Dream Of The Endless X Reader - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: you encounter a strange string of coincidences in the forms of old friends

⊹ tags: violence, you don't do well coping with being separated from your husband either, more longing but from reader's perspective this time, established relationship

⊹ warnings: violence, cursing, spoilers for 1.09

⊹ word count: 2671

⊹ previous part: part i.

⊹ up next: part iii

⊹ now playing: thoughts by faime

𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚠, 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎

You wouldn't think a bathroom stop counts as you stopping from running, but the bounty says otherwise.

Your pants are barely up after having taken a piss when the door is kicked open and a hand clutches around your throat. You cry out in pain as your head is slammed against the mirror, carving cracks into the glass. Large fragments break off and fall into the sink next to you, but the piece is just out of reach.

You gasp desperately as you dig your nails into the hunter's hands, but the hunter — a man in his mid forties who you've already narrowly escaped from twice before — learned his lesson from his last attempt and now wears gloves and earmuffs.

You manage to kick his knee, forcing him away from you. But freedom lasts only for a few seconds, and despite your attempt at running away, he grabs your hair and yanks to the floor. He straddles you as he resumes his grip back on your neck, this time with both hands squeezing tight enough that you know it’ll be hard for you to talk for a day or two.

"Bounty...needed...alive..." you choke out.

The hunter scoffs and leans closer to you. "I wanted that bounty the first time I tracked you. Now, this is personal." His grip tightens, and black dots swarm your vision and block him out so all you can hear is his voice in your ear and the stench of cigarettes and bloody. "You hurt my pride, lady Y/N."

Pride. The downfall of all men.

Though the situation doesn't warrant the memory, thoughts of your husband flood you anyways. Perhaps it's because he's always in your thoughts. Or perhaps he's chosen to make this appearance to give you solace from the pain as you black out. For when you open your eyes, you aren't in the dingy gas station bathroom anymore, but a green meadow with trees around and flowers blooming throughout.

Just because you're untouched by Death doesn't mean your memories throughout are vivid or intact. But you remember everything about that day, from the smell in the air — crisp, clean summer air with a fresh breeze that brings around the smell of petals — to the touch of the sun's warmth and your soft, chiffon wedding dress against your skin.

Unlike a dream, you aren't in control. Your body moves according to the memory. You move down the aisle between the three or four rows of seats. At the end of the aisle is a large willow tree, its branches drooping over a white arch where Lucienne stands. She bids you a small smile, which you return with your own, before your eyes shift to him.

Like always, there is a look of adoration in Morpheus' eyes. He looks handsome, having foregone his usual long black coat for a formal suit of that time. He's even managed to tame his messy hair — something Mervyn and Hob must have helped him with. As you get to where he stands, you see his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Don't cry, my love," you whisper. You place your palm against his cheek and rub your thumb under his eye. And like always, he leans into your touch, finding comfort in you. He turns his head and press a kiss against your palm — all while not breaking eye contact with you, the coy bastard.

You shake your head and smile.

The memory fast forwards, and suddenly he's saying his vows. He doesn't speak quietly — he has no shame in everyone hearing how much he means to you.

"I vow to always find you, as long as you wait for me. I vow to love you for as long as you let me. And I vow to be your husband until you want me no longer. All I am is yours until you cast me aside. And I beg of you to never."

Thank the gods you had said with your speech first. His speech had rendered you overcome with emotion to do anything else but cup his face and kiss him, both of you sealing your promises of forever with that act.

And both of you had kept your promises to each other. He remained by your side, as you remained by his. Until now.

He, by no fault of his own, disappeared from your side.

And you, also by no fault of your own, disappeared from his side.

A cruel twist of fate. Perhaps the universe restoring balance to the centuries of happiness the two of you lived together. Perhaps that had been enough, and it's time you stop trying to delay the inevitable. Perhaps it's time you stop and succumb to the exhaustion and pain of being with Morpheus.

I vow to always find you, as long as you wait for me.

Wait for me.

Morpheus' vow jerks you back to consciousness. Your eyes snap open, staring directly into the hunter who's looking down at you greedily. His mouth is curled into a hideous snarl, and his pride at seeing you weak and defenceless has drawn his head close enough that your noses were nearly touching.

Behold pride, you think as your hands drop from his wrists in feign unconsciousness, the downfall of all men.

You grab onto the sides of his head and dig your thumbs into his eyes. You try not to think about why your muscles memorize the exact amount of pressure and angle to do it so.

The hunter jerks backwards, screaming, his hands flying to his eyes which has begun to bleed. You cough violently as you take in as much air as you can to soothe the fire in your lungs, all the while scrambling to your knees and trying to get away.

A hand grasps onto your ankle.

You're pulled backwards with a scream.

"Where do you think you're going, lady?" the hunter growls. "I'm not done with you yet—"

"Remove your hands from me."

You feel the man go still. His hand falls from your ankle, and you scramble forwards. You don't need to look back to feel the shift in the air, but you do anyway because looking at them is the least you can do.

The man pulls out his saw from his bag. Without hesitation, he places the blade over his wrist and begin to move back and forth. He screams out in pain and begs for relief, but doesn't stop his motions. The hunter looks over at you, eyes glassy with gold that resembles sand, as his hand falls to the floor.

You're out of the bathroom before he begins his other hand. Before Death arrives for him.

You begin to run and don't look back.

Your throat is throbbing.

You touch your throat gingerly, and you don't need a mirror to know that the handprints of that man are visible against your skin. But even as you cough, the motion rough against your raw throat, you don't stop running.

You catch sight of a hotel, and you feel relief as you turn away from the road and bolt up the hill to the building. It'll be easier to hide in one of the man rooms, but the guarantee of people in the hotel was cause for concern. But as long as you keep your mouth shut, all should be fine.

You slow into a walk as you pass a trio of people in the parking lot. Name tags dangle from their chest, one of who is named, The Music Teacher. In the centuries you've been alive, you've never heard such an in-depth and seriously spoken topic about their favourite methods of cooking barbecue and collecting grills.

As you hurry inside, you pass by a sign that reads: CEREAL CONVENTION.

Is cereal that interesting to warrant a convention? you wonder as you scan the lobby. Nothing looks too out of place, apart from more people with name tags. It wasn't weird that there were adults taking part in the convention, but it was weird that there wasn't a single child in sight. A strange familiarity with those two words only made you more uncomfortable.

"Ma'am?" the receptionist calls. "May I help you?"

You tug up your turtleneck before approaching the reception desk and smiling at the receptionist. She visibly relaxes and smiles back, even wider than before.

"Do I know you?" she asks, peering at you curiously like everyone else who looks at you. But no matter how hard they look, they'll never be able to remember just where they remember you. Dreams had a funny way of being that way.

Even if she doesn't remember, her smile changes from being polite to being genuinely friendly, as if her muscles remember that you were a friend.

You motion for a notepad and pen. The receptionist scurries and puts the tools before you.

1 room, 1 night please, you write down.

She doesn't question it. She eagerly nods and asks for your name, which you also write down.

"You already have a room, ma'am," the receptionist informs you.

You raise a brow. A room? You never reserve your hotel rooms ahead. That guarantees someone waiting to kill you when you get there, as you learned a few decades ago in Manila.

The receptionist seems to understand the confusion on your face. "Perhaps you reserved the room for the convention?" she suggested.

But what interest would you have in a cereal convention—

The invitation.

The memory is jarring. Suddenly, you can picture it clearly. You can even feel the parchment between your fingers as you opened it, and the gasp you let out as you dropped the envelope and an eyeball rolled out, the nerve still attached.

The iris was blue, a shade nearly as light as Morpheus'. You knew it was no coincidence.

You take a step back from the receptionist, reeling that you've walked straight into a trap. You're so caught up in trying to figure out a way to get out without alerting anyone that you hear the receptionist's warning too late and your back hit something large and firm.

You spin around, your hand instinctively going to the hilt of the knife hidden underneath your shirt, before freezing in recognition at the man in a green cloak and cane.

"Lady Y/N?" the man gasps, gawking at you.

"Fiddler's Green?"

You've never seen Fiddler's Green personified as a human before, but the warmth that surrounds him in unmistakeable and makes you relax.

He dips his head in a respectful bow as he puts an appropriate amount of distance before you — a law Morpheus decreed in the Dreaming. He had been more possessive back then, especially since it was right after the power transference ceremony. Though you thought it ridiculous, you saw the slight relief it brought him so you allowed it to remain, pretending you still didn't know about it.

The appropriate response to a bow is to return with a small curtsy, but after a century of running, your first response is to run. You have to go before you harm Fiddler's Green. You'd never be able to forgive yourself for hurting someone so important to both you and Morpheus.

But it's because he's so important to Morpheus, and you've always known him so loyal to the Dreaming, that you think about your words carefully before speaking.

"What are you doing here?" you ask hesitantly, your voice still a bit rough from the fight. "Why have you left the Dreaming when you are so vital to it?"

You wait for the gold to appear in his eyes, but it doesn't appear.

"I am not vital to the Dreaming," Fiddler's Green says. "You and lord Morpheus are, and you were both gone. I left to go search for you, but I stayed for the humans. I do worry for the punishment I will receive. I know lord Morpheus has been calling back his other dreams and nightmares, but I wouldn't exchange it for the knowledge I have learned from the people who visit my glades every night."

You soften at the pureness in Fiddler's Green, but something catches your attention.

"My husband? He's free?"

Fiddler's Green looks surprised. "Why, yes, lady Y/N. He's been back for a few months, I believe. You haven't seen him? I thought that was why you were here. I thought perhaps he sent you after us."

You fight back tears of relief at the news that your husband has managed to break himself free from his cage. Your only regret is not being the one to have helped freed him, and you hope he doesn't resent you for that.

But what if he does? What if he thinks you have abandoned him? What if he thinks you've cast him aside? A hundred years, and he never received a visit from you. Now he's been free for months and you have not received a visit from him.

Why had he not come looking for you?

"There is something else you must know, lady Y/N." Fiddler's Green bends to your height. "The Corinthian is here."

You look at him in panic. How was it possible that you, him, and the Corinthian were all in the same place at the same time? You hadn't meant to come to the convention, yet there you were. Fiddler's Green definitely didn't prepared to se you or the Corinthian, which meant he was unaware too. What could be the reason for three pieces of the Dreaming to be near each other?

"I'm here to help Rose Walker find her little brother, Jed," he continues. "I fear both her and the boy are in danger from him."

"Then you must return to the Dreaming and let my husband know," you say without thinking.

The second the words leave your mouth, gold fills Fiddler's Green's eyes. He straightens and turns on his heel, and despite telling him to stop, he marches out of the hotel without another glance back, leaving you alone with your whispered apology going unheard.

Shit, you think. You try to dismiss your worries by entrusting Fiddler's Green's safety to Morpheus. He would be safer in the Dreaming than here with the Corinthian and no Morpheus.

You grab the piece of paper he had been holding. It's a missing poster for Jed Walker, and contains a picture of him with an older girl — Rose Walker, you presume.

If two mortals were being preyed on by a nightmare, then it was part of your responsibility as lady of the Dreaming to protect them. Morpheus can deal with the Corinthian. You just have to trust he'll come.

Of course he'll come, you think as you pocket the poster. I'm his wife.

In the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a man in a beige suit. There's something charmingly offputting about the man even from a distance — something you've only seen another man possess before.

You head in his direction immediately, only to be stopped by a man with the name tag Fun Land.

"Only guests are allowed in the convention."

"I think—"

"Guests only."

You eye him irritatedly. You glance at the extra name tags on the table, one of which you recognize coldly. Slowly, you look back up at Fun Land, then at the other convention attendees who are also wearing name tags. The conversations you manage to overhear are still talking about collecting. Only now, you're starting to understand what this fucking convention's really about.

"Can you check if I'm on the list?" you ask tightly.

"You're a guest?" he asks dubiously. "Name?"

"Whispers."

His eyes widen. You don't entertain the excitement in his voice as he apologizes and starts to ramble about how he was a fan. You snatch your name tag from his trembling grasp, his palm slightly sweaty, before starting your search for the Walkers in the basement, where you also coincidentally saw the man in the beige suit head down.

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

You push Jed behind you.

He grips onto the back of your shirt, trembling in fear as you and him both look at the Corinthian and the man being stabbed to death by two others behind him.

Even with those dark shades on in the dimly lit room, you know the Corinthian is looking at you. You can feel his stare raking you up and down, taking every inch of you greedily. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

It has been a century since he last saw you, after all. An entire century since he stopped you from entering the basement of Rodrick Burgess and freeing your husband when you were right outside the door, and instead put a bounty on your head.

"Hello, my lady," the Corinthian says, his honey-like drawl drawing shivers from you as always. He dips his head in a bow — more mocking than respectful. He takes a step towards you, and you take three back. "I've missed you."

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝖺 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐-𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋?

𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗃𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾, 𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎! 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍'𝗌 𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗂 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

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

𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 @aurorarevenclaw1927, @hueanhdang

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 @justviktormlolm, @amirahroronoa, @sunna-fangirls, @mrs-captainsteverogers, @absbdbshhs, @urbanbts, @theamuz, @ac-procrastinator-13, @thegreatestsandwich, @julegrav009-blog, @harrypotter55, @blossomedfloweroflove, @lestaikkeullsokka, @thetrashypanda423, @ponyboys-sunsets, @izzicle, @dilfsandtherapy, @mischiefmanaged71, @grippleback-galaxy, @cynic-spirit, @thecrazytealady, @violet-19999, @junobutbored, @avanisbored, @redskull199987, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @ladymoon666, @celestialceremonials, @mm2305, @ttae-yong, @thegreatestsandwich, @notabotiswear, @boofy1998, @crimsonsabbath, @megumimind, @itsnanabun, @spygrrl99, @regulusblacksimpsblog, @maverey, @storm4433, @writerinlearning, @lokigirlszendaya, @thesadvampire, @thestarsanctuary, @floreoo, @pinkpunkdynamite, @jesllianaquilesrolon, @aegeanblues, @anjimimimoo, @imaginativefanatic, @book-place, @littlemoistcarrot, @lorosette, @wondermia69, @commanderfreethatdust

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader, corinthian x reader if you squint

⊹ summary: you reunite with an old enemy and an even older friend, the corinthian, and confront him about his betrayal to morpheus, and more importantly, to you

⊹ tags: unexpected hints of a love triangle (more like a love V since there's no third line), contains more corinthian than morpheus in this part

⊹ warnings: violence, spoiler for 1.09

⊹ word count: 3492 (an absolute menace)

⊹ previous part: part ii

⊹ up next: part iv → coming soon

⊹ now playing: run boy run by woodkid

𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗! 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚛𝚞𝚗! 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞

The basement is cold and empty.

You shiver as you walk quietly through the hall. The years have taught you how to step lightly as if you were gliding on the marble rather than stepping.

Even though there was no logical reasoning that bound the Corinthian and you, you can still feel his presence. He was somewhere on the floor, getting closer and closer with each step you take even though your not working purposefully in a directions. You can feel him waiting for you to find him. To come to him — ironic, considering it’s been him chasing you all this time.

You don’t know what will happen when you see each other again. Will he hurt you? Try to claim the very bounty he set on your head? Has he finally gotten tired of your cat-and-mouse game?

Your thoughts are put to a pause when Jed Walker appears ahead, just a few doors from where you’re standing. You whisper his name but it goes unheard as he pushes open a set of doors and steps through, disappearing from your view. You still don’t know what the Corinthian could want with two young mortals, but given his track record, you don’t trust him with them. If saving them means your game has to continue, then very well.

“Jed!” you whisper louder. You hurry after the boy, slipping through the doors just before they close and nearly bumping into him.

The room isn’t empty. In fact, there are four—technically, three—other people in the room. A dead mortal, two killers, and in the centre of it all, the Corinthian himself.

The Corinthian smiles at you.

You push Jed behind you. He grips onto the back of your shirt, trembling in fear as you and him both look at the Corinthian and the man being stabbed to death behind him.

Even with those dark shades on, you know the Corinthian is looking at you. You can feel his stare burning into you, taking in every inch of you greedily. It has been a century since he last saw you, after all. An entire century since he stopped you from entering the basement of Rodrick Burgess and freeing your husband and his maker, and instead put a bounty on your head.

“Hello, my lady,” the Corinthian says, his honey-like drawl drawing shivers from you. He takes a step towards you, and you take three back. “I’ve missed you.”

He hasn’t changed much since the last time you saw him—nearly a hundred years ago. He still insists on indulging his materialistic side—something he got from Morpheus’ tendency to spoil you, probably—by wearing high-end suits. His golden hair is still the same length, though he no longer wears his hat. And he still wears those damn shades that covers his eyes—eyes that Morpheus spent days crafting specially for him.

You shove Jed further back, and the boy thankfully takes the hint and bolts. You stay.

“Who’s she?” one of the killers, a woman with straight hair, asks.

“She’s mine,” the Corinthian says dismissively. “Just continue with him.”

The woman looks at you before shrugging. She raises her hand to resume stabbing the man.

“Both of you, stop,” you command, and the two behind him immediately stop. Not just their arm, but every muscle in their body has frozen in compliance with your order. Even their hearts have frozen, and though you’re sure they’re feeling terrified, their bodies can’t show it because of what you’ve done to them with a single spoken word.

“All these years, and you still can’t control it, can you?” the Corinthian says. Though he sounds slightly disappointed, he keeps his tone light, as if remarking that it was raining when it should have been sunny. The casualness in his voice enrages you.

He’d always been a nightmare, but the last time you saw him, he had also been your friend. Not the maker-and-created relationship he has with Morpheus, but a friend. You hadn’t been surprised he’d want to keep Morpheus trapped and stop you, but you hadn’t expected for him to put that bounty on your head and reveal Morpheus’ and your’s, secret. To Morpheus, it was an act of defiance. To you, it was an act of betrayal.

“Corinthian."

His features softens slightly at the name you chose and gave to him. “My lady.”

“What have you done?”

“I inspired people, just like you said I would be able to.”

You flinch, as he’s spat your words back at you verbatim. You and him had been walking through the Dreaming once, your arm linked around his. It had been after your wedding to Morpheus but before the power transference ceremony. The Corinthian had asked what your intention was for him, as while it had been Morpheus who crafted him for you, you had decided his purpose. Even Morpheus had been surprised that you would choose to craft a nightmare rather than a dream, but you defended the Corinthian by saying nightmares had just as much power influencing a person and their decisions as much as dreams did.

“Confronting one’s fears challenges a person, but when they emerge, they come out stronger and firmer in their beliefs,” you had told him. “That’s what I want you to be. To be a mirror for humanity’s darkest self so they would choose to be better.”

He had smiled down at you in response, and dipped his head in a small bow. You tightened your grip on him as you resumed your walk, the sun warm down on both of you—so different from the cold that filled the air between the two of you now.

“I wanted you to inspire others to be good, Corinthian. Not…this.”

“I’m letting them be their true selves.”

“You’ve taught them to be selfish and cruel.”

He tilts his head before taking a step forward. You take another three back until you hit the door. But you don’t run. Not yet.

“Are you disappointed in me, my lady?” he asks lowly.

You toss your nametag to his feet in response. Of all his atrocities to you, that was the worst. “You made me that,” you spit out. Lady of Whispers. The name he gave you. He was the one who blew on the flames and built your reputation when he knew that you never meant to hurt anyone. It was his fault that people feared you, when you had been the complete opposite in the Dreaming. 

“I gave you a name of your own,” he says through gritted teeth. “Something for people to know you by other than being someone’s wife.”

There is truth behind his words. People still knew you as Lady of the Dreaming, but now they feared you for you, and not because of Morpheus solely.

