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D is for -I know your dirty little secret!

Dirty Secret- I refuse to apologies for this! I DARE you to tell me you wouldn’t :P

Very smutty 18+

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In His Mercy

Pairing: dark!Morpheus x original female character

Summary: Nura is a dream who dared to leave her Lord's realm and find herself a lover. Morpheus is not happy when he finds out about it.

Warnings: power difference, betrayal, heartbreak, fear, angst, intimidation, threats, rejection, eventual smut, possible dub/noncon in future. Don't Like Don't Read. 18+ only. Minors DNI

since it is my story please expect dark themes and a dark representation of Morpheus.

A/n: The story is set right after Morpheus punishes Gault and the plot of the series is ongoing in the background.

I have not read the comics so this is based purely on what I observed from the show as well as what I could find about him online. This story would contain a darker and upsetting depiction of Dream so if it's not your thing dont read. If you enjoy it let me know! I'd possibly continue this in the future. Thanks for reading.

"You're brave to have returned, but you're too late. His temper has been on a rise these past days and he has never been too forgiving," Lucienne warned her breathlessly.

Nura followed her with hurried steps as she contemplated her words. There was an ache in her chest that warned her about how regrettable it would be for her to meet Dream after leaving his realm for so long. She wished to be ethical and loyal in the decisions of her life, but there was no telling of how understanding he would be for her reasons.

"I hope he would listen to me. I hope he would be merciful, I would like to believe that he would be," Nura said, expecting some validation from Lucienne.

The librarian sighed.

"I would not recommend that you get your hopes high and…" Lucienne stopped short of her steps, just inches outside the gates of the throne room, "I'm sorry for whatever would happen next. Do your best to convince him to forgive you."

Nura gave a nervous nod as she folded her arms around her body.

"I will," Nura said.

She heeded her advice, it was best to accept her mistake and ask for forgiveness from Dream if she were to expect him to listen to her cause for staying in the waking world. But Lucienne’s troubled expression did not do anything to put her at ease. Nura bit her lip and attempted to calm herself with deep breaths as the librarian opened the grand gates of Dream’s throne room. Only she could muster the courage to enter his chambers without prior permission.

With reluctance, Nura went inside after Lucienne. Their entrance echoed with their footfalls on the cold marble floor which was not dirtied with the debris and shambles of Dream’s decaying palace anymore. She raised her head to examine the reformed structure of the throne room, gaping in awe at how its beauty had been restored now that the King had returned. For a moment, her admiration of the palace and its decorative designs distracted her from the cold and stinging presence of her Lord. Until Lucienne decided to gather his attention.

"My lord, forgive us for this interruption, but there is someone who wishes to seek an audience with you."

Nura turned her gaze to him. Her chest thrummed with the speeding throbs of her heart invoked just by his sight. And he was not even entirely visible to her.

Books were lined and arranged neatly around him, the stacks appearing as rails that began at his throne and ended five or six steps beyond his seat. The rest of the stairwell remained empty as ever while he sat comfortably on his throne with a thick book covering his face. Only his body and his spiking hair strands were visible from the distance at which Nura was standing. And that was enough to have her shudder in anticipation of his judgment.

Dream closed the book after making them wait for a few minutes. He dropped it on the stack pile next to his throne and bent forward. His cold and dark eyes narrowed in on her as his lips puckered into a distasteful grimace.

"Nura," he said with a great enunciation of every letter and syllable, "so you have finally decided to return."

The grim depth of his voice and the disappointment laced in it made her heart jolt. She exchanged a nervous glance with Lucienne before stepping forward to greet Dream.

"My lord,” she bowed her head with a hand on her heart to show him her respect, “it is so delightful to see you again and in good health.”

She truly was happy to see him safe after hearing what the humans had done to him. He was intimidating and authoritative, but he was her Creator and he had mostly been kind and sweet to her, he did not deserve to be treated like that. No one did.

Dream gave a mocking scoff, blinking his eyes slowly in the angry way that he did as he rose to his feet. He sauntered down the marble steps, running the dainty fingers of his left hand along the covers of the books.

"Not enough for you to return sooner," he said.

The muscles on his face twitched even as he attempted to not express his emotions to her. Nura squeezed her arms in her hands, wondering if she should have followed the ways of the Corinthian and focused on running away instead of coming to her displeased Lord.

He paused after the fourth step and picked up a book to read. She was relieved to have his piercing eyes away from her.

She swallowed the knot in her throat and gathered the courage to speak.

"Yes, and I apologize for that, my lord. But I do have my reasons," she said.

"What reasons would justify you leaving my realm and doing something that goes against your purpose, Nura?" He asked, peering at her from the corner of his eye.

"I confess…I did step out of the line but I could not keep myself within this realm for long once you were gone, sir,” she explained. 

Nura recalled the moment she decided to enter the realm of humans, the excitement she had felt at the thought of visiting them, especially those dreamers with whom she was already familiar. 

“I wished to see them and feel what it is like to be one of them. I had to know—"

“Step out of the line? Dreams do not belong in the waking world yet you talk about violating the rules so casually,” Morpheus chided her.

“It was not my intention to defy my purpose or you, my lord!”

"Then why did you leave and why did you not return?"

"Because—” Nura quivered and pressed her lips together. She debated with herself about telling him of her true intentions. However, she needed to discuss her reasons with him. Without his permission, she could never return to the waking world and be happy among the humans. 

She sucked a breath through her teeth and spoke, “because I do not wish to return, my lord."

"What?" Dream snapped his head at Nura, his eyebrows raised in shock at her audacity.

Nura scratched her knuckles as her nerves rattled with anxiety. She urged herself to speak the truth and speak it quickly.

"I–I wish to stay in their realm."

The scrunched lines on his face suggested that he was only more and more aggravated by her words.

"What has their realm to offer you that cannot be sought here?"

Nura paused at his question and ground her teeth. She thought of the man, the human who she yearned to stay with, who offered her everything that the realm did not even with all its beauty and treasures. She hated that she had to speak of him with such sourness.

“Answer me!” Dream roared at her.

She flinched and turned her eyes to Lucienne who had her head low with fear as well. There was nothing that she could do to mediate the situation between her and Dream. Nura did not want her to risk her head either.

"Forgive me— my lord. But I— I have fallen in love with a human and I wish to stay with him in their realm."

Lucienne gasped and widened her eyes at Nura.

Morpheus snapped the book shut and placed it on its stack before he turned to her with a frightening frown.

"What did you say?" He demanded.

"I–I'm sorry, my lord, but I love him dearly and I wish to spend my time with him."

"How dare you?" He growled, stomping his feet down the stairs.

The books fell from the vibration of his rage.

Nura stepped back in fear, her eyes tearing up at his reaction. He halted in the middle of the stairwell to look at his librarian.

"Lucienne, leave us alone," he ordered her.

"Yes, sir," Lucienne answered swiftly.

She gave Nura a helpless and sorry glance through her spectacles before she rushed out of the throne room, leaving the runner Dream alone to face the wrath of her Lord.

Nura watched her lord with pleading eyes as she trembled on her spot.

"You wish to stay with him. Are you a fool? Have you forgotten who you are? Have you forgotten who made you?"

"No, my lord! I will always be grateful to you, always in your devotion—but I could not help it—"

"You would refuse your service and break your loyalty to your lord, your creator for a mere mortal."

"My lord,” Nura folded her palms in front of her face, pointing them at him in a prayer for his mercy, “I beg you for your forgiveness. I apologise for this but I wish that you would see that I only act out of love."

"Is your love for that human not a betrayal of me, of your duties?” Dream asked.

His question left her without words.

