but loudly, you turned to see the man beside you, empathy could be seen in his features, his hand softly grazing yours.

It had been so long since he last touched anyone, your skin felt soft and warm to the touch, it was something that now his heart longed for.

You didn’t know what it was, maybe the despair of being trapped here for God knows how long, the confusion and anger that came as to why you were here or the overall sadness.

Whatever it might’ve been, you found yourself embracing Morpheus softly by the neck, hiding your face as you sobbed lightly.

The Dream Lord was startled at first, but delicately his hands found a place in your back and to your waist he was letting you have complete control over this moment, he did not wish to touch you in any way that would make you uncomfortable.

He let you hold onto him as long and as hard as you needed to, but he knew his role there was only to contain your sadness until it went away.

“It is nice to know you, Morpheus” you whispered in his ear after a long period of sadness.

Ten long years had passed since you were trapped in the bubble prison with Morpheus, and you would be lying if you said you hadn’t developed a particular affection towards each other as well as a complex non-spoken communication between the two, he would let his voice echo your mind every now and then, but mostly, by simply looking at each other it was enough to know it all.

It hurt to think that nobody was looking for you, but then again, you would not be surprised by this, yet, a naive part of you thought maybe they were looking. Truth be told, if they were, they would’ve found you by now. After all, you were still in the same damn house.

But today something happened, Alex Burgess, your uncle, had gone down to see you two, it had been years since you saw him, but he was indeed, fragile and old, almost at the end of his days.

His eyes fell on you, you could see the sense of recognition in his gaze but quickly his eyes diverted to the King of dreams, completely disregarding your presence.

You held onto Morpheus’ arm trying to hold back on your anger as Alex Burgess went on his monologue to the King of Dreams about how he had done wrong in not wanting to be free all those years ago.

But you understood his motives as to why he didn’t chose freedom, his companion deserved that the perpetrators of her cold blooded murder paid the price.

Truth be told, it also did rub the wrong way to Morpheus how your own blood ignored you, after spending a decade by your side, he had gotten to know your very essence and in full honesty, you deserved something better than the rotten tree you were born in.

But something happened, as Alex turned his wheels to leave, the restraining runes were slightly wiped off.

You both looked at one another, acknowledging the window of opportunity you were given by the neglect of Alex.

For the first time in a decade you recognized in the eyes of the other, the almost foreign sentiment of hope, you step aside, letting Morpheus concentrate as you understood the only one who could set you free now was him.

Everything to you, seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, the cracks, the breaking, the shots fired and as Morpheus conjured some sort of vortex, he stretched out his hand for you to reach.

Going with him, was tempting, but you knew now as you stood in front of him, your journeys were very different, he had a kingdom to restore while you had to figure your own identity outside of the Burgess last name, to find if, you had any other living relatives, to find answers to all your questions.

You smiled at him, in a way which he understood it all.

“There will always be a place for you in the Dreaming Y/N Burgess” he finally spoke, after all those ages of silence, it wasn’t just a voice echoing in your brain, it was real.

You nodded, at the very edge of tears, the mixture of relief and nostalgia for this chapter of your life ending becoming all so overwhelming.

“I’ll come and find you, King of Dreams” you promised to him, the corners of his mouth lifting in the ghost of a smile.

“Till we meet again” he said taking your hand and planting a subtle kiss on it before going back to his world.

Leaving you be in yours.

But even as the chapter of your imprisonment came to and end, you knew, deep in your heart, your story with the myth in the flesh, was far from over.

Taglist: @emiemiemiii @ladyfairenvale @hungrhay @aurorarevenclaw1927 @adishax @meganmayhem89 @mrs-captainsteverogers @hb8301 @sarahbullet235 @bambooing-shenanigans @queenshelby @characterxreaderimagine @emarich7 @carolcrysis @sister-of-stars @coolsnowker @vvsdreaming @jesllianaquilesrolon @supermegapauselouca

[megalony]

My Beloved

This is a Morpheus (Sandman) imagine, I know its been a while since I’ve written for Sandman but I am getting back into it so any requests would be lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf

Masterlist

Summary: When (Y/n) isn’t well, Morpheus comes to the waking world to take care of his beloved.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A soft smile fluttered on Morpheus' lips when he watched (Y/n)'s eyes slowly begin to open. He leaned a little further back into the sofa that seemed to swallow him whole, and continued in his administrations of carding his fingers through her hair. It was a new habit he had acquired when he realised the action was a good remedy for helping (Y/n) to sleep.

