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hauntedwitch04 · 1 year ago

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Wrong time, right person

Azriel x reader

Words: about 3.3k words

Warnings: smut, smut, Iforgot to say smut, and Azzy himself ;)

Author’s note: Hi loves! I finally managed to write some more after the crazy week I had. Hope you like it, your witch Becky

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KINKTOBER ...........-..........KINKTOBER TAGLIST 2023

DAY 3: Sex pollen

It's an easy mission they said.

Touch and go, they won't even know you passed by they said.

Assholes. Liars. Bastards. Especially liars though.

This is all I can think of as the Shadowsinger and I find ourselves running through the trees being chased by the guards of the lord we had gone to spy on. Someone must have warned of our arrival, because a few minutes after arriving on the spot, we were already surrounded by enemies. We fought to the end, but were forced to retreat into the woods, seeking safety in escaping through that labyrinth of logs, hoping that those stupid enforcers would not be able to follow us.

It seems like hours that we are running when we finally decide to stop, in the vicinity of a cave, so that we can find refuge from the darkness and our pursuers.

"We finally lost those assholes." My companion comments, sitting back against the cave wall, leaning his head against the rock and showing his neck, leaving it exposed to my gaze.

That simple gesture kindles a fire in me that burns brightly, and I feel compelled to look away. I close my head between my legs and feel Azriel's gaze on me as he approaches. I feel him rest a hand on my shoulder, and I can't help but moan at that simple contact. I feel my cheeks get hot, but he doesn't flinch and asks me worriedly, "Hey, are you okay?" I can't bring myself to look at his face so I nod slightly still with my head between my legs and mutter a nonsensical apology. He still tries for a moment to wrest the truth from my lips, but I don't even flinch for a second. Azriel, seeing then that I did not intend to explain anything, stands up.

"I'm going to gather some wood for the fire, or we'll freeze to death tonight." He says, as he approaches the exit of the cave. I glimpse from below my knees the color of the sky, which is now turning blue.

"Okay, I'll stay here." I tell him in a whisper loud enough for him to hear me. I guess he nods, before walking out of our shelter, leaving me to think about why I took that action earlier. Ever since we escaped from the building I feel a strange sensation permeating my body, but I hadn't given it too much thought before since my priority was to run away from the guards, but it's as if after all that effort that feeling has expanded to the nth degree. It almost feels as if my body no longer belongs to me: I feel a wet sensation between my panties, while the fabric of my T-shirt brushing against the skin of my breasts sends shivers down my spine as my nipples harden against my bra. I squeeze my thighs together trying to ease that sensation, but it all proves futile. I feel a wave of embarrassment rise through my body again, thinking that this is all due only to a small gesture from the Shadowsinger.

Eventually I decide to lie down and try to get some sleep hoping that with a good dose of rest the next day I would wake up feeling better than I am now. I lie down with some difficulty on the floor only to fall unconscious in the arms of Morpheus after a few seconds.

But all is in vain, because in the middle of the night I suddenly wake up all sweaty. I sit up while with one hand I hold my chest. I feel the fire from before writhing in my gut, and on instinct my other hand goes to my center automatically, but realizing my gesture I immediately freeze.

Azriel was sitting in front of the fire, and seeing me feeling so sick he immediately approaches me, touching my forehead to feel if I had a fever. Immediately he retracts his hand feeling how hot I am, and makes me lie of me.

"You try to lie to me one more time about feeling good, and I swear I will never make you go on a mission with me again, and I will make sure Rhysand doesn't either." Says Azriel, as he removes part of my suit, to let the cold night wind cool me down a little. I again find myself letting escape a moan of pleasure as I feel that cool night breeze brush against my warm skin. I feel my nipples becoming turgid as I somehow try to get away from the Shadowsinger's constant touch, which is only making the situation I am in worse.

"I would say now is not the time to lecture me Az." I reply as I try to catch my breath. The Illyrian looks conflicted, but finally stands up and looks me straight in the eye.

"I'll try to do something. You stay here, and in case you give a yell, I'll be back here in less than a second." Says Azriel before disappearing into the night.

I stay looking at the place where he disappeared for a few minutes, trying to distract myself from the feeling of pain and the impossibility of having what my body desires, but finally I give in and begin to slowly run the fingers of my right hand over my center. I immediately feel the pain lessen, but like a drug, this never seems to be enough and I need more and more. My other hand wanders down my body until it rests on my breast and I begin to stimulate one of my nipples. My right hand I run it under my pants and for the first time my fingers come in contact with the wet lips of my pussy.

I remain in that limbo situation for what feels like an eternity experiencing enough pleasure to not die of pain and at the same time not enough to be completely well.

After what seems like hours, I hear Azriel's heavy footsteps getting closer. Quickly I try to look presentable, but immediately the lack of that little antidote causes me more pain than I felt before. I feel twinges in my abdomen that make me bend over, but despite this I look up at the man in front of me, and I cannot help but curse Mother for creating such a perfect being: he has not slept in days, he is drenched in sweat and tired, and yet he continues to be the most attractive person I have ever seen.

He stops to catch his breath, and only then do I realize that he no longer has the cape he was wearing before, in fact now his muscular arms are clearly evident, thanks in part to the tank top he was wearing.

"Where did your cloak go?" I ask, trying to distract myself in a very unsatisfactory way.

"I had to give it to Suriel, to get him to help me understand what you have." He says casually as he approaches me. At that gesture I try to pull away, but he doesn't let me, resting his hands on my shoulders. He then places his lips on my forehead to test whether I still have a fever. That gesture again unleashes a fire capable of burning whole woods in my stomach, and I groan, almost in pain, pushing him away from me.

"Did I hurt you?" Azriel asks worriedly, and I wave him off, so as not to worry him, but he doesn't seem convinced.

"What did Suriel tell you?" I ask, trying to change the subject.

"Well, as we were running away you spilled a jar of powders on yourself as we were going through that sorceress's store, remember?" Azriel says, looking at the ground, as if ashamed. I nod, remembering very well that damned jar, which made me sneeze for several minutes.

"You didn't read the label on that jar, did you?" He continues vaguely, so much so that nervous and without patience, I force him to look at me before answering him.

"Of course I didn't have time to look at it Az, go straight to the point." I say impatiently. His cheeks turn red, and he stammers something under his breath that I can't understand at first, so I ask him to repeat it. He raises his eyes and fixes his in mine, before repeating what he had tried to say before.

"It was sex pollen, the one that spilled on you." He says finally, and I feel the blood freeze in my veins, still in shock from the revelation he threw at me. "And according to Suriel, the only way to keep you from dying right now is to...well you know, go along with what your instincts are asking you to do."

"Thank you for explaining in such a nice way that I have to masturbate Az, really very nice." I say almost angry at him, even though I know I'm not really. I'm partly angry at myself for putting myself in that situation, but I can't do anything about it now, and now I'm also in danger of dying.

"Hey, I'm trying my best." He replies, scratching the back of his neck with his right hand, looking embarrassed.

"I know, I know Az, it's just-" I pause for a moment, trying to find a way to say it. I take a big breath and keep talking. "I've already tried touching myself, alone, down there, but it didn't do much good." I confess in a low voice, hoping he won't hear it, but unfortunately Shadowsinger's hearing is too acute to miss my confession. He freezes for a moment as if he is about to reason out what to do, then speaks again.

"I know." Azriel says in a guilty tone.

"What do you mean you know?" I ask shocked as I look at him, not understanding what he was referring to.

"Well the Suriel may or may not have told me that you would not be healed this way. "He continues as he watches the fire casting beams of light on the walls of the cave we are in. I stop again, and begin to reflect on all that I knew about these powders as I feel the pain getting worse and worse. By now I can feel my panties completely wet, as every single contact with what's around me unleashes a series of shivers that reaches to my core.

"I thought that was enough...well you get it. In all the books dealing with pollen with potential danger they say that's enough, be satisfied." I try to explain, as I draw a groan caused by my shifting which resulted in clenching my thighs together.

"I thought so too, but he said this doesn't count if-" He freezes as if he cannot find the words. I, growing more and more impatient, ask him aloud to continue.

"Az just doesn't seem like the time to be shy." I urge him to speak.

"He said it's not enough when you're in close proximity to your mate." He blurts out, standing up sharply. I squint my eyes not believing what my ears have just heard, but I immediately understand that feeling that has long been building in my heart toward my mate. Well I would say more than friend. I feel something forming in my chest that takes shape through a golden thread extending from my sternum to that of Azriel, who is currently turned his back to me as he looks out of the cave as if in the same there is the answer to this problem. Immediately I feel that silly happiness I felt at having found my mate, and that he was the man I actually loved all my life already disintegrating under the idea that he didn't want all that.

"You don't have to." I whisper, in the grip of ever-worsening cramps, but right now they seem like nothing more than mild pain compared to what my heart was feeling.

"You don't understand, if we don't do this, you will die and I won't let you die." He counters by turning around and dropping to his knees at my height looking me straight in the eye.

"I don't want your pity." I reply harshly as I try to get out of his sight, unable to do much given my condition, because I don't want him to see my suffering and the pain his rejection has triggered in me.

"No, I don't want my mate, the woman I've loved all my life to die and I'm pissed off at Mother because I didn't want it to happen like this between us the first time. I wanted to do everything right, take you to dinner, confess under the stars and then make love to you in my bed between the sheets I had specially chosen your favorite color, not on the floor in a stupid cave after risking our lives! When I knew you were my mate I wanted nothing more than to thank Mother, fate or whoever, but now I hate them because they had to pass the anger they vent on me to you, and I don't want to see you suffer because of me." He blurts out as he begins to walk around the cave again, then finishes his speech by looking at me. A strange light sparkles in his eyes, they look like the eyes of someone who loves to the point of being sick, to the point of suffering, and that love right now is directed at me. I can't believe his words, but that connection makes me feel that everything he just said is the truth, and immediately the happiness I lost a few moments ago returns, along with hope.

"We can still do it." I confess in a whisper and he immediately turns to me, his eyebrows furrowed over his beautiful eyes. "We can do it once we get home. We'll tell Rhys they can go screw him and his missions, and we'll take some time to figure this out and get used to it, and we can do everything you just said, because believe me I want to do all that with you."

"But?" He asks as he approaches.

"But now all I need is you fucking me as hard as you can in this shitty place so that I can stop dying and talk to you without having to moan every time." I say, as I grab his shirt with one hand, since he was now close enough to me, and kiss him with all the passion in my body.

I feel like I can finally breathe again as my lips on his, and I can already feel the pollen fade as the urge to feel Azriel inside me increases without measure.

"As my lady wishes." Whispers the Illiryan on my lips as we pull away from that breathless kiss. I immediately feel his lips graze my neck, to start biting and sucking on it as if his life depended on it. Every single movement of his lips and tongue made me touch the sky with one finger as I moaned his name as if I were a priestess intent on making a prayer and he the deity I believe in.

His lips then move from my neck to my breasts, where he begins to suck on my nipples like a hungry child. I bring my hands into his hair and pull them every time his tongue touches one of my sensitive spots.

"Baby doll, if you pull my hair one more time, I don't think I'll be able to keep myself from fucking you so hard I'll leave your silhouette on the floor of this place." He says pulling away for a moment to kiss my lips again.

My hands move down, and I begin to open his pants, while he begins to open mine.

"All words, I want to see some action." I reply, trying not to give away how much his words had affected me. He smirks, realizing that he actually made a mark with what he said, just brushing against my panties and feeling how wet they are.

"You will regret saying what you just said baby doll." Az replies, as with a quick gesture he enters of me. I didn't even notice that he had moved both my and his panties, but right now I don't care.

Feeling his cock inside me is an otherworldly experience. I can feel the walls of my pussy tighten around his sizable member as he tries to stay as still as possible to get me used to his size.

"Tell me if it hurts, or if you feel like you can't take it anymore, okay?" He asks softly, as he kisses my sweaty forehead. I feel the cramps from the sex pollen return, and I groan before I answer him.

"Az, I can't take it anymore, either you move or I swear I'm going to flip you over and start doing what I need to do on my own." I say, trying to move my hips slightly and create some friction, but he stops me, resting his hips on mine and giving that silly little smile that makes him so sexy.

"Oh, I can't wait to see you ride my cock, but I'd say leave that experience for another time. Tonight is just for you, and for your pleasure." He comments and then begins to move.

Immediately I feel every single part of the universe fall into place as he gradually increases his speed. My body seems to be persecuted everywhere with shivers of pleasure as his lips rest lightly on my breasts again. Between his mouth, his cock, and the sex pollen in my body my orgasm seems to come with a speed I never expected.

"Please Az, don't stop." I say groaning, feeling the pleasure grow more and more every second.

"Oh baby I could never deprive myself of the feeling of my cock against your cervix. You're going to come, aren't you?" She whispers back as I try to nod. "Then we'll come together love."

"Yes, please Az fill me." I continue, and I feel her muscles tense even more under my touch.

"Honey don't challenge me, you know I could fuck you so hard you wouldn't walk tomorrow even if you prayed to Mother." He counters by increasing his speed.

"It would certainly be worth it." I answer as I now feel I am on the edge of oblivion, just one thrust would be enough to sink into pleasure. I hold my breath for a moment as I feel him move for the last time before my body begins to move in convulsions of pleasure, and my vision becomes totally blurred.

I feel him releasing all his semen inside me shortly after coming, and I feel him lying on top of me, relaxing.

We stay like that for a few minutes before he starts laughing. I look at him not understanding why he is laughing until he explains himself.

"God, I guess in the end I will have Rhys to thank for this mission." Whispers Az.

"Actually it wasn't that bad." I comment, laughing in turn.

"Let's say it had its upsides." He replies with a wink. "But don't think it's over here, wait until you get home, and when I'm done with you the only thing you'll remember is my name."

Yes I would say we definitely have Rhys to thank.

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@horneybeach1 @peachyxrosie @whoreforblackhill @forsiriussake @ash04w3 @l3viathanpup @ohemgeewhat @123345566 @kidsaproblem @lust4lucille @lisamanban123 @alina02 @shodowbane09 @supernatural-lvr

#hauntedwitch04's writing #acotar x reader #imagine acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x reader smut #azriel x y/n #azriel acotar #kinktober 2023

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hwaightme · 9 months ago

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Feel alive

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🌑 pairing: strictland!seonghwa x gn!singer!reader 🌑 genre: fluff, angst, dystopian, sci-fi, noir, music, lovers to enemies to lovers 🌑 summary: after escaping the confines of prestige academy you find yourself singing at 'morpheus' - an underground bar and club for strictland outcasts. except this reality, too, crumbles before you. your fate is again in the hands of the same man, and you are forced to ask yourself: what does it mean to 'feel alive'? 🌑 wordcount: 9.5k total 🌑 warnings/tags: semi-edited, authoritarian regime (strictland/z/universe z), lore-inspired, guns/gunshots, implied attack on club, implied violence, crime, alcohol/drinking, implied organised criminal networks, discussions about death/murder/execution, nihilism/existentialism, 'bout as dark as the diary entries, long lost lovers, starcrossed, hope, blue bird, jazz, uprisings 🌑 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🌑 a/n: noir hwa, ateez synthwave song quartet, and lore ponderings. hope you enjoyed <3 any notes, reblogs, comments, asks are always welcome! much love!

The lights dimmed, and it was as if the jazz bar never existed in the first place. The worn seats occupied by drunks who liked to pretend they had taste, sofas in the far corner reserved for big shots and well-established scum with pretty young accessories on either arm, the bar that sold everything under the rays of the dying sun and evil moon, it all disappeared with the dawn of the spotlight falling upon your alluring silhouette. A simple, yet elegant sleek black dress with a hint of shimmer that graced your curves seemed to shine in the glimmering illumination. The delicate silver accessories were stars in the hypnotising sky, the allure of an unreachable universe becoming overwhelming as your hands glided over the length of the microphone to find purchase on the stand. The music, starting from a low rumble, was an echo of the abyss surrounding you, manifested only at the softest inhale. After what could have been the drums and trumpet, or could have been the heavens announcing the beautiful singer’s presence finished their spontaneous introduction, Seonghwa had the pleasure of forgetting his purpose, at least for as long as the song lasted. He could drift into a sultry paradise, seduced by what had to be a siren’s call, and regard the customers of the Morpheus bar with something less than loathing.

As soon as he cleared the last of the russet coloured drink he had ordered in one gulp and set the glass down on the bar, shutting his eyes momentarily to focus on the warmth of the alcohol running down his throat, Seonghwa found the fingers of his right hand softly drumming out the song in accompaniment, each digit hitting one note, another, again and again. Back in the day, it had not been often that his visits to the bar occurred at the same time as the one and only Y/N’s performances, but when they did, he swore he could see the smog clear and tomorrow become a certainty. The music consumed him whole and even though he knew down to the second when the magic would be extinguished, a part of him still retained the hope that the spell would never be broken. Not when the only encore he could guarantee for himself was another torturous raid on an establishment such as this one, or another feverish witch hunt for those who had regained their ability to feel and to think freely. All in the name of a faceless leader who even Seonghwa himself had only met a handful of times despite being in a high ranking position of Guardian Inspector - above the standard white-clad machines, above the so-called officials clad in military uniform, he was in charge of ‘keeping civil hands clean’. At what cost? Perhaps his own emotions were the price.

The dark-haired man caught himself wondering how many people in this bar could enjoy themselves to the fullest. How many of these poor unfortunate souls that succumbed to the rush for easy money and easy love were true followers of hedonism, and were spending their days in an enviable bliss? Biting his lower lip, Seonghwa regarded his surroundings with a subtle scorn. He was well aware that he was to blame for it all too; The regime, to retain the ultimate, unwavering control over the citizens, even those who wholeheartedly believed they were well-hidden from the authoritarian judgement, was a supplier of one of the many pleasures after all - toying with people's weakness before the formidable seven sins only to lead them into full submission. The Strictland government, despite propagating ‘human emotion being a disease’ had anything anyone could ever desire, and Seonghwa was one of the many agents to guarantee long term partnerships, addiction to the illusion of a better life, and most importantly, stability and security for the people who had taken him in all that time ago when no one else would, and had given him a chance.

While he was the bringer of demise, the counter of profits drenched in crushing dread and the hand of twisted and subjective justice, at the same time, Seonghwa believed that it gave him all the more right to judge the society he was a part of. After all, he was not the one being fooled. Inevitably, his glimmering orbs settled back on the singer’s gently swaying form as they broke into the chorus, and nearly shuddered as your gaze, from languid, half-lidded but oh so appealing eyes, met his, only for a split second but it was as if hellfire itself embraced him and greeted him like an old lover. Each lyric - a personal address as you moved along at a sensual pace, the song smoother than the most expensive silk. He smirked to himself as he caught his ponderings accelerating uncontrollably, attempting to squash them under a sober, calculating fist. You were no fool either. An entertainer, measuring out each attack like a venomous serpent, not threatened, seeking fun in the reveal of vulnerability of your listeners - each one believed that you existed for them and them alone, and in the hypnotic state added bill after bill to their already hefty tips in the hopes that at least some would reach you, and you would give them that beautiful smile, maybe something more. Truly, a shame that the owner of Morpheus owed the regime a lot more than all the tips, so-called donations and what, compared to the rest of the money, was "honest" earnings all combined. The Captain of the Inspectors in charge of this little project had gotten a little too nice as of late, at least that was what Seonghwa had concluded, but it was not him who was going to pay for it, naturally.

Twisting his head, Seonghwa took note of the familiar faces that appeared at the entrance to Morpheus to join the rest of the Inspectors that were posing as regular customers, cleverly dispersed among the filth that reeked of dependence. Of course, dependence on what the regime was selling. There was no other way about it. Nodding the two men a curt hello, Seonghwa let his eyes trace back a swift path to the magnificent performance. He paid attention to how your dainty earrings glinted even in the lowered light, and how, with every subtle movement, he could see the gorgeous dress tighten just a little around your body. You were so out of place in this scene, an angel in the darkest pits of hell, a little bird struggling against the wiring of a cage, curling inwards, growing smaller until the last flutter of the wings. As he was caught up in admiring your beautiful style, grace, and listening to your sweet, warm tone, one of the two newcomers, a fellow brother in governmental salvation to Seonghwa, tapped him lightly on the shoulder and occupied the seat beside him.

“As flashy as ever, Woo. Might as well tattoo ‘trouble’ on your forehead,” he motioned towards his not so inconspicuous suit that made him look more like a mafioso rather than an average joe. Seonghwa had to admit, however, that the outfit looked too damn good on him, but this was going to be just one of those things he was to take to his grave. The man did not need his ego fed any more than what the ladies he finds as company for the less busy nights not hounded by the lower ranking Guardians provide.

“I’d carve a pretty smile on that face. Not even a hello?”

“Hi San,” Seonghwa deadpanned, looking past his friend who he noted had tied his hair into a low ponytail, and right at the other half of his duo. Wooyoung and San, two peas in a pod, and probably the last people one would ever wish to see if they were in trouble with any of the Inspectors.

“Aren’t you mean today… what, pretty star over there didn’t give you attention?” Wooyoung retorted with a smirk creeping onto his lips. With a raise of an eyebrow and a shake of the head, Seonghwa dismissed any thoughts of peace that he had been imagining, settling back to regular business.

Rolling his shoulders back, he let the scene come and envelop him. It was no coincidence that so many of the Inspectors had gathered, especially with Wooyoung and San now closing in the arrivals. It did not take a genius to guess that Captain had changed his terms, and this was no longer going to be an ordinary shakeout for money or customary information gathering from the owner of Morpheus. The owner had stalled for far too long, had strayed from ‘good practices’ of a loyal rat, and it was time to set an example for others. Disease was the human emotion, and this bar was a breeding ground for thought crime, was it not?. Lowly, lonely creatures who gathered here were all examples of where society had gone astray from the perfect vision Z had put forward, at least… most were. Those who had forgotten the meaning of feeling despite having regained the ability, those, to Seonghwa, were the true vermin. He regarded the few gathered who were most definitely not meant to be part of this story. A middle aged, haggard man with flushed cheeks and what had to be his fifth glass of the cheapest liquor on the menu. Some bigshot from another town who he recalled some of the Inspectors in charge of patrolling the area identifying this morning - no ties, no money, just a lot of ambition that was to amount to nothing. A few lowlives here and there who were faceless, in shades of grey. All not meant to be here, and yet by some stroke of fate, here they were to remain. Finally, he drifted back to the main act, still at the centre of the stage, the sole luminance among the tainted - those who had no hope in making Seonghwa feel anything but numbness. You were the only one working here. Earning your meagre pay - he had discreetly checked the bar’s balance books when the old man behind the counter was too distracted to care for a person of his kind strolling into his office that was concealed in a dark corridor. It was shameful how you were still in this far less than grand establishment, sharing your angelic vocals, despite obviously not having any compensation nor appreciation of your efforts. Perhaps the moments on stage were the only time when you felt alive; the thought would not leave Seonghwa. After much investigation playing pretend, he was confident in his conclusion: you had not changed.