“Not only have you betrayed me in your actions but also in your heart…and you dare come to my throne room expecting me to spare you for your transgressions."

Tears spilt down her cheeks as she found it difficult to contain them. She touched her quivering lips with her fingers and pressed back her whimpers with them.

"I want you to be merciful," Nura begged in her broken voice.

He stood undeterred by the sight of her tears and pain. There was not even a hint of empathy in his frigid face.

"And I wanted you to be loyal and dutiful. But you are not, so tell me, what shall your punishment be then?"

Nura panicked at the suggestion of punishment. He was not known to be lenient in them. It broke her heart to see him arrive at that conclusion so quickly. She had foolishly expected him to be more considerate of who she was and her dedicated service to him, but he cared none of it.

She thought of Lucienne’s advice and understood that she had to bend to his will to ensure her own safety.

"My lord, you must let me know how I can earn your forgiveness!"

"Defy me and then ask for forgiveness. You disappoint me,” Dream said with a shake of his head. “But before I decide what to do with you, I must see to this human that you have fallen in love with."

Nura widened her eyes at him in horror. Her lover should not have to face the consequences of her actions.

"No! No, there’s no need!" Nura protested.

“And you will not be leaving the Dreaming anymore,” Dream said.

Nura screamed and ran to him to stop him from reaching her beloved, but he was gone in a gust of sand within seconds. She was left with only fear and misery as everything fell apart around her.

With a heavy heart and tearful eyes, she ran to the royal Library to find Lucienne.

“Lucienne! Lucienne! Where are you?” She cried as she sprinted between the shelves searching for a sign of the librarian.

“Nura? What happened?” Lucienne emerged from behind a shelf with multiple books in her hands.

Nura stopped before she would have collided with the woman. She only sobbed when she looked at the librarian who had warned her of such a fate.

“What happened, dear? Where is he?”

Nura’s voice came out as a hitched breath when she tried to speak.

“Oh dear, what has he done? What did he say?” Lucienne inquired.

“Come, sit first,” she said, holding Nura by her arm and dragging her to a nearby table.

Nura let herself be carried along by Lucienne, finding no strength in her body to do anything.

“I think— I think he is going to kill him! My Zak!” Nura spoke in panic as she sank on a chair. “And I cannot leave, you have to do something, please help me!”

Lucienne rubbed her arm to soothe her.

“I doubt that he would punish someone else for your mistakes, Nu,” she said.

“But he said so! He said that he will see to him!”

“Perhaps in other ways. I do not believe that he would kill him. Not when he is not the one responsible. He might have meant something less, but even so, unfortunately, I cannot help you.”

“I know,” Nura sniffled.

She lowered her eyes to her lap and hoped that Dream would not hurt her lover in any way. The Dream King could not be so cruel and unjust. And if he was, she had to blame herself for endangering her Zak.

“There is nothing I can do either. I thought he would forgive, but he is so heartless. How can he do this to me?”

“He is our lord, our King and our Creator,” Lucienne said as she patted her back softly.

“And, Nu, as much as I care for you, I cannot entirely support what you have done and intended to do. It is true that you are an entity of the Dreaming and you cannot remain in the waking world. It’s not right.”

“It’s not fair!” Nura slapped a hand on the table. “He can take lovers, can’t he? Then why can’t I?”

“Well, that has not ended well for him either, has it? You can’t fall in love with a mortal, my dear,” Lucienne insisted.

“That’s not in my control!” Nura reverted.

She was a Dream, a creation of Morpheus, but she still felt for the humans, she did have strivings of her own. When she found herself getting lost in the lovely dreams of Zak, she had not intended to defy or offend Morpheus. She had only wanted to make her own dreams come true.

“I wish that he had never given me the ability to think or feel for myself. He could have made us be just puppets who dance on his whim.”

“It is not only that you know, Nura…you’re special to him,” Lucienne said.

Nura looked at her with puzzlement. 

“How?” She asked

“You’re still here. He hasn’t damned you in any way. Gault did not last this long. You do know that he favours you slightly more than others, he has always been a little more fond of you since your creation,” the librarian told her.

The information only agitated Nura more. She would rather he not care for her and leave her be than be bound by his affection for her.

“And I should feel good about that?” 

Lucienne looked at her and sighed. Nothing was convincing to her, it was much like talking to Dream. 

“I don’t know. But perhaps knowing that you’ve broken his heart more than others by leaving in this manner can help you see what you can do to save yourself from his wrath.”

“What a way to live? Always in fear of him, obeying him always and—”

“As it should be,” his murky voice interrupted your conversation, startling both her and Lucienne at once.

His tall and slender form appeared in front of them. He strolled forward from between the bookshelves, carrying subtle hints of ire and disgust on his face. Nura remained frozen in her seat, but Lucienne walked away quickly, leaving her alone with their unforgiving lord once again.

Dream studied Nura’s tear-stricken face as he approached her. She balled her hands into fists on top of the wooden table and her chest heaved in anxiety and anger at her lord’s actions.

“You should not forget yourself, your duties and your master, Nura,” he told her.

“Did you kill him?” Nura asked.

Dream came to a stop at the edge of the table, staring down at her with dark and icy eyes. Nura did her best to meet them with equal fervour but her will wavered at the intensity of his fury.

"I did not kill him,” he answered.

Relief washed over Nura’s heart at the news and a brief smile appeared on her face. It faded just as quickly as Dream circled to her and removed the chair that was placed between them. Nura jumped up from her seat as he inched closer, wanting desperately to be away from him.

“It is not a mortal's fault that an entity from the Dreaming strayed so disgustingly away from her path and seduced him in a bid to use love as a tool of manipulation for her Lord,” he snarled at her.

His words made her want to shrink in herself and disappear. They made her disgusted in herself as if her love was never pure and was just a tool of deception.  She had not seen it in that way. She had not acknowledged what could be wrong with her actions. Nura had acted out of her curiosity about the humans and her love for one of them, what could be wrong with that?

“No, that wouldn't be fair. However, he would not remember ever seeing you, meeting you or falling in love with you…as it is supposed to be."

Nura gasped at the revelation of what he had done to her lover. He had spoiled everything. Her eyes became full to the brim again, blurring his image to her as she glared at him.

“You’re cruel,” she said.

“I’m not. Not yet,” he replied.

He moved towards her with slow steps. A part of Nura wished to punch him in the face and accept the consequences that would come with it, but the other part was terrified of what her punishment would be. She had not been a rebellious one in spirit ever before and her will was not strong enough for her to openly defy her Master, she was no match for him.

“I’ve yet to decide how to punish you, my Nura,” he said as he cornered her into the wall behind her.

“Should I cast you into the darkness? Should I turn you into a Nightmare?”

Nura mewled at his proposals and the discomforting proximity between them as if being near to him in his rage would be enough for her to burn into flames. His suggestions for her punishment had her shivering even more. She lowered her head and sobbed, not having the courage to look him in the eye. 

“Or should I just uncreate you?”

Nura put a hand over her mouth to muffle her whimper. Dream simply observed her in silence as she crumbled before him. It was impossible for her to even move as her hands brushed against his coat and shirt at every twitch. He had her trapped between himself and the wall and it seemed that he savoured the sheer panic that he created in her with his ideas of her suffering. That was what he wanted, for the defiant to fear him and be reminded of who their Master was.

“Please, let me seek your forgiveness, my lord,” Nura begged.

He gave her no reply. He stood there and bore his eyes into her as she struggled to collect herself. Nura had known of Dream’s ruthlessness, but she had never experienced how utterly cold and harsh he was capable of being, even to those who had been nothing but devoted to him through endless times.