The two killers behind him fall to the ground, dead. Death was always the only one able to put a stop to your powers.

The Corinthian bends down to pick you your name. As he does, you seize his distracted nature and run, going after Jed wherever he is. As the doors swing shut behind you, you hear the Corinthian’s throaty chuckle, the sound raising bumps all over your arms.

You sprint up the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.

Floor after floor, you search the halls, hissing out Jed’s name. By the fifth floor, you’re breathing heavily. By the eight, there’s a sharp cramp in your side. On the tenth, you’re forced to stop against a wall to catch your breath. As you will the fire in your lungs to go away, you remember the key in your back pocket. The room reserved for you is on this floor. It’s a completely irrelevant point, but you can’t help but wonder what you would find if you entered that room: one bed or two.

A girl walks past you, her head tilted upwards to the room numbers. You stare after her in surprise, recognizing her from the picture you’re carrying.

“Rose Walker?” you ask.

She turns to you. She blinks, and you see the recognition flare in her eyes. “I know you, don’t I?” she says thoughtfully. “I think I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

That wasn’t possible. Mortals already rarely remembered the full extent of their dreams. They rarely remembered Morpheus being by their side as they went through the Dreaming, you even more, talking to them and guiding them through. The most they remembered was the warmth of your presence.

“Y/N,” she says. “You’re Dream’s wife.”

You stop. “How do you know who I am?”

“He told me I’d know who you were.”

“My husband?” You step closer. “He’s spoken with you? Is he here? Is he alright? What did he say?”

“He told me to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you ask insistently, the desperation clear in your voice. Was it an explanation for why he isn’t here? Anger or hurt? Understanding?

“He told me to tell you that I’m a vortex,” Rose says.

You freeze and stare at Rose. It takes a few seconds for the pieces to click—why your husband would want her to tell you that apart from everything else. But when it does click, your shoulders relax and you smile at her. Of course he’d have her tell you that. You never would have figured it out on your own.

“Why would he tell me to tell you that?” Rose asks. “Does it mean something special to you?”

Of course you pity her for what has to be done, but you’re also relieved that you’re almost done. But before you can give her an answer—a partial truth to not be so cruel—someone calls her name.

You both look down the hall and see Jed Walker standing there. Rose breaks into a smile, forgetting you, and hugs Jed tightly. You recognize the man behind Jed, Fun Land, who’s too busy looking at him like prey. He moves forward and starts to tug Jed from Rose, who screams at him and you for help.

You rush forwards and slam your elbow down on Fun Land’s neck, hitting a nerve that sends him crumpling to his knees.

“Run, Rose!” you bark at her, and though her eyes don’t turn gold, she does as you command anyway.The three of you sprint down the hallway, only to be forced to a stop as you reach a locked green door. You try to kick it down, but the lock is thick and made of metal. As Rose and Jed begin to knock on it desperately, shouting for help, you think about who you’d call for help—Morpheus. But he isn’t here. At least, not yet. And you couldn’t let someone like Fun Land appease the appetite that the Corinthian had inspired in him.

“Cover his ears,” you command Rose. As Fun Land reaches you, you shove the kids behind you, using your body as a protective shield. 

“Stop,” you command. Gold fills his eyes, swirling in his irises like sand. Fun Land halts a few step from you, standing completely still and waiting for more instruction. “See yourself for who you really are.”

Immediately, he flinches and recoils into himself. He starts to whimper and seek forgiveness from Jed and Rose and every other unfortunate child he’d collected that would not and should not ever be given to him.

“What are you doing to him?” Rose whispers.

“Exactly what I said,” you say coldly. If the Corinthian inspired them to be who they really are, then let them see just that. He would see the monster he is.

Fun Land’s whimpers begin to turn into screams as he slaps his hands over his eyes to hide the world. Because that isn’t enough, he digs his fingers into them, the squelch as he hits his eyeballs echoing in the hall despite Rose’s horrified gasp and Jed’s cries. You only continue to stare, true, merciless and just, just as the Lady of Dreaming should be.

Fun Land’s cries are cut off when he suddenly drops dead. His body falls to the floor, a dagger protruding from the back of his head. Standing behind where he one stood, is the Corinthian.

“What a waste of a snack,” he says with a tut of his tongue. He licks his lips. “But my lady. We haven’t finished our conversation. Shall we?”

The Corinthian tosses your nametag to you. Out of instinct, you catch it.

“I did not make you this way,” the Corinthian says. “Dream did. If there’s anyone to blame for your talent, your gift, it’s him. He made you this way, just as he made me this way.” He takes a step towards you. “This is who we are, and if you would just stop running for one second and look in the mirror and see how much better you are in this form—with your powers and without him—you would be a lot happier.”

“With you?”

The Corinthian looks taken aback. “What?”

“Do you think I would be happier with you than with my husband?”

If Morpheus made him, then perhaps he had put his affection for you in the Corinthian as well. Perhaps that was why the Cortinthian insisted the bounty be for you to be taken alive, and why you had never been able to use your powers to stop him. You’ve always known those emotions were there, even if it went unsaid by you or him. Even before Morpheus’ capture, the Corinthian’s affection for you had always been soft, gentle. Lingering touches on your arm, laughing a little too loud at your jokes, his gaze on you longer than a friend’s should. But you always ignored it, as you never saw him in the way you saw your husband. You loved the part of him that was Morpheus,, but you could not love him completely. You could never.

“I did them for you,” the Corinthian insists. “Inspired them for you. They worship you, just as everyone should. Dream never let the others see your beauty and talent, but I did. I let them see you as you really were and they adored you. Because of me, you are loved.”

His words and the veneration in his tone—something you wish he was faking but can tell is genuine—struck you into silence. He’s standing before you now, one hand brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His movement is gentle. A caress.

“My lady,” he says quietly, his voice deep and thick with emotion. “I have missed you.”

Was it possible that he was right? That he loved you in a way Morpheus loved you differently? In a way you should be loved? Whereas Morpheus hid you from the world to protect you, the Corinthian showed you to the world and gave the world a reason to fear you—your own protection. Was he right?

He’s about to brush your cheek with the pad of his thumb when you grab his wrist tightly; painfully. A stark contrast against his touch.

Through his shades, your eyes meet. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Though you don’t see his eyes, you know they fill gold as the effects of your powers take control. The Corinthian yanks his hand back like you were the surface of a hot stove. He tries to slap you, but his hand stops inches from your cheek and he cries out in pain as his other hand grabs his wrist and pulls it away forcefully. He stares at his hand in repulsion, then up at you in anger, and just like that you know that whatever emotions he has for you is gone. The Corinthian had rebelled against Morpheus so he would not be under his maker’s will, and now you had just forced him under yours.

His lips curl into a nasty smile. He directs his attention to Rose, who’s been watching with fearful eyes this whole time.

“You don’t think she’s going to protect you, now do you, Rose Walker?” the Corinthian says, his tone sickly sweet and charming. “Do you know who she is?”

“Dream’s wife,” Rose says hesitantly.

“Oh, she’s so much more than that. She’s one of his tools.”

“His tools?”

“Dream is known for three of his tools: his pouch of sand, his helm, and his ruby. But what’s lesser known is his fourth tool: his wife. While the first three were crafted, his fourth was given to a mortal that he fell in love with.”

“Enough,” you snap, but the Corinthian doesn’t listen.

“The ceremony was beautiful. A slice from his palm to draw blood, which he placed on top of hers so that his blood may enter her veins. In his blood was his power. When the blood had dried, it was done. She had been remade into one of his tools, and like his other tools, she has powers. Did you see what she did to Fun Land?”

“She told him to stop,” Rose says slowly. You can hear her piecing it together, and as you turn to her, you see the growing fear and apprehension in her eyes. “You told me to cover Jed’s ears…it’s because you didn’t want him to hear what you would say. Your order. Is that your power? You can tell people what to do?”

“The proper term is she inspires,” the Corinthian said.

You aren’t blind. You’ve seen the slow, small steps he’s taken to Rose, as if he’s offering her his protection. And you can see how Rose has been leaning away from you and towards him too. He’s always been good with words. That he got from you.

“Dream stored inspiration in her,” he says. “The ceremony turned her into the physical manifestation of inspiration; of the aspect of our thoughts and dreams that incline us to do something.”

Rose looks at you, perhaps waiting for you to say he was lying or there was more to the truth, but you don’t say anything. You can’t.

“Dream’s coming to kill you, Rose Walker,” the Corinthian whispers in her ear.

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re the vortex.” He turns to you. “And as Dream’s tool and his wife, she’s going to kill you too if she can.”

There’s betrayal in her eyes towards you as she tugs Jed closer to her. And fear. That’s what’s in her eyes. That’s how everyone’s looked at you in the past century.

“Is he telling the truth?” she asks. “You’re both going to kill me?”

“You have to die, Rose,” you say, void of emotion. “For everyone. For your brother’s safety. You are the vortex.”

“Is that why he had me tell you that I was one? So you could finish the job if he couldn’t?”

Perhaps it was one of the reasons he told her that, a sign that he still had trust in you. But you knew the main reason he had her tell you that was to reassure you that he still loved you and was coming for you. As the vortex, Morpheus had to come for her. His message—the unspoken words behind it—was to tell you to stay close to Rose Walker so that he could find you.

In other words, he was asking you to wait for him.

“I’m sorry, Rose,” you say softly. Behind your back, you reach for the hilt of your dagger. Morpheus will find another way to get to you. But he won’t be able to do that if the Corinthian has Rose.

But before you can grab onto it, the Corinthian moves. He’s a blur of speed and strength, and you’re soon slammed against the wall with a syringe sticking out of your neck. You gasp and dig your nails into his wrist, hard enough to draw blood, but it’s too late. When he pulls the syringe out, it’s empty. The liquid burns through your veins and dulls everything immediately, and you go slump against his body as he brushes your hair out of your face.

“He’ll come for me,” you mumble.

“Oh, I’m counting on it, sweet thing,” the Corinthian murmurs. He grips your chin with his thumb and points and points your face towards him. “What do you think the reward for the bounty is?”

Your eyes widen in horror. The Corinthian smiles and nods.

“Dream, your husband who’d do anything to get you back. Well. Let’s see just how much he means that, shall we? When you get home, why don’t you tell your husband that I’m waiting for him?”

You try to push away from him, but you’re too weak. Soon, you can’t feel your limbs. Then, you begin to drift. For the first time in a long time, you’re falling asleep and entering the Dreaming. But before you do, you feel the Corinthian press his lips against your forehead. His words are the last you hear.

“I’m sorry, my lady.”

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

Morpheus walks slowly towards the Corinthian, the weight of his footsteps and anger to be felt by all as the world tremors. Across the waking world, dreamers encounter nightmares that haven’t been seen since the Morpheus was first captured. They stir and cry out in their sleep, unable to wake and escape the monsters. Some wake up and find that the monsters have followed them into the waking world.

They all scream.

But in the hotel, where the cult of serial killers are asleep in their seats, it is only the King of Dreams and Nightmares and the Corinthian.

“Where is she?” Morpheus asks eerily calm. His voice is deep and dangerous; wrath being barely restrained from being unleashed on the Corinthian.

The Corinthian smiles. “You can feel her, can’t you? Feel her strength? Or shall I say, her strength diminishing?”

“What have you done, Corinthian?”

“I want to kill you, Dream. And what easier way to kill you, than to kill your wife.”

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀? 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝗂'𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁. 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌??? 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗋𝖽 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂'𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽??? 𝗐𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇.

𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗒. 𝗂'𝗆 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (𝗅𝗈𝗐-𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝖼) 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍!

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗋, 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗂 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌: 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝖻𝗒 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆.

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

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

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@tea-effect, @lex-the-flex, @dreamamubarak, @witchxlove, @mxtokko

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

Perfection

~Dreaming of him~ - Morpheus x female Reader (not sfw)

warnings: smut and fluff, (less) p*orn with (more) feelings, oral s*ex (f! receiving), nudity

summary: reader falls asleep while thinking of Morpheus and has an e<rotic & emotional dream

words count: 3,312 k

"Finally!"

A loud sigh of satisfaction left your lips when you collapsed on your bed, sinking into the soft sheets and warm furry blanket.

You always looked forward to that moment, especially after a long busy day like the one you had just barely survived. You felt tired, like your whole vital lymph had been drained out and even slightly feverish although you knew it was your usual migraine making your heart pound in your head like crazy.

You needed to close your eyes and have a good night's rest. Your sore muscles however were making it a bit too hard to find a good position to sleep into.

There was only one efficient way to help you relax, to ease your tensed body and although you were quite sleepy you convened that pleasuring the tiredness off your body was what you needed. To this end, you turned and laid on your back, spreading your legs a little under the sheets. Your hand crawled under your nightgown and slipped unceremoniously in your panties.

You couldn't just touch yourself, tough. It wouldn't work. You needed to make up a fantasy in your mind or else you'd still be wanking in the morning. Well, perhaps not the morning but it would definitely take you a lot more time than you were willing to sacrifice that night. You needed to make something up real quick and with that aim in mind you closed your eyes and started rubbing your fingers on your clitoris.

You gasped when your mind presented you an highlight of a few different memories, all associated with the same person or well, a supernatural being. Morpheus.

You have had a crush on him since the first time you saw him in The Dreaming. He had helped you with a particularly aggressive nightmare and since that night you had had a few other brief but pleasant encounters. Literally everything about him intrigued you and captivated you. Although, his voice was what attracted you the most. It was like a soothing balm for your very soul but at the same time a lit match that aflamed your whole body with passion.

And it was his voice that you tried to recall and replicate in your mind as you touched yourself, making it whisper whatever you needed to hear to whet your arousal. With his deep voice came a vivid image of him, his charming eyes wandering over your exposed skin and his full lips parting to kiss his way to the inside of your legs, getting closer and closer to the point where you wanted to be touched the most.

"Y/N... " He whispered and you flinched a bit, startled at how the voice in your head could sound so real.

"Y/N?"

Maybe a bit too real.

Your eyes flied open and you heart almost jumped out of your chest. He was right there, in front of you, on your bed, kneeling between your legs, his crystal eyes curiously looking at you.

"I heard you call my name." he said, his gaze slowly traveling down your laying body, halting at your lower belly, were your hand disappeared inside your panties.

You followed it and gasped, abruptly withdrawing your hand and unfolding the nightgown that was rolled up to your hips.

"I fell asleep?!" you asked alarmed looking around you as you retreated a little to put some space between the two of you, leaning your back against the headrest. Morpheus was looking at your every move, amused, a small smile curving up his lips.

You were deeply mortified. How could it have happen? You were laying there in your bed, pleasuring yourself in the privacy of your room and then what happened? You fell asleep while thinking of Morpheus and inadvertently brought him to you? Oh God. You wanted to dig a hole in the ground right then and there and hide inside it forever or better yet, you wished you could immediately wake up and never ever dream again for the rest of your life. How could you look him in the face after that?

You tried to hide your embarassement as best as you could by covering your face behind your hand, fingers lazily scratching your forehead while you kept your eyes fixed on the ground, not daring to look up.

"Sorry...", you huffed in a whisper, "c-could you wake me up please?"

He chuckled in response at which you flinched a bit in surprise and your head snapped up. He moved your hand away from your face and took it in his.

"Why should I, Y/N?"

The look he was giving you was so genuine and alluring at the same time that you felt your heart missing a beat or two.

"You're here now...", he said, bringing your hand to his lips and leaving a gentle peck on its back, "exactly where you wanted to be."

Your breath itched at the touch and you gawked at him in disbelief. What was he doing? Why was he doing it? It took a moment for his words to fully register.

"I-I didn't mean to come here! I was just- I just wanted to... "

He smiled as he pecked your skin again, then turned your hand around and planted another delicate kiss on your palm.

"Morpheus?" the tremble in your voice betrayed your eagerness and he looked up, locking his gaze with yours.

"You were touching yourself thinking of me, calling my name."

He knew, he knew. Of course he knew. You wanted to melt, vaporize, get struck by a thunder! Anything!

"Isn't it true?" He arched an eyebrow, his head tilting a little to the side, his now seemingly innocent gaze boring into yours. You gaped at him, unsure how to react.

"Was it my hand that was pleasuring you?"

You gulped. The embarrassment of the situation couldn't keep you from feeling a growing warmth in your lower belly at the thought of the fantasy you were only a few minutes ago so nicely weaving in your mind.

"How did it feel?"

You wanted to answer that it was the best fantasy you ever had but you were stunned and kept your mouth shut. The whole situation felt unreal. It was unreal.

"Y/N? How did it feel to be touched by me?"

His gaze was too intense and you couldn't resist.

"So good."

The words spiraled out of your lips in a shaky huff before you could realize what was happening and stop yourself. You looked away, feeling ashamed.

"Oh?", he smiled, visibly amused. His hand moved on your cheek to caress it. You felt a light tingling where his fingers brushed over your skin, making your whole body shudder.

His fingers curled around your chin and he turned your head to face him. Your eyes locked for a moment before his gaze began to wander over your features, admiring every inch of your face, halting at your mouth. His thumb moved up to delicately brush the outline of your parted lips.

"Did I kiss you in your fantasy?"

He looked up at you and you flinched again, heart jumping in your chest. All you could do was shake lightly your head in response.

"No? Well, that's a shame. I think we require one kiss, at least."

He bent over you, slowly closing the distance between your faces. His lips brushed over yours in such a subtle way that made you lose your head and lean forward, attracted to him like a magnet. It seemed to you that your yearning was the only sign he was waiting for because as soon as you moved, his smiling lips crushed on yours. You moaned in the kiss, surprised by his eagerness. He was literally devouring you. His hands came to clench your sides and you felt like jelly, melting in his touch.

You were literally gasping for air when he leaned back, putting an end to that heated kiss.

Dream's eyes were scanning your face once again, seeming to revel at the sight of your flushed cheeks and dumbstruck look. Without uttering a single word, his lips moved back on yours only to tease you with a peck before he trailed them toward your cheek, then along your jaw, stopping at your neck, at the level of your throat. He planted a open mouthed kiss on that spot, sending goosebumps all over your body.

"Morpheus?" you shakily whispered, "why are you doing this? Am I making you do it, somehow?"

You felt his hot breath on your skin as he chuckled and lightly shook his head. He sought your eyes and his hand gently cupped your cheek.

"You are not. I am still the ruler of this realm and I make your dreams."

He saw the puzzled look on your face and tried to explain himself better.

"This is your dream, Y/N. And I am, voluntarily, making it happen. I'll give you anything you wish."

"And you are willing to..."

"I am, my dear."

You searched his eyes, trying to understand, to catch any sign that could finally ease your mind about the whole situation. Was he really willing to play out your fantasy for you? Was he interested in you as you were in him? Would he take as much pleasure in having you just as you would in having him?

Feeling your hesitation, Dream captured your lips in another kiss, less voracious than the last one but equally passionate. It was slow and deep, in one word, intoxicating. Your eyes fluttered close and you reveled at the sensation of feeling desired by someone, by him.

He begrudgingly brought the kiss to an end just to move his lips up to your ear and whisper, "I want you, Y/N. Do you want me?", then moved back and locked his eyes with yours, now wide open.

Of course you wanted him! You were the one who had fantasised about him and brought him to you. You nodded repeatedly, mind already wandering in anticipation to what was to come.

Dream tilted his head a little, scanning your face.

"Y/N, I want you to say it" , his forefinger moved on your mouth to gently tap your lower lip, "I want to hear it from your lips."

"Yes, Morpheus", you cleared your throat to let your voice sound more full and confident. "This is what I want. This is my dream."