You were on the tattered poster plastered up outside - the one and only, shows every Friday night. Perceive and behold the spectacular ethereal being as you sang songs that spun threads out of a spectator’s very soul, blood trickling from the cracks in their shattered form turning to gold. You sang their… his pain, promised him his glory, soothed and comforted him. Seonghwa was well aware that you were the sole reason that he had shifted his visits to Morpheus to this particular day of the week and monitored the illegal location so closely, otherwise, your face would never grace his corrupt, bleak vision. You did not deserve to go with the rest. When breaking free, one was not supposed to fall into another trap, and yet, here you were. You were not meant to be here, littering the ground that you stood on as the last of the gunpowder would settle on your perfect skin, your long, alluring eyelashes. The onyx-haired man felt a shift within himself as he mused the outcome of the unspoken plans - by the way in which Wooyoung leaned back onto the counter, a grin dancing on his features and by the way San was acting particularly kindhearted to the lonely staff who was rushing about, struggling to keep up with the visitors’ habits, he knew that tonight, they were not planning on hearing any cries for mercy. They were here to complete a mission for a higher purpose. And that mission was far from the sweet music which he had loved his whole life, and finally found again.

“They’re not supposed to be here.” he mumbled, his voice obscured by yours, echoing across and elevating to a sensual culmination.

“Aren’t we all? We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do. Think of them as a sculpture or something if it makes things easier,” Wooyoung took out a rolled up bill to put between his lips - a habit that he had formed after a few too many hits on the back of his head by San, an interesting approach to make a man quit smoking. He called it ‘smoking capitalism’, earning quite a few chuckles from the Inspectors, Seonghwa included.

“So say someone’s going to scope the ring to clean it up a bit, would you let them hit our favourite auntie?” he asked, referring to the friendly cleaner who was probably the only one in the entire city who did not bat an eye at the violent matches that Wooyoung managed under the wraps for the regime, instead cooing over the fighters he brokered for and giving the men an extra helping of her home-cooked delicacies. In many ways, she was a mother figure for the Guardian Inspectors, despite her being at risk, every day, of being taken to the Red Humans should one of them be in a ‘different kind of mood’ on an arbitrary morning.

“Definitely not. But this singer. Who are they to you?”

“A pawn.”

“A pawn?”

“Mhm. I can pawn them in for rewards.”

“Suppose they are pretty enough, if that’s what you’re thinking of…”

“Goodness, take the pimp out of the bordello but can’t take the bordello out of the pimp. That business was shut a while back for you, no?” with a groan, Seonghwa retaliated at Wooyoung’s rather out of pocket suggestions. Over the many years of serving Z in not so ethical ways, the man had tried on a few too many hats and seen a few too many hats to retain even a sliver of compassion towards anyone except those closest. It was understandable. Odd, but understandable.

“Kidding. But for real though, what’s the use?” Wooyoung bit down on the bill softly, gaze following San who had moved towards a couple of underlings that had gathered in a booth off to the side, towards the far corner of the bar. Clearly, he was checking if they had read the room.

“Say, isn’t it Captain’s niece’s birthday soon? We don’t exactly have a musical act to hand since…” Seonghwa trailed off, knowing that Wooyoung knew what incident he was referring to, involving an accusatory phrase, a short temper and a very professional shot from a sniper rifle from the boss’s office window into the temple of a figure that was storming away from one of the many Inspector accommodations. Another one to fertilise the soil with.

“Smart. I’ll give it to ya. If you sort the business out before showtime, pretty thing’s all yours.” Wooyoung responded, patting his side where, underneath his shirt, Seonghwa knew was a holstered pistol. Pushing himself away from the counter he stood up, adjusting his long, leather coat and glove. It was not that he had a particular preference, but ever since entering the new life upon being pardoned for feeling, a life where he had to say found a home, he could not help but wish to always look just that little bit more put together, even if only to appear loyal.

“Cheers. I’ll get them a nice candle-lit dinner to soften them up and then inform Cap��,” sounding purposefully sarcastic, Seonghwa mumbled under his nose, well aware that this was not a method that had ever been in use. One glower and curt phrase had always been enough - the rest was simply the heart’s doing masked by odd humour.

“Awh, look at you, how sweet and lovely. What a darling,” Wooyoung teased, sending Seonghwa a wink. The music was fading away, the last notes landing on his ears, marking every moment.

“One more word and you’ll be the main course.” with his index finger he poked the centre of his fellow Inspector’s chest in threat, maintaining a cold expression.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to be roasting out here tonight, so make it hot with pretty thing.”

“Filth,” the taller man spat, knowing that attempting to counter his friend was nearly impossible - out of all the people he knew only Captain could fully round him in, and even then Wooyoung had a smile on his face, much to Seonghwa’s confusion.

“It’s not me who is with the heart eyes.”

“I just saw an opportunity,” playing with the leather piece that buttoned up to protect his neck, he eyed you, waiting for you to finish. Unknown to you, you did not have much time left before your very life would be placed on a scale and thoughtlessly pushed to lose against the weight of usual Strictland business. Such was the violent, catastrophic illusion of order, such was the structure that had been Seonghwa’s twisted saving grace. He was going to be doing you a favour by taking you away, won’t he? Either way, you would be out of work, and he was helping you with a little job search from one of the highest payers - chivalrous and kind hearted, that was who he was. How else could the Inspectors form any partnerships and feast on forbidden fruit otherwise? Who was he kidding - a soul like you was not meant for a life like this. But he had to try. He needed time to think.

“Sure. Sure. An opportunity to grab the gorgeous star for yourself.”

“Oh shut up will you?” snapping, Seonghwa were desperately trying to cut the conversation short, seeing the window for him to make a beeline for the edge of the stage, towards which you promptly setting off after finishing your set, and receiving a dismal lack of applause - what else would he expect from the crowd gathered in Morpheus? Especially when the stench of iron and the final judgement was mere minutes away from materialising.

“You know that’s not my style.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be good. Hope you did not block my mustang,” throwing one last comment behind him, the solemn man was off, only barely catching Wooyoung’s half-hearted response.

“Have I ever…”

The mission was simple. Since he was dismissed from the less than pleasant task of wiping out the bar, considering that two more senior Inspectors had made their appearance and were clearly more in the know of what was brewing, Seonghwa had only a couple of minutes before all freedom would cease to exist. And then, no heaven could bestow mercy upon neither him, nor the beauty he had come here to save for no logical reason, instead relying on some hazy version of hope and nostalgia. He had parked his ink black ride around the block - out of sight for unwanted eyes, and perfectly positioned for getaways just like this. If you could catch the Inspector’s drift, that was. One could only pray that the dazzler on stage was just as dazzling when it came to reading between the lines. He had perhaps even less than the estimated time to explain himself before Wooyoung and San would call the owner over to get the real evening show started. Time was ticking along with the skyrocketing pace of his heart as he stopped you on your tracks with a slightly outstretched leg, only to move forward and cast a shadow over you.

It was difficult to remain level-headed when, even at such proximity, in the normally less than flattering lighting, you were nothing short of a deity. Something out of fairy tales, stories of royalty or angels in kingdoms far far away, those that were not supposed to exist. But here was one, staring right into his eyes with your beautiful expressive orbs, as deep as the history that Seonghwa had raced here to try and reignite. A universe in your irises, an all-consuming black hole in your pupils, beckoning Seonghwa, leading him into a stupor before he stuffed his hands into his pockets, bringing himself out of the momentary trance by force. Time was not on his side, and he knew that it would never be unless he kept on running.

“Lovely song, that was.”

“Indeed. ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ is one of my favourites. Did you enjoy the performance?” Your speaking voice was different, of course, but nonetheless struck that stunning familiar chord within Seonghwa, one that should never see the light of day if he were to remain how he had to be. It was terrifying, how he was ready to let go of his resurrected image as an Inspector for a chance to turn the past into the present.

You were polite. The features of your alluring face were hinting at a genuine interest, an appreciation of every movement, every breath you were taking. Though, in Seonghwa’s own line of work, particularly in the stage of undercover investigation, this was simply the usual. Show a smile, bat the eyelashes, make business, disappear. Genuine interest was an artform, but even if you were indeed expressing it in the way with which he was familiar, it felt so natural that he almost wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe this daydream who had come to change the colours of his occasional Fridays, his hunts for those straying from what Z had deemed ‘right’, leaving glimmers of memory to last him through the weeks when he had to be numb to life itself until he could come and see you again. It did not mean much to you, most likely. You were strangers in your respective new lives, and had Captain not made the decision to teach the owner of Morpheus a lethal lesson, you would have remained that way. Drifting together for a few hours, remaining distant, and drifting apart again. A forever flowing story that was to rekindle a starcrossed ‘once upon a time’ but never have that sought after resolution. A dream that reminded Seonghwa of why his unlikely survival was a blessing. As your eyes revealed a hopefulness, a plea for praise, Seonghwa gave you a soft smile.

“Of course.”

“I look forward to seeing you, you know.”

“O-oh?” Seonghwa could barely contain his surprise, the previously cool demeanour cracking into a raised eyebrow. Could you remember?

“Yes! You always sit at the bar, second stool from the left. And order… what is it… a brandy, right?”

He would be lying if he were to say he was not surprised by your suddenly chipper attitude. Almost like you were a kid who entered a candy shop for the first time to see all of your favourite treats, you excitedly revealed to Seonghwa your observations. While it was endearing to see, the shuffling behind him, along with the idea that he was not the only one intently observing left the Inspector with a sense of unease, nearly throwing him off from the initial goal that motivated him to brave talking to you in the first place.

“In…deed?”

The singer, who was previously an astounding yet distant figure captivating all who cared to look even once, rapidly transitioned into someone who he almost found endearing, the keeper of far too many qualities that cemented the rightness of his decision. You were not meant to be here, he repeated to himself. Mutters around the bar were getting louder, and as the rest of the musicians filed out of the main hall and crammed into a tiny room off to the side, in Seonghwa’s peripherals he noted San’s steady, seemingly innocent amble between the scuffed round tables and equally unpleasantly antique chairs.

“You are the only one who listens, so, how could I not notice? Actually, I wanted to talk to you properly, or at least say thank you but didn’t want to impose.”

As much as he wanted to sink into the warmth of your words and allow you to recognise him on your own accord, the rippling commotion that was finally rearing its ugly head spurred him on and struck his heart with an icy, calculating mace. He had a minute tops, knowing Wooyoung’s love for never counting down to zero before beginning.

“Well, let’s talk. Outside,” The black-clad man tried to walk off, aiming for the dark corridor at the end of which was the fire exit, but when you did not move, rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking I could buy you a drink-”

“Cute. Another time though,” seeing the tinge of disappointment in your gaze was new, and entirely unexpected, but gave Seonghwa plenty of leeway to sway you into following him, “since you watched me enough, I bet you can guess who I am. Or, what I do for work. Right?”

A steely glare, leaving nothing open to interpretation. For additional evidence, he demonstratively adjusted his coat, loosening the belt he had tied around his waist to reveal a leather holster, discreet, gun always within reach. Attentive to detail as ever, you took note of the inconspicuous design of the pistol before he let it disappear once again under the fabric - in this city, there were few who had access to any form of weaponry, the items being so highly regulated by the government that it was nearly impossible to purchase or get licensing. Your mind began to list off options; Seonghwa clearly was neither a standard Android Guardian due to the lack of mandatory uniform, nor a scruffy criminal whom you had gotten used to over the time that had passed, nor part of the police force, nor a Class 2 Prestige Academy student. It only left an answer that shook you to the core. Of course, it was not that you did not hold the assumption in your heart. As a matter of fact, you had previously assumed that you were used to greeting people from different walks of life, all gathered in the same place, at the same time for what you wanted to believe was a ‘good time’. That was what drove you to live the life that you were living. Exist in this space, despite your pay and your security almost always not being enough, but you would give even that up if that meant you could keep your freedom.

Seonghwa was effortlessly graceful, determined in every step and gesture, not a single movement wasted. In a sense, it was as if he had purposefully learned and memorised the most efficient adjustments of the body, letting himself metamorphose into a lithe, agile animal. It was terrific, and terrifying, how at any moment he could pounce, and you would never know when until it was too late. For this hint of a reason, you decided to follow the man’s unspoken command, only whispering an airy inquiry after the other musicians, which he coldly dismissed:

“You need a better band anyways.”

---

The gravity of the situation only began to settle in when the biting breeze outside of the stuffy bar hit you, seeking opportunity to tousle your locks. The strands that had managed to fall over your face were trembling, the only sign revealing your suppressed distress as the last of Morpheus's dusk-like illumination was shut from your vision with a confident slam. Your eyes widened as you watched the Inspector, or in other words, your personal grim reaper, flip a lock on the door - previously thought to be inaccessible to anyone except the owner, done so masterfully as though he were the one who had installed it in the first place. An exit, a saving grace for innocents inside, turned into a dead end - more symbolic than one would ever initially assume. He trailed up the length of his arm stopping for a moment at the material that covered his shoulder, listening to leather hit leather. Seonghwa could only find calculated resolve within himself. This was the usual for him, and that after weighing all the options, he had logically come to the conclusion that the demise of the people inside was indeed the most attractive option.

As you heard the first shot resound inside of Morpheus, you shuddered, but did not dare stop following the man in the trench coat as he strode on ahead, hands remaining in his pockets. To any onlooker it would seem that he was relaxed as ever, out for a late night walk in a neighbourhood he knew better than he knew himself. Breath in, breath out; you were trying to remind yourself of the simple act, focusing harder than you had ever done during your performances. Imagining your diaphragm stretching, letting the lungs take in as much air as possible and-

Another shot. Breath knocked from you, balance off kilter, you desperately wanted to run. Anywhere. Maybe you should have stayed, not picked up on the subtle offer of your life being spared. In that way you would not have to live with the guilt of not having said anything to your fellow bandmates, not having said thank you to the owner for… what was there to thank anyone for? Out of habit, you lifted a hand to brush over your ear, echoes of the time when you had first felt emotion rippling across your body, making you shiver. You were all fools misled by hope for a brighter tomorrow in a world that was permanently overcast. Where did this running lead you? Where did your wistful song guide you? Back into the arms of the apocalypse - broad-shouldered with hair the colour of ink, the last thing you would see before disappearing for good. At least you should thank your former so-called colleagues for the information about the common demise. Tears welled up in your eyes as you obeyed the lean man’s orders and practically toppled into the black vehicle parked by the Morpheus, a lonesome yelp masked by the gunfire and indecipherable orders.

You had no idea where he was taking you, and you did not dare ask. The man reminded you of all you had been trained to avoid in your new life, a threat, a weapon, a soldier. His gloved right hand remained resting beside the gearshift, while his left coldly gripped the steering wheel. Not a single one of his muscles appeared to be relaxed, and not a single movement had a semblance to anything natural. An automaton in the driver��s seat, you wanted to feel comforted by the idea that you were the only one truly human in the car, for the idea that someone as brutal as a Guardian Inspector could be conscious or decisive was too strong of an agony.

At the same time, in the moments where the Inspector turned his head to check the surroundings, you noted something familiar. He dashed past the blue, purple and aquamarine signs that lined the streets of the district you had learned to love, himself turning into a painting. Be it in the angles that formulated his stern face, or in the elegance that he was unable to conceal, the past crawled out of a long-forgotten cavern in your psyche and gnawed at your nerves, just out of reach of realisation. Perhaps in another time, you had known him. Perhaps in one of the banned art pieces, you had seen him. At the same time, this could not be the first Guardian Inspector you had encountered - they were all similar enough in demeanour, so what was another face? Equally as entitled, above the law. Above a runaway like you. You were vermin. The enemy. A traitor to the Academy, to Strictland, to Z himself. Or so you were told. The only thing that could be different about this Inspector, was that he could be your last.

A sharp stabbing sensation spread from your temples and what had to be through your skull, jabbing into bone and into the cerebellum. Nauseous, you shut your eyes and clutched your head in a futile attempt to seek some form of relief. The car roared, and a sudden stench of rubber and concrete penetrated through every crevice, choking your senses and making you taste the acrid pollution. One turn, another, your organs were being jolted back and forth as the monstrous engine urged on by none other than the embodiment of oblivion dragged the car across eternal misery of long-abandoned districts.

“Oh goodness…” a feeble whisper left your lips. You reached out to grab hold of the door handle, peering at the grooves to find at least something to focus on. His vision was swimming in your eyes, etchings of your surroundings morphing into repressed memories.

A boy marching beside you to class, head held at the angle commanded to all academy students. A young man, dressed in all white with black locks parted in the middle. A solemn stare, unreadable, though not fully blank as it should be. But at the same time, how could you, another student of Prestige, detect that something was not quite right? Since when could you feel? You lifted your head cautiously to try peeking at the Inspector again, but he was frozen. Only the abrupt tightening of his gloved hand around the steering wheel and a determined turn reminded you that he was not quite an automaton.

“I must be dreaming…” you blinked away a teary blur, and clenched onto your dress for the remainder of the journey, feverishly recounting whatever lyrics you could. Your little safe haven, your precious prayers to the arts - truth which you had discovered after abandoning everything you could have been.

Your hand moved on instinct to the side of your head, feeling for what once had been the hub of your consciousness. A chip that made you feel right at home, heartless, but with a purpose. Forty years of education, an eternity to serve something greater than you; clear goals, a mission for your generation and many that would come after you. Hand in hand, you were soldiers of a catastrophically closed-minded society; at the time, however, you could not be ‘happier’. Or rather, more numb. Because you did not know of negative nor positive, you could not experience either, and so remained in a stable equilibrium, just as the superpower of this forlorn land had instructed. Disease was the human emotion. You were ‘healthy’. Until that boy appeared in your life, and revealed himself to you.

Bright-eyed, hopeful, excited. So unlike anyone. And against better judgement, you let the inklings of curiosity drip over your heart, and the beginnings of affection take flight. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, a smile brighter than the sun, a soothing mellifluous voice, vowing to you that you could build another life together. A life much more beautiful than one constructed with deception and hollow propaganda. What could a little tap of a breaker do to you? Apparently, it could change your destiny.

As you massaged your temples, you locked gazes with the man in front of you, but met the boy from your past in the mirror. That same worry, knotted eyebrows, concern and care so evident you could touch it if your fingers grazed his cheek. You could not move, even when he turned back to the road, and continued to stare at the rear view mirror in the hopes of seeing your daydream again. You had to be wrong. This had to be you hallucinating. You must be just… afraid. Out of your mind. And so you were recalling one of the few times when you thought the world could do you no harm.

“Get out,” a command. As cold as steel. The engine was still roaring in your ears, despite the surroundings having gone dead silent.

A click. The doors unlocked. You could run if you wanted to. Though you were fully aware that the action would shorten your lifespan to a mere few seconds. You remained seated, gaze falling onto your lap, and listened to the painful succession of sounds that led the man to open your door, and roughly grab your upper arm.

“I said, get out,” you followed him like a rag doll, knowing that any attempts to resist would put you into even more danger. At the same time, even though the Inspector was obviously attempting to instil terror and a twisted respect for him, he could not face you. Consciously he made an effort to barely raise his lashes, thus keeping his scrutiny concealed. Reading through his hesitation was easy enough.

He could not keep his hand on you for a second longer after you stood up straight, darting away as though you were an open flame. The man cleared his throat and locked the car, before gesturing towards an abandoned building that loomed over the gravelly opening where you had completed your journey. Comically, it reminded you of Prestige, even though the latter was of much larger proportions and possessed a more unique shape. Perhaps it was the fact that this block, what used to be an apartment building, was crumbling, made you think of the academy’s inner workings. Rotting away. The cogs in the machine tearing each other apart.

This might be your end or your beginning, you were not sure which one. With an astounding loyalty, you let yourself be guided into the long-forgotten cement fortress, up exposed stairs with metal railings, past walls left bare, illuminated by an exposed moonlight, laying down a carpet of silver. It was oddly easy to think that life was beautiful when it was likely going to be taken away from you. The walk was silent, and the longer it lasted, the more at peace you felt. The odd step rang out and echoed like the gunshots you had heard, so surreal that you could barely believe it. It must have been a joke. Fireworks, or someone just being a little boisterous. Morpheus had seen so many colours of Z’s regime, it could not disappear now… oh who were you kidding. It was done for. You little version of an escape. Your space to feel.

As you made sneaky glances at the Inspector to your right, who not so ceremoniously had loosened his coat’s belt once more to have easy access to his gun, you could not help but think of the boy. You had followed his advice, made a run for it while he had been taken away by the Red Humans. Two youngsters who betrayed the regime. But who was truly free? The one who had been exterminated, or the one who had to live in fear, but at least felt the ruthless emotion?

The enigmatic man slowed down, and so did you. He made a turn, so did you, acting as his shadow. You were certain that you were probably breathing at the same rate. An empty hallway, lined with equally empty rooms and destroyed apartments. From a humble abode to rubble, you could see the horrific vistas of the district, and the drop to the cold ground below. No wall, no security, no certainty. It was only you and your fate in the form of a man who seemed to possess too much of a likeness to the keeper of your fragile adoration.

The Inspector walked in front and turned to face you. You froze, burning under his scrutiny. Eyes like scalding cold ice, assessing you, condemning you. Your best listener, now listening to your terrified heart. For what could be the last time, you felt alive. As the man reached into his pocket, you prepared for the worst, however, he only motioned with his head for you to follow him. Confused, you obeyed, finding yourself in a more secluded corner of the floor, one which had remotely retained the appearance of an actual room. Stuck in the same few seconds, there were no further commands from the Inspector, causing your mind to wander, and lips to move on their own accord:

“I should not be here.”

