King Of Dreams - Tumblr Posts
The Dream That Got Away
Chapter 8
Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x You (no Y/N!)
This is a multi-chapter fic — Weekly updates (either Saturday or Sunday) because I found a rhythm of sorts lol
(The entire fic has been outlined, so I will see this to the end, you have my word)
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Link to the Masterlist
Overall Warnings!! Take heed:
Morpheus is DARK – in canon, he changes for the better (or at least, tries to – but we don’t do canon lol, so he goes even more batshit crazy) cue obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, powerplay
18+ ONLY – explicit scenes will be present, some explicit language
DUB-CON and NON-CON scenes
Character death (sort of)
Creator vs Creation drama
And other dark stuff that may be added in the future
This chapter’s warnings:
non-consensual kissing and touching
touch-starved Morpheus should be a warning of its own
mentions of death/killing
You have been warned!! Proceed with caution!!!
Link to the previous chapter
Chapter 8: The Dream Plan
If you thought the first beach you’d visit in the Waking World would take your mind off things for a while, you were sorely mistaken.
For the past few days, you had taken to sulking in Ollie’s study. Trying to come up with plans for evading your Dream King had made you a bit moodier and jumpier than normal. To top it all off, you swore you had felt this immense surge of endless power find its way back to its rightful owner – has he finally retrieved all his tools? If so, it wouldn’t be long before he gets to you and finds out what you had been up to. The thought bothered you so much, you had started refusing to eat and step out of the study, enough for Ollie to put his foot down and address your depressed state. Ever the fusspot, he insisted you come with him on a trip to Cape Kennedy, Florida, for a change of view, saying it would be good for your health. You had wondered vaguely why he chose this place, but you just got a shrug from him, mumbling how there was just “something about it” that drew him in. After reluctantly agreeing, all he had to do was dream of the room he was staying in so you could travel through his dream to meet him in the Waking.
Instead of calming your inner storm, however, going to the beach only made you realize how sorely you missed the ones in the Dreaming. With a twinge of sad nostalgia, you recall just how fine their sand felt as you wriggled your toes in them, and how the serene waters were the loveliest shade of blue. Involuntarily, a pair of eyes in the same shade, with galaxies swirling in righteous anger, floats into your line of vision – the unwelcome image goes away in a blink; a mere hallucination. It takes all your willpower to not stagger backward and make a run for it, so when you see a young woman with colourful dreadlocks in the distance, crouching before a raven, you quietly thank the Fates for a much-needed distraction. You’ve met the woman in passing at the Bed and Breakfast you’re staying at, so you take a step forward to say a more proper ‘hi’ this time.
You don’t get a chance to, for someone grips your arm tightly and hurriedly drags you away from the bizarre scene.
“What the – hey, what in the –”
You object to the intrusion, yanking your arm away and eyeing whoever it is. Whatever indignant retort you had bubbling at your throat dies down, leaving your mouth agape. What is he doing here?
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, doll.” The Corinthian gives you a mock salute in greeting.
“Corinthian,” you tilt your head to greet him back. “What was that all about?”
Smiling cheekily, he replies, “You should be thanking me. I just saved you from meeting your maker earlier than I’m sure you planned.”
Wide-eyed, you shudder inwardly at his insinuation. “You mean that’s his raven? How can you be so sure?”
“I overheard them.”
With a quiet gesture to follow him, you both walk away from the scene, ensuring you’re both out of earshot.
“What is a Dreaming raven doing, talking to Rose Walker?”
“You’ve met her?”
“Yes, she’s a fellow tenant at this place we’re staying.”
“Oh? I’m guessing you’re with your lover? You like getting yourself in trouble, don’t you?” He says playfully, wagging a finger at you.
Ignoring his comment, you repeat your question: “What’s a raven of the Dream Lord doing with her?”
“Don’t you recognize her? She’s a vortex.”
The Corinthian’s revelation makes you halt your steps in your shock.
“So, you are familiar with Vortexes.”
“I’ve read about them. Dreams are drawn to them, like moths to a flame.”
“Smart as ever, doll. As for me, I’m going to make her kill Dream.”
“No,” You say, shaking your head at him in incredulity. “You’re really not going to do that, are you?”
His smirk only grows wider, more sinister. “No spoilers, doll. Just sit back and enjoy the show.”
Your heart sinks at this – it’s clear he has made his choice, and there is no saving him from it. A sudden, concerning thought crosses you:
“He’s going to use her to draw out those who are missing.”
“Oh, you think?” He remarks sarcastically, looking around the beach with faint interest.
“It was a mistake, coming here,” you say in a haunted whisper.
Humming thoughtfully, he asks you, “What are you gonna do, then, Dream’s little plaything?”
“Don’t call me that,” You pout at the nickname, eyes darting at the beachgoers, looking for signs of Rose or the raven. “I must go and warn Ollie. What are you going to do?”
Hands in his trench coat pockets and with a confident air about him, he drawls, “What I do best.”
You give a final nod in his direction and say, “Thank you, Corinthian, for…this.” You gesture awkwardly between the two of you. “Take care of yourself.”
Chuckling lightly, he responds, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me, doll. I can take care of myself just fine. You, on the other hand…” he trails off, clicking his tongue.
He turns his back on you with a single wave, and you watch him vanish in the crowd of incoming beachgoers.
***
As soon as you enter the room, you find it void of the doctor, much to your dismay. The bed had been made, his clothes tucked neatly inside the dresser, and he had the towels replaced. He had at least tidied up the place before he left. Looking around, you notice a box on the table with a note attached to it. The note reads, in Ollie’s immaculate handwriting:
Mera,
I’m out witch-hunting lol :) back before dinner
I left you money for food if you get hungry,
should be enough to order an entire menu ;D
True enough, you lift the box, and you find ten one hundred dollar bills. The box itself, to your surprise, held a six-inch cherry chocolate cheesecake, which he must’ve ordered in after you left.
The cake looks fantastic, but you find yourself without an appetite, so you set the box down and start packing his things. You neatly fold every shirt and every pair of pants he hung in the dresser and place them in his luggage. You then pack the pair of shoes he had left under the table, and after ensuring everything else he had brought is tucked in the luggage trolley, you sit on the couch and wait.
After about six hours of waiting in the room, you had finished off half of the cake he left in your boredom; you’re restless, scared to death that your master might pop in the room any minute to whisk you away from the Waking for good. Sick of counting the flowers on the wallpaper, you take some of the money he left on the table and sneak out of the room to take a walk in the town square. You had heard Rose and her friend, Lyta, talk in the lobby about searching for a lost relative – you didn’t really stick around, not wanting to draw attention to yourself – all you found out was that they would be out the entire day. You expected Dream’s raven to stick with them, so you figured it would be safe. After about three servings of frozen yogurt and three hours later, you head back to the Bed and Breakfast, hoping Ollie had made it back so you could leave this place for good.
As soon as you burst through the door, you find him fast asleep on the bed, still in his day trousers. Looking closely, you notice a third-edition LeRêve device on his wrist, its extending wires strapped to his fingers. Wasting no time, you travel to his dreams, ready to give him an earful and drag him to the nearest airport to get as far away from Cape Kennedy as possible.
You arrive to find him on his desk reading a pocket-sized, antique-looking leather-bound book that you’ve never seen him read before.
He looks up from the book as soon as he feels you arrive. He spiritedly gets up from his desk to approach you, saying, “I’m sorry for leaving you alone at the last minute, Mera, but I’ve been busy. Hear me out: I think know how to keep you safe.”
You let out a humorless chortle, and admit, “Ollie, we’ve thought of everything. Cutting off your consciousness from the Dreaming isn’t enough, now that he’s got a Vortex cooperating with him. That’s what I came here to tell you. We have to leave this place. He’s going to find me soon. Getting away from here can at least buy me more time.”
