Your sandman fic series is the best thing ever written and the fact that your write it all as x reader has me bowing down to you. You didn't make excuses and change it into an oc half way through you just showcased how good of a writer you are and I love you!
Thank you for writing a fic that shows just how complex Dream can be as a character, you are one of the few authors that doesn't baby him and actually calls him out when he's being shitty and it's so refreshing.
I always come back to reread everything!
Thank you so much, this is such a kind message.
Keeping it x reader the whole way through mattered to me, and so did letting Dream be genuinely difficult when he needed to be. He's too interesting a character to soften. I'm so glad both of those choices resonate with you.
The rereads mean everything. Thank you for being here.
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Iâve finished writing every chapter⊠all of them. Only the epilogue remains.
And you have no idea how much I want to share them with you right now. To publish everything at once. To finally let you see it, feel it, live inside it with me. đ„č
hi darling!!! do you take requests? i have some ideas for oneshots with morpheusxreader
also, what happened to sandman fandom? it's so difficult to find content about it, you are one of the few writers for morpheus that i know and i'm really needy for my precious boy :(
Hi! This means a lot to me, thank you so much for reaching out.
I havenât really taken requests before, but that doesnât mean I couldnât try. The only thing is that Iâm very deeply immersed in my own personal vision of Morpheus and this story, so I would only be able to write something if the idea truly resonates with me on an emotional level.
Youâre absolutely welcome to share your ideas with me, and Iâll see if itâs something I can connect with and bring to life. Just let me know if that works for you.
TW: mention of losing family members, death of parents, smut, +18, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it), mature content, suggestive parts, lots af romace and fluff, slowburn (?) I tried.
this is a reader insert story. I tried not to use Y/N anywhere and, for plot purpuses, reader is a female and is described to have medium/long hair. Reader is also said to wear period appropriate dress which is the one of a working class women from 1880s.
The next two weeks were a blur of cleaning, studying, going back to Miss Martha and re-learn etiquette for the event. You took extra-long baths and used some products she gave you to make your skin look beautiful for the upcoming event. You also tried different hair styles, make up, perfumes. The shoes were ready in a three daysâ time and they fit perfectly. They resembled the dress, black with golden embroiders. They were small heels, comfortable and practical but nonetheless elegant.
And yet panic was like a long shadow always following you. You hadnât seen Lord Morpheus a lot during this time. He was probably working as always.
Lucienne asked you multiple times a day if you were all right, telling you to just relax. And you would always tell her that you would. But you really couldnât, the fear, almost bordering on terror to embarrass him, was what kept you wake at night.
You remembered, between all the thinking back, hearing your parents talked about him. You already once heard his name and they talked highly about him. So that added to the panic.
ă If it is no problem I would like you to stay here the night before the event. ă came his voice as you dusted the library and almost fell off the ladder you were standing on.
ă Yes, of course. ă you agree, voice clipped, shoulders tense. Your eyes looked hollow and dark bags were becoming more visible by the day.
He observed you and it unnerved you beyond what you could have ever had imagined. Usually you would have just kept going but you were already on a thin thread.
As you turned towards him to ask if you could do anything else for him, he talked.
ă I would like you to follow me please. ă he demanded, standing still. He looked so sure and calm whilst you looked like a rag.
You carefully stepped off the ladder and followed him.
ă Go to the tearoom, I will be there shortly. ă he said as you started climbing down the steps.
You sighed and did as said. Going up slowly, least you hurt yourself two days before the event. The two week you had seemed enough at the time, and they were, now it was just you being paranoid about anything going wrong. You knew what you were doing and yet you didnât. That is what annoyed you beyond belief.
You let out a groan as you unceremoniously dropped to your usual chair and closed your eyes. You opened them again as two hands rested on your sagged shoulders, jolting slightly.
ă Donât worry â came his voice, somehow deeper? You didnât know but you calmed down, still tense â I want you to relax now, you can just sleep for the rest of the day. ă he whispered, his hands squeezing your shoulders softly to relax them.
ă I want you to think of nothing, all right? Just sit here, enjoy a cup of tea, nothing else. ă and silence fell. And you finally relaxed a bit.
ă Iâm sorry⊠â you confessed softly â I just donât want to embarrass you. ă
ă And that is exactly why I told you not to push yourself. You could never embarrass me. ă he affirmed and you tensed wanting to get your back straight and argue but he didnât allow. With soft pressure he made you desist, and you rested again against the plushy chair.
ă It is not fair. ă you teased.
ă I was never to play fair with you. â he murmured close to your ear, a shiver going down your spine. â now rest. ă he said final and you obliged. Soon your eyes fell close and darkness engulfed you.
When you woke up you were in your room, a cup of warm tea by the bed side table. You were feeling incredibly refreshed and very disoriented. So you got up, took a sip of tea and stretched.
ă Have you slept well? ă
ă Oh my God! ă came after your scream, your heart in your throat as you turned around, Lord Morpheus sitting in the chair at your desk looking towards your bed. Your breath came fast as you leaned on the canopy bed structure. You felt like you died inside for a second.
ă Iâm sorry I didnât mean to scare you. ă he said, but the amusement is his tone definitely didnât go unnoticed.
You glared at him before sipping more of your tea, thankful you didnât spill it everywhere.
He then got up and got closer to you. You hugged you tea cup closer.
ă So? ă he asked. To which you confusedly frowned. Then it clicked.
ă I have slept well, very well. How did you do it? ă you asked, vaguely remembering his hands on your shoulders in the tearoom.
ă There is a pressure point here â he said, raising his hand towards your neck and moving away a few strands, making you self-conscious of the state of your hair after such a deep nap â at the base of the skull, behind your ear â he described and applied a gentle pressure, your eyes fluttering as you melted under his touch â that helps relaxing. ă he concluded, his hand lingering on your warm skin.
Your head tipped forward as he massaged the spot a bit more. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep you from making any sound. Slowly he stopped massaging, his hand lingering on your neck before retracting. When you met his eyes again he was closer, but you didnât mind. Almost as if reading your mind or expecting the question he spoke.
ă A friend taught me that. ă
ă Was it Mister Gadling? ă you asked purposefully to see that adorable pout form on his lips. And there it was, his eyes narrowing.
ă You seem rather fond of Mister Gadling. ă he grumbled. And you did everything in your power not to smile.
ă Well, he did gift me a beautiful necklace. ă you said, placing down the tea cup. He looked like he wanted to say something but desisted, sighing instead.
ă Donât push yourself. â he said suddenly â it is not good for your health. I donât want you so worried for such a small event. There arenât going to be that many people either. ă he reassured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch featherlight.
You nodded before going to the vanity and taking out the pins from your hair, loose curls falling messily. Then you tied them with a ribbon. It felt incredibly intimate for him to see you with your hair down like this. And you liked it, the silence and his attentive gaze fixed on you. Admiring.
Then you stood there, waiting. A confused expression formed on his face, questioning.
ă Itâs almost time for me to go home, My Lord. I have to change. ă you added with a smile, your face still dusted in red.
His eyes widened, a pale pink on his cheeks. Then his mouth opened but no words came out. Â
ă I- Iâm sorry⊠Iâll go. Now. ă he stammered before rushing out. A small laugh left your lips as you took your day clothes and went to change. âThat was newâ.
As you went out of the door you gave it a glance to make sure everything was in place. The box with the gown on the bed, away from the fire that was almost dead too. You would have had all tomorrow to take care of it for the night.
You went down the stairs, and at the door he was waiting for you, you said goodbye to Lucienne, who was working in a high stack of papers. And then you were on your way.
Stopping in front of him you looked up at his eyes.
ă Goodnight then, My Lord. ă you bid with a small bow.
ă Goodnight to you too. And sleep tonight. Donât worry your pretty little head, you will be amazing. ăhe said opening the door for you. You went, hesitating a bit. You would have liked to stay but also wanted to spend time with Miss Martha before your departure.
ă See you tomorrow. And thank you for letting Miss Martha come to see me off. ă
ă Of course. ă
And with that you went to the carriage and back to the city.
-
The next day you went to the manor early, Lucienne gave you a list of chores and said Lord Morpheus wanted you to make only a half day today so that you could take care of any preparation for tomorrow.
And so you did, you take care of those small chores, and soon enough you drank some tea, talked Lucienne ears off with your worries and then went to bathe. You entered the bathroom right in front of your own room and there was already steaming water leaving the air humid. You melted into the water relaxing as much as you could since the event was tomorrow and it dawned on you more than ever. When you came out, you gently dabbed a towel on your skin, keeping it moist as you applied a cream and oil to perfume. Then wore your robe, tying it loosely around your form since you would only lounge in your room as you waited for your hair to dry before putting them up for tomorrow.
