Dark Dream Of The Endless - Tumblr Posts

I’m really scared for her now cuz I have this exact dream where I was Mera herself and scared shitless to death.. Because wherever I hide in that dream.. that gloomy lord emo’s always one step above.. I woke up scared from that..  so yeah I now knew what exactly Mera is feeling rn.. 

The Dream That Got Away

Chapter 9

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x You (no Y/N!)

This is a multi-chapter fic — Weekly updates (either Saturday or Sunday) because I found a rhythm of sorts lol

(The entire fic has been outlined, so I will see this to the end, you have my word)

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Link to the Masterlist

Overall Warnings!! Take heed:

Morpheus is DARK – in canon, he changes for the better (or at least, tries to – but we don’t do canon lol, so he goes even more batshit crazy) cue obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, powerplay

18+ ONLY – explicit scenes will be present, some explicit language

DUB-CON and NON-CON scenes

Character death (sort of)

Creator vs Creation drama

And other dark stuff that may be added in the future

This chapter’s warnings:

non-consensual kissing and touching

touch-starved Morpheus should be a warning of its own

mentions of gore

mentions of drug abuse

You have been warned!! Proceed with caution!!!

Link to the previous chapter

Chapter 9: Courtships with Deadlines

5 Days Until Deadline

You drape a thick, velvet blanket over your shoulders before you go out to the balcony and watch the night give birth to one of the most beautiful sunrises any creature could ever see in their lifetime.

But something has changed: not the beauty of the sunset, but the way you feel about it. You had for so many times looked at it with wonder in your eyes. Now, all it reminds you of is another day in the Kingdom with him: the all-powerful being who had woven your strings of fate and tied it with himself, not caring whether he suffocated you in the process. After he left the room, you never got a wink of sleep; you never even dared close your eyes, fearing he might suddenly pop into your room and force you once more into a vulnerable position. Not wanting to remember your master’s visit last night, you rub your face with your hands to force these thoughts away, suddenly wanting a cup or two of steaming hot coffee with loads of milk dumped in them.

Your mind wanders to the Sleep Doctor you had left in his dreams after a quick, impulsive kiss. Despite liking to take a lot of naps, he actually is an early riser, as you had discovered in your short time in the Waking with him. By now, he should be having the same milky cup of coffee, scrolling through the daily science bulletin on his iPad and muttering to himself as he read the articles, while his favorite cinnamon buns you had popped in the oven happily baked away.

You don’t want to admit it, but you sorely miss Ollie and his cheerful demeanor.

The sun has fully risen in the realm when Morwyn knocks on your door, bringing you a tray of breakfast consisting of your favorite pastries and coffee, prepared just the way you like it. You’re not particularly hungry, but after spotting a cinnamon roll, you contentedly dig in, wondering if Ollie had the same. You share the rest of the generous fare with her and use the opportunity to catch up with her after all these years. When the meal is over, she draws you a bath, then excuses herself, mumbling about preparing your outfit to “his liking.” You ignore the last thing she said, focusing instead on the sea of bubbles that relaxed every tense muscle in your body, savoring every time you have without the Dream Lord hounding your time and attention. Once you’ve dried yourself, you step out of the bathroom in a silken robe, thinking of donning your usual dress. To your surprise and consternation, you find Morwyn in the middle of admiring a blood-red, long-sleeved gown of the finest silk satin, decorated with tiny chunks of ruby around the waist. It’s a dress worthy of a princess.

Except you’re no princess.

“Morwyn, please tell me I’m not wearing that,” You say as you walk to the closet and yank the doors open, expecting to find the clothes you had seen the other day and hoping you get to choose the simplest garb you could find – the closet is empty.

Great. You can’t even choose your own clothes, now.

Unconsciously, you take a leaf after Ollie’s book and rub the back of your head.

“M’lady,” Morwyn calls, her voice slightly trembling, “The Dream King had instructed me to empty your closet and give you this,” she says holding the luxurious dress out. “He says he’d like to see you in it when you meet him later.”

Releasing a defeated sigh, you nod quietly at her and put it on, letting her fasten the ribbon at the back in front of the mirror. The dress feels stifling, and not just because it hugged every curve on your body.

Morwyn gives you a wide, encouraging smile, complimenting, “You look beautiful, m’lady.”

You look just as he intended, you tell yourself. You try to return the smile, hoping it didn’t come out as a constipated grimace.

“Thank you, Morwyn. Has Matthew come around, yet?” The Dream Lord’s words last night were anything but comforting, but he mentioned having his raven come to tell you when it’s time. But for what, exactly?

“Not yet, m’lady. Are you…okay? You look a little pale,” says Morwyn worriedly with her hand on her chin. “If you’d like, I can apply some rouge on your cheeks, doll you up even more?” she innocently suggests, muttering something about “a date” and “looking pretty for the King.”

You shake your head adamantly at the suggestion. No, you don’t want that spurring him on. Wanting to be alone, you say your ‘thank you’ to her and bid her farewell before proceeding to the uppermost part of the palace where your master had said he’ll meet you, hoping for at least a few moments of peace by yourself watching the view from up above.

Thankfully, the balcony is void of the Endless the moment you arrive, giving you time alone to admire the Dreaming Realm in a panoramic view you have never seen before. Your eyes can spot endless, unfamiliar territory and islands you’ve never been in from miles and miles away. Down below you could see the town square, busy as ever, with its tiny residents going about their morning tasks; everything in the Dreaming, right before your eyes – and all you could think of is Ollie.

Due to the events that followed your return, you had not had the opportunity to visit him in his dreams since you left. Your Dream Lord had just complicated things further by forbidding you to step out of his kingdom, making it even more difficult to sneak out and check Ollie's progress. How is he doing, you wonder? Is he sleeping too much due to his eagerness to find you a safe sanctuary away from your master? While you selfishly want him to continue doing so until he finds a solution, you don't want to keep him away from the Waking and living his own life - after all, he has his own dreams to fulfill, and you wouldn’t want to inconvenience him any further.

You need to help him find a way to free you so he can get his own life back, and you need to move faster.

With that in mind, you make a mental promise to visit his dreams as soon as the Dream King has gone away to attend to his duties.

A loud caw, followed by a shout of 'Lady Mera,' interrupts you from your musings. Matthew, the new raven, lands on the balcony railing, flapping his wings before tucking them in.

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," you chide him with a pout.

"I can't, you know how the boss is. He's a stickler to his rules," Matthew replies with a tilt of his head.

"Maybe you can drop the fancy title when he's not around, at least?" you suggest with an innocent smile, patting his head several times.

Leaning into your petting, he acquiesces, "Oh, alright. I never thought I'd enjoy being pet as a bird, you know. Why are you early, by the way? I was supposed to come get you as soon as he says so. Eager for the date, much?"

"This isn't a date," you're quick to correct him with a flat tone.

"Uh, it kind of is? I told him yesterday he needed to spend more time with you so he doesn't uh, intimidate you."

Might be too late for that, you note inwardly.

"You shouldn't have," you find yourself commenting with some truth behind your jesting tone, which earns a nervous chuckle from the raven.

"No, but, seriously though, aren't you and the boss, uh...a thing? You see, I've been meaning to ask, but he's mum about, you know,” he starts, obvious in his tone he’s hesitant to approach the matter. “Except he did tell me you’re his consort. Are you and him –”

“No,” you sharply reply, not liking his line of questioning. “Not yet, anyway,” you mumble.

“Ah, so that’s what the date is for, then,” he says, nodding to himself. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Yeah, sure. It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Do you… like it? Him, I mean?”

You bite your lip, not expecting Matthew’s question – for him, it was a telling gesture. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. How come you don’t tell him?”

Chuckling humourlessly at his question, you answer, “We’re talking about your boss, here, Matthew. To him, any dissent warrants either an unmaking, a banishment, or a lifetime of nightmares: you take your pick.”

“Tell me about it! Did you know, he had an ex that he sent to – uh-oh .”

‘What is it?” you ask, recognizing the slight alarm in his tone.

“He’s calling for me, I think. I have to go. See you, my La – I mean, Mera!”

Before you could say your farewell, Matthew goes flying off into the horizon and dips below into one of the palace rooms and out of your line of sight. Just as he disappears, your hairs stand on end and a cold feeling washes over you like icy water being dumped over your head.

He’s here, the Voice warns.

From behind you, arms snake up and wrap around your waist, pulling you closer until your back hits a taut chest. Your entire body goes rigid and your breathing turns shallow as you feel a warm breath tickle your earlobe, followed by a whisper:

“You’re early, my dream.”

“I just wanted to admire the view –” your sentence is cut off with your breath hitching; your Dream Lord just dragged his nose down the side of your neck before planting a heated, wet kiss at the base – his lips linger, then suckles on the skin, holding you tighter to himself to keep you from struggling. From your ruby-bedazzled waist, he drags his left hand slowly upwards across your chest, grasping your throat gently and angling your head so his mouth could get better access to the base of your throat, intent on leaving small, angry welts. You close your eyes with a whimper to endure this, repeating Ollie’s name over and over in your head.

“And yet these views are no match to what you offer me in this dress. You are a sight to behold.”

The low rumble of his voice makes you close your eyes tighter, biting your lip to prevent yourself from making any more noise that could excite him further. He seems undeterred by your silence – he spins you around, and, pushing you against the balcony railing, he captures your mouth with his in a fiery lip lock. His hand nestles on the small of your back, while the other grips the back of your neck as his insistent tongue pries your lips apart and tastes your hot cavern. You had tried your best to hold it all in, but treacherous tears escape the corner of your eyes. Your master seems to feel this, for he surprisingly lightens the kiss, his lips stilling over your swollen ones. You turn your head away to will the tears away, afraid that he might see this as another sign of your defiance.

Instead, he plants a gentle kiss on your temple, before saying softly,  “I admit my past courtship of you was hurried and rough. I worry that I may have pushed you further away in my haste. I should like to court you once more. This time, I will endeavor to be more patient and earn your affections.”

He kisses your exposed cheek. Sniffling, you open your eyes, but your head remains turned away from his, refusing to meet his gaze. You feel him pull his head away in your silence.

“Will you not look me in the eyes, little dream? Do you fear me?”  he asks with a slight edge to his voice, rubbing his thumb back and forth on the skin beneath your ear in an attempt to comfort you.

Is that remorse you detect? It couldn’t be, you remark, but you couldn’t help but meet his blue eyes to try to gauge what he’s truly feeling. Not wanting to give him a reason to further punish you, you say, “My apologies, my Lord, I am just coming to terms still, with…with what you’re asking of me.”

Yet, his darkened gaze tells you that what you just said to try and placate him was a huge mistake.

“What I’m ‘asking?’”  he narrows his eyes on you, his voice laced with impatience. “ I’m afraid I’m not ‘asking’ this of you, my Mera. This is the function to which I, your King, have assigned you. This courtship is for your sake alone, that you may grow accustomed to it. We will be united. I will give you five days, after which, we will consummate our bond.”

His final sentence sparks terror in the pit of your stomach. He’s giving you a deadline. Stifling the urge to retch, you swallow thickly before you try to beg, “Sir, I –”

“Enough. I will not have my will questioned,”  he interrupts you as he tightens his grip on the back of your neck.  “You will be here, in the palace, at all times. You will await my call and come to me when I summon you. I do not mean to be harsh, my dream, but time is of the essence – I was cruelly robbed of mine with you, after all. I shall amend that once I have dealt with the damage left by the Vortex. Is that understood?”

“My Lord, please –”

“Is. That. Understood?”  he repeats his question through gritted teeth, clearly unwilling to listen to any more of your pleas.

You look into his hardened, now-silver eyes, attempting to look for any trace of empathy at the situation he’s forcing you into. There isn’t any.  Wanting to end your argument so you could be relieved from his presence, you respond with a whisper, “Yes, my Lord.”

Your creator releases a hum of satisfaction as he places a lingering kiss on your cheek, before praising,  “That’s a good dream.”

You feel immense relief the moment he lets you go and steps away. You expect him to vanish with a swirl of his sand, but he lingers, standing a few feet before you with his hands behind his back.

“I will call you for tea tomorrow afternoon.”

You could only nod quietly. He takes a small amount of sand from his pouch, presumably to leave, but a sudden question crosses your mind inspired by his previous words. “My Lord, the Vortex…is she…?” you blurt out, slightly hesitating.

“Dead? Yes.”

You bow your head, not knowing how to process the fact. Rose Walker seemed so young and she had so many dreams she wanted to fulfill that you felt them, despite your fleeting interaction with her. You feel your heart clench at the thought of her life being cut short.

“Do not grieve of Unity Kincaid, my dream. Hers is a noble yet necessary sacrifice for the sake of the Dreaming, and of her great-granddaughter, Rose.”

“Unity?” you ask, confused. Wasn’t Rose the Vortex? “Rose is alive?”

Shut up, shut up, NOW, comes the Voice’s sudden warning.

“Yes, she is. You know of her?”  He asks, stepping forward, suspicion marring his dark features.

You shake your head, realizing your error; if he finds out you had met with her, he’ll discover your little tryst in the Waking, and if he does, he’ll surely uncover the connection which led to it. That was a stupid, stupid thing to say, you inwardly scold yourself.

“I heard from Lucienne, sir,” you say, mentally crossing your fingers that he doesn’t press any further.

Putting on a blank expression, the Dream King purses his lips, as he releases the sand in his palm.

“I will call for you tomorrow. Do not be late.”

As soon as his form is engulfed in his sand and he vanishes, you make a wild run for the Library. Hidden in one, or two, of those books, are incriminating passages that detail your meeting, and subsequent stay with Ollie, and once the Dream King sees those pages, you could definitely say goodbye to your plans of staying in Ollie’s dreams for good. If he even so much as gets a whiff of your affections of anyone else besides him, there’s no telling what he won’t do to you, and more importantly, to Ollie.

You push the heavy doors to the library quietly to avoid drawing attention to yourself. As noiselessly as you can, you dash through the shelves, skimming through the books in a mad rush. To your alarm, there was no ‘Oliver Chapman,’ not in the ‘O’ or even in the ‘C’ wings. Cursing mentally, you wonder: has Lucienne read them? Worse, has your Dream Lord gotten ahold of them? Are they hiding it from you, knowing you’d try to tamper with them? Letting out a huff of frustration, you sit on the floor, wondering where else they may have kept Ollie’s books of dreams.

The office, whispers the Voice.

Of course. The Dream Lord has an office in the Library, separate from the rest of the space. Not that he needed it, of course; he just usually asks for books to be brought to his throne room where he normally reads them. But why would the books be kept there?

You try to strain your ears for any signs of Lucienne; thankfully, it looks as if she’s out on an errand, so you sprint in the direction of the Dream Lord’s office.

Located at the farthest end of the Library, you’re panting heavily by the time you get there. You push your ear against the doorframe to listen for any sign of life inside. When you hear nothing, you turn the doorknob and push.

Locked.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. There is only one person – or being, for that matter – that has the key, save for the Dream Lord and his Royal Librarian.

You run out of the Library in search of the said being. You find him tending to your favorite garden in the palace grounds, his hands deep in the dirt, planting more of those accursed red flowers – Mervyn the Pumpkinhead.

The keys, attached to his toolbelt, lie discarded beside him, along with his other gardening tools. You know full well you couldn’t just walk up to him and ask for a key to the boss’s office in the library – or is it that easy?

You don’t really have the luxury of planning an elaborate heist for his set of keys, so it’s now or never. Steeling your resolve, you walk up to where Merv is, opting for a much simpler plan.

“Hello, Merv!” you call as you approach.

He stops digging into the flowerbed and turns to you, giving a mock salute. “Hello, kid! What can I help ya with?”

“I’m looking for Morwyn. Have you seen her?” you ask, hoping to put up a convincing act.

He scratches his pumpkin head and replies, “No, I haven’t. Whatcha need her for?”

“I kind of locked myself out of my room, and I need to get something from there,” you say sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head to make it look believable.

“Uh, I have the key in there somewhere, but I’m in the middle o’ something, see? Why don’t you take ‘em keys instead? It’s the gold one with the tiny ruby at the bow.”

Bingo.

“Really, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, continuing his digging on the flowerbed.

 You grab the keys and take off as Merv calls out from behind you, “Give ‘em back, ya hear?”

“Sure thing!”

It takes you a few good minutes to find the key that fit the doorknob. Once you do, you wildly look around you to make sure you weren’t being watched, before you turn the knob and push the door open.

No one has been in the office for quite some time if the dust on the desk in the middle is anything to go about. The room is larger than you expected, and the natural light streaming through the stained glass windows illuminates the numerous towering shelves of books untouched for many years. Wanting to waste no time, you skim through the many bookshelves. They’re thankfully arranged in alphabetical order, so you find an entire shelf dedicated to the name ‘Chapman’ in no time, with Ollie’s name placed at the farthest end.

Curiously, you pick up the book a few places before Ollie’s name first, and with it, you make a startling discovery: the books of dreams on the shelf not only belonged to random ‘Chapmans,’ but to the males in Ollie’s entire lineage. You just picked the book of dreams belonging to Ollie’s great-great-grandfather.

But, why? Why is Ollie’s book of dreams, as well as his male ancestors’, singled out among the infinite number of dreamers?

“Have I told you before that the Chapmans were cursed? Well, the males, at least,”  Ollie’s words from almost a year ago echo in your head.

This isn’t the time to unearth Ollie’s family mystery, though, so you make a mental note to do more research in the future and set those thoughts aside. You carefully leaf through the pages to find the section where you made your appearance – your meeting with him, spanning a year, detailed in twenty-full pages. Setting the book on the floor, you get to work.

Hardbound books were tricky to manipulate, with the pages stitched to a section of the book’s spine, so you use your fingers to remove the stitching of the last twenty pages with care – simply tearing the pages away would leave a sign of the book being tampered with. Once you’re sure there were no traces of your crime, you put the book back in place, and scramble out of the office, locking it behind you. You hand the keys back to Mervyn (“What took you so long, kid? Couldn’t be hard to spot a key with a damn ruby, innit?”) and rush to your room. Barricading yourself inside the bathroom, you set the pages alight with a matchbox you stole from the kitchens before washing the ash away with water.

Look how you’ve turned into a cold-blooded criminal mastermind, you inwardly deadpan.

***

4 Days Until Deadline

Afternoon tea with your Dream Lord isn’t as bad of an experience as you thought it would be.

Matthew had fetched you from your room, and you had followed him to the same balcony you had met him with the morning before. You found your master, already sitting beside a table full of your favorite sweets, drinking tea from his cup. He had stood up to greet you, taking your hand in his and kissing it, before leading you to sit across from him. You both sit in somewhat companionable silence while you munch on a cinnamon bun, with him just sipping his tea and watching you with blue, ever-observant eyes.

Until…

“May I ask a question, my Lord?” you shyly break the stillness, setting down the pastry you’re nibbling back on your plate.

You watch a corner of his mouth turn upwards as he sets his cup on a saucer. “Ask away, my dream.”

“I was wondering,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully. “If you would allow me to continue forming dreams along with my new…role?”

Just then, you could feel the atmosphere change to one of palpable tension, the small grin vanishing from his face.

Tentatively, you add, “Please?”

“I think not. Your duty is to me, alone,” he declares flatly, his cold stare making you squirm in your seat.

You bite your lip and break eye contact with him.

“It’s what I’ve been doing all my life, your majesty,” you whisper dejectedly.

“And that will change in four days’ time.”

“Will you take away my ability to form dreams, too?”

The Dream King seems to contemplate this. The pause is long, before he responds, his tone slightly softening, “I could never bring myself to take that ability away, my little dream. It is part of who you are. I intend for you to keep it.”

