Morpheus X Reader - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

My fucking God please this is perfect I need more please

Morpheus Alphabet NSFW.-B

So Claiming his Queen part 4 will not be up tonight as I am writing a juicy ending to the chapter, so as a thanks for all your amazing support please find my first submission to Morpheus Alphabet NSFW. If anyone has any requests A-Z let me know!

Warnings- Smut, sexual content 18+

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I love it

Claiming his Queen Part 5

Thank you so much for all the comments and likes. It means so much! Thank you for all the requests; if I haven’t replied, don’t worry, I am working my way through them.- Please leave a comment 

Warning smut and dark theme.

There was something tender in the way Morpheus carried you. Exhaustion had taken your body as the intense cold consumed you. You were relieved when Morpheus hoisted you effortlessly in his arms as you disappeared into a swirl of sand.

He was cradling you to his chest, your face burrowing against the side of his. It wasn’t till now that you registered how pleasant he smelt; more than that, it was intoxicating. There were no words to describe it other than an earthy spice, woodsy and warm, but something sweeter underneath. Blueberries? Blackberries? Gooseberries? You nudged your nose closer to the base of his throat and groaned in bliss, surrendering to the untainted fragrance.

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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.

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for the love of God... this story left me wanting Tom mr to make love being morpheus ok 👌 I loved this story too much... you should read it

Like silk (Morpheus x Reader)

Pairing: Morpheus x fem!reader

Summary: In the afterglow of your lovemaking, you marvel at your immortal lover’s softness, inside and out.

Warnings: nudity, not full-on smut but heavily mentioned throughout and initiated at the end (minors DNI!!!), the author is soft af for Dream’s ethereal features and it shows

Word count: ~1.1K

A/n: Just some fluff inspired by Calliope’s line in the comics quoted below. Hope you enjoy!

***

“He was so gentle, and his skin felt like white silk against my skin.” - Calliope, The Sandman #71

***

Soft.

Everything is so, so soft. The warm breeze sneaking through the open palace window, the thin sheet lovingly draped over your bare lower half but a few moments ago, the mattress you’re resting on, the pillow beneath your head. And the softest of all - your lover’s skin, pressed against yours as you lie in his arms.

You could tell at first glance that his body would no doubt feel as ethereal as he looked. But you hadn’t imagined just how smooth his skin could possibly be, how much it would feel like the finest silk as it glided over yours with each thrust.

In truth, you hadn’t anticipated how gentle he could be, either. You’d expected him to make love as dominantly as he behaved, if not as coldly. Undoubtedly seeking consent and aiming for your pleasure, but coaxing it from your body by commanding you towards it with his, claiming it without falter.

Instead, you’d found yourself showered in tender caresses and feather-light kisses, the tips of his fingers almost hesitant as they meticulously learned where and how to touch so you would tremble in delight. And though you relished the steel firmness of his chest and abdomen pressed flush against your softest parts as he moved inside you, he’d done so with the greatest care, taking notice of your every little reaction and adjusting accordingly. By the end, you’d been lost in a silky cloud of pleasure floating across the night sky, illuminated only by the stars in your lover’s eyes.

You have no doubt he could be rough in bed as well, and the thought isn’t unappealing in the slightest. But for now, you simply lie there, satiated and content with the length of your body half-covering his, and your fingers tracing idle lines over his heart. You marvel at how smoothly your fingertips glide along his alabaster skin as they follow the line between his well-defined pectoral muscles, then make a slow, winding trail over the right one.

Dream lies back with his eyes closed, though he never sleeps. He’s simply relishing your touch, his arm wrapped around you as he lightly brushes his own fingers over your shoulder.

“You’re so soft,” you mouth into his skin, barely a murmur. He gives a low, questioning hum. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you’ve woken him from a deep slumber. You almost feel bad even so, having interrupted his rare moment of peace with such a random thought.

“I said, you’re very soft,” you repeat a bit sheepishly. “Your skin. It feels like silk.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Does that please you, my love?”

If his skin is white silk, his voice is black velvet. It rumbles deeply within his chest, where your cheek is resting.

You sigh at the feeling, but frown slightly as your hand pauses in its movement. “Why would it not?”

“A matter of taste, I suppose,” he says in casual manner. “I can alter any aspect of my appearance if you like. You need only ask.”

He says it like it’s nothing to him, and it is. But you find yourself almost... disturbed at the notion.

You lift yourself up so you’re sitting sideways, leaning on one hand while the other rests on his stomach. He reaches for it to play with your fingers now that you have removed yourself from his embrace. You look down at your touching hands, mesmerized by how well your fingers fit with his as he guides them into a languid dance of small, tender brushes against one another. Your eyes then drift to the contours of his beautifully chiseled abs, then travel across his strong chest, rising and falling with each breath, and finally linger on his face. The impossibly soft rosy lips whose touch you can still feel on every inch of your skin, the elegant line of his nose, the sharp jawline your fingertips had loved to trace, the black, unruly hair you had tugged on at the height of your pleasure, coaxing a low groan from your lover. And, last but not least, his eyes - the universe itself contained in two never-ending pools of starlight, spilling into the ocean of his irises.

You love him for what he is. His wondrous mind, his unwavering commitment to his given role despite its hardships, his depth of feeling, hard though as he strives to contain and conceal it. But you can’t deny that his physical form alone is the most ethereal, bewitching sight that has ever blessed your eyes.

“You are perfect, Morpheus,” you breathe out, holding back a shudder. To lose yourself like this in the image of him lying bare beside you is almost too much.

The lightest crease appears between his brows. His gaze stays locked on you as he sits up, bringing his face inches away from yours. He lowers his eyes to your body, studying you as you did him. His knuckles trace a gentle line over your skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake - from your folded knee, along your thigh and over your hip, up your stomach, then pausing a moment to follow the soft curve of your breast. It takes but the lightest touch of his thumb on your nipple to have it grow into a stiff little peak, making you gasp and shudder as you try to keep still under his observing gaze.

His fingers continue their path over your fluttering heart, then up the sensitive skin of your neck, until he finally cups your cheek and looks you in the eye once more. You think he might say something, but he only parts his lips so he can close them over yours.

It makes sense. He never quite knows how to receive your kind words. But he is always oh-so-willing to be kind to you.

His lips taste of stardust and rainfall and home. Of everything he is and everything you dream of, because he is your dreams. And you sink into him as easily as you drift to sleep. Gently guided by his hands, you shift onto his lap, your thighs on each side of his. The hard length of him nudges at your lower belly, seeking permission.

“I want you again,” you mewl softly into his mouth, eagerly granting it.

He breaks the kiss to look into your eyes as he takes your wrist in his hand, and lowers it into the heated space between your bodies. He takes his time savouring the feeling as he wraps his fingers over yours around his length.

“I am yours,” he declares as if it’s the simplest, more natural thing in the world. You guide the tip of him to your entrance, sighing as it kisses your wet folds.

“And I am yours,” you vow in return.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, and abandon yourself once more to his silken embrace.

***

A/n: Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are very appreciated🤗

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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

ok i loved it but my god i felt so embarrassed 🤦‍♀️ when morpheus caught us with his copy... oh my god i thought "earth swallow me"

Only in Dreams

Summary: Married to Dream of the Endless, for centuries, you never expected to feel neglected. Yet even after his return, his attention turned to the Dreaming and ensuring its stability and future. While, your own needs and wants pulled at you. And soon your dreams were slowly filled with pleasure. Just not exactly from Morpheus.

Word Count: ~4k

Reader: Afab

Warning: smut (unprotected sex, oral receiving (afab), switch!reader, switch!dream, dirty talk, fingering), bits of angst, and some fluff

Tags: @lizajane2, @layla2-49

MINOR DNI/ 18+ ONLY

Soft light filtered through the tall windows. Specs of dust glowed in the light, casting a dreamlike hazy in the air. The royal library was a spectacular sight. Endless floors, and winding mazes of shelves, continued to grow and grow.

Comforting, and welcoming.

Yet, a squeaky cart echoed, disrupting the peace. Or it would if anyone else were here enjoying the thousands and thousands of books.

It was you, and you alone. You wheeled around the infernal cart, shelving new books added to the Dreaming. While, Lucienne was off collecting a new census, and as you suspected, a reason to step outside the library’s walls.

But, company soon appeared.

“And what are you doing?” A presence loomed behind you.

Smiling to yourself, you barely turned your head in acknowledgement. “Shelving books.”

Morpheus hummed. “Care to have some company?”

“I would love some,” you smiled. You continued to move down the bookshelf with Morpheus trailing along like your shadow. “So, what have you been up to, my king?”