As you waited you decided to go through some books, most of the pages went by fast, information you remembered and barely looked over at. Some of the more interesting parts you would read precisely. And like that time went by fast. Making it dinner time. So you went to collect a quick snack, nerves making your stomach tight.
ă Do you need some help? ă Lucienne asked as you fought with your hair while she placed a tray with tea and something to eat on your small table.
ă Yes please, they are not collaborating. ă you whined. And so she stood behind you, brush in hand as she worked your hair how you directed her under her request. Once you were done you both sat down to eat.
ă How are you feeling for tomorrow? ă she whispered by the fire.
ă Nervous. Less than a few days ago but definitely still nervous. ă
ă Do you feel more sure about yourself? ă
ă After going through at least twenty books, yes. Iâm feeling much more confident. ă you sighed, enjoying these moments of peace.
ă Very well then, and remember: enjoy yourself above all else. I once attended those gatherings and they can be very nice. So drink a bit, eat some too, look pretty and go to bed. ă she said nonchalantly. But for you it ran a little deeper.
You hummed and then a nice silence fell over you, keeping you company.
Soon you went to bed after Lucienne left you with yourself. You changed in your night gown and slipped under the covers.
Then a knock on your door. Confused you said come in. Lord Morpheus was on the door step, looking like he was also about to go to bed, a dark, beautiful robe hugging him loosely, his pale skin peeking out.
ă Yes, My Lord? ă
ă Tomorrow we will depart a couple of hours earlier. The weather seems to not be on our side. I already sent Matthew to Miss Martha to tell her of this change of plans. That is all. ă he stated.
ă Very well then. ă
ă Goodnight. ă you too bid him goodnight before laying down again once the door was close.
For a while sleep didnât came, but after a bit of tossing and turning your eyelids finally fluttered close.
-
The next morning you woke up just right, and started preparing.
In a small suitcase you placed your fancier nightgown, the one that was your mothers and some other some utilities you could use during your stay, even if a very short one at that.
Then you started dressing up: your drawers, a pair of stockings and your beautiful new shoes. Then you wore the dress. The top didnât need a corset having a built in bodice to do such work. But you still wore a thin camisole and slipped off the shoulders. The bodice would hide it.
You admired yourself in the mirror, not over the beauty of such gown. You also annoyingly admired those few buttons you couldnât close.
You did your hair as usual, taking extra care with every strand to make it look clean. Careful in staying away from the dress you wore your perfume.
Last you took care of your make up, light and natural. Once you were done, you took the small purse you would have on you during the night and placed a fan inside along with some make up to touch up.
At last the gloves and with that you were ready. By midday you were ready to go.
ă Wow⊠you look absolutely stunning dear. ă came from the door, Lucienne came inside with a tray in hand, eyes wide as she looked over at you.
ă Thank you. But itâs mostly Lord Morpheus work. ă you said referring to the stunning dress.
She shook her head and came inside, placing down the tray. You made small talk as you ate a bit, then she helped you close the last few buttons. When you got up it was twelve thirty so you went to say goodbye to Taramis too and then headed outside. On your way out you looked at the pendulum clock, striking fifteen to one. With the only little things you needed, you headed out. But soon Lucienne took it from your hands, insisting you donât ruin the dress with dirt on it on anything else. And so she went ahead of you. Once you were out both Miss Marthas and Lord Morpheus eyes were on you, from the former coming a gasp of surprise. You smiled sweetly as she came up to you and gave you a tight hug, beaming.
Meanwhile Lord Morpheus looked at you, stunned. He had seen many ladies but none were as beautiful and elegant yet soft like you. You were radiating and he was basking in that radiance.
When you parted from your hug, he was right by your side, hand ready to escort you to the carriage.
ă Miss Martha, it was truly a pleasure meeting and chatting with you, but Iâm afraid we have to start our journey. Until next time. ă ever so polite, pressed his forehead to her hand.
ă For me too, Lord Morpheus. It was a pleasure to see all the rumors in town were fake. Just gibberish. â she said. Then turned towards you â as for you my dear, have fun. You look absolutely stunning. ă
ă I do have to agree with Miss Martha: if Iâm not careful enough in no time you will be surrounded by both men and women alike and I wonât be able to enjoy your company. ă he agreed, giving you a subtle once over.
Then Lucienne called her Lord to asses a couple more things.
ă My dear, have no doubt, that young man is all over you. The way he looks at you⊠and also the way you look at him. ă she trailed off, a serious expression, yet her tone held no sternness. Your cheeks became red at that. You didnât think it was that obvious.
Then Morpheus came rushing back to you, taking your gloved hand to guide you to the carriage.
ă Miss Martha, until next time. ă he greeted, bowing his head.
ă Until next time, Lord Morpheus. ă she greeted too.
ă Travel safe. ă she then said as you walked to the carriage.
Lord Morpheus opened the door for you, helping you up and in the carriage, following suit. You waved you hand at Miss Martha hoping she would see you and she did too, reassuring you. Then you settled in your seat.
In your nervousness you did not take into account a small detail: you would ride with him for many hours in such a small space. Without a chaperone too.
ă Have you slept well during the night? ă he asked.
ă Yes, My Lord. Thank you. ă you answered looking outside the small window. The positive thing about such a small place was that cold shouldnât have been a problem. A thick blanket laid on the side, you noted.
ă Very well. ă he then relaxed in his seat too but didnât look any less regal. It was hard to keep oneâs eyes off of him: he too was clad in black and gold, a wonderful pair of trousers, a shirt, a waist coat and a jacket on top. The trousers and shirt were decorated only at the edges. Most of the embroidered detail on the waist coat and some on the jacket. A heavier coat neatly folded by his side. The hours went by as you napped, stretched your legs and arms and adjusted again in your seat. Meanwhile he looked at you, looked outside and occasionally asked how much longer it would have taken. At a certain point during the travel you draped the heavy blanket on your shoulders, just to keep warmer.
You basked in the silence and calm, revising in your head again.
You woke up from another nap when you saw Lord Morpheus talk with the coachman, his voice too low to understand.
When he turned back towards you, he smiled, soft and small.
ă We are almost there. ă he stated. And you never felt more awake. You started getting antsy in your spot adjusting your posture, fixing inexistent strands of hair, smoothing creases on the skirt of your dress.
He then reached for his watch pocket, producing a wonderfully decorated gold watch.
ă And we are right on time. ă he commented.
Sooner than you would have liked the carriage stopped. After the coachman communicated our arrival, Lord Morpheus got up in the low roof and went to the small door opening it and getting out, waiting for you. You took a deep, shaky breath and went too. His hand firmly squeezed yours as you got out, balancing you.
When you lifted your gaze you were met with a masterpiece: the sky was dark already and the structure hosting the event huge, warm yellow light spilling from almost every window, the latterâs tall and decorated. The exterior was in light colors, reflecting the light beautifully. The path to the entrance was lined by trees, oil lamps illuminating the way. Bushes full of flower of many types lead the way, a pleasant perfume welcoming the guests.
Your mouth was left agape. And suddenly you felt like an impostor here. But just as you began to spiral, his hand rested on the small of your back, grounding you.
ă I would like to give you this before we enter. ă he said, catching your attention. A simple, small ring was in his hand. He took you right hand and placed it on your fourth finger. The fit was perfect, thanks also to the gloves you were wearing.
ă And why is it, My Lord? ă but you already knew the answer.
He stayed quiet at that, taking your arm in his, and began walking towards the palace. Many people were around you, chatting lively. You noticed beautiful gowns all around and yet no one was wearing black like you and your Lord.
ă You look so beautiful Iâm almost jealous. â he whispered in your ear as you walked down the tree path â everyone will see you dressed up like you belong in a painting and yet you wear my colors. These emotions are really reassuring. ă he confessed. He knew exactly what it meant to wear his color, you too, and you saw him stand a little taller, chin held up high. You blushed but also felt a wave of confidence run through you. And most of your worries dissipated once you were inside, the air warm and lively, music and chatting adding to the atmosphere of the party.
ă Itâs beautiful⊠ă you murmured, looking at the intricately decorated walls and ceilings, chandeliers hanging producing wonderful specs of light.
ă Perhaps, â he commented â but you look far more stunning. ă he lowered his head, his breath fanning over your ear, making you shiver.
ă The same came be said for you My Lord. You said you would have to be careful not to lose me but I also will have to keep an eye on you, least some beautiful lady snatches you when Iâm not looking. ă you grumbled with a pout, your face feeling warm, a telltale sign you were red as a tomato.
He took your hand, a displeased look in his eyes, and kissed it.
ă As long as I have your eyes on me, I am more than satisfied, no matter the mean to it. ă he said, looking into your eyes, and you felt yourself get redder than before. He was much bolder than when you were at the manor.