The beautiful smile that appeared on his face brought one to yours as well and a warm reassuring feeling rose in your chest.

In no time his lips were back on your neck to tease the sensitive skin there, under your jaw, on your jugular, down to the swell of your chest, stealing a series of moans from your lips. He threw a glance up at you and locked your eyes with his as he resumed his descent, peppering teasing kisses over the light fabric of your nightgown. He moved down in a straight line along your chest, kissing between your breasts, on your belly button, halting only as he hovered over your groin.

His fingers skimmed over your legs, igniting the skin through their climb toward the inside of your thighs. They danced around the hem of your nightgown, teasing you with the lightest of touches, before they slid beneath the fabric and reached the hem of your panties, tugging them down in an agonisingly slow pace.

"Morpheus, please..." you cried out impatiently, rubbing your thighs together to make up for the ever more frustrating absence of his touch where you most needed it.

He smirked up at you as he slid off your foot the last portion of your underwear. His hands moved on your knees to give them a little squeeze then trailed up your thighs, spreading them wide, fingers slowly dipping under the hem of your dress, traveling upwards.

"You are so beautiful Y/N."

That compliment caught you off guard and you blushed visibly, bit your lips and averted your eyes from his.

You were on the verge of begging him to touch you and put you out of you misery when he lifted your dress, dipped his head and slicked his tongue through your folds. You couldn't possibly hold back the loud moan that escaped you.

After a second solid stripe down your core he placed a soft kiss to your clitoris and peeked up at you to watch your face contorting, then he continued littering you with teasing kisses until you were writhing under his touch.

"Morpheus!" you cried in frustration as you squeezed your eyes shut and bucked your hips towards him.

He was pleased to see you so desperate under him and he chuckled, his warm breath going cool against the wetness between your legs, driving you mad.

While his hands gripped your hips to hold you down, he latched his lips to you and started dragging his tongue back and forth, occasionally swirling against your most sensitive button.

Your hands instantly found his head, fingers tangling in his dark hair and tugging at it, making him groan against you while you whined pathetically.

He moved to focus on the clitoris sucking gently at first then with more decisiveness. He pulled the little botton up into his mouth, just past the lips as he sucked on it up and down.

A loud deep moan escaped you when his tongue dove into your entrance, making you arch your back and bent your head backwards on the headrest.

You were already worked up before he started so it wasn’t long before you felt your release growing closer. All your muscles felt tense like a violin cord and your hands tightened their hold on each side of Dream's head, supporting his motion.

"Morpheus, I'm- I'm-"

Looking down, you met his eyes which watched your reactions with a hazy, love-drunk gaze. His tongue slid up to focus once more on your nub, sucking firmly on it a few times. That was the last straw for you. A second later a rolling wave of pleasure washed over you and you cried his name out loud, eyes squeezing shut and seeing stars, legs twitching around him. He had to plant his palms on your inner thighs to keep from being squeezed as he got back up.

He licked his lips as he watched you come back from the ecstasy, eyes lingering on the rising and falling of your chest gradually going back to normal and then on the contraction on your face fully abandoning your features to give them a relaxed and satisfied look.

He was smiling softly, hands caressing affectionately your thighs when you reopened your eyes and met his gaze. Your hands were still at the sides of his face so you gently cupped his cheeks.

"That was..." you whispered, still trying to regain your breathing, "that was intense."

He took your wrists in his hands and as his eyes fluttered close he placed a lingering kiss on both your palms. That sweet little gesture after the thoroughness and care he just put in giving you the best orgasm you ever had, felt so intimate and meaningful that it made your stomach flutter and your eyes start to sting a little.

"Did it measure up with your fantasy?" he genuinely asked, looking down at you with the most tender gaze.

You could feel your eyes beginning to fill with tears and before he could notice, you leaned forward, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

"Are you kidding me?", you tried your best to swallow a sob as you nestled on his shoulder and against his neck "this was a billion times better."

His arms were around you in no time, hands supporting your back and he squeezed you against his chest making you feel so safe and happy and loved. You couldn't possibly hold back the tears any longer. A stifled series of sobs escaped your lips and you clinged tighter to him, fingers tugging at his robe.

"Y/N..."

His beautiful voice, resonating so close to your ear only made you more emotional. You genuinely had no idea what had gotten into you.

"Y/N, why are you crying?"

In an attempt to soothe you he ran one hand up and down your spine, while the other kept supporting your lower back.

"I don't know..." your shaky voice was interrupted by your sniffling, "I just- I've never felt like this... I'm so full to the brim of emotions and they're pouring out."

He hummed, nodding his head. "You must know that emotions here are amplified. It's totally normal to feel overwhelmed."

"Is that true?" The grip you had on his robe loosened and you leaned back seeking his eyes.

Dream immediately brought one hand to your face, wiping a tear from your cheekbone with his thumb.

"It is."

It made sense to you. That was still a dream, after all, even though one of a kind. And just like in any other dream you had, good or bad, everything you felt had been ten times more intense. You knew however that what Morpheus had made you feel was totally new for you, dream world or not. You've always yearned to know how it would feel to be desired, to be loved, and truly cared for and Dream had just given you all of that and more. At least that was what you felt. Was it real? Was that intense bubble of emotions pouring out of you real? And was it love? Or something else? Something made up entirely? Would you have felt different in the Waking World? All those unanswered questions were really starting to mess with your head.

You took a moment to scan his face, taking in all his beautiful features, the ones you adored so much. Your fingers reached up to follow your sight in its contemplation, grazing delicately over his skin as if you were scared he could disappear at a moment’s notice, but also as if you were touching a forbidden piece of art of invaluable worth and feeling undeserving of the permission granted to you to even stand so close to it.

You begrudgingly let your arms fall back.

"I'm sorry...", you sighed, giving him an apologetic smile, "I ruined the mood. It was your turn... You still want to...?" You babbled feeling a bit ashamed.

"Y/N. You have not ruined anything." he admonished kindly, brushing affectionately his hand through your hair. "And, I think we should keep something for the next time..."

You perked up at his words.

"For your next dream..."

"Right", you couldn't hide the hint of slight disappointment in your tone.

"Or-", he resumed, leaning forward, a knowing glint in his eyes, "for when you're awake."

As soon as the meaning of his words hit you, you gawked at him, a wide grin taking form on your lips.

"Y-you would?!"

Your earnest reaction made him smile and he nodded.

"If it will ease your mind, of course."

"Oh...", you averted his eyes, rubbing nervously your fingers against your cheek, "am I that easy to read?"

"Perhaps a little", he whispered, taking your hands in his, "the look you gave me just a few moments ago spoke louder to me than words could ever have."

With a sheepish smile you fiddled with his fingers in your lap then you interlocked them with yours and looked up.

"So", he said, leaning his forehead against yours, "until next time, my love?"

You screamed internally at the word 'love' he so earnestly uttered to adress you. There was no way you could refrain the wide smile that popped up on your face as you answered, "until next time".

You both leaned forward to meet in a soft and lingering kiss worth a thousand words.

-

"This dream is over."

A/N = thank you for reading! I hope you liked the story. Feel free to leave a comment to tell me what you think of it, feedback is always appreciated.

Also, you're welcome to come over on Ao3 and Wattpad where this story and other my works are published as well, to live kudos, stars and read other people's comments and opinions. [author's name is the same everywhere]

I officially don't take requests but I'm open to suggestions and I might use your ideas for a future story so either leave a comment under one of my stories, dm me or send an anonymous request.

Thank you again and until next time! xx

do yourself a favor and read this story while listening to earned it by the weeknd... you're going to feel morpheus's kisses on your neck... it's so spectacular

under-negotiations

morpheus x reader. no use of y/n. fuck, with feeling, aka smut (rough-ish) unedited (eve babitz would understand)

“I know about Nada,” you tell Morpheus when he reaches for you. His hand halts, hovering over your cheek. You long for his cool touch against you on this hot summer night. Even at midnight, the warmth of the day remains ever present.

But you also know about Nada. 

And that more than anything frightens you. Already, you were aware of who he was. Just because he appeared to you as a man, did not make him flesh and blood. And yet knowing all that, being aware of his severe reputation in the supernatural community, had not stopped your attraction to him blossoming into more. You had grown fond of the melancholic and surly man. 

In the stories, it always went badly for the mortal.

Keep reading

my heart almost stopped 80 times but i'm fine and my pussy too we both still want our lord In our bed

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬' 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐈.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

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

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

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

⊹ word count: 3027

⊹ previous part: morpheus' love languages part i.

⊹ now playing: take me to church by hozier

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

call him by his name

not dream, but morpheus

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

you tried to hold your moans back once

biggest mistake of your life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

always asks for consent

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

has a thing for walls

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

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

overstimulation

worships your body

kissed every inch of your body once

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

is still a sucker for eye contact

looks up through his lashes as he eats you out

looks down at you as he fucks into you

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

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

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

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

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

you’ve ridden him on his throne

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

can unclasp your bra with one hand

pulls your underwear down with his teeth

bites on thighs

and neck

and chest

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

just kiss it away

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

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

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

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

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

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

he’ll add a finger soon enough

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

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

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

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

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

and don't forget to sit on his face

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and you do pass out

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

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

however, he does like to take his time teasing you

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

hand on your upper thigh when eating with others

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

night is definitely prime time for sex

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

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

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

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

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

rather, he uses toys to overstimulate

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

the gift he does like to give you is lingerie

he gives you an assortment of different colours in different materials

his favourite is whatever makes you feel the most confident

gives you lingerie that is meant to be ripped off you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

back to his greatest gift to you being his cock

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

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

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

nearly cums in your mouth immediately

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @aurorarevenclaw1927

I love Mathew

𓅨 An Offered Apple

An Offered Apple: You, a mortal and a librarian, have just died and Death has come to guide you to the afterlife. Unfortunately for Death, you are too stubborn to give up your library life. So one deal later, you are a permanent resident in The Dreaming and a librarian for Dream. Dream has taken a liking to you and after an innocent gesture, you find yourself drowning in embarrassment.

Warnings: Morpheus is Looking for an Excuse to Make a Move (Reader Inadvertently Gives Him One), Oblivious, Naive, & Meek Reader, Morpheus is Head-Over Heels in Love W/ Reader, Segmented Reading, Reader Accidentally Asks Dream of the Endless to Marry Her.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Librarian!FemaleReader, this idea is from this convo, here you go @wickedly-grim.

Word Count: ~8.3k

When you had died and Death came to lead you to the afterlife, you hadn’t wanted to leave. In fact, you had refused. Books were your life as was the library you had worked at, you weren’t going to give that up just because you had died. Perhaps a bit dramatic, but you loved books more than anything in your entire life. So you had made a deal with Death, and was dropped off in a place called The Dreaming. Then you were introduced to Dream, Death’s younger brother, Lord and King of The Dreaming. It was disturbing to know that he had seen all of your dreams, but the moment you had been shown the library… all thoughts of Dream of the Endless had flown from your mind and you had started geeking out over the endless rows of books. You had happily spent the last three weeks as Lucienne’s personal assistant, which made her very happy because apparently, Lord Dream had been gone for 106 six years and there was plenty of work to be done around the palace. She was busy and couldn’t do everything herself.

At the moment, you were organizing some books that had  appeared. Humming to yourself as you walked through the library, you rotated the large books in your hands to look at the spines. W. You looked up at the nearest aisle, which had a gold R on the dark wood shelf. Close, but not W. Moving further down, the library shelves shuddered as they shifted and changed to the W section. From there you turned down the nearest aisle and peered at the spines of the books: Walder, Wash, Water, Web, Webber, Webbins, Whigg… You walked along until you reached where the top book in your stack needed to go. Taking the book from your stack, you rose up on your toes and pushed it in place. The bookshelf shivered in happiness at another book being accepted to its shelf and you moved on to shelve the next one.

“Y/N! Y/N, where are you?” Lucienne’s voice cut through the tune you were humming and sliding book in place, you trotted out from the aisle to see Lucienne with a harried look on her face.

“Yes, Lucienne?” You asked, blinking at her before frowning at just how stressed she looked. “Is something wrong?”

“We’ve just received a larger than usual influx of books and I do not have the time to both shelve them and assist Lord Morpheus in his research.” The harried head librarian rushed out. You hadn’t seen her this stressed since arriving.

“I’m almost done shelving these books, I can start with the new order if you need me to.” You offered. Lucienne quickly shook her head.

“No, no I think I will take care of the shelving.” She spoke, eyeing the unending aisles behind you. Then Lucienne gestured to a stack of books on a nearby table. “Will you please take these books to Lord Morpheus, for me? He should be in the throne room.” She wanted you to do what? Your jaw open and closed a few times, no words coming from your mouth for a good minute.

“I beg your pardon, Lucienne but are you sure that I—“ Lucienne looked over her glasses at you.

“Y/N, are you afraid of Lord Morpheus?” You gulped and looked away from her piercing eyes.

“No…” Her eyebrow rose at you and your shoulders deflated. “Lucienne, he is an Endless. What isn’t there to be afraid of? I’m a menial little human and his gaze is intimidating.”

“Y/N,” Lucienne chided, giving you a look. She inclined her head towards the stack of books Lord Dream wanted. “Books, throne room, now.”

“Yes ma’am,” You squeaked out, setting the books you had been in the processes of shelving, down, and picked up the books Lord Dream wanted. You scurried out of the library with your tail tucked firmly between your legs. Lord Dream was scary, Lucienne was terrifying.

Clutching the books to your chest, you walked through the palace while your eyes flittered everywhere. You spent most of your time working in the library, and when you weren’t working, you were in your cottage, parked in front of your fireplace, reading. You didn’t know much about the castle and hadn’t taken the time to figure out where everything was. The palace changed periodically to Lord Dream’s whims and desires and to be frank, you were still having a hard time wrapping your head around the realm. Trotting down the hallway that would open up to the throne room, you came across Mervyn who was lumbering his was out of the throne room.

“Hey, Y/N, Loosh got ya runnin’ errands?” Mervyn spoke as you came to a stop next him. You nodded and looked down at the large books you had pressed against your chest.

“We just got in a rather large influx of books that need shelving,” You explained, nodding your head in the direction of the library. “I offered to shelve them since I was almost done with the W’s, but I think Lucienne was stressing about them and wanted to do them herself.” You then patted your hand against the bottom book in your arms. “I’m to deliver these books to Lord Dream.”

“She upgraded you from devoted follower to errand girl, congrats,” Mervyn said, his jagged mouth curving at the side. You scowled at him.

“I am not a devoted follower Mervyn!” You exclaimed sharply, shooting the pumpkin headed janitor a dirty look. “I just really love books!”

“Yeah, I got that, kid. You eat, sleep, and breathe books… just don’t let Loosh wear you ragged, kid. It’s nice to have you around.” Mervyn replied before lumbering off in the direction of the east garden. Letting out a huff, you turned back to the entrance to the throne room and steeled yourself. You could do this, it was just a delivery of books, Lord Dream probably wouldn’t even give you a second glance.  Marching forwards with a tight grip on the books, you entered the throne room… only to come to a screeching halt and all but blanch at the magnificent stained glass windows rising to the eaves of the room behind the throne. Light flooded through the colored glass and illuminated the depictions. Then your eyes trailed upwards to see swirling glass overhead, morphing between shapes.

First is was a blue and purple swirl of colors, shifting into a woman with wings that sparkled like a dark nebula. Then those dark and mesmerizing colors swirled into an orange red. A man with a hat  appeared, he had a large smile… but before you could really figure out what he was, the glass shifted once more. An explosion of greens appeared, depictions of plants, trees, and flowers rotated and twisted. You hadn’t realized that your attention had been completely absorbed by the glass until a voice spoke from the ground.

“Hi there!” You took a step back in surprise before dropping your gaze to see a raven standing in front of you. The raven shifted it’s wings.

“Hello,” You replied quietly, your head tilting to the side in curiosity. Lucienne had explained that Lord Dream had a familiar, a raven, named Matthew. “You must be Matthew.” Matthew hopped in place.

“Oh! You’ve heard of me?” You could have sworn that his chest puffed up proudly. “Yes! I serve Morpheus… or at least help him out.” The raven explained. “And you must be Y/N, the new librarian Lucienne is very territorial over.

“Territorial over?” You repeated in confusion. “How is Lucienne territorial over me? I’m just a librarian…”

“Oh that’s because she likes having you all to herself, you know, helping with the library… just don’t tell her that because she’ll pluck all my tail feathers out.” You made a face at the image and nodded in agreement. Lucienne would pluck Matthew’s tail feathers out if she was pushed to that point. “Lucienne’s already chased off several residents trying to get to know you.”

“She has, has she? This is the first I’ve heard of it.” You mused quietly, your eyebrows pinching together. “Never mind that, Lucienne has tasked me to bring Lord Dream the books he requested.” Your eyes looked up to the throne and you saw the Endless in question, sitting on the curb stairs to the throne. Star filled blue eyes rose to meet yours and you let out a noise in the back of your throat. You dropped your eyes and stared at the floor, glancing at Matthew. “If you will excuse me, Matthew, I should make my delivery and get back to the library.”

Like a frightened mouse, you scurried up to the steps, cleared your throat, and offered the stack of books to Lord Dream.

“The books you requested, Lord Dream.” You squeaked out, trying your hardest to keep your hands from shaking. He closed the book he had been reading and set it aside, then took the stack of books from your hands. You nearly jerked when his fingers brushed against yours. But rather than jerk back like he had burned you, you waited until Lord Dream had a good hold on the books and then retracted your hands to your chest. “Is there anything else I can do for you while I am here?”

“If you wouldn’t mind returning this book to Lucienne for me, I would be most appreciative.” Lord Dream answered, offering the book in question. Nodding obediently, you took the book from him and turned to step back down. “Y/N…” You froze in place, a rush of worry and dread filling your body.

“Yes, Lord Dream?” You hesitantly asked, your mind thinking over the worst case scenario’s in rapid succession. You could feel him wanting you to look at him and ever so slowly turned around to look at him. He didn’t look mad or irritated, his face actually looked tender and concerned.

“Will you not address me as Morpheus?” Your eyes widened and you stuttered to reply.

“Well— I’m mean— I’m— surely I am… not in a position to address you with such familiarity…” You softly sputtered out, holding the book you were to return to the library against your chest as a shield. “I’m just an assistant…” A pitch black eyebrow rose in amused question.

“Are you,” Lord Dream echoed, his eyebrows then bunched together. “Will you still be resistive to the notion even if I ask you to address me as such?” Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly while you struggled to reply.

“I— well, if my lord demands so…” You whispered out, chewing on your lip and curling your fingers into the hard cover of the book.

“I do not demand so, Y/N, I simply wish you to call me by my name.” Lord Dream— Morpheus, spoke, still just as calmly and softly as before. “While I am the king of Dreams and Nightmares, that does not mean I cannot be friends with those that reside in my realm.”

“You wish… to be friends… Lord Drea—“ You cut off when his eyebrow arched once more, and you corrected yourself. “Lord Morpheus.” Further amusement flickered in his eyes.

“I do, should you be so inclined. I do not think myself to be in a position to force you into something you do not want.” You blinked at him and once again struggled for words.