Morpheus moved to the side of you. “Usual business.”

“How vague,” you teased a bit.

A smile twitched on his lips. “I do not wish to bore you with all the details on how to run a kingdom.”

You hummed, twisting to shelve another book. A mistake. Instantly, like a spring loaded viper, Morpheus pressed himself against your back. His hands curled around the shelves above, white knuckling it. Still facing ahead, you smirked to yourself, “Yes, my king?”

His hand fell from the wooden shelves, and circled around your waist. “Why do you address me as such? Call me by my name, sweetness.”

You leaned your head back and whispered in his ear. “Morpheus.”

A groan rumbled in his throat.

Your heart skipped. It was such a beautiful noise. You laughed through your nose. “I think you have lied to me. I think you are the one in need of some company.”

“Is that a problem?” He buried his face into your neck.

“No.”

“Good.” He pressed a gentle kiss, almost desperate to refrain himself, in the crook of your neck. “Oh, how I have missed you.”

“Have you?”

“Yes,” he breathed into the shell of your ear, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. “You have tainted my thoughts all day, I could not focus at all.”

You spun around in his grasp. Books and shelves dug into your back. But, you didn’t mind. “Oh, have I? And what have you thought about?”

His lips skimmed over your neck. “Treacherous things.”

You bit your lip, and craned your neck. “Tell me.”

“Where do I start?” He nipped at your skin, eliciting a low hum from you. “One was you, your lovely bare body, laid out for me on our silk sheets. And you were squirming under my constant touch.” His hands travelled over your body. A hand snaked up, skimming over your breast and wrapped around your throat. He lifted his head, gauging your reaction. Your eyes were glassy with lust. A mimic of his own. He laughed through his nose. His hand trailed down and gripped your hips. “And you were making the most wondrous noises.”

You sighed, lost in his touch and spellbinding words. Your hands latched into his hair, needing him closer and needing to ground yourself.

He hummed as you carded your fingers through his hair. His thumbs rubbed teasing circles on your hips. All of it calculated, all of it to pull you in. It was so far, yet so close to where you truly needed him. “One was us on my throne with you on top. Your head was thrown back as you cried out in pleasure.”

You let out a shaky breath. Fuck. You rubbed your legs together wishing for some sort of relief.

“Another was here in the royal library,” he pressed his forehead to yours, “tucked away in a corner, like now. And we have to be, oh so, quiet but you, my love, could barely contain yourself.”

You tugged on his hair, making him moan quietly. You laughed, “I could not contain myself? Are you sure it wasn’t yourself you were mistaking?”

His eyes sparked with hunger, his lips curled into a devious smirk. “Shall we test this theory?”

You opened your eyes.

Black silk drapery. Not the captivating blue of a certain Endless. Soft cushioning hugged your back. Not sharp, somewhat uncomfortable, edges of books and wooden shelves.

It was a dream.

A idiotic dream.

You laid here in bed, and not in the royal library about to have a battle of wits and pleasure. Yet, you couldn’t shake off the dream. His voice still echoed through your head like a siren’s call. You rolled over. Empty. You reached over touching the spot where Morpheus would sleep.

Cold.

You sighed, frowning slightly. He must have left a while ago. It was sweet he did not wish to disturb you, but you wished he did.

You needed him.

In many ways right now.

However, you did not blame Morpheus. He had finally returned after so many years away. He had regained his tools, and had more power which he hadn’t had in ages. He was stronger, and wiser too. But, the years away, also brought paranoia. He didn’t want the Dreaming to fade as it did. Rebuilding it all from ruins was a long tiring journey, and now the Dreaming was thriving. Dreamers rejoiced. But, he still worried. He had busied himself with every detail, with every minor issue, to ensure an everlasting success.

And in doing so, he had started to neglect you.

His love.

Of course, in the first week of his return, he hardly left your side. He worshiped you like a fallen devotee begging for your forgiveness, he murmured his love on every square inch of your body, and he showed you again and again how years away had ruined him.

But, a kingdom needed their king.

His attention drifted back to the Dreaming, and ever so slowly he drew away from you.

You sighed, sitting up.

Your hands rested in your lap. You fiddled with the black band on your left hand. A simple band dipped in an inky onyx black, yet when you twisted it, it shone like far off galaxies: purples, blues, flecks of green, and twinkling stars. It resembled Morpheus, and his love, in every way.

You softly kissed the ring. “Morning, my sweet king.”

With a heavy heart, and a droop in your shoulders, you got out of bed and went off to find work.

Day after day.

Night after night.

The fissure between you and Morpheus grew. And so, those dreams became more and more frequent, and more intense.

And you couldn’t turn away from it.

Morpheus slid down your naked body. His eyes, once a delicate enchanting blue, now sharp and filled with a dangerous hunger. His lips dragged the curves of your body. Goosebumps chased after him. You wiggled, and hummed.

His lips skimmed further and further then -

He darted around where you so desperately wanted him. He peppered butterfly kisses across your inner thigh. Fleeting and soft, all of it left you wanting.

“Morpheus,” you whined.

He chuckled and nipped at your thigh. You gasped. “Patience, my love,” he whispered.

He moved to the other side, leaving a new trail of kisses, and marks, on your thigh. You bunched up the bedsheets. “Please, Morpheus.”

Off, in the outer edges of the Dreaming, a king heard his love call out his name. Morpheus, who was diligently working on new dreams and nightmares, spun around. He cocked his head. Did he truly hear you?

“Morpheus.”

His eyebrows knitted together. Why did you call him? Why now? Has something happened?

Curious, he stepped away from his soon to be creations. The bind that connected the two of you, tugged at his chest. Taking a single step, the dark sandy beach vanished like wisps of fog. It was all replaced with a bedroom: your shared bedroom.

And a sight was there to greet him.

You sprawled out on the bed, legs spread, as himself - a copy - buried his head between your thighs.

A dream. You dreamt all of this.

The fake gently blew on your needy core. His eyes flickered up. Your face was turned and buried into the pillow. Your lips parted. Your heavy breathing filled the silence, anticipating - begging - for his next move.

Morpheus stared stunned. His mouth agape.

The fake swiped over your folds with the flat of his tongue, then sucked on your clit. Your jaw dropped as your eyes shut in pleasure. The fake finally dove in. His expert tongue swirled and stroked all the right spots.

“Morpheus,” you moaned.

Your hands flew to his tousled hair, gripping it for dear life. Your back arched in pleasure. The fake hummed, sending your mind spinning. You squirmed. His firm hand pressed on your stomach forcing you down and still.

Morpheus, the real one, couldn’t look away.

Emotions clashed inside of him: anger, sorrow, jealousy, and also spikes of desire. Each one desperate to dominate him, yet he couldn’t grasp on one. He could only watch numbly as a poor copy of himself pleasured you.

You bucked your hip, trying to ride his face. The fake chuckled. The vibrations sent another wave of pleasure through you. You began chanting his name over and over like a broken prayer.

“Come, my sweetness,” the fake mumbled against you.

Morpheus left.

He didn’t wish to see anymore.

Now, he had something he must do.

The next morning, you still woke to an empty bed. The dream from the night before was muddled and hazy but a dull ache lingered in your heart. Yet, you continued on. You put your head down and got to work. Lucienne mentioned something the other day about needing assistance, so you went there.

Hours passed.

You never saw Morpheus. Unfortunately, as you predicted.

You and Lucienne chatted and laughed. Your own sorrows were forgotten for a fleeting moment. However, neither of you were aware of the shadow looming around you. A certain someone who still couldn’t comprehend what he saw last night.

He watched as you smiled and laughed as if nothing happened.

And in a way, nothing did.

Morpheus simply saw something he wasn’t supposed to. But, it continued to dig at him. Why? Why didn’t you come to him? Why did you act as if everything was fine? Why were you hiding this?

Later, he decided. He would address this later.

In the waning hours of the day, snuggled in a plush chair in your grand bedroom, you mindlessly flipped through a book. One, you weren’t truly reading. Your eyes scanned over the pages. Letters barely formed words. They skittered over the page and swirled tirelessly in your mind.

You huffed, setting your book down. You turned your attention to the flickering fireplace. Its heat warmed your cheeks, surrounding and filling you. As you stared at the whipping colors, your mind drifted to where it wished to go since the beginning.

Your dreams.

Your damned dreams that ran rampant.

You couldn’t free yourself from them. Morpheus now consumed your every thought, consumed your every needs. Physically and emotionally.

A door creaked open.

You peered behind you to see Morpheus. You smiled easily, your head resting back. “Hello, my sweet king.”

