#thought of death taking up the once a century meetings with hob | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

five-and-dimes · 2 months

Text

Run Away (But We're Running in Circles)

After a million years I finally finished this one!

Dream doesn't believe he is truly loved- Hob and Death simply love everyone, it has nothing to do with him. Cue those closest to him doing whatever they can to prove that he is, in fact, very very loved

AO3

The past two months have been a whirlwind for Hob Gadling in the best way possible.

So many things he once thought impossible (or at the very least highly unlikely) had come to fruition. His stranger had returned to him, his stranger apologized, his stranger called him his friend. Those three things alone had made Hob's heart feel like a star, burning and bright and alive.

And then the ethereal man had sat across from him, a gentle smile on his face, weary but sincere, before he smoothed his expression into something unreadable.

"I believe introductions are in order," Hob almost squealed like a fan girl as the man hesitantly held out his hand, "Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares. I have other names as well should you find this one unsatisfactory."

It's so ridiculous Hob would laugh if not for the dead serious note in his stranger- his friend's- voice. The idea that Hob would find anything about this being 'unsatisfactory', that he would declare his name not good enough and ask for another. Absolutely ludicrous.

Also a little sad, but he pushes past that.

He clasps his hand, face about to split from smiling so wide, "Dream," it feels so good to say, "a name that suits you perfectly," he adds because it's true. Then he smirks, "I'm Hob Gadling. I'd offer you another name but you've never complained about this one."

A breath escapes the other man, as much of a laugh as Hob has ever heard from him and this is the best day in Hob's very long life.

"Tell me of your life, Hob Gadling, for it has been too long since last we met."

Yes, it has, and for a moment Hob's joy dims. Then why did you leave me? Where have you been? Why now? What changed? Why now? The questions bubble uncomfortably in his throat.

He swallows them back.

Eventually he will allow himself to ask for answers- demand them even, perhaps, he thinks he deserves it- but not today. Today he wants to bask in the warmth of reunion. In the gentle glow of his friend’s shy smile.

So all he says is an earnest, “Yes. I have missed you dearly, my friend.”

When their meeting comes to an end, the sky outside dark and the employees of the inn not so subtly putting chairs up around them, Dream asks if Hob would be amenable to meeting more frequently, wringing his hands in front of him and not meeting Hob’s eyes, as though expecting to be denied.

Ridiculous creature.

And so they continue meeting, and Hob… has mixed feelings. He is glad to know more of his friend, to finally be given the answers he has been gnashing his teeth for. But sometimes when Dream speaks it feels more like bloodletting than sharing- like he is offering himself on an altar, inviting Hob to drive a dagger through his heart, like he needs to make a sacrifice to this thing called friendship.

He feels it most when he learns why Dream missed their meeting.

Hob feels the blood leave his face as Dream speaks of being torn from his realm, bound by magic, stripped and degraded and imprisoned and hurt-

“Dream,” Hob interrupts, his voice choked, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Across the table, Dream doesn’t look at him, “You are my friend.”

“Yes,” Hob agrees immediately, “And I will still be your friend if you don’t want to talk about this.” He tries to catch Dream’s eye, “Being your friend doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”

“Being a bad friend means I owe you everything,” Dream counters, and Hob wants to cry.

Hob does cry, “Fuck, Dream…” He almost missed the prideful and aloof king of centuries past. As much as he enjoys the easy smiles and the taste of a name on his lips, he would give it all away if it meant saving Dream from this pain.

Dream flinches but does not pull away when Hob reaches out to take his hands, “I’m not keeping a scoreboard with our friendship. You don’t have to pay me back if you make a mistake. And you especially don’t have to hurt yourself for me. We’re friends. So I don’t want you to hurt.”

When Dream looks up at him, he looks so confused. Head tilted and brow furrowed as he tries to make sense of the idea that someone does not want him to pay for his sins in blood.

“I do. Want to tell you these things,” Dream explains haltingly, head ducking again as he continues softer, “But perhaps. No more today.”

“Of course, love.”

Dream observes him again, eyes searching his face as though looking at a pile of puzzle pieces. Hob doesn’t know what he finds, or what picture he makes with the pieces, but for now he nods, shoulders slumping as the subject changes.

It gets easier. Or, it seems to at least. Dream tells him about Jessamy’s death quickly and her life extensively. He talks about his realm, his function, his subjects. And, eventually, he talks about his family. Some he only gives the names of, and nothing else. Some he gives brief histories of, or descriptions. And one in particular Hob learns much about.

He learns the most on the day he is given the joy of experiencing Dream having just come from an afternoon spent with his elder sister.

“I do not know why she is so insistent on spending time with me these days,” Dream grumbles, and Hob has to hide a smile behind his drink, because despite being the entities of Dream and Death (which had been quite the shock to learn), right now he is sitting across from a little brother exasperated with his big sister. “We are so different. I find it hard to believe she enjoys my gloom compared to her exuberance. Perhaps she merely delights in tormenting me,” he laments.

Hob laughs, "I think it's cute," he grins, "she clearly loves you."

Dream hums, not unhappily, and moves in a way that is too elegant to be called a shrug, "In a sense."

The tone doesn't match the words, and Hob scrunches his face in confusion, "What do you mean?"

Tilting his head slightly, Dream answers casually, "Simply that she loves me in a way similar to how you do."

And that has Hob's eyebrows shooting up to his forehead because he really, really hopes Death doesn't love her brother the way Hob does. "I'm not following."

Dream hums again, a quiet moment as he chooses his words, "Death has a love for all of humanity," he states, "and all that existence has to offer. Put simply, she loves everyone. It is in her nature. You, too, have a wealth of affection for all that you meet and all that you experience. So it is not a matter of loving me , but rather, simply loving in such a way that happens to include me by default."

There is a stretch of silence as Hob turns those words over in his mind. He struggles to fully grasp them at first, the sentiment conflicting with the way Dream presented it as irrefutable fact, something obvious and common knowledge, something Hob couldn't possibly deny.

But, shaking his head frantically to clear his thoughts, Hob was absolutely going to deny it.

"No!" Dream started at the vehemence in Hob's voice, "That's not true at all!" His voice was firm, and almost angry, which in hindsight didn't help the situation.

"...Oh," Dream's voice was soft, and carefully neutral, "I understand," he conceded. His body was like marble, and Hob could see the way he was consciously trying to mask his sorrow and Hob wanted to punch himself in the face.

"Wait, no, not like that! I didn't mean it like that!"

He hated this. Hated all of it. Hated that his friend believed he wasn't loved on purpose. Hated how quickly he accepted the idea of not being loved at all.

Reaching across the table, Hob clasped his hands around Dream's, sure but gentle. Dream blinked in surprise, staring down at the point of contact, and Hob waited patiently until their eyes met again to start speaking.

"I love you," and this was the true irrefutable fact, the true obvious and common knowledge, the truth that Dream could not deny. "You, specifically. You on purpose. I love you because you're you, and I love you apart from everyone else. And your sister does too, I know it. You are very loved, my friend, and it is not an accident."

Their eyes search each other's. Dream finds conviction, finds honesty, finds something he is afraid to identify as love. Hob finds old aches, finds disbelief, finds something close to fear. Dream looks lost.

“You really did miss me. When I was gone.” Dream whispers with awe, and it hits Hob like a punch to the gut that Dream hadn’t believed him before, had obviously assumed that Hob was just being polite or reciting a social script without really meaning it.

“Yes,” he says, soft and firm, “I really did.”

A soft sound of sand shifts at their feet beneath the table and Hob knows that Dream desperately wants to run away. Instead, he closes his eyes and grips Hob's hands tighter. Hob is so very proud of him.

"I fear I have dominated the conversation this evening," his voice is raspy, forced out between clenched teeth, "tell me of your week, Hob Gadling."

It is a plea desperately masquerading as a demand. There is only so much Dream can take at once, and Hob understands, and Hob loves him, and so he smiles and returns Dream's grip.

"You will not believe what one of my students submitted as their thesis for the end of the semester-"

~~~~

Hob doesn’t actually know if summoning Death is a thing he can do. Dream had, finally, after 600 years, explained the parameters of Hob’s immortality. It was actually pretty much what Hob had assumed given the question posed to him at each of their meetings; He would live as long as he wanted to, and when he no longer wanted to, Death would guide him to the Sunless Lands.

Well, Hob very much did not want to go to the Sunless Lands, but he did want to speak to Death.

“I refuse to look up any sort of magic bullshit for this,” Hob starts, feeling supremely silly for talking to himself in his empty flat. But he didn’t exactly have any other ideas. “So I’m going to assume in your weird Endless-ness that you can somehow hear me. I’m not looking to die today, or ever really, but I’d appreciate it if I could talk to you, Death of the Endless.” He pauses, and then adds on, “It’s about your brother.”

Apparently those are the magic words, as a voice almost immediately speaks up from behind him.

“Oh lord, what has he done now?”

Hob nearly jumps out of his skin, twisting around in his seat on the couch to see a beautiful woman leaning against his kitchen counter. While her style of all black matches her brother’s, that is where the resemblance ends. Bright eyes and glowing dark skin, a warm smile on her face. He hadn’t fully grasped how unhealthy his friend tended to look until this moment.

Shaking off the initial shock, Hob smiles back, “So you’re the famous Death, eh? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only bad things I’m sure,” she teases.

“From humans, perhaps, but not from your brother.”

She smiles fondly, and Hob can tell immediately that she cares for Dream. He wonders what Dream sees when he looks at her.

“You said you wanted to talk about him?” Death asks, “Not that it’s not nice to finally meet you, but I can’t be pulled away from work for too long.”

Hob shudders instinctually at the mention of her ‘work’, but he shakes it off as he begins to explain, “Right. So, normally I wouldn’t tell you this behind Dream’s back, but I don’t think he’ll ever tell you himself and I think you should know so that you can… help, I guess.” Death frowns, and her face darkens as Hob quickly recounts the conversation he had with Dream, and his assumptions on the nature of her and Hob’s love for him.

By the end, she looks heartbroken, but when she speaks her voice is dripping with annoyance.

“My little brother truly is an idiot-”

“Don’t,” Hob cuts in. It’s probably not his brightest idea to interrupt death herself, but he knows in his gut that he can’t let her gain momentum on this, “I didn’t tell you so you could scold him, I told you so you could love him.”

“I already love him!” she snaps.

“Love him louder then!” Hob snaps back fearlessly, throwing his arms up. “Don’t be mad at him for hurting! For whatever reason, he doesn’t recognize that we love him, but the reason doesn’t matter , not right now at least. We need to stop the bleeding before we worry about what made the wound.”

There is a long pause, the two simply staring at each other. Death looks a bit shocked, eyes wide and jaw tense. Hob stares back determinedly. He may not have known Dream as long as his sister, but he is positive down to his bones that Dream won’t see the “love” part in “tough love”. He’ll probably just see the admonishment.

He wonders if that miscommunication hasn’t been a wedge between the two siblings for a long time.

Finally, Death seems to deflate, her shoulders slumping even as she quirks a smile, “My brother would appreciate the metaphor.”

Hob chuckled, “Heh, I’ve noticed. It’s helped, honestly, figuring out whatever metaphor works best for him at any given moment, y’know?”

“Yeah. I do.” Death sighs, and for a moment she looks so old . So ancient. And when she meets Hob’s gaze he thinks she looks uncertain. “I do love him. You know that, right?”

“I do,” Hob answers softly. “But I’m not the one you need to convince.”

~~~~

Hob speaks every love language, but if he’s honest, cooking will always be one of his favorites.

He thinks of being a young peasant and his parents pushing food from their own plates onto his and his siblings’ so that they would never feel the sharp pang of hunger, and of the few kind souls during the 1600s who offered food to him, the fellow homeless who nonetheless would split their meager findings with him. Sharing food has simply always evoked the warmth of love for him.

It was part of why the rejection had stung so badly in 1589. A table full of food meant to be shared, and he had been left sitting there alone. A table full of love with nowhere to go.

Now, though, he is more determined than ever. Now he knows Dream, in a way he hadn’t for so long, and he is desperate in his desire to make sure Dream feels the love he is offering.

And so he offers him food.

“Come on, just a bite!” Hob nudges the plate closer to Dream. They are sitting across from each other at the kitchen island in Hob’s flat. He had spent the better part of the day preparing the most decadent mac and cheese he could- creamy and buttery, layers of cheese and pasta folded together with autumn vegetables and a coating of perfectly toasted breadcrumbs on top. Each ingredient was added with Dream in mind, with the desire to warm him from the inside out, to give him something indulgent that might put some meat on his bones.

He’s so thin. Not fragile, exactly, Hob is certain that this mystical being is stronger than he looks, and yet… There is something to be said about how one envisions themselves in dreams. Regardless of his physical capabilities, Hob can’t help but ponder over Dream’s manifestation, and how frail and hurt it looks.

“It’s a pretty standard ritual of friendship to share a meal together,” he says pointedly, smiling when Dream huffs at him. It feels maybe a little underhanded, as he knows Dream is trying very hard to be a good friend, but he doesn’t feel too badly when he sees the soft smile on Dream’s face. For all that he had vehemently rejected their friendship at first (or perhaps because of that initial rejection) he seemed just as moved to be called friend by Hob as Hob was to be called friend by him.

“I suppose I am bound by ritual then.” There is a strange note in his voice that Hob can’t quite place, but he is still smiling, so he wonders if that is just what Dream sounds like when he tries to make a joke.

Either way, he finally reaches forward to pick up his fork, taking a delicate bite of the gooey mess Hob had served him.

“Well?” Hob asks, barely hidden eagerness in his voice.

Dream swallows, his posture becoming impossibly straighter as he looks at Hob fondly, “You are a fine cook, my friend.”

Hob can’t suppress a grin, leaning back casually in contrast to his friend’s sharp and stiff bearing, “I’m glad. It’s a useful skill when you have companions in need of spoiling.” To his delight, a soft, almost imperceptible blush blooms across Dream’s cheeks. If Hob wasn’t so practiced in observing him he might have missed it. He’s glad he didn’t.

The evening is a quiet one, sharing stories between bites, and Hob is happy. He wills the food to fill his friend. He sends a prayer that Dream’s body might become soft with his love.

~~~~

“Come on, I want to show you something!”

Dream is becoming more accustomed to his elder sister’s spontaneous visits. After her chastisement, the day she pushed him to reunite with Hob, he had expected to not see her again until it was obligated of her. For all her joy and bright smiles, he could not imagine she would actually enjoy his company. Perhaps because of her joy and smiles.

He did not expect her to willingly subject herself to him.

And yet, she had come to him. She had called to him through their galleries, inviting him into the humble space she called her home when she was not ushering souls to her realm, and inquired about his meeting with Hob Gadling. She had smiled, and squeezed his hand, and told him she was glad he had someone to call friend. He assumed she must be glad that there was someone else to deal with him, and this meeting was merely to ensure that there was someone else out there holding his leash.

Then she called him again.

And again.

It kept happening, and while a part of him felt guilty and selfish, he could not deny that he enjoyed his sister’s company. And so he allowed himself to set aside his quest to understand why she was doing it. His elder siblings have ever been a mystery to him, and whatever her reasoning, even if it was simply to keep him in line, he decided to allow himself this small joy in his sister’s presence.

Today, linking their arms together, Death practically skips as she pulls Dream from his realm. Despite himself, he can’t help but smile fondly at her enthusiasm, allowing her to guide him to the waking and into a large building. He can feel the shroud of Endlessness around them, and knows that they are walking unseen. It piques his curiosity. Death normally insisted on walking among mortals specifically to interact with them, even if only a little. The fact that she now hides them is unusual.

Glancing around, Dream finds that they are in a natural history museum, surrounded by various educational exhibits. There are murals of ancient, long gone animals and cases with their bones, plaques with information and names, interactive screens and displays. Eventually, they enter a room dedicated to plants and flora of the distant past. Death walks purposefully towards the back, glancing at Dream with an excited smile as she points to one of the displays.

“Look.”

On the pedestal in front of them is a small, square piece of amber, and within the amber there is a flower. It is small, five petals floating in the resin that Dream remembers holding in the palm of his hand so very long ago. Not as old as Dream, but older than humans, old enough that no creature on this plane dreams of it.

Dream used to keep them on the windowsill of his bedchambers.

“They were your favorite.”

Death’s voice breaks him from his revelry, and he realizes that he has been standing as still and frozen as the flower for several minutes.

Her words were not a question, but Dream nods anyway, “Yes.” The word cracks just slightly, and it takes effort, but he turns his gaze away from the flower to look at his sister, his brow furrowing in confusion, “You… remembered?”

“Of course,” Death speaks softly, as though to not break the fragile air around them, but still smiles warmly, “You gave me some, once, and I understood why you loved them. They were lovely.”

Nodding again, Dream swallows thickly, turning back to the fossil before continuing, “They faded from the Dreaming when the last creature to remember them passed to the Sunless Lands. They exist now only in the deepest pages of the Library.”

“And here,” Death corrects, tilting her head towards the exhibit, “They exist here, now, too. Humans found them. They’ll remember them,” she puts a hand on Dream’s shoulder, squeezing lightly and grinning a little wider, “Maybe someone will dream of them again!”

But not as they were , Dream thinks to himself. Any dreams of this small, fragile flower will not be the same as the ones Dream kept growing in his window, the ones he tucked behind his elder sister’s ear, the ones he held close to his chest when he was overwhelmed. They will never be the same again.

Reaching out, he lets his fingers brush against the fossil, the golden color hiding the true hues of the precious petals within, and it feels cool and cold like glass and suddenly Dream thinks he sees a hint of his reflection in the amber. Unneeded breath catches in his chest, and he wonders if this is how he would have been remembered if he had not escaped from Fawney Rig. Lost and forgotten and buried only to be dug up like this . Frozen and painted over with someone else’s color.

Assuming he was remembered at all.

His vision blurs, and his fingers tremble as he traces over the shape of the trapped flora, nothing but cold cold cold where once there had been soft and fragrant petals.

“Dream?”

Death moves to stand in front of him, pulling him away from the fossil and blocking his view. He blinks, and realizes that he is crying, but the tears are thick, and slow, and his vision has taken on a yellow hue. Raising a hand to his face, he catches a tear on his fingertips and stares down at it.

He is crying amber.

“Hey, it’s alright, little brother, you’re okay-” Death looks caught between panic and heartbreak, eyes wide and bracing her hands on Dream’s shoulders. It only makes him cry harder. Amber runs down his cheeks, dripping sluggishly from his chin into his cupped hands, sticking to his eyelashes, and he feels half-fossilized already.

Gentle hands run through his hair, guide him to kneel on the floor, and he feels the shift from Waking to Dreaming, his sister taking him home. He thinks it might not be so bad, to be petrified and buried here in the Dreaming. He thinks he might be worth more as an excavated relic than he ever was as a living being.

But. There is still a hand stroking his hair, another wiping the thick tears from his face, heedless of the mess. There is a voice beside his ear shushing him, “Oh, little brother, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He inhales, choking on the resin in his throat, closing his eyes as he lets the cool air of the Dreaming reach his lungs and slow his tears.

The resin is drying on his cheeks, and it is a struggle to open his eyes again, shards of amber encasing his eyelashes. He glances down at the pool cupped in his hands, and then sees the resin smeared over his sister’s fingers and nearly starts crying again.

“I. I apologize-”

Shushing him, Death reaches out to take his hands, tipping his palms until the amber pours out, dripping onto the stone floor of the throne room until she can curl their fingers together. Dream’s breath hitches, and he tries to pull away. He envisions the resin on their hands hardening, encasing their fingers together in amber, and how cruel it would be to subject his beloved sister to being stuck with him .

Death holds on tighter.

“It’s alright,” she leans forward, pressing their foreheads together, “take a second, Dream. Everything is alright.”

It’s really not. But reluctantly, Dream takes her advice. He breathes deeply, tries to loosen the hold his anguish has on him, dilutes it with the comfort his sister so readily offers until the resin begins to thin. Slowly, with each breath the amber turns to salt water. He still feels stiff. He still feels trapped. He thinks he simply moved the amber into his blood. Death is still holding him.

He inhales shakily, “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Death responds, soft and casual. They are still kneeling on the floor, and she leans back just a bit, still holding his hands but giving him a little more space, “I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“It was no fault of yours,” Dream interrupts, “I. Appreciate the gesture.” Looking up, he adds on, “I did not expect you to remember such an insignificant detail about me.”

“It’s not insignificant. It’s you. And you’re not insignificant.”

Those words are what finally make him pull away. His movements remind her of a mannequin, stiff and jerky, popping joints back into place after falling apart until he is once more solid and immovable. He folds his hands in his lap, and he does not look at her.

“I am aware of the importance of my function. I have not forgotten your words to me.”

Death consciously holds back a sigh of frustration. Settling back onto her heels, she takes a moment to look at her brother. She thinks of all the harm that happened in his absence, all the dreamers whose hands she took while her brother sat silent in a cage. She thinks of her words to him when they met again in the Waking after his escape. She thinks of Hob telling her that her brother didn’t feel loved, and how she had immediately put the blame on Dream. After all, how could he possibly think she does not love him for him ?

She thinks she’s starting to understand.

“I worry about you, Dream,” she whispers, reaching out to smooth back his wild hair, “I worry that one day…”

One day, Death will have to take the hands of all of her siblings. She knows that.

But she hopes that day is far away.

Dream looks up at her, head tilted like one of his ravens, “But I would still. Be there. Like the flower in the amber.”

“But not the same.” Death closes her eyes, the words soft with heartbroken realization, “Not you .”

Reaching up, Dream gently removes her hand from his hair, “Would that be so bad?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t hesitate, opening her eyes to look at him fiercely and gripping his hand. Dream sighed, but did not try to pull away. He still looks stiff and tense, and he swallows thickly, like there is still resin in his throat.

Death cannot help but laugh wetly. This day had not gone the way she had hoped. “Next time I want to make a point I’ll just get you something in your favorite color.”

“You do not know-”

“Green.”

Dream’s head snaps up, eyes wide in shock, and when Death smiles back, it is smug, but also fond, and sad, and- he thinks, maybe- loving, “I’ve walked through your gardens, Dream. I’ve sat in Fiddler’s Green. I’ve seen the landscapes you’ve created. And I noticed. Because I love you.”

When Dream looks at her, she can’t help but think that he does not believe her, not fully. But there is something in his eyes, a desperate longing. Like he wants to believe her. Like he wants it to be true.

Don’t go , Death doesn’t say, Don’t go. Stay. Stay so I can prove it to you. Stay long enough for me to convince you. Just give me some more time.

Desire used to love me, Dream doesn’t say, and then time passed.

“I love you as well, my sister.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, and only barely fights back tears, “I know.”

~~~

Something is not right with Hob’s plan.

It has become a regular occurrence for Dream and Hob to spend an afternoon or evening together several times a week, making it easy for Hob to guide them to a meal. Lunch at the university cafe between Hob’s lectures, dinner at a new restaurant, pots of stew that Hob had let simmer throughout the day, waiting for his friend to share a bowl with him. Each time Dream smiled and accepted his offers, diligently clearing his plates and complimenting Hob on his choices.

And Dream was getting thinner.

He didn’t notice the thinness at first. No, he noticed the layers first. Dream tended to bundle up, to keep himself covered regardless of the weather, and Hob understood. He himself sometimes caught himself pulling his coat around himself a little tighter when he remembered the details of Dream’s imprisonment. So Dream adding extra layers to his ensemble- sweaters and scarves and hoods on his coats- Hob assumed it was just a result of Dream still working through his trauma.

But as time passed, he noticed the way his friend’s already impossibly sharp cheekbones became impossibly sharper. The way the bones in his hands stood out in stark relief each time he reached for his fork.

Hob didn’t understand it.

Sitting in his flat now, not expecting company since he saw Dream in all his fragile, delicate beauty the night before, he wracks his brain to try to piece together what might be going on with his friend. He is deep in thought, hands steepled as he leans back on his couch, so he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of loud, frantic tapping on his window.

Glancing at the window, he blinks in surprise at the sight of a large crow or raven that he swears is glaring at him. For a long moment, he simply stares, contemplating whether this warrants a call to animal control or if he should just wait for the bird to leave. He is debating trying to shoo it away himself when it taps on the glass again, somehow even angrier.

“Hey!” An unmistakable American voice projects from the Raven’s beak, “Open up, asshat, I wanna talk to you!”

In the grand scheme of things, this is not the strangest thing to happen to Hob, and yet he still nearly falls off the couch as he flails in surprise.

“Excuse me?” He stands and cautiously approaches the window, “Who, or what, exactly are you?” He demands. Hob may not be the brightest bulb in the shed, but he knows better than to let strange, angry, talking ravens into his home without taking precautions.

The raven huffs, “The name’s Matthew, Hob Gadling ,” he spits his name out pointedly, “And I’m here on behalf of Lord Morpheus, so let me in so I can shake you down properly!” He flutters a bit, letting his talons scratch at the window threateningly.

Perhaps Hob should be even more wary, given that the Raven both knows who he is and is clearly already upset with him for some reason, but the mention of one of Dream’s titles has him throwing the window open.

“Wait, Dream sent you?”

The raven- Matthew, Hob reminds himself, shaking his head in bafflement- glides through the open window to land on Hob’s coffee table, turning back to glare at him again.

“He didn’t send me, I’m here on his behalf ,” he clarifies haughtily.

Tilting his head, Hob riffles through his memories, trying to recall every name Dream has mentioned in his stories of the goings on of his realm between their meeting. Now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure he remembers Dream mentioning a Matthew a few times, usually with fond exasperation.

“I think Dream’s mentioned you to me… you’re one of his subjects in the Dreaming, right?”

“I’m not just a subject ,” Matthew replies with great offense, “I’m his raven .” He puffs his chest out proudly, in a way that Hob thinks more than proves that he is someone who spends a lot of time with the Dream King.

“Right, he definitely failed to mention that detail,” Hob teases good-naturedly. There doesn’t seem to be any urgency here, so he allows himself to grin widely, “It’s nice to meet you! I haven’t gotten to meet any of Dream’s other friends.”

“Yeah, I noticed, and I find that highly suspicious,” Matthew declares, “What exactly do you have to hide, huh?”

“Uh, it’s not really hiding, I just… don’t know how to contact you?”

“A likely story.”

“I mean if you tell me how to call you I’d love to hang out more-”

“What’s your deal, huh?” Matthew interrupts, “What exactly are your intentions with Lord Morpheus?”

Hob is suddenly struck by the uncomfortable feeling that he is being given the shovel talk. By a bird. About a man he is, unfortunately, not even dating.

“No intentions, really,” he tugs his ear nervously, “I just. Enjoy spending time with him, is all.”

Matthew’s feathers ruffle in agitation, “Humans are conniving pieces of shit who can’t be trusted within a ten mile radius of any sort of power,” he declares, with the authority of someone familiar with being a ‘conniving piece of shit’ himself, “so excuse me if I’m suspicious that Average Joe over here is just ‘hanging out’ with one of the forces of the universe.”

“I don’t think I’m that average-”

“And another thing! Stop guilt tripping him into eating, you ass!”

Hob’s jaw drops at the accusation, “I- wha- he’s skin and bones!”

“Yeah, and you making him sick all the time isn’t exactly helping the situation, pal!”

“Wait, what?”

“Jeez, you’re slow on the uptake,” Matthew huffs in annoyance, “He’s not human, dude. So human food doesn’t work with him. It’s like… you know that scene in Twilight- the books, not the movies- where Edward eats a slice of pizza? And then in an interview Meyer said-”

“Okay, stop, stop stop stop,” Hob cuts off Matthew’s rambling, pinching the bridge of his nose, “But he takes a human form when he’s here though, right?”

“He looks like a human,” Matthew clarifies pointedly, “That doesn’t mean he functions the same as one. Just because you can fit bologna in a CD player doesn’t mean it’s going to work out for ya.”

