#MORPHEUS X READER

[nxtaliaistyping]

Thinking about Morpheus making you ride him as punishment :(

Author’s note: oh my god the season 2 behind the scenes look has me screaming, I’m so excited. I need him back in my life.

18+ nsfw, fem reader, slight bondage

Morpheus is nothing if not an attentive lover, always putting your pleasure first. While you’re in his realm, you don’t have to lift a finger, don’t have to want for anything. He provides.

And while he spends long stretches ravaging you, of taking you apart piece by piece via his long fingers stroking your clit until you squirm and cry for him, or fingering you while your gush around his lithe digits, there’s occasionally times where he finds you…challenging.

That mouth of yours has a tendency to run rampant, undermining his authority. He is a king, a god…more than a god; an endless. And to think a bratty little mortal like you has the audacity to be in his domain, his kingdom, and demand more of his time and energy? Well, you simply need a correction. A simple reminder of your place.

So that’s why you find yourself straddling him, thighs burning as you move up and down. He looks every bit the king of dreams as he sits on his impressive throne, how high you both are allowing you to survey the room while you ride your lover to the best of your capabilities. An unseen force is keeping your hands pinned to the small of your back, not even giving you the slight relief of bracing your weight on his thighs or shoulders.

No, instead you simply have to rut against him, feeling every bit like a concubine, pleasing your ruler.

“Are you getting tired my love? That cannot be the case I’m sure, since you were so eager to have me earlier. Quite…insistent, were you not?”

You whine pitifully at his words, the ache of your limbs at the repetitive motions setting in. Morpheus doesn’t have quite the same need to cum that you do, after all you both are in the dreaming, as much a part of him as he is of it. He can withhold his orgasm for as long as needed, which seems to be long enough that you’re soaking his lap with your needy juices.

“Making a mess I see, so wanton.” He chastises, but still makes no effort to help you move.

“Please…”

“Hm?” He tilts his head, a neutral expression plastered on his regal features. “Is there something you need, dearest?”

God you just want to scream, but your outburst would most likely not help your situation, so you give him a particularly strong slam of your hips before batting your eyelashes. “Please just fuck me.”

Instead of your desired response, he simply tuts. “You misunderstand the situation. This is…correctional. Your penance if you will. After all, you were the one being especially mouthy while in my realm. So it’s only right you prove to me you’re worth the attentions of a king.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly how reminding you of his status above you makes you whine and clench your pussy around him. Your body is an instrument he is especially well versed in playing.

“Perhaps I have been too accommodating to your every whim and desire. I have created a spoilt thing it seems, so used to not putting in the work to achieve what she wants. This lesson is needed.”

Knowing no other way, you fight against your bodies’ exhaustion to ride him with vigour, rolling your hips. Pleasant hums occasionally pass his lips, the minuscule praise like a drug as you move faster on his lap.

You must get too carried away, as he gives your hip a light slap. “Now now, do not allow yourself to get carried away. Remember, it’s rhythm that is important in sexual situations such as this. Not just how fast you can move your hips on me.”

At his reprimanding, you nod your understanding and mutter a soft apology, building a rhythm that works. The sheer fact you’re riding him on his throne, in his throne room, really settles in. Anyone could walk in, heaven forbid Matthew flies in and gets the shock of his (after)life.

But you can’t deny how much it turns you on, to be dream of the endless’s favourite mortal, his favourite little pet to entertain him. It’s almost power in a strange sort of way, but it thrills you nonetheless.

Eventually, your lover’s hips start to move up in time with your thrusts, causing the breath to leave your lungs quickly. Your hands are released, and you quickly move them to his shoulders, feeling the material of his black cloak under your fingertips.

“Touch yourself. Feel the pleasure that I allow you to take.”

You don’t need to be told twice, fingers hurriedly rubbing circles on your clit as he fucks up into you with tenacity. “Please…can I cum?”

“You can do better.”

A moan rips its way from your lips before you can stop it. “Please…please my king, I need to cum. Please let me cum, I won’t talk back again, I’ll be so good…please.”

A trace of a smirk tugs on his lips, and he gives a simple nod of his head. Blue eyes trace over your trembling form as you finish all over his lap. A few thrusts later, he’s buried to the hilt inside of your weeping cunt, filling you up. He allows you to slump against him, gentle fingers moving up and down your spine to soothe you, his release warm inside of your spent pussy.

“Was that to your enjoyment?” He mumbles lowly into your ear, and you can’t help the girlish giggle you make as you nod against him. His smirk is now transformed into a soft smile, not allowing you to see this moment of vulnerability as he presses kisses to your hairline.

“Do not make such demands of me again, unless you want your next punishment to not involve climax for you at all.”

[ofsappho]

Treehouse chapter 34 teaserrrrr

Your head hurts so much less when your eyes are closed to the Lovecraftian chaos in your surroundings. It’s second nature to bury your face into his shirt and let the soothing rhythm of Morpheus’s heartbeat distract you. “Come on,” He urges you, taking a few steps to some unknown destination without deigning to inform you where.

Despite the kindness in his voice and the softness of his shirt against your cheek, more comforting than any blanket on your great bed, you push back. “No.” Your feet stay where they are. Morpheus would not drag you somewhere. It would be undignified.

After a few seconds pass, Morpheus seems to come to the conclusion you had already decided; that you will not go. “Wait- stop-“ In a single, effortless motion, he sweeps you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing.

You open your eyes to see his victorious smirk and narrowed, catlike eyes. “It’s for your own good, little darling. Or would you prefer I put you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes?” It would be even less dignified for you to be treated so and Dream knows you’d refuse it.

He continues on with no further resistance from you. His lengthy stride carries the two of you farther in a minute than your legs could in an hour and your surroundings fade into a blur, like paint dripped into a bowl of water.

Morpheus doesn’t have to say anything for you to feel the stymied laughter moving his chest. “Stop gloating.” You poke him once, twice, three times. No reaction.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are.” Your legs kick gently in the air to make your point.