“Neither should I,” he deadpanned, though his choice of words was unsettling. Wasn’t he on a mission?

“I should be dead,” you persisted.

“I should have more blood on my hands.”

A pause. You were in shock, pointlessly clinging onto your own upper arms, stuck in a false embrace. Like prey that had been cornered, you were beyond the point of trusting survival instincts. You simply wanted for the interaction, or dare you say, interrogation, to be over, so you could be given away to the Red Humans, to whatever the afterlife had to offer, in peace. If you were to be melted, then so be it. If your departure were to be short and sweet, so be it. But a little question in your head still remained, a persistent worm which you decided to unleash given your hopeless circumstances:

“Then why-”

“It is pointless to ask when there is no answer,” the man answered coldly, not sparing you a glance as he picked at a filthy off-white tulle which covered a blown out window - now just a frame, with his gloved hand, glaring at the pitiful greyness outside the abandoned building before wiping the hand off with a handkerchief produced out of the pocket into which he had stuffed his hand.

A few steps separated you, but you knew better than to try and make a run for it – the man was armed, and you assumed that the gun you spotted was not the only weapon in his arsenal. He was menacing, unpredictable, and very dangerous. Alongside that, as much as you hated to admit, but the Inspectors were nothing short of extraordinary when it came to their expertise and training. Unlike Android Guardians, they were the leading forces, capable of high-risk decision making and unparalleled critical thinking. If you were to try to describe them, you always ended up thinking of chess. That was what they were playing whenever they were out in the field.

In fact, it was for this exact reason that you were concerned about this Inspector’s behaviour – it was out of line. Inefficient. Sub-optimal. You wondered if this was a new strategy or there was a higher plan; there were so many possibilities that your head could start spinning. You dug your fingers into rapidly cooling flesh, waking yourself up from the distressed rumination. What was the Inspector going to do to you? You had followed his demands so far, and weren’t putting up a fight - what more could he want?

He was unreadable. Gestures unpredictable, expression stoic, he regarded you with an air of superiority characteristic of people from his class. Serpent-like and calculating eyes, regal nose, facial structure reminiscent of a statue, plush perfectly shaped lips – all were a nod to his upbringing, you bet. He did not feel real. Reminiscent of automatons that the regime sometimes used in place of regular Guardians during high-volume riots, he was what one would call the ‘ideal specimen’. Down to the strand of wavy hair that fell on his face, he was a beautiful painting of your worst nightmare. Life had been unkind to you, you decided. It only showed you something prettier than the night lights when it was the last thing you would see.

The man stepped towards you, and your eyelids slammed shut automatically. You did not wish to see your death. The sound of leather against leather, the tied coat belt, the creaking of ancient rotten wood planks under lacquered ankle boots. He must be getting ready to end you. Were you too high profile to be lying with the other bodies in the club? Were you more dangerous in the Inspector’s view, being a singer, or as one could say a ‘spreader’ of inappropriate entertainment. Was this treason? Terrorism? You were not sure – the sentence changed more than the weather. But were you an enemy? With confidence, you had to answer with a Yes. Having escaped the regime, and according to those who had helped you regain some parts of your past self, having had a part in the uprising within Prestige Academy, you were the worst kind of citizen of Strictland. Disobedient, unchanging, and influential. You were waiting for the cocking of a pistol, for cool metal to hit your head, and for the world to go even darker as you collapsed on to the floorboards. The man had to be taking out his gun. He must have taken you away from the raid to be particularly ruthless. A sadist? Maybe. You had no time to judge.

You felt the fabric of your shimmering dress under your fingertips, and imagined you were preparing for a show of a lifetime. You counted your inhales and exhales like you would do before a performance, and conjured an audience in your mind. More rustling, another step. He, that boy, no, young man, was in the audience. Still in the Prestige Academy uniform, but the chip was long gone. He was giving you an encouraging smile eager to hear what you had achieved in your time away from the academy. Leather caressed your hand and you flinched, comforted only by how cautious the action was. Hand turned to raise your palm to the omniscient skies, your illusions combined with reality - what was Seonghwa to give to you?

Funny, how in critical moments, the mind could give you what you had longed to forget. Seonghwa. His name tasted sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. A fine wine, dizzying, addictive. A handsome, talented student who had the future ahead of him, only to throw it away for the taste of something more ‘real’ in his eyes. Something cold was being pressed into your palm, reminiscent of a large bullet or a device your fingers could remember before your mind. Your eyes shot open and were met with a dream and a nightmare. Finally, it hit you. Behind the Inspector’s facade, a mask crafted by years of experience and brutality, was the same boy, who, just like now, pressed a breaker into your palm.

“Wake up.”

Your gaze fell to the intricate metal handiwork, spotting the carving of an ‘A’ contained in a circle right at the base. The taste of anarchy, an uprising, revolution, a hope for something better flowing through a tragic story you two had written. At last, it had a resolution, and you were more than content with who was holding the lethal pen. You stared at the breaker. The very thing that brought you out of an eternal somnolence, submission to a regime. You had woken up then, and never could sleep.

“Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer… the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…” you lifted your head once more, staring into Seonghwa’s softened eyes. He had matured, his features having become siren-like, dangerous, seductive. Befitting his character. You smiled sadly, “...or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing end them?” He remained quiet, as if he was the one waiting for you to decide your own destiny, “Shakespeare. Hamlet. Ever read it? Or do they not let you?”

“I-” he cleared his throat, concealing a pang of nervousness, “I am familiar with his work.”

“Mm, isn’t that a criminal offence?”

“What is?”

“Reading work exploring human emotion… sounds like treason to me.”

“Reading does not imply sympathising.”

“But you do.”

Again, a heavy pause. Seonghwa rocked from one foot to another one time, another - an old habit? Or an attempt to convince you that he was at least a fraction the same?

“I… I do not,” before you could scowl, he continued, “‘Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once’. I am more partial to this way of thinking.”

“Ah, the irony of it all.”

Your hand formed a fist around the device, and you kept on searching for fragments of the man you loved inside of the new Seonghwa before you. In flashes, you spotted glimmers of gold, feeble hints for something that could be concealed in the depths of his soul.

“So, are you going to make me a valiant person?”

“What?”

“Wasn’t that what you were supposed to be doing?” feeling a little more brave, you taunted him, wishing to see what his limit was. Whether he was lying to you just to set you at ease and make his job easier. So he could see one final sense of betrayal in your pupils.

“We are already dead, Y/N.”

---

Music. A universal language. The biggest risk for a community that someone wanted to silence. So you hummed one song after another, head leaning against Seonghwa’s shoulder as you sat on the concrete floor, in the corner of the room that was barely holding itself together. Bathed in silver light, you shared with him the luxury of reminiscing, mourned what had been lost only to have the feeling be replaced by a budding desire to wish upon anything at all.

Seonghwa might have lied to many of the Inspectors, and was in danger of facing a fate worse than extermination, but at least he did not lie to you. And because he did not lie to you, you were here; you were real. He could have the pleasure of having you beside him, wrapped up in his leather coat; your dress was not exactly ‘inhospitable conditions’ material, as pretty and befitting as it was. You were refusing to let go of the breaker as though it was the tether to a more sunny past, not that Seonghwa would ever dare pry it out of your hands. So long as you could keep singing for him forever. Even when music were to cease existing, and when the sky would fall down, he would still hear your voice. How many times had he visited Morpheus in secret, outside of his official inspections and scouting missions? How quickly had he transferred into a field role just for the chance to find you? How had he managed to remain alive even though his sentence had been supposedly set in stone, and he was still feeling? With each question, the answer grew blurrier and blurrier, until it no longer existed. Perhaps this was a manifestation of destiny. You were supposed to meet again after so much turmoil, so you did. Curious.

“What song do you like?” your voice, sleepy, serene, cut through his ruminations. Seonghwa looked down and to his side, meeting a gentle gaze.

“What song do you want to sing?”

“Mm, no that’s not an answer,” you snaked your hands around his arm and pulled him closer.

“But I like everything you sing. Because you sing it.”

“Sweet, but I’m at a loss.”

“Then let’s be quiet. Together. For as long as we can.”

“There’s not too long left, is there?”

Your question was rhetorical. Both you and Seonghwa were aware of it. Time in Strictland was not governed by the individual but by an unforgiving system. A person, or perhaps a symbol, holding the clock with an iron grip and making the hands fly faster and faster until a second was an impossible measure. Involuntarily, he sighed, causing wisps of steam to escape his lips and rise to the exposed armature of the floor above. With cooling temperatures came the cooling heart, and it was difficult to tell what it was that you loved. What was it that made you feel alive?

“You know, they gave me a choice,” Seonghwa began. There was no reason why he should be telling you about what had happened to him, but the sombre atmosphere seemed to bode well for a confession. You did not interrupt, choosing to remain passive, resigned, “either die for what I believe in, or admit I was wrong.”

“Funny how they gave you a choice,” the infamous ‘they’. The Guardians, the regime, the enemy. Now turned into a friend. Interesting how life changed.

“Definitely was not what I expected.”

“You sure they didn’t say ‘sike’ at any point and you just got lucky?”

“I don’t think they can miss,” a simple, but sharp fact. You bit your lower lip, “...anyways. You can probably guess what I chose to do. The only caveat is that I admitted I was wrong… for a different thing.”

“Do tell.”

“I was wrong for putting you in danger, Y/N.”

“Nothing we could do about that. We were two fools in love.”

Seonghwa detangled himself from you, only to grasp your free hand in his, place the other on your thigh and meet you face to face. Misty-eyed, his rationality was growing frantic, and you knew that at any moment he could snap, and only the clearing night knew what would happen then.

“But I was the one to jolt you out of a peaceful existence. I was selfish-” After years of doubting himself, sinking into a destructive illusion where he would march alongside others like a machine, he was breathing. Much to his regret, it was a sensation far too sweet and heavenly, worth every revolution and rebellion.

“I don’t regret it.”

“...What?”

“I would put this thing to my head time and time again if I had to,” you raised the breaker to eye level, attempting to get at least a smile or a chuckle out of Seonghwa. Much to your dismay, it did the opposite. You would be lying if you were to proclaim you were euphoric.

“I- I’m… Y/N I’m so sorry…” you shook your head and pulled him in, until his exhales and inhales were tickling your neck. Hunched over you like a black-clad shield, Seonghwa was unmoving. Eyes darting down, you spotted that he had taken the pistol out of the holster, and upon a second glance to where he had been sitting, you noted its lonely presence, tucked away with debris and gravel.

“You are alive. And clearly still care enough to remember me. That’s your apology. And your punishment,” in a soothing gesture, you ran your fingers through his hair, cautiously at first, then turning your ministrations continuous, measured out when Seonghwa sat back down on the concrete, only this time nuzzled into you.

“Sorry…” he forced out, choking up.

The moon counted down the time while lazily passing over the building. You were at a crossroads. In haste, Seonghwa had told you of the opportunity to serve the Guardian Inspectors, being a private entertainer of sorts, but he knew you would refuse. Fast. Becoming one’s own enemy was the one thing you would not follow Seonghwa into doing. And that is why he admired you. You were strong. You were truly alive. A bird soaring in the skies in spite of the risks of being hunted, being shot. Simply for the feeling of the wind under your wings, to be closer to the stars and to sing your song loud and clear, every note a celestial blessing.

“Blue bird…”

“Hm?”

“I think I have an idea… if you are willing to go into hiding, that is.”

“Planning uprisings are we?”

“Oh they’ve been long in the works, my love. It is part of my job to close my eyes when necessary, and when convenient.”

“Are you about to be wrong again?”

“Maybe. Or very, very right. Depends on how the song sounds to you.”

---

Walking down the corridors of the headquarters, hands behind his back and appearance pristine, Seonghwa was nothing short of a model Inspector. Low ranking employees cowered before him and bowed, while his immediate colleague Wooyoung smirked, attempting to hook any information out.

“So… where'd the pretty star go?”

Silently, Seonghwa handed him a slip recording the disposal of an ‘unnamed entity’.

“ Oh… well that’s harsh. What did they do, reject you?”

“Apparently once gone so far astray, one cannot be changed. I had to do what was best for the regime.”

“Such an example for others. Wow. Almost too good to be true, Park. Well, I’ll be reporting that the extermination and cleanup of Morpheus was successful.”

“You do that.”

While Wooyoung turned the corner, Seonghwa continued to walk straight down the metal corridor, eyes locked onto the very end. Morpheus was no longer, indeed. But your song was still ringing in his ears, and no doubt, there would be a time when it would resound over the many speakers planted all across Strictland.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Bluebirds singing a song

Nothing but bluebirds all day long

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly

Blue days, all of them gone

Nothing but blue skies from now on

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dark-academia-slut · 10 months ago

Text

oh, this is so very precious and gentle and i am in love

the writing is so fucking beautiful and who doesn't love a soft and caring morpheus

Anyways Don't Be A Stranger

It's mid but we move on, please let me know of any mistakes!! Requests are open!

Morpheus had been a fool. He could admit that to himself with ease.

The King of Dreams had been free from Roderick Burgess' imprisonment for a few weeks now. And in that time he had chased down rogue nightmares, dealt with a vortex, his sibling(s), made amends with a centuries old friend and rebuilt his realm. And throughout all of that he had forgotten the only person he had thought about for just over two hundred years.

Y/N, his witch of a lover, a woman nearly as old as he was.

The pair had first met when Y/N called upon Dream of The Endless for a spell she was doing. At the time (the mediaeval era) Y/n worked for a small village as a pharmacist. of course she was gossiped about and shunned from the world but the many wards and circles around her house stopped people with bad intentions from passing her threshold. And that is why most of the village sent their children instead, small tiny humans with the purest of intentions and the loveliest of requests. They crossed her wards with ease and some even looked forward to their parents sending them to the Witch's cottage, whether it be for ointments or spells or charms.

This particular day a little boy and his older sister, seven and ten, had been sent to her. Y/N had been anticipating the knock all day and it finally came at 12:33 on a Sunday. She opened the door with a friendly smile and invited the children in whereupon they explained to her their predicament. The little boy had been experiencing intense night terrors and they had come to her for some form of remedy.

The Witch had told them what she would require: a feather from the boys pillow and a strand of his hair. As she was speaking she stood and reached for a vile of sand off her shelf and a jar which was filled with a bright white light.

"What is that?" the little girl reached up and pointed.

"This, my dear," Y/N placed it on her table, "Is a star, plucked from the sky on hallows eve."

The children made "Oo" noises and reached towards the jar and she let them and smiled before leaning down to the little girl, "Do you mind running back home and getting a feather from your brother's pillow?"

The girl nodded eagerly and then she was gone, hopping and skipping away back home, leaving Y/N with the boy who had plucked out a strand of his hair with ease and handed it to the witch, "Thank you!" she smiled.

She folded it into a piece of cloth and placed it into the pocket of her apron, before grabbing her cauldron and putting onto boil. She sat and talked to the boy about what he did, his friends, his interests before his sister returned with a handful of pillow feathers.

"Can I put them in?" She was bouncing with excitement as Y/N gently took the feathers from here and split them into two, handing the other half to her brother.

"Both of you can do it, go on. Be careful of the fire." She watched as the two children giggled and gently placed the feathers into the boiling water.

She smiled and then let them step back so she could continue. She took the sand and sprinkled it in an anti-clockwise direction, her wooden spoon stirring itself. She took the hair out of her pocket and placed it gently in the water. Her hand took a hold of the spoon and she stirred, murmuring as she went of Dreams and Nights and Stars and Gods and Endless.

The children stared in awe as she reached into her pocket and produced a pair of gloves that seemed to consume her hands in darkness before turning around and picking up the star in the jar. She unscrewed the lid and gently tipped it into her palm. She stared at the star for a minute, evaluating her sacrifice towards The Dreaming before lowering it into the water, hands fully submerged and when they came out the gloves seemed to have disappeared and there was a soft glow in the ever-spinning water.

It was all going well, the glow getting stronger and stronger as Y/N had seen many times.

But then she saw the light flicker and her face dropped and there was the sound of wind before the room was plunged into complete darkness. Instinctually she reached out and grabbed the children by their shoulders, pulling them into her arms and whispering instructions to them, "I need you to stay very very calm." She could feel them nodding in the darkness and she turned her back to where the cauldron used to be, feeling the children cling onto her skirt.

Then she saw them, the two white dots which seemed to hold the entire cosmos, much taller than her and unmistakably eyes.

Y/N spoke with power, strong and authoritative, "You stand within my home, with my rules and my wards, and I demand you show yourself or leave."

it was almost like the figure was laughing at her, her house shook with the echoes of chuckles, "Very well, Witch."

The candles flickered on, the sun returning to the outside world and her cauldron fire being re-lit. With no regard for the entity in her house she turned to the children and made sure they were okay, stroking their hair like a mother would and holding them close. Once she was reassured that they were going to be fine to turned back to the thing infiltrating her home.

It was a man. Tall with striking eyes, dark hair, wearing normal clothes, and she struggled for a moment before it hit her: the all consuming energy, the struggle to feel her own power.

"Dream of The Endless?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but he heard nonetheless.

"You asked for me, did you not?" He cocked his head in a form of confusion, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"Yes but- not like this. It was merely a spell…the little boy behind me has had struggles with night terrors." Gently she turned behind her and held the boys hand, pulling him towards her.

Gently Morpheus crouched down and held out his hands towards the boy but he looked Y/N in the eyes as he spoke, "It is not a Witch's place to mess with dreams." She bowed her head in acknowledgement to his words but gently pushed the boy towards him and watched as The King of Dreams placed his hands upon the boy's head and stared at him before finally speaking, "There will be no more night terrors...your sister and you will sleep well tonight." he reassured him, letting an amused smile slip through the cracks.

The moment Morpheus released him he rushed back into the arms of The Witch who gently patted the two on the back, told them that they were going to be okay, everything was fixed and resolved, this man could be trusted, before sending them home. This will be something to tell their parents…

"This is not the first time you have meddled with my realm, witch." The King of The Dreaming stood up from his crouched position, "I may advise you not to attempt it again."

Y/N wasn't sure how to react. Show him respect? Treat him like an equal? Get angry at him? She simply took a deep breath and started to tidy up placing jars and utensils back in their rightful places before addressing the Dream Lord's words, "What's wrong with what I'm doing? I am simply trying to help."

"Your helping is causing disruptions in my realm. A great feat, I will admit, but not one I look kindly upon." There was a feeling that he was impressed with her ability and power, but not happy with it.

"I'm not sure whether I should take that as a compliment." She sighed and turned to face him, "I enjoy what I do, helping these people. And as much as I would love to continue my dreamwork should you forbid and warn me from doing it then I shall cease." She nodded with a sense of finality.

"Take my warning as you wish, witch." He said, his words hanging in the air and then Morpheus, King of Dreams, was gone.

"Don't be a stranger…"

The next time Y/N had a customer, requesting something to do with sleep and dreams, she turned them down in a heartbeat, not quite willing to find out what the Dream Lord's warning meant. However, that evening, sitting in her cottage on her bed, fire burning away and studying her grimoire she felt a presence in her room, one that wasn't entirely unwelcome but still put her on edge and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She looked up from the book she was reading and copying out of and saw that same man who had visited her weeks ago, sitting at her table, hands neatly folded. His eyes pierced hers, the stars and the moons reflecting in them, "I saw you deny your customer."

"Is that not what you asked of me, not to mess with dreams and sleep?" The Witch gently shut her book and sat up properly to address the Endless.

"I have changed my mind." His lips pursed, "I wish to help you Witch."

She was slightly taken aback but accepted his change in attitude happily, "How? Why?"

"So many questions all at once." he stood, "I am going to teach you how to manipulate dreams and sleep, how to enter The Dreaming, how to simply flick a finger and have someone doze off, all because I have taken a liking to you and admire your dedication to your…craft. After much thought I have decided that if you are going to make a difference to people's dreams and nightmares then you might as well learn to do it properly, no?"

Gently he reached a hand out, "Come, I have much to teach you."

Morpheus stood outside his lover's house, hands in his pockets and Matthew on his shoulder, a thousand thoughts running through his head. "Who is this woman?" Matthew asked, ruffling his feathers.

"This woman, is the only person who I have ever taught the magick of dreams to. She was - is - my lover and I have been so stupid." The last part was a whisper, mostly to himself. Her cottage had changed since he had last seen it, more modernised. There were fields behind it now, and a garden at the front which grew a wide range of plants and flowers.

Morpheus swallowed his nerves and walked up the new path that ran through her garden to her front door. She had installed a knocker on her door, one that was shaped like a hand that he gently slipped his own hand into and lifted. Three knocks and he stepped back a bit, waiting for her to answer the door.

"Could you calm down? I can practically hear your heart." Matthew huffed, still shuffling about on Morpheus' shoulder. "Hush, Matthew." Dream murmured and he was about to say more when there was noise from behind the door and then it opened.

She looked exactly the same as he remembered her, that same hair and those bright eyes, slightly mismatched way of dressing and that smile, "How can I help-" her eyes widened as they landed on Morpheus and she stumbled back a bit, "Dream- Morpheus-"

"Y/N…" He was struggling to find words but he didn't have to say much before she had run into his arms, burying herself in his coat and holding him close. "Morpheus, oh goddess, oh my stars." She was weeping into his coat, before she pulled away to look at him, hands coming up to touch and hold his face, "Where were you? How long have you been back?"

The familiarity of her nature made him smile softly, "Always asked so many questions…I was captured by a magus and I've been back for a few weeks and I am so sorry I didn't come sooner, I just- The Corinthian and Desire and-"

"I think you said enough with Corinthian." She smiled lightly, "It's so good to see you - to have you back, Morpheus."

"I want you to come live in The Dreaming with me." The words came from nowhere, but she could feel the weight and meaning on them. He was taking a chance on her like he had taken a chance in the beginning.

"Okay…okay." she nodded, took a deep breath and then threw herself back into his arms, "I missed you so much."

"You're all I have thought about for two centuries. I can't tell you how sorry I am for being late." He pressed his forehead to hers and then he kissed her, almost like he hadn't felt human touch in just over two hundred years.

#yetta reads #morpheus X reader #morpheus x witch!reader #morpheus imagine #dream of the endless x witch!reader #dream x witch!reader #witch!reader

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dyns33 · 9 months ago

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A story of witch

Happy Valentine day !