But what good is keeping it if he forbids its use, you ask yourself. Still, you give him a subtle nod and a small ‘thank you’ to end the topic. You leave the cinnamon bun untouched, suddenly not feeling very hungry anymore.

The quiet that follows your conversation becomes heavier, so you’re thankful to Matthew for interrupting, quietly delivering news that you couldn’t quite hear. When your King gets to his feet, you swiftly follow his example out of politeness.

“I’m afraid I must cut our date short, my dream. I have matters to attend to.”

You bow your head in response but he takes your chin in his hands and promptly gives you a single, prolonged kiss on the mouth. You close your eyes until he lets go of you, and bids you to ‘stay here.’

Noticing fine grains of sand in the air, you realize he has transported you to your chambers – you turn to him with a protest bubbling in your throat, but you find that he’s gone, and to your irritation, the door locked from the outside.

***

3 Days Until Deadline

Clear as day, Dream of the Endless recalls his first visit to the first Chapman who had crossed his path many centuries ago.

He had not paid him, or any of the other Chapmans, much attention since he had placed a curse on the males of his lineage (except for that one occasion), a curse that felt righteous and just after a slight he had committed against him and his Realm.

Now, as he faces the dream of his only living descendant, he finds himself wanting very much to place another, more potent curse on Oliver Chapman, the mortal whose embrace now cradles the dream he so deeply cherished and ardently pursued.

Or Oliver’s dream-version of you, more accurately.

Morpheus knows this, but he couldn’t help the bitter jealousy burning in his heart as he watches the mortal lavish the lips of your dream-version with his own. He has not felt the urge to smite anyone for dreaming of his creations so lasciviously in a long time – this is an image of you he’s disrespecting, and he refuses to sit idly while this human corrupts you.

An image of you, he corrects.

With a lazy flick of his fingers, the dream-version of you taking Oliver’s shirt off melts before the human’s eyes. He ensures it’s the most gruesome sight this errant dreamer has ever seen: the dream-Mera’s skin peels off starting from her head down to her feet, followed by her flesh boiling and steaming away in an amalgamation of blood and gore, and with a final flair, he makes her bones disintegrate into dust. Oliver’s screams of horror permeate the dream-space – he couldn’t deny the screams gave him utmost satisfaction.

Dream watches curiously as Oliver attempts vainly to regain lucidity by counting his fingers aloud. It’s a trick that could’ve worked, but curiously, the dream remains volatile in his favor.

Morpheus decides to twist the knife, taunting him,  “You’ve lost control, lucid dreamer.”

The mortal snaps his head in the Endless’ direction, looking confused, possibly wondering why he couldn’t take over the dream. Medication, perhaps? But Morpheus has not the slightest interest in why a lucid dreamer has lost their ability. He is, however, greatly invested in finding out how such a mortal might develop a certain fascination with you.

“Tell me: what is my dream doing in yours?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Oliver replies, growing more confused. “And who the fuck are you talking about?”

In his fury, Dream could feel himself transforming into a nightmarish image he rarely ever shows his dreamers. No one has ever woken up seeing this form of his with their sanity intact, so he tries to rein in this metamorphosis.

“The dream you were defiling,” he spits out, his bellowing voice echoing the dream-space, “Belongs to me. Explain yourself, Oliver Chapman. My patience is waning.”

Oliver rubs his head in frustration. “I don’t know…I don’t remember.” He looks at both his hands, now coated in blood that isn’t his. “Fuck, there’s so much blood… where is she? She’s injured, I need to help her. I just wanna help her, man. I have to find her…”

Dream narrows his eyes at the mumbling man before him, somewhat disappointed that he could no longer extract reliable information from him in such a state. Recognizing that his fun is over, he transports himself with a pinch of his sand back to his Kingdom. He thinks it’s best that he confront the only other being in existence who had the answers he seeks.

***

When Matthew came flying into the balcony of your room, delivering the message that your King has summoned you to the library, your heart leaped to your chest at the suddenness; your little tea date, as the bird has taken to calling it, hadn’t been due until a few hours after midday. You hastened to dress out of your pajamas and rushed to the said meeting place, your heart beating so fast you could hardly breathe. Had he found out, you wondered?

You find your Dream Lord pacing restlessly to and fro near your favourite reading spot. He stills, looking at you with hardened eyes and clenched jaw, seemingly trying to control the fury you could feel emanating from him. It’s a look that was almost enough to curdle your blood.

He doesn’t even wait for you to get close – immediately he’s upon you, cornering you to one of the bookshelves, making you yelp instinctively. He grabs hold of your wrists and pins them above your head as his body covers your own.

“You will tell me everything, my dream, and I might be inclined to spare Oliver Chapman: why is he dreaming of you?”  He growls, his face, inches from yours, contorted in pure rage.

Fighting inwardly to maintain your composure, you respond with another half-truth. “I was injured, my Lord, from a battle I enacted in a dream. I got in his dreams somehow, and he helped me, he nursed me back to health. I stayed there for a while so I could recuperate.”

“Is this the truth, my Mera, or are you keeping anything else from me?”

You wince at the way his grip closes on your wrist further, cutting off the circulation.

“Please, my Lord, you can check for yourself,” you dare meet his eye with your own fearful ones, trying to drive your point.  “The dreamer’s name is Belladonna San Mateo – I reenacted a medieval battle for her. It’s the truth, sir, please…”

He pulls his head away as one of his hands releases your wrist and grasps your chin, so you had nowhere else to look but those silvery swirls of galaxies in his cruel eyes. After a few agonizing moments he dips his head, giving you a warning:

“If I find you in the embrace of any other, mortal or otherwise, I shall personally see to their torment in their waking, their dreaming, and their afterlife.”

When he lets you go, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp of relief, clutching your chest to calm your rapid heartbeat.

“There are matters I must attend to. As such, I must regrettably cancel our meeting for this afternoon,” he says, his face once again the stony mask that spelled no room for negotiation.  “Stay in your chambers. You are dismissed.”

You turn on your heels and dash away from Library, glad to give the place a wide berth. He had met with Ollie, visited him in his dreams, and didn’t like what he saw. You don’t like the sound of your creator potentially bringing harm to your doctor, so a visit may be long overdue, and it has to be soon.

***

2 Days Until Deadline

As discreetly as you can, you take a plunge into the sea of dreams and navigate your way into your doctor’s dreams, praying to the Fates that he’s asleep at the very moment.

Once you land in the space, Ollie greets you with a tight embrace, one which you return with as much enthusiasm. You had missed him terribly and had been worried out of your wits upon learning of his meeting with your Dream King, so when you let go, you make a fuss over him, checking him and his form for any sign of injury.

“Hey, I know you find me irresistible, but I didn’t know you were bold enough to cop a feel,” he jokes, earning him a half-hearted shove and a slap on the bicep from you.

“This is no laughing matter, you idiot!” you chide him with your arms crossed, relieved on the inside that he was unharmed.

In response, he grins coyly from ear to ear. “You were worried about me. I kinda like that,”

Pouting, you say, “Yes, I was bloody worried. I’m sorry I couldn't visit sooner.”

Ollie turns away from you, scratching the back of his head. “No, it’s quite alright,” he mumbles. “I'm sorry, too. I couldn't do much work on the runes the last few days, Mera. I've been, uh... shit, I... don't know how to say this…”

“What’s wrong?” you get right in front of him to press him, worried at his guilty tone.

With the most apologetic expression you’ve seen in him since the dreamcatcher incident, he replies, “It's the sleeping pills. I've been on them and I think they might've hampered my hypnagogia.”

His revelation makes you drop your jaw in surprise. “Wha-fuck, why are you taking them? And how come you've never told me about this?” You grab hold of his arms to demand answers.

With a placating look, he responds, “I swear, I've been taking them sparingly, but I've been needing a lot of sleep because of... you know. But it's okay now, honest! I didn't take them today, and I'm in full control.”

You place your palms on his cheeks, putting on a serious expression. “You have to get off those. I'm being serious, Ollie.”

“I am! I’ll keep it that way, I promise.”

Not letting go of him yet, you look into those gentle, green eyes, trying to detect signs that he may be hiding something.  But this is Ollie, too, you think to yourself. You know him to be bad at keeping secrets. Satisfied with what you saw in his eyes, you let him go, offering a soft apology: “This is my fault. I'm sorry I pushed you into this.”

“No! Hey, no, Mera, you didn’t,” he corrects you with a firm tone. “I've been prescribed these since I was little. You know, the Chapman curse and all that. Oh, and I’ve finally figured out a fitting name for the invention.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“I’ll call it MiraSleep. It’s a sort of, play with your name and the word ‘miracle.’ That’s what you are to me, you know. Everything I do now, I do for you.”

Not knowing what to say to his heartfelt admission, you stare into those forest-green eyes of his, a look of agreement passing between you two. Finally, you flash him a grateful smile, which he returns with his own sheepish grin.

“So, Ollie,” you start with a slightly more cheerful tone, fighting back a blush creeping on your cheeks without much success. “Mind telling me what it was you dreamed about that involved me?”

He breaks into fits of nervous laughter while rubbing the back of his hair. You already know you don’t like what he’s about to say.

“You’ll never believe it if I told you.”

***

You walk back into the palace grounds with high spirits after you visit Ollie’s dreams. He had immensely cheered you up despite his retelling of a rather salacious dream he had engaged with a dream-version you at that moment he lost his lucidity – the dream with which the Dream Lord had walked in on and had taken absolute offense to. He had assured you that the momentary lapse in his dreaming abilities would never happen again, and with that, you’re confident that by your next visit, you could finally stay in there with him without having to worry about being chased after by a certain Endless.

It's this thought that helps you endure your master’s company and his not-so-subtle touches during your morning ‘date’: as soon as the sun had risen in the Realm, he had summoned you through Matthew to accompany him in a morning walk around his Kingdom.

He smugly parades you around the busy town square with your fingers intertwined in his; on occasion, wrapping an arm around your waist as he rubs circles over your clothed skin; at times, even kissing your hand while not breaking heated eye-contact; all these gestures of his affections for the entire Dreaming to see. To the townsfolk, he introduces you as his princess-consort, much to the Dreaming residents’ delight – they had not had a princess-consort to dote on for eons, and so they lavish the both of you with promises of gifts that they are to send to the palace to congratulate their King and to his ‘pretty little dream-bride.’

Just grin and bear with it, as the Voice comments.

Touching as it was, the Dreamfolk’s welcome of you as Dream of the Endless’ new princess-consort breaks your heart even more, knowing that you’ll eventually disappoint them by running away as soon as you have the chance to. Breaking your previously-cheerful outlook further, you walk past the sea of dreams with the thought of never coming back to form the dreams of the mortals forever once you’re free with Ollie.

Before you left his dream at dawn, Ollie had asked you whether you were actually ready to leave your job for good. He knows there was nothing else you loved more than forming dreams for humans and inspiring them. You had never given it much thought before, but your brief stay with him had also made you realize one thing: while you were planning to abandon the role you had loved with all your heart, he had a device that would do the same for millions of other dreamers. While not under your name, the device Ollie had invented would be his and your legacy, and perhaps you could make peace with that. This comment of yours earns you a proud smile from Ollie that rivaled the brightness of the sun – it’s a smile you’re sure you’ve burned into your memory.

***

1 Day Until Deadline

When you wake, you’re greeted with a massive headache – it’s an ominous warning of your days closing in on you. Only one more day until your King’s imposed deadline, and you could only hope Ollie makes a breakthrough with the runes by tomorrow, or all will be lost.

After you had been dressed up by Morwyn, who as usual, gushed over the gown your Dream Lord has selected for you to wear for the day, Matthew delivers the news of your morning activities. According to him, they will consist of morning tea and brunch with his boss in your favourite spot in the Royal Library. When you arrive in the garb he had chosen for you to wear for the day, he gives your red-satin-clad figure an appreciative look before he greets you with a soft kiss on your lips and leads you by the hand to the leather couch you had fallen asleep in so many times.

You engage in light, minimal conversation during tea. You find yourself almost enjoying your time together, discussing your past dreamers with a sense of nostalgia.

That is until an attendant brings a trolley full of books to his side and you inspect the names printed on the books: each containing the name of every dreamer you had visited in his absence.

Perhaps your face had paled when you noticed the books, for he flashes you a small smirk, before assuring you,  “It is only procedure, my little Dream. Lucienne told me that you had insisted on finding me in the dreams of mortals even after it proved fatally dangerous for you. I should like to read of your unwavering loyalty with my own eyes.”

His words only made you fidget in your seat, abandoning the cinnamon swirl you had started to dig into a few moments ago.

Your discomfort does not seem to escape his watchful eyes.  “Unless, you had something to hide from me, my Mera?”

From the rim of your teacup, you smile wanly, sipping your tea before quietly shaking your head. Inside, however, your heart is practically threatening to escape your ribcage, sending bile to your throat and souring your tastebuds.

“I imagine this will occupy the rest of my day. Stay and read with me.”

Having no choice but to comply, you excuse yourself to pick out a book, choosing one you had read from cover to cover so many times in Ollie’s study.

Choosing a book was the easy part; concentrating on the pages proves a lot more of a challenge, especially when you have your master inspecting your work right in front of you. His occasional praise of your handicraft almost always makes you jump on your seat, thinking that anytime, now, he could be going through Ollie’s book of dreams, potentially exposing you. It takes all your energy to remain composed before him lest he notices your odd behaviour and decides to investigate the source of your restlessness further. The day goes on agonizingly slow, but thankfully, he only goes through the first half of the pile on the trolley.

With a loud pouf, he closes the final book shut and places them on top of the growing pile on the coffee table. Getting up to his feet, you copy his movement, inwardly glad for a dismissal and looking forward to your time alone, stewing in your own worries. You brace yourself as he steps closer and takes your chin in his thumb and forefinger before dipping his head downwards to plant an openmouthed kiss on your lips, one that you now know you’re obliged to kiss back. You expect the kiss to be brief, but he apparently has other ideas: he wraps his arms around your body and maneuvers you. You both end up on the couch, with you straddling his lap. As if predicting your actions, one hand grips the back of your neck and the other holds your hip in place, preventing you from getting away.

He drags his lips away from yours to the groove of your neck while his hand pulls the sleeve of your gown downwards to expose more of the flesh he had longed to mark for a long time. You let out a whimper in protest, before softly pleading, “My Lord, please, we’re in the library…”

Against your skin, you feel him chuckle deeply.  “Would my little dream prefer the privacy of her chambers, then?”

He does not wait for your response. Instead, he continues licking and sucking on the exposed skin below your clavicle, dangerously close to your right breast. You let out a startled gasp as you feel his hand go under your gown and start stroking your inner thigh. Your body seems to betray you at that moment: you start feeling heat pooling in your belly, indicating your arousal, no matter how unwilling.

From a short distance, a door in the library creaks open, and a pair of footfalls you recognize start making their way to Lucienne’s desk.

You feel your King let out a growl of displeasure at the disturbance; a second time his librarian has interrupted you – a second time you owe Lucienne one for deterring him from any further actions.

Against your ear, he then whispers,  “Tomorrow could not come any faster, little dream. It will be a union you will remember for eternity.”

With unexpected gentleness, he spins you around and sets you down on the couch beside him, and without a word, walks away as if nothing happened.

You clutch your heart and adjust the sleeves of your dress, willing the tears threatening to spill to go away. Tomorrow, you’ll be gone for good, and well away from him – it’s a small reprieve that allows you to clear your head and quickly lock yourself inside your chambers, holding Ollie’s dreamcatcher like a lifeline.

***

0 Days Until Deadline

My little dream,

Proceed to Fiddler’s Green

…Reads the note that Morwyn delivers to you along with your morning coffee. You hope this visit wouldn’t last long; after this, you had every intention of going back to Ollie’s dream. It’s the day of the deadline your King has given after all, and you’d have no other opportunity to escape if you let this day pass.

Don’t go, the Voice warns in your head; but what choice have you, other than comply? After all, it could just be one of the last commands you’d ever obey from him. Not wanting time wasted, you refuse breakfast and begin the long tread to the heart of the Dreaming, and into Gilbert’s sanctuary.

You had been so close to meeting each other in the Waking, during your stay in Hal’s Bed and Breakfast. It’s perhaps pure luck that your paths did not cross, for you’re not sure how Gilbert would’ve reacted, or what he would’ve revealed to the Dream King once he went back.

After your walk for what seemed like hours, the grassy patch of land full of lush, blooming bushes and thick, tall trees greets you with what feels like an urgent breeze, almost making you stumble.

In your head comes Gilbert’s grave tone: “Mera, what are you still doing here?”

Feigning hurt at his words, you reply, “Hello, Gilbert. Am I no longer welcome in your lands?”

“Why, but of course you are, my dear,”  he amends. “But, given how dire your situation is, I hardly think this is the best time for a leisurely visit.”

“What do you mean, ‘my situation?’” you ask, your brows furrowing in confusion.

His breeze blows more insistently against you, making your dress billow along. “The Dream Lord has come to me about two days ago asking about you and a man called Oliver Chapman.”

Shit.

Every part of your body stills at the news, your heart sinking to your stomach.

“Now, if your relationship is anything as close as he had implied, this mortal is in danger, as are you. He has instructed me just this very morning to keep you here for as long as I could while he deals with this Chapman fellow, but I could not bring myself to keep you in the dark, especially as it sounded like you care much about him.”

Fiddler’s Green was just a diversion, the Voice concludes.

“You must go, Mera,” Gilbert says with another strong gust of wind as if trying to get you running.

Turning back to him one last time, you start, “Thank you, Gilbert –”

“Go!”

You need not be told further. With all the strength you could muster, you run as fast as your legs could carry you, not caring who or what you bumped into or if you tripped. With breakneck speed, you make your way to the sea of dreams, and will yourself to land in the dream of the man you love, your only remaining refuge, hoping against hope you weren’t too late to save him.

Ollie, startled by your sudden appearance, runs to your side at once. You gasp greedily for air, clutching a stitch on your side from all the effort.

“Mera, fuck... are you okay? What’s all this rush?” he asks, holding you by the shoulders to support you.

Tears of relief gather in your eyes as you take his unharmed form. You’re not late; you still had time.

Letting the tears cascade down your cheeks, you break the news to him:

“He’s coming. He’s coming for us.”

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Author notes on the Chapter:

Oh my god this went out of hand!! I'm sure I had mentioned on a tumblr comment that Ollie would only be around for around two chapters, but sorry, things and plot points seemed to have a mind of their own lol. Dream seems to have found them out!! How will their confrontation go?! Aghhhkk

As usual, thank you for sticking with me in this!! Love lots!!!

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Author's notes in general:

Thank you, THANK YOU for reading!!

Please engage, comment and reblog!! I love feedback from you guys :) This is my first ever fic, so kindness is truly appreciated!

Thank you to my queen @queenshelby@endlessdreamqueen3 for encouraging me to pen this, as well as to my fellow Dark!Morpheus writers whose work I have thoroughly enjoyed and keep rereading :)

Post date: 12/19/22

Edit date: 12/19/22

Taglist: Just lemme know please if you want to be added, too!

Tagging the following:

@wt-fxck

@sandman-33

@reallystressedhoneybee

@akiraquote

@safe-teycar

@ponyboys-sunsetsts

@izziclee

@spygrrl99

@intothesoul

@thecrazytealady

@tastyinspection8860

@kittenssss-blog

@trinittyy

@mxacegrey

@sarahbullet235

@blu3what

@justporple

@emy635

@ggxsan

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Sorry for meme dumping but I realized that I made a lot of memes about Dream.. sorry about that.. Dream in the fic is just so... memeable..

