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poeticpascal · 1 year

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I've Got You (Dbf!Joel Miller x Reader)

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Summary: When a date set up by your father goes wrong, your secret boyfriend and Dad's best friend races to protect you.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: smut, 18+, MDNI, attempted sexual assault, abusive language, reader's date is a tory prick, soft!dom!Joel, blowjob, unprotected sex, use of pet names.

A/n: So... this is my first time writing smut. I am super proud of this one, so please let me know what you think! Requests are open so for more Joel/Pedro action, you know where to find me x

Dating your Dad’s best friend is hard. And stupid. Really, you have no clue why either of you thought this'd be a good idea. But you were so far down this path now, so entangled in late night meet-ups and whispered phone calls and unspoken thoughts that sounded a lot like ‘I love you’, that it was too late to turn around and steer the sinking ship of this utter mess back to shore.

More than anything, you hate not having any normalcy with him. You can’t fall straight into his arms after a hard day. You can’t cuddle into his side with a bowl of popcorn watching crappy weeknight telly. You can’t go to the store together, holding hands and making him laugh as you insist on buying a flavour of ice cream that you know he’d love. And it sucks.

Because everyone said Joel would never be one to settle down. He’s too wild, too rough to fit into a polished little box like that. And you’d thought the same. Until you fucked him, then fucked him again, and kept going back until you could see the pain in his eyes each time you left. You could practically feel the heaviness settle in his stomach as you left his bed to sneak back home. It hurts him as much as it does you, and if you weren’t so incredibly in love with him, that would’ve been enough to make you run.

Despite how long you’d kept this going now, a good 6 months at least, it never got any easier. Especially when your Dad started talking about dating. He was protective, but more than anything he wanted to see you happy. So when you suddenly became distant, hiding in your room more often and going out on dates much less, he was concerned. Nowhere near as concerned as he’d be if he found out why you were acting that way, you thought, but concerned all the same.

So when he came home one day, beaming and shouting for you to come downstairs, you thought nothing of it. When he explained there was a new apprentice at his work that he thinks you’d like, you weren’t surprised. And when he told you he’d set up a blind date with said boy, you felt sick.

Because you really couldn’t get out of it. You tried.

“Dad, I just don’t feel like dating right now.”

“Oh come on, you used to have a new date every few weeks. I’m just worried about you. Matthew's really nice, and he likes the same shitty music you do-”

“It’s good music.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I just…” he paused, his worry painted on his face, and there's no way you could’ve said no to him. “Honey, I want you to be happy. I don’t know what’s gotten into you recently” - your best friend, you thought - “but I just need to know you’re okay. So give this a go, for me, alright? And if you have an awful time, that’s it, I’ll never set you up again.”

You sighed. He was right; it’s just one night, one date. One box you have to tick to relieve the pressure that comes from having an affair with your next door neighbour, the one more than twice your age, the one your Dad would call a brother. And besides, your Dad would be working an overnight job, so you’d be spending the night at Joel’s anyway. Something to look forward to.

“Okay, yeah. I’ll go. For you.”

He pulled you in for a hug, tight, and you hugged him right back because you really do hate having to keep this from him. He pulled away, smiling - “great! It’s tonight at 7. He’ll pick you up.”

“You already arranged it?!” You near enough shrieked, but he’d already sauntered off to the kitchen, giggling as he went.

Typical.

So that’s how you ended up here, at 6:55pm, waiting by the front door for Marcus - or Michael, or something like that - to pick you up. Your phone buzzes, Joel’s name flashing on the screen, that alone making you feel that much calmer.

You’d text him as soon as you talked to your Dad, letting him know about the date. He understood, and you loved that about him; he was mature, compassionate, and he was more than secure in the fact that no matter who you talked to, who flirted with you on nights out, who you were set up with… you’d always come back to him.

Don’t worry about tonight, baby. It’ll go quickly. I’ll leave the door unlocked for when you get back. Text me if you need picking up. J x

You smile at his initial at the end - it’s such a Dad thing to do, but it makes you happy, especially when he adds a little kiss. He only does that for you.

The sudden sound of a car door closing snaps you out of your thoughts, Joel’s text left on read as what you assume to be your date heads up the driveway. You take a deep, nervous breath, smoothing out your dress and heading to the door just in time for his knock.

You open the door, take a good look at your date, and he’s… okay. Not unattractive, per se. Though you’d come to accept a little while ago that being with Joel had soured your perception of pretty much every other guy. His dusty blonde hair is slicked back with gel, his teeth are way too white, and he’s dripped in designer clothing that just screams, “I have a trust fund.”

“Oh, hi! I’m Matthew.” Right. Matthew. “You must be (Y/N).” He leans in to peck your cheek, and all you can think about is how smooth his skin is as it grazes yours. Nothing like Joel’s coarse stubble that you love so much - especially when it leaves red patches on your cheeks, and your neck, and if you’re really lucky -

Matthew leans back a little, confused, and you’re brought out of your daydream. “Sorry, yeah, that’s me. (Y/N).”

Well, that was awkward.

You just need to get through these next few hours, you think to yourself, smiling at the boy and letting him lead you out of the house and into his car. You can’t help but glance towards Joel’s place across the street; it looks quiet tonight, though his truck is in the driveway, and as soon as you look up you’re sure you catch the living room blinds suddenly draw shut. You smirk.

──────

The date was going… okay. About as okay as a date you don’t want to be on, with someone you have no interest in, and another man constantly on your mind could go. You could see why your Dad liked him; smart enough, well-polished. His father was a partner in the company, you learned - oh, he’s a ‘Daddy’s credit card’ type you’d thought - and by all intents and purposes he was the sort of guy any parent would hope to see their daughter end up with.

It’s never that easy though, is it?