Morpheus sighs under his breath and mumbles something that sounds like he’s calling you ‘impossible’. As you’re very mature, perhaps the most mature person here, you decline to respond.

(Where are we going??? And what are we gonna do when we get there??? 🤭🤭🤭🌶️🌶️🌶️)

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Love in the Dark: Chapter Two

Love in the Dark: You discover an intense connection with an enigmatic dream lover, yearning for a love beyond physical appearances. As your encounters blur the lines between the waking world and the Dreaming, your grapple with the complexities of desire, friendship, and mortality. Can you truly love in the dark?

Warnings: Hot Make Out.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x NAMEDFem!Reader.

Word Count: ~2.5k

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You don't always spend your dreams within his arms. You know he is busy with his tasks in the Dreaming and often spent your free time with the denizens of the realm. It was ridiculous to think your free time consists of you not having sex. But alas, you can't fuck away your real life relationship woes with a dream or nightmare you've never actually seen. Even if he was the Adonis of your dreams.

Dreams. Hah! You snicker at yourself because was your Dream Lover anything but the Adonis of your dreams? Perhaps an Adonis with a personality, one you have come to adore and cherish. Yes, your Dream Lover is your best friend, closest confidant, and, well, your dream lover. And to think you had only wanted a friend to talk to! That effort has failed rather spectacularly.

"Kora!" At the call of your name, you look up to see Fēlix, the dream of luck and happiness, and your best friend during the night. The dream resembles a baby faced boy with gentle blue eyes and luscious blond hair you were jealous of the softness. That's were the humanness stops. While he has pale skin, all throughout his body glimmers gold, like someone has pat him down with gold leaf and it has stuck, firmly. Then there's the massive cardinal compass smack dab in the center of his chest that glows with golden ethereal light. It doesn't help that Fēlix only wore trousers and his fancy robe which never fully covers his chest.

Your dream best friend draws attention everywhere he goes both for his inhumanely beautiful looks and literally glowing warmth. Have you mentioned that his hair also seems to float around like it doesn't understand the concept of gravity? It is entirely unfair that your Dream Lover and your dream best friend are both cruelly beautiful and you are just you.

"Hey Fē," you greet, looking up from the bin of peaches you had been absentmindedly thinking over. You have a partially eaten one in your hand and the juices have long since ran down your palm to your wrist. Nothing that couldn't be licked clean later.

Fēlix beams, his smile bright enough to chase away any lingering shadows that occasionally haunt you for attention. Some nightmares were like needy puppies. "I thought you'd be with him tonight," he says, the compass on his chest glowing a bit brighter.

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. "He's busy, I guess. Not every night is about us. Also, you don't need every detail of my night time sex life."

Fēlix's laughter rings out, melodic and infectious. "But that's why I'm friends with you! To get all the juicy moments of your mysterious tryst with whomever has captured your heart." You snort at him and he chuckles before continuing, "still the realist, I see."

"Someone has to be," you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips. You pluck a peach from the bin and toss it to him. He catches it effortlessly, his movements as fluid as a ballerina. He is perfect at everything and if you weren't acutely aware that he was made to be perfect, you would be raging with jealousy.

"Have you ever wondered what he looks like?" Fēlix asks, biting into the peach with relish. His head tilts and tuffs of blond hair float with the motion.

"Every night," you admit. "But it's part of our deal."

"Strange deal," he muses, wiping juice from his chin. "To love someone without ever seeing them."

You think about your dream lover's voice, how it wraps around you like velvet in the dark. Just like how his touch brings you such ecstasy. "Love doesn't need eyes," you say softly. "And this way vanity doesn't cloud our judgment.”

"Vanity doesn't cloud your judgement," Fēlix corrects you with smirk. "Your dream lover, however, is completely smitten."

"I know what I look like, Fē, he didn't make a vain choice." You say with a snort. Slowly moving away from the peaches and towards the fountain at the center of the market. You take a seat. "it's the only thing that brings me true happiness because in the waking world there is so much toxic vanity, you can never truly know who you are dating until they show their true colors."

Fēlix nods, thoughtful. "True enough. But curiosity is a powerful thing."

"I have my moments," you admit with a wry smile. "that's why you're friends with me, remember?"

"Oh no, I'm just here for the retelling of your spicy, passionate sex life." He chuckles in fake exaggeration before he sits beside you on the edge of the fountain. The water sparkles under the dream sky, casting shimmering reflections on both of you. "How's real life treating you?" he asks, voice falling gentle once more.

"Real life's... real," you say with a sigh. "Nothing magical about it."

"Then let's make this moment count," he suggests, holding up his half-eaten peach like a toast.

You touch your own peach against his and take a bite, savoring the sweetness that seems more intense here in the Dreaming.

As you savor the last bits of the peach's sweetness, Fēlix suddenly glances over his shoulder, his golden compass glowing a bit brighter. "Duty calls," he says, standing up with a reluctant sigh. "Dreamers need their luck."

"Of course," you say, watching him float away with a wave. His presence always feels like sunshine, even in the Dreaming's twilight. Looking down at your eaten peach, you watch in satisfaction as the pit dissolves in your fingers and golden sand floats up, only to disappear. Oh how you loved the magic of this realm!

You wander through the market, letting the surreal scenery of the Dreaming envelop you. Stalls burst with colors you can't name and scents that tug at long-forgotten memories. It never ceases to amaze you how vibrant and alive this place is. You pass by a quaint bed and breakfast nestled between two towering dreamscapes. The sign reads "The Slumbering Sanctuary." It's a cozy, ivy-covered building that radiates warmth. You hear commotion inside and decide to peek in.

"Help! Someone, please!"

You step inside to find a flurry of activity. Dreams shaped like fluttering sheets of parchment dart around, their faces etched with worry as they fret to and fro. You haven't seen such panicked dreams in ages.

"What's going on?" you ask one of them, who looks particularly harried.