“I can’t yet decide on what I will do to you,” Dream said, finally breaking the painful silence between them.

He took a small step back from her while keeping his eyes pinned on her face. 

“But I will soon. You’re not to leave the Dreaming until then nor indulge with the humans when they visit. And it will do you good to stay out of my sight until I call you,” he said.

Nura watched him in a daze and confusion as he passed his uncertain judgement. She could not make sense of it and he did not provide any clarifications. He only gave her a last glower of repulsion before he stormed out of her sight and out of the library.

While she was relieved that he had left her without delivering a swift punishment, she did not understand the reason behind his decision to make her wait. She wanted to believe that by wanting to keep her out of his sight he was giving her the opportunity to save herself from his wrath. But by forbidding her from leaving the Dreaming and from even performing her duties, he left her with nothing to do but to constantly hide in a realm that belonged to him. Perhaps, that was her punishment, to be trapped without any purpose and be plagued forever with fear.

If it was her punishment, Nura favoured it against the other possibilities that he had presented to her. But she knew that she would eventually come to face her suffering. At least she could still talk to others in the Dreaming and she intended to reach out to Lucienne for comfort and answers. In the realm, the librarian was the only one who could help her through her knowledge and her books. Or so she hoped.

In His Mercy (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x Original Female Character

Summary: Nura is a dream who dared to leave her Lord's realm and find herself a lover. Morpheus is not happy when he finds out about it.

Warnings: nonconsent, power difference, betrayal, heartbreak, fear, angst, intimidation, threats, rejection, eventual smut. Don't Like Don't Read. 18+ only. Minors DNI

Chapter 1

The tears in her eyes had dried from crying after reading the two books repeatedly in the past few days. Nura hid in the farthest corner of the library, where she thought that he wouldn’t find her, and read the stories of her lover’s life, what it was in her absence and what it could have been if Morpheus had let them be together. 

The ache in her heart was constant and painful. She missed being in his arms, hearing his words of praise and feeling his touch of love. She could recall the day that she had visited him for the first time in the waking world. Zak had burst with delight and she had as well when she found that he truly had made paintings of her inspired by their meetings in his dreams. Nura had never felt so appreciated and loved before. She had not known that she would want it and that it would be a human who would fulfil that need.

They had built a sweet life together and all of it was gone. The book that told her about what their future would have been like brought more pain to her heart. There could have been a wedding, a honeymoon and somehow one day, children as well. Her life would have been filled with joy with him, it read truly like a dream and it was that. None of it was possible unless Morpheus allowed her to leave and pursue her lover again.

Nura could hear their voices from a distance. Morpheus, Lucienne, and Matthew conversed about the ongoing troubles every once in a while. Mervyn kept her updated on when she was safe in the library and what were the times that she had to leave to prevent being seen by her angry lord. 

In those moments, she had to scramble from here to there around the Dreaming. She was constantly watching the shadows to see if Morpheus was anywhere near or not. She had been fortunate to not meet a dastard fate quickly at his hands, but having to keep hiding from him in his realm was most taxing. 

Nura missed Fiddler’s Green dearly. The green and flowery gardens were most comforting to sit in and she had loved to rest under the shade of his large trees. She could understand why he left and only wished that they could have met in the human world. At least she hoped that he wouldn’t return or else he would have to face his Lord’s wrath as well.

Though it wasn’t safe for her, Nura always was pulled back to the library again. The books soothed her heart and she yearned to see if there was something more about Zak’s life there. 

She entered the library on tiptoes, wanting to give no sign of her existence to the occupants of the place. She had hoped to find some time to talk to Lucienne and check on her about Morpheus’s moods, but he kept the librarian busy with himself most of the time recently.

She was relieved to find a pin drop silence in the library and hoped that it meant that Dream was in his throne room or anywhere else but there. For once she wanted to strut without fear in between the shelves and feel free to approach the librarian about her concerns. It was a miserable way of existing and she wondered if that was the punishment that her King had intended for her. The only way she could confirm it was through Lucienne or his loyal raven.

With the two books pressed to her chest, Nura rushed through the narrow paths of the library to search for Lucienne. She had all the questions ready in her mind. Some would be about Morpheus, some would be about the realm and the vortex, but most importantly, she needed to know if more books existed regarding her Zak.  Lost in her queries, Nura took each step without a care for her surroundings. The library often seemed like a maze to her, but the ways always led her to what she wanted and so she trusted them. 

She stepped to her right and walked onwards in a straight line. A flutter of pages reached her ears and made her heart stop. Nura stopped in her tracks and looked forth with wide eyes. 

Her lord has his back to her. Morpheus stood two shelves length away from her with a book in his hands and others on the table before him. Even the appearance of him wracked her nerves. His lean form in his long black coat, his shaggy hair, and the dark shadow that he cast on the floor behind himself somehow painted a picture of horror for Nura.

She clapped a hand on her mouth to muffle any gasps and the sound of her fastening breaths. Ever so carefully, she put her feet back one behind the other and peeked around to see which direction she should choose to get lost in. Nura made a slow turn to the left on her heels. Morpheus had not taken notice of her and she was ready to sprint away.

“Wait!” came his order just as she had placed her first step out of his sight.

“Shit,” she whispered to herself.

She paused on her feet and lowered her head, waiting to hear what he wanted.

“Come here,” Morpheus said.

“My lord– I’m sorry to disturb– I’ll be on my way!”

"Come here," he repeated with a little less patience.

Nura bit her lip and nodded. She urged her legs to move forward even as she anticipated facing her demise at his hands. Morpheus' icy and daunting stare at her trembling steps did little to help ease her fears. But he never intended to make her feel comfortable, not after what she had done. 

"I recall telling you to stay out of my sight," he said. "And yet you're bold enough to not even attempt to hide."

"No, sir…I was just— I was about to–"

"What have you got there?" He asked, drawing his gaze to the books in her hands.

She clutched them tighter and covered the titles with her palms. She could only imagine how badly he'd react if he knew who the books were about.

“Uh…just books, I’ve to keep them back.”

“Give them to me,” Dream said and extended his right towards her,

Nura darted her nervous eyes from his large palm to his grim face. She cursed herself for coming to the library at all. 

“I can just keep them. You wouldn’t—” 

Morpheus interrupted her with a loud exhale.

“Nura, you shouldn’t be testing my patience,” he said.

“Oh– right.”

She reluctantly gave him one book and then the other. He held each book in each hand and examined their titles by rotating his wrists. Nura squeezed her fingers together as she awaited his lash back.

“Hm. You’re still living in his memory when you shouldn’t be.”

“I–”

“I was right in not allowing you to return to your position again. You would have gone directly to his dreams and be the manipulator that you’ve become.”

“I’ve not. I’d never!” She did not appreciate being painted as a predatory manipulator who took advantage of Zak’s vulnerability. There was genuine between them no matter what he liked to believe for the sake of his ego.

Nura’s breath hitched as Morpheus stepped forward. He reached for her face with a hand and traced three lines from her forehead to her cheek with his fingers. She froze under his heated gaze as he watched her with scrutiny.

“You were a beautiful creation of mine, Nura and I treasured you,” he said.

“But you were far from perfect.” His fingers slid down to her chin. “Very far.”

Morpheus hounded her space and left her bereft of breath. Her heaving chest brushed against the lapel of his coat and he savoured the sight of her falling apart in front of him. His gaze was intense and she felt devoured by it.

Her heart pounded in her ears as Dream dipped his head to her face.

“My lord,” she called in a plea.

Morpheus seized her lips with his mouth before she could say anything else. He swallowed any air that was left in her lungs and drew out whines and whimpers from her. Nura grabbed his coat and attempted to pull away, but he didn’t allow her to leave. Instead, he dropped the books aside and held her with both hands, placing them on her head and hip to push her further into his kiss.