A slow dawning sense of horror fills Hob, and it must show on his face because Matthew tilts his head to the side curiously, his tone gentling for the first time since his arrival, “You really didn’t know, huh.”

Hob shakes his head miserably, moving to sit heavily onto the couch, “No. Dream has tried to explain the whole ‘Endless’ thing to me, but it’s so complicated. And he never mentioned that he can’t eat, and he just looks so thin and I just wanted to help-”

“Okay, alright, it’s okay!” Matthew flaps his wings a few times desperately, “Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’m gonna cry, and I’m not ready to find out if dream-ravens can cry or not.”

“I can’t believe this whole time I’ve been making it worse.” He thinks again of 1589, of Dream barely glancing at the spread Hob had offered him. He’s always known Dream wasn’t human. He feels like an idiot.

“I feel like an idiot,” he admits out loud.

“I mean, you are,” Matthew replies, ignoring the halfhearted glare Hob gives him, “but you’re not a malicious idiot, which was really what I was more concerned about. In my head you were like, trying to weaken him before making your move or something.”

The very idea makes Hob sick, and he shakes his head vehemently, “Never. He’s my friend . I get that humans hurt him recently, but I don’t care about his power, I just care about him .”

“Hm. You definitely seem sincere. I suppose maybe I should have just tailed you for a bit before coming in guns blazing. But my job is to protect the boss and he’s been looking a little rough recently, so. Y’know.”

Sniffling, Hob glances up at the raven, watching as he shifts on his feet anxiously. Hob blinks in realization as he speaks, “You really care about him, huh?”

“I mean, yeah, obviously,” Matthew shrugs as much as he is able, his tone becoming more casual, “Honestly it’s kind of hard not to. I mean have you seen the guy? Like, he’s supposed to be this all-powerful force of the universe, but he feels more like a kitten you find hiding from the rain under your car, y’know?”

Hob barks out a laugh, “I don’t think he’d appreciate that comparison, but you’re absolutely not wrong.”

“It’s not like he didn’t care about me first!” Matthew states, almost defensively. He flutters over, settling on the couch cushion next to Hob and he gets the impression that they should be sharing a couple beers right now, gossiping about their mutual friend, “He tries soooo hard to be all cold and aloof, but he knew me for five seconds and tried to keep me from doing my literal job ‘cause he was worried I’d get hurt.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” Hob smirks, shaking his head fondly.

“I can’t believe I had to die to finally get a good boss,” Matthew huffs, “Honestly that’s the craziest part of my afterlife. Turned into a raven? I can shrug that off. I enjoy my job and love my boss? THAT’S the part I have trouble believing.”

Snapping his head over, Hob blinks for a long moment. Matthew’s feathers fluff up at his staring, “What? What did I do?”

Slowly, a grin spreads across Hob’s face, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“Want to help me with something?”

~~~

When Dream arrives for a visit two days later, Hob doesn’t even bother saying hello.

“Can I hug you?”

Dream blinks in surprise, tilting his head curiously as Hob stands patiently in front of him. When he finally nods, looking confused but not uncomfortable, Hob wastes no time wrapping his arms around his friend and pressing him close. He can feel the shape of his manifested skeleton through the layers of his coat.

“Dream,” he sighs sadly, one hand guiding Dream’s head against his shoulder, “I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Dream moves as if to pull away, but does not struggle when Hob tightens his grip, “You have done nothing to warrant an apology.”

“I’m sorry for pressuring you to eat.”

Now, Dream jerks back, and Hob lets him go, though he keeps his hands on Dream’s shoulders. He looks surprised now, and somewhat guilty, “What do you-”

“Matthew told me,” Hob explains, “Oh, yeah, I met Matthew by the way. Good guy. Or, raven, or whatever,” Dream scowls, and he quickly continues, “He was worried about you.”

“He need not have interfered,” Dream looks away, body stiff under Hob’s hands, “There was no need for his concern.”

Hob sighs, “Dream. You could have told me you can’t eat food in the Waking.”

There is a pause as Dream considers his words, gaze still steadfastly avoiding Hob’s. “You… enjoy food,” he states, “and cooking. And you. Said it was a ritual among friends.”

“I know,” Hob winces, “I understand how it might have sounded when I said that, but… Dream, we won’t stop being friends just because there are certain things we can’t do together.” Dream doesn’t answer, his body as stiff and cold as a statue.

“Dream,” he ducks his head to try to catch Dream’s eye, “I won’t love you less if you tell me no.”

And that has Dream’s head snapping up, eyes wide with surprise in a way that makes Hob’s heart crack.

“I mean it,” he insists, “I won’t be mad, or- or offended or anything if there’s certain things you can’t do. I’m sure there’s plenty I can’t do because of my humanity that you wouldn’t hold against me, yeah?”

Dream frowns, confusion on his face, “I would not ask you to take part in anything that went against your nature.”

Hob tilts his head back and sighs, his mouth curling in a fond smile, “You’re so close. You’re right there.”

There is a long pause as Dream seems to turn his words over in his head. “You. Also would not ask me to take part in something that went against my nature? Even if it is something you enjoy?”

“Exactly,” Hob grins, “I don’t enjoy it if it hurts you.”

“Despite how I have treated you in the past?”

Hob’s grin falls so fast it hits like whiplash, “Of course not!” He feels his chest tighten in horror, “Is that what you thought? That I would be okay with hurting you because we got in a fight once?”

Glancing away, Dream’s brow furrows in consideration, “It is not… I did not believe you were doing it on purpose,” he admits, which does lift a little of the weight from Hob’s heart, “I merely…” he looks up at Hob through his eyelashes, “I did not want you to think that I do not take our friendship seriously. I wanted. To prove myself. To prove that I am capable of being worthy of your companionship. I have declined your offer of friendship once already. To deny a ritual of friendship offered to me now would be unforgivable.”

“Only because there would be nothing to forgive,” Hob replies softly. Before Dream can say anything else, Hob pulls him back into his arms.

“I. Did not mean to upset you,” Dream says tensely.

“You didn’t.” Hob gives him one last firm squeeze before reluctantly releasing him, “Now, my friend,” he says it again in hopes of reassuring Dream, who still looks anxious and lost, “Matthew didn��t say anything about you having ill-effects from our movie nights, yeah?”

Dream hums, and the slightest bit of tension leaves his shoulders, “Indeed. I have been. Enjoying experiencing this new media with you,” his lips twitch towards a smile, “And you promised me an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet tonight.”

Hob groans dramatically, placing a hand on Dream’s back to guide him towards the couch, “The only reason I’m allowing it is because the setting is different enough for me to almost forget it was inspired by that twat Shaxberd.”

“Technically it was inspired by me.”

“Well then sit down and enjoy the fruits of your labor,” Hob laughs, getting West Side Story set up for them to enjoy. The curtains are drawn to cover the glass panes of the windows, there are blankets and pillows strewn across the couch, and there are no snacks or food on the coffee table in front of them. When he looks at him, Hob thinks Dream looks a little… softer. A little more comfortable.

A little more loved.

~~~~~~~

“What’s on the docket today, boss?”

Matthew lands carefully on the Dream King’s shoulder. He had spent what felt like several hours accompanying Mervyn throughout the castle grounds, pestering him with questions and prodding him for stories as he made minor adjustments to the landscape, and now he felt energetic and ready for a task. Sometimes Matthew felt like he was a better raven than a person. If nothing else he was happier as one.

Dream hums as he walks down a quiet path outside the castle, “I must check in on the dreams of light to see how my newest creations among them are settling. And ensure they do not require more added to their numbers.”

The ‘dreams of light’ were how Dream had explained a particular sect of dreams to Matthew. They were created for dreamers who felt as though they were in the deepest darkness, those who saw no hope for themselves. They were dreams meant to inspire and revitalize.

“So they’re like, the light at the end of the tunnel, yeah?” Matthew had responded when Dream had explained.

“Yes,” he had replied with a small smile, “That is not an inaccurate comparison.” Matthew had beamed with pride at understanding a little more of this new realm he called home.

Meeting the dreams of light had been enlightening- pun absolutely intended- in a lot of ways. Mostly, Matthew learned that Lord Morpheus was deeply uncomfortable with them.

He didn’t think it was a matter of him not liking them or anything. But there was something in the way he had walked and held himself when in their presence. It reminded Matthew of how he had felt the first time he had held one of his friends' new baby; utterly adoring, and absolutely certain he was about to break it.

“I can deal with ‘em, boss.”

Dream turns to glance at the raven shuffling on his shoulder, brow furrowed, “I have already stated that I would do so.”

“Yeah, but I know you don’t want to,” Matthew shrugs his wings nonchalantly, “Unless you have some other important raven errand for me, just let me handle them. I don’t mind.”

With a deepening frown- born of confusion rather than displeasure, Matthew notes- Dream raises his arm, and Matthew instinctually hops from his shoulder to his forearm, allowing them to look each other in the eye. “Wants have no authority within my duty. If a task must be done then I shall do it.”

“Uh huh, yeah, I get that,” Matthew nodded, “but does this particular task have to be done by you ?”

“...I. Suppose not.”

“Great! Then delegate! I mean, I’m offering. Those guys don’t bother me the way they do you, so it’s not an issue, really.”

“I have not expressed that they bother me.”

Matthew sighs, shifting from foot to foot a little nervously, “Listen, don’t file an HR complaint for me saying this, but I love you, and so you are not as subtle as you think you are when it comes to being uncomfortable. To me at least.”

There is a long moment of silence as they stare at each other, Dream blinking in surprise, and Matthew tilting his head back and forth out of some strange raven instinct to view his boss from different angles.

“...We do not have an HR department in the Dreaming.”

“I can’t tell if that’s you telling me you are upset or aren’t upset.”

To his shock and awe, Dream smiles. A small huff escapes his lips, the closest to a laugh Matthew has ever heard in his time as his raven. “I am not upset,” he states regally. “Since you are so insistent, I will allow you to run this errand on my behalf.” He makes it sound like he is the one doing Matthew a favor, which doesn’t actually surprise Matthew all that much. Honestly, he finds it kind of endearing.

“Will do, Lord Morpheus!”

He is still smiling as Matthew flies away. It’s not much.

But it’s a start.

~~~~

Matthew is in the middle of debating whether it would be in poor taste to ask to see Jessamy’s book when Lucienne steps into the library, sighing heavily.

“What’s up, boss lady?” Matthew flies over, landing to perch on the back of the chair next to the one Lucienne had fallen into heavily, “Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine, Matthew,” Lucienne smiles, and he can see she looks more “fondly exasperated” than “distraught”. “I simply just came from seeing Lord Morpheus. He is still on the shores of creation.”

It has been almost two weeks since Matthew had checked in on the dreams of light, and had made some rounds among some other groups of dreams and nightmares as well. His report for the Dream King had been similar for all of them: they were doing fine, there was no true trouble, but could still benefit from higher numbers due to the massive increase in dreamers over the past hundred years.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, Dream had taken that as a great personal failure and had immediately set to work creating rapidly and desperately. Last Matthew had checked on him, his fingers had been bleeding. He hadn’t even known that was a thing that could happen to him.

“Any luck?” Matthew asks.

Lucienne hums, and it’s so similar to how Dream does. It amuses Matthew how alike the two were, and he wonders who influenced the other more. “He is taking a brief break,” she very nearly rolls her eyes, “only to ensure that the quality of his work does not suffer from the quantity.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Sighing, Lucienne shakes her head fondly, “I love Lord Morpheus but he can be quite stubborn sometimes.”

Her words have Matthew perking up. To be honest he’s a little surprised he hadn’t thought of this sooner. “Actually, funny that you say that. Want to join a group project to help the boss out?”

~~~~

Lucienne is still pondering Matthew’s words (and there had been a lot of them) when she stumbles upon her lord in the Library. He is seated quietly at a small table tucked in the back, hands folded in front of him. There are no books on the table, and he seems lost in thought. Part of her wonders if she should leave him alone, but…

“Apparently he doesn’t think anyone like, actually loves him. Which honestly kind of explains why he always looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Shit, I’ve felt on the verge of tears since that Hob guy told me about it. Like, I just assumed he knew, y’know? How can he not know?”

“Good evening, Lord Morpheus,” Lucienne greeted with a smile, pulling him from his thoughts as he glanced up at her. Despite whatever he had been mulling over, he still smiles as he looks at her.

“Lucienne,” he dips his head in greeting, “I hope I am not intruding.”

It is his realm. It is him . And yet he still considers this space hers.

“Not in the slightest,” she assures him, “Was there anything I could assist you with? Or were you merely visiting?”

“Visiting,” he confirmed with a nod, “I just returned from the Waking,” he explained, “and I felt the need to. Collect myself, I suppose.”

Humming in consideration, a thought occurs to her, “I cannot help but notice you have been spending quite some time with a particular human in the Waking, my lord,” she teases, “Will we be welcoming a new consort soon?”

Lucienne’s voice is light and fond, a teasing smile on her face, and yet Morpheus’ face still drops. It reminds her of a flower wilting, and his eyes are just a little glassy before he turns his gaze to the floor.

“I apologize,” his words are tense, some mixture of frustration and sorrow.

“Whatever for?”

His eyes dart to glance at her skeptically, “I am aware, as I am sure you are as well, how troublesome my. Amorous pursuits are,” He straightens his back, steeling himself, “I shall restrain myself. You have my word.”

For a moment, Lucienne simply looks at him. He has changed so much, and yet is still so very much the same. In the past, he might not have apologized as he did now. But she recognizes the guilt and shame all the same.

Finally, she steps forward, sitting in the seat across from him, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief, “Surely you resent the burden that comes with my being in love. You have every right to be cross with me for succumbing to such feelings once again.”

“And yet I am not.”

Morpheus lifts his head, looking at her more directly, brow furrowed in confusion, and so she continues, “I have never been upset with you. You love deeply, and that is not a bad thing. I have only ever been saddened to see your heart broken.”

“My heartbreak has always been well deserved,” he insists. “ My pain is just. The injustice is the burden I throw on those around me.” He looks down again, fists clenching, “I bring storms with my sorrow, I lose focus on my duty, I become overwhelmed with both the love and the loss.”

Lucienne hummed, “Those things may be true. But they do not make me love you less.”

His head snaps up so fast she thinks she hears a crack. He is wide-eyed in his disbelief, and it makes her want to cry. Morpheus has been prideful, and stern, and reticent with his words. But it was impossible not to know when Morpheus loved you, whether he said it or not. Even when he lashed out and struggled to grant her more responsibility, Lucienne never doubted Dream’s love for her. It pains her to think that he has not felt the same surety with her love for him.

“You are my lord, and you are my friend,” she states, voice even as she recites simple facts, “and I love you. Not because you do not have flaws, but because there is so much about you to love, and your flaws simply cannot deter me.”

Dream continued to stare, blinking slowly, like trying to solve a puzzle in his head. Eventually, he swallowed thickly, turning his gaze down to his own hands as he admitted softly, “You know me so well. Better than most. I was certain that this knowing could only end in your disdain.”

“Perhaps I know you better than you do,” Lucienne responded, a hint of mischief in her voice that Dream could not help but quirk a smile at.

Tilting his head, he recalled fondly, “Do you remember, so long ago, when the stories of the world were scattered through the Dreaming? Every time a page drifted past us, even if we were giving a tour to an important guest, you would fly after it.”

Lucienne laughed at the memory. She remembers how her feathers fluffed with agitation each time, offended at the chaos of it. Every story, written and unwritten, left to float freely through the dreaming, unbound pages swirling in the wind and catching on branches and pillars. Lucienne could never resist the urge to collect them. “My beak would be so full of pages I could barely see where I was flying.”

“How far you have come,” Dream smiled proudly, glancing at the towering shelves of stories around them, “From your little hoard of collected stories in the corner of the palace. To this.”

“Because you allowed it,” Lucienne pointed out. She had been nervous, when Lord Morpheus first discovered the piles of pages she had brought inside and pushed into the neatest stacks a raven was capable of. It only occurred to her decades later that he must have known from the beginning what she was doing. It was only when she began struggling with the size of her hoard, when she was brought near tears at knocking over one of her precious stacks with a stray wing, that the Dream King ‘found’ it.

And he gave her shelves, and bindings, and hands.

He shook his head, “I believe you would have made it happen regardless. A beakful of pages at a time. I merely made it easier.”

“And do you think that makes it count less?” Dream looked at her, head tilted in confusion, and she could not help but shake her head fondly, “Oh, Lord Morpheus, you can try to downplay your love all you like, but those of us who love you back will always see it regardless.”

There is another pause, his brow furrowed as he seems to consider this. Consider the idea that there are those who see him. They see him because they love him, and the seeing only makes them love him more. She wonders how he will take it. She hopes he doesn’t run away.

He doesn’t. Instead, he dips his head and smiles, “I. Am glad. It would pain me. If you did not know my care for you.”

“I know, Lord Morpheus,” Lucienne reached out, laying a hand over his, “I know.”

Squeezing his fingers just once, she leans back, smirking deviously, “Now,” she adjusts her glasses, keeping her tone light and professional, “tell me more about this human who has caught your attention. I must make sure he is good enough for you, of course.”

