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the-darklings · 1 year

Text

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗𝐈.]

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

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 16.2k+

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

notes: all good things come to an end : )

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

1:32 ───|────── 4:55

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART ELEVEN: BEYOND.

“Who are you?”

“I am Destiny of the Endless.”

“And who am I?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Why?”

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

“I knew a lad called Jack Constantine once.”

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

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

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

Johanna sniffs. “Piss off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These damn Constantines.

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

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

Hob gathers himself first. “Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

“Can it be done?” you bite out.

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

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

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

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

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

“Make it stop, make it stop—”

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

A thousand reflections stare back at you.

“Coward.”

“Traitor.”

“Murderer.”

“I’m not,” you gasp. “I’m not.”

Do it, do it, do it—

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

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

Flower fields. Sunshine. Peace.

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

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

No reply.

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

A beautiful dream.

“Who did you say you were again?”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s answer enough.

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

The demons make good on that order.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your companions speak simultaneously:

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

Somehow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone needs help,” Hob counters.

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

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

“Wait, wait…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I shouldn’t be here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cease your poisonous stipulations,” Dream says icily.

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

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

And then…

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

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

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

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

“Desire, no—”

“Stop—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you…?”

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

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

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

You thought… you were foolish enough to assume…

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

You had foolishly believed you were friends.

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

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

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

A bit of fun.

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

“Fun.”

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

It makes it worse. So much worse.

“Wanderer, brother Destruction. Sit.”

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

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

Destiny says nothing.

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

“Wanderer—”

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

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

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

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

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

No one laughs. No one responds.

Only a bit of fun.

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

For once, the curse listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

“No.”

You turn to go.

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

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

“No,” you repeat.

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

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

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

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

Fine. You’ll find another way.

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

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

And then, impossibly, you see him.

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

“Corinthian.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ring. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. You’re hurting them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’ve been times—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you do to yourself?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, through horror, darkness closes in.

Motion.

“Who is that?”

A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar.

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

“But I thought—”

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

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

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

“Cori…”

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

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

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

Then nothing.

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

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

Blank page.

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

“My lord.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

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

“No! No, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

Everything.

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re bleeding.”

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

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

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

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

“You mourn him.”

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

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

Sad.

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

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

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

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

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

“But you mourn him still.”

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

“Of course I do,” you exhale, pained.

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

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

Deflating, you struggle back onto your feet.

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

Guilt will follow you no matter what he maintains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Name it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’s gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not this time.

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

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

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

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

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

Madness and despair.

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

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

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

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

“Challenger of the Unknown.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would expect no less,” Destiny assures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I you, Roamer of Realms.”

“Happy Dreamfall.”

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

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

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

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

“Would you walk with me?” Dream asks.

Wetting your lips, you stand. “Sure.”

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

“Are you well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Giving you my present.”

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

“Are we dancing, Dream Lord?”

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

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

“Dream this is…”

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows crease. “Time for what?”

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

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

“We begin… with a spin.”

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

“Dream. I…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Describe it to me,” he prompts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then stillness.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi. There you are.”

Nothing, then…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dry, humoured, “Not quite.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

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

You consider him for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dream marches closer, sunshine caught in his onyx hair.

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

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

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

“It would sadden my creations—”

“I’m asking you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Those unadorned words devastated you.

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

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

“I’ll seek a way,” he avows.

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

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

“Yes,” Dream replies.

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

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

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

“Trying to bait me, Dream Lord?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His black-clad shoulders lift with his inhale.

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

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

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

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

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

an:

Never apologise, never explain.

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

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

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #the sandman netflix #sandman imagine #morpheus imagines #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #sandman fic #fanfiction #sandman netflix #sandman neil gaiman #morpheus fic #dream fic #tom sturridge #fic: today i bury you in me

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colorfultyrantearthquake · 2 years

Text

Of Nightmares and Darkness | Morpheus x fem!reader

Description: your infatuation with Morpheus starts with a nightmare, how will it end?

Warnings: +18, Filthy SMUT, angst, nightmare description, claustrophobia (confined spaces), nyctophobia (fear of dark), praising kink, degrading kink, fem!masturbation, oral (male receiving), Dom!Morpheus, sub!reader. Fluff at the end.

Words: +5k! Got extremely carried out, felt Tumblr needed much more Morpheus smut.

Song suggestion: Crazy in love - Sofia karlberg.

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Every night, falling asleep was the hardest thing you had to do. Not because you had trouble sleeping, but because of the nightmares that haunted you.

Every. Single. Night.

Sighing, you plopped on your bed staring at the ceiling, you fell asleep easily every night worn out from work, but you always woke up in the middle of your sleep panting, heavily sweating, clutching your chest to ease the tightness that's crushing your lungs. It could happen several times in one night. Different nightmares. Different stories.

You -like many of other people- suffered from some phobias, but you bet not all people dream about them.

In your room you always had a small light on, you didn't dare sleep -or sit- in a completely dark room. Your room was noticably wide, making the rest of the apartment look small, but you also couldn't bear the idea of staying in a small or closed space. You felt like you couldn't breathe or think.

Trying to stay awake, you grabbed your phone and started to look up "Dreams". Every other night you choose a topic to read about, and today was dreams, since you scarcely had a nice one.

Link after link, site after site, there was one thing that caught your attention as you yawned, a quote, or rather a poem? You didn't know, it said:

"Call for Morpheus,

He shall save you from the dark,

Call for Morpheus,

He shall guide you to your light"

Sitting upright in your bed, your stomach churning, you didn't know why you had this feeling in your gut that you were meant to see this.

Hesitating, your fingers hovered over the search bar, you took a deep breath then wrote: Morpheus.

Morpheus

God of dreams and nightmares, king of the dreaming.

God of dreams? And nightmares? You didn't want to believe this. No, you really didn't. But we all know the saying.

Curiosity.

You started digging more into the matter, searching deep, you found a sketch drawn, you didn't know to whom it belonged, if it's real or not. A sketch of a slender, pale man, high cheekbones, ruffled black hair, long black coat with a raven on his shoulder, a ruby adorning his neck, and a leather pouch in his hand. Underneath the image you saw the name: Morpheus.

Checking the time you found it nearing midnight, you exhaled loudly, closing all the tabs, not wanting to read anymore or let the matter get into your mind. Switching on the little lamp, you pulled up the covers and slept on your side, facing the window in your room.

Darkness. Tight space.

You felt trapped in a coffin. It was pitch black, you couldn't see your own hand, your breathing quickened, feeling your hands tremble and your legs shake, you started gasping loudly, feeling the adrenaline going so high you thought you'd pass out. That'd be more merciful than what you're feeling now. You knew it was a nightmare, but you could feel it in every sense of the word, as if it was really happening to you. Your bones weakening, hands grasping your shirt fighting to breathe. Suddenly you remembered the words you read:

"Call for Morpheus,

He shall save you from the dark,

Call for Morpheus,

He shall guide you to your light."

Fighting to speak and breathe, you started saying his name as much as you could.

"Morpheus." Gasping.

"Morpheus." Panting.

"Morpheus."

You felt darkness swallow you until you couldn't breathe anymore, your sight fading...

************************

Morpheus opened his eyes abruptly, sitting on his throne, he heard his name being called. He thought it was chanting or, perhaps, someone praying. But then he heard the desperation in the voice, the pants, hard intakes of breaths. Morpheus found himself in your nightmare, everything dark. He saw you struggling to move, clutching your chest desperately, your other hand on your imagined coffin trying to steady yourself, you kept calling his name until he thought you'd faint. Swaying his coat, stars littered the darkness around you, small light dots swirled around you, the darkness lightening bit by bit.

Swiping his hand, galaxies and bright, big stars erupted in fire works as the coffin turned into a vast space, the universe itself surrounding you, you almost felt like floating..

Eyes watering from the intensity, your breathing evened, your lungs were full of oxygen again, adrenaline lessining, you sat upright looking in front of you, seeing a hazy figure, no matter how hard you squinted you couldn't see him...

You woke up with a startle. Looking at the clock you saw it was nearly 5 in the morning. For your usual non-existing sleeping program, that was progress.

Pulling off the covers, you went into the kitchen to prepare some breakfast, you weren't used to sleeping for long periods anyway. Having eaten, you took a bath to relax, today was your day off anyways and you didn't want to waste it moping at home. Wearing your sneakers you went out for a run. Mind wandering to Morpheus, you remembered your nightmare, the words you read, the name you called for and the epic change from the worst nightmare to the most beautiful of dreams. You remembered the hazy figure you saw in front of you. Passing the library you halted your tracks. Entering it, you started searching through the books, not really knowing what you're searching for. Passing by Greek Mythology books, you saw a dark blue cover, golden letters carved into the leather: Morpheus.

Your breath hitched and your pulse quickened, your shaky hands extended to get the book. Opening it, you found some pages in Greek while others were in English, which was probably impossible to find.

Sitting, you started reading:

"In the darkness, Morpheus, the God of Dreams, awakened to a world where he and only he wielded power. As the Son of Hypnos and Pasithea, Morpheus is very powerful. The fact he was able to put the Gods of Olympus and most of Greece to sleep with little effort, he is a force to be reckoned with. Morpheus is able to put mortals and gods to sleep. As the God of dreams, Morpheus has the power to manipulate the dreams of others, both Gods and mortals. Morpheus creates both dreams and nightmares. Everything in the dreaming world is under his command. In your sleep, you belong to him."

Your body shivered to the words, other pages had sketches to what Morpheus might look like, some sketched him as a demon, some with wings, but the most fascinating were his sketches as human. His face was sharp, body covered in his black coat, eyes shining with golden specks, similar to the sketch you saw yesterday, you suspected he was the one in your dream.

Weeks passed by as your infatuation with Morpheus grew heavy, by the time you almost had no nightmares, all your dreams were about him and him only. You knew you had gone insane, all this sleep loss made you obsessed with the God of dreams. When you slept, you pictured him standing in front of you, tormentingly close, his cool breath almost fanning your face, plush pink lips hovering slightly over yours. Every time you move to touch him, you wake up.

The lights went out one night, the whole street was dark, moon light wasn't that strong.

You were so restless you couldn't close your eyes, you started writhing in the bed, what if you're late to work tomorrow? Will they finally fire you? How will you find another job? Are you always gonna be this lonely? When will the light return? Why is it so dark? Why does the room feel so small?

Thought swirled quickly in your mind, panick immensed inside of you, making it hard for you to lay on your bed, you got up feeling light headed. Your head pounding, legs weak, you didn't know what to do.

"Morpheus" You panted in the air as you leaned into the wall, your lungs collapsing as anxiety took over you.

"Look at me" A deep, rough voice echoed through your room, barely reached your ringing ears. Arms held your hands as you clung tightly to the man in front of you. Feeling yourself being seated, your hold tightening on the man's arms.

"Look me in the eyes." You raised your head slowly, gasping softly as you were met with the face that conquered your dreams for many nights.

He sat you on the bed, kneeling in front of you, holding you in your place, his hands leaving your arms to plant themselves on both sides of your bed.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked. His voice melody to your ears, raspy and deep, it shook your heart violently. Your head spinning, not knowing how to answer you nodded, way too slow for him to believe so. He kept his gaze focused on you, your eyes studying him, his features, his hands, long fingers graced the bed sheets, marble white body clad in black clothes, the famous black coat that you dreamt of countless times.

He noticed your eyes travelling all over him. Standing up, he walked around your room, studying it. His eyes fell on a book, Morpheus.

He glanced at you, watching you fiddle with your hands in your lap, biting your lip nervously. He almost smirked, but he wouldn't yet give you that satisfaction. Morpheus knew how infatuated with him you were, your dreams of him, your fantasies of his coat, his body. He saw it all and he knew you knew that. Skimming the pages of the book, he wondered if you'll ever break the silence.

You eagerly eyed him, his stance powerful in the dark room, now lit by a small white lantern in the corner, which you were sure belonged to Morpheus. Your heart beat rapidly, you remembered your dreams. There's one sinful dream you were ashamed of.

His coat splayed on the bed, you sleeping naked over it, your legs wide open, you were so horny and wet that you had floods between your legs, covering your folds, your clit, dripping down your inner thighs. You were in your room, dimly lit, a scent of magic and stardust in the air, your hands moving from your neck down to your breasts in a teasing motion, your fingers twirling both your nipples making your pussy gush juices, you moaned at the feeling, you wanted them to be Morpheus', not yours. You sighed as your right hand moved down your waist, gripping your hip bone making your back arch, knowing this is a soft spot. Travelling lower, your fingers started massaging your folds agonizingly slow, imagining them to be Morpheus' fingers teasing you, edging you. Picturing his face between your legs, you entered one finger into your cunt, followed by another, wanting to feel full to the brim, you started imagining his throbbing cock, tip red and swollen, you moaned at the thought. You brought your other hand to play with your clit as you started moving your fingers faster, circling your clit in rhythm with your fingers.

"Oh, God yes." You panted, feeling your walls flutter around your fingers. "Morpheus" you moaned loudly, "Morpheus, please. I need you." You whined loudly, feeling your pussy clench. "Need your mouth on my lips, my tits, fuck yes," you arched your back as you felt his coat brush against it, intensifying your pleasure. "Need to feel you inside of me," you sigh dreamily as you felt your pleasure coming to an end. "Need to feel your mouth between my legs, fuck me raw until I can't breathe. Ruin me for all men." You gasped as you started rocking your hips into your fingers. "Morpheus, fuck yes, Morpheus please." You moaned sinfully as your orgasm washed over you, your body shook over the coat, your fingers thrusting inside of you helping yourself ride your orgasm, the finger on your clit moved to your left tit to grip it tightly. Your body stilled, heavy breaths filled the air as your room screamed sex.

Blushing furiously after remembering your dream, your eyes followed Morpheus' every move, until he turned to face you, walking to where you're sitting, coming to a stop directly in front of you. He was very tall, compared to you sitting, he hovered over you, your face meeting his torso, you felt ashamed you couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

"Eyes on me." You heard him. He wasn't asking, it was an order.

Your eyes travelled slowly up until they fell on his.