Because he isn’t rough around the edges like Joel. He doesn’t have his stature, or carry himself with the same brute certitude. You can’t imagine him fucking you up against the wall, working himself up until he’s almost animalistic, somehow using you and worshipping you at the same time. And you can’t see him wrapping you up so tightly afterwards, holding you close and whispering how good you were for me, how proud of you I am.

No, only Joel could do that, and that’s how you like it.

The bill comes, Matthew suggests you split it. You don’t mind. He takes out his credit card, flashing it in front of you. “This is my Dad’s. I can use it as much as I want.” He’s smirking like he’s got something to be proud of, and you really had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. Instead you just smile, before paying your share and making small talk as you head out the door and towards his car.

“So, I thought we could head back to my place.”

You freeze. Yeah, no, not gonna happen. He’s got this shit-eating grin on his face, one you knew all too well from past college boyfriends - that’s a boy who thinks he’s getting some tonight. You shudder, wrapping your arms around your waist and trying to sound sincere as you reply, “this has been lovely, but I’ve got an appointment early in the morning” - not really a lie, if staying in bed with a man over twice your age getting fucked or cuddled or both counts as an appointment - “so I’d rather just head home.”

You reach for the passenger side door, but it’s locked. You try again, pulling on the handle, but it doesn’t budge. You realise then that he’s stepped closer, too close, crowding your vision as you turn to face him while keeping one hand on the door’s handle. He leans an arm against the roof of the car, right beside your head, staring you down.

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). I’ve got the house to myself tonight, it’ll just be us. I know that’s what you want, don’t be shy.”

His free hand pinches your chin, his touch aggressive where Joel’s is rough but careful, and he tries to close the already too-small gap between you.

You dodge him quickly, slipping out from under his arm and backing up, away from the car, away from him. Matthew just watches you, incredulous, before laughing to himself and taking a step forward. “Look, baby, I know you want this. What is it, are you scared your daddy’s gonna find out?”

“What? No, I-” you splutter, but he interrupts.

“Get in the car, (Y/N). You don’t have to worry about anyone finding out. I can see the way you look at me, I bet you’re dying to fu-”

A heavy sickness has flooded your stomach, your nerves shot from the sudden escalation of what was supposed to be a quiet, albeit tedious, night. But his words hit you, and before you can even think, you’re shouting back at him.

“You seriously think I want to fuck you? You can’t even pay your half of the bill with your own money. Fuck that. I’ll make my own way home.”

The smug look on his face is quickly washed away with anger, and you continue to slowly step backwards as Matthew follows you. A lick of fear sets in now as the pale streetlights cast shadows on his darkened expression, and you scold yourself for opening your mouth.

“The fuck did you just say to me? Do you know who my Dad is?” - this really isn’t a good time to roll your eyes - “You think you’re too good for me, you bitch? I’ll show you.”

He stalks you, and your eyes frantically dart back to the restaurant you’d just left, though you’d backtracked far enough to be almost at the door again.

People are dining and laughing, some just sitting and watching the world go by. You’re well within their view, and you turn back to see that Matthew’s gaze has followed your own and he’s connected the dots. He can’t do anything in front of them. He locks eyes with you again, scoffing, heading back to his car and loudly shouting something that sounded a lot like “fuckin’ bitch.” Nice.

He drives away; you’re safe, out of the situation, and as the relief floods you the adrenaline does too and tears prick at your eyes. You sit on a small bench just outside the restaurant, dotted with shrubbery and stains from spilt drinks you assume, and take out your phone.

Your last chat with Joel is already open, and you breathe slowly in an attempt to still your shaking hands as you type quickly,

Please come and get me. He was trying to get me to go back with him. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’s gone now but I have no ride home.

The text is marked as ‘read’ almost as soon as you send it, though you receive no reply. You didn’t expect to; Joel wasn’t much of a texter. Like, at all. He was slowly getting used to it, what with it being one of the only ways you could really talk when slipping over to his place was too risky.

In this particular instance, you already knew he’d have read the text, dropped his phone without a second thought and hurried to his truck while muttering to himself what he’s gonna do to the kid, how he won’t see what’s comin’ to him.

Just how badly Joel might react worries you. He’s protective, incredibly so when it comes to you, and that combined with his white hot temper was surely a recipe for some sort of disaster.

Secretly, though, you loved it. And so as you sat on that little bench, frosty air nipping at your skin, you couldn’t help but revel in the warmth that pooled in your core at the thought of what sort of beast Joel would become tonight.

──────

It only takes him around 10 minutes to reach you, and you know for a fact he must’ve ran a red light or two because normally it’s a 20 minute drive at least into town. You stand, walking over to his truck, but before you can hop in he’s already storming out and wrapping you up in his arms, shielding you, eyes darting across the street.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“Joel, I-”

“(Y/N) where the fuck is he? I’m gonna kill that little bastard. Fucking-”

His body is tense, far more so than usual, and anger pours from him in buckets. You pull away to look up at him, his eyes still searching for the boy long gone, and you sigh. “He’s gone, Joel. He left.”

He finally meets your eyes, a cold frown etched on his face, and he somehow looks even angrier than usual. “Did he touch you?” His hands roam your body, searching for you didn’t know what, but you let him do whatever he needed to relax. To know you were safe.

“No, Joely, he didn’t. I’m fine, I promise.”

It usually softens him right up, your little nickname for him. Joely. The first few times you used it, he’d just scoff or roll his eyes, but the small smirk that crept onto his face each time let you know he loved it. Quite how much he loved it was a different story; you hadn’t got together then, though the both of you wanted it, and as your relationship blossomed you became the only one he ever let call him anything other than Joel.

It doesn’t work this time, though, and he remains stern, finally letting you go and searching your eyes for even a hint of anxiety or fear. “What happened?”

