Main characters: Tom Sturridge, Reader

Your gaze was fixed on the phone. Had he written the wrong thing? Maybe he wrote something else. Just as you were thinking, a message notification tone interrupted your thoughts.

"Hey, are you there?"

Your hands moved across the keyboard, unsure of what to type. You pressed the send button.

"I am here."

I'm here, but I'm confused. I'm thinking to myself. Why would anyone write something like that? We don't know anything about ourselves except our names.

You thought to yourself. You pushed the thoughts aside. You shook your head. There was no message. He just disappeared....

"I'd like to meet you at the cafe tonight at 8 o'clock."

You stared at the screen. You continued.

"I only know your name so far. I don't trust you."

"Apparently, they've betrayed your trust. Don't worry, I'm not a monster."

You smiled. For some reason, this guy always made you laugh. Unlike your ex-boyfriend.

"Okay. I'll come to the place you mentioned."

"Great. I'll be waiting."

—

While getting ready, you wondered what kind of man he was. Maybe he's older than you. He talks like he is. As you chose your outfit, your eyes fell on the sexy black dress. You muttered to yourself.

"Don't be silly, Y/n, this isn't a date."

As you were muttering to yourself, your phone's notification sound came on. You immediately grabbed the phone. Maybe it was Tom again. But it wasn't Tom. Your best friend....

"Hey girl, you're always here but you never text me. What's up? Is there any news?"

You didn't want to say anything to her yet. What were you going to say? That while texting my ex-boyfriend, I accidentally typed the number wrong and met a complete stranger named Tom?

Don't talk nonsense.

You knew your best friend would be devastated if she found out you were texting your ex. Then the message arrived.

"?"

You sighed deeply and sent her a message.

"I'm sorry. I'm a little confused. I didn't think to write."

"Wait a minute, did you find someone new? Are you talking to him?"

Damn it. Why are best friends like that? They figure things out right away. You hated that. You sighed. You took a deep breath.

"I don't know yet, Mia."

Three dots appeared. They didn't disappear for a while. No, it can't be. She's sending questioning messages.

"Wow, I guess you've found someone new. I'm glad you've gotten over that stupid ex-boyfriend."

"Mia, I broke his heart."

"You did the right thing. He didn't deserve you, Y/n. You know that very well."

"Anyway, we'll talk about it later. I'm going to rest a little."

You said it again. You were going to meet Tom. Everything was ready. Just a simple dress, some makeup, and loose hair. Finished.

You left the house. You put the key in the lock and turned it. The door locked. It was almost 8 o'clock. You were quick. When you arrived at the place Tom mentioned, instead of texting him, you took the easiest route and called him.

You clicked the number. It rings. And it's answered. Seconds tick by.

"Hey, where are you? I came here. I can't find you because I don't know your face."

He giggled behind his phone. You heard this and lashed out angrily.

"Hey! This isn't funny."

"Okay... okay, don't get angry, ma'am. I'm at the table opposite you."

You were surprised he called you "Ma'am"; no man had ever addressed you like that before. Not even your ex-boyfriend.

You walked on. Suddenly, a tall man with blue eyes appeared in front of you, his chest hair visible from the open side of his shirt. You had to force yourself not to bite your lip.

"Tom?"

"Yes. Here I am."

"You look bigger than I thought."

"Old?"

"I didn't say anything like that. You don't look old."

As you sat down at the table, the waiter walked past you. Tom ordered two drinks. Although it was a cafe, it felt more like a bar.

"You're drinking, aren't you?"

"Mmm, I think this will be my first experience."

"I can't believe I went on a date with a baby."

You glared at him angrily. He'd just said one of the things you hated most.

"I'm not a baby. I just haven't preferred it until now."

"Oh, those piercing eyes... I understand."

He chuckled softly, without you noticing. You thought to yourself at that moment.

Why am I here?

Why didn't I delete his number?

While you were thinking, he snapped his fingers. He laughed.

"Where did you zone out?"

"Huh? What? Nothing. Never mind"

He waited for you to sip your drink as he took his. Hesitantly, you took the alcoholic beverage in front of you. You sniffed it and downed it. Your face contorted as if you'd eaten a lemon.

"Wow, this is painful. It burns."

"You should have known. But don't worry, you'll get used to it."

"Oh, I have no such intention."

Tom winced.

"Come on Y/n, don't be a coward."

"Okay fine."

You both sipped your drinks.

"I only know your name, and I'm here having a drink with you."

He giggled. You didn't react. You just watched.

"Do you want to know more about me?"

You rolled your eyes. He chuckled again. He enjoyed annoying you.

"Okay, okay. Let me start before you get any more angry."

He paused for a moment. You touched your hand to your cheek, then leaned against the counter and listened to him.

"My name is Tom. I'm 40 years old. I recently broke up with my fiancée. And I have a daughter. I have friends. And I'm an actor."

You were surprised. He was young, or at least he looked young. You were confused. How could be his daughter?

"Oh my God, wait a minute, I don't have the strength to lift all of this."

As you looked around in amazement, he smiled back at you.

"This is normal."

"I wasn't expecting 40. I certainly wasn't expecting you to have a daughter."

"What were you expecting?"

"I was expecting you to be around 30 years old."

"Everyone who comes into my life has those kinds of expectations."

A smirk appeared at the corners of his lips. He moved even closer to you and looked into your eyes. You were breathless.

"Tell me about yourself. I want to hear it.."

It was pulled away suddenly. You calmed down.

"Hmm, okay. My name is Y/n. I recently broke up with my ex-boyfriend. I have no children. I am 25 years old"

he smiled.

"You don't show 25."

You laughed. Someone who found you young for the first time. A whisper escaped your lips.

"I'm surprised. Why am I still drinking with a man much older than me in a bar? I don't understand."