As a gift, here a looooooooong Morpheus x female reader.

Careful, some spoilers here, from the comics and so maybe from season 2.

Time had a different hold on witches.

A certain influence, because contrary to common beliefs, nothing escaped time and nothing was perfectly eternal, but it slipped over them as long as they decided, and had enough magic to repel its effects.

Y/N had already been walking on Earth for several centuries when she met Morpheus.

She had heard many legends about the Endless. Rumors. Lots of warnings, especially regarding Dream, who was described as a changeable, dangerous, angry and resentful being.

Her many sisters whispered to each other that becoming his lover was as much a gift as a curse. He would offer you the whole world on a platter, he would do everything to please you, and then one day, without warning, you would no longer suit him, you would do something wrong according to him, the feelings would no longer be as strong, and then misfortune would strike you.

The king would always find a way to blame you for this new emotional failure. Then you risked Hell, endless nightmares, eternal sleep.

Too much hassle for little benefit.

Y/N didn’t think about any of that when she met Morpheus. Neither to the wonders he could offer her, nor to the torments he risked inflicting on her.

For a witch, some might have thought that she was young, still naive, far too in love with her books and grimoires, fascinated by stories, and therefore vulnerable to the charms of the dreams master.

She didn't think she would fall in love. Neither did he. The mourning of his marriage and his child were still recent, for a being such as him. Y/N had barely been born when this tragedy had happened.

The subject was not brought up, like none of his former lovers. Morpheus did not forget, he never forgot, but when a new relationship began, he did not look back to compare with the previous ones.

No doubt it was a mistake on his part, who then never learned from his mistakes.

Y/N hadn’t had as many relationships as him. Witches have the luxury of immortality, and they knew the consequences of it. Bonding with mortals wasn't a good idea, even less so with their peers. Too risky. Too dangerous.

Attempting to see the future in dreams could have been described with the same words. Y/N was taking the risk of being punished by two Endless, Destiny and Dream.

But Destiny never interfered in anything, and Dream was intrigued by the little witch, asking her not to repeat her experiments, but welcoming her into his domain.

As they walked in his garden, the inhabitants of the Dreaming knew before them what was going to happen.

"Your flowers are beautiful. Everything is beautiful here."

“Would you like to see my library ?”

"Oh, I'd love to ! But you must have a lot to do, I don't want to bother you more than necessary."

"You don't bother me, mikri magissa. You are welcome here."

It took a while for Y/N to realize that they were getting closer. The courting of the king of stories was subtle, ethereal like him, full of poems and tenderness while doing without many words far too heavy with meaning, and at the same time far too limited to convey all the ardor of their love.

Because they loved each other, there was no doubt about it. The end of their story came quickly, although to a mortal three centuries seemed like a lot. At the same time, those who knew Morpheus well could testify that this was quite a long time for a relationship with him. But as always with his relationships, there had to be an end.

“I’m just saying he’s not wrong.”

"You don't know what you're talking about, o mágos mou. This man is insane and I'm not lonely."

“However, I have felt you far from me for some time now. Perhaps forever.”

"Don't I love you more than anything ? Haven't I shown you my love on many occasions ?"

"I don't know. It's difficult for me to know with you, immutable and yet so variable. Sometimes you give so much, too much, and sometimes not enough, if it's not nothing. There is no middle ground with you. Probably not with me either. It's possible that I'll ask you impossible things."

“Nothing is impossible for me.”

“Yet you refuse to speak, to really speak. You flee this kind of discussion, as you fled the friendship of this man.”

“Don’t push me, Agápe μου.”

Y/N left the Dreaming that night knowing she wasn’t coming back. Morpheus' indifference to her departure could have been seen as fortunate, but it hurt her deeply. He didn't try to catch her, he didn't try to punish her either.

Even though it seemed obvious after several weeks that he would not pursue her, neither in her dreams nor in the Waking, Y/N took precautions to prevent their paths from crossing again. Using several spells, rituals, amulets and ancient seals, she ensured that her mind was cut off from the realm of her former lover.

This protection proved very useful when the sleeping sickness arrived.

Like the rest of the world, Y/N didn't immediately understand what was happening. She knew Dream enough to know that he would never neglect his work like that, that he would not abandon his position unless forced to do so, and that despite all the cruelty and resentment he was capable of, he would never do such a thing to the dreamers.

Something had happened, but she didn't know what.

Too afraid of what he could do to her if she went into the Dreaming, or what could happen to her sleep without the protections, Y/N didn't try to find out. It wasn't her business anyway, since they were no longer together and the fate of humanity wasn't part of her responsibilities.

Time continued to pass, and she still tried to help mortals when she could, with potions and incantations to help them sleep, or on the contrary wake up, ensuring that their nights were not entirely nightmares.

But this was difficult, because she was not the master of dreams. Without knowing it, she came very close to Morpheus the day her steps led her near a mansion with dark, gloomy energies, which she did not wish to approach too closely. However, there was something, abandoned under a tree near the property, which attracted her with strong force.

The body of a raven. A raven different from the others, a dream. Jessamy. Someone had shot her and she lay there, lifeless, far from her creator, far from her home.

Y/N took the poor thing with her. Necromancy being prohibited, it was not good to anger Death, and the existence of dreams being a complex thing, she did the only thing in her power, to offer a decent burial to the little emissary whom she had loved very much and who had often helped her control Morpheus' moods.

When collective sleep returned to normal, there were no signs. Nothing that made it possible to understand what had happened. Curious by nature, the witch repeated to herself that she should not try to understand. The rumors would spread quickly.

She heard about Burgess. Whispers recounted the long confinement of the maker of nightmares, who had taken revenge before setting off in search of his stolen instruments in order to rebuild his kingdom. Twice he went to the Underworld, he faced a Vortex, he fell in love. Nothing really new, just the same story over and over again.

Y/N didn’t want to know any of this, but the choice wasn’t hers. One of her sisters came to visit without being invited, and to ask her advice.

“I don’t see how I can help you, big sister.”

"You have experienced what I am experiencing. Tell me how to escape from Oneiros, because I no longer wish to see him and he does not seem ready to accept it."

The rumors had not mentioned the fact that Morpheus had fallen in love with a witch again. Older than Y/N, more powerful, crueler too, because Thessaly had little interest in things of the heart.

" … I repeat, I'm not sure I can help you. Make sure you don't inspire him with any more feelings and you'll be free."

"Sweet little sister, he still loves you and yet he left you alone. I'm asking for this."

"He doesn't love me. He didn't love me for a long time when I left."

"We argued often and each time my wing of the castle was razed and then rebuilt under his orders. There is no trace of his former companions left in all of the Dreaming. None, except you. He did not touch your room. He denied me access to it. He recreated it with everything else after his return. Can you tell me that doesn't mean anything ?"

Y/N didn’t respond. She didn't know what to answer, she didn't know about all this. Her eldest whispered that she was almost jealous. Many times she had wondered if she had gotten his attention because of their similarities, because she reminded him of his lost love.

It might be a good idea for her younger sister to discuss it with the Lord of Dreams.

"Or not. That would allow me to slip away without him probably noticing, but I can't wish harm on one of ours. I'll find a way."

This time, Y/N closed herself off to the whispers, not wanting to know if Thessaly had found this way.

Part of her wished the best for the lord of stories, who had suffered far too much in the last century despite all his wrongs, and who did not deserve to receive another injury. Another part didn't like knowing the older witch was with Dream.

She was afraid for her sister, and she was afraid for Morpheus, whose fickle heart was more fragile than he wanted to admit. The consequences were likely to be terrible for everyone.

Filled with memories, Y/N wanted to visit Jessamy’s grave. A powerful spell had hidden it from the eyes of the world, to prevent it from being desecrated, and she wondered if she had not made a mistake in doing so, for it was possible that Morpheus had never known where his faithful emissary rested.

But the magic of ravens was special, these beings knew things, and she shouldn't have been surprised to find one of them on the tree that protected the location.

"Good morning." she said politely, making new flowers appear near the grave.

"Hi. Do we know each other ? I feel like I know you."

"I don't think we've ever met. You're Dream's new raven."

"Yeah, Matthew. I don't know why I'm here. I'm sort of drawn to it, and Lucienne told me to follow my instincts for this sort of thing, but I don't understand. Are you the one calling me ?"

“I think it’s more your predecessor that you are feeling.”

"Jessamy ? Oh… The boss thought her body was destroyed or something. Were you the one who buried her ? That's nice of you. You don't look really surprised to see a talking raven. I feel like I'm supposed to know you. You seem important."

"Not really, no."

"The boss could tell me but he's busy at the moment. He's accompanying his sister on a quest. Good, it's keeping him busy. It's been raining too much since his break up, it's been days. Merv told me that it was almost always like that, frankly it's painful to watch. The time with this Nada, the time with his ex-wife, the time with another witch… I don't know what he has with witches. I didn't like her at all, she was mean."

“It rained in the Dreaming when I left ?” Y/N couldn’t help but ask, surprised by the news.

Before that day, she had always believed that her departure had had no impact. A total, cold indifference, showing that she no longer mattered. But Thessaly had talked about her room, and Matthew had talked about the rain, and Y/N didn't know what to think at all now.

She had left Morpheus because of his inability to communicate, the distance he put between himself and the whole world. His grand declarations of love always seemed hollow, lacking something.

Maybe he had changed. He would never have allowed his emissary to speak as Matthew did, who was moving around on his tree asking a thousand questions about the relationship between his boss and Y/N. He even allowed himself to order her to leave, because he really didn't need Dream falling into depression again by seeing her through his eyes.

"He's got enough problems, he… Oh. Oh, no. I feel it, he's there. Shit, shit, shit. I have to go !"

Years without any news and within moments Y/N hearing about her former lover almost every day. Until someone came to her door and she found herself face to face with Morpheus.

He seemed embarrassed. He had always been awkward in the waking world, out of place, because dreams hardly survived in reality. But there was something else. He would never have bothered to knock before. He would have come into her house to say what he had to say, demanding that she listen to him, and agree with him at the end.

Without saying anything, he observed her as if he were seeing her for the first time, turning his gaze towards her bedroom, the door of which was surrounded by several symbols used to repel dreams and nightmares. Y/N expected this to make him angry. He had already not liked her touching his domain when they first met.

"I thought you followed my sister into the sunless lands…" he whispered, looking down. "I no longer felt your presence in the Dreaming. I didn't think you were running away from me. It didn't seem to me that I gave you reasons to run away."

“I wasn’t sure you’d be happy to see me again.”

"I have waited a long time for the day when I would have the joy of seeing your sweet face again. It never came, but I am the one responsible for it. You were right about Hob Gadling, You were right about many things but I didn't listen, and I lost you. It was one of my greatest regrets."

“Why are you talking like that ?” Y/N asked as she approached, their hands almost touching.

"Mikri magissa, so much has happened. I am at a crossroads, with a big decision to make. I admit to being afraid, and you give me courage."

“Maybe I can help you ?”

"Even if you could, I wouldn't ask you. The search for my little sister is dangerous, a lot of blood has been shed since we left in search of our brother and I couldn't bear to see it happen to you. I had agreed to help her to see someone again, without understanding that it was you I secretly wanted to see, and now I must find a way to console my sister, disappointed by my lack of investment. But the only way we have left is one that I dare not name."

Y/N had briefly met Morpheus' family, including Destruction and Delirium.

The prodigal had spoken to her little before his retirement, but he had seemed tired, reaching the limits of his functions and no longer seeing the point of remaining with all the inventions of mortals and immortals which fulfilled his role perfectly without he needs to intervene. His siblings did not understand his decision.

One of the most affected by his departure had been Delirum, very close to his brother, who would have given anything for a family reunion.

"If this means your downfall, I can't believe Delirium would ask such a thing of you." Y/N said indignantly, not daring to come any closer. “There must be something else.”

"I don't think my younger sister is aware of what she's asking of me, nor do I think it's possible for me to go any other way without putting someone else in danger. I just came to see you, and thank you for what you did for Jessamy, and for the dreamers during my absence. I hadn't seen all these acts of kindness. But maybe it's you who didn't want to see me again. Not with my behavior. Oh, mágos mou… I so wanted to be better for you, but I could only change by going through all these trials, and for that I had to lose you."

It felt like goodbye, and Y/N didn’t like it. By definition, the Endless had no end, at least not while there was life in the universe. Without thinking, she placed her hand on Dream's cheek. He usually hated it, being touched, especially without permission, but he closed his eyes with a happy sigh, pressing his skin against hers.

Asking him if he was okay seemed stupid, but the question left her lips, and when his eyes opened again, they had a strange glow. He muttered that no one had asked him that question since his release. It was almost years ago. In truth, no one had asked him that question, even before he was captured.

Like he said, it could be because he had changed, and he didn't really deserve to be asked if he was okay before. And now that he was making an effort, that he was understanding, that he was improving, it was too late.

"I'll find a way. I'll talk to your sister."

“Delirium has always loved you.” he sighed. "My whole family, I think. I never noticed that our relationship is the only one that Desire hasn't tried to sabotage. But maybe they knew that I would sabotage it on my own."

“Let me talk to her.”

Much to Morpheus' surprise, his younger sister listened to Y/N. She even seemed to become Delight again for a moment, as the witch promised to find Destruction, even if it would take time. She just had to be patient, but also accept that it was possible that their brother didn't want to be found.

It was his decision to leave, as it was her decision to change, and Dream's decision to stay the same. But if she asked him to continue their quest, horrible things could happen, and she might lose another member of her family.

"… Okay. But you promise to look ?"

“I swear on our mother’s first ledger.”

"Several people have died trying to help us, Delirium… It's not safe to…"

"Oh, shut up. You'll be with her to protect her, you didn't care about the others. You're probably happy that Y/N came back. I'm happy too, she's nice, you two were good together. If you find our brother, then everything will be perfect."

Several spells, formulas and sacrifices were necessary to find the trail of the Prodigal, or Destruction took pity on them by inviting them to join him, but they talked, and as Y/N had predicted, he did not wish to return, but he entrusted them with a dog to give to his little sister.

Before disappearing between the stars, he took his big brother by the hand, walking together near the cliff, and whispering something to him.

"What did he say ?" Y/N couldn’t help but ask.

"He told me not to make the same mistakes and to think about myself for once. Not about my position, not about my kingdom, about nothing but me, and about you. O mágos mou, it's been a long time, but if you…"

The kiss cut him off in the middle of his question, time seemed to stop, and it was as if they had never left each other.

#sandman #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless fanfiction #morpheus x reader

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thoughtsfromlayla · 2 months ago

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☾ The Prince of Stories and his unbridled ability to avoid all possible clichés.

Summary: After an unsuccessful hunt of a rouge nightmare with your new teammate Dream of the Endless, the two of your find solace in a inn. It doesn't go to plan, nothing ever goes to plan.

Notes: ~1.5k words, we love you Meowpheus we all say in unison

Warnings/Tags: Dream x MonsterHunter!Reader, mentions the Blair witch, Morpheus is one dense motherfucker

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You’re wet. And not in a fun way if you’re allowed to complain about it. You’re drenched, head to toe in late-night London rain, your hair stuck to your scalp. Your clothes are starting to turn itchy against your skin as you bring your hands to wipe away the accumulation of rainwater that clung to your face. A horse-drawn carriage runs past the two of you and drenches you further in mud and water. Great.

You risk a peak at Morpheus, who does not seem at all bothered by the rain. If you squint your eyes, you can see that the rain doesn’t even touch him, rather the water droplets simply pass through him.

The inn you walked in was warm and dry, perfect for your tired and aching bones. It takes you no time to spot the innkeeper and you drag your soggy shoes over to him, placing your hands on the table with rushed desperation.

“Room and board, please,” you ask.

The innkeeper looks between you and Morpheus, noting the disheveled state, and nods. “One room left, but… single bed, not suited for non-marital couples.”

“Yeah, whatever, give me the key,” you don’t even bother to think on it, you are not going back out there. You slam down a silver coin and snatch the metal key from the innkeeper.

Your footsteps are heavy on the stairs and everyone else will think you are the most undesirable young lady of the ton, but do you care? No! This dress is damn heavy when it’s full of rainwater and your boots are soggy and muddy and your corset is digging into your ribs and this cloak was starting to overstimulate you like no other.

After arriving in the room and tossing the key onto some old dresser, you head straight for the bathroom, ridding your clothes with desperate haste. The clothes stick to your skin and it’s like trying to separate the fruit from its syrup in the jar. Slow, antagonising slow as fitful and you’re on the brink of tears. From under your dress, you pull out the small crossbow, and whip, and silver bolts, and—huh, when did you snatch this stake? Your monster hunting equipment is the only thing you take care of as you gently place them on the bathroom counter.

Dream, meanwhile, stands in the middle of the room like a shadow that came from no light. He is perfectly dry and warm, not that something as trivial as weather could affect him. Your footsteps had left wet footprints all over the floor and he simply watches them dry while you finish your bath.

“I needed that,” you sigh as you come out. “You can bathe now, if you need it.”

“I do not need to bathe,” Morpheus says slowly.

“Okay, gross, but that’s your decision, I suppose,” you grumble. It’s now that your attention draws to the bed. The singular bed in the room. It was large enough for two, if two people were pressed up against each other chest to back. “One bed…” you observe out loud.

“As the innkeeper mentioned.” Morpheus’ voice comes out like a mocking reminder. You weren’t really paying attention to what the innkeeper was saying.

“It’s…” you sigh deep, your bones are tired and you just want to sleep. “It’s fine, I’ll sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t want your royal highness to sleep on something that hard.” You continue to mutter to yourself as you grab one of the pillows and setting it in front of the fireplace.

“No need,” Morpheus says slowly, stopping your actions. “I do not sleep.”

A beat of silence passes between you, the goose feather pillow still in your hand as you give a confused look to Morpheus. “You’re Dream of the Endless. You personify the sleeping mind, the unconscious, the dreams of humankind.”

Dream nods once.

“And you don’t sleep?” You probe further, the very notion baffling to yourself.

Dream nods again.

“Okay, whatever, good night,” you mutter to yourself. Maybe if you were more awake and less beaten down by the weather you would ask more. But, for lack of a better term, you don’t give a fuck right now.

Your tired body slips easily into the bed, the sound of the fireplace cracking and the water slamming into the window with distant thunder easily lulling you to sleep. Except for the towering figure standing in the middle of the inn room.

You sit up, gripping the wool blanket in your hands. “Can you… I don’t know, not do that?”

“What?”

“Stand in the middle of the room when I’m trying to sleep. Act more human, you’re in the human world now.” You look at him, tired eyes raking his figure up and down.

“What would a human do?”

“Sleep, but you don’t so go downstairs and drink or—”

“I do not partake in alcohol,” Morpheus interrupts.

“Go shopping then,” you offer instead.

“I hold no monetary properties, they are useless to me.”

“Oh, my God.” You want to scream into your pillow but instead, you take a deep breath. “Go stand in the corner or something, shit!” You sneer, feeling impatient, and fall back onto the bed, turning away from him.

You take another deep breath, trying to ease the frown that’s etched onto your forehead. You’re going to get wrinkles before you’re 50 at this point. The floorboard creaks slightly under Morpheus’ footsteps as he does as he’s instructed, standing in the corner of the room. Still, he watches over you as you drift off into his realm.

He doesn’t probe, despite his growing desire to do so, knowing that the day you’ve experienced was hard and demanding indeed. He gives you no dreams, letting you simply sleep and rest. Hours pass and he remains in the corner, vigilant as ever.

A particularly harsh and loud boom of thunder wakes you up, the sound close enough to rattle the window panes. You wake with a start, your heart racing in your chest and your fingers wrap around the dagger you kept under the pillow. You swallow as you realize there was no immediate danger, that it was merely the storm.

Morpheus was no longer standing in the center of the room, much to your surprise. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn’t listen to you at all. What you find isn’t any better and a scream that you let out is covered by another boom of thunder.

His figure, black and nightmarish extends like tendrils that crawl along the brick walls of the tavern. His eyes are set on you, not even reacting to the way you screamed at him and when you look back on this moment, you’ll remember that he even rolls his eyes, but in the presence you’re adrenaline is only telling you to get out.

“It is Morpheus, simply,” his voice is quiet and calming against the storm.

At his announcement you stopped your scream, dropping your head into your hands at the realization. His actions remind you of another supernatural creature you hunted a month ago. The Blair Witch was one of your most terrifying adventures and you weren’t even successful in eradicating her. To this day, she still hunts the forest of Blair, her silhouette follows you everywhere you go.

“You scared me,” you swallow your beating heart.

“You instructed to stand in the corner,” Morpheus reminds you, his voice rumbles just like the now distant thunder. After seeing the sweat coating your hairline, he lets out a small huff. “It was not my intention.”

“Can you… turn around or something? Staring at me is weird and… creepy,” you grimace.

After a few moments, Morpheus turns, his shoulder sagging as he turns his back to you. After another few silent seconds, you click your tongue. “Never mind, that just makes it worse. Somehow.”

You lay back down on the bed, a grunt leaving you at the force. You stare the the rotting wood of the support beams of the roof above you. Tracing your eyes over the natural swirls and rings in the logs but that doesn’t bring you sleep. You’re acutely aware of Morpheus’ presence in the corner and your mind recalls to the Blair Witch. You got a few hours of sleep, it’s fine, you’ll live.

“Mrrrp?” A trill interrupts your dooming thoughts and a fluffy black cat eclipses your vision of the roof.

“Morpheus?” You ask quietly, his paws pushing down on your arm and it felt like the weight of the world on both of those legs.

Morpheus bunts his head against your cheek in confirmation before making himself a spot between your side and your arm, curling in on himself.

“I can work with this,” you sigh, feeling your muscles relax. Your hand rests on his side, feeling the silky long fur and the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Morpheus purrs, the sound cradling you back into sleep.

As always, thanks for reading :)

♡ Yours, Layla

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#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #dream the endless #dream the endless x reader #dream imagine #the sandman dream #lord morpheus #the sandman netflix #expectation subversion

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year ago

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🎃 A Truth Universally Acknowledged: Chapter One

A Truth Universally Acknowledged: It has long been established that you don’t like Dream of the Endless, and he doesn’t like you. Unfortunately, fate has decided to stick you both in a glass cage for a century. Who's throat will be torn out first? Yours? Or Dreams.