“Hello, my love.”

Not expecting any more of this conversation, you turned back to the fire. You suspected Morpheus to go to bed, weary from a day’s work. However, he surprised you. He sat down in the chair across from you. His coat wiped and flourished. His fingers threaded together resting them on his lap. His matching onyx band twinkled in the fire light. His eyes slid over to the flames.

The crackle of fire filled the pressing silence.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze was solely on the fire. His lips puckered in thought.

You may not have been physical in weeks, but it was daunting seeing how in recent days you hadn’t properly spoken to one another. It was awkward, and a little unnerving. It felt as if a stranger sat across from you.

“Are,” you began, getting Morpheus’s attention, “are you okay?”

Morpheus cocked his head in minor confusion. “Am I?”

“Yes, are you?”

“My sweetness, I am perfectly fine.”

You nodded.

“It is you who I worry about.”

Now, you were confused. “Me? Why?”

He sighed. The time has come. He got up and strolled over to you in three easy strides. Standing over you, he cupped your face. “Have I truly made you feel so abandoned?”

You scrunched up your face. “Abandoned? No, not -“

“My love, please, do not lie.”

“Morpheus, sweet Morpheus,” you hummed, smiling at him. Despite the obvious ache in your heart. “I don’t feel abandoned. I know of your duties and everything you must do.”

“But.”

You smiled softly. “I’m okay, I swear. You simply worry too much.”

The Dreaming is more important, you thought.

“Worry? Is it wrong to worry when I have forgotten the one I love?” He huffed. His thumb began to rub soothing circles on your cheek. “Yes, I do worry but, right now, I am more upset than anything.”

“Morpheus -“

“You needn’t lie for my pride. I already know the truth.”

You blinked.

He sighed, dropping his hand. “I have left you alone - needing - so you sought pleasure elsewhere.”

“What?” Your heart skipped. Fearful and slightly ashamed.

“You have used the Dreaming to create another me to fill your needs. I heard you calling out and to say I was surprised at the sight I saw is an understatement.”

Your cheeks warmed. You didn’t think he - “Morpheus, it’s fine. Honestly I don’t know why -“

“Tell me what you want.”

“Excuse me?”

He cupped your face with both hands, gently tilting your head back. He bent down. His lips brushed over yours, instantly drawing you in. “Tell me what you want, my love. Use me to fill your needs.”

“Morpheus -“

“Don’t,” he murmured against your lips. “A husband should care for the one they swore to love for eternity. And I have put my attention elsewhere. I’ve hurt you.”

Your hands slowly moved up bunching the front of his shirt. You haven’t had him - the real him - so close in a while. “You didn’t hurt me.”

It was the truth. You still loved him, always will.

He laughed once through his nose and smiled. “You are too good for me.”

Your hands wandered up further threading into the ends of his hair. You curled your fingers softly, nails scraping against the base of his head. He closed his eyes and hummed.

You bit back a knowing smirk. “It seems you have also neglected your needs, my sweet king.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I have.”

You finally pulled him in.

Your lips melded together. Like two puzzle pieces. Electricity ripples through your body. You tilted your head, deepening the kiss. He greedily followed your lead. You forcibly yanked on his hair. He moaned, opening his mouth. The perfect opportunity. Your tongue snuck in.

He groaned.

Your heart jumped. Oh, how you loved the bodies he made. It drove you crazy. Each hum, each moan, seemed to go through you.

He smirked against you.

Although he may give himself over to you, he did enjoy teasing you. As your tongue swirled around, soon Morpheus quickly gained control. He knew exactly what to do and knew your own body better than yourself. In seconds, you were a puddle in his grasp.

You whimpered.

He gently guided you to your feet. His expert fingers trailed down your spine leaving sparks. Morpheus’s hands moved to your hips. You threw your arms over his shoulders bringing him impossibly close. You both clumsily stumbled around. Yet, your chest started to constrict. Your lungs burned. Air, you needed air. You broke the kiss and rested your forehead on his. Your chest heaved in chaotic unison.

Morpheus drawed your hips closer.

The simple friction was fire across your starved skin. You bit the inside of your cheek, humming.

“What do you want?” He whispered.

“You,” you breathed out.

You walked forward, pushing Morpheus backwards until he hit the edge of the bed. He flopped. His arms sprawled out to the sides, his coat draped behind him, his hair pointed in all directions, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted and swollen, and his eyes - oh his eyes - were soft in absolute adoration.

He smiled lovingly up at you. “Use me as you wish, my love.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You crawled up on top of him. You pulled him into another deepening kiss. He hummed, his hands flew up gripping your hips.

But, you ended the kiss quickly.

He groaned, disappointed.

You kissed the corner of his lips, down his face, over and up his jaw, then to his neck. He craned his neck back. You peppered kisses up and down his neck, and when you hit a certain spot, right at the crook, Morpheus’s hands tightened, possibly bruising your hips.

You smirked against his skin.

You nipped at him, starting to mark his perfect skin. He groaned, “(Y/N).”

It sent shivers down your spine, and directly to your core. His deep resonance, his pleas, it was dizzying.

Your hands snuck under his shirt tracing every taunt muscle. Your lips moved over his neck to the other side. He leaned, giving you easy access to nip, bite, and mark more of his skin. Your palm laid flat over his chest. His heart thrummed.

You leaned back.

He breathed heavily. His brilliant eyes darkened.

You grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him up. Your lips smashed together, hot and heavy. And now, he decided to return the favor. His lips ghosted over your neck. Such a simple touch made your head fall back as you groaned.

He smirked.

Needing more, you grinded down.

Morpheus moaned, dropping his head on your shoulder. “Do that again, my love, and I won’t be able to control myself,” he mumbled.

You smirked, grinding down again. He chuckled darkly. He pulled back looking at you in the eye. His index finger and thumb wrapped around your chin, bringing you closer. “Is that what you want?”

Your pleasure meant the world to him. He wanted it to be about you.

“Yes,” you murmured.

“As you wish, my sweetness.”

You feverishly tore off each other’s clothes. Each layer fluttered to the bedroom floor, piles upon piles. Morpheus laid you gently on your back on the dark sheets. He hovered over you. He bent down kissing you softly. You hummed, knotting your fingers in his already messy hair. He pulled away, licking his lips.

Biting back a smile, you slowly pushed him downward. He smirked, taking your not so subtle hint. His lips trailed down your body.

His talented mouth kissed down the valley between your breasts then over to one. Slowly, taking one his mouth, he swirled his tongue over your perked nipple. You sighed, tightening your grip in his hair. His hand kneaded your other neglected breast. Working you, sending you into pleasure. He pinched your nipple.

“Morpheus.”

He popped out your breast and switched, working on the other one. You arched your back, moaning. He knew exactly what to do. He knew how to rile you up in the most delicious taintilizing ways. All of it, leaving you needing and begging for more.

His eyes flickered up. Your eyes were closed, as you fell apart to his touch. Smiling against your skin, he moved farther down, kissing and nipping at your skin. He nipped at your hips, then down your inner thigh.

You squirmed.

You were dripping, desperate for any friction, for some sort of relief. One finger dragged between your folds collecting your wetness. “Morpheus, please,” you begged.

“Patience, my love.”

One finger slid in, soft simple strokes. He was teasing you. Not offering you enough. You bucked your hips begging for more, desperately trying to ride his one finger.

Then he dove in.

His tongue swirled around your clit. You sighed in pleasure, and tugged on his hair. Another finger slid in. He pumped you, a soft rhythm, gently stroking your walls.

He curled his fingers, beckoning you.

You gasped. Your eyes flew open, and peered down at him. His dark eyes met yours. Buried between your thighs, he stared unwavering up at you. Heat spread throughout you. He curled his fingers again.

You moaned, your head falling back.

Each stroke brought you closer and closer and -

He stopped.

He removed his fingers and pulled away completely leaving you feeling utterly empty. You whined. Looking down at him, he put his two fingers, covered in your juices, in his mouth. He moaned at your taste. His tongue swirled around his fingers leaving you wishing it was you.

You bit your lip, whimpering.

He chuckled. “Do not worry, my sweetness. I’ll help.”

Crawling over top of you, he paused. He stared lovingly down at you. You smiled reaching up, cupping his face. He turned his head kissing your palm and down your inner wrist. He brought your hands over your head. Your fingers intertwined together. Your band and his clacked together.

He lined himself up.

He bent down kissing you.

Without warning, he slid in.

You moaned against his mouth, and he eagerly swallowed the noise. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours. His dazzling blue eyes bore down at you. You smiled softly at him.

He rocked his hips.