This time, instead of a smile, laughter came from his lips.

"This is your destiny, Y/n"

End of Chapter 3

Please, please, please, I am dying for fan artists out there to draw, paint, all of the above with Dream as Sleep with Vessel as himself. But also for the Sandman fans I see Hob Gadling as Vessel too... so maybe some fan artists could do Hob as Vessel with Dream as Sleep? And then if ya'll wanna go super niche, the Like Minds fandom with Nigel Colbie as Dream/Sleep and Alex Forbes as Vessel... like the fan art ideas are endless... lolz, Endless... I would draw it except I am not that good of a visual artist.

Also, fan fiction writers? Please please. Sleep Token × Sandman crossover? Or Sleep Token x Like Minds? I'd read it.

⚠️ Trash post / intrusive thoughts from a writer in crisis. Sorry for being annoying. 😭

A few days ago, I came up with another idea. Yes. Another one. 💀

Because apparently my brain has decided that living in peace will simply never be an option for me. 😅😇

I’m one of those people who constantly has millions of stories running through their head at the same time. Some stay stronger than others. Some dissolve somewhere between dreams, probably in the hands of you-know-who… and when I wake up, they’re just gone. 🌙✨

I will not be making further comments on the matter because my formal complaint has already been filed in the Dreaming. I am currently awaiting an administrative response. 📝🖤

Anyway.

The point is that I’ve been writing a new idea for days while simultaneously trying to finish all the previous ones, which is, yes, probably some kind of narrative karma. 😭

But I can’t stop thinking about posting it. Because sharing it —even if nobody reads it— is my way of getting it out of my system before it consumes me alive.

So I’m probably going to share what is, in my opinion, one of the most brilliantly devastating things I’ve ever written. Well… maybe there have been others throughout all my years as an emotionally unstable pseudo-writer, but the problem is that now I cannot stop imagining Tom saying certain lines with that whispered British cadence that honestly leaves me in psychological shock. 🫠🖤

And so you can fully understand the level of emotional damage I’m currently dealing with, I present evidence:

POV Tom:

"I feel the tremor in your voice vibrating against the palm of my hand, which is still cradling your jaw. The warm trail of your tears dampens my fingers. Seeing you cry like this, surrendered in my arms, torn between the love you have for me and the absolute need to save yourself, breaks something inside me in a way there’s no cure for.

I close my eyes for a second, swallowing down the knot of agony tightening my throat, and rest my forehead against yours. Our breaths mingle together. The lavender scent lingering on your hands, the warmth of your skin… all of it feels like a refuge I’m about to be exiled from forever.

"—I promise you,” I whisper, and the words tear through my chest, but I say them with absolute conviction, looking straight into your eyes so you won’t have the slightest doubt. “I swear on our children’s lives, Y/N. Tomorrow morning I’ll close these suitcases and walk out that door. I’m not going to use this to confuse you. I’m not going to use this to beg you or chain you to a marriage that left you gasping for air. Tomorrow, I give you your life back.”

I let go of your wrist gently, lowering my hand to wrap around your waist and pull you the last millimeter closer. I can feel your frantic heartbeat slamming against my chest. With the thumb of the hand still holding your face, I slowly wipe the tears from your cheeks.

"—But tonight…” my voice breaks, turning into a rough murmur just inches from your mouth. “Tonight let me be the man who wrote those letters. Let me say goodbye to my wife. Let me give you the season finale our story deserves.”

I don’t wait any longer, because the surrender in your eyes and the way your hands don’t push me away are the only answer I need. I close the distance and press my lips against yours.

There’s no rush. No brutal desperation, only painful and absolute reverence. It’s a slow, deep kiss, heavy with a grief so immense it tastes like salt to both of us. My lips move against yours with a devotion that arrives twenty years too late, memorizing the texture, the warmth, the exact way we always fit together in the dark, even when everything else in the daylight was broken. My hands trace the line of your back, pulling you closer, feeling every shiver running through your body. I kiss you as I slowly guide you backward, forcing us into blind, clumsy steps across the room until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, right beside the half-packed suitcase. I pull away from your lips only for a second to kiss your damp cheek, your jaw, and that spot on your neck where your pulse beats wildly.

"I love you,” I whisper shakily against your skin, letting my own walls finally collapse and allowing the tears I held back all weekend to finally fall. “I love you, I love you…”

It isn’t just to ask for your forgiveness. It’s so you’ll carry it tattooed into your memory. So that tomorrow, when you watch my car disappear down the driveway, you’ll know I loved you with everything I was, and that letting you go is the greatest and most painful act of love I have ever done in my entire fucking life.”

AND YES. THAT IS EXACTLY WHY I AM NOT PSYCHOLOGICALLY OKAY. 💀🖤

So anyway, this is the end of this trash post. Although another one is coming. A longer one. 😭

Because once again I have suffered the ultimate curse of being fandom-dependent and I am currently going through an entirely fictional yet completely real emotional grieving process in my head… which basically means getting way too attached to fictional characters and then having the universe —also known as the writer, showrunner, screenwriter, or whatever evil entity is responsible for writing that character’s life— decide to psychologically destroy you for sport. 🫠

Yes!!!! 😶‍🌫️ 😶 They killed the main character.😱 And I was just sitting there like: WTF. 😭💔

So if you see a flood of videos, edits, scenes, texts, or creative delusions from me over the next few days… that’s simply my way of surviving the psychological damage inflicted on me by someone else’s story. 🎬🖤

My creative brain is currently operating at full power trying to process the grief my fangirl heart is carrying. ✨❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹💔

End of statement. 🖤

P.S.: If you want the emotional damage to hurt even more while reading this, I’m leaving below the song I’d personally listen to while writing it. 🎧😭