“I— well, my lord, I mean… yes, I think I would like that,” You managed to get out. “I don’t have a lot of friends and Mervyn says I spend to much time with Lucienne or with my nose stuck in a book… so, yes, I would like to be friends with you… Morpheus.” There, you said it and he didn’t look like he was going to smite you where you stood or blast you into oblivion. If anything, he actually seemed to be pleased with your answer.  The barely there smile on his lips was reassuring and your tense shoulders relaxed slightly. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, I think that should be all, Y/N. Thank you.” You bowed your head and turned around to head back to the library. Rather than bolting from the room like a scared mouse, you strode at a more relaxed pace while your mind replayed the short conversation over and over in your head. It was hard for you to wrap your mind around it. Everything you had learned about Dream of the Endless seemed to be wrong, or at least different than what you expected. Marching into the library, you paused at a table and looked down at the spine of the book in hand to see where it should go. It was a F. As you moved towards the aisle, your mind thinking of the F aisles, there was a flap of wings. You paused and looked towards the sound. It was Matthew.

“Hello Matthew, do you need something?” You asked. The raven fluttered over to a nearby bookshelf and landed on top of it.

“Hi Y/N!” Matthew chirped, his voice slightly higher than that of how it had been in the throne room.

“Are you alright, Matthew?” You asked, peering closer at him. Matthew shook his head and ruffled his feathers, almost like he was trying to shake something off. 

“Perfectly fine, just thought I’d see how you were doing.” Matthew chittered, his voice still a little odd. He shook his head again and hoped once more. “Lucienne told me about you…” You flushed in embarrassment and Matthew scrambled in place. “Nothing bad! Just that you struggle with confidence… and I know Morpheus is kind of intense.” The raven let out a squawk and hopped several paces across the bookshelf.

“Matthew?”

“I’m fine! I’m fine,” He responded. “I’ve just been dealing with a... headache… that comes and goes.” It must be a bad headache if it had him hopping around like that…

“Maybe you should ask Lucienne about it then? I’m sure she’s dealt with headaches like that before being that she was Lord Dre— Morpheus’s, first raven.” You offered. Matthew’s head bobbed.

“Yeah, yeah, good idea, good idea, we should do that,” He muttered to himself. Your eyebrow twitched at his words, but you didn’t question what he meant by ‘we’. You weren’t exactly well versed in how being Morpheus’s raven worked. “Anyways, not to point it out or draw attention, but are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” You said while moving forwards, you needed to shelve the book as soon as possible. “I’ve heard a lot about him from Lucienne and Death.”

“You talked with Death?” Matthew asked, coasting between shelves as he followed you through the aisles. You reached the shelf where the book needed to go and stretched up on your toes to slide the heavy tome in place.

“Once, right after I died,” You explained, looking at Matthew with a small smile. “I may or may not have gotten into an argument with her.” You chuckled wryly as you turned back to Matthew, your fingers brushing over book spines. “I didn’t want to stop tending to my library… that’s how I ended up here.”

“You argued with Death!?” Matthew exclaimed, his wings flapping as he struggled to keep his laughter in. “How!? No offense, but you look like you have the confidence of a bunny!” You flushed in embarrassment, your face heating up.

“I like books, okay! I wasn’t going to let death stop me from enjoying my first and only love.” You said in your defense as Matthew cackled.

“For a human as timid as you are, you sure pick weird battles!” Scowling at Matthew, you huffed and moved back towards the tables, the shelves shifting behind you and Matthew.

⸺⸺⸺⸺

You were neck deep in a book in the library. It was a rare moment where you got to relax in the library. You and Lucienne had completed shelving all of the books that had suddenly appeared and done the normal ones that appeared on a daily basis, which left you with nothing to do for the afternoon. This book happened to be written by Lucienne herself, and covered the history of The Dreaming. You were using every chance you had to learn about the Realm that was now your home. Turning to the next page, you started reading more about Fiddler’s Green.

“Lucienne?” You perked up at the voice of Morpheus ringing out through the silent library. Closing the book, you rose from your seat as Morpheus appeared. His eyes met yours.

“Lord Morpheus,” You greeted quietly. “If you are looking for Lucienne, I am afraid she is not in the library at the moment… is there anything I can help you with?” Morpheus’s brow crinkled as his eyes glanced at the book on the table.

“I do not wish to interrupt your reading…” Morpheus spoke, his head lowering ever so slightly. You waved off his words.

“Nonsense, my lord,” You replied. “I am a librarian and I am here to help. Are you searching for a book? What is the title?”

He blinked at you and you saw his lips twitching. Your eyebrow rose.

“Well?” You further prompted him.

“I am in need of a book of dreams, Robert Spencer.” Your mind started thinking of the S section and walking into an aisles, you heard Morpheus sigh. “I do not wish to drag you away from your reading Y/N…” You aired out a snort, your eyes running along book spines. You found the book you were looking for and pulled it from the shelf. Turning around, you walked out of the aisle, appearing on the other side of the narrow room and closer to Morpheus. “You seem to be very invested in your research…” He trailed off.

“This is my job, my lord.” You announced from behind him. Morpheus turned in place, clear surprise on his face. You held out the book. “Robert Spencer, book of dreams. Can I find another book for you, my lord?” Morpheus took the offered book and stared into your eyes. You almost felt like shrinking back, but you were in your territory this time. You weren’t going to be intimidated.

“No, that is all, thank you,” You returned to your seat, picking up your book and resuming your reading once more. Before leaving, Morpheus studied his newest librarian once last time. You were an interesting creature he was enjoying getting to know, but you were still quite reserved. Surely ‘my lord’ and ‘Lord Morpheus’ was an improvement from Lord Dream. The timid human who had gone against Death, was a refreshing change around the palace, and Morpheus wanted to see how much he could pull you from your shell.

—————————

“Does it ever get monotonous?” You turned your head away from the sunset to see Morpheus standing not that far away, watching the kaleidoscope of colors on the horizon. “Being a librarian, you are always shelving books, shifting them around, retrieving and returning.” You considered his words. Yes, it sometimes got monotonous, especially when you had such large stacks of books to shelve.

“At times, sir,” You replied, holding his gaze. “But at the same time, Lucienne and I get to read the books that appear and there is nothing like the excitement of a new book who’s pages have not been turned.” Morpheus nodded in understanding.

“Are you happy here, Y/N?” You didn’t hesitate in your answer.

“More than happy, sir.” Sir. That was an improvement. It had taken weeks to get here, and Morpheus was glad to see the progress… but still, he wanted more. He desired more. He would get you there. Eventually.

⸺⸺⸺⸺

It was your day off and you were wandering the market in the village, picking up produce for dinner tonight. You were planning on fixing dinner in the palace tonight in celebration of Matthew’s birthday. As the only humans within the palace,  you and Matthew had grown close, and since discovering Matthew’s birthday, you had decided to at least celebrate in a way you would both appreciate. Matthew had once said that chicken scallopini was his favorite dinner, so that’s what you were going to make. Abel and Cain were going to bring the wine and chicken and you were going to pick up the rest of the ingredients. The market in the village had the best produce you had seen in your life and you were eager to get your hands on what you could.

You had gotten all of the ingredients for dinner and were now just picking out fruit for the desert tart you planned on making as well. Excitement for cooking and baking added a pep in your step as you picked out several apples, oranges, plums, and peaches. You probably ended up with an excess, but you were excited to do something so mundane and human, as cooking. Wandering in the direction of the bridge of the castle, you hefted your basket against your side and looked down at the blackberries. They looked wonderfully fresh, just like everything else in the market. You ought to get some, Matthew did say they were one of his favorites to snack on and that tart recipe you had found written by his grandmother…

“It seems that you are aware of Matthew’s love for blackberries.” Your head snapped to the right in surprise. It had never crossed your mind that Morpheus would leave the palace. Smiling, you nodded and bought two cases, adding them to your basket before turning to Morpheus.

“We’ve been reminiscing about our favorite foods from when we were human,” You explained as you slowly moved in the direction of the palace. You had everything you needed. Morpheus fell into step beside you. “Matthew’s second love after hotdogs, is blackberries. He mentioned that his grandmother use to make this blackberry tart and he repeatedly got scolded for snacking on them.”

“Then I suggest hiding them unless you wish Matthew to eat them all.” Morpheus lightly teased. You giggled at his words and patted the edge of the basket.

“Not to worry, I don’t plan on letting Matthew know what I’m up to until everything is finished. He can gorge on the rest of the blackberries after I’ve finished the tart.” You replied, smiling up at Morpheus. “As it turns out, his grandmother made a cookbook and her recipe is in the library. All I have to do it not mess it up and he should be a very happy raven.” Morpheus returned the smile, albeit with a much smaller one, but a smile all the same.

“I am sure that he will appreciate the gesture regardless of how it turns out.” Morpheus had a nice smile, it was a shame that he didn’t do it more often. Speaking of which, you had another question to ask Morpheus… but you weren’t sure if you were within your rights to ask. “You wish to ask me something?” Your eyes flickered up to his in surprise. No, you shouldn’t be surprised, he was aware of everything.

“I’m not sure if it within my rights to ask,” You spoke slowly, your eyes examining the stone cobbles underfoot. They disappeared as you reached the bridge connecting the village to the palace.

“And if I inquired you of your question… regardless of its nature, will you ask me?” Morpheus challenged back, his voice and tone, as always, revealing nothing about what he was currently thinking. You came to a stop in the middle of the bridge and looked up at him and his returned gaze. Morpheus fully turned to face you, looking down at you with eyes that swirled with galaxies.

“Do Endless need to eat? Or is it a needless task that you only partake in when you feel so?” His eyebrow rose and lips twitched in amusement.

“We do not experience hunger, nor do we need to sustenance to maintain life… but my siblings occasionally consume human food.” Morpheus explained. “Death is partial to street food in her travels to complete her job.” That was understandable, you bet she covered a lot of ground everywhere. The food she came across was probably the most diverse… your mind started running on its hamster wheel.

“When was the last time you ate something?” You then questioned, your head tilting to the side. “Is it something you enjoy? Or does it not really cross your mind because you don’t need to eat?”

“It has probably been centuries since I last consumed human food and… no, I suppose I do not really think about eating since it is not necessary to sustaining my life.” Morpheus answered. “You yourself do not need to consume subsistence and yet you still partake.”

“I think it is out of habit, and I enjoy eating…” You replied after a pause for consideration. “I can see why you don’t. It’s not something that is necessary. Though I do think you are missing out on the beautiful produce here in the village. They taste extraordinary.”

“If it will please my librarian, I should think I could try one.” He answered, much to your delight. You reached into your basket and felt around, finding one of the delicious apples, you brought it out and offered it to Morpheus. Morpheus froze in place, as still as one of the statues in the gardens. You quickly backtracked and turned back to the basket, this time making sure to look at what you were grabbing.

“If you don’t like apples, I can—“ A hand closed over your retracting one, holding onto the apple and your fingers. It was your turn to stiffen. Had you done something wrong? You turned back to Morpheus who was staring at the apple with an indescribable look. “Morpheus?” His eyes lifted to yours and his rigid face relaxed. Then his fingers gently took the apple from yours. 

“No, I— like apples.” Morpheus answered softly, holding the apple in front of him like it was a precious thing, like it was made of gold. It was just an apple… Perhaps he really likes apples? Star blue eyes rose from the red fruit and gazed into your confused ones. “I will treasure this apple, thank you, Y/N.” Relief flooded your veins and you beamed at him.

“Good! I should probably hurry back to the palace,” You spoke, looking back at the palace and patting your basket once more. “I need to get dinner on before Matthew catches me with the blackberries.”

“Shall I escort you to your destination to ensure that my raven does not catch sight of your treasure?” Morpheus offered, a sparkle just hinting in his eyes. You smiled once more.

“I would appreciate that, thank you.”

⸺⸺⸺⸺

Matthew had gobbled the blackberry tart until his black feathers were bathed in fruit juice… and then when you had shown him the left over blackberries he could have, he pretty much face planted in the remaining case in happiness. The raven had been unusually happy since then and you were in near tears at one point because Matthew had essentially put himself in a food coma after Abel had a batch of blackberries delivered to the palace as a belated birthday present. He ate them all in one sitting.

It was late evening about a week after Matthew’s birthday that you found yourself sitting in the northern garden of the palace, watching the sun sink lower and lower after a long day of work in the library. There was a strong breeze that rushed through the area you were sitting in, every once in a while blowing your hair in your face and sending a chill up your spine. Lucienne had said that while Morpheus usually kept the realm at a specific temperature of comfort, he had been introducing an idea of seasonal change to give the residents something new to experience. You were sure appreciating it, but you were also fairly sure that you didn’t have the clothes to weather through colder temperatures. Certainly not in this moment. But the view was just too extraordinary to leave. Another shiver rattled your bones and you grasped your upper arms, feeling the prickle of your skin.

Something was placed around your shoulders, blocking out the wind.

Looking upwards to your left, you saw Morpheus standing behind the little stone bench. His usual black long coat was gone, now around your shoulders. You went to remove it and he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I believe you are in greater need of my jacket than I, Y/N.” Morpheus spoke as he slowly stepped to the side and walked around the end of the bench. He then gesture to the empty space next to you. “May I?” Your fingers grasped his jacket and pulled it closer to your body as you nodded at the space.

“It’s your bench, Morpheus.” You reminded him. He countered your words with an eyebrow raise before speaking.

“And yet you are the one it cradles,” He returned with a teasing smirk. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and gesture to the space next to you with your head.

“Please do,” Morpheus took a seat in the space next to you as you crossed your wrists over your chest and held his jacket against your skin. It was radiating heat. Your mind started to wander, particularly about all that you had learned about Morpheus. Rays of fading sunlight hit your face and your eyes squinted slightly. “Does it ever get overwhelming?” Morpheus looked you, his eyes trailing on the rays of sun illuminating your face. “Feeling everything, that is. Experiencing so many dreams… you carry the emotions of all life in the universe on your shoulders, how do you not get encompassed by it?”

“Practice.” Morpheus answered, his eyes not leaving your face. Your eyes turned away from the dying light to look into his. That blue was glowing with starlight, echoing the twilight that surrounded you. Another strong gust of wind blew though the garden, this time you didn’t feel it, Morpheus’s jacket keeping you nice and warm. Your hair, however, was a different story. It blew in your face and covered your eyes. You reached up to drag it back into tameness, only to find Morpheus’s fingers delicately doing the task for you. Even after he had cleared your face of hair, his touch lingered on your face. “I’ve had eons to do so, and yet, I still find myself learning something new.”

You were trapped in place by the soft glow of stars in his eyes, the sunset entirely forgotten.

⸺⸺⸺⸺

Lucienne was working overtime, once again, for a project in the village. You had jumped in and forced her out of the library to take a much needed break, taking over her work in researching the development of a naturally occurring phenomena that bordered the village. She couldn’t do two things at once or she was absolutely going to run herself ragged. Then again, you were burning the midnight oil yourself, so you couldn’t exactly chide her on that…

Closing the book you had just ran through, you swapped it out for another and dived into numerous pages once more. Your pen scratched away at paper, scribble after scribble, note after note. You would do anything to ease Lucienne of the workload you knew she pushed upon her shoulders. A burn settled in your eyes, and you rubbed at them ferociously, trying to stay awake. You had to get this done for Lucienne. You could do it, a few hours more should be more than enough time to do so…

Morpheus knew that you had kicked Lucienne out of the library hours ago due to his head librarian overworking herself once more… but now it seemed that his little librarian was determined to follow the same path. It was well into the late night that he found himself walking through the dimmed halls of the library, heading in the direction of a brighter light. Emerging in the space where Lucienne often conducted her research, he found you siting at the table, head against the open book in front of you and hand resting against a paper you had been writing on. You were fast asleep.

He didn’t know if it was Lucienne was rubbing off on you, or you trying too hard to find your place.

Morpheus slowly gathered you from where you slept soundly at the table, drawing you into his arms and cradling you gently. You were a very precious addition to his little family and with your brazen, and yet entirely inadvertent proposal, he was determined not to lose you like he had with his previous lovers. You moved in his arms and Morpheus looked to your face to see if you had awakened. You hadn’t, you were more interested in snuggling closer to his body, slinging an arm over Morpheus’s shoulder and burrowing your face closer to his neck with a comforted sigh. Your soft sigh was almost unheard, but he could feel your gentle exhale against his neck before you lapsed back into fitful sleep.

“You’ve over worked yourself, Y/N,” Morpheus sighed as his sand swirled around his body, transporting the both of you to your little cottage in the village. Your cottage was moderately sized, a small kitchen, a place to eat, a little bedroom… the bulk of the space was the library complete with a fireplace and seating area where Morpheus knew you spent almost all of your personal time. He carried you into your little bedroom and tucked you underneath your covers, trying not to chuckle when you sleepily complained of the loss of body heat. Pushing back wayward strands of hair from your face, Morpheus let his fingers linger on your face. “Sleep well, my dream.”

⸺⸺⸺⸺

Your pen was rapidly tapping against the sheet of paper you had been writing on. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. You weren’t playing attention to the tic in your hand, your mind wandering as you stared into space ahead of you. Thoughts of recent events were all consuming within your mind, and you could not stop thinking about how different Morpheus had been acting lately. Why was he so touchy feely with you? Why was he spending so much time around you when you weren’t working period. Scratch that, it seemed like Morpheus went out of his way at times to drop by and say hello. Don’t even get you started on all of the times you had spent burning the midnight oil to get research done for Lucienne… only to wake up in bed at your cottage, come morning. Only one person in the palace could do such a thing, but why.

A hand descended on your rapidly moving hand, stopping the continuous tapping. Your eyelashes fluttered and looking at the the hand pressing down against yours, your eyes rose up to see Lucienne staring down at you with a concerned look on her face.

“Y/N, you have been entirely distracted and unfocused this last week. What is going on?” Lucienne asked. You swallowed and retracted your hand from hers, holding it against your chest and staring at it with conflicting. “Y/N?”

“He’s been acting strange, lately, has he not?” You whispered in question. Lucienne’s head cocked to the side and her eyebrows rose as she sighed.

“Indeed, which is why I am asking what is wrong with you. Has something happened between you and Morpheus?” Lucienne pressed on with her question. “Are you aware of why he has changed in recent?”

“I—“ To be honest you didn’t even know what to think of it yourself. Lucienne knew him far longer than you had so shouldn’t she be the one to know why his moods change? You waved your hand slightly. “Morpheus, well, he’s been acting weird ever since he walked me back from the market on Matthew’s birthday.”

“Weird?” Lucienne repeated. “And pray tell what do you mean by weird?”

“I don’t want to say touchy feely because I feel like that would be an insult to one such as Dream of the Endless… but he’s been around a lot more, often checks in on me, brings me back to my cottage when I fall asleep in …the middle of research…” Lucienne’s eyebrows rose and she peered at you over her glasses. Strange indeed, Lord Morpheus never acted that way unless he was with his current lover. Lucienne’s suspicions deepened and she gazed shrewdly at you.

“Y/N, what happened in the market?  Granted he’s been tip toeing around you like you’ll spook if he so much as moves the wrong way… Did something strange happen between you?”

“Strange?” You repeated before shaking your head and shrugging in confusion. “Nothing that I can think of, we only talked about the eating habits of an Endless… though he did seem rather shocked when I offered an apple to eat…” Lucienne choked on her spit and was momentarily rendered speechless. Y/N had offered Morpheus an apple!? By the gods did the once human have any idea what that meant? Clearly not.

“Good heavens, Y/N!” Lucienne exclaimed, her mind whirling in contemplation. You gave the head librarian a confused look. “Did he accept it?” You nod in further confusion, wondering how that mattered… let alone why it was such a big deal.