“What ‘vortex?’ And why did you pack? I need more time to figure this out.”
Now visibly panicking, you grab him by the arms. “Figure what out, Ollie? We don’t have time for this!” You strain out, slightly shaking him. Without your control, tears start to pool out of the corners of your eyes. If he finds me, he finds you.
Very gently, Ollie breaks free from your grip, cups your cheeks with both warm hands, and brings your foreheads together.
“You have to trust me, please. Remember what you did for me, even after I placed that binding curse on you? You came back for me and helped me. I want to do the same for you. Don’t cry, please. He’s never going to hurt you again, not under my watch.”
Sniffling, you give him a tiny nod, touched by his determination to protect you from a being with powers beyond his comprehension. If there is even a tiny percentage of his plan working and staying with him, you decide to cling on to that at that very moment: anything, anything, just you could be free with him.
“Alright. What have you got?”
He sighs in relief, wiping your tears with his thumbs, and says, “Wards.” He grabs the open book he left on the desk and waves it excitedly in the air.
At your befuddled look, you explain further, “I drove all the way to Jacksonville to meet this witch I saw on Facebook. That was a hundred and sixty miles away, can you believe it? And I told her I keep being followed by this supernatural thing and I wanted to keep it away, and she asks what supernatural thing, right? So I told her I don’t know, but it’s powerful beyond –”
“Ollie,” you interrupt, waving a hand in his face. “You’re rambling. What did she say?”
“She sold me this book about magical wards. So, what if I can put up these wards in my dream –”
“The way they’re used in the Waking,” you finish his sentence for him. “It’s a novel idea, Ollie, but I’m not sure how a simple set of wards could keep an Endless away.”
In your head, flashes of a circular glass cage cross your vision. “But I think I’ve seen a barrier that kept one at bay.”
Ollie’s face lights up with hope at your comment. “We have to try, right?”
Tacitly, you agree, asking, “What do you need?”
“Just give me a few days. Please.”
You nod, starting to feel sick in the stomach at the price you need to pay to buy him time.
Don’t do it, comes the Voice’s ominous warning.
“I have to go back to the Kingdom.”
He turns his head away from the book sharply and narrows his eyes on you. “What did you just say?”
Expecting this reaction, you sigh deeply, sitting back down on the couch and pointedly ignoring the Voice’s protests. “I have to appear in the castle, so they don’t suspect a thing.”
“No. No, absolutely fucking not. You’re going over my dead body.” Ollie’s brows are furrowed together, and he places his hands on his hips in indignance at your proposal.
“Ollie, I don’t like it any better than you do. But please, hear me out. The Vortex I mentioned? It’s a human being with powers that can include traveling through other people’s dreams. She’s here, right in that building with us. Anything to do with dreams and nightmares, she draws nearer to herself, and she’s working for the Dream King. If I don’t go right now, they’ll realize I’ve been with you this whole time.”
Ollie, rubbing the back of his head, dons a distraught, yet resigned expression. “Are you sure there’s no other way?”
You shake your head glumly. With a sudden inspiration, you close the distance between you two. You fish out the dreamcatcher that had made its home in your pocket, untouched for almost a year. You hold it between your thumb and forefinger and show it to him.
He looks at the all-too-familiar object with a confused smile. “I thought you destroyed that.”
“I don’t know why I kept it. You’re still a bastard for binding me to it,” you jest, placing it back into your pocket and adding, “But I’m glad I did.” Breathing deeply, you summon all the courage you have in your heart for what you’re about to do.
Standing on your toes (he’s so bloody tall), you wrap your arms around his neck and plant a quick, soft kiss on his lips.
“I’ll see you later. Keep safe.”
And in an instant, you will yourself back to the sea of dreams for the first time in months, leaving him flustered and red as a tomato in the face.
***
In the fantastical dreams of Barbara McKean or Barbie, as she likes to be called, a dense fog engulfs the figures of a young female with rainbow dreadlocks and a tall, dark-haired male clad in flowy robes of black.
As Rose Walker takes slow, calculated steps through the fog, the King of Dreams follows wordlessly after her. His expression cold and unreadable, he watches the Vortex tread onwards with hands wading through the thick gray mist before her, perhaps looking for an exit from this dream. Morpheus can feel her dogged determination to find the dreams of her brother – his quest, on the other hand, is to fetch a Nightmare called Gault, whom he suspects may have kept her brother away in an effort to mislead him and exercise her own powers to rule a dream she has full control of. Another subject of his had gone rogue and had overstepped their boundaries. If only his creations know well to toe the line and obey the rules he has set out since the inception of his kingdom, he would be somewhere else, perhaps deep in the dreams of other mortals, in search of a dream that had proved so loyal, enough to sacrifice her safety to find him and save his dying kingdom. Perhaps, should they follow your example, he might be inclined to enact a more merciful punishment.
The fog before them gathers right in front of his companion, swirling to the middle to form a single door. Rose Walker hesitates for a moment, before pushing it open and stepping into the dream of another mortal.
The two unlikely pair find themselves in a neat, minimalist office, with the dreamer on his desk reading from a tiny, old book with utmost concentration.
Oliver Chapman, the said dreamer, slowly gets to his feet, placing his book inside his desk drawer.
“Excuse me, can I help the both of you?” he inquires, his suspicion-filled green eyes, glaring, locking on the galaxy-filled blue ones of Dream of the Endless.
A lucid dreamer.
The King rises to this quiet challenge, wondering inwardly why, of all the dreams he has been in since his capture, his is the only one with a strong scent of the dream most precious to him. Could his dream have recently sought refuge here, perhaps, before moving on to another’s? Are you close by, injured, too weak to come home to him and return to his arms? To his credit, Oliver Chapman does not flinch; Morpheus, however, the perceptive being he is, senses his rapid heartbeat. Has he got something to hide?
“You shouldn’t be here,” he declares, his narrowing eyes never leaving the Dream King’s.
Sensing the tension between the men, Rose clears her throat loudly and says, “I’m sorry, Ollie, we were just leaving,” putting emphasis on the last word.
Just as she finishes her sentence, another door materializes on the wall of his study where it wasn’t a few moments ago. Rose glances nervously between the two before finally pushing the door open and moving on to the next dream.
With a scoff of barely-concealed contempt, Morpheus tears his gaze away from the dreamer and exits through the door after the Vortex. He might not know it yet, but Oliver Chapman just found himself worthy of another visit from him in the near future.
***
Back in the Dreaming, you surface from the seas, relieved to finally know the waters have calmed down in your King’s presence.
The King of Dreams, back in his kingdom.
Of course, you’re happy he has finally returned to restore life to the Realm you loved with every fiber of your being –but surely that meant the sealing of your fate to a function you had dreaded to fulfill. You could hear your heart thumping loudly in your ears, and you try to compose yourself by breathing through your mouth as you begin your walk towards the towering gates. You trek past the town center, all the way to the bridge that connects the majestic palace that had been your home. It seemed only yesterday that the entire land had nothing but barren landscapes. Everything has been brought back to the way it was – the Dreamfolk, going about their lives merrily, grateful for their monarch’s return. It all reminded you of all the fun you once had before you came on your master’s radar, so it’s with a pang in your heart to have to say goodbye, granted Ollie’s plan works and your King does not get wind of it.
Ollie. You had just kissed him right before you left. If he found out…
The steps to the palace grounds shake you from your reverie. You take a final deep breath and ascend. Gripping your skirt in an effort to strengthen your resolve, you feel something solid in your pocket; fishing the object out, you see the ruby you had removed on your first day in the Waking World – his gift, or rather, his mark on you, a rather ominous reminder. You fix it on your head hastily, before darting to the Library to greet a friend you have not seen in almost a year.