Soon enough someone, the host of this event welcomed you, giving you an itinerary of what you could do during the night. The majority of the structure had been dedicated to paintings, a part for refreshment and, whoever wanted to dance a ball room was waiting.
ă Where would you like to go first? ă he asked, a hand on the small of your back.
ă Could we go to the refreshment? Iâm starting to feel quite hungry. ăyou proposed.
ă Whatever you want, my lady. ă your heart skipped a beat at that, and you looked at him. He had this amused expression, a grin on his lips and you thought he looked even more handsome.
-
After eating different varieties of food, mostly those you remembered liking and also something new, with a your second glass of white wine you started your exploration in the wonderful palace, you ventured close to the ball room, music pouring out of it and filling the rest of the place creating an atmosphere that seemed to belong in a memory. The wine was also making you feel light, contributing to such ambience. Various groups of people were gathered, some in front of paintings, some in the rest of the ample rooms, commenting on painting or simply chatting and laughing. As you admired a painting you felt his hand slipping upper on your back coming to a stop at the edge of the bodice. You entered various rooms hosting many beautiful paintings: Böcklin, Friedrich, Millais, Caravaggio. And every single one was more stunning than the last.
ă What about this one? ă you murmured. You took a liking in asking about the paintings and let Lord Morpheus explain them to you. He brought them to life, his story telling abilities incredible.
ă Would you like to tell me the title? ă he asked glancing at you.
ă Wanderer above the sea fog. 1818, by Caspar-David Friedrich. ă you said.
ă Mhm â he sounded pleased with your answer â apparently the subject is Friedrich himself. The subject portrayed like emphasizing the solitude of mankind. The fog wants the observer to look more into it, to try and see what is beyond what the eye can see. ă and you were left fascinated. Books never put paintings in such a poetic light, just notions. You moved further, your dress trailing behind you and you just loved it. Being the only ones dressed in black made many head turn towards you, making you a bit nervous. But his presence calmed you.
ă And these? â you pointed at a series â Times Of Day, made between 1821 and 1822. Correct? ă
ă Indeed. This series shows us how nature is a physical manifestation of the human spirit. It also gives us a whole cycle, including growing, maturity and, at last withering and dying. ă he said solemnly. And then you moved forward again.
ă Sea Beach in the Fog, 1807. ăyou started.
ă The atmosphere is mysterious and gives the reading of humanity contemplating their insignificance compared to nature. At the same time the vessel, hidden a by the heavy fog, but still visible, tells us about how humanity leans to the infinite. ă and this little game of yours continued for most paintings: you would say the title, he would tell you the story, you would admire the painting a bit more and move on. Then you noticed his attention being caught by something or rather someone.
ă I have to do a little thing, it wonât be long, can you wait for me here?ă he whispered even if there was no need, you would have heard him just fine.
ă Yes, of course My Lord, I wonât venture far. ă you chuckled, the wine making you feel fuzzier. He bowed, before going to do whatever he needed to, maybe he saw a friend and wanted to greet him quickly. Your eyes fixed again on a painting: Millaisâs âOpheliaâ.
ă Could you tell me the year of this painting too Miss? ă a familiar voice said mostly from your side. A smile spread on your lips as the figure came to visibility in your peripheral view.
ă Mister Gadling, what a pleasure to see you once again. ă you greeted. Like the gentleman he was, he guided your hand towards his bowed head, without giving it a kiss.
ă You are a sight for sore eyes. Beautiful does not even come close to describe your radiance tonight. ă he dramatically announced but you knew he was sincere.
ă Well you too, kind sir. I hope you are leaving some of the ladies to the rest of the gentlemenâs present here tonight. ă you said, dramatic laced in your playful tone. He beamed at your response. His eyes then fell to the necklace around your neck.
ă I see you wore the necklace. ă he noted.
ă Yes. Thank you for such a kind gift. It is much appreciated. ă you thanked, giving his a small bow too.
ă So, â he said turning towards the painting and you did the same â can you tell me the year of this painting? It seems to have escaped my mind. ă he said, playful and definitely remembering the date.
ă 1851â1852, kind sir. Inspired by Shakespeareâs âHamletâ. Truly a tragic story. ă you said confident.
ă You impress me, my lady. It is indeed correct. ă he laughed. Then a warm silence settled over you both.
ă Where is Morpheus? ă he suddenly asked. Surprised he was with such friendly terms with your Lord, you answered him without missing a beat.
ă My Lord had something to âă you started before feeling a hand slip around your waist, a presence behind you. On Mister Gadling face a look of pure mischief formed.
ă Iâm right here, Hob. What do you require? ă his velvety voice asked, bringing you closer to him, protectively.
ă Ah, my dear friend. I was just talking with this stunning lady, is she in your company? ă you felt his hand tighten around your waist, coming to the front of your bodice to rest on your covered belly. Mister Gadling was obviously teasing his friend, the only couple wearing all black was more than enough to tell everyone you two were in each otherâs company.
ă Yes. ă he answered. You took a sip of your wine, the tension hanging between the two with you in the middle making you incredibly nervous and shy.
ă Iâll leave you two to more⊠exploring then. ă he said, obviously implying something else.
ă Have a wonderful night, dear. ă he said referring to you and bowing dramatically. A small chuckle escaped you as you too bowed and bid him a wonderful night. Then he was gone, your Lord hand still tight around you.
ă Are you mad, My Lord? ă you asked, teasing. To which he only remained silent. Then he moved, walking with you still in his arms. Soon the music was louder than before and before you could understand where you were going you found yourself in the dance room.
Waiting for the song to finish, you squirmed a bit in your place. Then as you looked around, you found Mister Gadling eyes. He give you a nod of acknowledgement. You acknowledged him too, a small bow of your head and the arm around you tightened.
He was teasing him and was so incredibly amusing you almost felt bad for your dear Lord. Almost. Â
Before you could think of how to tease him further you were in the center of the ball room. Your hand in his, an arm around your waist and your hand on his shoulder. You were closer than what was considered appropriate but you didn't really care.
And then you started dancing.
He spun your around expertly and you allowed yourself to be guided in a dizzying dance, you twirled and then he brought back to you.
He moved elegantly, precisely but his dance was not without feeling. In fact you felt your heart pound more for how he was holding you than for the dance itself. Your eyes stayed locked with his for almost the whole dance.
You saw the jealousy simmering behind them. And your heart skipping a beat at that. Miss Martha was so spot on with her observation. So you decided to play with such knowledge: you stepped closer too, moved your hand higher on his neck, brushing the edge of the collar and occasionally his skin. His hand slipper higher too, sometimes resting between my naked shoulder blades, there for a fleeting second and then back to an acceptable position. He squeezed your hand tighter occasionally. So you let yourself be guided more, melting into him. As the dance started to slow for the finale, your steps did too, your touches now more lingering.
His eyes occasionally left yours, a smug expression on his face before he looked back at you. You guessed he looked at Mister Gadling. The funny thing was he fell right into his trap. But here was the catch: with Lord Morpheus it was hard to tell if he actually fell into the trap of if he voluntarily walked in it. Seeing his reaction it seemed more like he let himself walk into it, even if his reaction amused his friend. He gave him a victory, not wanting to risk anything.
A surprised yelp left you as he let you fall back. When he brought you back up your breathing was fast, your heart pounding out of your chest as you took your breath. You were sure your cheeks looked red for the movement, maybe some strand of hair a little looser.
Then his face came closer to yours, and for a moment you froze thinking he would have kissed you. But he didnât, he moved to the side and whispered in your ear
ă You look even more beautiful when a little disheveled. ă then he pressed a light kiss right under your ear, making you close your eyes, a shaky breath leaving you. The hand still on his shoulder squeezed as pleasurable shivers went down your spine.
Just like he was there, he was gone, your hand still in his as he guided you to see some more paintings, the tension between you thick. You commented on them but not for long and honestly, more than looking at those you looked at each other, and you were surprised no one came to tell you to get away from the public by that point. People started to disperse more and more, most going to sleep.
ă Well my friend I bid you goodnight, to you and your lovely companion. ă Mister Gadling said after a while of towing with you too. And then was gone. You explored the palace a little more before you also retired for the night.
The room you would stayed for the night was beautiful: a big canopy bed, enough to fit at least seven people laid against the wall that was next to a tall window. The room had light colors filling the space, the only really dark element in the room a neatly folded heavy blanket at the end of the bed. Your suitcase had been placed close to the closet, letting all that was inside in its place.
The beauty of this room was that it had a small but very welcoming resting area: a fireplace, a sofa, two other chairs and a table sat all grouped together. The rest of the room decorated in light yellows, light browns and gold.
On the adjacent wall were two doors: one to your room and one to Lord Morpheusâs one.