“He tried it on, I said no. He tried again, I backed up and made sure there were people watching,” you nod towards the restaurant, still bustling with life. “And he left.”

Joel nods. “You tell him to fuck off?”

“‘Course i did.”

It seems as if he finally lets up then, giving you a proper hug, one arm around your neck and the other around your waist. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, hard, and the tension leaves him. “That’s my girl.”

You squeeze him tight, burrowing into his shirt and inhaling the scent of him that you loved so much. With one arm around your shoulders, he guides you back to his truck, opening the door for you and helping you. He does it everytime, but it still makes you blush, and you’re sure his lips smirk slightly as your cheeks turn red. Worth it.

The ride back to home is quiet, only the sound of his radio and passing traffic echoing between you. He keeps a hand on your knee, always protective, and every now and then you rub your palm over it to let him know you appreciate it. To say thank you.

Joel was never good with words, and you’d learned over the last few months just how much he relies on touch to express himself. To show love. You’d picked up on his habits, his little signs, his way of telling you his deepest thoughts without having to speak a word.

And when you reciprocated, when you wrapped your hand around his, or brushed his side at the neighbours’ BBQ, or kissed his shoulder in the kitchen, you knew just what it meant to him.

Your driveway is empty as Joel turns onto your street - your Dad must have set off for work already. You sigh in relief; you didn’t have the energy to explain all this to him, and certainly not the energy to try and sneak into Joel’s without him seeing.

Joel steps out first, taking a quick look around to make sure no nosey neighbours were watching, a precaution you were both used to by now. He grabs the door for you again, holding your hand and helping you out, holding you close to his side as he unlocks the door and you both slip inside.

“What do you want to drink?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He pauses, looking at you, concerned. ”No. You need somethin’ to drink. You need to- to lie down, or somethin’.”

You follow him into the kitchen as he stalks past you, not giving you time to answer and filling a glass with water and ice. “Drink,” he hands it to you.

You take it, thanking him and sipping as he watches. It’s sweet; he cares about you, so much, and when he looks at you like this you can’t help but feel butterflies swirl in your stomach.

“I’m sorry.” It’s almost a whisper, so quiet you wouldn’t have heard if it weren’t so still already in his house.

“Hm?” You look at him, confused.

“I’m sorry he did that to you. S’not - s’not right. I mean, shit, what if you couldn’t get away?” He was spiralling.

“Hey, hey. Joel, it’s okay. I’m okay.” You set down the glass and take him in your arms. He calms, instantly, holding you tightly against him and cupping the back of your head with his hand.

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“I know.”

He sighs. “I just wanna protect you, honey.”

“I know.”

He pulls back to look at you, framing your face with his hands and running his thumbs along the edge of your cheekbones. You lean in, letting his lips capture yours in that sweet but desperate way that only Joel can, and moan into his mouth. He slips his tongue against yours, letting one arm fall to your waist as his hand lingers around the hem of your jeans.

The kiss becomes desperate and you reach for his belt, your arousal becoming unbearable as the memory of him so full of anger and protectiveness spins in your mind like a carousel. He breaks the kiss and you groan, chasing his swollen lips with yours.

“We don’t have to do this.” His southern drawl is slick with need, his eyes closed as he rests his forehead against yours. The moment is so sweet, so intimate, that any thoughts of what had happened today were long gone and your mind was full with sweepings of him.

“I want to.”

He grunts, pushing himself further into you so his nose brushes yours like a cat. So much so, you almost purr into him, and it makes you giggle. You curse yourself as he pulls back, cocking an eyebrow and giving you that stare you’d come to know all too well; you’re a pain in my ass, it says. But the corners of his lips turn upwards, and you step forward so you’re once again pressed right up against him, pressing gentle kisses to his jaw.

“You’ve had a big shock today, sweetheart,” he sighs.

You know he’s given up. You know he needs this as much as you do. But you humour him, and tip his head down so you can kiss his lips again.

“So make me forget.”

It snaps something within him, and you shriek as Joel sweeps you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist in instinct and your head burying itself in his neck. He laughs at the sound you make, something you’d always known to be so rare for him, but that he does far more often now he has you.

He carries you upstairs, gripping your thighs with his large hands, and the way he holds you so easily just turns you on more. He kicks his bedroom door open, all but throwing you on the bed and watching as you bounced softly on the sheets, undoing his belt that was already half-opened by your shaky hands.

“On your back. Lay your head towards me.”

You did as he said immediately, though your movements were slow, languid. He let you take your time; a part of you thinks he likes to watch you move for him, the way you put on a show, keeping your eyes locked on his and your lips slightly parted and puffy from his kiss.

You lie on your back, your head dangling off the edge, looking up at him upside down. The hard outline of his cock is just centimetres above you, swollen already, and your desperation to taste it must’ve shown on your face because Joel groans out a soft, strangled “fuck.”

“You need this cock, baby? Need your throat fucked?” You just nod rapidly, desperate for him to do something other than just stand there and watch you, your arousal becoming unbearable. Joel seems to break, too, pulling down his jeans and boxers and gripping his hard length in his hands.

It’s big at the best of times, but from this angle, his balls level with your eyes and his cock the only thing you can see when you look up at him, it’s painful how bad you need him.

You’d only discovered this position recently, on a night you’d spent at his place while your Dad was away with work, not unlike tonight. Joel had been floored, consumed with pleasure as the stretch of your spine made it so easy for him to slide himself through your mouth and down your throat, the muscles tensing around him and drawing his release much sooner than he’d have liked.

He slides the head of his cock over your lips, painting them in his precum. You whine, lapping at his taste, desperate but you know better than to lift your hands off the bed. No, you give him control, and he lavishes it.

“Open up, babygirl.”