Your face twisted in pleasure.

Slow and steady pace. Each movement filled and stretched you, each movement a show of his undying affection, each movement an apology for leaving you.

“Morpheus,” you whined.

“I know, bear with me, my love.” He dropped his head onto your shoulder. He kissed your skin as he gently rocked his hips. “You are truly too good for me.”

You tightened your hands in his. “I love you, Morpheus. Nothing will change that.”

“And I love you.”

He bucked his hips at a different angle. You moaned, arching your back. “Morpheus, please, faster.”

He smiled, and teasingly said. “If that is what you want.”

“Yes, more than anything.” You mewled.

He snapped his hips.

A new relentless pace. A string of curses left your lips. You instantly wrapped your legs around his hips. Pressure build and build. Your walls hugged his cock wonderfully, as he hit all the right spots. Like before, he knew your body well.

His heavy breathing fanned across your already hot skin.

He slipped one hand free from your grasp. Tracing down between your molded bodies, his finger circled around your cliff. “Fuck,” you hissed, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Ah, look at me, my love.”

You cracked open your eyes to see the endless blue. He expertly swirled his finger again. Your mouth fell open.

“You are divine,” he whispered. Your wall fluttered around him, warning him. He groaned. He knew you were about to reach your end, and soon so was he. “Come for me.”

You whined.

“Come for your dear husband.”

His words fueled the already burning fire.

You cried out his name as you clamped down around him.

He smiled to himself.

He continued to work you through your orgasm sending you higher than before. Until, you were completely filled with ecstasy. You writhed beneath him, repeating only his name. Your mind clouded in only absolute pleasure.

Morpheus soon followed after. Your name tumbled off his lips in a low groan. He hovered over you, breathless. You smiled lazily, brushing his hair out of his flushed face.

He smiled down at you.

He fell down into the sheets. You instantly crawled over to him laying your head on his chest. Your ear pressed to his heart listening to its erratic beat as it began to slow down. His arms wrapped around you, unwilling to let you go. Not ever again. His finger drew lazy shapes on your still hot skin.

“If you need anything, do tell me,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” you whispered against his skin.

His index finger titled your chin back. His eyes connected with yours, and he smiled softly. “Please,” he repeated, “do not think your needs are less than. You are more important in every way.”

You matched his smile. “Do not say that or I’ll have you trapped in here.”

He laughed once. “Please do from time to time.”

You laughed.

He bent his head pressing a loving kiss to your lips. You sighed, closing your eyes. Slowly, he pulled away and whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

for the love of God thanks for this story... now my pussy is more anxious than before

•𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆•

Title: To worship a king.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x fem!dream!reader.

Word count: 8003.

Warnings: Smut(18+ only - minors don’t interact) Oral (Male and fem receiving) unprotected sex(Remember to be safe!) Hair pulling, mentions of throat fucking, a little bit of angst and fluff.

Summary: You were Morpheus’ greatest creation and then you strayed from your purpose. You’re separated for a century and suddenly anger makes way for something else.

Author’s note: My first smut!!! Please tell me what you all think and if I should do more! I hope you enjoy and remember the gif isn’t mine!!!

•𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆•

18+ Only. Minors do not interact!

You were lustful, Morpheus had made you that way.

He made you for the dreamers that dreamt of fantasies so intimate or seemingly impossible that they could only live them within their sleep. He made you to be passionate, sensual and intense. He made you with the ability to see one's wants and pleasures.

You were lustful and you were content with that knowledge. You enjoyed travelling through dreams and partaking in the pleasure humans felt so strongly, you enjoyed the euphoria and ecstasy of sex.

In the beginning, anyway.

You adored being able to pick up only any wants and desires, you relished in your experience and you prided yourself in the way you would leave dreamers gasping and missing some foreign touch when they woke.

But you soon realised lust and love were two sides of the same coin.

Especially when you discovered you were in love with your creator, your king, Morpheus.

It was a slow process. You doubted you would have figured it out if you hadn't watched those who dreamed of love, an entirely different intimacy than you were used to. You saw their dreams of lovers and crushes and with sly words from a certain golden-eyed being, you realised you acted much the same.

You always longed to be beside your king, to impress him and have him look at you with those proud eyes. You wanted him to tell you things only you knew. You wanted to know his mind and body in a way no one else did. You wanted him to love in a way no one else did.

Though, of course, you knew your feelings were foolish. Unrequited was the word.

You were just his creation, after all.

So you silently stood by as your king took other lovers, Nada and Calliope for example, and you stood by his side as all of those relationships ended in tragedy. You never said a word, hiding away your jealousy so deep that he could never sense it.

It went that way for centuries, millennia, aeons.

You thought your feelings would crumble, how terribly wrong you were.

They only grew and grew and your longed and longed. You just wanted him to look at you, stare into your soul and make his home there. You just wanted to be loved the way that mortals were loved.

Was that so much to ask?"

At some point, it had begun to get too much and you took to avoiding your master whenever you could, biting your tongue when you were forced to be beside him.

You just wanted affection.

The type mortals had when they danced under the stars and kissed on their wedding days. You wanted to be loved unconditionally, to have someone stand by your side just as you had done with Morpheus all this time.

And with some words from another one of Dream's proudest creations - The Corinthian- who also wanted to experience humanity. You decided you would.

You needed to.

You would break if you didn't.

It had worked for the first six months. You had met a charming human by the name of James Calton and you were taken by him in an instant. He was kind and thoughtful and pushed Morpheus to the very back of your mind.

It was wonderful, he treated you like a queen, kissed you tenderly, and always wrapped an arm around you when you laid in bed together, bare and peaceful.

You were in bliss.

And then it all came crashing down.

You had been skilful in your secrecy, telling your king you were needed by some other dreamfolk but never specifying who. You made sure to run errands and do chores to make it seem truthful, deepening the lie.

Then one fateful day, Morpheus had decided to change his schedule -something you always worked around - and went to library, where you said you were working. He couldn't find you, so naturally he asked Lucienne and she said you weren't there. He went to find you.

You had been seeing James off to work.

"I'll see you later, dear," You smiled sweetly, the ribbon he had tried in your hair whipping in the wind.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"James grinned softly, patting his lips.

You laughed, blissfully unaware as you pressed your lips to his, relishing in contentment. This is what love was.

"Goodbye, my love," He hummed gently, slipping into his car and driving off.

Then, you turned.

And your heart stopped.

Morpheus was standing a little ways behind you, face darker than you'd ever seen it. He was furious, enraged, it burned in his eyes, searing. He took a step closer and you knew your punishment was imminent.

You ran.

You knew it would only make him angrier but you were terrified, you didn't want to die. You didn't want to be banished into the darkness, or thrown into hell like Nada.

The shadows distorted.

You sprinted as fast as you could, heart thundering, chest heaving.

You darted around a corner but he was already waiting for you.

A cry was wretched from your lips.

A flurry of sand surrounded you like chains, tethering you to your excution. You knew he was taking you back to the Dreaming. You would never see James again.

It was worth it, you couldn't help but think, at least you knew what love felt like.

When the cutting sand cleared you were in the throne room. Morpheus stood before the steps leading to his throne, eyes glitning, demanding you got your knees and begged for mercy.

You clenched your hands as his pericing glare snatched onto your skin, burning. You tightened your jaw, you would not speak first, you refused.

You didn't need to.

Morpheus glared at you, voice harmfully sharp, "Prancing around with humans?"

You flinched at his condescending lily, waiting for him to continue.

He did, "Why?" His voice was brutal and you remained silent, "Answer me."

You could not resist his imposing command, "I..."

He glared, stepping closer, "You what?"

You shuddered, taking a deep breath as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, "I wanted to know what love was like."

His nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed into slits, darkening monsterously. He spoke slowly, danger rippling in his voice, "Love? You wanted to know what love was like? You are a creature of lust and lust only."

It was your turn to glare, "Why can't I be more!? Why can't I be allowed to love and want affection!? To wake up to someone every day!? To spend the rest of my life with someone who shippers to my soul!? Why am I not allowed to be something more than lust!?"

You were screaming now, breath ragged as you stepped forward, almost chest to chest with Dream, finger pointed, glower painted across your face.

You had already dug your grave, why not make it deeper?

"Come on, Dream King, answer me that," You hissed, barely realising how close you were.

Morpheus glowered down at you, words coming out as a snarl, "Remember your place."

"My place!?" You barked a rueful laugh, "My place has been beside you since the beginning! I was created before this realm! I have been with you through it all, not only have I doubted you or left your side, entirely loyal! And you want me to remember my place!?"

Tears were beginning to spring to your eyes.