It was odd to experience the hunger and lust of her lord, her King. He was not gentle either unlike how Zak was. His lips sucked, his teeth scraped her skin and his nails dug into the flesh beneath them. It was not only a display of passion but also one of a punishing possession. He was taking what was always his and Nura had no right to refuse to his claim. 

But it was not what she wanted. It was not right. She pushed his shoulders with all her might and ripped her mouth away from his. Morpheus’ hot breaths fell on her face as he looked at her with sheer disappointment. He showed no sign of warming up to her.

“My lord?”

Morpheus sighed in agitation and spun her around himself. He pushed her towards the reading table and pinned her body to the wood. Nura stumbled on her feet and latched onto the edges for stability. 

He was in to cage her without a second’s waste. With no shame, Morpheus pressed his body against hers and searched for her lips again. Nura turned her head away and the kiss landed on her cheek. 

Dream panted against her skin. He rested his forehead against her temple, nuzzling her cheek as he grunted at her refusal. Nura’s eyes teared up at the lack of control that he had put her in. She was entirely in his mercy and any sign of rebellion could cost her. But she did not want to give in to the man who had been the cause of her heartbreak. 

He began to chuckle as he pulled his head back to look at her. With his hand, he forced her to turn her face to him and meet his eyes. There was an expression of amusement on his face that Nura found unpleasant.

“You continue to defy me… and you do it so boldly,” he said.

Nura stared at him blankly.

“It amazes me, your lack of fear, your lack of remorse, your lack of effort to seek my forgiveness. Have you really strayed so far from your devotion to me?”

Nura was dazed by his question. She did not know what to say, she did not know what would satisfy him other than what he so wantonly sought from her.

“You must know…I’ve been starved for quite long, Nura,” he said.

Dream roped a hand around her neck and pinned her hip to the table with the other as he dove in to devour the taste of her lips again. With twice the hunger and determination, he kissed her lips and then her jaw. His teeth nipped at her skin as licked his way down to her neck, burying his head at the crook of it while she squirmed between him and the table. Any effort to move only had her rubbing up against his body and caressing the hardness of his arousal with her belly.

He groaned and bucked his hips further into her for relief. Nura gasped for breath as he suffocated her with his body. The shove of her hands did not matter to him neither did her unwilling whimpers.

She was terribly afraid of this monstrous side of him. She knew how authoritative he was, but she had never imagined him to be so selfish and overpowering.

“Please, my lord,” she begged.

His lips halted on her clavicle. The strands of his hair tickled her neck as he paused to contemplate over her chest. Nura wondered if he could hear her heart racing and if that would persuade him to spare her. To her surprise, he loosened his hold on her body and stepped back.

He stood straight and viewed her with his typical grimace. His eyes appeared darker than before. Nura could see that he was not pleased with her rejection. He shoved his hands in his pockets and moved away from her.

“Leave. I have much to do,” he told her.

He waved his hand at her to shun her away. Nura wanted to experience relief, but his sudden cold dismissal disheartened her. There may not be more chances at redemption and though she did not want to get his forgiveness in this manner, she had to gain his favour urgently, not lose more of it.

“Lord Morpheus,” she called him. “Can’t we talk?”

Dream raised his head to give her the most agonizing glare.

“Go,” he grunted.

Nura sniffled at his response. She had no choice but to turn back. The risk of testing his wrath was too high if she tried to argue with him. 

Once again, her face was drenched with tears provoked by Morpheus’ harshness. She sobbed into her hands as she headed for the gates of the library. Her wish to talk to Lucienne remained unfulfilled. She was desperate for her guidance. 

Nura had managed to dig a deeper grave for herself, but there had to be something that she could do to save herself yet. 

Morpheus slammed the book shut and tossed it across the table so he would not give in to the urge to destroy it. Reading about her love for the human had been the most unpleasant experience that he should not have been indulging in when he was already in the midst of a crisis because of the vortex and the missing entities. 

He had seethed as he read the story of their love and he had yet to simmer from the pure aggravation that he had felt during it. She had accepted his touch, his kisses, enjoyed them and reciprocated them as well. But she could not do it for him, her master to whom her loyalty and service belonged. 

Dream had come very close to passing her punishment right then. He was ready to cast her into the darkness where her defiant will would have been broken and she would have come back to him on her knees. But he could not do it. He told himself not to do it.

She still was precious to him and he did not have the patience of waiting for so long. He feared that he did not have the patience of waiting for even a few days or weeks for her to come begging to him. He would have to think of a more brutal but temporary mode of punishment for her so she would learn who her master was.

“These are some more books that could help,” Lucienne walked into the reading space, carrying a stack of books up to her chin.

She put them down on the table next to an empty chair while Morpheus composed himself. He watched her eyes lurk to the two discarded books kept by the corner of the table and by the raise of her brows, he knew that she could imagine the trouble that had taken place there moments ago. She said nothing of it though.

“I hope this helps,” she said with a simple pat on the top of the books.

“Thank you, Lucienne,” he said in a low and grave voice.

The librarian nodded and began to leave. He stopped her by calling her name.

“Yes, my lord?” She asked.

“Would you do me a favour?”

“Of course, sir.”

“I need you to go or send someone to fetch Nura,” he said.

“Oh.” The lines of concern emerged on her face. “What for?”

“Have her placed in a chamber in my palace. Near mine, if you will. I do not want her roaming around the Dreaming without any purpose. It can be dangerous in these times.”

“I see. I will have it done.”

“And also…you’re not going to allow her to have any books,” he added.

She had been mischievous before, using the time given to her to think and repent on getting lost in the dreams of her human lover instead. He would not give her the chance to do that again.

“Oh, but they keep her occupied,” Lucienne argued.

“She doesn’t need them,” Dream said.

His librarian’s forehead furrowed and conveyed her objection to his decision. 

“My lord, if I may…it would be too harsh on her. She would be driven mad if she’s only trapped in a room.”

“Then what shall I do?” Dream countered. “Sentence her to the darkness? Uncreate and recreate her to rectify the many errors in her? Would that be good?”

Lucienne lowered her head and pursed her lips.

“I only wish…there could be a better way.”

“There isn’t and you mustn't pity her. She has no remorse for her actions, no guilt nor the will to atone for her mistakes,” he said.

“She is only scared.”

“Lucienne!” Dream uttered her name in warning. 

He had had enough of his subjects forgetting themselves with him. He was thankful that Lucienne was the most disciplined of them all. She argued with him no further and left to obey the commands given to her.

Dream exhaled the bubbling unease in his chest as he directed his attention to the books that Lucienne had brought to him. They were the ones that he should have been reading. There were real and more devastating threats to his realm and the humans. He did not have the privilege to stew about Nura’s denial of him. Had she been compliant and granted him reprieve in her body, Dream might have been able to deal with the present issues with a more stable mind.

But she was a problem that he would have to address after the issue of the vortex and the missing entities are resolved. Till then, Dream hoped, that the solitary of the palace chamber would give her the ability to reflect on her mistakes and think about how to correct them. Or else, he would be compelled to do something worse.

The Dream That Got Away

Chapter 8

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)

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

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 death/killing

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

Link to the previous chapter

Chapter 8: The Dream Plan

If you thought the first beach you’d visit in the Waking World would take your mind off things for a while, you were sorely mistaken.