"Isn't it rude not to greet who you've sinfully longed for?" He looked down at you, feeling his breath fan your face your body shuddered in delight.

"It is." You answered.

"So you can speak." He said, faking amusement.

"I wondered when will that pretty voice of yours come out, considering that day my whole realm heard you screaming my name. Begging for me." His voice lowered even more, eyes daring you to deny. Your cheeks fired, hands felt sweaty, you felt trapped. His gaze was a hunting one, a predator's gaze to his prey.

"I'm sorry" you said, feeling nervous but aroused, your wetness soaking your shorts.

He clicked his tongue, fingers grazing your cheek. "That's not the answer I am looking for." The back of his hand travelled down to the side of your neck, feeling your pulse. Your skin lit fire in the places he caressed.

"What was it the answer you're looking for?" You asked. His eyes snapped up to yours.

"This." Lips dipping to the curve of your neck, he kissed you very lightly, then he started sucking the spot making your body jerk towards his as the loudest of moans left your mouth. Your moans were slutty to say the least, and he didn't even do anything to you yet.

"So eager. So hungry for me. Tell me, what is it you crave in me?" He leaned back, standing straight as he looked at you. You were breathing heavily, chest heaving as you felt your blood raging to your core.

"I," you shut yourself. This was your chance. Choose your words wisely. "I need all of you. I want you to give me everything you have." You said as excitement filled your eyes.

He chuckled.

"You can't handle that."

"I can. Try me."

"Are you daring me, mortal?" Challenge covered his eyes. You felt your nipples harden, your hands shaking as you felt the seam of your shorts against your clit, you craved friction.

"Yes." You hoped you won't regret that.

In a second, you found yourself spread on the bed, completely naked, all your clothes lost. You gasped, mind clouding with heat, needing friction between your thighs, you rubbed them.

Morpheus hands came down on your knees, pushing your legs apart so wide to the point you felt them strain, you felt his long coat under you, as he rolled the sleeves of his black shirt up.

"You. Need a lesson in discipline." You instantly moaned at his words.

"Such a dirty woman." He said, eyes hungry.

Morpheus licked his lips eagerly, eating your body with his eyes.

"Lay down on your front, ass up." Commanded his voice. Your core was dripping by now and the position you're about to take will make you completely exposed to him.

You did as he asked feeling shy all of a sudden, you kept squirming under his gaze, trying to close your legs so he won't see how wet you are.

You felt his heat behind without him touching you, so close to you feeling the ghost of his pants.

You felt one of his hands caress your inner thigh.

You felt him lean forward until his mouth was beside your ear, his breath fanning your neck.

"Open those legs for me, this position was not made for you to hide from my eyes." Each word felt like a sin coming out of his mouth, you kept from moaning as you nodded your head. His right hand caressed your ass gently, travelling up to squeeze your hip, waist, reaching the curve of your breast, Morpheus caught your tit in his hand kneading it slowly feeling you shiver under him, his eyes glued to your side as your mouth hung open, eyes closed.

"Looking so good for me" he said almost lovingly, you whimpered as his fingers took turns rolling your nipple and rubbing it, God you could cum like that.

"Please" you whispered trying to buck your hips backwards but the hand on your inner thigh gripped it painfully.

You felt his hand leave your breast, coming in contact with your ass. Feeling the pleasure your head rolled back to look at him. You saw his eyes turned to the darkest shades of green with a rim of gold.

"I will punish you first, then the rest comes, if you deserve it." He said as his hand left your inner thigh making you whimper in pain, only for it to grip your neck, choking you softly making you gasp.

His hand slapped you in the same spot making you wiggle touching his pants.

"Now you wouldn't want to ruin my pants, do you?" His face came so close to yours as his hand kept choking your neck, craning it backwards to meet his gaze. You shook your head, tears of frustration brimming in your eyes, feeling your cunt burn for the King who's handling you too good for your mortal brain to comprehend.

"Choose your punishment"

"Slap me"

"Where?"

You move your pussy back to touch him making him exhale at your wetness.

He flipped you around, hands hovering over you, eyes boring holes into yours.

Morpheus smirked as his hand slapped your pussy hard, making you buck your hips up, moaning loudly.

"Count for me"

"One"

Slap. "Two"

Slap. "Three"

You felt your core weeping, feeling your wetness on the curve of your ass, your legs inhumanely wide just to please him.

By the time he hit the tenth slap, you were a shivering mess below him, tears streaming down your face, hands grasping his coat tightly, whimpers of his name leaving your lips like a prayer.

Morpheus' hand came up to caress your cheek tenderly, his face coming so close, his lips brushed against yours. "What was it you said? Ruin me for all men?" He asked, your eyelids fluttering shut at the proximity of his voice, his warm lips.

"I think, I'll ruin you for all gods."

Morpheus' cool hand cupped your core making your eyes snap open, gasping softly, his cool hand a relieving contrast to your burning core.

"I thought I told you to keep your eyes on me."

"Yes, m-my Lord." You struggled to say as you tried to buck your hips into his hand.

"Someone's seeking relief and being obedient."

Standing up, Morpheus unbuttoned his shirt, your eyes following his every move until it ended on the floor, your mouth agape at the heavenly sight greeting you, he belonged with marble statues not your bedroom.

His hands went lower to his pants, unbuttoning and discarding them, you can see now how hard he is, his cock straining hard against the fabric, you crawled to him, face level with his boner, you looked at him for permission.

His jaw went tense before nodding. Sitting up on your knees, you caressed his chest with your hands, feeling every ridge and every muscle, his skin soft and cool to touch. Your hands reached the hem of his garment, you felt his pulse beneath your hands, breathing softly you undressed him, watching his swollen cock spring free, your mouth watered involuntarily wanting to taste him, feel him throbbing against your tongue as you lick the vein on his base.

"Lay back."

You looked up at him, worried that he won't let you taste him. He smirked knowingly.

You crawled back up the bed until your head hit the pillows, he came after you, straddling your torso, legs resting on your sides, his hand leaning on the headboard for support, his cock directly in front of your face.

Everything disappeared at this moment, you felt like cumming on the spot.

Morpheus leaned down and captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth with ease, you couldn't fight him. His other hand went down to your breast, kneading it softly, thumb again brushing your nipple.

You whimpered against his mouth, feeling flushed all over, extremely weak in his arms.

"Morpheus." You panted looking at his eyes, your hand coming up to touch his on your breast.

"I want to taste you." You said looking at his cock. He let the headboard free along with your breast making you miss his touch immediately.

He readjusted your head on the pillow, giving you more space.

Morpheus' hands grabbed each of your tits, pushing his cock between them, he started thrusting slowly, feeling your soft flesh caress him, he threw his head back sucking in a breath. You watched him with awe, he could never be more beautiful, hair tousled, lips parted, neck flushed with heat. The feeling of his thick, long dick between your breasts made you look, pleasured noises leaving you. You opened your mouth, wanting him to thrust his tip in it. Knowing your need, Morpheus put his hand at the back of your neck, supporting it, he thrust his tip into your mouth. You sucked at it slowly, rolling your tongue around it while looking up at him with wide eyes. Seeing you like this, spread out for him, so hungry and willing to take him whole wherever he wants, Morpheus felt a fire ignite in his soul, his eyes burning with desire for you.

He kept thrusting his tip teasing you, making you more desperate for him, by this moment you no longer cared what you wanted, you just needed to please him properly.

You put your hand on the back of his, behind your head, guiding more of him into your mouth. Morpheus exhaled loudly, whether of relief or pleasure you wanted to give him your best.

Sitting a bit up, you adjusted so you can suck him better, you started swirling your tongue around him, doing cat licks at the tip.

Morpheus let out the first moan, one of pure ecstasy. The voices he emitted ignited you more, bobbing your head faster, taking him deeper, he wrapped your hair around the hand holding your neck, roots tugging softly you moaned around his cock making it jerk in your mouth. Morpheus head hung low looking at you in the eyes, mouth hung open in awe at your face stuffed with his cock, he thrusted deeper, feeling your throat close around his tip, you evened your breathing to prevent gagging. Letting you breathe, you took more of him until you reached his base, hugging his thighs with your arms you drove your head deeper until your nose was so close to his skin. Morpheus was a gasping mess, his pale face turned red, plump lips biting themselves to hold from filling you with his cum. He wanted to fuck his cum into you, feel it mix with your wetness as your pussy took all of him greedily.

He groaned at the thought, tugging you off him, you were gasping for breath.

Morpheus travelled down your body, lips nipping at your neck, hands holding your waist, he started marking your stomach, down to your lower belly.

Hovering over your now flooded pussy, he looked up at you and what a sight it was.

"Do you want me here?" He asked as the slightest of smirks graced his face. He was well aware of your dreams both in the dreaming and waking worlds, he was sure you needed him most there.

"I remember you needed my mouth on your lips, breasts and between your legs. Is that right?" Morpheus teased your slit with two fingers running up and down agonizingly slow , wetness collecting at the tips of his fingers. You looked him in the eye, you knew you played a game you'd definitely love to lose, but you were so turned on you didn't want to back down, you only wanted to spur him further, you wanted him to take you until you collapsed.

"I also said I wanted your majesty to fuck me raw until I can't breathe."

Sensing the sarcasm in your voice, Morpheus' face hardened. Oh fuck.

Cupping your clit with his lips, sucking at it wholly, you arched your back off the bed as you started shaking. Gasping his name you clawed at his coat under you, wanting anything to hold you down as pleasure shot straight to your nerves. Your hands tugged at his hair. You felt yourself tightening with searing hot pleasure coursing through your body, so close to cum.

Suddenly everything stopped. Tears streamed down from your eyes, your breath unable to reach your lungs properly. Morpheus took your hands off his head, pinning them above you.

"Disrespecting Morpheus and his powers. Making fun of Morpheus while your body begs for him in the most shameful ways." Morpheus moves up your body until his lips are against yours, his achingly hard cock touching your inner thigh. Fingers brushed against your lower lip, the rest of his hand on the side of your neck squeezing lightly.

"Shall I be your never ending nightmare? Everytime you close your eyes to sleep I'll be haunting your dreams, edging you, tasting you, riding you, then you'll wake up with no release. Would you want that?" You whined in protest as he entered his thumb in your mouth, holding your tongue.

"That's what I thought."

Freeing your hands, Morpheus lifted one leg on his shoulder, the other wrapping around his hips. This is it. Morpheus is gonna fuck you into oblivion.

You felt his cock at your entrance, his angry tip teasing you, going up and down your slit, he caught his cock and slapped your clit making you mewl in pleasure. Not able to take it any more, you waited until he adjusted at your entrance slowly pushing in, you bucked your hips forcefully driving his cock deep.

Both of you erupted in sinful moans, your eyes fluttering shut, feeling your soul leave your body.

Morpheus gasped, going all the way out, slamming into you feeling his tip brushing your cervix.

"Do you like it that way? Do you?" Morpheus started moving into you, slow, deep, strong thrusts driving you up the bed, his hands came to your waist holding you in place.

" Faster. Morpheus. Harder." You begged him. You were two thrusts away from cumming, being so worked up. Morpheus started moving faster, fulfilling your desires, he drove his hips harder into you, feeling you clenching around him made him growl in an animalistic way. His primal need taking over his mind, Morpheus felt your pussy tighten around him, your coil so tight it'd snap any minute, he wanted to please you and show you love at the same time.

He pressed one hand onto your lower abdomen.

"Can you feel me? Am so deep in you, ruining you for other men. Fucking you raw until you can't breathe." You were a shaky, sweating mess, all words in your brain lost, all thoughts incoherent.

One thing only vivid in your mind. Morpheus.

"Morph-eus, p-please. I n-need to c-cum for you." You begged quitely, unable to form a sentence.

"Will you be a good girl and scream for me like you did in your dream?" Morpheus rolled his hips swiftly, touching every spot that drove you absolutely wild.

"Morpheus! Fuck" you screamed so loud feeling every vein in his cock pulsing against your walls.

Groaning each time you scream, Morpheus opened your legs wider, you hugged his hips with your legs, caging him to your body, letting his weight fall over your body, he took you in his arms, your hands instantly gripping his shoulders.

The new angle made him hit your spot better, eyes seeing stars you felt your orgasm so high up you thought you'd faint. His hand came down to your clit, rubbing circles with each thrust of his.

"Let go, darling. I've got you. Give me all you've got." Morpheus' voice promised against your ear.

Screaming his name, your body convulsed in his muscular arms, feeling your orgasm shatter in pleasurable ways you couldn't imagine.

"You're doing so good for me, taking me so well like you were made for me." Morpheus praised you, chasing his own high, feeling your aftershocks against his cock, he felt your fingers holding his back, hot and needy. He drove faster into you, your second orgasm already at your door.

"Morpheus, Morpheus fuck." You moaned shamefully.

You felt his cock twitch inside of you. Your chanting of his name driving him wild. Biting his earlobe, you sucked on his pulse, your hand travelling down to caress his balls.

Morpheus groaned deeply in your ear, snapping his hips roughly, you came in his arms, convulsing like mad, feeling his hot cum fill you up to the brim.

Morpheus came and for seconds kept fucking his cum into you, listening to the noise you both made with your need for each other.

You struggled to breathe as you tried fanning yourself, coming down from your very pleasuring high.

"Was that as good as the dream?" Morpheus asked, face resting on your chest as he looked at you, still inside of you.

"Morpheus, I-" you hesitated. You didn't know what to do or say. You felt love swell your heart. You thought it was lust but now you know, you've fallen for the King of dreams.

" I've never felt this beauty, this pleasure, this love and desire." You whispered softly.

"Love? You haven't seen any love." Morpheus said. "Yet." He added quickly making your eyes snap up at his.

Slowly, his coat started surrounding you both, shielding you from the outside world, getting darker, you were starting to feel scared.

Morpheus' eyes vowed to make you safe, as the coat started shining very softly, stars with dim light shone around you. Just like your first dream of him.

The feeling was more delightful than anything you've ever felt, you felt..... Whole.

Morpheus body connected with yours like you were one, it was indeed lust-driven, but you knew you couldn't deny the flame that burned deep inside you once you found his book, you knew you'd fall for him.

"Morpheus." You whispered, playing with his hair.