“Well… yes? He got kind of possessive with it when I offered to exchange it with another fruit… though he never actually ate the apple.” You softly mused, twirling your pen between your fingers once more. “All it’s doing is sitting in his study… I’ve told him that he’s meant to eat it, you know, before it rots. Told me that it is far to precious to be eaten…”

“Oh Y/N,” Lucienne sighed, fully understanding the situation you had put yourself in. It was clear to everyone that Morpheus had a special spot for you. When Morpheus fell in love, he fell fast and deeply. In fact, you had him wrapped around you finger and you didn’t even know it. It was best for you to figure out what she had done sooner, rather than later “Do you not know the meaning behind giving someone an apple?”

Your eyebrows drew together in confusion. There was a meaning behind giving someone an apple? Sure, you loved to read and probably read a little too much, but you hadn’t heard about this before.

“No,” Your voice came out in a whisper, dread filling your veins. Had you done something grievous? Had you done something worthy to getting banished from the palace? No. You would have been long gone it you had. If anything, Morpheus had been closer than ever. Yes, softer, closer, more delicate, caring…

“I will not meddle in your affairs with Lord Morpheus,” Lucienne spoke softly, her hand reaching out to touch your shoulder. “But might I suggest that you research the meaning behind that action? Surely then you will understand better. It is grecian, I would start there.” You nodded ever so slowly shortly before the head librarian strode away.

⸺⸺⸺⸺

It had been nearly three days since Lucienne had pushed you to researching why Morpheus had changed… and the answer you found was one that made morbid embarrassment flush through your veins. You had proposed to the King of Dreams and Nightmares! Your boss! Good heavens you didn’t know when you were going to be able to face him again but it certainly wasn’t going to be anytime soon. Book on Ancient Greek traditions pressed tight against your chest, you had stayed huddled in your favorite chair in your library at home, in front of your wood burning fire. How could you have been so stupid!?

Chin dropping back to your knees, you gazed into the crackling fire and wished you could burn up into nothing like the frequent embers that floated free of the inferno. This second life of yours would stretch out for eternity, at least until it was finally time to move on from this universe… but that wouldn’t be for eons. Eons of living in the realm of the King you had inadvertently and naively proposed to. You weren’t sure you would be able to do it. There was a taping sound at your window and shifting your gaze, you saw Matthew standing on the sill. Rubbing your red and puffy eyes, you unfolded yourself from your huddled position, grimacing as your joints ached from remaining still for so long. You set the book down and stiffly rose to your feet, huffing over to the window to let the raven in.

“Wow, you look like crap, Y/N,” Matthew said as he hopped in.

“Yeah, I know,” You mumbled in response, leaving the window cracked so he could leave. You shuffled back over to your seat and proceeded to aching get back into that awkward folded position. Matthew fluttered over to the table beside you, his head cocking side to side.

“So… you haven’t been by the castle in several days and we established that you look terrible, what’s up?” Matthew asked, leaning forwards and pecking at the sleeve of your jumper. Your tired eyes shifted to Mathew.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve committed a cardinal sin, Matthew.” You mumbled at him, wrapping your arms around your knees and hugging them tightly to your chest. “Or at least the version of that here in The Dreaming.”

“Oh really? I highly doubt that, Y/N,” Matthew responded, hoping closer. “You’re the nicest person I know, how could you have committed a cardinal sin.” You wilted where you huddled.

“ImayormaynothaveaccidentallyproposedtoMorpheusandIhavenotideawhattodobecausehe’sanEndlessandaccordingtomyresearchheacceptedandI’mfreakingout.” Matthew blinked at you for a few moments.

“Sorry… what was that? It sounded like you said something about a proposal and Morpheus?” You aired out a whimper and pointed down at the book Matthew stood on.

“I didn’t know that giving Morpheus an apple was essentially a marriage proposal.” You whispered, your nails digging into your legs.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, you proposed by giving him an apple?”

“It’s a greek thing apparently.” Matthew nodded in understanding.

“Greek, yeah, I’ll remember that… so you accidentally and unknowingly proposed to Morpheus, that’s not the end of the world, right? You like him don’t you?” You managed to give Matthew a dirty look, and rubbed your red eyes once more.

“Matthew, he’s my boss.”

“Yeah and we’ve all been pretending that he hasn’t been pursuing you for the last three months.” Matthew stated frankly. “Y/N, it’s been kind of obvious that he has had a thing for you since the start, you’ve just been off in your own world, completely oblivious to him… I think Mervyn and Lucienne have a bet going on right now on how long it will be until you figure things out. Pretty sure Lucienne won that one.”

“Matthew,” You rushed out, your face hot with embarrassment. “Please, I beg you, stop, it’s morbidly embarrassing without the reminders.”

“What’s there to be embarrassed about? It’s not like he refused.”

“That’s precisely the problem! I’m—“ You couldn’t finish that sentence. You were just supposed to be his librarian, that’s all. That’s the deal you had with Death, the deal you had with Dream himself. You were never supposed to be anything more. You didn’t deserve to be anything more, not when all his previous lovers had been such prominent women. “I’m just a librarian.” Matthew picked at your sleeve one last time.

“You know… we miss you at the palace, you make it a brighter place.”

⸺⸺⸺⸺

It was day five of your self imposed exile from the palace and you were feeling more than antsy. Surely you should return to the palace to assist Lucienne with the pile up of books that had accumulated. It was wrong of you to shirk your duties in this state of moping. You pulled yourself from your bed and trudged into your kitchen to fix yourself a caffeinated drink to hopefully put a pep in your step. You couldn’t go to back to the palace looking like this.

You chose coffee to get a nice hit of caffeine, that should put life in your eyes where exhaustion had overstayed it’s welcome. You wish you could have said that you had slept in the last five days, but you had been crippled by your embarrassment. It also didn’t help to know that you were technically engaged to Dream of the Endless. Coffee in hand you were about to inhale a large sip when someone knocked on your door. You eyed the heavy wooden door scrupulously, contemplating whether or not to see who was there. With a sigh, you trundled over to the door and dragged the door open. You froze in place, coffee half way to your lips.

“Y/N,” Morpheus greeted softly, his eyes soaking in your disheveled state and noting just how exhausted you looked. Your eyes were red and filled with fatigue, and Morpheus knew that you hadn’t spent any of the past five days caring for yourself. “May I come in, or is this a bad time?” You blinked at him like you had seen a ghost and silently stepped to the side. Morpheus stepped into your cottage and shut the heavy door behind him as you shakily raised the coffee to your lips. Morpheus stopped you from taking a sip. “I doubt you need caffeine right now.” You reluctantly let him take the coffee from you and gave it a mournful gaze as Morpheus set it on your dining table.

“I was going to drink that,” You softly croaked out. Morpheus aired out a soft snort and reached forwards to brush his fingers against your fatigue riddled face.

“You need sleep, not caffeine.” Morpheus corrected you, his fingers lingering over the bags beneath your eyes. “Why have you not properly rested.” Your eyelids fluttered before you looked away.

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” You answered scratchily. It was a pathetic excuse. You knew it. Morpheus knew it. You swayed in place and rubbed your eye. “I apologies for my absence, sir, I’ll be back to the library as soon as I can.” Morpheus grabbed your hand and pulled it away from your eyes, maintaining a light hold.

“I am not here to question your absence from the palace, Y/N, I am here… because I fear that I have chased off my beloved librarian.” Exhaustion dampened your reaction to his words as Morpheus cradled your face in hand.

“’m just a human.” You mumbled, leaning forward and pressing your face into his chest. Morpheus wrapped an arm around your back and hugged you closer.

“Perhaps, but you are my human,” Morpheus replied gently, his arms snaking around your body to gently pick you up and cradle your body in his arms. “And my human needs to sleep.”

“But— but—” You weakly protested.

“Y/N, we will talk later.” Morpheus spoke into your ear, his nose brushing against your messy and matted hair. “I wish for you to rest.”

“But I can’t...” Even as you drowsily spoke, you found yourself drifting off to sleep.

⸺⸺⸺⸺

“I am not above hitting you with this tome, Matthew,” You warned the cackling raven, hefting the heavy book up. Matthew hopped several paces away, getting out of hitting range as he reigned in his cackles.

“I’m sorry I just can’t,” The raven chortled. “Did you really not see it?”

“Clearly!” You snapped back, thumping the book down on the table. Your cheeks were blazingly hot. “But you don’t need to rub it in!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop, I’ll stop,” Matthew huffed. He still looked like he was struggling not to laugh. The raven added one last jab. “Your majesty.”

“MATTHEW!!!” The raven aired out another loud cackle and quickly flapped his wings to fly far, far away from you and your fuming state. You watched as his tail feathers disappeared. “Stupid bird.” You grumbled, your fingers scraping against the wood of the table. Arms slipped around your waist and a face nuzzled into your neck.

“Matthew teasing you again, my dream?” You huffed as your eye twitched and leaned back into Morpheus’s embrace.

“Your raven is asking for his feathers to be plucked.” You said grouchily, settling your hands against the ones that encompassed your waist.

“He’s happy that you are happy,” Your snorted in disagreement.

“That was morbidly embarrassing and I wish to erase that incident from my mind.” You bit out. Morpheus brushed his lips along your neck.

“Why? No mortal has ever been so brazen with their actions towards me yet entirely oblivious at the same time.” You groaned loudly, in complete misery from the repeated teasing you were bound to endure for eternity.

“I told you it was embarrassing! How was I supposed to know that giving you an apple was asking you to marry me?” Morpheus chuckled into your neck and pressed several kisses against your flesh.

“Embarrassment aside, it worked did it not?” With cheeks still burning hot, your eyes glanced down to your left hand where you had a set of rings wrapped around your ring finger. The main stone mounted on the engagement ring swirled in the color of Morpheus’s eyes and was a constant reminder of how you had blundered your way into a relationship with Dream of the Endless. An innocent offer of an apple had landed you on the throne of the realm you now resided in.

“This was not how I was expecting my second life to go.” You sighed out. “But seriously, Morpheus, get control of your raven before I cook him for dinner!”

Date Published: 10/2/22

Last Edit: 10/2/22

Tag List:

@pinksirensong @carrietrekkie @hungrhay

@musemaniac42

Morpheus/Dream Masterlist

Gallows of the Dreaming

~ Chapter One: Freeing the Endless ~

~ 18+ | Minors DNI | AFAB Reader | No Y/N ~

Chapter One | AO3

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any characters from The Sandman comics or Netflix series. This is purely creative writing.

Warning: Future chapters may contain graphic depictions of sexual acts and gore. I will note which parts to skip for each chapter if you’d like to avoid that content, so be sure to read through my notes.

*Please skip to the first plain galaxy banner if you'd like to avoid gore. Though it will be referenced throughout the chapter.*

Word count: 5.1k

Chapter warnings: Graphic depictions of gore, subtle nudity, foul language, mentions of abuse (verbal), the Burgess family (need I say more?).

A/N: Hello! So either I fat-fingered the post button accidentally or Tumblr decided this post has been in my drafts for long enough. I hadn't intended on posting this until I was finished with chapter two (so they could come out simultaneously) but here we are. Nevertheless, I hope this is worth the read for you guys. I wasn't fully satisfied with my initial posting of chapter one so I figured I'd fix it.

I've taken the liberty of creating a tag list of anyone who liked my first post so you guys aren't out of the loop. Some tags are in the comments because for some reason it wouldn't save a few of your usernames toward the end of the post. If you'd like to be removed, please DM me. :)

As always, feel free to comment, send in any questions, and like/re-blog this post. Enjoy!

-Kathryn ;)

DO NOT re-write, translate, copy, re-post, or claim my writing as your own. Thanks!

Here in the darkness, you lay, a puddle of frozen blood and aching bone. Bitter winds have turned your lips a bale shade of blue, your body bare and vulnerable to the will of the elements. There is no source of warmth or comfort, no savior to come to your rescue. The hairs on the back of your neck stand tall, intuition warning you of the presence that stalks in the shadows, watching - waiting. 

Dread, like water, sinks into the pit of your stomach as the all-consuming darkness condenses around you, tightening - suffocating. You can’t breathe - can’t think, instinctively thrashing against your confines. 

“Plea- Please,” You choke. “Stop!” Tears frost around your lashes. You kick and claw at the air until your vision begins to fade, limbs falling numb from lack of oxygen. 

Finally, the invisible force relents, lifting the pressure from your lungs as it drops you onto the misty floor. You gulp down the dry air and roll onto your scraped hands and knees. A faint, glowing orb of light forms in the distance. You crawl in its direction, legs too weak to stand. Each movement sends a sharp pang throughout your body, but you press on, hopeful that the light will provide shelter - warmth. Faint whispers filter through your ears. Your name, a repeated mantra from two distinct voices, circling your figure in the shadows.

“See her.” A deep, honey-coated man’s voice coaxes through the thick fog. For all you know, it could be leading you to your death, a moth to a flame. A part of you no longer cares, yearning only for relief. The closer you grow to the light, the louder the other voice becomes. The shrill, piercing cries of a woman calling for help. Perhaps she’s like you, trapped here in the darkness, alone - afraid. Though uncertain of your ability to assist the woman that calls, you hasten your pace.

At last, you find your source of light: a large glass dome. Inside, a rather unique raven flaps its dreamy, ink-black wings as it hammers its beak against the glass in a desperate attempt to escape. You want to set it free, but it’s as though the glass has been blown and stretched around it, completely encasing the bird. You reach up, entranced by the creature, fingers mere centimeters away from the dome when the man’s voice returns, startling you from your daze. 

“See what they have done to her.” He commands, tone laced with disgust. You fearfully oblige, watching the raven as she continues her assault on the glass.

“Who trapped you here?” You ask against your better - rational - judgment. How could it be possible for a raven to speak? As she opens her beak you’re half-convinced your nonsensical thoughts are somehow correct. 

A long, ear-splitting caw erupts from the bird, her body bursting - splattering - against the glass. The harrowing thump of her corpse hitting the base of the dome rings throughout the sudden silence, and the scent of gunpowder fills the air. The sight burns itself a permanent hole in your memory, tremors wracking your limbs as you soak it in. She’s mangled, white belly stained red with splatters of her blood, now and forever entombed in her glass cage. Rattling with shock and adrenaline, you find the strength to push yourself onto your feet, stumbling away from the glass, a helpless child in the black abyss. 

“Help!” You cry, shrill and piercing. You wail until your voice gives out, unable to produce more than a hoarse whisper. You’re not sure who you’re pleading to. The man’s voice? The entity that follows? Whoever - whatever - it is, grants your request.

 Shadows shift and spin, whipping your body in every direction until you’re left swaying dizzily in a long, dimly-lit hallway. The warm flicker of tall, golden candle stands reflects off dark wood walls and floors, melting your frost-coated lashes. Recognition sits on the tip of your tongue, but you find yourself at a loss for where exactly you’ve seen this place before. Blue, satin-cloaked figures glide past you, funneling through an ornately-carved door at the end of the long hall. 

“Here in the darkness.” They chorus over and over,  the room vanishing as quickly as it had formed. 

You’re awake and grasping your sweat-soaked pillow, pushing yourself upright. A wave of relief washes over you as you soak in your surroundings, realizing it had only been a nightmare. Your dreams were rarely pleasant, but somehow this one felt different - lifelike. You could still smell the gunpowder, feel the smoke in your lungs, and see the blood. So much blood. Too much to have come from such a small bird. You run your hands through your hair, scratching your scalp as you reach for the phone on your nightstand. Ten o’clock.

“Shit. I’m late.” You’re practically jumping out of your sheets to get dressed, knowing you’ll never hear the end of it from Mr. Burgess. 

Six months ago, Paul hired you as a live-in caretaker for the crotchety old man, too exhausted mentally and physically from handling his long-term partner’s care on his own.  A position you were wholly underqualified for. It hadn’t been the job itself that caught your interest, but the man you’d be working for. Alexander Burgess: the only surviving son of one of the most controversial magical practitioners in history - Roderick Burgess. As an avid student and aspiring professor of occult history, the temptation of having access to all of Mr. Burgess’ inherited relics was too mouth-watering to resist. This would be your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to not only live inside the very mansion that housed the Order of Ancient Mysteries but to discover the secrets they’d left behind. 

With the help of a few embellishments to your resume and a bit of charisma, Paul accepted your application. For the most part, you’re only here to assist Mr. Burgess when Paul cannot. While a few years younger, his age has not been kind to his mobility. Day after day, you find yourself reminding Paul that he should look after his health as well as he does his partners’.  

Mr. Burgess is often stubborn and resistant to the helping hands around him, even before your arrival. Though, he treats you a great deal worse than Paul. There have been many days in which you’ve found yourself questioning whether or not your research was worth the constant blows to your dignity. 

Two months ago, after an especially difficult day on the job, you’d nearly handed in your resignation. Paul had caught you sobbing in the kitchen after a spat with Mr. Burgess in which he’d called you an assortment of foul names while attempting to climb down the grand staircase on his own. Paul managed to talk you down, comforting you with a cup of chamomile and a few kind words - as always. Once able to think clearly, you decided you’d stay, assisting only as needed. Once again, your research became your priority, as you’d intended in the first place. You’d no longer allow the sour words of a bitter old man to squander your chance at recognition. 

 You push aside the residual anxiety from your nightmare, slipping into a comfortable pair of black boots and your coat before heading down the hall to your bosses’ shared room. Paul greets you with his signature smile, ever the early bird.

“Good morning, Paul.” You return his smile half-heartedly as your attention shifts to Mr. Burgess who is attempting to shimmy himself off the bed and into his wheelchair. You squat beside him, stabilizing the chair with one hand and holding the other out for support should he lose his strength. You know better by now than to touch and assist unless asked directly, having had your hands smacked away too many times to count. Paul must have helped take care of his morning hygiene tasks as Mr. Burgess is already dressed and visibly exasperated. 

“I’m sorry I’m late.” You apologize to the men, but mostly to Paul. Mr. Burgess angrily mumbles something about not needing your assistance. You share a knowing look with Paul and wordlessly move behind Mr. Burgess, too exhausted from your fitful sleep to engage in his antics. You push his chair out of the room, down the ramp that connects to the end of the hall, and toward the library where they share their early hours each morning.

Much to Paul’s dismay, as the chair rolls to a stop, Mr. Burgess shakily pushes himself up and onto his feet, shambling toward the loveseat. Paul, instantly at his partner’s side, places a gentle hand beneath his elbow for support. The older man grumbles his dissatisfaction but refrains from swatting him away as they situate themselves, hungrily eyeing their steaming trays of breakfast on the coffee table. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you two?” You ask tentatively, cupping your palms together in front of you. You’re hoping they no longer require your assistance, eager to escape the perpetual gloom of the mansion, feel the crisp fall air against your skin, and rid your mind of the gory scene your nightmare burned into your memory. Paul’s thoughtful gaze remains on you for a moment, studying the dark circles beneath your eyes and the tense curl of your shoulders.

“That’ll be all for now, thank you.” He says appreciatively. Mr. Burgess simply waves his hand, shooing you away. You resist the urge to roll your eyes and nod to Paul with a tight-lipped smile, hurrying away before either man can change their mind.

A subtle nagging resistance tugs at your gut, slowing your steps and forcing you to take in your surroundings. Ghostly flashes of cloaked figures float around you as you stand stock-still in the center of the hall, the ornately-carved door of your nightmare looming ahead of you. This was why it had felt so familiar, you’d walked this hall every day, but had never paid any mind to the door. What secrets lie beyond it? Stewing with curiosity, you tear your vision away, directing it toward your bosses. What if it hadn’t been just a nightmare? What if it had been a premonition? What if?

“See what they have done to her.” Echoes the voice inside your mind as you warily eye the two men in the library. You watch Paul dote on Mr. Burgess, carefully wiping a splotch of jam from the corner of his mouth. Paul could never. Not with a heart as big as his. You’re sure of it. You shift your focus to Mr. Burgess as he drinks deeply from his teacup, his stare vacant, far away from that of his loving partner. You’d undoubtedly witnessed the old man’s verbal mistreatment, and had often been the recipient yourself. 