Entering the Royal Librarian’s premises takes your breath away like it’s the first time you’ve seen it. You take a moment to stroke the giant shelves containing the books you thought you’d never get back in your creator’s absence, fighting back your tears of joy – humanity’s books, the same ones you’ve found solace in, now have finally made it home.
“Mera, is that you?”
At the sound of Lucienne’s voice, you spin around to see her, almost losing your balance. She has not changed a bit, except for her expression – you had gotten so used to seeing her in a morose mood for the past century, you forgot how bright her smile could be. Running to her, you give her the tightest hug you could muster.
“Mera, thank goodness you’re safe!” Lucienne exclaims in a relieved voice.
Breaking the hug, you brace yourself for the lie you’re about to tell, hoping one day, she could forgive you for it.
“I got stuck in the dreams,” you begin with a strained look, finding it difficult to tell the lie. Thankfully, she seems to mistake this as you recollecting your memory of getting lost in the waters.
“Oh, dear, what happened?” she asks, concern marring her features.
Shit. You had not prepared for this at all.
“I-I got…trapped,” you stammer, but before she could press on, you both feel the almighty presence of your King return to the shores, evidently coming from the dreams of the mortals. Has he seen Ollie?
“I’ve got to go, Mera. The Dream Lord has come back from a quest to find a Nightmare named Gault. I’ll explain everything to you later, but it isn’t safe in the palace yet – there’s a Vortex, and it’s recently been causing dream-quakes,” she explains. With a grasp on your hand, she flashes you a welcoming smile. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
And so you wait, rooted to your spot – not that you could move anyway. As much as you wanted to dig into the books and find out what your dreamers had been up to, you’re trembling and jittery, fumbling with your hands with nothing but dread filling your thoughts. What has he found out in his trip in the dreams with Rose? What if he found out about your plans or worse, what if he hurt Ollie? Your intrusive thoughts wander to an image of Ollie, eyes almost glazed over, lying in a pool of blood –
Pull yourself together, the Voice scolds.
You rub your face with your palms to erase the gruesome image. The Voice is right – now is not a good time to lose it.
As soon as you hear a pair of footsteps enter the library, you brace yourself for their arrival. You look down at the floor and try to regulate your breathing. When the footsteps come to halt before you, you bow your head in reverence – you’re in the audience of the very omnipotent being who had molded you into existence, after all. He merely stands there, yet he changes the entire atmosphere in the library to one of petrifying tension.
Dream of the Endless.
“Mera.”
The sound of his deep, velvety voice, echoing in the expansive space, sends shivers down your spine. Your hand unconsciously goes to your thigh where your other pocket is, feeling for the dreamcatcher as if trying to draw comfort from it.
“Lucienne, leave us.”
You inwardly flinch at the command he had directed at his Royal Librarian – it was the same command he had issued to her in the throne room all those years ago, the events after which haunted you ever since. Ever the obedient one, Lucienne rushes past you – your scared eyes meet her reassuring ones briefly as she mouths, ‘we’ll talk later,’ before retreating. Her footsteps die down and one of the massive doors to the library close behind her, leaving you and your master alone.
He takes dawdling steps towards you, taking his time – your eyes keep glued to his feet, willing your hands not to shake. He takes a stop a few inches right in front of you.
You see him raise his hand – is he finally going to unmake you after all the rules you’ve broken? With resignation, you wait for the excruciating pain of disintegrating into millions of grains of sand, but it doesn’t come. Instead, you feel a warm hand cup the side of your face ever so gently.
“Look at me.”
You are quick to raise your head and meet his eyes; in place of righteous wrath, he has an unexpected softness in his gaze, the galaxies in his blue eyes swirling in seeming anticipation. You almost get lost in it, if it isn’t for the memory in you of the same eyes that had looked at you with such lust it made your skin crawl.
As if on cue, his gaze darkens, the hunger in his eyes evident – like they did so many times before, those haunting moments still fresh in your mind.
You’ve thought of many things that would occur when you meet him again and kept playing them over and over again in your head.
His insistent lips on yours isn’t one of them.
Wrapping his other around your waist, the Dream Lord spins you around and pins you on the nearby bookshelf, inadvertently knocking off some books in the process. You close your eyes tightly, thinking of Ollie so you could endure the kiss, but his thumb on your chin forces your mouth open and he slips his tongue, tangling yours with his. Without meaning to, your palms make their way to his chest, tapping lightly, wanting to make him stop. To your surprise, his lips leave yours, and nuzzles your hair, but before your relief could register, his words make your heart sink to your stomach:
“Thoughts of you were my only solace in my capture.”
And he takes a deep breath to smell your hair before pulling away, looking into your eyes as he strokes your jawline.
“I had feared the sea of dreams had claimed you for itself. What happened to you?”
With your breathing still uneven and shallow, you stammer in response, “I-I… got t-trapped, my Lord…”
“Trapped?”
You hope to the Fates he doesn’t see the fear in your eyes, or feel your escalating heartbeat – he waits for a response, narrowing his eyes slightly. Delaying any further could make him doubt anything else you would say, so in your rush to find an excuse, you blurt out, “S-someone trapped me using m-magic, your Majesty.”
For a second he assesses your words, trying to detect a hint of deception. But how could he? It was a partial truth, and one that you might regret revealing, but this isn’t the time to think of it.
He clenches his jaw with a look of burning outrage. With a low voice, he asks, “Who?”
“My Lord, it doesn’t matter –”
His hold on your waist tightens by a tiny fraction. “Who trapped you?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“Please, my Lord, they did it because they needed my help, and they let me go in the end –”
“You must tell me, my dream. Their reason, nor their change of heart, matters not.”
You bite your lip in distress, trying to persuade him from his line of questioning. It isn’t working.
“My little dream, I am only looking after you. ‘They’ tried to keep what’s mine. I will ensure that they shall never do so again.”
“You don’t have to, my Lord, please…” you try to beg, daring to place your palm over the hand cupping your cheek. “Please, don’t…”
The Dream Lord hums lowly, and he swoops in on you and kisses you once more.
His kiss is desperate this time, as if wanting to savor every inch of your mouth – you let him, and at some point when he deepens the kiss even further, you tentatively kiss him back – anything for him to let the matter go. Will it be enough?
He growls in pleasure at your response, probably unexpecting it. This goads him on – his hands travel to your back, fondling the ribbon of your dress. Inwardly, you pray with all your might that he doesn’t undo it –
Then the ground beneath your feet shakes, forcing the both of you still your movement; grateful for the opportunity, you waste no time pulling away from his embrace and putting as much acceptable distance as possible without causing his temper to flare further.
When the quake eventually halts, your master breaks the silence with a warning: “I will soon coax it out of you. In the meantime, I forbid you to leave my Kingdom.”
You give him a wide-eyed look in protest, but he ever-so-slightly shakes his head, dismissing your objection. “It would set my heart at ease if you stayed there, my dream, until the Vortex has been dealt with. Your quarters have been restored to their original state. Your previous attendant would be happy to resume her role.”
No, this wouldn’t do; not again. You had spent so much time by yourself in that wretched prison, it almost drove you to insanity. Besides, you need as much freedom of movement as you can to visit Ollie’s progress.
So, clutching your hands to your chest in a plea, you say, “My Lord, please don’t confine me in there, I could help, or continue forming dreams –”
“No, you will not.” Despite our pleading eyes, you are met with your Lord’s resolute ones.
“Please, at least let me to the Library, I could be of use to Lucienne.”
He takes a threatening step forward with a curious expression, wondering, “Why, my dream? Do you not like your room? Or are you worried you’re going to be lonely, without company?”
No! shouts the adamant Voice in your head. Shaking your head wildly, you say, “No, sir I –”
“Well, if my dream requests it so,” he starts with a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth, “I can perhaps make quick visits to your quarters to keep you company.”