"Oh, it's a disaster!" the dream exclaims, nearly colliding with you as it flits by, it's sheet billowing and wafting a pleasant scent of detergent. Freshly showered it seems. "We have a large number of guests arriving soon—more than we've ever had! And we're terribly understaffed because of the recent surge in mortal dreams."

You can see the chaos: beds unmade, tables unset, and dream dust settling on everything. The master of the realm had been gone for so long that the workload and bookings had slowed down to the point of no business. Now that the realm is thriving once more, the dreams look frazzled and overworked.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" you offer.

The flustered sheet pauses for a moment, considering your words. Then the edges of it's sheet begins to flap excitedly. "That would be wonderful! Could you help us prepare the rooms? We're so behind schedule."

"Of course," you say, rolling up your sleeves—well, metaphorically speaking since you're in the Dreaming and the clothes you wear have no sleeves. "Just point and I'll take care of it."

You dive into the whirlwind of activity, your hands busy smoothing bedspreads and fluffing pillows. The sheets whisper against your skin as you tuck them in, and the dream dust glows faintly in the soft light filtering through the windows.

"Thank you, thank you," one of the parchment-like dreams flutters around you, clearly relieved. "The guests will be here any moment."

"No problem," you reply, straightening up and surveying your work with satisfaction. "Just happy to help."

You move to the next room, your thoughts wandering to your dream lover. You wonder where he is tonight, what duties might be keeping him away from you. As you finish adjusting the final pillow, a soft breeze rustles through the room, carrying with it a familiar scent.

Before you can turn around, strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into the linen closet adjacent to the room. The door clicks shut behind you, plunging you into darkness.

"You greeted everyone but me, my love," his voice purrs in your ear, a low vibration that sends shivers down your spine.

"Busy night," you manage to say in a pathetic excuse, heart racing as his hands slide up your arms.

His touch sends electric currents through your skin, spreading need to every corner. "Not too busy for you," he murmurs, his voice a deep, resonant hum that vibrates against your ear. "Since you so thoughtfully volunteered yourself.”

You shiver as his hands glide from your arms to your wrists, capturing them gently but firmly. He raises one of your hands to his lips, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His lips part slightly, and you gasp when his tongue flicks out, tracing the line of dried peach juice from your wrist.

The sensation is intoxicating. His tongue is soft but insistent, each stroke sending ripples of pleasure through you. He moves slowly, savoring every taste, as if the juice were a rare nectar. Your knees weaken as he works his way up from your wrist to the tips of your fingers.

When he reaches your fingertips, he takes each one into his mouth, sucking gently before releasing them with a soft pop. "You taste divine," he whispers against your skin, the words vibrating through you like a caress.

Your breath hitches as he moves to your other wrist, repeating the ritual with the same deliberate slowness. The darkness of the linen closet amplifies every touch, every sensation. His tongue dances along your skin, tracing patterns that make you dizzy with desire.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into the feeling. His hands continue to roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour with a familiarity that makes you feel both vulnerable and cherished.

When he finally releases your wrists, you're trembling. You can feel his breath against your neck now, warm and inviting. "I missed you," he says softly, and there's an edge to his voice that makes your pulse quicken even more. His words were so weak, vulnerable even, yet filled with longing.

You open your mouth to respond but find that words have abandoned you. Instead, you reach out in the darkness, finding his face by touch alone. Your fingers trace the sharp lines of his jaw, the softness of his lips.

He captures one of your hands again, bringing it to his mouth to kiss each fingertip tenderly. "Let's not waste any more time," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands slide under your shirt, the heat of his palms igniting a fire on your skin. Each touch is deliberate, a slow exploration that leaves you breathless. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours in the confined space of the linen closet. The scent of him surrounds you, a heady mix of earth and something darker, more primal.

His lips find your neck, and you tilt your head back to give him better access. He kisses a path from your collarbone to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You shudder, fingers gripping his shoulders for support as he continues his assault on your senses.

You feel his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs your name, the sound of it dripping like ecstasy. His hands move higher, fingers grazing the edge of your bra before slipping beneath it. You arch into his touch, craving more of the electric connection between you.

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth moving against yours with an urgency that leaves you dizzy. His tongue explores your mouth, tasting and teasing until you're gasping for breath. You respond with equal fervor, hands tangling in his hair as you pull him closer.

His hands continue their journey beneath your clothing, tracing patterns on your skin that make you ache with need. When he finally cups your breasts, you moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss. His thumbs circle your nipples through the fabric, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

You can feel his desire pressing against you, hard and insistent. It mirrors your own longing, a need that has been building with every touch, every kiss. You break away from his mouth just long enough to catch your breath before diving back in, kissing him with a hunger that surprises even you.

You melt into his kiss, every nerve in your body electrified by his touch. His hands continue to explore, mapping out the contours of your body with a reverence that makes your heart ache. You lose yourself in the sensation, in the heat and darkness and the overwhelming need that pulses between you.

Time loses meaning in the Dreaming, each moment stretching out like a ribbon of desire. His kisses become more urgent, more insistent, and you respond with equal fervor. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you.

But all too soon, the edges of your reality start to blur. You can feel the pull of the waking world, like a distant tug at the back of your mind. You break away from his mouth with a gasp, your forehead resting against his as you struggle to catch your breath.

"I don't want to wake up," you whisper, your voice tinged with desperation. "I want to stay here with you."

His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that have begun to fall. "You have to wake up, Kora," he says softly, his voice filled with a sorrow that mirrors your own. "You are mortal. You have a life to live in the waking world."

You shake your head, pressing closer to him as if that could somehow anchor you here in the Dreaming. "But I'm only truly happy here," you confess. "The waking world is so... empty without you."

He kisses your forehead, a tender gesture that sends a fresh wave of longing through you. "I know," he murmurs against your skin. "But you have responsibilities there. People who care about you."

You close your eyes, trying to hold onto this moment for just a little longer. The scent of him surrounds you, grounding you even as reality begins to intrude. "I wish I could stay," you say softly.