As you changed in your night gown, you noticed how the light colors, of the whole palace really, looked almost out of place when it was your Lord manor that was the exception. You smiled at that and finished changing.
Since sleep still was not clawing at you, you choose to lounge by the waiting area. You also took the light blue foulard to drape over your shoulder. Your hair undone and free from all the pins.
You closed the door behind you and when you raised your head a black, fluffy mass could be seen on the couch. You got closer, clutching your foulard tighter around you as you took a seat on the chair.
ă My Lord. ă you greeted.
ă My lady, did you have an enjoyable night? ă he whispered.
ă Yes, it was more than just nice. Thank you for letting me tow with you. ă you relaxed in your seat, letting the warmth from the fireplace seep into you.
ă Iâm glad. ă he added. Then he got up and you looked at him, as he got closer to you.
ă Are you going to bed already? ă you asked. He didnât answer, extending his hand for you to take, which you did without hesitation.
ă Would you give me the honor of another dance with you? ă he whispered again, even if it was loud and clear. You nodded and got up.
You assumed the same position as a few hours ago now, after moving to the more spacious and obstacle free part of the room: your hand in his, his hand around your waist and yours on his shoulder.
But it felt different this time, more intimate, a lot more than when you were in between strangers. Then he started moving, one step at a time, slowly. And you followed.
The steps were as earlier, and you felt your breath catch, knowing. Occasionally you would fix the light fabric around your shoulders. The hand behind your back was touching your skin, the low cut not leaving a lot of covered space. And where he touched your skin felt on fire.
You moved slower, more sensually, every touch lingering, now away from judging gazes. As you came to the end of the dance you braced yourself. Â
He tipped you back once again, but this time you felt his soft breath on your neck. You eyes widened as his other hand went to your back to support you and you squeezed his shoulders with both of them now free.
Small kisses were littered all over your neck, wandering even lower thanks to the foulard slipping off one of your shoulders, letting a big portion of your skin exposed to his ministrations. You let your head relax, falling even more as his lips made you feel dizzy, one of his hands keeping still while the other wandered upper, resting between your shoulder blades. Shaky breaths left your lips as he kissed closer to your ear, shivers running all over you. Â Â
ă I hope you had your fun playing with me along Mister Gadling. You seemed rather amused. ă he reprimanded, and before you could answer he scraped his teeth over the sensitive flesh. You bit your lip, whatever smart remark dying in your throat. Then his lips wandered lower again, and you would have fell on the ground if he did not keep you up right, your knees buckling.
He then brought you back up, your head still dizzy. You looked up at him, cheeks red and hands trembling a bit on his shoulders where you were not squeezing as hard now.
His hands rested on your hips and waist, running up and down in a soothing motion.
ă I think I should bid you goodnight My Lord. ă you whispered and went to your tip toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. You lingered there for a second, his hands squeezing your soft flesh.
When you retracted he looked at you so intensely you felt weak in the knees once more.
ă Very well then â he said â goodnight to you too. ă he whispered, giving you the same kiss at the corner of your mouth.
He took your hand, giving it a kiss and didnât let go until you were too far to keep holding it, you fingertips warming each other.
Then you were in your room. You went straight to your bed and went to sleep giddy and happy for the evening. Even if it felt longer, like a whole day. You turned in your bed for a bit, incredibly excited and eventually fell asleep.
-
The next morning you woke a bit confused by your surrounding but then you settled. Stretching, you remained laying down, eyes closed as you recalled last night events with fondness.
You donât really know how long you stayed there, just breathing as if nothing has ever happened.
A knock on the door brought you back to reality and you allowed, hopefully loud enough, as you sat up.
ă Good morning, miss. Breakfast is served. ă a sweet girl, younger than you greeted.
ă Thank you. ă you thanked and got out of bed. Out of curiosity you opened the closet in the room to find a robe made of ruby silk waiting and a note that read this clothes were to the guest disposal.
And so you wore it. It was comfortable, and incredibly luxurious. The red becoming almost a wine color in the deeper folds. You twirled in it a little, liking the flare and how a good portion of the hem laid flat on the ground pooling at your feet.
Then you got out of your room, Lord Morpeus sitting in the chair facing his door, a cup of tea already in hand. Hearing the door opening he turned towards you, his eyes widening, his mouth slightly agape.
ă Good morning, My Lord. ă you said confidently, walking to take a seat, basking in his attentions.
ă Good morning⊠ă he said softly, still surprised by your attire.
ă Where did you get the robe? ă he then asked, composing himself again. His eyes trailed over your figure slowly, as if memorizing every detail.
ă It was in the wardrobe, a note said it was at my disposal. Why? ă you explained, taking a tea cup of your own sipping on it and looking at him. He gulped uncharacteristically, only adding
ă It looks good on you. ă and his eyes moved to the fire. Yours did too, but not before reaching over for a biscuit. You felt your face flush a bit but didnât want to give him such a victory, not after the way he looked at you.
ă Will you wear the black dress today again? ă he asked after a while.
ă Yes? I didnât really bring anything else with me. ă you said, confused and hopefully you didnât make a mistake.
ă Thatâs good. ă he answered, still not looking at you, with a grin on his lips. Your face reddened suddenly when you looked at his lips, remembering once again last night.
After you were done with breakfast you both sat there quiet, enjoying the warmth of the fire a bit longer.
ă We can enjoy the garden for a bit before going back, or we can go see the paintings we havenât seen yesterday night. What would you like to do? ă he informed as he got up.
ă Is it possible to do both? I would like to spend a bit more time in the garden if itâs possible. ă you requested.
ă Yes. I requested us lunch for today. Is it all right with you? ă he asked.
ă Absolutely. ă then you thought about outside and how the terrain could ruin the dress.
ă Actually could we see only the paintings? I wouldnât want to ruin the drees with dirt. ă
ă Whatever you prefer. ă he said, a small smile on his lips at your consideration.
Then you retired in your respective rooms, getting dressed for the day. You had to ask him help with those famous last buttons on your back and he obliged, his hand lingering.
You enjoyed the paintings you had yet to see and some you already saw yesterday in a different light. Then you ventured outside on a rocky path but it didnât last more than a few minutes, as you were too scared to ruin the dress.
Mister Gadling came to have a chat before saying goodbye, expressing his wish to see you both again, possibly soon. He also proposed to stay together a few days to know each other better. You enthusiastically agreed, his presence a funny and very welcome one.
Soon lunch time came and you were back to your shared room, eating silently. Every bite melted in your mouth, flavorful dishes presented to you and yet you missed the simplicity in Taramis cooking.
Around three it was time for you to depart once again.
So you took your things, left your suitcase with a servant to take care and went back to the carriage, ready to go home.
As you sat in the carriage you looked outside one last time before the journey started again. Your heart leaped in your chest when Lord Morpheus sat beside you, not in front of you.
Soon enough you draped the blanket over you once again. Your hands were worrying with your gloved hands, nervous from how close you were, but you tried to stay composed, your back straight, your head trained on the view outside. You occasionally scooted closer to the wall of the carriage, putting some distance between you two, to no use.
ă Why are you scooting away from me? Have I offended you? ă he pouted, glancing at you. Caught red handed, you lowered your head.
ă No, My Lord. Itâs just⊠ă you trailed off, not knowing how to finish your sentence.
ă Are you feeling shy about last night? â he asked close to your ear, making you shiver all over. His hand slipped slowly behind your back to bring you closer, â Do you need a replica? ă he whispered making you gasp and become all red in the face. He gave you a small kiss, and when you did not push him away he kept going, every kiss more intentional. Soon both his hands were on your waist keeping you in place, your head leaning on the cabin wall. Your hands squeezed his shoulder, slowly trailing for his hair. His hand caught yours, a pout on those sweet lips.
ă These â he said referring to the gloves â for how beautiful they are, they have to go. ă and he removed one, kissing your hot palm, trailing to your wrist, never once leaving your eyes.
He nuzzled a bit in your palm before his head fell on your shoulder.
ă Forgive me, I should have asked for your permission first⊠ă he murmured almost ashamed. Maybe he saw something in your eyes you werenât even certain was there. Or felt the tremble in your hands.
ă Itâs all right. There is nothing to forgive. ă you mumbled and relaxed completely, letting his warmth seep into you through the blanket.
And just like that, with his head on your shoulder and you naked hands on his you fell asleep.
When you woke back up, outside was dark, the pattering of soft and light rain accompanied you. Your head was resting on his chest and you stayed there.
ă Is it going to take much longer? ă you asked, your voice heavy with sleep.
ă No, since it didnât rain for most of the journey we managed to make it quite fast. Only another hour maybe. ă he whispered. And you remained awake, cuddled up to his side. The air in the carriage was warm but sometimes shivers of cold ran down your spine so you kept close.