"I am here, love. No need to call for me." He kissed your sternum softly you barely missed his lips.

"I feel safe." You admitted.

Morpheus' eyes shone in adoration, possessiveness and the instinct of protecting you multiplying inside of him.

He moved to your side, holding you close to his firm chest, face buried in your neck, he pecked it softly rubbing small circles on your shoulder.

Your mind wandered, what if he leaves? He has to go somehow, sometime. You felt your heart tug at the idea, picturing yourself without him.

"No need for these doubts. I am not leaving you, if I ever shall not be here, all you have to do is just call the name. Call my name. I have came to you every time you called for me, not even knowing I was there. I will always be here." He pressed a long kiss to your shoulder, your doubts faded, you wanted to feel warm and safe for once in your disturbed life.

Holding his arm tighter against yours, you relaxed into his body.

"I am crazy for you, Morpheus." You admitted in the air, coming out from you almost a whisper.

"I call it love." A rare, earnest smile adorned his lips.

You were crazy in love.

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Tell me what you think! Hope you enjoyed it xoxo

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writing-fanics · 2 years

Note

hihihi can i req a morpheus x reader when he gets mad at his wife (reader) for doing something he specifically told her not to? then he gives her silent treatment until she starts crying bc i KNOW that man is not forgiving to people he loves a lot

morpheus x f!reader

a/n: what y/n did is up to you to speculate

“I-I’m sorry.” (Y/n) said, looking down at her hands. Fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. As her husband glared at her with anger in his eyes.

“I specifically, told you not to interfere. Why cant you my own wife listen to me?” He asked, as he glared at his wife.

“I-I only wanted to help.” She said, looking up at her husband for whom she loved dearly.

“I’m not in need of your help.” He says, and he walked closer to her his tall form towering over her.

“I’m not weak like I was after my imprisonment. I’m more powerful than I’ve ever been.” His voice deepened, and she stared into his eyes he was mad at her for interfering.

“Don’t ever interfere again.” He says, her lower lip began to quiver. “I’m sorry.” She said, as quickly backed away and left him alone in the throne room.

Hours passed and (Y/n) was getting ready for bed. When Morpheus entered the bedroom to get something. She turned towards him, “C-Can we talk?” She asked, he didn’t even acknowledge her, “Morpheus, can we please talk about it?” She asked, watching as he ignored her as he got what he needed.

“Love, please talk to me.” She pleaded, walking closer but by the time she reached him he’d already exited the room. Did she really do the wrong thing? Did he hate her now? Was he going to leave her?

So many thoughts rushed through her head. She knew he’s had many past lovers all of them went sour. Was she next?

She didn’t want to be she loved him more than anything. When he asked her to marry her it was the happiest moment in her entire immortal life. Being able to be with the love of her life. He was her dream.

And now for her that all felt like it’s all coming to an end. Falling to the ground tears brimmed her eyes as she cried; hugging her knees to her chest.

As the days went by Morpheus continued to ignore his wife. Was he going a bit too far yes. He’d admit that. But he was letting his ego get the better of him.

“Morpheus, darling. Please talk to me.” She pleaded, and he ignored her not listening as he read through the books. “I-I know I shouldn’t of interfered. But please don’t punish me with your silence.” She begged, while walking up the stairs towards his throne.

“Please, I love you.” Her voice broke as tears rolled down her cheeks. He looked up at her hearing her voice crack. He stayed silent and she looked down, turning around and walking down the stairs.

Sniffling as she exited the throne room. Seeing tears in her eyes broke him, he really messed up. Closing the book in his hands placing it by his throne, he walked down the stairs.

Making his way to their shared bed chambers. He could hear her tiny sniffles as he entered the room, he turned towards the bed.

He saw her curled up figure hiding under the sheets as she cried. He sat down on the bed, “My love,” He said, and she shuffled under the blankets.

“I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.” He says, and she stayed under the blanket. Knowing she was paying him back with the silent treatment he continued.

“I didn’t want you getting hurt my love. I know you’re only trying to help. Even though you’re immortal I can’t bear the sight of seeing you in harms way.” He says, leaning down laying beside her form.

“I’m sorry my love.” He says, lifting up the blanket and he saw her looking at him. Face red and cheeks puffy, wiping away her tears.

“Just talk to me.” She says, and he nods as he went under the blankets with her and held her close to his chest.

#fanfic #x reader #angst #headcanons #fluff #morpheus x fem!reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x y/n #the sandman x y/n #the sandman x you #the sandman x reader #morpheus #tom sturridge x you

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melancholypancakes · 1 year

Text

This is a worthy fanfic idea

Imagine Lord Meowpheus is trying to wake you up.

A young woman was sleeping soundly in her bed, a heavy sleeper and soon it would be 8:00 a.m.

She needed to wake up, the woman felt something huge land in her bed and crawl to her.

She could feel someone or something sniffing her, licking her and soon enough tapping her with it’s paw.

She groan, “five more minutes” she said as she tried to sleep in until she was startled by something crawling into her blankets with her and laying on her.

She heard a purring sound as she forcefully open her eyes, “Dream? Is that you?” She ask as she saw a huge cat purring on her.

The fur was getting in her face as the cat nuzzles on her, “Ah! Dream!” She blushes as she exclaims.

“you’re lucky you’re cute, jerk. At least I won’t be cold…” she mumbles as she hugs Morpheus and he licks her again.

“Jesus, you’re so huge! And fluffy~” she teases and scratches his back and cheeks.

Morpheus began to purr loud and meows at Y/n feeling good, “Are you hungry? I sure am and I know you must be hungry kitty~!” She giggles.

Y/n sits up groaning and stretching as Morpheus attaches his paws on her, she giggles at Morpheus being cute.

Y/n carries Morpheus as she gets breakfast going, she dropped Morpheus gently on the floor he let’s out a meow noise cuddling around her leg.

Y/n yawns tiredly as she cracks some eggs, as she goes in to cook some bacon she feels two large arms wrap around her waist.

She giggles as she starts feeling warm lips kissing her neck, “Dream! Please~ you’re making me blush!” She giggles as she’s being tickled.

Morpheus smiles lovingly, “Good. I love see your face red…” he says so casually.

Y/n giggles, “ will you eat this time?” She asks staring at her lover. “For you, I will.” He said as she kisses his cheek.

“You got to eat anyways, don’t you get hungry~ it’s only healthy” she says teasingly.

“I am an Endless, our hunger is not the same as you mortals but yes, I shall have your delicious cooking…” he says so modest.

Y/n let’s the pan cook the eggs to sunny side up and flips the bacon. “So, how was the dreaming? I hope you weren’t too stress out.” She says.

“No, no stress. I was just watching over your dreams and nightmares as much as every mortal’s dreams and nightmares.” He says as Y/n smiles to herself.

Y/n enjoy these domestic moments in the morning before spending her time with her beloved and watching him eat made her happy.

Y/n wanted to be Morpheus’s wife one day, so she can take care of him as much as he takes care of her.

It’d be nice to be married to Morpheus, both of them are deeply in love with each other…

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 1 year

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Enchanted (1)

Masterlist

After Morpheus finally escaped his captivity his only goal is to get back to the Dreaming. But there's something else. Someone else he hasn't been aware of in another room in the basement. He finds you, stripped bare and barely breathing imprisoned much like he had been. Not wanting to leave you he takes you with him, unaware that this quick decision would change his life.

Pairing: Morpheus x fem. reader

Wordcount: 706

Rating: M

Warnings: slow burn, trauma, angst, nudity

A/N: I am attempting to update this weekly. Chapters won't be longer than 1k. Let's see where this is going cause I have no idea lol

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics to get notified for updates

Morpheus' eyes did not show the surprise as the man broke the binding circle that had trapped him for so many years.

He looked up at the old man who looked over his shoulder as he wheeled the man out who had kept him hostage for decades. Morpheus closed his eyes, taking his first deep breath in a century before he focused his eyes on one of the guards who was about to fall asleep.

As soon as his eyes closed he knew what to do.

Within seconds he was in his head, his dreams, using the guard to free himself.

There were so many thoughts in his head as he watched the two mortals lay on the ground as he took a moment to gather his thoughts.

He was about to use what little power he possessed without his tools to get back to the Dreaming, back home when his ears picked up something else. He tilted his head, before he slowly walked up the steps of the now opened door, finding another door next to the room where he had been spending the last century.

Slowly he pushed it open, walking down the stairs, finding the room empty. Safe for what looked like a cage in the middle, various runes around it too. And there, in the middle he could make out a figure. Now he could also make out that noise he had been hearing as the person took breath after every concerningly slow breath. He stepped closer until he reached the binding circle, his eyes widening when he realised that it was a woman, naked as he was laying on the ground, hugging her knees. Her skin was bruised all over and she was so thin he thought he could see right through her skin.

He took a shuddering breath and the woman turned her head, her eyes opening only slowly to look up at him.

He was taken back from the pain he could see in her eyes.

Had Rodderick trapped her too? How long had she been here? Who was she?

He looked at the runes on the floor, similar to his.

There was no way of getting her out of here without risking being trapped again. He did not know why he had the overwhelming urge to rescue her. He just knew that no one should suffer like he did in the past century.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to gather all his power. The floor shook once and it was all it took to split the floor and break the binding circle. The woman looked at him, her eyes still on him as she took a deep breath and it felt like Morpheus breathed with her.

He stepped closer, opening the cage.

She did not move as he approached her, just her eyes following him.

“You are free,” he said, the first words in over a century he spoke.

She did not react, just her eyes watering. He nodded at her and was about to turn around when he felt one of her hands on his ankle. He looked down at her and her eyes seemed to beg him not to go.

Something pulled at the Endless heart as he took her in. Her fragile state. He closed his eyes and in the next moment a soft blanket appeared around her body. Carefully he bent down.

How long had she been kept here? Who was she? What was she?

“I do not know what happened to you, but you are safe now,” he said and she managed a small exhausted smile which he mirrored.

“Do you have anywhere you wish to go?” he asked. Slowly she shook her head.

Morpheus put his hand on her shoulder and she flinched. He pulled his hand away immediately.

“Would you allow me to take you to my home until you’re well enough?” he asked. She just looked at him with her big eyes.

And Morpheus realised that even in the state of exhaustion she was in she was beautiful.

He felt a small cold hand slip into his and looked down at their joined hands.

He carefully squeezed her hand, before he transported them both to the Dreaming.

#my fic #morpheus x fem. reader #dream of the endless x fem. reader #the sandman #dream of the endless #tom sturridge #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction

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itsallrandomcontent · 2 years

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You think y’all are brave?

I just watched The Sandman, Episode 5, ‘24/7’, aka The Diner episode. With BOTH of my parents.

#the sandman #david thewlis #tom sturridge #morpheus #king of dreams #lord of dreams #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #dream x fem!reader #dream x reader

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redskull199987 · 2 years

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Home is the people, not the Place

Dream the Endless x female!reader

Word count:0.8k

Warnings:none

Summary: You had been alone in the Dreaming for over a century now, as your Lover finally returned...

Masterlist

It had been over a century by now. Over a century of not hearing anything from him. He had promised it wouldn't take long, merely a day to travel to Berlin to catch the Rouge Nightmare, who called himself the Corinthian.

But he hadn't returned since, nor had Jessamy. Most of the residents of the Dreaming had left. I couldn't blame them, this realm was not the same without his king. It withered away, while he wasn't there.

But even after Fiddlers Green had left, we stayed. Lucienne and me. We were the only one's remaining in a realm so empty, that it was almost dead.

"My Lady"

It was Lucienne, who's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I turned around and smiled at her sadly, before stepping down the stairs in front of the Throne. The palace was once beautiful and full of life, but now it was empty and silent.

"How are you doing today, Lucienne?", I asked, as I reached her.

"I am quite alright, thank you My Lady", She smiled as we wandered through the empty halls. I peeked around the corner, where the library once was, but it had been gone for years.

"He will return", Lucienne said, as she noticed my sad expression.

"I know, my friend. But I can't bear thinking of how much longer it might take", I sighed.

Lucienne opened her mouth to reply, as a jolt drove through the palace.

Lucienne grabbed my hand to not loose balance.

"What was that?", I mumbled and looked around.

"I don't know where it came from", Lucienne stated and also looked around.

I grabbed both of her shoulders and looked her into the eyes:"You go check the gardens and I will search the Palace"

She only nodded before squeezing my hand one more time and then hastily leaving the palace.

I turned back around and started looking through the various remaining rooms of the palace. I didn't find anything. Nothing had change. Apart from a few vases that had fallen over due to the shake, everything remained the same.

As I entered the throne room again, I was only met with more broken Pillars and roof beams.

I cursed under my breath, before running up to the throne to see if it was in tact.

I gently touched the wooden material and let my fingers wander down the backrest.

I stepped back, as I started hearing voices.

Confused, I turned around and slowly stepped down the stairs.

I backed off, as the huge Doors in front of me opened. I couldn't belive what I saw in front of me.

There was of course Lucienne, but she had a big smile on her face, because next her was none other than Dream the Endless himself. Morpheus, the Sandman, Ruler of the Dreaming. He had returned.

A smile rose to me face, as he slowly stepped closer to me. He gingerly reached out for my hands, intertwining his fingers with mine. His skin was cool and pale as always. It felt like nothing had changed, like he hadn't been lost for the last century, like he had never been away.

"My beautiful Queen", Dream murmured and I looked up at him. He raised his hand to carefully caress my face. I leaned into his touch and closed my eyes, as I felt a tear slip down my face.

I had missed his touch, his gentle hands, holding mine so softly.

I put my hand on top of his and opened my eyes.

Dream was smiling sadly:"I am sorry"

"Don't be", I replied and stepped even closer to him, "It is not your fault"

"But I wasn't there for you, I wasnt there for my realm and I am sorry. Our home... It has withered away"

I carefully searched his eyes to see if he was serious. I didn't find any doubt, so I gently pulled him into a hug. His arms encircled my waisted and I pulled him closer. I felt him burry his head in the crook of my neck, his spicky hair gently tickling my skin.