It wasn't very often that Morpheus found himself in the waking world, he could conjure up dreams, entice people to sleep and keep an eye on all of his creations from his own realm of the Dreaming. But sometimes his work brought him into the waking world and sometimes he just fancied a wander through.

With (Y/n) around, she was more of a reason for him to be in this world rather than his own.

He should have gone back to his realm a while ago but he simply hadn't found it in himself to leave her yet. (Y/n) was like a drug Morpheus was addicted to and being away from her was like going through withdrawal.

"Did you like your dream?"

Morpheus couldn't help but indulge himself just a little.

He never got to ask humans what they thought of his creations, he didn't see their reactions when they woke up and how they acted in his realm didn't always give away what they thought. The humans always believed dreams to be of their own creation, they inadvertantly took credit for Morpheus' ideas and even if his creations were sometimes based around each human's experience, they were still his own making.

Now that Morpheus had (Y/n), he could pry into her thoughts and find out what aspects of his creations she loved and which ones needed improving on.

It did get hard.

Even if Morpheus was weak at the knees for (Y/n), he had to remain objective in his work. She had to experience nightmares and bad memories and some tough worlds in the dreaming because he couldn't favour the one he loved and be responsible for her lack of inspiration and motivation in the waking world.

"It was beautiful, I wish I had wings like hers."

(Y/n)'s voice was laced with the last remnants of dream and her eyes were desperate to close and go back into the best world she had seen so far.

If she was being honest, (Y/n) couldn't quite remember all of the dream which happened to most people and with the best kind of dreams, they faded away to keep the magic for the next sleep. But she remembered the beautiful creature she had seen dancing in front of her eyes with wings the size of cars that resembled bubbles with all the glimmering colours and see-through patches. And the feeling of falling just at the end of the dream- something (Y/n) knew Morpheus couldn't control- just made it all the more exciting.

"You don't need wings, you're already exquisite."

With the last of the dream fading in the back of her mind, (Y/n) slowly sat up, realising she had fallen asleep on her lover's lap and he hadn't had the heart to move her. How long had he stayed there as her personal cushion, waiting for her to wake up? She hoped he hadn't been waiting long or been uncomfortable.

She could see his pasty skin lighting up with a faint pink blush that blossomed up his neck and onto his pale white cheeks when she slowly hooked her legs on either side of his hips and perched on his lap. (Y/n) turned her cheek to rest on his shoulder and draped her arms around the back of Morpheus' neck, smiling into his black shirt when she felt his arms slowly coiling around her hips.

Morpheus wasn’t used to lovers being close or touchy with him and after nearly a century in a glass dome, cut off from everyone and every touch, things felt different. He realised just how touch-starved he had been for the last century and it made him want to make up for lost time. He was desperate for contact and love and closeness and soft kisses or someone's skin to be close to him- for (Y/n), to be close to him. That wasn’t who he was before he was captured.

When he pulled her closer so their chests were touching and there was no longer a small slither of a gap between them, (Y/n) smiled. She could feel him breathing in her scent, his nose tickled her forehead where he pressed a soft, slow kiss to her temple.

"I'm afraid I must go soon, my beloved. It's almost dark out."

(Y/n) couldn't help the pout that formed on her lips and she tightened her arms around his neck. She wished she had woken up earlier so she could have more time to hold him like this.

The night was just beginning and that meant Morpheus' day was only just starting. There weren't half as many people who slept during the day as there were the rest who slept at night. Morpheus could be anywhere during the day time and conjure up a few worlds for people to idle in and visit with their messed up sleep schedules or a few little valleys for those who were having a short nap.