Soon the familiar path to the manor came to view and a small smile formed on your face. When the carriage came to a stop he got up, went out and waited for you. You abandoned the blanket on the seat and got out. You took your things and made fast work of getting inside, some raindrops already falling from the sky.
Once inside you exhaled in relief, the familiar surroundings and dark walls welcoming you back home. Â
ă I thank you for your wonderful company during the event. It was wonderful to have you â he dramatically announced â and nothing bad happened. You were amazing. ă he concluded, softer now.
You nodded and he gave a peck on your cheek, making you blush.
ă I should be thanking you My Lord. It was a wonderful experience and I had a lot of fun. â you smiled sweetly. â would you like me to bring you some tea to warm up? ă you proposed.
ă With pleasure, would you like to drink with me? ă he asked and you just nodded.
You both went to your rooms, changing out of the fancy clothes. At least, you wore your uniform. Then you went to Lucienne to greet her, she gave you a quick hug and you chatted a bit whilst you waited for Taramis to prepare the tea.
ă The house felt empty without you, I missed you. For how Matthew and Taramis are great company, you have an energy they both lack. ă she confessed, Matthew cawing accusingly at you both. You laughed at that.
ă How did it go? ă
ă It went well, I had a lot of fun. And the paintings were absolutely exquisite. ă you said, recalling the beautiful art.
ă Iâm happy you enjoyed yourself. Did you meet anyone? ă
ă Yes, Mister Gadling, he was very kind, and I had the possibility to thank him for a gift. ă you said as you took the necklace out. And that also made you remember you had the ring to give your Lord back.
ă Please take a seat so we can talk. ă she said, already walking to the chairs by the fireplace.
ă I would love to but I have to bring Lord Morpheus tea, and⊠â you trailed off, felling a flush color your cheeks. Lucienne looked at you, a grin already on her face â he requested I keep him company. ă you murmured the last part. But she heard, loud and clear.
ă Oh, â she started, amused and happy â so you will drink tea with him. ă she repeated.
ă Did something happen that I should be aware of? ă she inquired. And you became even more red in the face.
ă I knew it! ăshe exclaimed.
ă No! Itâs not what you think, whatever you are thinking⊠we just danced and- and then he, well- he almost kissed me⊠ă you said as if realizing it just now. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow, her arms crossed on her chest, knowing I was leaving out details.
ă Itâs best if I go for the tea, Taramis is probably waiting for me⊠Iâll tell you, tomorrow. ă you promised and rushed out.
ă Tomorrow then. ă she said and you were gone.
You entered the kitchen, grabbed the tray and promised Taramis you would talk with her tomorrow. It was already pretty late anyways and the rain became a pouring that would keep you here for the night.
As you went upstairs you also grabbed the ring from your room and went to his study.
ă Come in. ă a reply came. So you opened the door, placing the tray on the desk, cleaner than you had ever saw it. But also before it didnât look that bad or messy. Placing the tray on the desk just like the first time you asked what he would have liked and prepared his before yours. And then sat down across from him. You also passed the ring to him and he looked at you confused before taking your right hand and slid it into place, his gaze telling you it was a gift.
ă You enjoyed the event correct? ă he asked to make sure.
ă Yes, immensely. ă you confirmed.
ă Would you like to come with me for future event of the same nature? ă he was inviting you, his eyes so expectant and hopeful of a positive response. How could you say no?
ă Absolutely. Do you also plan to also be meeting with Mister Gadling, as he proposed? For a simple tea perhaps? ă you asked just for curiosity. After all Mister Gadling seem like a very nice person and he was a friend of your Lord.
ă Probably, when the weather is also kinder. Mister Gadling lives pretty far away from here, wouldnât want to discomfort him when the weather is so unpredictable. ă he answered and you kept sipping on your tea silently.
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Just a quick update: Iâve refreshed the pinned post, where you can now find the full navigation and a preview of all upcoming Sandman fanfics. Everything should be much easier to navigate now.
P.S. Let me know which one is your favourite, which one youâre most excited about â or anything youâd like to share, really.
STANDALONE FANFICS
Short stories you can read independently.
Fluff / Comfort
The Night He Answered
A Cup of Dreams
Stargazing with the Endless
One Quiet Morning with Morpheus (to be posted soon)
Your Birthday in the Dreaming (to be posted soon)
Angst / Jealousy / Emotional
A Night to Remember
When You Call Another Name
The Day Death Sat Beside You (to be posted soon)
Dark / Intimate
Candlelight in the Library (18+)
The Night He Let the Candle Burn (to be posted soon)
SERIES FANFICS
BOUND IN ETERNITY (18+) â MAIN SERIES
GENERAL SUMMARY:
In a world where dreams fracture and eternity bleeds, a mortal woman becomes the one presence Dream of the Endless cannot silence â and the one truth he cannot escape.
This is a story of intimacy woven with myth. Of devotion shaped by darkness. Of a god who breaks â slowly â in the hands of something human.
Slow burn becomes fire. Distance becomes obsession. Love becomes dangerous.
Bound in Eternity â PART I
Scope: origin, awakening, slow-burn, first fracture
Read more about part 1
MASTERLIST â PART I
Prologue â Glass and Starlight
Chapter 1 â The Dream That Would Not Fade
Chapter 2 â Echoes of Sand and Ink
Chapter 3 â The Rubyâs Reckoning
Chapter 4 â Mirrors of Desire (18+)
Chapter 5 â Hope in Hell
Chapter 6 â The Dollâs House (Glimmers)
Chapter 7 â The Corinthian Hunts
Chapter 8 â The Long Night (18+)
Chapter 9 â Wings and Bread
Chapter 10 â Desireâs Game (18+)
Chapter 11 â The Night of Eternity
Chapter 12 - Shadows and Devotion
Chapter 13 â The Veil Between Stars
Chapter 14 - The Silent Bond (18+)
Chapter 15 â Demonsâ Revenge(18+)
Chapter 16 - The Library of Vows
Chapter 17 â The Wedding That Stirs the Dark
Chapter 18 â Echoes of the Past
Chapter 19 â The Lost Book (18+)
Chapter 20 - The Dream Market (Bonus chapter)
Chapter 21 â Chasing Shadows 18+ (Epilogue)
Bound in Eternity â PART II
Scope: memory, fracture, devotion, danger
Read more about part 2
MASTERLIST â PART II
Prologue â A Century of Quiet Fire
Chapter 1 â Echoes of Forgotten Dreams
â âą Part I â When the Mind Begins to Fray
âââą Part II â The Day She Forgot His Name
Chapter 2 â The Market That Calls Her Back
Chapter 3 â Candlelight in the Library (18+)
Chapter 4 â Endless Dinner
Chapter 5 â Dreams Beneath the Storm (18+)
Chapter 6 â A Hundred Years and One Answer
Chapter 7 â The Memory-Harvestersâ Debt
Chapter 8 â When Delirium Found You
Chapter 9 â Coffee Before the Storm
Chapter 10 â The Dance in the Waking World
âââą Part I â The Key That Would Not Sleep
âââą Part II â The Night That Refused to End
Epilogue â Devotion in Neon Light (18+)
Bound in Eternity â PART III (in progress)
Status: coming soon / in development
Themes: Chosen. Punished. Devastatingly loved.
This part will explore:
the cost of loving an Endless
the universe pushing back
Dream willing to unmake everything â for you
To be continued.
ABOUT THIS STORY
You are not a savior, not a symbol, and not a replacement â you are simply a mortal who meets him exactly as he is, and by never trying to change him, becomes the one thing he cannot command. Some moments in this story will echo canon, others will quietly fracture it, yet all of them lead to the same truth: Dream does not fall easily, but when he does, the fall is absolute.
Here you will find a painfully slow-burning connection, emotional closeness woven through myth, dark romance shaped by devotion, and intimacy with an immortal being that carries both tenderness and danger. This is a story about the terrible softness of being loved by a god, and the quiet power of loving him without asking him to be less than he is.
If this story calls you, the Dreaming is open â and you are already expected.
Pairing: Dream x fem! immortal reader / Morpheus x Y/N
When your dreams touched his cage, everything changed. Freed from centuries of captivity, Dream finds himself haunted by the mortal who once dreamed of himâproof that even the Endless can hunger. Drawn into his realm, you become the mirror he cannot bear to face: a reminder of everything heâs lost, and everything he dares to want. But in the Dreaming, every desire demands a price.
Content warning: emotional intimacy, tenderness, vulnerability, mentions of eternity, marriage themes
Check the previous part: Chapter 16 - The Library of Vows
Jump to the beginning: Prologue
The Dreaming woke to a rumor and did not go back to sleep.