"So do I," he replies, his voice heavy with regret. "But we will always have our nights together."

The room around you starts to dissolve, the dreamscape fading into the harsh light of morning. You cling to him for one last moment, memorizing the feel of his arms around you.

"I'll be waiting for you," he whispers as the world around you shifts and changes.

And then you're awake, lying in your bed with the morning light streaming through the window. The familiar ache of longing settles in your chest as reality crashes down around you.

Another day in the waking world begins, but all you can think about is returning to him tonight.

Date Published: 9/20/24

Last Edit: 9/20/24

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[thoughtsfromlayla]

You Might Say He Looks Sort Of... Blue?

That one Gnomeo and Juliet scene but between you and Johanna Constantine.

Main Masterlist | One Shot Masterlist

“Who has made the Y/N so smiley and giggly today?” Johanna asks you. She takes off her body-forming pea coat, setting it on the back of the cafe chair before she settles in on it. 

“Can’t someone just be happy to meet up with a friend?” You rebuttal, taking a sip of the tea you already ordered. 

“Not like… that,” Johanna gestures to the whole of you. She pauses for a moment before it clicks in her head. The smiling, the relaxed posture, the certain sparkle in your eyes. “Oh, my god. You got laid!” 

“What—nooo. I mean… no!” You sputter out, the lie comes out horrible and your cheeks flush. 

“You totally did! Who was it, tell me? That librarian you’ve been talking about?”

“No, not her.”

“Who then?” Johanna leans across the table. “Tell me, please. Woman, I live my sex life through you, tell me. Is he totally gorgeous?”

“Totally,” you roll your eyes, a small smile fighting itself onto your lips. 

“Does he have a nice, y’know?” And Johanna pretends to flex, a few muscles popping out. 

“It’s, like, a lean muscular, yeah.”

“And his stamina?” She asks salaciously, raising and dropping her eyebrows.

“Well,” you swallow. “You might say it was… endless?”

Johanna’s smile freezes as she takes in your answer. She blinks once and you give her an awkward smile as she processes the words. 

“Endless…” she echoes almost absentmindedly. “AAH!”

“Shut the fuck up,” you grit out as the other patrons of the cafe start looking at you two. You cover your face from any onlookers, deflating in your seat as if the fake leather booth could swallow you whole.

“You fucked Dream of the Endless,” she whispers to you, her eyes still wide and her mouth cracked open.

[stillinracooncity]

that feminine urge to read something that makes you cry, get angry, scream, laugh like a hormonal teenager, turn up the heat, feel like the most unique and beautiful human being on earth. *sighs*

[taisiabelle]

Therapist: Oh, you definitely have daddy issues

Me: no, I don't

Also, me hours later realizing all my favorite fictional characters are older man....

[attackurheart88]

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really love me?”

“Yes.”

"Do you really really love me?”

They stop what they’re doing and turn to look at you. An audible sigh is heard.

“If I come over there and kiss you until your lips fall off will you shut up?”

[the-chamber-of-hoes]

Not pleased with the lack of new fics for my fav characters (hyper fixations) lately. The withdrawals are eating me alive

[lovernanaminn]

i hate mischaracterization except when it's with a character so cold and/or reserve in the og material that reading about them being extremely down bad for y/n in plain sight while all the other characters are their normal selfs so they are weird tf out by that demonstration of affection coming from them is satisfying, fills the hole inside of me fr

[hunny-beann]

I am literally having the worst day ever, do you think you could write some insanely fluffy Dream for me? I'm talking tooth rotting levels of fluff here.

Rest Now, Wife, Mine

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi anon! Thanks a ton for the adorable request, I had a lot of fun with it and really hope it helps make your day feel a bit better <3

Synopsis: Morpheus' wife finds their bed far too lonely without him in it, and seeks out his presence to remedy this so she may finally succumb to slumber for the evening.

Thankfully, he is all too happy to oblige.

Warnings: None! Just pure and unbridled fluff :)

Word Count: 1,298

Her steps are silent and her pace slow as she approaches the familiar throne room, sensing even from outside of its walls that it is as close to empty as it is going to get for the evening.

That said, as close to empty as possible for the throne room of an Endless such as Dream was not nearly as empty as one might think, with it being a rarity that he not be found there.

She fights back a shiver as she steps across the threshold, her bare feet suddenly far colder than before, and her majority uncovered shoulders beginning to undergo horripilation at the seemingly inexplicable shift in temperature.

That said, being easy to explain was not a rule that the Dreaming followed, so this was nothing new, and certainly nothing unexpected.

Though, the sudden voice that split the once heavy silence in twain on the other hand, was.

"And what could possibly have you awake at such an hour, dear wife?"

The voice asked quietly, laced with both amusement and even a twinge of concern that had the wife in question smiling softly in spite of her best efforts to not appear excited at the mere sound of her love's voice.

Oh, but she had never been that strong, had she?

He had her wrapped around his finger just as he did the entire realm that he ruled, though he notably reserved the one with the ring for her and her alone.

She padded up toward his throne quietly, not willing to answer his question until she was close enough that her voice might not reverberate so loudly off of the palace walls.

Some words, she had decided long ago, were for her husband and her husband alone.

Upon her eager approach, the Lord of Dreams could not help but raise one of the corners of his mouth at the mere sight of her, holding his hand out at her nearness to guide her to stand before his crossed legs as he reached gently to take her other in his own as well, making a mental note of how chilled her extremities felt due to the cool night air of his throne room.

He watched as she slackened slightly at his familiar touch, her body always so happy to find him near in a way never ceased to have his heart all but melting at her feet.

What a disastrous little thing she was, truly.

He could never love another.

As her form relaxed at the feeling of his hands on hers, so loving in spite of the power that they held, she could not help but yawn softly, eyes growing teary as her ease allowed the weight of the day to truly set in.

Her dearest Dream Lord smirked up at her, his brow raised knowingly and his eyes twinkling as he watched her fight off the eternally tempting wiles of sleep.