Warnings: Reader and Morpheus do not get along, Maga is latin for witch.

To Note: Morpheus x WitchFem!Reader.

Prompt: Role Reversal

Word Count: ~7.7k

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Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

It was a truth universally acknowledge that should one mortify a pride, forgiveness would not so easily be obtained. So how were you ever expected to truthfully forgive someone who had not just mortified your pride, but trampled on it until there were permanent stains and tears in it. Nothing would sew your pride back together, and nothing would remove the stain of insult rendered upon your being. The season of 1815 had not just rendered you mortified, it had shattered your pride. It had started out as an average season, as an immortal witch you’d decided to spend that year in London to enjoy the frivolity of the marriage mart.

Now, on all accounts by no means were you looking to be married… what sane mortal would willingly wed a witch? But you did enjoy the social aspects of the English balls and liked to dress up in fancy clothing. You certainly had the fortune to do so after living for so many centuries. So you had gone to the modiste and ordered several dresses for the season, and had even splurged on a few new jewelry pieces for your collection to have as a memoire of this time. You’d lingered at the fringes of the first couple of balls, but were slowly mingling further and further into the ton.

At some point you had made a friend out of one of the bachelors searching for a wife. It had been clear that neither of your were particularly romantically interested (which was better for you int he long term) and had taken to meeting up every ball to gossip and preen over outfit choices and who had committed a faux pax over luncheon. It was pure fun for you and Henry was certainly getting your experience in searching for a new wife. You had pointed out a potential match you thought would suit the young man quite nicely when you caught sight of an omen. Well it was less of an omen and more of an irritant.

The Dream Lord had no reason to be in the Waking Realm, it was your turf, and just like you respected his realm, it was only right the he respected yours. For what reason had he come to London when you were there? Nothing good, that you were sure of. So you headed for the parchment table full of lemonade for surely it wouldn’t be nearly as sour as the conversation you were sure to have with him should your paths cross.

Grasping the skirt of your dress to keep it out of your way, you glided across the room with clear intentions to parch your throat. The train of your silk dress trailed behind you in a soft bed of blue flowers carefully stitched into the tulle overlay. Carefully grabbing a glass of lemonade you took a sip as Lady Camden joined your side.

“Lady Bell,” She greeted you, using your alias. You nodded to her with a dip of your chin in greeting.

“Lady Camden, a pleasure to see you tonight, I noticed the Lord Richards was quite taken with you while you were on the floor. Do I suspect a match in your near future?” You replied with a tease in your voice. Her eyes sparkled and she fanned herself with her gossamer and feather fan.

“I surely hope so,” She softly giggled, her doe-like eyes flittering over to where Lord Richards was speaking with a few other eligible men. Ah to be mortal and in love… what you would give to feel that fleeting emotion once more.

“I am confident he shall do so, for he would be a fool to do otherwise.” You stated, taking another sip of your lemonade. You and Lady Camden made more merry conversation while you blatantly ignored the dark and brooding menace lingering in the fringes of the ballroom. It was only when the band started up music once more that you placed your glass down and looked to the dance floor. The next set of dancers were due and perhaps someone would invite you. Your hand was indeed asked for a dance and you happily accepted.

You danced line with the other woman, exchanging partners a few times and all around enjoyed yourself immensely… but on the next partner change you found yourself spun into his arms. You nearly smacked his hands away from your body when he caught you but managed to safe face purely because you had a good reputation among the ton and planned remaining in England for the next several years. They wouldn’t take well to you smacking the Dream Lord senseless on the dance floor. So you grit your teeth and forced yourself to remain calm.

“My lord,” You greeted, barely covering the tinge of hostility within your voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure of your visit?”

Lightning crackled within his stardust gaze.

“Presumptuous of you to assume that I am in attendance purely for your leisure,” His lip curled just the slightest and your eye twitched in return.

“Then what, pray tell, brings you to such an event as this? I am sure you are far too busy with your duties to indulge in the leisures of man.”

“One could ask you the same, Lady Bell,” Dream rebutted. “Surely such whimsical mortal activities are below the standings of a prominent witch such as yourself.” Oh that was an insult if you ever heard one. You didn’t bother maintaining pleasantries with the Dream Lord any further and cut to the point.

“Why are you here?” You boldly questioned. Suffice to say you didn’t directly ask why he was there being a nuisance to your festivities. You did hold some self-preservation in regards to pushing his temperament. Annoyance flashed through his blue eyes.

“A wayward nightmare, presumptuous of you to assume that I am here for you.” Oh the complete audacity of him to assume that you wished for his presence! You could count on one hand the number of times you willingly sought his presence let alone wanted it. None of those times had been your own desire, but out of necessity.

“The audacity of you to insinuate that I would ever desire your despicable and repugnant presence! I would rather lose my magic than willingly spend time with you, you loathsome cad.” You hissed at him, your eyes flashing with the color of your magic. Morpheus’ hackles rose at your audacity to speak to him as such and immediately fired back at you.

“You dare to speak to me in such tone and disrespect Maga!?” Dream growled at you. The floor beneath your slippers shivered and groaned as the music was interrupted by the argument between you and the Dream Lord. You and he were causing a scene. Jerking back from the menace of the Endless, you glared heavily at him.

“I simply dare to speak my thoughts when you have called for such words as clearly you have infringed upon my life in a way that I do not care for!” A lady should never raise her voice, but your mind was so wrapped up in anger and despite that all call for decorum and manners went out the window. “I have been nothing but respectful towards you, my lord, yet you cannot afford to do the same in return?”

“My respect is offered to those who have earned it and you and your promiscuous ways have far exceeded my limit.” You blanched at his words as gasped echoed within the ballroom. “You are a harlot pretending to be a hare. Sharp tongued and wicked.” Just like a snap of a fan, Dream had just reduced your hard earned reputation to ashes and all for what? Your words of truth?

“You are the most deplorable and depraved being I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, my lord,” You spoke with an even voice despite the trembles that now wracked through your body. “I hope you rot in hell,” Further dramatic gasps went around the room at your harsh words. But at this point you had no care because he had just ruined everything. Grabbing at the skirts of your dress, you gave Dream one last murderous glare and fled the ballroom before the talk could start.

Why did he always have to ruin everything.

Your pride was still very much ruined even after a century had gone by. Oh yes, your pride was ruined and your hatred for the Dream Lord still burned like the great Sirius. You hadn’t crossed paths with the Endless’ since that fateful night in 1815, and you were glad so. You probably would hurl a flaming ball of plasma at his stupid pretty face the moment you caught sight of him. Not even his one act of kindness during the witch trials could stop the burning hatred you felt within your heart. He might have saved you from burning at the stake, but now you held nothing but contempt for him.

You huffed to yourself and shifted where you sat, chains ratting as your arms moved. It was by sheer luck that Roderick Burgess had managed to get his hands on the grimoire that held the spell to bind you. A downright miracle that he had performed the ritual correctly to actually keep you in place. So stuck down in the bowels of Fawny Rig and sapped of your power due to his siphoning, you had plenty of time to contemplate past memories. You had no idea why that particular one of Dream humiliating you and mortifying your pride stuck out.

You hadn’t come face to face with him since that day, and while you did occasionally like to cause disturbances for him (because you were vindictive at times), you hadn’t really thought about in since the turn of the new century. You’d been too busy with new witch magic and the search for ancient grimoires. Now you were locked up in a basement with plenty of time to think about your past.

Roderick Burgess was a greedy man.

It wasn’t enough that he repeatedly stole your magic from you, no, he was taking it all every time you recharged in hopes that he could resurrect his son Randall. Resurrection was not possible. You had told him that straight to his face and earned a backhanded slap from the elder mortal. That had been the last time you reminded him of the truth. It was easier to just repeat the rules of magic and avoid mentioning resurrection all together. Tugging on the shackle around your left wrist, you chewed on your lip as your raw skin ached and burned.

The old metal had cut your skin and then dug in to your broken flesh, leaving behind half broken scabs and trails of dried blood. You had suffered worse during the witch trials, but you disliked the discomfort of your current ailments. You were immortal, not invincible or impervious to death. Speaking of Death she was actually quite a nice friend to have, unlike her brother. Your face soured at the thought of him once more and you crossed your arms over your gathered knees to rest your chin on them.

Repugnant man. His face was cloudy in your mind, hatred had blinded you to him so much you couldn’t exactly remember what it was like to glare into the face of that Endless. Heartless cretian. The iron gates creaked as your captor strode into your confined solitude… but he wasn’t alone this time. No, he was followed by his acolyte all robed and covered. While the acolytes began drawing in the sandy dirt floor with red chalk and light candles, you eyed Burgess.

“What more power do you wish for? Is it not enough that you drain my magic? Are you that desperate for your son?” You questioned the man with a sneer on your lip. “You are grasping at the straws of an empty barrel.”

Rather than take the biting words spilling from your mouth, Burgess lashed out. The back of his hand cracked across your cheek. Pain blinded you for a brief moment as you tumbled to the side, your unwashed and messy hair falling into your face. You spit out a mouthful of blood and touched your throbbing lip. Split. A chuckle passed through your lips.

“Testy today, are we?” You giggled darkly, eyeing the mortal through your curtain of hair. He gave you a look in warning. The next hit would knock you out. So you kept you mouth shut as you maneuvered your body back into a sitting position. Content to see Burgess fail for what seemed to be the thousandth time, you leaned back against the steel column you were chained to. They were still getting ready so you took to nudging the dirt beneath your feet around with your big toe.

It wasn’t particular interesting to watch them until they began drawing sigils you recognized. Straightening up in your seat, you stared at the crimson markings in puzzlement because how could Burgess know of these markings? Your eyes flickered back to him and you saw an old book within his hands. Grimoire. How had he gotten his hands on such a book!? Grimoires were sacred tomes that a witch would die before allowing into the hands of a mere mortal! You wanted to demand him where he had gotten such a book, but knew that you would get no answer from him. You’d get smacks though.

Licking the blood that bloomed from where your lip had split, your eyes turned scrutinous. Just because he was drawing correct sigils, did not necessarily mean he knew what he was doing or was doing it correctly. But the longer you watched, the more concerned you grew, while you didn’t recognize this particular combination of sigils, everything else was frighteningly correct. You could make out a few binding sigils, so he planned on binding something other than yourself (you pitied the being caught by the amateur). But there were also summoning markings.

“Summoning,” You murmured to yourself, brow furrowing as you struggle to figure out who Burgess could possibly want to summon after getting nowhere with you. The mortal didn’t spare you a glance, but he had heard your murmur. Of course you’d recognize what he was doing.

“Yes, since you are so resistant to aiding me in my wants—”

“Which are entirely impossible,” You interjected before earning a glare from him. You raised your eyebrows as if to say ’continue?’.

“—I shall summon and bind another being that will help.” You snorted and rolled your eyes because what creature would ever help such a greedy mortal like him? Desire perhaps? No. You might not have met them, but even they had standards. Roderick Burgess fell far below that line. Far, far, below. So you slumped back and closed your eyes, they were going to have to wait for nightfall for whatever summoning they were going to two as the moon boosted summoning magic. You wanted to be ready for whatever hell Burgess unleashed upon himself.

The gods were punishing you. That was the only explanation. Why else would Burgess’ botched summoning circle summing the one being in all of creation that you despised the most? Punishing or laughing, you were unceremoniously dragged from your seat to be locked up in some fancy globe that was currently being welded shut with you and Dream in it. It was downright laughable! Burger seemed smug enough about it though, he was confident that Dream would give him what he wanted.

He wouldn’t, and the mortal would soon find out. If the stupid, deplorable, loathsome, Endless would just wake up already!!

You didn’t know exactly what kind of magic it took to summon an Endless, but it sure did take a lot out of Dream. He’d been out since arriving and had yet to wake. You also didn’t know how powerful he’d be without his tools. A faux pas on his part you took great glee in knowing. And yet, if he was out of power just like you… how were you going to get out? You’d consider that later, right now you were just concentrated on glaring at the lingering man responsible for your situation.

He had regretted binding you upon learning of your unwillingness to cooperate. He was going to be in for a rude awakening when Dream woke up and gave him his ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude. Leaning back against the thick cold glass, your eyes trailed along the freshly welded seams of the cage. How want Burgess going to siphon your magic with you locked up like this? The mortal in question, almost as if hearing your thoughts, strode up to the hanging cage and stared at you with a glare. Your eyebrow twitched in challenge.

“No need to worry about our little sessions, witch,” He told you, his blue eyed tight and heavy. “I can still take your magic with you in that cage.” You were tempted to mouth off on him since he could smack you around anymore, but between your split lip and mood sullied at your future trapped with him, you chose to remain silent. Crossing your arms against your chest, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes. If there was anything you learned about Burgess, it was that he hated being ignored.

He eventually left when the glass cage was completed and the workers all trickled out, only two guards remaining behind. To watch you and Dream you suppose… but exactly where were you going to go? Your stomach rumbled and a new worry emerged. Being immortal didn’t mean that you didn’t need to eat. It wouldn’t kill you to starve but you weren’t exactly excited about the idea. The 1500s had been hard enough, you didn’t ever want to get that thin again. You sighed and reminded yourself that you had gotten through tougher times once more.

“Think of all the spells you can curse him with when you get out,” You whispered to yourself, trying to distract yourself from reality. While you were mindlessly flickering through memories of your travels over the centuries, the Endless you were crammed in the cage with began to regain consciousness. He didn’t move, not even a muscle but the minuscule amount of magic you had recharged since your last draining altered you to his alertness.

Narrowing your gaze, you glared at the naked Endless (you were guilty of appreciating his beautiful body for about five seconds before you remembered that you hated him) and waited for his eyes to open. When they did, you cursed him for having such beautiful eyelashes. You, of course, were he first thing he saw and the Endless could have sworn he was hallucinating you after such a long period of not having to deal with you and your annoyances. But then you blinked, scowled deeper at him, and curled your lip.

“Welcome to Fawny Rig.”

Dream hadn’t uttered a single word or sound since waking up in the glass cage with you. Hadn’t answered to Burgess’ demands when the mortal had come to make them. Hadn’t commented when Burgess turned to you and taunted you with freedom, you had just rolled your eyes and looked the other way. Now you were nodding off, so he followed you. You had been on his mind on and off over the last century, the incident in 1815 notwithstanding. Your anger and rage at the Endless was still palpable ever after all these years.

He suppose he deserved your anger, but he believed that nothing he had said that night was wrong. He did see you as promiscuous as you were close with many and at times flirty, and your tongue was sharp and wicked. No one else in all of creation clashed with him like you did, not even his sibling Desire. It was infuriating. Materializing in your dream, Dream was surprised to find himself in a familiar place. The same estate in which you and he had your explosive encounter in 1815. What had caused your consciousness to think of this?

Him, most likely, but the Endless wasn’t smart enough to think of that.

It wasn’t hard for Morpheus to track you down, you were the only one existing other than he within your dreams. So walking the corridors, he happened upon a back balcony where you were standing. Your back was to him and face turned upward, gazing at the luminous full moon overhead.

“Is it not enough that now I must see your face every day?” You grumpily complained, not bothering to look at him. Dream’s eye twitched at your words because was he not Dream of the Endless. It was by his powerthat you had the ability to dream in the first place!

“I see that your tongue is still just as wild as the last night I reluctantly spent in your presence, Maga.” You shot a glare over your shoulder, eyes connecting with thunderous blue.

“And I see that you are still a loathsome creature without an ounce of compassion or dignity!” You hissed at him, eyes flashing. “Or do you take pleasure in ruining a woman’s hard earned reputation in front of an audience?”

“I spoke nothing but the truth,” Dream spoke to you, his chin lifting while his eyes glittered with anger. Insolence and insult from you yet again.

“Yes, the truth of how you see me!” You snapped at him. “But have you considered how your insidious words might affect me in the long term? I had a life in England until you ruined it! You are nothing but a big bully who throws words around when you don’t get your way!”

Now that really made Dream angry, but you didn’t remain in place to experience his blow up. It had been far too long since you had been able to dream like this and you just wanted to rest. He called your name but you just ignored him. Surely he would understand that you just wanted to be left alone. At the very least the irate Endless could indeed feel that you wanted to be left alone… but his curiosity of how you ended up in that decrepit basement. So he followed silently behind you as you made your way to a bedroom in the large estate. Lingering in the doorway, Dream stared at your back in distaste, trying to remember why he disliked you in the first place. He couldn’t remember.

He walked over to the foot of the bed and glared at you further, thinking back to the first time he had met you. Surely something within his memories would trigger the reason for his great dislike for you. He found no immediate memory, just those of your torture at the hands of the witch trials and saving you, the brief visits you had within his realm, and— Dream was distracted by wounds dotting your wrists. Eyes sharpening on the wounds, Dream’s eyes followed the signs of restraint. They were far from new and were in varying stages of healing. Then his eyes found the lingering blood on your chin and lip. Someone had struck you. Who would dare to strike a witch of your caliber and standing? Roderick Burgess no doubt, he had no shortage of gall and greed.

Your guards figured out early on that you and Dream did not like each other. You two squabbled with your eyes and facial expressions, well you mouthed off to him in a one sided conversation for Dream never said a word… but you appeared to understand each and every twitch of facial muscle the Endless made. It was rather impressive and yet, Burgess got nothing he demanded from Dream. He still got his power from you, yes, he never failed to siphon that… but get Dream to obey his demands? Absolutely not.

After your last shouting match you had purposefully squirmed yourself around so you were cramped against the glass with your back to the Endless. You were refusing to look at him and the Endless refused to acknowledge your presence. Gods the Endless annoyed you to the core! Why did you have to be trapped in this stupid cage with him, it was driving you insane!! You growled under your breath and slumped further against Dream’s hard shoulder. Superficial arsehole.

The years had come and go, and after nearly a decade of being trapped with him, your digs at each other had slowly ebbed. Boredom, of course, was on the forefront. But you spent a lot of time with what little magic Burgess left you with maintaining your body so you didn’t waste away to a skeleton. You had already lost a decent amount of weight, your hipbones were pronounced and the vertebrae of your spine were all very prominent. Even Dream found your state uncomfortable to look at, but with you constantly presenting your back in refusal to look at him he had nothing else to look at. You were counting the number of times the guard threw a ball against the side of the stone wall when Roderick came down for his monthly siphoning.

The elderly man, not having aged a day since summoning Dream, strode into the room and settled his eyes on you. You were back to being a sullen and pouting wench, subdued by your current predicament. But he knew that at the drop of a hat you’d turn into a fiery hellcat and spit crude insults at any who dared to gaze upon you. Your wicked side was merely laying in wait, slumbering. Burgess prepared himself for siphoning your magic, muttering the incantation beneath his breath for he had memorized it by now. With the spell activated, he walked to the edge of the summoning circle and stared at you.

Your shoulder jerked a little as the meager amount of magic you had regained flowed out of your body and to the mock wizard. Grunting as the strain of over siphoning made your limbs twitch you hunched in place and struggled to grasp at what magic you could keep for yourself. Not much, regretfully. Your fingers clenched against the skin of your chest, for the pain you felt there was not new to you but still just as uncomfortable as it was the first time he’d stolen your magic.When the last few embers of your magic floated free from your soul and traveled into Burgess’ chest, you let out a strained wheeze and slumped in a weak ball against the glass. How did you have any magic left to give now? Your weakness was making it hard for your body to recuperate the magic lost.

As you lay limp as a rag doll with labored breaths, trembling ever so slightly, Burgess turned his gaze to Dream. He had a deal for the Endless, surely Dream would be happier without you there to snarl and argue with him.

“I have a deal for you, Dream,” He spoke, cold eyes observing the Endless. He was sitting with his ankles crossed and arms hanging over his knees. He hadn’t moved from that spot in decades despite you squirming around next to him. Dream couldn’t help but raise his eyes to the mortal. What would he try to bargain with this time? “I will let the witch go, if you bring back my son.” Dream almost laughed at Burgess’ words. He’d release you if he brought his son back? That wasn’t happening, it would never happen. Even if Dream could bring his son back. A brief look of disgust flickered across Dream’s face and that was all the answer the mortal needed.

The Endless would let you rot next to him rather than do anything to help Burgess.

“You are positively the worst,” Your voice croaked from where you had your forehead pressed against cool glass. “I hope you know that Dream. The. Worst.” He’d take that over you getting a win in any day.

Something in the air had changed. It was a palpable feeling you’d woken up to this morning and it had kept you on edge since. Your boney back had leaned heavily into Dream’s shoulder as you looked upwards at the eaves overhead. Something was off. Something didn’t belong. You just didn’t know what. The dust that floated in the air vibrated with a different frequency, one that wasn’t of this world. If only you weren’t so weak you could have pinpointed out what it was! Despite your uncertainty of what was going on, you decided to voice your thoughts since the guards post was empty.

“Something has changed.” Your words brought Dream out of his internal thoughts. His eyes opened and he stared ahead at the empty guards table. Nothing appeared to be different, but your senses had always been exceptional. Even with you in a weakened state. He said nothing, of course, but silently acknowledged your words. Now on alert, Dream scanned the empty basement slowly. Nothing was out of place. The something fluttering at the gate to the room caught his attention.

Like a beacon of light, Jessamy wormed her way through an opening in the wrought iron and perched on it, heading cocking side to side as she examined her Lord and Master in his glass cage. Of course she also noticed you laying limp next to him, but her concentration was on her master. The raven fluttered into the room and swooped up to the cage, banging herself and beak against thick glass to break it. Hope combined with happiness filled Dream’s face as he rose to his feet. You simply rolled your head to look up at Jessamy, glad that someone knew you were down in this decrepit basement.

Hope was beginning to bloom in your chest, for you hadn’t been this close to freedom since capture. But just as soon as that swelling feeling grew within your bosom it came crashing down. There was a loud crack that shattered Jessamy’s attempts to break the glass and before you knew it black and red was splattered against the cage. You gasped with a stricken sound catching in your throat. Oh gods, Jessamy… Alex Burgess was standing several paces behind with a gun raised. Your eyes burned because while you might have a particular distaste for her master, she was a good acquaintance. Now she was gone.