You comply, parting your lips and moaning as Joel pushes inside, giving you no time to breathe. You try to control yourself, inhaling through your nose and letting your muscles relax before he bottoms out, his groin almost entirely covering your face and your throat full of his thickness.

It’s filthy, degrading, resigns you to nothing but his to fuck and use as he wants.

You love it.

“Such a good girl, baby. So good for me, ain’t ya?” You can hardly even nod as your tongue flicks along a particularly swollen vein. He begins to move, pulling out almost entirely before slamming his cock back into your mouth. You moan again, and it hurts, in that delectable way that’ll spend the next few days reminding you of this moment.

Joel’s got one hand on the wooden foot of the bed, keeping himself steady. The other finds its way to your neck, and he stalls as he feels his cock beneath your skin, rapidly pushing in and out. He moans your name, his hips rocking into you harder and harder, chasing a release you knew he wouldn’t let himself have just yet.

You’re completely at his mercy now, too consumed by his scent and his touch to think, and you hardly register him reaching for your hand and taking it in his own. He starts to mumble, and you only catch a few words - “my good girl. My girl. So- so fuckin’ pretty for me.”

He swells, your tongue working faster against him, his hand squeezing yours and his legs faltering when he suddenly pulls out and stands back with a whimper. Your eyes are glazed over, your sore throat misses him, and your pink swollen lips are trying to say something but you’re not sure what. It feels like his name.

“Come on, pretty girl, come here.” He sits beside you on the edge of the bed, wrapping his big arms around your back and guiding you into his lap.

His fingers dance over your entrance, collecting the slick that soaked your thighs before pushing a single finger inside, revelling in your arousal. He admires you as you squirm, rolling your hips against his hand, desperate for more and moaning against his lips.

It’s almost embarrassing how easy you unravel for him, and if it weren’t for your utter infatuation for the man, you’d have hidden your pleasure and at least tried to hold onto some sense of dignity. But you were obsessed, addicted to him, and he knew it. Because god, was he addicted to you, too.

He kisses you, letting another finger slip inside and catching your hiss with his mouth. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, opening his eyes to look at you, his cock twitching against your thigh.

“Tell me what you need, angel.”

“Y- you, Joel. I need you. Please.” You hardly register yourself saying the words, but they do the trick, as Joel removes his fingers and instead lines the tip of his cock with your soaking wet entrance.

“Please, please, fuck me. Fuck-”

He snaps his hips upwards, driving his cock into your cunt and you gasp as he stretches you. You grip at his shoulders, sure to leave marks, but you know he loves it.

He sets the pace, guiding you to bounce on his cock as his hips snap upwards again and again, fucking you so hard you can almost see stars.

His head is buried in your neck, kissing and nipping at the delicate skin, and you try to regain some autonomy and roll your hips side to side making him mewl.

“So - oh, fuck - so good baby, keep doin’ that.” He spurs you on as your breathless moans and the heavy slap of skin on skin fills the room, lewd but addictive.

The pace is brutal, unforgiving as your thighs tremble and you wonder if he’s feeling the burn of his movements. If he does, he doesn’t show it, just ramming into you and moaning your name against your ear.

His hand falls from your waist and finds its way to your clit, making you gasp as he circles his thumb around the spot. The near pornographic moan that falls from his lips as you roll into his touch is nearly enough to make you cum right there, but you know better than to cum before he tells you to.

Instead he hoists you further up, giving him better control of your hips, and angles his cock so it hits that perfectly raw spot deep inside you that has tears in your eyes.

“I- I’m gonna-”

“I know, baby. Just hold on for me. I’ve got you.” You cry at his denial, though it’s quickly forgotten as he flips you over onto your back, his head still tucked under the crook of your neck, his cock still buried inside you. He resumes his fast pace, reaching even deeper inside you with your legs locked around his waist, and you moan so loudly you worry someone’s going to hear you.

Joel doesn’t seem to care as he pulls back to look at you, marvelling at how utterly fucked-out you look for him. His pace starts to falter, each thrust more desperate than the last, and he frantically pushes his tongue into your mouth as you moan in unison.

“Cum for me baby, cum all over my cock, that’s it.” You release on command, crying out as waves of pleasure spread like fire through your body, and the uncontrollable spasms of your orgasm make Joel groan as he spills inside you, still rocking into you and carrying both of your highs.

He doesn’t let his cock slip out of you as he wraps an arm under your back and rolls onto his side, holding you close as he brushes the matted hair away from your forehead and replaces it with a soft kiss. You hum, snuggling into him and trying not to gasp at the feeling of his cock inside you while you were still so sensitive. He can see you flinch and smiles, though he just wants you to rest for now.

“You okay, babygirl?” You just hum again, but he taps your chin and you look up.

“Answer me, angel.”

“I’m good. Tired.”

Joel nods, running his hand through your hair and agreeing, “me too.”

You’re quiet for a moment, almost dozing off as the heat that radiates from him lulls you gently to seep, when he breaks the silence again. “What’s his name?”

“Hm?” You reply, too fucked-out to really understand what he was saying.

“That little asshole. What’s his name?”

He’s looking down at you, brows knitted together, and you just sigh. “It doesn’t matter, Joel. He doesn’t matter. I promise.”

“But-“

You cut him off with a kiss, and the tension that built in his shoulders is quickly dissipated. “No ‘but’s. Get some sleep.”

“Aright,” he resigns. “I love you.”

It slips out, sudden, and he freezes before he realises the joy that’s spread across your face from his words. It’s the first time either of you have said it, and the way your eyes light up are enough to let him die a happy man. You nuzzle his nose, your hand gently lay on his chest, your eyes falling shut again. “I love you too, Joel.” He wraps you up tighter, grinning, happy. In love.. “And no asking my Dad, either.”

He scoffs, “I wasn’t going to!” You just cock a brow, eyes still shut, and though you can’t see him you know he’s rolling his eyes. “Let me get you cleaned up, sweetheart.”