While working for the couple, you’d taken the liberty of flitting through the many family records and memoirs available in their library. Mr. Burgess had tucked anything that so much as mentioned his father’s name into a dark, dusty corner. Out of sight, out of mind. As you flicked through the countless pages, you began to understand why.

 There were nearly as many detailed accounts of abuse toward the young Alexander Burgess as there were rumors of seances and sacrificial ceremonies. You’d attributed Mr. Burgess’ sour disposition to his troubled upbringing, unhealed from the traumas he’d endured. But, could that prove him capable of what you’d witnessed in your nightmare? 

You scoff at your train of thought, slipping your hands into your pockets. It’s been ages since you’ve allowed yourself to become so affected by a nightmare. You turn away from the men and continue your path, tucking the notion under another fold in your brain for later dissection.

Strolling through the property gardens had eased your nerves, but the flames of curiosity were not so easily snuffed. With sleep refusing to take you tonight, your restless legs carry you through the sleeping halls of the mansion, down the creaky stairs, and into the place you feel most at home - the library. 

Your fingers skim the spines of old, leather-bound books, searching for answers within their abundant pages only to come out empty-handed. Not a single book has offered confirmation for your suspicions. Frustrated, you now sit at Mr. Burgess’ desk, poking about the numerous drawers and personal items. Nothing of use in those either. 

“Fuck it.” You stand and pull the top drawers completely from the desk, dumping them into the leather chair. Your fingers skim the edges of the wood, searching for something - anything. Antique, hand-crafted desks like this almost always have secret compartments and hide-aways, right?

 Just as you’re near your wit's end, ready to submit to the fact that it may have just been a nightmare, your fingers brush across a loose button of wood - almost unnoticeable. You press down, delighted to hear the quiet click, and see the base of the compartment lift. Your nimble fingers pry open the lid, snatching out the typewritten documents inside, and devouring them with greedy eyes. 

You hold in your hands an incomplete memoir, written by a man named Dr. Hathaway, detailing a particular interaction he’d had with the Magus: a title Roderic Burgess insisted to be addressed by. Dr. Hathaway had come to the Magus in an act of desperation with a stolen grimoire he’d gained access to through his high standing with the museum that kept it. 

This spellbook - the Magdalene Grimoire - contained an incantation that could summon the Angel of Death, binding it by the laws of magic to the will of its summoner. The Magus had sought after the book in the hopes that he may force Death to resurrect his eldest, most beloved son, Randall, who died in battle. Though Dr. Hathaway initially refused the Magus’ requests for the book, after his own son, Edmund, fell in battle, he felt he had no other option. 

With an aching heart, he relinquished the book into the hands of the Magus who called upon his Order of Ancient Mysteries to begin the ritual. Dr. Hathaway goes on to describe the terror he felt whilst witnessing the act, as well as his disappointment when they realized their attempt had been unsuccessful. They hadn’t summoned Death, but they had summoned something. 

The documents trail off into unfinished sentences. You presume this to be the fault of Roderick Burgess, not wanting any more bad publicity. In the eyes of many, he was a fraud. Surely, Alexander wouldn’t have gone through the daunting task of rounding up and hiding away his father’s collections if there hadn’t been some level of truth within the writings. You fold and tuck the pages into the side of your bra for safekeeping, and return the drawers back to their original, tidy state. If they’ve still got whatever Roderick summoned locked away, it certainly isn’t a raven.

 You slump into Mr. Burgess’ chair, resting your elbows on the desk and your forehead in your hands. If not a captive entity, then perhaps they’ve got the Magdalene Grimoire behind that door, just beyond your reach. It would make perfect sense to preserve such a powerful artifact in a safe space of its own, rather than leaving it to rot on a shelf. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit the fact that this is the first promising lead you’ve discovered in your six months of working here. Therein lies the rub. If you’re not careful, you could lose your job or far worse if they truly have someone - something - held captive. You squeeze your head in your hands, weighing the risk against the reward. You owe it to yourself - to the world - to discover the secrets of the Order of Ancient Mysteries. And, if someone is being held captive, don’t you have a moral obligation to help them? 

“I’m probably going to regret this.” You sigh to yourself, standing from Mr. Burgess’s chair to head, once more, down the dreaded hall. As your hand grips the doorknob, apprehensive second thoughts ebb away at your confidence. Are you truly willing to put everything on the line for the slim possibility that you might find something of value? What if you find nothing? What if you get caught? What if?

“Oh, come on!” You lecture yourself, clenching and unclenching your fists, feet shifting from side to side as you strain to build back your courage. You quickly wipe your sweaty palms against the thin fabric of your satin night slip and twist the handle.

The door swings open to reveal a spiraled, stone staircase descending into darkness. A frigid draft blows over your body, spreading goosebumps across your flesh. The image of the raven, bloody and lifeless, flits across your mind’s eye. But, it’s too late to turn back now. You’ve made your decision. Shivering, you push onward, one hand on the damp wall for guidance as you follow the spiral down. 

The sight that greets you as you round the corner makes your skin crawl, fingers slotting through the gaps of the black metal entrance gate to keep yourself upright. Four grey columns lead up into high, blue-colored arches. In the center of those columns hovers the very same glass dome you’d seen in your nightmare, suspended by silver chains over a circle of chipped, painted runes. A man, pale and statuesque lay in place of the raven, his legs tucked into his chest. There's a stillness to him that both unsettles and excites your senses, his skin emitting a pearlescent, otherworldly glow beneath the white light that sways above the dome. 

 He doesn’t move a muscle as you muster the courage to take the final steps into the room. Your legs don’t stop their advancement until you’re mere inches away, eyes widening at the prisoner’s condition. He has nothing, not even a scrap of fabric for warmth. No food. No water. Left bare and alone to rot away in the cell. 

You breathe deeply, your head spinning from the revelation. At worst, you’d expected to find taxidermied animals and strange spell ingredients, or ancient books. At best, the Magdalene Grimoire Dr. Hathaway had mentioned. You didn’t truly believe you’d find someone - a man - locked away like an animal. You’re so close you can see your reflection on the surface of the glass, wondering if he’s even alive. He’s so still, the subtle rise and fall of his chest barely visible. 

Obsidian eyes overflowing with glimmering stars lock onto yours. You stumble back at his sudden movement, tripping over your own feet. He watches you, eyes fixed in a hardened glare, irritated by your disturbance. He has every right to be. Here you are, outside the glass, gawking at him as though he’s nothing more than a museum exhibit. 

“I’m- I’m sorry.” You stammer. “I don’t mean to stare. It just didn’t look like you were breathing so-” His eyes narrow on you, cutting your sentence short. You clear your throat nervously and change the subject. 

“How long have you been down here?” He remains silent, unwilling - or perhaps unable -  to answer your question. 

If the writings of Dr. Hathaway were accurate, the answer could be up to a hundred years. Though, based on the youthful appearance of the caged man, you’d have never come to that conclusion on your own. He’s unlike anyone - anything - you’ve ever seen. Messy, pitch-black tendrils of hair frame the angular structure of his face, drawing your focus toward prominent brows and wild, swirling eyes, like compact portals into the cosmos. 

“It’s strange,” You continue, determined to get answers - or any response - out of the stranger. “I had a dream about your cage the other night.” You watch him carefully, searching for any sign of recognition. His scowl turns to a look of curiosity, interest piqued. He watches you carefully as you anxiously pace in front of him, detailing your nightmare. 

“There was this beautiful raven with a white belly. She was beating herself against the dome, trying to escape.” Lithe muscle raises him to rest his weight over his forearm. He listens intently, face virtually pressed against the glass. He hasn’t looked away from you - hasn’t blinked. 

“Was that your doing?” Yet again, he refuses to respond, words held behind a dam of unchanging silence. You want nothing more than to hear his voice, to solidify the obvious connection between this stranger and your nightmare. There’s a persistent, pulsating pressure at the front of your brain. You swear it’s coming from him, as though he’s trying to pry into your mind and see the image for himself. 

“Look,” You press your fingertips into your temples in an unsuccessful attempt to rub away the pressure. “I won’t hurt you. I just need to know who - or rather, what - you are so I can get you out of there.” 

There’s a visible struggle behind his eyes as he weighs the potential consequences of placing his trust in you. From your position, you don’t see what more he has to lose. At worst, you’re another greedy, selfish mortal, seeking to use him for his powers - whatever they may be. At best, you’re his only shot at release. Several quiet, lengthy moments pass, and you realize you may not get very far by talking to him. 

“If you’re not going to speak, I have to go.” His expression falls sullen as he watches you back away. “I’ll be back.” You promise, suspecting he’s heard those words before. 

The door slams shut behind you - a bit too loud for comfort - and your body slumps against the wood. The hall spins around you as you dizzily rest your weight over your knees. You close your eyes, taking slow, deep breaths to calm your racing heart. How the hell are you going to get him out of there? You, alone. You doubt you’ll even be able to break the glass. 

“We never meant for you to find him.” Your head whips toward the intruder only to find Paul standing at your side, his dark red robe tied tightly around his waist, hands behind his back. A thousand ants of panic crawl across your nerves. He takes a step closer and you take one back, fixated on his hidden hands. You’re no longer sure what he’s capable of, not after what you’ve seen - what you know. He calls your name, striving to pacify you as he always has whenever Mr.Burgess pushed you past your emotional threshold.  

You frantically search your surroundings, a cornered animal, eyes landing on a metal, bird-shaped figurine on the hallway console. You snatch it from its place, pointing it toward Paul as a warning. 

“Stay the fuck away from me.” Paul raises his empty hands out for you to see, halting his steps. His eyes dart between the metal bird in your trembling grasp and your frightened expression. Unarmed or not, you fear he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of security, ready to strike the moment you let down your guard.

“I suppose you think differently of me now. That I understand,” He exhales, aware of the shadow this revelation has cast over his character. “Truthfully, we’ve wanted to set him free for years now.”

“Who is he? What is he?” You press, figure heavy in your hand as you struggle to keep it raised. Every fiber of your being screams for you to run before you end up like their prisoner, but you deserve answers. 

“Drop the statue and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He offers as a compromise, moving to step closer. In turn, you raise the figure higher, threatening to bludgeon him. He flinches, lowering to his knees before you. His reaction spurs a wave of confidence within you, allowing you to still your wavering voice.

“Answer me, Paul.” You threaten. His brows furrow, bewildered by your abrupt loss of fondness toward him. 

“The Sandman.” 

“And why, exactly,  is the Sandman locked in your basement?” 

“We weren’t the ones that put him there. That was Roderick’s doing. But, we couldn’t release him after he died. Alex has done far worse than keeping him locked in there.” He shakes his head, face riddled with the guilt of a long-held secret.

“We tried to bargain with him. His release in return for his word that he wouldn’t harm us, but he refused to speak. He never has, not to anyone.” 

Understanding does nothing to quell the sting of betrayal you feel as you look at Paul, enraged on behalf of your stranger, and heartbroken at the loss of the friend you thought you knew. How could you have trusted him? His love for Alex has tarnished his moral compass beyond repair. They’re no better than Roderick, selfish and entitled, believing their safety is of higher value than the life of another. There’s no telling the damage they’ve inflicted throughout the world by holding the Sandman hostage.

“I answered your question. Now, will you please put the bloody statue down?!” You reluctantly lower your arm, unable to support the weight of the figure any longer, but keep it close - just in case. He sighs in relief, shoulders slouching as he leans back against his heels.

“You know how wrong this is, Paul.” You scold him. 

“I’d set him free myself if I could guarantee Alex’s safety.” 

“You would?” Mr. Burgess questions, calmly emerging from the shadows behind Paul. His lack of emotion sets you on edge, and as you watch Paul’s expression falter, you suspect it’s had the same effect on him.

“I see you’ve met our…guest.” He says the word with poorly contained disgust, as though he were the victim. His knuckles turn white as he grips the armrest of his chair, pushing himself to stand.

 “Let us properly introduce you, then.” Paul rises from the floor, moving to support his partner who brushes him off, cocking his head sharply toward the basement door in a silent demand for Paul to open it. You withdraw from the two, ready to make a run for it. 

“Don’t play coy now,”  Mr. Burgess snaps, pinning you under his menacing glare. “You think I haven’t noticed you snooping through our library - through my father’s belongings? Is this not what you’ve been searching for?” He turns to Paul, visibly disappointed. 

“Did I not warn you this would happen?” Paul remains quiet, unwilling to meet the blameful eyes of his partner. Instead, he simply folds the wheelchair, tucking it under his arm as the two of them begin their descent into the basement. You know you should leave while you have the chance, but you won’t be able to live with yourself if you don’t at least try to rescue the Sandman. Still clutching the metal statue, you trail after them, mindful enough to leave the exit open behind you.

The Sandman sits upright inside his cell, arms strewn over his crossed legs, making no effort to acknowledge the presence of his captors. You remain near the gate, unsure of how the situation will unravel as Mr. Burgess hobbles toward his prisoner. 

“It’s been some time since our last visit, hm?” He leans on his forearm, resting his weight against the surface of the glass. “I wonder if you’ll speak now.” He taunts. “If not for us, then perhaps for our friend.” 

“I’m not your fucking friend.” You huff, prompting Mr. Burgess to slam his hand against the glass. Unflinching, the Sandman’s starry eyes find yours. He shortly scans over your clenched fists and the figure you’re still clutching as though your life depends on it.

“I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in the last sixty years. That’s your fault!” Another strike meets the glass. “Isn’t it!” Mr. Burgess spits. The Sandman’s jaw tightens, but he wordlessly keeps his eyes locked on yours, unwilling to submit to the old man’s tantrum. You feel the pressure from earlier against your temples, prodding - provoking.

“Father was right to keep you here. You serve no purpose to anyone. You’re useless!” Mr. Burgess hisses. “Just a naked man in a glass cage.”

Absentmindedly, your feet inch closer behind the old man, blood boiling from the witnessed abuse. You’ve half a mind to rush him, to cave his head in against the glass. Before the urge can be acted upon, you feel Paul’s gentle hand against yours, carefully prying the figure from your curled fingers. You catch a glimpse of your palm, puncture wounds littering the skin from how firmly you’d squeezed. He sets the figure aside, grabbing and unfolding the wheelchair he’d left by the gate. 

“Alex, darling,” Paul sighs, exasperated. “Please.” He rolls the chair to his partner’s side. To your surprise, Mr. Burgess complies, sinking defeatedly into his seat. Tears pool in the corners of his eyes as he stares at the Sandman who continues to ignore his presence. 

“Take me upstairs, Paul.” His lower lip quivers. “I won’t be coming down here again.” Paul turns the chair, pausing for a moment. Your eyes follow his pointed glance to a freshly-cut, curved line that now disrupts the runic circle. The two of you share a look - an understanding. You want to ask if he meant to do it, but he wordlessly moves past you, assisting his lover up the staircase and out of the basement.

There’s hardly any time to process what’s happened, the Sandman already standing within his cell, cosmic eyes trained on you with feral determination. The smoke of your nightmare billows into the room, and you stagger toward him. You’re terrified to end up as you had before, near dead, cocooned inside the suffocating haze.

“I won’t hurt you.” It was him - the voice in your nightmare. He speaks softly, voice like liquid gold. It’s deep and warm, and for a moment you forget about the smoke that threatens to devour you. 

You find yourself transfixed on his figure as he presses his hands against the surface of the glass, beckoning you to do the same. You’ve no choice other than to believe his words as the smoke lashes at your limbs. Your tremoring hands slot over the glass, aligning with his. The space between beams with light, his hands phasing through the surface, boney fingers lacing through yours. 

You pull, freeing the rest of his body from the cell. His arms circle you at once, pulling you into his chest for support. Tingling with excitement and adrenaline, you hardly notice the hand he brings between your faces, fingers splayed as sand flows from the gaps. 

“Now,” He drawls. The particles sweep past your cheeks and into your eyes, your body falling limp against him as your vision fades to black. 

“Sleep.”

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Gallows of the Dreaming

~ Chapter two: The Exorcist ~

~ 18+ | Minors DNI | AFAB Reader | No Y/N ~

AO3 | Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any characters from The Sandman comics or Netflix series. This is purely creative writing.

Word Count: 8.5k

Chapter warnings: Violence, graphic depictions of gore, religious themes (exorcisms & demons), relived trauma (childhood memories of abuse), foul language, Dream unintentionally being a bit of an ass.

If you might be triggered by any of the above, I'd recommend skipping this chapter entirely (especially the gore TW). There will be enough context in the following chapters to understand what happened.

A/N: Strap in, this chapter’s a long one. Could it have been split up into multiple? Probably. But I like my fics long & wordy. I know this took a while (and that’s an understatement) & hope it was worth the wait for those of you who read the first chapter. If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me a DM. They will be listed in the comments just to keep the actual post length manageable.

As always, feel free to comment, send in any questions, and like/re-blog this post. Enjoy!

- Kathryn ;)

Do NOT re-write, translate, copy, re-post, or claim my writing as your own. Thanks!

“It’s a bit late for a cup of coffee.” You remark tiredly, flopping into the opposite end of the small booth. The brunette’s eyes don’t meet yours as you settle into your seat, too engrossed in people-watching through the dew-drenched café window. She rests her head in one hand whilst the other mindlessly sirs her drink. 

“I could do without sleep for a while.” She says, bringing the plain mug to her lips, face scrunching at the bitter taste. You make note of the light purple rings beneath her eyes as she reaches for a miniature cup of half-and-half between you, wondering how long she’s been awake and what’s kept her up. “Besides, I’ve got a job after this.” 

“Well,” You sigh. “Then I won’t keep you for long. Did you find anything?” You hope she did, hope you’ll finally have something - anything - to point you in the right direction. Wordlessly, she snakes a hand into the tote bag at her side, retrieving a manilla envelope and sliding it across the sleek table.

“What’s this?” You question,  pinching open the prongs and pulling out the scraggly piece of yellowed parchment inside. 

“A family heirloom.” A small smile graces her lips as her eyes glaze with memories. “My Gran used to tell me stories all the time. Fairytales, really.” 

You scan over the drawing in your hands: Two men seated at opposite ends of a tavern table, dressed in period clothing. Late eighteen-hundreds if you had to guess. Beneath the sketch, the parchment reads: ‘The Devil and the Wandering Jew.’ 

“What’s the fairytale behind this?” 

“According to my Gran, an ancestor of mine hunted him down.” She pauses to peel open and stir the creamer into her coffee. “She was shit with managing her money. Nearly lost it all to god knows what, and with creditors pounding at the door she was starting to run out of options. By some miracle, she found that drawing stitched inside a dead man’s pocket and figured anything would be worth the gamble to save her from losing her status and being forced to beg on the streets - or worse.” She sips from her mug, a hum of approval sounding in her throat. “So she hunted him down, and when she found him, demanded riches and immortality.”

“What happened then?” You press, and her brown eyes finally meet yours. “Well, obviously he didn’t grant her immortality, or else she’d be the one having this conversation with you. But, he did offer her a few odd jobs. She earned his respect, and his money.” Respect and money from the Devil. An interesting story, but not what you’d asked for. Perceptive eyes catch your disappointment from beyond the rim of her mug as she takes a long swig.

“What’s the matter? You seem a bit edgy.” You fight against the knit of your brows, the disheartened frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. Her mug gently clangs against the table as she sets it down and leans over her elbows into your line of sight, redirecting your attention from the page.