What a sweet little thing, so helpless in her battles against her own biology that it was entirely too amusing to ignore, and always far too entertaining to neglect to bear witness to.

"You are tired, my dear."

The Lord of Dreams stated matter of factly, tugging his beloved closer using his soft grip on her hands so he could properly brush some of her hair behind her ear, a gesture which caused her eyelids to flutter closed briefly before they snapped open once more, her fight against herself not yet over in her eyes (though Dream could see clearly in the way that she swayed on her own two feet that there was already an obvious victor).

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head,

"You need to rest, sweet stardust. Let me bring you back to the bedroom."

He spoke gently, rising to guide her back to their soft and familiar bed only to halt when he heard her reply.

"No, I don't want to go back, you're just going to leave once you think I'm tired enough not to follow."

The Dream Lord faltered upon hearing this, raising a questioning brow in response before lowering himself down upon his throne once more, though this time he pulled his wife right along with him, sitting her on his lap in order to get a better look at her exhausted expression.

He frowned.

"Have you been staying awake on purpose, my love? Lying in wait for me as you promised you would not do?"

She shook her head, but he could see the way that the blood rushed into her cheeks as she tried to explain, embarrassed to admit the things that she had to in order to quell his worries of any intentional harm having been done.

"No, of course not, I just..."

The Lord of Dreams hummed and brought one hand to her back, rubbing up and down along her spine and feeling her lean against him unintentionally in response, her bones heavy and all too prepared to sink into whatever comfort they could find.

"You just what, dearest?"

He urged, causing his lover to nod blearily in response, slowly coming back to reality again.

"I just find that sometimes I cannot bear to sleep alone, that the bed feels far too wide and empty without you in it."

Dream fought back a slight smile upon hearing this, feeling more than a little bit proud to know that his wife could rely upon him enough to truly need him so (though he was notably unhappy to hear that this was causing her any amount of unnecessary strife).

"And is tonight one of those nights, beloved?"

He asked, watching as she nodded, her head lolling slightly upon her neck as her overworked muscles struggled to remain in control over her all too tired body and mind.

"Poor thing,"

Dream all but purred in response, adjusting his love upon his lap until she was leaning against him, breaths warm on his neck and body seeming to grow heavier by the second as the feeling of his familiar closeness drove her into a type of ease that was felt only at a lover's closeness.

"That will certainly have to be remedied, won't it?"

He murmured against her ear, feeling her shiver in response, nuzzling closer with a nod as he gathered his coat that had been hanging on the back of the dais behind him with just one hand, draping it over her body and pressing a soft kiss against her head as he felt her begin to drift off into a much needed and far too well deserved slumber.

"Rest now, wife, mine."

He said softly, feeling his dearest love smile gently against his skin at his familiar words and the use of his favorite (and almost sickeningly sweet) nickname for her,

"I will see to it that no one interrupts you as you do."

If she had been more awake, perhaps the woman would have rolled her eyes or even offered a sarcastic retort in response to her husband's dramatics, but instead she simply nudged herself closer, pressing a gentle kiss against the pale flesh of his neck before she drifted off for the very first time that night, feeling truly safe in the arms of her most adoring love.

And when morning arrived, and the throne room became far less uninhabited, the two of them made for quite a sight, indeed.

After all, who would have thought that the Lord of Dreams might choose to sleep simply to live life as his dear wife did, his cheek pressed gently against her head and his arms wrapped around her as slumber found them both, pulling them closer together, ever still, in the very same way that they belonged now, and always would for the remainder of eternity, and perhaps even beyond that.

ao3 link

[dragon-kazansky]

Heart of the Dreaming

Morpheus x Female Reader

You are the daughter of Rodrick Burgess. You find out about the "demon" in the basement and decide you want to see it. Things take an unexpected turn when your soulmate connection is made with the man you find down there. You are the one he has been waiting for, and you're being taken away from. Not for long. Dream will protect his soulmate.

☆☆☆

Chapter One - See you in my dreams

Chapter Two - Take my hand

Chapter Three - Mr Sandman

Chapter Four - Pocket full of sand

Chapter Five - What we are

Chapter Six - Blood and bonds

Chapter Seven - Burgess curse

Chapter Eight - Our purpose

Chapter Nine - Piece of me

Chapter Ten - Our two hearts

Chapter Eleven - Cracks in the glass

Chapter Twelve - Deep rooted nightmares

Chapter Thirteen - Make it count

Epilogue

☆☆☆

Queen of the Dreaming - Coming soon!!

[7-wonders]

Wishful Drinking

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x GN!Reader

Summary: After Morpheus cruelly dismisses you, you decide that you'll get back at him by staying out of the Dreaming one night for as long as you can. What you don't anticipate is letting your feelings get the best of you and getting very drunk instead.

Or, drunk shenanigans galore!

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: I don't know what this is, y'all. I haven't written anything in more than a month, and it was so tough to even write this, but I wanted to write SOMETHING. As always, hope you enjoyed, let me know your thoughts, and likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

ALSO! Dream logic applies here, in that you're still drunk when you reach the Dreaming.

Listen.

You know that certain coping mechanisms, like, say, going out clubbing with your friends and getting crazy drunk for the first time in a long time, aren’t exactly healthy. But things have been difficult for you lately! You’ve been struggling a lot, in both your professional and personal life. These hardships are only compounded by the fact that the one person (or person-shaped being) in your life that you thought you could count on, your Morpheus, has been too busy to have time for you.

Literally. He said those exact words to you a mere three days ago, when you had found him in his personal study (a study that he almost never used) after what felt like a day spent chasing him around the Dreaming. You meant for it to come out as teasing when you took note of the fact that you hardly saw him around lately and that it felt like he was purposefully avoiding you, but he had sighed and glared at you before saying, “I have much to do, and I am far too busy to entertain you right now.”

You glowered, but, as he said, he was too busy to see it. Fine, you thought as you turned around and stalked out of his study. Leave him to his business. 