"Dream", I mumbled and cautiously ran my fingers through his hair, "My home...our home, it is not the palace, or the place. It is the people, it Is You, it is Lucienne, the Dreams, your Brothers and Sisters."

Dream slowly parted from me and I took his hand:"Home is the People, not the Place. And now that you have returned, I am home"

He smiled gently before pulling me closer to himself.

"Home",he mumbled, before he leaned down and kissed me tenderly. His lips were soft and it felt like the day we had kissed for the first time, so long ago. It felt like fireworks. Like my whole body stopped working and the only thing that mattered was him.

We parted and I smiled at him:"Home"

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thenightmistress · 2 years

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“Love is Irrelevant to people like Us.” ~ Part 1

Paring: Dream of the endless/Morpheus x Vampire/hybrid OC Fem!Reader, Hob Gadling x reader

18+ You have been warned! Proceed with caution!

A/N: I have unfortunately have not read the comics so it will be based off the show and mythology that surrounds the characters.

Warnings: Blood, violence, make-out scene, dead person, alcohol, consumption of blood, mentions of other TV show characters like in Good Omens, TVD, and Tom Ellis’s Lucifer along with the Sandmans Lucifer, Morpheus cause he is his own warning, eventual smut, slow burn, Hob being the best wingman, Matthew cause why not, Not really enemies to lovers but not friends to lovers, idk.

Summary: Life is a strange thing, so fragile, yet gives us the courage to keep going. It’s what makes us human, after all. Ultimately, we all end up in the same place in the loving embrace of death, helping us move on to the next life, but what happens to those who come back? What happens to the undead? The ones who escaped the clutches of death yet are quite alive? Life is a strange thing; so much to learn, so much to love, and so many dreams to explore, but there is always a price to life, even immortal ones. Mother Nature will always claim what is rightfully hers, and no one, not even the Endless, can say no.

Word count: 1,566

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Not my GIF

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It was a harsh winter nothing grew; the people were starving, but the brothels were filled to brim with people of all classes. Noble mixing with commoners, lords playing with whores, and men musing about fantasies and dreams far beyond their mortal minds can comprehend. As you sat at the table, men would stare at you not only because you looked to be of Nobel birth but because you were a woman in a brothel in men's clothing. Such a scandal would ruin any woman of any station good thing no one knew your name, only your good friend which you met centuries ago, Hob.

The year was 1589; you had come from France back home to England. The night was unbelievably cold; a regular mortal would catch their death out here, but for you, it was like a windy day in autumn. Spending days on end on a ship with nothing but men and their whores, a breeding ground for disease, it was a long and tiresome trip but being back where it all began brings comfort.

You were walking the cold streets of England when you stumbled upon a brothel, one you had seen many times but could never enter, so you hid in the darkened ally for any poor sod to walk past, and the night would claim its next victim. You could hear the overlapping voice of the men inside, drinking and telling tales from lands far away, but your mind was yelling at you. To hurry, to feed, drink, till your heart desire, so like an animal on the hunt, you would take the next man to exit the brothel.

A few minutes passed when you heard the door open and close. You listed three heartbeats; they spoke of nonsense, the perfect pry. Two of the men walked in the direction of the illuminated street whilst the other headed in your direction.

The hunt has begun. The man was walking in your direction when you stumbled out of your hiding place, pretending to be drunk and bumping into him. “Ooo I–I ssorry how silly of me,” you said, looking so out of it. The man took one look at you and helped you off of him. “It’s quite alright, dear; what is a pretty thing like you doing here all on her lonesome,” he said while caressing your face. You tried to hide the discussed look on your face when he did that. If your veins didn’t feel like sandpaper against you: you would have ripped his arm right off, but beggars can’t be choosers, not in this case.

So you looked up at the man through your lashes with the biggest doe eye you could conquer and said, “Maybe I didn't want to be on my lonesome anymore.” With this, the man looked hungrily at your lips before kissing you. He kissed you passionately; his tongue wanted access to your mouth, so you granted it to him. Unknowingly to him, you were slowly pushing him into the dark ally away from any prying eyes.

As you were kissing him, his hands began to wander. They went up your shirt, and you let the man do this and bit down on his bottom lip as to where it drew blood. Blood filled your mouth, and you pushed back. The man looked at you, so you said, “Oh dear me, I am terribly sorry, I I didn’t mean to.” They responded with, “it’s ok; it’s only blood” “your right. It’s only blood.”

You kissed him once more before landing the killing blow. Your eyes went dark and red where the white is supposed to be, veins popping out from under your eyes, teeth as sharp as daggers ready to eat. You looked into the man's eyes, and before he could scream in horror or do anything, you told him to keep calm, don’t scream, don’t run, just stay still and quiet. With this, you went to the man's neck and sunk your teeth in. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the fact that you hadn’t fed in months, but his blood was magnificent, almost euphoric almost, you continued to feed on the man until his heart stopped beating, and you let go.

His lifeless body dropped to the ground, and you took a moment to catch your breath while staring into the sky. You cleaned up your face and turned around to see a man standing there in shock. Shit is all you could think. How much had he seen? Were you so caught up in feeding that you didn’t hear anyone come down this way? You made direct eye contact with the man. His heart was beating out of his chest. Maybe he didn’t see as much as you think. The man backed away slowly and bolted out of there.

SHIT, SHit shit! For a mortal, he can sure run fast, but you're faster, so when he turned the corner thinking he lost you, there you were right behind him.

The man was trying to catch his breath and make a run for it, but you grabbed onto his wrist with such force he had only felt once before. You dragged him into a nearby ally, and he asked, “What are you?” there was much fear in the man's eyes but no surprise. “What I am is none of your concern; better yet, who are you, and why were you watching me?” The man introduced himself as Hob Gadling. “Well, Hob Gadling, why were you watching me?” “Sorry for staring. It’s just I saw your long coat and, um tall menacing figure, so I thought you were my friend I was waiting for.” The look on your face was strained, and he noticed it too. “But I saw you hunched over the man. At first, I thought it was him, then the body fell, and there was blood on your face, and I saw my mistake.” “You think I’m a fool; you think so little of me to tell me such a lie,” you said, backing him into the wall behind him. He wasn’t wrong; you are menacing; nothing is stopping you from killing him, but who did he think you were? Long coat, tall menacing, could it be Elijah, Klaus, Crowley, or maybe Lucifer?

You looked back at the man in the eyes and asked, “Who do you think I am, and be honest; your life may depend upon it.” “I I told you I thought you were my friend; I do not know his name, but we met in that brothel every 100 years for the past 200 years, and he will be there any second, and if I’m not there, he’ll probably kill us both.”

Huh? It couldn’t be any of the originals last I heard; Klaus has three of his siblings daggered in a coffin and Elijah by his side, his voice of reason; not only that, but they're in Bulgaria looking for the Petrova doppelganger. The man was telling the truth; you compelled it out of him. He saw the confusion in your eyes, and he spoke up. “You don’t know who I speak of, do you?”

“Not a chance, I’ll let you go, but first I’ll make you forget this encounter” “What? No” “NO!?” “Want me to say it in Spanish, no!” Who does he think he is? “What makes you think I’ll let you leave with your life?” “I think you and I will be close friends” “Why?” “I’ll tell you in 100 years.” “Huh, 100 years then,” you said with a smug smile, and you walked Hob to the brothel, and before you left, you yelled, “Maybe next time you can buy me a drink or invite me in!” He yelled back. “Very well then.” You smiled and disappeared into the shadows.

You thought this man was mad, or is he telling the truth? I guess will find out in 100 years.

Hob, on the other hand, got there just on time with a few minutes to spare; he sat at the table with a feast when his dreamy friend walked in.

A/N: It's my first time writing anything; sorry if it's not the best, but I'll try to improve my writing with each story. Guessing by the title of the story, there will be a part two for Morpheus has yet to meet our lovely character, and I'll be using the rules from TVD (The vampire diaries) and The Originals to explain the characters' vampirism. Characters from those shows will be mentioned but will not be in the story.

#lord morpheus #the sandman #dream of the endless #netflix the sandman #morpheus x reader #hob gadling #tom sturridge #morpheus x fem!reader #the endless #lord of dreams #the sandman x reader #death of the endless #tvdu #lucifer netflix #lucifer morningstar #ineffable husbands #crowly x aziraphale #neil gaiman

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alittlepunkrock · 2 years

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where you go (i will go) // part v preview

AN: Hey, all! Part v should be up in the next day or two. In the meantime, enjoy a sneak peak.

series masterlist

. . .

The two of you walk in silence for several minutes. As the shoreline fades behind you and the luminescent fog draws nearer, you note that the quiet sounds of Dream Country have faded to nothing. The world around you is utterly silent save for the quiet padding of your feet on the dock and the whisper of the waters swaying around you. The back of your neck prickles with the distinct sensation that secrets lurk beyond the water’s surface.

“What is this place?” you say when your curiosity grows too great. As you do, movement catches the corner of your eye - a bright flash of color beneath the surface of the water. You turn your head quickly, only to find nothing but your startled reflection staring back at you. You blink several times, unsure of yourself, but nothing changes.

“The most powerful location in the Dreaming. The place where the veil between the Dreaming and the Waking World is at its thinnest.” The fluorescent mist before you seems to reach toward Morpheus’s form, cutting his lithe, dark figure in sharp relief. As he walks, one hand trails off to his side. You swear the rippling of the waves mimic the slow sway of his fingers, following his lead. But maybe your eyes are playing more tricks on you. “These waters are a tangible extension of my own self. They facilitate my passage to the Waking World when I desire it. More importantly, they contain the collective unconscious of the universe. This is where humans’ dreams reside and occur in real time.”

Your lips part in awe at his admission, your mind at a loss for a reply. And there it is again - that flash of color in the water beside you. You stop abruptly, crouching to peer into the dark waves below the dock. You squint, and there it is - a smear of gold swimming beneath the waves, its form blurred at the edges by the dark water. It’s far enough below the surface that you can’t distinguish what it is at first. Then, a single shape begins to approach the surface, gaining clarity. A hand. Mesmerized, your own hand reaches out instinctively, your fingers stretching toward one another -

“I would suggest you refrain from interacting with these waters alone. The dreams and nightmares within them respond only to their master.” Morpheus’s cool baritone cuts through your trance like a blade, and you pull your hand back abruptly. When you blink, the hand and golden form you’re certain you saw is gone. Only an almost imperceptible ripple on the water’s surface remains.

You shake your head to dispel the last remnants of your daze and rise to your feet hastily, quickening your pace to catch up to Morpheus. In the time swallowed up by your trance, he’s almost reached the mist. “If they only respond to you, how am I going to influence them?” you ask, craning your neck to peer at his placid expression. You silently curse the dock for not being wide enough for two.

Morpheus acknowledges you over one cloaked shoulder. “These waters and the dreams within them are my creation. If I permit your influence, they shall respond in kind.”

A weighty feeling settles over your shoulders at his words. Responsibility. Not just to execute your own function, but to do justice through his. Caught in the crosshairs between feeling flattered and petrified, your mouth goes dry, your tongue like sandpaper. For so long, you had chosen to avoid inserting yourself into the affairs of other deities, let alone the Endless. Walking into this new situation, a partnership, no less, you feel entirely unprepared.

In spite of this, when Morpheus disappears into the thick mist hovering over the dock, you follow without hesitation.

#dream of the endless #the sandman #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman netflix #netflix the sandman #morpheus x fem!reader #morpheus #dream #dream x fem!reader #dream of the endless x fem!reader #the sandman fanfic #the sandman fanfiction #tom sturridge #morpheus imagines

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the-darklings · 2 years

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──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐕.]

summary: "You look lonely, Dream."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 3.5k+

warnings: dare I say it... soft, Dream is still Dream ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: you're all actually insane. thank you so much for your support & I love you. enjoy perhaps the happiest chapter in the story : )

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART FIVE: YEAR 522

“Enjoying yourself?”

You nudge the book from over your face, squinting at the tall figure looming over you. “I was till about two seconds ago.”

Your retort is lost in a sleepy yawn as you cover your mouth.

Corinthian’s tall frame casts a steep, hard-edged shadow over your body. He doesn’t move. Sighing, you unhook your legs to sit up, blinking up at him. “Where were you? I haven’t seen you in two days.”

“Performing my duty,” he replies smoothly, mockingly bowing. “As our benevolent ruler has intended. Even I get tonight off.”

“Right. Good dreams for everyone.”

Dreamfall is tonight. The inhabitants that call this realm their home—nightmares and dreams alike—have been prepping for the celebration since light first broke over the land.

Corinthian steps under the whistling willow, visibly amused by how the branches seemingly hiss whenever he draws too near. He sits down against the trunk without forewarning, grabbing your ankles resting in the shade. He lifts your legs before dropping them over his lap unceremoniously. His hat drops beside him, and you huff at his gall. Your shoe nudges his deliberately—a half kick—your sweet smile making an equally poisonous smile curl his mouth.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” he drawls insincerely.

Rolling your eyes, you leaf through the book you were reading before your impromptu nap.

“Will you be at the celebration?” you inquire casually, not looking his way.

The nightmare clicks his tongue. “No.”

Your stare skims over the edge of your hardcover, “Why not?”

A thin, polished blade appears in his hand, looping between his long fingers. He seems too thoughtful for it to not spell trouble. “Taking a page from your book and running from things.”

This time your kick lands intentionally against his ankle. Corinthian doesn't react to it. Lately, he's been convinced you're running from things that have transpired in your extended life. It's true to an extent. You're not idiotic enough to convince yourself otherwise. Kernel of truth or otherwise, you would rather talk about anything else.

This is the longest you’ve ever stayed at the Dreaming in a single stretch. Almost a year. But this time is different. You can’t help but get a sense others don’t want you to leave. They’re concerned about you. After your last mishap in the waking world, no one can blame them, certainly not you. You were in terrible shape. If anything, you had forgotten how sweet it is: to be wanted and cared for, even if few ever express it through traditional means.

“Not this again,” you groan. “You don’t get it.”

"Oh, but I do." Corinthian's head tips to the side, facing away from you. You haven't noticed the miniature wooden piece in his other hand until his blade starts scoring through the wood. "You don't want to consider your existence. So instead, you shove everything happening to you to the side in some vain hope that it won't hurt you if you wait long enough. Tsk, tsk."