You watched as Dream slowly lowered himself back to the floor of the cage, unaltered shock plastered on his features. It was like he was still trying to process what had just happened. But his eyes… Oh you could see the tears quickly gathering and something within you cracked. Burgess came bursting into the room in a fit of rage, shouting at his son for potentially breaking the glass that kept you and Dream trapped. But you were entirely focused on Dream. You’d never seen him cry, you didn’t even think it was possible for an Endless to cry. But the devastation on his face wasn’t a fluke or a trick of the light, tears were flooding his lashes and his nose was beginning to run.

Even the great Dream of the Endless was capable of ugly crying? You were moving before you even realized what you were doing.

Boney arms reaching for the Endless, you pulled him to you and tucked his face away from prying eyes. Your fingers absentmindedly found themselves stroking his midnight hair while you began murmuring several death rites for Jessamy. She had been an exceptional companion to Dream and clearly the Endless had cared for her. She hadn’t deserved to be killed in such a way. Mid rites, you felt Dream shift within your arms and thought that he might lash out at you for daring to touch him so intimately… but rather than do as expected he leaned into your embrace in a slump.

You nearly started crying yourself the moment you felt his tears drip onto your skin. He’d never been this vulnerable in front of you before. No, you were sure that he’d never been this vulnerable ever. You ought to be happy to be experiencing something so rare, or even happy that he was hurting after all the social destruction he’d caused you… but all you could feel was pain in your heart because it had only come because of a death. The basement which had always been cold, damp, and dark, was now a tomb marred with blood and death. You found that you hated the way Dream trembled within your arms, and for each tear he shed, your hatred for the Burgess’ grew.

Burgess’ death had ben anticlimactic and incredibly disappointing. You had wanted him to burn for thousands of years for the pain and anguish he had caused Dream, and for his imprisonment of you. He’d gotten off far too easily dying from just a head injury. He deserved so much worse. So much worse. It was your only hope that he had ended up in hell where he belonged. You would have looked on the bright side if Alex hadn’t decided on taking over his fathers job siphoning your magic.

He feared that you’d grow to powerful if left unchecked.

Your lack of magic was beginning to seriously take a toll on your body. Without a steady source of magic to supplement the nutritional intake you’d normally have, your body was taking muscle and fat from you. If Dream thought seeing the vertebrate more pronounced was disturbing, it was nothing compared to your entire spinal column. That’s why you’d gone back to sitting side by side with him, to hide just how depleted your body was becoming after over a decade of imprisonment. You often rested your head on his shoulder when fatigue overtook you and were lucky that t he Endless allowed such a thing. With tiredness ruling within your mind and body, you decided to close your eyes for just a moment to rest them.

The grounds of the witch trials greeted your eyes, and a sharp tingle of fear ran up your spine for but a moment. Even after two centuries had gone by, the memories of your experience at the hands of the crazed people and witch hunters still haunted you. You still had the brand of the christian cross upon your shoulder. The old mark burned in memory and your rubbed your shoulder as it ached. Sometimes when the memories were strong enough you could swear you smelled the scent of your flesh burning as the red hot iron cross was pressed into your flesh. Your eye twitched.

Why were you having this dream? Why were you remembering these horrors now?

Refusing to look at the gallows where the noose swung ominously, you turned in the direction of your old home. After crossing the ocean on a colony ship, you’d taken to assisting the local doctor. Many colonists fell sick after making the voyage and you had faithfully tended to and nursed them back to health. You had given the Salem community nothing but kindness and what had you gotten in return? The witch trials. The people you had come to care for and love, had turned on you in a blink of an eye.

Technically speaking, you were a witch. But never in all your years of living had you ever considered using your magic to do harm. Why would you wish to uproot and ruin the happy life you had? Nonetheless you had been branded a witch (literally), and set to hang with the other ‘guilty’. You were the only witch in Salem.

You found yourself in your small home, everything exactly as you remembered. Your basket of medical supplies sat by the door, the hearth with its pot hanging above waiting to be used for dinner, your bed. You touched the threadbare blanket. It was just as scratchy as you remembered, but it had kept you warm. Your hand went to the rough fabric of the waistcoat you wore. You’d forgotten how hot it was to wear the full outfit. So you began stripping yourself of the thick materials, your waistcoat going first, then your dress. Now just standing in your simple shift, you let your hair down from its tightly pinned position and shook it out.

“Can’t say I enjoyed the rigid customs but life was quite peaceful for a time,” You mused to yourself, exiting your old home and heading to the nearby river. On Saturdays the women of Salem always did the laundry for the week and during the summer months it was nice to cool off in the water. This dream was making you feel hot and a nice cool down with a dip in the river sounded nice. Your feet followed the path to the river on automatic, even after over two hundred years you still knew it like the back of your hand.

The river was cold. It always had been. But it was a nice break from the heat you felt. The ends of your shift were rapidly soaked and pressed against your skin as you sloshed further into the river. It was funny how even the rocks at the bottom of the crystal water still looked exactly the same. Walking until you were waist deep, you shifted a few stone not he river bottom with your foot. It was strange that you were in a dream. Dream had been locked in a subdued and moroseful state that hadn’t changed since Jessamy’s death. You hadn’t had a dream since then, so why were you having one now?

“Best not to question and simply enjoy,” You stated pragmatically before dunking yourself beneath the water. Floating for a few moments beneath the chilly water, you let yourself relax and just stay hunched in place. The current were you were was fairly weak so you didn’t have to use much effort staying in one place. Standing back up, you pushed your hand over your wet hair. While you were observing the fading sun on the horizon, the dream around you shuddered for a moment. Then the sun disappeared and the entire dream darkened to nightmare.

Your head swirled to the land behind you which the disturbance had originated, and you saw a thunderous looking Dream standing behind you. What had gotten his knickers in a twist? This was your dream, what could you possibly dream of that would make him so upset?

“Dream, you’re disturbing the peace,” You quietly announced, attempting a soft pointer given his rather fragile state. His glowing eyes flickered for a few moments, then faded back to starry blue and the dream returned to its normal. As the summer heat returned, you observed the being closer to figure out what had caused him to go all ‘Endless’ on you in a dream. He still looked enraged, barely containing it behind his pretty blue eyes, his jaw locked, even his fists were clenched. “Dream?” You prompted him again, hugging your arms around your body because you were as good as naked in front of him and unlike he, you did care about people seeing your naked body.

His lashes flickered and eyes narrowed.

“You never spoke of bodily harm,” His voice came out rasping and deep, echoing the emotional turmoil you could feel and see. What was he talking about? Your apparent confusion to his words only made the Endless scowl at you. “The mark upon your shoulder, Maga,” He growled darkly, stepping closer to the rivers edge. “You never spoke of them hurting you.”

Your mind went blank as you processed his words. He was… angry that you’d been hurt? Well he wasn’t just angry at this point. He was enraged at the idea. Your face screwed up some and you half turned in place so your neck wasn’t screeching at you for the unnatural strain you were causing it.

“There was no need. You stopped my hanging, what more did you need to know past that?” You questioned, still very confused about why he would be so upset by the mark of an injury that had happened over two hundred years ago. It had long since healed. For some reason Dream got angrier at your words. Once more he took more steps, closing in on the river. “You didn’t even need to stop them from hanging me in the first place. Why would I tell you about them branding me?”

Dream’s eye twitched as he furiously questioned in his mind why you hadn’t informed him of what the morals had done to you.

“They hurt you,” He reiterated, stressing out the word hurt like it would explain his reasoning to be upsetto you. It did not, but you didn’t want to pick a fight with him when you had been on such cordial terms with him.

“It was over two centuries ago, Dream,” You answered him, resting your hands against your chest and looking own at your fingers. You remembered how bloody they had been after being beaten by the towns people. “I’ve long since put that in my past.”

It seemed that no matter what you told the Endless, he was still very upset over the fact that you had been hurt in the witch trials... so you decided to shift the conversation because the breeze was making you chilled.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Dream, would you please turn around?” You asked, looking down at your wet body. The white shift was still very much see-through. Dream titled his head to the side, his face telling you that he didn’t understand why you were asking for such a thing. “My shift is wet and very much see though at the moment.”

Dream didn’t understand why you should ever feel the need to be self conscious over your naked body but did as you asked. When his back was to you, you sloshed your way back towards the rivers edge. Once there, you carefully stepped towards the path leading back to your home. However, Dream heard you heading away from him and promptly turned around.

“You asked me to turn around and then design to sneak off?” He questioned, eyes boring into your back and lingering on the branded cross on your shoulder. You froze in step.

“I am in my shift that is currently see through, Dream,” You reminded him stiffly. “I’m not in presentable attire to be speaking with you at the moment. If you wish to continue conversation you are going to have to wait until I am dressed accordingly.”

Dream, while having innumerous patience, simply could not find the ability to be so at the moment and strode up to you, coat in hand. He dropped it around your shoulders and continued walking towards your home.

“We will be finishing this conversation whether or not you believe yourself to be in presentable clothing.” He stated, striding confidently ahead. You stared agape at his back, fingers clutching the star laden coat around your shoulders. Finishing this conversation? You still didn’t understand why he was so upset over a brand you’d gotten two hundred years prior, but followed him nonetheless.

It was nice to just talk with Dream of the Endless, rather than fight.

Holding up a facade of okay health had taken every bit of your concentration. What magic that ran thorough your blood now went entirely to preserving your life the best it could. You stopped counting the years after fifty. It was pointless as Alex was so fearful of what Dream would do should he let the Endless out, that there was zero hope of you getting out of your cage. So you just stuck to developing a non aggressive relationship with Dream, and it was… nice. More than nice actually. You got to see the other side of the Endless you hadn’t seen before.

It had to have been a century by the time Alexander Burgess made his last visit to the decrepit basement of Fawny Rig. He was old, frail, and nothing like the youthful boy who had murdered Jessamy. You knew he’d spent most of his life tormented by the knowledge that you and Dream sat in this cage in the basement of his home. A bitter satisfaction came from that knowledge, and yet, you couldn’t help but pity the man for being so weak. Overshadowed by his older brother to the very end. A fitting ending for the Burgess lineage.

As Alex spoke his last word and sat back down in his wheelchair, Paul began to push him away from the cage. Less than a second went by and you felt a massive ripple of power run through you. You jerked where you sat, holding in the gasp that wanted to crawl from your throat, and looked at Paul. He was looking back at you, and then at the ground. Following his gaze, your eyes widened when you spotted the clear break in the circle binding both you and Dream in place. Gods above. Your eyes didn’t shift back to Paul’s as he wheeled Alex out. A broken circle meant that Dream had a grasp on his power, a broken circle meant that you could use your own magic outside of your body!

A tremble began in your body as you forced yourself to remain calm and silent. Nearly 110 years of captivity and freedom was within your grasp because of Paul? You knew that Dream could also feel the change in your captivity, the muscles you could feel against your body had gone rigid the moment the circle had been broken. He knew he had his chance and without a doubt would be taking it. Hunching in a ball, you began murmuring all the incantations for low level teleportation magic. You didn’t know if you had enough magic to complete even an entry level spell, but you’d take which ever spell got you out of this place.

While you were concentrating, you felt the sands of Endless magic caressing your skin. Then gunshots and yelling, glass shattering, one of your spells activated and your eyes flickered open in triumph. Fingers clasped tightly together, the last you saw of Fawny Rig was unconscious guards and the glowing aura of a seething Endless. You’d never seen him so angry, so enraged. Your fight or flight instincts kicked in and your mind echoed one thought and one thought only: run.

Date Published: 10/5/23

Last Edit: 10/5/23

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melancholypancakes · 2 years ago

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I wanna draw this relationship so bad with Morpheus and ophelia 🥰🥰

A fanfic with Y/n comforting moppy morpheus during a rainy day ( rather it be on a bench, train or on a couch setting) to be honest I might write it :)

Soft Dream Of The Endless Headcanons

Request: Someone who recognises Dream’s changes and growth & that it is difficult for him, that he trusts to go to and ask questions, that he trusts enough to admit his own wrongdoing (possible or actual). Someone he allows himself to be weak, around - though I don’t know if weak is really the right word. Someone he doesn’t have to be Lord Morpheus, Dream Of The Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares, Ruler Of The Dreaming around - who he can just be *Dream* with.

Okay y’all are seriously going to make me cry, this is the sweetest! Also I had no idea how to title this so I just went with *soft* lmaooo also sorry I took the first half, it honestly made me laugh out loud but also it got very long in my drafts but it lives on in my heart <3

Also I just want to say I haven’t read the comics yet, so sorry if these have been really OOC! I love the Tom Sturridge’s interpretation of Dream, and so this is just my build on fluff interpretation from his wonderful work!

Warning: mentions of alcohol/ being tipsy and skulls!

If you enjoy, please comment and let me know! <3

(I do not own the Sandman or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @pressure-machine.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Hello Darkness my old friend it’s so nice to see you again Scrungly, it’s been a few days since I’ve seen your ghost ass face and smile like you’ve sucked on lemons, you living embodiment of sucking on eggs god I’ve missed you so much wet cat man with all the world in your heart and all the eyeliner in the world on your eyes.

Lucienne slyly lets you know where Morpheus is while he’s busy making new dreams, and you immediately stop playing with the Corinthian’s little skull to go and see him. Before he can turn around or open his mouth, you’ve already rushed into him for a big ol’ hug. At first, as you squeeze your arms around his stomach and squish your face into his pec, he has no idea what to do. When he feels your fingers splay over his back though, and your embrace becoming nothing but tighter, he finally seems to crumble. Just all the weight of his world, all the pressure, all the loneliness it brings to rule brings him to ruination at your feet. He falls to his knees, grasping onto your waist like a drowning man begging for forgiveness from the shore and pressing his cheek against your belly button. He only stops when he feels your forehead gently lean down to press against his own; only then, does he allow himself to close his eyes and just revel in the undeniable exoneration and reverence you’re granting him.

And he apologises he apologises to you. For not being there for you. ‘For being selfish. For not understanding… how much more I need you than I let myself believe.’ You can see how bloodshot his eyes are, how close to tears he seems by the way his face seems to resign itself to the usual coldness and apoplectic way his chin seems to jut out. The only thing you can think of doing… the only thing you can do, is forgive him. You just gently unlatch one of his claws from your skin, and allow the slender fingers to stretch out and fall against your hand. He stares at you, confused and terrified as you bring it slowly to your lips and kiss each and every knuckle until a tear finally slips from the corner of his eye, like a fresh spring rain rolling down cold marble.

(You do warn him, though, that he has to bring Matthew with him any time he ventures out of the Dreaming, so he can report back and make sure that he’s been on his best behaviour. Although he only grumbles in reply, this does wrangle a smile out of him as you take his other hand and help him stand again.)

It’s SO sweet: from then on he tries to become closer to you, to try and understand how humans need and use physical contact to reassure and display to their partner how much their heart adores them, how much their soul calls and beckons and begs to be in their presence for every second they have. He just… doesn’t really understand how to take these thoughts and actually turn them into actions yet? He’s watched peoples’ dreams, felt their emotions: their need, their loss, their grief, their love, their hope, and so he tries to replicate what he’s seen. This ends up with him nearly scaring the pants off of you one random day when he throws the book he was reading down onto the Throne Room’s floor, and begins squirming in his seat. At first you think he’s angry, getting ready to storm off as you peer at him from over the spine of your own journal in trepidation. But then he just pinches his lips together in that usual look of unsettled resignation before he kicks his legs over the edge of his arm rest and turns so his head falls onto his lap.

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gaypirate420 · 1 year ago

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Moonshine and Starlight //Dream*

Dream* of the Endless x witch!GN!reader.

Summary: Morpheus helps you sleep.

Angst/Fluff. Dream and Reader being divorced..

A/N: Probably ooc because I haven't written for my husband for so long.

"What's the matter, Matthew?" The words of the King of Dreams echoed through the wide halls of the entrance to his palace.

The Dream Lord found his raven very busy in another matter, that being melting onto your touch while he nuzzled on your lap.

"We have a visitor, my lord." Was all the raven could respond as your gentle fingers brushed down the feathers of his head making him caw.

"Why are you here?" He asked not really knowing what tone should he use with you.

"I'm afraid I'm not here because I wanted to see you, but because I have a problem with dreams, my lord." You said mockingly as you caressed the feather's of the new raven before standing up and meeting his star filled eyes and long figure, those black ropes dripping down the marble floor.

"Enlighten me then. What kind of problems are dreams causing you, dream witch?" Morpheus muttered with the silky smooth voice that you adore, you took his arm and begin to walk, seeming so normal, muscle memory perhaps.

"It must be something important if it makes you come to my palace after two hundred years. Something that goes beyond the centuries of knowledge you possess." He spoke gently. You smirked and looked at him and although his gaze remained emotionless but you know when your ex-husband is teasing you.

"A client of mine. She's been having this— weird dreams about her family telling her very specific things." You explained as you begin to walk alongside the Endless, the night sky that lied above your head on the palace's ceiling captured your eyes.

You stoped for a moment to look at it, missing it's beauty.

"I've been looking inside her dreams, trying to decipher their meaning." You continues with a tone of slight frustration before meeting his gaze, noticing his starry eyes looking at your every moment.

"You came here just to ask the meaning of some mortal's dream?" Morpheus asked as his eyes took in your image, you smirked again and shaked your head.

"No. I don't give up that easily, Oneiros." You smirked with smugness, the Dream Lord mimicked your smirk.

"I never said you did. Why is it that you're here then, moonshine?" He asked as he walked you through to the large halls of the palace.

Moonshine, what a nickname to give someone, specially coming from the Lord of Dreams. The Endless that finds you as bright as the shine of the moon, a signal of light in darkness.

It's been so long since he's mutter such nickname.

"Well, It's been costing me my sleeping hours, but that's not new— the things is when I do sleep I have dreamless rest or the most horrible nightmares." You whispered, there was a linger of anger on your tone.

"I came here to ask you something, Dream."

"Ask away, moonshine."

"Have I done something wrong? Something to deserve this punishment, perhaps?" Your whispers makes him stop on his tracks, his eyes meet yours. The Lord of Dreams face had an expression one of confusion and deep sadness.

"Do you think that is my doing? You think of yourself worth of a punishment so severe?" He whispers back, his eyes looking at your tired eyes, the darks circles under them.

"Do you think I would do such thing as that to you?"

You stayed silent, looking away from his gaze. His pale hand cupped your cheek, you gasped and a silent tear fell down your cheek which was wiped by his thumb that consequently held your chin and make you meet his eyes once more.

"The answer is no. I am not punishing you because those night terrors that invade your sleep were not send by me, moonshine." He whispered with such conviction.

As in saying "Believe me. I could never harm you."

"And you have never wrong me nor this realm. You've been an impecable aid and- companion for me." He stated, you smiled and felt yourself blushing, a yawn scaped your lips and his gaze softened.

"Am I boring you, moonshine?" Morpheus smirked you looked at him with sleepy eyes.

"It's not my fault your voice is so comforting and I'm- exhausted for my work and the horrible sleep I've had." You explained before smiling.

"Comforting?" The Dream Lord asked, you nodded and looked up at him with a smile.

"Soothing. Perfect for listening while you fall asleep." You explained before yawning again.

Feeling his hand on the back of your neck and in a matter of second you were lied down on the softest of mattresses, resting your head on a pillow that could pass for a cloud.

You looked up and met the most beautiful night sky you've ever seen, pink and purple surrounded with constellations.

The bed itself was almost floating in between marble floors and the night sky.

This is the room of Dream of the Endless himself.

"Why are you not sleeping yet?" Morpheus's voice snap you back to reality, you meet his eyes that now shine with the reflections of the galaxy that surrounds you.

"I dunno, maybe you've lost your touch." You teased, The Dream Lord furrowed his eyebrows but his lips let out a soft chuckle.

"Perhaps you're just stubborn." He whispered while his slim finger caress your cheek, you leaned on his touch so quickly that it made you disappointed in yourself but it felt so good.

"Those nightmares won't bother you again, my moonshine." Morpheus stated as his fingers kept moving across your face with delicacy.

"Why am I in your room? There's like two hundred guest rooms." You asked as your eyes closed. Dream fell silent for a second.

"Because I- want you here." He started speaking so softly almost as if he was embarrassed to say it, you nodded for him to continue.

"Your precense on The Dreaming has been missed, the creatures of the dreaming had voiced that sentiment many times." The Endless continued, his mouth still slight open, you could picture him trying to find the right words.

You nodded once more, it always difficult for him to speak his emotions and needs.

"The haunted dolls of my shop miss you." You spoke sleepy, The Dream Lord arched his eyebrow and smirked as his hand moved to your hair, touching it with a hint of shyness, thinking if he's still allowed to do such motion. Afraid of crossing any lines or boundaries.

"The- dolls? Do you miss me, perchance?" He asked with a uncharacteristically shy and insecure voice, you opened your eyes.

"Do you, Oneiros? Or just the creatures of your realm?" You snapped back with a smirk. He leaned closer to you, the stars in his eyes shining bright, his thumb stroked your bottom lip as his eyes got lost on yours.

"Yes." Morpheus whispered with a discreet but playful smile once that 'yes' was heard by you.

"I do miss you, moonshine."

You closed your eyes once more after his words, so much sincerity and raw devotion within such a short sentence.

"I miss you too, starlight." You whispered back with a smile, Morpheus smirked and kept stroking your hair.

How has he missed that nickname.

A play of words with the one he has for you.

Starlight. The light of a start that accompanies the shining moon at night. He wonders how, of all things, you could see him as a star.

The drowsiness was unbearable now for you.

The last thing you felt before falling asleep was a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Sleep well, moonshine." Morpheus whispered against your ear, making you fall into a deep and much needed rest, filled with the sweetest dreams one could imagine of.

And of course, The Dream king holding your hand all the time, supervising these dreams.

——————————————————————

A/N: Heyyyyyyy, it's been a while since I've wrote for my husband, ugh, I love him, I always enjoy writing for him, it just so right. Hope you liked this!

#the sandman #the sandman x reader #the sandman x you #the sandman x male reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x male reader #dream of the endless #lord morpheus #x male reader

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melancholypancakes · 2 years ago

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The Sandman Incorrect Quotes

Morpheus: Gods, you’re so annoying.

Witch! Y/n: then stop holding my hand!

Morpheus clearly holding Y/n’s hand

Witch! Y/n:....

Morpheus:...No.