He pulls out of you slowly, making you wince at the loss, and sits up on the bed. When you can still feel his weight beside you, you crack an eye open to see him quickly typing something on his phone, and you frown. “Joel?”

He startles and drops his phone, turning to you and kissing the top of your head. “Sorry, baby, I’m going - just gimme a sec to get you a warm cloth.”

As he leaves for the bathroom you snatch his phone, already knowing what he’d done. Your Dad’s name is at the top of the screen, the chat from just moments ago still open:

What’s the name of that kid (Y/N) went out with?

Matthew Wicks, he’s the new apprentice at work. Why?

Just wondered.

You’re weird, man.

Joel creeps out of the bathroom, frozen as he sees you lock his phone. He offers a small, guilty smile, quickly wiped away as you grab his pillow and playfully launch it at his chest.

“JOEL!”

──────

Thank you so much for reading! As ever, comments and weblogs are so appreciated, and please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in my future fics!

#dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x yn #dbf!joel x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x yn #pedro pascal #tlou fic #tlou show

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7-wonders · 1 year

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Give Me Everything You've Got

Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x GN!Reader

Summary: After a fight, you learn that Morpheus does not have the best coping skills. Like, at all.

Word Count: 4.7k

Author's note: This is based off of a scene in Brief Lives where Morpheus dramatically stands on his balcony in the rain. Not going to say more, or else that will spoil the comics completely.

No relationship is perfect; it’s a fact as immutable as which direction the sun rises from. The first fight, though, is always a stark reminder of this. That the person you care so deeply for and have shared so much with over the past days, weeks, months isn’t perfect and has faults. The first fight, though nobody wants it to happen, will, inevitably, happen.

And your first fight with Morpheus is a bad one.

It had been three months since you and Morpheus had shared a heated first kiss in a crowded bar, three months since the man of your dreams turned out to be both real and still the man of your dreams. Those three months had been bliss, to put it simply. You looked forward to falling asleep every night, for that meant you could spend uninterrupted time with your love in his realm. He’s insanely busy, of course, being the anthropomorphic personification of dreams and nightmares. Even just being in his presence, sitting on the Shores of Creation and watching as he creates new dreams and nightmares or reading in the library in your own chair and listening to him and Lucienne discuss matters related to the realm, was a gift that you don’t think you’ll ever take for granted.

But then, of course, the other shoe had to drop. The beautiful bubble of a honeymoon phase that you were living in was bound to pop, suddenly and harshly. Foolishly, you had hoped that things between you and Morpheus would always be like this, with both of you on the same page. That, of course, was nothing more than a mere pipe dream, because two people (or, one person and one eldritch being) will never be completely on the same page for every single thing.

The first time you had seen the raven, perched on the overhang of the cafe you were currently waiting for your friends outside of, you had thought nothing more than “oh, it looks like Matthew,” before going back on your merry way. After all, ravens are pretty common birds, and Matthew seemed like a pretty important raven. Surely it wasn’t him; surely he had better things to do than to trail you. It was simply just a coincidence.

Over the next week, however, you kept seeing a raven everywhere you went. When you left the store carrying bags of groceries, one was circling overhead. When you took your lunch break outside on a particularly nice afternoon, there it was, staring at you from another picnic table. When you were finally getting around to loading the dishwasher, it was sitting on your windowsill.

It was like that mental exercise when someone tells you not to think about a yellow car and then you see yellow cars everywhere. Only, you were certain that this was the same raven, and that this raven was Matthew, due to the fact that this raven tried a little too hard to act like a normal raven. As long as you weren’t directly looking at the raven, then it would just stare at you in a way that gave you the creeps. The moment that you turned to look, then it would suddenly start pecking at the ground or preening itself. Convenient. Too convenient, in your opinion.

Finally, you decide that you’re going to confront him. You go out onto your porch to water the little garden that you’re trying to cultivate, and there he is, sitting on the railing and staring right at you. As you go about your watering, he continues to just stare. Once you’ve finished, you whip your head up, fast enough that he doesn’t have time to pretend like he wasn’t watching you.

“Matthew, I know it’s you,” you say to save him the embarrassment of having to keep up the act.

Though the raven tries not to look at you, eventually he knows that the jig is up. He hops closer to you and still doesn’t look at you, but now due to the guilt he’s obviously feeling. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi. You've been following me around.” It’s not a question, because you know that he’s been doing exactly that.

Matthew looks about as sheepish as a raven can possibly look. “You caught me.”

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re stalking me?”

“Do I have to?” You glare at him to tell him that yes, he very much has to. Realizing that he has no choice, he acquiesces. “Orders from the boss man, y’know? It’s kinda what I do.”

You can feel your blood beginning to run hot in your veins from the sudden surge of anger, and you have to breathe to keep yourself from yelling. “Morpheus is making you spy on me?”

“I wouldn’t call it spying.” Matthew can sense the beginnings of a storm brewing, and quickly goes to work at trying to mitigate the impending disaster. “Just…making sure that you’re safe, that’s all! He really cares about you, and it’s tough for him to not be able to be with you whenever he wants.”

“Okay, well, you need to stop following me.”

“I—I don’t know if I can. I’m really not supposed to disobey direct orders. I already got in enough trouble for the whole business with Hell!”

Though you’re mad about the whole situation and, by extension, Matthew himself, you don’t want your feathered friend to get in trouble when he’s not the one that’s at fault. If he’s going to get in trouble for abandoning his post, then you’ll just give him a task instead that happens to take him back to the Dreaming. After all, Morpheus had told you that you could use Matthew to reach him if the need arose.

“Fine, then,” you say. “Will you go back to the Dreaming and tell Morpheus to meet me when he gets the chance? I’d really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, I can do that!”