Metal scrapes on wood again; louder, with more force, small wooden shavings scattering near your feet. Corinthian turns to face you again, leaning closer, your distorted reflection visible in his shades. “But memories have teeth, Wanderer,” he continues playfully. “They always come back to bite.”

You offer him a flat, unamused stare. “Trying to freak me out? Or just being purposely annoying?”

He grins brightly, all teeth visible, one side of his mouth crooking slightly further than the other. “I’m a nightmare, darling. It’s in the job description.”

Rolling your eyes, you lift your book back over your face, his words swimming in your head.

“Annoying, it is.”

Silence blankets the clearing for a while. Miniature daisies curl around your palm where it rests on the warm ground. It doesn’t escape your heed that everything in Fiddler’s Green shrinks away from Corinthian. Everyone, everywhere, shrinks away from him. Even amongst other nightmares, he has distinct energy that separates him from the rest; bold, defiant, and destructive.

Frowning, you drop the book back over your chest, gazing up at him. Corinthian’s head rests slanted to one side, focused entirely on his work. You’ve seen him partake in woodcraft often in recent years, but only ever in private. It settles him. This way, he manages to keep his mind and hands busy. During instances like these, away from everything, Corinthian appears almost human. As if whatever cruelty he indulges in so often takes a rest during these times.

“Come with me to the celebration,” you say abruptly. “It won’t kill you to be nice for a change.”

The nightmare pauses mid-scratch. Corinthian carefully considers his handiwork, blowing away the wood dust with deliberate slowness. “I’m very nice,” he retorts. “See.”

He throws the object at you. You scramble, the wooden figurine almost hitting you in the chest. Shooting him a glare, you roll the smooth wood in your hand. It’s warm to the touch.

Miniature Corinthian stares back at you. With a gleeful grin stretched wide, glasses on, and a wooden hat over the nightmare’s head. The details are immaculate. Lovely. Somehow the thought he’s created this from nothing brings a smile to your face. So, not just a nightmare, huh?

You offer the nightmare a toothy, teasing grin. “He’s cute. Could use some friends, though.”

You toss it back at him. Unlike you, Corinthian catches the figurine smoothly, twisting it between his digits with a considerate hum.

“Friends.” There’s an abrasive edge to the way he articulates the word. “What a thought. Catch.”

You’re ready this time, but at no point did you catch him taking out a second figurine. Your mouth parts, speechless.

“This is…”

It's you. Your likeness has been shrunk to fit inside your hand—a tight knot forms in your throat. You've never had someone do something like this for you. The curse repeatedly destroys any traces of you. Fires, floods, diseases, wars. You've never been allowed to exist. Not in any significant way, anyway. But this is special—proof, as good as any, that you're real.

Wordlessly, you sit up, reaching over to hand him back the figurine.

“What?” he bites out. “Don't you like it?”

You want to smile at the prickly offence in his voice.

“I love it,” you insist. You nimbly grab the figurine Corinthian made of himself and shove it in your pocket, wiggling your brows. “But you hold onto mine, and I’ll hold onto yours. That’s what friends would do.”

You plop down on the ground, stretching your legs more comfortably over his lip. Corinthian doesn’t stir. Time glides leisurely, weaving a tapestry of tranquillity: you read, Corinthian whittles a new piece. When you’re out there in the universe, it’s memories like this one you armour yourself with.

“Can I ask you something?”

Corinthian doesn’t pause in his work. “You just did.”

You lift onto one elbow. “Why do you wear your glasses around me? You know your eyes don’t scare me.”

Even the mini replica of him has glasses on. Is he worried they make you uncomfortable? After five hundred years, few things can unsettle you anymore.

“I do. But I wasn’t born. I was made.” There’s weight to how he phrases it. Purposeful, premeditated. “The first time I became aware of my existence, I saw two things. Him, Dream of the Endless, my creator, and… you. The only one who never flinched away. Funny that.”

You lift a curious brow. “Funny how?”

A slight, mean grin edges Corinthian’s mouth. “Surely you’ve noticed? How many others around here look like me? Like you?”

Wind rustles your clothes, wrapping around your wrists and shoulders. Maybe it’s Fiddler Green’s approach in discouraging you from this conversation. But you’re not leaving. And you understand what the nightmare is trying to convey, what he’s suggesting between the lines.

That on some level—subconscious or otherwise—Dream crafted Corinthian in your image. The parallels are too significant. Your shared human attributes. A cursed human. A nightmare. Differing forms of misery. Forever.

You witnessed Corinthian's creation. He's been special to you ever since. Those jagged teeth for eyes or his corrupt nature never bothered you. At least not as much as others believed it should.

“Corinthian—”

“Hey kid, there you are,” a voice grouses through the clearing, striding hurriedly in your direction. “Geez. Do you have any idea how hard it is to track you down? Oh. Corinthian.”

Merv freezes the second the nightmare comes into view; branches and your body have kept him mostly from sight until now.

Clearing your throat, you raise your hand in a casual wave. “Hey, Merv.”

The pumpkin head balances on his heels, awkwardly looking around the clearing. “Uh, the big boss wants you back at the castle, kid,” the caretaker informs, pointing his thumb behind him. Back in the castle’s direction. “You’re the honoured guest tonight, so….”

Dream must be otherwise occupied if he didn’t come to collect you himself, considering he can pin your down in a mere second usually.

“Better run along,” Corinthian shoos, leaning back to get more comfortable. His hands are empty in his lap, and it doesn’t escape your notice.

You won’t be able to continue your conversation now; that is clear. Admitting silent defeat, you struggle back onto your feet, stretching. You tuck the leather-bound book under your arm, turning to go.

“Oh, and Wanderer?” You pause at Corihtian’s deliberately sweet call. In your peripheral, Merv’s features spasm with irritation. The nightmare grins when you turn back towards him. “Happy Dreamfall. May the Fates smile upon you.”

The nightmare’s hands clasp together lightly in mock prayer, and you shake your head. Leave it to him to ridicule human religion.

“You can’t bribe three-in-one for good fortune, Cori,” you tell him, equally as saccharine. “It doesn't work like that.”

“The veil between Worlds will be thin tonight,” he says lightly, all innocence, shrouding something darker beneath. “You never know.”

“You should be back at the castle, enjoying the festivities.”

Waves lap against the shores of the Dreaming, all things unstirring and still around you. It’s so quiet here. Even your breaths echo. Dreams and nightmares alike are celebrating. Tonight, their home is the centre of the cosmos. It’s dense in the air—that thrumming power raw imagination holds, building and swelling with the inky waves. You sit perched in the grainy, dark sand, your fingers dug in deep. A light breeze stirs beside you, and the Dream King’s dark coat whispers over your hand.

On this night, his overcoat is edged with glimmering golden flame at the hem, flaring brighter with each faint movement. Dream of the Endless at his true, unsuppressed power. The universe is paying tribute to his domain tonight. Your skin tingles at the oozing power radiating from him in such close proximity.

However, the answer to his reserved observation comes quickly: “Couldn’t miss this view.”

Light beams swirl in a multicoloured kaleidoscope through the inky sky above. Falling, falling, falling; swimming and floating. Dreams; pulsing and spinning through the lonely, silent universe to here. Their anchor place.

Dreamfall. An apt name indeed. You’re dizzy, stunned, and incredibly humbled just witnessing it. Has any other human been given such privilege?

“How many do you think there are?” you whisper.

“Billions.”

Dream’s voice is a gentle, deep caress beside you. Self-possessed as if he’s counted each one himself.

Your palm drags mindlessly through the dark sands, each grain sifting through your fingers. Dream Lord jolts at your side, breathing out deeply, but you don’t pay his odd reaction mind, settling into pensive silence.

“Can you see them?” you ask thoughtfully. “Individually?”

“See them, feel them,” Dream lists passively. His fingers outstretch slowly, aiming towards the boundless black water—no, towards the skies, towards living tendrils of joy and light dancing through the dark. “I need not take them. For they are all… right… here.”

A glow kindles in his open palm, muted, soothing light. It flutters; quivering wings of a scared bird, then settles, safe in Dream’s protective hold, forming a small sphere. A gasp climbs up your throat, but you swallow it down, jumping to your feet and brushing the sand off your palms as you go.

A woman’s figure moves in the smokey image. She’s cradling a tiny bundle in her arms, her nose brushing over the child’s nose lovingly. It’s a nurturing, beautiful scene. One to leave your heart aching with longing.

“That’s incredible.” Stepping closer, you reach to touch the glowing globe, but stop yourself last moment. No. There’s no knowing what it would do to this woman if someone like you infringed on her dream. Your fingers shrink backwards, falling back to your side, each digit curling loosely. Dream tracks the gesture intently, his features drawn, so you force lightness into your following words, “For all the splendours in this universe, the Dreaming still manages to delight me the most.”

Dream Lord’s thumb skims over the glowing sphere. Then he extends his arm and blows gently. Like his sand, the dream skips and floats away, soon all but lost in the infinite array of colours.

“On this night, all living things dream,” he murmurs, concentrating solely on the descending lights. “And those dreams all traverse the universe to find their way home. To the Dreaming. What is it?”

You blink, realising you’ve been caught staring. “It’s just… over five hundred years,” you begin with a small smile. “I thought I’d have you all figured out by now, but you keep surprising me.”

Dream’s chin slants in a slight nod—regal even in these tiniest gestures. For a second, you wonder if you glimpse a sliver of amusement, but you blink, and it’s gone. “Likewise, Wanderer.”

You stand side by side, observing the vivid display. Dream’s features are, for once, relaxed. Softer than usual.

“You love them,” you choke out, startled by the piercing realisation. “Humanity. Then why…”

He’s gone incredibly still beside you. “Why what?”

Despite the direct prompt, your mouth remains closed. A thousand thoughts swarm through your head. All this time, you had it so wrong. Dream Lord’s stoic, often cold, mien. Even his duty he so uncompromising places first.

“You look lonely, Dream.”

It slips out before you can give it much thought, talk yourself out of voicing it. You’ve seen how Dream handles such observations. How any label or implication sets his jaw and ignites an ancient flame in him. There’s a reason you’ve never defined your relationship or so much as tried to. Equal parts fear how he would take it—and more painfully—the thought he would admit you mean nothing.

But Dream Lord is lonely. It’s written in every corner of his handsome, imposing face. Displayed naked and vulnerable in the way he watches these dreams. Such fierce devotion and a need to understand them, even when he struggles with the complexities of humanity.

“I was wrong about you,” you rush ahead in a whisper, noting the slow spreading coldness painting over his features. “I once thought you didn’t care at all. That you’re above it all. But now I realise just how much you do care.”

Chuckling under your breath, you mentally reabsorb the years you’ve spent by his side. With such crushing responsibility, Dream acts a certain way for a reason.

“But to have the collective consciousness of all living beings resting on your shoulders… I can’t imagine it.” You shake your head slowly from side to side. A small, sad smile pulls at your lips. “Your sense of duty to them is stronger than anything else. So it’s easier to not show anything. To anyone. Easier to lock it all down.”

Dream displays no outward reaction to your comments. His stare, however, burns into you, simmering with some hidden, potent emotion you can’t decipher no matter how hard you try. “You created this for them,” you conclude fondly, glancing around you. “The Dreaming is your gift to life, to humanity.”

Your heart inflates, stray breaths escaping your parted lips. The coldness and the prickly displeasure have waned from his demeanour with your speech, leaving Dream Lord mute at your side. His quietude fills in all the blanks, melancholic as it is.

There’s nothing more lonely than endless existence. You’re starting to learn as much intimately.

"I'm merely abiding by the Old Laws," he says lastly. "Anything is possible here. Let me show you."

Confusion must show on your face because Dream inclines his head towards the pier to your right.

“What are we doing?” you question, following after him.

The hem shimmers with Dream's steady gait, illuminating the path ahead. He stalls at the edge of the dock, water beyond stretching as far as the eye can see.

“Creating.”

“Uh, what?” Understanding sinks in at his deliberate glance. “Dream, I… I can’t dream. I can’t create anything here.”

“You need only to imagine it,” he says. “I will do the rest.”

He gestures for you to take his place. Your feet brush over the pier’s edge hesitantly. You don’t dare to look below. Those depths are treacherous to anyone who isn’t this realm’s creator.

“How will you know what’s in my head?”

Dream Lord’s presence whispers against your back. His fingers are light when they settle on your shoulder. “When it comes to dreams, I always know.”

You huff. “Fine, show off.”

“Clear your mind,” he instructs promptly. Not like you expected him to humour you. “Here, tonight, anything is possible.”

Keeping one hand on your shoulder, Dream raises his other arm, digits extended; relaxed, elegant. With a soft rasp from Dream Prince’s lips, power surges in the air, “We begin… with a spin.”

Dream Lord’s wrist rotates, everything in sight ceasing for a heartbeat, and then the world shifts.

Water plunges inwards, forming a whirlpool, cool spray hitting your skin with a powerful gust. A startled breath wooshes from your lungs, peering down at the ravine wide-eyed.

You’re not afraid, though. You’re mesmerised. “What should I do?”

He hears you even over the roaring water. “Change the world,” Dream whispers behind you. The way he says those words makes you believe you can do anything. “Imagine you are free. Visualise it. What do you see?”

“There’s a small island.” The vision springs to mind instantly, shining brightly in your mind’s eye. “Grass that grows there is the greenest there’s ever been. And… it tastes like sour apples.”

“Are you, by any chance, hungry, Wanderer?”

If you didn’t know any better, you would presume he’s teasing you.

A breathless laugh escapes you. “Shh. I’m focusing.”

The island trickles back into your thoughts, fragments stringing together.

“The sun that shines on the island is never too hot. The air is sweet and light. The flowers never wilt, trees never shed leaves, and the sky is an endless periwinkle shade. There’s always food and drinks. Books and games. An old friend waits at the beach to greet you with a patient smile whenever you arrive.”

And as you speak it, Dream’s fingers trail over the horizon, weaving and creating what you’re relating.

“A friend.” He sounds contemplative, with faint curiosity lacing his timber. “Not family or a lover?”