For the past few days, you had taken to sulking in Ollie’s study. Trying to come up with plans for evading your Dream King had made you a bit moodier and jumpier than normal. To top it all off, you swore you had felt this immense surge of endless power find its way back to its rightful owner – has he finally retrieved all his tools? If so, it wouldn’t be long before he gets to you and finds out what you had been up to. The thought bothered you so much, you had started refusing to eat and step out of the study, enough for Ollie to put his foot down and address your depressed state. Ever the fusspot, he insisted you come with him on a trip to Cape Kennedy, Florida, for a change of view, saying it would be good for your health. You had wondered vaguely why he chose this place, but you just got a shrug from him, mumbling how there was just “something about it” that drew him in. After reluctantly agreeing, all he had to do was dream of the room he was staying in so you could travel through his dream to meet him in the Waking.

Instead of calming your inner storm, however, going to the beach only made you realize how sorely you missed the ones in the Dreaming. With a twinge of sad nostalgia, you recall just how fine their sand felt as you wriggled your toes in them, and how the serene waters were the loveliest shade of blue. Involuntarily, a pair of eyes in the same shade, with galaxies swirling in righteous anger, floats into your line of vision – the unwelcome image goes away in a blink; a mere hallucination. It takes all your willpower to not stagger backward and make a run for it, so when you see a young woman with colourful dreadlocks in the distance, crouching before a raven, you quietly thank the Fates for a much-needed distraction. You’ve met the woman in passing at the Bed and Breakfast you’re staying at, so you take a step forward to say a more proper ‘hi’ this time.

You don’t get a chance to, for someone grips your arm tightly and hurriedly drags you away from the bizarre scene.

“What the – hey, what in the –”

You object to the intrusion, yanking your arm away and eyeing whoever it is. Whatever indignant retort you had bubbling at your throat dies down, leaving your mouth agape. What is he doing here?

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, doll.” The Corinthian gives you a mock salute in greeting.

“Corinthian,” you tilt your head to greet him back. “What was that all about?”

Smiling cheekily, he replies, “You should be thanking me. I just saved you from meeting your maker earlier than I’m sure you planned.”

Wide-eyed, you shudder inwardly at his insinuation. “You mean that’s his raven? How can you be so sure?”

“I overheard them.”

With a quiet gesture to follow him, you both walk away from the scene, ensuring you’re both out of earshot.

“What is a Dreaming raven doing, talking to Rose Walker?”

“You’ve met her?”

“Yes, she’s a fellow tenant at this place we’re staying.”

“Oh? I’m guessing you’re with your lover? You like getting yourself in trouble, don’t you?” He says playfully, wagging a finger at you.

Ignoring his comment, you repeat your question: “What’s a raven of the Dream Lord doing with her?”

“Don’t you recognize her? She’s a vortex.”

The Corinthian’s revelation makes you halt your steps in your shock.

“So, you are familiar with Vortexes.”

“I’ve read about them. Dreams are drawn to them, like moths to a flame.”

“Smart as ever, doll. As for me, I’m going to make her kill Dream.”

“No,” You say, shaking your head at him in incredulity. “You’re really not going to do that, are you?”

His smirk only grows wider, more sinister. “No spoilers, doll. Just sit back and enjoy the show.”

Your heart sinks at this – it’s clear he has made his choice, and there is no saving him from it. A sudden, concerning thought crosses you:

“He’s going to use her to draw out those who are missing.”

“Oh, you think?” He remarks sarcastically, looking around the beach with faint interest.

“It was a mistake, coming here,” you say in a haunted whisper.

Humming thoughtfully, he asks you, “What are you gonna do, then, Dream’s little plaything?”

“Don’t call me that,” You pout at the nickname, eyes darting at the beachgoers, looking for signs of Rose or the raven. “I must go and warn Ollie. What are you going to do?”

Hands in his trench coat pockets and with a confident air about him, he drawls, “What I do best.”

You give a final nod in his direction and say, “Thank you, Corinthian, for…this.” You gesture awkwardly between the two of you. “Take care of yourself.”

Chuckling lightly, he responds, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me, doll. I can take care of myself just fine. You, on the other hand…” he trails off, clicking his tongue.

He turns his back on you with a single wave, and you watch him vanish in the crowd of incoming beachgoers.

***

As soon as you enter the room, you find it void of the doctor, much to your dismay. The bed had been made, his clothes tucked neatly inside the dresser, and he had the towels replaced. He had at least tidied up the place before he left. Looking around, you notice a box on the table with a note attached to it. The note reads, in Ollie’s immaculate handwriting:

Mera,

I’m out witch-hunting lol :) back before dinner

I left you money for food if you get hungry,

should be enough to order an entire menu ;D

True enough, you lift the box, and you find ten one hundred dollar bills. The box itself, to your surprise, held a six-inch cherry chocolate cheesecake, which he must’ve ordered in after you left.

The cake looks fantastic, but you find yourself without an appetite, so you set the box down and start packing his things. You neatly fold every shirt and every pair of pants he hung in the dresser and place them in his luggage. You then pack the pair of shoes he had left under the table, and after ensuring everything else he had brought is tucked in the luggage trolley, you sit on the couch and wait.

After about six hours of waiting in the room, you had finished off half of the cake he left in your boredom; you’re restless, scared to death that your master might pop in the room any minute to whisk you away from the Waking for good. Sick of counting the flowers on the wallpaper, you take some of the money he left on the table and sneak out of the room to take a walk in the town square. You had heard Rose and her friend, Lyta, talk in the lobby about searching for a lost relative – you didn’t really stick around, not wanting to draw attention to yourself – all you found out was that they would be out the entire day. You expected Dream’s raven to stick with them, so you figured it would be safe. After about three servings of frozen yogurt and three hours later, you head back to the Bed and Breakfast, hoping Ollie had made it back so you could leave this place for good.

As soon as you burst through the door, you find him fast asleep on the bed, still in his day trousers. Looking closely, you notice a third-edition LeRêve device on his wrist, its extending wires strapped to his fingers. Wasting no time, you travel to his dreams, ready to give him an earful and drag him to the nearest airport to get as far away from Cape Kennedy as possible.

You arrive to find him on his desk reading a pocket-sized, antique-looking leather-bound book that you’ve never seen him read before.

 He looks up from the book as soon as he feels you arrive. He spiritedly gets up from his desk to approach you, saying, “I’m sorry for leaving you alone at the last minute, Mera, but I’ve been busy. Hear me out: I think know how to keep you safe.”

You let out a humorless chortle, and admit, “Ollie, we’ve thought of everything. Cutting off your consciousness from the Dreaming isn’t enough, now that he’s got a Vortex cooperating with him. That’s what I came here to tell you. We have to leave this place. He’s going to find me soon. Getting away from here can at least buy me more time.”

“What ‘vortex?’ And why did you pack? I need more time to figure this out.”

Now visibly panicking, you grab him by the arms. “Figure what out, Ollie? We don’t have time for this!” You strain out, slightly shaking him. Without your control, tears start to pool out of the corners of your eyes. If he finds me, he finds you. 

Very gently, Ollie breaks free from your grip, cups your cheeks with both warm hands, and brings your foreheads together.

“You have to trust me, please. Remember what you did for me, even after I placed that binding curse on you? You came back for me and helped me. I want to do the same for you. Don’t cry, please. He’s never going to hurt you again, not under my watch.”

Sniffling, you give him a tiny nod, touched by his determination to protect you from a being with powers beyond his comprehension. If there is even a tiny percentage of his plan working and staying with him, you decide to cling on to that at that very moment: anything, anything, just you could be free with him.

“Alright. What have you got?”

He sighs in relief, wiping your tears with his thumbs, and says, “Wards.” He grabs the open book he left on the desk and waves it excitedly in the air.