The Dream That Got Away

Chapter 10

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x You (no Y/N!)

This is a multi-chapter fic — Weekly updates (either Saturday or Sunday) because I found a rhythm of sorts lol

(The entire fic has been outlined, so I will see this to the end, you have my word)

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Link to the Masterlist

Overall Warnings!! Take heed:

Morpheus is DARK – in canon, he changes for the better (or at least, tries to – but we don’t do canon lol, so he goes even more batshit crazy) cue obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, powerplay

18+ ONLY – explicit scenes will be present, some explicit language

DUB-CON and NON-CON scenes

Character death (sort of)

Creator vs Creation drama

And other dark stuff that may be added in the future

This chapter’s warnings:

non-consensual kissing and touching

touch-starved Morpheus should be a warning of its own

angst, so much angst

threats of perpetual nightmares

the King of Nightmares living up to his name

You have been warned!! Proceed with caution!!!

Link to the previous chapter

Chapter 10: This Dream is Over

Morpheus left the library, and you on the couch, just a tad bit disgruntled at his Royal Librarian’s interruption – and for a second time too, however unwittingly so. You were already responding to his touches, and he was so close to finally taking you fully as he had desperately wished to for so long. But, perhaps it was for the best – after all, he made a vow to you to take it slow until the fifth day tomorrow. Only one more day, he tried to placate himself.

And yet, as he paced at the foot of his throne, he recognized the frustration invading his thoughts stemming from forcing himself to separate from you (why did he care, anyway? He is the King of Dreaming, he should be able to take you wherever and whenever he pleases). He was painfully aware how bottling these complex emotions like so might lead to uncontrollable outbursts, given his experience in the past.

Just pacing in his throne room and stewing in his thoughts won’t do – he needed an outlet.

He willed himself, with a bit of his sand’s help, to a beach at the outskirts of his kingdom; a beach only he, and on rare occasions, his librarian, had access to. On one bended knee, he took a fistful of the beach’s black sand, feeling every coarse grain in his palm. He stood slowly, spreading his fingers and allowing the sand to be carried away with the light breeze. Except the sand didn’t land on the midnight-coloured shore he picked it up from – every single grain started floating in midair before him as his power commanded so, gradually taking shape.

Into what, he was unsure of yet. However, he allowed his current storm of emotions to guide him to this new creation of his, eventually concluding the nature of the being he’s forming.

He had not created such a potent nightmare in a long time.

He looked around the black shores, his workshop of sorts, with his hands clasped regally right in front of him. His thoughts landed on a certain little dream of his, as he was wont to do.

The intimate moment he had witnessed in the dream of Oliver Chapman had led him to a flare-up in the library, and you had unfortunately received the brunt of it. He had stormed off to Fiddlers’ Green to find out if you had confided to your fellow dream about any personal matters. His heart wanted to believe your word regarding your connection with the mortal that had dreamt of you in such an insulting manner, but his age-old intuition told him differently. Experience had taught him to trust such inklings, and so he begrudgingly allowed an invasive thought to cross his mind: did his beloved dream harbour…feelings for the wretched human?

This was a thought he had refused to entertain at first, for it left a bitter, cloying taste on his tongue. Furthermore, he had no reason to doubt you in such a way. How could he? He had read so in the books himself: such was your steadfast devotion to him that you were willing to risk your life in search of him.

It was the cursed Chapman he did not trust.

Was he the one who had trapped you with magic? Even worse, had he brainwashed you against him, your master and creator? Was he the reason why, even after such a long time, you still had not accepted your eternal place with him? With a low hum, he contemplated gathering more of the black sand to craft more horrors he wanted to inflict – he might have a need for more nightmares than he originally intended. But should a third visit to the cursed dreamer confirm his suspicions, he would be forced into a more drastic, devastating approach.

Perhaps he could make the doctor forget? It would be like child’s play – with a pinch of his sand, the Chapman would forget about you, thus, you would have no more reason to refuse your function and shirk your new duty. You’d finally be more accepting of your fate as the King’s only consort, an honor he had no intention of bestowing anyone else. Whether or not he would even need to would be another matter.

He stayed on the midnight shores, concocting nightmares shaped in the maelstrom of his emotions, until just a little past sunset. He had planned on retiring to his chambers afterward – there was work to be done tomorrow, after all, and a dreamer to visit – but on a whim, he materializes into his library. He found Lucienne scribbling on her desk with the lamp on, having already dimmed the lights in the library.

“My Lord,” she greeted, polite as ever, putting her quill down and getting to her feet.

Morpheus slightly tilted his head in greeting, before issuing a command: “I need you to fetch the last Chapman’s book of dreams.”

Lucienne knew never to question his motives but, this time, she furrows her brows at the request. “Sir, you had asked me to put them away in your office with the intention of never touching them again. May I ask what brought this change about?”

“A mere hunch,” Morpheus replied, purposefully being vague about his reason. As loyal as she was, he and his librarian had developed a rapport that allowed her to freely voice her opinion on both matters of the Dreaming and personal affairs, but there were things that even she need not know – his plan for the dreamer in question being one of them.

With a purse of lips and a small bow of her head, she pulled out a set of keys from her desk drawer and quietly excused herself. Minutes later, she came back with a thick leather-bound book in tow and set it down on the table, dusting it off before handing it to him.

He gripped the book with unnecessary force, immediately flipping to its last pages. To the untrained eye, there seemed to be nothing amiss – but Dream knew better. He had handled an endless number of dream-books since the inception of the library, enough to know the final pages on the Sleep Doctor’s book had been cleverly and cleanly removed from the stitching on the spine instead of simply being torn off.

“Curious,” he muttered to himself, running his fingers on the portion of the book where the pages should have been stitched.

“Sir?” Lucienne looked on with mild intrigue, eyeing the book in the King’s grasp.

“Had there been any other instance of dreams going undocumented?” Dream asked, hoping to draw a more rational conclusion. Could you have –?

“None that I am aware of sir,” she responded confidently.

Could his suspicions be true? A bright flash of light followed by a loud thunderclap reverberated through the entire Dreaming, mirroring its sovereign’s inner turmoil. But no – he knew he needed to approach the matter more judiciously. After all, the vandal that tampered with the library book may not have been acting on her own accord. He tried to take control of his simmering rage, but in doing so, his hands, still holding the book, started shaking ever-so-slightly. This did not escape the notice of his worried librarian.

“Is there something wrong, your Majesty?”

Morpheus let out an imperceptible sigh. “Nothing I cannot amend, Lucienne.” Wordlessly, he handed the book back to her before walking away, retiring in his quarters. He made a beeline for his desk, where a quill and a small piece of paper lay waiting. He wrote a brief note on the paper addressed to his little dream, before traipsing to the expansive balcony that offered him a view of his Realm and the now-cloudy night sky, not minding the cold, harsh winds blowing against his form.

As soon as light touched the first blade of grass in his Kingdom, he would set to work: Fiddlers’ Green whom he would enlist to distract you, then the mortal from whom he would extract the truth, no matter the means.  

***

Ollie pulls you to him in a tight, warm hug with light shushes, trying to soothe your sobs. You’ve always liked his hugs, so you bury your face in his shirt, not caring that you were staining it with your tears. When you both pull away, he cups both your cheeks, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. He then places a kiss on your forehead, then whispers against your skin with the gentlest of tones:

“Then I’ll protect you with my life.”

His words were touching, but the last thing you want was for him to risk his life, not when the Endless could easily take it away with a snap of his fingers. “Ollie, he’s going to hurt you, I don’t want you to hurt…you could still run away –”

“Absolutely not,” he says, pulling away so he could look into your eyes. There isn’t a trace of fear in his, even with the impending threat on his life. At this moment, he’s the bravest human being you know, perhaps foolishly so. “I will not abandon you. I made you a promise, yeah? You will stay here, with me, and he’s never going to touch you again.”

He’s your only hope at freedom, now, but it would all be meaningless if your freedom isn’t with him. Trying to match his courage, you do something you have been meaning to do for quite some time.

“You mean, you…?”

“Take this,” you say as you place his dreamcatcher in one of his palms and cover it with one of your own. You ignore his befuddled expression and put on probably the wettest smile you’ve ever had. “This is yours. It always has been. I’m yours, Oliver, and as long as you have that, you have my heart.”

Your own confession takes you by surprise – who knew you had it in you to finally reveal your forbidden affections? Judging by his astonished look, he couldn’t believe it, either.

“Yes, I do. I love you, you big dum-dum. I love you so much,” a fresh set of tears makes your voice tremble, but they’re happy ones, and when you hear Ollie chuckle as he hugs you again, you laugh with him. You had not laughed in days – his laugh is just that intoxicating.

He cuts your winded laughter off with the gentlest of kisses on your lips. Gladly, you wrap your arms around his neck, still clutching the dreamcatcher as tight as you can, leaning into his kiss. Once both let go, elated and breathless, he holds the sides of your face in both hands and brings your foreheads together.

“I know this isn’t the time, but I love you, Mera, so fucking much,” he says with the widest smile he could muster. “I never thought you’d come around, you know. It’s what I’ve always wanted, it feels just like a dream.”

“Then maybe it is time you woke up, Oliver Chapman.”

Ice-cold shivers wrack your body at the sound of the voice, resonating in the entire dream-space – one you had hoped never to hear again.

Dream of the Endless.

Your heart rate goes through the roof as every hair on your body stands on end. You find yourself rooted to the spot – when had he entered the dream? Had he been there the entire time, masking his presence? Even worse, had he been lurking while you and Ollie poured your heart out for each other? You hastily conceal the dreamcatcher behind your back, away from his burning gaze.

Ollie recognizes the being that has come to whisk you away; immediately he positions himself before you, hiding you from your master’s view to protect you.

“Mera, stay behind me,” he orders you calmly.

You peek behind his outstretched arms to get a glimpse of your King. His eyes, the first thing you see, are pitch-black, so far from the ones that looked at you with so much warmth in the first moments of existence. The Endless that you saw then is gone now, replaced by this monstrous nightmare, with unbridled fury emanating from him in visible waves of black smoke.

“You shouldn’t be here. This is my dream, and you’re not welcome in it. I have placed runes –”

“None of which can ward me off,” he interrupts with a clenched jaw and shaking fists, his voice seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, overwhelming your senses. He takes deliberate steps toward Ollie, his cold, coal eyes never once leaving Ollie’s warm greens.

“You really think that a mere lucid dreamer is a match to one such as I?” he spits out venomously. “I am Dream of the Endless, the King of Dreams and Ruler of Nightmares, the one whom you owe your dreaming abilities. There is not a place in the Dreaming I cannot penetrate.”

Ollie, undeterred by the mad King’s words, rises to his challenge. “You won't take her away – I won't let you. She clearly doesn't want to go with you, so you leave her alone.”

Don’t anger him any further, you want to say, but you seem to have lost the capacity to speak.

The Ruler of Nightmares scoffs, an icy sneer forming at the corner of his lips. “Your hypocrisy astounds me, doctor. Were you not the one who bound her to you and manipulated her against her wishes? The dreamcatcher, that pathetic human magic is proof of that.”

“I don't deny your accusations, but I have never manipulated her feelings. Her love is real, I know that now, and so is mine. I won't let you take that away from us!”

“Ollie, no…” your warning comes out barely a whisper.

He either does not hear it, or he chooses to ignore it, continuing his tirade against your creator.

“And what about you?” he points an accusing finger at him, outraged on your behalf. “What right do you think you have to order her around and make her do shit against her will? You think you’re God?”

But the Lord of Dreams just lets out a mirthless, sinister laugh – one that sends chilling shockwaves down your body. “I am more than a God: I am an Endless, and one that can unleash terrors you dare not speak of, so watch your tongue. Or should I send a nightmare to cut it out for you?” he tauntingly asks, his sand threateningly circling his raised palm.

Oliver just refuses to back down. Instead, he takes a step forward, goading him on. You grab his arms in an attempt to hold him back. “Just because you have the power, does not mean you can give life to somebody –”

“Oliver, don’t –!”

“ – And hold their autonomy against them, you sick, twisted fuck!”

“Enough!” Dream thunders, the intensity of his outburst making the floor beneath you quake momentarily. “I have had it with you foolish humans trapping beings beyond your comprehension, all for the sake of your selfish, paltry desires. I will not let you, a mere mortal, covet what is mine any longer.”

Before your eyes, your King, surrounded with black smoke manifesting his uncontrollable rage, raises a trembling hand. His sand swirls with growing speed around him, getting ready to strike. He’s going to hurt Ollie.

“My Lord, no, please, please don't hurt him...” you find the courage to step in between your lord and the man you love. You’re not about to let him hurt Ollie, and so, with your palms clasped right in front of you in prayer, you beg. “I'm the one at fault, so please punish me instead –”

“Mera no –”

“Mera, my little dream,” the Dream King’s attention turns towards you. He lowers his hand, his voice softening by a fraction as he addresses you. “How you disappoint me. You lied to me. You threw away a hundred years’ worth of devotion to me, all for this mortal? By loving him, you have betrayed me, defied my will, and abandoned your role in the Dreaming, yet you still protect the very man who led you astray.

“I shall give you this choice, then: you will give me that dreamcatcher or I will be forced to give your beloved doctor what he so foolishly seeks - an eternal sleep, where he could dream all he wants without waking - forever.”

Your head slowly shakes in disbelief. Ollie would suffer in perpetual sleep, haunted by nightmares he formed, and all because you had dared fall in love with him. Was that such a sin in his eyes?

“Please my Lord, you don’t have to do this…”

“My dream, you brought this on yourself. Tell me now, before I think of a greater punishment. What will you choose?”

You bite your lip in distress, eventually tasting blood. Your Lord always keeps his word. And like he always has done; he now has you against the wall. You were always his prey, running off into a trap he had set – and he, the predator, circling you, drawing out your suffering. And now, if you don’t let him pounce, he’d hone in on another victim. It’s either you or Ollie.

As sick as it sounds, for you, it’s an easy choice to make.

Your hesitation seems to give it away for Ollie. He takes a hold of you by the arms, turning you to face him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face him.

“Mera, don't give it to him. Mera, look at me.” He cups your face so he could look into you. “I don't care if he makes me sleep forever. We'll be together, then! It'll be just us, in here, don't you want that?”

Oh, sweet, sweet Ollie. Fresh tears start rolling down your cheeks, and he makes a move to wipe them away, but with your free hand, you lower them.

“I want all your dreams to come true, Ollie.”

A smile starts to form on his face, but you cut him off.

“So make them come true, in the waking world –”

“No Mera –”

“They need you there. You'll do great things –”

“No! Mera, don't do this –”

“Please listen to me –”

“I won't let you – !”

“Please, my dear Ollie!” you desperately beg, placing your palm on his cheeks. You put on a reassuring smile to try and persuade him to save himself, but you're breaking on the inside and you could feel it. “Do it for me. You are meant to chase your dreams, so do it in the Waking World.” Better you hurt than he.

You peer into your beloved doctor's face. You see nothing in it but love, sorrow, and acceptance of your doomed fate. You hate that resignation in his eyes, but you look into them, nonetheless. In your mind, he’ll always have that cheeky smile and that bright spark, just like he did when he first started talking about his passion to help people dream better. You’ll always have that look, and him, in your heart. At that moment, both of you get lost in each other, even for a few final seconds.

"Go live the life you’ve always dreamed of – for me," you whisper. "And I'll be happy and content just knowing that you did."

Slowly, you let go of your doctor's face, but he takes your hands in his, kissing your palms, desperate for more contact.

"Mera, I love you. Please..."

"And I love you, Oliver Chapman; in the Dreaming, in the Waking, and in everywhere else in between."

You feel your world coming apart when you finally let go of him. With one final choked sob, you turn to face your Maker; the Endless whose unforgiving glare was enough to pin you to place. You could tell by his look that the display of your affections deeply repulsed him. You cling onto the dreamcatcher for comfort with trembling fingers. All you want to do is to curl up in a ball at how his pitch-black, pitiless eyes bore into yours, but you swallow back your fear. Ollie had shown immense courage for your sake – he deserved the same from you.

The Dream Lord, obviously growing more impatient by the minute, walks to you intimidatingly, his smoky coattail trialing him behind him. He yanks the dreamcatcher from your shaky grip with so much force he breaks a few of its strings. He spares one brief look of angered disgust at the insulting object before looking into your eyes and crushing the dreamcatcher with his bare hands. Not once did he look away from you as the totem, a symbol of your slight against him, turns dust in his powerful fist.

Your heart clenches in pain, almost as if it was your heart your creator just crushed. Anguish washing over you, you collapse on the floor and clutch your chest, letting out a silent scream you try to hide from Ollie. The Endless, unmoved at the pitiful scene unfolding before him, strides purposefully over to Ollie with his pouch of sand in his hands. Panic immediately engulfs you, and you get to your feet, staggering toward them.

"My Lord, please, I did what you asked of me..."

Your words do not deter your creator, who promptly blows sand in your Ollie's face. The sleep doctor vanishes in a flurry of sand, gone forever.

"NO! OLIVER!"

What has he done? You double over in your grief, already fearing the worst.

"You promised you wouldn't hurt him…”

"I did not."

Morpheus turns to look at your quivering form hunched on the floor, face as stony as ever.

"I merely sent him back to the waking world."

But his words offer you no relief.

"He will, however, have no memory of you, of your time spent together, nor of his love," he continues with a snarl, "...for you. You are now, to him, a fleeting, fading recollection, a mere dream he had which he will forget at the first few moments of his waking hours. Nothing more, as it should be."

Your eyes, already blurry with the tears you shed at your beloved's parting, grow wide at this revelation – the King of Nightmares, living up to his title, yet you know you had barely seen his true form. There seem to be no other words you can place for what he has done.

"You're heartless." It comes out barely a whisper, yet your master hears your words clearly. He seems to be unaffected by them.

"No. I could have punished you, cast you to the darkness for openly lying, attempting to leave my Realm, and abandoning your King and master. Yet I have not, for I acknowledge that you had no hand in your capture."

Gathering all the strength you could muster, you stand to your full height. "I'd have rather you cast me to the darkness, my King. I no longer have a purpose or a reason to live. You already took him from me."

He takes an intimidating step forward, invading your personal space like he always does. With your master's face a few inches away from yours, you look away, wishing his callousness was directed at anything but you. He harshly lifts your chin with his forefinger and thumb.

He speaks, his voice slightly shaking with barely controlled rage, "Is this what it feels like to you, my Mera? Have you truly any idea what it is like to feel aimless, without purpose? Perhaps I can give you a taste."

You swallow the bile forming in your throat at the threat, but you could no longer bring yourself to care about what he can do to you. He has done the worst possible thing you can imagine.

"I hereby strip you of all your Dreaming powers. You shall be kept locked in your chambers, without any contact from outside.”

With this declaration, he uses his sand to transport you both to the prison cell he calls ‘your room.’ In the blink of an eye and a swirl of sand, you appear in your quarters, expecting the natural sunlight streaming from the windows to almost blind you, but the warmth does not come. Instead, you’re enveloped in the dim light source that is the starry ceiling above; the windows and the balcony are gone, replaced by nothing but solid walls, effectively holding you in your own, personal insane asylum.

"Here, you shall spend your time in isolation, contemplating your transgressions, your betrayal against the Dreaming and against me.” His scathing voice echoes around the dimly-lit room. "Call upon my name when you are ready to fulfill your purpose to me. Only then will I free you from this place and forgive you of all your offenses. Be warned, my Mera - Endless as I am, my patience is not."