When Morpheus laughs, he sounds young, and happy, and loved.

~~~

“My friend,” Hob begins cautiously, “is everything alright?”

Dream has always been quiet, but tonight he is distracted . He seems far away and lost in thought, a furrow in his brow that Hob wants to smooth over with his fingers. There is music playing softly in the background, one of their quiet evenings of sharing stories and Hob gently showing Dream little bits of what humanity had created in his absence. He does not seem upset, exactly, but Hob still worries.

“I. Am fine,” Dream responds stiffly, and Hob can’t help but snort.

“For someone who claims the title ‘Prince of Stories’ you are a terrible liar.”

Dream glares at him, but there is no heat behind it. In fact, Hob is almost certain he sees his mouth twitch as though holding back a smile. Softening, he allows himself to scoot a little closer on the couch, until their legs are just barely brushing. “I’m serious, though,” he repeats, “Are you okay?”

Sighing, Dream glances down at his hands in his lap, “I am fine,” he insists, “I simply…” he takes a long moment to consider his words. When he speaks again, it is in a rush, as though he must push the words out before he loses them, “Matthew and Lucienne claim that they love me.”

Hob blinks, “Oh.” He is both pleased to know that Dream is being told, and confused by Dream’s reaction. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

Looking up at him, Dream looks… ashamed, “They are my subjects,” he explains, “I have power over them. In such a situation, is it not immoral to ask them to love me?”

“ Did you ask?” Hob presses, already knowing the answer, “Or did they choose to love you on their own?”

Dream does not answer, and he does not look comforted either. “And Death,” he ignores Hob’s question, “she has said… but is it not obligation to love your family?”

“It can feel like it sometimes, sure,” Hob answers carefully, “but in reality, no. Family can be complicated, but at the end of the day, love is never an obligation. It is in fact very possible to not love your family. If she loves you it’s because she loves you.”

At first, he doesn’t understand it. Why Dream seems to grow more anxious and fearful with each word Hob speaks in comfort. Hob is trying to reassure him that he is loved and yet his eyes are wide, jaw tense and hands clenched into tight fists. He looks cornered.

He looks, Hob realizes, like Hob himself had as a starving man in the 1600s. Like a man who had been given the barest scraps to keep him alive and was now bracing to have it stolen away.

“And you?” Dream whispers, “You have claimed to love me…” he searches Hob’s face desperately, his voice choked when he finally brings himself to ask, “... Why ?”

“Because it’s true.” Hob reaches out recklessly, because it’s too important not to. He laces their fingers together and leans forward to keep their eyes locked even when Dream tries to look away, “Because I do love you. You, Dream of the Endless. I love your dedication to your work, I love the way you speak, I love explaining humanisms to you. I love how hard you try, how you don’t give up even when you’re convinced you've failed. I love how much you care.”

He could go on forever. Reckless, daring, desperate, Hob lifts his other hand to cradle Dream’s cheek, feeling the way he sucks in a breath at the contact, “I love the look in your eyes when you experience kindness,” he strokes a thumb gently against the skin under Dream’s eye, “and I love you so much that I also hate that look in your eye… as if you’ve never experienced kindness. As if you’re not used to it. As if you don’t know what to do with it. I love you so much, and I want you to be loved more . I want everyone to love you.”

Dream does not need to breathe, and yet his chest is nearly heaving with shaking breaths, each of Hob’s words hitting him like a blow. He has to swallow a few times before he can manage to speak again. “I do not want everyone to love me,” he confesses, “I just…” Hob has never heard him sound so uncertain. So small. Dream has to look away before he is able to continue, “I want the love I have to be true . I know I am too much,” his voice drips with shame, “I know I love too hard. But it is because I want so badly to be loved in return the way I love. I do not require quantity. I just… I want… I want the people I love to love me back.”

Timidly, he looks up at Hob once more, and his voice cracks as he asks, “Is that selfish?”

“No,” Hob answered immediately, “That is very, very human.”

“I am not-”

“You are humanity’s dreams,” Hob interrupts, “And I promise you, humanity dreams of being loved in return.” Leaning forward, he pulls Dream gently closer, until their noses are nearly touching and they are sharing breath, “And you are, you know,” he whispers between them like a secret, “You are loved in return.”

“You cannot know how others feel for me,” Dream argues weakly.

“Perhaps,” Hob cannot help but smirk, “I mean, I do, but I know you won’t accept that. So accept this: I know how I feel for you. And I love you. I’ll say it however many times you need. I love you-”

“Stop.”

Dream’s eyes are clenched shut, and Hob can see the moisture caught on his eyelashes. But he’s not pulling away, and when Hob pulls back, he drifts after him. “I’ll stop talking if you want me to,” Hob offers, “I’ll stop touching you, if it’s too much,” He starts to pull his hands away and the tears finally spill down Dream’s cheeks, “But I won’t stop loving you.”

The words are barely out his mouth when Dream crashes into him. He nearly falls backwards, only just managing to keep them both from toppling over, his hands bracing against Dream to steady them. There is salt on Dream’s lips, and they tremble against Hob’s, and he can taste the words on them as clearly as if Dream had spoken them out loud.

Stay, his kiss begs, Stay, stay, stay.

“I love you, too,” Dream whispers against his lips, his hands curled in Hob’s shirt as though expecting him to pull away.

But Hob only pushes closer, wrapping his arms around Dream’s fragile figure. “I know,” he replies, pressing kisses to his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, “I know. I know you love me. And I love you back. I promise.”

Holding Dream tight in his arms, Hob knows that he will probably have to convince Dream again tomorrow. He will probably have to convince him again and again and again, and he doesn’t care. He loves him enough to remind him.

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing

151 notes · View notes

why-what-no · 2 years

Text

Safe At Last

Part 2

Pairing: Morpheus x Fem!Reincarnated!Reader

Warnings: Death

Summary: Morpheus is stuck falling in love with different incarnations the same girl throughout the centuries, a girl who each time dies tragically. However, once he’s free from prison and has his powers back, he meets her again and might just be able to fix their story

Requested by: @writing-fanics

While Morpheus wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone, he had felt trapped even before he had been locked up by Roderick Burgess. He was trapped by fate. Trapped by the universe playing cruel tricks on him.

Throughout his time on this earth, there had been a women. There had been many, actually, but this one always reappeared. Always pulled in his attention and broke his heart.

He had met her centuries ago, falling fast and hard before she died long before she should have. And then he had met her half a century later, reincarnated as one of her ancestors. Completely the same except for her memories.

He had thought he had a chance. Thought they could have been together that time. But she died again.

And he met her again, and she died again.

And again.

And then he was imprisoned. Although he loathed every moment of it, he was at least safe from getting hurt from this woman. The woman who seemed to unknowingly been created just to torture him.

When he got out, he was too busy to think of her. Morpheus had his tools to find, and then he had his new path to figure out.

But as he walked away from his meeting with Hob, he realized that she was on the street across from him.

The reoccurring ache in his chest returned, memories of their times together clouding his mind. He had hoped his time away had been long enough to be freed from her but…

In his shock, (Y/N) stepped onto the crosswalk. She hadn’t noticed him, probably wouldn’t recognize him if she did. But he recognized her, recognized that she was in danger.

A car sped across the street, obviously too fast to stop. And he knew that her fate would be continued.

Unless…

***

(Y/N) froze like a deer in headlights at the sound of the car horn in front of her. Terror seized her, knowing she could die.

But a hand gripped her arm, pulling her away and against the hand’s owner. He was a tall man, dark and stunning. Staring at her with concern and relief.

He looked so familiar.

“Do I know you?” She asked, unable to take her eyes off him. “You look…”

“No, you don’t. Not like this.” She couldn’t understand his words, but somehow they made sense. There was something tickling her brain, something trying to make itself known

“I… what?”

“Are you alright?”

She nodded in reply, brushing off her clothes. “Yeah, thank you. I should really watch where I’m going.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Morpheus reassured her. “It was whoever was driving that car.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “How’d you even get there that fast anyhow?”

He looked at her, suddenly having an idea. “I can show you, if you’d like?” He held out his hand to her.

She wasn’t safe on Earth, he knew that. But if he could convince her to come back with his to the Dreaming. He could protect her there.

“What would that include?” She was cautious, he appreciated that.

“I want to show you somewhere safe.” (Y/N) wanted to ask more, wanted to question the man. But when looking at his offered hand, she felt a peculiar feeling of trust for this man. Of familiarity.

She took his hand, sand swirling around them.

***

Desire wasn’t in an entirely good mood. Their centuries long trick with the girl had just been ruined, knowing they couldn’t do anything when she was in Morpheus’s realm.

“What about when she leaves?” Despair had asked, sensing her twin’s irritation.

“No.” Desire shook their head. “It never took long for her to love him, not with how much he loves her. The only way to get her to leave him would be to kill her. And that’s not possible anymore.”

They knew that (Y/N) was defended now, the days of playing with her life and Morpheus’s feelings were over. She was his now, completely.

Well at least I still have Rose Walker, was the thought that reassured Desire.

Their troublemaking wasn’t over quite yet.

#the sandman x reader #the sandman #the sandman dream #morpheus x reader #morpheus #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #my fics

910 notes · View notes

rainbowmoonstonestories · 1 year

Text

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn't utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Warning: This chapter includes detailed smut. Please don't read if you happen to be underage, or simply find this type of content uncomfortable.

Chapter 6

Three months later, you could finally learn his name. A name you already knew.

“Hello.”

For a moment, you thought you were experiencing a false awakening, dreaming about something that wasn't really there. Either that, or you were suspended between the dream world and reality, facing a common case of hypnagogia.

You had been struggling with sleep your entire life, which led you to read a lot of books and articles about dreams and sleep phenomena. Given your current emotional state, you couldn't rule out any of those possibilities.

The man's outline was clear and you could see the contours of his face, but his features were hidden by the darkness. In an instant, you turned on the lamp on your bedside table and the room was illuminated with a soft yellow tone. When you looked up again, Dream was still there, meeting your gaze and barely reacting. As you moved the sheets out of the way and touched the floor with your feet, the fabric of your nightgown fell gently around your thighs.

You took a tentative step forward and asked, "Am I dreaming?" You were still unsure if he was physically there, or just a product of your vivid imagination.

Dream's answer came right away. "No, you are not.”

His voice was music to your ears. It was deep, warm, sensual and alluring.

You moved coser. “Are you real…?”

Once again, the Endless replied, "I am.”

Just like in your dream, you stopped a few inches away from his face. You were so mesmerized that you couldn't even blink, as if you were afraid he would disappear the moment you did.

But then, Dream's gaze shifted down to your upper arms. As he inspected your fading scars, he brought his hand up and close to your skin, brushing the tips of his fingers lightly against them.

You had to contain the shivers that ran along your spine the moment you felt the contact. Dream was staring at your marks in concern and you could see the tension forming in his neck again.

As if you wanted to ensure he was actually there, you raised your own shaking hand to his chest, the fabric of his coat was soft against your palm. Dream's fingers slid down to your waist, curling around the silky material of your nightgown, so intimately and yet so timidly.

You met his eyes with a mixture of tenderness and desire. You felt your heart skip a beat and your cheeks flush with warmth. You knew what was happening between you and Dream was absolutely real, taking place in the present moment. No fantasy, no illusion, just you and the man you yearned for.

Feeling Dream's touch on you made you euphoric. You had agonized over it for a very long time, always being blocked by a thick layer of glass that was no longer there. Now you were finally able to experience him in the flesh, to feel his breath on your face, to bask in the intensity of his gaze.

You looked at Dream fondly, smiling in delight and admiring his beauty up close. His eyes were a deep shade of blue, like the ocean on a clear day, and they seemed to hold a universe of secrets and wonders. His hair was still unruly, but his front bangs had been combed and moved more to the left side. A little strand was falling over his eyebrow, giving you the growing need of gently pushing it out of the way.

Dream didn't stop you, keeping his eyes on you as you lightly took the strand between your thumb and forefinger, moving it aside. And then, you traced your fingertips over his cheek and chin, enjoying the smoothness of his tepid skin.

It was as if you were discovering him for the first time, even though you had known him for just a short while. You realized how much there was to him, how much he had to offer and how much you wanted to learn about him.

You felt a surge of affection. You would do anything to make him happy, to support him and to be there for him whenever he needed you. If he ever needed you.

"You're free," you said, feeling a sense of relief and happiness. "So they let you go in the end?"

Dream hesitated before replying, "No."

"…No?"

"The binding circle has been broken," he explained, his voice tinged with sadness. "Paul has lended me his... assistance. But they did not set me free.”

“Oh,” you said softly. “You were your own savior.”

“I was,” he confirmed, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Are they…?”

“They are unscathed,” he assured. “But I could not allow my captor to be left unpunished.”

Dream used the word "captor" instead of its plural form. Given that Paul had apparently attempted to release him, it was logical to assume that Alex was the only victim involved.

Still, you needed to know more. “What did you do…?”

Dream looked down, almost in fear of your judgement. “Eternal sleep.”

You thought about Paul, so kind and good-hearted, getting worried sick about his husband's inability to wake up from his sleep. You knew It would be tough for him to see his partner in that state, unable to wake him up for many days to come.

However, you also couldn't forget about Alex's actions, following his father's lead and causing significant damage to the man in front of you. The way they always portrayed him as a dreadful monster who would slaughter them if he was released, made the final punishment seem not so harsh. Taking everything into account, he spared Paul, the guards, and anyone else in the house. The only person he had a grudge against was Alex Burgess, and he still left him physically unharmed despite what the man took away from him.

In the end, you couldn't consider it particularly unfair. Although you felt sorry for Paul, it was difficult to empathize with his husband considering what you had witnessed in Dream’s memories.

You sighed, nodding slightly, and offered him another sweet smile. Dream appeared astonished, seemingly expecting a different reaction from you. Were you supposed to be afraid of him?

If anything, you were not exempt from those mistakes. You accepted the money they offered you to watch him, speak to him and potentially coerce him. Although you made it clear that you wanted to be on his side, you still went along with the plan and put your own interests before his.

Hence, how could you be considered innocent?

Perhaps he came to you just for that reason, to conclude his business with you and finally move on.

You ran your hand along the edge of his collar, distractingly toying with its fabric. "Dream, I'm so sorry.”

You knew that wouldn't really give him back the time he had lost, but what else could you say to make amends now?

Dream, however, was far from being resentful towards you. He frowned in confusion, parting his lips and looking at you as if you had just said the most absurd thing in the world.

“Why are you apologizing?” He asked.

"Because I was there… and I took their money. I spent the past three months talking to you like I would with a guest in front of a cup of tea,” you chuckled. “I feel terrible just thinking about it. I ended up growing attached to you, to your company. I’ve been selfish, putting my needs before yours time and time again. I said I wanted to help you and yet… look at what I’ve done instead.”

Your heart was heavy, torn apart by years of sacrifices and misery.

“You should punish me too,” you concluded. “I deserve it.”

Dream's forehead almost touched yours as his lips formed a little smile. “Do you wish to be punished?”

"Do you not want to?”

"No, I do not want such thing," he replied.

"But why?"

"Over a century in that cage and none of my captors has shown me half of your kindness and compassion,” he said. “Fear not, I am not here to cause you harm.”

A part of you felt relieved, but you couldn't shake off the feeling of dissatisfaction.

“I’m not afraid, Dream. I never was.”

“I know.”

“I wish I could have helped you. I wish I could have freed you.”

“You have tried.”

“And I have failed.”

As you stood there, replaying the events of the past few days in your mind, you felt a deep sense of guilt and regret. The guards had pathetically dragged you away, just when you were so incredibly close to granting him his freedom. You left without even saying goodybe, accepting the sad reality of your inadequacy.

But despite everything, Dream wasn't thinking any less of you because of it. The intensity of his eyes took your breath away and the deepness of his voice had your knees shaking.

"You have put yourself at risk for my sake," he pointed out. "Your bravery knows no boundaries. Please, allow me to grant you a wish."

"A wish?"

"Yes. Anything you want, I can give it to you."

You exhaled, feeling all the tension that you had accumulated release from your body. "You don't have to do this for me, or anything really."

"Perhaps I don't, but it would please me to do so."

You considered it for a moment, lowering your eyes and following the contour of his neck, the collarbones that you could barely notice under his black shirt and his chest covered by the long, regal coat he was wearing.

What kind of wish did you want to see fullfilled? With all the pieces slowly going back to their original place, you couldn't really find an answer to that question.

Yet, there was still something missing from the big picture. Something that had been nagging at the back of your mind for a while now.

"I have only one request," you finally said, looking up at Dream with a determined expression. “Can you tell me your name?”

Once again, Dream was absolutely buffled. That was clearly not the kind of wish that he had in mind when he offered to grant one for you.

"I have many names," he replied.

You have met him before and he has many names.

"How do you want me to call you?"

He is a storm, an idea, the anthropomorphic embodiment of dreams and imagination. He is that which you do not know and he is that which you can not know. He is a mystery to some, a legend to others.

You looked at him expectantly, although a name seemed to hold no importance to him at all.

In the end, he gave you the answer you had been looking for. “I am Morpheus.”

Another rush of memories hit you, something you had once forgotten, but that came back to you in a wave the moment he introduced himself to you for the first time.

That name wasn’t new. In fact, you had heard it somewhere else before.

“You’re here now, are you not?”

Her voice was soothing, echoing in the vastness of the room.

“Define ‘here’.”

Her lips twisted into a half-smile. “The Dreaming. This is Lord Morpheus’s castle, or rather, what remains of it.”

She gestured to the ruined structure in front of you, the walls crumbled as you heard a distant crunching sound.

“The Dreaming… Lord Morpheus…”

The more you searched for any clue, any piece of information that could help you understand, the more questions you found instead. “I don’t understand… what happened to this place?”

The woman lowered her eyes with a deep sense of distress. She breathed in deeply, her chest rising and falling as she adjusted her glasses. “Lord Morpheus left many years ago. Without him, The Dreaming has started to decay and it continued deteriorating ever since. Even the Waking World is suffering from this change, in a way.”

And there was more.

“Have I ever been here?”

The man with the jacket took a step forward. “Not here with us, no. Things are a little… different than they used to be without Lord Morpheus.”

It all made sense now. Just as you suspected, after Dream was imprisoned, his realm was so greatly affected that many people fell ill with the Sleepy Sickness. Even future generations inherited a part of it, experiencing insomnia and a total lack of dreams. Since that world had become rotten, corrupted, and completely inaccessible to human beings, those strange encounters that you still couldn't properly remember in their entirety (or understand even) slipped away from your mind upon waking up.

Now that the puzzle was more or less complete, your smile intensified, and you pressed yourself closer to his body.

“Morpheus,” you repeated, enjoying the way it sounded on your tongue. “I like it, it suits you.”

You stayed there, staring at his perfect face, in the comforting silence of the night. You were inebriated by the smell of sand, the salty ocean, and a mixture of exotic fragrances that were unlike anything you had ever known.

Then he inquired, "Is that all you wish to receive from me, my name?"

You shrugged. "My father is doing better now, and you are standing right here in front of me, free from that cage and that awful place.” You paused, pushing your fingers further around his neck without even noticing. “What else is there for me to wish for? I have a roof over my head, people who care about me. I am alive, as perfectly imperfect as I am. I'm lucky to have what I have, and to be able to speak to you like this now."

He listened to you in silence, mesmerized once again by the honesty of your heart.

“I might be a simple one, but I don’t need that much to feel content."

Riches? Immortality? Those things meant nothing to you.

As you snuggled closer to him, you realized that life was too short to waste on trivial things. You wanted to cherish every moment with the people you cared about and create meaningful memories that would last a lifetime.

In that moment, you felt a deep sense of gratitude for everything that had led you to that point. The challenges you had faced, the people you had met, good or bad, and the experiences you had to face through hardships and tiring efforts. All that had shaped you into the woman you were today, with your mistakes and imperfections that you could only accept as human.

You felt his fingers drawing little patterns on your sides, curling around the silky material of your nightgown and forming yet another connection between your souls, now inevitably intertwined.

You got lost in his eyes again, sucked into the intricate waves that seemed to move within his irises. It was as if you were staring at a starry sky, or at the calmest sea. There was an entire universe enclosed within that work of art and your heart was beating ever faster now that you could feel his steady breath on your lips.

Those lips...

You looked down at his plump mouth with a growing desire, wishing to feel it pressed against yours in a heated kiss. You wanted to savor him, to let him devour you. You wished for him to touch you more, to feel those hands in other places that you couldn't even describe for how obscene it sounded just thinking about it.

Yes, that was your wish. A wish that you wanted to remain a secret, a wish you could not reveal to him because he wouldn’t grant it if you asked for it.

Or would he...?

Morpheus never looked away from you. He was reading you, studying you, acting stoic and distant, but you had the impression that he was trying not to bring you even closer than you already were.

A shockwave ran through your entire form when his right thumb and forefinger gently took your chin with a feather-like touch, not actually holding it, but lifting it up high enough for him to bring his lips exactly where you wanted them.

"Then I shall offer you a gift."

You could barely register his words before he pressed his lips onto yours in a tender, delicate kiss. The warmth enveloping your mouth was delicious, and the way his lips felt and moved against yours was absolutely perfect. It was a kiss that spoke a thousand words, that conveyed more emotion than any language ever could. It was a kiss that made you feel alive and cared for, that made you forget about all your worries and fears. It was a kiss that you would remember more than your first, a moment of pure bliss that you would hold dear for the rest of your life.

It was so chaste and tender that it melted your racing heart, leaving you almost unmoving, completely secure in his embrace. Time seemed to stand still, as if the universe itself was waiting to see what would happen next.

Your breaths mingled into one when he finally detached from you, leaving you wanting and empty, desiring more of his touch, of his lips, of his taste.

You craved all of him.

Gaining enough courage, you let all your inhibitions go and crashed your lips back against his before he could fully let you go. You moved them with more fervor, wrapping your arms around his neck as the firework in you exploded and vibrated through your veins.

At first, you thought that your forward action would cause him to slow you down or pull away. But when he responded to the kiss with equal passion and took a better hold of your waist, the explosive sensasion intensified and you couldn’t contain it. Your tongues met and collided, exploring each other again and again in the most sensual dance you had ever shared with a man.

You moaned into his mouth as your hands ran along his neckline, then lower and down to his chest without parting. He groaned slightly, but soon there was a rumble to it which caused the hair on your nape to stand on.

It was too much. The kiss was leaving you breathless and dizzy in a good way, it was toe-curling and mindblowing. Morpheus was like a powerful magnet, attracting you with a strength that could not be resisted. However, when the need to breathe became impossible for you to ignore, you reluctantly broke the kiss with a soft pop and looked up to inspect his half-lidded expression.

What you saw there had you paralyzed, excited and gasping for air. Morpheus’s hunger could be spotted in the glint of his eyes and the way his Adam's apple bobbed confirmed that he was keeping himself restrained, wanting you as much as you wanted him.

So you took a step back, reaching for the straps of your nightgown to push them off and let them fall from your shoulders while keeping the rest of the fabric firmly pressed against your chest. He was frozen in place, observing you in silence and waiting for your next move. The air around you was electric with anticipation and you could feel the heat of his gaze on you as you stood before him, slowly baring yourself.

Feeling confident, you let the night garment drop onto the floor completely, stepping out of it and allowing your breasts to be exposed in front of his eyes. Your body was only partially covered by the thin cotton layer of your underwear now, as the warm light of the lamp painted you with its warm glow. His heated gaze roamed your naked form, taking in every inch of your skin and following all your curves.

You were filled with a mixture of nervousness and heightened arousal for being practically nude and vulnerable, but the way he looked at you made you feel desirable and powerful.

Wrapping your arms around him once more, you brought your lips close to his chin, brushing them lightly on it and breathing heavily against him as if your life depended on it. His hands enclosed around your bare back, sliding up and coming in contact with the little scar that the piece of broken bottle had left on you. You jumped, feeling the sensitivity that had remained on the healed cut.

Morpheus paused to check more of it, drawing along the scar's shape with his fingertips. His hands felt cool on you, but his touch was incredibly gentle and careful.

You closed your eyes and let out a soft sigh. The fire between you was burning hotter, consuming you with an insatiable craving within. His hands were holding you like you would break if he applied more pressure, his lips descended to your cheekbone, tracing a path along your jaw and settling on your neck.

As you struggled to resist any longer, you grabbed the lapels of his coat and moved backward, taking him with you towards the bed. Morpheus silently complied, walking along as you continued to kiss him on the lips.

When the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, you positioned yourself and slid over the covers, letting him move down with you. The bed lowered under the weight of your bodies as he straddled you, looking into your eyes and running his right hand over your thigh.

Your breath became heavier, labored, you were panting from how much you needed to be with him. Morpheus brought his mouth to your ear, set a strand of hair aside and whispered deeply, "Breathe."

The way he spoke sent shivers down your spine, yet somehow he managed to instantly calm you down. You inhaled a few times to steady yourself and Morpheus kissed your forehead, descending on your lower lip and collarbones. His touch went up to your breasts where he enveloped your mounds in his palms. You jolted, arching your back for the instant stimulation of your nipples.

He wasn't teasing, going straight to what you needed without playing any games. You hummed in appreciation and ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching the back of his head with your nails. His lips traced wet kisses on your neck, slow and sensual. He released your breasts and his hands took hold of their sides, pushing them up as his thumbs made soft, electric circles on the tips, igniting a new flame into your core and making you gasp. You felt a wave of pleasure wash over you, his eyes never left yours, not even when he shifted down and moved his hands along your stomach and abdomen. His fingers drew closer to the hem of your underwear, tracing the lacy edge with curiosity and hesitation.

You bit your lip, opening your legs as an invitation and granting him more access with a certain impatience.

Morpheus's breathing became shorter as well. Although you were eager to see him undressed once again, you wanted to savor the moment and not rush anything now that it was finally happening outside of your daydreams.

You were feeling extremely aroused at the moment, but you still wanted him to take his time with you. You wanted him to worship you and bring you to the stars and beyond with his touch alone.

As he looked for confirmation, your reactions gave him the go-ahead. He hooked his fingers under your panties and started to pull them down. You lifted your hips to allow him to take off the last garment, and he dragged the article of clothing down your thighs, legs, and ankles. He swallowed again when your panties hit the floor, leaving you with nothing else on.

Morpheus took another good look at your naked form, his eyes dark with hunger as he stared at your flushed cheeks and swollen lips. His gaze descended to your round breasts and pert nipples, running down to the smooth skin of your stomach until he reached your hipbones. Now he had a proper, full view of the most intimate part of you, served in front of him on a silver platter.

Your clit was already throbbing and begging for attention, while your lower lips were glistening and desperately clenching around nothing. He wasted no time filling the space between your legs when you spread them wider. Every movement of his was sensual and sinuous, he knew exactly how to make you lose your mind and you wanted him to take full control on you.

He pressed his clothed body onto yours, his weight feeling deliciously heavy against you. He caressed your cheek with the back of his hand while fondling your breasts, you could feel his hardness through his pants, as the thick fabric rubbed your clit insistently.

Morpheus seemed to take your intensifying moans as a signal to escalate things further. He leaned in and explored your mouth the same way you did before, meeting your tongue halfway and caressing your appendage. You were so lost in the action that you were taken off guard when he circled your clit with his fingertips, moving them deliberately slowly to savor your growing pleasure and make you melt into a puddle of bliss.

You gasped into the kiss, your hips bucking up to meet his touch. He continued to trace little patterns around your sensitive nub, dipping inside your folds as you grabbed onto his locks again. You pulled him closer to you and shook uncontrollably, already feeling your first orgasm building inside just with the minimum pressure he was applying.

Morpheus immediatly sensed your growing need, stopping his motions at once. You let out a whimper of disappointment, taking either side of his face and biting his lower lip softly. He liked that; you could feel his erection jumping against your thigh and his eyes darkened even more with eagerness for you.

"Please," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He didn't reply, but upon hearing your plea, the King of Dreams rose from the mattress and knelt down onto the floor. His long coat pooled perfectly behind him like a regal cape.

He pulled your thighs forward, which were already unceremoniously open in front of him. He brought his lips close to your sex and flattened his tongue along your slit, giving it an amazing tentative lick.

The sensation of his tongue on you was like heaven and you couldn't help but fight with all your might to keep your eyes on his. You were tempted to throw your head back in pleasure, but you didn’t want to miss a single moment of what he was doing to you. The way he looked at you while lapping at your clit was making you burst, it was literally the sexiest view you had ever seen during an intercourse. No other man had touched you like you deserved the world. Nobody had ever made you burn with desire the way he did. You were always used to quick sexual encounters that always left you unsatisfied, but with Morpheus, everything was just on another level. He was treating your body with so much care and attention, willing to fully satisfy you before even considering his own needs.

Not a single article of clothing had been discarded except for yours. He was ignoring his physical discomfort in favor of your pleasure, going down on you and wrapping his mouth around your most sensitive area. You could see your clit following his tongue, jumping around as the pressure on it increased. It was like the most delicious treat to him.

He continued to relentlessly devour you and you felt yourself slipping further and further into a state of ecstasy. His tongue was a symphony, playing you like an instrument. He moved it up and down, from side to side, or in a circular motion, making you cry out in bliss. The way he alternated between slow kitten licks and hungry open-mouthed kisses was driving you crazy.