But when the sun set behind the clouds and the darkness started to creep around the corner, that was when the real magic began. And the best place for Morpheus to be was in his realm or out in the streets, he had millions of people to serenade and pull into his world and he had to keep them occupied and on their toes or else if he didn't have their full attention, they would slip back into the waking world.

"Can I come with you?"

Lifting her head from off his shoulder, (Y/n) pressed her lips to his forehead and moved her hands to cup his face between her palms, something she knew drove him crazy. He loved when she would rest her forehead against his, their noses brushing like they were now, and their gazes interlocked like thousands of stars joining together in the midnight sky.

"If you were feeling well I would bring you with me, darling. Go back to sleep, I'll conjure up another world for you and when you wake, I will return."

In any other circumstance, Morpheus would indulge (Y/n) and never deny her request to come back to his realm. But she wasn't well, it was why she had been dreaming with his creations for most of the day and why Morpheus had stayed with her for almost all of the day. If (Y/n) stayed in his realm, he would sense her while he was working and he would know when she came back to the waking world and he would visit her then.

"I wish you didn't have to go." Even as she spoke, Morpheus could see she was halfway back to his world already and it only made his soft smile widen.

With one arm still around her hips and the other hand moving to cradle the back of (Y/n)'s head, Morpheus slowly turned them round and laid (Y/n) down on the sofa on her back. He hovered over her, leaning between her legs that were still wrapped around his hips as if to make sure he didn't escape without her consent.

His fingers tangled in her locks at the back of her head as he squeezed the flesh of her hip before he kissed her softly. He could feel how warm she was, heat was radiating off of her and flooding the room with warmth that was buzzing through his skin. But the way (Y/n) tightened her thighs on his hips and tried to pull all of his weight onto her made a groan scratch against the back of his throat.

She was making it impossible for him to leave.

"I'll be back soon, you need to rest. Now, sleep."

He didn't need dust when his voice was so addicting and intoxicating that it had (Y/n)'s eyes closing and her mind was hooked on each little world he spoke. She felt his words softly against her temple before a burning kiss simmered against her skin.

Then he was gone, and she was asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn't want to wake her.

For over twelve hours, Morpheus had felt (Y/n)'s presence in the back of his mind. He had felt her instantly fall into his realm, then wander and drift before he finally felt her settle into an old dream he had waiting for her. A small valley with a river flowing through that he knew (Y/n) had been laying beside while he was out making sure the rest of mankind found their place in his realm.

Now, as he walked back into her apartment and found (Y/n) in the exact spot he had left her, he debated whether he should wake her or leave her be in her dream. After all, he had told her to rest and that was exactly what she was doing. But when Morpheus bent down beside her and pressed a small kiss to her temple, he felt a sudden urge to wake her. She was burning a fever.

With how long she had slept during the afternoon and on and off throughout the night while he had been gone, Morpheus decided (Y/n) had slept for long enough. He needed to wake her and rid her of her fever before she felt any worse.

"Love, wake up." With a small brush of his fingers, Morpheus carded his fingers through the soft wisps of hair hanging around the sides of (Y/n)'s face, delicately placing them back behind her ear. Even with just a small action like that, he could feel the sweat dripping off his fingertips from her burning hot skin that was flushed.

A small murmur bubbled past (Y/n)'s lips and she leaned into the touch delicately dancing across her forehead like a cold bag of ice was slowly swaying above her.

"Dream... I thought you were leaving?"

"I did, and now I've returned to see you've gotten worse."

How had he gone and come back so quickly? (Y/n) could have sworn she'd closed her eyes for a few minutes, maybe dozed off for an hour, not nearly long enough for him to go do a full night's work and come back again. But when her eyes tried to open, she was scorched by the sun slowly creeping up into the sky and dazzling light through the living room window.

Had she gotten worse? All she did was doze off for a while, it didn't feel like she was any worse than how she felt earlier- yesterday, or whenever it was. (Y/n) could still hear Dream's voice in the back of her mind, telling her he would come back and asking her to go to sleep while he left her. She didn't even feel him slip out of her arms as she went into the dream he created for her.