Cut to today. When your friends asked if you wanted to go out with them, you almost said no, having gotten accustomed in the past couple of months to the routine of going to bed by nine o’clock in order to maximize time spent in your lover’s realm. But then, the more you thought about it, the more you realized that you didn’t want to just continue sitting around in the Dreaming and hoping that Morphues would come out of whatever funk he was in. After all, why should you make an effort when he won’t? You’re not about to beg for his attention.

With that in mind, you texted back that you very much wanted to go out with them and proceeded to get ready for a fun night out.

The plan was to have a couple of drinks, dance for a bit, and stay out of the Dreaming just long enough to make Morpheus sweat a bit.

But then shots had been ordered.

And your friend bought you a drink because they knew you had had a tough week.

And you bought yourself two drinks.

And a group of guys bought you another round of shots, and though you all laughed at the fact that they were not getting anything out of this, you still took them because you weren’t about to turn down free alcohol.

This leads to you and your friends stumbling out of a bar at two in the morning, holding each other up as you do. Definitely not the plan, but what’s that one quote about plans and mice and men?

“What about a mouse?” your friend asks from beside you, making you realize that you said that out loud.

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” you say.

Somehow, you make it into a Lyft (thank the gods for friends who don’t get carried away), and somehow, you make it into your home. Not without its difficulties–you dropped your keys multiple times on the walk to your front door, and there might be a you-shaped indent in the entryway wall from where you fell into it when trying to kick your shoes off. 

When you reach your bedroom, you decide that actually, the floor looks comfier than your bed does. You’re so drunk that the room feels like it’s spinning when you lay down, and you close your eyes to enjoy the ride.

“Fuck, I’m so drunk right now,” you say out loud, laughing at the sound of your slurred words.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, really. You know that you need to crawl to the bathroom to wash your face and find enough dexterity to change clothes before hopefully sobering up just enough that you can make it to the kitchen to grab painkillers and water for the inevitable killer hangover you’re going to have tomorrow. The floor is just so soft, though, and you work yourself into a trance-like state by staring up at the ceiling fan and watching it go around and around and around. On one blink, you’re staring at your ceiling.

And on the next, you’re staring at another ceiling, one that’s not really a ceiling at all, but an entire galaxy above your head.

It’s easy to get lost in the magnificent colors swirling above you (especially in your current state), and you do, until you hear someone calling your name. When you look away from the universe, you see the love of your life looking at you, though at present, he is not reciprocating the heart eyes that you are always looking at him with.

“Where have you been?” Morpheus demands.

“Morpheus, my love!” You throw your arms out and grin. “I’ve missed you.”

“Do you have any idea how worried I have been? I sent Matthew to find you hours ago when first you were late, only for him to report that he could not find you at your home.” You’re a little surprised that Matthew hadn’t managed to track you down; your little raven friend was almost scarily good at finding people/places/things.

“Aw, you’ve missed me?” It makes sense, of course; after all, you’ve missed him, so it’s only natural that he would miss you in return. Still, the sentiment makes you feel all warm and melty on the inside.

 It’s obvious to anybody who actually takes the time to know Morpheus—a tiny list of people and beings, two of whom are in the room with him right now—that he’s fighting a war between wanting to scold you and wanting to hold you and check you up and down for wounds. Morpheus crosses the room towards you, and you ready yourself for the inevitable lecture you’re about to get, about how you’re just a fragile little human and he worries every moment that you’re away from him (y’know, now that you have the clarity of a drunk person, you’re actually annoyed that this is constantly coming from the being that’s meant to be your lover).

But that’s not what happens.

Instead, you find his arms wrapped tightly around you and his face buried in your neck. He’s hugging you, not the other way around. He’s never done such a thing before, and you don’t know how to react. What you do know is that any of the residual anger you had been feeling drains out of you like water from an unstoppered bathtub. You really didn’t think that being away for—the math isn’t mathing for you currently, and you don’t actually know how long it’s been—a couple of hours would affect him this much.

“You are the one most dear to my heart,” he mutters into your ear, cognizant of the fact that you are not alone in this throne room. “Of course, I missed you.”

“Oh. When you said you were ‘too busy to entertain’ me, I just kinda assumed you wouldn’t notice I was gone.” Though you don’t mean to weaponize your words, the poison darts make contact with their target anyway, and Morpheus stiffens in your hold.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead, choosing to wait until a later time to have this particular conversation.

“Aw, dream boy” you coo, snaking a hand up to clumsily run it through his hair. “I’m okay baby, swear it! Like, absolutely, one hundred percent fine.”

Morpheus pulls away from you so that he can look you up and down to confirm that you really are okay. “You smell like a pub,” he notes. 

“How can you tell that in the Dreaming?”

He ignores your question when a realization seems to hit him. “Are you inebriated?”

“No, I’m drunk,” you correct very matter-of-factly.

“That is–” he stops, choosing instead to just shake his head.

“Oh, dear,” Lucienne mutters from behind Morpheus, reminding you of her presence in the first place.

“Lucienne! Hi! How have you been!” 

You crane around Morpheus to be able to see your favorite librarian, but you almost fall over in the process. Before you can tip too far over, Morpheus is there to right you again. When he does, he looks down at you with quite the serious expression on his perfect face.

“Who did this to you?” he asks, ready to punish whoever put you in such a state.

“Vodka. Rum, maybe?” You think back on your drinks for the evening, though it’s hard to think back that far. “Yeah, the second round of shots was definitely rum.”

“You put yourself in this state?”

“Yes?” Has Morpheus never heard of the concept of going out and getting shitfaced with your pals? “To be fair, I didn’t think that my drunkenness would…” You search for the word that you want to use, but it’s just not coming to you! “Uh, carry over?”

“Please tell me you managed to make it home safely?”

You nod. “Sure did! Pretty sure I fell asleep on the floor, though.”

Lucienne slowly begins to back up towards the door, and Morpheus stares at you for a long moment before sighing heavily.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask nervously, starting to get upset the longer the silence drags on. Did you say something that you shouldn’t have? Is there a rule you don’t know about against sleeping on floors?