Remember your place.

No, you refused to accept that, "I have stood next to you through all of your desicions and you will not allow me the joy of love!?"

"How dare you?" He snarled, "The joy of love? You know nothing of love, y/n."

You huffed, "Oh, really, Dream King?"

You draped to step closer, chest flush against his, faces mere inches apart. His breath fanned your face, and god's, how you had imagined being this close to him.

He did say anything, rage flaring furiously.

Grabbing his hand, you pressed it to your chest, where your heat beat erratically. You were far too gone now, might as well finally tell the truth.

You breathed, chest heaving harshly, "You created me. I am as connected to you as you are me. Can you feel it? The way I burn for every part of you."

His eyes flickered down to your chest, fixated on where his hand was pressed against it, feeling the intensity of your emotions. The longing, the desire, the passion and the love.

He clenched his jaw, wrenching his hand away as he forced out the word, "No."

Few could understand the Dream King's emotions and you were one of them.

"Liar," You spit.

And then you did the stupidest thing you had ever done.

You kissed Dream of the Endless.

You yanked him down by his coat, pressing your lips to his. Passionate was an understatement. His lips were soft, tasting faintly of berries and you found yourself wondering what the rest of him tasted like.

If this was your last moment, you were glad you finally knew what it was like to kiss him.

You expected him to push you away and banish you into the darkness.

Instead, he gripped your jaw, pressing your lips closer to his. His pace was bruising, the intensity of his kiss was burning. It was delicious and you welcomed the heat without hesitation.

You pressed closer still, groaning into the kiss when his other hand came to clutch at your neck. It kept you in the position he wanted as he slotted his leg between yours, something hard pressing against you.

A gasp.

You felt him smirk against your lips as he jutted his leg again, smug bastard.

His kiss made you dizzy with desire, intoxicated you. Dream consumed you in everything that he was, his bruising passion, his relentless onslaught of hypnotic kisses, his teasing brutality as he bit your lip.

Shit, why had you waited so long to do this.

Finally, he seemed to realise what he was doing and halted. His eyes were wide, pupils blown as gasped for are. His grip on your jaw and neck didn't loosen, in fact, they tightened deliciously.

Your chest heaved in time with his.

The words slipped from your tounge, "Are you sure you don't feel it, Morpheus?"

His eyes ignited and you knew his earlier rage just flickered back to life.

Never challenge Dream of the Endless.

But you refused to let him have the last word, even if meant furthering his anger.

So, you snapped forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away.

There was a sway in your hips as you turned, sauntering toward the imposing doors, lips bruised and blushing. Smugness filled your veins as the king made no move to stop you, still in shock.

You relished in it. Someone had rendered Dream of the Endless silent for the first time. You grinned in pride.

Once you reache the doors you allowe dyour head to turn to look over your shoulders.

A smirk teased at your lips, words sharp and taunting, "No one else will be able to compare with me, Morpheus. No one."

And then you slipped away, leaving Morpheus wanting and arouses.

No one wounded the Dream King's pride and got away with it.

You knew that all too well.

Merely having delayed your punishment, you relished in your last moments of freedom because you knew once Dream got back with The Corinthian he would end you with ease.

But he never came back.

He and Jessamy went silent. You could only faintly sense her but it was like she could not sense you at all, the ability to travel through realms somehow ripped away from her. There was nothing you could do, you didn't know where she was.

The Dream weakened without it's master, walls began to crumble and everyone began to wither, their creator no longer fueling them with his power. Soon it fell to Lucienne and you to command the Dreaming, as best you could.

Neither of you gave up, search parties were sent out. Saint's, you had even tried to find Death and ask for her help. Nothing worked. And ten years into it, you felt it.

Jessamy had died.

That was when most gave up, if one of Dream's most trusted companions was dead then he was far beyond any sort of reach.

Then, with no one to control them, the nightmares ran rampant.

Some had run to Delirum's realm, she did love dreams, after all. Others went to Asgard or the Fae realm. Lots fled to the Waking World and you went with them.

You were terrified they would be harmed, unknowing of humanity's violence and the other creatures that roamed. You helped them settle, protected them and taught them, you spent most of your time doing it.

Perhaps as a distraction, the Dreaming was falling to pieces and there was nothing you could do. The truth of that fact settled in the day you had gone to visit your dear friend and she ran into your arms, sniffling.

Her library was gone.

It remained that way for over a century. Then, one day, there was a title on a newspaper that made you freeze.

Sleeping beauty wakes up.

The King was back.

And most ran back to the Dreaming without hesitation. Yes, they had grown comfortable in the Waking World but they had to hide who they really were. The Dreaminf was home and the thought of home was wonderful.

One dream, Daphe, had said to come with them, that once Dream had heard of how you helped them and protected them he would spare you. You laughed and shook your head.

You were going to be punished for involving yourself with humans. You were going to stay here until the end, head held high and true to your desire for love.

You were going to die so why not go out with a bang?

Literally.

You spent almost every night this month at a different night club, taking different people home, sometimes multiple at once. You were being what Dream had made you to be, lustful. He could not blame you for following your sole purpose.

That led you to now.

The lights were bright against the dark shadows, the smell of sweat, alcohol and sex familiar to you as you danced in the crowd. You were having the time of your life, grinding against random men and women, kissing in dark corners and participating in body shots.

Then, you saw it.

A raven, watching you from the window, flying away when it knew you caught it.

Morpheus was close, then.

You sighed, and wormed your way out of the crowd, twisting around the bodies pressed together slowly. The cold night air struck your skin smoothly. You shivered slightly, perhaps it wasn't the best idea to wear a dress with a plunging v-line made from a flimsy fabric that barely covered the curve of your arse.

Too late now.

"Who are you, cause I know you're not Jessamy," Your voice was calm, light and uncaring, hiding the truth well.

The raven flew down, settling on the wall beside you awkwardly, not used to the wings, "I'm Matthew. How did you know I wasn't Jessamy."

You snorted, "Because she's dead," Then a fond smile slipped onto her face, "And because she wouldn't fly away when she'd been caught, she'd just stare you down, almost as intimidating as the king himself."

"I see," Matthew hummed, "You and she were close weren't you?"

Yes, you were.

Ignoring the burn in your eyes, you lifted your head to the twinkling sky, "He's coming for me, isn't he?"

He paused, "Yes..."

Your shoulders dropped, "Alright,"

And then you began to walk away.

"Hey! Where are you going!? If you run it'll just make it worse! The dreams don't want you to die! Not Merv or Gault or Lucienne or the brothers! They want you to live with them!" Matthew cried.

You laughed then, "It's not running when he already knows where I am. I just need to do something before I am punished."

The raven didn't respond but you felt his eyes on you as you called for a taxi, telling the driver the address to your luxurious flat.

When you finally got to said flat you almost flinched at the silence. You almost allowed yourself to break down into tears, everything you had done, learnt and lived for would be snatched away.

But you would not leave those you had come to leave wonder where you had gone.

Cathy would be the first, she always forgot to buy something at the shops and came knocking to see if you had it. Sam would be next, the cheeky bastard bored and asking you out for a good time. Amelia would be last. Oh, dear Amelia. She was your favourite, king and thoughtful but always ready to call you out on your bullshit.

Your hands shook as you wrote the letters someone would eventually find, pressing a kiss to each of them. You silently wished that they got everything and anything they wanted in life.

Then, your poured yourself a glass of wine and stared out the window, waiting.

And then, you felt it.

He was silent, pulling at your soul just like he always did as he appeared in your flat, presence as strong and dominating as you remembered it.

You swallowed harshly, this was it.

You forced yourself to turn.

The breath was knocked out of your throat at the sight of him.

Gods, you had forgotten just how glorious he looked.

Chizzled chin, alabaster skin that would look perfect covered in scratches and hickeys, silver eyes so deep you could see the universe in them. he was demanding as a king should be but you noticed a difference. He had changed somehow...well-hidden was the haunted look in his eyes, the tenseness of his body and the quiver of his soul.

Your heart lept in your chest, wanting nothing more than to comfort as you did so many aeons before. When no one could see him and he could allow himself to relax with one of his oldest creations. When he was willing to rest his head in the crook of your neck and reveal his true feelings.

You spoke first, more of a whisper, really, "Morpheus."

His name felt heavenly on your tongue.

"Y/n," He murmured in response, voice deep and raspy, it rumbled with thunder and the heaviness of stars.

The silence was imposing. You couldn't bare it.

"Are you...?" You couldn't get the question out, your lips wouldn't let you, "How is the Dreaming?"

How is the Dreaming? How is Lucienne? How are you?