He knew exactly what you wanted whenever a thought took form in your mind. He was making your whole body sing, continuing to lick and suck at your clit, lifting its hood and relishing the sensitive tip. His fingers massaged your inner walls in a sensual come-hither motion, parting your hot walls and producing a sequence of wet, incredibly loud noises.

You dug your hands into his hair, holding it for dear life. Morpheus was calculated in his every movement and all he did was designed to make you feel the most earth-shattering feelings you had ever experienced. You were completely under his spell and you didn’t really want it any other way.

Unable to keep your eyes open, you finally let your head fall back as you arched, tightening your fingers around his strands and pulling slightly. You felt him touch that sweet, spongy spot deep inside your core, he probed at it just the right, perfect way and you knew that you were just done for.

"Morpheus... I..." you moaned, your words trailing off as you were consumed.

"Give it to me," he whispered, making your clit vibrate even more as he expertly flicked it fast until you thought you would explode.

And with that, you let go. Your body convulsed as waves of pleasure washed over you, and you cried out his name as you came right there and then. It was the most intense orgasm you had ever received, your hands tightened around the sheets so hard that you were sure you heard a tear somewhere. It last so long that you felt exhausted when it subsided, leaving you electrified as Morpheus kissed and licked at your sensitive flesh a little more to draw it all out of you. His hands were holding you impossibly close and you slowly came back down to earth.

Lying motionless on the mattress while panting and sweating, you couldn’t see his clothes dissolving into a cloud of sand like magic. As he held you firmly and enveloped you with his arms while climbing back on your shaking body, you suddenly felt his skin directly touching yours with no other barrier left.

When you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the familiar sight of his naked frame - pale and smooth like the most precious marble. He was still lean, but you noticed that he was in better shape and his muscles were a little more defined than before. If he was already the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in that bowl, now you almost wanted to cry at how stunning he looked.

You smiled, still a little short of breath, placing one of your warm palms on the side of his face and reaching out for his chest with the other.

"Nice trick," you said. "Very convenient."

His lips, shiny from your juices and his own saliva, formed one of those subtle smiles that you loved so much. He brought his still wet fingers up to his mouth, sticking them into it and sucking them clean in the most seductive way.

“Shit,” you cursed, feeling your blood boiling all over again as your arousal started to pick up. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Morpheus leaned down on you, initiating another soft and affectionate kiss that made you taste yourself in the mix. "I hope not," he said, his voice low and seductive. “It would greatly displease me.”

You moved your hands up and down his back and he positioned himself on you. The moment he put his knees on either side of your hips, you let your eyes travel down to scan his firm chest, his flat stomach and the inviting curves produced by his belly muscles. Whenever he shifted around or stood in the cage, you had always done your best to avoid looking below his waist. But now, with him so wonderfully pressed against you and ready to fully take you to new, agonized heights, you gave yourself permission to finally peek downward.

As you did, your breath got caught in your throat and you stared in awe at the sheer size of him. His erection was mouth-watering, standing hard and proud against his stomach with the reddened tip leaking tiny droplets onto your inner thigh. It was raging, bobbing and waving whenever he adjusted himself between your legs. You watched the vein running along his shaft pulsing in need, the thick underside creating a perfect symmetry along his length and the wet glans begging to be squeezed inside of you.

You moaned when he brushed the tip of his erection along your oversensitive clit, reacting to his stimulation just the way he expected. Your fingers dug into his skin and you spread your legs even wider, panting into his ear with the sweetest abandon. The damaged nerves in your wrist didn’t like the pressure, but you couldn’t be bothered anymore. You could feel the heat growing, the wetness spreading as you became more and more aroused despite your orgasm. Morpheus was equally craving you, continuing to tease you with his tip in a stable motion.

With a sudden surge of boldness, you reached down to stroke him, moving your hand up and down his length in a slow, steady rhythm. He exhaled in response, his hips jumping while your fingers massaged all the right places.

Part of you wanted to test his resistance and see how long he could last, making him burst into your hand, or release deep into your throat. But you had other plans for the night. Your inner walls were drenched and desperate to welcome him inside. You kissed him deeply on the lips, aligning yourself to his shaft and waiting for him to sink in. Your legs were starting to ache from the impossibly wide spread.

Your heart, still beating like a drum, sped up even more when you felt his warm tip passing through your entrance. Something had snapped for him too, because the moment you begged him to hurry up and put it into you, he replaced your hand with his and roughly pushed himself between your folds without any indecision.

It didn’t hurt, he slid in incredibly easily due to how lubricated you were. He almost immediately hit your soft spot with the first thrust, burying into your body without sparing an inch, deep into your core to the hilt.

Such a perfect fit.

You wrapped your legs around him tightly, pulling him even closer as you adjusted to his size. He began to move, making shallow thrusts at first as you both got used to the feeling of being joined so intimately together. Growing confident, his movements became more franctic and way harder, causing you to gasp and whine again. His lips were parted as he breathed heavily for exertion, keeping himself up with his elbows planted onto the mattress. Your foreheads were touching, sweetly and delicately bumping into one another with each strong push delivered by his pelvis.

Looking at him now, so beautiful, so strong and so astonishingly marvelous as a whole, you could feel your emotions growing and piling up. You couldn't stop the tears that formed at the corner of your eyes, dripped down along your cheekbones, your earlobes, wetting your hair as they fell.

The feelings you had developed for Dream of The Endless were out of this world, born in the most unconventional way. With him moving inside you, sliding back and forth while the sound of skin slapping on skin filled your entire room, you realized just how touch-starved you had been since your last breakup.

Morpheus slowed down, his lips leaving a trail of kisses on your face and neck until he reached the junction with your shoulder. He stayed there, pressing his lips to your skin and inhaling your scent. He roamed your body with his hands, caressing every part of you.

You could feel him quickening his pace and tightened your arms around his torso, your hand finding its way to his nape and playing with the short hair there. He continued to thrust into you with intensity, your body tensed up and your muscles coiled like a spring ready to burst.

The two of you were complicit, understanding what the other was feeling without a single word. Your emotional exhaustion was taking over, having been pent-up for so long. Yet, the joy and exhilaration of having him held tightly in your arms (and legs) after three months of one-sided conversations through the glass was almost blinding.

On the other hand, Morpheus had been carrying around a hundred years of suffocated anger, having lost everything and being trapped in a cage as if he was worth nothing. You let him release all that and more, allowing him to push hard into you and drown in his own gratification.

As he nuzzled his face into your neck, Morpheus secured your thighs higher around his hips, comforting you with his caring gestures. You did your best to match his motions, meeting his pelvis whenever he pushed himself down. With each thrust, your sensitive area was stimulated in a way that you had never known before. Your second orgasm began to take shape, burning inside of you like a bonfire.

Morpheus traced the curve of your shoulder, collarbone, and breast with his hands, sliding over your nipple and moving downward. As his fingers reached your clit, he began massaging it in sync with his movements. The pleasure was so intense that you snapped like an elastic cord, and a new wave of ecstasy swept over you, forcing your eyes shut as you reached your high. Your inner walls convulsed around him, squeezing his length until you were completely spent and satisfied.

He continued to slide into you at a faster pace, panting and groaning in your ear. You felt his climax approaching, and his thrusts became irregular, building up to the peak of his pleasure. You were right there to indulge him.

Morpheus abruptly stopped and raised himself from the mattress, seemingly intending to take his length out of you. However, before he could do so, you grabbed his upper arms and shook your head. In a breathless voice, you pleaded, "Please don’t... I'm protected."

The Endless scrutinized your eyes for any hint of doubt or fear. Seeing the trust and need in your determined expression, he decided to remain buried deep inside you. He returned to the bed, continuing his activity and muffling his impending moans with a kiss. When the greatest pleasure finally took him, Morpheus tumbled over the edge without getting away, keeping his mouth on yours and breathing heavily as his hips jerked violently and repeatedly. You felt the heat of his essence coating your walls, reaching deep parts of you that you thought were once unreachable.

You were still stroking Morpheus's hair, absently running your nails along the back of his head. Despite the physical activity, he didn't show a single droplet of sweat, making you feel gross in comparison. Nevertheless, he appeared eager to remain connected to you even after his climax. He kept his forehead on yours, rubbing your noses together and losing himself in the moment.

Regaining your breath and energy, you listened to the soft sound of your breathing and the occasional contented sigh. Morpheus didn't budge, keeping his softening length inside you and silently enjoying the way you cuddled him. He was reluctant to let you go and you seemed to be opposed to the idea as well, so you laid there in each other's embrace, enjoying the warmth and closeness of your intertwined bodies.

Time felt meaningless in his arms. You kissed his shoulder a few times before turning your head and meeting his temple. You shifted your hands down to feel his shoulder blades and run your fingers along his spine, reaching his back dimples to tease the skin of his buttocks. Moving your hands up again, you drew the shape of his biceps, feeling him react to your administrations with a soft hum.

Morpheus didn’t say anything, allowing you to discover his body all over again, taking in every curve and ridge to feel the smoothness of his skin and the contours of his muscles.

And then, your actions produced quite a pleasant consequence that you hadn't considered; his shaft was hardening again between your folds, awakening from its short rest with a happy twitch. You couldn't help but smirk at the way he immediatly recovered with your effusions, feeling a sense of satisfaction and power wash over you.

You moved your hips, adjusting your legs and feeling the way his length grew thicker inside you without even getting out. After experiencing the two best orgasms of your entire life, you expected to be completely satisfied and way too tired to even attempt anything else. But somehow, you still wanted more of him and what he had to give.

Morpheus looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and amusement. "You are insatiable," he said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You laughed, feeling a sense of confidence and playfulness spreading through you. "And you love it.”

"I do," he said, his voice low and husky.

He pulled out, leaving just the tip inside. Then he slipped back into you with a powerful thrust, causing your overstimulated nerves to shake like a large-scale earthquake. The way he glanced down at you again ignited all of your senses and he set a challenging pace that was difficult to follow with your aching limbs. The mesmerizing friction between your bodies became stronger as he gave you open-mouthed kisses, panting and growing against your lips. You could feel his need for you, his hunger developing with every passing second.

The sound of your wet walls around his shaft was absolutely obscene, but the established intimacy between you set your heart on fire. His girth continued to bump against your cervix, sending shocks directly to your swollen and tired clit. It was lightly brushing against his lower body, barely enough to give it the pressure it required, but still good enough to make it tremble and bring you closer to your final release.

Morpheus didn't pause, even when he readjusted himself and lifted up from the bed. He observed the blissful expression on your face, your breasts bouncing from the force of the collision.

“You feel so good,” you admitted, wanting him to know how much he was affecting you.

Hearing that, he let his hands roam up to your chest, enveloping your flesh with passion and lust. "You are exquisite," he replied, kissing your chin and applying more force to his thrusts.

You were losing yourself, melting into a pool of pure ecstasy. His wet tongue trailed down to your collarbones, teasingly brushing against your skin and finally reaching one of your nipples. It timidly licked around the tip, making it harden and tingle before closing his mouth on it. He bagan to suckle lightly, sending waves of ecstasy throughout your entire form.

As he left your nipple behind and raised into a sitting position, you both stared at each other more intimately than ever before. His eyes stayed locked on yours while pushing continuously into you, taking your wrists in his hands and attempting to pull them over your head.

The moment he did, a sharp pain jolted through your arm and you hissed in discomfort. Morpheus stopped immediately, looking at you apologetically and halting all his motions at once.

"I'm sorry... it's not fully healed yet," you explained.

Although he loosened his grip around your injured wrist, he didn't let it go. Instead, he decided to inspect it carefully, running his thumb over the sensitive area without applying any pressure. Your heart fluttered when he brought it to his lips, kissing it tenderly and closing his eyes in the process. It was such a sweet gesture that another rush of tears threatened to form and you gazed at him with an ever-growing love.

When he looked back at you, your smile widened, then you forced yourself up to meet his lips with a powerful kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. Morpheus readjusted you both, keeping you pressed to his body and resuming the lovemaking session. He supported you with one arm around your lower back, while keeping himself steady with the other hand sunk into the sheets. You moved in perfect synchrony, lost in each other's arms.

The burning sensation in the pit of your abdomen was returning and your walls were already squeezing him to welcome more of his essence inside. It didn't take long for you to reach completion with a much lighter sensation than before, but still an explosion bordering on the ecstatic that gave a delicious wave of warmth, peace, and relaxation. It started from within and terminated on your clit, which kept pulsating despite the minimum contact.

Morpheus groaned into your neck, unable to hold back any longer. With a few final thrusts, the repeated clenching around his length intensified the tension. He filled you up with his hotness as you both collapsed onto the mattress, panting heavily in satisfaction.

Short of breath, you placed your palm flat against his chest. You felt his heart beating rapidly as he recovered, guiding his right hand to the top of your breast. You held it there, both of you panting from exhaustion. He listened to the beating of your hearts, mingling in a beautiful melody that interrupted the silence surrounding you. You intertwined your fingers with his, sighing deeply and stretching your jelly-like legs.

You imprinted the magic of that moment into your memory, savoring it like the most beautiful dream that had ever come true. Morpheus sealed the enchantment with another kiss before pulling out of you and sitting on the bed with one leg bent in front of him, while the other hung on the edge of the mattress. You rose from the sheets too, positioning yourself next to his body and drawing irregular patterns on his fingertips with your nails.

The sparkles were fading and the knowledge of what was about to happen twisted your insides. Morpheus couldn't stay with you forever; he had an important duty to fulfill, one that you couldn't yet fully comprehend. The thought of him leaving you behind was atrocious, making you wonder if your first encounter would also be the last.

You took a deep breath, moving closer to him and speaking in a soft voice. “Will I see you again?”

He considered the answer to give you, shifting his gaze and responding to your touch. "I will always be beside you, in your dreams."

The realization hit you like a cold shower, and you couldn't hide the sorrow that seeped into your soul. "Only in my dreams?" You asked Morpheus. "I know I'm just a human, and I don't have any right to ask for special treatment from you. But I would love to see you again in this world too, so I can show you its good side and a little more of myself as well. Just as much as I want to learn about you and what you do."

His eyes seemed to water, and his fingers closed tightly around yours. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing it gently on the knuckles like a prince charming with Cinderella.

"If that is your wish, then I can grant it.”

You shook your head. "Thanks, but... what is it that you wish?”

“Why do you ask?”

"I'm happy to know you want to satisfy my desires, but I'd hate to force you into meeting me again when, in actuality, you do not wish for that to happen.”

"You believe I do not want to see you?”

"Do you?"

You and Morpheus just had the most incredible sex of your entire life. It was hard for you to believe that he didn't feel at least a quarter of what you felt for him after what he gave you that night. Still, the truth was that you didn't know him well enough to determine if what he truly wanted matched with your needs at all, especially considering you were sitting in front of a literal God and you held no comparison.

However, what he told you next put your heart immediately at rest. "It would please me to meet you again. In my realm, and in the Waking World.”

You bit your lower lip, trying to contain the joy that was leaking through your pores. “Really? You promise?”

“Yes.”

Despite the intimacy you had just shared with him, you were still amazed by how caring and considerate Morpheus was towards you, a mere human. He always seemed to measure his words whenever he spoke, but you could tell he had nothing more to prove to you.

"My apologies," he whispered, moving a strand of hair behind your ear and admiring it as it slipped through his fingers. "I must return to the Dreaming.”

You smiled. "Of course, don't let me keep you from your work.”

He kissed your forehead, guiding you down until the back of your head hit the softness of your pillow. Suddenly, you felt incredibly sleepy and struggled to keep your eyes open as the bedsheets enveloped your naked body.

You didn't even notice that he was fully dressed again. It was as if his clothes had materialized back the same way they previously dissolved into thin air.

“Sleep, Y/N,” Morpheus said, his honey-like voice soothing.

Hearing him say your name for the first time was definitely intoxicating and you especially liked how it sounded coming from his lips.

As you drifted off, you could see him stepping back and taking a leather pouch from his coat. He loosened its strings and poured a bunch of sand into his hand, which cascaded down into an infinite stream.

A gust of wind blew on your face as the grains formed a swirl. It swallowed up his entire form, making him disappear as if he was never there.

All that remained were some of those golden grains floating in your room like magic dust. You could swear they fell over you, getting absorbed by your closing eyelids.

The next morning, your body was aching all over. As you stood in the shower, you replayed the previous night in your head, still feeling the touch of Morpheus's hands and lips lingering on your skin, along with the warmth of his body inside you.

Morpheus was a passionate lover, and without a doubt the best you had ever had the luck to welcome in your bed. His standards were so high that you feared no one else would be able to match them, but to be honest, you didn't really want to be with anyone else now that you had a taste of what you could experience.

You barely knew the man, or rather, the Endless being, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't imagine your life without him in it anymore.

You didn't even know what to expect from there, but it was clear from what he told you that your night together was only just the start of something greater. You were absolutely beaming because of that, unable to even remember the last time you felt so whole and full of energy (despite the fatigue in your legs).

It was a bright day outside and the sky was clearer than ever before. As you walked down the street, you felt like you were floating above the clouds. Passersby kept turning to watch you in awe - men, women, even kids found your smile particularly interesting and contagious.

It was as if your entire reality had been turned upside down. All those hard times were now just a distant memory and you didn't want to think about possible pitfalls that might be lurking around the corner. No, things were different now - you were different. Morpheus had saved you in more ways than one, you couldn't even begin to describe how much you owed him, or how much you loved him.

You sat down on an empty bench in the Richmond Green park, sipping your warm coffee and breathing in the amazing air that smelled like moss and resin. Despite missing the city during your stay at the Burgess mansion, you still loved to immerse yourself in nature. It made you feel one with the earth - grounded and invigorated.

As you finished your drink, you noticed something black approaching you from the corner of your eye. A raven was standing very close to your feet, seemingly intent on watching you while also remaining vigilant of its surroundings.

Birds of prey are incredibly intelligent. You always appreciated their presence as they enriched the urban wildlife. You were also quite surprised by the knowledge you had obtained, effortlessly differentiating ravens from crows. You used to mix them up due to their similar structure and feathers, but now it was just so easy.

The memories that Morpheus had shared with you apparently enhanced your bird watching skills.

You smiled, staring at the raven with curiosity. It didn't seem to want to move, fixated on you for reasons you couldn't really explain.

"I'm sorry, little friend. I don’t have any food to offer you," you said. "It's quite beautiful out here, is it not?"

For a moment, you thought the raven was turning its head to you and nodding, as if it could fully understand your words. "Please, feel free to stay for as long as you like. I enjoy the company.”

And that is exactly what the creature did. You remained on that bench for the next hour and a half, occasionally checking your phone and closing your eyes to relax. The raven seemed comfortable there with you, moving its black and shiny eyes around, checking for every movement and inspecting each person that passed in front of you. You felt as if you had your personal bodyguard, protecting you from any ill-intentioned individual that might decide to walk a little too close.

You mentally laughed.

When the clock hit noon, you stood up from the bench and secured your bag over your shoulder. The raven looked up at you from its position, so you knelt on your feet to be at eye level with it and tilted your head to one side. Crows and ravens were known to be wary of humans, often approaching them cautiously and stepping back if they felt their personal space was being invaded. But this raven seemed different. Perhaps it was accustomed to your kind?

"Thank you for staying, little one. Unfortunately, I need to go now.”

It pained you to leave it there. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing that you couldn't take it home with you like a stray dog or cat. You wondered if it had a family or if it was just a loner like yourself.

When you walked off, the raven followed you for part of the way to the main road, but the moment you turned to check if it was still behind you, you could no longer see it.

You smiled to yourself, resuming your stroll and venturing to the heart of London.

You didn't know why it stuck so heavily with you, but you kept thinking about the raven all day.

You knew those birds were portrayed differently in various books and symbolisms, so you wondered if it had any meaning related to your case. It was weird, but somehow your gut was telling you that it signified something specific.

Sure, you were used to pigeons and crows whenever you went to the park, or even simply crossed the streets. But a raven was something more rare, and it coincidentally represented a certain connection with Morpheus. His raven was dead, that much was clear, but you weren't thinking about her ghost visiting you or anything to that extent.

Ravens were often associated with loss and ill omen, but in stories, they also acted as psychopomps, connecting the material world with the world of spirits. The only world you felt connected to was The Dreaming, a land you had never known before, but that you managed to find on your own before Morpheus could return to it.

Anyone would think you were getting a few screws loose, stressing that hard over a random encounter with a bird and seeing it like a huge occurrence that most likely held no importance. But if there was something you had learned about your instinct, it was that it rarely got anything wrong.

You refused to see it as a bad premonition, as you felt nothing but positivity from it. For the rest of the day, you glanced out the window a few times to look at the sidewalk in front of your building, in the hope to see Dream coming back for you.

You told yourself that it was just too odd of a coincidence, but there was no sight of Morpheus anywhere. You decided to put all those thoughts aside eventually, distracting yourself with your portfolio instead of racking your brains over an enigma you couldn't resolve..

That late afternoon, you felt particularly inspired. You couldn't stop your hand once the first line was traced on paper and you let your imagination run free and wild. You filled the pages with your visions and photographic memories, immersing yourself into your element and feeling like everything was going to be okay.

Interestingly enough, the one time you tried to show your work to a potential employer, you were arrogantly rejected with a destructive comment about your lack of talent and poor execution of your creations. The fashion industry can be particularly competitive, you never expected it to be easy. But the way your hard work had been demolished by a man who couldn't even properly match his clothes and shoes wiped away the little confidence you had in yourself.

One failure was all it took for you to take a step back and reconsider your aspirations, which coincidentally overlapped with your father's first diagnosis.

Looking back at it now, that rejection was actually a blessing in disguise. It wasn't the right time for you to work in a similar business. You needed to grow and shape yourself into the new person you had just become.

Now you wouldn't let any other daltonic, pompous and self-centered tyrant to annihilate you.

You put down your pencil and stretched your arms, being careful not to strain your wrist even more now that it was finally starting to heal. The sky looked like a canvas that God had painted with those mesmerizing sunset colors you loved so much, so you brewed yourself a cup of tea and settled into the comfortable Bohemian chair on your balcony. You were lulled by the sounds of the city, gazing at the beautiful hues above you.

You missed those simple moments a lot when you were away from home. In high school, your friends used to tell you how boring it was for you to spend so much time with your nose buried in a book all weekend instead of having fun with them at the nearby club. They claimed you had an enviable attention to detail, always recommending the best makeup and clothing combinations for their nights out. It was hard for them to believe that you didn't want to apply that same caring attitude to yourself, especially when it was aimed at having fun and potentially catching the attention of the most popular guy in your class, if not the entire school.

You had always been out of the ordinary, never interesting enough to be asked out until college, and according to the idiots you had tried to date, too down-to-earth to engage in makeout sessions.

You could probably count just two potentially serious relationships that you invested in, before they brutally ended because of a cheating man or the tremendous incompatibility between you and your partner.

And then, Morpheus came into your life, so suddenly, so strangely, so mysteriously. The feelings you had for him were only intensified now that you made love, establishing an indestructible bond that you wanted to pursue. Being clingy wasn't particularly in your nature and the last thing you wanted was to scare him off with an obsessive behavior. For that reason you wanted to gave him a choice, one that he decided to take on his own accord.

You let out a contented sigh and took a sip of your tea, which was now becoming cold from all your brooding. The sun was like a fireball, slowly descending behind the buildings in front of your apartment.

That is when you heard it, the distinct fluttering of wings followed by the sound of something touching the railing. When you looked up, you noticed the same raven you met in the morning, perched on the metallic edge and nonchalantly looking at you like it was the most normal thing you could expect. You blinked a couple of times, looked away, and brought your eyes back to it to ensure you weren't imagining it. The bird was clealry as real as the mug you were holding between your hands.

You looked at it in surprise and chuckled at the sight. "Hey there. Are you stalking me, little one?”

The raven let out a soft caw and puffed up its feathers in response. Did you accidentally offend it?

"Aw, don't be mad. I'm just kidding," you said with a smile. "I wasn’t expecting you to find me, is all," you added, curious about the raven's sudden reappearance.

"I'm not used to all this attention, you know? If you keep this up, I might want to adopt you," you joked, drinking more of your tea.

What followed was peculiar, something you would only expect from a movie or fairy tale.

“Yeah… that’s probably not a good idea.”

The liquid went down the wrong way, making you choke. You started to cough violently, holding your painful chest and quickly placing the partially empty mug on the small straw table next to you.

“Ouch. Sorry, my fault.”

At first, you thought that your mind was playing tricks on you. It took you a moment to recover from the shock of hearing that voice, which was definitely coming out of the raven. It sounded like it belonged to a mature man, but you were clearly looking at a bird that was totally speaking your language.

You struggled to breathe, feeling an awful scratchy sensation in your throat and your face heating up.

“Uhh… you okay?”

There was no room for mistake; the raven was talking. It jumped off the railing in concern and hopped towards you on the balcony floor to inspect you more closely. Yes, they were known as talking birds in all descriptions, but to you, that sounded like a perfectly normal, mundane, human way of expressing.

When the suffocating feeling subsided, the little guy flew to the table. You immediatly turned and adjusted your position, realizing how lively, and indeed human, his eyes looked up close.

Things were becoming more and more interesting, right when you thought you had seen it all.

And you were utterly ecstatic.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 7 ->

Read on AO3!

#the sandman #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #story: let your dreams be your wings #chapter 6 #smut

126 notes · View notes

unpredictable-probabilities · 6 months

Text

Tomorrows Over Centuries || Chapter 2: Stars Present

Summary:

Hob takes Morpheus on a little food trip after their meeting at The New Inn. Along the way, he learns more about what his friend likes, and discovers what he definitely likes about his friend.

He can't help but daydream especially when standing so close to Morpheus, but everything should be fine as long as he kept such thoughts to himself. It's not like Morpheus can read his mind.

Word Count: 6,078

Chapters: 2/3

— —

“Waiting for someone, sir?” Luke smiled as he set down a glass of orange juice on the table.

Hob looked up at him distractedly. Luke was one of the newer staff at The New Inn, and he had no idea just how many times Hob had sat at that table to keep his eye on the front door. Hob never intended to be obvious about it, but the older staff members had definitely noticed and had been known to give him vague words of encouragement on occasion.

“Yeah, just a friend,” Hob smiled. He could call him that now, and he was sure that said friend would actually show up today.

“Can I get you anything else, then? Something for your friend?” Luke asked politely.

Hob thought about it. In all the time he’d known Morpheus, they’ve always had alcohol or tea. He wanted to find out what else his friend would like. Besides, they could always order something else if Morpheus didn’t like whatever he picked.

“A cup of hot chocolate, please,” Hob answered. “But bring it over once he’s already here. Not sure what time he’d arrive, and we don’t want it getting cold.”

“Noted, sir,” Luke nodded and walked away.

When Hob looked at the door again, Morpheus was already walking towards him.

“Morpheus.” Hob grinned as his friend sat down across from him. “Glad you could come.”

“I said I would,” Morpheus smiled.

And how wonderful was that? Now they could spontaneously say they want to hang out the next day and it would happen. It was something that Hob never even dared to hope for back then.

Luke came back and brought a saucer and cup of hot chocolate in front of Morpheus. “Good morning, sir.”

Hob nodded a thanks before Luke walked away.

“New item,” Hob explained as Morpheus eyed the drink. “I thought to add some when this place was first built.”

Morpheus looked at him curiously. “You own this establishment?”

Hob grinned. “Yeah. I found out that they were closing down ‘The White Horse’, so I decided to buy the deed to it and rebuild it here, with a new name and menu.”

“Why go through such trouble?” Morpheus furrowed his eyebrows.

“Had to find a way to still keep seeing you, didn’t I?” Sometimes Hob forgot that Morpheus really didn’t know how much their meetings meant to him.

A smile pulled at the corners of Morpheus’ lips. “And I am grateful that you did.”

Hob relished in the warmth that that smile gave him. “Why were you at The White Horse back in 1389? What business would a dream deity have in a pub in the middle of nowhere?”

“None. But my sister had always been insistent that I mingle with humans. On that day, she all but dragged me into that tavern, and we overheard you talking to your friends about immortality. She was the one who gave you that gift.”

Hob furrowed his eyebrows. Now that was entirely new information; he had always assumed that it was Morpheus who gave it to him. Not that it changed anything, really. It had never mattered much to him why he had been granted immortality. He cared more for the fact that it allowed him to meet with this enigma of a being every hundred years.

“Your sister? Why does she have that kind of power? What’s she a deity of?” Hob tried to recall his vague knowledge of different pantheons.

Morpheus took a moment before answering. “I have told you that I have many names. One of them is ‘Dream’, as I am responsible for ensuring that humans dream safely. My sister’s name is Death; she is the one who granted you immortality.”