Morpheus didn't know what to do, he wasn't used to suffering from any ailments himself and it had been so long since he'd taken care of someone who was ill. But he didn't like how hot her skin was to touch or how she was glistening with sweat from a raging fever that had appeared suddenly out of nowhere.

He didn't suppose holding some ice or something cold to her skin would do that much to take her fever down. Maybe a cold bath...

"Can you sit up, love?"

(Y/n) let her floppy arms be moved at Morpheus' will and let him hook them around his neck so he could hold her hips and gently pull her up.

"Are we going somewhere?"

A soft hum passed through his lips and he loved to perch on the edge of the sofa before he reached into the pocket of his trench coat. Morpheus paused in his movements for a moment when (Y/n) shuffled forward a little more until she could press her face into his chest. Her cheek burrowed in against his soft coat and her nose was bunched up in his shirt so she could breathe in his intoxicating scent.

With a handful of sand, Morpheus sprinkled it around them like glitter, using it sparingly before he closed his eyes and waited for his creation to do its magic. (Y/n) felt a soft breeze licking at her bare arms when the whirlwind feeling slowly disappated. It took a few moments for her to open her eyes and catch her bearings, but when she looked around, she realised they were back in Morpheus' kingdom. More specifically, they were on the beach on the edge of the realm.

She couldn't help but reach her hand out and drag her fingers through the sand they were now sitting on, it was as warm as it was soft but it wasn't damp from the shore like (Y/n) expected.

Morpheus couldn't help but smile when (Y/n) turned her face so her cheek was pressed against his shirt again like she was listening in for his heartbeat.

He kept his arms around her middle before he slowly started to stand up, gently pulling (Y/n) up with him until they were stood on the sinking sand. His arms held up most of her weight that soon fell onto his chest, but Morpheus didn't mind in the slightest. With an arm around her lower waist and the other gently cradling the back of her head, Morpheus kissed her temple before he guided them closer to the shore of the water.

The moment the water crept up (Y/n)'s ankles a shiver ran through her body that jolted through Morpheus too. The water was colder than an iceberg but it created such a funny sensation, like little teeth nipping at her feet.

"Come here," With a gentle voice that sounded so sugary sweet, Morpheus sat down in the shallow water that came up to his hips. He spread his legs so that (Y/n) could sit between them, not caring that both their clothes were going to be soaked. As long as (Y/n) felt better and her temperature went down a little, everything would be fine.

He rested his chin on top of (Y/n)'s head and kept his arms tight around her waist as she curled up so her side was tucked up into his chest and her hands were clutching at his shirt as if she thought she might drown.

For a little while, (Y/n) kept her eyes closed and focused on listening to Morpheus' heartbeat thudding patiently and calmly against her ear, drowning out the sound of the water rippling around them. When she slowly opened her eyes to take a look around, her breath caught in her throat.

Butterflies.

Small, tiny butterflies were glistening against the distant sun and had shimmering reflections on the crystal blue water. Their wings were transparant with small pink and blue lines like veins across them making them look like floating bubbles. Resembling the wings on the creature in her dreams earlier.

One butterfly came closer and fluttered so close (Y/n) could almost feel its wings fluttering against her nose before it started bobbing along just above the water.

"Are you feeling better?" As he spoke, Morpheus pressed the back of his hand against (Y/n)'s forehead, relieved to feel that she was a tiny bit cooler than she had been. The water was beyond freezing and it was turning his legs numb but (Y/n) was like a small heater bundled up in his coat and she looked like she was happily melting into him and the water.

"Much... don't leave yet, will you?"

"I'm not going anywhere, love."

(Y/n) smiled lazily to herself and closed her eyes again when she felt Morpheus' lips pressing against her hair. He started to speak, she wasn't sure what he was saying but his voice was so soothing and calm, she was sure he was telling her a story. He did that a lot when she couldn't sleep. His voice was the sound of dreams, he could speak a horror story and it would sound like a fantasy. His voice was calming and intoxicating and provoking and ruggid all at once.

It was one of the many reasons why (Y/n) loved him.