Perhaps, if you could’ve just agreed, maybe it should not have come to this? Visits from him, no matter what length, seemed to always leave you with a great deal of anxiety.
“I could never tear your time away from your duties, my King,” you say in an attempt to dissuade him.
A resonating caw from above interrupts your conversation.
“Sir, sir, you have to see this!”
You look up: the raven you saw only this morning circles the high ceiling above you before swooping low and landing on the nearest desk, facing you.
“Hello, ma’am!” he greets politely with a wave of a wing.
The Dream King steps forward with a leveled expression, addressing the raven and gesturing to you. “Matthew, this is Mera. She is a dream of mine. You will address her as ‘my lady.’”
Matthew the raven caws before bowing and amending animatedly, “Oh, I’m sorry, my lady. Are you okay? You look spooked. Did he scare you? I gotta admit, he does scare me a little bit – no, not a little bit, but, like, a lot, you know –”
“Matthew.” Your creator sharply interrupts his chatter. Facing you, he motions to the bird perched on the desk with a tilt of his head. “This is Matthew, my raven.”
With a tiny wave at the raven, you greet him ‘hello’ and flash a smile. “Have you met Jessamy, Matthew?”
His dark, beady eyes blink in hesitation, and he ruffles his feathers. “Uh… I have not –”
“That is a matter we can discuss at another time, my dream,” he declares flatly, his face donning a stony mask you know so well; one that always indicates no room for more argument. His eyes bore into yours once more with clear castigation. “My word is final. No wandering around the Realm, or you shall hear from me. Come, Matthew.”
“I’ll see you around, my Lady.” At his master’s bidding, Matthew takes off with a caw and follows the Endless, whose cloak billows around him as his long strides take him away from the library and out of your sight.
The instant he’s gone, you let out the breath you’re holding in and clutch a nearby chair in support.
And once again, like he has done so many times before, he has left you feeling trapped and helpless – and this is just your first meeting with him after a century. What could possibly go down next, with that vague promise of him invading your privacy in the pretense of keeping your company?
***
Morpheus likes to think he’s a man of his word.
This is why he quietly makes his way to your chambers using his sand to avoid rousing you from what looks like a troubled slumber.
The moonlight filtering from the windows of your room illuminated your figure. In your tossing and turning, he surmises, the silken sheets that had previously protected your form from the cold, night air, now reveal quite a sight to behold: your disheveled hair partially covering your face; the strap of your thin nightgown had fallen below your shoulders, exposing your delicate flesh; your nightgown had hiked up to your soft thighs. All the powers he had at his disposal almost isn’t enough to hold himself back from ravishing every inch of you laid out for him in such a state. With a low hum, he contemplates your choice of such a flimsy article of clothing in mild amusement – had you specifically chosen that nightgown to surprise him and tease him with such a view? Knowing how innocent you are, you could not have done that, at least not intentionally. And yet, it’s one of the many qualities he desired in you – your purity, and the thought of corrupting that little by little makes his cock twitch uncomfortably.
He takes deep breaths to will his arousal down, Matthew’s advice echoing in his head.
After they had left you in the library to begin tackling a wayward Nightmare of his and his devoted followers, his raven pressed him about his relationship with the dream he had just met. Morpheus confides very little, but it was enough for the motormouthed bird to conclude the nature of your involvement together. He had then given unsolicited advice; that his ‘scary, creepy vibes’ were pushing you away, and that he had to ‘be patient and go slow’ in pursuing you. Of course, this earned him quite the ‘scary glare’ even before he’d finished his sentence.
But a hundred and six years were evidence of how patient he was in your relationship.
He had been starved of you, and he’s desperately wanting to satiate this appetite. He has to give Matthew’s words some credit, however; he had been bold in his actions before, and he had indeed, ‘spooked’ you, as his raven had noted.
He sets aside his conflicting thoughts and approaches your bed. Softly, he brushes away the stray strands of hair that covered your face. Such beauty he crafted, he muses. Is he not allowed to appreciate his own work of art? His hand moves on its own accord, tracing the outline of your cheek, all the way to the exposed collarbones he had longed to lavish with marks of his possession. The thought of you underneath him, your skin flushed with his bites – he licks his lips in anticipation. He sits on the edge of your bed as gently as he can, his eyes locking on your luscious, bare thighs. He wonders inwardly how long these thoughts would sustain him before his emotions spill over.
No; his mere, clandestine touches aren’t enough. He needs to have you soon.
***
Get up.
Get up.
UP!
The Voice renting space in your head is never this insistent, so you heed its third call, and force yourself to wake and open your eyes. True and alarmingly enough, you find your King sitting on the edge of your bed, watching you with glowing, predatory eyes.
Your immediate reaction is to cover yourself – you pull at the sheets and drape them over yourself hastily; it only partially covers your body and it doesn't help the feeling of being exposed – not under his gaze.
“Forgive me, my little dream, for the intrusion. I planned to visit only momentarily, but I’m afraid I had stalled,” His eyes travel from your face to your partly covered thigh, and adds, “I could not leave, not when I’m presented with such a…tempting sight.”
You watch in muted horror, frozen in place, as one pale hand snakes toward your flesh and strokes it ever-so-delicately, tracing invisible lines. It’s when his hand travels upward that you flinch and pull your legs closer, covering them entirely in silk and hiding it from his heated stare.
He doesn’t appreciate your instinctive reaction.
“You refuse me, still,” he coldly states, his eyes glowing threateningly. “I had thought a century was enough for you to accept your role to me.”
“My Lord,” you start, your plea barely a whisper, “I beg you to reconsider –”
Slowly, he rises from the edge of the bed – you hope against all hope that he goes away in his disappointment, but he only advances nearer to your side, his face contorted in displeasure.
“You may have forgotten: I’m still your King and your creator, and you have a duty to me. A reminder may be long overdue.”
In a split second, you find your back hitting the bed and let out a startled cry. Your master had just gotten on top of you, pinning your hands to the side, his body pressing against you and straddling you at the waist. He's still fully clothed, but you could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent almost suffocating you. You try to stifle your whimpers and avoid struggling against his hold – angering him while in such a precarious situation wouldn’t do you any good.
With a low hum, his lips hover over yours, a hairbreadth away from touching. Your breath hitches, and slowly, agonizingly, he moves down to the groove of your neck, his hot breath peppering your already-flushed skin. He then nuzzles his nose on your jawline and inhales deeply, taking in your scent as if he couldn’t get enough. He’s motionless for a few moments, then you start feeling his lips hover on the side of your face.
“You,” he growls, his hand suddenly on your thigh, hiking your nightgown up, “Are,” he strokes upward, reaching your waist, fondling the hem of your underwear, “Mine.”
“No, my Lord, please…”
At this point, you couldn’t hold back your cries – tears start spilling from the corner of your eyes. When he feels the tears on the side of your face, he shushes you.
“Not another word.”
With your free hand, you cover your mouth at the threat, drowning out the pitiful noises you’re making, not wanting to upset him any further. You close your eyes, wishing this…this nightmare was over.
When he pulls away from you at last and gets off the bed, you scramble to adjust your gown and cover yourself up with the sheets. You sit up hurriedly and scoot backward until your back touches the headboard.
“You will meet me tomorrow morning, on the balcony of the highest tower in my palace. I will have my raven fetch you. Be there as I command it.”
He is gone in a flurry of sand.
It takes about five minutes before you break into tears, clutching a pillow close. You shake in uncontrollable sobbing as you squeeze the pillow tightly for comfort that wouldn’t come. As you do, you feel something solid against the soft cotton – you quickly rummage inside and take the dreamcatcher out. Once an abominable object that bound you against your wishes, it has now become your only source of strength. Nuzzling it to your cheek, your sobs die down, allowing you to think clearly and make an inward vow: no matter what he does, you will not break – for your dream of freedom and for Ollie.