Matthew prepares to take off, but before he does, you stop him. “And, Matthew?”

“Mm?”

“Don’t come back.”

By the time the first month of dating had passed, you had both already exchanged declarations of love. It felt entirely natural, and you were both thrilled at the next step. Now, the true next step, that of disagreeing with your partner on a fundamental level, is here. You’re far less thrilled about this step.

When Morpheus appears in your living room, you’re already prepared to say what you’ve been practicing in your head since Matthew left. Morpheus has a way of making you forget words, and you’re not about to let that happen this time. Instead of giving him the chance, you jump to your feet and glare at him.

“What the fuck!” you spit. “How dare you!”

Morpheus simply watches you, as cool and collected as always, which only serves to piss you off even more.

“Matthew told me that you are…upset,” he says, “about my having him watch over you.”

You look at him in disbelief. “‘Upset’? I’m furious right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re stalking me, without my permission, through your raven!”

“It is not stalking,” he retorts.

“Really? What would you call it, then?”

Rather than answer what it is (because it is stalking), Morpheus defers to his reasoning behind his actions. “I just want to make sure that you are safe when I cannot be with you.”

In his mind, this likely makes complete sense. Of course he wants you safe, and naturally that means sending his raven to watch you at all hours of the day. Perhaps, in his eyes, this was even seen as a romantic gesture. Who this would charm, though, you’re not sure.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Morpheus. I’m an adult.”

“Yes, I am aware of that. Regardless of the immature way that you are currently acting in.”

Oh, you could hit him right now. You have to dig your nails into the palm of your hand to keep the urge at bay. “Then why did you think that you could invade my privacy in such a major way?”

“Because you are human, beloved. If something were to happen to you, if one of my enemies were to take advantage of my absence, I would never forgive myself. I cannot allow that to happen, hence, Matthew watching out for you.”

“I’m more than able to take care of myself. Especially in my own home,” you stress.

“It is for my own peace of mind.”

“Then you have him drop in every once in a while to say hi! You don’t have him playing James Bond and spying on me every minute of every day!”

It’s obvious that Morpheus doesn’t understand your anger towards him right now, and that’s probably the most frustrating thing about this whole mess. You have to close your eyes and gather your thoughts, lest you lose your cool and say something that you really regret.

When you feel just a smidge calmer, you look at Morpheus again. “I can’t deal with this right now. We physically can’t have this conversation until you can actually see why I’m so mad about this.”

His face grows stormy, and his eyes go straight from blue to black, starless pools. “You want me to leave?”

“Have you figured out why I’m mad?” He remains still, challenging you. “Then yes.”

This is just a way to call his bluff. He’s not going to leave, not in the middle of an argument. You just want him to think for a moment about his actions and their effect on you, and then you can talk like civilized adults about a little something called boundaries before making up.

His jaw clenches, as do his fists, and you realize that you may have overestimated his rationality. “Then I suppose I shall take my leave of you.”

“Wait, what?” You take a step towards him and go to grab his arm in an attempt to stop him. “Morpheus!”

He’s gone before you can even feel his coat under your hand, and you’re left staring in shock at the empty space where Morpheus just stood.

You’re distraught about just how wrong your argument with Morpheus went, enough so that you don’t visit the Dreaming that night. It's not on purpose, though. Rather, you’re so upset about the whole situation that you barely sleep, and the sleep that you do get is fitful.

You’re exhausted when your alarm goes off the next morning, and find that all of the anger of last night has dissipated. Now, you’re just sad. Sad that Morpheus couldn’t understand why you were upset, sad that he didn’t stay to finish the conversation, sad that you couldn’t go after him to try and make things right between you.

You slog through your day, so noticeably sad that multiple people ask you what’s wrong. Though saying that you had a fight with your boyfriend doesn’t really begin to encapsulate everything that Morpheus is, it’s a common enough occurrence in the world that those who you share this with immediately nod in understanding and leave you to your misery.

Sleep tries to elude you for a second night, but you refuse to go any longer without seeing Morpheus. Instead, you scrounge around in your medicine cabinet for the bottle of melatonin that you know is back there. When you find it, you down as many of the artificial berry-tasting tablets that’s safe before crawling into bed and hoping that it works.

When you do finally fall asleep and open your eyes in the Dreaming, you’re immediately thrown off by the rain. No, calling it a simple rainstorm would be underselling it. A veritable hurricane has descended on the Dreaming, and you have to brace yourself against the wind somehow blowing through the palace to keep from being blown away. Rain lashes against the windows, which are rattling heavily, in rough sheets, and lightning crackles through the sky.

Growing up around storms has you instinctually looking for a basement or cellar to get to before you remember that nothing can actually harm you in your dreams. The thought doesn’t do much to settle your nerves (you’ve never been too fond of storms), but you keep repeating to yourself that it can’t harm you in some sort of frightened mantra as you make your way to the library.

The library, unfortunately, is in worse shape than the entryway, and you immediately feel a pang of sympathy for Lucienne. All of the bookshelves have been raised on individual islands via dream-magic in an attempt to save the books from the flooding that’s beginning to encroach from the doors and windows. Even so, sandbags are being piled up at the base of each island by a variety of dreams as a failsafe.

Knowing Lucienne, she probably has a backup failsafe for the failsafe.

Dressed in a rainbow parka with the hood up over his little raven head, Matthew stands atop one of the bookshelves and directs the dreams who have been tasked with helping to protect one of the Dreaming’s most precious assets. When he notices you standing awkwardly just inside the main doors, he lets out a squawk and flies to the bookshelf closest to you.

“Oh thank God you’re here,” Matthew exclaims. “This place is gonna get washed away if he keeps up at it!”

“What’s going on?” you ask, both of you flinching at a particularly loud clap of thunder.