At your befuddled look, you explain further, “I drove all the way to Jacksonville to meet this witch I saw on Facebook. That was a hundred and sixty miles away, can you believe it? And I told her I keep being followed by this supernatural thing and I wanted to keep it away, and she asks what supernatural thing, right? So I told her I don’t know, but it’s powerful beyond –”

“Ollie,” you interrupt, waving a hand in his face. “You’re rambling. What did she say?”

“She sold me this book about magical wards. So, what if I can put up these wards in my dream –”

“The way they’re used in the Waking,” you finish his sentence for him. “It’s a novel idea, Ollie, but I’m not sure how a simple set of wards could keep an Endless away.”

In your head, flashes of a circular glass cage cross your vision. “But I think I’ve seen a barrier that kept one at bay.”

Ollie’s face lights up with hope at your comment. “We have to try, right?”

Tacitly, you agree, asking, “What do you need?”

“Just give me a few days. Please.”

You nod, starting to feel sick in the stomach at the price you need to pay to buy him time.

Don’t do it, comes the Voice’s ominous warning.

“I have to go back to the Kingdom.”

He turns his head away from the book sharply and narrows his eyes on you. “What did you just say?”

Expecting this reaction, you sigh deeply, sitting back down on the couch and pointedly ignoring the Voice’s protests. “I have to appear in the castle, so they don’t suspect a thing.”

“No. No, absolutely fucking not. You’re going over my dead body.” Ollie’s brows are furrowed together, and he places his hands on his hips in indignance at your proposal.

“Ollie, I don’t like it any better than you do. But please, hear me out. The Vortex I mentioned? It’s a human being with powers that can include traveling through other people’s dreams. She’s here, right in that building with us. Anything to do with dreams and nightmares, she draws nearer to herself, and she’s working for the Dream King. If I don’t go right now, they’ll realize I’ve been with you this whole time.”

Ollie, rubbing the back of his head, dons a distraught, yet resigned expression. “Are you sure there’s no other way?”

You shake your head glumly. With a sudden inspiration, you close the distance between you two. You fish out the dreamcatcher that had made its home in your pocket, untouched for almost a year. You hold it between your thumb and forefinger and show it to him.

He looks at the all-too-familiar object with a confused smile. “I thought you destroyed that.”

“I don’t know why I kept it. You’re still a bastard for binding me to it,” you jest, placing it back into your pocket and adding, “But I’m glad I did.” Breathing deeply, you summon all the courage you have in your heart for what you’re about to do.

Standing on your toes (he’s so bloody tall), you wrap your arms around his neck and plant a quick, soft kiss on his lips.

“I’ll see you later. Keep safe.”

And in an instant, you will yourself back to the sea of dreams for the first time in months, leaving him flustered and red as a tomato in the face.

***

In the fantastical dreams of Barbara McKean or Barbie, as she likes to be called, a dense fog engulfs the figures of a young female with rainbow dreadlocks and a tall, dark-haired male clad in flowy robes of black.

As Rose Walker takes slow, calculated steps through the fog, the King of Dreams follows wordlessly after her. His expression cold and unreadable, he watches the Vortex tread onwards with hands wading through the thick gray mist before her, perhaps looking for an exit from this dream. Morpheus can feel her dogged determination to find the dreams of her brother – his quest, on the other hand, is to fetch a Nightmare called Gault, whom he suspects may have kept her brother away in an effort to mislead him and exercise her own powers to rule a dream she has full control of. Another subject of his had gone rogue and had overstepped their boundaries. If only his creations know well to toe the line and obey the rules he has set out since the inception of his kingdom, he would be somewhere else, perhaps deep in the dreams of other mortals, in search of a dream that had proved so loyal, enough to sacrifice her safety to find him and save his dying kingdom. Perhaps, should they follow your example, he might be inclined to enact a more merciful punishment.

The fog before them gathers right in front of his companion, swirling to the middle to form a single door. Rose Walker hesitates for a moment, before pushing it open and stepping into the dream of another mortal.

The two unlikely pair find themselves in a neat, minimalist office, with the dreamer on his desk reading from a tiny, old book with utmost concentration.

Oliver Chapman, the said dreamer, slowly gets to his feet, placing his book inside his desk drawer.

“Excuse me, can I help the both of you?” he inquires, his suspicion-filled green eyes, glaring, locking on the galaxy-filled blue ones of Dream of the Endless.

A lucid dreamer.

The King rises to this quiet challenge, wondering inwardly why, of all the dreams he has been in since his capture, his is the only one with a strong scent of the dream most precious to him. Could his dream have recently sought refuge here, perhaps, before moving on to another’s? Are you close by, injured, too weak to come home to him and return to his arms? To his credit, Oliver Chapman does not flinch; Morpheus, however, the perceptive being he is, senses his rapid heartbeat. Has he got something to hide?

“You shouldn’t be here,” he declares, his narrowing eyes never leaving the Dream King’s.

Sensing the tension between the men, Rose clears her throat loudly and says, “I’m sorry, Ollie, we were just leaving,” putting emphasis on the last word.

Just as she finishes her sentence, another door materializes on the wall of his study where it wasn’t a few moments ago. Rose glances nervously between the two before finally pushing the door open and moving on to the next dream.

With a scoff of barely-concealed contempt, Morpheus tears his gaze away from the dreamer and exits through the door after the Vortex. He might not know it yet, but Oliver Chapman just found himself worthy of another visit from him in the near future.

***

Back in the Dreaming, you surface from the seas, relieved to finally know the waters have calmed down in your King’s presence.

The King of Dreams, back in his kingdom.

Of course, you’re happy he has finally returned to restore life to the Realm you loved with every fiber of your being –but surely that meant the sealing of your fate to a function you had dreaded to fulfill. You could hear your heart thumping loudly in your ears, and you try to compose yourself by breathing through your mouth as you begin your walk towards the towering gates. You trek past the town center, all the way to the bridge that connects the majestic palace that had been your home. It seemed only yesterday that the entire land had nothing but barren landscapes. Everything has been brought back to the way it was – the Dreamfolk, going about their lives merrily, grateful for their monarch’s return. It all reminded you of all the fun you once had before you came on your master’s radar, so it’s with a pang in your heart to have to say goodbye, granted Ollie’s plan works and your King does not get wind of it.

Ollie. You had just kissed him right before you left. If he found out…

The steps to the palace grounds shake you from your reverie. You take a final deep breath and ascend. Gripping your skirt in an effort to strengthen your resolve, you feel something solid in your pocket; fishing the object out, you see the ruby you had removed on your first day in the Waking World – his gift, or rather, his mark on you, a rather ominous reminder. You fix it on your head hastily, before darting to the Library to greet a friend you have not seen in almost a year.

Entering the Royal Librarian’s premises takes your breath away like it’s the first time you’ve seen it. You take a moment to stroke the giant shelves containing the books you thought you’d never get back in your creator’s absence, fighting back your tears of joy – humanity’s books, the same ones you’ve found solace in, now have finally made it home.

“Mera, is that you?”

At the sound of Lucienne’s voice, you spin around to see her, almost losing your balance. She has not changed a bit, except for her expression – you had gotten so used to seeing her in a morose mood for the past century, you forgot how bright her smile could be. Running to her, you give her the tightest hug you could muster.

“Mera, thank goodness you’re safe!” Lucienne exclaims in a relieved voice.

Breaking the hug, you brace yourself for the lie you’re about to tell, hoping one day, she could forgive you for it.

“I got stuck in the dreams,” you begin with a strained look, finding it difficult to tell the lie. Thankfully, she seems to mistake this as you recollecting your memory of getting lost in the waters.

“Oh, dear, what happened?” she asks, concern marring her features.