And with that thinly veiled threat, he vanishes, leaving no trace of his presence, save a trail of sand falling to the carpet, leaving you alone in deafening silence.

Just as you start getting used to the quiet lull of your surroundings, you hear a piercing, tortured wail bouncing off the walls. Gasping for air and clutching your throat in pain, you barely recognize your own unearthly screaming. You collapse on the bed in renewed sobbing, wishing that your Dream Lord had indeed been ruthless enough to spare you the torment and just banished you to inexistence.

Ollie had gone to the Waking World and had forgotten about you. The only thing left in you are memories of him, ad in your solitary confinement, nothing stopped you from reliving them; every snarky comment he ever made, every bawdy joke he ever told, every fleeting touch you shared with him. It made your loss even more unbearable, but what else could you do but stew in them? His was the only memory you had worth recalling in your existence, yet he had none of yours. It was the spiteful King’s idea of retribution meant to wash away your sins.

***

You spend the next three days in absolute misery. Refusing to get out of bed, you stay curled up in a ball, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, warming you but never comforting you in your heartbreak.

He materializes in a spinning whirl of sand inside your bedchambers. It’s a pure display of power at this point, for he hadn’t removed the door to your room, even if he had it locked. You kind of half-expected him to close the distance at once, kissing you in greeting like he always did. Instead, he just stands there, intensifying the already-gloomy atmosphere in the room. Out of habit, you get up and bow your head slightly, even if you were still in your nightdress.

Languidly, he makes his way to you, pausing until he’s an arm’s length away, looking down on you with a reproachful look.

“You have not called upon me for forgiveness.”

You flinch the moment he raises his hand – only for him to lift your chin so you had no other choice except to look at him.

You give him the blankest of looks, unsure how to respond.

“The sooner you accept your fate, the sooner I can end your confinement. So, I will ask you again, my little dream,” he says in a low voice, leaning downwards so his face is but a hairbreadth away from yours. “Will you carry out your duty?”

Your response is barely a whisper, fanning the hair framing his forehead.

“I cannot possibly do what you’re asking me, my King. I am only a dream, so why me? Why make me suffer so for it?”

“You are more than a dream to me, my Mera. Out of all my creations, I treasure you, love you the most.” For a moment, his expression changes, but that tenderness in his gaze is gone in a flash. “Which is why, out of all the treason my subjects have committed, yours was the most painful. It is within my right as your King to pass judgment. And yet, it is within your power to end your penance.”

He whispers, “You need only do one thing.”

At the end of his last sentence, he angles his head – your noses touch, but he doesn’t press his lips on yours like you expected him to.

“Seek my pardon, and I can make it go away.” He whispers against your lips.

But if you do, it would mean admitting that Ollie was a mistake.

“No. My love for Ollie is no sin. I have nothing to ask for forgiveness for.”

You don’t regret your words, even as your master grabs the back of your neck forcefully to pull you closer to him, making your noses touch.

“You dare speak his name in my presence…” he hisses.

Closing your eyes, you feel his lips ravish yours in a vicious kiss, seeking to possess – in its force you’re pushed back into one of the bedposts. His unforgiving grip on your jaw forces your mouth open, coercing you to kiss him back. He abruptly pulls his head back when he feels a wetness on your cheeks.

Tears.

Despite the salty discharge, you stare at him with defiance.

“You still love that worthless mortal,” he concludes with a faint amount of sick amusement. “I have not decided the form of judgment I should pass on him. Should you prolong this further, it would give me more time to create potent nightmares tailored to his fears.”

He seems to relish the way your lips tremble in terror. The thought of Ollie getting nightmares especially made for him makes your empty stomach churn.

“Or shall I remake the Corinthian and send him to plague your mortal alone? He was and still is, my perfect nightmare. The both of you, my errant creations, so perfect in every way, yet so flawed…Renounce your love for the human now, and I shall be merciful.”

But he doesn’t see you fervently shake your head, for he closes in on your throat, planting wet, open-mouthed caresses on your skin. You make a move to push him away on his shoulder, but he grabs your wrist harshly and pins them above your head on the bedpost. It was no use struggling against him in his firm hold, so you close your eyes, imagining you were somewhere else, as you feel his free hand roaming your still-clothed form, desperate to feel your warmth. As his tongue lavishes your pulse point, you let out an involuntary moan.

“Ollie…”

By the time you realize your grave error, your Dream Lord has already pulled back, tugging on your hair with enough force to make you gasp in pain.

He looks at you with a dark, displeased expression, seething in anger. “I have tried being patient with you, my dream, but you truly test me.”

“My Lord, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

Your frantic apologies are drowned out by a maelstrom of sand engulfing the both of you. As you feel the sand disappear, you hear the loud rumble of thunder, followed by the thrashing of waves of an ocean in a raging storm.

You open your eyes to a different room. Your master had transported you somewhere else, but where it was is unclear – the room, however, looks to be inside an old castle. You can see the exposed stone bricks in its interior; against its closed, murky windows the rain outside pelted hard, offering you a view outside: deep, gray skies that littered with flashes of lightning, and a sea that tossed violently against the harsh winds. You’re now far from the Dreaming palace, you know that much. He had taken you here to isolate you even further.

The King before you places a firm hand on your shoulder, forcing you to sit on something soft – a huge bed covered in sheets of silk in the colour of his long coat, which you notice had already fallen to the floor. You pointedly avoid looking at him, your face turned to the side, fidgeting with the sheet. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see him shed his shoes, followed by his shirt. Suddenly, your breathing becomes more laboured, and you could hear your own pounding heartbeat despite the furious storm outside.

“My Lord, where have you taken me?” you start softly, attempting to distract him.

“Where we shall not be disturbed,” he says simply.

It’s when you hear him undo his belt that you make a last-ditch attempt to save yourself evade him and jump to the side of the bed to get as far away from him as you can.

It’s a futile move – you find yourself lying on your stomach, your right arm awkwardly buried underneath your body, and a taut, heavy, naked chest pressed against your back.

Your Dream Lord has you pinned beneath him, his thighs straddling your waist.

“No!” you cry out in distress; it’s the only thing you could do against the impregnable force pinning you to the bed without any wriggle room. You could feel his hot breath fanning the back of your neck. In response, he whispers over your ear:

“I grow tired of your refusal, dream of mine. You will carry out your duty to me tonight.”

“No, my Lord, please, please, I beg of you…”

But your fraught whimpers fall on deaf ears.

You feel a hot, wet kiss on your exposed shoulder, while a lazy finger traces your spine. To your horror, you only notice that your nightdress has disappeared when trails of sand enter your line of vision, before promptly vanishing into thin air. You’re completely bare under his gaze, and like a starved man, he feasts – his hot mouth starts leaving butterfly kisses on your upper back as he strokes the sides of your waist, while you lay below him, sobbing in earnest and unable to move.

“Please, no, please, no, no…My Lord, please…”

“You will not deny your King,” he growls against your back, gripping your waist tight. “For every ‘no’ I hear from you during our union, I will create a ferocious nightmare that will follow only your pathetic human until his end of days. Will you be responsible for the madness he will surely turn to?”

Still weeping piteously, your closed eyes flash vivid images of Ollie thrashing in his bed, screaming in his sleep at horrors only he could see.

For the last time, it seems, your Dream Lord had you effectively backed into a corner with no chance of escaping. The predator had grown weary of circling its prey and had now pounced, ready to devour.

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

Author notes on the Chapter:

Ollie and Dream's confrontation is the most challenging dialogue I have ever written. Next chap with will be full of smut, smut smut, so be prepared!! (I need to be, too, it seems - writing smut can be intimidating af lmao)

As usual, thank you for sticking with me in this!! Love lots!!!

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Author's notes in general:

Thank you, THANK YOU for reading!!

Please engage, comment and reblog!! I love feedback from you guys :) This is my first ever fic, so kindness is truly appreciated!

Thank you to my queen @queenshelby@endlessdreamqueen3 for encouraging me to pen this, as well as to my fellow Dark!Morpheus writers whose work I have thoroughly enjoyed and keep rereading :)

Post date: 12/26/22

Edit date: 12/26/22

Taglist: Just lemme know please if you want to be added, too!

Tagging the following:

@wt-fxck

@sandman-33

@reallystressedhoneybee

@akiraquote

@safe-teycar

@ponyboys-sunsetsts

@izziclee

@spygrrl99

@intothesoul

@thecrazytealady

@tastyinspection8860

@kittenssss-blog

@trinittyy

@mxacegrey

@sarahbullet235

@blu3what

@justporple

@emy635

@ggxsan

---

Damn... Atleast he's kinda gentle about her first time... But it's still non-consensual...

Funny thought but she reminds me a lil bit of Alicent Hightower by how miserable she is and will be with her situation.. (Well, anyone would be miserable if your boss tries to force you to be his mistress.)

The Dream That Got Away

Chapter 11

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x You (no Y/N!)

This is a multi-chapter fic — Weekly updates (either Saturday or Sunday) because I found a rhythm of sorts lol

(The entire fic has been outlined, so I will see this to the end, you have my word)

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Link to the Masterlist

Overall Warnings!! Take heed:

Morpheus is DARK – in canon, he changes for the better (or at least, tries to – but we don’t do canon lol, so he goes even more batshit crazy) cue obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, powerplay

18+ ONLY – explicit scenes will be present, some explicit language

DUB-CON and NON-CON scenes

Character death (sort of)

Creator vs Creation drama

And other dark stuff that may be added in the future

This chapter’s warnings:

graphic non con ahead - turn back now if this disturbs you

touch-starved Morpheus should be a warning of its own

memory loss (happens to the best of us lol)

You have been warned!! Proceed with caution!!!

Link to the previous chapter

Chapter 11: Your Nightmare, Tenfold

Oliver Chapman woke up, falling out of his bed in a tangled mess of sheets and blankets, shouting unintelligibly, his heart beating so loud he could hear it. He got up from the floor with a loud groan and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

It was just a bad dream.

Despite being an active dreamer, he remembered very little of the nightmare he had just woken up from. How peculiar, he thought. He was also quite sure he called out a name when he came to, but it was a name he no longer recalled. The dream felt almost too real, even without his device on, which now lay on his bedside drawer.

He stared at the MiraSleep device with a dry chuckle. He didn’t remember how he came up with the name, but it felt right, somehow. With an inward shrug, he decided to keep the name, liking how it sounded on his tongue.

What now concerned him more was the fact that he hadn't had a nightmare in years since this one – was he going to have to take his meds again?

He glanced at the time on his phone - eleven o'clock.

Deciding a cup of coffee couldn't hurt, he makes his way to his kitchen with an audible yawn. Once he had prepared a huge steaming cup and filled it with loads of milk, he walked to his study, automatically glancing at the wall where his father's dreamcatcher hung.

He did a doubletake when he saw that part of the wall empty.

He didn’t remember even touching the heirloom, so why it wasn't there, he had no clue. And yet, as he observed that subtle imprint it left at being hung on the wall for so long, he felt something: a gnawing sensation at the pit of his stomach (and it wasn't just the acidity of the coffee), making its way to his heart. It was painfully hollow, like he was forgetting something important and he couldn't quite place it. He had only felt this twice in his life, and both times involved love interests that broke his heart and left him for another. He was missing something, or was it someone?

A lone tear fell from the corner of his eye.

"Stupid fucking nightmare," he grumbled under his breath.

And so, with the intent of distracting himself from the bizarre feeling, he turned his desktop on. The clinics conducting the MiraSleep trials had sent over numerous progress reports he had yet to analyze, he vaguely wondered why he'd been putting this off for the past few days.

With all traces of sleep gone, Oliver Chapman cracked his knuckles and began to work. Finding that dreamcatcher can wait.

***

You make an attempt to squirm your way from underneath your Dream Lord, but he uses his torso to push you further into the bed, making you feel his throbbing arousal settling on your lower back. He then brushes your hair aside to get better access, planting wet kisses on the groove of your neck. 

"Please, don't..."

You try to beg once more, wishing, praying to anyone that listened, that when you open your eyes, you'll find the Endless on top of you gone; that you're still with Ollie and this was all just one horrible hallucination.

The gentle bite on your shoulder brings you back to reality.

As you begin trembling with renewed sobbing, your master flips you over with one swift motion, exposing your breasts to the cold and making your nipples pebble. Sitting up, he groans in appreciation as his eyes roam your naked front. You try to frantically cover your breasts with your arms and close your eyes tightly, but he lets out a growl of displeasure and harshly yanks your wrists away and pins them beside your head.

"Do not hide from me. I crafted you, this body, to perfection. I intend to enjoy every inch of it.”

He dives, kissing you on the lips deeply, tasting your mouth, while he parts your legs and settles in between them. Any whines you make, he drowns out with his own mouth, drawing out your shallow breaths with his kisses, eager to taste your tongue. His mouth then fervently attacks your throat, caressing and nipping the flesh to ensure he leaves bruises – marking you as his, as if there was ever any room for doubt. Along with his brutal assault on your neck, he lets go of your wrists and cups both your breasts, squeezing them and pinching your already hardened nipples in an almost painful way, sending jolts of unwanted pleasure to your core. It's an entirely new sensation for you, making you pant audibly - it alarms you how much you arch your back to his touches.

"You cannot keep denying me, my dream; not when your body so desperately calls out for its master," he whispers against your pulse point.

You gasp as he licks his way down to your left breast and begins sucking your nipple. You writhe underneath him, moaning wantonly, fisting the dark sheets on the bed, while he kneads your other breast. Grazing his teeth over your nipple, he moves to the other, lavishing it with just as much attention. By now, you’re throbbing between the legs, feeling immense heat pooling beneath.

Horrified at how you’re responding to his touches, tears form at the corner of your eyes, and you let them fall, getting too lost in your master’s ministrations.

Undeterred by your sniffling, his tongue travels down to your stomach, stopping before your abdomen, ignoring your mound, and kissing you on the mouth once more. His hand then trails downward before cupping the pulsating flesh between your legs.

Instantly, you jerk beneath him and break your kiss with a squeal. Your tears are back full force, but you close your eyes as your hands claw on your creator’s chest to try and get him off of you – it doesn’t matter to you now how your body seems to need more of him.

“Please, my Lord, please, don’t…”

But he doesn’t put aside the hands fumbling on his chest – instead, he sits up, and in the gentlest of gestures, he places a hand on your cheek, wiping the tears away.

“Sshh, my little dream, sshh. It will feel good, I promise.”

In response, you shake your head in defiance. You don’t care about feeling good, you just want it to be over.

He stays sitting up, observing your scrunched-up expression. As if he read your thoughts, he says softly, “It will be over if you do as I say.”

Without waiting for your response, he massages your mound with slow, deliberate strokes, his finger parting your lower lips as he does. Your hands drop to your sides limply, gripping the sheets again. You squeeze your eyes tightly, turning your head to the side as you let him rub parts of you you didn’t know existed. He grips your jaw and turns your head to face him.

“Look at me, my dream.”

You do as he commands, and you let out a tiny mewl as his finger presses against your clit. He drowns out your sounds with his mouth eagerly, biting your lips lightly, before pulling away, smugly looking down as you come undone below him.

But before something in your core uncoils, he withdraws his hand. A whine develops at the back of your throat as you watch him lick his fingers – his silver eyes, glazed over in pure lust, never leave yours as he cleans the evidence of your wantonness from his fingers – you’re dripping wet between the legs and positively aching with a need you couldn’t understand.

How could he make you feel like this?

“You taste divine, my Mera. I need more of you. More.”

As he growls the last word, he makes his way downwards, angling his face before your tender lower flesh. He flashes you a hunger-filled grin, before digging in on the feast before him.

The moment you feel his mouth on your sensitive mound, you let out a sharp cry. Your hips thrust involuntarily upward as his tongue parts your slit, wet and hot and pulsating with longing. Your Lord, grasping your thighs to still your squirming, suckles your opening and laps your juices greedily, while your hands automatically make their way to his midnight locks to keep him there. You couldn’t help fisting his hair, and you feel him groaning in satisfaction. With his skillful mouth, he commands every sound that tears from your throat. When he repeatedly flicks your clit with his tongue, you curl your toes and scream, your thighs trembling at the stimulation. It’s almost too overwhelming.

And yet, once more, he pulls away, ignoring your whining protests.

“Patience, little dream of mine. I will have the pleasure of being inside you on your first release.”

Still hazy with the lust, you’re shaken out of your reverie at the sight of your master’s hardened length, its tip dripping with pre-cum. The pleasure you felt in his previous ministrations is gone, replaced with the overwhelming need to push him away, as he positions himself on top of you.

“Don’t…please, my Lord, I can’t…”

“You can and you will.”

Your creator, ignoring your helpless pleas, takes his raging erection in his hands and uses it to part your slit, taking in the wetness from your folds. He then angles it over your opening, probing, threatening to plunge. You hysterically scratch his chest, attempting to push him away, but as always, he’s an immovable wall – he simply pulls your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand. The other he uses to align his cock to your entrance.

“You belong to me.”

And then you feel it – the searing pain at his intrusion – you feel the tip of his cock tear your opening, and you scream, unable to thrash, for the hand that isn’t pinning your wrist is holding your hip in place.

“Please stop…please, stop,” you say over and over, but your master bends down and plants soft kisses all over your tear-stained face, shushing you gently. “My Lord, please, it hurts…”

“The pain will be brief, little dream,” he reassures you with a strained voice, pushing his cock inside you further.

With nothing to hold on to, your nails dig into your palms for comfort that wouldn’t come. You feel him slowly plunge his cock inside your core, stretching your tight cavern and pushing his body further into yours so your chests touch. He wants you to feel every inch of him, asserting his control, his possession over you, almost suffocating you. With a grunt, he shoves himself fully inside, and beneath him, you sob helplessly, the stinging sensation between your legs caused by his cock straining your inner walls not letting up. You feel full, and painfully so.

This is your Dream Lord, your King, and creator, finally claiming what you knew from the start is rightfully his.

You look up at him with your eyes, vision still blurry from your tears – his jaw is clenched in a look of concentration as if trying to control himself. Surprisingly, he does not tear into you violently like you had thought he would – he waits, presumably, so you could adjust to his size. You could hear your own cries die down to soft whimpers as the pain gradually dissipates to mere discomfort. He seems to recognize this too – he starts moving within you, agonizingly so, pulling out almost fully before pushing back in.

He releases his grip on your hip and holds both your wrists as he finds a steady rhythm. Noticing your tense expression, he whispers over your lips:

“My Mera, focus on the pleasure.”

And so with closed eyes, you do; your discomfort rapidly shifts to an almost unbearable ecstasy. Sounds you don’t recognize tearing from your throat soon echo the chamber as he increases his pace and the force with which he withdraws, then sinks into your tight core, filling you to the brim with his every thrust.

“Look at me as I take you.”

A particularly hard thrust at a spot makes you scream, forcing your eyes wide open – and you had nowhere to look but into those now-onyx eyes, boring into yours with so much desire, and perhaps something else – is it love you see? – but at that point, you had no other thoughts but him, him taking you, and bringing you close to the edge. Your body, having a mind of its own, start meeting his hips with every forceful thrust. Your walls start clenching his cock more insistently, and you feel something coil within you, wanting to be released…

“Now, come for your King, little dream.”

At his command, your climax crashes down on you in waves, a scream tearing through your strained throat. You hear him groan in his own pleasure as your walls spasm around his cock, threatening his own release. With another thrust, he intensifies your orgasm, making your vision turn white. Your thighs tremble underneath his for a final time before your entire body goes limp. His lips crash into yours as he gropes your breasts, hungry for more contact. Finally, he pulls out his still-hard length with much reluctance.