Hob’s eyebrows lifted as his mind reeled with so many questions, but he did his best to stay on track with their conversation. “Okay, okay, the actual deity of death gave me immortality. Alright. Uh, why choose me, out of everyone in that pub? And why was it you who told me about the gift and not her?”

“Would you have preferred it if it had been her instead?”

It sounded like a serious question, but Hob knew Morpheus well enough to catch the glimpse of mischief in his eye. “Shut up, you know I don’t.”

Morpheus smiled at that. “I had told her that I didn’t understand why any human would crave an eternity of this life, and her solution was to grant your wish of immortality so I could find out the answer for myself. I volunteered to be the one to speak with you about it.”

Hob took a moment to process all of that. He supposed that that was simply how powerful immortal siblings helped each other understand things, through displays of power that fundamentally changed certain elements of the world.

“Do you? Understand now, I mean, why a human would choose immortality.” Hob had always been curious about the answer.

Morpheus slightly tilted his head in thought. “Not entirely. From what I’ve seen, you wanted to keep living because of you, and how you experience the world. If it were any other human, I do not know if they would have kept choosing to live after each century. Therefore, I am just as interested in you now as in your experiences. Perhaps even more so.”

Hob wasn’t sure if he just imagined the softness at that last remark, but he momentarily dropped his gaze to his drink and took a second to compose himself. Morpheus looking at him with those piercing blue eyes while saying those words did things to him, and if Hob wasn’t careful he might end up doing things to Morpheus himself.

“Have you actually been mingling with other humans, then, like what your sister said?” He asked curiously. “Or do you just go outside your realm every hundred years whenever we have to meet?”

“I do visit the Waking world more frequently now than seven centuries ago, though perhaps not quite as much as my sister would want me to.” Morpheus picked up his cup and took a sip of the hot chocolate. “It’s sweeter than I had expected. I like it,” he clarified to answer Hob’s questioning look.

Hob grinned. “I’m glad you do. And I know you don’t need to, but do you ever eat or drink anything just because you want to?”

“I do so during our meetings.”

“Yeah, barely,” Hob said, remembering how Morpheus often refused food and never finished his drinks even halfway. “What do you say to walking around and trying different foods, then? It’s part of the human experience that you’ve been so curious about.”

Morpheus blinked, considering it. Before yesterday, they had never met outside of the pub, and a part of Hob was wondering if Morpheus would like to keep it that way. But then again, they had never so much as shook hands before, and Morpheus initiated a hug last night. Something that Hob knew he’d never be able to forget.

“Alright,” Morpheus replied. “As long as you are not late for your work.”

Hob’s eyebrows raised in surprise. That’s what he had been considering?

Hob smiled. “Nah, don’t worry, there’s plenty of time. And the university’s not far, anyway. Let me just finish my drink and we can go.”

He drank the rest of his orange juice, and was glad to see that Morpheus was finishing his drink, too. His eyes lingered on the bobbing of Morpheus’ throat as he drank, and the pink tongue that darted out when he licked the remaining chocolate on his lips. For a second, Hob questioned the sanity of his plan to take his friend on a food trip.

“Shall we?”

“Hm?” Hob blinked distractedly. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They first went to a pizza store that Hob sometimes bought lunch from. Because of their plan to keep moving, they opted for the seats outside. Hob got them each a slice with both meat and vegetable toppings, and two glasses of lemon iced tea because the weather was a bit warm.

“Is this cheese in the crust?” Morpheus had turned his pizza around to inspect the end of it.

“Ah, yeah. Sometimes people don’t like to eat the crust, so some pizzas are stuffed with cheese or meat to encourage people to eat the whole thing,” Hob explained.

“Hm. Curious that humans would need extra encouragement in order to not waste a bit of food.” Morpheus took a bite of his pizza.

Hob chuckled. “That’s not the most ‘curious’ thing about humans by far. Oh! How do you feel about spicy food? There’s some hot sauce here if you like. It looks like a new brand that I haven’t tried before, though, so I can’t say how spicy it would be,” he gestured to the small bottle on the table.

Morpheus picked it up and drizzled hot sauce on his pizza, far more than what Hob would have put on his own.

“Careful, those things can be really hot,” he warned.

“It will not harm me,” Morpheus said as he put the bottle back down. “Besides, this trip is about maximizing the experience, yes?” He smiled and took a bite, chewing slowly with a thoughtful look on his face. “I see the appeal. Though I enjoy the added flavor more than the spice. Perhaps next time I would not put so much.”

Hob felt a fluttering in his stomach at the “next time”. He smiled and put some hot sauce on his own pizza and took another bite–

Then he dissolved into a coughing fit as heat spread through his mouth and throat.

“Are you alright?” Morpheus asked in concern, his eyes slightly wider.

Hob nodded as he reached for his drink and downed it all in three gulps.

He glared at Morpheus, though there wasn’t any malice to it. “That barely affected you!” he accused. “And you put much more on your pizza than I did!”

Morpheus looked like he was trying hard not to laugh, the corners of his mouth lifting. “It would appear that we have different tolerance levels for such things.” He slid his glass of iced tea over to Hob with an amused smile.

Hob scowled at him and pushed the glass back. “No, that’s yours. You haven’t even tried it yet.” He reached instead for the pitcher of water and poured himself a glass, grateful that the water was cold as he drank it.

They finished their pizza and drinks, and Hob had the idea to go to a yogurt shop next. Partly because Morpheus said he liked sweet things, and partly because his mouth was still burning from the hot sauce.

“I thought I would prefer hot tea, but I admit that iced tea has its charms especially on a warm day,” Morpheus mused as they walked down the pavement.

“If the weather gets too warm, you can take off your coat,” Hob reminded him. “Stash it somewhere in the Dreaming so you won’t have to carry it around.”

Morpheus looked down at his black coat as if only just realizing that he was wearing it. “Quite right. Though I would not mind carrying it around.”

They reached the yogurt shop and took their seats at the barstools lined up along the white countertop.

“Have you ever had yogurt before?” Hob asked curiously. “Or ice cream? Gelato?”

Morpheus shook his head. “I have never seen the need to try them. Though I have an idea of what they are like from several dreams I have seen.”

Hob ordered strawberry yogurt for himself and blueberry for Morpheus, in case his friend didn’t like blueberry and wanted to switch.

Morpheus took off his coat and hung it on the back of his chair just as their orders arrived, and Hob was momentarily distracted by the pale skin of his friend’s arms, especially since he’d never seen Morpheus in short sleeves before.

He decided to focus on the task at hand and turned to Morpheus. “Try it, and if it’s not to your taste we can switch. Though I don’t know if you’d like strawberry either.”

Morpheus took the small spoon and scooped some yogurt in it, eyeing the gradient of white and blue curiously. He raised it to his lips and took a tentative taste, eating just half of it and staining his lips with the yogurt. Then he ate the rest of it on the spoon, pulling the plastic utensil out of his mouth with a little sucking sound that was barely audible but made goosebumps prickle on Hob’s skin. He licked the remaining yogurt on his lips, and for a moment Hob was gripped with the imagery of himself licking Morpheus’ lips clean instead.

“Your food is melting.”

Hob blinked and realized that Morpheus was looking at him. He glanced down at the spoon in his hand, stopped halfway between the cup and his mouth, dripping yogurt.

He hastily put the spoon back in his cup. “It does that. Yogurt melts pretty fast in this weather.”

For the rest of their time there, Hob purposely avoided looking at Morpheus or the way he ate. He was happy to treat his friend to these different foods but Christ. Maybe it was a good thing that Morpheus didn’t eat much during their previous meetings.

Hob didn’t have any other destination in mind, so they decided to just walk the rest of the way to the university while they talked about their work; Hob told Morpheus how his students enjoyed learning about ancient artifacts and language systems, and Morpheus talked about the meticulous process of creating nightmares to ensure that the dreamers would remain safe even as they faced them.

The weather gradually became more cloudy and Morpheus put his coat back on as they reached the more commercialized part of the city. Some beeping noises caught Hob’s attention, and he saw that ahead of them there was an arcade with one of those crane games outside. A group of little kids had just finished playing with it.

Hob smiled as an idea came to him. “Hey, have you ever played with a claw machine?”

Morpheus tilted his head curiously. “What?”

“Come on,” Hob grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards the arcade.

The machine had stuffed toys inside as prizes: blue crescent moons, yellow stars with smiley faces, and black and white kittens barely bigger than Hob’s hand.

“You pick what toy you want, and you use this joystick to maneuver the claw around, then you press this button so it can pick up that toy. Or attempt to, anyway,” Hob explained.

He got some loose change from his pocket and put a coin in the slot to start the game. He aimed for one of the moons since it was angled favorably and he hoped that the crescent shape would make it easier for the claw to pick up. Unsurprisingly, the toy was just nudged aside and fell to its side.

“Harder than it looks,” Hob shrugged. “And I’d never been a kid in this century so I have no idea how to win this thing either. Wanna try?”

Morpheus frowned. “I do not understand. Would it not be more efficient to simply buy a toy than to spend an indefinite amount of money on this machine that might not even give you the prize?”

Hob smiled in good-natured amusement. “It’s not really about the prize, it’s more about the winning. Buying a toy wouldn’t feel the same as winning it, no matter what it is.” He held up a coin to Morpheus. “Your turn.”

Morpheus took it and dropped it in the slot.

People usually played these things while slouched and squinting at the prizes inside–that’s certainly what Hob just did–but Morpheus remained in perfect posture. There was the slightest frown on his forehead as he concentrated on the claw, his gaze quiet in its intensity and his chin ever so slightly lifted. Hob imagined that must be how he looked during diplomatic negotiations with other realms.

The claw grabbed one of the stars, and Morpheus’ eyes narrowed, as if daring the star to fall down.

And it did.

It slipped free as the claw was lifting it up, and the machine made the noise to indicate that the game was done, the words INSERT COIN and TRY AGAIN running across the screen on top.

Morpheus huffed indignantly. “The game is not fair. The claw had clearly picked up that yellow star.”

“That's how it usually is, from what I've seen.”

Hob was about to suggest that they continue walking, but Morpheus was still glaring at the machine like it personally offended him.

Hob fought back a smile and held up another coin. “Wanna go again?”

Morpheus wordlessly took the coin without taking his eyes off the machine. He aimed for a crescent moon this time, and the claw didn't even lift it at all.

Hob reached for a coin again but Morpheus summoned one out of thin air and restarted the game. Hob wondered briefly whether the coin would remain here or disappear later like those medical supplies yesterday.

This time Morpheus leaned in close, peering in through the glass as he maneuvered the controls. The claw lifted a star, but dropped it as soon as Morpheus moved the claw sideways.

“I still do not see the appeal.”

Morpheus was pouting and Hob didn’t bother to hide his smile this time. He had half-expected his friend to just magically pull a prize from the machine, but he was determined to experience it like how a human would. Hob loved that about him.

Despite what he said, Morpheus kept summoning coins and playing the game. Then Hob noticed that instead of aiming to drop the toys in the box in order to win, Morpheus was dropping as many toys as he could in one corner.

“What are you doing?” Hob furrowed his eyebrows at the growing pile of moons and stars and kittens.

“Strategizing.”

Intriguing, but it didn’t really answer his question. The pile grew some more, and Hob watched as Morpheus maneuvered the claw towards the pile and dropped it on top. It grabbed a kitten and two stars, and it slowly lifted up without dropping any of them.

Morpheus carefully moved the claw towards the box; the kitten and a star fell down, leaving one star for him to potentially win. Hob sensed Morpheus tense up as the claw kept moving, and Hob found himself holding his breath.

The claw stopped above the box and dropped their prize inside it.

Bells and lights came on from the machine and the word WINNER! appeared on top in multicolored lights.

Morpheus smirked at the machine, his eyes bright with victory.

Getting to see that, even though he barely did any of the work, Hob felt like he won, too.

His friend bent down to lift up the flap from the box on their side and took the toy.

“For you.” He held out his hand to Hob, the star resting on his palm.

“What?” Hob’s eyes widened in surprise, making no move to take it. “But that’s yours, you won that.”

“Yes. For you.” Morpheus was still holding out the prize to him.

“But… why?” Hob looked at the star and at his friend. “Is it because I bought you pizza and yogurt? I wanted to do those. You don’t have to give me anything in return.”

“I know. I want to. For you, Hob Gadling, I will obtain any star.” Those blue eyes were fixed on Hob, as if Morpheus meant what he said despite his playful smile.

Hob swallowed, unable to look away. God, how we would love to wake up to that face every morning. Opening his eyes and seeing Morpheus’ beautiful face next to him. Snuggle against Morpheus’ neck and stay in bed for a few more hours just enjoying each other’s warmth. For that, Hob would give up all the stars.

Stars. Morpheus’ eyes were suddenly filled with them. The previously blue eyes were now entirely black, save for pinpricks of bright light shining and moving around.

Hob was entranced; the entire city could have blown up at that moment and he wouldn’t have noticed. He felt like he was staring into the heart of a galaxy, and it was staring back at him.

“Your eyes...” he breathed.

Morpheus blinked rapidly a few times, and his blue eyes were back, looking surprised. “I apologize. I seem to have lost control of my human form for a moment.”

“W-What?” Hob slowly returned to his senses, like waking up from a dream. “Wait, you mean that’s what your eyes really look like? They’re beautiful.” He could hear the raw wonder in his voice and he didn’t care, Morpheus deserved to know.

A smile slowly appeared on his friend’s face. “I am… happy. That you feel that way.”

Oh, Hob’s feeling all sorts of things. He’s feeling like he wants to push Morpheus against the claw machine and kiss him senseless. He wants to taste the blueberry yogurt on Morpheus’ tongue. He wants Morpheus to teleport them back to his flat again so he could see what else Morpheus could make him feel.

Morpheus turned to look back out into the street, his posture perfect again. “Is the university still far from here?”

“Hm? Nah, it’s just a few more minutes’ walk. Why, you wanna do anything else? We can try the other games inside.”

Morpheus shook his head. “You still have classes, yes? I do not want to take up your work hours.”

Hob checked his watch. Morpheus was right, if they didn’t start walking to the university now, he might be late to his first class. He thought about suggesting that they just teleport over there so they could have more time with each other, but he didn’t want to seem like he sees his friend like a taxi service.

They came across an ice cream cart on their walk, and Hob instinctively wanted to buy one for Morpheus, but he suddenly had an image in his head of his friend eating out of an ice cream cone and decided against it. Maybe next time when he didn’t have to remain sane for his classes.

Hob greeted the guard at the university and said that Morpheus was his guest. The guard handed them a visitor’s ID that Hob clipped to Morpheus’ coat, and they made the walk to the upper floors.

“How long have you been working here?” Morpheus asked as they stepped through the doorway to Hob’s office.

“About five years now, only got my own office two years ago, though.” Hob closed the door behind them.

Morpheus approached Hob’s desk. On one side was a stack of notebooks for keeping records of things—Hob also had those records in his laptop but there’s a certain comfort to him in writing them down—and on the other was a small horse statue and a pencil holder with various writing utensils and a mail opener. The middle of the desk is clear for use.

“Does this serve a purpose?” Morpheus was about to reach for the statue but he pulled back his hand and looked at Hob. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” Hob nodded. “It doesn’t really do anything, it’s just, you know, a white horse.”

Morpheus looked at him again, the statue in his hands. “The name of the tavern.”

Hob chuckled and hoped that the warmth on his face wasn’t too noticeable. “Yeah. I had a bigger version of it back in 1589. Had to sell it for food several years later. Then some time in 1990 I found that in an antique shop and bought it.”

Morpheus furrowed his eyebrows and put the statue back on the desk. “Why in 1589?”

“Well…” Hob scratched the back of his neck, walking to stand beside Morpheus in front of his desk. “That was the year you walked out on me to talk to Shaxberd.” He tried not to say the name like it was a curse, he really did, but he still cringed internally when he heard his own voice. “Dunno if you remember.”

Morpheus took a step towards him, his eyebrows still furrowed. “I remember. I did not think you would mind.”

“Of course I did,” Hob said sincerely. “It was our one dayin a hundred years where we got to see each other and talk. It was our day. So after watching you walk away with that lad, I told my attendants to have a ridiculously big white horse statue made and brought to my manor.” It felt a bit surreal, recalling how he had attendants and a manor. He was a very different person back then. “I just wanted some sort of claim to you, I suppose, a reminder that The White Horse tavern meant more to us than what Shaxberd would ever understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Morpheus said softly. “It was not my intention to make you feel such things.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hob smiled and shook his head dismissively. “It was a long time ago, and you were well within your rights to spend the night with whoever you wanted. Especially since I was sort of a pretentious prick back then.” He almost cringed again at remembering the way he spoke and treated other people, especially the tavern staff. “I hope you, uh, had a great night with Shaxberd. Shakespeare. Whoever.”

Morpheus looked at Hob curiously. “Are you thinking that I had bedded Will Shaxberd?”

Hob felt himself flush. “No— I mean— Yes I was thinking that but— It’s really none of my business.”

“I do not engage in casual dalliances.” Morpheus subtly scrunched up his nose for a brief moment. “We merely spoke. I said I would help inspire him with ideas, and he promised to make them come alive. He delivered.”

“Yeah, you don’t need to explain it to me, really,” Hob smiled sheepishly, though he did feel relieved at that knowledge. Besides, he didn’t want to think of Morpheus in that situation. Especially since the other person he imagines with Morpheus definitely isn’t Shaxberd. That train of thought is a slippery slope that Hob didn’t need right now.

Something changed in Morpheus’ expression, his cheekbones had a tinge of red, and for a second Hob could see the stars again before the blue eyes returned. They held an intensity now, almost a promise of danger, and Hob was acutely aware of how he felt thrilled about it rather than scared.

“Morpheus?” Hob asked tentatively, wondering what could have caused this change in his friend.

Then the pieces clicked into place.

Morpheus moving to hug him last night just as he was thinking about it…

Morpheus looking away at the arcade after Hob had thought of pressing him up against the claw machine…

And just now, Morpheus knowing that Hob thought he had slept with Shaxberd…

“Some dreams are louder than others and catch my attention,” Morpheus had said.

Did that include daydreams?

Oh no.

In his shock, his treacherous mind suddenly recalled all the things he'd been daydreaming the entire day about his friend. His efforts to push down such images only brought them to the forefront of his mind even more; it didn't help that Morpheus was standing so close to him. The scent of petrichor and old books and honeyed tea made Hob so heady that he wanted to bury his face in Morpheus’ neck to inhale lungfuls of it.

“Hob.” Morpheus’ strained voice held a warning.

“Oh my god, you can really see them,” Hob muttered, his eyes wide. He took a step back as he felt panic rising up in his chest and blood rushing to his face. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–” He squeezed his eyes shut for a second before looking apologetically at his friend. “I didn’t know you would see— Look, I understand you’re angry, but— We don’t even have to talk about it, alright? I’ll— I’ll stop thinking about those things, just—”

Morpheus grabbed his arm and pulled him close with surprising strength.

Before he could even give a cry of surprise, Hob felt his lower back pressed against his desk. Then Morpheus descended on him, their lips slotting together.

Hob froze, eyes wide and heart thumping in his throat.

Morpheus moved against him, sucking lightly on his lower lip, and Hob’s mind melted into his body. His hands moved on their own and found the back of Morpheus’ neck, pulling him even closer. Morpheus wrapped his arms around Hob’s waist as their tongues danced against each other, soft and slick and perfect. Morpheus dug his fingernails into Hob’s back, and such a moan escaped him that he dearly hoped no one was on the other side of the door.

Hob would have relished all of it for hours, but unfortunately he was still human and needed to breathe. He pulled away just enough to gasp in air, but he kept their foreheads pressed, his hands in Morpheus’ hair.

“I… I thought you didn’t…” Hob panted, trying to remember how to speak English. “Casual dalliances…”

“Oh, there is nothing casual about this, Hob Gadling.” There was a hunger in Morpheus’ voice, and his eyes were black and starry once more.

Hob attempted to speak but what came out was more of a whimper.

The intensity in Morpheus’ gaze sobered a little, and he loosened his hold on Hob. “If you wish to stop—”

“No,” Hob grabbed Morpheus’ coat and held firm. He was still trying to catch his breath and form coherent sentences, but he definitely knew that stopping was not what he wanted. “I just… why? Why are you doing this?” There was so much hope in Hob’s heart that it hurt.

“Because I want you, Hob Gadling,” he said softly, reaching up to caress Hob’s face. “I want your gentle mornings, your long nights. I want your bright laughter that never fails to bring me warmth. The sparkle in your eyes that puts the most luminous stars to shame. I want to give you everything your heart wishes, and hold you in my own. You are not a casual dalliance, my dearest Hob. You are… everything to me.” He traced his thumb across Hob’s cheekbone, trailing it downwards and following the shape of Hob’s jawline. “And it all but overwhelms me to know that you might want me, too.”

Might? As if Hob ever had any doubt about it. As if his skin didn’t thrum wherever Morpheus touched, as if those words didn’t overwhelm him.

He pulled Morpheus by the coat and crashed their lips together. “Oh you beautiful, impossible creature,” he spoke in between kisses, not wanting to part with Morpheus’ lips longer than necessary to get the words out. “You have no idea… just how much I’ve been wanting you. Far more and for longer than you know.”

Morpheus growled against Hob’s lips and lifted him up, seating him on the desk and making him gasp in surprise. Morpheus settled his hips between Hob’s thighs, pushing forward with his kisses until their bodies were pressed together.

Hob’s world spun and nothing else existed but Morpheus’ lips and tongue and touch. They explored each other’s mouths with an increasing fervor, Morpheus running his hands along Hob’s back and trailing electricity with his fingers.

Hob could taste the cosmos on Morpheus’ lips, stars turning into supernovas each time their tongues collide. He desperately clutched at Morpheus’ hair and knew that he didn’t want to be anywhere else—

“Professor Gadling?” A knock sounded at the door. “Are you there?”

They pulled apart, gasping and holding each other.

Morpheus’ hair was a mess, his cheeks were flushed and his lips red and glistening. His eyes had turned back to their human appearance but were no less piercing as he waited for what Hob would do.

Hob swallowed and tore his eyes away from such a tempting sight. He looked at the door instead and made considerable efforts to make his voice sound normal. “Yes?”

“I have the invitation for the book fair. Can I come in?” It was Paula’s voice, one of his colleagues.

Morpheus stepped back and gently tugged Hob to stand on the floor again. With a wave of his hand, they both looked decent and not like they had just spent the last few minutes devouring each other.

“Yeah, come in.” Hob might look normal again but he was still lightheaded, and he sincerely hoped that Paula wouldn’t ask him any questions about his lesson plans or anything that required working brain cells.

The door opened, and Paula came in to see Hob and Morpheus standing a few feet apart from each other. “Oh! Sorry, Professor, I didn’t realize you had company.”

“No, it’s okay.” They could continue whatever they were doing later at his flat, anyway. The thought of that sent a pool of desire low in Hob’s belly that he did his best to squash down lest it manifest itself physically in his trousers. “This is Morpheus. My… um…” Damn, they hadn't talked about that yet.

“Good afternoon,” Morpheus smiled politely. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Paula seemed surprised at Morpheus’ voice, and Hob couldn’t blame her. She smiled back. “Good afternoon. I won’t be long, just here to give Robert the invitation for the book fair tomorrow.” She handed Hob a white envelope with the university’s logo. “Remember, wear smart casual,” she said with a playfully stern tone, an inside joke that the professors have developed when imitating their dean.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hob waved her off with an equally playful tone. “Oh, we all get plus ones, right?” he suddenly remembered.

“We do,” Paula nodded, smiling and glancing at Morpheus like she already knew what Hob was planning. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said to both of them before getting out and closing the door behind her.

There was a moment of silence between them, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. Morpheus was looking at Hob with an amused smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“What?” Hob demanded, though he felt like smiling himself.

“Your colleague was wise to knock. Next time we shall lock the door.” He stepped closer to Hob with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Don’t do that to me here,” Hob chided, though it didn’t sound convincing even to himself.

“Do what?” Morpheus feigned an innocent tone.

“Talk like you’re temptation on two legs.” Hob pulled him in for a chaste kiss, then pulled away to show him the envelope. “Do you wanna go to the book fair with me tomorrow? I mean, if you don’t have any plans…” he trailed off, still not used to being able to ask to see Morpheus so casually.

“I shall be there. Besides, your colleague is already expecting both of us to attend. I wouldn’t want to disappoint her,” he said playfully.

Hob rolled his eyes. Then he remembered something. “Oh! Sorry I told her your name, I hope that’s alright? I just didn’t know what to say.”

“It is perfectly fine.” Morpheus reassured him. “Especially if it precedes you calling me yours.”

Christ, he did say that, didn’t he? And Morpheus didn’t mind at all. He even liked it. Hob smiled giddily. “How would you like me to introduce you to my friends at the book fair? You know, just in case they ask. I don’t wanna fumble around again like I did earlier.”

Morpheus hummed thoughtfully. “Would ‘lover’ suffice?”

Hob felt his face warm. He was about to explain that it might be too… suggestive a term to say to work colleagues, but he caught the amusement in Morpheus’ eyes. “You enjoy teasing me, don’t you?”

“Very much so.”

Hob shook his head in defeat, a smile forming on his face. Then he caught sight of the wall clock and remembered why they came here in the first place.

“Ah, right, I have a class to go to. Thanks for walking with me here.”

“It was a delightful experience. As it always is with you.”

“Alright, you better leave before I start having daydreams again,” Hob said pointedly.

Morpheus laughed, a soft one that brightened his face and shook his shoulders just the slightest bit. Hob decided he would do everything he could to hear that sound again.

“Tomorrow, then?”

Hob smiled. “Tomorrow.”

— —

Author's Note:

Chapter 3 will be posted sometime in January! I hope you liked this one ^_^

Edit: Artworks! <3

Art by @patchyegg87 depicting them playing the game at the arcade~

Art by @emihotaru depicting their kiss~

<- Chapter 1

Chapter 3 ->

(Masterlist)

46 notes · View notes

headcanonthings · 2 years

Text

Another Hob saves Dream from the basement AU

because I don’t think any of us or going to get tired of that scenario anytime soon

To kick it off the AU Dream and Hob don’t know each other

Death goes to the White Horse Inn on her own

there is an irony to hear a man boasting to his friends about living forever when she knows that he will be killed in just a few minutes

except when she goes to collect him she notices that he has been marked by her brother Destiny and that this mortal has yet to fulfill his destiny

it isn’t unusual for people to die before they can fulfill their destiny but it is rare to find someone so clearly marked by her brother and now she’s curious because what about this simple peasant is so important to warrant such a clear mark

Hob is far enough gone by the time this all registers to Death that he can actually see her and recognizes who she is. He begs her not to take him yet, he still has so much he wants to do, so much life left to live

Death thinking of his words from the Inn, the mark, and his begging and comes up with a deal for him. She will spare him her gift for as long as he wishes to continue living and in return he will tell her about the life he is leading.

Hob agrees immediately

Since the deal is made with Death there isn’t an agreed upon once-a-century meeting; instead they connect whenever Hob finds himself on her doorstep which happens quite a lot at the beginning thanks to the whole soldiering thing but spreads out a bit once Hob is able to find his way into other career positions

they create a unique friendship during these meetings, Death always interested to see how Destiny’s mark has yet to fade and curious about what Hob will say about why he would like to continue living

Dream, meanwhile, goes about business as usual. During on of his outings with Death she tells him about her curious immortal mortal friend and while small part of him is also curious about what makes this man special enough to be marked by their older brother he declines meeting the man

Time goes on - Desire conspires against Dream, the Corinthian goes rogue and Dream is captured by Roderick Burgess

Death does take small note that the number of people dying in their sleep is rising but does not immediately connect it to her brother as she does not know that he is missing

that is until she finds herself in the basement collecting the soul of Jessamy; the magic that keeps Dream contained also keeps him from seeing his sister; they all know that even if he could see her in that moment he would not request her help just as he hadn’t in the decade he’d already been imprisoned. Death worries that this also means that he’ll never reach out but the Rules keep her from directly helping without his request

At some point she realizes that even if she cannot directly help that does not mean she can’t influence someone else so she asks her dear friend Hob Gadling. She is unable to give him too much detail, basically only able to say that there is something going on at Wych Cross and she needs his help to figure it out

Hob doesn’t hesitate to agree to help, because that is what friends do for each other

Hob visits during one of the parties and immediately knows something fishy is going on. Everyone talks about the ‘Devil in the Basement’ like it’s one big joke but Hob gets the feeling its a bit more real than that.

Hob’s been through some shit, has seen some shit, and got that scolding from Death of slavery so while Hob’s peasant self shudders at the thought of the Devil, he already knows that if there is something imprisoned in the basement then he is going to release it because surely this is what Death sent him there for

Hob comes up with a plan, gets into the basement, and frees Dream and might even help him get his tools of office back

Dream becomes a bit fascinated by the man who helped him, especially after he learns that Hob basically had no idea about who Dream was or what he would be getting into when Death asked for help

This leads to Dream seeking Hob out between fixing his kingdom up and finding The Corinthian

They develop a friendship over these meetings and then that turns to a romantic relationship (because I’m ultimately a dreamling shipper)

Death visits Hob shortly after he frees Dream and sees that Destiny’s mark has faded meaning that she is now free to take him, but according to their own deal as long a Hob wishes to live she won’t offer her hand and he very much wants to continue to live (which she is very happy about between how fond she’s grown of him and his relationship with her brother)

Bonus Thoughts

Death and Hob have one very big fight and that’s when Eleanor and Robyn die; he does not understand why she won’t spare them her gift the way she has for him and she cannot explain that it is really Destiny’s mark that has held her off

They do no speak after this for a couple decades and Hob realizes after several instances where he should have died that he did not need to formally reject Death’s hand to continue living as he thought; She really had been showing up just to talk to him

Jessamy’s soul appears as a young woman and it’s Death thinking of how old she truly is compared to her appearance that makes her think of Hob and go to him for help

Dream doesn’t see Destiny’s mark because he can’t see his soul the way Death can or the binding circle keeps him from seeing and the mark fades as soon as Hob starts helping so Dream doesn’t connect the mark to himself

Death never tells them about Destiny’s mark but she does talk to Destiny about it after everything because she has so many questions but Destiny doesn’t answer any them (just talks about how he hopes because Hob is technically not a mortal anymore that means their brother’s relationship will be a happy one)

#not a quote #fic outline #Headcanon #if anyone writes this please let me know #because again i'm terrible about actually writing my own fics #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #hob x morpheus #hob x dream #death of the endless #destiny of the endless #jessamy the raven #morpheus of the endless

463 notes · View notes

wordsinhaled · 2 years

Note

Just so you know I am thinkin' thoughts about Old Witch Sleep from TAD and feral or borderline-villain!Hob

the amazing devil + hob IN GENERAL, but especially that song, has me feeling many feelings !!!

sometimes i fall to pieces just to see what bits of me don't fit

this song makes me think of the toll of immortality, and hob as an eldritch being just by virtue of how all that life he's lived has sort of... stacked up on itself. it's not really supposed to happen to anyone, is it? i actually have the right snippet for this gathering dust in my drafts, so! have a Thing, anon <3