Shit. You had not prepared for this at all.

“I-I got…trapped,” you stammer, but before she could press on, you both feel the almighty presence of your King return to the shores, evidently coming from the dreams of the mortals. Has he seen Ollie?

“I’ve got to go, Mera. The Dream Lord has come back from a quest to find a Nightmare named Gault. I’ll explain everything to you later, but it isn’t safe in the palace yet – there’s a Vortex, and it’s recently been causing dream-quakes,” she explains. With a grasp on your hand, she flashes you a welcoming smile. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

And so you wait, rooted to your spot – not that you could move anyway. As much as you wanted to dig into the books and find out what your dreamers had been up to, you’re trembling and jittery, fumbling with your hands with nothing but dread filling your thoughts. What has he found out in his trip in the dreams with Rose? What if he found out about your plans or worse, what if he hurt Ollie? Your intrusive thoughts wander to an image of Ollie, eyes almost glazed over, lying in a pool of blood –

Pull yourself together, the Voice scolds.

You rub your face with your palms to erase the gruesome image. The Voice is right – now is not a good time to lose it.

As soon as you hear a pair of footsteps enter the library, you brace yourself for their arrival. You look down at the floor and try to regulate your breathing. When the footsteps come to halt before you, you bow your head in reverence – you’re in the audience of the very omnipotent being who had molded you into existence, after all. He merely stands there, yet he changes the entire atmosphere in the library to one of petrifying tension.

Dream of the Endless.

“Mera.”

The sound of his deep, velvety voice, echoing in the expansive space, sends shivers down your spine. Your hand unconsciously goes to your thigh where your other pocket is, feeling for the dreamcatcher as if trying to draw comfort from it.

“Lucienne, leave us.”

You inwardly flinch at the command he had directed at his Royal Librarian – it was the same command he had issued to her in the throne room all those years ago, the events after which haunted you ever since. Ever the obedient one, Lucienne rushes past you – your scared eyes meet her reassuring ones briefly as she mouths, ‘we’ll talk later,’ before retreating. Her footsteps die down and one of the massive doors to the library close behind her, leaving you and your master alone.

He takes dawdling steps towards you, taking his time – your eyes keep glued to his feet, willing your hands not to shake. He takes a stop a few inches right in front of you.

You see him raise his hand – is he finally going to unmake you after all the rules you’ve broken? With resignation, you wait for the excruciating pain of disintegrating into millions of grains of sand, but it doesn’t come. Instead, you feel a warm hand cup the side of your face ever so gently.

“Look at me.”

You are quick to raise your head and meet his eyes; in place of righteous wrath, he has an unexpected softness in his gaze, the galaxies in his blue eyes swirling in seeming anticipation. You almost get lost in it, if it isn’t for the memory in you of the same eyes that had looked at you with such lust it made your skin crawl.

As if on cue, his gaze darkens, the hunger in his eyes evident – like they did so many times before, those haunting moments still fresh in your mind.

You’ve thought of many things that would occur when you meet him again and kept playing them over and over again in your head.

His insistent lips on yours isn’t one of them.

Wrapping his other around your waist, the Dream Lord spins you around and pins you on the nearby bookshelf, inadvertently knocking off some books in the process. You close your eyes tightly, thinking of Ollie so you could endure the kiss, but his thumb on your chin forces your mouth open and he slips his tongue, tangling yours with his. Without meaning to, your palms make their way to his chest, tapping lightly, wanting to make him stop. To your surprise, his lips leave yours, and nuzzles your hair, but before your relief could register, his words make your heart sink to your stomach:

“Thoughts of you were my only solace in my capture.”

 And he takes a deep breath to smell your hair before pulling away, looking into your eyes as he strokes your jawline.

“I had feared the sea of dreams had claimed you for itself. What happened to you?”

With your breathing still uneven and shallow, you stammer in response, “I-I… got t-trapped, my Lord…”

“Trapped?”

You hope to the Fates he doesn’t see the fear in your eyes, or feel your escalating heartbeat – he waits for a response, narrowing his eyes slightly. Delaying any further could make him doubt anything else you would say, so in your rush to find an excuse, you blurt out, “S-someone trapped me using m-magic, your Majesty.”

For a second he assesses your words, trying to detect a hint of deception. But how could he? It was a partial truth, and one that you might regret revealing, but this isn’t the time to think of it.

He clenches his jaw with a look of burning outrage. With a low voice, he asks, “Who?”

“My Lord, it doesn’t matter –”

His hold on your waist tightens by a tiny fraction. “Who trapped you?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“Please, my Lord, they did it because they needed my help, and they let me go in the end –”

“You must tell me, my dream. Their reason, nor their change of heart, matters not.”

You bite your lip in distress, trying to persuade him from his line of questioning. It isn’t working.

“My little dream, I am only looking after you. ‘They’ tried to keep what’s mine. I will ensure that they shall never do so again.”

“You don’t have to, my Lord, please…” you try to beg, daring to place your palm over the hand cupping your cheek. “Please, don’t…”

The Dream Lord hums lowly, and he swoops in on you and kisses you once more.

His kiss is desperate this time, as if wanting to savor every inch of your mouth – you let him, and at some point when he deepens the kiss even further, you tentatively kiss him back – anything for him to let the matter go. Will it be enough?

He growls in pleasure at your response, probably unexpecting it. This goads him on – his hands travel to your back, fondling the ribbon of your dress. Inwardly, you pray with all your might that he doesn’t undo it –

Then the ground beneath your feet shakes, forcing the both of you still your movement; grateful for the opportunity, you waste no time pulling away from his embrace and putting as much acceptable distance as possible without causing his temper to flare further.

When the quake eventually halts, your master breaks the silence with a warning: “I will soon coax it out of you. In the meantime, I forbid you to leave my Kingdom.”

You give him a wide-eyed look in protest, but he ever-so-slightly shakes his head, dismissing your objection. “It would set my heart at ease if you stayed there, my dream, until the Vortex has been dealt with. Your quarters have been restored to their original state. Your previous attendant would be happy to resume her role.”

No, this wouldn’t do; not again. You had spent so much time by yourself in that wretched prison, it almost drove you to insanity. Besides, you need as much freedom of movement as you can to visit Ollie’s progress.

So, clutching your hands to your chest in a plea, you say, “My Lord, please don’t confine me in there, I could help, or continue forming dreams –”

“No, you will not.” Despite our pleading eyes, you are met with your Lord’s resolute ones.

“Please, at least let me to the Library, I could be of use to Lucienne.”

He takes a threatening step forward with a curious expression, wondering, “Why, my dream? Do you not like your room? Or are you worried you’re going to be lonely, without company?”

No! shouts the adamant Voice in your head. Shaking your head wildly, you say, “No, sir I –”

“Well, if my dream requests it so,” he starts with a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth, “I can perhaps make quick visits to your quarters to keep you company.”

Perhaps, if you could’ve just agreed, maybe it should not have come to this? Visits from him, no matter what length, seemed to always leave you with a great deal of anxiety.

“I could never tear your time away from your duties, my King,” you say in an attempt to dissuade him.

A resonating caw from above interrupts your conversation.

“Sir, sir, you have to see this!”

You look up: the raven you saw only this morning circles the high ceiling above you before swooping low and landing on the nearest desk, facing you.

“Hello, ma’am!” he greets politely with a wave of a wing.

The Dream King steps forward with a leveled expression, addressing the raven and gesturing to you. “Matthew, this is Mera. She is a dream of mine. You will address her as ‘my lady.’”