Instead of answering you, Morpheus waves a hand in the air and says, “This dream is over.” 

You’re awake and once again staring up at your ceiling fan, only this time, Morpheus is also in your line of sight. It’s impossible to stop yourself from touching him when you’re sober, so it’s not at all surprising that your hands go up to caress his face now when you’re drunk.

“Hi cutie,” you greet, laughing in delight when he flushes just the slightest amount.

He grabs your hands and kisses the back of both before setting them against your chest. “Why are you sleeping on your floor?”

“Because,” is your simple, childish reply.

“That is not a good answer.”

“It’s the one you get because it’s the one I have.” You throw in a peace sign to be extra spicy, but Morpheus, unfortunately, doesn’t comprehend your 21st-century humor, and instead just segues into the next order of business.

“Might I help you up, so that we can get you properly ready for bed?”

“But I’m comfy,” you groan. Morpheus is not buying what you’re selling, unfortunately, so you sigh. “Fine.”

Morpheus holds his hands out for you to take and helps you to your feet. Too fast, apparently, because the room begins to spin and your stomach tilts dangerously, making you clap a hand over your mouth.

“Oh no. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy,” you chant, squeezing your eyes shut and laying your head against Morpheus’s shoulder while you try to breathe through sudden nausea. You will not throw up on your super hot eldritch nightmare king boyfriend, you command yourself. Not tonight, and not ever.

“What is wrong?” Morpheus sounds panicked, and you want to reassure him, but you hold up a finger in the meantime.

When the nausea finally passes, you take a deep breath and slowly look up. “Okay, I think I’m good now.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Sometimes drinking too much combined with moving too fast makes people feel sick. It’s my fault, but I’ll be okay.”

“Are you well enough to move?”

“Yes, I promise.” 

To prove your point, you let go of his hand and start walking heel to toe as the police require during field sobriety tests (honestly, you’re a little surprised that you can actually do this right now). You can practically feel your lover's amusement behind you, but it proves to him that you are capable. Morpheus lets you walk to the bathroom on your own power, and you think the only reason he doesn’t sweep you off your feet is because he’s worried you’ll throw up if he does. He watches you intently the entire time, though. 

You sit on the lip of the bathtub, watching Morpheus move about your bathroom as though he knows where everything is; he probably does, you realize, whether it be from that endless wealth of knowledge about everyone and everything that he possesses, or just his familiarity with your home. After rummaging around for a few moments, he comes back with a washcloth and your favorite pajamas. The sight of the familiar material makes you tear up, and you sniffle loudly.

Morpheus looks up in alarm. “Are you okay?”

“You remembered my favorite pajamas,” you say, trying to not start crying. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s come directly to see you off to his realm, and you’ve probably worn those pajamas twice. Yet he remembered the one-off comment you had made about how they were your favorite because of course he did.

His face softens. “Of course I did.”

You clear your throat and wipe your eyes. “Sorry. I’m okay! Just drunk.”

Morpheus hands you said pajamas before turning the faucet on and letting the water run. He seems to realize something after a moment and looks at you helplessly. “I do not feel temperature as you do. Is the water alright?” 

You grin and stick your hand under the faucet, moving the tap just a smidge hotter before nodding at him. “It’s good now. Thank you for asking.”

He begins to run the damp washcloth gently over your face, a barely-there smile appearing on his own when you wrinkle your nose at the cool sensations. Where this situation would be awkward with anybody else, it feels entirely natural with Morpheus. You’ll take these little moments of domesticity with him whenever you can get them, even when you’re still half drunk.

Even if you wanted to, you can’t hold yourself back from saying, “You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Seriously, you’re the prettiest man-slash-anthropomorphic-personification I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” The words are heavy on your tongue, but you’re pretty proud of the way you only barely stumble through ‘anthropomorphic’.

“You are still under the influence,” he notes.

“So? Drunk words equal sober thoughts, right?”

“‘A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.’ Jean-Jacques Rosseau,” he supplies.

“Sure, that. I’d tell you how pretty you are even if I was sober, and you know that.”

“Perhaps.” He says it in that infuriatingly sexy way of his, the one that makes you want to tear his clothes off.

Instead, you’re the one taking your own clothes off, though not for any fun reason. Getting changed is not as difficult a task as it would have been when you first arrived home, with the benefit of time naturally sobering one up on your side. Morpheus still keeps a hand held out, just in case you lose your balance and need something to grab onto, but after you’ve finished changing, that hand slips under your shirt and caresses your side.

“Thought you were supposed to be helping me keep my clothes on,” you say with a shiver, grabbing his wrist and pulling the offending extremity out from under your shirt.

“Apologies.” His tone implies that he’s not sorry at all, not that you would want him to be. “I simply couldn’t resist.”

He looks down at you with so much love in those blue eyes of his that you feel like you don’t think your mortal mind could ever truly comprehend it. Nobody has ever loved you the way that Morpheus has—all-consuming and passionate. He told you once that many of his relationships had ended because he had been seen as too intense, too obsessive in his love. Bring it on, you had told him when he expected you to back down. To date, you haven’t regretted that.

You don’t think you ever will.

Now that you can see the end of your night in sight, tiredness begins to seep into your bones. Though your bed is just right through the bathroom door, it feels miles away. With that in mind, you ask,  “Will you carry me?” 

“Were you not worried that you would feel sick?”

“Yeah, but I’m tired.” You pout (on purpose because you know what it does to him), and you can practically see his resolve break. “Just be careful?”

“Always,” he promises.

And careful he is, slowly picking you up and waiting until you nod to carry you to your bed. He sets you down gently, You’re thrilled to see a glass of water already waiting for you on your bedside table, Morpheus anticipating your needs before you’ve even realized you have them in the first place.