(cw mild body horror themes)

Hob hardly tries to be reckless, truly. He certainly never takes his miraculous gift for granted. But all those who had flocked about him once have passed long since and he, against all reason, still endures. His god-brushed flesh bears no scar for longer than three days; he outlives all his companions and lovers, hale and unchanged in body, looking not a day above his eternal four and thirty. Hob realizes, one day, that he is no longer a bare flame to entice moths. He is a conflagration, a desecration of expectations. There is a thing in him now that hibernates behind his eyes, a thing he learns the shape of the way one gropes for the banister in the night—unseeing, but knowing it is there with the certainty of habit.

Touching endlessness the way he has does things to a man.

It does things to Hob.

He no longer remembers which century it was, which of his numberless non-deaths had started it, this itch under his skin, this feeling like he can tell which parts of him have been reconstituted. The fabric of him feels messily mended and shoddily darned, the electrical impulses in his heart fizzling out and flickering back on like faulty lightbulbs. His self superimposes upon itself. He can sense himself, a ponderous conglomeration of atoms lumbering through the cosmos, destined never to return to stardust.

How many dying breaths has Hob heard? The sighing peace or dawning horror in each one harmonizes with the cacophony already in him, melds with that inner voice that says, Why them and not you? Why them and not you? Perhaps this time it will be you and not them. Ah, but you know it won't. You know it won't. And it is then, when that voice ratchets up to fever pitch, that Hob sometimes forgets.

Forgets to be careful. Forgets self-preservation. Forgets the need for caution, the way he had forsaken it entirely when his stranger had found him in the White Horse in 1389. He had set his eyes on Hob the way a prowling animal sets its eyes on its inevitable quarry. Had prophesied the outcome. Had pinned down the wild heart of him that beat, then as now, for experience and pleasure, and that yearned to be looked upon the way his stranger looked upon him: as though Hob was already snared, as though he would consume Hob only at great leisure, and only if the marrow of him proved worthy.

Hob must have tucked that look away somewhere safe, he thinks. Somewhere deep where it could grow, where it could put out its roots and spread.

And it has spread; that stealthy hunger twined around some ageless love older even than Hob's six hundred years, purposeful and patient, striving quiet as Cordyceps militaris steals towards its insidious cause.

Oh, to meet that gaze, ink-dark and beckoning. To greet it with his own, burnished to a feral glimmer by long years of waiting.

He would drown in it, if he could. He would be subsumed. He would meet the void of it like an old friend, and perhaps the wrongs of the universe would be put to rights.

But he cannot.

#the sandman #dreamling #hob gadling #needing more eldritch feral hob always

132 notes · View notes

dumbfloweralive · 11 months

Text

The salvation of humanity

Chapter 12: Hob Gaddling, you're stupid.

Morpheus x (f)reader

Warning: alcohol

Reminder of the last chapter:

“We’ll see.” he said, taking your sleeping form in his arms.

He should leave you, staying out of your life. That would be for the best. He would end up hurting you.

“Let’s get you home, my little human.” He said, holding you close while raising from the ground and leaving.

Was he even capable of such thing.

10 December 2029

Eleven days had passed since Dream had found back his ruby. After what happened, he had brought you back to England, in the house he knew you loved with the fireplace, the one you two stopped on your way to Oxford. Once you were awake, the two of you had spoken.

Dream explained to you what had happened to him exactly during the last century. You had learned about Jessamy, who died helping him on the hand of Alex Burgess. The things they expected from him. The entire seven years he had spent alone, with no soul around until you came.

Your presence had comforted him, letting him feel safe as he opened up to you.

Then, he had answered your question. Who he was, his family, the Endless. You had learned about the Creator, the one above all. Dream was more than a god, that’s what you had understood, and that was a lot to take in.

The two of you went different way since he needed to return to his realm, and you, home, packing everything you needed to move North again to meet Edgar in “The new inn”.

But since then, you haven’t seen him nor heard of him. You weren’t worried much, though, he probably had many things to do. Yet, still, you had that sting in your heart, fearing you might never see him again. After all, you were just human.

Why would he care?

Meanwhile, Dream had spent the last days working on his realm, fixing everything that needed to. Finding back the resident of the Dreaming. He did have noticed his missing creation. At some point, they should come back, or he will found them.

Yet, something remain missing. He was certain that, after he would have found all his tools, he will feel good again. Now, he was just disappointed, having no idea why he felt this way when he was stronger than ever.

So, there he was, sitting on a bench, feeding pigeons until his sister, Death, joined him. They had exchanged until she asked why he was so moody. And, Dream decided to share his thought with his sister. Sharing his desire of revenge remaining unfulfilled because Paul and Roderick Burgess were dead, the thought of the mutants out there, the way he felt, empty compared to the exciting journey he had to found his tools. The way he felt more powerful than ever. A new purpose he had, a quest he had loved every minute, in this changed world.

“I was so sure that, once i got everything back, i’d feel good. But in some way, i feel worse than when i started… I feel like… Nothing” Bored, he wanted to say. Empty, like something remain missing.

“There, you asked”

His sister looked at him, smiling gently, before putting her hand on his knee.

“You could have called me, you know.” Death said.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I don’t believe it” she sound bored, rolling her eyes and standing up.

“Let me tell you something Dream, and i’m only gonna say this once so, you better pay attention” She picked his bread out of his hand.

“You are utterly the stupidest, most self-centred, pathetic excuse for an anthropomorphic personification, on this, or, any other plane. Feeling sorry for yourself because your little game is over, and you haven’t got the balls to get out and find a new one. You're as bad as Desire, no, worse” She spit out, throwing the bread back in Dream chest.

Dream felt offended, especially by her last sentence. Worse than Desire? No way.

“Did it never occur to you that i would be worried about you.”

“I didn’t think…” He started, but was cut short by Death.

“Exactly, you didn’t think.”

The group of human next to them throw away the ball, which Death catches quickly, just like Dream a few minutes ago.

“Waou, you’re just as good as your friend” the man pointed out.

“He’s not my friend, he is my brother, and he’s an idiot.” She said, sending back the ball.

“I am just feeding the birds.” he answered back, looking at the ground will the human walked away.

“Is this about this human and her dog?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know who you're referring to.” Lies. How could she know about his dear human.

“Don’t play this game with me, Dream”

Dream looked at her, waiting for his big sister to kept going, knowing he didn’t have anything to say about you.

“You spend almost two weeks around her day and night after spending a century imprisoned. It’s normal that you miss adventures with her. Normal that you feel this way now that you are alone again.”

“I can’t, you know it. It’s for the best” he said, more bitter than he wanted.

He had walked out of your life for a reason, the best reason. He couldn’t miss you, the adventures with you, he mustn’t. You were just a mortal. Soon, you would be gone. Dream had learnt his lesson long ago.

But the more the days passed, the more he felt your absence pulling him down.

Death sighs, knowing he had closed himself about you. She won’t get anything out of him.

“Look, i can’t stay here all day, i’ve got work to do. You can come with me, or you can stay here and sulk.”

“I’ll come with you, i suppose”

Dream followed Death on her day. She mentioned Hob Gadling and Dream decided to pay him a visit later that day. Perhaps that’s what he would need. A friend.

Death brought him with her, taking the souls she could. Ever since the outbreak and the apocalypse happened, her job had been more difficult. No human died easily, usually, they came back as mutant. She was unable to save any of them. And, even though she had grown fund of her work, she despised this aspect of humanity. They weren’t dying any more, not in the way they should. The souls to get back were rare. The souls were trapped into their monster mind. A terrifying thought.

"Are they conscious of their state?" He asked, suddenly afraid of the answer.

"I hope not. But i can never get their souls. Only when they are killed."

Dream mentioned this mutant again, explaining how he tried to fight them with his power. Death felt sad for her little brother. He wasn’t aware of what had happened when it all started, all they had learned about these zombies.

“Dream, our power doesn’t work on them.”

Dream turned to her, confused. How could that even be possible.

“We are vulnerable to them, just like them.” she continued, referring to the human they had in front of them.

“How ?”

“We don’t know.” She said, sadly.

None of the Endless, none of the deities, knew how it happened nor why it happened. But once thing was certain for all of them.

Humanity was damned.

And for Dream, it felt like shockwave. He couldn’t believe it to be true.

During their walks, Death explained to him everything she had witnessed during his absence. Showing him faces of humanity he had never guessed possible. Saying that they were here for them and not otherwise. He learned of faces of humanity that reminded of you. It made him care about them, the same way he cared about you.

And he would try to be better for Humanity.

That’s how, Dream of the Endless found back is way to a new pub called “The New Inn”, near Oxford, in an old quarantine zone in search for Hob Gaddling, the immortal human.

The café was a warm and cosy place, people were walking around, exchanging with one another. In the back, staircase were leading to rooms, probably. Different from the white horse tavern yet delightful.

Here, it felt like nothing had happened outside. People were careless and happy.

And he caught sight of him. Hob Gaddling.

Dream walked closer to him. He could feel a familiar presence near him. But then, he was facing Hob, smiling. This one raised his eyes, catching Dream sight.

And he smiled back.

“You’re late” Hob said which caused Dream to laugh.

“It seems i owe you an apology, i’ve always heard it impolite to keep one’s friend waiting.”

Dream sat in front of him and the two friends started exchanging.

Time flew away as the two friends were catching the time missed. Dream explaining the reason of his absence and his sudden return. Hob listening to his story, heartbroken for his friend.

“If i had known, i would have found a way to help you, i am sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, you had no idea, especially giving the circumstances of our last meeting.”

And Hob nodded, remembering that famous night.

“And that woman, she just randomly helped you? And helped you find back the things you were looking for?” Hob asked, referring to the woman who had freed Dream.

“She did”

“In time like this, she must be quite of a woman.” Hob commented, laughing.

“Let me be honest with you. I’ve fought in the two World War and others war, but these things outside… They are creeping the shit out of me.” Hob continued, taking a sip of his café.

“The people able to fight them like these have guts.”

Dream observed around, still feeling this familiar presence but not recognizing it as Hob presence. Then a new one. He recognized Bérangère, who had walked in and was sitting at the bar.

“So, you wait for me here, every day?” he asked Hob.

“Yes, though i must admit i was waiting for one of the traders to go out. I need her help with something.”

“And who is she?”

“I admit i do not know. I have never met her, and she's probably going to reject my demand anyway. She had better thing to do than helping me retrieve my books.”

In the upstairs of The New Inn, you were trading with Edgar. He was asking once more for one of the usual run out in the worst part of Oxford and in one of the hospital. It will be winter soon, and they needed supplies here. The dog was sitting next to you, keeping his eyes on the armed men of Edgar.

“What do i get in exchange?” You asked, taking a sip of the whiskey in front of you.

“The munition you need, and you can keep a car.” he offered.

“Good. I want one more thing.” you continued, leaning forward.

“I need an echo graph machine and vitamin.”

“What for?”

“We are missing this machine in my place.”

Last week, you had finally found everything for pregnancy testing. Turned out, Elizabeth was indeed pregnant. She would need that along many other women.

Edger leaned on his chair, thinking before moving his hand to you.

“Deal?”

You grabbed his and shook his hand back.

“Deal”

“Great, when do you need the car to leave.”

“Tomorrow morning, the weather should be better”

He nodded as you rose from your chair.

“See you soon” he said as you leave the room, going downstairs.

“Ah, there she is.” Hob said, pointing out the girl with braided hair walking down the stairs.

Dream turned, and he felt his heart missed a beat as he recognized you and the dog.

He was right when he said everything was pushing him to you.

You had walked to Bérangère, sitting next to her at the bar.

“I know her.” Dream whispered, looking at you.

“You do?” Hob said, tapping Dream shoulder.

“She is the one who freed me.” Dream murmured to Hob.

“You must introduce me to her.” Hob said, all excited.

“No” Dream could hear you laughing with your friend.

“Why not?”

“Because” was the only answer Dream gave to Hob.

Hob felt his friend more than reluctant, though he had seen the way he looked at you. Dream cared a lot.

“She is your friend” he said, trying to convinced Dream.

“I decided to never see her again” Dream whispered to Hob.

“Why is that?”

“She is just human, mortal one.” Dream said, hiding the real reason.

And Hob could feel he was hiding it.

“I’ll do it myself then.” Hob said, standing up and walking in your direction.

Dream tried to hide the best he could until he felt something touching his legs. His eyes went to the floor and he saw the dog.

“Hello you” he said, patting his head. The dog put his paw on his knee, waiting for something.

Yes, everything was pushing him to you.

Dream heard his friend.

“Hello ladies.” he said to them.

“Hello stranger” you said, observing the man in front of you, your glass of whiskey in your hand.

“I believe you know my friend over here” he said, pointing out Dream who were trying to hide even more. Hob had sold him.

You followed the place he was showing and you saw him. Dream. Your heart skipped a beat.

“I believe i do.”

Dream decided to stood up and joined Hob. The dog following him close.

“Hey Dream, long time no see” you said, a soft smile taking your face. You felt Bérangère kicking your arm, a mischievous grin on her face.

Dream, again, you still called him Dream, he thought.

He would have love to felt nothing as he was standing here. But he didn’t. Actually, the emptiness he had felt for the past days had gone.

That couldn’t happen.

Just one last time, he heard himself think, hearing his heart begging. One last time and he would leave forever. Even when he would come back here, it would be in a hundred years to meet Hob, you would be dead and gone. And if he ever had to come to earth once more, it wouldn't be near you, it was unlikely. One last adventure.

“Good to see you” he said, locking his gaze on yours.

“So, your name his Dream?” Hob cut the moment, finally aware of Dream name.

“No, it’s Morpheus” corrected Bérangère and Hob stared at you confused.

“It’s a private joke” Dream said, remembering the exact word you had told to Graham. And he smiled at you, a wide genuine smiled which you returned to him.

The evening went fine. Hob, Bérangère, Dream and you were sat at a table speaking of everything yet nothing, cracking jokes and pun. Dream was silent most of the time, sitting in front of you, facing you, catching your gaze from time to time.

“Can we have others?” Hob shoot to the barman out loud, and you shush him, pushing his hand.

“For Christ’s sake, be polite” You laughed at the man before Bérangère stood up from your side.

“Where are you going?” you asked as she moved away.

“It’s work time” She said, clapping her hand together.

“Might i say, thank you for this evening, with all this fun, i might have forgotten we actually were in the middle of the apocalypse.” She continued, bowing dramatically.

“Yeah, like we could forget that.” You said, waving at her. The dog was sitting between your legs, shifting suddenly to stand by Dream side, his head asking for cuddle.

“Traitor” You whispered to him, taking a sip of your drink.

Hob talked to you about his old flat, full of books and belonging, asking for your help to find them back. It was on your way, and you were pretty sure the car you will get tomorrow morning could be used for this task too.

Dream was silently listening to the two of you when he knocked on his napkin. He bent under the table to take it back and, while he raised back, his head knocks on something soft. His eyes drifted to fall on your hand, covering the corner of the table, realizing he knocked his head on your hand, instead of the corner of the table.

His heartfelt heavy on your action, of you taking care of him, making sure he didn’t get hurt. Without noticing, his gaze had stayed locked on you, observing every feature of your face. You felt his eyes on you for a while before turning to him and smiling.

“Are you good?” You whispered to him, losing the thread of the conversation with Hob for a second.

“Yes” He nodded, offering you small smile.

He should have thanked you, why couldn’t he say that. And honestly, he waited for you to say something about it. But he looked at you as you just smiled at him, turning back to Hob, returning to your previous conversation. The dog licked his hand, growling slowly.

“Yes boy.” he murmured to him, petting his head.

A gesture that made you smile even more as you saw it from the corner of your eyes.

It was getting dark outside, more people were inside the bar, and the place felt crowded. Dream felt uncomfortable, overwhelmed. Something that didn’t escape you.

“Hob, don’t you have a place nearby? Somewhere less crowded?” You asked him.

“Yeah, we could go to my flat. Are you coming, Morpheus?” He turned to his friend, hoping he would say yes.

Dream nodded, as the two of you were, soon, following Hob to his place. You had arrived quickly, and, as soon as Hob opened the door to his flat, you were amazed by all the books he had, adorning the walls and some organized in pile on the floor.

“Are these all yours?” you asked.

“Yeah, i was a historian teacher before… All of this. I took what i could but, i am missing my masterpiece. "

Your hands roamed over the pile of books as Dream entered the place, scanning it.

“You can take one.” Hob said, cleaning his place, not expecting visitors.

“So cool. By the way, what you wanted to ask me?” Taking the books about World War I.

“It’s about books.”

“Oh, i am in.”

You landed on the couch, sitting roughly before moving again, letting some place for Dream. Hob sat in his armchair, taking a bottle from behind the table.

“I like you Hob Gaddling.” you whispered, making the man crack a smile.

Your eyes fell on the chessboard next to him.

“Do you play?” He asked.

“Yes, love it, i am a monster at this.”

Hob took the chessboard, smiling at Dream.

“I am glad Morpheus took the initiative to introduce us.” Hob said, teasing Dream.

“I am too.” you said, laughing at the situation.

The dog came to sit between your legs as Hob put the pawn on the chessboard, letting you through the book you had borrowed, Dream reading over your shoulder. The place was warmer than the café, and he felt more comfortable as he felt your presence, happy to be around you.

“I propose something.” Hob said.

You lean forward, brushing Dream leg with your arm in the way.

“We play, each time someone loses is pawn hat to take the drink.”

“Good for me.” You said, putting the book at your side, opening the party with a simple move.

Hob were sure to win, he had years and century of experience in the area. But you were good, too good, and he noticed how Dream leaned next to you every time you seemed to take too long.

“Stop giving advice, it isn’t fair.” He complained after you took his horse.

“Why?” he asked, a smile adorning his face.

“Because you’re…” He almost let the information slipped because of the alcohol, stopping in his track as he looked at you.

“It’s fine, she knows.” Dream said, leaning back in the couch.

“She does?”

“Yes, i do” And Hob sights.

“I am your friend for what, like the past 5 hundred years and i just learn who you are. She knows you like, what? A month?” Hob continued, putting his hand over his heart, acting hurt.

“You know what i called that?” You said, acting like you were thinking.

"Oh yeah, i called that favouritism.” You whispered to Dream, and he gave you a small smile in return taking his king.

“You would’ve loose anyway.” Dream commented, looking at the chessboard.

“Yeah, i am too good at this.” Which earned you a grimace from Hob who lean back in his chair.

“I don’t want to play any more.”

The evening passed, rather quickly. You and Hob get along very well, and he even had proposed to come along with you in the mission.

“Y/N, how old were you when it happens?” Hob asked at some point of the night.

“Sixteen. I was in school when it happened, my school got invaded.”

“That must have been horrific.”

“Yeah” You whispered, toying with the dog hairs.

Dream remembered that nightmare you had, one when you were in school, running from the mutant. Killing one.

“I am gonna go to bed, you are free to stay here, obviously.” Hob said, raising from the couch.

“Do you have a cigarette, something like that?” you asked.

He threw you a pack of them, saying to keep it, leaving just Dream and you together. You walked outside, the cold air of the night making you shivers. Dream joined you, looking as you light up the cigarette, putting it between your lips.

“Who was the girl.” He asked.

You didn’t need to look too far to understand what he meant. If he was the god of dreams and nightmare, maybe he had seen yours too.

“She was my best friend, she got bit.”

Dream nodded.

“I saw that nightmare.” he confessed.

“I know, guessed it”

The silence lingered as you remembered that day.

“It didn’t happen, what you saw in that dream.” You confessed to him.

Dream turned to you, waiting for you to open up, not invading your space.

“I didn’t kill her. I couldn’t.”

You turned to the dog, watching him asleep on the carpet, next to the fire place.

“If it weren’t for Oscar, i would’ve died that day. He saved me, getting me out and the others out of the fucking school. She is probably still running around because of me.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty, you were just a kid.” Dream tried to comfort you, his hands resting on your forearm.

“I know.”

If you had died that day, no one would have saved him.

Another sign of destiny, perhaps.

The morning came quickly, as you packed your stuff in the car, Hob joined you and, to your surprised, Dream too. It made you happy. The dog jumped in the car next to you as you pat his head before he crawled next to Dream.

“Let’s fight some zombies.”

Hello everyone, sorry i am very late to post this. I had a lot of issue in this beginning of 2023 but here i am back and i hope you will be glad to see the adventure, to keep following the story. Happy to return to you guys, hope you had a great reading time.

See you soon!

@angelicwolf98

@freedomsofdream

@octo-octopie

@boofy1998

@lexi-anastasia

@cupcake-de-abacaxi

@xicesam

@carrietrekkie

@darkfairy102190

@adishax

#morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #morpheus imagines #dream of the endless x reader #dream x you #morpheus #morpheus x you #dream x reader #dream of the endless #lord morpheus

21 notes · View notes

wizardofgoodfortune · 2 years

Note

27 for Spotify fic thing!

a bit of comfy dreamling. and i fully believe that this would've been better if i had finished reading the entirety of the comics. alas... we can have a bit of silliness for now! but thank you for the ask!! 💓 i hope you are having fun with the ask game.

When you've lived for such a long period of time unimaginable to the common living being, asking for help is something short of unthinkable. He is Endless, after all. Lord of Dreams and Ruler of Nightmares. The Dreaming itself.

At least, that's what Dream thinks.

Death said he was foolish for not asking for help during his century in the Wych Cross, in the Burgess's basement, and for the pursuit of his tools afterwards. He doesn't think she will ever understand—he didn't want to worry her, or anyone for that matter.

Much less Hob Gadling, who is a mere 600 years old. He was older than most, yes, but still. Dream should be able to handle everything by himself. The Shaper of Forms should be able to fix all his problems on his own.

This is why Dream couldn't fathom why Hob gave him this tiny device he called a 'mobile phone'.

"Keep in touch," Hob said, "for when you need my help the next time you get... compromised. Or for when you just want a drink. Or a friend," he tacked on, grinning.

Dream stared at the phone accusatorily. It sat on the couch beside him in his room, unaware of his glare.

It was as if Hob didn't know how hard it already was for him just to mention that he'd been captured. By a human, with parlor tricks, no less. And before their recent meeting, they just met once every hundred years. Now Hob expected Dream to just... 'text' him?

Dream scoffed. This was ridiculous. They should have just continued to meet every hundred years.

But then again, the whole ordeal with Rose Walker and Desire just finished. Could Hob have helped with that problem? Most likely not. But sometimes, Dream did find that... elaborating... on one's feelings... proved. Useful.

And in the light of having been betrayed by his sibling, there was nothing he wanted more than to hear someone talk at him, for distraction. Or maybe even listen to him. Much like Hob did, the last time, in The New Inn.

Dream sighed. This was ridiculous. He tucked the phone into his coat, and left. He had much to do, and little time to spend on frivolities. He couldn't spend his time ruminating on every single thing in his life; he would certainly go insane if he did. So he will concentrate on the things he can fix now.

Dream was in the middle of a meeting with Lucienne and Merv when a ding! rang in the throne room. Lucienne looked up from her notes, and Mervyn cocked his pumpkin head.

It came from inside his coat. Dream paused for a moment, and opened his mouth to continue—

Ding!

"Uh, boss, I think that's coming from you," Merv said.

Lucienne hid the lower half of her face in her ledger. Dream dreaded to think why.

"I will take care of this," Dream said, standing from his throne. "I trust you will be able to attend to the repairs in my place, Lucienne. Mervyn."

"Of course, my lord," Lucienne said.

"See ya, boss," Merv said.

Dream turned away and blinked into his room before he could see them smile at each other at his expense.

He conjured the phone from his coat, forming from grains of sand. The screen simply said, '2 new messages from Hob Gadling.'

"Hey stranger! Fancy a night out at The New Inn? Just got done with finals, and I could use a relaxing evening. Beer for me, wine for you? I got you something even better than before," the first text said.

In their last meeting, Dream had actually caved to drinking wine. It seemed more palatable than any of the drinks in the past six centuries, and he was. In a good mood, so to say. He didn't really realize how thirsty he was until he got into a comfortable atmosphere.

"And I'm thinking you should try out our pizza tonight. Only made out of the finest ingredients, I promise. If you thought the shepherd's pie was good, wait for this one," the second text said.

And how hungry.

And because the Dreaming is him, thunder rumbled in the distance, as if to imitate an empty stomach growling.

This is ridiculous, Dream thought, as he stepped out of his room and into The New Inn. It was evening this time, and the place glowed yellow and orange. It was alive with its customers' tipsy buzz, the clinking of tableware, and the smell of savory food and alcohol.

Dream looked over to the spot where Hob sat before, and felt a pang of an unnamable feeling in his chest when he didn't see him there.

"My friend," bellowed a familiar voice from behind the counter.

It was Hob. He had a small towel thrown over his shoulder, and he had half of his hair tied back. Dream noticed the beads of sweat on his temples.

"Didn't expect you here so soon. I'll be right with you," Hob said, his face bright. He gestured to the table in the corner. "Have a seat."

And so Dream sat where he sat before. What was Hob up to?

"Sorry for the wait," said Hob from behind. He came brandishing a glass and a bottle. Was that a smear of something red on his cheek? And why was he wearing a flour-dusted apron? "If I knew you would come this fast, I would have texted you much earlier."

Dream watched Hob pour him a glass of wine.

"Y'know, you could have replied. I would've been more prepared that way," Hob said, setting down the bottle, and settling down across Dream. "Not that I mind, of course. Just thought you would be more preoccupied. But I could get used to it."

Dream huffed. "Do not. You merely caught me at an opportune time."

"And what joy," Hob said. He was grinning. Then he was standing up again. "Be right back."

Hob disappeared behind the counter and into what Dream assumed is the inn's kitchen. Dream looked at the wine. It didn't seem right to drink alone.

So instead, Dream listened to the sound of the inn's patrons talking to their friends about their day, good or bad, listened to the soft music playing on the speakers, listened to the dreams of a student snoozing on his friend's shoulder, heavily inebriated too early in the night.

He was having a nightmare about his 'finals,' as Hob called it. Dream waved the nightmare away. In this place, he deserved comfy dreams. His nightmare could wait another night.

"Make way, hot pizza coming through," Hob announced from behind again, hurriedly setting down a wooden plate. On it was flat bread with golden, melted cheese and the same red sauce that Dream saw on Hob's cheek earlier. There were also sliced cherry tomatoes and basil leaves on top. The pizza glistened under the yellow lights of the inn.

"Been a while since my last pizza," Hob said, sitting down across him with a sigh. He held his beer in his other hand. Maybe this time he would stop moving around so much.

Wait.

"You made this," Dream said, in disbelief.

"Yeah, picked it up when I lived in Italy a few years back. Don't think it's as good as how they taught me, but you be the judge. And don't hold back," Hob said as he cut through the sauce and cheese with a knife. "Hey, you haven't drank your wine yet."

"No," Dream said. He didn't want to elaborate.

"Buon appetito," Hob said, gesturing to the pizza. He wiped some of the sweat on his forehead away with his towel.

Dream stared at Hob.

"Please, before it gets cold," Hob insisted.

"Are you not going to eat?" Dream asked.

"Oh." Hob paused. Was that surprise? "I suppose I should, shouldn't I?"

Dream took his slice the same time Hob did, but Dream had more difficulty with his. The cheese stretched on impossibly, refusing to let go, until Hob chuckled and cut through it with his knife.

And finally, Dream bit into the slice. Both the sliced tomatoes and the tomatoes used in the red sauce reminded him of a dream of a farmer in the Italian countryside, toiling away in the hot day and coming home to his wife and son, his arms full of produce. The hot cheese came from the milk of a family cow cherished by its farmer. It dreamt of a seemingly never-ending green pasture, where she lived with her calves. The bread had the thoughts of the man in front of him kneaded into it, thoughts of how proud he was of his students, especially those graduating soon. Even the basil leaves contained Hob's thoughts, each carefully placed on the pizza, wondering if Dream would like it.

Dream gulped.

"Good?" Hob asked. He was smiling, but Dream spotted a bit of worry on the lines in his crow's feet.

"It is," Dream tried to find a sufficient word, but ended up echoing Hob, "good."

Dream watched Hob's shoulders loosen.

"Good. Great," Hob said, grinning, fully this time.

Dream felt his own chest tighten. He stifled the feeling with more of the pizza instead, and listened to Hob launch into how finals week went.

Maybe later in the night, wine-drunk, Dream would tell Hob of what happened recently. But right now, he was content to eat, and drink, and listen to his friend.

#i think sometimes dream could use a little bit of a good time. as a treat #and i think he has a different relationship with and perception of food. idk. for fun #sandman #dreamling #*my fic #*#wintersmitth #this went longer than i thought it would im So Sorry #i didn't know how to end it. Help #i might continue it? idk what to do with this anymore. LMFAO #i hope you are doing well!#spotify wrapped #ask

77 notes · View notes

rainbowvamp · 1 year

Text

I am either making up the canon or I am interpreting the canon as it was meant to be interpreted and only people who are familiar with the canon (ie, not me) would be able to tell which one is true.

Angst below the cut. TW for mentions of suicidal ideation by Dream.

“Do you question my loyalty, or your worth of it?”

“Second one, I think.”

The dream around them shifts in reaction to Hob’s desire for familiar surroundings in an uncomfortable situation. Rather than standing in Fiddler’s Green they are now seated in an amalgamation of The White Horse and The New Inn. Hob is sitting in a booth that he thinks of as his in the waking world, though the version he’s conjured in the dream is more comfortable, but Dream sits in the seat Hob remembers him in most fondly, the high-backed chair from the 1689 meeting, with an added softness to it that must be the doing of Hob’s subconscious, trying to show him kindness yet again, for Dream would never think to make a chair softer than it was for his own comfort. He sat in a throne carved from stone. He was a being with a physical body that was not physical. He had no need for comfort, but that Hob would think to add it anyway… It spoke volumes of him.

“It is not uncommon for humanity, when faced with all that an Endless is, to be overwhelmed by it. Be certain that in this you are not alone. As for the question of why…”

Dream pauses to observe Hob pouring himself a drink from a newly appeared bottle of whiskey and then pour a glass of wine for Dream. The bottle is a vintage that Dream recognizes. The one he’d been drinking in 1689.

Dream wonders if he should be taking a hint, but tries not to ruffle through Hob’s subconscious, as a courtesy.

Hob drinks down his glass like he is afraid that it will disappear, and Dream thinks that this behavior will ultimately lead Hob further into his current distress, so when Hob goes to pour himself another drink, Dream rests his hand lightly over Hob’s, keeping Hob’s hand on the bottle, urging it not to pick it up again.

His hold, if it can even be called that, is light. Easily overridden, if Hob so chose, but Hob’s eyes fix on their hands, bottle forgotten, only tearing his gaze away when Dream began to finish his previous thought.

“I was under the impression that friends could see each other more often than once every century. Is that so difficult to believe?”

The words act like a balm to Hob’s aching heart. Dream can feel the knot of it unwinding as a smile crawls up Hob’s face.

“No. I mean, after you left in 1889, and after…” Hob swallows and he flickers for a moment, imperceptible to his own mind, but too easily seen by Dream, into the version of himself that waited in 1989. Slicked back hair, gray blazer, beer glass swirling on the table, waiting. “I just… I’m so grateful for every moment I get with you. But… I thought, maybe you were a wizard, or a fairy or some kind of stone-faced trickster. But you’re… a God? More than a God. And… You can understand why that might make me think I don’t deserve to be in your presence.”