In your pleasure-clouded mind, you belatedly realize that he has flipped you over on your stomach. Only when his tip starts probing your entrance once more from this position does it dawn on you what he’s about to do. And you panic, struggling underneath his hold.

“Please, my Lord, no more…please…!”

But you could only cry out as he buries himself in you to the hilt. This time, he doesn’t wait for you to adjust to him – he plunges into you repeatedly, drawing out renewed screams of pleasure from you. He leans into your back, and whispers over your ear:

“My dream, you’re taking me so well,” he praises, but you could only respond with a desperate shaking of your head.

He lifts your hips further into the air, making him hit a pleasurable spot inside you that makes you see stars. He hits again and again as he massages your clit, and all you could do is bury your face in the pillow, gripping it so tight you almost tear the cover. But he takes offense at this; he bunches your hair and tugs on it while he gently grasps your throat from behind to raise your head, whispering against your hair:

“No, you will not deny me the music you make.”

As if to punish you, he squeezes your lower cheeks with bruising strength and picks up an unforgiving pace. You could hear his own grunts of pleasure amidst the sinful slapping of flesh against flesh and your own indecent moans echoing in the chamber. When your thighs start shaking, he holds you steady at the hips. Your body has been feebly meeting his, but it wasn’t enough for him; he pulls you toward him with every deep thrust, bringing tears to your eyes, and eventually, he coaxes another orgasm from you, more intense than the last, allowing you to collapse on the bed in a sobbing, moaning, sweaty mess.

However, he doesn’t allow you to come down from your high. Turning you over to face him, he makes a rapid move of parting your legs with his knees and pushing his cock once more into your already-abused core, holding you close and leaving you no choice but to bury your face in the groove of his neck. You make a pathetic attempt to push him off, weeping heavily at his intrusion - every nerve ending in your body had activated when he entered you fully for the third time, overstimulating you.

“Please, my Lord, enough, make it stop, makeitstop –”

“I will tell you when you’ve had enough. Your King has yet to find his release,” he says through gritted teeth, burying his face in your neck to suckle your sensitive flesh. As he does, he pounds into you with relentless force, desperate for his climax – he had held it down long enough for you. You know he had been starved of you for more than a century, so this is him making up for what he lost and taking from you what he’s wanted so insatiably.

“You’re perfect, so perfect for me. My dream. Mine.” He growls the last word over your ear before nipping at your earlobe and biting the sore skin of your neck, already peppered with his marks.

You wrap your arms around him and dig your nails into his pale skin, marking his back as he did your body. In his ears, you plead – but for what, you don’t even know – he’s making you tread the precarious line between pain and pleasure, reducing you to a string of throaty screams and moans. You’re all his: his dream, his property, his everything – and with your bodies joined together he makes you feel it, intoxicating you, swallowing you whole. You could feel him come closer to his undoing – his thrusts become more erratic, his breathing more jagged – and with a roar that shakes his entire kingdom, your King, your Dream Lord finally finds his release. He takes you with him as he snaps his hips and holds you down so he could pump his seed inside you, his warmth coating your inner walls as you come undone in hoarse croaks.

“You will take all of it, my little dream, every last drop,” he says breathlessly as you cling onto him like a lifeline, with him riding out both your orgasms.

You both stay in the same position, coming down from your high. Yet he doesn’t pull out – instead, he maneuvers your body so he could lay flat on his back and have you draped all over his chest. Satisfied with your position, he wraps his arms around you, stroking your hair with a low hum.

“You did well, my Mera. You will, in time, grow accustomed to your function.”

His words were meant to praise you, but they just send you back to your hellish reality. A wave of shame and disgust hits you in the gut as you feel the hot, sticky evidence of your union leak out from your folds and coat your inner thighs. He may have given you pleasure unlike anything you have imagined, but everything he has done that led to it is still fresh in your mind, and like a bleeding, open wound, he had just poured salt into it, hurting you more in the process. Scrambling to get away, you thrash against his hold, but his grip is vice-like – he’ll never let you go. Not now, not ever.

And so, with quiet weeps against his chest and your master’s soft cooing in your hair meant to comfort you, you close your eyes and let exhaustion finally take over.

*** You awake to hot breath fanning the back of your neck, and a finger languidly tracing circles on your abdomen.

In your sleep, you must’ve shifted sleeping positions – you find yourself hunched in a corner of the bed, with your master, spooning you.

“I seem to have roused you from your deep slumber, dream of mine.”

His breathy whisper in your ear is enough to send goosebumps running over your arms and heat coursing to your cheeks. Despite the warmth his naked body behind you is emitting, you shiver at the memory of pale hands running all over you and silver eyes gazing into yours as he takes you with wanton abandon…it takes all your inner strength to reel those tears in, and ignore the fingers now making their way between your legs. Your Dream Lord presses his erection against your back more urgently as if trying to get your attention. When he doesn’t get it, he hums in mild displeasure.

“Will you not indulge your king before he attends to his duties?”

Your breath hitches when a finger parts your folds, still wet with his cum from last night’s events. A lone, pained whimper escapes your throat despite your efforts.

To your surprise, he halts his movements.

“I understand you may still be in pain, given how strenuous last night was for you,” he says with tenderness in his tone. Behind you, you hear him shift, stroking your hair. “Can you sit up, my dream?”

You do as he asks, but every cell in your body seems to wail in protest. Every muscle that moved hurt and your core all but screamed in agony, so much that you fail to stifle that small cry of pain forming at the back of your throat. Your Dream Lord places a hand on your back at once, shushing you and trying to still your movement. The bed creaks as he gets off the bed and approaches your side. He snakes an arm below your knees and carries you, bridal style, to a door on the corner of the chamber, which automatically opens the moment he’s inches away.

The door reveals a bathroom with vintage fixtures, with an ancient tub placed in the middle. Water, infused with aromatic oils permeating the room, materializes out of nowhere in the tub, and with the utmost care, he lowers you to the warm water. Your aching muscles welcome the comfort of the bathwater, and with a relaxed sigh, your hand travels to your shoulder to massage the sore area – but a pale hand gently lowers it.

Your master gets into the tub behind you, settling with thighs spread so he can accommodate you between them. With gentleness you’re not aware he’s capable of, he brushes your partially wet hair aside and kneads the knotted muscles on your back, making you throw your head back in relief. With practiced ease, his fingers rub your scalp, noting how he managed to get the shampoo out of nowhere – he works the lather on your hair, and with a showerhead, he rinses the bubbles off.

Being bathed by your master like a delicate doll isn’t what you were expecting as his first act of mercy after he had ruthlessly taken your virginity the night before.

Once he has rinsed off the lather, he replaces the bathwater anew in the blink of an eye and wraps his arms around your form, pulling you to his chest. You’re almost lulled to slumber in the warmth of the water and the aroma of lavender, if it isn’t for the soft lips caressing your exposed shoulder. With a satisfied sigh, his hands knead your breasts softly, eliciting a small gasp from you. On your lower back, you feel his cock harden, so you keep still as much as you can within his arms; at least until his hand makes his way between your legs and a finger parts your aching folds.

You struggle weakly in his hold but he tightens his arm your form with shushing, cooing sounds. He gently flicks and massages your clit as he whispers words of comfort over your ear in a language long-forgotten, while you let out soft, breathy moans, your back arching against his chest and bucking your hips against his skillful ministrations. You hold his thighs for support, digging your nails into the pale skin, while he nips at the groove of your neck with his teeth in between soft, open-mouthed kisses. With his free hand, he massages your breasts, squeezing your nipples with his thumb and forefinger. In his grasp, it isn’t long before you come undone, your entire body quivering in the pleasure he provided. You lean back on his chest fully for support as your orgasm ebbs away, fully aware of his hardness still pressing on your back.

In an effort to address that, you whisper, “My Lord, are you going to…?”

“No. I cannot bring myself to – not when you’re still in extreme discomfort,” he replies, stroking your cheek with his forefinger. “I am aware that you are unhappy with our arrangement, my dream. I will amend that, and you will, in time, see that I am not such a monster.”

The Voice in your head begs to disagree.

He cups your jaw, turning your head to give you a passionate kiss on your lips. Timidly, you kiss him back; you don’t know whether his words are but a ruse meant to lull you into a false sense of security, but you’re somewhat thankful for this small act of mercy. When he pulls away from the kiss, he wordlessly steps out of the bath. The warmth that previously encased your back is gone, now replaced with cold air. The once-warm water has gone tepid, so you wrap your own arms around yourself in want of heat.

A towel is placed in your line of vision. Looking up, you see your Dream King dressed in his usual attire. With a small ‘thank you,’ you take the towel and wrap it around your body as you get up on the tub.

“I have left clothes for you in the wardrobe. Once I have completed my duties for the day, I will come back.”

Bristling at his words, you glance at him, wide-eyed. “You’re leaving me here?”

He responds with a hard, chastising expression, “It is necessary, my little dream. Until you have earned my trust back, I cannot allow you to roam in my Kingdom unguarded. Consider this a penalty for your recent, treacherous actions.”

He then takes his pouch of sand from inside his cloak and out of it, springs a swirl of sand that is to take him to wherever he needs to be.

As he disappears, you gaze at him with tearful eyes of resentment.

“Haven’t you punished me enough, my Lord?” you say as he and his sand dematerializes from the bathroom. He probably didn’t even hear it, you tell yourself ruefully. You're now trapped in a nightmare, and one your Dream Lord has made sure you'd never wake from.

***

But Morpheus hears every word as he leaves you alone in the ancient castle. He has half a mind to return to you and ease your worries, kiss you until you accept him, and give you everything you desire (save your freedom, of course), but as he lands in his throne room, he forces himself to dispel these thoughts. He must help you come to terms with the consequences of your actions so you would learn never to defy him again. Everything he does, and will do to you, will be for your own good.

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Author notes on the Chapter:

A bit on the short side, I know, but more soon!! This is my first smut everrr, so please give me feedback huhu not sure I managed to do it right (faces the wall) Also, imagine your dark Morphy being horny 24/7 after this lmao Happy New Year to all of you!!

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Author's notes in general:

Thank you, THANK YOU for reading!!

Please engage, comment and reblog!! I love feedback from you guys :) This is my first ever fic, so kindness is truly appreciated!

Thank you to my queen @queenshelby@endlessdreamqueen3 for encouraging me to pen this, as well as to my fellow Dark!Morpheus writers whose work I have thoroughly enjoyed and keep rereading :)

Post date: 12/31/22

Edit date: 12/31/22

Taglist: Just lemme know please if you want to be added, too!

Tagging the following:

@wt-fxck

@sandman-33

@reallystressedhoneybee

@akiraquote

@safe-teycar

@ponyboys-sunsets

@izzicle

@spygrrl99

@intothesoul

@thecrazytealady

@tastyinspection8860

@kittenssss-blog

@trinittyy

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@saraicus

@blu3what

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@emy6

@chantzmar

@dawnissunnysideup

---

Damn.. One word: yikes..

Also.. also.. Can someone punch Dream? because damn. every night, dreamlord? Give the girl a break.

Mera, you poor thing but also kinda hilarious because this is literally you whenever you’re in the same vicinity as Dream.

Mera in the tower be like.

ETHAN!!! I hope we see more of him because he is really adorable.. but once again. Dream. He might have this delusion that all Mera needs now is a child upon seeing her with Ethan.. and that’s just so sad..

Also.. I am convinced this is how Dream sees Ethan.

Also.. If I were to envision the current state of Dream’s lovers.. This is probably it..

And for the next canon to appear next chap. I’m really hoping for either of these two. cuz I need Death to bitchslap his brother back to reality. and I also anticipating  Desire to be the slay queen/king they are.

The Dream That Got Away

Chapter 12

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x You (no Y/N!)

This is a multi-chapter fic — Weekly updates (either Saturday or Sunday) because I found a rhythm of sorts lol

(The entire fic has been outlined, so I will see this to the end, you have my word)

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Link to the Masterlist

Overall Warnings!! Take heed:

Morpheus is DARK – in canon, he changes for the better (or at least, tries to – but we don’t do canon lol, so he goes even more batshit crazy) cue obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, powerplay

18+ ONLY – explicit scenes will be present, some explicit language

DUB-CON and NON-CON scenes

Character death (sort of)

Creator vs Creation drama

And other dark stuff that may be added in the future

This chapter’s warnings:

graphic dub-con and non-con ahead - turn back now if this disturbs you

touch-starved Morpheus should be a warning of its own

PTSD and trauma angst

reader still hearing voices

You have been warned!! Proceed with caution!!!

Link to the previous chapter

Chapter 12: The Princess in the Tall Tower

You had hoped your Dream Lord would have left reasonable articles of clothing in the wardrobe, but once again, you had failed to temper your expectations, so your disappointment was probably your fault. You open the antique, wooden closet, expecting, hoping, to find fuzzy pajamas or comfortable sweatpants; instead, you’re greeted with elaborate gowns and lacy nightdresses in various shades of red and charcoal. With a huff, you choose to put on the simplest, least revealing of the gowns (not like he’s around to see you in it, anyway), just so you could sit behind the study table in the chambers and stare blankly at absolutely nothing on the stone-brick walls.

He didn’t even leave you a book to read.

The storm from last night had passed, and the grimy windows now offered a view of the calm, unending blue sea. You’re eager to let some sunshine in the gloomy room, so after hours of counting hairline cracks on the brick walls, you decide to pull the balcony doors wide open and let in the fresh ocean breeze. You take one step out the balcony door with the intention of admiring the view outside, but a thought halts your steps.

“Come on,” you whisper to no one in particular. He’s not going to punish you for going out on the balcony, is he?

Feeling defeated and ridiculous, you retreat to the room and lay on the bed instead. But even that was a mistake: memories of last come flooding in the moment you curl up on a ball near the edge of the bed.

So, for the first time in four days, you weep.

And the moment you do, you couldn’t stop – you had not cried so much since the day you lost Ollie. You let out tears until you couldn’t, not even realizing you were rubbing your arms they turned raw red. Undeterred by the stinging on your skin, you get up quickly and proceed to the bathroom. You had not had the chance to get him off you when he bathed you and getting rid of his smell on you sounds like a good idea.

You don’t even wait for the tub to be filled – you get in at once, grabbing the pouf hanging from the bathtub faucet. With a generous amount of bathroom gel, you scrub your body with the pouf, focusing on your thighs as the tub is filled with scalding hot water. You rub the skin until it starts stinging, but in your head, you smell him on you – it’s sickening, and you couldn’t get rid of it. With a yell of frustration, you throw the pouf away, letting it land on the far corner of the room, spraying soap water and bubbles on its trail. Frantically, you get out of the tub, almost slipping on the wet floor, and on the toilet, you dry heave – he’s still on you, even after all that washing, and it’s extremely nauseating. You heave some more, then will your inner storm to simmer down. You don’t how he would react to walking in on you in such a state, but you know he wouldn’t like it.

You get back to the tub and sink into the now tepid water, leaning your head on the edge of the porcelain tub. You lay in there with muted tears, contemplating the future. You’re quite unsure of what is about to come, but one thing is clear in your head: it’s a future with him. Not exactly what you can call promising.

You get out of the tub when you notice your fingers have pruned. Cautiously, you step out of the bathroom, hoping you find your chambers still empty of the Endless. True enough, he hasn’t arrived yet, but the sun is setting in the Dreaming, its soft, orange glow streaming from the balcony door and the windows now flooding the space.

You’ll have company soon, and it’s one you dread having.

Begrudgingly, you step into one of the nightdresses in the closet. You hate the lacy, skimpy, offensive piece of clothing, but what choice do you have? Surely, your master would chide you for getting to bed in one of the gowns, so to make up for it, you get into the bed and under the sheets, half-heartedly thinking you could pretend to be asleep when he arrives.

And yet, when you hear the Voice’s whisper of warning and the light swooshing of sand inside the chamber, you sit up at once in reflex, fisting the sheets and staring at his boots, pointedly avoiding his gaze, forlorn with longing.

“My dream,” your Dream Lord says in greeting, shedding his coat and placing it at the foot of the bed, before approaching your side.

He stops inches before you, lifting a hand to touch your face – 

You swat his hand away on impulse. 

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss.

You had not meant it to lash out but if he was hurt by your words, he hides it well. He has the gall to look mildly sympathetic as he sits on the bed in front of you without hesitation. He cups your face, undeterred by your flailing arms. He forces you to look in his eyes, and you give him your most hateful look, all while aware he can see the fear behind them.

“Are you angry at me for leaving you here?” he asks.

“That, among other things,” comes your short reply, still breathless at your reckless reaction to his touch.

He pauses briefly before kissing you on the lips. He forces you to lean back on the headboard as he straddles your lap, running his hands on your chest before cupping your breasts and kneading them.

As his tongue tastes yours and sucks your lower lip, one thought crosses your mind: if this was Ollie, he’d know enough to give you space as soon as he sees you upset.

But he isn’t your Ollie – the warm tongue currently tracing your jawline is enough to tell.

Your King gently nips at your earlobe, before whispering, “My Mera, I had wanted to return the moment I left. Being apart from you was pure torture.”

The sheet covering your body gets pulled away abruptly as he gets up from the bed. He hums at the sight of you in a black, lacy nightgown, his eyes roaming your figure appreciatively as he removes the rest of his clothing and leaves it on the floor. With nowhere to back into, you inch to the side, hoping you could make a run for it and lock yourself in the bathroom, but he’s one step ahead of you, as always – as soon as he’s back on the bed, he yanks your ankles to pull you closer, causing you to scream. Before you could thrash against him, his thighs close in on either side of your body, straddling you. You sit up and try to push him off you, but he forces you on your back with a firm hand on your shoulder, while he grabs your arm and raises it for his inspection.

Crap. He had noticed.

“What did you do to yourself?” he asks in a low voice, referring to the scratches marking your skin, his jaw clenching in ire. 

“None of your business, my Lord,” you couldn’t help but reply, putting on a brave face while very much scared out of your wits of the man – Endless – who’s about to force himself on you again.

He plants a quick kiss on the scratches on your arm, before eyeing you with displeasure marring his pale features.

“I admire your backbone, dream of mine, but it tires me so. Do you truly need a lesson on submitting to your sovereign?”

Fuck.

At his insinuation, you vehemently shake your head – in your rebelliousness, you had unwittingly sparked your master’s fury, his now-silver eyes now blazing he could burn you with it.

“I’m sorry, m-my Lord, it’s just that…I-I’m not used to this…” you stammer under the intensity of his gaze.

“Your mere words fail to appease me, my dream. I’d prefer it if you showed me how truly sorry you are.”

You bite your lip, nervously eyeing his hardened length before darting your eyes once more to meet his. He takes the wrist he’s holding and places it on his cock, urging you to take it in your hand. He sucks his breath between his teeth when you do, guiding your inexperienced hand up and down his shaft. He then lets go, his hungry eyes never leaving your unsure ones, urging you to continue. You feel him thicken in your grasp as you pump his cock at a steady pace while his breathing deepens, face putting on a satisfied expression.

Eventually, he commands, “Faster, little dream.”

And so you oblige, his eyes closing momentarily when you use both hands to apply more pressure, his hips starting to move a little. He reciprocates by massaging your breasts through your nightgown, making you instinctively rub your thighs together, feeling the wetness between them.

“Stop,” he orders with a strained voice. You let go of his throbbing erection gladly, but he rewards you with a sudden change of positions, dragging you on top of him, pulling you close, his lips over your ear, whispering, “You have wonderful hands my dream. Now, let me have your mouth.”

He lets you pull away, giving you a full view of his eyes raging with such carnal passion. His meaning isn’t lost on you – you’ve seen it in wet dreams you’ve walked in on, and the images in your head are enough to send heat to your face and ears.