Along the obsidian colonnades and through the silver gardens, a whisper scurried from pillow to pillow, from nightmare to noon-sleeping cloud: the Lord of Dreams would marry.
Candles that never burned began to burn.
Bells that had never rung learned how.
Lucienne, who had anticipated the impossible at least three times this century, adjusted her glasses and opened a fresh ledger titled Preparations. By the time the ink dried on the first line, a queue had already formed down the marble stairsâdreams, nightmares, and minor gods of half-forgotten kitchensâall insisting, in flurries of bows and feathers, that they must help.
The Chronicler arrived second, with three quills and two tucked in their hair.
âI will need a new section in the archives labeled Ceremonials: Unprecedented,â they announced, eyes bright. âAlso an appendix for How to Address Oneâs Lord When Oneâs Lord Announces A Marriage Without Notice.â
âTry âcongratulations,ââ Lucienne said dryly, turning a page.
You stood before a tall mirror of black glass in the antechamber of the Forgotten Wing, hair braided with slim threads of silver script.
Your reflection hummed faintly with lettersânot a dress yet, but the promise of one, a veil of unwritten lines waiting for your consent.
Nuala of Faerie knelt behind you, her clever fingers weaving constellations into the braid.
âOur Queen sends this,â she said softly, offering a box of moon-thorns that would gleam like frost when pinned. âAll our courts are talking.â
âLet them,â you murmured, amused and a little dazed. âIâm still learning which fork the Dreaming uses.â
âThe left one is a swan,â Matthew said, hopping onto the window seat. âDonât ask.â
You smiled. âWhat do I even wear? Starlight seems presumptuous.â
âThe Dreaming will dress you if you let it,â Nuala said. âBut perhaps it should be you who decides.â
You looked at your handsâink-stained from cataloging, silver-ringed from last nightâs promise.
âBlack,â you said. âSoft, not armored. And letters. I want lines from books that never had an ending. I want them to have one now.â
The Chronicler made a reverent noise. âPermission to faint at the poetry,â they whispered.
âYou may faint briefly,â Lucienne allowed, appearing in the doorway with her ledger. âBut then we will require your handwriting for invitations.â
âTo whom?â you asked.
âEveryone,â said Lucienne, as if this were obvious. âBut with care. One invites the Dreaming; one informs the universe.â
On the eastern balcony, Morpheus watched the night pool and pour across his realm like ink.
He kept his hands behind his back because they wanted to shake.
Matthew circled and landed on the rail. âSo. Boss.â
âSo,â Morpheus echoed, still staring out at nothing.
âMarriage.â Matthew tilted his head. âThatâs⊠big. Bigger than the moon. Bigger than your hair.â
Morpheus did not look at him. âDo you disapprove?â
âMe? No. I approve of the parts where she smiles, and you stop being scary for, like, five seconds.â Matthew scratched a feather. âBut I gotta ask. Are you scared?â
Morpheus finally turned. In his eyes, the storms had quieted into seas.
âYes.â
âOf what? Losing her?â
âOf deserving to keep her,â he said simply.
Matthewâs throat clicked. âOkay. Thatâs⊠wow.â He fluffed his wings. âThen hereâs my old-man adviceâand keep in mind I am a bird: write vows you can live. Not the kind that sound good and break easy. The kind that stretch and donât snap.â
Morpheusâs mouth flickeredâalmost a smile. âYou and my sister have conspired.â
âDeath? Sheâs here?â
âAs soon as I asked the question of myself,â Morpheus said softly, âshe came with answers.â
Death walked into the throne hall as if into a sunbeam. Dreams parted for her not out of fear, but affection.
She climbed the dais without bowing and kissed her brotherâs temple.
âLook at you,â she said, pleased and exasperated all at once. âFinally doing something wildly sensible.â
Morpheus took a breath that loosened his shoulders. âYou approve.â
âI approve of you happy,â Death said, leaning her hip on the arm of his throne. âAnd I approve of vows that arenât traps.â
He flinched almost imperceptibly. âI will not repeat old cruelties.â
âGood,â she said, tender. âThen keep your promises small enough to carry every day. Donât swear to be what you canât be. Swear to show up. Swear to tell the truth when it hurts. Swear to ask for a hand before you fall into the abyss. Leave out the part where you try to lasso eternity with poetry. You two already are eternity. You just need breakfast plans.â
âBreakfast plans,â he repeated, bleakly mystified.
She grinned. âIâll talk to Y/N. You write something simple. And tell the nightmares they can come, but no eating the ushers.â
âI will.â He paused. âThank you.â
âAlways,â Death said. Her expression softened. âShe changed you without breaking you. Thatâs rare. Donât be tragic about it.â
âI am trying,â he said, and this time the smile emerged unhidden.
Desire arrived without knocking, gilded in soft gold and danger.
They lounged across the stair rail like a cat in sunlight, watching you direct a crew of dreams stringing up chandeliers of black crystal.
âMy my,â they sighed. âThe mortal makes a cathedral of yes.â
âI am not mortal anymore,â you said without turning.
âYou are worst of all,â Desire purred, sliding closer. âA mortal with time.â Their eyes glittered. âWe should talk âvows.â Such prickly little things. Like roses. Like barbed wire.â
âLike boundaries,â you said. âYou are not invited to manipulate ours.â
Desire pressed a hand to their heart, wounded. âManipulate? I would never. I only clarify. Has he told you the stories where he is unkind? Have you told him the parts of you that ache when he leaves? You think wedding velvet will muffle those sounds?â
You faced them now, steady. âI know what he is. I do not want him to change. I want him to tell me when he cannot.â
Desireâs smile thinned. âSo dull. So wholesome.â They traced the air, and a door with no handle appearedâa promise of an easier throne. âOffer still stands: crown without waiting. Throne without shadow.â
âThank you,â you said calmly, âand no.â
Desireâs gaze flicked toward the far balcony. âHe fears losing you. I prefer him that way.â
âAnd I prefer him as he is when I arrive,â you said. âYou may come to the ceremony. Or not. But if you come, you will behave.â
Desire laughed, bright as broken glass. âYou think you can command me?â
âNo,â you said. âI think I can choose you not at all.â
Then, turning to the dreams arranging the aisle: âThose candlesâlower. I want the light to fall like a hush.â
Desire watched you for three breaths, something complicated moving under the gold.
âYou will be interesting to watch,â they murmured, and vanishedâleaving only the scent of some flower that shouldnât bloom in the dark.
That evening, Death found you in the Forgotten Wingâsleeves rolled, a pencil behind your ear, marking a list titled Books to Invite (the Library had insisted).
âBusy?â she asked with a smile that was all warmth.
âOnly deciding whether the unwritten epics sit with the lost lullabies,â you said, then stood and hugged her. The embrace surprised you both with how natural it was.
âYou came.â
âIâm family,â Death said. âAnd Iâm here to do what big sisters do before weddings: tell you things you already know.â
âTry me.â
âDonât promise to fix him,â Death said. âPromise to love him while he fixes himself. And leave room to change your mind about what love looks like when a century passes.â
You exhaled. âI can do that.â
âAnd ask for breakfast,â Death added. âHe thinks he doesnât eat. He doesâmetaphorically. Make him sit. Make him talk. Save yourselves a war by using a plate.â
You laughed, astonished by the practicality. âWe will have breakfast,â you promised. âWith coffee. And something sweet.â
âAnd when youâre afraid,â Death said more softly, âtell me. I like weddings, but I love you more.â She tapped the ring glimmering on your finger. âThat suits you.â
âIt feels like a page I wrote in him,â you said, thumb brushing the constellations inside the onyx. âIâm writing one for him, too.â
âA ring?â
âA band of iron and letters,â you said, opening a small velvet-lined box. Inside lay a simple dark ring etched with tiny textâthe first lines cataloged in the Forgotten Wing. âNot to bind. To remind. Of ordinary days.â
âOh, honey,â Death said, eyes bright. âYouâre going to be fine.â
The night before the ceremony, the Dreaming rehearsed how to be beautiful.
An aisle of salt-black stone ran the length of the hall, scattered with petals from flowers that only bloom at the edges of nightmares. Candles burned with dream-flameâno smoke, but shadows dancing in slow, delighted sways. Above, a chandelier of captured constellations hung low enough to make the guests lift their faces to the idea of sky.
Lucienne supervised ushers who were both dignified and toothy.
âNo biting,â she told a particularly enthusiastic nightmare. âUnless asked politely, and not during vows.â
The Chronicler threaded place cards along the pews. âSeat Night next to Silence. They are dating,â they whispered to Matthew.
âGood,â Matthew said. âSilence will keep Night from heckling.â
A door opened from nowhere, and Hob Gadling strolled in wearing a suit that belonged to three centuries at once.