Matthew the raven caws before bowing and amending animatedly, “Oh, I’m sorry, my lady. Are you okay? You look spooked. Did he scare you? I gotta admit, he does scare me a little bit – no, not a little bit, but, like, a lot, you know –”

“Matthew.” Your creator sharply interrupts his chatter. Facing you, he motions to the bird perched on the desk with a tilt of his head. “This is Matthew, my raven.”

With a tiny wave at the raven, you greet him ‘hello’ and flash a smile. “Have you met Jessamy, Matthew?”

His dark, beady eyes blink in hesitation, and he ruffles his feathers. “Uh… I have not –”

“That is a matter we can discuss at another time, my dream,” he declares flatly, his face donning a stony mask you know so well; one that always indicates no room for more argument. His eyes bore into yours once more with clear castigation. “My word is final. No wandering around the Realm, or you shall hear from me. Come, Matthew.”

“I’ll see you around, my Lady.” At his master’s bidding, Matthew takes off with a caw and follows the Endless, whose cloak billows around him as his long strides take him away from the library and out of your sight.

The instant he’s gone, you let out the breath you’re holding in and clutch a nearby chair in support.

And once again, like he has done so many times before, he has left you feeling trapped and helpless – and this is just your first meeting with him after a century. What could possibly go down next, with that vague promise of him invading your privacy in the pretense of keeping your company?

***

Morpheus likes to think he’s a man of his word.

This is why he quietly makes his way to your chambers using his sand to avoid rousing you from what looks like a troubled slumber.

The moonlight filtering from the windows of your room illuminated your figure. In your tossing and turning, he surmises, the silken sheets that had previously protected your form from the cold, night air, now reveal quite a sight to behold: your disheveled hair partially covering your face; the strap of your thin nightgown had fallen below your shoulders, exposing your delicate flesh; your nightgown had hiked up to your soft thighs. All the powers he had at his disposal almost isn’t enough to hold himself back from ravishing every inch of you laid out for him in such a state. With a low hum, he contemplates your choice of such a flimsy article of clothing in mild amusement – had you specifically chosen that nightgown to surprise him and tease him with such a view? Knowing how innocent you are, you could not have done that, at least not intentionally. And yet, it’s one of the many qualities he desired in you – your purity, and the thought of corrupting that little by little makes his cock twitch uncomfortably.

He takes deep breaths to will his arousal down, Matthew’s advice echoing in his head.

After they had left you in the library to begin tackling a wayward Nightmare of his and his devoted followers, his raven pressed him about his relationship with the dream he had just met. Morpheus confides very little, but it was enough for the motormouthed bird to conclude the nature of your involvement together. He had then given unsolicited advice; that his ‘scary, creepy vibes’ were pushing you away, and that he had to ‘be patient and go slow’ in pursuing you. Of course, this earned him quite the ‘scary glare’ even before he’d finished his sentence.

But a hundred and six years were evidence of how patient he was in your relationship.

He had been starved of you, and he’s desperately wanting to satiate this appetite. He has to give Matthew’s words some credit, however; he had been bold in his actions before, and he had indeed, ‘spooked’ you, as his raven had noted.

He sets aside his conflicting thoughts and approaches your bed. Softly, he brushes away the stray strands of hair that covered your face. Such beauty he crafted, he muses. Is he not allowed to appreciate his own work of art? His hand moves on its own accord, tracing the outline of your cheek, all the way to the exposed collarbones he had longed to lavish with marks of his possession. The thought of you underneath him, your skin flushed with his bites – he licks his lips in anticipation. He sits on the edge of your bed as gently as he can, his eyes locking on your luscious, bare thighs. He wonders inwardly how long these thoughts would sustain him before his emotions spill over.

No; his mere, clandestine touches aren’t enough. He needs to have you soon.

***

Get up.

Get up.

UP!

The Voice renting space in your head is never this insistent, so you heed its third call, and force yourself to wake and open your eyes. True and alarmingly enough, you find your King sitting on the edge of your bed, watching you with glowing, predatory eyes.

Your immediate reaction is to cover yourself – you pull at the sheets and drape them over yourself hastily; it only partially covers your body and it doesn't help the feeling of being exposed – not under his gaze.

“Forgive me, my little dream, for the intrusion. I planned to visit only momentarily, but I’m afraid I had stalled,” His eyes travel from your face to your partly covered thigh, and adds, “I could not leave, not when I’m presented with such a…tempting sight.”

You watch in muted horror, frozen in place, as one pale hand snakes toward your flesh and strokes it ever-so-delicately, tracing invisible lines. It’s when his hand travels upward that you flinch and pull your legs closer, covering them entirely in silk and hiding it from his heated stare.

He doesn’t appreciate your instinctive reaction.

“You refuse me, still,” he coldly states, his eyes glowing threateningly. “I had thought a century was enough for you to accept your role to me.”

“My Lord,” you start, your plea barely a whisper, “I beg you to reconsider –”

Slowly, he rises from the edge of the bed – you hope against all hope that he goes away in his disappointment, but he only advances nearer to your side, his face contorted in displeasure.

“You may have forgotten: I’m still your King and your creator, and you have a duty to me. A reminder may be long overdue.”

In a split second, you find your back hitting the bed and let out a startled cry. Your master had just gotten on top of you, pinning your hands to the side, his body pressing against you and straddling you at the waist. He's still fully clothed, but you could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent almost suffocating you. You try to stifle your whimpers and avoid struggling against his hold – angering him while in such a precarious situation wouldn’t do you any good.

With a low hum, his lips hover over yours, a hairbreadth away from touching. Your breath hitches, and slowly, agonizingly, he moves down to the groove of your neck, his hot breath peppering your already-flushed skin. He then nuzzles his nose on your jawline and inhales deeply, taking in your scent as if he couldn’t get enough. He’s motionless for a few moments, then you start feeling his lips hover on the side of your face.

“You,” he growls, his hand suddenly on your thigh, hiking your nightgown up, “Are,” he strokes upward, reaching your waist, fondling the hem of your underwear, “Mine.”

“No, my Lord, please…”

At this point, you couldn’t hold back your cries – tears start spilling from the corner of your eyes. When he feels the tears on the side of your face, he shushes you.

“Not another word.”

With your free hand, you cover your mouth at the threat, drowning out the pitiful noises you’re making, not wanting to upset him any further. You close your eyes, wishing this…this nightmare was over.

When he pulls away from you at last and gets off the bed, you scramble to adjust your gown and cover yourself up with the sheets. You sit up hurriedly and scoot backward until your back touches the headboard.

“You will meet me tomorrow morning, on the balcony of the highest tower in my palace. I will have my raven fetch you. Be there as I command it.”

He is gone in a flurry of sand.

It takes about five minutes before you break into tears, clutching a pillow close. You shake in uncontrollable sobbing as you squeeze the pillow tightly for comfort that wouldn’t come. As you do, you feel something solid against the soft cotton – you quickly rummage inside and take the dreamcatcher out. Once an abominable object that bound you against your wishes, it has now become your only source of strength. Nuzzling it to your cheek, your sobs die down, allowing you to think clearly and make an inward vow: no matter what he does, you will not break – for your dream of freedom and for Ollie.

It will all be over soon.

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Author notes on the Chapter:

More angy, touchy, possessive Dream Lord as promised :D

This was an adventure to write NGL. Also, I might be busy by next week - I will be out of town for work for an office party and a project, so the next update might be late (Sunday, Monday, perhaps?). Crossing my fingers I still get to write because I love this fic so much, and shit's about to unfold for our poor reader lol

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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: 12/10/22

Edit date: 12/10/22

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Tagging the following:

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I don't know what exactly to say so I make memes

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

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@akiraquote

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@izziclee

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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

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@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?”

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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!

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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.”

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

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:

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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)