Relishing your reaction, he says with a tiny, knowing smirk, “Show me. Your King commands you.”

You could very well get to your feet and flee to the bathroom, but you know he’d be on you in a flash; besides, you know provoking him would not be the best move, given his earlier response to your little tantrum. Even while on top of him, you feel overpowered and vulnerable. Drawing a huge breath, you gingerly settle between his thighs, noting how large he is. You swallow the lump in your throat, lowering your face to his cock. As you take his length in your hands once again, he props himself up with his elbows and issues another instruction:

 “Keep your eyes on mine.”

Doing his bidding, you give his tip a hesitant lick, then a soft kiss, before taking it in your mouth – watching his reaction as you do so. His mouth is now slightly parted, his breathing turning shallow, yet his hungry eyes bore into yours – you know how to appreciate beauty, and he’s undeniably the most beautiful being you’ve laid eyes on.

Too bad he had a knack for forcing you into rock-and-hard places.

You have no idea what you’re doing, but you continue to suck him in, getting halfway to his length before reaching just before your throat, wanting very much not to gag until you couldn’t take anymore. You bob your head up, your hand stroking his shaft upwards, and he places an assertive hand on the back of your head as if spurring you to continue. You take him in again, applying pressure on his tip with your tongue as you suck, drawing knowledge from the dreams you’ve watched. Shyly, your other hand rubs his inner thighs, before you gently massage his balls. The hand on the back of your head tightens its grip, eventually fisting your hair with an audible growl as you continue sucking his cock.

“You’re doing so well, my little dream. You look so beautiful with your mouth full of me,” he growls in praise as his eyes glow with uninhibited passion. “Go faster for your King.”

As you increase your pace, it does not take long before he starts thrusting upwards and keeping your head in place – your eyes start watering as he reaches your throat, and, closing your eyes, it takes so much willpower in you not to gag on his pulsating length.

He tugs on your hair, and rumbles, “Eyes on me, little dream.”

With teary eyes, you watch him as his jaw clenches and his breath turns into heavy pants, his hips snapping as he continuously fucks your face at his pace, signaling he’s getting close – 

He groans loudly as he comes inside your mouth – the intensity with which he ruts as his cum coats your throat makes you shut your watering eyes tight. He maintains his grip on your head to hold you in place. Grunting, he lets you pull away after he thrusts for a final time.

“Show me.”

Wiping your tears, you open your mouth, showing him your mouth full of his substance, some of it dribbling down your chin.

“Swallow for me, my dream.”

You obediently do as you’re told. He takes your chin, wiping the single streak of cum off with his thumb before placing it inside your mouth, quietly ordering you to suck it off. When he pulls his thumb from your mouth, he gently pries it open to inspect his handiwork.

“That’s a good dream. Your apology is accepted,” he whispers, looking at you through his eyelashes. He sits up, pulls you closer, and places his lips on yours with urgency, not caring he’s tasting himself on you. When he pulls away, he lies back down and issues another command.

“Strip for you King.”

Panting due to your frazzled nerves, knowing what he intends to do, you whisper, “Please, my Lord…”

“I do not like repeating myself.”

You breathe dejectedly and heavily as you bunch the hem of your nightgown, before slowly pulling it over your form, muttering pleas that fall on deaf ears as you do so. Your chest, now bare, heaves noticeably as your heart rate goes through the roof. Your nipples perk and harden in the cold, now exposed, and you shiver internally at his wanton gaze. His hand reaches up to fondle both your peaks before moving down to your belly and abdomen. He then encases your waist and pulls you closer to his torso, and with a swift movement, he flips the both of you over. Once more, he has you begging underneath him in one sick game of dominance he obviously likes playing.

“Please, I gave you what you wanted –”

“I could never get enough of you, my dream. You will take me.”

“My Lord, I implore you,” you start, sobbing pathetically, pushing against his chest as he pulls down your damp underwear, tearing it off in the process. “I’m still sore from last night…please…”

Your pleas seem to have no effect on him, except for a slight softening of his features.

“My dream, I am only helping you adjust to your role. You will, after all, share my bed every night for eternity.”

With his ominous declaration, he parts your legs and positions himself between them, admiring the wetness of your folds. He’s hard once more; he takes his erection in his hand and begins positioning it over your entrance.

“Please, no…no!” 

 Ignoring your screaming and clawing on his chest – and sheaths himself fully inside. You let out an earsplitting scream that echoes inside the chamber.

Unlike the other night, your master doesn’t wait for you to grow accustomed to him – instead, he repeatedly plunges in and out of your core roughly while he leans closer to the side of your face, cooing words in your ears; to him, they may be words of comfort, but to you, they’re nothing but empty promises, cursing you to a damning fate. He drowns out your screams and moans with a kiss and tangles your tongue with his in a passionate lip lock. You could do nothing but fist the sheets underneath you with so much force, your hands start trembling. As he pounds brutally into your core, he gropes your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples until they go numb. He then sits up, changing the angle of his thrusts – he takes your right leg and swings it over his shoulder, bringing you pleasure so intense you throw your head back and start meeting his hips with yours. He starts flicking your clit with this thumb, intensifying the jolts of pleasure wracking your body. Within minutes, you’re a screaming wreck in his ministrations: your orgasm hits you like a freight train, making you convulse beneath his hold.

Yet, he doesn’t stop, nor does he allow you reprieve – with a low growl, he merely places your left leg over his shoulder and increases his force and speed, eliciting hoarse croaks from your aching throat. Your eyes had given up vision long ago: in your mind, you try to picture your Ollie – that it was Ollie gently making love to you, and you were reciprocating. But instead of Ollie’s face, it’s only your Dream Lord you see: dark, lustful, pitiless eyes, forcing himself on you. Even in your head, he’s there, invading everything you hold sacred. Amidst all that pleasure and pain in your core, what hurts unbearably the most is the loss of the only man you truly ever loved, carving your heart out – and you wish you could make that stabbing ache go away, just you so could endure everything else.

As your master continues taking you viciously, your body goes limp, and something within your heart and mind shifts – it’s slow, barely imperceptible, but you feel it simmer within you. It isn’t just you coming close; it’s something else, like a warm hand, pulling to you the warmest of embraces.

I’ll protect you, I’ll make you forget, comes the gentle whisper of the Voice in your head.

Another climax tears you away from the only comforting voice you’ve heard in days. You open your mouth in a soundless scream, Your eyes roll back as whatever energy you have in you is spent quivering feebly under your Dream Lord. He too reaches his climax with a series of harsh, thunderous grunts as ropes and ropes of his warm cum invade your insides. His hips jerk into yours as he pumps the last of his seed before his movements halt entirely. With your bodies joined together, you both catch your breaths, and as you do, you feel your creator’s hands brush away the hair framing your forehead – so tender, so warm like he had not so savagely defiled you mere seconds ago.

Pulling out of you, he lays beside you and encases you in his arms and close to his chest, where you could hear his beating heart. You could feel him pepper your hair with kisses and whisper words of praise, but they’re lost to you in your wilted emotional, physical, and mental state. In his unyielding embrace, you stay for what seems like forever, already on the brink of unconsciousness, until you remember to ask:

“My Lord, can I roam the palace tomorrow?” you whisper against his pale skin.

You hear your creator hum against your hair in thought, letting a few moments pass.

Finally, he yields:

“If it pleases you, my little dream. Just don’t stray too far.”

His feathery kiss on your forehead is the last thing you remember as you fall into much-needed unconsciousness.

***

The morning that followed was as uneventful as the morning before. Your King had wordlessly indicated his want to lay with you before he left to attend to his duties – he had helped you don an off-shoulder auburn gown that had a slit running to your mid-thigh. He had not-so-subtly raked his fingers along your exposed skin, but he mercifully withdrew when he recognized you weren’t in a state to receive him so. He had instead planted a lingering kiss on your lips and uttered a promise to return before dusk, and promptly disappeared in a wave of sand. Finally, you were left to your own devices once more, in this prison of an aging castle.

Right after he leaves, you head straight back to bed; your mind is oddly blank for once – no intrusive thoughts, no intense emotional outbursts – it’s pure bliss, compared to the past few days of hellish mental torment. However, you had neither the energy nor the motivation, to get up and about just yet, even when your Dream Lord had already given his permission last night for you to look around the palace.

Right now, hugging a large pillow, all you wanted to do is to lay down and nap under the soft sheets.

You wake up to a pair of tiny hands shaking your form, and a tiny voice trying its best to get your attention.

“Princess, are you okay?” says the tiny voice laced with worry.

You get up to face a little boy, about six years old, in his pajamas, curiously ogling at you.

A little dreamer has found himself in your palace!

You flash him your first genuine smile in what seemed like weeks, glad for unexpected company, but a welcome one, all the same.

He blushes noticeably at your reaction, fidgeting on the hem of his shirt.

“Y-you’re really pretty, princess,” he says shyly, before biting his lip as he tries to fight the redness on his face in vain.

“Why, thank you, little one,” you say, before getting to your feet. 

Bristling at your choice of nickname, he says indignantly, “Hey, I’m not little!”

“Oh, my apologies,” you say, humouring him. “What would you like me to call you, then?”

He puffs up his chest proudly, putting on a very determined look. “I'm Ethan, Vanquisher of Dragons, and Commander of Legions. I’m your knight in shining armour, and I have come to rescue you!”

He’s simply adorable.

“Why, Ethan, Vanquisher of Dragons, and Commander of Legions, you have quite an impressive title. I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve been waiting for the day a brave knight would come through those doors and free me,” you say, beaming as you get on one knee so you could face him at his height. It has been a while since you entertained a mortal in his dreams, so Ethan is a breath of fresh air.

He seems to relish the compliment, as he grins cutely from ear to ear, before putting on a resolute expression once more.

“Is a dragon keeping you here, princess?”

You shake your head before responding with a despondent expression. “No, but an evil king. I used to be powerful, but he took my powers away and locked me up in here.”

Deep inside, you’re feeling giddy at the opportunity to passive-aggressively jab at your master and his actions.

“Then I shall fight him and free you from him!” Ethan declares dramatically with a closed fist.

“You are a courageous knight, Ethan. How will you fight him?”

This seems to stump your knight in shining armour.

“Uh, I don't know yet...” he says glumly, his shoulders drooping as he chews on his lower lip.

A brilliant idea suddenly crosses your mind. You had permission from the Evil King in question to roam the castle, right?

“I'll tell you what. I have a plan. We can look around the palace to see if we can find you a sword, and maybe even some armour! That way, you’ll be able to defeat the Evil King.”

Ethan’s eyes light up at your suggestion. “Really?”

You give him an enthusiastic nod, and get up, offering your hand as you do. Together you get out of the chamber and descend what seems like an endless spiral staircase. It turns out your King had imprisoned you in the tallest tower – whether it serves him a purpose, or it’s purely out of dramatic flair, you had no idea. You and your unexpected companion start exploring the castle and its seemingly endless corridors, scouring every corner for weapons. Every room you enter seems to have seen better days – sadly you find no books – threadbare furniture, mouldy, peeling wallpaper, and empty cabinets and chests. As you walk around, you learn a little more about your tiny companion. He’s the child of an English literature teacher with quite an expansive book collection, but he barely has time for him, he claims. So, alone most of the time, he finds great company in reading. He says his favourite is a book of fairy tales passed down to him by his grandfather. You also learn that his mother is currently in prison, but he doesn’t know exactly what for.

Hence, this dream of rescuing a princess trapped in an abandoned, old castle.

You both enter what seems like the banquet hall, with the banisters bearing the coat-of-arms of a long-gone clan still draping its walls and ceiling. At the end of the hall where an elevated platform stands is a throne made of wood and decorated with tarnished precious metals and empty grooves along its backrest and arms where jewels once were, and behind it, corroded suits of armour on wooden pedestals line against the wall where a torn tapestry is displayed.

With a squeal of delight, your little dreamer companion runs to one of the suits, yanking the sword – as he does, the whole suit comes apart and each piece falls with a resounding clang. He follows it with a cute ‘oopsie’ before trying them on.

You place a palm over your hand to stifle your giggles at the sight, before checking the other suits of armour. It’s clear they’re too big for his stature, so you inspect each one, trying to find a long dagger that could very well look like a sword on him. You find yourself greatly invested in this littler dreamer and his dream – it has been a long time since you had indulged a dreamer in their fantasy, and one so special, at that. You find a long dagger sheathed in one of the armour’s legs, thankfully with a scabbard, lest he injures himself with it (not that he’ll be harmed in his dreams, of course).

You approach him with a light skip to your steps and hand him the dagger. He takes it, wide-eyed, his mouth open in quiet glee.

“This is amazing! I’ve only seen them in the movies,” he comments as he removes the blade from its scabbard, admiring the shine.

“We need but a shield to keep you from the Evil King’s blade,” you say, ruffling his hair, which he swats away with a pout.

You look around for anything in the banquet hall that could count as one, but in the end, you both settle on a light wooden shield from one of the suits of armour that still looks a bit too large for him.

He pleads with you to practice, and you relent using the dullest blade you can find. As you both engage in mock fights, you decide to tell him stories of dreams that you had once crafted with your powers. You recount the dreams you have inspired in the writers you know he’d recognize. He takes all of it with childlike awe – 

But before you, it’s not Ethan you see – it’s someone tall, someone you had seemed to know so well by heart. The figure’s face, blurry in your sight, seems to evade your focus. In your head, you approach carefully to touch the face as it tilts, as if possessed by the same curiosity, but instead of touching the face, your fingers collide with a barrier. You instantly recoil, as if stung – 

“Princess? You dropped your sword,”

Ethan the Knight’s voice tear you away from your vision, and with a squeak of apology, you pick it up from the stone floor.

A swirl of sand makes its way to the banquet hall, indicating the arrival of a third company.

Your Dream Lord first glances at your form before acknowledging the dreamer, who had now stepped right in front of you in a commendable battle stance, dagger unsheathed, attempting to look as ferocious as he can. His features soften considerably at the sight.

Ethan declares, “Don't worry, princess, I'll protect you!” 

“And who might you be, little one?” Your creator asks gently, donning a smile he reserves only for his most precious of dreamers.

“I’m not little!” He yells crossly. “Are you the evil king that trapped her here?”

You look away to hide a burgeoning smirk.

The Dream Lord, seemingly growing more and more amused at the little Knight’s outburst, raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps I am.”

“And you took her powers away and locked her up in here?”

He tilts his head and flashes a knowing look at you before darting once more to the dreamer in your midst. “Indeed, I may have.”

“Well, I’m here to save her from you and free her!” He cries valiantly, advancing toward the Evil King before him with caution.

“Oh?” The Dream King drawls lazily. “And how will you save my princess from her entrapment?”

Ethan pauses at the Evil King’s question, before hesitantly saying, “I guess I'll have to fight you!”

Dream grins and hums in quiet laughter. He then takes graceful steps toward the dreamer before him and gets on one knee to reach his height.

“You are brave, young boy, Ethan, Vanquisher of Dragons, and Commander of Legions,” he compliments. “Alas, this princess is mine. I, however, can send you to another princess that may need your help.”

With a soft smile, the King doesn’t wait for Ethan to respond. He simply blows sand over his face, before it engulfs him and vanishes.

The Dream King gets to his feet wordlessly, putting on his usual blank mask.

“I don’t know how he got here,” you immediately say defensively to break the silence.

“Worry not, little dream,” he says reassuringly as he closes the distance between you two. “This may be a forgotten part of my Realm, but dreamers are still free to wander wherever their sleep takes them.”

Inches from you, he dips his head for a chaste kiss before silently beckoning you to follow. As you exit the banquet hall, he issues you a new order:

“Nevertheless, when one finds their way here, you are not to entertain them any further.”

You chew your inner cheek to bite back your objection. You spare one final look at the empty banquet hall before catching up with your master’s long strides, quietly saying farewell to both Ethan, and that blurry face in your head.

***

 This is your second sunset spent in your prison, except, instead of sulking inside the dingy chamber, you’re now taking in the view of miles and miles of the open sea. With it, you learn he’s keeping you on an island and the castle seems to have been built at the edge of its highest cliff, causing you to believe he might have chosen the location just for its melodrama. You look below, leaning on the stone railing, watching the waves crash against the jagged stones decorating the bottom of the cliff. The view is relaxing, if not for the circumstances that led you to it.

Behind you, you feel your Dream Lord approach. You feel his warm hands snake around your waist to embrace you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. Moments later, he plants a wet kiss on your exposed shoulder and drags his nose along the groove of your neck, taking in your scent.

“My dream, you smell like a flowering orchard in the spring,” he whispers huskily against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

When he doesn’t get a response out of you, he presses on:

“What makes you gaze so morosely on the horizon?”

“Where did you send the child to, my Lord?” you blurt out, unable to hold it in any longer.

“To a dream who would continue what you had begun.”

“I could have helped him.”

Your words came out so softly, you had doubted he caught them. Yet, you couldn’t help but sound a little bitter. You know what the boy truly dreamt of, and had your master given you the chance, you could’ve crafted him the dream yourself – perhaps even nudged him to dream of a future where he gets his mother out of prison as a lawyer – anything. But to send him away without completing the story he had invested so much on?

“Indeed, you may have, if you had your abilities.”

He manoeuvres you to face him, not wasting time pulling your bodies close. He pushes you against the railing so you feel the cold stone against your back. You lean away from him as you prop your elbows on the cold surface, but, with an intimidating look, he dips his head so he’s inches away from your face. It’s a gesture meant to cow you into obedience.

“But I will not restore them,” he says with a final tone. “Not when you’ve used them in the past in your attempt to escape me.”

To avoid the fiery gaze so closely directed at you, you turn your head to the side, but the grip on your chin forces you to face him fully. His mouth crashes into yours in a possessive kiss as his hands madly roam your body. As he deepens your kiss, sucking and gently nipping your lower lip, he reaches for the sleeves of your dress and drags it down, letting it pool around your waist, to bare your breasts in the cool, dusk wind. You bristle at his action and break the kiss as your nipples pebble in the cold, but his lips latch onto your jawline at once as he massages both your exposed mounds.

“My Lord, please, we’re on the balcony – !”

“Did you not refer to me as the ‘Evil King?’ If so, then this is my Kingdom,” he interrupts with a teasing tone. “I shall have you wherever I please.”

Your protest dies down in your throat and is replaced by a breathy moan as he buries his face between your cleavage while he pinches your nipples, licking every inch of your skin his mouth can find. Once his mouth finds a nipple and sucks it, you throw your head back, warmth gushing between your legs at the sensation. Mechanically, you arch your back against him as your hand finds its way through his silky black hair. He then moves to the other nipple while one of his hands reaches the slit of your dress. He hikes up your gown and, reaching the now-aching flesh between your legs, he snakes inside your panties and parts your wet folds.

As he rubs your clit, he whispers against your breast, “You’re so wet for me, my dream.” 

Your only response is a loud moan – he had just inserted a finger inside your core and started pumping in and out. He pulls away from your chest so he could watch your face, flushed and scrunched up in pleasure. He smirks smugly as he draws out the sounds from your throat, seemingly relishing how he’s making you react.

He watches you whine in his hold with a small grin as he abruptly withdraws his finger. He makes a quick move of turning you around so you face the balcony railing. Behind you, you feel him pull your skirt up to your waist as he pushes your back to lean further toward the railing. Once it dawns on you what he’s about to do, you try to wiggle away and reason with him.