âHope Iâm not late?â he asked the air.
âYou canât be,â Matthew said. âTime is a suggestion here.â
Hobâs grin softened when he saw Morpheus approaching.
âYou old catastrophe,â he said, and for once the teasing was tender. âAbout time.â
Morpheus, astonishingly, let himself be embraced.
âThank you for coming.â
âWouldnât miss it,â Hob said. He lowered his voice. âYou look⊠frightened.â
âI am,â Morpheus admitted.
âGood,â Hob said, clapping his shoulder. âMeans it matters.â
Destiny passed by without fanfare, his book cradled in the crook of his arm. He paused only once, turning a page that turned itself.
âThere are many ways to say always,â he said without looking up. âChoose the one you can live with.â
âI intend to,â Morpheus replied.
Destiny noddedâor perhaps the wind moved his hoodâand was gone as quietly as he had come.
Nuala led a small procession of faerie seamstresses carrying the finished gownâblack as intent, soft as confession, its hem stitched in silver with titles from rescued books: The Daughter Who Returned, The Last Chapter at Last, What We Kept.
You ran your fingers over the script and swallowed hard.
âDoes it fit?â Nuala asked, suddenly uncertain.
âIt feels like being read,â you whispered.
âThen itâs perfect,â Nuala said.
The ceremony was nothing like the mortal ones you remembered, and yet somehow it was more tender than any chapel could have been.
The Forgotten Wing had been remade overnightâits endless shelves glowed like constellations, their stories humming softly beneath the vaulted ceiling. The Dreaming had gathered: the Endless, the nightmares, the dreamers who still remembered how to hope. Even the stars outside the high windows paused to look in.
There were no priests, no witnesses in the mortal sense. The vows themselves would be the bindingâthe intention spoken aloud in a realm built of meaning. Desire had sent a rose that refused to wilt; Death stood near the threshold, smiling like a sister who already knew how this story ended.
When the hall had emptied, Morpheus found you on the balcony where you both drifted when words were necessary and difficult. The night was kind.
He held out a small lacquered box. âA ring for me?â he said, discovering the smile that had haunted the edges of his mouth all day.
You gave it to him without speech. He opened it and went still.
The iron band was simple, but along the inside, words gleamed tiny and brightâlines from the first catalogued tale the Forgotten Wing had saved: a bakerâs song no one had written down, a grandmotherâs proverb, the final sentence of a diary rescued from forgetting. Ordinary things, woven into a circle.
He looked up slowly. âYou give me the world we saved.â
âJust enough of it to remember breakfast,â you said.
He slipped it on. It warmed, as your ring had. He traced the inside with his thumb, the letters catching like stars. âI will not promise to be gentle,â he said quietly. âI cannot, always.â
âI know,â you said. âPromise to be present.â
He nodded. âI promise.â
âPromise to tell me when you are gone, and why,â you added.
âI promise.â
âPromise to let me work.â
He closed his eyes, opened them. âI promise.â
âPromise,â you said, very soft now, âto keep choosing me when Desire makes a door, and when Silence pretends to be peace, and when the old ache says tragedy is noble.â
His voice hardly rose above the night. âI promise to choose you.â
You stood together, the vows not yet spoken but already true.
You leaned into him, and he folded you into his arms, letting himself be only a man with the woman he loved.
âThey are all in shock,â you murmured against his shoulder.
âThey will adjust,â he said. âI will help them.â
âAnd if they do not?â
âI will still marry you,â he said simply.
You laughedâquiet, luminous. âYou are learning breakfast.â
âI am,â he said, pleased at the thought.
You stayed there until the candles in the hall burned lower of their own accord, and the chandeliers dimmed to protect the stars. Behind you, the Dreaming set its table and laid out its black-silk aisle and persuaded the ravens to sing in tune.
When the moment came, it did not feel like a beginning but a continuationâsomething the realm itself had been waiting to exhale. The air shimmered with quiet recognition. The Endless stood as witnesses, their presence vast yet reverent. You walked the aisle of woven shadow and light, your steps echoing through the forgotten stories sleeping on every shelf.
Morpheus stood beneath the archway of books that bent toward each other like bowed spines, his eyes as infinite as the dream he ruled. He did not smile, not yetâbut when his gaze found you, the Dreaming seemed to sigh in relief.
You stopped before him. The ravens hushed. Even the candles leaned closer.
âI have been many things,â he said, his voice a ripple through reality. âA lord, a keeper, a fool. But never thisânever yours, not as I am now.â
Your reply came steady, though your hands trembled slightly in his. âThen be mine in the way you can beâthrough every story we keep from being lost.â
The vows unfolded not in language but in resonance. Every promise you had whispered, every moment you had survived, settled into the walls. The Forgotten Wing remembered.
When the final word faded, the realm bowed its head. The ink in the books shimmered; the chandeliers wept light. Morpheus lifted your hand and pressed his lips against your pulse.
The Dreaming exhaled. In the morningâif mornings meant anything hereâbells would ring that had never rung, and the impossible would proceed as if it had always been inevitable.
For now, the realm was a held breath; the lovers were a quiet certainty.
And the night, its best tuxedo on, waited to be asked to dance.
READ NEXT Chapter 18 â Echoes of the Past
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Itâs my Roman Empire project â the one I canât stop thinking about. PLEASE ENGAGE IF YOU LIKE IT! Your comments, thoughts, and reactions mean everything. This story truly lives only when someone else falls into it with me.
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Pairing: Dream x fem! immortal reader / Morpheus x Y/N
When your dreams touched his cage, everything changed. Freed from centuries of captivity, Dream finds himself haunted by the mortal who once dreamed of himâproof that even the Endless can hunger. Drawn into his realm, you become the mirror he cannot bear to face: a reminder of everything heâs lost, and everything he dares to want. But in the Dreaming, every desire demands a price.
Content warning: emotional intensity, power imbalance, longing, devotion, desire vs duty
Check the previous part: Chapter 15 â Demonsâ Revenge (18+)
Jump to the beginning: Prologue
The morning in the Dreaming wears a soft, pearl-grey hush. You sit alone at a long window in the east wing, watching mist roll over the sleeping gardens. A book lies open in your lap, unread. The words will not settle.
Lucienne finds you there.
âYou have turned the same page three times,â she observes gently, adjusting her glasses.
You smile without looking up. âFour, if weâre honest.â You close the book and exhale. âI donât know where I fit when he is gone. The Dreaming humsâeveryone has a purposeâand I feel like a bookmark left in the wrong chapter.â
Lucienneâs expression softens. âYou stood with him in Hell. You steadied him in the waking. Purpose is not always loud. Sometimes it is a hand on a shoulder.â
âAnd when the shoulder isnât here?â you ask, then wince at your own bluntness. âForgive me. Iâm being ungrateful.â
âYouâre being human,â she says. âEven now.â Then, after a pause: âIf you were to choose a place, not merely wait for one⊠where would you begin?â
Your gaze drifts toward the towering stacks. âBooks,â you say immediately, then laugh at yourself. âAlways books. Lost ones. Unwritten ones. Stories that were silenced, stolen, or set aside.â
âThe Library remembers all that was written,â Lucienne replies. âPerhaps itâs time we made room for all that might be.â
Before you can answer, the air shiftsâcooler, emptier. Somewhere far off, the Dreaming folds like a cloak, and you know he has gone to tend some distant duty without waking you. You press the closed book to your chest and nod to yourself.
âI will not be a bookmark,â you whisper.
Morpheus stands at the edge of a desert made of whispers, passing judgment on a nightmare that had learned to love the taste of borrowed faces. When itâs done, he grants the creature a gentler ending than it deservesâbecause you had once taught him how.
Matthew swoops down, wings beating fast. âBossâquick check-in. You know how she gets when you disappear without a note?â
Morpheus pauses. âI left word with the winds.â
âYeah. The winds donât hug back,â Matthew says. âSheâs fine. Just⊠quiet.â
The word slices him in a tender place. Quiet means thinking. Thinking means wondering. Wondering meansâ
âI will be brief,â he says, colder than he feels.
âDonât be brief,â Matthew caws softly. âBe present.â
Morpheus doesnât answer, but he quickens his return.
You are not alone for long.
A lilting voice slides from a corridor that had not existed a breath before. âWhat a pity,â it sighs, âto have such brightness filed away in someone elseâs stacks.â
You turn. Two figures step from the new-thing doorway: a tall, beautiful man with a smile as careless as wine, and a slight, watchful woman whose eyes hold moonlight.