It will all be over soon.
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Author notes on the Chapter:
More angy, touchy, possessive Dream Lord as promised :D
This was an adventure to write NGL. Also, I might be busy by next week - I will be out of town for work for an office party and a project, so the next update might be late (Sunday, Monday, perhaps?). Crossing my fingers I still get to write because I love this fic so much, and shit's about to unfold for our poor reader lol
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Author's notes in general:
Thank you, THANK YOU for reading!!
Please engage, comment and reblog!! I love feedback from you guys :) This is my first ever fic, so kindness is truly appreciated!
Thank you to my queen @queenshelby@endlessdreamqueen3 for encouraging me to pen this, as well as to my fellow Dark!Morpheus writers whose work I have thoroughly enjoyed and keep rereading :)
Post date: 12/10/22
Edit date: 12/10/22
Taglist: Just lemme know please if you want to be added, too!
Tagging the following:
@wt-fxck
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I don't know what exactly to say so I make memes
The Dream That Got Away
Chapter 10
Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x You (no Y/N!)
This is a multi-chapter fic — Weekly updates (either Saturday or Sunday) because I found a rhythm of sorts lol
(The entire fic has been outlined, so I will see this to the end, you have my word)
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Link to the Masterlist
Overall Warnings!! Take heed:
Morpheus is DARK – in canon, he changes for the better (or at least, tries to – but we don’t do canon lol, so he goes even more batshit crazy) cue obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, powerplay
18+ ONLY – explicit scenes will be present, some explicit language
DUB-CON and NON-CON scenes
Character death (sort of)
Creator vs Creation drama
And other dark stuff that may be added in the future
This chapter’s warnings:
non-consensual kissing and touching
touch-starved Morpheus should be a warning of its own
angst, so much angst
threats of perpetual nightmares
the King of Nightmares living up to his name
You have been warned!! Proceed with caution!!!
Link to the previous chapter
Chapter 10: This Dream is Over
Morpheus left the library, and you on the couch, just a tad bit disgruntled at his Royal Librarian’s interruption – and for a second time too, however unwittingly so. You were already responding to his touches, and he was so close to finally taking you fully as he had desperately wished to for so long. But, perhaps it was for the best – after all, he made a vow to you to take it slow until the fifth day tomorrow. Only one more day, he tried to placate himself.
And yet, as he paced at the foot of his throne, he recognized the frustration invading his thoughts stemming from forcing himself to separate from you (why did he care, anyway? He is the King of Dreaming, he should be able to take you wherever and whenever he pleases). He was painfully aware how bottling these complex emotions like so might lead to uncontrollable outbursts, given his experience in the past.
Just pacing in his throne room and stewing in his thoughts won’t do – he needed an outlet.
He willed himself, with a bit of his sand’s help, to a beach at the outskirts of his kingdom; a beach only he, and on rare occasions, his librarian, had access to. On one bended knee, he took a fistful of the beach’s black sand, feeling every coarse grain in his palm. He stood slowly, spreading his fingers and allowing the sand to be carried away with the light breeze. Except the sand didn’t land on the midnight-coloured shore he picked it up from – every single grain started floating in midair before him as his power commanded so, gradually taking shape.
Into what, he was unsure of yet. However, he allowed his current storm of emotions to guide him to this new creation of his, eventually concluding the nature of the being he’s forming.
He had not created such a potent nightmare in a long time.
He looked around the black shores, his workshop of sorts, with his hands clasped regally right in front of him. His thoughts landed on a certain little dream of his, as he was wont to do.
The intimate moment he had witnessed in the dream of Oliver Chapman had led him to a flare-up in the library, and you had unfortunately received the brunt of it. He had stormed off to Fiddlers’ Green to find out if you had confided to your fellow dream about any personal matters. His heart wanted to believe your word regarding your connection with the mortal that had dreamt of you in such an insulting manner, but his age-old intuition told him differently. Experience had taught him to trust such inklings, and so he begrudgingly allowed an invasive thought to cross his mind: did his beloved dream harbour…feelings for the wretched human?
This was a thought he had refused to entertain at first, for it left a bitter, cloying taste on his tongue. Furthermore, he had no reason to doubt you in such a way. How could he? He had read so in the books himself: such was your steadfast devotion to him that you were willing to risk your life in search of him.
It was the cursed Chapman he did not trust.
Was he the one who had trapped you with magic? Even worse, had he brainwashed you against him, your master and creator? Was he the reason why, even after such a long time, you still had not accepted your eternal place with him? With a low hum, he contemplated gathering more of the black sand to craft more horrors he wanted to inflict – he might have a need for more nightmares than he originally intended. But should a third visit to the cursed dreamer confirm his suspicions, he would be forced into a more drastic, devastating approach.
Perhaps he could make the doctor forget? It would be like child’s play – with a pinch of his sand, the Chapman would forget about you, thus, you would have no more reason to refuse your function and shirk your new duty. You’d finally be more accepting of your fate as the King’s only consort, an honor he had no intention of bestowing anyone else. Whether or not he would even need to would be another matter.
He stayed on the midnight shores, concocting nightmares shaped in the maelstrom of his emotions, until just a little past sunset. He had planned on retiring to his chambers afterward – there was work to be done tomorrow, after all, and a dreamer to visit – but on a whim, he materializes into his library. He found Lucienne scribbling on her desk with the lamp on, having already dimmed the lights in the library.
“My Lord,” she greeted, polite as ever, putting her quill down and getting to her feet.
Morpheus slightly tilted his head in greeting, before issuing a command: “I need you to fetch the last Chapman’s book of dreams.”
Lucienne knew never to question his motives but, this time, she furrows her brows at the request. “Sir, you had asked me to put them away in your office with the intention of never touching them again. May I ask what brought this change about?”
“A mere hunch,” Morpheus replied, purposefully being vague about his reason. As loyal as she was, he and his librarian had developed a rapport that allowed her to freely voice her opinion on both matters of the Dreaming and personal affairs, but there were things that even she need not know – his plan for the dreamer in question being one of them.
With a purse of lips and a small bow of her head, she pulled out a set of keys from her desk drawer and quietly excused herself. Minutes later, she came back with a thick leather-bound book in tow and set it down on the table, dusting it off before handing it to him.
He gripped the book with unnecessary force, immediately flipping to its last pages. To the untrained eye, there seemed to be nothing amiss – but Dream knew better. He had handled an endless number of dream-books since the inception of the library, enough to know the final pages on the Sleep Doctor’s book had been cleverly and cleanly removed from the stitching on the spine instead of simply being torn off.
“Curious,” he muttered to himself, running his fingers on the portion of the book where the pages should have been stitched.
“Sir?” Lucienne looked on with mild intrigue, eyeing the book in the King’s grasp.
“Had there been any other instance of dreams going undocumented?” Dream asked, hoping to draw a more rational conclusion. Could you have –?
“None that I am aware of sir,” she responded confidently.
Could his suspicions be true? A bright flash of light followed by a loud thunderclap reverberated through the entire Dreaming, mirroring its sovereign’s inner turmoil. But no – he knew he needed to approach the matter more judiciously. After all, the vandal that tampered with the library book may not have been acting on her own accord. He tried to take control of his simmering rage, but in doing so, his hands, still holding the book, started shaking ever-so-slightly. This did not escape the notice of his worried librarian.
“Is there something wrong, your Majesty?”
Morpheus let out an imperceptible sigh. “Nothing I cannot amend, Lucienne.” Wordlessly, he handed the book back to her before walking away, retiring in his quarters. He made a beeline for his desk, where a quill and a small piece of paper lay waiting. He wrote a brief note on the paper addressed to his little dream, before traipsing to the expansive balcony that offered him a view of his Realm and the now-cloudy night sky, not minding the cold, harsh winds blowing against his form.