You knew he caught onto the silent message in your words, he always did, "The Dreaming is well. As you know I was gone for a long time but I have returned, stronger than I have been in aeons."

Your heart hammered against your chest, "I suppose I won't be getting a quick punishment, then."

He stilled, staring at you.

Then his eyes shifted to the side.

You followed his gaze. He was staring at the pictures on the wall, honouring the two people you had loved most.

This was going to make him angry.

Oh well.

You sighed gently, "That woman was called Eliza, we had a good relationship in the eighties before she realised I didn't age. The man was called Charles, I nearly married him. but..."

"But what?" He questioned sharply.

"But he wasn't you," You told him simply.

You were not ashamed, you would never be.

You loved Dream of the Endless.

But many had loved Morpheus and none had ever survived the flame of his passion or the fires that came with wounding his heart.

He did not respond, as prideful as ever. Not even bothering to acknowledge your confession or what happened the last time you were together.

Your lips prickled at the thought, they missed his lips on theirs.

You scoffed, "Why are you asking me questions? Is this some kind of scare tactic, to get me scared before you punish me?" You hissed, "Just fucking kill me."

His eyes darkened at the thought.

This was it.

Then he said something that shocked you to your very core.

"You are frightened of me," His words confused you.

Then a hollow laugh escaped your lips, "Of course I am! I know what happens to those who defy you. I know the fate that awaits me!"

"No. You do not," He didn't yell but it felt like he did.

You froze. At first, you thought your min was consoling you before you end or that it had already come. But it hadn't and you weren't dead.

Morpheus stared at you from the other side of the room, goldy features glimmering in the moonlight as he studied you intently. A shiver ran down your spine at his predatory gaze, arousal whispering in the back of your mind.

Gods, you wanted nothing more than to kiss him until his mark was all that was left on your lips.

"You're not going to kill me?" You gasped, carefully.

He nodded, "No. I will not do anything to you."

An elated laugh escaped your mouth, almost hysterical. Soul reeling in surprise. You sipped the rest of your wine, a smirk on your face as you sashayed forward, "When I am going to celebrate by having sex with the biggest orgy I can find."

You passed Dream.

His hand latched onto your wrist, firm as he forced you to still.

His words almost came out as a growl, "No."

"Here we go," You muttered, you were definitely treading down the wrong path but Dream had made you impulsive and who were you if not his greatest creation?

He stared down at you, gaze so heated you felt it in your chest, "I will not have you pleasuring mortals."

You glowered, "I'm being lustful. One second you're angry at me for wanting something more and the next your angry at me for doing what I was made to."

Morpheus' grip on your wrist loosened, only to tighten again as he spoke, "I am not angry at you. But I will not have mortals indulging themselves in all that is you."

"Why? Because I am nothing but a dream?" You snapped.

His gaze was piercing, words even more so, "Because you are my dream and mine alone.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. All words dying on your tongue.

"We will return to the Dreaming, "He told you not acknowledging his words.

You narrowed your eyes and wretched your arm from his grasp furiously, "No."

"No?" He spat.

Over a century had gone by and he was still surprised by how insolent you were. And by how strongly he reacted when you grew closer to him, the fabric of your dress seeming so easily tearable.

"No," You spoke firmly, "You can't just say that and brush it off. I won't let you."

Dream was quick to make your suspicion seem foolish as he scoffed lightly, forcing an offended expression onto his face. He glowered down at you, "Dreams should not indulge themselves with mortals. Your implication is wrong. You're wrong."

You huffed, daring to take a step closer, feeling the heat of his body welcoming you, "Really? Because I think..." You smiled slyly, feline eyes glinting, "You want to repeat what happened in the throne room. You want to grab my chin, kiss me so hard you leave bruises as you put your leg between mine, pressing closer and closer..."

You knew you were right. Not even the Dream Lord himself was immune to your powers. You felt it rippling off of him, waves of desire and want flowing over you deliciously. You wanted more.

He remained silent, glaring down at you as his nostrils flared, dark eyes shimmering dangerously. His jaw was clenched and his body tense, holding himself back.

He was Dream of the Endless, he would not be bested by one of his creations.

You grinned slyly, "You do..."

He glowered, "I am your king..."

"And a king deserves to be worshipped, does he not?"

You dropped to your knees.

Morpheus' chest heaved as he watched you, making no move to stop you, daring you, challenging you.

Well, the challenge was accepted.

Slowly, you trailed your hands up his legs, sliding them toward the buckle of his belt, never moving your eyes from his own. You paused for a moment, letting him take in the sight of you, kneeling before him, hands grasping his belt.

You were letting him decide if he wanted this.

He made no move to stop you.

You smirked.

Your hands made quick work of his belt, skilful as they moved swiftly. You relished in the clink of the metal clasp as it fell to the floor beside you, a sharp noise in the tense silence. Easily, you pulled down his slacks, a sultry look glimmering in your eyes.

He shivered against the cold of your nails as you gently scratched up his bare legs, teasing around the band of his underwear, tight around his quickly hardening dick.

You saw the look in his eyes, silently demanding you stop your teasing.

You obliged without hesitation.

Hooking your fingers around the band of his underwear you pulled it down, finally daring to break your gaze.

A sound you had no idea you could make slipped from your mouth, barely above a whisper as your eyes fixated on his dick. It was lengthy and thick, as dominating as the rest of him was.

You shivered in delight.

Slowly, you lifted your hand and glided it across his cock, memorised. A sound escaped Morpheus' lips and a fire ignited in your chest, you wanted to draw every sound he could possibly make out of him.

His eyes were dark, intense with want when you looked at him, containing to run your hand along his erection. You delighted in how his muscles spasmed, his entire body racing to your slightest touch.

If he reacted this way to your hand, how would he react to your mouth?

You needed to find out.

You refused to break eye contact as you opened your mouth slowly, lips parting delicately. You quickly guided his cock to your mouth, lips fitting around the tip smoothly.

Morpheus' hand gripped the marble counter, fixated on the way your lips wrapped so perfectly around him.

So very perfect.

You took more of him. Slowly swiping your tongue along the base of his length. He shivered against you, pressing further into you. You smirked, moving so that all of him was in your mouth. A quiet groan escaped his lips, pretty and pink.

You wanted more sounds, louder sounds.

You bobbed your head once, twice, before you only had the tip of him in your mouth, tongue swirling against it. He stared at you, wide-eyed, drunken on pleasure, waiting for you to move again.

But you wouldn't, you wanted to draw everything out of him.

He groaned softly, knowing so well what you wanted.

"More," He grunted, "Give me more, y/n."

You lifted away only to say, "Yes, my king."

And then you fit him into your mouth in one go.

Morpheus hissed.

Your pace was quick, tantalizing as your tongue ran along every sensitive part it could. You relished in the darkness in his eyes as he watched you take him so very well. The shakiness in his breath delighted you. The heave in his chest excited you.

Dream of the Endless was falling apart because of you and you alone.

One of his hands was gripping the counter, the other tense, unsure of where to go. Quickly, you grabbed it and guided it to your hair, staring up at Morpheus with a siren's eyes. And you were a siren, drawing him in, intoxicating him like you had been doing for aeons.

He let his hand rest there for a moment. Then you licked the underside of his dick and his hand tightened into a fist, yanking at your hair as he groaned, becoming breathless so very easily.

You moaned at the stinging sensation.

Morpheus gasped, whined, and bucked into your mouth.

His dark eyes shimmered, "Again."

You moaned around him again, and he bucked into you again.

You could see it, Morpheus was chasing his high, pleasure streaming strongly through his veins, desperation clawing at him for release. he was losing himself to pleasure, consumed by you.

You took your head away.

Morpheus' chest heaved, slight confusion breaking through the haze of desire. He did not dare say a word, waiting for you.

You smiled prettily.

"Do you want it?" You hummed, "My king."

A raspy groan escaped his throat, and his hand tightened its grip on your hair, hypnotized by all that was you.

Yes, the answer was.

He wanted it all.

He wanted you to pleasure him then he wanted to make you fall apart over and over again until you knew nothing but his name. Until it was the only thing you could say. Until your body only knew his touch.

He wanted your legs around him, whines falling free from your pretty mouth as he thrust into you, arms desperately clinging to his shoulders, gasping his name. Morpheus.

Fuck, he wanted that.

His voice was deep, intoxicating, as he yanked your hair, eyes dark, "I am your king and you will please me."

You shivered, he was ordering you.

"Yes sir," You were a dutiful subject and would give anything he so desired.