{...}

Desire: Oh, Y/n! You can take my sand whenever you like! I just want your love~

Delirium and Death trying not to laugh

Morpheus blushing red angrily

{...}

Death: I know you like her.

Desire blushes and gets defensive

Desire: I don’t like Aphrodite!

Death: I didn’t say who~

{...}

Witch! Y/n: is there a word that’s mix between Angry and Sad?

Morpheus: Malcontented, Disgruntled, Miserable, Desolated-

Matthew: Smad.

Morpheus looks at Matthew weirdly

{...}

Aphrodite: Did you know that kissing reduces stress and anxiety?

Adonis is concerned with what Aphrodite just said

Adonis: Uh…Okay, Aphrodite?

Aphrodite: You look stressed~

Aphrodite flirting with Adonis as he looks at her

{...}

Hob: Bro! Close your eyes!

Morpheus: Huh? Why?

Morpheus proceeds to close his eyes

Hob: What do you see, Bro?

Morpheus: Nothing, Bro

Hob: That’s my life without you, bro

Hob tears up and Morpheus starts to tear up too after opening his eyes, and looking at Hob

Morpheus: Bro…

{...}

Aphrodite: Wait…You like me for my personality??

Desire: yeah, I was surprised too.

{...}

Desire: Go on…Apologize.

Desire gets underneath Morpheus’s skin, knowing he has too much pride to apologize to anyone, especially his girlfriend Y/n.

Morpheus is struggling and clearly angry

{...}

When Aphrodite was only a few months old

Artemis: Little girl-to-Girl Advice…

Aphrodite looks at Artemis

Artemis: If you weren’t always trying so hard, you wouldn’t be in the way~

Aphrodite growls

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jiliansky-blog · 10 months ago

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Sandman Masterlist

Started: December 18th, 2022

Morpheus X OC, Morpheus x Reader

Bounded

Prologue

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2. Morpheus

Chapter 3. Accident

Chapter 4. Dreams and Nightmares

Chapter 5. Feelings

Chapter 6. Uninvited guests

Final chapter. Hope

The power of love

Prologue

Day 1. You had me at hello.

Day 2. I don’t know you, but I want to

Day 3. Two broken souls

Day 4. The beginning of something new

Day 5. Warmer in the winter with you

Day 6. Baby, it’s cold outside

Day 7. My true love gave to you

Day 8. Last Christmas I gave you my heart

Day 9. Time to fall in love

Day 10. The most wonderful time of the year

Day 11. You’re mean one, Mr.Grinch

Day 12. I won’t freeze you out

Day 13. Crazy for Christmas

Day 14. Let it snow

Day 15. Let it go

Day 16. Sing for my life

Day 17. Every day is Christmas with you by my side

Day 18. Snowflake

Day 19. Just like Christmas

Day 20. You make it feel like Christmas

Day 21. Jingle bells

Day 22. Stay another day

Day 23. Underneath the Christmas lights

Day 24. Christmas Eve

Day 25. Everything I want for Christmas is you

Final chapter. Happy New Year

Dreamwalker

Prologue

Chapter 1. Into the Dreaming

Chapter 2. Discovering the power

Chapter 3. Lord Morpheus

Chapter 4. You are not alone

Chapter 5. Emotions

Chapter 6. The heart’s desire

Chapter 7. Keep my heart safe

Epilogue

Tale as old as time

Prologue

Day 1. Arrival

Day 2. In the light of new day

Day 3. Mystery

Day 4. The flower

Day 5. Healing

Day 6. A sudden guest

Day 7. Butterflies and confessions

Day 8. Pay back

Day 9. Deep inside my heart

Day 10. The ball and the escape

Day 11. Home is a place where your heart is

Final chapter. The words of love

Cat of dreams

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Last chapter

The god of dreams

Part 1. The greek vocation. Chapter 1.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Final chapter

Witch's love

Chapter 1. A long time ago

Chapter 2. Old flame of love

Chapter 3. I still care

Final chapter. You won't be alone.

The Labyrinth of dreams

Chapter 1. King of goblins

Chapter 2. King of nightmares

Chapter 3. A world beyond

Chapter 4. Heart’s decision

Chapter 5. Where your loyalty lies

Chapter 6. The ball

Chapter 7. You have no power over me

Final chapter. Happy ending

In the dark

Chapter 1. Unexpected guest

Chapter 2. The beginning of something new

Chapter 3. The mistake

Chapter 4. Through the fairy woods

Chapter 5. The fairy realm

Chapter 6. Confrontation

Chapter 7. Trials

Chapter 8. Looking for the fern flower

Chapter 9. Final task

The final chapter. A win of true love

#morpheus x reader #dream x reader #sandman x reader #sandman fanfiction

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madhattervanessa · 1 year ago

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Valerian Root

This is a blurb I have been writing on for a while - it might spin off into a longer fic but I’m not sure I’ll ever upload it... if I’ll ever do it, you’ll find it on ao3

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Deathless x f!Witch!Reader

Summary: As you suffer from another wave of migraines, an unexpected guest returns to your home to take care of you... in more ways than one.

Warnings: Migraines, consensual-ish drugging (It’s for the reader’s health) and sudden appearing in readers living spaces, nipple play, biting, scratching, grinding/dry humping, rough-ish p in v sex

Words: 4646

Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

“I seldomly see you return this often, little witch.”

Your eyes stray from the beautiful scenery and towards the edge of your dream, the fibrillation coming from the deep timbre catching your attention - because despite opium and valerian root making for potent sleep and pain aiding drugs, this was not one of the usual effects.

You find him wandering through the darkness at the edge of the clearing before he manages to come closer, through the soft grass and into the light.

His long coat swishes through the moss and ferns as he slowly approaches, like someone attempting to feed a stray cat. Centuries of experience make him know to be careful - your dreams had always been fragile bubbles of calm and you’d grown protective of them even as a child. Now, more than ever, he was reminded of your first few meetings.

He knows, even cats who have grown docile will bite if given reason.

You purse your lips and avert your eyes towards a pile of books off to the side. He lets his eyes trail over you, the long, lightweight gown that floats just shy off the ground as you sway back and forth on the padded swing you sprawled out on.

He stops just shy of the swing, his presence carefully pushing into your personal space, gently intruding, waiting for you to pounce, retreat… or stay.

His coat is shed as he takes another form, jumping up into the swing with you to rub a soft cheek against your bare leg, carefully nudging the thin fabric covering you.

You smile and set your eyes upon the large, black cat nuzzling into your skin. You reach out and carefully pet his chin, moving on to his cheek before it smashes against your skin again.

A low rumbling purr starts as you continue caressing the soft fur behind his jaw, your other hand reaching for a book to read.

You keep the illusion for a while but then the walls of it shudder again and a slither of pain runs down your spine as the connection to your body strengthens again, the dreaming barely holding on.

You groan as you wake, still trying to hold on to the comfort your dream had brought you but it’s too late: The sharp pain and thrumming behind your eyes has returned with viciousness. You forcefully try to relax the muscles in your face as you look over your sun filled apartment.

It’s of no use, though.

So you carefully detangle from your sheets and pad through your apartment towards the kitchen.

There’s already some darkness creeping over the smooth tiles there. You sigh as the first step brings a cooling sensation underneath the soles of your feet, a short lived comfort.

You click the electric kettle on and grab a fresh thermos before filling it with your hand mixed tea as well as some honey.

As you wait for the water to boil, you hear the pearl curtain in your hallway clatter softly, despite it being absolutely windless in your apartment.

You’ve reached for a knife without much thinking. Your heartbeat immediately feels more prominent than your nausea as you peek around the fridge, down towards the hallway.

No one there.

You’re about to sign off of it being all in your imagination. But checking other rooms would not hurt. It had never been a bad idea in any century.

The kettle clicks and you hear as the water starts boiling.

But as you take a step backwards, the hair on the back of your neck stands and goosebumps litter your arms as you feel a presence stepping closer.

“Put the knife down, little witch.”

You jump, despite the soft murmur, and the knife clatters to the ground.

Two hands quickly envelop your shoulders and pull you back, the knife’s edge only just missing your bare feet.

You turn your head. “Morpheus”, you murmur, returning the fond look he has leveled at you, his hands slowly smoothing down your arms as he takes you in. “I- I have not called upon you-”

“I made time, after sensing your distress.”

He lets you go and carefully picks up the knife from the ground. Meanwhile you are still standing, quite starstruck, trying to make sense of this.

The last time you had seen him had been just months ago, a brief meeting after a hundred or more years of his disappearance. Nothing but a quick reassurance that he was back and would return to you once the rebuilding of the dreaming was done. Paired with a short request to look after a particular member of the Constantine family.

He strolls past you and into the kitchen. As you turn to follow him, another wave of nausea crashes against you and you hold on to the doorframe before deciding to sit down at the desk on the other side of the hallway.

The clinking and clattering from the kitchen grates against your sensitive nerves and you hesitantly open an eye to watch as he fills a teacup with boiling water before sprinkling some of your tea mixture into it.

The clattering stops and you close your eyes again, trying to focus on the distinct silence and the way the air seems filled with his presence.

A soft touch to your knee makes you open your eyes again to find Morpheus kneeling in front of you, the cup of tea in one hand and a small, white pill in the other.

You roll your eyes, contrary to your smile, despite the pain it causes.

“You know I don’t like painkillers-”

“Amuse me.”

You glare at him, your smile falling as you look back towards his offerings. As you reach for the teacup, purposefully ignoring the pill, he levels another soft and openly amused look at you.

“I’ll have the tea. Thank you”, you murmur and he sighs before tilting his head in silent acceptance.

You tentatively sip at your tea, finding at the perfect temperature. He watches closely as he gets up and you take another gulp. The pill is placed on the desk, well in sight of your weary eyes.

“Have it your way, then.”

“I always do. You know Hecate makes sure of it.”

The reference to the Moirai makes him straighten up for a second before he smiles - no doubt catching your remark as what it is.

You had not just idled around, you had found out where he had been all this time, what exactly he had been up to.

As you sip your tea, he follows his own curiosity, doing what he hadn’t been able to do the last time; carefully cataloging your apartment, the changes, the new additions. One of them being a plush armchair, the blue hues of its padding close enough to his eyes to have reminded you of him, just like the dark wood had reminded you of his attire and hair.

The dull ache in your head goes on and you hardly listen to the sounds surrounding you, trying to focus on your heartbeat.

That is, until you hear the dull sounds of boots falling, one by one, harshly interrupting your meditation.

“What are you doing over there?”

You turn to find him carefully draping his coat over said armchair as a wave of drowsiness overcomes you, his boots already neatly stacked underneath.

His pants follow, leaving him in underwear and a shirt, just like you.

You look him up and down before meeting his eyes and your breath hitches, the urge to get up and join him increasing with every second of eye contact shared between the two of you. But then there’s another wave of drowsiness and the pounding pain in your skull dulls to a gentle knock.

“You put something in my tea-?”, you murmur, your tongue feeling sticky and heavy in your mouth.

You put the tea down and your head lolls to the side before a gentle hand caresses your cheek and your temple rests against the soft fabric of his shirt. The smell of moss and old books from your dream fills your nose, a clear testament to his visit in it just mere moments ago.

“I do have access to more elusive ingredients for potion mixing, aiodos.”

The endearment runs down your spine soothingly as you frown, even though the energy to do so is leaving you steadily.

“Though I admit your mix of opium and valerian root to be quite potent.”

You blink again and feel your old heart slow as if you were a bear about to enter hibernation, your lips tingling pleasantly as if you had sipped some spiced wine instead of tea.

You want to say what you think of his little betrayal, want to curse and spite him-

“Come now, let’s get you to bed.”

You find yourself in his arms, despite your pitiful whine, despite trying to push him away. Your head falls against his chest and suddenly you feel frail like glass.

He carries you through the short hallway with care, his lips at your temple as the fight in you returns for a second, the need to prove you can damn well take care of yourself but a shush and his lips pressed to your forehead makes the seed die before it can sprout.

You sigh and go limp in his arms, then, the numbness traveling from the toes of your feet and your fingertips, up your body with every breath you take.

“Rest now. There’s nothing you need to fear. I am watching over you.”

When you next wake, the moon is barely peeking through the curtains, bathing everything in a cool, glittering light.

The heaviness you feel in your bones makes you feel like you have slept for eons.

It takes you a moment to remember, to become aware of the warm nook of a shoulder you are pressed into, the arm wound around you, the soft breaths fanning over your head.

You glance up at him and find him resting. A rare sight, even in your living spaces, thoroughly secured by runes and protection circles.

You can’t help but smile as you turn and let the flat of your hand carefully roam over his chest. There is no shame in staving off the inevitable a little longer, not after all this time.

So you watch the moon slowly illuminate the altar off to the side of the room and wait, relishing in the calm. It is then that you notice the absence of your pain and exhaustion.

“I trust you are feeling better?” The low grumble underneath your ear almost makes you jump had there not been the steady climb of a second hand towards your thigh.

You sigh in response and rub your leg against his underneath the plush blankets. A low hum sounds in return and you know there’s a pleased smile on his face without turning. The hand on your thigh moves in calming back and forth motions like a pendulum.

You lose yourself in the gentle touch before your hand travels higher, up to his collarbones and you feel him tense for a moment as you trace the lines up to his neck, the links of his necklace. As your touch travels to his jaw, he relaxes again.

It’s quite telling, really, that he is still laying here, instead of leaving you, knocked out cold.

“I feel... exhausted. Thoroughly rested.” You take another deep breath and prop your head up as your fingertips dance over his chin and back down to his throat. There’s the slightest hint of stubble there, underneath your touch and you wonder if it’s to feed into your own desires or if it’s an unwanted symptom of him not resting before taking care of his kingdom.

“You worried me.”

You hum and keep appreciating his form, wetting your lips as your fingers trace the lines of his chest. Inside, the admission had made you freeze and almost catch your breath.

Your eyes flick to his but you find him looking anywhere else, your sleep mussed hair, your shoulder peeking out from underneath the blankets - anywhere so as to not meet your eyes. It is more telling than him looking back but you simply take it in stride.

“I do apologize if I distracted you from your duties, milord”, you murmur, a teasing smile on your face as he finally returns your gaze. He tugs you over himself by your thigh, fully covering himself in you. His fingertips tickle the back of your thigh and you bite your lip.

However, before either of you can start to banter, a distant flutter, followed by a quiet squawk distracts you.

You turn your head and catch a shadow moving outside, then another flutter and the distant sound of bird’s claws on the balcony just outside your living room and kitchen.

You level a glare at Dream from the corner of your eye before you shuffle out of his grip and out of bed.

A call of your name and another sigh follow your footsteps through to the other room. Still barefoot and only in a shirt and underwear. You fumble with your fingertips at the seam of it, only then realizing the black color, the soft fabric- it lifts your sour mood just slightly. The smell of petrichor and sandalwood envelops you, following you, just like Dream’s eyes do.

There.

You spot just the slightest hint of a beak through one of your windows before the small, black shadow flutters to the next.

You hasten your steps in turn and manage to pull the window open before they can hop any further.

They jump, visibly shocked as you face them with a grim smile.

“Hello there. May I help you with something?”

After a few inquisitive turns of their head, they clear their throat.

“I-I-” You take your time to muster the bird, thinking them to be the familiar of another witch but then there’s that smell, that energy surrounding the little spy.

“You’re quite handsome.” The nervous flutter of feathers makes you perk up and you look him up and down a bit more intently as you lean onto the window sill. “You’re Dream’s new raven, aren’t you?”

“Oh- uhm... yeah, I keep an eye out for him, he... he tends to... get into trouble.”

You smile sweetly at him and nod.

“He does. But he is safe here, you know. And I do appreciate my privacy.”

“I-I understand but he’s been-”

“Matthew.”

The raven nearly jumps off of the sill at the low growl from behind you.

Pretty name for a pretty bird.

You welcome the warmth pressing against you from behind as an arm winds around your waist. “I told you not to spy on me.”

“I know, Sir, but after yesterday-”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Morpheus reaching towards the window.

“Give Lucienne my regards, Matthew. And please do visit again, I feel like we have much to talk about”, you quickly manage, sensing the impending end of your conversation, and as soon as your last word leaves your lips, Dream slams the window shut right in front of Matthew’s beak.

“I’m sorry about him.”

You arch an eyebrow at that, the word sorry had seen few uses in Morpheus’ vocabulary over the centuries. His nose presses against your cheek, just shy of a kiss.

“Let’s head back to bed.”

You spot the point of a raven’s beak as you just outside the window as he presses you impossibly closer, his lips trailing over your cheek to your neck.

Another arm wraps around you and you watch his hand trail over your collarbone before a thumb briefly rubs against your nipple: cheeky, and yet not to be unexpected from your lover.

“Morpheus-”, you whisper, rendered breathless at the overflow of tender motions. You give into the distraction and avert your eyes from the window.

“Mhm?”

“I’m barely back on my feet.”

“So let’s return to your bed, lover”, he murmurs, already pulling you back, away from the window and out of your kitchen.

You chuckle and turn in his arms, meeting his eyes before you lean against his forehead with your own.

“You should not be so harsh on him, you know? Jessamy’s footsteps are big ones to fill.”

“He is too curious for his own good. He needs to learn.”

“Is that what this is, then? A lesson for your raven?”

“It does present itself as a welcome side effect. Though my visit was motivated by very selfish cravings.” The low murmur makes heat lick up your spine. A knuckle tilts your chin up to his and your lips are captured in a kiss, his nose nudging against yours as his lips delicately press against your own.

The kiss leaves you in something akin to a trance and you follow him through the apartment to your bed, his hands steadily wandering over your body as do yours.

You are tempted to push him against a wall instead but as if he were able to read your mind, then, he kisses you again and holds you tight against him, his hands sneaking underneath your shirt. It sends a thrill up his spine to hear you moan in response, to feel you fit into his hands once more.

He grunts as he walks backwards into your bed but you just chuckle and redirect him.

He sits back and you crawl into his lap, before pressing another kiss to the frown that had presented itself on his lips.

“You know this would be easier in my realm.”

“Mh- but I dislike the journey there too much and you know full well.”

He sits back against the headboard and you settle there together, your hands trailing over his chest as he grabs you by the nape of your neck to pull you into another kiss.

You hum and grab the hem of his shirt tightly as he opens your mouth with his own, your breaths mingling as you inhale each other’s presence.

His hands fit themselves into your waist, relishing in the bare skin underneath as he seems to swallow you whole. He could, potentially. Kidnap you and keep you, like Hades did with Persephone. But he knows better than to upset your matron goddesses.

“You know I struggle with the waking world just as much.”

“If you insist”, you whisper back, a faint smile on your lips before you peck his lips again. As you lean back to take your shirt off, however, he leans in to press more kisses to your jaw and down to your neck.

You sigh in content, melting in his grasp as you let your head fall back. However, when you shoot a quick glance towards your alarm clock, you find the space empty.

As teeth scrape over the thin skin covering your collarbone, you do another double take. But it’s gone.

“Dream-”, you mutter, still distracted, especially as he gentles the rasp of his teeth with his tongue. “Morpheus, where is my alarm clock?”

“Irrelevant.”

You frown and this time it’s you who grabs him by the chin to make him look at you. You lean back to look at him, even though you miss the proximity immediately.

“How long did you make me sleep for?” He purses his lips, the annoyance clear as day on his features. Oh, you could picture it perfectly well now, that glare towards the alarm while you were sound asleep on his chest. One time must have been more than enough, then, for him to make the poor thing disappear.

He sighs.

“Two days.” He trails off, his eyes caught on your lips for a moment before they flick back upwards. “I think.”

“You think?” You let go of his chin and shake your head at him. “Two days. I have a job, Morpheus.”

“That job is pointless. You’re a witch”, he grumbles, pressing another furious kiss to your neck. “Besides, you had fallen ill. No use in working when you can hardly stand.” He tugs you back to fully sit in his lap again, winding his arms around you as if you were a dream about to catch flight in the world. Your boiling anger simmers at the tender motion, if only for a moment.

“You’re not usually this disagreeable with me.”

The murmur is almost lost on you but the memory it procures definitely isn’t. Images of past meetings make your still weak head spin, make you bite your lip at the memory of hastily rucked up skirts and wanton moans that had left neighbors in many a century both flustered and angry.

You lean in to kiss him again, then, because that is usually all it takes, especially when he frustrates you: The memory of time you had spent together when you could.

“Next time you are in distress, call for me.” Teeth nip at your bottom lip, a silent reprimand and you let your fingertips trail over his neck, towards the nape where you can sneak into his hair.

“I have friends and other, less busy lovers for that, Dream. You don’t need to take care of me”, you mutter, tongue too quick and nudging against ancient disputes between the two of you.

The hands on your hips tighten at the mention of the others. While he tolerated your need for more than his sparse visits, he didn’t necessarily like it.

“I’m sorry, I-”

Instead of a wrathful reply, you receive a fierce kiss, one that makes your teeth click. You can taste a hint of blood from where teeth must have pierced your lip but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

His hands gently cup your face and he grunts as you cant your hips against his. He turns the two of you so you’re flat on your back. Your mouths never part, locked in a hot and messy tangle. A tongue nudges against yours and you lose your train of thought. The soft touches quickly escalate into something more desperate after that.

One of his hands grabs your ass to hold you steady as you squirm underneath him, the soft touches underneath your shirt turning into rough groping, his thumb steadily rubbing against your nipples.

You hold on to his shoulder, losing yourself in the kisses exchanged as you gasp for air. He lets you grind your pussy against his hard length, the damp fabric catching on your clit with every one of your combined movements.

It’s a stubborn game, the silence between the two of you. Every time one of you moves to kiss the other’s neck, their jaw, the other muffles their own sounds. When you bite down on his earlobe, a small gasp escapes him and you grin triumphantly as the thrust of his hips jolts you up the mattress with your own moan.

You let your lips trail over the shell of his ear. As you grind your pussy down against him, you moan into his ear and the groan he responds with makes you shudder. Out of the corner of your eye you see him furrowing his brows and both of his hands tug you down harder, his own hips searching for the friction.

Finally, he rips your underwear off of you - you scramble to get your shirt off but he is faster than you, pinning you down to line himself up with your pussy.

You’re abruptly shoved up the mattress and gasp as he presses into you with a rough shove.

“Morpheus”, you whisper and grab his chin to lead him into another kiss.