As soon as light touched the first blade of grass in his Kingdom, he would set to work: Fiddlers’ Green whom he would enlist to distract you, then the mortal from whom he would extract the truth, no matter the means.
***
Ollie pulls you to him in a tight, warm hug with light shushes, trying to soothe your sobs. You’ve always liked his hugs, so you bury your face in his shirt, not caring that you were staining it with your tears. When you both pull away, he cups both your cheeks, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. He then places a kiss on your forehead, then whispers against your skin with the gentlest of tones:
“Then I’ll protect you with my life.”
His words were touching, but the last thing you want was for him to risk his life, not when the Endless could easily take it away with a snap of his fingers. “Ollie, he’s going to hurt you, I don’t want you to hurt…you could still run away –”
“Absolutely not,” he says, pulling away so he could look into your eyes. There isn’t a trace of fear in his, even with the impending threat on his life. At this moment, he’s the bravest human being you know, perhaps foolishly so. “I will not abandon you. I made you a promise, yeah? You will stay here, with me, and he’s never going to touch you again.”
He’s your only hope at freedom, now, but it would all be meaningless if your freedom isn’t with him. Trying to match his courage, you do something you have been meaning to do for quite some time.
“You mean, you…?”
“Take this,” you say as you place his dreamcatcher in one of his palms and cover it with one of your own. You ignore his befuddled expression and put on probably the wettest smile you’ve ever had. “This is yours. It always has been. I’m yours, Oliver, and as long as you have that, you have my heart.”
Your own confession takes you by surprise – who knew you had it in you to finally reveal your forbidden affections? Judging by his astonished look, he couldn’t believe it, either.
“Yes, I do. I love you, you big dum-dum. I love you so much,” a fresh set of tears makes your voice tremble, but they’re happy ones, and when you hear Ollie chuckle as he hugs you again, you laugh with him. You had not laughed in days – his laugh is just that intoxicating.
He cuts your winded laughter off with the gentlest of kisses on your lips. Gladly, you wrap your arms around his neck, still clutching the dreamcatcher as tight as you can, leaning into his kiss. Once both let go, elated and breathless, he holds the sides of your face in both hands and brings your foreheads together.
“I know this isn’t the time, but I love you, Mera, so fucking much,” he says with the widest smile he could muster. “I never thought you’d come around, you know. It’s what I’ve always wanted, it feels just like a dream.”
“Then maybe it is time you woke up, Oliver Chapman.”
Ice-cold shivers wrack your body at the sound of the voice, resonating in the entire dream-space – one you had hoped never to hear again.
Dream of the Endless.
Your heart rate goes through the roof as every hair on your body stands on end. You find yourself rooted to the spot – when had he entered the dream? Had he been there the entire time, masking his presence? Even worse, had he been lurking while you and Ollie poured your heart out for each other? You hastily conceal the dreamcatcher behind your back, away from his burning gaze.
Ollie recognizes the being that has come to whisk you away; immediately he positions himself before you, hiding you from your master’s view to protect you.
“Mera, stay behind me,” he orders you calmly.
You peek behind his outstretched arms to get a glimpse of your King. His eyes, the first thing you see, are pitch-black, so far from the ones that looked at you with so much warmth in the first moments of existence. The Endless that you saw then is gone now, replaced by this monstrous nightmare, with unbridled fury emanating from him in visible waves of black smoke.
“You shouldn’t be here. This is my dream, and you’re not welcome in it. I have placed runes –”
“None of which can ward me off,” he interrupts with a clenched jaw and shaking fists, his voice seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, overwhelming your senses. He takes deliberate steps toward Ollie, his cold, coal eyes never once leaving Ollie’s warm greens.
“You really think that a mere lucid dreamer is a match to one such as I?” he spits out venomously. “I am Dream of the Endless, the King of Dreams and Ruler of Nightmares, the one whom you owe your dreaming abilities. There is not a place in the Dreaming I cannot penetrate.”
Ollie, undeterred by the mad King’s words, rises to his challenge. “You won't take her away – I won't let you. She clearly doesn't want to go with you, so you leave her alone.”
Don’t anger him any further, you want to say, but you seem to have lost the capacity to speak.
The Ruler of Nightmares scoffs, an icy sneer forming at the corner of his lips. “Your hypocrisy astounds me, doctor. Were you not the one who bound her to you and manipulated her against her wishes? The dreamcatcher, that pathetic human magic is proof of that.”
“I don't deny your accusations, but I have never manipulated her feelings. Her love is real, I know that now, and so is mine. I won't let you take that away from us!”
“Ollie, no…” your warning comes out barely a whisper.
He either does not hear it, or he chooses to ignore it, continuing his tirade against your creator.
“And what about you?” he points an accusing finger at him, outraged on your behalf. “What right do you think you have to order her around and make her do shit against her will? You think you’re God?”
But the Lord of Dreams just lets out a mirthless, sinister laugh – one that sends chilling shockwaves down your body. “I am more than a God: I am an Endless, and one that can unleash terrors you dare not speak of, so watch your tongue. Or should I send a nightmare to cut it out for you?” he tauntingly asks, his sand threateningly circling his raised palm.
Oliver just refuses to back down. Instead, he takes a step forward, goading him on. You grab his arms in an attempt to hold him back. “Just because you have the power, does not mean you can give life to somebody –”
“Oliver, don’t –!”
“ – And hold their autonomy against them, you sick, twisted fuck!”
“Enough!” Dream thunders, the intensity of his outburst making the floor beneath you quake momentarily. “I have had it with you foolish humans trapping beings beyond your comprehension, all for the sake of your selfish, paltry desires. I will not let you, a mere mortal, covet what is mine any longer.”
Before your eyes, your King, surrounded with black smoke manifesting his uncontrollable rage, raises a trembling hand. His sand swirls with growing speed around him, getting ready to strike. He’s going to hurt Ollie.
“My Lord, no, please, please don't hurt him...” you find the courage to step in between your lord and the man you love. You’re not about to let him hurt Ollie, and so, with your palms clasped right in front of you in prayer, you beg. “I'm the one at fault, so please punish me instead –”
“Mera no –”
“Mera, my little dream,” the Dream King’s attention turns towards you. He lowers his hand, his voice softening by a fraction as he addresses you. “How you disappoint me. You lied to me. You threw away a hundred years’ worth of devotion to me, all for this mortal? By loving him, you have betrayed me, defied my will, and abandoned your role in the Dreaming, yet you still protect the very man who led you astray.
“I shall give you this choice, then: you will give me that dreamcatcher or I will be forced to give your beloved doctor what he so foolishly seeks - an eternal sleep, where he could dream all he wants without waking - forever.”
Your head slowly shakes in disbelief. Ollie would suffer in perpetual sleep, haunted by nightmares he formed, and all because you had dared fall in love with him. Was that such a sin in his eyes?
“Please my Lord, you don’t have to do this…”
“My dream, you brought this on yourself. Tell me now, before I think of a greater punishment. What will you choose?”
You bite your lip in distress, eventually tasting blood. Your Lord always keeps his word. And like he always has done; he now has you against the wall. You were always his prey, running off into a trap he had set – and he, the predator, circling you, drawing out your suffering. And now, if you don’t let him pounce, he’d hone in on another victim. It’s either you or Ollie.
As sick as it sounds, for you, it’s an easy choice to make.
Your hesitation seems to give it away for Ollie. He takes a hold of you by the arms, turning you to face him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face him.
“Mera, don't give it to him. Mera, look at me.” He cups your face so he could look into you. “I don't care if he makes me sleep forever. We'll be together, then! It'll be just us, in here, don't you want that?”
Oh, sweet, sweet Ollie. Fresh tears start rolling down your cheeks, and he makes a move to wipe them away, but with your free hand, you lower them.