A sound akin to a growl tore from Morpheus' throat instantly. he bucked his hips, using you just how he wanted to, chasing his release. And, fuck, was he chasing it. He grew louder and louder, moans echoing in the quiet, making your core burn for him.

You bobbed your head fervently, desperate for your king to spill into your mouth, to still in his euphoria, sweat coating his skin. Gods, you wanted it.

"Yesyesyes..." He panted, midnight hair clinging to his forehead.

He was so close.

You groaned against him, eyes unable or willing to break contact.

The hand that had been gripping the counter come to your cheek, brushing against your brow as Morpheus gasped, "Keep going, my dream. Make your king cum. Make your king cum."

Oh, fuck.

His sharp breaths filled the air, almost overpowering the sound of your pretty lips sucking his cock.

Suddenly, he became breathless, the loudest groan you had ever heard flying from his lips.

And he was cumming. Hard. Harder than he ever had before.

his grip on your hair kept you from moving, not that you wanted to. You wanted every last drop, every part of him. Morpheus' head was thrown back, lips parted in a silent scream, eyes screwed closed.

Gently, your hands ran up and down his legs, slowly drawing him from his high.

His chest heaved again and slowly he looked down at you, eyes glimmering like blown stars. His grip on your hair loosened, his other hand tenderly stroking your temple. You leaned into it openly, you would always accept affection from him.

Slowly, you pulled away, letting his length fall from your mouth with a delicious pop, Dream following your every move. You refused to break eye contact as you swallowed.

His eyes widened, the hand tracing your face gliding toward your lips, silently demanding that you open them. You did so. A quiet gasp fell from his divine mouth, you had swallowed it all. His eyes shimmered.

"Did I please you, my king?" You questioned both teasingly and not.

And suddenly, Morpheus was yanking you up, not allowing you time to blink as were pressed against the cold, marble counter.

You barely had a chance to gasp before his lips were on yours.

You met him with equal desperation. Aeons of pining and a century apart mixing together. You had missed one another dearly, more so than either of you realised before now.

He bit your lip teasingly, tongue battling with yours for dominance that you easily gave up. It was easy to become undone for the King of Dreams and you'd do it whenever he wanted you to.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as you jumped onto the counter, pulling him flush against you as you continued to kiss his blushing lips, memorising his taste. Berries, just like the throne room.

You moaned into his mouth, one hand tangling itself in his soft hair and the other desperately gripping his shoulder, his very bare shoulder. You forced yourself to break the kiss for a mere moment and looked him up and down, all of his clothes were gone.

You felt him smirk against you.

You relished in it, whispering in his ear, "Now that's a trick I like. Clothes can be such a nuisance."

A raspy chuckle came from him, bright eyes dark, "Not in this case."

And then you felt his hands on your thighs, "Would you rather my fingers or my tongue?"

"Fuck..." You murmured, shivering, "I want both."

"Then you shall have both," He hummed and with startling ease, your underwear was ripped off and it went straight to your core, pulsing.

Teasingly, his fingers ran across your thighs, drawing closer and closer to the place you wanted him to touch you most. You arched into him, desperate.

A sly grin made its way onto his lips as he darted toward your neck, latching on with a fierce kiss. He'd litter your neck in marks, and the whole of creation would know you were his.

He did not allow a word to escape your lips, one of his fingers twirling around your clit and the other slipping into your soaked heat with ease.

"Morpheus!" You cried with a whine, bucking into his hand.

You felt him smirk against your skin and were suddenly reminded of your earlier thought. His moonlight skin would look even more delicious when it was covered in your marks.

You were quick to pepper kisses to his jaw than his neck and when you came to his ear you got a very interesting reaction indeed.

He tensed, a gasp escaping his lips.

You didn't hesitate to bite it, kissing it teasingly.

Morpheus retaliated. Another finger drove into you, curling and twisting so perfectly you could already feel your high call on the horizon.

And then, he pressed against that spot of nerves.

You moaned, gripping his hair tighter as your chest pressed flush against his, "There."

He lifted his head from your neck, eyes teasing as he pressed against that spot once more, watching in fascination as you whined, "There?"

He pressed against it again.

You cried out, "Yes! Right fucking there!" Your forehead fell against his, "You're going to make me cum."

Suddenly, he stopped. You gasped in upset.

He gazed at you, wonder-struck, he had created you and yet all of these expressions were new to him. He wanted to see all of the expressions you could make.

He slowly pulled his fingers away and up to his mouth, sucking your juices off of them. You watched, hypnotized. He groaned quietly at the taste of you on his tongue, desperate to have more.

He wanted more.

He needed more.

And he dropped to his knees.

"Morpheus!" You gasped in surprise.

Dream of the Endless never kneeled for anyone.

Your hand came to grip his milky-white arm. It was wrong for a being such as him to kneel before one of his creations, a mere fragment of his power.

His eyes shimmered, taking a softer shine as he felt your emotions course through him.

Gently, he lifted your hand, staring up at you intently, "You are far more than my creation, y/n. Far more," His voice dropped, "Now, please don't stop me again."

You shivered, hands coming to grip the counter.

Morpheus smirked, "So good for me."

Then, he hiked your legs over his slender shoulders. And, fuck, his face was framed so perfectly in between them. Dark hair was swept across his forehead, dark eyes glittering brighter than the universe, and dark desire painted his lips.

The king didn't hesitate.

His tongue licked a strip along your folds and you gasped. Bloody hell. His mouth came to tease around your clit, sucking and slurping, eliciting sounds unknown to you from your lips. Your legs closed tighter around his head, forcing his face closer to your heat.

You felt him smirk against you and you shivered. Eyes seared in amusement. Oh, how he loved the way you fell apart for him.

Suddenly, he delved in.

Skillful was his tongue as it caressed you, licking every sensitive spot it could as your taste spilt down his chin. He could care less. He relished in it. To him, you were greater than anything else, he would never tire of you, he would want you for all eternity.

He could imagine it now, his tongue making you writhe on his thrown as he pleasured you. His tongue igniting something in you as you struggled to keep quiet in the halls. His tongue making you cry out as you cum over and over again on his bed.

Those thoughts fueled him. His tongue moved faster, the slurping noise so sinful growing deliciously louder.

You yelped in delight rutting against his face.

He rose a brow and his arm came up to hold your hips down, forcing you still for him. You whined at his pace, you had never felt euphoria as strong as this.

Morpheus was a god, greater than a god and he was yours.

You could feel your release coming.

"You're so good," You just managed to gasp, fixated on him, "So, so good. I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna cum just for you, my king."

His eyes glinted.

He continued fervently. Whines spilt from your mouth like prayer as you grew further and further consumed by Morpheus. Fuck, the man knew how to use his tongue.

Your chest heaved, hands struggling to grip the counter as your body flooded with pleasure.

You were so close. So fucking close.

And then you were cumming.

The air was knocked out of you as your body shook with the strongest orgasm you had ever had. A broken whine fell from your lips as you fell apart against Morpheus, only aware of the delicious warmth of his body and the tantalizing chill of the counter.

The king, like a starving man, lapped up every drop of your release, almost cumming himself because of how divine you tasted on his tongue.

Softly, his hand came to clutch yours as he pulled you down from your high. Slowly, his tongue swirled around your heat, drawing you back into reality.

Through hooded eyes and a bleary mind, you gripped Morpheus' hand tighter, chest heaving as you stared down at him. His regal cheekbones glittered with the light of the moon, his eyes glimmered like galaxies, and his lips formed into a proud smirk as he admired his work.

A harsh kiss was pressed to your inner thigh, his teeth biting into your skin, marking you. You whined and a soft, caring kiss followed after.

"Come here...please..."You gasped breathlessly.

Morpheus followed your request without hesitation.

You sighed and your arms carefully came to wrap around his slender shoulders. He moved closer, the ridge of his nose brushing yours, gliding along your cheek as he swept some hair out of your face.

"I missed you," You whispered, almost hesitantly.

Morpheus' eyes fluttered closed, eyelashes like strands of the night sky as he murmured, "And I missed you," His forehead pressed against yours, "Come to the Dreaming with me."

It was a request, you realised. He was not ordering you.

"I will," You spoke softly.

Then you grinned mischievously, pressing closer to him.

Your lips found the shell of his ear, voice a tantalizing whisper, "Is that where you will have me?"

He shivered against you. Bright eyes darkening once more with lust, "I will have you everywhere. On my throne. Against the halls. In my chambers. But at this moment I cannot wait. I will have you here, now."

You giggled, "My bedroom's down the hall."

Morpheus smirked, hands coming down to tap your thighs, silently commanding you. You jumped up. His firm hands gripped your legs, pressing you as close to him as possible, groaning quietly in your ear.