“My Lord, please, don’t…”

But all he does is lean over your back and whisper in your ear, “I’ve always fantasized about taking you in the balcony of my own chambers,” he says huskily as you feel him push your underwear to the side and align the tip of his cock on your opening. “The King, and his princess, consummating their union for the entire Dreaming to see.”

Your whimpers are completely ignored as he buries his length inside you. The act still brings a dull, stinging sensation, stretching your inner walls uncomfortably. As he bottoms out, however, the ache fades away, and you’re left with the intense pleasure of feeling full to the brim, eliciting a string of raspy mewls from you. He starts sliding in and out of your slick walls while both his hands grip your waist with bruising strength, pulling you to him as he does. He picks up a laborious pace at first, taking his time to draw out needy whines from your throat. When he hits your g-spot, you throw your head back with a loud moan, but he pushes your shoulder down to keep you bent over as he increases the speed and strength of his thrusts. Now moaning loudly and close to screaming, you hold on for dear life on the stone railing as he tightens his grip on your waist, while his other hand bunches your hair with his fist and tugs it as he pushes in and out of your inner walls. He leans close to your ear so you could hear him grunting as he takes you.

“Tell me, my dream,” comes his hot whisper. “Who do you belong to?”

But you couldn’t think clearly, not when you’re trying so hard not to fall apart underneath him. He gives on harsh tug on your hair and a forceful thrust inside you, making you cry out.

“I belong to you…” you manage to let out amidst your cries of pleasure.

“Louder, little dream,” he commands in your ear.

You let out shrill screams as he hits your spot repeatedly. “I’m yours, my Lord, my King…” you croak, as if in prayer.

“Very good. You belong to me, your Lord, your King, your Creator. I’m your everything, as you are mine,” he growls, ramming his cock into your core with so much force it makes your knees buckle.

Your Dream Lord then brings your torso close to his, his one hand cupping your breast, while his other arm wraps around your waist to support you as he thrusts upward. As he continues his unrelenting pace, he squeezes your breast and leaves angry bite marks along the groove of your neck and shoulder. Within minutes in this position, you find sweet release, screaming hoarsely into the night, while your Lord continues intensifying your orgasm as he chases his. His orgasm follows yours shortly after, growling in pleasure, biting down on your shoulder while he pumps his generous seed inside your core and sends heat into your belly.

Both panting heavily, he stays inside you as he holds you steady – to an outsider, it may look almost romantic, the way he nuzzles your neck and softly pecks the inflamed welts he left in his passion mere moments ago. As you struggle to catch your breath, your Dream Lord pulls out of you, allowing the juices of your union to leak to your inner thighs before he undoes your belt, the only thing holding your dress together. He completely disrobes you in the cold, night air and tears away your underwear. Hooking his arm under your knees, he picks you up, bridal style, and takes you to the bed: it seems he isn’t finished with you for the night.

You lie to your side in an almost fetal position, while your King, who had already shed his clothes, lays behind you, assuming the same pose. As he cuddles you close, your back touching his chest, you feel him part your lower cheeks as the tip of his hard member probes your entrance. With a grunt, he forces himself inside you – you could only manage a whimper of protest in this state, and you let him take you – again, and again, and again – he doesn’t stop rutting into you with insatiable abandon, until you come apart four times on his hold, moaning and sobbing feebly. He then shoots his load inside your core, groaning loudly in his release – and you wonder: is this truly your life now, doomed to a mere thing of pleasure for him to take as he pleases? Will it be like this every night as you share his bed?

These questions remain unanswered as you fall into the blissful state of dreamless sleep, the only realm where you can pretend, for at least a few hours, that you aren’t a princess in need of rescuing, and that no evil king is keeping you locked up in the tallest tower of his castle.

***

The dark of night was starting to give way to dawn’s orange hues when you stirred awake, mainly because you had felt your Dream King plant a kiss on your forehead. He had then told you softly that he had to be early, and had encouraged you to go back to sleep, further tucking you under the covers. You remember that he had also blown a bit of sand to your face to help.

Next thing you know, you’re lying on the stone floor of an unfamiliar room – circular, cold, empty, and windowless, except for that tiny opening near the tall ceiling letting in a bit of sunlight. You’re in a dungeon lined with dirty stone bricks. The problem is, you don’t know how you got here, or what for.

Sleepwalking? That’s a new thing.

Slowly, you get to your feet, looking for an exit. To your relief, the door has been left ajar, but the Voice seems to insist on staying.

It’s here, it’s here, it keeps saying over and over.

“What is?”

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

Author notes on the Chapter:

Talk about Dream being horny 24/7 lol Next chap, another beloved canon character appears! Take a guess who? :P

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Author's notes in general:

Thank you, THANK YOU for reading!!

Please engage, comment and reblog!! I love feedback from you guys :) This is my first ever fic, so kindness is truly appreciated!

Thank you to my queen @queenshelby @endlessdreamqueen3 for encouraging me to pen this, as well as to my fellow Dark!Morpheus writers whose work I have thoroughly enjoyed and keep rereading :)

Post date: 1/6/22

Edit date: 1/6/22

Taglist: Just lemme know please if you want to be added, too!

Tagging the following:

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---

sorry for the late reblog. was busy in school stuff..

anyways..

Though it’s sad, I was kinda expecting this outcome in the dynamics between Mera and Dream. The only reason that the relationship would seem functional was for her to develop a combination of stockholm syndrome and an unhealthy trauma response.  

If only Dream learnt early on how to not be a creep, then Mera would probably be endeared to him.

The Dream That Got Away

Chapter 13

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x You (no Y/N!)

This is a multi-chapter fic — Weekly updates (either Saturday or Sunday) because I found a rhythm of sorts lol

(The entire fic has been outlined, so I will see this to the end, you have my word)

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Link to the Masterlist

Overall Warnings!! Take heed:

Morpheus is DARK – in canon, he changes for the better (or at least, tries to – but we don’t do canon lol, so he goes even more batshit crazy) cue obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, powerplay

18+ ONLY – explicit scenes will be present, some explicit language

DUB-CON and NON-CON scenes

Character death (sort of)

Creator vs Creation drama

And other dark stuff that may be added in the future

This chapter’s warnings:

graphic dub-con ahead - turn back now if this disturbs you :)

touch-starved Morpheus should be a warning of its own

PTSD and trauma angst, and selective amnesia (depicted creatively) resulting from trauma

reader still hearing voices

manipulation galore

You have been warned!! Proceed with caution!!!

Link to the previous chapter

Chapter 13: Under the Starry Night Sky

You whip your head around in alarm at the voice, a young woman’s, that had just entered the room and echoed inside the dungeon.

Impossible. Could she have –?

She stands in the corner of the dungeon twirling her wild, multi-coloured, shoulder-length hair, wearing a brown coat too large for her petite frame over her underwear and what seems to be a torn fishnet body suit. She has the appearance of a teenager, but there’s something about her that feels like she’s older than she looks – dangerous, powerful…  

Endless.

“I don’t like being ogled at. That’s a funny word, but ‘gawk’ is even funnier, I think,” she says, her voice almost having the quality of a thousand colours in the spectrum. “I do that a lot, these days – think? Even right now, I’m thinking of thinking, while also thinking about what you’re thinking.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ogle, or gawk, or stare,” you amend, flashing her a small smile in greeting. “Lady Delirium.”

She ignores your greeting and favours continuing her line of questioning.

“I can also hear the Voice thinking, but it already went quiet.”

Your smile is wiped off your face at once at her words. Before you, Lady Delirium keeps muttering to herself, confirming what you had dreaded when she walked in.

“I hear voices all the time, you know. There’s that one from the butcher shop, then two coming from a saleslady at a posh department store – I never liked their clothes, they always look so, uh, posh-y, I don’t know the word really. Then there’s this one lady who can actually see me, except no one believes her. But the voice inside her talks to me too. Yours won’t talk now. Do you know ‘what’s here’?”

“I don’t know, actually,” you say slowly, trying to choose your words carefully. “You mean, you can actually hear it?”

Swaying on her feet, she starts creating bubbles out of thin air, popping them with glee. “Oh yeah. It’s not very friendly to me. Not yet anyway, they all become my friends in the end. What about you? Are you a friend?”

Caught by surprise at the question, you stammer, “I – but of course, i-if my Lady wishes me so,” you manage with a shy smile.

“Great!” Lady Delirium exclaims, taking both your hands in hers. Her wide, mismatched eyes look into yours with delight, and you return her toothy grin, even if you find her stare somewhat unnerving – it’s a stare that feels like it sees you bare, looking through and living in your innermost thoughts.

“I’ve heard friends help each other find what they lost. You see, we lost a brother,” she says as she quite literally drags you out of the dungeon by the sleeve. You both reach the foot of a staircase, presumably ascending to one of the main halls, where she stops suddenly, looking at you with doe eyes and a pout. “I tried convincing my siblings to help me look for him, but they all turned me away like I was a n-n-uuu-isaaance.”

Right before you, she pauses her speech as her hair transitions from her rainbow-coloured hair, shortening to almost a dull, badly cut bob. She pops a lone bubble dolefully, before asking, “Do you think I’m a nnuuu-iiissaaance, Mera?”

“Of course not, my Lady,” you reply with a soft smile, recalling a certain Endless who had turned away and rejected your pleas. “I know the feeling.”

“So, you’ll help me find my brother? The one we lost, I mean, not the mean one, or Destiny, ‘cause he’s not going anywhere, he never leaves his garden, you know…”

“I’ll help in any way I can.”

“Yay!!”

With a thrilled squeal, Lady Delirium lets go of you and climbs the stairs, with you following behind.

Shit. Suddenly, you remember: she can hear the Voice and she may very well tell her brother.

“Uh, Lady Delirium?” you call out to her as she wobbles in her steps off the far end of the hallway.

“Yeah?”

“Remember how you said we can be friends?” you start, shooting her a hopeful look. “Can you keep the Voice you heard a secret? Please?”

She turns her head at you, her mouth forming a comical ‘o’ at your request. Finally, she says, “Sure, I keep many secrets, I’m rather good at them! The people who see me tend to reveal stuff, and even if they don’t really like telling them, they tell me anyway. Even Dream has a secret, but I can’t tell you…” With a flair, she places her forefinger to her lips.

“Thank you, Lady Delirium,” you say with a relieved sigh.

Taking your hand once more, she walks on, turning right to another hallway you’re not familiar with. She continues telling you stories that don’t connect and don’t make sense, but you listen anyway, knowing she could teach you a thing or two.

“I know where we can start looking for my brother. He created the Abyss, and Dream offered it a place to stay somewhere here, in his realm, but I don’t really know where. But I’m close, I think? I just rowed to the wrong island, I think.”

“Hang on,” you wonder, your curiosity spiking. “Isn’t that just a myth? The Abyss?”

“I suppose it could be for someone who hasn’t really seen it,” she just replies casually.

After three of four left turns and five rights, you later find yourselves in the same hallway as before when you came out of the dungeon’s staircase.

“My Lady, I think we’re lost…” you comment, looking around for another way out besides what you’ve already passed.

Her only reply is cryptic.

“Being lost is only temporary, but if it isn’t, then maybe you’re meant to be there and you’re not really lost, I dunno,” she says with a nonchalant shrug. She then pushes the door to her left open and enters, with you trailing behind.

You’re greeted by the sight of the tall, all-black figure of Dream of the Endless, standing in the middle of the room.

“My sister, my Dream,” he acknowledges you both, tilting his head in his sister’s direction. “What brings you both here? Little sister, you know better than to enter my realm without consulting me in my Gallery.”

“But you weren’t answering, and Desire told me to ‘go away,’” she counters, her hair growing rapidly and turning ash-blonde with red and green highlights. At her brother’s hard, chastising stare, she continues, her voice quivering as if trying not to cry, “And Death is busy, as always, and Destiny just kept telling me nonsense, I couldn’t make out any of his words, and Despair told me to ‘give up’ but you know I can’t, I just miss our brother terribly and what if something bad happened, or something…so there.”

The Dream Lord sighs in mild irritation before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We have been through this, little sister. Our brother does not want to be found. Now, I have my realm to attend to. Perhaps it’s best you return to yours.”

“I knew you’d say that,” she says with a dejected sigh. “At least Mera was kind enough to offer help.” She sticks her tongue out at her brother, before waving at you farewell and disappearing into a blinding, white crack in the space.

***

You had expected (or hoped?) to see Lady Delirium again, but you don’t see a single hair of hers after her visit. More than a month has since passed – but then again, you had stopped counting since the second week. You’re still imprisoned – in the castle and in your own mind. If you aren’t catatonically staring out to open the sea or the grey walls, or in bed, sleeping, you take to locking yourself up in the bathroom after your Dream Lord leaves for his duties. The Voice isn’t much help either. It has so far only spoken one thing since it’s been heard by Lady Delirium: the word ‘dungeon.’ Exactly what the fuck that meant, you had entirely no clue. Perhaps it isn’t really the Voice you heard, but you going out of your mind. After all, why would Lady Delirium choose to come to you, if you had not started going over the edge?

Having so much time alone by yourself, you had every opportunity to replay the events that had led to your imprisonment, but since that day you saw a vision of the blurry man in Ethan the Knight’s place, your memory has been coming in fragments, if not an entirely blank sheet. No matter how hard you try or how loud you scream, nothing would come, except distorted shapes and muddled emotions.

It has been hours since your Dream Lord left this morning. As you sit on the cold bathroom floor hugging your knees to your chest, crying desperately for any recall that wouldn’t come, it dawns on you that you had hit rock bottom and are in bad need of help.

You had called to him many times before. Will he listen to your pleas this time?

***

Dream of Endless expects that when he comes home to you and to the tower he’s keeping you in, he’ll find you on the bathroom floor sulking.

He had known for quite some time that you had switched from watching the sea melancholically to hiding in the bathroom whenever he’s gone away. He has watched you gradually spiral into depression at being left in the castle for long periods of time without anything to do besides wandering the decrepit fortress, and there are some days he wonders to himself whether he had gone too far in punishing you, if your recent brush with his sister Delirium is anything to go by. On those days in question, he would find his resolve weakening when he hears you plead so woefully beside him as he holds you close in the night, but of course, he never lets it show. In response, would only shush your crying in the softest ways he can – you had to learn, you had to live through your penance before he could shower you with all the luxury the whole of Dreaming can offer. He could not let you, his most beloved, walk away without so much as a slap on your wrist for defying his orders and daring to love anyone else other than him, to whom all your love, affection, and loyalty should belong. It had hurt him the way you continued spurning him, true, but your suffering brought him no joy. Also, although he had thoroughly taken boundless pleasure in every single night he had laid with you, it certainly does not sit well with him to have to force you to fulfil your duties to him, your King, as the King himself does to his realm. No matter: he is sure you will one day see the error of your ways.

And he had another reason for keeping you in the tower and away from everyone else: he knew from the very beginning that isolating you – when you’re still mourning the loss of that detestable mortal that dared keep you from him by way of that deplorable magic – would drive you to inconsolable spirits, and who better to save you from despair than him? He is aware he had started to chip off your rebelliousness, and you had started seeking him yourself to plead your case – he will take you back to his palace eventually, and if he does it at just the right time, he might be able to push you further into accepting your place beside him as his princess-consort.

Morpheus arrives on the balcony of the tower, tired from a long day and very much ready to spend the entire night hogging your warmth. He lets out an imperceptible sigh of relief – since he has placed you here, he has looked forward to coming home to you every night. He could just see how happy you would both be in each other’s arms under the pale moonlight of the Dreaming once he has reinstated your place in his own palace at the heart of his kingdom.

The instant he steps inside the room, he hears soft sobs coming from the bathroom. He reaches you in no time, sitting beside you on the floor and scooping you in his arms. It warms his heart the way you wrap your arms around him at once; he knows you’re starved for company, so he relishes the willing contact. He buries his face in your hair, greedily taking in your scent.

“My Lord, please,” he hears you beg against his shirt, your voice cracking from crying all day. “Please, take me back to the palace, I beg you. I’m trying not to lose my mind, but it’s just so damn hard when all I get to see is this stupid, decaying castle all the time.”

“It pains me to see you this distraught, dream of mine,” he replies softly as he caresses your exposed cheek with his forefinger. Has he pushed you close to your limit?

“Then, free me, my Lord…please,” you choke out.

Vaguely, he recalls the same words from a woman he thought he once loved: one he had sent to Hell for scorning him as you have done.

This time, could he find it in his heart to forgive?

But, this woman was nothing like you, the dream he had so lovingly and meticulously crafted to perfection.

Morpheus carefully chooses his next words. “My Mera, I do not mean to cause you so much anguish.”

Your voice comes as a faint whisper, but the subtle rebuke in it makes him pause momentarily.

“And yet you insist on keeping me here as punishment for something I can’t even remember…

“I know I did something bad, I tried to escape, but my memory – they come in fragments. And I try, but every time I think I’m close, everything becomes blurry again,” you say weakly as he feels your trembling hand crumple his shirt to try to stave off the fresh bout of tears.

“I just want to go back, please…”

Dream, lost for words, places a lingering kiss on your hair as he weaves his sand to send you to unconsciousness. If you were on the brink of mental collapse, he needs you in deep sleep to confirm his suspicions.

He had vowed to himself never to stoop so low as to dive into your mind, let alone even touch your thoughts, but he had to see for himself what your state of mind has become. Once inside, he immediately notices a barrier: behind it are memories of Oliver Chapman and all the time you spent with him – all of it he finds revolting and insulting, it actually leaves a bitter, lingering taste on his tongue. He watches every single memory with shaking fists, allowing his bitter jealousy to course through his veins. This is the first time he’s looking into your so-called love through your eyes, and he wants nothing at that moment but to squeeze the life out of the man that had stolen you right under his nose. He turns away when he gets to a kiss you shared at a bar – he might not help himself from spilling the mortal’s blood if he so much as witnessed another one, and a kiss you had willingly shared with him, at that. Seeing you readily run to the arms of that man felt like he had been stabbed in the heart – what he had sought from you, you had freely given to another: that fact alone is enough to make his Endless blood boil. He then remembers he has a nightmare he’s about to finish – it could be time he assigned that nightmare to torment only the human specifically?

Shaking himself from his train of thought, he remembers what he came here for – torturing the man can wait. He taps the glass-like barrier you had encased those abhorrent memories in.

Admittedly, he had thought of doing this himself just so you could forget your love for the cursed Chapman, but it seems like you had beaten him to it. You had apparently done this yourself subconsciously, likely in order to shield yourself from further trauma. Your own subconscious has declared that memories of your love for that mortal were a danger to your wellbeing, to which he agrees enthusiastically. He sneers slightly in mild amusement: he had powers that now could rival the Morningstar himself, so he could simply shatter the barrier without breaking a sweat. But, why would he?

He had, at last, gotten rid of his rival to your heart, and he didn’t even have to lift a finger.

Satisfied with this development, he ceases his connection to your mind and carries you to the bed, noting how you had turned so frail in your time here. He lays down on your side so he could cuddle you close and listen to your beating heart, which he knows one day will beat only for him.

Perhaps it’s time he takes you back to his castle. And if he plays his cards right, he would have you so grateful that he had finally come to your aid and you’d ultimately surrender to him fully, as he had always envisioned you would.

***

Morpheus wakes you up the next morning to deliver the news. He never tears his eyes away from the way your eyes slowly light up as the realization of freedom hits you, to the way you give him the warmest, most genuine smile he has ever seen from you since his capture. He tries not to be blinded by it, even as the smile is fully directed at him and no one else, like it always should.

“Allow me three days to ensure that you want for nothing in your return.”

Inwardly, he praises himself at the idea of making you wait a little more – he would build up your hope and excitement for your return, making you even more pliable to his wishes. He sees your smile falter a little at the mention of waiting, but what are three more days, when your King is at long last granting what you had so endearingly begged for?