Lucienne appears from around a corner, stomping through puddles as she steadily marches towards you in a way that makes you worry that you’re in trouble with her. She’s wearing bright yellow rain gear, and water streams off of the plastic hat in steady rivulets.

“Has Lord Morpheus explained to you that the Dreaming’s weather is tied to his emotions?” Lucienne demands to know.

Morpheus had briefly mentioned this to you once. It was a month or so into your relationship, and you remarked on how beautiful the weather always was in his realm. In the midst of a brutal winter, the reprieve was especially appreciated.

“I am glad that you think so. After all, I am the Dreaming, and the Dreaming is me.” Morpheus replied from behind you.

You were standing on the highest balcony in the palace so that you could properly take in all of the Dreaming, and Morpheus had his arms wrapped snugly around your middle so that he could pull you into his firm chest.

“So you control the weather?” you asked.

“Yes, but I do not do so consciously. It is…like how your own heart continually beats without you needing to think about it.”

At the time, you were satisfied with the explanation. Now, you’re wondering what the hell kind of autonomic nervous system Morpheus has.

“He did,” you say. “But why is the weather so bad?”

She stares at you like you’re an idiot, and you shift uncomfortably under her pointed glare. “Because you had a fight.”

You’re going to ask how she knows such a thing, but you assume it was pretty obvious to Matthew what was going to happen when you told him to have Morpheus visit you.

“It was an argument, not a fight.” Great, now you sound like your parents when you were a kid and would catch them fighting. “Is he that upset about what happened?”

You know that Morpheus is able to hold a grudge better than most. Even though you haven’t seen him, and the storm is fierce, you can tell that this isn’t caused by some petty anger; this is genuine distress, and you’re starting to think that he’s never had to deal with his emotions in a healthy way.

Lucienne nods and says, “You have only ever seen our Lord Morpheus at his best. He—well, I will not divulge that which is not mine to share, but there is a precedent behind what has led him to react in such a way.”

Good lord, what had happened in Morpheus’s past for this to be a normal reaction for him? While you’re also still a little upset over the ‘disagreement’, your hurt comes more from the fact that he left and that you were unable to finish what you had started. Furthermore, if this is normal for him, you hate to see what an abnormal reaction from him is.

Something needs to be done, and you’re going to have to be the one to do it.

“Alright, then. Do you have any idea where he is?” you ask.

Lucienne doesn’t even need to think. “In his chambers, most likely.”

You don’t believe you’ve ever had to find your way to Morpheus’s chambers without him. The hesitation must show on your face, because Matthew flies down from the bookshelf to perch on the back of a chair.

“Just think about him while you’re walking, and the Dreaming should do the rest,” he advises.

“I’m on it.” You give your friends a mock-salute before turning and heading out the door that you came through, mind focused on Morpheus the entire time.

The way that the Dreaming works is interesting. Sometimes, you need to walk a good distance to get from one place to the next. This is often true of when you trek down the Shores to visit Morpheus, or when he takes you to Fiddler’s Green. Other times, you need only blink and take a step before reaching your destination.

This is one of those times, thankfully, because the anxiety coursing through you as you worry about Morpheus and if he’s okay is making every step that you take a shaky one. You’re standing outside of the library one second, and the next, you’re staring at the large, carved wood doors that conceal Morpheus’s chambers from you.

Will the doors be bolted, like how you would lock your own when you were an angsty teenager and wanted the world to know that absolutely nobody was privy to your misery? Will he be mad when he sees you? Mad that you sought him out, that you consulted his own subjects about how best to approach this crisis?

Though you don’t mean to lean against the door as you lose yourself in your thoughts, you do, and it swings open easily. You hope that this is Morpheus’s way of letting you know that you’re welcome here, with him.

He’s not in the large sitting room that first greets you when you enter his chambers, nor is he in the bedroom that he does not sleep in. That means that there’s only one other place that he could be, so you backtrack into the sitting room and go the opposite direction from his bedroom and towards the balcony that you stood on, with him, what feels like so long ago.

There he is, leaning steadfastly against the balcony railing like some sort of Byronic hero as the rain lashes against him and the thunder and lightning create a show for the ages above him. No matter how harshly the wind blows, he refuses to move, instead taking the full brunt of the storm as he stares out into it.

It’s his own version of self-harm, you realize, and you won’t allow him this vice any longer.

You walk out onto the balcony to stand next to Morpheus and try not to get blown away by the gale force winds. Immediately, you’re assaulted by the rain, and it quickly begins to soak through your clothes; you end up turning your back on the brunt of it and directly facing Morpheus so that you can actually see him.

“I suppose Lucienne sent you my way?” In an entirely un-Morpheus move, Morpheus scoffs.

“She told me where to find you, but only because I asked.” You have to raise your voice just to be heard over the storm. “So? Why are you standing out here?”

He laughs dryly. “As if you do not know? Before today, I did not know you to be so needlessly, brutally cruel.”

Is he on drugs? You’d check his pupils, but in the Dreaming, he doesn’t have any. “What are you talking about?”

“You no longer love me!” His voice booms around you as loud as the thunder.

This is news to you, and you’re about to tell him so, but he continues before you can.

“I have transgressed against you, terribly so, and you rightfully sent me away as a result. Now, you have come to tell me that you wish never to see me again.”

To say that you’re completely thrown for a loop would be a gross understatement. “No! What gave you that idea?”

All of the fight, all of the righteous indignity, suddenly deflates out of him, and he looks at you with a defeated look reminiscent of that of a guilty puppy. “Prior experience, I suppose.”

“Oh, Morpheus.”

This is one of the saddest things that you’ve ever heard. His prior relationships involved his lovers spurning him after one little fight? Since he obviously doesn’t know how wrong this is, your heart hurts on his behalf as you reach a hand up to cup his cheek.