“Not everyone has family, and not everyone needs a lover,” you clarify. Each word wobbles, caught in a spell of his creation. “But everyone should have a friend. The island will be there whenever someone feels lonely, lost, or desperate for an escape. It’ll be there to welcome you. To give you a corner to hide. There is no sadness there. No loneliness or confusion. There’s only…”

“... hope.”

You nod at his hushed conclusion in your ear. Dream’s palm closes gently, forming a fist. The Dreaming exhales, his other hand slips off your shoulder, and in the far distance, an island shudders in the water, settling. Waves slosh loudly, beating against the dock, smoothing into crystal clear moments later.

Your eyes burn as you stare unblinking at the unassuming island.

“Why do you weep, Wanderer?”

You tuck your face in your elbow instinctively, chuckling thickly.

"This, no, it's... uh… thank you." Each word cracks with emotion as you mumble the words. Scrubbing your palm over your eyes, you smile softly. "Thank you so much for this."

“You need not thank me,” Dream states, a wrinkle forming between his brows. “The island is now part of the Dreaming. And whenever a soul finds themselves alone or in need of that comfort, they shall find their way here. It came from you.”

Does he have any idea how precious this is to you? No words in any tongue could adequately capture how deeply this settles in your soul. You exist. You’re real. The figurine in your pocket and the island visible in the distance are indisputable proof of that. He’s been a constant, a terrible shelter, for so long. But with this, he’s knitted himself in your marrow until your dying breath.

“Sit with me?” You settle down without preamble, your legs dangling over the edge. You never want this night to end. “Just for a little while,” you add quietly.

Dream lowers his head in consideration. Much to your unspoken surprise, his limbs fold elegantly beneath him, the golden edges of his coat pooling around him.

Your head drops back, watching the falling dreams. He does the same.

You don’t speak, and neither does he. Neither of you needs to.

Everything that ought to be said is expressed in the comforting stillness between you.

an: personal hdc is that before Corinthian escaped into the human world to wreak havoc, he had other ways to keep himself busy heh.

also, be sure to savour the happiness because it sure isn't going to last : )

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

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colorfultyrantearthquake · 2 years

Text

Of Hope and Life | Morpheus x fem!reader

Description: sequel to (Of Nightmares and Darkness). Morpheus has been gone for a while to the dreaming, doubts conquer your mind.

Warnings: +18, SMUT, angst, self doubt, Daddy!kink, breeding kink, thigh riding, spanking, choking, fluff.

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Morpheus has been gone for a week and a half now, it's been a while since he returned to his realm and he wanted to go check over things. You knew it'd take time, you were already in a stable relationship and it wasn't the first time he leaves you for some time to see the matters of his realm, he was the king after all. But you never grew used to the idea of not being beside him, you grew attached to him more and more, each minute you spend together bonds your souls'. He didn't visit you in your dreams either, something about "love to see you the way you are, not how you look in a dream" and that honestly should've been your utter evidence of this man's love to you. Yet, here are your doubts clouding your mind. Self doubt eating you up every second of the day. He was a king, a god, why would he ever love someone like you? Why would he want to stick around? He's Dream of the endless and you will definitely die someday, this could never work.

You thoughts irritated you beyond limits, you couldn't stop them no matter what.

Snatching your bag, you went home feeling angry at yourself. Entering your apartment, you threw your bag as you took off your shoes, heading to your room, you turned the lights on and got startled.

Morpheus was sound asleep on your bed, chest bare as he snored softly, dark blue covers accenting his white body. Your heart swelled and your anger disappeared, you felt disappointed in yourself for doubting him.

"Darling?" Morpheus' groggy voice tickled your ears, he sat up slightly leaning on one of his arms, hair pointing everywhere, a yawn invaded his sleepy features.

"Morpheus, you're back." You changed into a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Sensing the change in your demeanor, Morpheus stood up and walked towards you.

"I'm back yes, yet you're not here." Morpheus stated, running his fingers up and down your arm. You furrowed your brows, yes you weren't angry at yourself, but you knew you couldn't handle him going away again, and you were so embarrassed you couldn't confront him. "I'm right here, Morph." You kissed his cheek as you prepared to go to the kitchen.

Morpheus tugged you back in his arms, enclosing you to his chest. "You have 20 seconds before I put you to sleep and figure out what's wrong with you. Do you want that?" Instead of feeling trapped or upset, his voice made your back shiver as you became turned on. You moved your hands to caress his biceps that were around your sides holding you in place.

"I just missed you." You said as you inched closer to him, your breaths fanning each other's faces. Suddenly Morpheus let you go and went to the living room, he knew why you felt so angry and irritated, he could feel you incapable of handling his absence, but he wouldn't push you to speak when you didn't want to. You walked right behind him not exactly knowing what happened.

Sitting on a chair, Morpheus patted his lap.

"Come here." Shuddering from delight, you walked towards him, putting both legs on his sides. Feeling you settled in his lap, Morpheus widened his legs, manspreading them making your pussy fall directly on his cock, nothing but his sweatpants and your shorts separating you. You moaned loudly, throwing your head back, your hands on his v-line.

"You like that?" Morpheus asked, his hands moving under your t-shirt behind your back, caressing your sides slowly, teasingly. Looking at him, you felt bold, you have always wanted to try that with him. "I'll like it more another way." You shifted above him, taking off your shorts with nothing underneath, you heard Morpheus suck in a breath. You sat yourself on his thigh, feeling your pussy touch the muscles under the fabric, you rested your hands on his shoulders as you started grinding on his thigh. Morpheus' lips parted, eyes darkening hungrily. His hands resting on your hips, wanting to guide you but also loving to see you pleasure yourself.

Breathy moans left your mouth as you picked up your pace, feeling pleasure coarse through your body, Morpheus' skin prikling your fingers with need, you started rolling your clit on his pants, hiding your face in his neck you felt your pussy swell, the coil in your belly tightening and ready to blast.

"Morpheus" you gasped, "I'm gonna cum." Moaning loudly you bit his neck earning a hiss from him. "Cum, darling, cum for me. Use me how you please." His words sent you over the edge, you panted his name as you felt your body convulse in his arms, you felt sweat cover your body.

Morpheus took your shirt off, leaving you bare to his eyes, his gaze seemed needy, wanting but so patient. His fingers touched your breasts slowly, pulling you closer to his chest, his lips barely touching your neck, feather light kisses adorning your jaw.

"You missed me?" He asked, his penetrating eyes looking right into your soul. You nodded your head, not knowing what to say.

Morpheus sat back in the chair, hands resting beside him. "Show me." He demanded, looking at you with an expression you haven't seen before. You just rode his thigh, you didn't know what to think of.

Until....

"Morpheus I-"

"I'm not Morpheus to you anymore." His tone held dominance, confidence and pure lust. Your cunt throbbed in excitement, not knowing what to come, this was very new with him and you didn't know exactly what he wanted you to say.

Morpheus wrapped his hand around your neck, applying pressure making you lean closer into him, your breathing slightly heavy, you felt arousal increase and spread in your naked body, your nipples hardening visibly.

"Are you going to be a good little girl for your Daddy?." Raspy, lust blown voice whispered against your ear, his other hand caressing your breast, rubbing your nipple slowly sending surges of electricity to your mound. The minute these words left his lips, you felt your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Daddy" you half moaned half gasped incapable of saying anything else.

"That's right baby girl, am your Daddy." Morpheus ran his hand down to your pussy, running his middle finger between your folds, his thumb caressing both your lips sending shivers through your body. You felt dizzy with the way Morpheus was touching you, this was new in your relationship, it didn't seem like Morpheus was into this Daddy thing, but oh boy were you wrong.

"So wet for Daddy, I fuck you all the time yet you still get so bothered for my cock, do you want me?" Morpheus hold on your neck ceased lightly, allowing you to take in a breath and answer, his middle finger now soaked, still running against your entrance, teasing you.

"God yes, I need you to fill me up Daddy." You moaned loudly, trying to inch towards his finger, wanting to drive it deep in you looking for relief. "Such a dirty cock slut for Daddy." Morpheus lips sucked around your nipple, driving his finger deep inside of you, removing his hand from your neck to hold your back, steadying you.

"Oooh Daddy" your obscene moans filled the room, air thick with need and lust, Morpheus' blue eyes turned into black, he wanted to be as close to you as possible, wanted to prove you that you have nothing to worry about, wanted to let you know that you both belong to each other, that he won't let you go as long as he's alive and breathing.

"You like that baby?" Morpheus nibbled on your breast, adding another finger in your pussy, feeling your juices drip on his fingers, you answered him with a particular roll of your hips on his fingers. Morpheus let out a moan at your sight, he wanted to drive you to the very edge.

Carrying you, Morpheus laid you down on the couch, opening your legs widely he situated himself between them, you saw his mouth hovering over your pussy, his fingers still deep inside of you, you knew you'd cum in no time.

"Daddy, please." You whined, wanting to reach the blinding hot pleasure. "Patience, lil' girl." Morpheus started kissing your outer lips, following his kisses with short kitten licks, his finger stilled inside of you. You felt your clit swell and throb painfully, whining and writhing under him you felt yourself flush from head to toe.

"Don't cum."

Morpheus kissed your clit, circling it once with his tongue when your walls started to uncontrollably flutter around his fingers, your body responding to his touch unwillingly, you came quickly, praising him as your hands ruffled his hair blissfully.

"Bad decision, babe. Now I have to punish you." Your eyes watered slightly, feeling relief wash over your body, your mind a bit capable of thinking straight, but you knew your punishment will make you dumb.

Morpheus sat on the couch, spreading his legs, he lifted you and splayed you on his knees, face down. His hand rubbed your ass cheeks warming you to him, your breath quickening in anticipation.

"Why did you disobey me, honey?" Morpheus clicked his tongue in disapproval. "I was going to give you a whole other world of fantasies to live on, to long for, yet here you are cumming specifically when I told you not to." Morpheus' hand slapped your ass so hard you swore your eyes saw black. You felt heat pool between your folds, inspite of cumming twice, Morpheus was more than capable of sending you over the edge, you knew by the time he'd be done you might cum a third time, the thought itself making you moan in pleasure.

Morpheus' both hands came in contact with your cheeks at the same time making you leap forward, his hands caught your hips in place before you move. "Where are you running to, sweetheart?" He slapped you twice in a row, you felt your ass sting and swell, eyes watering in pain and pleasure, pussy pulsing uncontrollably. "You cannot run away from me." Morpheus sucked in a breath before he hit you one particular hard slap, the final one, a slap that made your pussy rub against his knee sending you over the edge. Morpheus' mouth hung agape at your third orgasm, you were so overworked, so hungry for him, he knew you craved him in more ways than one, but he didn't know you were that much willing to please him.

"Baby girl you cum for me so easily, I barely touched you." Morpheus held you in his arms tightly, walking you to your bedroom, you felt limp in his arms, so weak but your body still wanting to feel him inside of you.

Morpheus laid you down on the bed, your hazy eyes following his moves, your hands reaching out for him wanting to touch him.

"Daddy," you said breathlessly. "I need you inside of me." You moaned.

"Alright, baby girl, I've got you." Morpheus said as he took off his pants, his cock slapping against his stomach, you noticed how hard he is for you.

Morpheus lifted your hips putting a pillow under them, he splayed your legs on both sides of the bed, his hands massaging your inner thighs.

"You ready for me baby girl? Are you ready to feel me stretch you so wide?" Morpheus entered his tip into you, going in and out.

Whining loudly your hands settled on his on your waist. "Please, I have never been this ready for you."

Morpheus drove his cock slowly inside of you, filling you inch by inch, feeling your pussy walls hug him perfectly. Morpheus moaned loudly, you loved how expressive he was with his voice.

"You gonna take all of me baby?" You felt his tip brush your cervix, a little push made him hit it completely. "Oh fuck" you whimpered in delight, your body responding to his slightest touches sending you into pure bliss.

Morpheus gasped at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him, you were squeezing him hard.

"Baby so good for me, stretching so wide for my cock taking me so well," he sighs, "milking my cock, do you want me to fuck you hard and spill my cum so deep inside of you" Morpheus hips started snapping harder, stronger inside of you, you felt his cock brush all the good places inside of you, his tip hitting your cervix repeatedly. Your breathing became shallow as the sounds he made grew louder, his dirty words emitting undescribable sounds out of you.

"Morpheus, Morpheus please fill me up." You moaned as your nails started scraping his chest lightly.

"Oh baby you can't get enough of me, can't you?" Morpheus held you down, lifting you higher, closer to him.

"Are you going to make me a real daddy? Hm baby? Are you gonna hold my cum deep inside of you until you make a baby for me?" Morpheus' thrusts became hurried, needy and hot. The idea of your belly swelling with his kid was doing wonders to your body, you started feeling your belly tighten, your muscles shaking from the intensity of his thrusts, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"Morpheus," you sighed, "Daddy please." You moaned.

"Baby, cum for Daddy, milk me so hard I want to watch you swell with my babies," Morpheus sighed, his eyes half lidded with pleaure, his mouth hanging open, sweat rolling down his neck. "I want to make you a mum, gonna be such a good mother."

You screamed loudly, shaking in his arms violently, waves of lava coursing through your veins, white hot spots flashing in your eyes, you felt Morpheus twitch strongly inside of you feeling his hot cum shoot inside of you coating your walls, marking you as his.

You were both out of breath, Morpheus laid breathlessly beside you, chest heaving, face flushed, you rolled a bit above him, kissing his lips softly, wanting to thank him in your own way for his understanding of your feelings, you knew he was aware of your insecurities, and you were thankful he didn't let go of you.

"Going all soft on me now?" Morpheus smirked as you combed his hair with your fingers. You smiled warmly at him, "I really just missed you, I wanted to greet you better than that but am really sorry for that I-" Morpheus' fingers shushed you as he put them on your lips. "Don't ever say that. Don't apologize for your feelings. You know I'll never leave you, I am no longer in control of my emotions, you are a very important part of me right now, will always be forever." Morpheus kissed your cheek tenderly. "Your feelings, no matter what they are, are valuable and treasured above anything else, specially if they trouble you this way." His eyes were so warm, so sincere, they looked at you with so much love you couldn't believe you were worthy of. "Promise me you'll always tell me what troubles you, dear."