Crawling under the covers after finishing your water, you motion for Morpheus to sit next to you on the bed. He does as you ask, and you move your pillows so that you can sit up and lean on him. When you’re comfortable, you say, “Thank you for everything tonight. I know taking care of me wasn’t what you had planned.”

“You need not thank me. I enjoy caring for you, no matter the situation.” 

Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his hand carding through your hair, and you start to feel yourself inching closer to the Dreaming. Something keeps you from truly falling asleep, though, and when Morpheus shifts next to you, you realize what it is: the conversation’s not over. Morpheus is trying to figure out how to say what it is he wants to say.

Finally, he figures it out. “Might I ask you something?”

You open your eyes to give him your full attention and nod.

“Earlier, when you seemed surprised that I had noticed your absence. Did you do this,” ‘this’ being getting very drunk, “because of what I said?”

“No. I mean, I went out because I was mad at you, and I figured that me being a couple of hours late would make you learn your lesson, but I got drunk because I wanted to have fun with my friends and let loose.”

“And did you?”

“Maybe a little too much,” you admit cheekily.

“I apologize for my harsh words the other day. I have been…feeling burdened under the weight of my realm, and I took it out on you for no reason.”

“It’s okay, Morpheus. You’re busy running an entire realm and overseeing the collective unconscious. I shouldn’t be so needy.”

He shakes his head. “It is not okay. I should never talk to you in such a way, and you should never feel as though I do not want you around. I do want you around, always.”

“People say things that they don’t mean. That doesn’t mean they’re not worthy of forgiveness. But you gotta talk to me, okay? When you’re feeling stressed, or when things get to be too much. I’m here for you, and I want to support you however I can.”

“I love you,” he says. The fact that he’s being so open with his emotions is a pleasant surprise; it took him so long to be the first to say it, and even longer to be comfortable with it. You smile up at him.

“I love you, too. Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

Morpheus turns your bedroom light off without you needing to ask (seriously, you love him so much), and you close your eyes. Then, a thought hits you.

“Hey,” you say, staring up at him in the dark and waiting until he looks at you to continue. “Can you get drunk?”

“No.”

“Why not? I mean, isn’t there special alcohol for preternatural beings? You’d think gods and goddesses would’ve figured out a way to get turnt by now.”

Though he doesn’t want to give in to your rambling when you’re meant to be trying to fall asleep, he can’t help but indulge you. “Gods and goddesses can. We, the Endless, cannot.”

“What? That’s so fucking lame. No. That’s–that’s an injustice! I’m so sorry.

“I promise, it is okay. Now, please go to sleep.”

You nod, but close your eyes for maybe thirty seconds before they snap open again with a realization. “Wait.”

“What?”

“You mentioned other gods and goddesses. How many are there? Are they all real? Is actual God real? I mean, I know the devil is real, you kicked their ass for your helm, but for some reason that’s more believable than–”

“Go. To. Sleep,” Morpheus commands.

“Ugh, you’re no fun!”

“I am not afraid to use my sand if need be.”

“You wouldn’t.” You raise an eyebrow in challenge, and he raises one right back. After a brief stalemate, you’re the first to give in. “You have to understand how world-altering this information is to a regular human like me, I mean–”

You’re asleep before your head hits the pillow.

[roguelov]

Imagine sitting on Morpheus’ lap while he is sitting on his throne reading a book🤭

It’s the best spot in all of the Dreaming 🫠

He will pull you close to his chest, slowly wrapping an arm around you as his lips brush past your ear. He will gently murmur the words in your ear which try to lull you to sleep. And when you fully relax into him he has this soft smile.

‘Sleep, my dear,’ he whispers

If you try to protest that you want to be awake and spend time with him, he will place a few kisses on your neck and side of your head.

‘We are spending time together, now rest I can feel how exhausted you are’

He will cradle you as you sleep soundly in his lap.

Now if you stay awake, you may crane your head to look at him just to admire and be in awe that he’s in your life. He will give you a sly smile already knowing what you are thinking about because he is thinking the same

‘Yes?’ He hums

‘Nothing,’ you rest your head on his shoulder. ‘Keep reading’

‘As you wish’ he says as kisses your temple

[gabessquishytum]

So since there's no official Kinktober this year, I thought it would be fun to put together a few unofficial prompts for some Sandman shenanigans. Whatever pairing you'd like to do, whatever prompts you'd like to choose - even if it's only one of them, or all of them - it's completely up to you! This is really meant as a little inspiration in the hope that the wonderful Sandman community will create some fun and kinky content! Please feel free to reblog this - and it would be lovely if we could tag stuff with #Sandmankinktober to share the debauchery, too!

[thoughtsfromlayla]

I'm Sick

Summary: Dream confesses something to you.

Notes: 200 words, scheduled post :P, thanks for the inspo @arunawayheart lol

Warnings/Tags: None, fluff, PININGGGGGGG, queued post

Main Masterlist | One Shot Masterlist

"I'm sick," Dream says randomly one afternoon when you visit him during a well-deserved nap.

You look at the Endless, your eyes scanning his figure from top to bottom. Can Endless get sick? He's sickly pale, that's for sure, but... isn't he always?

"No, you're not," You scoff only half sure of yourself. You return to the task that Lucienne had given you, pushing the leather spine of an old book back into place.

Dream stalks closer to you, turning you around to face him. His finger lifts at your chin and he gazes deep into your soul. "No," He reilliterates. "I'm sick of missing you."

You were too stunned to speak for a moment, your jaw slacking on his hooked finger.

"You see me every night, Dream Lord," You sigh, your eyes fluttering close as his thumb strokes the curve of your cheek. The books in your arms are long forgotten.

"The hours between are too vast," He confesses between the smell of leather books and ink. "Yet, I know dreamers cannot stay here, allow me to be selfish."

"I understand, Dream." You smile, your hands ghost over the one covering your face, interlacing your fingers with his.

"I'm sick of missing you."

[stillinracooncity]

here, waiting for updates on the 999 fanfics I follow without thinking that people have to socialize, study, work, eat, go to the bathroom and sleep.