“What is it? Tell me.”

Your fingertips dig into the bone of his jaw. You would be drawing blood with any of your human lovers, you know that, but he is leaving imprints of his teeth in your skin and you can’t help yourself. You bare your teeth as he leans down to suck at your pulse.

“What do you want?”, he murmurs over the wet skin and you feel yourself growing wetter as you grind against him.

“You know exactly what I want, you just want me to say it. I shouldn’t give you the satisfaction”, you sigh and roll your hips against his a little harder, finding that perfect spot to rub your clit against, a perfect bit of friction that makes your cheeks heat up. “Undress me, Morpheus. I want to feel you. Please.”

He hums and slides his hands over your back, up, underneath the shirt. He pulls it off very carefully and your hands move on to his shirt before your own is even fully discarded. You’re less careful than he is and he seems to approve, visibly impatient as he shuffles you until your chest presses up against his before his lips find yours again.

He starts moving his hips again and you keen into his mouth at the friction. You pull at his shoulders, wanting more but unable to voice it.

You let your hand trail over his back, down until you can scratch your nails over his thigh. It makes him moan, his hips jutting forward until you can grasp it in one of your hands.

“Cunning”, he murmurs but he doesn’t resist your pull, doesn’t so much as blink an eye. Instead he pushes two of his slender fingers against your clit, the slick sound drowned out by your moan.

"Morpheus, more-"

"Be patient", he murmurs and you want to bite at him, your lips already searching for the skin of his neck.

You faintly hear your phone ring but Morpheus pushes his slick fingers between your lips.

You meet his eyes, fully entranced, your legs haphazardly nudged to the crooks of his elbows as he pushes closer, closer until you can feel him bottoming out.

You bite down on his fingers. It changes his sullen expression, his brows furrowing, his lips twitching as he presses his hard cock deeper until you keen and let go.

Spit slick fingers trail down over your bottom lip before he leans in to kiss you again. The spit smears against your arm before he intertwines his fingers with yours. Your moans are muffled by the kiss, a harsh and passionate thing, aided by tongue and teeth as he thrusts into you.

The headboard creaks with great offense as you grab a hold of the wood and dig your nails into it.

He drags his palm over your arm before it settles next to yours on the bedframe, his nose dipping down to press against your cheek. His thrusts are almost punishing. Every single one is making the breath in your throat catch.

You lean your cheek against your knee that is pushed up next to your head. He follows the movement, his lips smearing against the tendons in your neck.

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes, yes”, you gasp, mindless in the pursuit of your own pleasure.

He doesn’t let up until your orgasm burns through you and he has to muffle your sounds with another kiss before he follows with his own orgasm.

You pant heavily as he lifts his mouth from yours. You detangle carefully, your whole body aching. Meanwhile Morpheus is quick to get dressed again before he is off to your bathroom.

You awake to a warm feeling and crack one eyelid open to watch as Morpheus carefully cleans you with a wet, warm towel.

When he is finally done, he joins you in bed again, his hands dragging over your still naked body, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

“How do you feel?”

You snort and scooch closer until you can put a leg over his hip.

“Godlike”, you finally sigh. It earns you an amused chuckle and another murmur that you don’t catch over your increasing drowsiness.

#morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #dream x reader #matthew the raven

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undiscovered-horizon · 2 years ago

Text

Returning customer - Morpheus x Witch!Reader

Continuation to [Welcome to Moon Siren Horticulture!]

SUMMARY: That strange, brooding customer is back and, just as you wished, no children or curses are involved. Your new neighbours make themselves known.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.4k

“Sir, unless you provide me with proper documents, I can’t sell you a Liverstone. That’s the law,” you explain slowly. There is hardly a simpler way to get your point across. Nevertheless, the man seems to miss it entirely. In turn, his lack of understanding makes you miss the bright ringing of the doorbell as someone has just walked into the store.

“Come on, lady.” Here comes another pitiful shot at haggling. “Do I look like a maniac? I’m not going to do anything stupid or illegal with it.” Interesting that he would suggest such a course of events when you haven’t even pointed to a suspicion of this kind. People often say that it is the thief who is most afraid of being robbed. Perhaps folk wisdom isn’t always wrong.

“It’s not a matter of belief, sir,” you answer sternly. Somewhere behind him, you can see a head of black, dishevelled hair but the enigmatic visitor seems to exist only when you’re directly paying attention to him. The moment you look back at the discoloured face and bloodshot eyes belonging to the cultist, the existence of the yet unknown client immediately disappears from your thoughts. “Until I receive a signed confirmation from your High Priestess, I’m lawfully prohibited from selling you this.”

The man puts his clasped, shaking hands on the counter in front of you as if he’s about to say something off-record. It’s hard to say whether the trembling is brought by nervousness or withdrawals. “Look, Lady Helena is swamped lately. She asked me to get a Liverstone, while she’s busy preparing for the festival. You know Lady Helena, she’s going to be very upset if she hears you pawned me off.” The cultist gives you a meaningful look, although all of its reasonability or seriousness is long forgotten because of the clearly deranged gloss covering his eyes. Some part of you doubts Lady Helena even knows he’s here. Does she have any idea how far gone his addiction is?

“And Lady Helena knows me.” You’re not giving up, both for his and your own’s sake. “I’m sure she’ll understand that I can’t sell it without proper documentation.”

For some reason, it is at this moment that the other customer decides to step in. In the black dishevelled hair and a heavy coat, you recognize the mysterious man that had visited your shop a while ago. He puts his hand on the red-eyed man’s shoulder. The cultist furrows his eyebrows and slowly turns around. His eyes mindlessly search the other man’s face as though it’s taking him a significant amount of time to recognize him as a human or at least a humanoid.

When the excruciatingly slow process comes to an end, the cultist opens his eyes wide. Clearly, the enigmatic man in a coat is not unfamiliar to him. Suddenly rejuvenated, the addict takes off his top hat.

“My good lord Morpheus!” he exclaims in disbelief.

‘Morpheus?’ you repeat in your head. ‘Could it be…?’

The cultist reaches for the man’s other hand, shaking it vigorously in an overly-excited show of politeness. Although Morpheus appears to be reluctant about the gesture, he doesn’t withdraw his arm.

“As I live and breath!” the man says as he continues his obnoxious pleasantries. “This is such an honour! I will be much obliged to tell my fellow professionals about it.”

“You really shouldn’t, Theodore Hearson,” Morpheus speaks patiently in a low voice. “Go home, soon you’ll feel better.”

The cultist immediately drops his vigorous hand-shaking. He ponders for a moment, staring blankly into space. “Yes… yes, I should go. Good day to you.” Then, he puts his hat back on, tips it to Morpheus and leaves the store, Liverstone long forgotten. You have befriended either an exceptional diplomat or a top-notch sorcerer, it seems.

Not wanting to seem shaken up with the miraculous persuasion, you welcome Morpheus as you would a regular client: “Welcome back. How can I help you?”

“I’m in need of your help once more. My friend is looking for a plant that might have killed someone.” As his low voice makes the marrow in your bones vibrate, he pulls out a folded note from his pocket and hands it to you.

Before you can even take in the information hastily scribbled on the torn piece of paper, you notice the striking familiarity of the style in which the letters are written - you’ve seen it countless times before. “Hey, I know this handwriting. It’s Johanna Constantine’s.”

His eyebrows raise unnoticeably. “You know her?”

“She does regular ‘pest control’ for me.”

“What interest could demons have in a plant shop?”

“It’s not really interest per se,” you explain. “The soil of more delicate plants should be fertilised with crushed soul stones and although they’re shards, demons still can reside in them. Selling a haunted flower gets the license revoked, so I’m not risking it.”

You’re about to look down on the note again, this time focused on putting together the information Johanna could give you, when a booming thud resounded above your head. Again. The sound is followed by heavy footsteps and something like a muffled growl.

“Speaking of risk…” you say under your breath. As though you could see through the walls, you look at the ceiling expectantly.

“Something’s troubling you?”

“Hard to say, really.” You look at Morpheus again. “There’s a new store opening up there, The Blind Gorgon. They sell cryptids mainly. Arcane Weekly wrote about them some time ago. People and cattle were getting strangled in some village in Russia and when the Emissaries of Ilharin went to investigate, it turned out that the owner of the store had a wild bukavac in the cellar. Before the Russian bureau of Emissaries could pin the guy as a suspect, he closed the shop and disappeared. Go figure.” You give him a dismissive shrug but a creature of his sort is far too smart to be deceived by something like that.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips. You shake your head but it’s more of a way to shake off the sudden disturbance rather than a show of your dissatisfaction with new neighbours.

“Anyway.” You look at the note properly this time. “Red flower, pine aroma, growing out of a corpse?” you read. Although the amount of information is scarce, it’s enough for you to immediately know the answer to the charades. “It’s Devil’s Nightcap. Nasty way to go. The thing is, the victim had to ingest the seed for the plant to grow and kill them but you can’t buy them. Whoever did this, owns a Devil’s Nightcap, which, no surprise, is a heavily restricted plant. A warlock, a sorcerer, an alchemist, maybe a healer,” you count all the possibilities. “Or a horticulturist, of course.” In a vague motion, you point to yourself.

Morpheus takes the note back from you. Deliberately or not, his fingers linger on yours for a strangely long period of time. “In what currency does Johanna usually pay you?” He wastes no time getting straight to the point.

“We barter,” you answer flustered. Nervously, you rub your hands against your gardening apron. Maybe you’re reading a bit too much into his gesture? “I do favours for her pro bono and she gives me a discount for her service. Besides, it’s bad luck to take money from exorcists.”

He loiters for a moment as though he’s considering saying or doing something more. Whatever calculation he made in his head, Morpheus apparently decided against continuing the tense interaction. He’s about to turn around, leave your store, when you stop him:

“I wanted to thank you again for getting rid of the nightmares brought by Widow’s Woe. The day you came here I had my first restful sleep in years.”

Morpheus’s face lights up. A faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What did you dream of?”

“It was quite strange, actually.” You scrunch your nose remembering the vision. “I found myself in a meadow where flowers I’d never seen before grew. I think there was also a black cat.”

“That’s a nice dream,” he says in an uncharacteristic, soft voice.

You’re not sure what it is about his sudden tenderness that makes you blush. “Yes, I think so, too.”

Morpheus leaves the store and the quietness of the plants is unbearable for the first time in decades.

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writethrough · 2 years ago

Note

Hello!! Could I request a Morpheus/powered reader? Powered like witch, elemental magick, whatever floats your boat! Action with fluff and camaraderie? Romantic or platonic is up to you! I love your fics!!

To Dream of Magic

(Morpheus x Female Reader)

Warnings: Minor injuries, mention of death, Matthew gets a little love interest

Word Count: 2377

A/N: Okay, so I love anything that has to do with witches, so the fact that you requested this was like the best cup of tea! I actually had this idea for a bit, and then you submitted this so it gave me the motivation to finish it!

I consider this a part one. But in the sense that if someone wants more Witch!Reader, this will be the character they get. I'm really excited to dive into this world/relationship. And once my requests are open again, I'd be happy to hear any ideas anyone has.

The residents of Thelma’s Grove were an eclectic bunch. A small community tucked just outside the city—modest homes perched along the street that led back to the highway. It was the type of place you didn’t know was there until you were in it.

That suited the residents fine. The hustle of the city and its traffic and crowds was what led everyone to Thelma’s Grove. It provided serenity, privacy, and above all, secrecy.

They were an eclectic lot indeed—beekeepers, a preschool teacher, a few single parents, and their children. But the woman who lived in the little white house with the sage-colored door was the most secretive.

You were kind—incredibly so—a wonderful neighbor. Everyone in Thelma’s Grove knew one another from where they were before to what they did, so when you arrived with your trunks, plants, and a lovebird, the street was abuzz.

They suspected something was different about you when you told one of your neighbors to take his dog to the vet. He had given you a funny look at first, but you made up an excuse, saying your friend's dog had similar symptoms. A day later, he was at your front door thanking you.

It grew from there. Your neighbors trusted your “instincts” more—that’s what they called them anyway. If someone had trouble with headaches, sleeping, anxiety—you name it—you’d give them a concoction of your making.

It wasn’t until the woman across the road broke her leg that the word “witch” attached itself to you.

You had thought you heard a scream. When the man who lived beside her looked up from his weeding, you knew it was real.

You rushed to her door, unlocking it with a flick of your wrist, and found her at the bottom of her stairs.

Her leg was bent at an odd angle as she lay on the floor, sobbing.

“It’s alright. I’m going to help you,” you said.

Searching around, you grabbed the hand towel hanging from the oven, folded it, and held it to her mouth.

“You need to bite down on this.”

She did as you said, too in pain to register what you were saying or doing.

You moved to her feet, kneeling above her.

“This will hurt, but you’ll be fine once I’m done.”

You didn’t hesitate as you grasped her behind her knee and ankle, straightening it. The scream she let out was muffled by the towel, but you didn’t let it phase you as you aligned her leg.

You muttered to yourself, a language lost in time. Beneath your fingers, the muscles and tissue reconnected. And your neighbor's cries slowly ebbed.

You shifted to sit and pulled the towel from her mouth.

“How does it feel now?” you asked, wiping the tears from her face.

She sniffled and looked at you with a mixture of wonder and confusion.

“Better,” she whispered, hoarse.

You gave her a small smile. “Good.”

You later found out the man had witnessed the whole thing. And between him and her, they had told the entire community what you did.

It all made sense after that. Your “instincts” were really magic. You knew the dog was sick because you spoke to her. Your concoctions were healing potions. And that little bird of yours was your familiar.

Yes, Thelma’s Grove was full of an eclectic bunch, indeed.

—

You were tending to your greenhouse in the backyard. It wasn’t much, no bigger than a shed, but it held life in every square inch. Planters lined the three walls with large terracotta pots on the floor below and other plants hanging from above.

You had finished watering the elderberry tree when Hope flew in.

“Come quickly! Someone needs you,” she said, zipping away when you started to follow.

The cries hit you before you saw who made them.

Hope landed beside a raven whose wing was unfurled and lay limp in the grass.

“It’s alright now. She will heal you,” Hope reassured.

You kneeled slowly, hands raised, so you didn’t startle the poor creature.

“Let me see,” you said, cupping the wing from underneath.

The bird yelped.

“I know,” you hushed. “I know.”

You rested your other hand over the wing, the lost language passing through your lips until the limb was healed.

The bird hiccupped but tentatively moved to test if the pain was gone.

When no zap occurred, the bird hopped closer and bowed its head.

“Thank you! Thank you!” he cried.

“There’s no need for that. I’m just happy you’re okay,” you said.

“I’m more than okay! You fixed my wing!”

You giggled. “What’s your name?”

“Matthew, my lady.” He bowed again.

You shook your head and told him your name and Hope’s. “No need for that. Why don’t you come in and rest?” You held out your finger, and he hopped on.

Hope flew in before you and perched on the back of a barstool as you set Matthew down on the counter.

“So, what exactly happened?” you asked.

He looked down as if embarrassed. “I was running an errand. And…may have gotten distracted.”

Your brow furrowed. “Distracted?”

Only when you caught his tiny eyes glancing at Hope did you understand.

You hummed. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. As long as you’re alright now.”

“I am!” He jumped at the subject change. “Never better.”

“Good.” You nodded. Then after considering what he said, you asked, “Who were you running an errand for?”

You knew most, if not all, of the witches in the area. You couldn’t remember any of them having a raven as a familiar. And even if one did, it wouldn’t explain the odd sensation this bird carried. Like…well, it reminded you of the lost language—ancient and powerful.

“The King of Dreams,” he said.

Your eyes narrowed in confusion. The King of Dreams? As in, not a witch?

Matthew shifted from foot to foot, getting the sense this was news to you.

“Are you…Are you not a goddess or something?” he asked.

You pulled back in surprise. “No. No, I’m definitely not.”

“Oh.” He dragged out, coming to a realization. “So, what are you?”

“A witch,” you said blankly, glancing at Hope, whose head was tilted. At least she was just as lost as you.

“Wait. Witches are real?” he asked.

“And apparently, so are gods,” you breathed, laughing in disbelief.

Yes, you were a witch. And yes, you thought of your gifts from the goddesses Hecate and Circe, but to have confirmation that the God of Dreams was real? It was almost too much.

You shook your head slightly to clear it.

“Morpheus is a little more than a god, per se,” Matthew said. “It’s…It’s kinda complicated. And thinking about it gives me a headache.”

You waved a hand. “We’ll save it for a rainy day then.”

—

Matthew had stayed a few more hours, asking questions about your powers and nearly preening when Hope wanted to know more about him.

You were exhausted by the time you crawled into bed. And sleep took you quickly.

The man before you wasn’t familiar. His porcelain complexion and onyx hair contrasted sharply but in an entirely transfixing way. He seemed larger than he was, possessing this energy that encompassed everything around him.

This feeling wasn’t new. You experienced it before…

The raven. Matthew.

This was Morpheus.

“You know me,” Morpheus spoke first, deep and honey-rich.

It was less a statement and more a question, making sure you knew who stood before you.

“Yes,” you said.

A breeze rustled the grass, and the distinct smell of citrus floated upward, but you couldn’t place where it came from. There were no orange trees here.

“It’s in the field,” he said. “I thought it would make you comfortable.”

You smiled at the images it conjured.

Hours upon hours of running through your grandmother’s orange grove. She was the one who first taught you about your heritage. Her skills had laid in plants. She knew everything there was to know. No one could brew a potion like her or heal an ailment quicker. You were happy she saw some talent in you.

“How is Matthew?” You looked back to him, coming out of your memories.

“As if nothing happened.” Morpheus had gotten closer. Or the stretch of green between you had shortened. You supposed it didn’t matter.

“Good,” you breathed, reaching to play with your pendant.

“I wanted to thank you for your aid,” he said.

You shook your head. “That’s not necessary. I’m just happy he’s alright.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up, but it was gone so fast you thought you imagined it.

“He’s spoken quite fondly of you.” He turned to the side, hands in his pockets, and you knew he wanted to walk with you. “And your familiar.”

“Hope,” you said, biting your lip at how Matthew had acted around the lovebird. “I think he has a little crush.”

“I think he’s fallen in love.”

You looked up, surprised at the slight tease in his tone. You never expected someone of his position to joke so readily. Then again, you hadn’t met anyone of his caliber before.

He led you to a pond with water so clear you could see the fish below. A dolphin-sized koi fish swam with half-fish half-cat creatures and so many others you weren’t sure how they all fit.

Morpheus sat on a bench, waiting for you to do the same.

“You are different from the witches I’ve encountered,” he said, regarding you with curiosity.

“How so?”

“You are kind.”

He said it as if it were foreign. Like he hadn’t seen kindness in eons. And, maybe, he’d seen so much that all of the bad had clouded the good.

You opened your mouth, unsure how to respond, then began slowly. “My grandmother used to tell me, ‘Do not put into the world what you do not wish back.’ She said it was the only lesson she wanted me to master.”

“Your grandmother was wise.”

“Yeah, she was.” You smiled softly, watching as willow trees dipped their leaves into the pond. “Is it always this peaceful?”

He stared ahead as if seeing something other than what was in front of him.

“It hadn’t been for some time,” he said. “All is well now.”

You hummed in thought. “‘The only thing that is eternal is hope.’ Another thing she used to say.”

“Is that the origin of your familiar’s name?” His eyes were soft, an endless galaxy on a warm summer’s night.

“She came to me the day my grandmother passed. I thought it was fitting.” You shrugged.

Everyone who had known your grandmother attended her celebration of life—family members, friends, patients—it made you cry harder knowing she was so loved.

You had walked away from the group for a moment to yourself—for a moment of grief and remembrance—when this beautiful little bird landed in your path.

She gazed at you with an intelligence unlike the animals you often healed, and you felt the connection bridge between you and her. And the name came to you when the last piece fell into place. Your utterance of “Hope” solidified your bond.

“My brother was with you that day.”

Your brow furrowed. “Your brother?”

“Destiny,” he said.

You let out a small laugh. “Yes, I suppose he was.”

Conversation flowed easily between you two. Though Morpheus didn’t say much, he was insightful and intelligent, and he listened with keen attention that made you almost shy. He controlled every speck of dirt and beam of light around you yet held an interest in you.

When you felt the tug of consciousness, you couldn’t believe how quickly time had passed. You could have sworn you only arrived in the Dreaming a few minutes ago. But you woke to the sunrays filtering through your curtains.

In the following days, you scoured every source you could think of for information on Morpheus. There were Greek myths, but your search grew more fruitful when you stumbled across an ancient tomb in one of your grandmother’s chests.

She taught you about destiny—how it influenced you and how you influenced it—so to see it written in her delicate scrawl wasn’t unusual. But when it changed to capital-D "Destiny," you shifted your tactics. It led you to the beginning.

Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair, and Delirium.

Personifications of otherwise intangible consciousnesses—all more powerful than any god or goddess you could think of.

And you had unknowingly saved one of their emissaries.

You had spoken to one of them.

You felt the vastness of his power by simply looking at him—it both terrified and thrilled you.

Dream. The perfect name for a creature so enthralling.

Mere days passed before Matthew appeared in your garden once again. You only noticed when you heard Hope speaking to someone, and his voice carried into the greenhouse. You thought it best to give them their privacy.

You could feel Morpheus’ presence through the raven even from here. It was stronger than last time, but you assumed that was because of Matthew’s injury.

And when it moved closer, you paid it no mind, thinking Matthew and Hope were joining you. It only occurred to you that their voices had stayed the same volume when the energy was standing in the doorway.

You glanced over your shoulder, eyes jumping in surprise.

“Good morning.”

“Morpheus,” you said. “I…What are you doing here?”

“Matthew wished to visit Hope,” he said, stepping forward, hands behind his back. He scanned over the pots of flowers and herbs, trailing from the one at your fingertips, up your arms, to meet your eyes. “I wished to visit you.”

You bit your lip lightly, glancing down then back. “Well then, how about a cup of tea?”

He nodded once, letting you lead the way.

You moved to Thelma’s Grove because something pulled you toward it after your grandmother died. You found a home in the community. People who would protect you and who you’d protect in return. It didn’t matter if you had lived here for twenty years or visited for a few hours. Once you found this little corner of the world, you were part of it forever.

And you hoped the same could be said of the Endless behind you.

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