âCluracan of Faerie,â the man announces with a sweeping bow. âEnvoy, poet, occasional nuisance, et cetera. And my sister, Nuala.â
Nuala inclines her head. âWe bring an invitation, my lady.â
You rise, wary but polite. âYou bring trouble, if your entrance is any indication.â
âOnly opportunity,â Cluracan purrs. âThe Courts of Faerie admire constancy, courage, and a certain literary bent. Our Queen has noticed the⊠infatuation of the Lord of Dreams.â His smile sharpens. âInfatuations end. Thrones do not. Come be a sovereign where your hours wonât be measured by a manâs comings and goings.â
Nuala speaks more softly. âYou would be cherished. You would have work. A library of your own.â
Something in your chest tugsâthe ache you had confessed to Lucienne, gilded now and set like a trap. You fold your arms to steady yourself. âAnd the price?â
Cluracanâs eyes sparkle. âMerely your presence. Your voice in our halls. Your occasional smile.â
âAnd leaving him,â you say.
âAt least learning to rule without him,â Cluracan counters lightly. âThink of it, lady: your own seat. Your own crown.â
You hesitate only long enough to recognize the shape of the temptationâand then you smile, small and certain. âThank you for your offer.â
Cluracanâs grin widens. âAnd?â
âAnd no.â Your voice doesnât waver. âI already chose my throne.â
Nualaâs gaze warms. âThen we have our answer.â She touches Cluracanâs sleeve. âCome.â
But he canât resist one more flourish. âWhen he vanishes againâand he willâremember our door.â
âI will,â you say, âas an exit I did not take.â You step forward, palm open. âAnd as a door you will not open uninvited again.â
Cluracan laughs, delighted. âFair enough.â Their doorway folds like a paper fan and is gone.
The hallways exhale. You let out a breath you hadnât realized you were holdingâand feel the shadow behind you before you hear his voice.
âYou refused them.â
You turn. Morpheus stands there, cold night and dark silk, eyes fathomless and searching. He had come fast; you can feel the hurry in him like heat.
âYes,â you say simply.
âWithout consulting me.â It is not accusation so much as astonishment.
You lift your chin. âI donât need permission to keep a promise.â
Something fragile and dangerous passes over his faceârelief first, then fear at the extent of it. âThey offered you power.â
âThey offered me a place,â you correct, âbecause they sensed I felt lacking one. That is my fault, not yours.â
His gaze flicks to the empty air where the door had been, then back to you. âI am often absent.â
âI know.â You step closer. âI do not love you for your availability.â A beat. âBut I would like work that is mine.â
At that, another presence appears with a rustle of sensible skirts. âIf I may,â Lucienne says, materializing as if a sentence had summoned her. âThe Library has a gap only she can fill.â
Morpheus inclines his head without taking his eyes off you. âExplain.â
Lucienne produces a neat notebook. âWe have books that are written and were dreamed. We even hold the unwritten that might yet be. But we do not gather the silencedâthe half-told histories, the cut chapters, the stories traded away for safety. She has a talent for hearing them.â She looks to you. âFor coaxing them to speak.â
The air stirs; even the stacks seem to lean in. You swallow. âI would⊠create a wing for those. A place of care and restitution. I could restore what was erased and return itâwhen the waking world is readyâto the people it was taken from.â Your hands animate as you speak. âI donât want a crown, Dream. I want a catalog.â
The Chronicler leans over the rail from the mezzanine, ink-stained and eager. âAnd a scriptorium! Annotations! Oral histories transcribed in the hand of memory itself!â They wave their quill, then remember themselves. âWith your leave, my lord.â
Morpheusâs mouth softensâthe smallest, rarest curve. He looks from Lucienne to you, and the fear that had clutched his chest since Matthewâs warning loosens its grip.
âName it,â he says.
You blink. âName⊠the wing?â
He nods once.
You think of all you have been and not been. âThe Forgotten Wing,â you say. âWhere what was silenced is allowed to speak again.â
Lucienne smiles like a sunrise. âIt will be done.â
âToday,â Morpheus adds, and the floor trembles once as if in agreement.
Matthew swoops through the open arch, landing on the back of a velvet chair. âSo uh, is this a bad time to say I always knew she was Management material?â
âNot a bad time,â you say, laughter surprising you. âBut you owe me a shelf-warming party.â
âOn it,â Matthew says solemnly. âI know a nightmare who plays a mean lute. Kidding. Mostly.â
You turn back to Morpheus. Heâs watching you openly now, the way one watches the first star after a storm.
âYou were offered a realm,â he says softly, âand you asked for a room.â
âI asked for a responsibility,â you correct. âAnd for a place beside you, not in front of you or behind.â
He draws a slow breath, as if speaking against an old habit. âThen stand beside me.â
The great doors of the throne room open at his thought. Dreams gather in the galleries, murmuring like a sea. The dais glows with cold starlight; his throne rises from night itself. He ascends, then turns and extends his handânot as a king summoning a subject, but as a man asking a partner to join him.
You go to him. The weight of eyes does not frighten you. You place your hand in his, and he lifts you to the dais. A second seat unfolds from the darknessânot a lesser echo, but a true companion throne, carved with vines and tiny constellations.
Lucienneâs voice carries: âBear witness. The Lord of Dreams sets a seat for the Keeper of the Forgotten Wing.â
A hush falls that feels like a vow sealing. Morpheus faces the gathered realm. âLet none mistake my intent,â he says, his voice quiet, which makes it thunder more. âHer counsel is my compass. Her keeping is my joy. Harm to her is treason to me.â
The Dreaming shivers, accepting the law.
He turns back to you. Even here, even now, the next words are hard for himâthe oldest defenses rising, the oldest pride resisting. He sets them down anyway.
âY/N,â he says, and the entire hall disappears into the name, âI am not adept at the ceremonies of the waking. But Death told me once not to be tragic when I could be truthful.â
Your smile tilts. âShe is very wise.â
âShe is,â he agrees. A breath. âMarry me.â
The word seems too mortal for the dais, too small for the skyâand yet it rings perfectly in the chamber, clean as a bell.
Your eyes sting. âThat is very human of you.â
âIt is very yours of me,â he says.
You donât leave him to hang in silence. âYes,â you answer at once, voice steady, radiant. âYes.â
Starlight condenses at his fingertips, gathering into a slender band of onyx shot through with constellations. He sets it on your finger; the ring warms to your skin like a promise made flesh.
Matthew whoops. The Chronicler sobs joyfully into their quill. Lucienneâs smile is the softest prayer.
âThen let the Forgotten Wing be raised,â Morpheus says, and the palace answers.
Corridors unfurl toward the Library, where new stacks take root: shelves for recovered lines, alcoves for returned names, desks for letters that had never reached their recipients. You can feel itâwork flowering under your feet.
You look back to him. The dais has emptied without his asking; the realm knows when to leave you to the quiet after a vow.
âDream,â you say.
âYes,â he answers, already nearer than he had been a breath before.
âThank you.â
âYou chose me,â he replies. âI will spend a long time thanking you.â
You kiss him thenânothing ceremonial about it. His hands rise to your face, reverent; the kiss deepens, unguarded, and the chamber dims of its own accord, the Dreaming drawing a curtain of night for its lord and lady.
âCome,â he murmurs, and the word turns the air to velvet.
You cross to his private rooms. He unties your hair, and it falls like ink through his fingers. You unfasten his collar, feeling the quiet stutter of his breath against your knuckles. The world narrowsâmoonlight, skin, the quiet pull of gravity between two beings who have already chosen.
He leans in, voice rough silk. âDo you know what youâve done?â
You smile against his lips. âYes. Iâve ruined your solitude.â
His low laugh vibrates against your throat. âGladly.â
The rest unfolds not in haste but in reverenceâeach breath a vow, each touch a promise of staying. His body speaks in heat and restraint; yours answers with trust and command. The Dreaming hums softly, as though memorizing the rhythm of two hearts that have finally found their home.
When at last quiet reclaims you both, he remains close, forehead to yours, as if distance were a superstition he has decided to abandon.
âI am afraid less,â he admits, voice barely a breath. âBecause you stay.â
âI stay,â you whisper, fingers brushing the ring that glimmers like a captured constellation. âAnd I will keep your Forgotten Wing.â
He laughs quietlyâastonished, undone. The sound rewrites something ancient in the palace bones.
âSleep,â he murmurs.
âNever again without you,â you answer, and the Dreaming itself seems to nod.
Beyond the curtains, new shelves grow in the Library as if coaxed by your breathing. Titles whisper themselves back into being. On the dais, two thrones waitânot as monuments to solitude, but as proof that even the Endless are no longer endless alone.
READ NEXT Chapter 17 â The Wedding That Stirs the Dark
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Itâs my Roman Empire project â the one I canât stop thinking about. PLEASE ENGAGE IF YOU LIKE IT! Your comments, thoughts, and reactions mean everything. This story truly lives only when someone else falls into it with me.
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