Dream tilted his head, studying Hob’s uncertainty like a bug under a microscope, observing each micro expression, trying to glean as much information as possible from the twitch of lips and eyes and wrinkle of his forehead.

“I have apologized for my conduct before, but I believe I must do it again.”

Hob looks at him like he isn’t sure where Dream is going with this, and truth be told, Dream understands why. He is not a being prone to change or admitting to his faults. And yet, sitting across from Hob Gadling, the man shameless enough to defy death, ashamed of himself as a direct result of one of Dream’s actions, he feels he must admit his error where Hob is concerned. Not to do so would be tantamount to denying their friendship, which Dream had decided not to do nearly a whole year ago. A short time in the life of a being older than the universe, but still not an insignificant amount of time. Not when Time had come to mean so much more to him while trapped in a sphere of glass, cut off from his power, every moment passing as it does for mortals, the ache of it hollowing out the few places in him that had ever gained to be soft, those places growing back at the urging of his sister with the unwilling assistance of Hob Gadling.

“I told you once before that it was hubris, to call one such as I a friend. To relegate me to the human feeling of loneliness when my very being encompasses all that has dreamed, does dream and will ever dream. It is true that we do not move through the world in the same way. If you were to die, the universe would be no worse for it in a cosmic sense. Your circle of influence would be affected, but that effect would ultimately peter out as human circles do. Were I to vanish, when I did vanish, the consequences for humanity and all of the universe’s inhabitants were measurable. Wars, sleeping sickness, injustices too long suffered, all made worse by my absence. My Kingdom crumbled, my Dreams and Nightmares fled. Beings dreamed but did not Dream. Were I to die, those consequences would be amplified exponentially. And so I cannot die. If I ever chose it, like my sister before me, another would rise up in my stead and replace me. All the same knowledge and power and drive, but perhaps more virtuous, less prideful, more happy, I would imagine.”

Hob’s eyes don’t seem to have narrowed at all since Dream began, and so he continued, knowing full well that the first part of his lecture did little to inspire Hob’s faith.

“How close I was to choosing this death, knowing that nothing in the Waking world would truly suffer and another would rise up in my place, cannot be known. I myself was unaware of how close I was to making this choice. Your decision to live, small and inconsequential as it may have been for all of humanity, was my purpose, for a scant few hundred years. Our meetings were some of only a few points of light in my otherwise gray existence. I had not taken joy in stories, in people, in my function, for many centuries, but you, Hob Gadling, made me wish to listen to stories again.”

Hob’s lips part in a subtle look of awe that makes Dream more sure of himself, more certain that this path is the right one, for all that it lays him bare.

“And so I ask you, under these circumstances, how I might choose to be in the presence of any human other than you.”

There are tears in Hob’s eyes that Dream doesn’t think they understand, but they will do their best to try.

“You were going to kill yourself. And you didn’t. Because I was interesting.”

“We can never know what I would have done.” Dream sighed and took a sip of their wine. “But it is not so far outside of the realm of possibility as to be negligible.”

Hob isn’t looking at them anymore. He’s looking through them. Seeing, if Dream is correct, each of their meetings in a new context, this new aspect of Dream laid before him not unlike an offering from a god to their loyal priest, a piece of knowledge reserved only for the deserving, and if Hob was anything he was deserving.

He laughs, after a few moments spent in silence. There is not humor in it. “I’m a fucking git.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I,” Hob huffs into his drink and takes another sip, the glass full again by sheer force of will of a dreamer. “I have spent all these years thinking about how it feels to be stood up, and wishing for you to be here, and then it happens and I have the gall to pity myself. Woe is me, my dearest friend is back and all I can think about is whether or not I'm worth beings friends with.” Hob sets his drink down, reaches across the table to lay his hand over Dream’s. “For whatever it may be worth, another version of you wouldn’t be the same to me. It wouldn’t be inconsequential to me.”

Ah, and there the tears well up again, more sizable, nearly enough to break free of their dam.

“And so I ask you to believe the same of yourself, Hob Gadling.”

Hob squeezes Dream’s hand absently, and then pulls back to wipe at his eyes, no tears shed, caught and buried once again. There is a stillness to Hob’s unconscious mind that was not there before. A softness to the edges of him that had been sharp only moments ago.

Dream did not apologize, but he hopes that the sentiment was understood.

#lore's dreamling letters #I've decided that the second installment will include or be a prelude to a second book of letters #this one intended as a gift #to be read in their entirety #eventually #I was so upset that it took me so long to continue writing this #but I'm so glad I didn't force it.#I've written like... 3k just since 2am this morning.

40 notes · View notes

purplesauris · 7 months

Text

Turn Your Minutes Into Moments

Pairing: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Rating: Explicit Summary: Finally free and business taken care of, Dream seeks to make amends with his oldest, and perhaps only, friend. Only what he finds waiting for him when he arrives is nothing like he expected.

A week after Dream takes care of Unity— and by extension, meets his niece and nephew— he returns to the Waking world.

Not to hunt down an errant nightmare, as has been his main reason for leaving the Dreaming as of late, but to finally visit a friend.

One he has thought about extensively while in confinement, regret and shame over their last meeting his only companions during his imprisonment. Free now, Dream would see their relationship repaired after the damage his pride has surely wrought by pushing Hob away.

He’s only mildly ashamed that it took his sister mentioning him and pulling Dream’s memories to the forefront for him to realize that he need not wait until their next centennial meeting to find him and apologize. Humans, Death tells him, meet far more often than once a century, and enjoy doing so, whether there’s a purpose behind the visit or simply a need to see a friend.

It would not be unusual for Dream to seek him out now, she says, if only to know he is doing well in this modern world.

With his mind made up and Lucienne aware, Dream steps from the Dreaming and into the Waking, shivering at the sudden gust that pulls at his clothes.

Read more on AO3!

#dreamling #dream x hob #my writing #shapeshifter AU #the sandman #the sandman fanfic #nsft

8 notes · View notes

whisperprime · 2 years

Text

Part 1

It's 2189.

Hob is sitting at a table in The New Inn. He isn't meeting anyone. The only person he would have meet on this day is dead some 100 years and change. He argued and debated with himself on this day in 2089, the first centennial meeting that his old friend wouldn't be meeting him at. What was the point, if he wouldn't be there?

In the end, he came and he transformed this night into a night of remembrance. To remember the people he's meet - and lost - along with all the things he's done. A day to grieve. But also a day to remember why he still wants to live to see the next century.

It's because he's not expecting anyone that he's a bit startled when someone sits down in the seat across from him.

He means to tell them, politely, that he's not in the mood for company. To move, if he must. But all thoughts come to a halt when the other man says, "Hob Gadling?"

Hob hasn't told anyone that name in a century. Hasn't heard it outside his own head in so long it almost sounds wrong. This person - whoever he is - knowing it puts him on alert.

The other man picks up on his unease. He's quick to explain he means no harm. [Not sure how to get there, but the other man get Hob to listen to him and eventually explains that he's Someone Who Exists, But Shouldn't. His continued existence will one day bring about the premature end of this reality.]

"Why are you tell me all of this?" Hob says, not sure if he believes any of this. Is equally unsure if he can afford to ignore it. "What can I do?"

The other man explains that many years ago, someone fell under the Sleepy Sickness that could have done something to that would have set off a chain reaction that would have caused the other man to not exist. He's proposing to destroy a timeline, rather than destroying the universe. To change a fated point in time is hard - damn near impossible - but it can be done.

If someone is willing to pay for it, that is.

Hob gets where this is going. Asks, "Say I was willing to bite. What would I have to do?"

The other man would send Hob back in time. Little unpredictable, time travel. Lots of rules. But one way or another, Hob would take Dream's place as the individual Roderick Burgess summons. As Dream would never be summoned, the Sleepy Sickness would never happen. The target would never fall asleep and the universe would be saved.

Hob likes the idea of the universe continuing to exist. He also very much likes the idea of sparing his old friend this traumatic experience. Dream had changed after his imprisonment - maybe even for the better - but how high had the cost been? Was it really the only was for him to change?

Hob was willing to gamble it wasn't. He'd help humanity and the rest of the universe. But above all else, he'd do anything to help his old friend.

Even if it meant they may, potentially, never truly be friends again.

Hob agrees. The other man says he was ready to send Hob back anytime. Said he was adding another layer to help Hob win out against Fate: a seal that would hide Hob from the Endless. They won’t be able to perceive him at all. Additionally, it would seal his voice. The other man explains that Dream's silence during his imprisonment was legend, so too, must there be something similar in this trade.

Hob secretly thinks the other man thinks he won't keep his side of the bargain, but he's also never been imprisoned for a hundred years, so. Maybe it's fair to make it where he can't been seen by Death or to call on her.

It won't occur to him for a while that it means Dream won't be able to see or hear him either, but that will come later.

Hob doesn't see any point in waiting. Might as well do it now.

And so the other man does.

See, Hob didn't actually thing the other man was telling the truth. Thought he was off his rocker. But then the chair, table, and the very floor itself disappears from underneath him and he's falling...

And falling...

All at once he's hitting cold stone with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. He can hear voices around him, but his head's too muddled to make any sense of things. He has enough time to see the upside down face of none other Roderick Burgess just before the strain of the journey gets the best of him and he passes out.

Part 2

#the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dreamling #my fics #mostly exercising this to flesh it out later #lunch time is over so I'll have to post the rest of it later

192 notes · View notes

mimisempai · 1 year

Text

Jump

What has Hob done since he first met Dream except jump without worrying about the consequences?

On Ao3

Rating G - 600 words

Hob looked up slowly until he met the familiar and at the same time new face of his stranger.

One hundred and thirty years later.

Should he once again jump in without considering the consequences?

Or should he take time to think?

But since when was he ever cautious when his stranger was concerned?

**********

"A hundred years' time, on this day?"

The stranger nodded challengingly.

That was enough for Hob to jump in without a safety net, "I will see you in the year of our Lord 1489, then."

**********

"So you still want to live?"

Hob answered without taking the time to think, "Oh, yes."

The stranger looked down on him because he had stood up and continued, "Hundred years, then?"

Hob did not hesitate and answered with all his heart, "Oh, yes."

**********

"I've hated every second of the last 80 years, every bloody second. You know that?"

He wondered if the stranger felt so sorry for him that he had tears in his eyes, as he asked, "So do you still wish to live?"

As usual, it didn't take long for Hob to respond, "Are you crazy?"

The stranger gave him such a surprised look that Hob almost laughed before replying, "Death is a mug's game. I got so much to live for."

**********

Hob glanced at Dream, did not take the time to evaluate the situation and, after throwing his cup in the faces of the mercenary, he threw himself into the fight.

And although in the end his life was at the tip of Lady Johanna's knife, he did not regret his rash decision, not when it came to protect the life of his stranger.

**********

Nor did he think about it a hundred years later, when he told the stranger, "I think I know why we still meet here, century after century. It's not because you want to see whether or not I'm ready to seek death. I don't think I'll ever seek death. By now, you know that about me. So, I think you're here for something else."

But he didn't immediately notice the change in his companion's attitude when the latter asked him, "And what might that be?"

Hob didn't hesitate there either and answered truthfully, "Friendship." then added softly, "I think you're lonely."

The stranger was now looking at him with a harsh, though seemingly tearful expression, "You dare..."

Then Hob tried to explain, "No, look, I'm not saying--" but the stranger continued, "You... dare suggest one such as I might need your companionship?"

Hob had already jumped, it was too late to back out so he replied, as genuine and straightforward as ever, "Yes. Yes, I do."

**********

Today he was there in front of him.

After so many days of waiting, his stranger returned.

So Hob didn't have to think.

He jumped up and simply said, "You're late."

When his stranger smiled back at him in a way he had never seen before, he thought that the feeling of jumping into the void, without a net, was worth it.

Even more so with the words he said to him next.

"It seems I owe you an apology. I've always heard it impolite to keep one's friends waiting."

Yes, Hob had been right to jump.

The reward in the end was worth the risk he had taken.

So a few months later, squeezing the small square blue velvet box that held a simple gold ring in his pocket, he thought back to all the times he had taken the risk.

Then he didn't hesitate and, taking big steps towards his smiling lover, he jumped.

Again.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Main post here

Dreamling Masterlist here

#the sandman #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #dreamling fic #centennial husbands #centennial boyfriends #morpheus #morpheus x hob #hob x morpheus #dream x hob #hob x dream

48 notes · View notes

why-what-no · 2 years

Text

Being An Endless & Falling In Love With Hob Would Include

Pairing: Hob Gadling x Endless!Reader

Warnings: None

Notes: None

Requested by: “Aaaaaaaalex” On Wattpad

You hadn’t really planned to meet the man, only knowing him as the human that your brother was intrigued by

They had been meeting once every 100 years, but now meeting up more frequently. That’s what Death told you, at least.

Apparently Morpheus was willing to admit they were friends now, and you know how he loyal he was to the people he loved

It was during one of those meeting that the two of you met.

You had apologetically interrupted their meeting to tell Morpheus about some problem that the Dreaming was having.

Because of that, he left quickly. Saying goodbye and leaving you alone with his friend.

Hob was immediately interested in you, not really knowing about you and your siblings.

Dream had only just began to be open about what he was to the human. After years and years of secrecy.

He invited you to take Morpheus’s abandoned chair, striking up conversation.

Which, to your surprise, was fairly enjoyable. You could understand why Morpheus liked him.

In fact, you and Hob spent more time together after that. He could make you laugh, and… he wasn’t terrible looking.

You spent most of your time in your own realm, so he offered to show you some places he liked on earth.

Eventually, your friendly visits would turn into romance. Hob ended up asking you out at the bar that you first met in.

Morpheus was irritated about the relationship at first

Slightly worried that you two would be so close that you’d forget about Morpheus. But you assured him that wouldn’t happen.

It took a while, but he would support the relationship once he realized that.

Despite anyone else’s thoughts, you and Hob were very happy.

He’d regale you with stories about the centuries he lives and you would tell him about the other Realms.

Hob was enthralled by you, amazed that a powerful and beautiful being like you could love a human like him.

But you did, and you wouldn’t choose anyone else.

#the sandman hob #the sandman #the sandman headcanons #the sandman x reader #hob gadling #hob gadling headcanons #hob gadling x reader #my fics #my headcanons

179 notes · View notes

rainbowmoonstonestories · 1 year

Text

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (upcoming, minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read (you can skip parts if you think it is too much). Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn't utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics.

Chapter 3

You couldn't dream at all. Or so you thought.

Your first encounter with Dream of the Endless went better than you had foreseen. The apprehension you felt when you walked into the basement had soon faded away, as you came up with your own makeshift plan to do what Mr. Burgess had requested without giving up your honor code. For all you knew, Dream didn’t believe a single word you said, but he didn’t look displeased when you volunteered to offer him your companionship.

Admittedly, there wasn’t much that you knew about him or what his magical presence in the world signified. There were many different stories that portrayed The Sandman in various ways and none of them seemed to be accurate with how they had been transcribed. In 1818, a German author named Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann created a horrific version that described Dream as a monstrous mythological figure throwing sand in the eyes of children, which would fall out if they couldn’t sleep. On the other hand, there also was a much lighter fairy tale written by Hans Christian Andersen, displaying him as an entity who made the little ones drowsy and sent them off to sleep, only punishing the bad kids with no dreams at all. Modern myths and folklore were crafted to answer any child’s question about why people have grit in their eyes upon waking up.

The beautiful tale you loved as a little girl represented Dream of the Endless as a bringer of stories, maintaining the balance of humanity intact. However, most parents had twisted that concept and turned it into a pretext to keep their kids under control. They wouldn’t act badly if they knew The Sandman could come at night to stain their dreams with darkness and fear.

You hadn’t read that volume in a long time, cherished once and forgotten over the years. The urge of going through those pages again was growing within you, eager for knowledge and a trip down memory lane.

The following day, Mr. McGuire inquired how your meeting with Dream had played out. “It’s quite early to speak about trust,” you told him, “But I can assure you that he listened. I might need a bit of time to get through him properly though.”

For his part, he appeared to be satisfied with the little progress you reported. “Take all the time you need, we do not expect you to succeed in a day.”

The second time you talked to Dream, it was during your lunch break with no guard on duty downstairs. Alex and Paul were expecting their usual guests in the afternoon, so you knew you would end up being too exhausted to pay the Endless a visit after a chaotic day.

As usual, Dream was a sight to behold. The encaged physical entity was very attractive and that could not be denied, but the way his marble-like skin glowed under the dim light of the platform made you feel strangely calm and secure. You perceived an invisible force drawing you to him since the first time you met him, a magnet that was glued to your heart and accelerated it, pulling it out of your chest whenever you got lost into his eyes.

“I wish I knew how it feels like to have dreams.”

He stared at you in silence, but he was considering and processing your words.

“I guess I will find out soon, huh?”

Your smile dropped the moment you saw him clenching his jaw. You mainly wanted to be encouraging, reassure him that sooner or later, one way or another, he would get out of that prison as you promised. To him, those were just volatile words with no real foundation, because you didn’t have any tangible proof to give.

You sighed. You were getting goose bumps from the lower temperature around you, and while you tried to contain your shivering since you arrived, your uneasiness could be well spotted along your arms. As soon as you finished your meal, you rushed down the stairs and into the basement without the sweater you had strategically prepared into your room and the skin along your limbs was once again left unprotected due to your forgetfullness. The tights you were wearing had a thin fabric that could barely warm up your legs, the humidity seeped into your bones, stiffening your muscles and almost giving you a running nose.

Dream moved, unfolding his own lean, yet strong legs and pushing himself up from the sphere floor. You looked away from his body Instinctively, now practically fully exposed in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that his right hand was raised in the air, fingers grazing the glass and requiring your attention back.

(gif by aceofwhump)

You quickly glanced at his face, perplexed and inquisitive. Dream waited, looking at you with his beautiful, deep blue orbs. You followed his lead, brushing your fingertips on the cold material of the bowl and meeting his indirect touch. You were captured by the intensity (and intimacy) of the moment, before an incredibly warm sensation washed over you. Your skin returned to its normal state in an instant and, as if by magic, you weren’t cold anymore. The warmth that embraced you was like delicious honey, coating your chest with its remarkable sweetness. Your entire essence melted into that feeling of comfort and relief, the tension in your shoulders was also gone and your bones no longer felt heavy.

You were left speechless. Amazed. The tips of your fingers were on fire, but the kind of fire that didn’t burn. If he could do such a thing without the majority of his powers, you could only imagine the greatness he would be able to achieve without any binding circle blocking his capacities.

But there was more. Your whole hand felt electric and you sensed a connection between your bodies despite the glass separating you. Dream noticed it too, his eyes widening and watering as his breathing came to a halt, it was something so powerful that it travelled farther down to your toes.

Then, the way it came, it stopped abruptly when he jerked his wrist back and your palm was left alone, empty, pressed against the sphere. You didn’t know how to react, what to think of it… and clearly neither could he. All you knew was that Dream noticed your discomfort and somehow he managed to dissipate it.

You were about to thank him, when the indistinguishable hammer sound of a Revolver echoed behind you and made you turn in shock.

“Get away from there, Missy!”

The now familiar guard was pointing his weapon at Dream in a fighting stance, looking up and down between the two of you in alarm. You put your hands up in a placative manner, walking away from the cage and breathing out. “Sir, you can put that gun down. He wasn’t doing anything, I assure you.”

“Didn’t look like that to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously? He’s locked into a fucking cage! What do you think he’s gonna do?”

The guard hesitated, but he adjusted his grip around the gun. “Don’t care, don’t want to know. Just gotta do my job.”

Your arms dropped along your sides in exasperation. “Yes, you are oh so big and scary, we got the message. I’m asking you again Sir; can you please put that thing down?”

The guard nervously licked his lips and stepped forward. “You should get away from him, this instant.”

“What is it, you’ve been confined to this house for so long that you miss the action?” You inquired. The anger was bursting inside of you, thundering and exploding like a firework. “If you want to pull the trigger that badly, then you’ll get a lot of explaining to do. Because I’m not going anywhere, just so you know.”

You took a step back, grazing the cage with your knuckles. Dream slowly knelt down, you could feel his presence close to your shoulder as he approached the glass once more.

All the blood was rushing to the guard’s face. The man grunted and put his gun back into the holster when you stayed true to your word, standing firmly onto the platform. “Bloody hell.”

You responded with a triumphant smile. Your nails were absently drawing patterns on the sphere, your back against it felt tingly and heated.

The guard's eyes were boring into you.“I’ll have to report this,” he said. “Just so you know.”

Oh, such a bad game he wanted to play. “The cage and the binding circle are fully intact. What is there to even report?”

You could hear the guard growling from the other side. His fingers were twitching in irritation, but he decided not to argue further and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from responding in kind.

In the end, he tried to get rid of you the easy way. “Shouldn’t you get back to work, Miss?”

As much as you disliked it, you had to admit that he was right. You were only supposed to be there for a few minutes, but you probably already exceeded the time at your disposal.

“Yes, I should,” you confirmed. Turning to Dream, you lowered your voice so that only he could hear you. “Will you be okay alone with that prick?”

Dream nodded at your question, almost imperceptibly.

“I’ll be back soon.”

When you left the platform, you looked at the man taking his usual place next to the table. He was unfolding the daily newspaper, complaining under his breath.

“Try to be a little nicer to him,” You told him, to which he answered with a tight smile that looked more like a twisted grimace.

He didn’t like you, clearly, and the sentiment was mutual.

Dream’s attention was fixated on you as you left and he didn’t look away from the open gate not even when you disappeared behind it.

(gif by stephendorff)

“I want to be a friend for you, if you will allow it.”

The words you said had been lingering in Morpheus’s mind since the night you visited him alone. He wanted to believe you, to trust your promise, for you seemed to be the most sincere and honest human to walk into that hellhole in a century. Still, his doubts about you could not be fully dismissed; it would be so easy for you to betray him, defy him, go back on your word when more profitable opportunities presented themselves. You had all the incentive to keep him where he was, while your reasons for doing as you were told could be understood, trust was definitely a hard thing.

But then you had returned and something unexpected happened.

Just like the night you first met, he could see the coldness you were suffering from on your skin and in the shivers you did your best to hide. As you talked to him about all the little adventures you were living in the Waking World, Morpheus found himself captivated by your stories, considering your narrative skills quite compelling. You spoke with such vividness and humor, the way you described the general hardships you faced and the challenges you overcame was bizarrely entertaining.

You provided a good companionship in the little time you spent in front of his cage, something he was not used to after 106 years of loneliness. A mortal had come to him with kindness and understanding, with no demands and no desire to get something out of him. You were there to do a job, but you simply wanted to talk and he was comforted by it. There was something different in you, he could see your sincerity and the will to stay despite your physical uneasiness.

Morpheus couldn't leave you like that. While his magical tools had been taken by Roderick Burgess the day he was captured, he was still left with a fragment of his power, so he stood into the sphere and reached out to you for the first time. It was surprising that you looked away to respect his state of undress. To him, clothes were just a form of expression, not a way to stay covered or warm. He wasn't concerned about being naked in front of others, but you were, again, the only one showing him a bit of decency.

When your hand met his over the glass, Morpheus could see the relief spreading onto you as the coldness disappeared, but the little contact he enstablished ended up affecting him as well, contrary to what he had predicted. As you closed your eyes and let yourself lull by his warm energy, Morpheus saw through you in a way he didn’t think possible. He had always known everything about any living being, their name, their story, their wishes and their dreams, but the binding circle had prevented him from exploring your background, so you remained a partial mystery from the beginning.

He saw it all and more that day. He searched into your heart and found nothing that would taint it. There was no darkness, no lie, no deceit. He could only see light, a brilliant and beautiful light, that seemed to fill every corner of your being. He saw the gleam forming around your figure, as bright and calming as a shining star in the sky. Your fears became his own and he felt the love that resided in you, a love so strong and so true it felt almost overwhelming. You had the purity and innocence of a Goddess enclosed within your delicate human form.

Morpheus was inspecting his hand now. The tingles in it were dissipating, yet his chest was still burning hot. The guard was watching him from his seat, but Dream’s thoughts kept wandering back to you and the way you glowed, the way you smiled, the way you bravely challenged that man to protect him.

Morpheus came into existence once lifeforms capable of dreaming appeared in the universe. He had seen it all, gained and lost a lot, discovered and learnt everything there was to know about mankind. Never before had he encountered a mortal such as yourself, not even when he got acquainted with Nada, his fragile human lover from a very distant lifetime.

You were undoubtedly speaking the truth about your intentions, your unwavering determination to save your father was undeniable, but you didn't want to do it at the cost of Morpheus's freedom. He couldn't help but believe you.

He was intrigued by your strength and courage, by your gentle spirit that exuded from you. Morpheus wanted to know you, to see more of you, to understand you. You were like a fresh book that he couldn’t wait to leaf through.

Curiosity killed the cat, he knew that proverb very well. But he could not refrain himself from wondering what other marvels you had to show him.

For a very short moment, you made him forget about his captivity and the eagerness he had of being set free.

As it turned out, the guard wasn’t just babbling about and effectively disclosed whatever he thought he had witnessed into the basement. Mr. McGuire came looking for you that same day, curious to hear your version of the story and to make sure your safety with Dream wasn’t compromised. Nor was theirs.

You told him about your haste and distracted mind. You described the way Dream had placated your discomfort, but left out the rest as you wouldn’t even know how to explain it. And you didn’t really want him, nor anybody else, to know how powerful it was and how good it made you feel.

Mr. McGuire blinked a few times, analyzing what you had just said. “That’s it? Is that what he did?”

“Yes, what else? He’s not the monster you all think he is.”

“It’s not that, just… he didn’t try playing tricks with your mind or controlling it, did he?”

“No. If that were the case, I doubt he’d be still locked downstairs.”

With the guests arriving at the mansion, the amount of work on your side had magnified and you had to incessantly run back and forth throughout the evening. Paul’s interruption and interrogation only served to slow you and your tasks down, so you reminded him of the importance of your deal and the fact you couldn’t have him looming over your shoulder whenever the guards felt like reporting every single change in Dream’s demeanor. Thankfully, Mr McGuire agreed with you and he guaranteed that he’d personally have a talk with those two to soften up their rigid attitude. He also highlighted the peculiarity of Dream’s action, or rather spellcast, addressing it as the very first contact he ever had with a human in over a century.

When Alex was young, Dream had tried to break into his mind in a similar fashion. The young boy managed to snap out of that hazy state and regain full control of himself before touching the glass, but he described it as an incredibly strong pull that clouded his judgement, enchanted him to the point he no longer remembered his own name and almost made him fall into Dream’s clutches.

He had the perfect chance to try the same trick with you. Maybe two private encounters were barely enough to define you as his friend, or anything relatively close to that… but you could tell with absolute certainty that he wasn’t concocting any sort of evil plan to harm you. In fact, he did the exact opposite.

In the evening, you poured drinks and brought an unimaginable quantity of food to the guests in the living room, lost in their various conversations with Mr. McGuire and Mr. Burgess who had finally come out of his room. The man didn’t talk much. One would think he would relish the company after so much time spent by himself, but even though he was looking at everyone, it was as if he didn't really see them. He was lost in his own world, listening without catching any of it.

Mr. McGuire was sitting at his side, participating in the random, boring talks taking place. One of the men, sprawled in front of them on the leather couch, raised a glass full of wine and let out a satisfied sigh. You lost count of how many drinks he had since he arrived, saying he looked nasty would be an understatement. “My word Alex, your house never ceases to amaze me. Cheers! Your hospitality is appreciated, my friend.”

Mr. Burgess showed the hint of a smile, but did not respond.

“I was thinking, is it true what they speak about ol’ Roderick? About here? I’ve been hearing a certain rumor for quite a while, you see.”

Your ears pricked up and your motions slowed down. You didn’t like where this was going.

“They say you hold the bloody Devil into your basement, that he is granting your family riches and longevity.”

The empty bottle of Whiskey you were holding slipped from your grip, but you promptly catched it before it could fall and shatter on the floor. Paul’s eyes met yours for a moment and you quickly adverted your gaze, the guest continued with his investigation without paying attention to your mishap. “Tell me, is it really just a rumor or…?”

Mr. McGuire let out a nervous laugh. “I’m afraid that’s all it is, just a rumor. Nothing more.”

The man eyed the couple with a look of barely-concealed contempt. He drank more of his wine and emptied the glass in one fluid movement, like it was some kind of competition. “Ah. That’s a pity."

Mr. Burgess was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, wanting to be anywhere but there. “Miss Y/LN, “ he said. “Can you refill his glass, please?”

The man's eyes lit up at the prospect of more wine and he extended his hand to you. His lack of coordination almost smacked the glass right into your cheekbone and you dodged it in time. “Thank you, thank you!” He exclaimed.

You complied, putting on your mask of innocent and condescending housemaid. “Right away, Sir.”

You were exhausted, more strain on your emotions than on your physical body. You didn’t hate your job, you had grown accustomed to it and you had to admit it was keeping you in shape, which was a benefit you were thankful for. The most draining part was having to listen to the obnoxious speeches of the drunken guests every single week and it was taking its toll on you.