He finds it difficult to keep his composure when you wrap your arms around him in a delicate hug – he just melts in it as he tightens the hug. He couldn’t help burying his face in the groove of your neck, inadvertently planting an innocent kiss. He allows himself a tiny smirk – everything is going according to his plan.

***

The ray of hope that filtered through the room in the form of your freedom was thin, but it was enough to brighten your room a little when your Dream Lord leaves for his duties. This was the only good news you’d ever heard since your imprisonment; you had not been able to stop yourself from impulsively hugging him at the height of your emotions.

It’s when he’s left, however, that the Voice makes known its opinion:

Don’t trust him.

This makes you wonder: is this promise of his another one of his cruel mind games? You know well enough of your master to tell that he can change his mind on a whim, and you realize he might just take it all back the moment he feels the slightest resistance from you.

But in all honesty, what else could you do, knowing he’s your only way out of this place? You release a heavy puff as you sit on the edge of the bed so you could compose yourself. If you could last the next three days being the demure subject and obeying your King’s bidding, he’d have no reason to go back on his word.

Either way you go, you’re screwed.

Thankfully for you, the next two days coasted by with nothing but your frazzled nerves to deal with. Your Dream King had been merciful enough to sense that you weren’t in the mood to sleep with him in any way, so he let you be, only holding you close to his chest as he waited for you to fall asleep. You had drowsily asked him a random question about how you hadn’t seen Jessamy; he had responded after a long pause about his beloved raven’s death at the hands of his captors. He had spoken with so much vulnerability, you actually caressed his face with your fingers to try and comfort him before drifting off. It was probably the only time he’d ever be vulnerable with you.

You watch the afternoon sun in the Dreaming slowly sink into the horizon, painting the sky and sea with a thousand shades of purples and oranges, signalling the kingdom’s passage to a starry night its King is partial to.

That means the monarch in question is about to arrive to spend his night with you in your prison cell.

***

Dream of the Endless appears on the balcony a little after the sun has fully set and the stars have begun glittering in the night sky. He finds you there, staring at the sea, and he watches you turn gracefully to acknowledge him, your silhouette standing out against the midnight blue sky. He feels his heart warm at the way you hold his gaze for a few moments – but then you turn away, breaking the spell. You’re still uneasy around him, it seems.

But, to him, it’s a simple fix: once he takes you back to his castle, he’ll never let you leave his side. You’ll have all the time in the universe to start warming up to him.

He approaches your side languidly, never speaking a word as he takes in the scenery, allowing only the hushed sounds of waves crashing against the rocky cliff to break the silence. This will probably be the last time in a long while that he’ll have you fully to himself – he knows other creatures of the Dreaming would take up your time, because who wouldn’t love their new princess-consort? – and so he just wants to savour this moment, and this night, with you.

Quietly, he looks up at the star-filled sky, fondly recalling a promise he had made to you in your sleep.

“A little more than a hundred years ago, I vowed that you’d fall asleep in my arms under the Dreaming stars.”

Morpheus turns to face you fully, and you do the same, perhaps out of habit, he muses, but you continue averting your eyes, looking at anything but him. This wouldn’t do, of course, so lifts your chin with a finger and, closing the distance between you, he kisses your soft lips, revelling in your taste. He feels your lips move against his, albeit shyly, but it doesn’t matter – it’s enough to fuel the fire stirring within him like only you could, and nothing else, no one else, could quell it for him. He cups your cheek and angles his head to deepen the kiss, allowing his tongue to repeatedly slide over yours as you bashfully try to keep up.

But a passionate lip lock isn’t enough – it’s never enough for him – he wants you, he’s always wanted only you, and he wastes no time wrapping his arms around your figure as his sand transports you both to a portion of the island he had prepared for this night. He places both his hands on your waist to steady you before you break your footing as you both land on the seashore. Reluctant as he was to break your kiss, he pulls away so he could carry you, bridal style, to the bed that he had fashioned out of his sand just mere seconds ago. Unlike the bed in the tower, it had no upper panels, allowing for an unobstructed view of the Dreaming’s dark, starry canvas. He lays you down on the silky covers like you’re a porcelain doll he’s afraid to break, before shedding these troublesome clothes he had with a wordless command. He gets on the bed, his thighs on both sides of your hips straddling you. He leans closer to you, his lips stopping just a hairbreadth away from yours, and he speaks:

“You will find that I intend to be true to my word.”

He then sits up, intent on admiring the way look, splayed out underneath him so exquisitely; with your chest visibly heaving up and down in anticipation of his touches, and your hair fanning out to reveal that beauty of a face he crafted. He needs to see more of you, so much more, and yet he gives himself the joy of untying your belt, the only thing that holds your dress in place, with the gentleness akin to unwrapping a fragile gift. Slowly, he peels the dress off, baring that perfect body he so lovingly crafted – it’s all for him to see, to taste, to take, and he plans on reacquainting himself with every inch of you as if he had not already done so almost every night for the past month.

With his hands, he traces every part of you slowly, remembering how he poured his heart out when he crafted you. He begins with your lips, still red from the kiss you shared, to your neck, which he laments is still empty of his marks – he must do something about that, but not a moment too soon. His fingers find their way to your breasts, lazily brushing over your nipples as they perk under his touch. But then, when you start trembling underneath him, he glances at your face: he finds your eyes squeezed shut, with tears gathering at the corners – you were trying to conceal your sobs from him.

Why do you cry so, when all he means is to give you endless ecstasy? Could it be that you still longed for someone else, when he had made it explicitly clear that you belonged to him? Could you be thinking of that mortal? His jaw clenches with ire at the thought, but he reels that feeling in – he is aware of how you’re subconsciously repressing the memories you have of that man, so he needs to think rationally and focus on you.

Besides, there is no one else who can pleasure you the way he does.

“No more of your tears, my little dream. Do not fret: I will make you feel good.”

It matters not to him the way you shake your head in denial – he bends down to kiss your tears away, before moving to capture your lips. He needs you to feel just much you’re sending him on edge with longing, and so he marks you: your jaw, your neck, your collarbones – he covers them in no time with angry welts as he alternates between sucking and biting your flesh. He could feel the blood rushing to his groin, but he sets aside seeking his relief for later, knowing you need it more than him. When his mouth finds one of your breasts and his teeth graze your nipple, you arch your back to him and moan. He bites down even harder, emboldened by your response, and moves to the other breast and lavishes it with just as much attention. The hand that isn’t squeezing your breast traces downwards from your stomach down to the mound between your legs, and he hears you gasp audibly before panting. Gently, he massages your folds, taking delight in the way he makes you wet and start squirming in his grasp. He’s thirsty, and only your nectar could fill him – he places one final lick on your breasts before caressing his way down to your folds. He parts your thighs, admiring the way your opening glistens with wetness. He makes sure he never breaks eye contact with you as he lowers down and starts delving right in.

The moment he starts lapping your juices, you let out a breathy moan and lift your hips to meet his mouth. Grabbing one of your inner thighs to still you, he parts your folds using his tongue and starts flicking your nub with it. The way you cry out makes his cock twitch in anticipation – he’s painfully hard now, but he knows he needs to hold out for you. He intensifies your pleasure by inserting his middle finger into your tight opening. You jerk at the intrusion, but he holds you still while he sucks your clit, sliding his finger in and out and enjoying the way you shake beneath him. Once he adds a second finger inside, he feels you tug his hair harshly. He lets out a pleasured groan and picks up the pace he set with his fingers. He knows you’re close, so he lets his fingers brush over your spot as the continues to suck in your sweet nectar. In no time, your thighs start trembling as you cry your climax out, and like a starved man, he laps up everything you offer him. He then leans back just in time to see you come undone, gasping for air as you finish. He withdraws his fingers from you, coated in your arousal. He gently opens your mouth and issues a command to lick it clean. It stirs him up further, the way you look at him with innocence as you suck them with puckered lips. When he’s satisfied with your work, he takes your hand and places it on his throbbing erection.

“Can you not see the effect you have on me, my Mera? No one else can make me feel the way you do,” he purrs, guiding your fumbling hand up and down his shaft.

But, like always, he wants his undoing to be after you had found yours multiple times, and he prefers being inside you as he does, so he releases your hand and lowers himself closer to your body so he could breathe you in. He clasps his length and uses it to part your folds before positioning himself over your slick opening.

Dream releases a sigh of relief as he slides inside your velvety walls – inside you is where finds his home – and how he wishes he could stay within you forever. He enters you gradually, but it’s pure torture for him to wait as your strangled cries die down, when all he could think of is taking you wildly, so he breathes heavily as he rolls his hips ever-so-slightly to seek some form of comfort. You’re so tight around him, he couldn’t help the groan of pleasure that escapes him as your walls clamp around his length. He begins with slow, deliberate thrusts, while he watches you fist the sheets beneath you. He takes your arms and wraps them around himself so you could hold on to him. As he sets a sensual pace, he drowns out your sobbing with his mouth and runs his tongue over your lips, tasting your salty tears. He knows your tears will eventually turn to cries of pleasure, so he needs to be patient. He continues this laborious pace of his to draw out your little whimpers while he licks and sucks on your jawline and massages your breasts. Eventually, he feels you instinctively meet his hips, so his thrusts become harder and faster, and you reward him by digging your nails into his back and moaning louder. He would never tire of hearing you make such sweet music as he hits your spot over and over.

He then hooks your leg around his waist to deepen his thrusts – he grunts with every roll of your hips together, and for a time, your bodies move in perfect sync. Within minutes, your screams of pleasure fill the shore, and he knows he’s about to bring you over the edge – so he grasps your hips and finally starts taking you in the rhythm and force he had craved since the beginning. He lets loose as his thrusts become more unforgiving, and with a harsh snap of his hips, you come undone beneath him, your body quivering all over as your walls clench desperately around his cock. Right before his eyes is a vision of you he burns into his memory: your hair damp with sweat, your eyelashes fluttering as your eyes close, mouth parted in desire as you scream obscenities into the night – you had never looked more ravishing in his eyes.

But he isn’t done with you yet, not by a stretch. He allows you to catch your breath, but only for a while – he then flips your positions over swiftly so you’re lying on top of him, careful not to pull out of you. He growls a command over your ears:

“Ride your King, dream of mine, and make yourself come.”

And like the obedient little dream you are, you sit up and start moving shyly on top of him, withdrawing from his cock and sinking back down. He watches intensely as you rock your hips, your breasts bouncing with every movement. He reaches up to cup one with his hand as his other digs into your waist so he could control your pace as he thrusts upward. You continue grinding into him until you come apart for the second time, throwing your head back so he could get a clear view of your neck and collarbones littered with his love bites. The sight is almost enough to bring him to the edge, he has to hold himself back, clenching his jaw and growling as your core tightens around his length – you, above him, screaming hoarsely in your passion, bathed from head to toe in the light of a billion stars: his ethereal goddess, his only lover, collapsing on top of him in full bliss.

Morpheus is done waiting, he decides. He slides from underneath you and helps you get on all fours, with your elbows propped for support. From behind you, he gets into position, lifting your hips further in the air, and sinks his throbbing cock inside you. His breath hitches at the way you readily take him in while you make a strangled noise at his intrusion. He senses that you’re close to being overstimulated by the way you try to wriggle away, but he grips your hips with bruising force to keep you in place.

He does not start right away – he just rolls his hips softly, even though it brought him endless torment, restraining himself like so. After a short while, he hears you whine and start pushing into him, but with a sadistic smirk, he holds your hips still.

“Please, my Lord…” he hears you beg beneath him.

Leaning over your ear, Dream whispers, “‘Please’ what, my dream? Use your words.”

“Get it over with, please, I can’t take it anymore,” comes your pained reply.

He just lets out a dark chuckle which makes you shiver. Oh, how he enjoys teasing you like so. “Those aren’t the right words.”

He hears you let out an indignant whimper, before letting out in an embarrassed whisper, “Please, just fuck me, my Lord, please…”

He need not be told twice.

“As my little dream wishes.”

With the force and speed only an Endless could muster, Morpheus ruts into you with wanton abandon, chasing after his own release. The way your core clamps around his cock as he pounds into you relentlessly makes him groan loudly into the night, while your hoarse moans and cries fill his ears, making for one sinful harmony. Not one to neglect you, he starts rubbing your clit, earning hoarse screams from you. He sets a pace you could no longer keep up with, so he tightens his grip on your hips as he pulls you towards him. He has only one thought as he focuses on the way his cock fully sinks into your body again and again: he will never take another lover in his lifetime, he will never want anyone else – he only burns for you, and he will continue to burn only for you even as the last star in the universe gives its last dying flicker.

He is close, and he can feel it; he starts losing his rhythm, his hips slamming into yours with strength that makes you buckle – as you climax beneath him, your walls clamp down on his cock with so much pressure, he loses control: with a roar that shakes the entire island and the ocean surrounding it, Dream’s orgasm hits him in shockwaves – time slows around him as he says your name over and over like a prayer to the goddess underneath him. He releases his seed and fills you up with it, while you clench and milk him for all he’s worth – he pumps inside you until he’s got nothing more to give, eventually stilling his movements, before you both collapse on the bed, with him rolling to the side, careful not to crush you.

Wasting no time, he pulls you close so you could listen to his heartbeat – will you pull away, like you always do? It always hurt him a little bit when do after you had shared such an intimate act, so when you stay limp in his arms, he holds you even closer, as he kisses you so softly, so deeply, letting his lips convey what he couldn’t with words. He then pulls away, sensing you were in no state to respond and strokes your cheeks while he watches your eyes flutter in exhaustion. You both listen to the gentle crashing of the waves on the shore under the starry night, the only witnesses to how he made love to you all night with an all-consuming passion.

Finally, he confesses into the night:

“I hold your heart so dearly, my Mera – would it be so much to ask of you to hold mine, too?”

But the only response he receives is your deep steady breathing, signalling you’d already fallen asleep. Nevertheless, his heart sings at his fulfilled promise. He has many more of them to carry out just for you, and you have nothing but an eternity ahead to open up to him.

***

The first thing that registers when you come to is the hollow pain in your lower abdomen. That had been a normal occurrence for you this past month since you had begun sharing your master's bed, especially from last night’s activities. You sit up, suddenly feeling a different set of sheets underneath you from the one you had slept in last night. You rub the sleep away from your eyes before looking around wildly, half-expecting you’d still be looking at the grey, stone-brick walls and grimy windows.

What greets you makes you jump out of bed and ignore the throbbing ache between your legs.

The room you woke up to is large and blindingly white, owing to the marble floors and walls and sunlight streaming from the windows spanning from the floor to the ceiling and the doors that open to an expansive balcony. You had slept and woken up to this a few times before and remember it clear as day.

You’re in your Dream Lord’s chambers.

You must have lost your mind at last, and you’re just hallucinating all of this, you think. This can’t be real, right? Could he really have brought you back, knowing how much you resisted him last night?

You wrap the silk sheets around your naked body and slowly saunter to the open balcony in disbelief.

But the scenery that unfolds before you do not vanish, as visions often do. With tears cascading down your cheeks, you stare with wonder at the beauty of the heart of the Dreaming like it’s your first time, finally convincing yourself that this is real thisisreal –

“My dream,” comes a deep, velvety voice from behind you.

Your creator, closing in on you, cups your tear-stained cheeks and gently plants a kiss on your forehead.

“You’re home.”

This confirmation is all it takes for you to burst into tears of unadulterated joy.

Do not trust him, is all the Voice says in your head.

***

“…I leave you in the expert hands of your headwaiter, Taramis. Thank you all for coming, and I’ll see you all at the party.”

With a final curtsy, you leave the parlour, mouthing thanks to Taramis, who gives you a little bow in response before his army of servers swarms the guests to take in their choice of refreshments.

It has been exactly six months since your Dream Lord has taken you back to his castle. He had since tasked Lucienne to train you officially for your new royal position, which you had of course passed with flying colours. Your master, ever with his fondness of theatrics and grand gestures, insisted that he host a party to celebrate your official ascent as his princess-consort. He had made it clear that day that there’d be no room for arguments, especially from you. So, today, the entire Dreaming is in a festive mood, with the entire palace staff, and in extension, you, running around like a headless chicken to greet and accommodate guests he had invited from different realms across the entire universe.

The day had not even started, and you already couldn’t wait for it to end.

He wouldn’t like it, of course, when he finds out you’d been helping, but it isn’t like there’s much of a choice: you had woken early, and when you saw that some of the guests had started arriving early, you had pleaded with Morwyn to help you dress and not tell a word about it to the Dream Lord, and ran down so you could help in welcoming them – goodness knows Lucienne is already swamped with work as she always is. And it wouldn’t hurt at all to leave a good first impression, right?

Great. You’re now simping for royalty you don’t even know.

After ensuring that the first batch of guests has been well taken care of, you had to let your master know that some of his guests have arrived, as it’s only polite for the Dream King to greet them himself, as the grand host.

You had received word from a frantic Lucienne that the King had an audience he attended to in his office in the library. You had found it odd that he’d be receiving company in an office he barely used, but then again, his oddities are by now, completely normal to you.

You reach the office in question, slightly surprised to find the door slightly ajar. Inside, you could hear your master in a seemingly tense conversation with someone sounding so vaguely familiar.

“…I let you retrieve it because I knew you were mourning, brother. But to go as far as to keep it to yourself and hide it from me? You can’t just keep doing as you please with it,” says the familiar voice, firm and chastising.

“And yet, I believe we had an understanding that you are not to touch it, most especially not in my presence, dear sister,” comes your Dream Lord’s much harsher, biting tone.

A heavy silence passes between the two, and not wanting to eavesdrop any further, albeit unintentionally, you knock on the door to make your presence known.

“Enter,” comes the terse command of your Dream Lord.

“I’m sorry to interrupt –” you start to say as you push the door wider, only to stop dead in your tracks.

Lady Death, with her kind, wide smile, brushes past her brother to approach you and hugs you warmly in greeting. You couldn’t hug back in your surprise, but she seems to think none of it. She pulls away, still with that comforting gaze of hers as she gives you an affectionate stroke on your cheek.

“I am so glad to have finally met you, Mera. My little brother has told me all about you.”

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Author notes on the Chapter:

To the anon who sent an ask about Dream's POV, thank you for reminding me that I have been neglecting our dear Morphy's POV for quite some time now, so this smut in his POV is for you!! I hope I conveyed his thought processes properly!!

On a side note, two Endless??! What could possibly be going on?

Plot also keeps growing, I thought I had only up to 17 chapters for this fic, but now onto 19!! Who woulda thought lmao

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Author's notes in general:

Thank you, THANK YOU for reading!!

Please engage, comment and reblog!! I love feedback from you guys :) This is my first ever fic, so kindness is truly appreciated!

Thank you to my queen @queenshelby @endlessdreamqueen3 for encouraging me to pen this, as well as to my fellow Dark!Morpheus writers whose work I have thoroughly enjoyed and keep rereading :)

Post date: 1/14/22

Edit date: 1/15/22

Taglist: Just lemme know please if you want to be added, too!

Tagging the following:

@wt-fxck

@sandman-33

@reallystressedhoneybee

@akiraquote

@safe-teycar

@ponyboys-sunsets

@izzicle

@spygrrl99

@intothesoul

@thecrazytealady

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@kittenssss-blog

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@saraicus

@blu3what

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@chantzmar

@dawnissunnysideup

@esmeralda-tupi

@ggxsan

Genuinely sorry if I fail to add blog names that have requested to be part of this list, I forget (not as much as Mera, but hey)

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