“I’m not going to break up with you, and I’m sorry that you’ve been in relationships where that was something that happened.”

The relief on his face is immediate. “You still love me?”

“Yes, you silly, silly anthropomorphic personification. I still love you.”

“You still love me,” he says again in disbelief.

“It was a little fight. Just because fights happen sometimes, doesn’t mean that it’s the end of our relationship.”

“I am…sorry, for invading your privacy in such a way, and further for not understanding why you were upset with me.” It’s obvious that he’s not used to apologizing for anything, but he’s trying, and that’s what matters.

“You understand why I feel the way that I do about that?” You try not to get your hopes up, but utterly fail at it.

He nods. “You feel as though I’m attempting to exert control over you, that I don’t trust you.”

He does get it! You could cheer right now. “Exactly.”

“I do,” he says earnestly, “trust you. To make you feel otherwise was never my intention. You are just so precious to me that if something were to happen to you and I was not there to help you or come to your aid, it would kill me. That fear led me to become possessive, in a way that is healthy for neither of us. For that, I sincerely apologize.”

“Thank you, Morpheus. And I’m sorry for not properly conveying my feelings before I told you to leave.” You shrug. “You’ll have to forgive me for not really understanding; this is my first supernatural relationship.”

“Your last, too, if I have it my way.”

You smile at him and push the wet strands of hair out of your eyes, which seems to alert him to the fact that it’s still storming at a cool “wrath of God” level. He immediately lifts his hand to stop the rain from coming down around you, and an invisible umbrella forms over your heads. It’s obvious that he’s not done there, and he tries to school his face into an expression cooler and more passive than that which he’s currently sporting.

“If you will give me a moment to rein in my emotions…”

“No,” you cut Morpheus off. “Don’t. I like the rain.”

Maybe not this much rain, but you won’t tell him that right now. Because right now, you can already see him trying to slip back into the role of Dream of the Endless, who takes care of everyone and everything and lets nothing affect him. He can pretend that’s the real him all that he wants, but you’re seeing firsthand how detrimental it is to Morpheus. Not Dream, but Morpheus.

And Morpheus deserves to feel emotions, regardless of if it upsets or inconveniences the citizens of the Dreaming. Morpheus deserves to have somebody take care of him for once, instead of taking care of everyone and everything around him. Morpheus deserves a hell of a lot more than he’s previously gotten, and you’re going to be the one to give it to him.

“You do?” he asks.

“Yeah, I do. And if people don’t…then, fuck ‘em!”

His lips twitch. “I’d rather not.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” He thinks that joke is so funny every time he uses it, and you’re determined to not let him know that it is kind of funny.

The wind begins to slow down, and the thunder starts to grow fainter. Still, the rain continues, but it’s more tolerable now that it’s falling straight down instead of directly pelting you.

“C’mon.” You grab his hand and start to lead him back inside. “Let’s go lay down for a bit.”

Morpheus immediately begins to protest. “But–”

“Shh. Tomorrow, you can ensure that everything’s back to business as usual. Today, though, I think you’ve earned the right to feel a little sad and upset.”

Though Morpheus doesn’t seem too happy about you telling him what to do, by the time you’re sitting him down on his bed, you’re both completely dry. He watches silently as you take his starry coat off for him, followed by his heavy boots. You take your own shoes off before climbing onto the bed and settling against the pillows. When you hold your arms out to him, he simply raises an eyebrow to challenge you. In response, you wiggle your fingers and try to beckon him over to you.

He begrudgingly allows you to hold him, and kiss the top of his head and try to stifle a laugh in his soft hair. Morpheus’s body begins to relax against yours, and you smile triumphantly as you run a hand up and down his spine. After a few minutes of sitting in silence and listening to the rain against the windows (now less brutal than it was when you first arrived in the Dreaming), you realize that Morpheus is matching his breaths–that he doesn’t need–to yours. Your insides go all warm and fuzzy as a result.

When Morpheus finally feels ready to talk, he picks his head up from your chest to look at you. You smile at the sight of the stars having finally returned to his beautiful eyes, and he asks, “Is this truly how humans cope with their emotions?”

“Mhm. Cry and feel sad a bit, then pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep going.” He hums when you begin to gently card your fingers through your hair, and you file this away as a form of care that you’re definitely going to use for him in the future. “If you’re lucky, you’ve got somebody right there with you to take care of you and help you weather that storm.”

“Sage advice.”

It really is. You just won’t tell him that it’s advice from a children’s show.

Morpheus nods and chooses to relax in your embrace for longer than you would have thought. Honestly, you were expecting more of a fight from him as he tried to plead his case to return to being Dream. Eventually, he does say what’s truly on his mind; he’s been getting better at that, the whole communication thing.

“I am not. Used to being taken care of.” Stating the obvious here, but what matters is that he said it.

“I know,” you say. “Which is why, in addition to the normal care that one gives their romantic partner that you’ll be receiving from me, I’m going to make up for all of what you should have been receiving for so long now.”

“Are you?” Morpheus smirks, amused at your determination.

“Yep. Why don’t we take a nap? That’s always helpful.”

Morpheus doesn’t sleep, per se; rather, he drifts, following you through your various dreamscapes and allowing himself to just be. As he’s described it to you, it’s rather relaxing to him, the same as napping is relaxing to you.

“That sounds…” Morpheus thinks for a moment. “Nice.”

“Good. Then after that, perhaps a warm bath?”

“You are just doing all of the things that make you feel better.” Though he says this, you can tell that he finds the concept intriguing.

You smile. “We’re starting from scratch with you, my love. Everything’s on the table at this point.”

“Very well. Nap first, then bath.”

With you by his side, Morpheus quickly learns how useful the human lesson of “cry and feel sad a bit, then pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep going” actually is.

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

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