“I appreciate you digging this up but,” You shake your head, slipping the drawing back into its envelope. “I didn’t need information on the Devil. I needed information on the Sandman.” Your former classmate nods in understanding.

“It wasn’t the Devil she’d tracked.” She reaches across the table, swiftly pulling the envelope from under your fingers and back toward her. “Dream, she called him. Dream of the Endless.” Dream. It’s no lead, but it’s certainly more than you’d managed to find out for yourself over the last three weeks, and you’re grateful for her effort.

“Thank you, Johanna.” She waves away your earnest gratitude, pinning you with an inquisitive glare. 

“Tell me why you’re digging about the business of an Endless.” Her demand catches you off guard, though it shouldn’t. She’s always been quick and to the point, never missing a single piece of the puzzle. If there’s information to be gained, she’ll find a way to get it. No matter the cost. Precisely why you’d enlisted her help.

“It’s a long story.” 

“Then make it short.” Frankly, you’re not sure you should tell her. She might think you’ve gone mad. What should it matter to her? But, the truth - with a mind of its own - erupts under her intimidating stare. 

“Roderick and Alexander Burgess are why” You admit, fidgeting with the tag of your coat. “Had him locked in their basement for almost a century, naked and alone in a glass cage.” 

“Jesus fuck.” She hisses, eyes wide. “So you’ve met him?”

“I freed him.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat, eyes cast down toward your twiddling thumbs. If you thought long enough about it, you could still feel the grains of sand against your cheeks - in your eyes, his chilled hand against yours as you tugged him loose. Your palm tingles with remembrance, and you clench your fist. A poor attempt at replacing the sensation. Johanna spots the movement. Nothing gets past her. 

“If you’re as smart as you were back in school, you’ll move on.” She speaks truthfully, as though that’s the obvious - sane -  answer to your situation.

“Why would I do that? I’ve already put so much time and-” “Move on.” She urges, placing a warm hand atop yours. 

“I need to make sure he’s ok.” 

“You want to make sure the immortal personification of nightmares is ‘okay’?” She chides,  eyes rolling at your sentiment. “You’ve lost the plot, mate.” Ouch. 

You yank your hands from under hers, grabbing at the coat in your lap, muttering, “I should go.” You wiggle out of the booth, ready to leave, but nimble fingers catch your arm. 

 “I don’t work for free. You still owe me for getting you that interview,” She takes the envelope between her fingers, waving it near her face. “And for this.”

“How much?” You watch the cogs turn in her mind as she eyes you up and down, determining her price. No doubt expensive.

“Nothing you can’t work off.” Headlights flash through the window, sharpening the shadows of her cheekbones and jaw as she slides out from her seat, gathering her things. “Let’s go. Cab meter’s ticking.”

The London street lights gleam like a beacon off the silver circle on Johanna’s belt as she steps out of the cab, popping the collar of her pristine, white coat. Her sleek hair whips against her cheeks as she turns to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“If you’re going to be messing about with primordial entities, then it’s time you learn what I do for a living.” She rotates on the heel of her boot, long strides swiftly carrying her up the concrete steps ahead. “Maybe that’ll change your mind.” 

“It won’t.” You stubbornly assert. Her pace slows to a stop as she throws a patronizing glance at you over her shoulder. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but believe me. I already know the risks.” You don’t need a lesson in the dangers of magic. The aftermath of the Sandman’s release had been enough of an example. 

You’d awoken the following morning tucked neatly between your soft sheets, unusually well-rested. The memories of the night before were so…hazy, as though they’d been no more than another nightmare. Until you heard them, the muffled sobs that floated down the hall and into your groggy ears. Only then had you realized the severity of the matter - the countless, horrible possibilities.

Though you shouldn’t have cared - not after all you’d seen and discovered, you shot toward the shared bedroom of your bosses, your heart a lump in your throat. The cries grew louder and louder, and as you flung open the door, you realized they’d been coming from Paul. His shoulders shook as he clung to the clammy hand of his partner, pleading into deaf ears, “Come back to me, Alex.”

Alexander Burgess laid before him, cold sweat dripping from his brows, head thrashing against his damp pillow. Continuous, frightened whimpers fell from his open mouth, as though he’d been trapped within his worst nightmare. A fitting fate, you thought as you stared at him, somehow knowing - sensing - the Sandman had delivered his due punishment. You couldn’t help the guilty satisfaction the sight brought you.

Paul hadn’t noticed your presence at first, not until you’d placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, as he had done for you many times before. For his role in releasing their captive, he’d been granted the small mercy of being spared. Though as you watched the tears cascade down his red, swollen face, you wondered if it could be considered mercy at all. He was utterly powerless, forced to watch as his lover suffered a fate worse than death.

“Do something!” He pleaded. Despite knowing there was likely nothing you could do, you stepped around the bed and peeled back Mr. Burgess’ eyelids. His pupils shifted, dilating and constricting rapidly. Heavy, panted breaths heaved from his chest as his body struggled to adjust to his affliction. 

You shook your head, softly confirming, “There’s nothing I can do, Paul.”

There was no cure for this. Not even trained, award-winning doctors had been able to wake patients with the Sleepy Sickness. Nearly one hundred years had passed and patients still suffered, trapped within their dreams and nightmares. Some never slept at all. No cure, no known recoveries, no miracles. In one night, Mr. Burgess was lost to the world. A resentful, nasty piece of you silently thought, good riddance. 

“What do you mean?” He scoffed. For the first time since you’d met the man, his usual pleasant tone was nowhere to be found. “Aren’t you his caretaker?! Fix this!” He demanded. Your eyes searched his twisted expression for some sense of reason, finding nothing but seething, misplaced rage.

“This is your fault, you know! I’d still have my Alex if it weren’t for you!” Snot dripped from his nose, mixing with the avalanche of tears free-falling from his bleary eyes. “Get out!” He bellowed, voice reverberating throughout the room - rattling your chest. He had never raised his voice at you.

Though the words had been born from grief, you couldn’t shake your outrage. How dare he? You wanted to yell, to stoop to his level and throw his actions back in his sniveling face, but part of you understood his perspective. While he had finally pushed himself to right the wrongs of his past, you had been the catalyst. Had you not snooped through the library, Paul would have lived out the rest of his life with the person he loved most, complacent - happy. You bit your cheek, closed your eyes, and held your tongue as he continued his fit.

“I want you out of this house by nightfall or so help me-” He wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his robe, eyes dulling as he turned back to his lost lover.

You weren’t naive. It had been apparent from the moment you laid eyes on the man in the glass that your time at the mansion would soon run out. Though you’d grown fond of Paul, you knew there was no coming back from what had happened, from the knowledge of what he’d allowed. You blinked away your tears, grabbed your things, and haven’t looked back since. You’d done the right thing, even if the fallout had been difficult to witness. 

“Constantine.” You’re torn from your memories by the familiar depth of the voice that calls, breath catching in your throat at the sight of your stranger. 

He’s clothed this time, clad in an all-black ensemble. Your eyes trail down the buttons of his knee-length coat to his slender hands as he tucks them inside his pockets. He’s focused solely on the woman in front of you, and you’re unsure whether he’s unaware of your presence or has purely chosen not to acknowledge it. Does he even remember you? How could he not? Three weeks. Three weeks of searching tirelessly only for him to stumble upon you. 

“We have business, you and I.” He speaks confidently, demanding her immediate attention. She scoffs, squinting at him as though she can’t decide if they’ve met before. 

“Get in line.” Her shoulder knocks against his as she pushes past him, unaware of who he is and the power he holds. “Can’t keep God waiting.” You remain frozen in place, baffled by the coincidence at hand. 

His eyes settle on your figure, a dazzling shade of light blue, far from the feral, black celestial portals you’d seen behind the glass. The arrogant confusion from his interaction with Johanna ebbs away, replaced with recognition. Though wrapped tight within his gaze, you’re faintly aware of the fact that Johanna’s left you behind, entering the church to attend to her work for the night.

“Hi.” You exhale, forcing yourself to remember how to breathe as butterflies swarm in your stomach. Nearly a month had gone by since his release, and seeing him now - outside the glass - floods you with a sense of victory and relief. 

“We meet again.” He offers a slight tilt of his head toward you in greeting before going after Johanna. The butterflies wither, dropping dead in the pit of your stomach as he nears the church behind her. You’d risked your job - your life - to free him and the most he had to say was ‘We meet again’? 

“Hey!” You call, hot on his heels. “Wait up!” His figure slips through the slim opening of the large doors, and as you catch up, pushing them open further, he’s seemingly vanished. The only beings occupying the room are Johanna and another woman who, based upon the white collar around her neck, you presume works within the church. They speak in hushed tones, Johanna visibly wound up by their conversation as the other woman tries to state her case. 

“No! It’s too risky with the royals. I already told the queen.”

“But-” 

“If this goes sideways we’ll have a dead princess on our hands, a demon on the loose, and I’ll have no one to pay my fee.” You softly clear your throat and their heads whip in your direction. 

“There you are!” Johanna waves you over. “Ric, this is an old university mate of mine. She’ll be assisting tonight.” Ric’s wary eyes skim you from head-to-toe.

“Brave soul you are, working with Johanna. You’d probably be better off with the demon.” She laughs, nudging your arm with her elbow in a failed attempt at lightening the palpable tension. Her joke falls flat, smile dropping as Johanna shoots daggers in her direction. 

“What if I triple your fee?” Ric offers, hands wringing the spines of the leather-bound books she holds as distant screams echo from the far end of the church. The scent of rotten eggs permeates the room and you gag, pulling the collar of your shirt over your nose to block out the stench. 

“What the hell is that?”  You ask, disgusted.

“Sulfur.” The women confirm simultaneously. 

“You’re an exorcist?” You question, remembering a Demonology class you two had shared as part of your undergraduate degrees. You never thought she’d make anything of it beyond research. The unbridled shock on your face doesn’t go unnoticed by Ric. 

“You didn’t tell her?” The older woman’s worry-filled eyes flit between the two of you. Johanna simply shrugs. 

“Well,” Ric sighs. “You’ll be needing these.” She hands a book to you both with a tight-lipped smile and offers - mostly to you, “Good luck.”

The church is nearly empty as you step atop the altar platform, illuminated by the golden glow of the few remaining candle stands. The room had been cleared, pews moved out of sight - out of the path of destruction, as though Ric knew things would get messy. You admire the painted figures within the grand mural, heart thumping to the rhythm of the growing footsteps outside. 

An exorcism. You assumed these were rare occurrences in modern times. But according to Johanna, they’re far more frequent than she’d like. You fiddle apprehensively with the book Ric had given you - the Rītuāle Rōmānum, spine straightening as the doors creak open.

Johanna and the Princess enter with another, unexpected figure lagging behind, his fingers entwined with the Princess’. Her immaculate, white smile matches the sleek, floor-length gown she wears, not one blonde hair out of place on her head. Her partner - you presume - appears less than enthusiastic. He forces a small smile as she turns to share her excitement with him, his face falling as soon as it’s out of her sight. It dawns on you at this moment that you and Johanna are about to ruin what should be the happiest day of their lives. Or at least the happiest day of the Princess’ life. Johanna slips around your side, a white collar now tucked into her black shirt, and lightly grips your arm. 

“Just go along with it.” She speaks to you through pearly, clenched teeth as she grins happily at the couple, stepping forward to begin the ceremony.

“It’s a pleasure to be your officiant tonight, Princess. This,” She waves her hand fluidly in your general direction. “Is my assistant and your legal witness. Any questions before we begin?”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” The question comes from the Princess’ fiancé, followed by cold, calculating silence. 

“Of course I do, Kevin.” She tongues her cheek, a poor attempt to push back her anger. “Why else would we be here?” Her fixed glare pins him in place, a warning that should he press further, there will be hell to pay. 

“I just meant like-” He gulps. “Don’t you want all your family and photographers and stuff and-” 

“No!” She snaps, startling herself and her jumpy partner. She quickly softens her expression and voice, reeling in her irritation. “I just want you.” She nods to Johanna, beckoning her to continue the ceremony.

“Do you, Princess, take-”

“I do.” Johanna’s brow raises at the interruption, but she continues. “Do you, Kevin, take the Princess to be your-” An audible crunch echoes through the room as the Princess’ hand bears down on Kevin’s. You hold in a surprised gasp, feeling awful for the young man before you. He has no idea that he’s hitching himself to a demon.

“Then repeat after me,” Johanna begins, flipping her book open. “Dā locum, dīrissime,” Your mixed voices fill the empty space as the words are recited. 

 “Dā locum, impiissime.” Kevin’s stomach releases a loud gurgle, discomfort overtaking his expression. 

“Sorry,” He grunts out. “Probably just hungry. Y’know how it is before a big game-”

“Kevin!” The Princess whispers sharply. “It doesn’t matter.” She gestures for Johanna to continue. “Keep going.”

“Dā locum, Chrīstō.” Kevin doubles over, coughing and gagging as his hands claw at his throat. The princess is beside herself, scoffing and rolling her eyes at her partners’ obstructive behavior. 

“Kevin, seriously? At our wedding?” Johanna ignores the woman, a lioness targeting her prey as she stalks toward the man, continuing to read from her book. 

“Quī tē spoliāvit, quī rēgnum tuum dē strūxit!” Two large, meaty fingers emerge from Kevin’s mouth. He chokes on them as they slither out, veins protruding from his forehead and neck, eyes beginning to bulge from their sockets as the hands become wrists. 

"Quī tē victum ligāvit, et vāsa tua dīripuit!” The sickening crack of Kevin's jaw echoes throughout the room, his body jerking backward as two full, muscular arms emerge from his mouth. His flesh rips and squelches around them, blood oozing down his neck from every facial orifice. The hands reach around to grip the back of Kevin's head, claws sinking into his scalp as they pull from either side. A loud roar bellows from the Demon inside Kevin as his body shreds in half, leaving the Demon standing amidst a gooey puddle of flesh and shattered bone. 

Intricate, runic scars line its abdomen, spine visible outside its back and pierced between each vertebra with large silver hoops. Blood splatters stain the Princess's white gown, her eyes wide with shock, mouth agape as she stares in horror at the remnants of her fiancé. Pushing your own terror aside, you rush for the Princess, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her out of harm's way. 

"Come with me." You direct her. "It'll be alright, Ric will get you out and safe." You call out for the older woman, guiding the princess toward the nearest exit. Ric promptly takes her from you, stumbling back a step as she fleetingly takes in the gruesome scene. 

"Fucking hell." She gasps, steering the Princess out of your grasp.

"It was Kevin, not the Princess." 

"You don't say." She sarcastically intones, swiftly guiding the Princess out the door. As much as you want to follow them, you - perhaps idiotically -  can't bring yourself to leave Johanna behind.

"Tell me your name!" Johanna demands, Holding a crucifix up to the Demon as it towers over her. The Demon merely laughs, lurching forward and striking Johanna with the back of its massive fist. The impact sends her flying across the room, her back slamming into the mural. She groans as her body drags down the wall and hits the floor, but quickly regains her senses. She rolls over, pushing past the pain to search for her book through blurred vision. Without hesitation, you crack open your copy, hell-bent on finishing what you and Johanna had started, shaking hands making the small text difficult to read.

"Vīsitā, quaesumus," Enraged, the Demon whirls, its long, hoofed legs carrying it in three mere strides across the room. Your knees buckle as it launches toward you. "Domine, habitātiōnem istam et omnis-” 

“Silence!” It snarls at you, surging forward with its giant arm raised like a club, ready to strike again. You shield your head with your arms and squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for the impact that never comes. 

“Agilieth!” You risk a peak, eyes cracking open to find the Demon’s arm halted just before the top of your head. A wicked, sharp-toothed grin splits across its face as it turns to address its caller - the Sandman. He stands in front of the altar and Johanna, hands casually tucked into his coat, undaunted by the sheer size and strength of the Demon.

"Lord Morpheus," It growls. "You're almost unrecognizable without your helm." It mocks, tone dripping with disdain.

"It was traded to a Demon."

"Yes, but which demon?" Its grin stretches as the Sandman's eyes gleam with hope. In your peripheral vision, you catch Johanna pulling herself upright against the altar. Rītuale Rōmānum back in hand, she cracks open the book, resuming her recitation of the Latin prayer and interrupting whatever business the Sandman seeks with the Demon. Her face is that of the cat that caught the canary. Knowing the Demon's name, she holds the power to condemn it straight back to Hell.

“Constantine, stop this at once!" The Sandman shouts as the ground below Agilieth twists into an open pit of bright-orange fire and smoke. With eyes even more desperate than the night of his escape, he stretches his arm toward Johanna, begging her to stop. Why would he have her free the Demon? What could be worth the risk?

“Dream of the Endless commands you!” Agilieth roars, cursing at her as she ignores their pleas. Tendrils of smoke form into hands that scrape and pull at the Demon's mountainous figure, hauling it inch-by-inch into the pit. “I’ll tell you everything I know, my lord!" Its claws leave tracks on the ground as it sinks deeper, only its head remaining above ground level. "Don't let her send me back!” Ash and embers whirl through the hot air, stinging your cheeks. You hold your breath as Johanna fearlessly stands over the Demon, the reflection of hellfire flaring in her eyes.

“Exī, ergō, Agilieth!” With her final words, the Demon slips into the pit, and the ground seals over. The silence deafens you as you watch the Sandman’s shoulders slump, his face turned solemn, staring at the claw marks left across the wooden flooring.

"You have no idea what you’ve cost me." He speaks softly - defeatedly, and the words are a boulder of guilt crashing into you. You did the right thing. Didn’t you? You couldn’t have let the Demon roam free, free to find its next victim, free to create a larger mess than any mortal could be capable of cleaning up.

"I'm sorry," You stutter, apologizing nonetheless. "I thought-"

"Don't apologize, mate," Johanna winks at you, entirely satisfied with herself as she snaps the book closed and tosses an arm around your shoulders. "We've just tripled our fee." You're reluctant to follow as she guides you out of the church, your eyes still locked with the Sandman’s, but her grip is firm and commanding. 

Thunder rumbles above as you step outside, Johanna pausing in the doorway of the church to converse with Ric, likely discussing payment. You step aside to grant them some privacy, leaning against one of the giant stone columns that uphold the awning, and watch as the lightning within the clouds reveals various shades of lavender and coal.

 You’re lucky, you realize. Lucky to have come out unharmed. Johanna will be lucky if she isn’t as bruised as tonight’s sky tomorrow morning. You wonder how she could willingly subject herself to this on a regular basis. The money must be phenomenal, you think, hands still trembling from the commotion - the rush.

"Why are you here?" Your ears tingle at the pleasant depth of the Sandman’s voice, the whisper of pleasant chills rolling across the top of your skull and down your spine. He’s closer than expected, his shoulder brushing yours as he eases into the open space beside you. Icy, piercing blue eyes shimmer beneath the gloomy night lighting, studying - questioning. 

"Why are you?" You counter, residual adrenaline governing your words. “Dream of the Endless.” A faint smirk curls the corner of his mouth at your boldness, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and that guilt… it gnaws at the last remaining sliver of your confidence.

"Something of mine came into Constantine's possession." He divulges, watching you - reading you.

"What could she possibly have of yours?" 

"I answered your question, you will answer mine." A give and take, so be it. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch on the nervous knot forming in your throat. Your feet shift in place, crunching against the cobblestone as you attempt to clear it away. 

“After everything that happened with Mr. Burgess,” You swallow. “I wondered where you went, what you’d done to him,” His eyes implore you to continue, but you can’t seem to produce another coherent thought under their intensity. So you avert yours, once again finding the colors in the flashing clouds.