“I want all your dreams to come true, Ollie.”
A smile starts to form on his face, but you cut him off.
“So make them come true, in the waking world –”
“No Mera –”
“They need you there. You'll do great things –”
“No! Mera, don't do this –”
“Please listen to me –”
“I won't let you – !”
“Please, my dear Ollie!” you desperately beg, placing your palm on his cheeks. You put on a reassuring smile to try and persuade him to save himself, but you're breaking on the inside and you could feel it. “Do it for me. You are meant to chase your dreams, so do it in the Waking World.” Better you hurt than he.
You peer into your beloved doctor's face. You see nothing in it but love, sorrow, and acceptance of your doomed fate. You hate that resignation in his eyes, but you look into them, nonetheless. In your mind, he’ll always have that cheeky smile and that bright spark, just like he did when he first started talking about his passion to help people dream better. You’ll always have that look, and him, in your heart. At that moment, both of you get lost in each other, even for a few final seconds.
"Go live the life you’ve always dreamed of – for me," you whisper. "And I'll be happy and content just knowing that you did."
Slowly, you let go of your doctor's face, but he takes your hands in his, kissing your palms, desperate for more contact.
"Mera, I love you. Please..."
"And I love you, Oliver Chapman; in the Dreaming, in the Waking, and in everywhere else in between."
You feel your world coming apart when you finally let go of him. With one final choked sob, you turn to face your Maker; the Endless whose unforgiving glare was enough to pin you to place. You could tell by his look that the display of your affections deeply repulsed him. You cling onto the dreamcatcher for comfort with trembling fingers. All you want to do is to curl up in a ball at how his pitch-black, pitiless eyes bore into yours, but you swallow back your fear. Ollie had shown immense courage for your sake – he deserved the same from you.
The Dream Lord, obviously growing more impatient by the minute, walks to you intimidatingly, his smoky coattail trialing him behind him. He yanks the dreamcatcher from your shaky grip with so much force he breaks a few of its strings. He spares one brief look of angered disgust at the insulting object before looking into your eyes and crushing the dreamcatcher with his bare hands. Not once did he look away from you as the totem, a symbol of your slight against him, turns dust in his powerful fist.
Your heart clenches in pain, almost as if it was your heart your creator just crushed. Anguish washing over you, you collapse on the floor and clutch your chest, letting out a silent scream you try to hide from Ollie. The Endless, unmoved at the pitiful scene unfolding before him, strides purposefully over to Ollie with his pouch of sand in his hands. Panic immediately engulfs you, and you get to your feet, staggering toward them.
"My Lord, please, I did what you asked of me..."
Your words do not deter your creator, who promptly blows sand in your Ollie's face. The sleep doctor vanishes in a flurry of sand, gone forever.
"NO! OLIVER!"
What has he done? You double over in your grief, already fearing the worst.
"You promised you wouldn't hurt him…”
"I did not."
Morpheus turns to look at your quivering form hunched on the floor, face as stony as ever.
"I merely sent him back to the waking world."
But his words offer you no relief.
"He will, however, have no memory of you, of your time spent together, nor of his love," he continues with a snarl, "...for you. You are now, to him, a fleeting, fading recollection, a mere dream he had which he will forget at the first few moments of his waking hours. Nothing more, as it should be."
Your eyes, already blurry with the tears you shed at your beloved's parting, grow wide at this revelation – the King of Nightmares, living up to his title, yet you know you had barely seen his true form. There seem to be no other words you can place for what he has done.
"You're heartless." It comes out barely a whisper, yet your master hears your words clearly. He seems to be unaffected by them.
"No. I could have punished you, cast you to the darkness for openly lying, attempting to leave my Realm, and abandoning your King and master. Yet I have not, for I acknowledge that you had no hand in your capture."
Gathering all the strength you could muster, you stand to your full height. "I'd have rather you cast me to the darkness, my King. I no longer have a purpose or a reason to live. You already took him from me."
He takes an intimidating step forward, invading your personal space like he always does. With your master's face a few inches away from yours, you look away, wishing his callousness was directed at anything but you. He harshly lifts your chin with his forefinger and thumb.
He speaks, his voice slightly shaking with barely controlled rage, "Is this what it feels like to you, my Mera? Have you truly any idea what it is like to feel aimless, without purpose? Perhaps I can give you a taste."
You swallow the bile forming in your throat at the threat, but you could no longer bring yourself to care about what he can do to you. He has done the worst possible thing you can imagine.
"I hereby strip you of all your Dreaming powers. You shall be kept locked in your chambers, without any contact from outside.”
With this declaration, he uses his sand to transport you both to the prison cell he calls ‘your room.’ In the blink of an eye and a swirl of sand, you appear in your quarters, expecting the natural sunlight streaming from the windows to almost blind you, but the warmth does not come. Instead, you’re enveloped in the dim light source that is the starry ceiling above; the windows and the balcony are gone, replaced by nothing but solid walls, effectively holding you in your own, personal insane asylum.
"Here, you shall spend your time in isolation, contemplating your transgressions, your betrayal against the Dreaming and against me.” His scathing voice echoes around the dimly-lit room. "Call upon my name when you are ready to fulfill your purpose to me. Only then will I free you from this place and forgive you of all your offenses. Be warned, my Mera - Endless as I am, my patience is not."
And with that thinly veiled threat, he vanishes, leaving no trace of his presence, save a trail of sand falling to the carpet, leaving you alone in deafening silence.
Just as you start getting used to the quiet lull of your surroundings, you hear a piercing, tortured wail bouncing off the walls. Gasping for air and clutching your throat in pain, you barely recognize your own unearthly screaming. You collapse on the bed in renewed sobbing, wishing that your Dream Lord had indeed been ruthless enough to spare you the torment and just banished you to inexistence.
Ollie had gone to the Waking World and had forgotten about you. The only thing left in you are memories of him, ad in your solitary confinement, nothing stopped you from reliving them; every snarky comment he ever made, every bawdy joke he ever told, every fleeting touch you shared with him. It made your loss even more unbearable, but what else could you do but stew in them? His was the only memory you had worth recalling in your existence, yet he had none of yours. It was the spiteful King’s idea of retribution meant to wash away your sins.
***
You spend the next three days in absolute misery. Refusing to get out of bed, you stay curled up in a ball, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, warming you but never comforting you in your heartbreak.
He materializes in a spinning whirl of sand inside your bedchambers. It’s a pure display of power at this point, for he hadn’t removed the door to your room, even if he had it locked. You kind of half-expected him to close the distance at once, kissing you in greeting like he always did. Instead, he just stands there, intensifying the already-gloomy atmosphere in the room. Out of habit, you get up and bow your head slightly, even if you were still in your nightdress.
Languidly, he makes his way to you, pausing until he’s an arm’s length away, looking down on you with a reproachful look.
“You have not called upon me for forgiveness.”
You flinch the moment he raises his hand – only for him to lift your chin so you had no other choice except to look at him.
You give him the blankest of looks, unsure how to respond.
“The sooner you accept your fate, the sooner I can end your confinement. So, I will ask you again, my little dream,” he says in a low voice, leaning downwards so his face is but a hairbreadth away from yours. “Will you carry out your duty?”
Your response is barely a whisper, fanning the hair framing his forehead.
“I cannot possibly do what you’re asking me, my King. I am only a dream, so why me? Why make me suffer so for it?”
“You are more than a dream to me, my Mera. Out of all my creations, I treasure you, love you the most.” For a moment, his expression changes, but that tenderness in his gaze is gone in a flash. “Which is why, out of all the treason my subjects have committed, yours was the most painful. It is within my right as your King to pass judgment. And yet, it is within your power to end your penance.”
He whispers, “You need only do one thing.”
At the end of his last sentence, he angles his head – your noses touch, but he doesn’t press his lips on yours like you expected him to.