"I promise." You kissed his shoulder, laying your head on it, feeling yourself drift off peacefully at the rhythm of his heart beats.

________________________

Requests are open anytime xoxo

#love #the sandman smut #morpheus smut #dream smut #morpheus x reader #morpheus fic #lord morpheus #morpheus #tom sturridge #tom sturridge x reader #the sandman x you #the sandman x reader #dream x fem!reader #dream x you #dream x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus x you #morpheus x fem!reader

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writing-fanics · 2 years

Text

𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔥𝔢𝔲𝔰 𝔵 𝔉!ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

chapter one: dancing in the moonlight > chapter two: so this love

«summary: Dream decides to go to a ball. Where the L/n’s are trying to find their daughter a courtship»

<warning: dream : huge amounts of sexual tension : dancing with dream (you will be squealing) : mentions of familial death>

a/n: just imagine that howls moving castle theme song exists during this time. reference to Dickensian (but isn’t Arthur Havisham just uses his last name not affiliated with his character) also my best at writing a romantic dance scene.

Play this when you get to the dance scene (Merry-Go-Round-Of Life-)

She stood in the corner of the room. Her hands held the delicate wine glass; raising it to her lips. Sipping on the wine. Unamused by the party going on around her turning towards her friend, “This party is such a bore.” She groaned, taking a sip of her wine.

“Oh, come on Y/n enjoy the party.” Susan exclaimed. Looking at (Y/n) who rolled her eyes in response.

“Ah, yes a party just so I might find a courtship.” (Y/n) seethed, watching the young men around the room.

“You’ve declined every single one so far brought before you.” Susan said, and (Y/n) chuckled.

“Yes, and I enjoy it. It’s rather fun doing so. Since I have no intentions of marrying someone who only cares for my looks and my status and wealth.” (Y/n) says, finishing up her wine and placing the glass on the draw as a servant walks by.

“But you might find the one tonight.” Susan says, wiggling her eyebrows causing (Y/n) to giggle. “Such rarity that will be.” (Y/n) says, folding her arms across her chest not interacting with the crowd.

“Oh, look here comes Lord Havisham.” Susan said, causing a groan to escape (Y/n)’s mouth.

(Y/n) forced a smile on her lips as she greeted him, raising her hand for him to kiss. “You look rather ravishing tonight, Lady L/n,” He says, and she smiled disdainfully.

“Thank you,” She said, letting her hand fall to her side. As she looks at him annoyed, this man has been practically throwing himself at her for months. “Might I say, doesn’t your wife know that you’re here?” She asks.

“Flirting with another woman? I mean it’s quite ungentlemanly to try and court another.” She replies.

“I’m sure your wife would be furious.” She said, then looks over to the other side of the room. Seeing Mary talking to (Y/n)’s little sister.

“There she is over there.” She grinned, and he looked towards his wife’s direction his face red as he stormed away.

“You won’t tell her will you?” He asked, a smug smile grew on her lips.

“Why, shouldn’t I. Your advances towards me are quite unwelcomed and I’ve declined you many times.” She said, raising an eyebrow.

She began walking towards his wife, when he grabbed her roughly by the wrist. “You dare touch me without my permission.” She seethed, her face red as she glared at him.

“You’ve got no right talking back to me.” He said, and she laughed at him.

“No right? I have the right to decline a man who’s practically throwing themselves at a woman who’s declined them many times before.” She roughly pulled away from his grip, walking towards his wife once more.

She walks towards his wife and whispers into her ear. Mary’s eyes widened as her head snapped into the direction of her husband.

His face paled as she stormed towards him grabbing him roughly by the ear. She swiftly thanked (Y/n). As she dragged him out of the party.

(Y/n) now standing in the corner of the room. Taking a glass of wine off the tray and sipping it, “I want this party to be over with.” She groaned, unamused by the party.

She couldn’t chat with Susan for she’s dancing. (Y/n) wanted to sneak out of the party and up to her bedchambers.

“Might, I have this dance?” A voice asked. She was about to decline until she saw the man before.

His silver blue eyes, his hair as black as a raven. Her voice got caught in her throat, he kissed her hand causing her cheeks to glow a tint of red.

“Yes.” She squeaked, she looked down embarrassed. She didn’t know why her heart was pounding against her chest.

As he lead her the center of the room. Then as if it were magic the band started playing her favorite song. She always imagined herself dancing in a field to this song.

Merry Go Round of Life. She didn’t know why she was feeling so nervous in the moment. Just moments ago she was fine sipping on her wine. She’s been asked to dance countless times. But none of them compared to this, he placed his arm just above her waist.

As the music began, they started dancing. (Y/n) stared into his eyes as they danced. She swore she could see the entire cosmos in his eyes. Her stomach fluttered as he his lips curled into a smile. Her cheeks turned a light shade of red.

His arm wrapped around her waist. Holding her close as they danced. Her heart pounding against her chest. The world around her seemed to stop. She’d just met this man and she already felt some sort of connection.

She stared into his eyes with wonder, as he looked down at her as they danced. She couldn’t help but him along to the song trying to calm her nerves, as well gently swaying her head to the music.

He spun her around gently heart once again skipping a beat. As they danced along to the music, others in the room watching as the young lady danced with the man.

She felt like she were a princess in a fairytale. She felt as if that they were dancing on a cloud. He spun her around once again, she felt as if she was losing more air even with this corset on. This felt like a dream and one she never wanted to wake up from.

She wanted to speak to say something. But her words got caught in her throat, all the blood in her body seemed to rush towards her cheeks. Giving it that red tint that spreads across her cheeks. This had to be a dream right? There isn't anyway this could possibly be real?

The nights rays seemed to reflect onto his eyes. His eyes sparkled as if his irises were made up of stars. Yet even as she looked into his eyes. She still felt a cold demeanor his eyes were giving off. Dream stared down at her as they danced her eyes seemed to sparkle, as the moons light crept through the windows. His arm wrapped around her waist and his around hers, as they danced in circle.

She couldn't stop staring into his eyes; seemingly getting lost in the stars as she did so. Her lips curled into a smile as she looked into his eyes. When his lips curled into a smile as he gazed down at her making her stomach flutter.

Susan's eyes widened seeing (Y/n) on the ballroom floor dancing. Her mouth dropped. (Y/n) turned towards her and smiled softly. That's when she noticed other people almost everyone was watching her dance with the stranger. Her eyes darted around the room seeing everyone standing in a circle.

"Everyone's watching." She whispered, her cheeks bright red. Not liking all the attention that she was getting from the guests. Susan being the good friend immediately took notice of her friends situation. Lily and Susan looked at each other and nodded, Lily let out a shrill scream.

Causing everyone to look towards her as Susan pretended to be passed out on the ground. As the guests ran over to see what the problem was, he seemed to take notice and they made their way towards the garden.

"It seems your friend caused a distraction so we might escape." He says, and moved her lips inward slightly. "Oh, yes seeming me dance was quite a shock for her." She said, and he looked down at her.

"I usually, reject those who ask me to dance." She said, as they continued to dancing. The music fading as they got further and further away from the party inside.

"Then why accept a dance with me?" He asked, and she looked up at him. Her cheeks turning a bright red, "I ah, I-I don't know." She replied, sheepishly. He raised his right eyebrow as he looked down at her, he pulls her closer to him causing her heart to skip as beat as they continued dancing.

She was about to ask for his name when she realized where they were. Her mother's flower garden. Rows and rows of beautiful flowers of different colors. Straight out of a fairytale. A little cottage lied further ahead a small cobblestone path lead up to it. Her smile faltered as she looked around the garden, "This was my mother's favorite place." She said, looking up at him.

The dancing now ceased, they released their hold on each other. She knelt down beside the flowers smiling as she looked at them, "She passed away when my little sister was born." She says, standing up and looking at him.

"I'm sorry for your loss." He says, and she smiled softly looking at him. Realizing because of her they stopped dancing, "Sorry, I stopped dancing without-" She sighed, looking down at her hands. He stepped closer towards her causing her to look up at him.

"I don't usually enjoy theses kinds of party." She says, looking at him and he smirked, as they walked alongside each other. "I don't usually enjoy parties either," He says, as they started walking down the stoned path of the garden.

"But this one was rather." He said, looking down the path alongside her, walking past an array of beautiful flowers. "Entertaining." He finishes, and she chuckles softly. "I could say the same thing." She replies, and he looked down at her as she grinned.

"I'm happy to hear that you've found the party entertaining." She says, their gaze met and her cheeks once again turned red. They stared at each other for a moment her heart pounding against her chest as she gazed into his eyes.

"Y/n, your father is looking for you!" Susan shouted, and (Y/n) looked up towards her and sighed, not wanting the moment between her and him to end.

"Sorry, I must be going." She says, sadly. "Farewell," He says, taking her hand bringing towards her lips and kissing it. She smiled, and his lips curled upward into a smile.

"Farewell to you too." She said, before removing her hand slowly from his grasp. Then turning to walk up the stairs, towards the inside.

She then realized she hadn't asked for his name. Stopping on the stairs. "Oh, I forgot whats your-" She turned around, "Name?" She finished, realizing that he had disappeared. She looked around any sign of him not finding any. She sighed walking up the stairs and back inside.

Taglist:

@nebulosa-reina @stygianoir @catcher11 @pinksirensong @all-things-fandomstuck

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lilpunkrock · 2 years

Text

where you go (i will go) — i

Summary: A threat to your realm inspires an unlikely collaboration.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

Words: 3.9k+

AN: Originally posted to my other account, @alittlepunkrock, I'm now uploading to this second blog because my main is having some issues. RIP. I hope you all enjoy! We are looking at a good 15-20 parter, I hope you all will come along on the ride with me!

series masterlist // mood board // ao3

. . .

“It starts at night when I close my eyes,

I still see you.

I drown my cries in some brand new lies,

I don’t see you like I used to.”

- I Don’t Miss You Anymore, loveless

. . .

Part i.

True peace is found in the still moments between dreaming and waking. Those moments in which the body and mind seem to exist on separate planes of existence. The body, just awakening to sensation; the mind, being coaxed back to reality after the uninhibited freedom of slumber. The infinite possibilities found in the realm of dreaming.

As your body calls your mind back home, you cling to the last remnants of your dream. A field of wildflowers, bursting with red poppies, purple bellflowers, yellow lady’s bedstraw. Standing tall before you, your love takes your face in his rough, calloused hands. You lean into his touch, relishing in the thought that tomorrow, your hands will be joined in the sanctity of marriage within this very field. Your heart flutters at the thought.

Your love’s dark eyes gaze tenderly into yours. You open your mouth to state your vow, one you’ve surely told him a thousand times, “I love you.”

Suddenly, there is a sharp tug within your chest. You’re yanked back, the scene before you fading to a pinprick. Your mind collides with your body with a force that is physically painful.

The first sensation you register is a pair of rough, calloused hands gripping tightly around your windpipe. Pushing, pressing.

The second is a pair of familiar dark eyes hovering over you.

There is no tenderness there.

. . .

Consciousness can be an alarming thing. While it has been many hundreds of years - or perhaps thousands, you’ve begun to lose count - since you’ve dreamed, even deities must rest. Your mind recoils back into the Waking World as your eyes snap open with a gasp. On instinct, your hands fly to your neck, hastily prying away a grip that’s not there.

No one is here. Your bedroom is quiet and empty. As always.

Heart hammering in your chest, you run your fingers along your scalp, peeling away the strands of hair plastered to your skin with sweat. Breathe, you tell yourself, inhaling deeply. Just breathe. Exhale. You relish in the feeling of air flowing in and out of your lungs, uninhibited and free. You are alive.

Well, sort of.

The end of your bed dips lightly, and you open your eyes. Your foster pup, Theo, peers up at you attentively. He places one white paw between your feet, his dark eyes twinkling with reassurance. You smile at him and lean forward, ruffling the mop of brown fur between his wide ears. “Good morning, my friend. Checking on me, are you?”

Sunlight streams through the thin curtains of your bedroom window, bathing the room in a golden glow. Your peace lily by the windowsill reaches for the sun, craning its green stems and white blooms toward the glass. A fantasy novel lays on your bedside table, colorful bookmarks denoting all your favorite passages.

And there, just under your bedroom door, is a stack of papers.

Slowly, a bright smile pulls across your face. Your rude awakening retreats to the back of your mind, waiting to strike again with a new dawn.

It’s time to start a new day.

. . .

“Oh please, Theo, don’t look at me like that,” you groan as you walk into the kitchen, shimmying into a pair of dark jeans as you go. Theo sits regally at your feet, eyes wide and gleaming, eager for a lick of the cream cheese warming on the kitchen counter. You drop to the floor to tie your sneakers, eyeing him carefully.

He stares at you. You stare at him. After several long moments of watching you tie your shoes, he sticks his pink tongue out and grins.

Your heart grows two sizes as your tough act breaks. “Oh, fine. How am I supposed to say no to that face?” In a jiffy, your toasted bagel has been slathered with cream cheese, and an extra dollop has been added to the rim of Theo’s food bowl. He sits triumphantly by the bowl and grins as you dip to rub him behind the ears. “You be a good boy today, okay? I’ve got a busy day ahead, but I’ll drop in at lunch. And please, no chewing on the trim. We really can’t afford another maintenance charge. Got it?”

Theo pants and gives your palm an appreciative lick. You grin and kiss him between the ears. “That’s my boy.”

The tender autumn sun warms your cheeks as you step out of your townhouse and onto the sidewalk. It’s a Wednesday morning and the streets are busy, everyone shuffling to jobs, school, daycare. You make the brisk walk to the small mom-and-pop coffee shop a couple blocks away, hoping to beat the line that is sure to be forming soon. The shop owner, an elderly gentleman with a shock of white hair and a kind, wrinkled face - Cliff, you remind yourself - smiles kindly at you as you walk in. “G’morning, miss. You’re off to an early start today, aren’t you?”

“The sun is awake, so I’m awake,” you reply jokingly, placing the exact change for your beverage into his waiting hand at the counter. “We’ve got a busy day ahead, Cliff. Your coffee is going to carry me through.”