 “I-” You take a deep breath, rubbing your arms to settle the goosebumps. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” You admit, embarrassment tingeing your cheeks. You know how silly it sounds given the danger involved in pursuing him, but you had questions that needed answers, and - much like your former classmate - you’ve always been relentless in your quest for knowledge. 

When you find the courage to meet his unwavering gaze, you find him scanning your features. Your reddened cheeks, the tense pull of your brow, your lips as you nip uneasily at the chapped skin. For a moment, he seems as though he may apologize, his small smirk and studious stare softening into concern. But, you’d made your choice. He’s no need to apologize when seeing him outside the glass - free - is enough to resolve any lingering guilt over what happened to Alex and Paul - to you.

“My sand.” He answers your earlier question. 

“The Sandman without his sand.” You find yourself giggling, hardly noticing how close he’d stepped until you could feel the comforting heat radiating from his body, shielding you from the harsh wind like a fluffed blanket, pulled fresh from the dryer. It’s dizzying - distracting.

"Morpheus." He corrects.

"Hm?" You hum, mouth disconnected from your mind as it scrambles to process what he’d said and the sudden, intoxicating warmth. He’d been so cold when you’d first met, when you’d pulled him from the glass, when he’d held and guarded you against the nightmare smoke.

"My name." 

"Hate to interrupt your little chat,” Johanna begins, approaching the two of you. She shoots a cagey glance toward Morpheus before opting to ignore his presence entirely, aiming her words at you. “But it’s about time I bugger off.” Her fingertips tap the back of your arm gently. “I’ll be in touch.” Her eyes speak without words, questioning your safety - your comfortability -  with the Sandman’s proximity. You offer a small nod, simultaneously confirming your security and acknowledging what she’d said.

"Constantine." Her name rumbles from his chest as she moves to scurry away, more of a demand than a request. She begrudgingly turns, hands smacking against her sides as she confronts him.

“What do you want with me?” She sneers, arms crossing over her ribs. “I don’t have time for this.”

"You have something of mine.” His expression hardens. “I'd like it returned." 

“What could I possibly have of yours?" 

“His sand.” You chime, watching in amusement as two of the most strong-willed individuals you’ve ever come across continue their stare-down, wondering who will be the first to concede. You’d never known Johanna to back down for anyone, and Morpheus, well, you’d witnessed his endurance firsthand. 

"That was yours?” Her brows raise. “Couldn't even get the damned drawstrings open." Her tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek as she ruminates on where she left the sand. “I've no idea where it's at. It's been missing for ages." She concludes.

"We must find it." He asserts, towering over the woman as he emphasizes its importance. "Without it, my realm - humanity - will cease to exist." She rolls her eyes, considering his words far too dramatic for the circumstance.

"Alright,”  She tilts her head to look up at him, a playful smirk sliding up her cheeks as she realizes how vital her compliance is. “I'll help you find it first thing tomorrow-"

"No-"

"Tomorrow." She reiterates firmly. "I'll help you. Trust me, I wouldn't want you and your little friend following me all over the place." You and Morpheus share a look of confusion, focusing your attention in the direction Johanna points. A raven, perched on the edge of the base of another nearby column squirms under each of your stares.

"My friend?" He squints at the bird, stepping closer to investigate. Its eyes quickly shift over Morpheus before scooting aside a few inches to gain some space, head twitching side to side, up and down. Morpheus raises his chin, shoulders squaring as he looks down his nose at the raven. “Tell me your name.” He orders.

"Matthew, Sir." This night is full of surprises, you think, delighted by the nasally voice that comes from the talking bird. Morpheus, however, appears rather indifferent - displeased, even.

"Matthew,” He scowls. “Tell Lucienne that I have no need for a raven-" You turn, ready to share your bewilderment with Johanna, searching your surroundings for a glimpse of her dark hair, only to find that she’s disappeared into the night.

"Morpheus." You call. He ignores you - or maybe doesn’t hear you - as he continues lecturing the raven. 

"If I require assistance, I shall ask-" 

"Uh, y-you do, actually, Sir." Matthew stutters, catching on to your distress and Johanna’s absence. 

“Morpheus!” You shout. Tired and frustrated by his blatant disregard, you tug harshly on the sleeve of his coat. His head whips toward you, initial fury at your action quieting as he notices the absence of your friend - his only chance at reclaiming his sand. 

"She's gone." You sigh. He draws his gaze from over your shoulder, down to your fingers, still curled around the soft fabric of his coat, and back to your eyes. You release him immediately, mumbling a curt apology.  

“Go back to the dreaming, Matthew." Morpheus dismisses. 

“With all due respect, sir. The boss lady sent me here to help you because, like it or not, you need me.” Matthew declares, hopping closer to Morpheus. “Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had thumbs, lived my whole life here. I know how to navigate this world.”

"My last raven was sent to help me too." Morpheus’ cold gaze has the bird’s feet shuffling again, his tone low - warning, rumbling in tune with the rolling thunder.

"Yeah, and what happened to them?” Matthew sasses. “You fire them too? Send them back to the dreaming?" You’re amazed - jealous, even - by Matthew’s confidence as he stands up for himself. 

"She died while trying to save me." You wince as images of the white-bellied raven from your nightmare flicker in your mind's eye. The splattered blood across her bright feathers, her desperate caws as she beat herself against the glass. You doubt you’ll ever be able to rid yourself of the haunting memory. 

"What was her name?" You dare to ask.

"Jessamy." As he meets your pitying gaze, he quickly blinks away the tears that threaten to form, steeling his expression, pretending the memory no longer carries any weight in his heart. 

"I'm sorry for your loss, Morpheus." You feel awful, awful for describing even the smallest crumb of your nightmare to him when you first met. You want to apologize for that too but decide against it, not wanting to push the subject any further.

“Well,” Matthew continues after a moment of respectful silence. “I don’t plan on dying again anytime soon. We'd better get moving if we want to find her by morning. We should have a good eight hours while she sleeps. If we put our heads together, I’m sure we can figure out her-”

"Sleep," Morpheus murmurs to himself. "Yes. If she is asleep, I know exactly where to find her." He extends a hand for you to take, and you do so without a second thought, allowing him to pull you into his chest the same way he had the night you’d freed him. His hands skim the small of your back as they circle around your waist, his head dipping beside your ear, voice just above a whisper as he instructs, “Close your eyes.”

You comply, digging your fingers into the side seams of his coat as a vortex of wind envelopes your bodies. Your feet lift and float away from solid ground, the vortex pushing and pulling your limbs in every direction. You hang onto Morpheus as though your life depends on it, daring to open your eyes just long enough to catch a glimpse of the black smoke that carries you. Your skin blanches with fear, mind sucked back into that bone-chilling darkness, the nightmare void that had nearly swallowed you whole.

You’re left breathless and wobbly as the smoke clears, continuing to cling to Morpheus’s coat with a death grip. Your mouth opens and shuts, words refusing to flow freely. His hands slide from your back to cup your upper arms, squeezing reassurance and holding you steady as you struggle to pull yourself together. You know the fear is irrational, know that he - as proven before - would not allow the smoke to harm you, but the sensation of the nightmare refuses to leave you in peace.

"Breathe.” He reminds, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your shoulders as he tilts his head down to draw your frightened eyes back to his. “You are unharmed." You savor the touch, your heartbeat gradually slowing to match the pace of the soothing strokes. 

"What was that?"

"A method of travel without my sand." 

"Well, it was awful." He retracts his hands, almost as though the words had offended him, fingertips skimming down the length of your arms as they fall back at his sides. 

"Then you will not experience it again." He promises.

"Wait-" 

"The pouch is here.” He confirms to himself, surveying the apartment building he’d brought you to with assurance. “You will remain outside with Matthew." As if on cue, the raven swoops down beside you. His feathers ruffle and twitch as he settles on the ground, beady eyes darting between you and Morpheus. 

"How do you know? Didn't Johanna say she lost it?" You watch as he glides toward the building, as though being lured by some invisible pull. 

"I can feel its power." Morpheus steps inside the ominously dark building, leaving you alone with Matthew.

 After a while, you find yourself enjoying the raven’s dry, witty humor, chatting to pass the time. But as what should have been no more than a few minutes becomes well over an hour, your playful banter begins to slow, both of your eyes anxiously tracing and examining the apartment complex.

Strange, you think. Something about the building rings every alarm bell within you. Though the hour has hardly passed midnight, not a single light shines from the building. Not from the lobby, the porch lights, or any of the visible windows. As you observe the building, you notice the piles of untouched mail littering the main entrance, moving to pick up a few of the grimy envelopes. 

"Matthew,” You begin, scanning over the unpaid electricity bills, violation notices, and letters dated as far back as three months ago. “Something's not right."

 He titters over, talons faintly clicking across the concrete, and you squat beside him, holding your findings out for him to see. He tilts his head, eyes darting over the envelopes in your hand and all across the floor. After a moment of careful consideration, he opens his beak to say, "I think we should let the boss handle it." You scoff, tossing the mail aside as you stand. 

“What happened to that confidence from earlier? I thought you weren’t afraid to help him.” You shoot for the doors, hands clamping over the sleek, modern handles. Matthew’s caw startles you, winds flapping as he lands on top of your hands. 

“That-That’s not a good idea.” He warns, stalling your movement. “You have no idea what’s in there. The boss said-”

“Your boss, Matthew. Not mine.” You remind, and his feet squeeze around your skin. “If you won’t go in there and help him, I will.” He kicks off your hands, talons scraping the concrete as he lands back on the ground, mumbling under his breath, “He’s not gonna like this.”

You tug open the heavy door, streetlights instantly absorbing into the black hole of the lobby, revealing nothing to your squinted eyes as you cross over the threshold. The door clicks closed behind you, leaving you vulnerable in the dark. There’s a sickly-sweet stench lashing at your nose, rolling in your gut. As much as you’d rather not find out what the smell belongs to, your fear of the dark drives your shaky hands into your pockets, reaching for your phone. 

The contents of your stomach turn to lead as the flashlight winks to life, illuminating the half-decayed corpse of a woman not two feet in front of you. You stumble back, feet squelching and sticking to the floor as acid rises in your throat. Her flesh droops and pools beneath her, melting and mixing with other various fluids into the tiled floor. Hollow cheeks and cloud-white eyes stare up at you. The foul scent strengthens, and suddenly you’re retching up the contents of your stomach, mindful enough to avoid her body. You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your coat, willing yourself to face the woman again. How long has she been left here, fusing with the floor? 

“What the fuck happened here?” You breathe feebly, stepping around her. You notice - as you avoid inching too close - the faint twitch of her left eye. “I’m going insane.” But the nearly inaudible gurgles emitting from her throat confirm you’re not. Alive. She’s still alive. How? 

Unable to face her any longer, you shine your light further into the room, revealing a messy trail of gooey footsteps. You follow them, vicious chills spidering down your spine with each step as they lead you up the staircase and down the eerily silent second-story hallway. Some primal instinct inside you screams for you to turn around. You know you should, know that you’d be safer waiting outside with Matthew. But what if Morpheus needs your help? What if he’s been captured again? What if? 

At the end of the long, looming hallway, yellow light flickers beneath a chipped, word-down door. You head for it, ignoring the sticky substance coating the silver knob as you turn it. 

Much like the rest of the building, the room is pitch-black as the door creaks open, no sign of the light you’d spotted. Maybe you’d imagined it. The same way you’d like to believe you’re imagining the slithering, shifting shadows that lurk along the walls and ceiling. Maybe the shock of everything you’ve experienced tonight is finally catching up to you. The flashlight of your phone fizzles out, a red battery symbol mocking you as you frantically shake the device. 

“Just my fucking luck.” You hiss, reaching for the switch on the wall, shuddering at the cold, moist goo that coats your fingers as you flick it upward. 

To your surprise, the room brightens, dimly illuminating the crumb-coated carpet and various discarded dolls strewn about. You carefully step around them, hesitantly following the muffled sound of cartoons playing to your left, the living room - your living room. You lean over the familiar grey couch, mutely stunned, sight caught on the mess of tangled hair poking above it. A little girl, no older than five or six, sways from side to side as she sits on her heels, inches away from the TV screen. Sweet, high-pitched giggles tumble from her belly as she remains unaware of your presence, sucked into her show. Though you cannot see her face, you know - feel - that she is you.

A woman’s voice grates through the laughter, calling your name. Your mother, you realize. Something in your chest tightens with pain as the little girl - little you - doesn’t seem to hear her. Another call of your name, followed by thunderous footsteps. Your sore stomach clenches, heart pausing a beat as you watch your mother’s figure overshadows the young girl. She watches a moment, waiting for little you to notice her in the doorway. When she doesn’t, like a bat from hell, your mother flies into a rage. She snatches little you upright by the collar of her oversized nightshirt, teeth bared as she barks at the child, “You will answer me when I call your name!”

“I-I didn’t hear you! I swear!” Little you stammers, eyes swelling with stinging tears. 

“Of course not! You’re selfish!” Your mother yells, spit stringing between her teeth, the strong smell of alcohol wafting off her hot breath. “You think you can just ignore me whenever you want?!” You close your eyes, body jerking at the sharp smack reverberating in your ears. Your muscles tense, becoming rigid as you listen to the gut-wrenching sobs coming from your younger self.

“I’ll give you something to cry about!” You weren’t selfish or ignorant. You were just a child, completely wrapped up in your favorite escape from this - the abuse. 

Your body relaxes as you hear your mother stomp away from the room, allowing you to open your eyes, to see your younger self. She stands before you, her face cupped inside her palms as she sobs with such soundless intensity that her breath remains stuck in her chest. You round the couch, dropping to your knees before her, your own tears falling as you embrace her. One hand strokes her hair as the other soothingly rubs her back, offering the comfort you wish you’d received. 

“Shhh.” You try to calm her. “It’ll be okay. You’re not alone.” You coo. The pressure in her lungs releases, and she gasps for air, bawling against your shoulder as her small fists curl into your sleeves. 

“I-I didn’t mean to- to-” 

“Shhh…I know. I know.” You hug her firmly, providing as much support as you possibly can. Eventually, as her sobs dwindle into light sniffles, her arms circle around you as best as they can, returning the affection. You rock her gently, swaying from side to side as she had been earlier, humming that special lullaby you’ve always loved. 

Preoccupied with comforting little you - healing that broken shard of your past, you’re inattentive to the preternatural strength of her hold. You rock the child, even as her arms constrict, a boa around a mouse. Your shoulders strain, joints aching under the increasing pressure, threatening to pop from their sockets. As the air begins to thin, you wriggle and writhe against her, leaning back to see her face - its face. 

Sickly green and filled with malice, its mouth - where her cheek once was - opens into a blood-curdling, razor-toothed grin as it says, “We’re ssso hungry.” Its voice is at once one and many, splintering into that of a hundred - a thousand - sneering, distorted children. 

Through your bleary eyes, the facade of your childhood apartment fades away, leaving you in a slime-coated, moldy, abandoned apartment. Choked whimpers bubble from your throat as you watch its face continue to shift, features slipping and sliding across slimy skin. How could you have been so blind, so easily betrayed by your senses? 

"Feed usss." Comes another sinister voice from behind, just above your left shoulder. "Itsss been ssso long." Now above your right as the creature’s nails dig into your skin, warm liquid - blood - dripping down your arms. You hardly register the pain as you watch its eyes roll back into its mutating skull, replaced with glowing, yellow orbs. Its flesh becomes a viscous, gelatinous substance, seeping into your clothes.

Your mind empties of all words except one name, “M-Morpheus!” You rasp, the plea scarcely audible through the many, ravenous voices mimicking and mocking around you. I’m going to die, you think. Your face, heated from the rushing blood and lack of oxygen, twists with dread as you’re suffocated by the creature.

“We’ll devour you whole!” It growls the words as it opens its cavernous mouth, lining you up to ease you down its slick, greasy throat. You thrash in its grasp, hysterical sobs tearing the inside of your throat. 

"Enough!" The creature retracts at the bellowed command, a hand gripping and pulling you up by the back of your neck. Morpheus, you realize, brings you to your feet, shielding your quaking form behind his. His arm lingers protectively across your front, his hand gripping your opposite hip, steadying and reminding you that you are safe now.

"Massster?!" The voices shriek. As you take in the full expanse of the room, you see the many glinting, beady, yellow eyes all along the walls. The creatures cower into their shadows at the sight of Morpheus. You think you might do the same until you feel the gentle, reassuring squeeze of his hand, the only thing holding you upright. 

"We thought you left forever." The monsters chorus, echoing the word over and over.

"You have taken advantage of my absence,” Morpheus says - almost snarls, tone dripping with revulsion. “It ends now." 

With the wave of his free hand, the creatures shrivel, crumbling to dust on the floor until you’re left in the now vacant, dusty room.   Johanna leans against the wall a few feet away, looking almost as shaken as you, teeth gritted, fists clenched and trembling at her sides. 

"You disobeyed me." Your eyes flick up to meet his stormy gaze, blood still pumping loudly in your ears as you throw a weak glare his way. 

“You-” You’re still out of breath, each word a strain to your aching ribs. “You were in-” Your head shakes. “You were in here a while. What-” You force down a deep breath. “What was I supposed to do?”

"Wait. As you were told." You gawk at him incredulously, taking the time to catch your breath. ‘Wait as you were told.’ You’d strangle him if he hadn’t just saved you. You’re not a helpless child. Were you not the one saving his ass no less than three weeks ago, freeing him from nearly a hundred years of captivity? Could he truly fault you for trying to help him again?

“I was trying to help you.” Your voice is hoarse, throat sore as you attempt to defend your actions. “I thought you were in danger.” 

"I do not need saving from a mortal." 

Despite the ache, you square your throbbing shoulders, head held high as you quip back, “You did less than a month ago.”

His mouth folds into a firm line as he breaks your stare-off, sharp profile lit by the moonlight now peaking through the window, eyes darkening into ink-black, cosmic pools.

"Right, can we save the bickering for later?” Johanna intervenes, slicing through the tension. “I'd like to get the hell out of here." 

Rain pours around the stone awning of the building as you limp behind Morpheus and Johanna, nearly drowning out the sound of Matthew’s relieved caws. He swoops up to mount your shoulder chastising, “I told you not to go in there!” His talons dig into your skin for balance as you whip your head to scowl at him. Skittish, he jumps away, hopping after Morpheus. “Boss, I-”

Morpheus gives him a stern look, silencing the raven. His lips purse, brows knitting as he pulls a dark, leather pouch - no larger than the size of his palm - from his coat pocket. The sand. Golden beads glimmer along the strings as he tugs open the pouch, tilting it into his open hand. 

He got what he came here for, and now he’ll leave. He’ll leave you and Johanna behind after all that happened inside that wretched apartment complex, the waking nightmare you’d faced to save him. 

“Morpheus!” You snap, watching in disbelief as grains of sand slip through the gaps of his slender fingers, spinning into a sandstorm around him. He pauses, eyes flicking toward you.

“Where are you going?!” 

“Hell. In search of my helm.” 

In a blink, he’s encased in a swirling tornado of sand, and then…he’s gone. Matthew spirits away in your peripheral vision, a brief fluttering shadow and flap of wings as he follows after his master. You loose a frustrated breath and lean on the opposite wall from Johanna. Whether or not she’s still as shaken as she appeared - as you are - you’ll never know, her face now a mask of perfect calmness. You look to her for any semblance of validation for your discontentment, but she merely shrugs her shoulders.

“I’ll say this once,” She starts. “Only because I consider you a friend.” Her words are steady, not an ounce of residual fear behind them as she warns, “Don’t go after him again. It’ll only get you killed.”