“Seek my pardon, and I can make it go away.” He whispers against your lips.
But if you do, it would mean admitting that Ollie was a mistake.
“No. My love for Ollie is no sin. I have nothing to ask for forgiveness for.”
You don’t regret your words, even as your master grabs the back of your neck forcefully to pull you closer to him, making your noses touch.
“You dare speak his name in my presence…” he hisses.
Closing your eyes, you feel his lips ravish yours in a vicious kiss, seeking to possess – in its force you’re pushed back into one of the bedposts. His unforgiving grip on your jaw forces your mouth open, coercing you to kiss him back. He abruptly pulls his head back when he feels a wetness on your cheeks.
Tears.
Despite the salty discharge, you stare at him with defiance.
“You still love that worthless mortal,” he concludes with a faint amount of sick amusement. “I have not decided the form of judgment I should pass on him. Should you prolong this further, it would give me more time to create potent nightmares tailored to his fears.”
He seems to relish the way your lips tremble in terror. The thought of Ollie getting nightmares especially made for him makes your empty stomach churn.
“Or shall I remake the Corinthian and send him to plague your mortal alone? He was and still is, my perfect nightmare. The both of you, my errant creations, so perfect in every way, yet so flawed…Renounce your love for the human now, and I shall be merciful.”
But he doesn’t see you fervently shake your head, for he closes in on your throat, planting wet, open-mouthed caresses on your skin. You make a move to push him away on his shoulder, but he grabs your wrist harshly and pins them above your head on the bedpost. It was no use struggling against him in his firm hold, so you close your eyes, imagining you were somewhere else, as you feel his free hand roaming your still-clothed form, desperate to feel your warmth. As his tongue lavishes your pulse point, you let out an involuntary moan.
“Ollie…”
By the time you realize your grave error, your Dream Lord has already pulled back, tugging on your hair with enough force to make you gasp in pain.
He looks at you with a dark, displeased expression, seething in anger. “I have tried being patient with you, my dream, but you truly test me.”
“My Lord, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”
Your frantic apologies are drowned out by a maelstrom of sand engulfing the both of you. As you feel the sand disappear, you hear the loud rumble of thunder, followed by the thrashing of waves of an ocean in a raging storm.
You open your eyes to a different room. Your master had transported you somewhere else, but where it was is unclear – the room, however, looks to be inside an old castle. You can see the exposed stone bricks in its interior; against its closed, murky windows the rain outside pelted hard, offering you a view outside: deep, gray skies that littered with flashes of lightning, and a sea that tossed violently against the harsh winds. You’re now far from the Dreaming palace, you know that much. He had taken you here to isolate you even further.
The King before you places a firm hand on your shoulder, forcing you to sit on something soft – a huge bed covered in sheets of silk in the colour of his long coat, which you notice had already fallen to the floor. You pointedly avoid looking at him, your face turned to the side, fidgeting with the sheet. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see him shed his shoes, followed by his shirt. Suddenly, your breathing becomes more laboured, and you could hear your own pounding heartbeat despite the furious storm outside.
“My Lord, where have you taken me?” you start softly, attempting to distract him.
“Where we shall not be disturbed,” he says simply.
It’s when you hear him undo his belt that you make a last-ditch attempt to save yourself evade him and jump to the side of the bed to get as far away from him as you can.
It’s a futile move – you find yourself lying on your stomach, your right arm awkwardly buried underneath your body, and a taut, heavy, naked chest pressed against your back.
Your Dream Lord has you pinned beneath him, his thighs straddling your waist.
“No!” you cry out in distress; it’s the only thing you could do against the impregnable force pinning you to the bed without any wriggle room. You could feel his hot breath fanning the back of your neck. In response, he whispers over your ear:
“I grow tired of your refusal, dream of mine. You will carry out your duty to me tonight.”
“No, my Lord, please, please, I beg of you…”
But your fraught whimpers fall on deaf ears.
You feel a hot, wet kiss on your exposed shoulder, while a lazy finger traces your spine. To your horror, you only notice that your nightdress has disappeared when trails of sand enter your line of vision, before promptly vanishing into thin air. You’re completely bare under his gaze, and like a starved man, he feasts – his hot mouth starts leaving butterfly kisses on your upper back as he strokes the sides of your waist, while you lay below him, sobbing in earnest and unable to move.
“Please, no, please, no, no…My Lord, please…”
“You will not deny your King,” he growls against your back, gripping your waist tight. “For every ‘no’ I hear from you during our union, I will create a ferocious nightmare that will follow only your pathetic human until his end of days. Will you be responsible for the madness he will surely turn to?”
Still weeping piteously, your closed eyes flash vivid images of Ollie thrashing in his bed, screaming in his sleep at horrors only he could see.
For the last time, it seems, your Dream Lord had you effectively backed into a corner with no chance of escaping. The predator had grown weary of circling its prey and had now pounced, ready to devour.
***********************************************
Author notes on the Chapter:
Ollie and Dream's confrontation is the most challenging dialogue I have ever written. Next chap with will be full of smut, smut smut, so be prepared!! (I need to be, too, it seems - writing smut can be intimidating af lmao)
As usual, thank you for sticking with me in this!! Love lots!!!
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Author's notes in general:
Thank you, THANK YOU for reading!!
Please engage, comment and reblog!! I love feedback from you guys :) This is my first ever fic, so kindness is truly appreciated!
Thank you to my queen @queenshelby@endlessdreamqueen3 for encouraging me to pen this, as well as to my fellow Dark!Morpheus writers whose work I have thoroughly enjoyed and keep rereading :)
Post date: 12/26/22
Edit date: 12/26/22
Taglist: Just lemme know please if you want to be added, too!
Tagging the following:
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why did no one tell me the sandman was this gay? I would’ve watched it sooner if I’d known.
I'm the King of Dreams, ruler of the nightmare realm.
i'm just curious bc i'm watching How to Train Your Dragon and i always forget how happy and calm it makes me feel. i mean, i did name my cat after Toothless the dragon. but i also love Lion King, that's my Disney comfort movie. and my Ghibli comfort movie is Spirited Away. watching any of these when i'm in a foul mood or my anxiety is high always helps 🥰 but i watch them just for fun too, not only when i'm in a mood. what about you?
My fucking God please this is perfect I need more please
Morpheus Alphabet NSFW.-B
So Claiming his Queen part 4 will not be up tonight as I am writing a juicy ending to the chapter, so as a thanks for all your amazing support please find my first submission to Morpheus Alphabet NSFW. If anyone has any requests A-Z let me know!
Warnings- Smut, sexual content 18+
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I love it
Claiming his Queen Part 5
Thank you so much for all the comments and likes. It means so much! Thank you for all the requests; if I haven’t replied, don’t worry, I am working my way through them.- Please leave a comment
Warning smut and dark theme.
There was something tender in the way Morpheus carried you. Exhaustion had taken your body as the intense cold consumed you. You were relieved when Morpheus hoisted you effortlessly in his arms as you disappeared into a swirl of sand.
He was cradling you to his chest, your face burrowing against the side of his. It wasn’t till now that you registered how pleasant he smelt; more than that, it was intoxicating. There were no words to describe it other than an earthy spice, woodsy and warm, but something sweeter underneath. Blueberries? Blackberries? Gooseberries? You nudged your nose closer to the base of his throat and groaned in bliss, surrendering to the untainted fragrance.
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Alsooo
Real quick I know I’ve kinda made being a Ghost fan my entire personality (no regrets, not ashamed, moving on 😅) but I’m also a big fan of Neil Gaiman’s “The Sandman”! Haven’t read the comics, but know the basic plot, and watched the whole first season when it came out! If you’d like to read the one shot I recently published on AO3, I’ll attach it here! Thank you!
Sad wet cat with tears in his eyes--but he's dreaming