“Good thing I’ve got it ready for you, then,” Cliff jests, sliding a to-go cup across the counter. “Have a g’day, miss.”

“You truly are a lifesaver, Cliff. Mankind thanks you for your service,” you say as you take the first sip. The dark brew slips down your throat, warming your insides as it goes. Nothing refreshes the immortal soul for a day of work quite like a good coffee.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” you call with a grin, turning on your heel to head back out the front door. As you approach, a young man carrying a backpack, likely a college student, prepares to open the door. The street outside is busy, easy to disappear into. You turn over your shoulder to ensure Cliff is looking away. His back faces you, busying himself with cleaning the espresso machine behind the counter.

Turning to the young man in front of you, you slip through the door as he opens it. He makes eye contact with you, opening his mouth to give a greeting. You smile and, reaching out, touch your fingertips to the soft gray hoodie over his heart. You close your eyes, reaching out, reaching through. A warm breeze whistles through your hair. And when you open your eyes, you’re in to vasíleio tis proskóllisis. The Realm of Attachment.

It is an absolute kaleidoscope of colors. The most stunning masterpiece you have ever seen. Hundreds, thousands, millions of threads bursting forth from the hearts of the mortals surrounding you. Some are linked to an individual beside them, some halfway across the city, some halfway across the world. Each thread thrums, alive with the promise of connection, of attachment to another individual. Each thread glows with the promise of what bond these two mortals are to share.

Gazing around this masterpiece, your masterpiece, your chest grows tight with emotion, heart warm, mind buzzing. This is your purpose. This is what it means to be Agape, the Deity of Love.

You turn to the young coffee shop customer you passed through, who is now glancing around, looking quite dazed and confused. “Well,” you say, knowing full well he can’t hear you, “I suppose I should get to work, shouldn’t I?”

You pull the folded pieces of paper from your bedroom floor out of your pocket, unfolding them carefully. The first names on the Fates’ list are alight with a purple halo. You smile fondly. Erotoropia - playful, flirtatious attachment. These are always fun. You close your eyes and skim your fingertips over the words, reaching out for the attachment there. When you open your eyes, you find yourself in a high school hallway crowded with shuffling bodies. The air is thick with a heady combination of cacophonous chatter, cheap body spray, and raging teenage hormones.

A thick web of attachments surrounds you, burning brightly with reds, purples, blues, and whites. A combination of romance, flirtation, self-love, and friendship or romantic soul ties. Ah, to be a teenager, you muse, overwhelmed by the sheer number of connections around you. You inhale deeply and wade through the crowd, honing in on the attachment you have come to foster.

Ah, there they are - a young brown-skinned girl with hair the shade of night and a fair-skinned boy with bright blue eyes. They stand side by side at their lockers, the boy rummaging for books, the girl applying a thin streak of eyeliner to both eyes in her small mirror. A faint purple thread connects them at the heart, yearning to be established. You feel it call out to you, tugging at your heart, drawing you closer.

You smile, running the purple strand between your fingers. Let me see what I can do for you.

To your right, a stocky boy in a football jersey barrels down the hall, clearly late for some type of practice. You incline your head toward him and lift a hand, crooking your pointer finger ever so slightly. At your gesture, the boy’s shoe rolls over a pen on the hallway tile and he stumbles, shoulder colliding with the back of the brown-skinned girl. Her eyeliner careens across her temple, leaving a dark line in its wake. She gasps, rearing backward.

“Hey, watch it!” She calls out to the football player as he scurries away, too concerned about being late to pay her a glance. She leans back into her locker, examining the damage in the mirror. “Aw, shit.”

The fair-skinned boy glances at the girl to his side, glances away, glances back again. Obviously weighing the pros and cons of speaking up. You place an encouraging hand on his back. Go on.

“Sorry about that,” the boy finally says, briefly pausing in his quest to find his books. “Jocks, am I right?”

“No shit,” the girl groans. She pulls a Q-tip from her purse and leans in close to the mirror, trying to salvage her look. “This was the worst possible day for this to happen to me. I’m supposed to audition for Catswith the drama club after school.”

The boy grins, turning to face her more fully. Gaining courage. “What , a cat eye wasn’t what you were going for?” he prods, eyebrow raised.

The girl pauses in her wiping to return his friendly gaze. A playful twinkle lights in her eye, dancing as a smile pulls across her face. “How do you even know what a cat eye is?” she laughs.

The boy shrugs, closing his locker with a stout clang. “I may or may not have three older sisters. My knowledge of makeup is vast and, quite frankly, a little embarrassing.”

You glance down at the thread between your fingers as the two chat. Once pale purple, the thread now glows brightly. You smile with satisfaction. Your work here is done.

. . .

The Fates know how to keep you busy, and you thank the powers that be for the millionth time that you love your work as much as you do. By lunch, you’ve traveled halfway across the world, fostering a rainbow of bonds. Theo gets a quick check-in at lunch, something that lifts your spirits as much as it does his, before you dive back into the fray. By dusk, there is only one final set of names on your list.

As you lift your fingertips from the page, you find yourself on the landing at the top of a staircase. A large window to your right reveals the quiet cul-de-sac outside. The hallway is dark with shadows, every door lining the corridor closed firmly. All is silent.

And then, a sniffle. You turn to the first door down the corridor to your left. While no light peeks through the crack at the bottom of the door, the sound of quiet sobbing is unmistakable. The pitch and tone tells you that it is the crying of a young girl. Through the door pass two distinct threads; one faded and green, the other a pulsating black. At the sight of the black thread, you grow very still, a lump forming in your throat.

Desire the Endless has been here.

You take the threads in your hands and follow them down the staircase, moving quickly. You find that the threads trail into the heart of a middle-aged man lying on the couch. A comforter has been thrown onto the floor beside him; he tosses and turns in his sleep, restless.

You swallow quickly and close your eyes, gripping the black thread tightly. Show me, you command. In response, dark images flash through your mind: A family of three, happily moving into their new home. The father taking a new job. Casual glances at a co-worker turning into sly ones. Desire boiling until the pot overflows. One early morning run turning into multiple. The fallout. A wife working late to push the pain away.

A daughter crying in the room upstairs. Your heart sinks, forming a pit in your stomach.

Slowly, you shift your hands to grip the green thread. Gazing down at the restless face of the adulterer below you, you can’t help but wonder whether he deserves your gift. Whether he deserves you re-enforcing his family’s unconditional love for him. You can’t help but wonder whether, with Desire around, he’ll make the same grave decision again. You almost let the thread go. And then, you remind yourself, You don’t decide who or what. You are here to choose the how and to ensure that all proceeds as it is meant to.

“You will awaken and call your wife at work,” you command slowly, voice barely more than a whisper. “You will grovel at her feet. You will do marriage counseling, family therapy, anything that she requests. You will become a father that your daughter can be proud of. All of this will be as I have spoken it.”

You pause. In your hands, the green thread solidifies and glows, warm and alive. As you turn to leave, you whisper one final wish, “And you will shut Desire out of your heart from this point onward.”

It’s the only thing out of your control. The only thing you can’t guarantee.

. . .

You step through an evening jogger and onto the sidewalk in front of your townhome, back in the regular Waking World once again. The colorful threads of the Realm of Attachment no longer leap into view. The street is quiet, dark, and mundane. Admittedly, after a long day of work, it’s a sight for sore eyes.

As you fumble through your pocket for your house keys, a bright bubble of laughter rings through the open window of the townhome next to yours. You can’t help but smile softly and take a slight step back, craning your neck to peek through the open curtains. Inside, a young husband and wife - Ava and Matt, you think fondly - sit on the couch watching a game show rerun on TV. Ava throws her head back and laughs, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Matt places an affectionate kiss on her temple. His broad hand shifts to rest on her stomach, cradling the small bump that has begun to rise there.

Your heart flutters at the sight. You’ve been guiding their love story for a long time. You were there for their first meeting, first date, first kiss. Blessing their vows, inhaling in excitement when they learned that they were pregnant. Some were moments the Fates required you there for, while others were for your own satisfaction. While you cared for all mortals that crossed your path, there was something special about these two. In retrospect, you suppose they were the closest thing to family that you had.

Well, besides for Theo.

“Theo!” you call as the front door squeaks closed behind you. At the jingle of your house keys falling into the catchall by the door, Theo rushes to your side, pawing at your ankles. “Hello, little love. How was the rest of your day?” You lift his tiny body into your arms, and he gives your cheek a long, rough lick. “That’s my boy. Let’s get cleaned up, shall we?”

You pad quietly through the living room, down the short hallway, into your bedroom. And nearly bite your tongue at the sight of a dark silhouette standing stark against the streetlights streaming through your curtains.

“For the love of -” You slap the lights on with one hand, gripping Theo a little tighter with the other. As light floods the room, your adrenaline rush halts, energy suddenly pent up with nowhere to go. “...Death?”

Death of the Endless turns from looking out your window, offering you a sweet, toothy smile. “Hello, Love. Long time, no see.”

You breathe out a laugh, setting Theo down on the floor. He promptly runs to lick at Death’s ankles, and she crouches to scratch behind his ears. “Yeah, long time no see. What has it been? A hundred years, at least?”

“More, my friend. Unless you count our brief encounters on the battlefield,” Death says, lifting Theo into her arms. He nudges his nose into her dark curls and licks her cheek. “You grow stronger with each passing century, Love. You’ve progressed so well. You should be proud.”

You think back on the past hundred years, remembering the wars, sicknesses, and tragedies that occured in that time. Certainly, it was a busy time for humanity. In those days, you and Death often worked side by side. The sight of her sweeping wings was well known to you then. You think of those she carried to eternal peace, of the battles that ended in the name of love. You tuck your chin, smiling sheepishly. “Thank you. Surely you didn’t serve me a heart attack simply to flatter me. What brings you here, Death?”

Death quirks an eyebrow, her dark lips dropping into a playful pout. “What, an Endless can’t drop in to see an old friend? And her adorable dog?” At your laugh, Death smiles kindly and sits herself and Theo down on your bed, patting the spot next to her. “But you’ve caught me. There is something we need to talk about,” she murmurs.

At her change of tone, your throat tightens with nerves. You breathe in deeply as you sit at her side, gazing at her expectantly. Your anxious fingers shift to scratch Theo’s head absentmindedly.

Death’s lips part slightly. She seems to contemplate for a moment. “I’ve spoken to my brother recently. Destiny. As well as the Fates,” she starts quietly. Another pause. “They seem to be worried about your scales.”

“Ah, I see,” you say, your throat suddenly dry. Your fingers move more quickly, and Theo inclines his head to peer up at you. You give him a half hearted smile.

Death leans in closer, eyes asking questions before her mouth does. “What’s going on, Love? Share with me. Let me help you.”

“I’m afraid it’s nothing you can help with,” you say quietly. “Desire and I have never seen eye to eye, but lately it’s become more and more difficult to keep up with their work. They’re moving more quickly, becoming more ambitious. They’ve been disrupting my romantic attachments and soul ties, in particular. They know what they mean to me.”

“As do I. Which is why I don’t want to see you lose them.” Death places a comforting hand on yours atop Theo’s head, stilling you. She dips her gaze to make eye contact, eyes searching yours. “I’ve come to warn you of this as your friend. You know I care for you. But if you are unable to keep your side of the scales balanced, I’m afraid of what may happen. Nothing is guaranteed for gods and goddesses. And your kind is not so easily replaced as the Endless.”

The lump in your throat rises higher. You swallow thickly. “I know. And thank you. I appreciate your friendship, appreciate everything that you’ve done for me, more than you’ll ever know.” You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. Grounding yourself, gathering your thoughts. The beauty of the Realm of Attachment burns brightly in your mind, a kaleidoscope of color that you created. “I won’t let them take it from me. It’s all I truly have left.”

Death feigns a gasp. “All you have left? What are we, Theo? Chopped liver?” You laugh, the weight of your heart becoming a little lighter in your chest. She elbows you in the ribs softly. “I’m kidding, of course, but I love the sentiment. Any thoughts on how to tip the scales back in your favor, my friend?”

One idea does immediately come to mind. Whether it’s a good or bad one, you’re not sure. You start to rethink it, but it’s evident when you lock eyes with Death that she’s already seen the thought register on your face. You smile hesitantly. “The last time we spoke, truly spoke, I did mention one idea of mine. However, you weren’t much for it at the time-”

“Ah, Dream! My dear, mopey brother,” Death exclaims, remembrance dawning on her face. “Of course I remember. Granted, at the time, I did not think it was likely to be successful. Dream was, well… being Dream, which does not mean much in the way of collaboration.” Her bright smile softens into a wistful one. “However, much has changed for Dream in the last hundred years. He’s gained a new perspective on things, I think. And Desire has done quite a bit of meddling in my brother’s affairs lately. He might be open to a partnership.”

Your heart rises, chest fluttering with hope. “You think so?”

“I think it’s worth a shot, if nothing else,” Death states matter-of-factly. With a loving pat on your hand, she rises, walking to the window. “And after all, you and my brother are not so different. You’re certainly the brighter ray of sunshine, but neither of you are much in the way of getting out. You spend all your time with mortals, and he spends all his time with - well, his librarian. And his raven. Perhaps this arrangement will be good for the both of you.” You open your mouth to protest, and she gives you a playful shh. “You know it’s true, Love. Now, I wouldn’t waste any time. The faster you can work to balance your scales, the better. And if my darling brother gives you any trouble, do let me know, yeah?”

You shake your head incredulously, giving her a small smile. “Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

“You can thank me later, when your scales are balanced. I’ll be seeing you, Love.” And with a grin and a swoop of black feathers, Death is gone.

All is quiet in your townhome. You release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, falling back onto your pillows. Your hand trails over Theo’s fur absentmindedly as your mind races with possibilities. Besides Death and Desire, you’ve never associated with an Endless in person before. Despite his influence on your work, you’ve never met Destiny in the flesh, receiving your assignments through the Fates, instead. In fact, you rarely associate with any other deities at all. Let alone one with a reputation such as the Dream Lord’s.

You take a calming breath, closing your eyes. There’s no doubt in your mind that rest will elude you tonight.

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