And suddenly, it was impossible to be apart from him.

Your lips were acting fervently, pressing desperate kisses to his as he skilfully walked the two of you to your bed where he would ravish you entirely. Your lips attack his neck, playfully biting his ear as you sucked hickeys into his creamy white skin, the redness a beautiful contrast.

You were so consumed by kissing him and he, you, that neither of you realised you had made it to your bed. You fell onto it, Morpheus easily hovering over you with wonderous, intense eyes.

He looked godly. He looked perfect. He looked like your dream.

Your hand brushed his cheek, "You're beautiful."

His hand caught yours and he pressed the softest of kisses to your palm, "And you're enamouring."

Your heart fluttered. Your hands grasped his shoulders, slowly drifting along the curve of his collar-bones and then to the hardness of his chest.

He allowed you to feel him, slowly lowering himself to whisper, "I want your dress off, now."

"So demanding," You teased.

"I am a king," He rose a brow in response, hands easily gripping the hem of your dress and tugging it off your perfect body. As soon as your dream was thrown into a random corner, Dream's eyes darkened as he studied your body, entirely bare.

You smiled at his expression smugly, "You created all of this, Morpheus. Moulded me, shaped me, it's all yours."

"Yes, it is," He murmured, lips stealing a kiss from you, "And I will take it."

A fire burned in your stomach, igniting in your core as you stroked his length, hard once again. You lifted your head, lips brushing against his, "Then do it."

Morpheus' eyes darkened and with a speed only he possessed, your legs were hooked around his waist and he was hovering over you once more, caging you in his arms.

You shivered in delight.

He groaned lightly as one of his hands stroked his cock, easily lining it up with your burning heat, teasing you. You whined as his length ran across your folds, twirling around your clit, not yet filling you.

"Don't tease..." You gasped, desperate.

He smiled, amused, "Very well."

And the tip of his dick pressed into you.

You flung your head back, and a silent sound escaped your lips as your chest heaved. Fuck, if that's how his tip felt you couldn't wait to know what the rest of him felt like.

Your hands gripped the sheets, tight enough to tear them.

"Look at you," Morpheus' voice rumbled like lightning, "I've barely entered you and you're already a mess."

"Only for you," You mused, "Unless you would like me to tell you about my other--"

A whorish moan flood from your lips.

Your back arched.

Morpheus was inside. All of him.

A swear fell from his lips, an ancient language you know only faintly, and fuck, did it sound good. It was almost as good as how full you felt, how he stretched you so deliciously, how you fit him so fucking perfectly.

Morpheus' chest heaved as he reeled from the pleasure of having you squeeze around him, consuming him, taking him in a way no one else ever could.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails gripping his skin hard.

He shivered, fuck, he enjoyed that.

"Fuck me," Gasped, breathless, "Fuck me, Morpheus."

The god of a man chuckled above you, "Such a demanding little thing."

He didn't let you respond, bucking into you slowly, intensely.

You moaned, loudly.

"Now, now. You wouldn't want to disturb your neighbours, would you, my dream?" He ground against you, eyes glinting mischievously.

Your nails scratched up his back, eliciting a sound from him as you spoke, "I don't give two shits if they hear us, I just want you to fuck me."

"And I will," His voice was husky, deep with lust, "Until you know nothing but my name."

You didn't get a chance to respond to that. Dream's hips rutted deeply against yours, fucking into you perfectly. His thrusts were powerful, waves of pleasure shooting across you as he set his pace.

And fuck, it was brutal.

his body snapped against yours. Your headboard banged against the wall. You couldn't think of anything but him. He was relentless, fucking you so deeply the sound of slapping skin almost overpowered your moans.

You had never moaned so loud, body powerless against his body and will. You'd do whatever he wanted. Anything he wanted.

Morpheus' strong hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises and you welcomed his mark on you. Your nails scraped along his back. Tangled themselves in his hair as you whined and moaned.

"No other being can make you feel the I way do," He hissed in your ear, a king, as he hammered into you, "No other being will ever be able to have you the way I do. No one."

You nodded feverishly as his body rocked against yours, "No one. Only you. Only fucking you."

"That's right, my dream. My y/n," Morpheus moaned, gripping your legs tighter, pulling you closer, fucking you deeper.

You wanted to speak but words could not escape your mouth. Whines fell from your lips instead, loud and free as you arched your back.

He was too good. Dream was a passionate lover and you fucking loved it.

"Possessive," You just managed to gasp.

"Entirely," He smirked breathlessly.

You could feel your high storming toward you, faster than any orgasm before and you chased it. You bucked against him, somehow managing to match his impossibly animalistic pace as he fucked into roughly.

Your hands desperately clutched his shoulders.

He lowered his body, pressing it flush against yours as he groaned against your skin, "Are you going to cum, my dream? Are you going to cum with your king? Are you going to cum with me?"

Oh, fuck yes.

You frantically nodded your head, "Inside."

The thought of him leaving you now almost made you want to cry. You wanted him inside of you, wanted him to still against you as his cock twitched and he cummed.

Morpheus groaned, "As you wish."

You whined as loud as possible, body wrapped tightly around him as he fucked you. He filled you so deliciously, so perfectly. No one else could ever compare. You were almost screaming in pleasure now, consumed by your king.

You were on the verge, so very close.

"Morpheus," You whimpered.

Morpheus' head burrowed into the crook of your neck, lips flush against your skin as he panted a mantra, "Mine."

Your head pressed against his neck in response, lips brushing over the shell of his ear, "Yours. All fucking yours. Just like your mine."

He nodded erratically, barely able to collect a thought, drunken on the pleasure you gave him. So strong and unlike anything he had ever felt before, he was addicted.

His breaths were shallow, "Yours. All yours."

His hips canted against yours, both of you desperately chasing the releases that were riding toward you. He fucked you ferally, pace bruising and grips even more so, you loved it.

So close.

You pressed feverish kisses to his skin, gasping breathless breaths.

So, so close.

His face buried into your neck, moan wrenching from his lips.

And you shattered.

Your mouth opened into a scream of his name, "Morpheus!"

Your orgasm ripped through you. Stronger than anything before. Better than anything before. Morpheus' cum filled you as he nested deep within, groan filling the air.

You were floating, disconnected from reality, only aware of Morpheus and his touch.

Your chest heaved. Eyes wide, blurry. Mind dizzy with ecstasy. The delirium of desire easily consumes you.

Morpheus' voice rang deeply in your ear, "I have you, my dream. I have you, y/n."

And he did have you, body flush against yours, one hand still gripping your hip as the other reached forward, pulling your hair out of your face as he tenderly placed his forehead against yours.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, meeting his intense ones. They shone like creation, burned with passion and seared with something deeper. Something much deeper.

Your breath hitched.

The only sounds between you were your heavy breaths.

Morpheus pressed his forehead further against yours, nose and lips brushing against yours as he stared at you deeply.

His words were soft, slow, almost hesitant.

"I love you, y/n."

Your heart warmed, an uncontrollable smile spreading across your face.

You giggled lightly, "And it only took you almost all of existence to say it."

His pout was adorable.

Your hand came to cup his cheek, lips almost flush against his, "And I love you, Morpheus."

He pressed his lips to yours fervently, two souls separated no longer, finding their homes within each other, just like the fates decided it would be long ago. And Destiny, of course.

For the first time in a long time, Morpheus, the King of Dreams, Dream of the Endless was completely and utterly awake.

And he never wanted to be away from your side again.

Tags:

@kisses4kitty @kittycatcait219 @we-love-our-bandz

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.”

I KNOW YALL WANNA STOMP CALLIOPE FOR BEING CLOSE TO DREAM BUT THAT SCENE WHERE HE SAID “I will do all of that… and more” “He must be punished.” AND ABOVE ALL BEGGING HER TO LET HIM HELP HAS ME GOING CRAZY BECAUSE THAT LETS ME KNOW HE CARES FOR HIS LOVERS WELL BEING EVEN IF THEY’RE NOT TOGETHER!

Real

Manifesting Him

*cold by the cure starts playing*

bitches be like “me and who” and then it’s a woman in passionate embrace with an archetypal being 🤣🤣

more dream whispers 🤭 someone stop me

*checks in mirror to ensure my sleepwear gives my ass the illusion of plumpness to procure a nocturne visit from lord somnia Optimus Maximus*

Most salacious indeed

“You know me. We have met before” IM SCRNEKWAKAOAO

Bro don’t walk, run to spotify

Another man added to my list of infatuation and obsession and my heart and mind.

Morpheus from Sandman Netflix Series.