Mr. Burgess and Mr. McGuire were apparently as frustrated as you were. It was astonishing that people could show such a lack of interest and respect in their home and you couldn’t understand why they were so keen to socialize with a bunch of total morons. It was easy to see their intentions when the man mentioned the rumors about Dream; they were only driven by their own opportunism, taking adventage of the Burgess family’s financial abundance, quality drinks and expensive meals. Chances were they also hoped to make a deal with Mr. Devil, gaining power and gold for themselves. You could taste the vitriol on your tongue at the thought of Dream locked into that cage and mistaken for a filthy demon. The Endless deserved better than that.

The night felt as if it would last forever. The mattress beneath you was very soft and comfortable, yet your eyes couldn’t remain shut for more than ten seconds. Your insomnia had kicked in like it did practically every night, leaving you distressed and impatient with your throat getting dry.

You turned on your back, then on the other side. You sat on the edge of the bed and took a walk around the room, careful to not make any noise. Back and forth, left and right. You paced around for a while, the darkness of the night was enveloping your senses and the lack of sleep weighting down on your mind.

You climbed back to bed in a fetal position, same ritual and same result, every damn time.

Eventually, you tired yourself out so much that your eyelids finally started to get droopy. Your breathing became slow and steady, your body slowly sinked further and further into the mattress. You pulled the bedsheets to your neck and let yourself drift off into a dreamless sleep.

Or so you thought.

(gif from here)

Everything was dusty, gloomy, hazy. You were standing in a field of sand, stretched out as far as the eye could see. You had no idea where you were and you felt disoriented. The wind howled around you, blowing into your face. You pushed your hair away as you attempted to look ahead. You made out the shape of something big and white in the distance, it was calling your name, silently and strongly, beckoning you forward.

You walked into the unknown, one hand cupped on your forehead to protect yourself from the sandstorm. The dark fog began to subside, the wind died down and you could see what stood in front of you more clearly. So high and imponent, so beautifully made.

Everything was appearing a little blurry and you had some trouble putting it into focus. You could feel the warmth of the blazing sun rising behind you, but its comforting presence was mixed with thunders reverberating through the menacing clouds. As you stepped close to the large object, your curiosity grew and you noticed it was a stoned barrier. It was the entry of something you were feeling attracted to, but you were not yet allowed to discover it.

You squinted, inspecting every carving that had been masterfully created on those gates. There were complex ornaments, symmetrical sections and birds of prey on both sides, a weird alien-like mask built at the top and reflected like a mirror. But what truly captured your attention was the detail in the faces of someone imprinted into the stone, illustrating what you perceived like a distant memory, a heartbreaking love story. One of the faces was strangely familiar, although your mind was all fuzzy and you could barely think straight.

You reached for one of the two doors, feeling the hardness and roughness of the stony material under your skin. You hoped to see it moving, opening at your touch, but something about that whole situation was somehow completely wrong. You stared at your fingers in utter confusion, as you suddenly counted more digits than you were supposed to have in one hand. It was like watching a glitchy monitor with an out of focus slide where things looked overlapped, your eyes couldn't adjust and your overall awareness had considerably started to fade.

The gates blew away, slipping between your distorted fingers in a handful of grains. The wind picked up again, swirls of sand engulfing you and dragging you into an expanse of pitch black before you woke up.

You opened your eyes and stared at the ceiling, your mind lingering on the images of the mysterious land you had just visited. You tried to remember every detail, but with each passing second the memories dissolved, until all that was left was a sense of wanting and nostalgia. It was all gone and forgotten, sent far away and locked into a remote corner of your brain, never to be recovered.

You didn't have the key to access that again. It was lost, gone, evaporated… and you remembered nothing. To you, it was as if you never dreamed.

You turned from side to side a few times more, fixing the pillow and slowly falling into another restive slumber.

It was a foggy morning and the birds were just starting to sing their songs in the still air. You discended the stairs to the basement, eager to check on Dream again before taking your leave for the day.

The guards snorted when they saw you arriving, but your visit to the Endless would be a brief one, which is why you allowed them to stay without paying too much attention to their mockeries and the derision emanating from their throats.

Somehow you felt more confident now, striding to the platform without any hesitancy in you and focusing on the task ahead.

“Good morning Dream,” you greeted him with a newly formed smile. “How are you holding up?”

Dream’s back straightened as he looked at the guards and you followed the rapid movement of his irises. “I know, poor choice of the personnel right there,” you scoffed.

Dream pouted, his lips so plump and pink, so soft-looking and totally kissable. You stared shamelessly, your teenage attitude bubbling beneath the surface. You gulped it down and touched the glass, your fingers gliding along the smoothness of the sphere.

In that moment, you thought about all the fingerprints that had been etched onto the surface.

“Just hang in there for a little while longer,” you murmored softly. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

His staring shifted onto your hand, but he didn’t reach for it this time. A part of you wished he would. You ignored it.

“Take care, Dream. I’m in a hurry right now, I’ll come back to see you again tomorrow.”

Your heart melted when you noticed the slight desperation in his altered posture, looking at you like a pleading child. Not a single word came out of his mouth, but his glistening eyes and stiffen shoulders spoke volumes about the frustration he was feeling.

You wished you could have stayed, but unfortunately you had matters to attend to. The temptation of postponing your plans just to be with him for the entirety of the day was poking your head, but your father was expecting you and so was your friend who you promised to have lunch with.

You gave him an apologetic smile and waved your goodbye. Your boots resounded into the basement with each quick step over the brick floor, you went back up the stairs in a haste, grabbed your bag and scurried out of the silent house, the cab already waiting for you in the morning haze. The sun was just beginning to show its first light over the horizon, the thin rays peeking through the trees and brushing against your cheeks.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the Endless all the way back to town. And even after that.

Upon arriving at your father’s place, the man came running at the door to welcome you inside. The physical boost he was proudly showing off since waking up had the nurse’s hair standing, only 72 hours after the first administration. Doctor Mills happened to be as astonished as you were, watching him dancing and singing in the living room on the notes of Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash. He had calculated between 20 to 30 days of treatment before noticing a proper sign of recovery, but the fatigue had considerably reduced, his appetite was going back to normal and his blood pressure was no longer displaying alarming values. Doctor Mills clarified that three days were purely indicative and a relapse wasn’t feasible to exclude. He preferred to stay with his feet planted on the ground, monitoring the entire progress without feeling overly excited ahead of time. Still, he praised the strong willpower that your father clinged to since the first diagnosis, considering it a huge factor playing in his favor.

Trying to convince him to stop jumping around like a spring and follow the doctor’s guidelines made you feel as if you were handling a disobedient toddler. He was still a little underweight, but the color had returned to his face. You had hoped to see him going back to his old self for a very long time and almost stopped hoping for the failed attempts. None of the medicines he took in the last couple years produced a similar effect before.

The rest of the morning continued wih the two of you catching up and chatting about your everyday lives. The poor man didn’t have a lot to tell beside the summarized plot of his favorite TV shows, so you did most of the talking and carefully avoided anything that could accidentally lead to the basement and what it contained. Your father snorted when you talked about your job, reiterating how disappointing it was to see you wasting your talents for his sake. You couldn’t yet decide to drop your fruitful position for something else, something that you could hardly see happening. And most importantly, you couldn’t abandon the Endless to his fate, a fate that you wanted to change with all your might by giving him the freedom he deserved.

You reached The New Inn to meet a special friend you hadn’t seen in a long time. The place had an antique style, the smell of wood mixed with freshly brewed coffee was always a combination that never failed to inspire you and make your creative juices flow whenever you wanted to work on your Portfolio.

You missed that immensely. Coming back after over a month of absence was refreshing and that sense of familiarity was something you were seriously lacking in Wych Cross (except maybe when you found yourselt in Dream’s presence. Why were you thinking about him again?). Your father was right about one thing; Fawney Rig would never be a place you actually belonged to.

You could already hear clinking glasses and the loud buzz of conversations coming from the door with people entering and leaving. You stepped inside, glancing at the table your friend liked to pick to enjoy some peace and quiet. And there he was, distinguished and composed, bent over a pile of grading papers. He took his teaching job very seriously, always carrying work to do wherever he went.

(gif by seniorinternaut)

You smiled brightly upon seeing him, waving at the waitress and walking past a group of customers cheerfully drinking at the bar. He looked up, meeting your eyes and smiling back with equal excitement. You could barely reach the table before you had his strong arms around your smaller frame, drowning into his cologne as you were pressed against his chest.

You returned the hug tightly, squeezing away the time and distance that had separated the two of you. “Hob! It’s so good to see you!”

You both let go, stepping back to take a good look at each other. “It’s good to see you too, Shortcake! How have you been?”

“All good! Work is keeping me busy though. Sorry for going MIA.”

It’d been far too long since you had the chance to properly talk to Hob. With you now living in Lewes, you were always unable to spare time to meet up despite all the good intentions you had to reconnect. You were determined to make up for lost time now, so you eagerly took a seat in the cozyness of the Inn.

He collected the papers partially marked with notes and grades in red, placing them into his leather bag to make some space.

“Don’t worry about it, I find you well! How’s your new job?”

“It’s average, really. And my insomnia is as bad as it could be. Have you seen my freaking eyebags?”

Hob shrugged. “You look great to me. Even more beautiful than usual.”

“Ever the gentleman!”

He winked at you from the other side of the table. “I hope they are treating you well in there. Did you find out if those rumors were true?”

Here we go again.

“Definitely not. If they had a demon locked somewhere in the house, I would know. I clean that place literally from top to bottom almost every day.”

Hob chuckled, giving your hand a light squeeze. “But they are treating you well, yes?”

You nodded. “Yes, I must say they are.”

When the food arrived, its delicious aroma immediatly filled your lungs and the first bite was even better than you remembered. Hob took your orders while waiting for your arrival, knowing all too well what your favorite meal was. He poured some quality fresh beer into your glasses, taking a quick glance at the entrance with a mournful expression. You saw him kicking down the disappointment and couldn’t really brush it aside.

“Still waiting for that friend of yours?” You asked.

Shaking his head, Hob looked defeated. “I probably won’t see him again.”

“Don’t say that.”

“The last time we were supposed to meet, he stood me up. I’m afraid that what I said back then has offended him greatly. I ruined it.”

“Hob,” you spoke softly. “It would take a lot more than a small fight to destroy a real friendship.”

He sighed. “I’m afraid this ‘real friendship’ as you call it had a completely different meaning to him.”

You put down your fork. “Look, you told me you have seen each other for… how many years again?”

He hesitated. “Too many to count.”

“Even if this guy is a very busy one, he always remembered about you, didn't he? You don’t know what happened, maybe something came up and he couldn’t make it for whatever reason.”

“I do hope you’re right, but even so, I have no way to contact him. To apologize for being a bloody idiot.”

“You don’t have his number?”

“Let’s say he’s not exactly the tech type.”

“Mh.” You resumed your eating. “Wanna bet he’ll come through that door in no time?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn't really bet on that.”

“Okay then. Call it a gut thing.”

“Again?”

“Was it ever wrong?”

“Now that you mention it…”

Your conversation moved to different topics as you consumed your lunch. Hob shared some funny anecdotes about his students, who all seemed to adore him and deeply respect his historical knowledge. It wasn’t surprising, he always knew events and facts that nobody ever taught you in class and you often joked about how he might easily come from a different century. You could listen to his lectures for hours without feeling even remotely bored, he just had a certain way with words, so polite and sometimes old-fashion, that a part of you wished you could be a student again.

When you told him about your father’s unexpected recovery, he was delighted to hear the news. The day Doctor Mills revealed his stomach conditions and general physical failure, your entire world collapsed over your shoulders and Hob was there to sustain you as you gasped for air. He held your hand in his to keep you on your feet, refusing to let you fall into that void of darkness and sorrow. Hob never told you much about his family and personal life, but losing a loved one was something he went through different times. He couldn't allow you to face that anguish alone, gulping down your despair and pretending it wasn't happening in front of him. He was such an incredible friend that, you were sure, nobody would have the balls to let someone as amazing as him slip out of their life.

You were so engrossed in your chat with Hob that you completely lost track of time. Before you knew it, you walked out of the New Inn in the chilly air of the late afternoon, a considerable contrast with the pleasant warmth you got accustomed to inside.

Since you were planning to make a stop at your place before returning to the Burgess mansion, Hob kindly offered to give you a ride, driving down the busy roads, passing trees and houses lit by the fading sunlight. You had to admit you were missing your town and old habits more than you had anticipated. The hustle and bustle of the city life, the bright lights in the night sky, the smell of freshly baked bread from the local bakery. All of those things you had taken for granted and now you were pining for them. Sitting down with your best friend, sharing stories and jokes over lunch and a cup of coffee, simply reminded you of how much you were lacking in favor of your financial benefit.

You knew it was worth it, especially now that you were finally seeing the results you were hoping for.

It was worth it, yes, but your father’s words continued echoing in your head.

“Do you know what else I’ve noticed? That you are so dishearteningly unhappy, my dear. You have dreams and an enviable creative talent that is literally going wasted.”

You never regretted your choice, truly. You’d do the same thing even if God decided to give you a second chance and send you back in time, willing to face the same hardships and give it all up again. But you often found yourself wondering about the life you could have lived if things went differently, imagining an alternative universe, or more planes developing at the same time, with just another You facing multiple outcomes.

Hob pulled over, stopping the car and parking in front of your apartment building. As the gentleman that he was, he stepped out of the vehicle to reach the passenger side and pull the door open for you, holding your hand until you were out of the car and fully standing. You thanked him with a smile and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear in a fondly way.

You adjusted the bag over your shoulder. “I’m glad we could meet today, I really missed you, you know?” You told him, tears already threatening to form at the thought of departing from him once more.

Dammit.

“Same here, Shortcake. I’m so glad to see you in such a good shape.”

“Thank you for caring. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grinned. “You would be lost as hell.”

Snickerig, you hit him lighty on the arm. “You’re so full of yourself, Mr. Gadling.”

“Aye, sweetheart,” he puffed out his chest. “Come on, have you seen me?”

Again, you burst out into a wholehearted laugh, so carefree and full of joy. The kind of joy you hadn’t felt in a very long time, the kind of joy you had almost forgotten. The kind of joy you thought you didn’t deserve anymore, the kind of joy you missed tremendously and needed like oxygen in your existence. The kind of joy that twisted into sadness, a sadness you felt expanding from your chest along your entire being.

Hob’s own laugh subsided when he saw your smile fading, narrowing his eyes in confusion. In that moment, your emotions started to run wild, it was as if someone had pressed a switch and flipped you over like day with night, light with dark, hot with cold.

Hob was aghast at your sudden breakdown. “Hey hey, what happened? Why are you crying…?”

Everything you kept buried into you was overflowing, bursting into an outpouring of tears. You tried to stop it, but the moment Hob embraced you and stroked your back with both hands in a soothing manner, you clutched the sides of his jacket and surrendered to your burning pain. The feeling came on gradually, like a wave, starting out small and slowly building until it was overwhelming.

He hugged you tightly, whispering soft words into your hair. “Shhh, it’s all right Buttercup. I’m here.”

Cracking in front of your best friend was definitely not something you had put into account. You wished you could have waited to be in the silent comfort of your private quarters before opening the floodgates, releasing all the vulnerability you didn’t know you had mounting to that extent. The worries, the tiredness, the anger, the piled up frustration… even the feelings you were most certainly developing for Dream. But there also was something else, something amiss from within you that you couldn’t quite decipher. You let all that out, flowing through loud sobs and heavy gasps. The responsibilities crashing onto you were suffocating and the fear of failing the ones who were counting on you, believing in you, had you screaming in agony.

Hob didn’t speak, he let you vent against him, keeping you between his arms until you started to calm down. It felt like an eternity, but eventually the tears slowed down, your chest felt empty and a sense of calm washed over you as your strength and resilience started to come back. You pulled away, drying your soaked cheeks with the heavy sleeves of your coat.

“I’m sorry, Hob. I don’t know what’s gotten into me all of a sudden.”

He smiled, using his thumb to brush away the teardrops at the corner of your eyes. “I hope it’s not a guy. Do I need to break someone’s nose? Because I’ll do that.”

His gentle words caused a new rush of tears, so you took a deep breath and shook your head. “No, it’s not that. The thing is, I’m already lost, Hob. Do you know that feeling of constantly walking on thin ice, as if it could break at any moment and suck you underneath?”

He let out a pained snort. “I may know one thing or two about that, yes.”

“What did you do?” Your voice was shaking.

He let his mind drift, letting the memories of his past come back to him. As he searched his mind, images and thoughts came in. “I’m afraid I don’t have a real answer, Y/N. I just knew I still had a lot to live for, so I endured. And then, it was finally over. “

“Which means, after the rain comes a rainbow?”

“It may not look like it, but it always does.”

You shoved your hands into your pockets. “I don’t know. The past couple years have been a living nightmare. I just want it to be over, I want to live the dream.”

Interesting choice of words you picked there…

“Y/N, If someone can rise of the shitty storm, it’s you.”

You let that sink into your heart, using it as the motivation you seeked to move forward without teetering. You were tempted to tell him everything about the basement in Fawney Rig, about Dream of the Endless, about your intention of setting the entity free. You knew that Hob would never doubt your words and the secret you were carrying with you was consuming your thoughts, growing too big for you to handle on your own. You let it roll on your tongue, seething in anticipation as you were about to spill it, you had it coming closer and closer to the edge, you wanted to say it, you needed to.

But no. In the end, you drew it back with resignation, as you didn’t want to involve anyone else in Mr Burgess’s affairs. It wasn’t the right time, you figured, to reveal something you were still trying to process yourself.

The last rays of sunlight disappeared, painting the world around you with beautiful orange and yellow hues that blended with purples and pinks, creating an ever-shifting canvas of beauty. The birds flew through the sky, their feathers catching the colorful lights. The trees swayed in the gentle breeze blewing through your hair, their leaves rustled and reflected the glowing tones from above. For a moment, all your worries were forgotten, taken away by the sun dipping lower and lower behind the buildings.

“Hob, about that thing you said before, that you still had a lot to live for…”

“What about it?”

You spotted a few twinkling stars, marveling at the artistry of the lively sky shaping into different colors and forms.

Almost like a dream.

“Do you see how beautiful it is?”

Hob looked up as well, the golden tones of sunset were framing his chin and jawline, highlighting their sharpness and masculinity.

“Witnessing things like this with a good friend by your side… these are the moments that I consider worth living for.”

Hob smiled to himself, supportively patting you on the shoulder and keeping you against him with a tight, reassuring grip. It was his way to let you know that he would always be there for more sunsets, more sunrises, more storms and more rainbows forming into your life.

“You’re right. It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

When you crossed the threshold of your apartment, an awful stale smell filled your nostrils and you rushed into opening the windows to let the air flow. The plastic covers you placed over your furniture prevented the dust from forming onto their surfaces, but the amount of dirt you found lying around was too much to bear and it had to go.

You rolled up your sleeves, watered the plants, took broom and mop out of the storage room, washed the floor and dusted everything off with impeccable precision. Your muscles were now accustomed to the physical exertion, allowing you to do more in a shorter amount of time.

You dropped onto the couch, feeling mentally exhausted from the emotional outburst you had earlier. The lingering headache was pressing against your temples, which you gently rubbed with your hands in a circular motion.

Hob made you promise to be more communicative in the future, either through a text or a call every once in a while. You were still trying to figure out what triggered such an exponential reaction in the first place (after an incredibly positive and fun day at that), but you both assumed that the past couple years, along with the most recent events he knew very little about, had put a toll on you and ended up breaking the camel’s back.

You looked around, enjoying the familiarity of your home. You inspected each polished decoration, all the immaculate furnishing you meticously positioned to build the perfect den for yourself. The monthly rent was not on the cheap side, but every cent you were spending for that apartment was solidifying your independence.

The fact you couldn’t spend enough time in there anymore since you moved to your workplace was bothering you to no end.

Your eyes stopped on the bookshelf, filled to the brink with books of different genres. One volume in particular immediatly crossed your mind, but you didn’t see it while dusting the library off. You bolted on your feet, scanning the titles in search of the one you were looking for. Your fingers brushed along the spines of the books as you looked high and low, only to consolidate the fact that it seemed to have vanished.

You thought back to the last time you had seen it. You took all your favorite books with you when you left your father’s house, but you couldn’t remember seeing that one at all when you opened the boxes to unpack. Since you most definitely didn’t put it anywhere else, you concluded that it probably never left your old place, so now you had more than one reason to visit your father again on your next day off.

You gobbled down the disappointment and returned to the couch, using your coat as a blanket to cover up your legs. In the deep, deafening silence of your apartment, the faint sounds of the city outside seemed to be intensified. You could hear the cars honking, music playing in the background, people talking and laughing in the street and the occasional bark of a dog. It was like an orchestra with no conductor and it made you feel a little less alone.

The city was a tapestry of lights, of people and places, of stories and dreams.

Dream…

You could almost feel the energy radiating out of the town, a sort of magnetic draw that pulled you in, as if you were part of something grand and extraordinary.

Dream.

You loved to bury yourself in nature, but you could not deny that the magic of the city was equally extraordinary. As someone who grew up in London, it was hard for you to imagine a life somewhere else. Although you didn’t want to bite the hand that was feeding you, the more time passed, the harder it was to live secluded in Ashdown Forest.

But Dream…

Yes, Dream. The one who occupied the majority of your thoughts now. If you said that you weren’t attracted to him you would be in denial and shirking away from the reality of things would only bring you to a standstill. You were determined to ignore it, to push it away and pretend it wasn’t there. You’d been telling yourself that it was all in your head, that you didn’t feel the spark when he was near, that your heart didn’t beat a little faster, like it was doing now, whenever his face appeared into your mind.

You didn’t know what he effectively did when your hands indirectly touched through the glass. He used his power to relieve you from the coldness, but you felt him delving into your deepest thoughts and fears. His eyes looked past your physical form and into your innermost being, you felt his energy flowing through you as your worries faded away and you felt cared for. He didn’t speak, but his presence alone was louder than words. That touch was a connection that went beyond any explanation, it gave you a sense of peace and belonging you never experienced with any of the men you dated.

From a realistic and objective point of view, the feelings you had for Dream weren’t safe for your heart in the long run, but your inner voice wanted you to pursue with them, to explore them and let them flourish.

You closed your eyes. His perfect, beautiful face was the last thing you saw before succumbing to your weariness.

The air around you was eerie as you awoke on a cold floor. You were surrounded by rubble and scattered pieces of colorful glass, in what looked like a destroyed Cathedral room. You stood up on your feet, but you struggled to keep your balance with your legs feeling weak and unsteady. Your mind was fuzzy, all you felt was confusion and disorientation in a place you did not recognize.

The room was a strange mix of gothic and ancient elements. Stone pillars rose up from the large tiles and they were crowned with Greek busts that seemed to look at each other with deep contemplation. A long and curved staircase, only partially broken in places, led up to an empty throne. It was a seat of power remained vacant over a scene of destruction.

The stained glass windows behind it were in a state of disrepair, but the light streaming in through them (or coming from them, you weren’t sure) was so bright it was almost blinding. The colors that remained were casting their deep blue, vibrant green and fiery orange over the surrounding devastation.

The ceiling was completely missing and the sky above was unlike anything you had seen before. It was dark, almost inky and full of blinking stars. A red nebula was crossing that infinite black expanse, dancing in its own cosmic rythm. When you took a step back to admire its galactic beauty, something cracked loudly under your foot. You looked down, noticing a triangular piece of blue stained glass next to a smaller fragment that you had just accidentally pulverized with your boot. You knelt down to take the fragile chunk in your hand, it was oddly warm to the touch and you saw your face reflected on the smooth material as you turned it over. For a second, you bizarrely saw someone else flashing in it, glowing eyes appearing in place of your original iris hue and going back to normal.

“Who are you?”

Suddenly, you heard a gentle, yet startled voice speaking behind you. You nervously turned to its source with your fingers tightened around the fabric of your shirt, jolting up so fast that you almost fell backward.

A brown-skinned woman with a shaved head and pointy ears was staring at you with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. She had a pair of round glasses perched on her nose and she was wearing an elegant black suit that made her look like a cultured librarian. She wasn’t threatening at all, but she seemed cautious and kept a certain distance from where you were standing.

She was clearly waiting for an answer, but your mind was still hazy and it took you a moment to even remember your name. So you racked your brain, drawing it from the depths of your memory. “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/LN.”

She tilted her head slightly, her expression softened as she studied you intently from head to toe. “Do you know where you are?”

You thought about it, taking another look at the disheartening wreckage. The world around you was unfamiliar. “No. And I don’t know how I got here, either.”

The woman steeled her nerves and took a step foward, her hands moved from behind her back and crossed to her front. “You are a dreamer.”

Your eyes were drawn to the galaxy above, each star seemed to held a story of its own. “I never dream though.”

“You’re here now, are you not?”

Her voice was soothing, echoing in the vastness of the room.

“Define ‘here’.”

Her lips twisted into a half-smile. “The Dreaming. This is Lord Morpheus’s castle, or rather, what remains of it.”

She gestured to the ruined structure in front of you, the walls crumbled as you heard a distant crunching sound.

“The Dreaming… Lord Morpheus…”

The more you searched for any clue, any piece of information that could help you understand, the more questions you found instead. “I don’t understand… what happened to this place?”

There were pieces of the palace everywhere you looked, as if the aftermath of a war had been spread across the entire floor. There was no deniying the darkness of it all, yet you could still see the beauty in it. The colorful lights emitted by the windows made your heart swell with hope and even in the chaos you could sense the energy that had been left behind.

“I suppose it cannot be fixed in any way?”

She shook her head. “Without Lord Morpheus, The Dreaming is beyond repair.”

“Will he return?”

“I know he will.”

You carefully placed the glass piece you were still holding back on the ground. “I still don’t know why I’m here…”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Neither do I. I did not expect to see a dreamer here. Especially not in the palace… and not in the throne room.”

You stayed silent, listening to the far thunders and collapsing noises. Her dark brown eyes shone with kindness and knowledge, giving you a feeling of peace.

And then, everything began to fade, darkening and disappearing. The woman’s features became unclear as she got shrouded in a thin layer of mist, you could barely make out the shape of her lips, moving as she spoke to you. “You are waking up.”

The urge of closing your eyes and let yourself go into the forming void was traveling along your body, but you resisted it. “Wait!” You exclaimed. “I don’t know your name!”

You looked for something to hold on to, as The Dreaming was literally capsizing now. You felt her warm hand grasping yours to hold you there for a moment longer, your head was getting heavy and you couldn’t stand properly anymore.

“It’s Lucienne,” she replied. “Perhaps one day I could show you my library, I am sure you will love it.”

“Lucienne… will I remember you? And this?”

You were now suspended between two different dimensions, the sounds of the city outside your windows was mingling with the echo of her voice. “You may. Or, you may not. Until we meet again.”

You tried to respond, but you no longer felt her touch and the black abyss enveloped you in its nothingness.

Your eyes snapped open and your heart raced as you franctically took your phone from your pocket. You groaned seeing the time, massaging your aching neck and shivering for the cold air of the evening, the sun now completely set.

“Did I just doze off? That’s new.”

You grabbed your coat, took one last look around to make sure that everything was in place and closed the windows, muffling the sounds of the outside world.

You heard the click of the door lock while twisting the key, feeling a pang of sadnass for leaving your home behind yet again. Your comfortable couch, the city skyline that you enjoyed admiring from the living room, the small balcony you had spent so much time sprucing up, the bathtub in which you could relax in in a sea of foam and then your bedroom, transformed into your own personal studio for your creative works.

There was only one thing you were looking forward to: Dream. You wanted to see him; his eyes, his face, his beauty and his comforting energy.

Stepping out of your apartment building, you looked up and down the street. The taxi was already on its way, lights flashing in the darkness and illuminating the empty road. When it halted, the driver opened the back-door and you got in, giving him the address for Wych Cross and letting him take off again.

You glanced out the window, watching a few stars twinkling dimly through the forming clouds in the sky. You took in the sights, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the buildings and the people who hurried along the sidewalks.

An odd feeling was tugging at your heart and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It was an unexplicable sensation, like you had lost something important and yet you didn’t know what it was.

You had no memory of Lucienne, The Dreaming or the crumbling palace you had seen in your dream - a dream you didn’t know you had.

Thank you for your patience and my apologies for the delay. I struggled a bit with this one because I wanted it to sound just right and I also took some time to do some more research (plus working and irl stuff keeping busy).

For more notes and info, go check the final notes on AO3!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 4 ->

#the sandman #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #morpheus #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #story: let your dreams be your wings

94 notes · View notes